Binary Part 4

"Yes, I think so, but not badly. I think I've hit my head, but apart from that a few bruises and..." He looked again at the crumpled groundcar, uncomfortable meeting the gaze of his rescuers. "Word of the Prophet!" he spat. "d.a.m.n it. What am I going to do with this?"

His oath brought a hiss from one of the Atavists, and Sandon cursed himself for stupidity.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to..."

"We understand. You are confused. The Prophet has blessed you with good fortune. It could have been much worse." This one was older, his voice deep and full of authority. He stepped closer, reaching out with one hand. Sandon took a step backward, but the Atavist held up a rea.s.suring hand. "We cannot leave you like this. You must come with us."

The third member of their group nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said. "The way is clear. My animal can carry you to where you need to go. We will accompany you."

"But I...no. Thank you all the same, but it's too far."

"Then you will come with us."

Sandon rubbed at his face, trying to get rid of some more of the dust as he thought, but his thoughts were a little confused. "Really. I'll find my way back to the Princ.i.p.ate." That seemed like the best solution.

One of the two Atavists glanced at the older one. The look did not go unnoticed, despite the situation, and the fuzziness in his head. Then the older one spoke.

"No. We don't know if you are able to travel. Taking a blow to the head is unpredictable." He peered in closer. "The bruising and the cuts do not look good. It would be far better if you came with us. Far better. We have a healer among our group who can see to your injuries. Our healer will make sure you are well, and then we can be a.s.sured that you can continue your journey safely. This is our duty as written by the Prophet, and it would be wrong for us to let you go on your own." The other two solemnly nodded their agreement.

Sandon peered back at the Atavist, but the concern seemed genuine, as much as he could read on the man's face. He looked down at his hand. Yes, he was bleeding. He dabbed at his face. In truth, he did feel a little unsteady. Besides, what could he do back at the Princ.i.p.ate? He no longer had the authority to requisition a new groundcar, or the authority to demand a.s.sistance to clear the current one. Better to do as they said, for now. He sighed and nodded slowly.

"You're right. Again, I thank you."

"There is nothing to thank us for. It is our duty. To be able to fulfill that is thanks enough."

As they walked toward the waiting padder, Sandon looked at his companions. Each wore an identical drab homespun robe. The leather sandals were all similar as well. The older man, clearly the authority in the group, wore his hood over his head, concealing most of his features. A full beard trailed from beneath his face, shot with gray and white. Virtually nothing distinguished the other two. They had their hoods thrown back and they wore their dark hair long. They walked with strong, straight backs. One of them turned, caught Sandon looking and nodded. His face remained impa.s.sive. It was as if the nod recognized Sandon's scrutiny and accepted it, nothing more. He handed Sandon a piece of cloth, and Sandon used it to dab at his face, and then hold it to his cheek.

What was it that motivated these people? What sort of life was it that they led? He'd never really paid them much mind before, except as the object of jokes, or something to scorn. The Atavists were simply always there, on the periphery. Their lifestyle was something that people generally would rather forget, particularly in Clear Season where the general population tried to keep the necessary deterioration to simplicity well away from their minds. The enforced Return brought about by the inconstancy of Storm Season was bad enough without dwelling on it. Why somebody would willingly wish to eschew the comforts that modern society brought escaped him. Technology could not be such of an anathema, surely? Perhaps he would have an opportunity to discover more wherever they were about to take him.

The Atavists helped him up on the back of the padder, and he sat there, washed in the animal smell, feeling slightly ridiculous as one of the younger two proceeded to lead the animal forward along a side street. They walked at a leisurely pace, as if simply out for a stroll. When crossing the next intersection, a pair of pa.s.sers-by glanced over at the unusual procession and stopped dead in their tracks, staring open-mouthed. He knew their natural reaction would have been to simply look right through such a group, ignore them completely, but the sight of one of their own in the Atavist's midst must have caught them by surprise. Sandon smiled and nodded at them, suppressing with difficulty his urge to call to them for a.s.sistance. The germ of an idea was starting to take shape in the back of his head, and he wanted it to be fully formed before he did anything else. He faced front again, attempting to appear as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but inside he squirmed with embarra.s.sment. After another two intersections, the feeling had faded, but the Atavists' silence was starting to get to him.

