Heaven's Reach (67 page)

Oh, well. At least I get to take part in something important. Even if Wer'Q'quinn is exaggerating my chances of getting home again.

Kazzkark had seemed so immaculate when he first arrived here from training school. Now a dusty haze seemed to pervade the corridors, shaken from the walls by quakes and chaos waves, which rattled this entire sector at ever narrower intervals. They had grown so frequent, in fact, that he hardly noticed most of them anymore.

It just goes to show, even the abnormal can get to seem normal, after a while.

Approaching the dockyards, he witnessed a large party of hoonish clerks and their families, carrying luggage and tugging hover-carts, preparing to board a transport for one of their homeworlds. The queue was orderly, as you would expect from a hoonish procession. Yet, something appeared different about this group. They seemed less dour, more animated, than others of their kind.

It's their clothes!
Harry realized, all at once.
Alvin's got them wearing Hawaiian shirts!

Indeed, roughly a third of the hulking bipeds had set aside the more typical robes of boring white or silver, and draped themselves instead with tunics bearing garish prints of flowers and tropical ferns—split down the back to leave room for their craggy spines. Umbling as they waited patiently in line, the group made every nearby corridor reverberate with tones that seemed far livelier than the dirgelike chants usually heard from hoons.

One GalSix trill-phrase, in particular, caused Harry to stumble.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that translates into Anglic as “heigh ho!”

Some of the older hoons looked on all this with perplexed—even miffed—expressions. But toward the front there stood a crowd of youths—
teenagers
, he noted—who boomed out the refrain with enthusiastic bellows of their bulging throat sacs.

A cheerful ballad about transition, and eagerness for new vistas.

Over in a corner, shuffling behind the hoons, stood a strange figure, looking like a short, shabby Jophur. It was
Tyug
, the traeki alchemist from Jijo, accompanying Alvin on the next phase of his adventure.

Harry tried to catch Alvin's eye as he walked past, but the lad was fully immersed, enjoying his role as the out-of-town boy who had come to stir things up. With Dor-hinuf close to his side, and a pair of tytlal lounging on his broad shoulders, Alvin leaned against a loosely wrapped shipping crate, feigning nonchalance while keeping a close vigil over its contents.

One edge of the tarpaulin shifted as Harry watched. From the darkness within, a single
eye
drifted upward at the end of a waving stalk. Another tried to follow, squeezing through to twist and stare at the surroundings.

Without pausing in the umble song, Alvin silently used one burly hand to grab both wayward eyes and cram them back inside. Then he tied the tarp down firmly. The crate shuddered, as if someone inside were rolling back and forth in protest. But Alvin only leaned harder until things settled down.

“Ahoy!” shouted a hoon at the front of the queue, when the portal opened at last, leading to their ship. “Avast back there. Here we go!”

Harry tried holding it in. He struggled hard, and managed to make it fifty meters farther along before his splitting sides could take it no longer. Then he ducked around a stony corner, sagged against the nearest wall, and guffawed.

The Official Docks were nearly deserted. Dignitaries of the Library, Migration, Commerce, and War Institutes
had already scurried off, leaving empty moorings. Only Wer'Q'quinn's busy teams remained on duty, rushing forth on rescue missions, or using beacons to guide traffic around danger zones. Noble work. Harry's own days might be better spent that way, helping save lives and patching the raveled skeins of Galactic society. After the main rupture event, NavInst must promote recovery by getting trade going again.

But Wer'Q'quinn saved me for this mission. I guess the old octopus knows what he's doing.

Ahead lay Harry's venerable observation platform, designed for cruising the memic jungles of E Space. Although this mission was bound to be the most dangerous yet, Harry found his footsteps speeding up, drawn by strange eagerness.

Humming under his breath, he recognized the same melody Alvin's new in-laws had been umbling as they prepared to depart.

It seemed a catchy tune.

Good for traveling.

A song of anticipation.

More chaos waves struck the planetoid while he was busy loading Wer'Q'quinn's instruments into the hold. Ancient stone walls groaned with resonant vibrations, causing the ship's decks and bulkhead to vibrate violently. Harry had to scoot out of the way when an unsecured crate toppled from an upper shelf. Thanks to Kazzkark's slight pseudogravity, he managed to avoid getting crushed, but the box smashed hard, spilling delicate parts across the floor.

