Shadow of the Warmaster

2

Karrel Goza pulled the lift door shut, checked the cable out, it was taut and locked to the eyebolt. Birey Tipis was reliable as an old boot, bless the man. Rubbing at his back, he crossed the stretch of beaten earth to the office, pushed open the door and went inside.

“Alo, Bir, how’s it go?”

“Slow and slower. You better get that nose fixed, Kar.”

“Don’t tell me, tell Sirgыn. What you got for me?”

“Two passengers for Koy Vaha, six bushels orps with the rind on and five sacks tarins, dried. Old Muntza Tefrik, he brought in some hanks of unbleached kes yarn and he wanted to know if his package had got here.”

“Passengers.” Karrel Goza grimaced; they always wanted to come up and talk to him, Fud-40’s musty cabin started closing in on them the minute he shut the door. “Nuh, nothing for here this trip. Geres Duvvar is due along in a couple weeks, coming from the west, he might have it. If he makes it here. He’s got Hav-13 and that bag makes old Fud up there look like a yearling.”

“How’s it on the coast?”

“Like here. Slow and slower.” Karrel Goza took the manifest, checked the weights, nodded. “Fud can handle this.” He set the clipboard down, smothered a yawn. “What’s open? I need to eat and catch a few hours sleep. Sirgыn laid my co off for the duration.”

“You too, eh?”

“Too?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“I’ve been short hauling along the coast, that’s why you haven’t seen me for a year or so.”

“We’ve been getting singles since the thaw. Navlun Bol and Ilkan Bol just like Sirgыn. Cut way down on the schedule too. I get an earful of complaints from the Fehz and everyone else, their goods sit and rot waiting for a hauler to come along. Everyone’s notching their belts. For the duration they say. I’m getting an earache from hearing the word. I ask myself what’s it mean and I answer me, nothing.” Birey Tipis lifted the flap, came through the counter. “Food, hmm. You remember Annie Arkaday?” He waved Karrel Goza to the door, lifted the key ring off the counter and slipped the keys about, hunting for the one he wanted. “Yeh, not many forget her cooking. She had to shut the cafe, the rent got to be too much for the trickle of customers to cover. She petitioned the Fehraz to lower it for the duration,” a soft chuckle sounded over the clink-clank of the keys, “for the duration,” he repeated, “but he wouldn’t, so he gets nothing, intelligent, eh?” He shut the lights off, crossed to the door, followed Karrel Goza through. “Folks stay home these days or stake out a table in Mahanna’s Tavern with a couple cups of kave, it’s still open, but that’s because Mahanna’s got freehold on the building and only pays a ritseed rent.” He finished with the pair of locks, thrust the ring into a side pocket of his jacket. “Annie works out of her house now, same reason, it’s freehold, she’s piled her kids one on top of the other and hires out their rooms and fixes meals for whoever can pay. And the kids run errands when they can. She’s doing all right so far.” He pointed down the street. “That way, he said, “across town from here. It’s not far.” He walked beside Karrel Goza as they went down the middle of the village’s main street. “You heard anything? Been rumors the lines are going to drop half their stations, let the clerks in them go. I’ve been in that office near a score of years.”

“No one tells us pilots anything except which route we’re on or we’re laid off till god-knows when.” Karrel Goza kicked at a pebble, watched it bound along the worn pavement until it disappeared into a pothole. “It’s a long low, but must ’ve about hit bottom, don’t you think?” Karrel Goza looked around. The village didn’t seem to have changed much since he’d seen it last, shabby, one-story buildings, red tile roofs showing above the packed earth walls that went round the house and the bit of garden that only friends and family ever saw, here and there trees rustled in the sometime wind and the shutters over the front windows of those shops that were closed for the night rattled with the gusts, the dark was kind and concealing, there was a lot he wouldn’t see, a lot hidden behind housewalls. He wished Birey Tipis would shut up about all this, it made him sick thinking about it and more than a little scared.

“Can’t say, Kar, you and me, we’ve still got our jobs, knock wood, but what do we do if Skein and the others go broke?”

