Alowi was concerned about Lori running. “Are you certain that your leg is not going to go out again? That it is not too soon?”
“The leg is fine,” he assured her. “Running on it will actually help me get back into shape. What about you? You were weak as could be this morning.”
“I am fine now. I simply needed replenishment. I will not be a burden.”
He hugged her. “You are never a burden to me! Don’t think that!”
“I look up at her and I feel a wrongness. I cannot say if the wrongness is me or her, but it is one of us. She rides the monster beast as if she has ridden one her whole life, and she treats the orange and black creatures as if they are old friends, yet she is weak and tiny and could be destroyed by one strike of those hands.”
“I know. I knew the first time I met her that she was different from anyone I ever knew, but I did not know how very different she was. Your concern is me. I will deal with Mavra Chang.”
“My lone concern is you,” she said sincerely, leaving no doubt that Mavra Chang’s interests were of absolutely no importance to her at all.
He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. Damn it! What had happened to the two assassins?
The village turned out to be of considerable size, spreading out on all sides of a spectacularly beautiful bay and climbing the sides of low rolling hills to the east and south.
The buildings were basically of stone or brick with thick thatched roofs for the individual one-story houses and red slate for the larger or taller structures. The market and business district was surprisingly well developed, with buildings up to a block square and rising up to six stories high. The port was on the northern side of the bay, set off a bit by itself, including docks, piers, and warehouses. It was about as modern-looking as a nontech civilization was capable of managing. But that wasn’t the startling part of the view eastward out toward the ocean; there was something else that commanded attention even more: a shimmering, odd effect, like a thin plastic wall, that seemed to go from north to south and intersected the two far points of land on either side of the bay.
“A sea hex boundary!” Lori exclaimed. “Right up to the town!”
“That be Ogadon,” one of the Gekirs called down. “Ogadon takes in part of Muca Bay. The town be Port Saar.”
Mavra, too, hadn’t expected quite this elaborate a town or this good a port. “Ships do stop here, then!”
The chief nodded. “Not like up north in Itus, but that be far away from here, that port. Easier for us to have this and get what services we need direct than to wait weeks to get anything from the big port down at the Point. The wormies, who don’t have much of a decent harbor down south, use it sometimes as well. That be why yer train thing be comin’ so far south. See, that point of land just outside the border at the edge of the port is really in Ogadon, so they don’t need no sail to come in, neither.”
“No ships in now, though.”
“Don’t look it. We’ll check the schedules when we gets down there. Don’t expect ye’ll want no big ships nohow, since they’d be goin’ on from here to the wormies most like or south. Ye might be better makin’ some deal with some smaller craft for crossin’ the Great Bay to Parmiter or Awbri.”
She nodded, not knowing if the gesture meant much here. “Do many smaller vessels actually come in here?”
The chief pointed. “Be a few of ’em down there now. The Ogadon, they be proper flesh eaters, so’s they don’t allow no fishin’ as such, but they grows and maybe mines some real strange things down there that some folk of some nations take a real likin’ to. Some of it’s medicinal to some races, some is used as spices by others, and some’s the kind of stuff what some folks like but other folks says is evil, if you take my meanin’. Don’t know which races like what, though.”
Mavra knew exactly what she meant. Somewhere, deep under the seemingly placid Ogadonian surface, was an entire underwater civilization probably as well developed as this one, and what they ate was some sort of fish or marine animal that was the equivalent of the Gekir’s jackalopes or the variety of edible animals on Earth. But deep down somebody had discovered long ago that many of the sea bottom plants and growths produced substances or were themselves substances that affected other races. Southern hemisphere races, after all, had the common bonds of carbon-based life on the whole. As with other Well races, the Ogadon had turned this knowledge to profitable trade, selling the minerals that others might want or need as well as the plant material and chemicals that might be of use elsewhere. Minerals, spices, and medicines, perhaps, but among the variety in such a landscape was bound to be at least one substance that translated to a pleasure drug to one or perhaps many races on the surface. All this would be traded for such things a semitech, undersea race might well find of use but could not make itself.
“Does the government of Ogadon officially approve, disapprove, or ignore the stuff some call evil?” she asked carefully.
