This Gulf of Time and Stars (37 page)

T
HOUGHT
TRAVELER PATTED
the clear canopy with the cilia covering its mouth, rearing back with disgust in every line of its gaunt body. “All I taste is Oud!”

The smell of too many Oud in one place being something I hoped to forget, the creature had my sympathy, but I was too preoccupied with the view to comment.

What are we doing here?
Aryl wasn't happy.
We shouldn't be here!

Fingers brushed mine. Destin, even more upset.
We're leaving the world, Sira. We mustn't. You must take us back!

Yes, take us back!

The light fingertouch became a punishing grip.
Who are
you
?

Not when I'd have picked for them to meet, but it was done now.
Aryl di Sarc, Sona's Former Speaker, meet Destin di Anel, Sona's First Scout.

I tightened my shields against them both, twisting my arm from Destin's now-slack hold. Aryl could explain her existence; maybe it would keep the pair of Om'ray from noticing what lay below.

Starting with the Hoveny site. Or rather, where it had been.

I shared Aryl-memory with Morgan: the wide stairs, unearthed by Oud diggers, as well as the curve of a wall and an opened door. There was nothing left to show it had ever existed. From this
perspective, I couldn't tell if the Oud had filled in part of the valley or somehow drawn the ancient building underground.

“Why destroy what was here?” Morgan asked.

The Oud appeared distracted, answering in a mutter. “Minded Oud ignorant. Decide not function. Decide bad. No what is. Minded Ignorant. Minded bad. Maker best is. Decide other.”

“How very disturbing.” Thought Traveler bent an eye its way. “Would I find any ‘Minded' Oud in your mounds and tunnels or are they gone, along with all reason?”

“Reason Maker best is,” the Oud retorted calmly. “Decide other. Find more than. Goodgoodgood. Be more than. Best is.”

“Which is not an answer.” The Tikitik barked. “Arrogance, ‘best is.'”

It wasn't wrong. But not helping.

“What's that?”

At the shock in Morgan's voice I looked forward again.

To be shocked myself.

What I'd thought another ridge was not.

Twisted wreckage and boulders formed a line between us and the lowest gap in the mountain range ahead, as if something had built a barrier.

Or had they found one?

T
HE
OUD AIRSHIP
entered the shade of the nearest mountain and eased to a stop. They weren't over the line of wreckage.

And weren't far enough from it. Morgan stared down, trying to comprehend how many flying machines had to have crashed here to create a ridge of such magnitude. Though it wasn't all of metal fragments. Rocks surrounded the newer wrecks—from large boulders to fist-sized—as if they'd been attracted there. Which made no sense . . .

Unless those weren't rocks at all. “Are those . . . ?” he began, shutting his mouth as, yes, he spotted several of the boulders quiver, then start to roll toward them. “Those aren't rocks.”

“Oud young,” the Tikitik answered. “The small ones are tasty. I can show you the trick to it.”

“I'll pass.” Scavengers. Wreckage. “What happened here?” Morgan demanded.

“Happened? Show.” The Maker Oud began tapping on the canopy.

“What's it doing?” Sira whispered.

“I don't know.” But he'd an idea, much as it turned his stomach. Morgan went to look over the airship's right side. He'd been right. The line of small vehicles he'd seen from below were
quickly being filled, a worker Oud emerging to settle its bulk on each one. The first detached, sprouting short wings as it banked away.

Aimed at the ridge of wreckage. More detached, in meticulous order.

Morgan rushed to the bow in time to see the first of the Oud aircars pass beneath, their flight slow and noisy. More “rocks” began rolling uphill in expectation.

“You're sacrificing your crew!” He managed not to grab the Maker Oud, much as he wanted to shake sense from it. “Why?”

“Cersi more than,” the Oud answered calmly.

The Om'ray feel this as the edge of the world. They can't pass it,
Sira sent urgently.

Thought Traveler turned to stare with all eyes at the Oud. “The Makers set Cersi's limit. Who are you to challenge them?”

“Best is.” With chilling confidence.

They were about to find out. Morgan reached for Sira's hand, slipping his fingers through hers.

When the first Oud dropped from the sky, the Tikitik began to laugh.

I
HELD MORGAN'S HAND,
making myself watch as aircar after aircar suddenly wavered as if out of control, then fell. Oud tumbled free of their craft to strike the ground. Strike and split open like sacks of jelly—

I jerked my eyes upward, but it wasn't easier to watch them waver and start to fall—

“Stop this,” Morgan ordered, his voice low and deadly. The comlink might not convey his tone, but the weapon in his hand, pointed at the Maker Oud, surely did. “You have your answer. Enough have died.”

