Running from the Deity (11 page)

“Why not?” Kechralnan stared at him, the colorful yet tasteful circular rings painted around her eyes reflecting the ambient light of the well-lit chamber. “If we choose to investigate such obvious idiocies, we only give credence to our own credulity. We are already under fire for our handling of the floods. Why allow our political enemies to add accusations of stupidity to those of incompetence?”

Hurrahyrad was about to snap off a suitable rejoinder when Peryoladam spoke up. Though low in volume, her voice was oddly compelling. “Perhaps Noble Kechralnan is right and there are no gods. But might the greater cosmos not be home to other creatures? Perhaps some even cleverer than the Dwarra?” She gestured upward, though not as expansively or dramatically as had her colleague. “After all, while we know much about Arrawd, we know nothing of other worlds.”

“That is because there
are
no other worlds,” declared Kechralnan in exasperation. “At least, none boasting the intelligence of the Dwarra. The other planets that circle our sun are empty and dead. The lights in the sky may be other suns, as some astronomers insist, but there is not an iota of evidence to indicate that other worlds circle them, and even less to suggest that another intelligence dwells somewhere way out in the depths of the sky.”

Hurrahyrad was surprised to detect a touch of anger in the other administrator’s reply. “It must be a great comfort to be so certain of that which we know nothing about.”

Forestalling argument that would get them nowhere, and least of all advance the afternoon’s already demanding agenda, he did his best to get between them: rhetorically if not physically.

“Both viewpoints are valid, surely. Myself, I tend to think this whole business a clever ploy of the Wullsakaans to distract us, and others, from matters of genuine import. While I refuse to be so easily dissuaded from reality, I see no harm in sending a spy or two to investigate further. It will be done quietly and with as few as possible knowing the true nature of the visit. That way,” he added, eyeing Kechralnan, “if this is all nothing but mischief-making on the part of Wullsakaa, our interest will pass unremarked upon.”

Despite her counterpart’s assurances, the other senior administrator could not resist one more objection. “Everything costs money these days. Even spies require taxes to support their activities.”

Hurrahyrad dipped his Sensitives in her direction. “Then we will only send a little spy. One who does not eat very much, and files reports but sparingly.”

Shrinking down into her lower torso and deliberately holding her Sensitives back, she responded with a disparaging wheeze. Kechralnan’s unmatched experience and vast knowledge, Hurrahyrad knew, allowed one to overlook her utter absence of humor. But only just.

Thinking the matter done and dealt with, he was prepared to move on. But Peryoladam was not quite finished. “I believe there is one more thing to consider in regard to this matter before we can consider it as closed. Or, more properly, tabled.”

Hurrahyrad felt like shoving the second point of the table through the middle of her body. He was tired, and it was growing late. “What might that be?” he inquired wearily of his persistent younger colleague.

She was not intimidated. She rarely was. There was a difference between showing deference and being intimidated. “What if the rumors are essentially true?”

Kechralnan could hardly hide her contempt. “You think a god has come down to Arrawd?”

“Not a god, I suppose, no. I don’t know that anything has come down to Arrawd. But if something has—a being from another world such as ours, and a superior one at that—then we have no choice but to consider how to deal with the development, which is complicated by one significant factor.”

Hurrahyrad tried not to stare at the bejeweled, freestanding chronometer in the far corner of the room. “Which is?” he asked impatiently.

Her gaze did not waver as it shifted between the two other members of the Kewwyd. “The creature, if it truly exists, is dwelling and working in the land of Wullsakaa, and not glorious Pakktrine Unified. No matter what its nature either as an individual or as a representative of another intelligent species, I submit that this geographical reality cannot be to our advantage.”

It was true. The junior administrator had raised a conundrum that could not be ignored—much as Hurrahyrad might wish to do so.

As if this day had not started out with problems enough.

What am I doing here? Treappyn found himself wondering as he guided his tethet off the main road and onto the sandy dirt track. This was no place to advance oneself. The farther he got from Metrel, the deeper he sank into gloom. Worst of all, he could not get the image of that decrepit oldster Srinballa smirking snidely as his younger counterpart was hoisted by his own hubris.

