Skeen's Search (24 page)

Cursing softly at the incompatibility of the two systems of recording, Zelzony worked frantically at the rekkagourd, entering notes in her personal shorthand. She looked up after a moment, saw Skeen watching her with a sympathetic smile. Her face crumpled, the hard elegant lines shattered by anger, frustration, selfblame. “I knew all this, why why why didn't I see it? The Kinravaly said it, why didn't I hear what she was saying? If you know how, you know who, she said. If you know how.…”

“You were looking so hard in one direction you lost your peripheral vision. That's a benefit of living Beyond the Veil, you learn to watch back and sides as well as what's in front of you. Thanks, Pic.”

“My pleasure.” A silence that was hesitation rather than a finish. Skeen leaned forward, waiting; Zelzony stopped her work with the rekka, wondering what was coming next. The voice that came from the speakers was wistful, a sigh implicit in the slow words. “Skeen, I … I have enjoyed this consultation. Watching is good enough, but do you think someone else down there would like to talk to me?”

Skeen turned to Zelzony. “If the Kinravaly lets us out to talk to your folk, we'll be using skips, um, two-seat fliers. Takes less energy and easier to handle, put down, less likely to damage anything or anyone. Workhorse will be staying here as a base of sorts. I could seal off anything I don't want touched and make sure a visitor can't harm herself, himself or the tug.” Laughter in her voice, she said, “You can send your cleverest spies, my friend, Pic's a lot more discreet than I am.”

Zelzony produced a smile. “Let's talk a bit. Favor for favor. The Kinravaly would like starcharts and a reasonably detailed sketch of the political situation outside the Veils.”

“Set starcharts aside for the moment. Talk for talk. Send your, um, Seekers to chat with Picarefy and while they're chatting, she'll answer what questions she thinks she can or should. That acceptable to you?”

“Hmm.” Zelzony rearranged her flightskins, pulling them over her knees. How much can we trust these people, how do we know this … this machine would give us anything like the truth? We've got no way to check on it. All-Wise give me patience. This wasn't her metier, she felt incompetent and found the feeling disturbing; Zuistro should have Hatenzo doing this. She squashed down a sudden surge of anger at the Kinravaly. Zuistro was asking too much; it wasn't fair. She had other lovers, other Ykx she trusted, Zelzony knew that with a coldness that rapidly washed away the remnants of anger and left her with a sick uncertainty that was exacerbated by the need to conceal it from these aliens. She made a sharp, slicing gesture, get this over now, she thought. “For the moment. You can talk to the Kinravaly about more time later.”

“Good enough, eh, Pic?” Skeen was stretched out in her chair, relaxed and smiling a little; she looked lazy and hardly interested in this give and take, but Zelzony didn't believe it, not a drawled syllable or a smiling eye.

“Good enough.” The ship's voice was almost purring.

Skeen yawned and stretched. “I'm a sucker for Pic's interests. Those organics of yours, you might be able to trade some basic texts for the starcharts you want. I hear you Rallykx are working on ways to interface the two sorts of technology. No one better than Pic at that sort of thing, chances are she could give your Seekers some useful tips.” The voice was slow and lazy, the offer slipping out with such a lack of emphasis Zelzony almost missed it as she worked over the rekka trying to get down a detailed account of the conversation before it leaked out of her head.

She realized suddenly what she'd heard, jerked her head up. “I don't know,” she said, more sharply than she intended. She caught herself, closed her eyes a minute, went on with more calm, outwardly at least. “You'll have to talk to the Kinravaly about that.”

Skeen smiled, waved a languid hand and turned to the screen. While Zelzony finished her notes, the alien spoke at some length with the man and the ship. Leaving the screen on, she led Zelzony outside again.

They stood a moment beside the massive ship. Skeen ran her hand along the cool slick flanks of the beast. “You might mention that Workhorse here could be put out for rent if you come up with a good offer. With her in your hands and a little training, you could get out to your asteroid belt. There's considerably more heavy metal out there than you have on this world.” She patted the nearest landing leg. “It would have to be a very good offer, the old girl is a powerful beast with good cargo capacity.”

Zelzony tightened her mouth into a thin line, hating the casual arrogance of that offer; the alien knew what a temptation that ship was to everyone on Rallen, only the All-Wise knew what she'd manage to squeeze out of them for the use of that worn-out piece of junk. No, it wasn't that bad, it was a good machine, but old, the alien probably wanted to replace it anyway and now she could twist its value out of us while she kept hold of it. And I've got to go with them if they persuade our Ykx to follow them. They will, I know it. They will and I don't know how I can stand it. Unable to respond without shouting her rage, she waited in silence, saw the alien shrug and turn away. Still silent, she followed her back into the Kinravaly's Garden.

