Date Point: 12y6m AV
Shuttle, en route to diplomatic ship Rich Plains, Cimbrean System, The Far Reaches
Ambassador Anees Hussein
Doctor Hussein sometimes struggled to remember what his home country had been like in his youth. He had memories of opulence and wealth—or, at least, of clean white buildings with clean fountains and lush foliage—and of attending the University of Baghdad alongside pretty young women with hair that they wore openly and skirts that ended above the knee. He’d married one of them.
Decades of grinding war had reduced those memories to a question. Had Iraq ever really been that place? From the comfortable distance of a well-earned retirement where he had quietly outlived the projections of even his most optimistic doctor, he had found it hard to find visions of the land he had once called home that didn’t focus on the dust, the bombs and the suffering. For years, weak leaders from across the globe had thrown people onto that fire like new logs, in the vain and misguided hope of extinguishing it. All of them had lacked the will to truly fix the problem, and had snatched their hand back from the flames the moment they began to feel the heat.
Such a waste. The old regime had needed to go, but it had needed replacing. Properly and comprehensively, not merely torn down and the wreckage left for whomever could claw their way to its top. Democracies took root slowly and only in the deep fertile loam of stability and civility. They took decades to nurture into being: The thirsty, stony, weed-choked stuff that was his homeland’s political substrate simply couldn’t support one yet.
Perhaps one day, years after a Caesar had ridden through and made the place work the less civilized way, the time would be ripe to start coaxing something more humane to life, but that day wouldn’t come in Doctor Hussein’s lifetime. In any case, he knew that he himself had never been a Caesar: More of a Cicero.
Or perhaps a Mark Antony, as Shakespeare had envisioned him. A man who, with a few barbed words and raw emotion had reversed a crowd’s anger completely.
He allowed himself a small smirk at the thought, amused by the way that his education in classical European history sometimes got the better of him. It had seemed like a fascinating and exotic subject when he had first taken it, but it was astonishing how the ideas and histories had settled in and radically re-written his way of looking at the world.
No wonder the aliens were scared of the human race. Some ideas just…infected a person and stuck there.
“Docking in three minutes, sir.”
Hussein glanced at the man in the black suit who had spoken and acknowledged the update with a grateful nod. The SOR had made it known, delicately, that they felt a little snubbed by his decision not to take them for his personal escort—they not unreasonably felt that security wherever Cimbrean, aliens, spaceships and the Hierarchy overlapped was their responsibility—but they were rather too…overt for this occasion.
He looked forward out of the pilot’s window at the columnar hugeness of the Rich Plains as they swept in toward a comparatively tiny landing deck that Guvnurag sensibilities had placed only just behind the diplomatic vessel’s blunt prow. He wondered if that was for reasons of practicality or reasons of making visiting dignitaries such as himself feel important.
Probably the latter, he decided. It was difficult to imagine that a high-traffic working landing deck intended for the humdrum business of taking on food and supplies would have such pristine polished stone for the shuttle to alight upon.
The pilot sat back and stretched as the tractor fields took over and guided their shuttle down to a gentle touch that explained the unscratched flooring perfectly, and Hussein hauled himself to his feet with a groan of exertion.
“Well,” he said, and adjusted his spectacles. “Shall we?”
Date Point: 12y6m AV
Diplomatic Ship Rich Plains, Cimbrean system, The Far Reaches
Ambassador Furfeg
The sight of a frail human was an incongruity that was almost enough to unbalance Furfeg all by itself. The human ambassador shuffled from his transport with a bent back and a gleaming wooden stick for support and for a second he seemed like he must be a member of a different species. Surely this decrepit specimen could not be a deathworlder?
But he had those same human eyes. Amber brown in a hue that, to a Guvnurag, spoke of liveliness and indeed behind their corrective lenses those eyes were active and watchful without being wary. And somehow he managed to make the larger, stronger, younger specimens of his species who accompanied him fade into the background.
Furfeg shook the disconcerting impression loose and took a number of careful steps forward. This was no unregarded castaway girl: When the Guvnurag had contacted the humans to demand an explanation of them, this was the man whom the humans had chosen to make their case. Presumably, he was in the presence of somebody who held enormous respect on Earth.