Treappyn knew it was his own fault. When he had argued that the rumors of a miracle-working alien needed to be checked out, he had never dreamed that the Highborn would order him, personally, to perform such a task. That was footwork best left to the lower ranks. Now he found himself nearly at the tip of the Pavjadd Peninsula, far from the nearest decent eating establishment, forced personally to seek verification or refutation of a rumor.

The country simpleton half asleep at the gate that barred the counselor’s progress had to be roughly jostled awake by one of Treappyn’s two accompanying bodyguards. At least the bumpkin was properly deferential. But there was about him also an air of confidence that did not fit with his apparent station in life.

“Your pardon, Noble Treappyn. I did not recognize you.”

Was this cloddish individual having a joke at his expense? Treappyn wondered. The counselor’s unusually expansive frame was well-known throughout the length and breadth of Wullsakaa. Still, in a backwater like this, he supposed such ignorance was possible.

“I must make a note to ensure that you are not one of those assigned to man a critical border entry in time of war,” the counselor harrumphed. While two sets of gripping flanges clutched the side prods that guided his tethet, he gestured forcefully with the other pair. “Please move the barrier so that we may continue onward.”

“You have come to seek the blessings of the Visitant?” Ebbanai asked tentatively.

So that was what they were calling it. The rumor had a name. “I come in search of a degree of reality, not some quack remedies for imaginary ills.”

“That will be easily acquired, Noble.” Ebbanai stood waiting patiently.

Waiting for what, an increasingly irritated Treappyn could not imagine. “Well—move the gate so that we may proceed.”

Ebbanai remained deferential, but insistent. “There is the matter of access, Noble. Caring for the Visitant’s needs is an endless and often difficult task. It requires constant supervision. The cost...” He let his words trail away, to be carried off by the sea breeze.

Sudden realization of what the speaker was hinting at struck Treappyn, leaving him with a modicum of astonishment. If nothing else, one had to admire the bumpkin’s boldness. “Ah. Now I understand completely.” The gripping flanges of his second right hand reached toward his side. Ebbanai looked on expectantly.

His expression changed sharply when the Noble withdrew not a money packet, but a longknife. Flanking him, his bodyguards proceeded to unsheathe their swords. Their expressions were not benign.

“Noble, what is this?” Moving a pair of forelegs, Ebbanai took a nervous step backward. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s very simple. You say that this individual requires constant care. Clearly, he would be better off in the absence of parasites. Such as yourself.”

Ebbanai began backing away, all four forelegs working nervously beneath him. “Noble Treappyn, I assure you that—I am certain an exception can be made for the good of the Highborn’s representative. I did not mean to suggest—”

“Yes you did,” declared Treappyn, interrupting briskly as he resheathed his weapon. “No matter. As counselor to the Highborn, it is incumbent on me to encourage the enterprise of Wullsakaa’s people. Just not when it happens to be directed personally in my direction.”

Ebbanai relaxed—but not completely. The counselor’s bodyguards still had their swords out. “I will bring you to the place myself, Noble Treappyn.”

He had to run hard to keep up with the three mounted visitors from Metrel. Only the short limbs of the tethets allowed him to do so. Built low to the ground, they could trot along all day on their powerful eight legs, but their short stride did not allow for great speed.

“So this ‘Visitant’ has come to us from the sky?” Treappyn addressed his wheezing guide without looking down from his saddle. All four feet were firmly ensconced in the forward stirrups, his legs parallel to the ground as he rode. “It must be very strong indeed, to have survived such a great fall.”

“It did not fall, Noble.” Ebbanai was panting hard as he ran alongside the government representative’s steed, his lung slamming against the inside of his chest wall. “It—he—arrived in an enormous vessel, a kind of flying machine.”

“I see.” Treappyn’s unhappiness over having to undertake the journey from Metrel began, just barely, to give way to curiosity. “This machine—was it drawn by tethets? How big was it? As big as a good-sized wagon, no doubt, to survive such a fall.”

Ebbanai looked up at Treappyn. “It was bigger than the fortress at Metrel, Noble.”