"Um, where are you taking me?"

The older Atavist didn't even look up, speaking as he walked beside the padder. "There is a group of our people, our family, on the outskirts of Yarik. We are taking you there. The healer is also there and can tend to you then."

"A group? How many of you are there?"

"We have a traveling party there. I do not know the number. We are joining them after being away for some time. It is our intention to travel to Gorana."

Gorana? That was weeks away by foot. It could be reached in a day or two by groundcar, but walking? But the Atavists did that, didn't they?

The Atavist population slipped in and out of society, nearly unseen. They were just there, in ones and twos, never many more. Up until now, for Sandon, they had been little more than an ever-present nuisance, something to be scorned, not considered seriously. n.o.body really paid them any attention. The thought caught him. The Atavists were almost invisible. And with that thought, Sandon's growing idea started to solidify.

They turned up another street, and another citizen pa.s.sed them, barely glancing in their direction. Her gaze simply slid right over the group as if they didn't exist. She must not have noticed Sandon in their midst. He nodded quickly to himself. He would have done exactly the same thing, the same way he had in the groundcar, the same way he did every time he saw an Atavist.

"I really appreciate what you're doing," he said. "What do I call you?"

The older Atavist glanced up at him this time, a vague look of a.s.sessment on his face. "My name is Badrae."

"Badrae. Badrae what?"

"Simply Badrae. We do not seek t.i.tles and other ways to set us apart. We do not have family names as you do. We are one family. I am Badrae. This," he said, gesturing at the younger Atavist leading the padder, "is Melchor. And over there is Arnod."

"One family? You mean you are related?"

"We are all tied together by the Words of the Prophet."

Sandon thought about this for a moment. "But then how do you tell each other apart? How do you know who is related to whom?"

"We are all related. We all of us came from the First Families. We are a small group bound together on this world, tied together by the sins of our predecessors. Is that not knowledge enough?"

Again, Badrae glanced up at him, but he didn't hold the look. His statements were full of matter-of-factness, expressions of a truth he clearly thought everyone should understand, but despite that, there seemed to be no expectation that Sandon should accept them. It must be strange for them living on the periphery of an entire world, removed from society's normal day to day interactions. Sandon doubted he could ever truly live like that.

They traveled in silence from that point, Sandon lost in his own thoughts. He barely registered the streets, the houses, the buildings they pa.s.sed on the way to their destination. He found it hard to believe that he could have been aware of the Atavists for so long -- they had been a constant presence ever since he could remember -- and yet know so little about them. Of course there was the perpetual stream of messages that they tried to deliver: technology was bad; the state of their existence on Aldaban was a punishment for reliance upon technology for their existence; the only true way to enlightenment was to return to a rudimentary lifestyle, following the original teachings of the Prophet as handed down from the First Families. According to what they preached, Storm Season was nothing more than a revealing message sent by the Prophet to show them all the true way. The disastrous first landing of the colony s.h.i.+ps was simply another. Sandon, of course, dismissed these beliefs as superst.i.tious nonsense. He wondered how they could possibly justify that the reason for their very existence was the exact same colony s.h.i.+ps that they condemned as part of technology's panoply of evil.

Badrae spoke again, drawing him back from his speculations. "We are almost there."

Sandon looked around, wondering exactly where 'there' was. They were in a section of the city outskirts that he was not very familiar with. This was a poorer neighborhood, the houses and buildings showing the signs of disrepair. Here and there lay the tumbled ruins of squat buildings demolished by previous quake activity. A group of children clambered over the debris of one such, digging through the stones and probing and prodding with sticks. Sandon wondered briefly how long it had been since the building had fallen. Could it have been a casualty of the latest quake? Were the children playing, or foraging? He had no way of knowing, and the pounding in his head was forestalling any true speculation.

These, the fringes of Yarik city, stretched up and back to the rock strewn heights of the plateau upon which the capital rested. The scant vegetation struggled for its existence here, away from the fertile plains below. There was no proper cause for any from the city to really venture out this way. Dry ground, desolation, and the occasional herder held no real attraction for Yarik's population, the true inhabitants of the nexus of Aldaban's political and commercial life.