Or possibly he was an avatar of human contempt. That seemed unlikely from what he knew of humans, but the long years had taught Furfeg never to trust that an individual might represent the whole species.
He raised a hand to his chest in greeting. “Ambassador Hussein. Welcome aboard the Rich Plains. I am Ambassador Furfeg, the Confederacy’s permanent representative aboard this ship.”
The Ambassador imitated the gesture. “*Salām.*” he said, curiously untranslated. He clearly sensed Furfeg’s surprise, because he provided a translation immediately. “It means ‘Peace,’ in the language of my home.”
That boded well, in Furfeg’s estimation. He pulsed a welcoming medley of warm yellows. “The Dominion ambassadors will be joining us from their embassy station in a few hours,” he informed the human. “There is a diplomat’s residence suite available for your use, and we have increased the gravity in that section to Earth standard for your comfort.”
“Most kind,” Hussein thanked him.
“There will be food available,” Furfeg added, “But I must apologize, Ambassador: we do not have carnivorous options on board.”
“That is quite alright,” Hussein assured him. “I have been a strict vegetarian for most of my life.”
The translator tripped over the word ‘Vegetarian’. The linguistic detour necessary in the Guvnurag language to specify the subtle distinction between innate biological herbivorousness and voluntary vegetarianism took a full seven seconds, and Hussein wore an expression of polite interest throughout.
Feeling increasingly rattled for no good reason, Furfeg stepped aside and gestured invitingly for the human and his entourage to come aboard properly.
He was stymied again by Hussein’s frailty. Guvnurag were not a quick people by any measure, but the human ambassador took each step carefully and deliberately as if he was afraid that he might fall and suffer a grievous injury at any second. There was simply no hurrying him, but his entourage seemed entirely comfortable to amble easily along behind the ambassador.
Furfeg, meanwhile, found himself taking one step for every ten of the human’s and he still had no idea if he was the target of a studied insult or not. Hussein himself certainly made no mention of it.
Shipmaster A’tkrnnmtktk’ki salvaged the situation masterfully. Furfeg read the update from his Rrrtktktkp’ch colleague on his ocular implants’ virtual overlay and saw the wisdom in it instantly.
“Ambassador…” he began delicately. “The captain of the Rich Plains has requested to give you a personal tour of the ship before the delegates arrive. The ship is rather large, however, so he has offered the use of a small personal transport…”
“That is very kind of them,” Hussein said, pausing. “I hesitate to impose on the captain’s generosity, but as you can see my legs don’t quite work as well as they once did…”
“He assures me that the vehicle will be available for your use throughout your stay, Ambassador. As a personal token of his esteem.” A’tkrnnmtktk’ki hadn’t become shipmaster of the Rich Plains by accident. Indeed, he was an accomplished diplomat himself, and had worked small wonders in support of Furfeg for many years.
“The captain is most generous.”
By the time they reached the door, the vehicle had arrived and Hussein settled gratefully onto a part of it that looked deeply uncomfortable to Furfeg’s eyes, but then again he and the ambassador were very different shapes.
It set off under its own power at a comfortable walking pace that Furfeg was able to match with ease. The human guards with their shorter legs jogged to keep up but seemed to suffer no particular distress or feel at all disgruntled by the change in pace.
Furfeg willed himself to relax slightly. The first of many obstacles had been navigated without incident, and the real test was tomorrow. There was no sense in running himself ragged.
Still…he couldn’t shake a terrible paranoid feeling somewhere in his bones that told him he should not truly relax until after the human was safely off his ship again.
Date Point: 12y6m AV
Cabal Dataspace 32758927, Adjacent to Gao planetary datasphere.
Cytosis
The sticking point was Stoneback. Every other clan, from the Females all the way through Gaoian society had nicely followed the Hierarchy’s usual cybernetic uptake projections. Progressive generations had become more and more comfortable with the technology, squeamishness had been carefully reduced, until nowadays every major political force on Gao—Clan or otherwise—had an entirely acceptable percentage of implantees.
Stoneback did not. Possibly this had to do with their lifestyles, which could be rough and physical by any standard and even sometimes as intense as a true Deathworlder’s. Their Champion was known for his lack of implants, too, and the Clan quite naturally followed his example.
