Look to Windward (19 page)

“Dry your feet,” Kabe heard Estray Lassils tell her niece.

“Why?”.

The module's doors jawed open, revealing a plant-lined
vestibule and a tall Chelgrian dressed in formal gray religious robes. Something that looked like a large tray floated at his side, carrying two modest bags.

“Major Quilan,” the silver-skinned avatar said, walking forward and bowing. “I represent Masaq' Hub. You are very welcome.”

“Thank you,” the Chelgrian said. Kabe smelled something tangy as the atmospheres of the module and the ship mingled.

The introductions were made. The Chelgrian seemed polite but reserved, Kabe thought. He spoke Marain at least as well as Ziller—and with the same accent—and, like Ziller, really had learned the language rather than chosen to rely on an interpretation device.

Last to be presented was Chomba, who recited her almost full name to the Chelgrian, dug into a jacket pocket and presented the male with a small posy of flowers. “They're from our garden,” she explained. “Sorry they're a bit crushed but they were in my pocket. Don't worry about that; it's just dirt. Do you want to see some fish?”.

“Major, we are so very pleased you were able to come,” the drone Tersono said, floating smoothly between the Chelgrian and the child. “I know I speak not just for all of us here but for every single person on the Orbital of Masaq' when I say we feel truly honored that you are visiting us.”

Kabe thought this would be Major Quilan's opportunity to mention Ziller, if he was of a mind to puncture this rather unrealistic image of politeness, but the male just smiled.

Chomba was glaring at the drone. Quilan tilted his head to see past Tersono's body and look at her as Tersono, extending a blue-pink field in an arc toward the Chelgrian's shoulders, ushered him forward. The floating platform carrying Quilan's bags followed him into the module; the doors closed and became a screen again. “Now,” said the drone, “we are all here to say welcome, obviously, but also to let you know that we are entirely at your disposal for the duration of your visit, however long that may be.”

“I'm not. I've got stuff to do.”

“Ha ha ha ha,” said the drone. “Well, all of us who're grown up, at any rate. Tell me, how was your journey? Satisfactory, I hope.”

“It was”.

“Please; take a seat.” They arranged themselves on some couches while the module moved off. Chomba went back to dip her feet in the pool. Behind, the
Resistance Is Character-Forming
did the ship equivalent of a back-flip, became a dot, and vanished.

Kabe was pondering the differences between Quilan and Ziller. They were the only two Chelgrians he had ever met face to face, though he had done a great deal of studying of the species since Tersono had first asked him to help at the recital on the barge
Soliton
. He knew the major was younger than the composer, and thought he looked leaner and fitter, too. There was a sleek sheen to his light brown fur, and he had a more muscled frame. Even so, he appeared more care-worn around his large dark eyes and broad nose. Perhaps that was not so surprising. Kabe knew quite a lot about Major Quilan.

The Chelgrian turned to him. “Do you represent
the Homomda officially here, Ar Ischloear?” he asked.

“No, Major,” Kabe began.

“Ar Ischloear is here at Contact's request,” Tersono said.

“They asked me to help play host to you,” Kabe told the Chelgrian. “I am shamefully weak in the face of such flattery and so accepted immediately, even though I have no real diplomatic training. To tell the truth, I am more of a cross between a journalist, a tourist and a student than anything else. I hope you don't mind me mentioning this now. It's just in case I commit some terrible faux pas of protocol. If I do I wouldn't want it to reflect on my hosts.” Kabe nodded to Tersono, which gave a stiff little inclinatory bow.

“Are there many Homomdans on Masaq'?” Quilan asked.

“I'm the only one,” Kabe said.

Major Quilan nodded slowly.

“The task of representing our average citizen falls to me, Major,” Estray said. “Ar Ischloear is not representative. However he is very charming.” She smiled at Kabe, who realized he had never come up with a translatable gesture to indicate humility. “I think,” the woman continued, “that we probably asked Kabe to help play host to prove that we're not so awful on Masaq' that we frighten away all our nonhuman guests.”

“Certainly Mahrai Ziller seems to have found your hospitality irresistible,” Quilan said.

