Fish Tails (101 page)

“What about the stinkers? Silkhands says the stuff they exude is needed for making shifter organs.”

“Galactic Head Office says stinker material interesting, but not unique, can be produced and provided if needed, says Arbitrarily Imposed Solution to eradicate stinkers is permitted in this case since stinkers truly incapable of making any decision. I will take care of eliminating stinkers, cleaning out mountain where washing of stinkers took place. I have given information to Tingawa how material may be made without necessity of eating humans to make it. Humans or whatever else one may be trying to create.”

“You mean, they excreted . . . that is, exuded the essence of whatever they ate.”

“The essential basis. That is correct. One other ingredient needed to make organ hold shape. Great surprise.”

“What ingredient?

“Yribium.” Fixit stared at Abasio with all eyes, unblinking. A small quiver at the corner of its mouth reminded Abasio of something. Sun-­wings: her laughter betrayed only by the quiver of tissue at the sides of her beak.

“You are making jest with me,” Abasio suggested.

“Never would Self do such a thing,” Balytaniwassinot murmured, putting three of its hands over its face.

“You would and you are! Really? Yribium! Well. Isn't it a good thing we didn't throw the Oracles away. Can we keep it/them and make it/them yield yribium?”

“It would be slavery.”

“I don't think you can enslave something that has no brain.”

“Is interesting question. We will submit question to the galactic court. We will need to keep creatures only a few thousand years awaiting decision. A mere . . . cosmic blink of the eye. Meantime, I will go to Saltgosh to pick up rest of stuff. Every few years I will go flatten Oracles and make good use of yribium. If you can find truck driver, maybe he could tell you what activator is, that would save time. Otherwise . . .” It shrugged all six shoulders. “Let it alone. Tingawa capable of determining what stuff is.”

Abasio, remembering Xulai's birth, let it alone. He simply could not imagine that Tingawa was still creating ­people . . . breeding ­people born to do certain tasks, jobs, fill certain positions, crossbreed certain ­people. No, that really wasn't it. He could imagine Tingawa doing the genetics. He couldn't imagine the . . . moral dimension. What had gone on in that Tuckwhip village and elsewhere in Hench Valley had not been genetics. It hadn't been something someone could take apart and figure out in advance. It had been almost a miracle. It simply could not be Tingawa. Meddling. Again. He smiled, thanked Fixit for his help, and shaking his head, watched the ship's virtually instantaneous departure.

Blue stuck his head over Abasio's shoulder and said, “Alone again, Abasio? Do I understand that Rags and I and the other team are to have accommodations? Hay on command?”

“Well, it seems so. If we can find that truck driver, it'll give us a piece of the puzzle.”

“Tell that Jinian lady. She'll talk to some birds, they'll talk to some gophers and foxes, they'll talk to an eagle or two. In no time, they'll find him.”

“Blue, that is an exceptionally good idea.”

 

Chapter 18

A Road Ends: A Road Begins

W
HILE
­
PEOPLE FLEW
AND SEIZED AND STRUGGLED ELSEWHERE,
while Oracles excreted yribium and Saltgoshers cut salt, while Wide Mountain Mother administered and Arakny dreaded her future, Grandma sat on the front porch of her house in Artemisia, lost in daydream. The big trees around it screened it from other houses, so she wasn't out in public view, not that she was hiding, just enjoying being pleasantly quiet and, for the moment, alone. The house was half full of children. Earlier, she had been watching a wagon that was approaching from the west. She had watched it, or watched the dust trail it had kicked up, almost all the way down the mountain. As it neared the bottom, it disappeared. The dust cloud still showed above the trees, now and then.

Wide Mountain Mother had a spyglass in her dining room that allowed her to see that road that came from the pass to the west, or went off to Cow Bluff to the south-­southwest, or vaguely north by west to Catland. The only direction Mother could be surprised from was the east, and there were riders out in that direction to prevent surprises from happening. Mother thought there had been quite enough surprises. A year ago, would she have thought of grooming a Griffin? Making Griffin-­style soup? Adding a nonhuman star traveler to her usual guests?

Precious Wind, Mavin, Silkhands, and Jinian were in Tingawa. Abasio should be returning soon with Willum and Xulai. Grandma yawned. Needly and Serena came out with a tray. They put it on the little table beside her.

“You don't even need to move,” said Needly. “There's stewed chicken with cornmeal dumplings.

“And apple pie,” said Serena. “I learned to cook at the Oracles. The edubot that taught cooking was really great.

Grandma murmured, “I enjoyed the music earlier.”

“Oh, that music room is splendid. It actually has acoustics. I thought everywhere had acoustics, but Jules says echoes and reverberations are
not
acoustics. He and Jan argue about it all the time. Enjoy your supper.”

And they were gone. Perfectly self-­contained, capable, good children. She took a bite of chicken and dumpling. Children who could cook! HER children. She wiped a tear from the corner of each eye. It was certainly nothing to cry about! Well, it
was
. In a sense. In that she had had absolutely nothing . . . almost nothing to do with it.