Such factions had always been…difficult…for the Hierarchy to handle. Normally they would quietly engineer the faction’s irrelevance or possibly its destruction, but that was absolutely not an option here, for reasons that were maddeningly complex and essential to Gaoian culture.
One of those reasons, of course, was the counter-agency of Cabal operatives. They needed actors who were well-positioned to oppose Hierarchy influence, and the Gao were unknowingly at an essential moment in their history; they were almost beyond the critical threshold. Stoneback was the key to their salvation, to help them undo the deadening influence of the Hierarchy’s psychological and cultural engineering…but they had no agents within. At all.
Sometimes, however, an opportunity presented itself and in this case that opportunity took the form of one Associate Fiin.
Fiin was a young, junior, strapping, and sullenly belligerent example of the Clan’s advanced training programs. Supremely self-confident though still in some unidentified phase of his progression, the young associate had managed to annoy just the wrong male in a local Talamay house.
Gaoian society had a curious relationship with murder. They didn’t exactly accept it—the Females wanted stability and peace after all, and for their cubs to ha ve long and successful lives. When a male killed another male, it tended to harm their mating chances, and that was usually enough of a disincentive. Usually, but not invariably
Then there were the Straightshields. Gao’s answer to a police force and judiciary were, if anything, even keener on an orderly society than the Females were, and they were among the heavier implant users. After all, neural cybernetics had made their role so much easier…
These facts combined to explain exactly why the young Fiin was standing shackled in front of Cytosis, or rather in front of the biodrone that Cytosis controlled. The young Stoneback was covered in blood and had a chunk torn from his left ear, and he was wearing an expression of barely-contained rage that his motives were even being questioned.
“He attacked me in a back-alley with three of his workhouse-mates! What was I supposed to do?”
“There were other options besides disemboweling all four of them, Associate Fiin,” Cytosis allowed his biodrone to say. “You are Clan and are held to a much higher standard. You know this, do you not?”
Fiin aimed a look that longed for violence at the Straightshield enforcers who had him coralled. He wasn’t stupid enough to fight back, but it was clear that his hackles were up and he wanted more blood on his claws. “The Openpaw medics said three of them will survive!”
“For which you should be immensely grateful, young Clanling. Their workhouse will demand Wergeld and rightly so. Terl was a valuable and highly-skilled welder.”
“He should have thought of that before he tried to bite my throat out!”
“Indeed. And will the surveillance footage reflect your version of events? Answer wisely, young Clanling.”
Fiin went stiff, then sagged. “Stonebacks don’t lie…but it was an alleyway. There is no footage. Which is why they attacked me there, the cowards…”
And there was the opportunity that Cytosis had been looking for.
“No, you don’t lie, do you? I can smell it on you.” Which was true: Fiin reeked of blood and honesty. “But what am I to do, Fiin of Stoneback? This is not your first encounter with my Clan and I suspect it will not be the last. Have you gained no serenity from your new position?”
Fiin didn’t respond to that, but he did cringe ever so slightly. Cytosis had struck a chord. He paused for a moment and addressed the enforcers. “Leave us, I think he will hold his honor.”
The enforcers regarded Cytosis carefully, then backed off and resumed their patrol. Dealing with one of the Judge-Fathers of their clan was more than they had bargained on at the start of their day, and especially not this Father. This father had a Reputation.
When the patrol officers had retreated sufficiently, Cytosis approached carefully and unshackled Fiin to his wide-eyed surprise.
“You are on probation,” Cytosis informed him. “And the citation will be recorded. Self-defense this may have been, but there is such a thing as excessive force, young Stoneback. You must understand that, because as Clan you have a much larger responsibility than any Clanless. And you are a Stoneback. In short order you will grow past our ability to peaceably restrain…”
He saw Fiin nod, and laid down his bait. “I am willing, however, to ensure that the citation expires quickly, provided you demonstrate that Straightshield can trust you. Our Clans have a good relationship. I want to keep it that way. I don’t want our officers to have to bring you down hard, and you don’t want to waste a gesture of goodwill. Do you?”
Fiin seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and duck-nodded submissively. “No, Father.”