They pa.s.sed the last small house on the outskirts and headed along a narrow, poorly maintained road. Stunted trees and spiny bushes sprouted from the rocky ground at either side. The dull throbbing worked inside his head, the cut across his face pulsed hotly, and his thoughts were more sluggish, clouded. The blow he'd taken in the crash was having its effects. Still the Atavists walked on in silence.

They climbed a slight rise, and as the ground dropped away again, a cl.u.s.ter of tents and wagons appeared. In and amongst them, moved groups of people dressed in Atavist garb, more than Sandon had ever seen gathered in one place before. Despite the pounding in his head, despite the queasy feeling sitting in the depths of his stomach, his mouth hung stupidly open. So many of them. He wondered how long they'd been here, and how many more such groups existed alongside major cities across the land, virtually unnoticed by the rest of the population.

"Here we are. Welcome to our family," said Badrae. "Please feel easy amongst us and be welcome."

"Be welcome," said the other two in unison.

"Um, thank you," said Sandon, not knowing quite what else to say. It was somehow awkward. Badrae had said that they were joining this group of theirs for the first time, and yet they bade him welcome to it. He decided there was little else to do but wait and see. More speculation would only serve to confuse things further.

Seven.

Tarlain felt he was finally ready. All that he needed for now was packed. The rest could be acquired, one way or another throughout the weeks to come, or however long it might take. His father had merely banned him from the Princ.i.p.ate; he still had access to the resources of the Guild of Welfare, and he was sure Karnav Din Baltir would a.s.sist him; as long as the Guildmaster hadn't been turned, but he simply couldn't believe it of his old friend and mentor.

He crossed to his private screen and called up the mail program. Quickly, he tapped out a message to the Guildmaster. The note contained one word: Bortruz. He hit send, set his pa.s.sword, then shut down the screen, gave his chambers one last look before grabbing the bag he had filled with the few things he was taking with him. If he made a quick exit now, there'd be no chance that Men Darnak would suddenly have another stray thought and stop him. He could trust Din Baltir enough not to give away his intended destination, but the quicker he moved, the safer that decision would be.

Shouldering his bag, he strode rapidly down the corridor leading out to the parking area. He walked quickly across the broad stone slabs set in even rows across the courtyard to where his own private groundcar sat, rarely used. The low, sleek vehicle, one of the more recent designs, blended with the drab stone coloring of the walls and the ground, fading into the background even more now that the Minor Twin's light smudged the edges of vision. He'd chosen the color purposely; something that would not attract too much attention. The surrounding vehicles were bright -- yellows, greens -- except for the standard issue whites and the more formal official black of the Princ.i.p.ate. He scanned the parking lot before opening the door and tossing his bag into the back. Not a soul. That was good. Of course, there'd be records on the security monitors, but it should be some time before anyone got around to checking them, if they even bothered.

He clambered into the driver's seat and waited for the door to slide shut before tapping the ignition pad. It was risky this close to Storm Season, but it was more than a mere recreational vehicle this one. Tarlain had had one or two extra features added to the mix some time ago. A contact inside Technologists had helped him.

Checking that there was still no one around, he slid the groundcar out of the lot and headed away from Yarik's center toward the plateau's escarpment and the winding road leading down to the valley floor below. Letting the vehicle accelerate to more than was normally polite in the city environs, he whisked down the main streets, only slowing for the occasional groundcar or stray pedestrian. The quake they'd experienced at Roge's reception had been the first real sign of the approaching Storm Season, and after an indicator like that, most of Yarik's population would be off preparing for the upcoming trials of the season ahead. The unpredictability of the Twin's cycles meant that the seasonal change was also hard to foretell, and despite the clues, despite the fading light, the gradual consumption of the Major Twin's disk by its darker sibling, you could never quite predict when it was finally going to happen for real.

