This Gulf of Time and Stars (36 page)

A
S
HE TOOK IN
their new surroundings, Morgan drew fresh air into his lungs with relief. If they traveled with the Oud in future, best make sure the accommodations weren't belowdecks.

Besides, the view up here couldn't be better.

The upper deck of the airship was surrounded by a clear cowl barely taller than the Tikitik, allowing a perfect view in all directions. No other structure rose from the textured floor. Even the hatches closed to be flush with the surface.

He lifted his face, impressed to feel no wind from their now-rapid movement through the sky.

Sira noticed, too.
Shields.

Good ones. Standard option on a Trade Pact rental aircar, but on Cersi?

Destin stayed to the middle, her feet braced as if ready for the airship to tilt like a rastis. This wouldn't, Morgan judged.

One figure stood on the deck at the bow, facing the mountains where the airship was heading. A slender figure, Sira's height, dressed in a sky-blue hooded cloak.

Thought Traveler waggled its mouth cilia, tasting the air. “Oud. Though—what kind? How unexpected.”

When it went to walk toward the figure, Morgan stopped it with a gesture.

Eyes bent to him. “Among Tikitik, any delay in greeting would be unwise.”

“Do you know this about Oud?” Morgan asked, the translator rendering his Comspeak after a slight hesitation.

The figure turned and beckoned.

Because of what he'd said—or how?

Only one way to find out. Morgan walked forward at a pace that to another Human would say willing but not too eager. Sira came beside him, Thought Traveler stalking behind—maybe his question about the Oud had hit a sore point and the creature had decided to accept his lead. Or to put them first, in case the Oud meant harm.

The Sona First Scout, though she was clearly uncomfortable being in flight, didn't hesitate to come with them.

A cloaked limb lifted a second time when they were about five paces away. Morgan stopped at once. The garment engulfed the figure from head to toe, assuming there were those structures. Up close, the blue fabric was something else again, far more intriguing, akin to an extruded or formed material like plas. Designs like circuitry were embedded within its surface and visible, for the outermost layer was transparent, while beneath that was blue and opaque. A garment that no more belonged on the Cersi he'd seen so far than—than he did, he supposed.

No smile, not until he knew more of it.
Sira?

A blend of
confidence
and utter
trust. You're better at this. Go ahead.

Staring across a table or blanket or over a rock at eyes as varied as the goods being traded might have given him more experience, Morgan thought, but Sira had the knack. Still, there was the classic opening gambit. He spread his arms, hands open.

“Hello.”

H
EARING
CAPTAIN JASON MORGAN
say “Hello,” his deep voice followed by the echo from the comlink, was reassuringly familiar. I'd lost count of how many times we'd done this—granted, never while flying through the air on a giant airship full of slugs—but the whole scenario of first contact, of opening a fraught, hope-filled conversation with such a simple greeting? That hadn't changed.

The stakes had. We bargained for more than the latest batch of truffles or used parts. He knew it; he just wouldn't show it. Another very good reason to let Morgan lead what I hoped would become a negotiation, a profitable one.

“Speak more.” The Oud's voice was husky and low-pitched.

I blinked. Morgan didn't hesitate. “My name is Morgan. This is the Speaker for the M'hiray, Sira, and First Scout of the Sona Clan—”

“Speak more other.”

Morgan began to spout numbers, then a sequence of random-seeming words, his comlink scrambling them into nonsense. I quenched Destin's
alarm,
glaring at Thought Traveler in case it planned to speak. My Human had his reason.

The limb gestured. Enough, that was. Morgan stopped.

What's going on?
I asked, a little perturbed myself.

Wait for it.
With a
confidence
bordering on
glee.

“Matched. I have corresponding data,” the Oud announced then, in accented but perfectly comprehensible Comspeak.

Its robe split down the middle, edges rolling neatly aside to reveal the Oud.

“What kind is this?” hissed Thought Traveler.

What kind indeed. Aryl's memories? Those imposed on me?