FOR REASONS OF HER OWN THE KINRAVALY AGREES TO SPONSOR LIPITERO AND SEND HER TO ALL GURNS AND GATHERS WILLING TO HAVE HER SPEAK.

LIPITERO AND TIMKA START OFF ON THE TALK SHOW CIRCUIT, TAKING WITH THEM A HERALD FROM THE KINRAVALY'S STABLE, FLIPPING FROM GATHER TO GATHER IN A CROWDED BUT FAST LITTIE SKIP (EVERYONE WHO SEES IT COVETS WITH A PASSION TOO POWERFUL TO BE CONCEALED; PETRO GETS ENOUGH OFFERS FOR IT TO LEAVE HER RICH FOR LIFE IF THE SKIP HAPPENED TO BE HERS). NEWS OF HER IS CARRIED AHEAD OF HER BY WINGRIDERS COMMANDEERED BY THE HERALD.

SKEEN AND TIBO GO TRAVELING ON THEIR OWN (THEY ALSO HAVE A THIRD IN THEIR SKIP, A COURIER FROM THE KINRAVALY'S SERVICE WHO SITS IN ON ALL TALKS, TAKING COPIOUS NOTES OF THE DEALS ARRANGED; SKEEN IS IRRITATED BY THE NECESSITY, BUT TIBO KEEPS HER TEMPER REASONABLY LEVEL AND, WITH HER, CROSS TEAMS THE RALLYKX WHO ARE NOT SO BAD THEMSELVES AT WORKING UP A DEAL). SKEEN AND TIBO BUY ON THE SPOT A CERTAIN PERCENTAGE OF THE ARTIFACTS THEY ARE OFFERED, PAYING FOR THEM WITH GOLD AND SILVER BITS FERRIED DOWN FROM PICAREFY, ALSO THEY SET UP FUTURE EXCHANGES CONTINGENT ON THEIR RETURN. RALLYKX TECHNOLOGY HAS SEVERAL CONSPICUOUS BLANKS. NO LONG-DISTANCE COMMUNICATIONS. COURIERS RIDING THE MOST EFFICIENT OF WINGS HAND CARRY LETTERS AND REKKAGOURDS. THE RALLYKX HAVE NO CAPACITY FOR REPRODUCING SPEECH, INSTEAD THEY HAVE DEVELOPED AN EFFICIENT SHORTHAND AND WRITERS SO SKILLED IN USING IT, THEY COME CLOSE TO BEING FLAKE-MACHINES. THEY HAVE SUPERLATIVE IMAGERS AND PHOTODUPLICATORS OF REMARKABLE SUBTLETY AND FIDELITY (SO MUCH SO, THAT THERE IS AN ARTFORM ON RALLEN PREDICATED ON THESE DEVICES). THEY ALSO HAD INTERESTING COMPUTERS WHOSE CAPACITY RATHER ASTONISHED SKEEN WHEN SHE SAW HOW LITTLE POWER WAS INVOLVED IN THEIR OPERATION AND WHAT THE RALLYKX COULD DO WITH THEM.

PICAREFY IS REVELING IN MARATHON CONVERSATIONS THAT HAVEN'T STOPPED FROM THE MOMENT THE KINRAVALY VOICED HER APPROVAL. WHEN ONE SET OF SEEKERS WEARS OUT OR HAS ALL THE DATA IT CAN ABSORB FOR THE MOMENT, ANOTHER SET REPLACES IT.

HAVING BEEN STERNLY WARNED TO BEHAVE HIMSELF, SKEEN SAYING I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU KILLED BUT IF YOU MESS UP OUR WELCOME HERE, I'LL LEAVE YOU TO FACE WHATEVER THE RALLYKX SEE FIT TO DO TO YOU, ROSTICO BURN TAKES A SKIP AND GOES SLIPPING IN TO VISIT FRIENDS HE'D MADE ON HIS LAST VISIT.

ZELZONY AND HER FORCES ARE BUSY HUNTING DOWN THE RITUAL KILLERS AND WORKING ON THE MESS IN UROLOL AND MARRALLAT, BUT NOT TOO BUSY TO SAMPLE REPORTS ON THE ALIENS AND THEIR PROGRESS ABOUT THE WORLD.

or

STIR UP THE NATIVES AND WATCH THEM EXPLODE.