He was quickly through the city proper and out onto the flat expanse of rock-strewn landscape that led off to the precipice. He whisked across the stony ground, steering for the funneled depression that dipped into the broad winding highway snaking down from Yarik plateau. He slowed cautiously as he neared, wary of other traffic. There was a notorious blind spot near the lip. There should be no foot travelers or animals just yet, but an ascending groundcar was as much of a risk. Gently he maneuvered the car into the gap and headed down the first expanse of smooth well-traveled road. The cliff dropped away sharply at the edge, and down below, far, far below, the road trailed back and forth to the valley floor. The first gentle incline ended in a sharp bend, turning the broad expanse of road back on itself, increasing the gradient to the next section. Instead of slowing, Tarlain accelerated toward the bend. Just before he should have turned, he tapped a quick sequence on the controls and his groundcar launched into empty s.p.a.ce. Though he'd done this several times before, the thrill still rose inside him with a rush. Over the edge! He restrained the customary whoop, and bit his lip as the cliffside rushed by outside, bare crags with hardy clumps of vegetation forcing their way through the cracks. If ever he misjudged the leap, he'd be dashed against those crags to tumble the thousands of feet to the valley floor below. Not a pretty thought.

The groundcar's ability was actually quite limited, but it was enough to sustain a controlled descent down the long drop to the level ground far beneath. More than anything, the enhancements provided him with a release, an escape from the day-to-day enclosure of structured life within the Princ.i.p.ate. Just occasionally, he needed to get out, to let off the contained frustrations he felt. With no one to see him acting the fool, he could find that escape. He sat, encapsulated in his own private s.p.a.ce, watching but not really seeing the crags above, the expanse of checkered fields below, untouchable, removed from all of it.

Tarlain monitored his descent, scanning the road below, the top of the cliffs and keeping an eye on his progress. First, there was the cus.h.i.+oned descent, and then, when he reached the valley floor, and after a lengthy drive, Bortruz. Bortruz was little more than a mining settlement. It wasn't a town you could call a town as such, but a healthy Kallathik community nestled nearby, and that suited his purposes. For now. He'd spent a lot of time with the Kallathik over the past few months, and he was almost starting to feel at home in their midst, unlike most of the other Guild Members. They were a complex race and there was a lot yet left to learn about their ways. Bortruz, owned and controlled by the Guild of Primary Production, had been since it was established, but he didn't think that would provide any threat to his plans. Welfare had its place there too, and Guildmaster Din Baltir was as familiar with the site and with the large Kallathik population that worked the mines proper as Tarlain himself was. Karnav had had years longer to explore. The Guildmaster would know where to look when the time came.

As the groundcar met the roadway at the cliff base, he tapped the controls to resume normal function. A quick glance up and behind and he was satisfied that there would be no one to follow. He tapped in his destination and settled back to watch the changing countryside roll past. The landscape around Yarik's base was peppered with smallholdings -- farmers who could not afford the lengthy transportation costs of Storm Season but could still eke out a living during Clear by supplying the city above. The further away from Yarik, the fewer of these small farming plots there were, and as he pa.s.sed through the scattered farms, the surrounding country quickly made way for wide rolling fields, used mainly for grazing. The long expanse of dun-colored road ran unchanged throughout. This route was well traveled and accordingly was kept well maintained. Come Storm Season, and there'd be some deterioration and sporadic quake damage, but there were road crews to deal with that, often made up of the groups of itinerant workers who roamed the land during Storm Season looking for whatever employment they could get.

Gradually, open flats replaced grazing land, and the richer vegetation faded. Already the Clear Season gra.s.ses were starting to die off and grow patchy as the Minor Twin gained dominance. Soon the ground would be dotted with squat ugly broad-leafed plants trapping as much as possible of the weaker light. He hated this time of dying, this half life that sat between. Storm Season was hard enough, but this semi-existence, this place where neither one thing nor the other held sway seemed much worse to Tarlain's mind.

His groundcar kept to the major route for about half an hour more before performing a swift turn, then heading up a lesser-used side road. It would be at least another hour before he reached his destination, so Tarlain settled back in his seat to doze. The events of the last few hours had taken their toll.

