24
Yana had Louchard’s shuttle pilot—prompted by a saccharine order elicited from Dinah-Two-Feet—run her through the checklist to be sure there weren’t any surprises on this slightly-less-orthodox-than-usual vessel.
Then Marmion, Namid, Bunny, Diego, and the villagers began the trek back to Tanana Bay with their prisoners. Muktuk suggested that Marmion and Namid ride back on curly-coats, an exercise that enchanted Marmion and caused Dinah O’Neill to protest.
“I don’t see why I can’t ride one of those lovely creatures,” she cried, with a flirtatious appeal to her new kinsman. “Muktuk, dear, you did say they were not the virgin-exclusive sort of mythical-beastie unicorns, and I am quite a good rider.”
“I’m sure you are, cousin,” Chumia said firmly before her mate could be cajoled. “But since you’ve fallen in with evil companions who are known to be a bit free with other folks’ property, we’d like to get to know you better before we entrust one of our curlies to you.”
Dinah opened her mouth and closed it again, nonplussed, then allowed herself to be bundled onto one of the sleds. She did sufficiently recover her aplomb after being so uncompromisingly confronted to complain in an exaggerated whine that a dogsled was not the same thing as a unicorn ride at all.
On board the shuttle, Yana used the pirate comm unit to monitor the Intergal satellite. Not only would it still be night for another six hours at Bogota, but the whole of the southern continent was wrapped in a massive blizzard, making flying inadvisable.
“I could try,” she said. “I hate to leave ’Cita in the lurch.”
Sean thought for a moment and shook his head decisively. “No. Johnny’s there and the copter, and Coaxtl won’t let anything happen to her. If those two can’t take care of her, we won’t add much to the equation, especially with you half-frozen and about to drop.”
So they bedded down on the shuttle, happily warming each other, to await a more appropriate time to start their journey. They didn’t get to sleep immediately: they had been parted a long time for newlyweds. Nanook, who had insisted on staying with them, discreetly adjourned to the next cabin.
When they awoke, Yana checked the comm unit again, once more monitoring the Intergal Station for a weather check. Though they’d land in daylight now, the weather was no better; but they decided not to delay any further. After all, they had the map that Petaybee itself had presented to them, indicating all the trouble spots, and Sean knew the coordinates of Bogota. In a shuttle of this class, it was not a long journey, but their destination was lost in the swirling mass of a first-rate late-spring blizzard.
“I’m a good pilot,” Yana insisted to Sean as she fought the controls. The winds buffeted the sturdy spaceworthy shuttle. “But I was too preoccupied to pay much attention to my surroundings the last time I was here. What am I looking for exactly?”
“A cluster of buildings . . .”
“Which I can’t see in what is virtually a whiteout.” There was a slight edge to her voice, because Yana was prudently aware of her limitations. Piloting a shuttle when you could see where you were going, even if you didn’t know what you were looking for, was one thing. Flying blind over unfamiliar terrain in these conditions without a beacon to set you down was another.
“Put us down anywhere. Nanook’ll reconnoiter,” Sean said understandingly.
“He’ll know where we are?”
“He’ll be in touch with Coaxtl. And while Coaxtl may not know where we are, he’ll know where he is, and can give Nanook directions in—er—cat terms, I suppose.”
“Which you will then translate to coordinates I can follow, huh?” Yana shook her head in doubt, glancing from the white-on-white outside and back to Nanook.
Sean gave her one of his slow cryptic smiles. “He operates best in these conditions.”
The shuttle sank a little farther, settling into the snow. Nanook was already at the shuttle lock. He gracefully leapt out and almost instantly disappeared from view; only a thrashing of the snow in his path indicated his direction.
Yana looked over at Sean. “Now what do we do?”
Sean grinned. “Wait.”
