The Gate to Futures Past (22 page)

R
AIN. A gray, drizzling what I hoped was dawn across a plain empty of form or shape save for us: a tidy spiral of people standing amid eggshells, belongings in their hands. Nothing I'd imagined incorporated those elements. Nothing.

Fair enough. I shrugged inwardly. The
Fox
had landed on less prepossessing planets; if I'd learned anything with Morgan, it was not to judge a world by its shipcity. Or lack of.

Home,
I sent, before those who'd survived—most, I assured myself—could begin to doubt, making sure the words went to all of them.
Safe.
I'd no ship to project my voice and I wasn't about to shout.

Not until we knew what else might hear. Not until—but there was no certainty, not here, most of all, not in the M'hir.

What had I
heard?

Or was the real question, who?

We were on solid ground. The air was breathable. Progress, I reminded myself. Hair shivering itself free of moisture, I grappled with Morgan's bulky pack and looked around for its owner, finding him near the end of an arm of the pattern we'd created. Even from here, I could tell he was already engaged in exploring this new world.

Lifting my face, I dared taste raindrops, too.

Sira, are you seeing this?
An image.

I checked.
Yes.
Closer to the spiral's center, I found myself surrounded by ephemeral sparks of blue and stepped awkwardly free of the remains of my conveyance to see more, so distracted by the sight I forgot to notice my first step on this world.

A world, I saw as I crouched, pack balanced on my knees, busy absorbing the flickers of glowing blue we'd brought with us. Harmlessly, I hoped. Poisoning the landscape wasn't the best first impression.

Reassured, my people stilled, numb at a guess. Putting down the pack, I waved at Morgan then sent my own message.
Aryl? How are you?

Not seeing this,
my great-grandmother informed me with a hint of
impatience.

My apologies.
I gave Aryl access to whatever I could see and turned slowly, scanning our surroundings. The clouds had lifted along the horizon, letting through beams of sunlight that stroked pale pink along their gray undersides and sparkled the last of the raindrops.
Our new home,
I sent with growing satisfaction
. What do you think?

It looks like Oud territory,
grimly.

Not everything flat
—I stopped, frowning as Morgan spun around, walking away from us with distance-eating strides. Where was he going?

More importantly, why had he pulled a weapon?

Sira! There!

I squinted at the horizon beyond my Human's silhouette, at first confused how the line between sky and land appeared to rise and fall, then afraid.

It wasn't land at all, but a mass of shadowy indistinct forms. Forms moving this way!
Jason, what are they?

Checking on that.
Calm. Absentminded, which only meant his focus was elsewhere.
Keep the others together.

Come back.

Thought I was to go first, Witchling.
He let me
feel
his smile.

Not like this. I'd envisioned him walking out of
Sona
to a civilized meeting with whomever greeted us, not this solitary march toward the unknown.
Morgan—

He walled me out, sensibly reserving his full attention for whatever he faced.

Cursing under my breath at Humans, planets, and life in general, I wrestled his pack over my shoulders, leaving the blanket roll on the ground. If things went well, I'd be back for it.
This way!
I sent urgently, pointing away from Morgan. What use the scattering of shards and belongings might be as a barrier I'd no idea, but it put something between us.

The Om'ray moved, herding the M'hiray ahead. Children held tight to their mothers; Barac and Destin, along with the Sona Clan scouts, came last, their attention divided between their charges and the distant horizon. Pod bits cracked and snapped underfoot, there were voices, but another sound grew louder.

The heavy, low drumming was like rain on a roof, not that we'd roof or rain, patches of purpled sky breaking through overhead. I waited for the others, my eyes and inner sense locked on the receding form of my Chosen, ready to 'port him back.

The rest of the Clan settled around me like a shroud. We'd no option but to stand here and wait. The gradual increase in light revealed nothing but ourselves, some far-off hills backed by still-dark cloud, and the approaching line.

Before long, the drumming could be felt through our feet, silencing even the M'hir.

Barac came to stand beside me, tension rolling from him like smoke. “It's not right. He shouldn't be alone out there.”

“He's not,” I reminded him, much as I agreed.

Low and angry. “You know what I mean.”

