Like hell I will, thought LaGrange. “Sir,” she said.

As LaGrange departed, Lillith van Zandt maintained her mask of empathetic horror. “Please excuse me, Colonel. You clearly have much to do.” He made a half bow. She turned to leave the room, and spied her target. “Colchis! Oh my, it’s too horrible! You will be all right? Where will you go?” She did not, he noticed, actually expect a reply. “Please excuse me. I really must inform Governor Jackson. He assured me that New Utah was perfectly stable. I really don’t see, under the circumstances, how we can move forward.”

Barthes was non-committal. “Yes, things do seem to have become difficult.”

“Very sad, these outbreaks of civil disturbance. I must tell the Governor how fortunate it is that we have his Saints Battalion here to restore order.”

She was grace and light personified as she glided from the room flanked by her security detail, but he heard a sharp change in tone as her voice echoed down the corridor. “What?! When? Unacceptable! Find out! Not my problem! Do it!”

Now that, he thought, is the Lillith I know. It was time to get hold of these Azhad people, and Renner and Quinn, pronto.

Van Zandt then passed beyond Barthes’ hearing and out of sight of all but Clegg’s hand-picked escort. They left the building, stepped into her personal shuttle, and sped toward the Lynx port.

14

A Sharp Correction

Gudea, the ruler in charge of building the house, the ruler of Lagash, presented the Temple with the chariot "It makes the mountains bow down", which carries awesome radiance and on which great fearsomeness rides and with its donkey stallion to serve before it; with the seven-headed mace, the fierce battle weapon, the weapon unbearable both for the North and for the South, with a battle cudgel, with the mitum mace, with the lion-headed weapon made from nir stone, which never turns back before the highlands, with dagger blades, with nine standards, with the "strength of heroism", with his bow which twangs like a meš forest, with his angry arrows which whizz like lightning flashes in battle, and with his quiver, which is like a lion, a piri lion, or a fierce snake sticking out its tongue—strengths of battle imbued with the power of kingship.

—The building of Ninirsu's temple (Gudea, cylinders A and B): c.2.1.7

East slope, Swenson’s Mountain foothills, New Utah

A subtle play of sunlight and shadow on lichen-stained rocks rippled down the slope toward them. A Runner slowed and stopped to address Enheduanna, who called a Warrior forward. The Warrior wore a belt whence it pulled a hand-sized object, then turned so that it faced midway between the early evening sun and a distant ridge capped by a promontory that leaned outward from the mountain.

The object flashed, and the pair became aware of an answering twinkle. A fast, three-way conversation with overtones of a mixed-breed kennel ensued among the Mesolimerans: rumblings, twittering, barking.

Enheduanna addressed Asach and Laurel. “The Lord’s Grip has found three creatures. They are small. So high.” Enheduanna’s lower right hand hovered near Laurel’s waist. “One is female. Two are male. My Lord Sargon wishes to know: what are these?”

Laurel looked appalled. “You’ve captured kids?”

Enheduanna was confused. “You believe these to be the offspring of grazing animals? They appear human, except that, in proportion to their bodies, their heads appear to be larger than yours. Also their coloring is different. These are another caste? They were found—” Enheduanna paused to consult briefly with the Runner—”in a food preparation facility. Perhaps they are edible?”

Now Laurel was confused. “No. I mean kids. Human children! I cannot believe this! Is this how you help? You’d steal children?”

Enheduanna ignored the outburst. “These were found, not stolen. My Lord would know whether they are helper castes. Subordinate species, like—” Enheduanna muttered a word. Unhelpfully, the cape translated [Pit ponies. Probable cognate: Watchmakers.] The first term meant nothing to Enheduanna; the second meant nothing to either of them. Enheduanna grappled for words. “They are like Miners, but smaller, with four arms. If left to themselves they become vermin.”

Laurel shook her head. “No! We have nothing like that!”

Enheduanna’s tone became sharp, firm. “But we know that you do! Your people are often accompanied by four-legged creatures that carry you and your burdens!” The Warriors bristled.

Laurel looked incredulous for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Ponies? You mean horses? Mules? Those are animals, not humans.”

Still pondering the implications of a cognate for Watchmakers, Asach decided that it was time to step in. “Yes, Master Enheduanna, this is true. But the creatures they use as Porters are not related to humans. Seer Courter believes that what you have found are human children. Bearers of lines. ”

Enheduanna paused and thought for a moment, then barked again. The Warriors relaxed. “In that case, I understand your concern. Please, understand the Protector’s concern. If these were like Miner’s Helpers, and shared your physiology, it would have been important to keep them segregated. To prevent an outbreak of vermin.”

Laurel had a sudden image of three terrified kids, separated and manhandled by Doctors. “They’ll be scared. In shock. How long have you had them? Where did you find them? We need to talk to them!”

Enheduanna ignored the questions. “Yes, this is why the Runner came from the signal station. Please speak. ”

Laurel looked around, confused. “I don’t understand. You will take us to them?”

“You will speak to me. This Warrior will send your words to the beacon station. The station will relay the message to the children. There is a similar arrangement at their end. None there speak Anglic, but Runners will assist them to signal exactly what was said. The Grip is also in communication with Lord Sargon.”

Great, thought Asach, a three-way conference call using hand-held mirrors among an overgrown teenager with a chip on her shoulder, a bunch of aliens, and three terrified kids. I predict an early end to this alliance.

But the mirrors were more sophisticated, and Laurel more practical, than Asach had imagined.

“OK, ask them their names.”

“Please, you must say exactly what you want us to send. Most of this will be phonetic. None but me—and, we hope, the children—will actually understand anything but my translation. It would be better if we had a Mining Communicator. They are best and most precise at this. But this Warrior will do what it can.”

To Asach’s surprise, Laurel nodded, as if what they were about to undertake was an everyday occurrence. “OK, got it. First, say this: Don’t be scared. I am just a big Tweety Kitty. I am talking to you for some friends.”

Asach’s first thought was: so they do know what Tweety Kitties are. Asach’s second thought, looking at a Warrior, was: If one of those things piped up claiming to be a Tweety Kitty, I’d have nightmares. Asach’s third thought was: If that Warrior playing mouthpiece on the other end ever finds out what a Tweety Kitty is, we’re all dead. Asach had no time for a fourth thought, because an answer came in, in an odd warbled jumble that distorted the vowels and scrambled the consonants. Nevertheless, if you unfocussed your eyes and let the bits you couldn’t quite make out slide past, the tone sounded exactly like three different children all speaking at once.