He awoke blearily to insistent chiming from the control panel. He ran a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes, and leaned forward to scan the surrounding area, large sandy mounds marring the otherwise smooth landscape. The leavings from the mines lay everywhere. Small humped hills, the result of earlier Kallathik activity, were interspersed with vast, unstable cliffs, the result of the more directed efforts of Primary Production. Waterfall-like slides made tracks in the smooth surfaces where the top layers had slipped, leaving small piles at their bases. Narrow roadways ran in and between these artificial outcroppings. Fully alert now, he gave it five minutes more, then, adjudging he was close enough to Bortruz proper, tapped at the controls to slow the groundcar. He didn't want to go right into the mining settlement itself. He was known there, and he didn't want to make his presence known quite yet. Somehow, he held some vague hope that his father might reconsider and send someone to look for him, but should that happen, he didn't want to be simply found, just sitting there waiting.

Spying a likely track, he headed the groundcar around and between two large piles of sandy stone. These service tracks would be little used in this time between seasons and he should be able to leave the groundcar well out of sight, but still where he could find it for the next few days. Within the next couple of weeks it would become virtually useless anyway, unstable. He spotted a small side branch, headed down it and stopped. A quick a.s.sessment confirmed that the nearby mounds looked solid and low enough that they might survive anything but the worst quake activity. He stepped out, reached into the back to grab his bag, hit the locking sequence and left the groundcar, intending to walk the rest of the way to the Kallathik settlement.

Heading back to the main roadway on foot, he glanced back once or twice to make sure that the spot he had chosen was truly invisible to casual observation. For now, it would do. He'd get Kallathik a.s.sistance to relocate the vehicle somewhere more secure through the approaching Season, but first he had to decide his next steps, wait for Karnav Din Baltir to contact him, and then... he wasn't sure.

He hefted his bag on his shoulder and started the long trudge to the Kallathik burrows. There was a fluttering inside his guts, a sense of unease, as if he were on the edge of falling. Every few steps, he would think he had it under control, then, as soon as he stopped thinking about it, the feeling would return. He tried to force it from his mind and concentrate on getting to his destination. It took him a few minutes to reach the main road and he scanned his surroundings to get his bearings. He glanced up at the twin suns, s.h.i.+elding his eyes, thankful that the sky was still clear. Bortruz lay that way, to the east. If he continued across the road and through, bearing at a slight angle, it would take him to the edges of the Kallathik settlement, at least close enough to find his way there anyway. Then, all he had to do was wait.

He crossed the road and threaded his way through further hummocks, frowning as he was struck by a moment of doubt. What if Din Baltir failed to understand the message he'd left? What if the man was truly more concerned with the Guild's functioning? What if...no, there were too many uncertainties at the moment. What was the worst thing that could happen? That he could be left to wait out Storm Season among the Kallathik? Would that be such a bad thing? He'd be left on the periphery, unable to influence the course of events, but there would be time. And if it came to that, he would learn so much. Kallathik life, Kallathik society was still something of a mystery, even after their co-existence for so many years. As long as the Kallathik continued to work the mines and maintain their involvement in the more onerous tasks of Primary Production, then the Guild hierarchy didn't really care. It didn't matter now, but as long as Tarlain spent time here with them, he could learn, understand, and that would be valuable in the long run, one way or another.

The first totem appeared a few minutes after leaving the main roadway. Tarlain dropped his bag and stood looking at it, his fists on his hips. Twice his height, it was thick at the base, carved from one solid piece of an ajura trunk. Firmly planted alone in the middle of a flat piece of ground it stood as a sentinel to the borders of Kallathik territory. He wondered briefly how the Kallathik themselves saw it. To him, it was merely a detailed likeness of a single Kallathik, nothing to distinguish it from the rest of their race. If it bore an expression, there was nothing there to give Tarlain any clue to what it might be. Its twin sets of arms were clasped in front of the thick rounded torso. The two sets of eyes, deeply set beneath the flat skulled brow ridge, were highlighted with gems of different colors fixed into the dark, hard wood. He ran his fingers back through his hair, peering up at the powerfully jawed face. Ajura wood was prized for its hardness, its resilience, but to work it to such detail could not be easy. He didn't even know what tools the Kallathik might use to do it.

"Well, my friend," he said. "Perhaps we can do something together now."

