Infinity's Shore (22 page)

The Egg
, his sleeping consciousness had mused. Only the sacred stone looked strange—not an outsized pebble squatting in a mountain cleft, but something like a huge, dark
sun
, whose blackness outshone the glitter of normal stars.

Their journey resumed before dawn, and featured only two more water crossings before reaching the sea. There the robot picked them up and streaked eastward along the beach until it reached this field of dunes—a high point to scan the strange blue waters of the Rift.

At least Dwer thought it was the Rift—a great cleft splitting the continent.
I wish I still had my telescope
, he thought. With it he might glean some idea what the pilot of the scout ship was trying to accomplish.

Flushing out prey
, Rety said.

If that was Kunn's aim, the Danik star warrior could learn a thing or two about hunting technique. Dwer recalled one lesson old Fallon taught him years ago.

No matter how potent your weapon, or whatever game you're after, it's never a good idea to be both beater and shooter. If there's just one of you, forget driving your quarry.

The solitary hunter masters patience, and silently learns the ways of his prey.

That approach had one drawback. It required empathy. And the better you learn to feel like your prey, the greater the chance you may someday stop calling it
prey
at all.

“Well, we settled one thing,” Rety commented, watching the robot semaphore its arms wildly at the highest point of the dune, like a small boy waving to parents who were too far away to hear. “You must've done a real job on its comm gear. Even the short range won't work, on line-o'-sight.”

Dwer was duly impressed. Rety had learned a lot during her stint as an adopted alien.

“Do you think the pilot could spot us by eye, when he heads back toward the village to pick you up?” Dwer asked.

“Maybe … supposin' he ever meant to do that. He may forget all about me when he finds what he wants, and just zip west to the Rothen station, to report.”

Dwer knew that Rety had already lost some favor with the sky humans. Her voice was bitter, for aboard that distant flying dot rode
Jass
, her tormentor while growing up in a savage tribe. She had arranged vengeance for the bully. But now Jass stood at the pilot's elbow, currying favor while Rety was stuck down here.

Her worry was clear. What if her lifelong enemy won the reward she had struggled and connived for? Her ticket to the stars?

“Hmm. Well, then we better make sure he doesn't miss us when he cruises by.”

Dwer wasn't personally anxious to meet the star pilot who had blasted the poor urrish sooners so unmercifully from above. He fostered no illusion of gentle treatment at Kunn's hands. But the scout boat offered life and hope for Rety. And perhaps by attracting the Danik's attention he could somehow prevent the man's quick return to the Gray Hills. Danel Ozawa had been killed in the brief fight with the robot, but Dwer might still buy time for Lena Strong and the urrish chief to work out an accord with Rety's old band … beating a stealthy retreat to some place where star gods would never find them. A delaying action could be Dwer's last worthwhile service.

“Let's build a fire,” the girl suggested, gesturing toward the beach, littered with driftwood from past storms.

“I was just about to suggest that,” Dwer replied.

She chuckled.

“Yeah, right! Sure you were.”

Sara

A
T FIRST THE ANCIENT TUNNEL SEEMED HORRID and gloomy. Sara kept imagining a dusty Buyur tube car coming to life, an angry phantom hurtling toward the little horse-drawn wagon, bent on punishing fools who disturbed its ghostly domain. Dread clung fast for a while, making each breath come short and sharp between rapid heartbeats.

But fear has one great enemy, more powerful than confidence or courage.

Tedium.

Chafed from sitting on the bench for miduras, Sara eventually let go of the dismal oppression with a long sigh. She slipped off the wagon to trot alongside—at first only to stretch her legs, but then for longer periods, maintaining a steady jog.

After a while, she even found it enjoyable.

I guess I'm just adapting to the times. There may be no place for intellectuals in the world to come.

Emerson joined her, grinning as he kept pace with long-legged strides. And soon the tunnel began to lose its power over some of the others, as well. The two wagon drivers from the cryptic
Illias
tribe—Kepha and Nuli—grew visibly less tense with each league they progressed toward home.

But where was that?

Sara pictured a map of the Slope, drawing a wide arc roughly south from the Gentt. It offered no clue where a horse clan might stay hidden all this time.

How about in some giant, empty magma chamber, beneath a volcano?

What a lovely thought. Some magical sanctuary of hidden
grassy fields, safe from the glowering sky. An underground world, like in a pre-contact adventure tale featuring vast ageless caverns, mystic light sources, and preposterous monsters.

