Rift (64 page)

He prayed for eloquence.

Then Salidifor turned to him and made a sign gesture:

Reeve spoke.

2

Nerys translated on the hexagonal floor of the tube just at the opening, where she could see Calder on the outside and Divoranon on the inside. As a deep, moonless night fell over the valley, the only light was the glow of the tube itself as a network of veins surged with a frazzled light. Nerys danced past exhaustion. Once, Divoranon graciously offered her food to keep her energy up. Then the questioning continued again, punctuated by Divoranon’s long absences as she retreated into the tube, where the other females crowded around her. Then she would emerge again with more questions.

At one point, Calder was disciplined by an orthong, receiving a modest cuff that sent the Stationer flat on his back. This occurred when they took Loon into the outfold. Calder was protective of the hybrid creature, though he could surely have no claim on her. According to Salidifor, Loon had
lost confidence
, an expression related to her inability to manipulate her chemical intake, the most basic level of molecular
knowing
. Sickness was virtually unknown among the orthong and was considered a form of neurosis when it did occur. Loon, however, was an anomaly: an adolescent, yet an adult. In any case, they had taken her away.

Now Nerys stood on the borderland between human and orthong. She was the intercessor between this despised zerter and her ambiguous masters. But at the interface lay power. With her demeanor and her interpretation she controlled what both learned and some of what both might conclude. She made Calder sound more intelligent than he was, while reinforcing her theme that humans could learn and were eager to do so. At the same time, her scrupulous protocol and patience displayed, she hoped, her new constructive approach.

The thrill of having such power infused her muscles with unflagging energy. Here was the nexus of all her struggles. She was indispensable to the orthong, and they relied on her unquestioned language skills. The new ship and the weapon of planetary destruction now proved that humans had
math
, if not peaceful intentions. Whether they would concede that humans had real intelligence, given their propensity for foolishness, she didn’t know. At the very least humans must be acknowledged as formidable foes.

As interpreter, all this information was hers to manipulate. Most important, she built up Salidifor in front of Divoranon, turning to Salidifor for clarification, reinforcing his position and demonstrating her loyalty. And behind it all, with delicate nuance, she demonstrated her remorse to Salidifor.

See, I have learned after all. From a master
.

And in turn, as they waited for Divoranon, Salidifor gradually relented. He stepped closer to her, giving her guidance in how to explain things to Divoranon. And during one of Divoranon’s absences, he told her that Tulonerat had entered end cycle, giving over all leadership to Divoranon. As Nerys waited, not probing for more but letting him reveal at his own pace, he added details: that Tulonerat had shown not the slightest interest in the arrival of the human ship, and that her aides, growing frantic, had waited by her side for three days, refusing sustenance, until at last she looked at them and said,
I will not speak again
. By this they knew she was deep in quantum structures, and that all that she learned from now on she must never reveal. When she said
I will not speak again
, they rushed to find Divoranon, leaving Tulonerat in the sunken courtyard, surrounded by her incomparable constructs—some of such exquisite design they were complete mysteries to everyone but Tulonerat. But even these held no interest for her any longer. She was in the deepest world, and she would not emerge again.

Salidifor explained that the outfold was morphing into a protective bunker. Its outer shell was now a shield. Inside, defensive and offensive tropisms made passage by nonorthong impossible. This was why Calder could not enter, nor any new breeder women who might be unmodified and therefore classified as nonorthong by the outfold.

Divoranon had been gone a long time. Calder was fairly stomping with impatience, but Nerys could have stood there all night. This was her night, her victory, no matter what happened.

Salidifor left for a time, returning with a tray of food, small biscuits filled with fruit. She ate, eyes downcast.

She glanced at his face, believing that she saw in it a kind of warm regard. He was close enough that they might talk in simple sign without being seen by others.

His head tilted slightly.
Yes
.

She didn’t think him foolish, but was grateful that he was willing to take some blame … and admit it to her. she said.

She thought he might say it was typical of orthong too. But it wouldn’t be like him to assign flaws to other orthong.