“Good. Now…this leniency doesn’t come entirely without a price. While I cannot order you to do this…Straightshield would very much appreciate if you kept us in your thoughts when you fully assume your Clan responsibilities. You will see much. Some of it will be unusual, perhaps unethical. Maybe dangerous to the Gao…”
Fiin opened his mouth to object, and Cytosis had his drone raise a paw to stop him. “This is not an accusation, it is a fact,” he asserted. “Every Clan has its…difficult….elements, and Straightshield alone have the power to independently investigate and Judge. You know our motto?”
Fiin duck-nodded. Everybody knew the Straightshield motto, they were one of the few Clans who had made theirs public knowledge. When Cytosis gestured for him to speak, he grumbled the three words quietly. ”Service Before Self”
Cytosis duck-nodded for him. “We take it seriously. Just as seriously as your Clan takes yours…”
Fiin duck-nodded seriously but did not reveal the motto. Which was…maddening. Both the Cabal and the Hierarchy knew next to nothing about Stoneback and even something as simple as their motto eluded them. The Whitecrests had ‘Light the Darkness,’ Clan Shortstride had ‘Build The Easy Road,’ but Stoneback remained a frustratingly closed book.
Anyway. “Very well. Keep your nose clean and your claws bloodless, young Stoneback. Before you know it this citation will be gone and you will have your second chance. Now go get yourself cleaned up…and pay that wergeld. Pay generously, Fiin.”
“…I will. Thank you, Father.”
“Go.”
He watched Fiin depart with as much dignified speed as he could, which was frankly heavier on the speed than the dignity, then turned and strolled back out into the crowd towards his vehicle.
It wasn’t much of a foothold in Gao’s most impenetrable Clan… but it was a start.
And it was more than the Hierarchy had.
Date Point: 12y6m AV
Diplomatic Starship Rich Plains, Cimbrean System, The Far Reaches
Ambassador Furfeg
The human was just…taking it. He had barely spoken a word for the duration of the session so far, and had instead chosen to bow his head and listen as the delegates took their turns laying into his species as a whole.
Furfeg was having to fight to keep his emotions from showing: Some of the unfiltered vitriol landing on the beleaguered deathworlder went far beyond anything that he personally or even the species in general deserved.
Furfeg had his…doubts…about mankind. When he had unleashed the Hunters on this very ship all those years ago he had wanted to showcase the species’ heroic potential, and he had succeeded admirably at a cold cost that he had kept buried ever since.
It was only later, on silent reflection, that he had begun to assess the consequences. Xiù Chang herself had done nothing wrong at all—indeed, she had been the victim of his scheme—but she had…broken things. Subtly. In ways that were hard to pin down, the collateral damage of what she had achieved not only on the Rich Plains but also in a nameless lab on a nameless barren world, on Gao and for the Gaoians had been widespread and most likely unconscious.
There was a lengthy causal chain between that girl’s abduction and the fact that Gao was, it was rumoured, shortly to see an upgrade in its official Dominion habitability rating to take it above ten and into the class of bottom-end deathworld. Furfeg was absolutely certain that the reclassification would never have even been considered if not for that one Canadian teenager. Perhaps the Gaoians could have maintained the deception a little while longer.
Deep in the soul he had come to believe he might have, Furfeg could only stare at the frail, elderly ambassador that humanity had chosen for themselves and wonder what happened when that kind of unthinking calamitous agency was multiplied to include eight billion people? Just how hot was the fire they were playing with, here?
And why was something so dangerous willing to just sit and take it?
The answer came to him in a cold jolt. Hussein was accepting the abuse with such composure because he could.
The realization happened at about the same time as the last of the grieving Guvnurag delegates reached the end of their tirade and sank back into their seat exhausted. Twelve of the most powerful politicians in the galaxy had shouted themselves hoarse at an old man.
Slowly, with a hand that might have been trembling from emotion or might have been trembling from age, Hussein reached up and removed his glasses. He folded them carefully and held them lightly in his lap as he tugged a small cloth square from his pocket and delicately dried around his eyes and nose.
He returned the cloth to his pocket, re-positioned the spectacles on his nose, cleared his throat, and then looked around at the beings who had abused him so futilely.