How many must have been sent out like this to make the ridge? Did the Oud come every day, day after day, year after year, hoping for a change?

The Oud tapped the canopy. I felt the vibration beneath my feet again and held my breath until I was certain the remaining aircars had turned about.

Thought Traveler gave a final bark. “A shame. Just when Oud finally prove entertaining.”

Kicking it would hurt my toes more than its armored shin, I decided. Not to mention it probably fell under the heading “don't provoke the alien.” Something Morgan could get away with, in my experience; my results had been more problematic.

Morgan, weapon now out of sight, stayed focused on the Oud. “What causes them to crash?”

It shuffled to “face” him, appendages twitching. “Minded all say goodgoodgood. Minded all go stupid, crash. All Minded, bad is. All Minded, gone.”

“Gone indeed.” Thought Traveler no longer sounded entertained. “You wasted your most intelligent individuals on this fool's pursuit. No wonder you've no sense left.”

“Intelligent, most I. Maker, best is. Tikitik fool.” The Oud uncoiled and tapped vigorously.

Destin cried out as the airship threw itself forward!

Before I had to choose between joining the pile of crashed Oud machines and 'porting away without answers, the airship tipped violently left. Somehow I held onto the cylinder and grabbed Morgan at the same time, somehow not surprised to see the Om'ray and Tikitik keep their balance.

It leveled out, speeding east over the canopy.

“Where are you taking us?” I demanded.

“Stop, did,” the Oud said primly. “Go there. First, now.”

Meaning it was our turn.

T
HE
JUNGLE PASSED BENEATH
, an impenetrable carpet of browns and vibrant greens broken by the occasional taller growth. Clouds were building to the south; a promise of an afternoon's drenching. A rainbow or two. It could be any world, Morgan thought. Why couldn't he shake the feeling it wasn't?

Because something's wrong here,
Sira agreed, following the thought.
Should I 'port us home?

Using the word didn't give the Sona Cloisters the feel of the
Silver Fox.
Too soon, he reminded himself. He was adaptable. What good was a starship here anyway? What they could use was one of the Oud's airships—maybe he should negotiate for that.

He hadn't been as careful as he should be.
Beloved,
Sira sent, her mind voice as soft as her skin.
I could take you back. To where there
are
starships and old friends and—

Morgan captured her fingers and brought them to his lips.
And miss all this?
Underneath, his
determination. We stay together. That's the deal.
“Time for a new course,” he said lightly.

She'd risk it for him, would launch them into the unknowable distance between this world and wherever they could go. Risk them both dissolving in the M'hir if she exceeded the limit of her amazing strength.

Then what? If they survived the 'port, she'd leave him to
return here. He knew the quality of his Chosen, of his partner and crew. She'd never abandon her people. Neither would he.

A lock of hair slipped along his cheek.
I love you, you know.
She sent the emotion coursing between them, meeting his response,
love
becoming, for a heartbeat, all there was or need be.

“Human.”

Until they were interrupted. Morgan let her fingers go and looked at the Tikitik.

“Come with me,” it said. “I would speak with you. Alone, if I may,” with a curious twist of its head at Sira.

Who nodded back.
Wonder what this is about.

So did he. Morgan followed Thought Traveler to the rear of the airship's deck. Their departure was noted by Destin, who stepped closer to Sira, but the Maker Oud appeared oblivious. It hadn't spoken since declaring they were now to complete their part of the bargaining.

The Tikitik stopped, cilia and eyes moving restlessly. Morgan waited for the other to collect itself. Finally the small eyes fixed on the treetops below, the large rolling to meet his.

“You accused me of superstition once,” it said quietly. “After seeing proof of Cersi's limits and of the punishment inflicted by the Makers' for trespass beyond them, I find myself perilously close.”

“There's an explanation,” the Human suggested. “These devices the Oud wants Sira to activate, the Old Ones, your Makers, somehow they fit together.”

A faint bark. “You persist, as does the Om'ray's shining achievement, Sira. Is it because you see a future?”

Morgan chose his words with care. “It's because we'll make one.”

A thin-fingered hand reached out, rested almost tenderly on Morgan's shoulder. “If you ask those who worship the Makers and their Works, they will tell you there are but two imaginable futures. Either the Balance continues for all time, with Om'ray, Oud, and Tikitik walking the path together between life and death—”

“Or?” Morgan prompted when the other fell silent.

“Or the Makers restart the world.”

That
taste.
Change. He'd pushed it aside, assumed the inner warning a sensible one about climbing giant trees, fighting monsters, and flying with strange aliens. Sensing it
flare
with the Tikitik's grim pronouncement, Morgan realized the warning was for nothing so simple. “Are there any details about that?”