With a bit of chopping and changing, Tanana Bay folks were able to find enough warm clothing to equip Dinah, Megenda, and the two pirates most recently freed from the shuttle. Their clothing was only suitable to the controlled environment on spaceship or shuttle. In helping Dinah, Marmion felt a heavy rectangle under Dinah’s light jacket and, with a sleight of hand worthy of a less respectable profession, slipped it out of the pocket. Then, with a flurry, she began to hustle Dinah and the crew down the stairs into the communion place with the sure knowledge that they could not escape. Nor would Dinah have the time to realize she was without that device, whatever it was.
“That should keep them safe,” Muktuk said, flipping the rug over the trapdoor.
“And undoubtedly change their attitudes,” Sinead said with great satisfaction. “With so many types coming down to see what Petaybee has to offer, maybe the first thing we ought to offer them is communion time.”
“I’m hoping,” Marmion said to Namid as the table was replaced, “this will do Dinah a world of good. She’s not all bad. She certainly tried to make things easier for us with Captain Louchard.”
Namid gave a rueful smile. “She has her points.”
Then Marmion hefted the object she had taken from Dinah. “A little too heavy for a comm unit, wouldn’t you say, Namid?”
He got one good look at it and pushed her hands to return the device to her pocket. “Later, Marmion. Later,” he murmured urgently, and then smiled broadly at the other folks in the crowded room.
It took time to sort out who would bunk where in the small village of Tanana Bay. Ultimately, after a cup of soup “to warm bodies for a cold night,” Bunny and Diego went with one family, and Liam and Sinead with another, while Marmion and Namid were given the Sirgituks’ cabin to themselves, as everyone was of the opinion that at least the good Dama Algemeine deserved what privacy Tanana had to offer.
When they had been installed, new furs supplied for the beds, and the fire freshened for the rest of the cold night, Marmion and Namid were left on their own. Namid sprang to the window and watched to be sure their hosts were all dispersed to their separate accommodations. Then with a sigh of relief, he nodded to Marmion, who gingerly deposited the heavy unit on the table.
“What is it that had you in such a panic, Namid?”
“I think it’s a portable holo unit,” he said. He hovered, looking at it from all angles and touching the control plate with a careful fingertip. “I can’t imagine why . . .”
His fingertip was not quite careful enough and inadvertently he activated the display. Suddenly the image of Captain Onidi Louchard solidified in and around the table. The creature just stood there, inanimate, while Marmion and Namid looked at each other, open-mouthed.
“It was on Dinah?” Namid recovered enough to ask.
“Dinah!”
Tentatively, Namid picked up the broadcaster and suddenly he was enveloped in the image of Captain Louchard.
“Well, what about that!” Marmion exclaimed, delighted and appalled at the same time. “Why, that woman had us all hoodwinked. When I think of the games she played with us as Dinah, when all the time she was also Louchard . . .” Words failed Marmion.
“Not to mention how she manipulated her crew,” Namid-Louchard said in a deep bass voice, with an odd inflection to both tone and words. “No wonder no one ever caught sight of the infamous Captain Louchard.”
Marmion laughed—giggled, actually—and sat down to enjoy her mirth. “Really, Namid. I never would have suspected. She’s a consummate actress.”
“Among other things,” Namid said in a sterner tone as he switched back to his own self and replaced the device on the table. “She never wore it in my presence, but then, she wouldn’t have needed to be Louchard to her husband.”
“Not unless you turned into a wife-beater.”
“Oh, that had happened to her, too. I saw the scars,” Namid replied gravely. He sighed, prodding the device with a finger, then waved his hand to dismiss it all. “So what do we do about this discovery?”
Marmion had obviously been pondering the same question. She tapped her cheek with one finger. “It will take some heavy thinking, and I’m suddenly much too tired to do any more tonight.” She glanced wistfully at the bed. “And don’t suggest that you take the floor, Namid,” she added firmly, but her smile was suddenly demure.
“I was about to be the gentleman, Marmion,” Namid said, but his mouth and eyes smiled.