“…What must we do?” he asked, quietly.
Date Point: 12y6m AV
Uncharted Class 12 Deathworld, Near 3Kpc Arm
Xiù Chang
“You can’t just ‘go native’ like that!”
“I had a stone in my shoe! What was I gonna do, let it wreck the whole foot? The damn thing doesn’t heal, Al!”
Xiù had never heard Allison and Julian really raise their voices at each other before. As with all relationships there was always the occasional irate moment, the odd tense exchange, but by and large they had a peaceful home.
But Allison was furious with Julian today, and Xiù couldn’t really blame her.
The girls had gone on a supply run back to the ship, and on returning they’d found Julian showing a fascinated Vemik the workings of his foot while gnawing happily on a roasted Werne shank. And he’d known he shouldn’t be doing either of those things, because he’d shot Allison the immediate guilty look that all men wore when caught by their girlfriends doing something that had been explicitly forbidden.
Vemik, wisely, had found a reason to leave. Quickly.
“Xiù! Back me up here?” Allison finally turned to her and flung an arm wide, inviting her to pitch in.
Xiù looked her in the eye and shook her head. “No ganging up, remember?” she said, quietly.
The gentle reminder worked. Allison gawped at her for a second, then blinked and chilled out a little.
“I…Uh…Right. Shit, Julian, I’m sorry. I’m just—”
“No, it’s—” Julian tried to interrupt her. “You’re right, I promised I wouldn’t.”
“It’s not that. You’ve been scaring the shit outta me, dummy.” Allison confessed. “I keep waiting for you to wake up puking blood or…something.”
“Allison…” Julian hugged her and ran a vigorous, reassuring hand firmly up and down her back. “We’ve got biofilters, antibiotics, antiparasitics and stasis. We need to befriend these people if we’re not gonna be Gods and break them completely. We’re tough and they’re smart. We…we need to take some risk here. If we don’t, we might be risking them. They need to see us as people and not avatars or we might get…hell, a cargo cult or something.”
“There’s gotta be a way to do that without risking your own health, though?”
“…I’m not stupid,” Julian chided without any real hard feeling. “Vemet wanted me to take their trial of manhood, and God knows what that involves, but I know there’s some kind of a drug in there so I said no. I said it would probably be bad because I’m from very far away and it might insult his gods, and he seemed okay with that.”
Allison backed down some more. “Good. That’s…good. Thanks.”
“I’m not happy about it either,” Xiù confessed, “I dunno, I think he’s right, bǎobèi. But…I think you’re right too. I’m torn.”
“I’m not happy about it!” Julian said. “Just by being here we’ve done…fuck-knows-what to these people. I just don’t think hiding anything is gonna prevent further harm.”
Allison made a pained noise and threw herself into Xiù’s lap under the tree they were using as ‘their’ space in the clearing. She kneaded her eyes with the heel of her hands before running her fingers through her hair and sighed at the leaves and limbs above. “…I mean…do we really wanna let more cats out of the bag?”
“No, I don’t want to,” Julian repeated himself. “I think we have to. We need to be real in a way they can understand. I don’t wanna be a God.”
“Oh, come on!” Allison groaned and glared at him half-heartedly. “Now you’re gonna use my own thing against me?”
“If it’s your own thing, babe…” He pointed out, and let the thought hang unfinished.
Allison stared at him a few moments longer then looked to Xiù, who shrugged and gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead. “We’re all stressing out about this,” she said, stroking Allison’s hair. “I don’t want to hurt them either, but…”
“But honesty is the best policy. Fuck.” Allison sighed. “Fine. Beat by my own logic, huh?”
“Sorry.” Julian sat down with them both, and the argument ended as all their arguments did with foreheads to foreheads and three quick kisses. No hard feelings.
There was a curious sound from nearby. The Singer was watching them again, in a very different way to Vemik. Where Vemik had a permanent puppyish tilt to his head as he tried to figure out what he was hearing, the Singer just…watched. Levelly, thoughtfully and impenetrably.
Of course, this was the first time the three of them had been affectionate in front of the tribe, wasn’t it? In the moment, they’d forgotten.