“Nuh, Bir, they won’t let the carriers fail, Tairanna would fall apart if they did.”

“Don’t be too sure. The Fehz would survive and the divers would still be bringing up rosepearls, so I can’t see Pittipat sticking his fingers in, what’s he care about a bunch of surrish grubbers? I don’t see any light ahead.” Birey Tipis glanced at Karrel Goza, wiped sweat off his forehead. “Wouldn’t say all this if I didn’t know you don’t run off at the mouth, Kar.” The tip of his tongue flicked along his lips. “Used to be we didn’t worry ourselves about what we said, used to be Yapyap, that’s what we call the Sech’s Nose, he let folks know when he was coming around so they could stop talking about anything he’d have to report.” He caught hold of Karrel Goza’s arm, stopped him. “Listen, Kar, I don’t know about other Koys, but watch what you say to folk here, Yapyap’s gone serious, got a bodyguard, a couple scrapings imported from Tassalga. Hurum Deval got drunk last week and wouldn’t shut up, he started spouting all those jokes about the Imperator, you’ve heard ’em, I’m sure, he didn’t mean anything by it, he always gets a mouth on him when he’s reeling. Thing is, come morning he was gone, we haven’t seen him since. The Fehraz he sent some men over and packed up the family, shipped ’em to gul Brindar on the west coast, we got word a few weeks later they were doing scut work for the Fehdaz there and hoping Hur would show up. He hasn’t so far. And he’s a long way from the first to slide down a dark hole without a bottom.” He started walking again. “What say you let me buy you a beer? Mahanna’s come up with a tarin brew that slides down sweet as honey. Don’t worry about Annie, she’ll whip up something for you, doesn’t matter how late it is.”

“Why not. Old Fud’s still a lady in the air. One thing though, who’s going to be wrestling the cargo come morning? If it’s me, I pass.”

“You got a spare goum or two, I can scare up some strong backs for that.”

“I could put in a requisition for expenses. Don’t suppose Skein would honor it.”

“There’s another way, wouldn’t cost you or show on the books.”

“Huh?”

“There’s some brothers who need a lift to the coast.”

“Off the manifest?”

“What else.”

“This Yapyap of yours, won’t he be hanging around the pylon?”

“There’s ways for handling that.”

Karrel Goza walked on. At first he was sure he didn’t want anything to do with the proposition. Running like that, it must be serious what they’d done. If something went wrong he could suck his family into their mess. The Ommar’d eat me raw. He glanced several times at Birey Tipis; the old man was strolling along, eyes on the road ahead, face placid as a ruminating yunk, no sign of the nervousness he’d showed a moment before. Karrel Goza was suddenly sure he was going to do it, he wasn’t quite sure why, he was so scared of it, thinking about what could happen tied his stomach in knots and pumped acid up his throat, but somehow he couldn’t not do it. “Family’ll divorce me if this comes out.”

“It won’t. Um…” Birey Tipis dug his thumb into the soft folds of skin hanging under his jaw. “The boys’ve done this before.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me some more.”

“The less you know, Kar, the safer you are.”

“I am?”

“You got a point. Everyone is. Safer, I mean. I can say this, it’s not thievery or anything like that.”

“Make sure you take care of Yapyap and his friends.”

“We will, no fear of that, my friend.”

We, Karrel Goza thought, that’s interesting. He didn’t say anything, just followed Birey Tipis through the tavern’s swing door.

3. Four months after the Duzzulka flight.

Speakers Circle/Ayla gul Incl.

Karrel Goza rubbed his back against the stone of the wall, watched the clot of heavily robed men mill about atop the minaret, a thirty-foot-tall column of stone with a round shingled roof rising to a graceful point above the broad arches that went round the speaker’s platform. He was listening to the talk around him, soft muttered voices punctuated with slitted suspicious glances at everyone else, angry voices, kept murmurous by the fear that a wrong word at a wrong time was deadlier than poison, a fear justified by the events of the past months; almost everyone knew someone who’d vanished as quietly and completely as a sailor washed overboard in a summer storm; almost everyone thought he or she knew why. There was the unexpressed hope that the missing were in prison somewhere not dead; there was the equally unexpressed fear that they’d been airshipped out over the ocean and dropped in Saader’s Cleft.

