Powers that Be

Chapter 3

Yana tried to take the cat back to Clodagh's that evening when Bunny picked her up, but the cat refused to cooperate. When she tried to pick it up to carry it outdoors to Bunny's waiting sled, the cat escaped, firing a warning volley across her knuckles with its claws, and hid.

Yana explained this to Clodagh while the big woman finished stirring the contents of a pot on the stove. Delicious smells came from the pot and from the oven.

"Keep him," Clodagh advised her. Looking around the room at the four identical felines lounging on various furnishings, she added with a slight smile, "I have extras. Besides, they go where they wish and do as they choose. You seem to have been chosen."

"Yes, but what am I supposed to do with it?" Yana asked.

"Feed it," Bunny answered. "That's the important thing. And let it in and out as it likes, unless you want to keep an indoor tray for it."

"They do all right outdoors for prolonged periods," Clodagh said. "They've been crossbred for that, so they don't lose their tails and ears to frostbite the way their ancestors did. But they usually prefer a fire and a lap most of the time. They're good company."

"Mm," Yana said noncommittally. "I need to find out where to get things: food, clothing, wood. Someone brought a load and left it beside my door. Do you know who it was so 1 can thank them?"

Clodagh shrugged. "Could have been anyone. One of Bunka's relatives, maybe. Someone who knows you need more than the PTBs provided for you. Speaking of that, don't forget your pack tonight. Not that that flimsy blanket will do you a lot of good. You'll need a proper one."

"Where can I buy one of those?" Yana asked.

"Not at the company store, that's for sure!" Bunka said. "They don't have anything there but obsolete spacer stuff." She crossed to Clodagh's bed and pulled aside the standard-issue blanket to reveal another-full of lovely soft yellows, blues, and pinks-underneath. "Here, feel."

Yana leaned over and felt. The blanket was thickly woven or knitted-she had no idea which-of some heavy, long-haired material. It would be wonderfully warm.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Speaking of that, here comes Sinead and my sister Aisling now," Clodagh said. "Sinead gathers the hair for spinning from the horses and dogs and sometimes the wild sheep she hunts and Aisling spins, dyes, and weaves the hair into the blankets. Perhaps they'll make a trade."

Another woman entered the room. She was almost as round as Clodagh; her face and hair bore a resemblance to Clodagh's, as well, but the newcomer had a much dreamier look about her. She was followed closely by a small, wiry woman who helped her off with her wraps.

"Welcome, sister, Sinead," Clodagh said, smiling at the two women. "We were just talking about you. Have you eaten?"

"Nah," said the shorter and slighter-built of the two women, shucking her outer garments off with great dispatch. "We heard you were entertaining tonight and came to gawk." She stuck out a hand to Yana. "Sinead Shongili here. Nice to meet you. Did you make it home okay without falling again?"

"You were the person who showed me how to waddle!" Yana exclaimed.

"None other. And this lovely lady is Aisling Senungatuk," Sinead said, fussing a bit over Aisling, who was settling her ample form into a rocking chair Clodagh had pulled from a corner of the room. Aisling smiled warmly up at her partner and indicated that she was comfortable.

"Yana was just admiring the blanket you women made for me, sister," Clodagh told Aisling.

"I'll put you on my list, Yana," Aisling promised in one of the loveliest voices Yana had ever heard.

"Yeah, the blankets they send you from the company are all crap," Sinead said. "I need to gather some more material for weaving, but my Aisling can make you the most gorgeous damn blanket you've ever seen, can't you, love?"

Aisling nodded, her eyes dancing when she looked at her partner. "You bet."

"I'm afraid I haven't got much to trade you for it," Yana told them, "apart from some obsolete insignia. Had to give away any souvenirs, and bring only what I couldn't do without. Baggage allowance didn't give me any latitude there. You don't know where I can get a small computer, do you?"

Sinead gave a merry laugh. "You've got to be joking."

Clodagh said, more gently, "Oh, no, dear, that's not for the likes of us, goodness me no. Nobody here in Kilcoole has such a thing. We're just poor ignorant ips you know, and the PTBs like it that way."