“Gentle, yes, man, yes, but . . .” The uplift to the final word was all the invitation Namid required to be both, in the right order.
One could only watch and wait and, sometimes, sleep, while the humans made themselves at home. Through the howling winds one had brought them safely here, through snow like swarms of icy insects biting into one’s eyes, ears, and nose. Even with the watchfulness of the Others, some had slipped between their reluctant guardians to wander, freeze, and die. They would not be found before the snows had melted once more.
Coaxtl and the youngling were at rest. The metal bird’s master was at rest, as were the cave dwellers of Bogota. Inside the Home, the hot spring burbled warmth throughout. Outside the snows swathed the world with seas of white growing deeper by the moment. At the entrance of the cave, the bears humped like living drifts away from the warmth of the inner cave. The other clouded leopards, the snow lions, the white tigers, the lynx and bobcats, waited out the storm within the cave as well, crowding the humans deep within the inner chambers of the Home.
Some, like the young male with the cub, stared with open delight at the Home, hearing its singing in his blood, seeing its colors inside his eyes, vibrating with its rhythms. The youngling and her ken smiled in their hard-won sleep.
As for those others, though! The noises they made as they flailed about were so shrill and penetrating that at last one was forced to put one’s paws over one’s ears to achieve any rest.
Namid slipped gently from Marmion’s bed, put more wood in the stove, and, after a few false starts, stirred up the fire in the fireplace. Then he donned his borrowed warm clothing, long underwear, heavy woolen socks, woolen pants, shirt, leather sheepskin-lined boots painted with beaver oil for water resistance, scarf, hat, mittens, and parka. Into the pocket of his parka, he slipped the holo disk. Then with a last lingering look at his sleeping lover, he opened the door and walked out into the pastel Petaybean dawn.
He crunched down the wide track leading between the homes of Tanana Bay to the Murphys’ cabin, and let himself in through the unlocked door. He had hoped to be alone on this mission, but he saw that young Diego Metaxos lay in a sleeping bag with his ear against the trapdoor.
The boy awoke as the cold air entered the cabin with Namid. “Morning,” he said, in a clear, wide-awake voice.
Namid nodded. He didn’t feel much like conversation.
“You’re up early,” Diego said.
“I need to speak to Dinah.”
“I don’t think she’ll be able to talk to you,” Diego said.
“Why not? What’s happened to her?”
Diego shrugged. “I dunno. But judging from how contact with the planet affected my dad at first, I think she’ll be in a pretty bad way. They were carrying on until way late last night.”
“What do you mean ‘carrying on’? Has something hurt her?”
“No worse than she’s hurt others, I expect. But for people with certain kinds of mind-sets, their first contact with the planet can be devastating. You might find it that way yourself.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. It’s always been wonderful to me. I was just lying here, thinking of a song to write about all that’s happened. I suppose it’s safe enough for me to go down there now, but I’m not sure about you.”
“I’ll risk it. But—no offense, I’d rather go alone.”
“It’d be easier for you with one of us.” The boy was exuding a subtle air of male challenge.
“You’re not native, and you’ve been all right.”
“Yes, but I’m young.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll try it on my own. My mind isn’t that rigid and set in its ways yet.”
Diego shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m going down in a few minutes anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a talk with Petaybee. I may not be native, but I’ve missed it.”
He stepped out of the way and Namid descended the stairs, not seeing the small orange cat that darted through the trapdoor at the last minute and scooted down the stairs ahead of him.
Bunny awoke and looked around for Diego in the other sleeping bag on the floor of their host house. He was gone. Gentle snores arose from their host family.
That was good, actually, because she didn’t want to talk to Diego this morning as much as she wanted to try to get a moment alone with Marmion. Diego might not understand. She planned to say she was just going to help Marmie with her fire and breakfast.
