Shadowkill sq-3, page 8
part #3 of Shadith's quest Series
Tolmant: His body is spasming in withdrawal from the massive courses of drugging that have wiped away everything but rage, hunger, and a struggling, distorted lust. His personality is gone, his memories, his capacity to learn, to respond to anything outside his skin.
Nezrakan: His hair is falling out in clumps, his bodyfur is almost gone; what is left is gray or white, it looks brittle, as if it would break off if you touched it.
Ossoran: He is cool, calm; like Rohant he seems sleek, almost untouched, though there are subtle signs that his appearance is misleading. He is sharing the cage with his closest friend.
Feyvorn: He is also healthy, vigorous. Both, of them move with a hesitant awkwardness, as if they are holding themselves so tightly in check that every move must be visualized before it is made.
In the cage on the opposite wall, the young Dyslaerors glance repeatedly at their elders, look quickly away, each time more disturbed by what they are seeing.
Tejnor: His body has been shaved clean to facilitate healing; he is still plastered with spray bandages from the beating in the pen. He sits hunched over on the floor of his cage. Now and then he lifts his head, but he avoids looking at his teacher/master Tolmant.
Azram: He is brooding, miserable, though he has not been touched by the techs. He shares his cage with
Kinefray: His head is shaved bare, a metal cap has been bonded to the skin. The bodyfur is gone from his forearms and lower legs, metal strips are bonded to the skin. Otherwise, he looks vigorous, healthy.
##
The heavy double doors whooshed open.
Two lines of techs came in, their white robes brushing about their silvaskin-sealed feet, a table rolling between them, young Veschant clamped naked on it.
Outputs flared at the workstations as the sensors on the other Dyslaera transmitted their reactions as they saw the boy for the first time: Except Tolmant. He didn’t seem to know what was happening.
Veschant’s eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell steadily. In the harsh light from the overhead, his bodyfur was sleek, glowing, and he was even a little pudgy, though Dyslaerors seldom acquired much bodyfat.
The techs bustled about, setting up an instrument tray, inserting tubes and electrodes about Veschant’s body, shaving patches of his fur, sealing sensors in place.
Protected by the remnants of the nincs-othran that the techs had tempered in him, using what they’d battered from Tolmant, nearly destroying him in the process, Rohant watched and wondered distantly why they hadn’t done all this preparation before they brought Veschant in.
The techs settled in at their stations, the operator stripped off his gloves, held out his silvaskin-sealed hand for the cutter.
“We will begin with the legs,” he said and made the first incision.
Veschant’s eyes snapped open and he screamed.
The clamps held him immobile and the operator continued slicing away the skin, baring muscle and sinew.
##
Savant 1 (speaking to notepad):
That veggie wasn’t quite the waste we thought he’d be. Tech Kadda’s notion for recycling him has paid off.
NOTE: enter commendation, arrange for a day at Black House as a reward. We have collected readings from the other Dyslaera, especially the older ones. It seems that the kin-bond of theirs grows stronger with age.
SUGGESTION: Acquire some cubs, see what happens if they are reared in isolation. Also, if possible, acquire gravid females and remove the infants as soon as they are viable.
Shadith In Shadows 3
1
After the fifth stop there were no more ayntis. P’murr passed out water bottles and warned the Contract women that it was all they’d get for the day so they’d better make it last.
The land was beige under a pale yellowish sky, the tag end of winter sucking the color away.
It was as empty as it was colorless, except for dark specks soaring too high above them to be identified when they pulled up for rest and meals. Jassy pointed them out with macabre zest; she was sure they were vultures, she’d seen that sort of thing before. She and her sister Eeda produced a series of revolting stories about the habits of vultures on other worlds they’d favored with their presence-until Tinoopa made them stop because several of the younger ones were sweating and turning green.