“Oh, they got to go after it to save their legal trade,” the chief responded. “They even got agreements with some of the shippin’ hexes to allow surface policin’ of the smugglers. It be kinda hard, though, to put a real stop to it. We don’t need none of it, so we just keeps out of it all.”
I’ll bet, Mavra thought, a sour smile on her face. This bay was tailor-made for this kind of trade. If the Gekir, and particularly the local authorities, didn’t have any use for the products, smugglers would still have a great use for this area. In fact, it explained the apparent prosperity better than anything else. This was a safe haven for such ships and one that served as a convenient place to repack illegal cargo, swap it between vessels, and transfer it ashore so that it could go by Itun train all the way to the Sea of Turigen and from there to other markets. It was a place where trade deals could be consummated with little fear of fancy eavesdropping and where strangers would always stand out.
Such a ship would be absolutely perfect for them—with one hitch. There probably wouldn’t be much of a problem talking one of the captains into taking them aboard, but there might well be a problem in convincing captain and crew to maintain their silence and thus getting back off again.
Isle of Mahguul, Dlubine
nathan brazil awoke from the deepest sleep he could ever remember in his very long life feeling energized, exceptionally well, and alert. He sat up and opened his eyes and was instantly wide-awake, and he realized that it was daylight.
He sat up, got immediately to his feet, and looked around until it dawned on him how totally stupid that was. “Gus?” he called, then, getting no answer, he yelled “Gus!” at the top of his lungs so that the sound went around and around the volcanic bowl the ship was anchored inside.
There was no response.
There was too little sky for him to see the sun unless it was almost directly overhead, and considering that the anchorage was on the north side of the island, that was highly unlikely.
Save for the sound of water within the little inlet lapping gently against the sides of the ship and against the rock walls around and the rush of a small waterfall pouring from a rock fissure high above to the waters of the cove below, there was only silence in return.
He half expected Gus to suddenly pop up at his elbow any second, but when, after a minute or two, that didn’t happen, he had to accept the fact that the Dahir had not yet returned. That was bad news; he should have had more than enough time to get around to the harbor, get inside, steal what he could, and get back to the boat.
In other circumstances Brazil thought he’d like this place, particularly this secluded cove, but for now he saw it less as a haven than as a trap.
In daylight the passage in seemed even more narrow than it had coming through it in the darkness, so narrow in fact that it would be nearly impossible for ships of even this size to pass each other once in it and even easier for a smaller ship to block the exit. Nonetheless, he felt as if he had to wait—all day if need be, if he was patient enough to manage it.
But before nightfall he’d have to move out, and he couldn’t afford to go looking for the former Earthman. He’d cut him what breaks he could, but his own fate was quite literally more important than Gus’s, and if Gus could stay alive, he could do more for the fellow once inside the Well than he could in some naval prison.
It was only after he’d run through all the possible options and decided which ones were valuable that he had time to reflect on himself.
He felt—odd. “Tingly” was the best word he could come up with.
Last night, with the girl, tired and tense as he was, he’d let himself go completely. He remembered it, even felt a shiver of pleasure at the thought, but the bottom line was that all his own defenses had been down.
In a sense he was relieved to be still thinking like himself and able to shout Gus’s name. Hell, he’d been wide open last night. He tried to remember, but it was harder to remember emotion and sensation than, say, a conversation or a fight. Still, as he reconstructed it as best he could in his mind, he realized that something had happened. Whatever was inside her had taken the opening, had rushed to consume him at the very climax of passion—and for some reason hadn’t been able to do the job completely.
In a sense that reassured him, but he was also aware that his body was subject to much of what all mortal flesh was heir to.
He suddenly realized that he hadn’t once wondered where she was. He hadn’t wondered because although she was forward and out of his sight, he knew where she was, knew exactly what she was doing, what she was feeling …
Knew exactly what she was seeing!
It wasn’t telepathy, not exactly. If she thought conventionally, it did not come through. He knew, though, that he could contact her, summon her, send a whole range of basic concepts her way if need be. She knew he was inside her head at the same time he was still himself, and he knew beyond a doubt that she had the same experience with him. He could see, hear, feel, taste what she did, even feel the wind in her hair as if it were his own hair.