"Ips?"

"The inconvenient people," Aisling elaborated. "That's who they got to colonize this place. They wanted our land on Earth, you see, and promised us a new place in exchange. Frankly, we had nothing to say about it. Evicted, we were. No one could afford to own land anymore. So we came here, as they intended." Her eyes dropped as she finished the statement; then she turned an apologetic look to Clodagh. "Sorry. It doesn't do to get me started. And we should be going now. We didn't really mean to interrupt supper. We just came to see if there was anything we could do to help." She nodded in Yana's direction.

"Thanks," Yana said, and Clodagh showed them to the door, Sinead darting three steps forward and two back for each measure of her partner's statelier progress.

When they left, Clodagh pulled a bottle and some cups from the shelf over the cloth-draped cabinets along one wall and asked, "Will you be havin' a drop with your supper, dear?"

"Pardon?"

"Clodagh's home brew," Bunny said. "It's good. Gives you good dreams."

"I don't know. With all the medicine I've had lately…"

"It'll do you good," Clodagh said. "Has medicinal properties. You can't get sick drunk on the stuff-just a little pleasantly blurred. You look as though you need blurring, my dear."

"Clodagh's the local healer, so you can trust her on that score," Bunny told Yana.

"Just a little then," Yana agreed. The spicy smells from the stove were making her long to put something in her mouth. If not food, then drink was not a bad alternative.

But with the drink came a heaping bowl of some sort of noodles and a red meat sauce, accompanied by hot, crusty bread. She burned her lip on the first mouthful, something she had never done with prefab ship food.

"This is delicious," she said when she had had a few cooler bites. "What is it?"

"Moose spaghetti," Clodagh told her.

There was another knock at the door. Bunny hopped up, slurping in a strand of spaghetti, and opened it. A rush of cold air and a parka-clad figure entered the room at the same time.

The person, a woman, pointedly did not look at Yana as she unbuttoned her coat.

"Sedna, how's it going?" Clodagh asked her.

"Oh, fine. Just wondered if you had some mare's butter I could have. We're about out."

"No problem. Say, Sedna, have you met Major Maddock yet?" Clodagh asked.

Sedna shook her blond curls and then allowed herself to look squarely at Yana, a look which told Yana that meeting her was more the point of the visit than the mare's milk. She thought she vaguely recognized the woman from Charlie Demintieff's send-off earlier that morning.

"Major Maddock," Clodagh began.

"Yanaba, please, Clodagh, or just Yana," she said.

"Yana, this is Sedna Quinn. How's your boy's earache, Sedna?"

"Better, Clodagh, since you made up that poultice."

"You got time to eat?"

"Nah, I got to get back and help Im scrape that moose hide. I'll bring you some-"

"Well, say, if you're that busy, why don't you take some of this moose spaghetti home for supper? That way you won't have to fuss."

So Sedna sat at the edge of her chair with her coat half-buttoned while Clodagh dished up a containerful of the pasta.

"So, Bunny, pretty sad about Charlie, huh?" Sedna asked.

"Yeah, too bad. I hope he's gonna be all right. It'll be lonesome up there, I bet. I wish they'd given us time to send him off good, make a song for him. He'll miss the breakup latchkay and everything."

"I'll make a song for him, even if he won't hear it" Clodagh said.

"Maybe you could record it or write it down and Bunny could take it in when she's back at SpaceBase," Yana suggested.

Sedna straightened her back, gave Yana a pitying look, and said primly, "A song has to be sung from one person to the other to be any good."

"I'm sorry," Yana said. "I don't know your customs yet. It's just that I could see how much you all liked Lieutenant Demintieff and I know how important it is to a soldier to hear from friends, whether they're dirtside or on some other facility."

"It's okay, Yana," Clodagh said. "Sedna, Yana's going to be staying with us here so she'll find out soon enough. The fact is, Yana, nobody here knows how to record much less write."

Yana sputtered with surprise. "They don't? You don't? But how the hell can that be? The Petaybean recruits I've met all know how; Bunny surely must know how to have passed her snocle test."