It was dark inside the box, there were only those two small windows to light the space and both of them were gray with ancient muck. Outside, the tires on the two land-rovers and the truck threw up fluff-tails of white from the dun-colored earth, fine floury dust that crept through the most minute of cracks to powder the women and everything inside. Air came from outside through filtered vents, bringing with it the pungent smells of the countryside; it was cold dry air that leached moisture from their noses and mouths, cracked their lips and made them bleed.
The convoy stopped twice a day. The women in the labor cadre were given bits of coarse dun paper and sent into the Brush to do what they had to and warned not to linger. Four armed guards went with them, more armed guards lay flat on the truck’s roof, each facing a different direction and the rest took turns watching over the Matja Allina. This and the loneliness of the land spooked even Tinoopa. She hurried into the truck as soon as she’d eaten and relieved herself; the others scrambled in with her, giving a collective sigh of relief as the back panels clanged shut.
Kizra was frightened every moment she was outside. She hated that, so she hated this place for doing it to her and she cursed the Matja Allina for bringing her here; most of all she raged against the Unknown who’d stolen her memories and discarded her like garbage.
##
Though she was uncomfortable there and increasingly ambivalent in her attitude toward the Matja Allina, wanting to dislike her, unable to dislike her, Kizra had to spend part of each day in the landrover amusing her. With Kulyari glaring at her, then turning her back on her, she knelt beside the Matja’s bed playing the arranga.
When Matja Allina felt strong enough, she whistled tunes for Kizra, sang the words once Kizra had the tune right, teaching them to Kizra and smiling with pleasure when Kizra sang back to her. She enjoyed the teaching; it was something to do to make the hours, pass, difficult hours for Allina since the landrover was only a degree more comfortable than the truck and she was worn out by the jolting and the boredom.
Most days Tinoopa was there, too, spinning tall tales when the Matja was too tired to sing, tales about Shimmaroh real and mythical.
Kizra watched this and listened, enjoying the stories and absorbing the lesson. Tinoopa had her charm going full blast; she wasn’t missing a beat as she contrived to make herself valuable. It was an education in how to deal with power when you’ve got none yourself.
2
Kizra heard a flurry of sharp cracks, a rattle against the landrover’s sides, one of the windows starred but didn’t break; the pellet that hit it went whining off. She stopped playing. “Wha…”
Matja Allina’s lips tightened to a thin line. “Tumaks,” she said and motioned for Kizra to keep playing. “Nothing to worry you. We’re well protected.”
Tinoopa sat cross-legged, her back against the sidewall-the one away from the main thrust of the attack. “What are tumaks?” she said. “Better we know so we can help against them.”
Matja Allina sighed. “Tumaks are hired fighters. Before you ask, no, I don’t know who did the hiring. Procagharadad Family is in Kirtaa with several other Families at this moment. It could be any of them.” Before Tinoopa could ask, she laughed and went on. “Yes, yes, Kirtaa. Private war. Mostly an exchange of snipings. It’s juvenile nonsense and… be quiet, Kulyari, I don’t care to hear you rant… and desperately wasteful, but that’s the way things happen here.” The landrover picked up speed and the jolting increased exponentially. Matja Allina ignored the difficulty, spoke around the major jounces. “There’s… nothing much you can… do, chapa Tinoopa… just learn to… find shelter quickly… when the shooting starts. Ungh! No, no, I’m all right. That was a bad one, wasn’t it.” She lay pallid, sweating and breathing hard, silent for several breaths, then took up where she’d left off. “You’ll have to watch for Brushies, too, the organized tribes don’t bother us…” she paused as the landrover slowed, settled to,a more sedate progress. “There, that’s over for the moment… but there are always outcasts ready with a knife or poison dart, so you should stay behind the Kuysstead walls. Ah yes, there were no natives on this world, the Brushies are either Contracts who left before term or the land-tied who untied their knots.” She smiled again, shook her head. “Not a good life, chapa, no way a good life. You’ll be far better off staying with us.”
##
Day after day the truck roared on. Matja Allina’s face got puffy and bruised, her eyes were feverish with unabated fatigue. When she wasn’t spinning wild tales, Tinoopa massaged and bathed the Matja, Aghilo held her and fed her; Kizra sang to her, eased her tensions, helped her sleep. Ignored and resenting it, Kulyari settled to a spite-filled seethe.