Geres Duvvar came threading through the crowd in the Circle, in each hand a paper cone smudged with grease from the estani nuts inside. He gave a cone to Karrel Goza who moved over so his cousin could lean against the wall beside him. “You got some change coming, Kar. There was a little war going on over there ’tween the peddlers.”

Karrel Goza grunted, dug cautiously into the hoard of hot nuts.

Geres Duvvar swallowed. “Hurry up and wait, huh.” He waggled the cone at the group on the speaker’s platform.

“Yeh. Don’t look like there’s much good to say or they’d be saying it.”

The clacker sounded, the crack of wood against wood reverberating through the dull mutter of the crowd. Silence spread like fog.

The Stentor separated from the other robed men, spread his arms. “Sim, O Kisil, sim sen, Hear o People, hear thou. Thy Ollanin return to report the outcome of their petition.” There was a pause. Behind the Stentor one of the Ollanin murmured to him. He nodded, faced out again. “Sorrow, sorrow, the petition was heard, the petition was denied.”

The crushed nut in Karrel Goza’s mouth was suddenly bitter. He spat it out, ignoring the scowl of the woman whose skirts he spattered with the bits. Geres Duvvar beat his hand slowly steadily against the stone, cursing under his breath.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. This is the Imperator’s reply. Let those among you who are needy apply to the Houses for bread and work.”

A groan rose from the crowd.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. If you who are needy are turned away, give word to the Fehdaz. Every House and every Farm who turned you away will be assessed two score rosepearls or the equivalent in tapestries and art pieces.”

A swelling of sound, with a double center, on one side those who have, on the other those who have not.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. Two of thy Ollanin lifted their hearts against this and spoke. The Divine one cast them down into a dark and stinking cell. The Ollanin who murmured but spoke not, the Divine one had them taken from him and sealed into their rooms. For two days, thy Ollanin saw not the sun nor the moons, for two days thy Ollanin drank only water, for two days thy Ollanin tasted not bread nor meat.”

Rising-falling moan filled with fear and rage.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. The Divine One spake unto your Ollanin thus: It has come to me that the merm beds and the rosepearls are a State resource. It has come to me that it may be wrong for such a resource to remain in the hands of Families, not the State. Be warned, O Kisil, thus the Divine one spake, I will cease my wondering for this moment, I will not act as my heart requires if I am not stirred to it by thy unruly importunities.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. And then it was that the Divine one cast at the feet of thy Ollanin the two of them whose hearts had rebelled. And then it was the Divine One spake again: Take these and let me not see them, let me not hear their names, let them be as nothing in my sight and thine.

“Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. Thy Ollanin have come to thee in sorrow, ashes in their hair and heart, thy Ollanin say to thee, we have failed thee, what is thy will?”

The Stentor folded his arms and stepped back. Robes pulled tight about them, cowls drooping over half-hidden faces, the Ollanin started down the stairs. When they reached the pavement, the crowd in the Circle, silent, impassive, gave way before them, opening a corridor so they could cross the Circle and pass into the Fekkri. They didn’t wait for an answer, they wouldn’t get it then; that was coming three days later. Karrel Goza and Geres Duvvar wouldn’t bother coming back to hear it. At least the City Ollanin had tried to help, that was more than the Fehdaz had done. He was old and sick and about to die, his sons had died before him (there were rumors about that, how they died and why, Incers were very nervous about the character of the next Fehdaz), his grandsons and the Nephew were all there waiting like vultures, no one in the place bothering their heads about anything else.

Karrel Goza counted the coins in his hand, closed them in his fist. “Gidder’s should be open by now. What about a beer?”