That put the poised counselor off stride. “Really? And how, pray tell, did such an enormous vessel touch down without crashing to the ground? Its wings must have been many hundreds of times larger than those of the piercing verohjard that lives in the high mountains.”

Ebbanai leaped, one foreleg after another, over a rock in his path. “It had no wings, Treappyn. It was very long, with a bulge at one end, a great glowing disc at the other, and many lights set along its length.”

If nothing else, Treappyn mused, the locals hereabouts could boast of vivid imaginations. “I would certainly like to see such a wonder.” He looked to his left, scanning the seashan-thick terrain. “Is it nearby?”

“I could take you to it, Noble, but you would not see it. Its appearance has changed since it touched down among us. Somehow, the Visitant caused it to become just like the dunes among which it rests.”

“Ah,” murmured Treappyn. “How convenient.” His escalating curiosity immediately began to recede. The local’s reply was clever—and exactly what might be expected of an adroit liar.

Cynicism gave way to astonishment when he and his bodyguards pushed through a last high clump of green-brown seashan and saw the scene spread out before them. All manner of conveyances were drawn up in two traditional circles to the left of a simple domed building. Stretching from the circles around to in front of the building and nearly to where he sat on his patient tethet were the scattered encampments of dozens of families and individuals. Unable to take it all in at one glance, Treappyn nevertheless decided that there were more than a hundred people present, from the elderly creaking along on four bad leg joints to scattered playgroups of energetic youngsters. In contrast to what one would expect from such a scene on, say, the outskirts of Metrel itself, it all looked very orderly and serene.

Noting the look of uncertainty on the Noble’s face and back on his home ground, Ebbanai’s confidence rebounded. “The Visitant will not stand for chaos where he is working. My mate and I have organized all this.” And then, in a not-so-subtle dig at his overlord’s parsimony, “All this takes time that we would otherwise be able to use in supporting ourselves.”

Treappyn was not so easily ambushed. “Then why bother with it?”

Ebbanai’s expression was deliberately enigmatic. “There are compensations.”

Ordinarily, the unexpected appearance of senior counselor to the Highborn Treappyn in the company of well-groomed and heavily armed bodyguards would have attracted shouts of recognition, appeals for charity, or at the least a running, trailing escort of shrieking, laughing youngsters. He was both appalled and intrigued to find himself ignored.
Something
was certainly afoot here on this meager homestead, though he was not quite ready to attribute it to the presence of alien visitants from the sky. He had not expected to find much of anything. Yet here he was, surrounded by hundreds of fellow Wullsakaans, all drawn to this humble out-of-the-way place by—what?

He needed to find out, and the Highborn certainly needed to know. Whatever was going on here was clearly of considerably more import than the government realized.

As his bodyguards helped him to dismount—a process rendered difficult by his unusual bulk—the net-caster who had greeted him was in turn met by a female whom Treappyn assumed to be his mate. For the first time this day, one of his assumptions proved accurate. He deigned to touch Sensitives with her, voicelessly conveying his feelings of superiority and impatience. Hers hinted at expectation, excitement at his arrival, and a cool sense of assurance he found oddly disquieting.

“You honor us with your presence, Counselor Noble Treappyn.”

“I know.” Peering past his hosts, he found himself eyeing a line of Dwarra who were slowly and intermittently filing into a nearby barn. Periodically, the line would advance as an individual or family group entered. Wholly stoic up to now, his bodyguards likewise found themselves straining to see what might lie beyond the single enigmatic, open door. Much to his surprise, Treappyn discovered that he was suddenly unaccountably nervous.

This won’t do, he told himself firmly. He could not appear anything less than completely confident in front of these country folk. “I am told you are housing a creature from another world here. I demand to be taken before it immediately.”

His hosts exchanged a look, touched Sensitives, then turned back to him. The female’s voice was apologetic, but firm. “I am sorry, Noble Treappyn, but we can’t do that.”

He did not try to hide his shock. “Do you realize to whom you are speaking?”

“Without question, Noble.” Ebbanai hurriedly picked up the refrain. “But it cannot be done like that.” Twisting around slightly at the waist, he used a pair of forearms to indicate the large barn. “The alien Flinx will not allow it.”