Bunny shook her head. "That's all done on comm link- verbal and visual cues. And of course the company teaches the soldiers to read, at least enough to get by in the corps, in basic training and at the officers academy down at Chugiak-Fergus, but other than that…" She shrugged.

"Surely the colonists who first came here…" Yana insisted.

Clodagh shook her head. "Only those who were high officers in the company already. Oh, sure and some of our great-grandparents maybe knew a little bit at one time-maybe as much as the company teaches soldiers now-but back then, so the songs tell us, everybody had fancy machines to talk to them and show them pictures of what needed to be done. The company apparently didn't think we needed the machines as bad as we needed other stuff when they sent us here, and such things were far too dear for the likes of us to import once we were here. So there's just, a few of those machines on the planet, the ones the company needs to keep here for their own business. As for your written books, well, I don't suppose anybody had a clue where to find many of them anymore, except for the special ones the scientists had. So we sort of fell back into just talking and singing and telling about what happened, like people did way back a long time ago."

"We do okay without that stuff," Bunny said, with a defensive edge to her voice that was immediately tempered by wistful-ness. "Except, sometimes, like now, but still there are some people who can…" She turned to Clodagh.

"Including, if I'm not mistaken, your own Uncle Sean, Bunka," Sedna said. "Is that so, Clodagh?"

"Of course. He's a Shongili." To Yana, Clodagh explained, "The Shongilis were originally of Inuit stock but already had careers as valued Intergal scientists when Petaybee was founded. Scan's and Sinead's grandda was the most respected man in our hemisphere until his death." With what seemed undue pride she nodded emphatically. "Shongilis definitely can read-books and books if they want to. Even Sinead can-Aisling's seen her do it, but said Sinead told her mostly she'd rather read animal tracks instead and rely on her own sharp ears and long memory for stories and songs like everybody else."

Bunny bounced up and exclaimed, "I forgot! That's right! Uncle Sean can not only write, but he has stuff to write with and a recorder. He could do it!"

"Your uncle is an important man, a busy man, Bunny," Sedna said, horrified. "He's got problems to solve for the whole planet. We can't go bothering him with every little thing."

"Charlie being shipped out isn't really a little thing, though, is it, Sedna?" Clodagh asked. "No, I think that's a good idea. If Yana knows how to read and make recordings, too, and if you'd help us do it, Yana, we wouldn't need to bother him very much. He could just loan her the machine. You think he'd do that, Bunny?"

"He will if I ask him and tell him it's your idea," Bunny said. "I'll go up to his place in a couple of days, next time I don't have any fares to and from SpaceBase."

"Maybe Yana'd like to go with you. I bet Scan would like to meet somebody else who knows writing."

"How about it, Yana? You're not scared of the dogs, are you?"

Yana shook her head, grinning. "No, I'd like to ride in that contraption." As advertised, the home brew was starting to blur her.

Sedna, a container of moose spaghetti in hand, said goodbye; she crossed at the doorway with yet more drop-in guests, one of whom Yana had already met. Bunny's Uncle Seamus was less encrusted with snow and ice this time and was accompanied by a tiny woman with short, wavy silver hair.

"Slainte, Clodagh! Bunny said you were having the major over for dinner and Moira and me wanted to bring her some fish. Here you go, Major," Seamus said, and handed her a string of stiff frozen fish as if he were handing her a promotion to executive vice-president of Intergal.

"Thanks, uh… Seamus," she said, pretending to admire them. She didn't have any idea what to do with them, so she hung the string over the back of the chair, where it was instantly the object of much interest from the cats.

"Get away, you lot," Clodagh said, wading through orange fur to rescue the fish. The cats stood on their hind feet and batted at the string as she held it aloft. "Better hang them outside until she's ready to go, Seamus." '

"Right," Seamus said, casting an odd sidelong glance at Yana.

She waved and said thanks again, and planned to ask Bunny later about the etiquette involving gifts of fish.

