Hellspark (42 page)

“But it does,” Maggy said. “In the books, it does.”

“But those are only fiction.—And Tocohl replied that she was as natural as I, and took a terrible chance turning her back on me! You know how dangerous that was, don’t you, Tocohl?”

“Believe me, I know it. I can still feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. But I could feel your position on my 2nd skin, so I knew when you rushed me. That and the zap-me probably saved my life.”

“I didn’t get to watch,” said Maggy, something almost petulant in her voice. “When you duel again, may I watch?”

Tocohl smiled again and took Alfvaen’s hand in her own. “As I said, just don’t do it again. If Maggy were there, you wouldn’t stand a chance against us.”

“I could stay out of it,” suggested Maggy hopefully. “After all, two against one isn’t polite.

And

Alfvaen was supposed to win.”

Swift-Kalat said, “I don’t understand what this is about.”

“My low taste in reading matter,” Alfvaen said. “Maggy expects us to do certain things because of the books she and I read.”

Patiently, Tocohl said, “Maggy, fiction and reality often reinforce one another, but fiction can’t
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be counted on to give you a pattern for reality. Alfvaen’s nightmares took the form they did because of what she reads. Yes, she’s my friend, and yes, we fought a duel over swift-Kalat, but that’s where it stops.

That’s as far as we’ll take the pattern.”

“Oh,” said Maggy, again injecting a note of disappointment into the vocoder’s phrasing, “you mean she doesn’t love swift-Kalat?”

Om im dropped forward, hiding his face in his hands, while his shoulders shook in suppressed laughter. Tocohl closed her eyes and sighed, then she opened them again and looked at the reddening

Alfvaen. “Do you want to answer that one, Alfvaen? I don’t see how we can make it any worse than it already is.”

Scarlet-faced, Alfvaen tilted her head up to face swift-Kalat. In perfect Jenji, she told him not only that she loved him, but precisely how sure she was of her truth, and that was very sure indeed.

Swift-Kalat replied in kind, stroking her cheek to seal the bargain.

“She says,” Maggy began to Om im, “she—”

“Not necessary, Maggy,” said Om im, still shaking with laughter. “For some things no translation is needed.”

“But you see,” said Maggy, “that’s right, too. And the fiction told me how to find Tocohl, so why aren’t you going to fight a duel properly.”

“Because I don’t want to fight a duel with Alfvaen,” Tocohl said firmly.

Alfvaen drew her glance away from swift-Kalat, took in the glare with which Tocohl favored the arachne, and said, matching Tocohl’s firmness, “And I don’t want to fight a duel with Tocohl either, Maggy.”

“Oh,” said Maggy, this time in quite a different tone, “you don’t want to. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

This set Om im laughing again, and Tocohl nearly bit her lip in two trying not to join him.

“Alfvaen,” Maggy went on, “do you wish me to forget the duel you and Tocohl already had?”

Tocohl gasped out, “Alfvaen, she means that literally. She’ll wipe her records of it if you ask her to.”

“I see.” Alfvaen looked thoughtfully at the arachne. “No, Maggy, don’t forget it. You need it to remind you that fiction doesn’t tell you the whole story.”

“Thank you.” The arachne bobbed slightly.

Alfvaen continued to watch it for a moment, then she said, “If you like, Maggy, when layli-layli calulan says I’m healthy enough to release from custody, I could demonstrate the standard dueling techniques for you…”

“Oh, yes. I’d like that very much!” The arachne suddenly contracted.

“Maggy?” said Tocohl, worried by the abruptness of the movement.

The arachne unfolded and pricked gingerly across Alfvaen to stare upward at Tocohl.

“Tocohl?”—the voice held puzzled surprise—“I know what ‘like’ means!”

Tocohl could feel the smile spread from her toes to her scalp. In deep satisfaction, she said,

“And about time, too. Good for you, Maggy! I like you very much.”

Maggy made no reply. In fact, for the next several hours, she was remarkably quiet. To Tocohl, it was clear that Maggy needed some time to herself, to think things out. So Tocohl took the opportunity to catch the rest she still needed.

At long last, she was awakened by Maggy’s urgent pinging, and by the more urgent rocking of the arachne at her side.

(What is it, Maggy?)

(They’re here.)