Day after day…
3
On the fifteenth day the truck passed through the gates of the stockade about the main buildings of Ghanar Rinta, the Landhold that Arring Pirs ampa Cagharadad and Matja Allina alka Pepiyadad were wringing meter by meter from the stony wilderness.
Fishing 2: A Strike
1
Kikun drifted onto the bridge, stood at the back watching the screen which was labyrinthine with windows inserted into windows, windows sluggishly moving, vanishing, appearing again as Autumn Rose worked over a broad sensor pad. A section cleared in front of her. There was a series of flickers across the face of the screen, the windows crawled furiously about, some changing size and shape, some vanishing altogether to be replaced by others.
When the activity stabilized, Rose settled back in the chair, scanned the results. She sighed, moved her shoulders, shook her arms.
Kikun scratched among the loose folds of skin under his jaw. “About finished?”
She looked around. “Another hour, maybe. Or two. Unless you’ve had a brainstorm you want to talk about.”
“No, but I might have a place to go once we’re ready to go somewhere.” He nodded at the screen. “I see you’ve got your fingers upto your elbows in that thing. Could you free up some starcharts and a Looksee?”
“For how long?”
He lifted a hand, twiddled his fingers, let the hand drop.
“Hmm.” She called up a status report, frowned over it for a moment. “I can cut the auxcom loose for about twenty minutes, if that’ll do any good. Give you access to the chart files and… hmm… a search-line. I’ll have to block you out of the main kephalos, you know.” Her fine blonde hair was soaked with sweat, plastered against her skull; she pushed at it impatiently. “Otherwise we could get tangled in there and spend the rest of our lives squatting on this nice but boring world.” Her eyes were blue as the sky outside and about as warm; she was still immersed in her puzzle and not all that interested in what he was up to. “Um. You’ve worked Charts before? Good. This is pretty much an idiot-proof setup. Not that I’m saying you’re an idiot, Kuna,” she added hastily. “Just that Chart functions tend to be standard and Barakaly Lak Dar installed the usual. Right, you know where the auxcom is? Good. So go, Kuna. Don’t waste your time, huh? Hit the beeper when you’re ready.”
2
CONFIGURATION NOT FOUND
The words blinked at him from the dark screen. Kikun scowled at them. He’d fed in the characteristics of each of the stars, their approximate distance apart. At least the Chart hadn’t humiliated him with the INSUFFICIENT DATA message. Wait. There was a note running at the bottom. See HELP. Yes, I seem to need help. He touched the sensor.
Question: POV?
What? Oh. He’d forgot. Default POV was the ship’s current position. Gaagi wouldn’t be looking from this world, he’d be looking from DunyaDzi. The center of his-my-being.
He knew the coordinates of his home sun, Lissorn had made sure of that. In case of trouble, Lissorn said. Capture teams don’t lead the safest of lives. If anything happens, he said, I want you to be able to go home. If ANYTHING happens. People change, you know, he said, get jealous of proprietary information which is what those coordinates are. Just remember them, Kuna. That way you’re free of everyone, even us, and you can go when you need to.
Kikun pressed his hands hard against his eyes. He had given Lissorn’s tocebai rest, but not himself. What Mask and Gaagi had shown him, he was feeling in his bones. He was alone, his connections to home and kin so tenuous they were close to breaking. He didn’t know what would happen to him if they did, he didn’t want to find out.
He wiped away the tear gel, scrubbed his hands on his trousers. No time for this now.
He entered DunyaDzi’s coordinates as POV and managed a smile when a familiar configuration of white dots filled the screen. He redlighted the star he wanted, saved the coordinates when they appeared, and signaled Rose that he was finished.
The screen went gray.
He lay back in the chair and closed his eyes. Metal room. Angular. Precise. He felt like an intruder here, on sufferance as it were. The curves and bulges of living flesh didn’t belong in this place-at least, not his curves and bulges.