“Hmm, yes. Interesting. The number of exit visas has halved itself, and most of those are wanderflights; you Marallese are turning into homebodies, getting wisdom as it were. Hy yai, if I had my druthers, I'd have my feet up on a hassock reading Veratisca's latest poems.” Haraka lifted his head and stopped the dance of his claws for a moment as he watched the short square figure of the Liaison swagger out, then he went back to entering the figures from the screen in front of him and to the gentle flow of chat that didn't require any response, quoting snatches of poetry he'd read recently, murmuring comments about a drama he'd watched in another Gurn, praising the felicities of the land about the Reserve which he'd observed as he winged in, blessing the pleasant spring weather outside, an unobtrusive, soothing sound that insensibly smoothed away the jags his presence had torn in the quiet lives of the two clerks, jags exacerbated by the intrusion of Sullaplon who had stumped about the computer rooms asking stupid questions and using his scowl and his connections to intimidate the Ykx working there.

By the third day Sullaplon no longer bothered showing his face and the three workers had settled into comfortable habits; Dugohuzh and Alleyeth took Haraka around to inexpensive eating holes, to a drama put on by a well-respected group of amateur players, and finally (after some anxious whispered consultation) to a vaguely illicit poetry reading.

Haraka began edging the exchanges in the office toward the topic of nepotism, relatives of justicers, high admin officials, Remmyos, anyone with influence of whatever kind, who went poking into recordrooms and messed up the files so thoroughly that staffs had to work extra hours to get things straight. He had several stories like that, with names and dates, keeping things gently humorous, showing a mild disgust at such stupidities. One story led to another; Dugo and Aleth capped his stories and didn't notice he was noting down the names and dates they provided, just reveled in the chance to vent their resentment without endangering their jobs. Haraka would leave the Reserve in another day or two and most likely wouldn't return; he certainly wouldn't do any talking to those authorities they were grousing about. The agents of the Kinravaly were tolerated here but not welcomed; Sulleggen resented furiously the need to let them in to gather the data that ancient tradition granted the Kinravaly Rallen; there was a fixed though unstated policy of ignoring the presence of these insects. If any ears were safe, his were.

Two days later he left Marrallat with three gourds of data and seven names of outsiders poking in the lists with no apparent reason behind their curiosity.

Around Rallen, in every Government Reserve, Kinravaly's agents (all carefully selected by the wily Borrentye for their artful natures) used their various skills and assorted personalities to tease out similar lists of prying outsiders.

Itekkill. Korika Gather. Ishtayll Arena. Early evening, rainy outside, chill wind blowing off the sea. Interior of the Arena brightly lit and warm, though rather drafty as great fans pushed air about to keep the hundreds of Ykx hunting seats around the stage reasonably comfortable.

Saffron and Mauvi elbowed through a noisy, pushing, excited throng and climbed to one of the darker corners of the Arena's second balcony; there were fewer Ykx up here, leaving them their own path of shadow and a privacy that Saffron immediately began to exploit once they were comfortable on their cushions. He leaned into Mauvi and began playing with the soft curling hair that covered the nape of her long neck.

Mauvi giggled, a faint breathy sound inaudible two steps away. She danced supple hands down his body and began tickling his knees.

The noise below them hushed suddenly. Mauvi sat up with a jerk, spilling Saffron off her. He bumped his head on the ledge of the row of seats behind him. “Ohf. Ay Mau, what …”

“Shush. I want to hear this.”

Lipitero was sitting on a stool in the center of the stage, the light teasing glitters from her silver-gray fur and deepening the shadows in the terrible scars that marred her face, and her torso. Stretched out on the polished planks of the stage floor near the stool, a sleek, dangerous beast twitched its long tail and yawned, its tearing teeth like curving yellow knives crisply clear against the dark red of its gullet. Mauvi sucked in a long breath, whispered to Saffron, “I wouldn't want to meet that in the dark.”

More interested in her, here only because she'd talked him into coming and it was something to do that didn't cost the earth and was out of the rain, Saffron looked past her, muttered agreement and went back to playing with her shoulder fur.

Speaking with halting earnestness in a husky, emotion-filled voice, Lipitero recounted the history of the Stranger's Gate and the Gathers on Mistomrnerk. She finished with a listing of the flakes she had given into the hands of the Kinravaly, saying no matter what decision her audience made, she'd leave these (with a flake player, of course) so the Rallykx could regain parts of the history they'd lost coming here. She slipped off the stool to stand beside the beast, her arms held wide, her flight skins glistening. “Come with me.” Her broken voice sang through the Arena, filling it with the intensity of her need. “Come fill the empty Gathers. Come with me or Ykx will fade from Mistommerk, my Gather will die as my children have died. Come with me, see the wonders of another world, face the dangers your ancient ones faced so bravely. Come with me. It won't be easy or comfortable or safe. Come with me.”