Geres Duvvar slipped his watch from its pocket, clicked it open. “Do we have time? Old Niffiz is getting touchy about checking in.” He shut the watch, shoved it back. “He’s Immel. He’s got a thing about us in Goza-Duvvar-Memeli. You don’t want to give him an excuse to boot us, not the way things are these days.”

“May he fall in yunkshit up to his honker.” Karrel Goza put the coins away. “Let’s get back. That wormy old skink won’t give an inch.”

4. Ayla gul Inci/Waterfront/one year and six months after the return of the petitioners.

The bay was gray and leaden, an echo of Karrel Goza’s mood. He took out the notice, reread the single line of print. His head throbbing with resentment and fear, his body cold and sick with the horrible emptiness of failure, he tore the paper into small hairy pieces and dropped them into the water. One breath he was angry at Geres Duvvar for holding onto his job with Sirgыn, the next he was dead ash, wondering how he was going to tell the Ommar he was a drag on the Family, not a support. Out on the bay he saw boats coming in. He straightened, stared. He’d played in these waters when he was a baby; when he was older, he’d taken girls out sailing if he could talk a cousin into lending him a boat; he knew enough of the sea’s caprices and her moods to understand what he was seeing. There was a bad blow coming. He watched the gray waters heave beneath the pier and hated her, Mother of Storms, treacherous unfeeling bitch, stealing from him his last respite from shame. He had to get back to the House and help tie down for it, no time to get a little drunk to pillow the pain. He cursed softly, bitterly, cursed Sirgыn and the Huvved, the Kabriks and their obsession with new products, the mushbrained Imperator and his mushbrained advisors, the Fehrazes and the Fehdazes, the city council, the sneaks and most of all the alien slaves who made all this trouble for workers.

“They are that.” A girl’s voice.

He swung around. “What?”

“You heard. What happened, you laid off?”

He looked her over. She was small and dark, brilliant eyes, not exactly pretty, but coming into a room she’d be the first you noticed. The fine wandering scarlines on her arms were very white against the dark gold of her tan. A Dalliss. No one ever completely tamed a Dalliss even when her diving days were finished. His mouth curled down with dislike, but he touched eyes and mouth and spread his hands in polite acknowledgment of her presence. “Blessings, Dalliss.” He turned and started past her.

“Oh my, the little man’s soul is bruised.” She closed her fingers about his arm, said, “You’re a pilot. I need a pilot.”

“For what?” Disgusted with the leap of hope he couldn’t help, he pulled free. “Storm coming. I’m going home.”

“Couple hours before you need to start tying down. Stop a while and give me a listen, you might like what I’m going to say.” She stepped back from him, swung herself onto a bitt and sat kicking her bare heels against the agatewood, watching him with a hard bright expectation that sent warning tremors along his spine.

He lowered himself to the planks and sat with his legs hanging over the edge, his back against another bitt. “Job?”

“Not for taking home to Ommar. We could come up with some coin if you’ve got to have it.” She swept her arms wide, waggled her small slim hands as if to say you can have what you want, it doesn’t matter long as you do the thing. Whatever the thing was.

She had beautiful hands, he noticed that with a small jolt of surprise, delicate, supple wrists. And fine ankles. Like a lot of women these days, she’d taken to wearing trouserskirts, wide-legged things made out of the new yosscloth, its silky flow clinging to her legs in a way he found exciting. The top she wore was a tube knitted from black kes yarn, it had a square neck, no sleeves, she wanted to display her arms with their scars, the badge of her achievement. Used to be pearlers wore long sleeves and lace mits to hide the merm marks. Not this one. He found himself approving her pride. He looked away, frowned out across the heaving water. “Just tell me what it is.”

“Remember Jamber Fausse?”

He started, went still. “Why?”

“Show you I know a thing or two. You lifted him South after he hit the Fehraz Ene Karrad’s strongroom and dropped half the coin to the Kiks that Karrad pushed off his Raz. You’ve been a busy little man the past few months.

The cold was back in his bones; he stared at the water and said nothing.

“No need to sit there shivering like an ishtok out of water, Karrel Goza. This isn’t a noose about your neck. If you don’t want to fly for us, forget it.”

