“Ny,” the man said, nodded at his wife. “Berden. My son and his wife. Grandchild. Kontrin, you can have anything, only so you leave us all right.”
“There’s majat,” the young man said. “We’ve got to have our defenses whole. Have to, Kontrin.”
“I’ve heard how that is. I’ve heard how the farms won’t give up their azi.”
“All the protection we have,” Ny said.
Raen looked at them, at the house, recalling the situation of buildings and the fields. “But you could rather well survive in such a place, could you not—producing your own food and power? And ITAK and ISPAK both know it. You don’t have to yield up your grain; and they know that too.”
“Need it,” Ny said. “We need the azi; azi’ve no desire at all to go back to the pens either. They’ve lived loose here, lived well, here. We don’t turn them back, no, Kontrin. We don’t.”
It was a bold speech for a beta. It did not offend her. “Indeed,” she said, “you’ve a secure and enviable land here. I’d a notion to destroy your comp at least; but you’re not ITAK folk nor ISPAK, are you? You have a map of the area?”
“Comp room,” Berden said. “Drawer under the machine.”
“I thank you,” she said quietly, rose on aching limbs and limped off to the cluttered little room.
“The map was there. She sat down before the unit and studied it, found their location conveniently marked, a rough two hundred kilometres south of a major tributary of the River, nearly a thousand from Newhope.
She hesitated a moment, then coded in one of her several male personas, keyed in a purchase of passage; the program under that name was already get. One sped to the persona of Merek Sed and family, a matter of honour. One sped to the real person of one ser Tol Errin 1028D Upcoast, a worker in glass, with his family, with offer of an immediate commission on Meron, freighter-passage.
A mad gesture. A whim. Some things were worth saving.
It took an instant of time. She nerved herself again and keyed Newhope, again on emergency. “Jim!” she snapped, and gave instructions in case any other azi was in hearing, to answer her.
There was nothing. She broke connection quickly.
She sat then with her hand pressed against her mouth, staring at the board distressedly and trying to reckon now what to do.
She looked about her. There had gathered a quiet ring of surplus azi, exhausted, sitting on the floor and all about, young faces looking toward her with anxious eyes.
They all had Merry’s look.
iv
There were dreams, horrid dreams, and one of them was a shadow, tall and gaunt, leaning across the light.
It seized and shook, and Jim tore his arm free and cried out, clawing at the leads which were no longer there, trying to free himself of the nightmare. He had no strength. The grip closed on him and held him still, and for a time there was only his pulse for reality, a throbbing in his ears and a dull wash of rose across his eyes.
“Wait outside,” a voice said above him.
“Dying.” The tones were song, deep and sorrowful.
“Wait outside.” Harsher now. “Go.”
“Stranger,” the song mourned. “Stranger, stranger, green-hive.”
But it retreated, as far as the door. He could hear it clicking.
Hands caught his face between. “Azi,” the male voice said. “Azi, come back, come back, wake up. Quietly now. Was it suicide? Did she order you to this?”
The words made sense and then did not. Senses greyed out again, his whole body numb and heavy. Then there was sharp pain, and he came back, feeling it, but unable to reckon where the pain was centred.
“He’s coming out of it,” the voice said. “Stay back. Let him be.”
“Green-hive,” the other fretted, retreated again, muttering deep notes of distress. He turned his head, opened his mouth to cry to it for help.
“No.” A hand covered his mouth, hard. He struggled at that, vision clearing. He knew the face that leaned above him: not simply recognised, but knew—
Knew the Halds, and the man Pol, who was dangerous, whose House and sept had clear reason to hate the Meth-marens. He fought the muffling hand, and had no strength in his limbs or his hands, scarcely even the power to lift them.