The totem stared impa.s.sively into the distance. With a sigh, Tarlain stooped to retrieve his bag and walked on by, trailing his fingers over the finely carved scales, feeling their ridged smoothness as he pa.s.sed.

He came across other totems, some smaller, some larger, the frequency of their placement telling him he was getting closer. The ground rose gently, traces of the mine workings becoming fewer and being gradually replaced by scant vegetation and the occasional Kallathik trail. Plain gave way to hill and small humped rocky outcroppings. Tarlain headed up the hillside, knowing he was close. At the top of the path he followed, another totem slipped into view. He merely glanced at it, but then, something, some sense, drew a second look, and with a start, he realized that this wasn't a totem at all, but one of the Kallathik themselves. It stood so immobile that it was hard to tell. Clearly, it was watching his approach, but it gave no sign, not a single movement to indicate anything other than a pa.s.sive uninterested observation. Tarlain stopped, dropped the bag from his shoulder and raised a hand. For several seconds, the Kallathik did nothing, then finally, at last, it opened its arms in greeting. Tarlain nodded and smiled despite knowing the gesture would be lost on the creature standing above him. He retrieved his bag from where it lay at his feet and headed on up the hill.

The waiting Kallathik turned with his approach, heading back up the rise and over. Despite its slow gait, Tarlain had to hurry to catch up. The Kallathik lumbered on its squat rear legs, the supporting tail leaving a trail through the gra.s.ses. Tarlain quickened his pace until he drew alongside, looking up at its dark gray-brown face, trying to make contact and get the creature's attention. Finally he spoke.

"I am Tarlain Men Darnak, from the Guild of Welfare," he said.

The Kallathik hesitated and turned its head slightly to face him, looking down from a height half as tall as Tarlain again. That brief pause, the brief inclination of its body was all he got before the Kallathik turned back and continued on its path. All right, Tarlain thought to himself. There may have been recognition, there may not. They seemed to understand human speech, but what sense it made to them he had no real idea. He might have spent actual time in the past with this very same Kallathik but he would have no way of knowing. With their habitual impa.s.sive responses, he doubted that the Kallathik itself would care whether he had or not. They seemed to pay scant attention to the human population moving amongst them.

Together, they crested the rise and the ground dropped away gently to a slight hollow. More Kallathik stood below, either lumbering slowly from one place to another, or standing, totem-like staring into nothing. Further up, across the next rise, lay the entrance to their settlement proper. A group cl.u.s.tered around the wide cave mouth, signing to each other with their twinned arms. As Tarlain and his companion hove into view and walked down the approaching hill, nothing changed in their position. He watched carefully, looking for any sign of recognition. Abruptly, his companion stopped. Tarlain looked up, but the Kallathik was staring across the intervening s.p.a.ce toward the large entrance doing nothing. Finally, it lifted one arm, clacked the sides of its jawbones together in a movement Tarlain knew indicated an exclamation, gestured in the direction of the cave mouth and then turned, heading back up the hill from where they had come. Tarlain took the creature's meaning and continued down across the small valley's floor and up the other side.

Five Kallathik stood together at the entrance. Inside, Tarlain knew, the complex continued deep into the hill, branching and re-branching, opening into vast hollow chambers where the settlement continued its daily life. Somewhere deeper inside lay one or two smaller chambers fitted out for human habitation, built not long after human and Kallathik had begun working together. They were away from the main complex, far enough away from the continuing noise and scents of Kallathik daily life to make them livable, barely. Mostly, visitors from the Guild of Welfare used them, though in earlier times, they were constructed specifically for Primary Production. Nowadays, Primary Production had little use for them: the task of Kallathik liaison had since fallen to others. Tarlain stood and waited patiently until the Kallathik were ready to acknowledge his presence. It took a few moments. Eventually, one of them turned and gestured a query with its upper pair of arms.

"I am Tarlain Men Darnak, from the Guild of Welfare," he repeated.

