"True. But if so, why would they have gone to such lengths to get rid of us? Even as witnesses, we'd not be much threat if they'd fled in some unknown direction. No, I'm convinced he and Leie are nearby. They've got to be."
There followed a long silence between the two women, punctuated only by the sounds of nearby raucous chopping, hammering and scraping. Then Naroin said, "If you ever finally reach a big town, get to a comm unit an' dial PES five-four-niner-six. Call collect. Give 'em my name.
"But what if you aren't … if you never … I mean—" Maia stopped, unable to tactfully say it. But Naroin only laughed, as if relieved to have something to make light of.
"What if I never make it? Then if you please, tell my boss where you saw me last. All the things you've done an' seen. Tell 'em I said you got a favor or two comin'. At least they might help get you a decent job."
"Mm. Thanks. So long as it has nothing to do with coal—"
"Or saltwater!" Naroin laughed again,, and spread her small, strong arms for an embrace,
"Good luck, virgie. Keep outta jail. Don't get hit on the head so much. An' stop tryin' to drown, will ya? Do that an' I'm sure you'll be just fine."
PART 3
Peripatetic's Log:
Stratos Mission:
Arrival + 53.369 Ms
Today I told the heirs of Lysos all about the law. A law they had no role in passing. One they cannot amend or disobey.
The assembled savants, councillors, and priestesses listened to my speech in stony silence. Though I had already informed some of them, in private, I could still sense shock and churning disbelief behind many rigid faces.
"After millennia, we of the Phylum have learned the hard lesson of speciation," I told them. "Separated by vast gulfs of space, distant cousins lose their sense of common heritage. Isolated human tribes drift apart, emerging far down the stream of time, changed beyond recognition. This is a loss of much more than memory."
The grimness of my audience was unsettling. Yet Iolanthe and others had counseled frankness, not diplomatic euphemisms, so I told the leaders accounts from the archives of my service — a litany of misadventure and horror, of catastrophic misunderstandings and tragedies provoked by narrow worldviews. Of self-righteous ethnic spasms and deadly vendettas, with each side convinced (and armed with proof) that it was right. Of exploitations worse than those we once thought jettisoned in Earth's predawn past. Worse for being perpetrated by cousins who refused to know each other anymore, or listen.
Tragedies that finally brought forth Law.
"Till now, I've described how renewed contact might prove advantageous. Arts and sciences would be shared, and vast libraries containing solutions to countless problems. Many of you looked at me, and thought, 'Well, he is but one man. To get those good things, we can endure rare visits by solitary envoys. We'll pick and choose from the cornucopia, without disrupting our ordered destiny.'
"Others of you suspected more would be involved. Much more. There is."
I called forth a holographic image to glimmer in the center of the council hall, a glistening snowflake as broad as a planet, as thin as a tree, reflecting the light of galaxies.
"Today, a second service links the Phylum worlds, more important than the one provided by peripatetics. It is a service some of you will surely loathe, like foul-tasting medicine. The great icecraft move between ten thousand suns — more slowly than messengers like me. But their way is inexorable. They carry stability. They bring change."
A Perkinite delegate leaped up. "We'll never accept them. We'll fight!"
I had expected that.
"Do what you feel you must. Blow up the first icecraft, or ten, unmindful of the countless sleeping innocents you thus consign to die. Some callous worlds have murdered hundreds of snowy hibernibarges, and yet, finally surrendered.
"Try what you will. Bloodshed will transform you. Inevitably, guilt and shame will divert your children, or grandchildren, from the path you choose for them. Even passive resistance will give way in time, as curiosity works on your descendants; tempting them to sample from the bright new moons that circle in their sky.
"No brutal war fleets will force compliance. Vow, if you must, to wait us out. Planets are patient; so are your splendid, ancient clans, more long-lived than any single human or government.
"But the Phylum and the Law are even-more persistent. They will not have 'no' for an answer. More is at stake than one world's myth of mission and grand isolation."
The words felt hard, yet it was good to have them out. I sensed support from many on the council who had coached my presentation to shock matters from a standstill. How fortunate that here, unlike Watarki World or New Levant, a strong minority sees the obvious. That solitude and speciation are not human ways.
"Look at it this way," I concluded. "Lysos and the Founders sought seclusion to perfect their experiment. But have you not been tested by time, and validated, as well as any way of life can be, in its context? Isn't it time to come out and show your cousins what you've wrought?"
A lingering silence greeted my conclusion. Iolanthe led some tardy, uncomfortable applause that fluttered about the hall and fled through the skylights like an escaping bird. Amid frigid glowers from the rest, the Speaker cleared her voice, then dryly called adjournment.
Despite the tension, I left feeling stronger than I have in months. How much of that was due to the release of openness, I wondered, and how much did I owe to ministrations I've received lately thanks to Odo, under the sign of the ringing bell.
If I survive this day, this week, I must go back to that house, and celebrate while I can.
21
Dragons' Teeth. Row after row of jagged incisors, aimed fiercely at the heavens.
I should have realized, Maia thought. On first seeing these islands in the distance, I should have known their name.
The Dragons' Teeth. A legendary phrase. Yet, on contemplation, Maia realized she knew next to nothing about the chain of seamounts, whose massive roots of columnar crystal erupted from the ocean crust far below, rising to pierce surface waves and bite off hearty portions of sky. Their lustrous, fluted sides seemed all but impervious to time's erosion. Trees clung to craggy heights where waterfalls, fed by pressure-driven springs, cascaded hundreds of meters, forming high, arched rainbows that mimicked aurorae, and gave Maia and Brod painful neck cricks as they sailed by, staring in awe.
Their gunter-rigged skiff threaded the tropical archipelago like a parasite weaving its way through the spines of some mighty half-submerged beast. The islands grew more densely clustered the deeper the little boat penetrated. Packed closely together, many of the needle isles were linked by natural causeways, even narrow, vaulting bridges. Brod always made a sign across his eyes before steering under one of those. A gesture not of fear, but reverence.
Although Brod had lived among the Teeth for several months before being taken hostage, he only knew the area near Halsey Beacon, the sole official habitation. So Maia took care of navigation while he steered. Their chart warned of shoals and reefs and deadly currents along the course she chose, making the circuitous path just right for folk like them, not wishing to be seen.
Clearly, Maia and Brod weren't the first to reach this conclusion. Several times they spied evidence of past and present occupation. Huts and coarse, stony shelters lay perched on clefts, sometimes equipped with rude winches to lower cockleshell boats even smaller than the one they sailed. Once, Brod pointed and Maia caught sight of a hermit quickly gathering her nets as the skiff entered view. Ignoring their shouts, the old woman took to her oars, vanishing into a dark series of caves and grottoes.