Neither held this strange and elegant being.

Exposed, its flesh was translucent, the blue of organs and delicate vessels showing through skin that glistened in the sunlight. Down its middle was a dense line of black appendages set in neat rows, like a toolkit. Very much like tools, I realized, for the tips of each were extraordinarily specialized. As far as I could tell, no two were alike. A few formed a cluster close to what my humanoid self persisted in calling its head. Those would be what the Oud used to make sound.

The appendages weren't empty. Metal objects gleamed in their grip, dozens of them and all in dizzying motion. They were being passed from one to another, touched and passed along again, for all the world as if the Oud wore tech like adornment and fidgeted with it as I might the pendant.

Or as if what I saw was as much machine as living thing.

The rolled edges glittered as well. Glittered and bulged. Suddenly, hordes of small round things erupted from under the fabric, flying around the Oud in a cloud until it made an annoyed sound.

The cloud fell to the deck with a clatter, reforming into a struggling mass within the Oud's narrow shadow as the things climbed atop one another to fit. They made little
whirr/clicks.

“A new caste,” Thought Traveler mused, taking a step closer. Its eyes moved over the Oud. “How is this possible?”

“Tikitik ignorant.” The Oud spoke the language of Cersi, a higher echo repeating in Comspeak. “Maker, I.”

The other being's head bobbed up and I waited for it to object, but Thought Traveler merely said, “An impressive accomplishment.”

I could have sworn the Oud preened, the way its appendages
quivered. “Maker, new is. Maker, best. Hear this?” It fluttered several appendages.

A blast of
noise
filled my head. I saw Destin instinctively cover her ears, but nothing would keep this out. It was as though the M'hir had become a drum and the Oud somehow beat on it, driving this
sound
through us.

“You're hurting them,” Morgan shouted. “Stop!”

He was unaffected?

Though startling, the Oud's assault—or demonstration—was primitive and relatively weak. The instant I comprehended what was happening, I set in place what would reflect its
noise
back at it.

“Yesyesyesyes!!!” It dropped to its belly and began spinning about, whirr/clicks scurrying out of the way, whatever it used for feet making a
clickity-click
of their own on deck.

“I see your ‘best' has no better manners,” Thought Traveler commented.

So it is a Torment,
Aryl sent wonderingly,
but one with control.

The Tikitik scooped up an errant whirr/click, fingering the body and wriggling legs with the cilia around its mouth before tossing it aside. “Interesting,” it murmured. Catching my attention with a small eye, it barked its laugh. “Our host is one of many. It appears this is the shape of the Minded now.”

The Oud reared again, standing perfectly erect. “More than. Yesyesyes. Have purpose. Now have Om'ray, best is!” Its appendages snapped into a blur of motion, conveying some devices down, others up.

And something different, from its base. Something with a jewel-like sparkle. Having reached below the talking cluster, an appendage thrust forward, offering it to me. “Make work. Best is!”

Careful.
Morgan moved to intercept. The Oud protested, “NoNoNO,” and turned its dorsal surface to him. “Sira. Best is!”

I'd underestimated the creature. The
noise had
been a test, I thought with disgust, gauging our Power in the M'hir. “If you want me to have it, give it to Morgan first.”

Its base stayed where it was, its body coiling to aim the top half
at my Human. I noticed the jeweled object was nowhere in sight. “Why not function?”

Did it mean Morgan's lack of reaction to its
noise,
a question I had myself, or something else?

Something else, according to the more experienced trader, for Morgan grinned and unclipped his comlink. “Needs data. Here.” He held it out.

The Oud brought the rest of itself around. An appendage with a pincer-like tip reached to take the device and bring it close. “Bad is. Not function,” the Oud dismissed. Other appendages attacked the comlink, tearing it apart, the pieces ferried in opposite directions.

“Hey!” Morgan ran a hand through his hair, giving me a rueful look.
So much for my instincts.

“Don't be so hasty,” I told him, nodding at the Oud.