She dressed quickly and left the cabin, closing first the inner door so the cold wouldn’t reach the family, and then the outer, entrance door beyond the arctic foyer where the snowshoes, skis, extra dog harness, and other tools were kept.
She knocked lightly on the Sirgituks’ door, and a rather dreamy voice called, “Hello?”
Marmie looked less put-together and much happier than Bunny had ever seen her. She wore the tunic jacket she had been captured in as a robe over long-handled underwear bottoms and woolly socks. She was sitting at the Sirgituks’ table sipping something steamy from a cup. Her expression was bemused, to put it lightly.
“Thought you might need help putting a kettle on,” Bunny said.
“Not at all. If you’ll remember, I’m rather a good cook, and this stove is not so different from the one at my grandfather’s hunting lodge on Banff Two, where I sometimes spent my holidays as a child.”
“Must be nice to get to live any way you like,” Bunny said, pulling off her mittens.
“Ye-es, it is. What’s the matter, Buneka dear? You sound rather sad, and I just can’t bear that when I’m feeling so good myself. Have a cup of this lovely berry tea and tell me all about it and we’ll see if I can fix it.”
“Thanks,” Bunny said with a little smile. “The tea will be great, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do about the rest of it.”
She finished taking off her wraps, poured her tea, and sat down, warming her hands on her cup and watching the steam rise between herself and Marmie. Marmie had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world when she was talking to you. Bunny wished she could be like that.
“I wouldn’t want you to get me wrong, Dama, I love Petaybee. I never want to live anywhere else—permanently, that is.” Marmie nodded encouragingly, as the words had a hard time coming out. “But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. See, the thing is, I never knew what all was out there before. All we ever saw was SpaceBase, and that was pretty grim, and a lot of the recruits who left didn’t return and if they did, they sometimes wouldn’t even sing about it. I never dreamed there could be some place like Gal Three or some of the stations and planets Charmion showed me holos of.”
Marmie smiled. “ ‘How ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree?’ ”
“ ‘Scuse me?”
“Another old song. Sorry, dear, it just means that once you’ve seen some of the universe, you can develop a taste for more. Is that what’s troubling you?”
“That’s part of it. I suppose I might not care so much if I thought I could go other places if I wished. ‘Cept, that’s not exactly true. Y’see, there’s so much to learn out there. I saw things I think we might be able to manage for Petaybee, and not hurt anything, if only someone knew how. But I can’t learn about them here. I’ve always been mechanical, you know, and Diego showed me some gadgets that sure would improve servicing the snocles, for instance. I don’t know. I guess I’m not saying it very well. It’s just knowing that I have to leave by a certain time or I won’t be able to . . .”
Marmie placed her hand on Bunny’s. “We all resent our limitations, dear. Actually, though, you’re starting school a little later than most do. There is no reason why you couldn’t begin long-distance studies here and then, when you find you absolutely must go off-planet to satisfy your curiosity, you can go—surely that will be before you’re twenty or so. And you can always come back, you know, whenever you like. Petaybean troops do. It’s just that I suppose you have to decide now instead of waiting till you’re—oh, forty.”
Bunny grinned. It had all been so obvious, but the idea was so new to her she hadn’t considered the really salient factors.
“Furthermore, it will be my pleasure to present you with a suitable study unit and all the hard-copy books you wish. Among my inheritances are the contents of several libraries. And when you’re ready to go off-planet, you can be the pilot student for the Petaybean Offworld Civilian Scholarship program.”
“I didn’t know there was one!”
“That’s because I just decided to sponsor it.”
Bunny reached across the table and gave her a hug. “You’re aces, Marmie!”
“Likewise. Tell me, you haven’t seen Namid, have you?”
“Nope. Nor Diego. But I came straight here after I got dressed.”
“Then I think I’ll get dressed as well and we’ll go find them, shall we?”
