The Burning Ground

3. Spy on the job

Shadith had her choice of ears. The ottotel was clean enough outside the walls, but inside was a busy haven for vermin of various sorts, much of it off the ships that landed here-mice and other small rodents along with assorted spiders and insects. Exterminators cost money and random sprays of toxics were likely to make some of the clients sicker than the vermin. ‘Bots and servitors didn’t care and the Ptakkan owners of the ‘tel had no intention of coming near the place. The rooms were sealed and small seeker ‘bots took care of complaints, if any.

Shadith stationed a mouse in the air duct, put it to sleep, and used its ears to pick up what was being said in the main room of the suite the Cobben infested.

She rather missed Autumn Rose, though she certainly hadn’t expected to. There was no one to talk to. And she couldn’t even go play. With all this passive mindriding, the concentration it needed, all this lying in dark rooms, not moving, trying to keep awake, she was too exhausted most nights to do anything but watch the vids. Everything in Lala Gemali, even around here in this bedroom community for low status workers, was geared for plucking the offworlders of their last coin. Coin viewers in every room. Watch the war and feed the Ptakkan greed.

She scolded herself, reminded herself she was here on a job, not chasing one of her own shadows or running down a personal threat. I have to get used to this, she thought. I’m on someone else’s time. Again. Well, I managed to get used to the diadem, this shouldn’t be too hard.

Listening to the Cobben was depressing. Despite what they did for a living-or maybe even because of it-there was a closeness between them that made her want to break off and go cuddle with Swardheld for a while. It reminded her too forcefully of the lack in her life. Reminded her that she had to yearn after Autumn Rose just to have someone about who shared a common purpose. Several times she bailed out quickly as sex play started developing. Made her envious and queasy at the same time. And curious, wondering what it’d be like to be part of a multiple arrangement that had been going on for a number of years.

Odd. She could spy on them to find out what they were going to do, to learn their skills and interactions in case she had to fight or even kill them, but spying on their sex lives to satisfy curiosity was something she simply could not do.

“The Blivvy was looking at you, Feyd, you know she was.” A rolling giggle. “Don’t know what she’d do with a little playtoy like you, you’d get lost in those rolls of fat”

“Oh, he likes them lush.” A rumbling growl of a voice.

“Someone turn on the shield?” A light dry voice, ambiguous as to gender.

“Why bother.” The first speaker, a mid-range female voice with harsh edges. “Government issue. You know it has to have holes in it.”

“Hoy, Sarpe, you said it.” Slow, rather dragging male voice, the words interrupted by a loud yawn. “I’m beat. Rest of you want to min the chik you’ll have to yob without me.”

“Yo, Orm, you right.” A quick ripple of a voice and a long sigh. “It’s sleep for me.”

Dragging sounds, giggles from the fresher, slap of flesh against flesh, coughing, smells of kava brewing, of soap and damp and dust stirred up. More coughing, sighs, creaking from the pallets, soft rubbing sounds from quilts moving over flesh. Silence for a while, punctuated by a few snores before one of the Cobben made an exasperated sound like a mix between a snort and the clicking of tongue against teeth and shifted the snorer onto his side, or perhaps her side.

More silence for a while, then sounds of movement converging on a corner of the room away from the sleepers. Quiet voices.

“Sarpe, we getting good money for this, but I’ve about had it here. How long’s it been, six years? Feels like six centuries. We’re getting to be like contract labor, if you ask me.”

“Yeh, Meya’s right. Stuck in a yobbing rut worse’n any bourgie snek.” A soft groan, stretching sounds. “I’m getting sloppy. If I had a real hit, chances are I’d blow the Cob. Don’t like it. Don’t like losing my edge. Don’t like feeling maybe it isn’t just me.”

A short silence, then the harsh clipped voice of the Coryfe. “You challenging me, Kayr?”

Sound of snort, then the quick light voice with a hint of laughter in it. “Don’t point your fangs at me, Sarpe Coryfe. I’m just telling you.”

A longer silence.

Sarpe’s voice, quieter now, the edges smoothed over. “I’ll be meeting with the Clo-Kajhat two days on, he said he’s got something special for us. We’ll talk again when I know what it is.”

Shadith took the mouse through the ducts until it was far enough away so its reaction wouldn’t reach the Cobben, then she turned it loose and let it go squealing off, tiny claws scrabbling on the plas of the duct floor as it ran for familiar territory.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, then rubbed them across her eyes. She was exhausted but too nervous to sleep. With a whispered curse, she hunted out a handful of coins and settled back to watch the war unfold. Once again the war. It had an awful fascination. After a week of watching she almost understood what brought the tourists here.