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(They made good time. That’s a lot sooner than I’d expected.) Tocohl sighed. Rubbing her hands over her face, she tried to compose herself. When simply waking didn’t achieve that end, she began a

Methven ritual.

Maggy, uncharacteristically, interrupted. (Tocohl,) she said, in what would have been exasperation in anyone else’s voice, (we could skip. I can have the skiff in and out before they can get Kejesli’s permission to land.)

A flash of lightning lit the door membrane to an eerie glow. Tocohl pointed an elbow. (In that?) (I’ll risk it.)

(There’s no need. I told you before, Maggy: I pay my debts.) (Yes, but—)

(No buts.) She looked fondly at the arachne. (But I appreciate the offer.) Again Maggy made no reply. Then she said, (I like you too, Tocohl—very much.) In response, Tocohl laid her hand on the fat body of the arachne, caressing it lightly.

(Why did you do that?)

Tocohl glanced at her hand, drew it away. (Hellspark gestural reflex,) she said, (affectionate feelings expressed in touch.)

(Like you hug Geremy when you see him?)

(Just so.)

(Put up your hood.)

Tocohl cocked her head to look inquiringly at the arachne. (Why?) (It’s a surprise,) said Maggy. (Put up your hood.)

Puzzled, Tocohl did so. A second or so later, when the hood had molded to her face and sealed itself, Tocohl felt a phantom weight on her lap. She glanced down, aware that the sensation was Maggy manipulating the 2nd skin but wondering at the purpose of it. The phantom, very gingerly, leaned against her.

Laughing, Tocohl closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of it: a small form had perched itself on her lap and leaned fondly against her. Small arms encircled her waist, careful to avoid the injured rib, a head leaned against her cheek—a head complete to tickling curls. The phantom gave her a shy, childlike hug.

(Oh, Maggy,) she said. Even in subvocalization, it came out a husky whisper. Then in reflex, her arms closed around the phantom—to find, to the doubling of her surprise, that Maggy had thought of that too.

Her 2nd skin limited her movement to where the child’s body would have been. Her arms found small sharp child shoulders to hug in return. The illusion was broken only by the lack of sensation in her bare hands. That, she ignored; concentrating on the presence, she gave a second hug.

Then the weight was abruptly gone. Tocohl opened her eyes to find them stinging with the start of tears. Her lap was, as she had known all along, empty.

The soft voice in her implant said, (Did I do right?)

(Yes,) said Tocohl, unable to say more.

(The sensors said so but—Are you going to cry?)

Tocohl grinned. (Actually, I’m not sure. But it’s nothing to worry about if I do. It’s a normal reaction to strong emotion, even strong positive emotion. No, in fact, I have this horrible feeling I’m going to start giggling.)

(That would be better.)

And that did it: Tocohl did indeed start giggling. (Maggy, why in the world did you opt for a child-sized impression?)

(You said I was three, and Buntec calls me “kid.”)

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(Ah, that makes perfect sense then.) Tocohl grinned foolishly at the arachne. (For a kid, you’re something special.)

(Thank you,) said Maggy, and her tone retained little of her previous primness.

A shout for the door startled them both. Tocohl’s hands dropped to her lap, the arachne hopped to the side where it could see beyond her.

Layli-layli calulan gave Kejesli a fierce look of remonstrance, cutting off a second shout.

He charged across the room, clearly agitated, and skidded to a halt beside her. “Tocohl. This place has suddenly become like festival. I have six Hellsparks waiting in orbit for permission to land, one of them a byworld judge by the name of Nevelen Darragh, who says you sent for them.”

Despite the fact that he had kept his voice low, Alfvaen had awakened and heard it all. She sat up in her cot, wide-eyed and openmouthed, using both hands to fend off layli-layli’s attentions.

Tocohl met her eyes, glanced away. To Kejesli, she said, “I did.”

“All right then,” said Kejesli, “I’ll grant them permission to land.”

Alfvaen slid off her cot to intercept him before he could reach the comunit. “Wait, Captain. I want to know—” She did not complete the thought. Eyes narrowing, she moved to Tocohl’s side with quick, cautious steps; Kejesli followed, drawn by her manner. “Tocohl,” she began.

“Yes,” Tocohl said, “it’s me they’ve come to judge.”

“Then you’re not a judge after all.”