He turned his head. She was leaning toward him, hands braced on her knees, taut, eager, willing him to accept the proposition she hadn’t yet made. He was interested; it would be immensely satisfying to hit back at something instead of going meekly home to mama., “Same sort of business?”

“Not quite. This could get you killed. The pilot we had before is in Saader’s Cleft. No, the bitbits didn’t drop him there. He died. We didn’t want some asslicking official eager to make points getting curious about how that happened. He was shot, bad, but he got us away and the ship home before he died.” Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. “He was…” Impatiently she scrubbed the tears away. “Could happen to you. So?”

“You’re the ones.”

“What?”

“You’re the ones that hung the Nephew naked from the minaret. Painted insults on him hair to heels. I wondered how someone got him there without being caught. You fixed him up in his paint and harness, I suppose, and waited until Ruya and Gorruya were down; then you dropped the noose over the roofpeak and left him dangling. Ktch! your pilot must’ve had Pradix’s hand on his neck to operate blind in that battlerose of winds.”

“He did, besides there isn’t a man alive or dead who can match his touch.”

“Wish I’d seen it. Geres Duvvar was home, he told me about it, he said the Fehdaz was howling mad. Not that he liked the Nephew that much, it was the idea that some Hordar would have the nerve to lay hands on one of his Family. On one of the holy Huvved. Ktch!”

“Herk the Jerk. Yeh. He wanted to top every Hordar he could get his hands on, but his Sech talked him out of it.”

“Old Grouch? I’d have thought he’d be sharpening his ax for Hordar necks.”

“He’s scared of a Surge. You’ve been away a lot. I don’t think you really know how bad things are getting.”

“Hmm. So, what are you plotting now?”

She scratched at her forearm, rubbed a bare foot against the bitt. “Herky Jerky’s been hatching ideas again. Three months he’s had his hands on the Daz, he keeps thinking that ought to mean something, but every time he has a flash, Old Grouch digs the ground out from under him. I suppose he’s tired of it. From what we could find out, he maneuvered so the Grouch had to go to Gilisim Gillin to talk to the Grand Sech. Soon as the old man’s back was turned, Herk snatched some Farm boys who’d come in to gul Inci to visit relatives and carted them off somewhere, who knows why. Probably something to do with merm beds and rosepearls. Doesn’t matter what maggot he has in his head, we’ve got to pull them out. It was just luck, really, finding out what happened to them, a friend of mine was over the wall meeting me, we saw the bitbits make a snatch; we were too far away to stop it, but we managed to follow them to where a miniship was moored. They shoved the boy in the gondola and left. We thought about trying to get him out, but there were more bitbits around guarding the airship. No way we could reach it. Next day some other friends of mine managed to find out who was gone and where they might be. Some others and me, we’re going in after them, but we need a pilot. That’s it, that’s what we want you for.”

“In where?”

“Mountain Place.”

“I’ve flown out of Inci in that direction. Not over the Place. The winds there are tricky. It’s the steam out of the crater that does it. Fehdaz’s pilots know the currents; even so they pick their way and go in round noon when things’re quieter. What’s your ship like?”

“A mini.” She grinned at him. “Used to belong to Herk.”

“Hmm. The instruments?”

“Crude and crudest. That’s how Muhar Teget described them.”

“I didn’t know he was still alive.”

“He’s not. He’s the one in the Cleft.”

He gazed at her a long time, then looked away. “Get me fired?”

“No.”

“You followed me here.”

“Yes. I was going to see if you were off for a few days and might be able to fly for us. Muh said after him you were the best on Tairanna.” She combed her hands through her hair, spread them again, waved them; she seemed to like waving her hands about, maybe someone told her sometime they looked like little white birds. “Pushing my Luck,” she said. She dropped her hands into her lap, laced her fingers together. “I saw you shred that paper and made a guess, that’s all.”