They stayed a short while longer, and while they were there two more people came by, a rakish-looking girl introduced as Arnie O'Malley and her little boy, Finnbar, who chased the cats. Finally, all of the extraneous guests left, the girl calling, "Wait'll you see my new latchkay dress, Clodagh! The lads will be making songs about me for years to come."

"That Arnie, always showing off," Bunny said disgustedly.

"What are these songs everybody talks about?" Yana asked. She was full of food and on her third glass of home brew and was feeling pleasantly relaxed and even a bit sleepy. "Are there a lot of musicians in this town?"

"Nah, only old man Ungar and his bunch," Bunny said. "But everybody makes up songs."

"Even/body?" Yana had never personally known anybody who wrote songs, or admitted to the practice.

"Yes," Clodagh said. "We make songs about everything, even one about the reason we make songs, but that particular song belongs to Mick Oomilialik. Maybe he'll sing it for you at the latchkay."

"What's that?"

"Oh, it's a big feast and sing where we get together to talk things over. My Inuit ancestors called such a thing a potlatch and my Irish ancestors called it a ceili, so one of the first batch here combined it into latchkay. Anyway, everybody makes songs to sing then about what's happened during the last season. Sometimes villages get together and share food and news."

"So you only have them once a season?"

"Except for weddings, funerals, and other special events, yes."

"Well, what might you write a song about, for instance?"

"Charlie having to leave is one kind of thing. 1 might write a song pretending I was Charlie."

"And you can make up music and everything?"

"Oh, no, not usually. Mostly we use the old tunes. And there's drumming, too," Bunny said. From Clodagh's wall she pulled down a circular drum, holding it in one hand and using the other to extract a stick from the back of the drum.

"Our drums can be used like Inuit drums and beaten with a wand in strict time," Clodagh explained, "or if you want to use it like an Irish bodhran, you beat it with that little stick. Or your fingers, if you're real clever. When a song is first presented, we use only the drums so everybody can hear the words. Later on, if the song's owner permits it, others sing along and other instruments join in."

"I can sing her one of mine," Bunny said.

Clodagh looked mildly surprised. "Okay. I'll drum. Which one?"

"About getting my snocle license. Irish Washerwoman."

"What?" Yana asked.

"Oh, 'Irish Washerwoman' is the tune," Clodagh told her. "Our ancestors liked each other well enough but it was easier for the Inuits to adapt to the Irish music than it was for the Irish to adapt to the Inuit. Of course, some of us don't have the voice for Irish melodies, so then we sing in the Inuit way."

"It's more like chanting," Bunny said. "So our singing is like us-all mixed up. Anyway, here's my song:

"Oh, I'm getting my license to snocle today

from the big shots although I'm a Petaybee maid

You'll forgive me if I'm very vocal, hooray!

But I'm getting my license to snocle today.

"That's all there is," Bunny finished. "But I sure was happy about it, even if it's just a short little song. I didn't want to brag too much."

Clodagh said, "Here, I'll sing you a song in the other style.

"Before it awakened the world was alive. It brooded in a shell of ice and stone. Alone, thinking of its own mysteries, Deep dreaming. Jajai-ija."

Clodagh was chanting slowly and deliberately, and the effect was that of an eerie tune, similar to some styles Yana had heard on shipboard holos and in company pubs throughout the galaxy. The last note of the verse was very low, almost guttural.

"Then came the men with their ships, their fire Awakening the fire within the world Sundering rock, cutting river channels, Great holes were gouged for ocean beds. Jajai-ija.

"Painful was the awakening, the beginning As only beginnings can be painful But the pain roused the world from dreaming Melted its blanket and dribbled water in The mind of the world Jajai-ija!

"Awake, the world grew leaves Awake, the world grew roots Awake, the world grew mosses and lichens Awake, the world knew wind. Jajai-ija!

"Then came more men and the world grew wings The world grew feet and hands. The world grew paws and claws. The world grew feathers and fur.

"Noses smelled the new world and mouths tasted it Fangs tore it and fins and scales swam through The new waters. And the tails of the world Wagged, happy that it had been given a voice. Happy that it woke up. Jajai-ja-jija!"