She drowsed as war scenes flowed across the screen, minor engagements and assorted overvoiced scenes meant to harrow the soul or something like that, with adverts for the bloodier action inserted at intervals.

Battles on pay per view. See Pixa phelas ambush an Impix farmer and his workers. See Impix overwhelm a Pixa ixis on its way to the Meeting Ground.

Total sensory immersion in the Sensarams. Be a Pixa warrior fighting for the purity of his faith. Feel what it’s like to live in a city shelled day and night. Rape. Slaughter. Cannibalism. Feel it all, relive the primitive thrills your culture has left behind.

Music swelled, the camera’s point of view swam among clouds, then swooped down to drift above a road paved with ancient yellow bricks worn hollow by centuries of feet passing along them.

“They can only walk,” the voice-over said, a resonant baritone oozing with sentiment. “On this roadway their faith permits only feet. They come from everywhere, from the mountains, from the plains, Pixa and Impix alike. They come in groups like this family, the tribond of fem-mal-anya and children, all they own in those packs on their backs, see the starved, weary faces of children too exhausted to be afraid any longer. Sanctuary lies ahead, just a few more hours of walking and they can rest, protected by the sanctity of the Holy City Linojin.

“Many come alone, the last survivors of slaughtered families or outcasts who have rejected faith and friendship, refusing to fight for the soul of their people.” The POV dipped lower, floating in front of a small solitary figure. “You can’t see cowardice on their faces, only dust and that bone deep weariness.”

The little Pixa trudged along, unaware she was being watched, her eyes shifting constantly, moving from the farmworkers in the fields to the other pilgrims behind and ahead of her, dark green eyes, wide and enigmatic, set aslant in a narrow face with smooth shiny skin like gray-green bark.

Shadith sat up, slapped her hand on the bed beside her. “Gotcha. Nice timing, O Fate. Hello, Yseyl.”

She crossed to the small kitchen alcove, set water to heat for cha, and hurried back. She folded the thin pillows and tucked them behind her, stretched out on the bed, ankles crossed, fingers laced behind her head, ignoring the treacly narration, her eyes fixed on the figure until the POV shifted to hover over the city.

Luck. It usually balances. I wonder what’s waiting to hit me in the face. Mp. Souvenir shops. Wonder if they’ve got anything useful on Linojin?

The POV swooped over the largest independent standing structure in the city, a white marble confection, every surface carved with interlocking, stylized forms of plants, birds and beasts, and with intricately interlaced knots, spirals, and other symbols. There were towers with pointed domes, grass growing green on the roofs, courts with ponds and streams and leaping fountains.

And a high swaying tower of angular openwork steel with wide flung steel cables bracing it against the wind from the sea.

Radio. Digby said you’d worked your way back that far.

The POV followed WhiteRobes pacing along the paths by twos and threes, hands invisible in wide sleeves, eyes on the ground. Male with male, female with female, anya with anya.

“This is the most sacred place on Impixol. The Grand Yeson. This is the center of worship for the Impix God. And these you see are the holy ones who govern in this city. The Anyas of Mercy, the Sisters of the Godbond, the Brothers of God. These are the ones who will question the Pilgrims, the exiles, these are they who decide who will remain in the city and who must be sent away to dwell in the poverty and hard labor of the nearby fishing villages.” The image of the exiled family trudging along the street briefly shared the screen with the Yeson. “Will they be allowed to huddle in the barracks of the Holy City or forced to fend for themselves?” The little ghost’s image replaced the family. “Is she hohekil, a refuser, or simply one too tired to fight any longer, seeking rest with her God? Will she be allowed to stay or will the Brothers find her unworthy?”

The screen blanked and the adverts reappeared:

Battles on pay per view. See Pixa phelas ambush an Impix farmer and his workers. See Impix overwhelm a Pixa ixis on its way to the Meeting Ground.

Total sensory immersion in the Sensarams. Be a Pixa warrior fighting for the purity of his faith. Feel what it’s like to live in a city shelled day and night Rape. Slaughter. Cannibalism. Feel it all, relive the primitive thrills…

The cha pot beeped. She went to the alcove, made her cha, brought the mug, and settled down to watch the rest of the show about the Holy City Linojin.