If Dinah O’Neill, aka the fearsome Captain Onidi Louchard, had known what was in store for her, she would have fought her incarceration with every one of the many combat skills she had learned since she’d been a defenseless preteen. She did hear Megenda mumbling incoherencies as she was propelled down the ladder. She did notice the odd indirect lighting, but she blithely ventured farther into the cavern, toward the warmth she felt on her face. She thought that at least this prison was comfortably warmer than the cabin she’d just left.
That was when she noticed that the holo transponder was missing. Not that she had to worry about the Petaybeans inadvertently turning it on. But Namid would know what it was. She ought to have checked, and she berated herself for such an oversight. Captain Louchard, she grinned to herself, would have plenty to say about that when next she assumed that mantle.
She and the two crewmen, Dott and Framer, came across Megenda then, all curled up in a fetal position on the floor of the cave, just where it opened up into a fair-sized chamber—a chamber that was oddly beautiful in its pastel shades and mottled walls. The beauty was of a strange, disorienting nature, however: the mottles rippled and the shades altered in an unnerving fashion. Walls were supposed to be stationary, and their coloration was generally stable, too.
“What’s the matter with him, Dinah?” Dott asked, planting a toe on Megenda and trying to turn him onto his back so the first mate’s face would be visible. He was a rather unimaginative sort, good for routine or monotonous duties, strong and unquestioning, happy to be given orders he could follow, which he followed to the letter. “Thought you said he was just cold.”
“I don’t like the look of him,” Framer said, taking a step back from Megenda’s rigid body as if afraid of contagion.
“He’s warm enough now,” Dott said, grabbing one of Megenda’s hands and trying to pull it away from his face.
“Hey, how can you have fog in a cave?” Framer asked, and pointed to the mist beginning to rise from the floor.
“These caves are supposed to be special places,” Dinah said as evenly as she could, but the rising vapor carried an aroma to it that was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Her skin began to crawl under the warm parka she’d been given. “I’d like to know what’s going on here,” she said, turning around on her heel, addressing whatever was generating all these unusual effects. She could have sworn that there’d been no mist, no odor, and no vacillating wall colors and designs when she’d first reached the cave floor. She looked behind her and saw that the mist was closing in, obscuring her view of the walls.
“Going on here?” The phrase was interrogatory, not rhetorical, and the voice that said the words was not an echo of hers.
“Dinah?” The unimaginative Dott’s voice quavered. “How do we get out of here?”
“No way out of here.”
“Keee-rist, who’s talking?” Framer looked wildly around him. “Who’s talking?”
Dinah wanted to reassure him that it was the Petaybeans perpetrating some sort of a hoax to frighten them, but she absolutely knew, though she didn’t know how, that the voice was nothing caused by any human phenomena. It penetrated her body through to the marrow of her bones.
“Listen,” it commanded.
“I’m listening, I’m listening,” Framer said, dropping to his knees, bringing his hands up together, probably for the first time in his life, into a prayerful position.
Dott just sat down, hard, licking his lips. He kept his head straight, but he rolled his eyes around in his head as if he didn’t quite dare look at who, or what, was speaking back at them.
Megenda began to gibber more wildly, writhing in and out of the fetal position as if his limbs and torso were attached to invisible strings.
For the first time in her adult life, since the time she had turned a weapon on a man who had threatened her with vicious and sadistic treatment, Dinah O’Neill knew fear. She forced herself to remain standing, clenching her fists at her sides as the mist crept up, over her knees, so dense now that she couldn’t see her boots. It engulfed her, a moist, permeating blanket, traveling quickly up her body until it covered her face and she could see nothing. And the sounds seemed to emanate from the vapor that enveloped her: sound that cut her skin to her blood and bones; sound that was warm and vibrated through her, and filled with darkening colors, until she heard herself scream in protest at such an invasion. There were screams around her; with an almost superhuman effort of will, she bit her lips, determined that she, unlike the crewmen, would not cry mercy. Her resolve ended when she felt the hard thwack of stone against her face and her body as she fell down. Then she whimpered and wept, as much the lonely, confused, tormented five-year-old girl who had been abandoned by all the adults who had managed her life up until that moment.