“Cr. Ziller continues to grace us with his presence,” Tersono agreed. Its aura field looked very rosy against the cream of the couch it rested on. “Hub here is
being very modest in not immediately extolling the numerous virtues of Masaq' Orbital, but let me assure you it is a place of almost innumerable delights. Masaq' Great—”.

“I assume that Mahrai Ziller does know that I am here” Quilan said quietly, looking from the drone to the avatar.

The silver-skinned creature nodded. “He has been kept informed of your progress. Unfortunately he is not here to welcome you personally.”

“I wasn't particularly expecting him to be,” Quilan said.

“Ar Ischloear is one of Cr. Ziller's best friends,” Tersono said. “I'm sure, when the time comes, you'll all find plenty to talk about.”

“I think I can safely claim to be the best Homomdan friend he has on Masaq',” agreed Kabe.

“I understand your own connection with Cr. Ziller goes further back, Major,” Estray said. “To school, is that right?”.

“Yes,” Quilan said. “However we haven't met or talked since then. We are more one-time friends than old friends. How is our absent genius, Ambassador?” he asked Kabe.

“He is well,” Kabe said. “Still busily writing away.”

“Missing home?” the Chelgrian asked. There was just the suggestion of a smile on his broad face.

“He would claim not to be,” Kabe said, “though I think in his music over the last few years I have detected a certain plaintive harking back to traditional Chelgrian folk themes, with hints of eventual resolution implicit in their serial development.” From the
corner of one eye, Kabe saw Tersono's aura field blush with pleasure as he said this. “Though that may mean nothing, of course,” he added. The drone's field collapsed back to a frosty blue.

“You are a fan, I take it, Ambassador,” the Chelgrian said.

“Oh, I think we all are,” Tersono said quickly. “I—”.

“I'm not.”

“Chom” said Estray.

“The darling child may find the maestro's music still beyond her,” the drone said. Kabe caught a hint of a blossoming purple field flattening and dissipating in the direction of the girl sitting on the edge of the pool. He saw Chomba's mouth work but suspected Tersono had thrown some sort of field wall between her and the rest of the party. He could just about hear that she had said something, but had no idea what it was. Chomba herself either hadn't noticed or didn't care. She was concentrating on the fish.

“I count myself one of Cr. Ziller's most fervent aficionados,” the drone was saying loudly. “I have seen Ms. Estray Lassils applaud loudly at several of Cr. Ziller's concerts and recitals and I know that to this day Hub delights in occasionally reminding all of its near-neighbor Orbitals that your compatriot chose to make his second home here rather than on any of them. We are all positively quivering with anticipation at the prospect of listening to Cr. Ziller's latest symphony in a few weeks' time. I am quite certain it will be splendid.”

Quilan nodded. He held his hands out. “Well, as I'm sure you've guessed, I've been asked to try to persuade
Mahrai Ziller to return to Chel,” he said, looking around the others but settling his gaze on Kabe. “I don't imagine that this will be an easy task. Ar Ischloear—”.

“Please, call me Kabe.”

“Well, Kabe, what do you think? Am I right in believing it's going to be an uphill struggle?”.

Kabe thought.

“I can't imagine,” began Tersono, “that Cr. Ziller would really dream of passing up the chance to meet with the first Chelgrian—”.

“I think that you are absolutely right, Major Quilan,” Kabe told him.

“—to set foot—”.

“Please, call me Quil.”

“—on Masaq' for—”.

“Frankly, Quil, they've given you a stinker of a job.”

“—all these many, many years.”

“That's just what I thought.”

~ All right?

~ Yes. Thank you for that.

~ You are very welcome,
Huyler sent, impersonating the deep voice of the Hub avatar.
I was almost too busy taking stuff in to pass any comments anyway.

~ Well, it wasn't really necessary as it turned out.

They had been worried that Quilan's welcome might be overwhelming either accidentally or deliberately. His momentary slip when they had first boarded the
Resistance Is Character-Forming
and had spoken aloud in reply to a transmitted thought of Huyler's had made them wary, and so they'd agreed that, for the
first part of Quilan's reception at least, Huyler would stay in the background, keeping silent unless he spotted something alarming that he felt he had to draw Quilan's attention to.

