Authors: Jo; Clayton
Time passed slowly, Fafeyzar's impatience slowing its passage yet farther, but the melt faded eventually and Ross was back in cinc with the world. He glared at the jug, massaged his temples. “Mala Fortuna, Faz, I've got one humongous headache. Hmm. Seems to me I was asking you what you need that I might could get.”
“I've been thinking. Two, three things come to mind. How do I get folk out of the slave camps? How do I get an ear into the high councils so I know before they do it what they're going to do? How do I get news from my ⦠mmm ⦠call them yautboys out there without having to go meet them or having to wait for messages to come to me? Going or waiting, both are dangerous, to me and to them. Any ideas?”
Ross set his elbows on the table, dropped his head into his hands and sat that way, rubbing long thumbs back and forth across his temples. After a silence, he muttered, “Some.” More silence. He cleared his throat, winced, sighed. “Don't know about the camps.” Another sigh. “Ears, yah. I can get you bugs that'll pick up a hair falling and pass it three kilometers, and maybe more here where there's no interference, to a receiver with a recorder.” He lifted his head, blinked bloodshot eyes at Fafeyzar. “How much of what I just said do you get?”
“Not much.”
“I'll have to show you, I suppose.” Ross straightened his shoulders, winced again as his head jogged with the movement. “It's getting late. I'd better slip away before someone spots me. Look, I'll bring you some samples, show you what they do, then we can get to figuring out how to pay for them. Maybe goods like I took before, hmm? I have to chat Picarefy into agreeing to make the bugs and receivers, maybe some radios. That'll take a while, hunh, getting through to her is going to be a pain, She's in this marathon talking jag with clots of Seekers. No big deal getting in here, Ura's lice haven't a chance of spotting me. The most dangerous part of it was getting from the skip to here. And back, I suppose. Look, give me three, four days to set this up, after that, what's the best time for you?”
Fafeyzar extruded his claws, inspected the fleck of blood on one of the broken ones. “Four days on, same hour. I can't guarantee I'll be here, by the All-Wise, I'll do my best.” He pushed back the short bench he was sitting on, got to his feet. “I'll see you on your way.”
Ross nodded. “I set the skip down on the far side of the grove. Ah. I didn't tell you about Lipitero and her proposition.” He fidgeted from foot to foot as Fafeyzar turned a bucket over the lantern, plunging the hut into darkness.
A hand on Ross' back to guide him, Fafeyzar opened the door and followed the young alien out. Rain was dropping in a steady drizzle, dripping from every overhang, not likely there'd be watchers around now, but there was no point taking chances. And he wanted to see the thing Rosta called a skip. He pulled the door shut, tapped Ross' arm to start him going and walked at his side, listening as he sketched Lipitero's history and the plea she was making for colonists.
“You might think about jumping the Gate, Faz. If things get too tight here.”
Fafeyzar stumped along, hands cupped together, left thumb sliding back and forth over the right, listening to the viscid suck of the mud under Ross' feet, letting the sound guide him. It was tempting. In a way. He got tired of scheming, be a rest to lay it down. He shook his head, a denial meant only for himself since Ross had no way of seeing the movement. His place was here, now, doing what he'd always done. Ah! but the folk in the slave camps, now they were something else. All-Wise give me a way to get them out of there and to wherever the colonists are assembling. He peered through the dripping darkness at Rostico Burn, shook, his head again. No, Faz, Rosta's friendly but he won't stick his neck out for you; you'll buy whatever help he gives you, nothing comes free from these folk. Four days. I'll think of something. Must get word of this to Gondol. The Consortium will be twisting the net tighter. We have to have those longcoms, can't let Rosta see how much I want them or he'll have my blood for them. Cursed merchants, doesn't matter what the shape or species, they're all alike. We'll have to steal the things Rosta wants, tchah! he'll want blood and bones. The sooner it's done, the safer it'll be; with that offworld Ykx stirring everyone up, the Consortium will be having fits, shit scared out of those gutless wonders. Rosta's taking a big chance, coming here where they could get their hands on him. Hmm. He has to want this junk a lot. So. We've got a wedge, no, fer Rosta, you won't bleed us without a fight.
A touch on his arm. He stopped, wiped the muck from his eyes. The skip was a dark blotch ahead of him, rather like a tureen with a soupbowl reversed near one end. Ross brought his mouth close to Fafeyzar's ear. “Better not come any closer, the lift field could suck you up, wouldn't hurt you, but you'd be damn uncomfortable.” He squeezed Fafeyzar's shoulder. “Four days. Take care, Faz.”
“And you, Rosta, no fool's dance; leaving aside your bugs I wouldn't want you stomped.”
Itekkil. Skeen. Tibo. The Courier Zagaro. In the skip, taking the Corridor between Stonaril and Penso Gathers, Ports on the east coast.
