She seemed furious at this, and Mouche said sympathetically. “I’m sure they’ll fix whatever went wrong on the ship, Questioner.”
“And I am as sure they won’t,” she snapped. “Not unless they let the Gablians do it.”
Corojum puffed out his fur and sighed.
“I must think,” said Questioner. “I must go up above and spend a little time in total concentration.”
Mouche was crouched beneath the great faceted eyes of Quaggima, intent upon Questioner’s IDIOT SAVANT.
“Mouche,” Questioner said impatiently, “let’s go.”
“Give me a moment,” he begged. “Can you leave me this SAVANT thing, Questioner? It almost seems to make sense … “
“We’ll wait with him,” called Ellin, stopping her whirling motion and drawing Bao with her to Mouche’s side.
“Stay if you like,” Questioner murmured. “Come when you’re ready. Corojum, let us go up.”
The Eiger took them up, away, Questioner and Corojum, leaving the four young people crouched before the Quaggima, intent on the glow of the screens and the dance of glittering motes within it. Beside them stood four Eigers, each with its multiple eyes fixed on one of them, ready to carry.
The wing beats of the Eiger bearing the Questioner faded upward in the chasm. Mouche exclaimed.
“What is it?” breathed Ellin. “What are you thinking, Mouche?”
He drew breath between his teeth. “It should make sense. I have this feeling that I know what’s going on. The movements they described, the music they used … Did either of you get a better description of the music than I did?”
Ellin and Bao handed over their own data heads. Mouche linked the three together and fed this new information into the larger device, directing it to extrapolate.
It did so, building and refining, variation after variation. Long sliding sequences. Slow advances and retreats. Turns, twists, then long sliding sequences again. And again.
“It reminds me of something,” said Bao. “I just can’t tell what.”
Mouche stood up, taking a deep breath. “It reminds me of something, too,” he said. “It’s just … it shouldn’t make sense. I mean, it doesn’t make sense.”
They watched the stage go on with its improvisations, heard the drumming settle into a definite rhythm. Mouche and Bao stared at one another in dawning realization. Ellin and Ornery looked at one another in confusion.
“It shouldn’t make sense. But it does,” said Mouche. “Oh, yes, it does. No wonder I thought I knew … The feeling. The yearning … I wish I could ask someone … “
“There is someone … “ said a small voice.
They turned toward a shiver of silver, a flare of green.
“Flowing Green,” said Mouche, unable to breathe. “Where … where have you been?”
The silver eyes tilted. “Waiting for you, Mouchidi. Waiting for a little quiet. Oh, so much noise and confusion! So many persons. So many jongau! And poor Mouchidi, wounded so.” She moved toward them, lilting. “Now is a little peaceful time, so listen to my words! I dreamed you would come here. I dreamed we would go to the Fauxi-dizalonz together. I dreamed the world would continue. They all think you will be of no help. They all think I am strange, not well made, to think such things, but Bofusdiaga made me for you, Mouchidi. Bofusdiaga made you for me, too, a little.”
“Made you?” whispered Mouche.
“Made me from some of your own self and some of Bofusdiaga’s own self. Made you a little bit like me. I knew to come here, to tell you of the dancers.”
“You know what the dancers were doing here?”
“I know what you mankinds call it.”
“What do we call it?” cried Ellin.
“You call it making love,” said Flowing Green.
58—The Jongau And A Matter Of Gender
High above the chasm, Ashes and his sons arrived at the end of the straight road and moved out onto the ledge that looked down to the Fauxi-dizalonz. Behind and around them were the remains of the settlers from Thor, the jongau, the bent ones. Emerging from bubble caves here and there around the circumference of the caldera, others edged out, softly gleaming in the pallid moonlight, casting dark shadows behind them. Some of those farthest down struck the stone with whatever parts of themselves were available—heads, toes, tentacles—and these blows resolved into a cadenced drumming upon the walls. Those high on the ledge stepped in time with the cadence, turning with lumbering precision to move downwards on the long, gentle road that switched back and forth as it descended into the caldera, at first only a few, then more and more as each new monster reached the ledge and marched across it, over the lip and down.