[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
table held. Yes yes. I'm sure of it. A dull dun blob. I remember wondering
what that was doing with the other things. Why would the Buzzard buy a
coprolite? What else, what& Djabo, how long has it been? Four years? Five? No,
almost seven years. Buzzard came in, saw me playing with the plaque. Rallen
work, he said. Rallen? I said. Don't ask me, he said. Kid who sold me the
stuff says that's the world name, won't say where it is. What kid? I said. He
grinned and asked what I had for him. Rallen. Rallen. Somewhere on the other
side, there's a world where Ykx still live. Yes. That wasn't from any ruin,
none of it. Rallen&
A band of nomad Chalarosh were hanging about. Late on the sixth day they came
up to the fort. The leader talked to nervous klazits while others of the band
wandered about poking into everything, kicking at the blankets in the tents,
jabbing knives into the sacks padding the cart that carried the foreigners,
prying up the tarp over the supply cart, taking the lids off all the
Page 104
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
waterbarrels. When they were finished looking into every cranny big enough to
hold a rat, they went charging up the scratch trail; the klazits grinned at
each other and slipped away into the brush, not wanting to be there when the
intruders came back by the camp.
The Aggitj watched all that, snorting with disdain as they saw the klazits
vanish. When the nomads stomped into the cavern and went crashing about
searching for something, the boys followed them looking curious and secretly
amused. Skeen watched them and worried. They had it, whatever the nomads were
searching for. They knew what it was and they had it squirreled away
somewhere. She cursed under her breath, then wrenched her mind away from those
beaming idiots and frowned at the panel in front of her. It was in fragments.
She'd assembled them, fitting the bits together using the design carved on the
front. A complex ideogram. Possibly the Ykx thought in multileveled gestalts
that interacted with a complexity that defied translation like the
Hon(ishlyad) (kohl)noh? The ideograms, if that they were, made powerful
designs with interesting resonances even to her alien eyes. Areas of intense
multi-level design. Areas of clearspace or space interrupted with a few simple
lines. A visual and tactile people. The designs felt as complex and
interesting and pleasurable as they looked.
She'd always liked this part of her profession, the careful measuring and
recording of the sites; she never had enough time to satisfy herself, not even
as much as she had here. The rest of it was a bore, best done as quickly and
efficiently as she could manage, cutting away and packing up those parts of
the ruin that seemed most salable, working at top speed, the two or three days
at most she could spend there wherever there was. Sometimes she thought she'd
like to join a dig and turn academic, spending a decade or two excavating a
ruin and studying the people who'd built those structures and lived their
lives among them, but that was usually only when she'd struck something
especially intriguing and she had to wrench herself away before the local
forcers landed on her. Most times she knew very well that such a life would
drive her to madness and murder.
She heard crashes too loud to ignore and looked up from her sketch. One of the
Chalarosh had thrown a chunk of stone through a glass rectangle and was
pulling it out of a wall so he could look into the cavity behind it. The
Aggitj were watching with lively interest. Djabo bless, the Chalarosh were
still ignoring them. Whatever it is you've got, you cheerful young idiots, be
careful. Careful and clever. She sighed. They didn't have a clever bone in
their handsome heads.
Seventh day. Departure set for just after the noon meal. Skeen and Pegwai
collected all the mobiles they could find, tied them up in bits of blanket and
tucked them into their riding cart. Machimim insisted on inspecting the
packets, cut open several chosen at random. He stared at the ugly things, nose
and ears twitching. "Why take these& these unclean objects back to Vana?"
"Because we don't understand them," Pegwai said smoothly. He took the mobile
back, being careful not to touch it except through the blanket. "We are going
to assay them and do other tests to see why the Ykx kept them lying about."
"Why don't you just find an Ykx and ask?"
"Where? No, it's becoming increasingly clear that there are few if any Ykx
left on Mistommerk."
Machimim watched Pegwai bind the bundle shut. "Better you than me," he said.
They spent the morning loading the wagons. Machimim wanted Pegwai's packs put
in with the camp gear, but Pegwai was adamant about keeping them close to him.
"An oath," he said. "Not something I can trifle with."
The nomad band rode back and forth out in the yellow haze, but didn't come
into camp again. In spite of that, they were an ominous presence that affected
everyone, even the Aggitj who were jumpy and unhappy and silently stubborn
every time Skeen frowned at them.
The dust cloud that marked the nomad presence moved parallel to the carts as
they started back the way they'd come, keeping pace with them though the carts
moved along hardly faster than a brisk walk.
Page 105
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Every day the dust cloud was there, never closer, never departing.
Skeen had carefully not inquired about what the nomads were looking for,
better a bland innocence when the boys lost control of their enterprise,
which, unfortunately, they were sure to do.
The fourth day. They started into the foothills. The band set their mounts
watching, then one split off from the others and came after the carts.
Following. Not trying to overtake.
At camp that night, Skeen pointed this out to Machimim. "What happens if he
offs the watch? And then starts cutting throats."
"He won't. Ignore the scruffy rat. Desert tribes, pah. Wouldn't believe you if
you told them the sky was up." He yawned. "Always someone plotting against
them, or so they believe. Stupid sandheads." He smoothed his hand down the
rattail mustaches that dripped from the comers of his mouth. "Nothing for you
to worry about. Forget it."