While sweeping up, he listened for the wailing siren to announce a vacuum breach. Only after several duras passed did his fur settle down. Apparently, the dock seals were holding—for now.

Harry stepped outside to visit the stocky little Thennanin-built star cruiser that lay parked behind his station. Stepping through its airlock, he shouted for the pilot.

“Kaa! You ready to ship out? I'll be outta here in less than a midura, if you're still thinking of tagging along.”

The sleek gray dolphin emerged from his control cubicle, riding atop a six-legged machine. Kaa was starting to look weary. It had been weeks since he'd had a swim. Aside from rest periods in a narrow water tank, he'd spent most of that time lying on the float bed of a walker-drone.

“It'sss not soon enough for me,” the pilot hissed. “Alassss, I'm stuck waiting here till Dwer returns.”

Harry glanced around.

“Aw hell,” he grunted. “
Now
where's Dwer gone off to?”

Another voice spoke up from a rear doorway, uttering Anglic words with unctuous, almost seductive tones.

“Well, well. I would surmise that the young human is trying—yes, one more time!—to persuade his female counterpart—Rety—to come along. Would you not guess it so?”

Kiwei Ha'aoulin emerged from one of the tiny cabins, working past a pile of supplies tied down by cargo netting. The Synthian had pressed to accompany Kaa, despite warnings that it would surely be a one-way trip. In fact, each admonition just heightened her resolve. Kiwei even offered to finance all the food and other items needed for Kaa's voyage.

She did not believe that a so-called “great rupture” was imminent.

“These disturbances will pass,”
she had blithely assured.
“I am not saying everything will go back to normal. While the Institutes and great clans spend centuries sorting things out, they will be lax about enforcing minor rules against little sooner colonies—or against smuggling! Can't you scent business opportunities in this? I shall serve as Jijo's commercial agent, yes! In utter secrecy and confidence, as off-planet liaison for the Six-or-Seven Races, I will market primitive autochthonous implements on the collectors' market, and make us all quite rich!”

Harry had watched greed battle typical Synthian caution. Eventually, Kiwei resolved the conflict by entering
a state of pure denial, blithely rejecting any notion that upheavals might change the cosmos in fundamental ways. Harry felt guilty about giving in to her request. But a Synthian trader could be obstinately tenacious, wearing down all opposition. Besides, Kaa needed the supplies.

Kiwei stepped over the crude caricature that Pincer-Tip had carved in the metal deck—a chilling image of the qheuen's murderer, who had probably departed Kazzkark by now, plotting more mischief.

“Indeed, Dwer went after Rety. I was monitoring comm channels, moments ago, when an urgent message came through from the boy.”

Kaa thrashed his tail. “You didn't t-tell me!”

“Pilot, you seemed well occupied with pre-takeoff checklists and such. Besides, I had it in mind to go now and help the young human, myself! Generous, yes? Would you care to come along, Scout-Major Harms?”

Harry squirmed. His launch window would be optimum in a midura. Still, if the boy was in trouble …

“Did Dwer say what's the matter?”

The Synthian rubbed her belly—a nervous gesture.

“The message was unclear. Apparently, he feels urgent action is needed, or the girl will not survive.”

They tracked the young Jijoan to a nearby warehouse chamber, crouching behind a pile of abandoned crates. Wearing a dark cloak and a frustrated expression, he gazed at a gathering of sapients, about forty meters away.

Empty cargo containers had been festooned with blue and gold draperies, a convivial backdrop for the big Skiano missionary, who stood surrounded by about two dozen acolytes from as many races. The Skiano's head jutted above most followers, resembling a massive ship's prow. One pair of eyes gleamed ceaselessly, as if lighting the way into a warm night.

Most of the proselytes had already dispersed to far reaches of civilized space, spreading their exceptional message of personal salvation, but this remnant group
remained by their leader, chanting hymns that chilled Harry's spine.