I shook my head. “If Morgan wants company, he'll ask for it.” Poor choice of words. My Human was about to have an abundance of company. What at first had appeared a line was now clearly lumps, large ones; a daunting number of large, moving lumps.

“What are they?”

Gricel, Yanti snugged in a wrap across her breasts, overheard. “Oud,” the former Amna said quietly. “I've never seen so many above ground.”

The neighbors.

I supposed it was too much to ask for new
ones.

O
UD. A wave of them coming this way, above ground. Through the lens, none were the varieties he'd met on Cersi. Oh, they'd the sluglike shape of worker Oud, but instead of pale flaccid skin, these had brown hides that flexed to allow them to hump forward.

Not to mention, by the lens' scale, these were easily three times the size.

Morgan chose an arbitrary tuft of sun-touched grass and stopped, tucking away lens and blaster. The blastglobes in his lower pockets were worse than useless. He'd barely escaped a Brexx stampede on Ret 7. Having seen a normal-sized Oud move with speed, he'd rather not see what the bigger version would do if panicked.

Barac's fussing.

Words to warm the heart.
Tell him he's better off where he is. They stink.
It was true; the freshening wind, still humid from the rain, brought the fetid aroma of Oud with it. The fastidious Clansman would be gagging.

The wind took his scent away. How well did Oud see? No point shouting—the pound of those heavy bodies as fronts thrust forward to drop to the ground, rears heaving up to thump in turn, would drown out his voice. Firing his blaster remained an option, but if they didn't stop before trampling him—

—they'd trample the helpless families behind him. That, the Human vowed, wasn't happening. Oud could talk.

Some, anyway. The intelligent ones. Minded. Makers. He pulled out his com, affixing it to his collar. One such Oud had rebuilt the device, complete with Cersi's common language in a form the sleepteach function had accepted. For all he knew, there was more in it, perhaps something to help him now. Worth a try.

Although, come to think of it, a Tikitik Thought Traveler had killed that particular Oud, it having tried to kill Sira, along with all remaining Clan.

New world, new problems. Morgan balanced on his toes, keeping his breathing steady. The pace of the Oud was deceptive; each thrust forward covered more than a body length.
Just another negotiation, chit,
he sent.
You know the drill.

Understood.
Then, almost lightly.
Make this work. I'd prefer not to drop them into the M'hir.
A chilling reminder those behind him weren't helpless at all.

Five Oud-lengths from his toes and fate, the herd dropped to its hundreds of feet and began to prance—he'd no other word for it—in place.

Morgan surveyed the towering wall of brown featureless lumps, feeling slightly ridiculous. None had heads; Oud were particularly inconvenient in that regard, the end moving forward being the head of the moment as far as he'd noticed, though the Maker Oud had shown a preference. Still, they'd stopped short of running him down. A promising start.

To speak first or—

The centermost pair of Oud began to fidget, bumping at their neighbors who bumped sideways and violently against theirs. Bumping became climbing, as those in the middle heaved themselves on those to either side, and those did the same—

Creating an opening, no, a corridor walled in struggling flesh that extended back through the herd. Down that corridor, toward Morgan, came a single Oud.

With a rider, a Tikitik, sitting astride.

Like recently old times, the Human decided. He'd have been more surprised not to find Tikitik here, if the Oud were.

Such cooperation, however, was new.

As the being's ungainly mount tiptoed closer, the four eyes set in the Tikitik's triangular head locked on him. Familiar yes, but like these Oud, different, too. The paired eyes—two large, two small—were borne on flexible cones, but the head was larger and carried on a down-curved neck half the length of Cersi's Tikitik, so it was held just below the being's shoulders rather than the midpoint of its concave chest. The tendrils that were lips and tongue were longer, white, and delicate, in this individual folded up to the sides like a mustache.

The Tikitik of Cersi wore, at most, a woven band from shoulder to hip. This one had a body-hugging jerkin of gray, accompanied by a black striped cloak over its shoulders and back. Its thin arms and legs were bare, with white, nasty-looking barbs lining their outer surface. The knobby skin matched the color of the Oud beneath it. No guarantee that was its true color, camouflage being a Tikitik trait.

Morgan kept still. The Oud rattled to a stop within reach, had he wanted to touch it, giving him a good look at its hide. Rather than part of the creature, it was a hood of tough supple fabric stapled to the lowest portion of each segment.