The appendages hadn't stopped their rapid motion. All at once, a spot of activity formed.

An appendage thrust out from its center, offering the now-reassembled comlink. “Better than.”

Morgan took it, pressed a few controls, then looked up with a grin. “A full vocab with grammar! Better it is, my friend, indeed. My thanks.”

Every word rendered perfectly, without lag. Destin looked impressed.

“Maker-I. Good is.” Out came the jeweled object. “Sira.”

“Me first.” Morgan held out his hand. This time, the Oud passed him what I could now see was a stubby cylinder, the “jewels” attached to its sides. After running his scanner over it, my Chosen handed it to me. “Haven't a clue,” he said cheerfully.

It was warm from his hand—or from wherever the Oud stored things. Moving past that concept as quickly as I could, I turned the cylinder over. The faceted jewels, though colorful, didn't seem to be decoration, or were that and more. Each sat in a small depression. Depressions that, yes, fit the thumb and fingers of my two hands, for it took both to hold it. I pressed, cautiously. Each sank in and stopped, rising when I eased the pressure, but nothing happened.

“Bad is,” the Oud said, as if agreeing with the result. “Sira do.”

Do what?

The jewels reminded me of the antique pistol our father had given Rael as a child. A toy, he'd believed, having no moving parts or mechanism; its age and strange design were of more interest than the gems. Pella had waved it as a pretend-weapon, coming to my aid with Rael. My sisters . . . gone . . .

Sira.

I chewed my lip.
I'm fine. I will be,
I told him, more honestly. For now, we'd a job to do. The Oud's trinket was wasting time. “You're right, it doesn't work.” I went to give it back.

The Oud clenched all its appendages and refused. “Nonono. Sira do.”

“Do what?”

That
noise
again. Before I could react, the cylinder
warmed
in my hands.

“Do better,” the Oud said smugly.

I managed not to drop it.
Morgan. It responds to Power. To the M'hir!

“Do nothing!” Thought Traveler loomed over me, shading the sun, but its eyes were fixed on the Oud. “Where did this come from?”

For the first time, the Oud wasn't quick to answer. Its appendages fussed at bits of metal, at other small devices.

Stalling.
Morgan clipped the comlink to his coat. “We can't help unless you give us more information.”

Appendages paused. “More than.” Something appeared to reassure it, for the appendages began to move more easily. “Yesyesyes. This Om'ray. What do?”

Show me.
When I did, Aryl replied,
an Oud brought something similar to Enris. Mindtouch activated voices he couldn't understand. He—the experience was unpleasant.

“Difficult to say what it does,” Morgan said blandly, after I shared that with him. “We need to see other such items. You do have more?”

“Nonono.”

“Then we can't help you.” Morgan motioned me to return the cylinder.

The Oud reconsidered its answer. “Yesyesyes. More than.” A wavering appendage pointed to the back of the airship. “Go there. See more than! Say what do! Make do! YESYESYESYES!” with unnerving enthusiasm. Something had occurred to it. Something I'd a feeling we wouldn't like.

The Tikitik hissed in displeasure. Morgan gave it a quelling look; to my surprise, the creature subsided. Maybe it remembered I was its only way off the airship, other than dropping over the side. “We need more information, first.”

The Oud went perfectly still. “‘First.'” A brief pause. “Then go there. YESYES.”

Smug, that was. A quick study or not as naïve as it had seemed? Either way, I waited to see how Morgan dealt with this turn of events.

“F
IRST,
information that answers our questions,” Morgan replied comfortably, “then we'll consider your request.” The words echoed.

Perfect,
Sira sent, a smile beneath the word.

About time, he thought. Nothing worse than feeling unable to trust what came out of your mouth—or translator. Working with Trade Pact species had made him complacent. No more. Tonight he'd run the sleepteach and be able to talk for himself from now on.
Let me know if it fails.

He'd like to know if the Oud's clever trick relied on a database started during the time of the Triads, perhaps by Marcus Bowman himself, or if they'd had more recent access to those fluent in Comspeak. Could be both.