~ So, Huyler; anything interesting?

~ Bit of a menagerie, don't you think? Only one of them's human.

~ What about the child?

~ Well, and the child. If it really is a child.

~ Let us not become paranoid, Huyler.

~ Let us not become complacent either, Quil. Anyway, it looks like they're going for the cuteness angle rather than the top-brass approach.

~ There is a sense in which Estray Lassils is President of the World. And the silver-skinned avatar is under the direct control of the god which holds the power of life or death over the Orbital and everybody on it.

~ Yes, and there is a sense in which the woman is a powerless temporary figurehead and the avatar is just a puppet.

~ And the drone, and the Homomdan?

~ The machine claims to be from Contact so that may well mean it's from Special Circumstances. The big three-legged guy seems genuine so I'd give him the benefit of the doubt for now; they probably think he's a suitable host because he's got more than the number of legs they're used to. He's got three legs, we've got three counting the midlimb; it could be that simple.

~ I suppose.

~ Anyway, we're here.

~ Indeed we are. And quite an impressive “here” it is, don't you think?

~ It's all right, I suppose.

Quilan smiled thinly. He leaned on the deck-side rail, and looked around. The river stretched into the distance, the view dropped away to either side.

Masq' Great River was a single loop of water stretching unbroken right around the Orbital and flowing slowly as a result of nothing more than the huge spinning world's coriolis effect.

Fed by tributary rivers and mountain streams throughout its length, it was depleted by evaporation where it ran through deserts, drained by overflow waterfalls and the run-offs into seas, swamps and irrigation networks, and absorbed into giant lakes, vast oceans and entire continent-wide river systems and networks of canals, only to reappear via great converse estuaries which eventually bundled it into a single gathered current once again.

It ran its unending course through labyrinths of caverns under raised continents, their depths lit sporadically by plunging holes and immense troughs deep as the roots of mountains. It traversed the slowly decreasing numbers of yet unformed Plate topographies within transparent tunnels which gave out onto landscapes still being molded and inscribed by the manufactured vulcanologies of Orbital terraforming techniques.

It disappeared under Bulkhead Ranges in colossal watery mazes slung beneath those hollow ramparts and slipped—flooding sometimes for whole seasons—across entire horizon-wide plains before running through winding canyons kilometers deep and thousands long. It iced over from one end of a continent to another during the Orbital's aphelion or within the
local winters produced by a Plate group's sun lenses set on disperse.

Its course took in dozens of neatly circumscribed or lushly sprawling cities and—when it reached Plates like Osinorsi, whose median level was well below the stream's steady elevation—the river was carried above the plains, savannas, deserts or swamps on single or braided massifs towering hundreds or thousands of meters above the surrounding ground; hoisted ribbons of land crowned with cloud, edged with falls, strewn with hanging vegetation and vertical towns, punctured by caves and tunnels and—as here—with artfully carved and soaring arches that turned the monumental massifs into a more precise image of exactly what they were: vast aqueducts on a water course ten million kilometers long.

The parapet of the massif here, just a few kilometers from the cliffs and the plains that marked the beginning of Xaravve, was a flower-strewn grassy bank less than ten meters wide. From his vantage point here, standing on a raised forecastle of the ceremonial barge
Bariatricist,
Quilan could look down through wisps of cloud to rolling hills and meandering rivers unwinding through misty forests two kilometers below.

They had asked him whether he wanted to go straight to the house they had provided for him, or if he would like to take in part of Masaq' Great River, and one of its famous barges, where a small reception had been arranged. He'd said he would be happy to take them up on their kind offer. The Hub avatar had looked quietly pleased; the drone Tersono had positively glowed with rosy approval.

The personnel module had lowered itself gently toward the atmosphere of the Orbital. The craft's ceiling had also become a screen, showing off the soaring arc of the Orbital's evening and night far-side while the vessel submerged into the slowly warming morning air above Osinorsi Plate. The module had swung out over one end of the vastly elongated S shape of the central massif carrying the river above the Plate's lower level. They rendezvoused with the
Bariatricist
near the border of Xaravve.