Tocohl glanced at swift-Kalat just in time to watch a look of horror spread across his face. To him, she said, “If you’ll recall our conversations, neither you nor I ever said I was a byworld judge, swift-Kalat.” The slight emphasis she placed on his status made him jerk reflexively. “You accused the sprookjes of the murder of Oloitokitok; you asked me to judge the matter. In my judgment, the sprookjes are innocent of blame.

Your reliability is not in question.”

He gave the matter careful thought, clearly turning over their several conversations on the subject in

his mind. At last he said, “Neither is yours.”

That drew a laugh from Tocohl. “My reliability in Jenji may be fine, but in Hellspark I’m in serious trouble.”

Kejesli, recovering at last from his gape, said, “What I choose to believe in Veschke’s honor, Tocohl, is no reflection on your integrity.” He glared about him as if expecting dissent, looked relieved when he received none, and went on, “You came at swift-Kalat’s request to learn the sprookjes’

language. Nothing more need be said on the subject.”

“That’s also true,” Tocohl said. “Those judges are here at my request. They already know what I did; I told them.”

“You told them?” Kejesli gaped again. “But why?”

Drawing the arachne up to its full height, Maggy answered for her. “We pay our debts.”

It fell to swift-Kalat and Buntec to ferry the newcomers into camp. “Byworld judges?”

she demanded as she strode toward the hangar. “You expect me to believe Tocohl needed help?

Why’d she send for more byworld judges?”

Swift-Kalat didn’t answer. Phrasing a reliable response to that was more than he cared to risk; he had no intention of causing Tocohl Susumo more trouble than she had caused herself. Two steps later, he ran full-tilt into Buntec. He took a step backward, excused himself for having been so absorbed as to blunder into her.

Hands on hips, she said, “Swift-Kalat.” In tone, it implied some sort of warning, as did her glare. But before swift-Kalat could repeat his apology, the glare turned thoughtful. “Okay,” said Buntec, “let me see if I can phrase this right. Swift-Kalat, is there something going on here that I
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should know about?”

That he could answer. “Yes.”

She made an odd gesture with her fingertips, perhaps coaxing, perhaps only an expression of impatience. “Give me a hint.”

“Tocohl never said she was a judge.” That had to be said first, for the sake of reliability, but having said it, he had no idea how to continue.

Buntec’s eyes narrowed, then widened. Without warning, she let out an ear-splitting whoop, simultaneously slapping him on the shoulder. Startled, he drew back. “Buntec…”

But she was laughing. Wiping her eyes with her fist, she took a deep breath, sobered. “Ringsilver boots,” she said, “I mighta known.” Once more she planted her fists on her hips, glared back in the direction of camp. “So Old Rattlebrain found out and turned her in, did he?”

It took swift-Kalat a moment to decipher this. “No,” he said, “Tocohl sent for the judges.”

“She turned herself in?” In the distance, a single trader put down in the flashfield. Watching it land, Buntec said, absently, “That’d account for their timing. If she’d sent a message capsule just after she—arrived.” Once again she slapped him amiably on the shoulder. “Well,”

she said, “let me see what I

can do.” Without explaining, she started for the hangar at a trot.

Swift-Kalat hurried after her. As she threw open the hangar doors, she said, “D’ya know why we need byworld judges?” Not giving him a chance to consider this, she answered her own question:

“Context. And we’re bloody well gonna see that they get all the context they can handle, and then some!”

Her daisy-clipper was first out of the hangar. As she passed, swift-Kalat could see that she was speaking into the comunit. He hoped whatever she intended was clearer to her current listener. He hoped, as well, that whatever she intended would be of some help.

He guided the daisy-clipper toward the trader to ground it just behind Buntec’s craft—he hadn’t the skill to hover at the hatch the way she did—and slid from it to help his passengers with their gear. From the amount of it, they intended something of a stay. For some reason he could not identify, this gave him a sense of relief—as if this implied deep consideration rather than hasty judgment.

Their introductions doubled this sense of relief. Nevelen Darragh had the white hair and lines of great age—something one seldom accrued without accruing experience to match—and piercing blue eyes that would miss nothing.

Geremy Kantyka looked mournful, as if he would have preferred to be elsewhere, although the

design on his 2nd skin seemed to have been chosen to suit Flashfever. “I’m here as an onlooker,” he explained in Jenji, “I’m an old friend of Tocohl’s.” Which, thought swift-Kalat, went a long way in explaining his mournful expression.