Xiù went tense, waiting for the Singer to demand an explanation…but instead the native woman shrugged, turned, and swung away into a neighboring tree without comment.
They watched her go.
“…What’s with her?” Allison asked, eventually.
“I’ve barely spoken with her,” Xiù said. “She…I don’t think she knows what to think of us yet.”
“Could be a problem,” Julian’s hand rasped through a few days of stubble. “If she decides she doesn’t like us…”
“Her word would carry a lot of weight,” Xiù agreed. “I think she’s Yan’s niece, as well as being the witch or…whatever we call her.”
“Let’s just call her the Singer,” Allison proposed.
“And what do we do if she doesn’t like us?” Julian asked.
Xiù watched Vemik get up and leave as well, following after the Singer.
“…we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she decided.
Date Point: 12y6m AV
Uncharted Class 12 Deathworld, Near 3Kpc Arm
Vemik Sky-Thinker
Vemik had good hearing. He listened thoughtfully from a distance, and he wondered. He didn’t quite understand what they were talking about. Their sky-words were still new but…
They seemed worried. Worried about the People. And they seemed…like they cared. And that, he decided, was a good thing.
He noticed the Singer giving the three Sky-People some distance and followed her to the temporary nest she’d made half-way up a Ketta tree, hung with bones and totems and a few of her herbs and roots. She was dividing her time between the village and the meeting-place for now, and was almost as exhausted as she’d been on the long journey from the old village.
She gave him a tired look as she settled into the little bowl of bent branches and leaves she’d made for herself.
“You’re quiet…” Vemik said.
“I left the baby with Semi,” she said. Semi had been the mother of Vemik’s half-sisters, and was throwing herself hard into her work to try and keep her thoughts away from the pain of knowing that her daughters, sent to the eastern tribe a few seasons before, had all been killed by the “Big Enemy”.
Having a niece to look after was probably doing her some good. It was certainly helping the Singer, who had been struggling to cope with the constant demands of both tribe and child even before the sky-people showed up.
Vemik prided himself that he could offer comfort and support—the Singer fell asleep the instant he held her, most nights—but she had been adamant that if he wanted sex then he was going to have to go find some other woman for that as she just didn’t have the energy.
Vemik would have taken her at her word too, except that all the women in the tribe were so much older than him. Old enough to be his mother, although she had died and her body had been given to the skies many seasons ago. So long ago that Vemik could remember little of her.
He’d grown up being mothered by the whole tribe. To go to any of them seemed…it made his skin feel like little things were crawling all over him, and the crawling feeling got even worse when he thought about how the only other women in the tribe were his cousins and sisters.
There had been too many seasons since they last traded with another tribe. Too many more and things would become difficult indeed.
The Singer always seemed to know the inside of his head. Her usual amused sparkle shone through the fatigue for a second as she gave him a sly look. “So, what do you find so fascinating in the Sky-People?” she asked. “They are beautiful in a strange way, aren’t they?”
“They don’t have tails,” Vemik objected. “And their hands have too many fingers, and that thing in the middle of their faces—!”
“And they’re beautiful. In a strange way,” she repeated. “Aren’t they?”
“…Yes.” Vemik admitted. “But stranger than I…they seem…” He paused and scowled at himself. Whatever thought he was trying to have was getting stuck like a bone in a choking man’s throat. “Do women…?”
“Do women what?” Her tone was light and innocent, but her eyes were anything but.
“The Sky-Women, they seem to…love each other. And him.”
“And why not?” the Singer smiled at him. “Some of the village women turn to each other for comfort when the men are away hunting.”
“You do?”
“And why not?” She repeated. “Why? Don’t men—?”
“If we do, none of them have ever asked me to-” Vemik shook his head. “No.”
The Singer picked a stray shred of leaf out of her tail-crest. “Perhaps I should ask a different man.”
Feeling strangely jilted for no good reason that he could identify, Vemik climbed up onto a branch slightly higher than hers and lay along it on his belly, looking down at her. She rolled onto her back and continued to give him that impenetrable, amused look. “Do you think they’d answer?”
“Why not? Your father and Yan seem to like each other.”
“Wait, really?” Vemik was still thinking through what that might mean when she trilled loudly and gave him a fond look.