Man, this is really weird! he thought.
It was as if he suddenly had two bodies, one his old male self, the other hers, yet most peculiar of all, there was no confusion in his mind over which was which. I almost feel like 1 can explain the Trinity to a Christian, he thought with characteristic humor.
But while he now shared every single real-time experience with her, he had no direct control of that other self. As she lifted some of the little water that remained in one of the water traps to her lips, he felt the water—felt it on her lips, felt it go down—but he could not control any of her actions, only experience them. Taken together with the preexisting empathic link, they were totally, absolutely connected as if parts of the same organism, yet at the same time still their individual selves.
It fascinated him like nothing else he could ever remember, and it troubled him only in one way.
He could not make her body do anything at all, but she had made a sailor of a totally alien race put a pistol to itself and then, when he’d yelled and made his shock clear, made that sailor jump overboard just as if he’d been some kind of puppet.
Could she now, through this linkage, manipulate his body?
He very much wanted to know that, but he was afraid at this moment to find out. He knew, without having to think any further, that she would never hann him or cause him to come to harm, but that wasn’t the point.
He tried not to think of that for now and instead concentrated on other things that were only now becoming apparent to him.
Whatever she had tried to take from him, or alter, involuntarily or not, she had clearly failed to do, but she had certainly given as well.
It was hot here, almost intolerably hot. He could see evaporation even in the secluded cove, and the very air shimmered and twisted. If it had been in the high thirties Celsius well into the night, what must it be now? High forties at the very least, he knew. Certain things were constants. It looked that hot, and everything he could check indicated it really was that hot, but although stark naked, he felt comfortably warm, quite pleasant, really, as if the air were perhaps just a shade under body temperature.
That enviable protection that she’d had against all extremes of weather had finally been extended to him as well. He had a strong feeling, though, that the ability, and possibly other as yet unknown powers, did not come without some price, and he was well aware that whatever was doing it was coming from her. Something, some power or energy field, now tied them together as absolutely as if it were a great rope tied between them. He realized, knew, that the bonds were so tightly knit that there was no chance of one leaving the other any more than his arms could go one place and his legs somewhere else entirely. It gave a whole new meaning to the word “inseparable,” he thought.
The question was, Who was binding whom?
Of course she had done it, whether by design, nature, or command he didn’t know, but the question was one of both motive and control. She was certainly an individual, but an individual who had been reprogrammed to a remarkable degree. The fact that he knew that her total concern for him was not only benign but a matter of genuine affection was meaningless; whatever rules now governed her thinking might have quite a different interpretation of what was in his best interest than he himself might.
He wondered how the insulation worked. It had to be extremely thin and entirely energy-based. Somehow it maintained an internal fixed environment for the two of them almost like an extra layer of skin. Things felt normal to him; the wooden deck was firm and solid and appeared fully capable of giving him a splinter if he wasn’t careful. He wondered if something that was boiling hot would feel that way to him or if his tongue would still freeze to a pump handle at forty below. Probably not, considering how well she’d gotten along in the snow, but he wondered what the criteria were and whether a people living in a tropical swamp next to a subtropical region had thought of everything. It would not be wise to take things for granted.
Terry was delighted by the new contact; he felt that as well and also felt that she was somewhat surprised by it. But as joined as they were, they still did not have an effective means of communication. To Brazil’s astonishment, it was Terry, not he, who attempted a real start in that direction.
She walked back over to the water collector, almost dry and smelling less than wonderful, and just looked at it. Then she turned and looked back at the entire ship, then over again to the small waterfall on the other side. It wasn’t until she repeated the pattern twice more that he realized she was “talking” to him. The message was clear and so obvious that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. If that waterfall resulted from the rain at the top of the volcano coming down through cracks rather than from some internal and probably foul source, just putting the ship under it would allow them to totally refill the containers below with fresh water. But it would be tricky in such tight quarters to weigh anchor and use the little bit of circular current inside the cove to bring the ship around to where that would be practical.