He held eye contact, a gesture of intimacy.

She could barely see him in the dull glow of the tube, but she thought he looked tenderly at her. The impulse to touch him passed, reluctantly—that wasn’t his way, with her at least, and some things she couldn’t have. Still, she filed the notion away for later reexamination.
There were many things that Salidifor had told her were impossible that hadn’t been so very difficult, when one put one’s mind to it.…

The night moved on toward dawn, and still they waited together, sometimes watching Calder as he paced, pitying his restless, energy-wasting movements. He would learn soon enough that, when it was time to wait, one remained still.

She ventured a thought:

A commotion from within the canal registered at the corner of her eye. A crowd of orthong attendants approached down the tube. If Divoranon was among them, Nerys couldn’t differentiate her. But someone was at the forefront. That individual stepped forward.

Her hair had fallen out except in blond wisps around her ears. She stood tall and alert, dressed in a brown tunic, setting her apart from the black garb of the others.

Close to Nerys’ side, Reeve Calder whispered: “Loon.”

Loon gazed directly at him, with eyes of deepest green.

she signed.

3

“Mitya! Mitya!” they called. He hunkered down behind a jumble of boulders so they couldn’t see him. They were loading the last shuttle, preparing to abandon the dome.

Let them call. There was really no one he would
miss from the whole bunch of them. They were a squabbling, grubbing, miserable bunch, down to the last crew member, and they could have their
Quo Vadis
and their long ride to nowhere. He carried a rock in his heart as big as the one he hid behind. They would blow everything to pieces. It didn’t take a genius to realize that was a great crime, or that every one of them was afraid to die but not to kill. They had sabotaged the Station, and now Lithia. He never wanted to see their faces again.

And he wouldn’t, he realized with a pang.

He had managed to slip away in the confusion of the final loading. He just took that little walk beyond the defensive wires, and then crawled through the scrub until he made it to his hideaway. There wasn’t a lot of cover out here, but he figured they wouldn’t look for him very hard. The last few days had been a frenzy of activity; protocols slipped and tempers flared as Bonhert carped on the schedule. The ship was in orbit, and they didn’t want any surface visits from that quarter, oh no. They’d plant the moles in a hurry and ferry up to the ship in time to watch the whole thing come apart under their feet. Looking for a thirteen-year-old runaway wouldn’t be a big priority.

As he watched from behind the rock, he saw a figure emerge from the dome and stand there, looking around. It was Captain Bonhert. It surprised Mitya to hear him call his name. That he would be on Bonhert’s mind at a time like this seemed unlikely. But there he stood, the last man out, the last man onboard the shuttle. Maybe done for effect, the heroic effect. Mitya could imagine that once onboard the big ship, Captain Kitcher could kiss his gold braid good-bye. The thought of the hapless old fart welcoming Bonhert onboard made Mitya smile and shake his head. If Kitcher thought he had his share of factions and plotting now, wait until he met Gabriel Bonhert.

“Mitya!” Bonhert bellowed. “Last chance! The black and the gold, my boy.”

Mitya felt a pang for that old dream. And the Captain that had almost been his hero. He turned around with his back against the sheltering rock and put his head on his scrunched-up knees. He was scared to death. But he’d be damned if he would move an inch.

When he heard the shuttle rumble, his stomach felt those engines in their very walls. But then he just kept thinking of that little can of humanity dragging itself among the stars, and he held his ground. And when the shuttle rose into the air, he stood up and watched it sweep away over the dome, and he heard the thought in his mind,
Go with the Lord
, because they were going to need it, and he didn’t want to die hating them.

After another minute the sound of the shuttle was gone, and an utter silence descended. It was the worst moment of Mitya’s life. Not once had he ever experienced total quiet. Certainly not on Station, and not in the crowded dome. There were always the sounds of people talking, or murmuring in their sleep, the clang of construction, the hum of machinery, and the sighing of vents. Now there was no way to contain the silence, and in that vast domain everything rushed past him, fled out of him. He thought,
If I sit down, I won’t get up again
.