“What's up?” he asked Dwer, stepping past him. Harry quickly spotted Rety, a small human figure, sitting apart from the others, her face lit by the glow of a portable computer.

“Watch out!” Dwer snapped, seizing Harry's collar and yanking him back hard.

“Hey!” Harry complained—till several small projectiles pelted a nearby crate, sending splinters flying.

He blinked. “Someone's shooting at us!”

Dwer hazarded a glimpse back around the corner, then motioned it was okay for Harry and Kiwei to rejoin him. He pointed toward a pair of blue-clad acolytes—a
gello
and a
paha
—standing protectively near the dais, glaring with expressions of clear warning. Both races had been uplifted to be warriors, with innate talents for violent conflict. Though now dedicated to a religion of peace, these individuals had been assigned a task worthy of their gifts. While the gello brandished a metal-tipped staff, the paha sported a simple device on one arm—a wrist catapult, like the one Dwer was seen wearing earlier.

“Interesting,” Kiwei said. “Disallowed more sophisticated weaponry, they swiftly caught on to the advantages of wolfling arts. No doubt Rety taught them. Perhaps their new faith disposes them to be more open-minded than most.”

Harry shrugged aside Kiwei's foolish commentary.

“They don't want us comin' any closer. Why?” he asked Dwer.

“I was warned not to bother Rety anymore. They said I was
distracting
her. They can't bring themselves to kill a sacred Earthling. But since ‘it is the Terran destiny to suffer for us all,' they won't mind shattering a bone or two. I'd be careful, if I were you.”

Harry's frustration flared.

“Look, Dwer, we don't have much time. Rety's decided to stay with folks who'll love an' take care of her. That's a lot more than most folks have in this universe,
and better odds than she'd have coming with us! It's time to let her make her own choices.”

Dwer nodded. “Normally, I'd agree. Rety's been a pain. I'd like nothing better than to see her make it on her own. There's just one problem. Things may not be quite the way you just described 'em.”

Harry's eyebrows arched.

“Oh? How's that?”

In reply, Dwer pointed.

“Look to the right, beyond the platform. See something there? Beyond that curtain?”

Blowing another sigh, Harry peered toward a flowing veil of colorful fabric between two massive pillars, just past the Skiano's meditating followers. “What're you talkin' about? I don't get …”

He paused. Something
moved
back there. At first, the outlines reminded him of an angular machine, with sharp edges for cutting, slicing. Then an errant gust blew the drapes harder against the object, revealing a stark, mantislike outline.

“Ifni's boss …,” Harry murmured. “What's a Tandu lurking back there for?”

Of one thing he felt sure—no Tandu would ever join the Skiano's heresy! Immortality of some abstract “soul” could not appeal like a chance to crush enemies, or impose their racial will on a recalcitrant cosmos. Till now, constraints of ritual and law kept such impulses in check—Tandu seldom killed openly without a veneer of Galactic legality. But what if civilization collapsed? There were rumors of secret bases, filled with countless warrior eggs, ready to hatch at a moment's notice.

“Why are the paha and gello just standing there?” he wondered aloud. “They must not realize—”

Kiwei interrupted.

“They do realize. Note how they keep their backs toward the curtain, as if to ignore what's beyond. Clearly, they have orders. The Tandu is here for some approved purpose!”

Purpose?
Harry tugged nervously on his thumbs … till he had an idea.

“Kiwei, hand me your data plaque. I want to try something.”

The Synthian complied, and Harry started mumbling commands into the handheld unit. Using his authority, he ordered ferret programs to search for transmissions emanating from Rety's computer. With luck, he would soon—

“Got it!” he announced, while his companions crowded close. On a split screen, the left side abruptly revealed the young Jijoan woman, her visage smoothed by recent surgery. On the right, they saw copies of the charts that had her attention transfixed.

“What now?” Dwer asked. “Use this link to speak to her? I guarantee she'll just get angry and cut us off.”

Harry shrugged. “I was hopin' to spy a little first.” He studied the image on the right. “It looks like a list of planets where their cult recently sent missionaries. Most are trading worlds, with good spatial contacts and cosmopolitan cultures that don't oppress odd points of view. These folks are clever. But I don't see what this has to do with—”