“The planet has been speaking?” the boy whispered to ’Cita, his hands moving restlessly on the cub’s fur as if that motion were all that protected him.
In one sense, ’Cita would tell Yo Chang much later, petting the cub had protected him as he had valiantly protected the cub when in danger from Zing Chi.
“Yes, Petaybee does in these places,” ’Cita said in a very grown-up voice.
“And it keeps this place warm for us?” Yo Chang asked because he had to be sure. Though this girl was not much older than himself, he felt she had exhibited commendable authority and certainly bravery in walking the gauntlet of those great animals.
“The Home is always warm.”
“How? It was so cold on the surface. Why would it be warm down here? I could feel my ears adjusting to the air pressure, so I know we are down.” He gestured to the ground on which they were seated.
“The Home protects us, Coaxtl says. It takes care of us . . . if”—’Cita paused to permit Yo Chang to see how important her next phrase was—“we take care of it.”
“It isn’t taking care of them,” Yo Chang said, rolling his eyes and pointing to one side where the despoilers were writhing in agony and shrieking great anguish.
“I know,” ’Cita said soberly. “I used to live with people who called it the Great Monster and feared it only. Because it can be cruel to those who take without respect and give no thanks. The Shepherd Howling was the kind of man who did that all the time, so he stayed out of these caves and taught us all to fear them. But I am disobedient and selfish, and when I ran away from the flock, because they would have taken from me what I was too proud to freely give, I met Coaxtl, who called the Great Monster ‘Home.’ I decided that if I could, I would rather be like the Great Monster than like Shepherd Howling. The Home is proud, too, and it obeys no one. And it, too, begrudges what is taken from it against its will.” ’Cita patted his hand. “Your people have angered the Home and it has become the Great Monster. They”—she waved her hand at the writhing bodies; she was having to shout over the noise they made—“need to be shown how it feels to be stripped and cut, slashed and dug, prodded and pulled and flayed.”
To demonstrate her point—and having had a great deal of experience with such torments—’Cita got a flap of skin from Yo Chang’s neck and twisted and pinched it as hard as she was able.
“Hey, don’t do that!” Yo Chang scrambled sideways away from her, rubbing his neck.
“I was only demonstrating how the planet feels. You were cutting and pulling, too, you know, and you are very lucky that Petaybee saw you save the cub.”
Yo Chang gave her a sour, jaundiced glance, rubbing the outraged spot of the pinch. “You didn’t have to demonstrate so hard.”
“I did because that is how we learn how the planet feels,” she replied. “You’re much luckier than they are!”
The shrieks and howls were beginning to diminish.
“They’re not dead, are they?” Yo Chang asked most urgently.
“I don’t think so,” ’Cita said, though she couldn’t be sure. “Why?”
“My—my—father is not a bad person. Not really,” Yo Chang said, his round face and eyes entreating. “We are all forced to work hard at what we do for those who dispatch us to where we must harvest plants. If we do not work hard, and if my father does not make his crew work hard, then the quotas are not filled and we do not get the rations which only hard workers deserve.”
Neither youngster would have understood the idea of being paid in credit notes, for both had toiled long and hard hours just to get enough food to fill their stomachs.
“It is hard,” ’Cita agreed, nodding her head approvingly, “to get enough to eat. Since Coaxtl found me, I have been eating so well I will soon be as fat as Clodagh.” She patted her stomach with great satisfaction. “Everyone feeds me now: Coaxtl, Clodagh, my sister, my aunties and uncles and cousins in their homes. They are very fair about the distribution of food on the plate.”