A pause, and then, "Elcome," a slow barely comprehensible burr coming from where the Kallathik's throat would be if it had one. Over the years, the Kallathik had learned to constrict some of their chest muscles to approximate human speech. It took practice, but with time, you could learn to understand what they were saying. Augmented by knowledge of their gestures and signings, it was possible, almost, to carry on proper communication. Teaching of their signings was a standard part of Guild of Welfare training, but it could never replace the experience of learning first hand. It was different from listening to a recording of their sounds or being taught by a human trying to approximate the sounds that buzzed from the Kallathik frame.

"I need to use the living s.p.a.ces," said Tarlain. "I also need to speak with the heads of this sept."

The Kallathik signed a.s.sent, and shuffled away from its companions, giving a set of complex gestures that escaped Tarlain's understanding. The remaining four Kallathik stood where they were. Another set of signings pa.s.sed between two of them, and as a whole, the group lifted their tail sections, rattling the scales with a rapid shaking -- a gesture that Tarlain knew indicated amus.e.m.e.nt. He wondered what had pa.s.sed between them. Well, let them be amused. They'd be less happy when the changes about to sweep through the Princ.i.p.ate touched them properly. Roge had very little time for the Kallathik. So, let his brother do what he might, he thought grimly. It would not be without resistance. Not now that he was here. He would put this right, no matter what Roge chose to do.

With the resolution still echoing in his thoughts, Tarlain shouldered his belongings and followed the Kallathik that had broken from its group, past the deep cave mouth and into the depths of the complex beyond.

The metal-shod walls led into gloom. Shafts of light punctuated the darkness further down the tunnel where the Kallathik had worked ventilation and light holes to the surface. They didn't need much light, but they couldn't operate in total darkness either. Tarlain peered along the pa.s.sage length, trying in vain to make out any real details. He'd been in this complex a number of times before, but blank walls and absence of light made it hard for him to maintain any sense of direction. Sc.r.a.ping noises echoed up the tunnel, speaking of Kallathik movement deeper within, further confusing the sense of direction and location. Their scaly forms brushed against the metal walls as they pa.s.sed through the complex, and the sound carried for long distances, distorted by the smooth hard surfaces. Over the sound ran an eerie moan, almost like a sigh as the breeze above funneled across the tops of the ventilation shafts.

He didn't know how many lived within this particular burrow, but it must be several hundred. His companion shuffled along in no particular hurry. Everything the Kallathik did was at a leisurely pace, partly necessitated by their bulk, but partially because they never seemed to be in a hurry to do anything. Right in the middle of doing something, they might simply stop, adopt the rest stance with their arms crossed over their chests and barely move, the only indication of life being the gentle in and out movement of their sides showing they were breathing. Tarlain had ceased puzzling about that a long time ago. It simply was. It could be a source of immense frustration, especially in the middle of a conversation, but after a time, you made allowances; you had to recognize that the humans functioned at an entirely different pace.

Their progress down the main tunnel continued, pa.s.sing several intersections and sinkholes until they reached a major junction. A number of tunnels led off in various directions, and noises drifted up from each, melding into a confused undercurrent of sounds. Here, deeper into the burrow, the smell was more pungent and Tarlain wrinkled his nose. He would become desensitized to their scents after a few hours, he knew, but for the moment the sharp tang caught at his nostrils, making his eyes water.

His guide had stopped. Tarlain stood where he was and dabbed at his eyes with one sleeve as he waited, hoping the Kallathik had not gone into thought mode. Finally, it gestured down one of the adjoining pa.s.sages and headed that way. This pa.s.sageway was smaller, the roof almost touching the Kallathik's broad flat head as the tunnel wound deeper into the hillside. Fewer light shafts marked the way, and though his eyes were becoming accustomed to the gloom, he still had to strain to see. They pa.s.sed a number of smaller alcoves set into the tunnel walls, and within one or two, he sensed movement. There were Kallathik here, s.h.i.+fting vastly in the darkness as they pa.s.sed. He wondered if he smelled as strange to them as they did to him. Were they disturbed by his alien presence, by his pa.s.sing scent? Did they recognize the human taint upon the air? Their interspecies communication wasn't advanced enough that he'd ever really know.