Now, how much of me got transferred as well? he wondered. It was time to find out. He walked forward until he had the anchor winch in sight, then made a turning motion with his hand, then looked back at the wheel, still in view from where he was.
She went over to the winch and stared at it but shook her head. He knew she had understood his suggestion; the problem was that she could not, or would not, compromise her hunter-gatherer principles even to that degree. He was back at the wheel, staring forward, more in her head than in his own but feeling frustrated.
Suddenly she stared down at the deck almost aimlessly and began breathing heavily, and he felt her go into what could only be described as some sort of trance. Her vision blurred; all outside sensations suddenly ceased. Curious, he leaned against the wheel and waited. There seemed to be no hurry.
He felt a sudden tremendous, powerful rush, very much like a gust of wind, only it went into him and through him. He felt sudden vertigo, and then something seemed to be pulling him, pulling him forward, even though he was not physically moving at all. Rather, it was as if his consciousness, his very inner self, were being sucked out of his body and it rushed forward, through the top of the cabin, through the mainmast, and deposited him forward, where the feelings of the body returned to him, yet the force that had reached for and grabbed him had not dissipated but rather was felt now as tension, as if he were stretched on the end of a taut rubber band. He had felt—something—pass him in the opposite direction during the pull and knew that it had been the girl, moving back to his own body even as he moved forward toward hers.
He was Terry.
He was in Terry’s body, and it felt strange to him yet natural. When he breathed in and out, the body breathed, the head moved, the arms and legs functioned. Shocked, even dazed, he saw the winch in front of him, turned it, quickly raising the anchor about halfway, and then threw the lock switch. The moment he did it and stood away, the tension broke, and he was pulled out of her body and back into his own body still leaning on the wheel aft. Again he felt himself passing her as she was pulled back into her own body forward.
Sensation and the absence of that force or tension brought him to immediate control in his own body, and he had to make a quick turn and spin the wheel hard as the stern drifted a bit toward the rocks. Old reflexes took hold, and he coaxed the small ship bit by bit out, catching the tiny, subtle spin of the water caused by both the inrush of ocean water and the action of the waterfall, and managed to get it pointed directly for the falls. Now, moving slowly, he locked the wheel and went forward to the winch, the very same winch he’d used before without having left the wheel, unhooked a long grappling hook from its holder on the rail, and waited. As the bow went under the falls, he felt the water wash over him and then lashed out from the rail with the hook, deflecting the bow from going head on into the rock cliff. He almost slipped on the suddenly wet deck as he leaned against the hook, and he let go with perfect timing so that the bow only glanced against the rock and started moving back out, the waterfall now just behind him.
Thank heaven it was just a very small waterfall. A big one would have swamped them for sure. Even this one might.
It was warm water, but it seemed to be good water; he stood under, let it shower him, and he reached out, let his cupped hands fill, and drank it. It went down very well indeed.
Except he wasn’t doing that. He was standing there with the hook, ready to try a push-off lest the waterfall flood the deck when the containers below were full and the collectors were backed up to topside. If a lot of water got below, inside the cabin, hold, and other parts of the hull, they could wind up sinking the ship. He wasn’t enjoying the shower, but she was.
He couldn’t hear much over the sound of the small falls, but he turned and watched, worried. The girl got the idea and moved out of the immediate stream of the falls, staring at the collector.
There was a sudden gurgle, and the collector filled and began overflowing right onto the deck like a bathtub with no drain. Frantically he pushed off as best he could, but it was the stern that started moving in a semicircle; the bow was getting lower in the water.
Anxiously, he ran back, trying not to slip on the wet deck. He got to the wheel, unlocked it, and tried to steer the ship out of the trap he’d put them in. Now he realized why he hadn’t considered it. The ship moved a little but not enough.
The girl seemed to sense the problem, too, and now she stepped out of the falls and stared intently at the rock cliff. There was a sudden release of the same sort of energy he’d felt in the switch of bodies, only this time directed straight at the cliff. The ship shuddered and Brazil was knocked off his feet, but the shuddering was the action of the ship moving back slowly out of the stream, away from the cliffside. The falls hit the rail, then actually began supplementing the backward movement.