“I’m tugging your tail, stupid.”
“…Oh.” Vemik lowered his head again, thinking.
“I mean, Yan likes most people…but he’s polite about it,” she added. “Maybe he likes you!”
Vemik made a pained noise, as he always did when people were teasing him with things he didn’t know and vague half-answers. “You are in an evil mood today!”
“No, I’m in a good mood.” The Singer stretched and curled up a little in her nest. “That argument of theirs…what did you make of it?”
“…That they’re worried about something. Something big. And they’re worried for us.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Comforting, isn’t it?”
“If the Sky-People are worried for us…they can do impossible things. Shouldn’t we be worried by there being something that worries them?”
“Why? We can only do what we can do. Yan has more taking-magic than the men in any of the songs, but I think he’d be killed dead by that black rock-spear thing they have.”
“That’s worrying!” Vemik insisted.
“It is! But it’s obvious that they care about us, so it’s not something to worry about. See?”
Vemik looked down at her, knowing that he was going to worry about it despite her advice. “…So what do we do?”
“Learn. They worry for us. That’s both worrying and comforting, so learn. In time they will tell us what worries them, and once we know? Then we can make plans.”
“When we get the words…and the sky-thoughts. It’s hard, it’s like…” Vemik searched for the phrasing. “They have words for thoughts nobody’s ever had! Every time we talk I feel—” he paused and summoned the word he had learned. “They have a word. ‘Universe.’ It means all the stars in the night sky that we can see, and all the ones that we can’t see too.”
“I heard it. It sounded like Big Magic.”
“But…what kind of people have a word for stars that we can’t see?”
She shrugged. “Sky-thinkers.”
“I’m a sky-thinker,” he objected, “and I never came up with a word like that.”
“You haven’t been doing it for as long.”
Vemik opened his mouth to protest, and the Singer raised her hand to forestall the argument. “No, really! They’re not gods, I think that’s true, right? Gods don’t eat like we do, or have strange carved feet, or anything like that. They’re just People from under a far-away sky who have been sky-thinking for a very long time and are very good at it. They’ve told us so.”
“They could be lying?” Vemik suggested, half-heartedly. It was a crippled and weak little objection.
“Jooyun didn’t lie about his made-foot, did he? He took it apart and showed you all the bones and tendons, even with how strange their feet are. Why would he lie about any of that? Why would a god lie and pretend to just be a Person?” She glanced at the sun. “Could a god lie and pretend to just be a Person?”
“Maybe he’s a trickster god?”
“Well…No, I don’t think so. I feel it in my breath.” Which was fair enough, as far as Vemik was concerned. It was the Singer’s job to know such things, after all. “But, you want to do something? Jooyun seems to like you. You two started exploring right? Why not keep doing that? I know you’re harassing him with questions and he hasn’t taken you with his black-spear, so…”
“He seems to like it when I ask questions…” Vemik admitted.
“Maybe he likes you…” She had that teasing edge to her voice again.
“Hey!”
The Singer trilled, “You’re such easy prey!”
“Apparently,” grumbled Vemik. She trilled again, but relented.
“Fine. He likes your questions. So if he is a god then asking questions will keep him happy, and if he isn’t a god then maybe he will teach you things,” she summed up with a nod. “And maybe, eventually, you will know what has them so worried.”
“And after that…I keep asking questions until I know how to help them with whatever has them worried?” Vemik asked.
“Maybe. Swing from this tree to that tree, Sky-thinker. Don’t try to hold a branch that isn’t in front of you.”
“You sound like Yan,” Vemik grumbled. She trilled.
“I hope so! He is my uncle. And a wise man, too—You should listen to him more.”
“I do listen to him!”
“Really?” the Singer shook her head and seemed amused. “And if Yan was giving you advice right now, what would he say?”
Vemik thought about it. “He’d say…to keep my thoughts here and now. Hold the branch in front of me.”
“And what is in front of you right now?”
Vemik grinned. “A nest that’s just about big enough for two, if they’re close enough…”
“Really? Well then, father of my first child. How close are we?”
It was Vemik’s turn to make an amused trill, and he dropped easily off his branch and onto hers.
“Why don’t we learn?” he asked.