Had the Oud wanted to talk, it would have reared up to expose the cluster of appendages they used to create sound. Instead, it crouched, allowing its rider to dismount, then rose and moved sideways with a rapid flutter of feet to crouch again.

The Tikitik stepped forward without the grace Morgan remembered. Stiff from riding was a possibility. Nursing an injury or an older individual, just as likely. It waved a long-fingered hand as if to sweep the Human aside. “We have work to complete. This area is
sessened
to
nirsei-taden.
You must leave.”

A small sample of the language, granted, but to his relief he understood most. “Hello,” Morgan said, giving a short bow, his hands out and open. “My name is Jason Morgan.”

The creature leaned forward, tendrils writhing. “What thing are you?”

Morgan bowed again. “New arrivals. We could use some help.”

“‘We.'” The head rose at a painful angle, the lesser eyes swiveling to aim past him. “More of you?”

He resisted the urge to let Sira know what was happening.

“One of me.” Honesty, this early on, was safer. “The rest are Hoveny.” A less safe choice, that word, but until they understood what “Om'ray” meant here, he wouldn't risk it or “Clan.” Besides, they either were, or weren't.

“You must leave. Where are your machines?”

Bait, that question. It could see for itself they'd none. “We meant no trespass. We were left here,” he told it. “Where is this?”

“Where we are to work.” The head lowered slightly. This close, he could hear the meaty sound the cones made as they rotated to stare at him. “Jason Morgan.” As if tasting the name. “What thing are you?”

“Human.” The word wanted to stick in his throat. Why? He'd been alone most of his adult life—been the only one of his kind on a world more than once.

Just not the last.

A thought to ponder, ideally over an intoxicant, another time than now. “We need assistance. Shelter and supplies. Can you help us?”

An eye rolled back to consider the sullen line of Oud. “We must work.” The eye came back to Morgan. “You and your Hoveny must leave.”

Making this a chance to trade. “We will leave,” Morgan offered, “if you help us.”

Tendrils writhed as if tasting the options. Then, “I can take you to those in authority.” Its barking laugh was all too familiar. “The Hoveny will not enjoy the journey.”

Guessing the means, the Human had to agree. “Take us,” he said before the creature could change its mind.

Sira,
he sent.
I've found us a ride.

“So how do I get on?”

“R
IDE THOSE THINGS? He can't be serious.”

“I'd say he is,” I replied, though I shared my cousin's incredulity. Seeing the line of giant Oud come to a peaceful halt had been a relief, however anxious the moments as Morgan negotiated with, yes, a Tikitik.

Who'd arrived on one of “those things,” so it could be done.
Barac's not happy
.

Amusement.
He won't be alone. Keep everyone calm, Witchling. We don't want them spooking the Oud.

As assignments went, I thought darkly, he'd taken the easier one. Calm? I'd do well if most of the silent crowd behind me didn't start screaming.
I'll do my best.

Resolutely, I put my back to Morgan and what he was about to do.
These are not the Oud who harmed you,
I sent to them all.
These are
—monsters? Not reassuring—
of this world and have offered us their help.

Those who could tear their eyes from what was happening, at a distance that no longer seemed far enough, stared at me in disbelief.

I kept going, shamelessly underscoring each word with a cheerful optimism I was far from feeling, reinforcing my sending with Power to drown out any other.
Our new allies will take us to the
local authorities. This world is our beginning. Let us make this first encounter a brave and mannerly one. Do not frighten them.
Last, but not least, the truth.
We've no choice and everything to gain. My Chosen will go first, to prove we'll be safe.

Instead of turning, I watched Morgan's progress in the faces of those around me, knew when he approached the crouching Oud by the way eyes went round and hands sought hands. Guessed when he'd climbed aboard when mouths dropped open and there was a communal gasp.

Followed by a giggle, startling in the overall hush. I looked down to find Andi, who'd pushed forward to see past the adults. Her eyes shone with wonder. “Do I get to ride one, too?”

Only then did I let myself turn around.

The Oud herd was on the move, this time with two out in front, each with a rider. While I didn't need his wave to know which was my Human, I waved back, tentatively at first and then with enthusiasm.

Hands rose around me, as the Clan resolutely did the same.