Skeen left him and went prowling in the darkness outside the circle of
firelight. He knows what the Aggitj are doing, she thought, and wondered what
she should do. What she could do. Tell the Aggitj? Pegwai? Pegwai wasn't
stupid& he didn't need telling. Or want such confidences. He knew quite well [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
table held. Yes yes. I'm sure of it. A dull dun blob. I remember wondering
what that was doing with the other things. Why would the Buzzard buy a
coprolite? What else, what& Djabo, how long has it been? Four years? Five? No,
almost seven years. Buzzard came in, saw me playing with the plaque. Rallen
work, he said. Rallen? I said. Don't ask me, he said. Kid who sold me the
stuff says that's the world name, won't say where it is. What kid? I said. He
grinned and asked what I had for him. Rallen. Rallen. Somewhere on the other
side, there's a world where Ykx still live. Yes. That wasn't from any ruin,
none of it. Rallen&
A band of nomad Chalarosh were hanging about. Late on the sixth day they came
up to the fort. The leader talked to nervous klazits while others of the band
wandered about poking into everything, kicking at the blankets in the tents,
jabbing knives into the sacks padding the cart that carried the foreigners,
prying up the tarp over the supply cart, taking the lids off all the
Page 104
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
waterbarrels. When they were finished looking into every cranny big enough to
hold a rat, they went charging up the scratch trail; the klazits grinned at
each other and slipped away into the brush, not wanting to be there when the
intruders came back by the camp.
The Aggitj watched all that, snorting with disdain as they saw the klazits
vanish. When the nomads stomped into the cavern and went crashing about
searching for something, the boys followed them looking curious and secretly
amused. Skeen watched them and worried. They had it, whatever the nomads were
searching for. They knew what it was and they had it squirreled away
somewhere. She cursed under her breath, then wrenched her mind away from those
beaming idiots and frowned at the panel in front of her. It was in fragments.
She'd assembled them, fitting the bits together using the design carved on the
front. A complex ideogram. Possibly the Ykx thought in multileveled gestalts
that interacted with a complexity that defied translation like the
Hon(ishlyad) (kohl)noh? The ideograms, if that they were, made powerful
designs with interesting resonances even to her alien eyes. Areas of intense
multi-level design. Areas of clearspace or space interrupted with a few simple
lines. A visual and tactile people. The designs felt as complex and
interesting and pleasurable as they looked.
She'd always liked this part of her profession, the careful measuring and
recording of the sites; she never had enough time to satisfy herself, not even
as much as she had here. The rest of it was a bore, best done as quickly and
efficiently as she could manage, cutting away and packing up those parts of
the ruin that seemed most salable, working at top speed, the two or three days
at most she could spend there wherever there was. Sometimes she thought she'd
like to join a dig and turn academic, spending a decade or two excavating a
ruin and studying the people who'd built those structures and lived their
lives among them, but that was usually only when she'd struck something
especially intriguing and she had to wrench herself away before the local
forcers landed on her. Most times she knew very well that such a life would
drive her to madness and murder.
She heard crashes too loud to ignore and looked up from her sketch. One of the
Chalarosh had thrown a chunk of stone through a glass rectangle and was
pulling it out of a wall so he could look into the cavity behind it. The
Aggitj were watching with lively interest. Djabo bless, the Chalarosh were
still ignoring them. Whatever it is you've got, you cheerful young idiots, be
careful. Careful and clever. She sighed. They didn't have a clever bone in
their handsome heads.
Seventh day. Departure set for just after the noon meal. Skeen and Pegwai
collected all the mobiles they could find, tied them up in bits of blanket and
tucked them into their riding cart. Machimim insisted on inspecting the
packets, cut open several chosen at random. He stared at the ugly things, nose
and ears twitching. "Why take these& these unclean objects back to Vana?"
"Because we don't understand them," Pegwai said smoothly. He took the mobile
back, being careful not to touch it except through the blanket. "We are going
to assay them and do other tests to see why the Ykx kept them lying about."
"Why don't you just find an Ykx and ask?"
"Where? No, it's becoming increasingly clear that there are few if any Ykx
left on Mistommerk."
Machimim watched Pegwai bind the bundle shut. "Better you than me," he said.
They spent the morning loading the wagons. Machimim wanted Pegwai's packs put
in with the camp gear, but Pegwai was adamant about keeping them close to him.
"An oath," he said. "Not something I can trifle with."
The nomad band rode back and forth out in the yellow haze, but didn't come
into camp again. In spite of that, they were an ominous presence that affected
everyone, even the Aggitj who were jumpy and unhappy and silently stubborn
every time Skeen frowned at them.
The dust cloud that marked the nomad presence moved parallel to the carts as
they started back the way they'd come, keeping pace with them though the carts
moved along hardly faster than a brisk walk.
Page 105
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Every day the dust cloud was there, never closer, never departing.
Skeen had carefully not inquired about what the nomads were looking for,
better a bland innocence when the boys lost control of their enterprise,
which, unfortunately, they were sure to do.
The fourth day. They started into the foothills. The band set their mounts
watching, then one split off from the others and came after the carts.
Following. Not trying to overtake.
At camp that night, Skeen pointed this out to Machimim. "What happens if he
offs the watch? And then starts cutting throats."
"He won't. Ignore the scruffy rat. Desert tribes, pah. Wouldn't believe you if
you told them the sky was up." He yawned. "Always someone plotting against
them, or so they believe. Stupid sandheads." He smoothed his hand down the
rattail mustaches that dripped from the comers of his mouth. "Nothing for you
to worry about. Forget it."
Skeen left him and went prowling in the darkness outside the circle of
firelight. He knows what the Aggitj are doing, she thought, and wondered what
she should do. What she could do. Tell the Aggitj? Pegwai? Pegwai wasn't
stupid& he didn't need telling. Or want such confidences. He knew quite well [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]