At last, they reached the small chambers set aside for human use. Tarlain ducked inside one, fumbled around for the light and switched it on. Its battery would keep it alive for several hours, but he didn't want to waste it, so he dropped his bag on the small cot, found the fuel lamp and lit it before turning off the other one. These small cells were relatively close to the entrance, giving him some real idea of the true vastness of the complex. His guide had already disappeared, sc.r.a.ping off along the pa.s.sageway outside. Tarlain hoped it had gone to inform the sept leaders. If not, he was in for a long wait. Dealing with the Kallathik eventually taught patience. It had to.

Sitting on the edge of the rude cot, he settled in to wait, hoping that his guide was focused enough to bear the message to the right place. All around him, the noises of the burrow's other inhabitants continued unabated, echoing through the dimness, punctuated by the resonant low moaning wind filtering down the pa.s.sageways. Tarlain s.h.i.+vered and shook his head. He cursed himself for not having had the foresight to bring something as simple as a book reader, at least something to occupy his mind.

Eight.

Over distant hills, clouds gathered, forming and reshaping, deep and brown in the copper light. The taste of electricity sat subtly beneath, ever present, upon the gentle breeze. Veins of light throbbed within the burgeoning cloud ma.s.s, illuminating the pregnant shapes from within, and then re-fading into darkness. Leannis Men Darnak stood, watching, listening as the sound of herd beasts drifted up from the fields below. A voice called, then another, and the sound was broken by the whine and buzz of a groundbike, quickly fading away into the distance. Another call, and the sound of animals replaced the sound of machine, clanking bells indicating the movement of the animals on their way back in from pasture.

A wide low veranda ran all around the edge of the residence, one of the Men Darnak numerous country holdings. This, one of the smaller estates, was a place where he came to relax, far removed from the details of the Princ.i.p.ate. Here, he had s.p.a.ce to think, to channel his thoughts without them being pulled in all the directions of the Guild Business, changing from hour to hour; he could sit back and a.s.sess, uncluttered. The breeze stirred his hair and he closed his eyes, letting the cool wind breathe upon his face. Had he done the right thing? He thought he had, but here, away from the heart of things, he was starting to wonder. He was tired now, tired of the daily demands, the decisions, the constant power plays, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. There was still too much left to arrange. With Roge in his new role, he would need to keep a gentle guiding hand in the background, be available to lend counsel when the situation demanded it. The Prophet knew, Roge would need it. With Karin's support, it would be easier. Karin was attuned to the nuances of political life in a way Roge could never be, but with her to advise, to observe, his eldest son would be stronger. He grimaced. Karin, as good as she was, however, was not quite enough. What Tarlain had said was right. Roge needed to be tempered, to develop beyond his first inclination to selfishness.

And what of Tarlain? Where was the boy now?

"Princ.i.p.al?"

Men Darnak opened his eyes, letting his gaze wander one more time across the horizon before answering. "Yes. What is it?"

"You seemed preoccupied, Princ.i.p.al."

"A little, Priest. A little. There is so much more to do."

"Yes, but things are set in place now. As they should be."

Men Darnak sighed and turned to face Kovaar. "But how can I be sure that I've done the right thing?"

"There are choices to be made in life. Some follow the ways of the Prophet, and some do not. Tarlain's choice did not. You have chosen the right path."

"So you say, Witness Kovaar. So you say. But he's my son, just as much as Roge is. Just as much as Karin is my daughter. I cannot deny him that. Would you have me deny it also?"

"No, of course not. The path you have taken leaves him choices, leaves him status within the Guilds, but the time is not right for any disruption to the order of things in the heart of the Princ.i.p.ate itself. It is Roge's place as eldest child to take the lead. As the youngest, Tarlain should have accepted that lead and listened to what you said. He chose not to. It is as it has always been since the traditions handed down by the First Families. You know this is right. You have no need to question your actions now, Princ.i.p.al. In the Prophet's words, following the right order gives an ordered life."

"Hmmm," said Men Darnak, looking back out over the rolling fields. "I can't help thinking Tarlain would have added an extra spark of energy, a different slant to handling things within the Guilds. Especially now, with Storm Season approaching and Welfare coming into its own. We really could have used him there. We could also have used a different viewpoint just to offset Roge's approach to things."