“You know my name.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twisted into a half-smile. “That’s a bit of a difficulty.” She searched his face for a moment, then shrugged. “Why not, Grouch knows me well enough, he doesn’t need a name. Elmas Ofka, Family Indiz-Ofka-Tanggаr, Farm Indiz.” She hesitated, shrugged again. “Divorced, outlawed.”

He’d half suspected who she was, but it was a shock all the same. Elmas Ofka. They said she killed a Huvved who thought he was going to rape her, sank a knife in his belly and opened him up like a yunk carcass. He’d always thought that was somebody’s dream, that she probably stole some pearls or sassed a touchy tribute-collector. Every now and then the Huvveds got antsy and took hunting parties out searching for her, but they never saw hair nor heels of her, so they shot a few erkelte and pretended that was what they were out for. “You’re crazy to be here in daylight like this.”

“Crazy has its advantages.”

He laughed, he didn’t quite know why. “At least it seems to be working.” He rubbed thumb against middle finger, not sure what to say next. “Ah, who else is coming?”

“My isya. Cousins, some friends. Women. That bother you?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

“We know.”

“Tonight?”

“Right. Herk’s had them three days already.” She was silent a moment. “One of them’s my brother.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

Her mouth tightened. “They will be. One of these days we’ll hang Herky Jerky from the Minaret and we won’t use a harness.”

“I need a little time to get used to the ship. You know the bay better than I do, what about the storm?”

“By the time we leave, it should be mostly blown out, enough rags left to give us cover. At Mountain Place any of the sentries supposed to be on the walls, they’ll more than likely be inside with a fire, no one’s going to be miserable for Herk the Jerk. If there are some mushbrains outside, we won’t have any problem spotting them.” She hesitated, made up her mind between one breath and the next. “Some aliens are living with us. They jumped the Wall at the Palace and happened onto us at a delicate moment.” Her hands fluttered, sketching metaphors for the embarrassment of both parties. When she noticed the expression on his face, she smiled and shook her head. “They won’t be coming with us.” She folded her hands again. “One of them was the Imperator’s own weaponsmith. Strange creature. He doesn’t like people much, and I got spanked for that kind of language when I was a girl, so I won’t try telling you what he thinks of our esteemed Divine One. He’s been making gadgets for us. Stunners and spotters you could wear in a ring almost. Sniperguns.” She narrowed her eyes at the sea, then the sky, chewed her lip a moment. “You can get away without eyes on you?”

“Yes. When and where?”

“You know the Dance Floor in the Watergarden out north of Inci?”

“Been there a time or two.” He tried a quick grin.

She grinned back, her eyes narrowing into crescents, her nose flattening. “I expect you have.” She sobered. “I’ll bring the ship down an hour after midnight, give or take five minutes each way. I can manage that much, there’s room for mistakes out there. We need to be at the Mountain Place around three hours before dawn. Will that give you enough play to get the feel of her before we start?”

“Too much. If I can’t learn her in twenty minutes, I might as well give up. Make it second hour, unless you’ve got a reason otherwise.”

“Second’s better, but I wanted to make sure you had plenty of time for test runs.” She slipped off the bitt, stretched, yawned. “Anything else?’

“What you expect me to do? Besides flying.”

“Nothing. You won’t be coming in with us. You’re the only one who can get us away from there.”

“Good enough.”

“See you tonight then.” A flutter of a hand and she was running away down the pier, her vitality printing her on his mind even after she vanished into an alley between two warehouses. He smiled. He felt a lot better now. He couldn’t tell anyone about this, but it went a long way toward erasing the sense of failure that’d been the worst effect of the layoff notice. His dread was gone, he could face the Ommar without feeling like a lump of yunkshit.

The wind was picking up, two fat raindrops splashed down on his head, trickled past his ears. Home and fast. From the look of those clouds and the height of the swells, they’d need all hands to get ready to ride this one out. Another raindrop broke on his nose, he wiped it away and started running toward the alley.

5. Approaching the Dance Floor/Watergardens outside Ayla gul Inci/both moons down.

“Like crawling through a room lined with black felt.” Tezzi Ofka braced herself on her arms, leaned forward until her nose touched the curving window.