Yana nodded appreciatively, while pictures of ice caves and snow plains and various disjointed animals somehow connected to the planet's surface kaleidoscoped in front of her eyes. The blur had become audible as well as visual. When Clodagh was done, Yana smiled and thanked her for the song and the meal and refrained from saying that the Corps of Engineers terraforming department might well wish to adopt that song as their anthem if they ever heard it. Clodagh began clearing the table, and Bunny pulled on her parka.

Although Bunny was willing to drive her home, she let Bunny take her dogs straight back to their kennels and walked back. Blurred and blithe, she carried her pack and her string of fish, enjoying the snapping freshness of the air, thinking that maybe the world in Clodagh's song had lungs, too - healthy ones.

She hung the fish outside the door, as they had hung at Clodagh's, up high, the effort costing her another coughing fit that doubled her over in the snow until she was afraid she would freeze to death. She crawled inside and started to spread the blanket on her bed, then saw by the moon's light through the windows that there was already a soft brown fur spread over it, the cat peacefully curled on top of it. Yana gratefully joined the little animal, glad of its steady, contented breathing and its warmth.

Warmth. Diego shuddered to life, staring out through eyelashes frozen together, feeling himself dragged. He rolled over. He hurt bad. His dad had him under the arms and was tugging him, sliding him, inch by inch, over the springy, snow-covered surface.

"I'm okay, Dad. I can do it," he said, and rolled over, away from his father. Dad looked as if he needed Diego to pull him in turn. His lips were cracked and bloodless, but there was a great deal of blood elsewhere, frozen on his face and parka ruff from a cut on his forehead.

"Cave," Dad said, shouting against the wind. "Under-the ledge. Limestone-"

"Tell me when we get in there," Diego yelled back.

Somewhere very far away dogs howled, and he thought maybe he heard voices, too, but they didn't sound close. That Dinah was something, though. Maybe Lavelle would let her loose, so she could come and find them.

"We'll be okay, Dad," he said, as much to reassure himself as his father, but even to his own ears his voice sounded no louder than a whisper compared to the wind.

They crawled toward the piece of shadow looming under the side of the hill amid all the white. Snow drifted and blew in front of it.

His father took a laser pistol from his pocket. "Wild… animals," he said, and they crawled into the opening.

They huddled inside, listening to the wind howl outside. Diego's dad looked bad to him; he seemed to have doubled his age in just a few minutes. His black hair was iced over, and the thick black eyebrows that normally made his dark eyes seem so penetrating were dead white with encrusted snow and ice. His expression was not so much scared as dazed, and the blood from the cut was running again, pretty freely. Diego's own face was wet, too, as was the ruff on his parka. Then he realized that was because it was warmer here in the mouth of the cave.

"Dad, let's go on back in. It's warm in here. Come on, let's keep out of the cold till the storm's over."

He felt more like his father's father than his son then, and that was as scary as being stuck out in the blizzard. But Dad nodded a little stiffly and followed him.

The passage sloped sharply downward for a time, and it was very narrow. Dad had to squeeze sideways and kneel to get through one part, but it had grown so warm that Diego took off his hat, mittens, and muffler and stuffed them in his pocket and unfastened his parka. About this time he began to hear the humming from inside the cave, as if it housed some huge machine. For all he knew, maybe it did. The company had made this planet, hadn't they? At least that's what they claimed, though Diego privately thought it was pretty weird to create such a physically inhospitable place.

The path bent sharply to the right, then to the left, and seemed to stop. Diego groped toward the wall in front of him, his hands touching strange indentations, like grooves swirling in some sort of design.

With his touch, the wall gave way and a soft, eerie light from within sent a shaft to meet them. Diego pressed forward into the room, where flame-colored liquid bubbled up in a central pool and the walls glowed with phosphorescence, where roots and rock formations twined and curled into strange designs in the elongated, rough shapes of animals and men, and where the humming was so loud, so perfect, so beautiful that after a while Diego thought he must be hearing the voices of the angels he had once read about-and they were telling him things. He listened so closely that he could not hear his father screaming.