She nodded her head once more in emphasis. But thinking of the food she had shared with Sinead and Sean and Bunny reminded ’Cita that it had been a long time since she had eaten. She also wondered if the call for help had reached anyone. Not, she hastily corrected herself, that Petaybee had not come to their rescue. It had provided ample shelter and water, although one had to be careful not to drink too much water or one could get a stomach colic, which twisted the guts very uncomfortably.
Coaxtl emitted a slight snore, and Yo Chang leaned toward ’Cita. “Does he . . .”
“Coaxtl is a female personage,” ’Cita informed him repressively.
“Does she really talk to you?”
“Not in loud words like you and I are using,” ’Cita said, “but I understand exactly what she says to me.”
Yo Chang looked down at the sleeping cub in his arms. “Then, if I heard the name Montl, the cub was telling me his name?’
“Quite likely,” ’Cita said, delighting in playing the expert.
The moans and sobbings had died down to a low enough murmur that ’Cita decided she could get some sleep.
“We may be a while longer,” she told Yo Chang as she rearranged herself against Coaxtl’s long warm body. “You’d better rest.”
“Can I go see if my father’s all right?” Yo Chang asked timidly.
“He’ll be feeling very sorry for himself, I shouldn’t wonder,” ’Cita said, settling. “Sometimes, my aunt Sinead says, when people are hurting they’ll lash out at anyone else to make them hurt, too.”
Yo Chang gulped but resolutely deposited the sleeping cub by ’Cita before he made his way down to where the sufferers were enduring their penance. She was half-asleep when she heard him return, stifling sobs.
“Your father?”
“Lives, but looks like a grandfather. He doesn’t seem to know me.”
She patted his shoulder awkwardly and pulled him down, putting her thin arm over him so that he lay between her and Coaxtl and Montl the cub. She didn’t need to tell him that life was sometimes hard.
Namid felt a pang of anxiety. Though Dinah certainly merited discipline, even incarceration for their abduction, he didn’t wish her harm. And he did need to know more about her activities, with or without the holo of Captain Onidi Louchard. Perhaps it had been Megenda who was Louchard, although the first mate had never appeared to Namid as a man of sufficient cunning and intelligence to contrive the piratical activities that had made Louchard’s name feared all over the galaxy.
If Dinah could give him any mitigating circumstances—beyond what he already knew of her tragic early life and hard treatment—maybe he could do some kind of a deal. She had been such a loving and affectionate wife: merry, occasionally even frivolous, and often childlike in her enthusiasms during their married life. It was inconceivable to him that she could also be a ruthless, corrupt outlaw. Maybe she was a split personality, and that complexity, once proved, would reduce the sentence. The very thought of Dinah encased in a space coffin, waiting for the air supply to end, appalled him. He was determined to find some way out for her. Marmion was a kind and understanding person. Perhaps she might drop her own criminal charges against Dinah—if she knew of factors which could mitigate the offense. Dinah hadn’t actually pulled the trigger that had killed anyone. Her crew had murdered, that was true, but she had assured him, when he first found out whom she claimed to work for, that the pirates were under strict orders to fire at others only when they were being fired upon themselves. Of course, they were being fired on legally for attempting illegal activities, and self-defense, accordingly, could not be claimed. Oh, my stars and sparkles, Namid thought, I’m arguing like a modern-day Gilbert and Sullivan.
He took a deep breath and opened the inner door to the communion chamber. Warm mist obscured everything, making him feel as if he had stepped into a steam bath, and he immediately felt a strong presence that had nothing to do with Dinah or her crew. Well, he had been assured by sane and intelligent people that the planet definitely had a persona.
“Good morning,” he said, feeling just a trifle foolish, but if the planet understood, then it would appreciate normal courtesies, too. “And it is morning and I expect that you’ve had a busy time of it lately, but I did wish a few words with you.”
“Few words.”
Was that permission? Or limitation? Namid wondered.
“They might be more than a few, actually,” Namid went on, smiling. “I’ve so many questions to ask.”
“Many questions.”