Skeen was stretched out, sitting on spine and neck in the offside seat, half-asleep and suffering from a growing boredom. This hopping about sweet-talking skeptical Ykx (actually sitting back being charming while Tibo did the talking, he was far better at it than she'd ever be) into trading their treasures for lumps of gold, silver, platinum, even hanks of copper wire, it wasn't how she chose to spend her life, it was dull, dull, dull, dull. Not like digging into ancient records on University and Heavenlyhome, hunting possible Roon sites through tons of garbage, wearing carefully crafted personas because neither of those worlds would let her near their readouts if they knew who she was; not like sliding past hungry Hounds to slip down on a target world, never sure there was anything there worth her trouble, taking time to flake everything she could find out about the Roon sites, and finally, oh, ultimate gratification, going like a sievebill through the Roon sucking up everything that might bring a price. Now
that
was interesting. It got tedious sometimes during the aftermath, what she had to go through to sell the things, working her hard-gained experience and her contacts to secure for herself something like the real value of the objects. If it got too boring, though, she could dump what was left with brokers like the Buzzard and get on with her playtime. She'd made expenses already, there was no real need to keep up this hop hop about Rallen, but Tibo enjoyed the game with its snipsnap and I'm the One, so she kept on trekking; besides, she owed him the stash he spent trying to get her off Kildun Aalda.
The skip was warm and filled with light, humming with drowsy peaceful sounds. Tibo was doing the piloting with a fragment of his attention, watching the coast flow past and chatting with the Courier. Skeen cracked her eyes, listened a moment. Talking about the dance troupe they'd seen yesterday. She stopped listening and dropped deeper into sleep.
“Skeen.” Someone shaking her.
Head clotted with sleep, body expressing itself in cricks and assorted small nigging aches, Skeen wriggled up. “What?”
“It's Pic. She wants to talk to you.”
“What the ⦠that fuckin' kid?”
“Don't know, why don't you ask.”
“Toss me the headset.” She caught the helmet, settled it on her head, pulled down the shield. Courier Zagaro wouldn't know synspeech, but she didn't believe in taking chances. “What is it, Pic?”
“Two things have come up. That Zelzony, the cop, you know, she's got a list of names and she wants to talk to you about them.”
“What's your reading on this?”
“Tibo can handle the dealing.”
“Ehhh, Pic, you know me, don't you.”
“I should. I'll drone a skip over to you tomorrow morning. Second thing. Rostico Burn.”
“Shit. What's he done?”
“It's what he wants to do. Far as I can tell, he's clean with the Rallykx admins, but that won't last if they catch him passing out bugs and comlinks. He's murky about who's getting them, but I haven't much doubt it's some group our cop and her friends would like to stomp out. If one of those gets caught with our equipment on him, this world could turn unfriendly fast. He wants me to make them on spec for him; he's going to pay me materials and labor when he sells his take.”
Skeen chuckled. “He keeps trying, doesn't he. Ahhh, Pic, how many days left here?”
“Twenty-five, thirty, around there, it's hard to say with any certainty. After Petro finishes the circuit, we've got to set up an embarcation area, you might talk with Zelzony about that when you see her. From what I've seen, Petro will make her cargo and then some. You want me to send a message rat to Virgin and Hopeless?”
“Might as well, it'll take them a while to get here. Burn. Stall him some, tell him you'll need a week to manufacture the bugs and comlinks. He'll be wanting samples, take some out of stock for him, but tell him you want them back; he can show them so he can make-his sales, but he can't let them out of his hands. Tell him why, though he'd figure that out soon enough. We can't mess up Petro's chances. Right?”
“I hear you.” A bubbling chuckle, almost a giggle. “Knee-jerk subversive.”
“I resent that, Pic. I won't jerk a knee for jerks. I pick my causes, I do.”
“Like a dog picks fleas.”
“Little tin fascist. I'm glad you called, Pic, I was starting to petrify. My grin first.”
THERE IT ISâA SAMPLER OF KEY EVENTS. THE INTELLIGENT READER IS REQUESTED TO ADD INCIDENTS OF HIS/HER OWN DEVISING, TO EXPLORE AND EXPAND THE POSSIBILITIES PLANTED IN THE SAMPLES.
INTERMISSION
NOTES
DAYDREAMS
ASSORTED IMAGININGS
INTERMISSION continued
more notes
more dreams
more imaginings
END OF INTERMISSION
SO WHAT'S HAPPENING. A LIMIT OF ONE THOUSAND COLONISTS ANNOUNCED.
AN ASSEMBLY POINT ANNOUNCED: THE GRASSLANDS NEAR THE LAKE IN THE KINRAVALY RESERVE.
ZELZONY HAS NARROWED HER SUSPECTS TO SIX.
