held the fifth-day sessions, while he at least remained in a position to object
to the worst excesses. Some things Coledy would stop. Some things Coledy’s men
would think twice about rather than have an issue made of them. He saved
something of order in Q. Saved some lives. Saved a little bit from the thing Q
would become without his influence.
And he had access to the outside… had that hope, always, if the situation here
became truly unbearable, when the inevitable crisis came… he could plead for
asylum. Might get out. They would not put him back to die. Would not.
He rose finally, hunted out the bottle of wine he had in the kitchen, poured
himself a quarter of it, trying not to think of what had happened, did happen,
would happen.
Redding would be dead by morning. He could not pity him, saw only the mad eyes
of the man staring at him as he lunged across the desk, scattering papers,
slashing at him with the knife… at him, and not at Coledy’s guards.
As if he were the enemy.
He shuddered, and drank his wine.
vi
Pell: Downer residence; 2300 hrs.
Change of workers. Satin stretched aching muscles as she entered the dimly lit
habitat, stripped off the mask and washed fastidiously in the cool water of the
basin provided for them. Bluetooth (never far from her, day or night) followed
and squatted down on her mat, rested his hand on her shoulder, his head against
her. They were tired, very tired, for there had been a great load to move this
day, and although the big machines did most of the work, it was Downer muscle
which set the loads on the machines and humans who did the shouting. She took
his other hand and turned it palm up, mouthed the sore spots, leaned close and
gave a lick to his cheek where the mask had roughed the fur.
“Lukas-men,” Bluetooth snarled. His eyes were fixed straight forward and his
face was angry. They had worked for Lukas-men this day, some who had given the
trouble Downbelow, at the base. Satin’s own hands hurt and shoulders ached, but
it was Bluetooth she worried for, with this look in his eye. It took much to
stir Bluetooth to real temper. He tended to think a great deal, and while he was
thinking, found no chance to be angry, but this time, she reckoned he was doing
both, and when he did lose his temper, it would be bad for him, among humans,
with Lukas-men about. She stroked his coarse coat and groomed him until he
seemed calmer.
“Eat,” she said. “Come eat.”
He turned his head to her, lipped her cheek, licked the fur straight and put his
arm about her. “Come,” he agreed, and they got up and walked through the metal
runnel to the big room, where there was always food ready. The young ones in
charge here gave them each a generous bowlful, and they retreated to a quiet
corner to eat. Bluetooth managed good humor at last, with his belly full, sucked
the porridge off his fingers in contentment. Another male came trailing in, got
his bowl and sat down by them, young Bigfellow, who grinned companionably at
them, consumed one bowl of porridge and went back after his second.
They liked Bigfellow, who was not too long ago from Downbelow himself, from
their own riverside, although from another camp and other hills. Others gathered
when Bigfellow came back, more and more of them, a bow of warmth facing the
corner they sat in. Most among them were seasonal workers, who came to the
Upabove and returned to Downbelow again, working with their hands and not
knowing much of the machines: these were warm toward them. There were other
hisa, beyond this gathering of friends, the permanent workers, who did not much
speak to them, who sat to themselves in the far corner, who sat much and stared,
as if their long sojourning among humans had made them into something other than
hisa. Most were old. They knew the mystery of the machines, wandered the deep
runnels and knew the secrets of the dark places. They always stayed apart.