“Um.” Elmas Ofka scowled at the trembling lines scattered across the panel in front of her; trying to balance the ship in half a dozen directions and get somewhere at the same time took most of her attention. The storm didn’t help. Blessings be, the winds had died to a whisper. She’d flown the miniship a few times before (mostly in daylight though and tethered) so she’d be able to manage it in an emergency. She hadn’t realized how tricky this short jump was going to be. Thank God, Karrel Goza gave her the extra hour. It would have been easier for him to come to the place where they’d stowed the ship, but she wasn’t about to trust him that much. Not yet anyway. He probably realized she didn’t. He wasn’t stupid, though it was hard to remember that when he put on his dumb hardboy look. Good camouflage. I hope. “Tez, any sign of those lights?”

“Not yet. You sure we’re heading the right way?”

“Sssa. Half maybe. Keep looking around.”

“Mm.”

They droned on for several minutes, then a sudden gust of wind caught the small airsack and rocked it perilously. Elmas Ofka fought the miniship straight, exploded out the breath she was holding. “Tez!”

“Turn a little left. I thought I saw something when we were tumbling about.”

Elmas Ofka eased the nose around, bit her lip as she felt the gondola tremble in the swirl of winds that grew stronger as she got closer to the water. Two faint greenish spots swam past some distance in front of her. She tried to stop the turn, overcorrected, overcorrected again, went toward the lights in a series of diminishing arcs.

“Elli, I’m getting airsick.”

“Don’t talk so much.” She ran the pump that sucked air into the ballast sacs; the ship sank, steadied as the added weight helped the motors hold against the erratic push of the wind. A moment later it lurched, nosed down as it hit a powerful downdraft. She swore fervently and vented the air she’d just pumped in.

“Elliiii, I didn’t know you knew those words.”

“Shut up, Tez. Sssaaa, I can’t see…” The lights slid inexorably beneath her. She pumped in more air, shifted the stabilizers so she was edging downward, then swung carefully around. “Tez. Get ready to drop the ropes.” She fumbled over the switches, finally got the hover configuration right, swore again as she saw she was several meters away from where she wanted to be. “This is as good as it gets. Toss the marker, Tez, then let the ropes go.”

The gondola rocked as Tezzi moved from side to side, shuddered as the hatches opened. The weighted glowglobe whirled away, caught by a gust whose fringes reached the miniship a moment later and started it tottering. Elmas Ofka chewed on her lip, drummed her fingers on the chair arms, waiting as long as she dared before she did anything. The ship jerked, steadied. She started breathing again. “Drop the ladders, Tez.”

She left the chair and went to help balance the gondola as dark figures began swarming up the ladders.

Karrel Goza was first up. He came in with a quick neat twist of his body and went without a word to the cockpit, settling himself at the controls and began running his fingers over them, touching the switches but changing nothing for the moment. If you can recruit him, there’s a flyer working for Sirgыn Bol, Muhar Teget said, name’s Karrel Goza. He’s a natural. If he manages to get as old as me, he might just be better than me. A natural, she thought, yes, Muh was right. She relaxed some more. Some have the gift, Muh said, lots don’t. You’ve got one, diving it is, flying it’ll never be. Some folk can get along quite well without any special talent for what they want to do, if they’re willing to work their asses off and never stop training. Don’t you put down the ones who go that route, sometimes they do a helluva lot more than the naturals. There’s the drive, you see, without the drive even the best don’t go far. The one weakness they’ve got, though, they don’t adapt fast to radical new situations. You need that kind of thing in what you and your isyas are doing. When you have to replace me, no no, gen-gen, a stroke or a bullet, one of ’em’s going to get me and let me tell you, I’d rather the bullet. What was I saying? ah yes. When you replace me, make sure your pilot is one of the naturals. There’s too much that can go wrong too fast for the other kind. You want inspiration rather than intelligence when there’s no time for thinking.

Harli Tanggаr swung in, threw Elmas Ofka a salute and a broad grin and began reeling up the ladders. Elmas moved forward.