Fingers tightened, then released. “You can ask the Oud what their version of the end is, though I'd be astonished if it wasn't just ‘Oud, best is,' or some such nonsense. The Om'ray of my experience have no concept of a future or its lack, just as they've no true grasp of the past or change. A kindness, I would suppose.” A pause. “Ours is simpler. The Makers send fire.”

“The Oud claimed the Om'ray were the Makers.”

Thought Traveler's eyes gazed outward. “I would not say this to my kind, Human, nor would I have considered it before the return of those who style themselves M'hiray.” Its fingers toyed with the fabric on its wrist. “But it is my purpose to doubt and question. We are not now what we were. Perhaps the Om'ray were more once.” The fingers gestured downward. “It is time. This is why I brought you here. To see what Oud and Tikitik have seen. I am—interested—in your opinion, being what you are.”

Morgan looked down, half curious, half wary.

To see what at first looked so familiar, he might have been anywhere but here.

Then he realized what he saw . . .

It couldn't be. He put his palms flat on the cowl to steady himself, dizzied by the
taste
of change.

Morgan?

It's all right.
The Human gathered his wits.
I'll explain later.

He hoped. What he was beginning to imagine—no, it couldn't be.

Unless it was.

He knew that shape, even viewed through trees, even half drowned. There were constraints to design, Human or alien; certain economies.

Physics ruled.

Morgan straightened, turning to face the Tikitik. Could the creature hear the pound of his heart? “Are they all the same?”

“Identical.” Its neck flexed, moving the head close, eyes fixed in rapt attention. “Your opinion?”

He had to say it. “That was once a starship.” “That” being Sona's Cloisters.

Cersi wasn't the Om'ray homeworld.

W
HEN
THOUGHT TRAVELER
and Morgan rejoined us at the bow, my Human's face was set in the mask of outward calm that meant “don't ask” and all he allowed through his shields was a confusing
sizzle.
Whatever he'd learned or seen, I'd have to wait until he'd thought it through.

Whatever it was, I'd a feeling I wasn't going to like it. The Tikitik's head was tucked tight to its chest, as if deep in its own thoughts.

Sira.
The First Scout no longer hesitated to contact me mind-to-mind. I'd have taken that as an indication she'd welcomed me into Sona, if I wasn't reasonably sure it was Aryl she considered to already belong.
The end of the grove.

With an undertone of
dread.

I paid attention, sharing what I saw with Aryl.

The grove ended in a long narrow lake bordered on its near side by thick mats of a reedy grass. Across the lake, the land couldn't have been more different. Towers of earth rose at regular intervals along the shore, their tops domed in a clear material. Between them, beyond them—nothing but dirt.

Not the rich healthy dirt Morgan put in the rooftop planters he'd maintained on Pocular, nor even the black muck prone to stick to everything on Ret 7; this was dead, dry, and pale. Where
wind scoured, gravel showed; in the lee of the towers and along any furrows, dust collected.

Furrows. They weren't furrows, I realized all at once. I'd not grasped the scale of what I was seeing. These were mounds.

They stretched to the south and east as far as I could see, their course seeming random, but each parallel to the others.

And there was nothing else. Anywhere.

“Oud, is.” With sickening pride. “All.”

The Tikitik's larger eyes retracted into their cones; it kept staring out with the smaller, plucking its wristband as if seeking reassurance of what it was.

Show me!

You don't want to see this.
For Aryl-memory placed Yena before me. Yena and the vast Lake of Fire, with its sunken city. Beyond should be grassy fields, with proper furrows. Not these endless mounds of sterile dust. How many would have died?

Show me. Please, Sira.

So I did.

A long moment passed. Then, at the edge of sensation, bordered in red
agony,
a question formed.

What have they done?

So I asked it. “What have you done?”

“Goodgoodgood!” The Maker Oud dropped and spun around,
clickity-click
, then rose again. “Goodgoodgood! Done. Do!” It paused, an appendage tipped with a sponge waving at me. “Sira, see?”

I glanced at Morgan. He saw only the Oud. Muscle knotted his jaw and his eyes—the last time I'd seen that look in them, it had been the instant before he'd killed the pirate captain who'd ripped a hole in the side of Plexis. Then something flickered in his face and he met my gaze. He nodded, once.

“Show me,” I told the Oud. Morgan was right. M'hiray and Om'ray had died for this meeting. We couldn't turn back now.

“Sira, see.” It spun back, tapped the cowl.

The airship lost forward momentum.

Then began to rise.