When she had eaten, she dozed off a little. Recent events had been rather trying, exciting, fearsome. She still couldn't believe most of what had happened. When she woke, she realized several hours had passed. The sun was low on the horizon. The dust trail she had been following down the mountain was now approaching on the western road. A large wagon, another one some distance behind.

Needly and Serena came out to sit beside her.

“Can you see who's in that wagon?” Grandma asked.

“I think it's a Saltgosh wagon,” Needly replied. “It's blue, and Willum says theirs are all painted the same: blue with ‘Saltgosh Mines' painted in yellow on the side.”

Willum appeared, racing toward them from Wide Mountain Mother's place, Abasio and Xulai strolling behind. Abasio called, “I think we're going to have company.”

The three of them settled on the porch steps. The wagons kept coming, slowed, turned into the plaza, paused, then came across the plaza toward them. Xulai said, “That's Burn Atterbury driving the front wagon, Abasio. The music director from Saltgosh.”

Needly stood up very straight and walked to the front of the porch, staring. Two men were on the seat of the second wagon, an older man was driving the front one. In the wagon were five youngsters, about her own age. Two girls. Three boys. Five . . . “Grandma,” she whispered.

“Yes, Needly. I see.”

“Silverhairs?” said Xulai. “Abasio, they're . . .”

“I see,” he said. “How . . . very interesting. Xulai, aren't those the five young singers we both enjoyed so much. I thought they had black hair?”

“They probably did,” said Grandma, crisply. “I'd have made sure I kept them dyed if I'd been he. Atterbury's no fool.”

Mr. Atterbury climbed from the front wagon, coming toward Xulai and Abasio, bowing in Grandma's direction. “Mr. Abasio,” he called. “Ma'am. I've . . . well, I've come to make a confession, is what I have.”

“You've had them since they were babies, haven't you?” Abasio asked, his voice perfectly calm and friendly.

The man flushed red and rubbed his jaw. “Yes. Sure have. Was told they were in some danger and needed to be kept hid. And then, of course, you saw how they turned out. They were quite an asset. I hate to give 'em up, I surely do. Had no idea when you were there at Saltgosh that you were the ones I was supposed to give them up to!”

“Who brought them to you?”

“Man with hair the same color as the little ones. One or two at a time. Brought them, like I said, to the Home. With money, like I said, to pay for them. Story I told you was more or less what he told me, just not the all-­at-­one-­time family tragedy I made it out to be. I have no idea who or what the real family is.”

Needly stepped down from the porch and offered her hand. “Their real family is mine, sir. They are my two half sisters and my three half brothers. Wouldn't you agree, Grandma?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, sighing. “I've wondered and wondered where they'd got to.”

Atterbury nodded ponderously. “Well, I got a message from the man who brought them originally. Back when he brought 'em, he said he'd let me know when it was safe. And he said it was safe now, and you'd be here in Artemisia, and you'd have room for . . . the family.”

“But he didn't tell you who the family was?” Grandma lifted her eyes, noted the man's weariness for the first time. “Oh, for heaven's sake. Needly, get the boys to bring out some chairs; it's cooler out here than inside. Let those children down from the wagon and get them something to drink. Are you hungry?” she called, and was answered by shy nods, then more energetic ones. “Can you feed them all, Serena? They look famished.”

“I'll get a meal ready,” said Serena, going first to the wagon to invite the silver-­haired boys and girls inside. They climbed down from wagons, boys and girls, and trailed off into the house. Serena figured that even if the food wasn't ready yet, she was pretty sure they could use a bathroom.

Grandma relaxed, knowing she needn't worry about there being enough food in the house, not even if a few dozen ­people happened to drop in. Among the things salvaged from the Oracles' pack-­ratting had been several of their “shopping carts,” a wheeled device with a large basket and a control panel. One could buy any of hundreds of items in the cart catalog once a credit account for the cart had been established. One named the item, picked from the array offered, pointed out the item one wanted, and the item appeared in the cart. According to Fixit, Grandma had several decades' worth of credit because of past-­due payment for ser­vices rendered. Grandma was so surprised at the idea of having credit that she had not asked ser­vices to whom. She should have asked that. Meantime, it made the shopping for small food and sundry items very convenient. Wide Mountain Mother even came over from time to time to borrow a cart, carefully deducting the amount of her purchase from the “land rent” Grandma had insisted she be charged for the house site. (
“Needly and I are not of your ­people, Mother, and Artemisia does not owe us free use of your land. We will not be contented unless you let us pay an appropriate fee for your truly invaluable help.”
) Of course that declaration had had to be repeated a few times!

“It's a long, long way from Saltgosh,” Grandma said to the four weary drivers. “What? Three or four days?”

“With loaded wagons, about that,” said Atterbury, taking the chair Abasio offered him.