He’d never been alone in a barebones metal room like this.
Lissorn’s ship… He sighed.
Lissorn’s ship had its angles softened by the processes of living and the Dyslaera love for hot, bright, primitive color. Paint and fabrics, carvings and hand-knotted rugs, plants everywhere. Noisy places, those ships, to the eye, ear and nose. Mixed crews, loosely organized, occasionally squabbling. Full of life.
He didn’t feel any life here-though that might come from what he knew about the owner. A man who could enjoy one of Ginny’s productions must put death and pain into everything he touched. Or a numbness so profound that… that… He had no words to describe that nullity, that absence of… of everything. Maybe Shadow could make a song that would name the void and tame it. Shadow wasn’t here. He shivered and went back to the bridge. He hadn’t found all that much warmth in Autumn Rose, but at least she was alive and friendly.
3
Autumn Rose frowned at the screen. “Well, I’ll give you this, the location fits. That star is just off the line we were on when you lost the trace.”
Kikun frowned. “In the Cluster?”
“No. There’s a rift, then this system.” She touched in a code and a system schematic appeared, along with a short addendum.
STAR: IKSALGUN: gal. cat. MLG372-199-34
PLANETS:
inhabited: YONG’M (8)
ARUMDA’M (9)
KOCHIL’M (10)
other: seven burnt-to-bedrock spheres (1-7) kept that way by frequent sunflares, three gas giants (11-13), four large iceballs (14-17)
“The world called Arumda’m has the best climate, the biggest population,” she said slowly. “I imagine it’s the one we want.” She yawned, sipped at the tea she had left from the supper she’d dialed when she finished the purging. “There’s this, too, Kuna. Record shows Lak Dar’s been there several times.” Her mouth twisted. “He seems to be a type who needs to know every crack before he steps on it, so he’s got enough stuff in file to write an encyclopedia about the place. Clutter, most of it. Well, going through it will be something to do while we’re splitting there.”
Kikun inspected the schematic, then the index window. “I see.” He brooded a moment, ears twitching restlessly. “You said you were going to call Digby.”
“I put the call out.” There were shadows under her eyes like smudges of ink and the bones of her face seemed about to come through the skin. “He should be clicking in within the hour.”
“What are you going to say?”
“What is there to say?”
“If he calls you home?”
“I go. What do you expect, Kuna? What can I do on my own? Look, I’m sorry, but that’s it.”
He gazed at her until she twitched her shoulders and turned away, angry at herself and at him, then he went to the backwall and sat on the silken carpet, waiting for the call.
4
Digby’s face filled the center cell, broad and brown with black eyes in nests of smile lines. “Nice to know you’re alive, Autumn Rose.”
“Li’l Liz there,” she swung away from the screen, waved her hand at Kikun who was still squatting by the backwall, swung back, “he’s the one that did it. Listen, Dig. This is where we are now…” She sketched out everything that had happened since the debacle at Koulsnakko’s Hole, ended with the star system Kikun had dredged up. “So. We have the ship, it’s clean, plenty of fuel, we’ve got a thread we can pull on… or not. Up to you, Dig. Do I go with it?”
“Hmm.” For several minutes he communed with his ties, his face a lumpy mask, the life that informed the flesh gone, then he blinked and looked at her with grave approval. “How’s your rat supply?”
“Ten racked, two gone.”
“Should be enough. You’re on a roll, Rose. No point in wasting the impetus. Hmm. While you’re splitting, get down every detail you can remember and rat it to me. So Lissorn’s dead.”
“Ash. Saw it.”
“Too bad, another blow to Miralys. And you think the Ciocan’s alive?”
“I don’t know. Kikun says he’s one of the prisoners taken from the Hole.”
“Hmm. From what I’ve heard, his record’s good on that kind of thing.”
“Uh-hmm.”
“Omphalos.”
“Kikun again. I can’t confirm.”
“Right. Leave that to me and go with what you’ve got. Use the rats to keep me up on what you’re finding.”