WITH SKEEN'S HELP AND PICAREFY'S COOPERATION, BURR SPIES ARE INTRODUCED ONTO THE HARNESSES OF ZELZONY'S SUSPECTS, THEREAFTER THEY ARE TRACKED WHEREVER THEY GO, THEIR ACTIVITIES AND WORDS RECORDED AND ANALYZED. LIPITERO HAS VISITED ALL THE GURNS IN THE EASTERN HEMISPHERE AND IS IN MARRALLAT, BEGINNING HER ROUND OF THE GATHERS THERE. UROLOL STILL REFUSES TO ADMIT HER. ROSTICO BURN HAD FINALIZED HIS DEAL WITH FAFEYZAR AND IS ON THE POINT OF DELIVERING THE PROMISED EQUIPMENT. FAFEYZAR IS SCRAMBLING HARD TO GET HIS PEOPLE OUT OF THE SLAVE CAMPS AND PASS THEM UP TO MARRALLAT WHERE THEY MIGHT BE ABLE TO JOIN THE RUSH OF THE COLONISTS TO THE KINRAVALY RESERVE.
THE SUSPECTS:
Eshkel, Jufagga Gather, Itekkill
. Second son of the Damm of Esh, head of one of the wealthiest merchant clans on the East Coast. Works at a sinecure, a position created for him by his Clan Justicer mother, few friends, joychoice the breeding and training of yauts, no success at it, lost interest in his runners during the past year.
Yumotz, Hivato Gather, Oldieppe
. Ascribed to Clan Yu, parentage uncertain, has been groom, handler, breeder of grubbers and caravan-type gekkols, fired from all subordinate positions, failed as breeder, drafted as miner for the interior, managed to slip away (which shows some ability as most don't succeed at this), current means of support unknown, suspected smuggler, could be involved in transfer of large shipments of keck and gloy out of Oldieppe into Itekkill, Eggetakk and Yasyony.
Laroul, Elleyes Gather, Yasyony
. Youngest child (only male) of a mid-level manager, clan Lar, father (clan Lar also) dead of a stroke shortly after weaning him. Lecturer in basics of gene manipulation at an unimportant branch of the University. His only visible ability seems to be his capacity for making a dull subject duller. Unpopular with students and colleagues. Recorded a joychoice at the proper timeâbird watchingâbut one can suspect he did so primarily to comply with tradition since he did nothing with this purported avocation for a number of years, to be precise, nothing until a little over two years ago, when he began showing a strong interest in tracking avian migrations and applied for leave to follow the greater blueback on its biennial flights.
Aneskat, Hordoz Gather, Yasyony
. Second of three sons born to the poet Antereylla who has been called one of the greatest singers of the age. Father unknown. Antereylla has had many lovers and has always declined to name the fathers of her sons, which has made life rather difficult for them since she despised barriers of all kinds and took her lovers as she pleased from all classes; there are rumors that Aneskat's father was a netman on a fishing lugger; children can be cruel, that was shouted at him more than once during his school years. A withdrawn child, an unsatisfactory adult; Antereylla used her influence to get him a sinecure, but will not see him otherwise; he drifts about from group to group, generally on the fringes of whatever he works up a tepid interest in.
Vettok, Vesset Gather, Yasyony
. Youngest child (only male) of the Historian Estrinevok and the Seeker Trontalevok; neither parent much interested in their children; Trontalevok refused to suckle any of them, gave them out to nurse (all the nurses were indigent young males, dependent on scholarships and the stipend they were paid to grow blood nipples; this service gained them the patronage of both scholars so there was no lack of applicants for the position). The two elder daughters proved gifted beyond the ordinary, one has become a noted dancer, the other is gaining a reputation as an innovative technician, already has five patents bringing in enough royalties to keep her for life if she chose to retire. Vettok has shown flashes of brilliance in several fields but grows bored too rapidly to bring to fruition any of his schemes. Occasionaly hallucinates. This may be due to drugging, his parents have wrung him out more than once. For the past two years he has been drifting, not doing much of anything, calling on his parents when he runs out of credit.
Jatsik, Sully Gather, Eggettak
. Parents wealthy farmers, vineyards, winery, tannery producing top class leathers, highfarms with large herds of prime juhlammas, the annual clipping brings in a healthy count of bales of the finest fleece. Father is Hemm of Jassery, you have to be top level management to afford the product of his looms in your living areas. Jatsik is the oldest child, there is another son and a daughter. He was groomed from cubhood to take over for one of his parents, according to his talents and interests, but something went wrong when he was a tweener. The circumstances are not clear. Eggettakkers are a closemouthed bunch even among their own. Outsiders haven't a prayer. Whatever it was, Jatsik left the mountains and has been a rootless wanderer since, picking up a living however he can. Has been in minor trouble a number of times, usually excessive roughness in his sexual habits, sometimes verging on violence; however, he has never come close to damaging his occasional partners. It seems he's unusually strong and has a hasty temper. Evidence taken indicates the females involved have no fear of him, they just think he should have some manners pounded into him.