The Tikitik's eyes tried to follow all of us at once, which disturbed me but not our Om'ray. If anything, they broadcast grim satisfaction, their universe finally behaving in known ways.

They shouldn't count on it. For now, I was mutely grateful for their courage, for M'hiray nerves were close to breaking. Not that any nerves were steady when it came to our mounts.

“Up you go.”

I wrinkled my nose at Morgan, and it wasn't just the smell. “You're sure about this?” No need to whisper or send. This close, the Oud were noisy, their unseen appendages clicking and clacking so what towered beside me might have been a machine.

Except for the part where green fluid oozed from the wounds made by the metal staples holding its “cloak” in place.
They don't like the sun,
Aryl supplied, feeling her own satisfaction.

A sun yet to impress me. I squinted up. The clouds were memory, but the sun was dull and distant, producing a sky more mauve than blue. It could be seasonal, but the air was warm enough.

“Sira.”

Right. Riding the monster. I gritted my teeth and gave a short nod. The Oud, helpfully, had crouched, if flattening its massive torso could be called crouching. “Face west, toward the hills. That should be the front,” Morgan informed me as I stepped into his cupped hands.

Hands that heaved.

I flew up, landing face- and stomach-down on top of the Oud, a position difficult to improve, for the dusty, wrinkled Oud-cloak came complete with tiny hooks. My hair pulled itself loose with firm yanks, but I had to peel my clothing free, then try to move without being grabbed again.

Finally sitting, breathless but triumphant, I leaned over to smile at my Chosen, only to be met by a roll of blankets I didn't so much catch as fend from my face.

“Good! Wait there.”

There being no other choice, I glowered down, meeting an unrepentant grin. Enjoying himself, my Human. “Do not,” I warned him, “throw me your—”

Up came the pack. I lunged for it, managing to snag a strap without losing my grip on the roll or, the other option, falling off the other side. Although falling would have been difficult, given the width of the Oud's back and the avid little hooks, this did nothing to alter the fact I was sitting atop a giant Oud clutching whatever Morgan had brought to this planet, some of that being explosive.

He saluted. “I'll help the rest and then come back.”

The cloak protesting with a sucking rip, I pried my legs free and crossed them, making myself comfortable. My perch made an excellent vantage point. The others had collected their belongings and were forming in lines to be tossed to the top of their mounts. As if to make certain we accepted our fate, the Oud who weren't crouched to receive a passenger formed fidgeting walls around us.

Except, I noticed, for where we'd landed. The pods had finished fragmenting, leaving behind a litter of black flakes. Surely no impediment to the hulking beasts, but they avoided them,
encompassing that area within their circle. Morgan had collected some of the flakes, tucking them into his pack. While I'd no idea why, if my Chosen was anything, it was thorough.

I watched him, with Barac, work with the Tikitik to match riders to mounts. Fortunately, each broad back had room for several adults, so families could stay together. Those families still intact. Eighteen hadn't finished the journey with us, by Barac's grim tally. He believed they'd faltered and dissolved in the M'hir.

To become ghosts.

Ghosts they were, but the more I thought about what had happened, the less I believed so many could have lost their will and focus. After all,
Sona
's conveyances had done the work for us. No, we were eighteen less because some
thing
had taken them from us, the same way it had taken Risa and Jorn.

I'd
heard
it.

A vibration passed along my Oud, though it remained still, as did the rest. I watched Degal and his Chosen Signy being helped up by Destin, joining Teris and Vael di Uruus. No surprise to see that faction stayed together, though I'd sympathy for Destin's Chosen, gentle Elnu, caught in that company.

The Sona and Tuana Om'ray simply walked up the sides of their beasts. Those who hadn't grown up in the canopy needed assistance. While some could have used Power to shift themselves or at least belongings to the top of the Oud, none would. Until we knew our place in this new world, exposing any Talent wasn't worth the risk, a caution shared by Om'ray and M'hiray alike.

There was another reason. On Cersi, there'd been Oud able to detect the use of a Talent. Their reaction would cause the M'hir to
ring
painfully, with that pain increasing with an individual's strength. This wasn't the time to test if the trait was found here, too.

Oud after Oud filled with passengers and what cargo they carried, until all were mounted but Morgan and the Tikitik.