The Oud vacillated, as the Human interpreted its appendages dithering aimlessly. At a guess, it wanted to press for a commitment but rightly feared pushing too hard would cost it their cooperation. Sira's cooperation, he corrected to himself. The Oud had been clear on that.

She stood by, watching him, her hair blazing in the sun like molten gold. That was how she appeared in the M'hir too, apparently something attractive to the Oud as well.

Why?

“Not all questions,” the Oud admitted grudgingly, “answers, I.”

The Tikitik gave a soft bark. Amused, was it?

Fair enough. Where to start? Oud and Om'ray. Tikitik and M'hiray. He flew above the land they all inhabited, Morgan thought suddenly, but which of them belonged?

“Who was here first?” he asked. “Oud, Tikitik, or Om'ray?”

Appendages tapped, eyes rolled in their cones, and Sona's scout scowled. Finally, the Oud spoke. “Old Ones first here.”

Not helpful,
Sira sent.

“Brought Oud. Brought Tikitik.”

That could be. “Did the Old Ones bring the Om'ray?”

Thought Traveler remained still. Morgan suspected it was equally intrigued to learn the Oud mythos. Not superstitious, this Tikitik, or defensive. Intelligent, curious. Dangerous. That, too.

“Nonono.” The Oud tapped urgently, then ceased. “Old Ones Om'ray best is.”

Maybe his Oud-modified comlink wasn't working after all. Morgan looked at the Tikitik. “Did you understand that?”

Its eyes were locked on the Oud. “It believes the Om'ray brought us here. That they were the Makers.”

The Oud jiggled in place, appendages rattling. “YesyesYES! Sira Om'ray best is!”

“I believe it is mad. We should leave—”

“NonoNO. Not mad!” Bits of metal rained on the deck as the Oud flailed and shouted. Destin rose from her crouch, hand on her knives. “BEST IS!! Tikitik ignorant! Badbadbad—”

“How do you know the Om'ray were the Old Ones?” Morgan shouted, lowering his voice when the Oud quieted to listen.

“Nothing old works.” The Oud sank down by thickening the lower portion of its body and began picking up what it had dropped as though embarrassed by the mess. “Old bad. Old broken. Not for Oud. Not for Human.” Done, it straightened, objects flowing down and disappearing, tidy again. “Old works for Om'ray.”

“Making this our world,” Sira said bluntly.

“Nononono. Old Ones come here, too.” Its demeanor altered. Was that pride? “Cersi Om'ray not, Tikitik, NOT. Cersi Oud. Om'ray best is, stay.” As if a concession.

Or was it an offer?

Thought Traveler gave its barking laugh. “So I've heard your kind say before, Oud Maker. You would reshape Cersi to suit yourselves, ridding the world of everything else. If you ever succeeded, what then? Have you given thought to that?”

“Cersi best is. Oud more than!”

“Oh, there'd be more of you. Your mounds would burst open and the ground boil with the more of you.” Its head rose sharply. “A ground no longer fertile, no longer moist. How long do you think you'll have before all there is to consume are your own offspring? How long before you make yourselves less—and then gone?”

“Gone first.”

Did it mean the Tikitik, or could it mean—

The deck vibrated beneath his boots, twice.

“No time.” The Oud dropped to its belly, this time moving by humping its midsection and then thrusting its body forward a considerable distance. It sped toward the bow of the airship, Morgan and the others following at a run.

The Oud rose at the clear canopy, tapping what sounded like glass with a single appendage. “Hereherehere.”

Morgan tested the transparency with a finger. Firm and cold, it bulged outward, allowing him to look straight down. They were passing over the last of the canopy. Ahead rose a deeply scarred and folded ridge, beyond that another, each rising higher until the sky met a line of ragged peaks. Nothing green or living, as though the jungle slammed against an implacable desert.

“Aryl says the Hoveny site was there,” Sira said, pointing.
Morgan, it's taking us out of Cersi.