The others followed suit, one remarking, “Yes, ma'am, about that. Saw that young one there,” pointing at Willum. “Flying in on a Griffin. Now, that's something one does not see every day. The young'uns”—­he waved at them inclusively—­“they started right up working on a symphony,
The Flight of the Griffin.
Lots of violin, cello, swooping. Strings do good swooping sounds. Second movement has to do with giants, a lot of bass horns in that one, and barrel-­drum giant steps. Got a good start on it, too.”

Sally came out with glasses and a pitcher. Not long thereafter, others appeared with trays for the grown-­ups, then trays for themselves. For a time there was only a contented munching, the rattle of ice in glasses, the clink of forks on plates.

“You've got a full wagon load,” murmured Grandma at last, putting her plate down and nodding at the second wagon.

“Musical instruments mostly, ma'am,” said the driver.

Boys boiled out of the house, surrounding the wagon. Boys brought out instruments from inside. Boys outside got theirs out of the wagon. Girls carried their trays inside and returned with instruments of their own. One of the silver-­haired boys took up a horn and played a brief phrase. Others echoed. He went on, was echoed; within moments they were all either singing or playing, the theme repeated, extended, harmonized upon, a second theme introduced by a bassoon, the two interwoven . . .

“They're kinfolk, aren't they?” Atterbury whispered, shaking his head in amazement. “The ones I brought and the others. Those others, are they yours, ma'am? All six of 'em.”

Grandma could only nod. Her throat was too full for her to speak.

“I would say they are a specially selected strain,” Abasio offered. He wondered how Fixit had managed it. Of course, he couldn't
be
sure it had been Fixit . . . but he
was
sure. How far back had that . . . creature gone? Back before Grandma, that was sure. Probably back before her parents, whoever they had been . . . or further. How long ago had all this started? Could it have been over a thousand years . . . ?

Wide Mountain Mother came toward them from her house. Abasio went in and fetched a chair for her. They were running out of chairs.

“I came to offer as many bedrooms as needed,” she said quietly to Serena. “The older gentlemen look about ready to drop.”

Serena smiled her thanks. “Two or three bedrooms would be welcome, I'm sure. Our younger visitors . . . family members will do fine here with us. Each of our bedrooms has two beds in it, almost as though the house knew they were coming. Do you suppose it really did? Grandma hasn't said how we're related, but we're definitely related. Musically, if no other way. We've invited our new relations . . . to stay with us. We've fed Mr. Atterbury and the men driving the other wagon, but they would probably like a warm bath and a quiet place to sleep. And, Mother, could someone take care of the horses? Mr. Fixit didn't think of a stable first time around. None of us did and that's something I guess we need to learn about . . . horses.”

Mother looked at Serena weighingly.
My, what a sensible girl.
One would have to keep an eye on that one. “You don't need to unload wagons tonight, Serena. I've sent a messenger to the men's houses to ask if they will stable and care for your horses and arrange for protecting whatever's in the wagons.” She turned to the men. “Mr. Atterbury, would you and the other gentlemen like to come across with me? It's the house right over there.” Though male guests who were Artemisian were usually sent to the men's guesthouse, if they came from a society which usually cohabited, as Saltgosh did, Mother often invited them to stay with her.

One of the boys darted to the wagon to get the men's belongings, was followed by another, and they trailed away to Wide Mountain Mother's house. A few moments later, several men came down the hill from the men's houses and drove the wagons back to the barns and stables that were near where Sun-­wings and Dawn-­song were still domiciled and where Blue and Rags formed a welcoming committee.

On the side of the porch, Willum whispered, “Y'won't need me anymore, Needly. Look at all this family you got.”

“Don't be silly,” she said. “Young women do not marry family ­members.”

“M . . . m . . . marry?”

“I definitely intend to marry a Griffin flier. And since you're the only one I know of, I'm afraid it will have to be you. Not any time soon, of course. Eight years, maybe. Or ten. Not until I know you've learned to listen.”

“Oh, 'course,” he said, both relieved and . . . well, mostly relieved. “Is Mr. Fixit coming back? I think Grandma needs some more rooms in this house. Lookin' at all those girls, definite she needs some more bathrooms.”

N
IGHT CAME.
M
ORNING CAME: A
large houseful of young ­people who had talked themselves to sleep, finally, in the very late night . . . or early morning. Now Grandma was once more alone on the porch, quietly darning a sock. Or she had been before she fell asleep. She dreamed she saw someone approaching. He sat down next to her on the porch, leaned back, and crossed his legs. Was it Fixit? It could be, she could dream of Fixit. Such a strange creature. It was the first time she had really looked at it sitting quietly, not moving about like a hurricane. No, like a cyclone. Self-­contained but very dust raising!

“Is it the truth, what you told Abasio about your . . . reproductive habits?” she asked, waking up just a little.

She dreamed that Fixit abruptly changed shape. Now it had only two legs, and it looked terribly familiar. Like someone she had once known. Known very well. Whoever it was nodded thoughtfully at her and said, “If you're speaking of the reproductive habits of the Camrathsexipedes, they are fully documented in archives in the galactic center nearest them. They are of great interest, being probably the most complicated form of reproduction achieved by any race.”