Again Namid wondered if that was permission or limitation. But it had sounded, to his untutored ear, as if the speaker was slightly amused by his presumption.
“I’m told that you do communicate, or rather go into a communion phase with . . . what should I call it? With supplicants? No, that’s much too religious a word. Communicants? Ah, yes, I think that is best. Now, first, is there anything I can do to assist you right now? Remove the occupants that spent the night here? I can’t see them for the fog but . . .”
Namid had—not quite stealthily, but slowly—felt his way farther into the cavern. Before he took another step, however, the fog suddenly sucked itself back into the farthest reaches of the cave and vanished, leaving him awestricken and speechless for several moments as he watched the gentle play of light and color across the surfaces of the cave.
“You are rather stunning in appearance, you know,” he said in a hushed voice. The shifting colors of the walls were coruscations of complex blendings and wave designs. He rather suspected he could spend hours following the patterns as they made their way deeper and deeper into the cavern. The path was level now, where before it had been on a slight downward incline. “Am I well into this communion place now?”
“Now!”
“Ah, then,” Namid said, “I’m an astronomer, you see. I have spent my life observing the anomalies of stellar matter, with particular emphasis on variables. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”
“Talk.”
“Well, now, I’m certainly willing to, although I am not a lecturer by training. Still, to talk to a planet, the satellite of a rather . . . ah . . .”—not ordinary, Namid said to himself, not wishing to offend Petaybee—“. . . an excellent example of a G-type star . . . well, it’s an extraordinary experience, if you know my meaning.”
“Know meaning. Talk.”
“I’ve seen many stars, constant, dwarf, variable, binary systems, everything so far astronomically categorized, but speaking to a planet is highly unusual.”
Namid, aware that nervousness was making him more garrulous than was natural, thought he heard a whispery laugh.
“Unusual planet.”
At that sally, Namid did laugh. “You have a sense of humor, don’t you? I think we shall get on very well together.”
“Very well. Talk”
A low moan that ended on a piteous sob interrupted any further talk at that juncture. The moan had echoed quite near, and Namid, being a compassionate person, was compelled to investigate. Just beyond the bend in the passage, he saw the figure of Dinah, looking smaller and, indeed, when he turned her over in his arms, almost wizened of face. Her hair had turned completely white. She was breathing regularly, and although her pulse was slow, it was strong enough to reassure him. All the questions that had brimmed to his mind to ask Petaybee—could it speak with its primary? with its sister planets? communicate with its moons, and how?—went out of his head along with the questions he had framed to ask Dinah. She was patently in no condition to answer—even to her own name.
A guttural “eh” made him investigate farther down the corridor, where he saw three more figures, each of them curled in a tight fetal position and giving off odors of excrement and vomit that made Namid glad that he had eaten nothing yet in his haste to seek Dinah.
Megenda and the two crewmen had succumbed to Petaybee’s justice. But Namid felt that Dinah had not. He carried her up the stairs and banged on the trapdoor to be readmitted into the cabin; he found the room crowded with Marmion, Bunny, Diego, and the Murphys.
“Oh, dear, what has happened to her?” Marmion asked, reaching out compassionate hands to Namid’s limp burden.
Muktuk took her from Namid and carried her to the bed he and Chumia shared. “Petaybee’s happened to her,” he said with the resigned tone of someone who has accepted justice, fair or undeserved.
“I found a portable holo projector that produces an image of the pirate we all thought was Louchard,” Marmion told him. “It was in Dinah’s pocket. She was Louchard all along.”
Muktuk stroked the white hair back from Dinah’s face, and Chumia took her hand.
“Poor lass,” Muktuk said. “But us kindred of Handy Red have all got a wild streak.”
“Hitch the team, Muktuk,” Chumia said. “She’s beyond my skill. Clodagh in Kilcoole is best at this.”
Namid turned away from them and left the cabin, still agitated but reassured that here Dinah would receive, maybe not just what she deserved, but what she had needed all along.