Of course no such place could form under natural laws.

But might the Buyur—or some prior Jijo tenant—have used the same forces that carved this tunnel to create a secret hideaway? A place to preserve treasures while the surface world was scraped clean of sapient-made things?

Sara chuckled at the thought. But she did not dismiss it.

Sometime later, she confronted Kurt.

“Well, I'm committed now. Tell me what's so urgent that Emerson and I had to follow you all this way.”

But the exploser only shook his head, refusing to speak in front of Dedinger.

What's the heretic going to do?
Sara thought.
Break his bonds and run back to tell the world?

The desert prophets captivity appeared secure. And yet it was disconcerting to see on Dedinger's face an expression of serene confidence, as if present circumstances only justified his cause.

Times like these bring heretics swarming … like privacy wasps converging on a gossip. We shouldn't be surprised to see fanatics thriving.

The Sacred Scrolls prescribed two ways for Jijo's illegal colonists to ease their inherited burden of sin—by preserving the planet, and by following the Path of Redemption. Ever since the days of Drake and Ur-Chown, the sages had taught that both goals were compatible with commerce and the comforts of daily life. But some purists disagreed, insisting that the Six Races must choose.

We should not be here
, proclaimed Lark's faction.
We sooners should use birth control to obey Galactic law, leaving this fallow world in peace. Only then will our sin be healed.

Others thought redemption should take higher priority.

Each clan should follow the example of glavers
, preached Dedinger's cult, and the Urunthai.
Salvation and
renewal come to those who remove mental impediments and rediscover their deep natures.

The first obstacle to eliminate—the anchor weighing down our souls—is knowledge.

Both groups called today's High Sages true heretics, pandering to the masses with their wishy-washy moderation. When dread starships came, fresh converts thronged to purer faiths, preaching simple messages and strong medicine for fearful times.

Sara knew her
own
heresy would not attract disciples. It seemed ill matched to Jijo—a planet of felons destined for oblivion of one sort or another. And yet …

Everything depends on your point of view.

So taught a wise traeki sage.

we/i/you are oft fooled by the obvious.

Lark

A
N URRISH COURIER CAME RUSHING OUT OF THE forest of tall, swaying greatboo.

Could this be my answer already?

Lark had dispatched a militiaman just a few miduras ago, with a message to Lester Cambel in the secret refuge of the High Sages.

But no. The rough-pelted runner had galloped up the long path from Festival Glade. In her rush, she would not even pause for Lark to tap the vein of a tethered simla, offering the parched urs a hospitable cup of steaming blood. Instead, the humans stared amazed as she plunged her fringed muzzle into a bucket of undiluted
water
, barely shuddering at the bitter taste.

Between gasping swallows, she told dire news.

As rumored, the second starship was titanic, squatting like a mountain, blocking the river so a swamp soon formed around the trapped Rothen cruiser, doubly imprisoning Ling's comrades. Surviving witnesses reported seeing familiar outlines framed by the battleship's brightly lit
hatchway. Corrugated cones. Stacks of ring's, luxuriously glistening.

Only a few onlookers, steeped in ancient legends, knew this was not a good sign, and they had little time to spread a warning before torrid beams sliced through the night, mowing down everything within a dozen arrowflights.

At dawn, brave observers peered from nearby peaks to see a swathe of shattered ground strewn with oily smudges and bloody debris.
A defensive perimeter
, stunned observers suggested, though such prudence seemed excessive for omnipotent star gods.

“What casualties?” asked Jeni Shen, sergeant of Lark's militia contingent, a short, well-muscled woman and a friend of his brother, Dwer. They had all seen flickering lights in the distance, and heard sounds like thunder, but imagined nothing as horrible as the messenger related.

The urs told of hundreds dead … and that a High Sage of the Commons was among those slaughtered.
Asx
had been standing near a group of curious spectators and confused alien lovers, waiting to parley with the visitors. After the dust and flames settled, the traeki was nowhere to be seen.

The g'Kek doctor tending Uthen expressed the grief they all felt, rolling all four tentacle-like eyes and flailing the ground with his pusher leg. This personified the horror. Asx had been a popular sage, ready to mull over problems posed by any of the Six Races, from marriage counseling to dividing the assets of a bisected qheuen hive. Asx might “mull” for days, weeks, or a year before giving an answer—or
several
answers, laying out a range of options.