The Tikitik swarmed up its Oud. My Human climbed less quickly, but just as surely, accepting my hand for a final pull to the top. “What now?” I asked.

“We hold on.” Morgan wrapped his arm around me. “I've warned the rest.”

It wasn't beyond my Chosen to make up an excuse for contact; my hair, ever-approving, tried to wind a tendril through his beard. Still, “Why—?”

The Tikitik let out a warbling cry and the crouched Oud erupted to their feet, passengers shouting in panic as they found themselves rising skyward. Before any did more than that, the Oud were underway.

Instead of the full body contortion that had brought them to us, those with riders ran on their hundreds of small feet. I could see those of the nearest Oud, blurred into a long rhythmic wave. If I closed my eyes, only the wind in my face told me we were moving.

I settled back against Morgan. “This is amazing.”

He reclined on an elbow. “Isn't it?”

The Tikitik's Oud took the lead, aimed at the low hills, followed by our thirty-three, accelerating in unison till we passed over the flat ground at a remarkable pace. I shared the experience with Aryl, feeling rather smug.
What do you think?

Stay watchful. I've ridden with Tikitik before. There's always a surprise.

One seemed unlikely—

Morgan sat up. “What are they doing?”

The Oud to either side of us were running at an angle to cut off ours. No, they all were. “Aryl's surprise,” I guessed gloomily. Everyone was taking notice now, pulling up any dangling limbs and baggage as their Ouds prepared to collide.

And did, turning at the last instant to reduce the impact to a soft brush of cloak to cloak. Every Oud pressed itself firmly to its neighbor, until we were sitting on what might have been a massive oval carpet, albeit a dusty smelly one, floating over the world.

I could have reached out and touched Tle and the di Kessa'ats to our left; Morgan do the same with the di Licors to our right.

“Interesting.” My Human didn't mean the closing of the Oud ranks. Our Tikitik was on its feet, hopping casually from Oud to Oud. It avoided those carrying the Om'ray armed with knives, making good speed as it tiptoed and hopped.

Heading for us.

The Tikitik squatted out of reach, its knees above its shoulders and head outstretched. It was smaller than Cersi's Tikitik and I thought Morgan was right: this one was old, for its kind.

“Hoveny, the Human says.” Its large, rear eyes focused on me, the smaller anxiously turning on their cones. A three-fingered hand gestured to those around us. “I have never seen so many, so different, all sexed.” One finger indicated my hair, presently writhing with dislike. “And this. How is this possible?”

Sexed? And what was wrong with my hair? Other than attitude. I pushed the sullen stuff back. “We aren't from here,” I said gruffly. Could work. Tikitik on Cersi had been territorial, only Thought Travelers moving beyond a limited space.

The white tendrils of its mouth curled into a dissatisfied lump.

“You look different to us, too.” Morgan produced his scanner, turning it so the display faced our “guest.” “This is the Tikitik we know.”

I tensed as the eyes riveted on the small screen, mouth tendrils outstretched. A thin barbed arm streaked forward as if to snatch the device, only to withdraw. Its demeanor altered; without knowing more of them, I couldn't tell if it was amused or wary. “A privilege,” it said at last. “The Makers do not leave Tikitna—” a hand lifted skyward. “You are Far Travelers indeed.”

Morgan glanced at me, gave a tiny nod.
Knows tech.

Someone else had been listening.
‘Tikitna?' It can't be coincidence, Sira, that name here, too.
I sensed Aryl's dismay.
This isn't just our home, but theirs.

Could be worse,
I assured her, thinking of the reptilian Scats, with their tendency to consume rivals. Thinking also of my Human, no longer the only non-Clan in the world. Would it help?

Regardless, manners were overdue. “Thank you for your assistance,” I said, gesturing gratitude.

Eyes rotated to me. “We assist ourselves. This area is
sessened.
With you gone, we can do our work.”

Morgan raised a curious brow. “What work is that?”

The Tikitik barked the laugh I remembered. “This land's skin is too delicate for the Hoveny's machines. We will ready it for planting.”

Questions trembled on my lips: what it planted and for whom; about this world; most particularly what it had meant about our sexes, my hair, and what made us “so different.” Could I trust this being's answers?

Was I ready for them?

My Human had a more pragmatic interest. “Where are we going?”