“All up,” she murmured.

“Run through this for me.”

“Let me take us out over the bay first, we’ve been here too long already.” She slid into the co’s seat. “Tez, signal them cast off.”

The miniship leaped free, began drifting sideways; Elmas Ofka worked uncertainly through the configuration shift, vented air too slowly at first, then too suddenly, swore under her breath at her clumsiness as she changed settings. She explained what she was doing in a rapid half-distracted murmur, all too aware of his eyes on her; she loathed doing things badly where people could see it, especially men. When they were at last out over the water and there was nothing for miles around to threaten the miniship, she sat back with a sigh and let it drift. “You want to ask questions, or do I give you the lecture Muhar Teget pounded into me?”

He set a forefinger on a switch. “I touch, you name it, all right?”

“Why not?”

For the next twenty some minutes he worked with her, gaining skill with a speed that astonished her. She’d been told by more than Muh that he was good, too good for the stodgy hauls Sirgыn was giving him, it looked like her informants weren’t exaggerating. Before she thought, she said, “Why in forty hells did those godlost execs lay you off?”

He laughed. It was a pleasant rumbling sound, deeper than his speaking voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her face burned. Prophet’s blessing, it was dark up there except for the faint glow from the instruments. “It was so meant,” she said.

“Yeh. Trouble is I never took the time to spread the old oil around.”

“But flying…”

“Being good is a frill on most hauls. Adequate does just fine.”

“Adequate gets you killed down deep.”

He blinked, raised his brows. “If Old Pittipat in Gilisim gets serious about taking title to your merm beds, he’ll fetch in slaves that can whomp him up a minisub or something like it before you can say spit, Elmas Ofka. Think about it a minute while I get set up here…” He worked in silence for a short while, tapping in the course, then he swung his chair round to face her. “You’ve kept hold of those beds up to now because no one can get at them but a Dalliss. How long do you think that’s going to last?” He touched the nearest switch, let his hand drop onto the chair arm. He was serious, frowning, seemed to be groping for a connection between the two of them; his words came in quick spurts with long pauses between them. “Muhar said crude and crudest. He’s right. You ever been up front in a longhauler? There’s stuff in there. Stuff no one was dreaming of. Just a few years ago. When I was in school. Look at me. I’m what? One year? Two? Not that much older than you. I tell you, Elmas Ofka, what with the skills the slaves bring in from outside. And the fiddling the mechs do in their offtime. Well. The ships are smarter than some of the pilots these days.”

She stared at the blackness outside and at her face mirrored like a distorted ghost in the curving glass. “Herk the Jerk,” she said softly. “But why boys? They don’t know anything.”

He pinched his nose, dropped his hands onto his thighs. His thumbs were twitching. “Maybe he thinks they do.”

“But everyone knows it’s the Ommars and the Dallisses who control the beds.”

He shifted restlessly, crossed his legs. “Everyone in Inci,” he said. “Everyone in any city with a Sea Farm handy. Yeh, you’re probably right about them.” He managed a kind of all-over shrug. He was a smallish man, his body limber and relaxed as a sleepy cat. She got glimpses now and then of another kind of person inside, mostly, though, he kept everyone away from that man. “Things get shuffled around a bit differently in different places. You ever hear Huvveds talking about women?”

“I heard one talking to a woman once, a Hordar woman.”

She could see him remembering the stories about her and feeling like a fool, then deciding that a continued ignorance would be the most tactful face he could put on. “What I’m saying is, Herk spent most of his time in Gilisim; that’s inland. On the Lake. Freshwater. No merm beds there. And since he’s been back, who’s he talked to? Ollanin and Kabriks. All men. And who’s he got close to him? Other Huvveds, all men. And knowing our beloved leader, do you think he’s going to bother asking anyone about how Hordar run their lives? See what I mean?”

“Of all the stupid, arrogant…”

“That’s our Herk.”

She settled to a simmering brood while Karrel Goza put his feet up, tilted the chair back and dozed as the miniship droned on toward the Mountain Place.