Unhkte’s eyes lingered on her. She seemed to have gathered Aether’s intentions.
Another Thinker stood and Unhkte pointed for her to speak. “The golden mud is grown on a farm?”
“No,” Aether replied, trying to find the best analog in Threck society. “I say ‘farm’ only to indicate hot, unpleasant effort. We make it like Threck make cement, only far more complex, especially in enough quantity for the entire city. Like mud, the cream must be reapplied often, only much less often, and cream’s benefits continue long after application, unlike mud which, once dry, saps the flesh of moisture.”
Aether patiently fielded the flood of questions, conscious of the Thinkers’ need to beat a topic to death before coming to a decision. The jubilant volunteers, too, presented their best efforts at describing the sensation to a roomful of highly envious spectators.
Perfectly, and as if to intentionally augment Aether’s position, the final volunteer’s thoughtful answer sent the crowd into grumbles of agreement and anticipation. “While similar to fresh mud—only first contact with fresh mud, before drying begins—this is inadequate comparison. The sensation cannot be described, but only understood through direct experience.”
Unhkte had gathered the Thinkers’ consensus. “How soon could you create and deliver enough for all?”
Aether’s prepared response had awaited this. “The golden mud’s effectiveness comes from its purity. To produce more than two buckets, we require appropriate facility near where our new home will be built. Obviously, the faster we construct homes and facilities, the sooner we may deliver more golden mud.”
Ever sharp, Unhkte grasped at once Aether’s subtext, addressing both Aether and the spectators. “Perhaps if Threck Makers and Materials groups offered their expert aid and considerable numbers, these facilities could be completed in shorter time than Syons People alone.”
Aether shared a smug look with Pablo before agreeing. “This is true. Their aid would certainly increase construction speed. Alone, Syons People would need two to three years to build facilities, then additional two years to make enough golden mud for initial batch. As I said, you will require constant supply. The addition of our three stranded members would significantly hasten our work and increase output.”
Pakte spoke on cue. “You required two afvrik from the Fishing group to locate your people?”
“Yes, and the best navigators to control them.”
Pakte addressed Unhkte. “Fishing offers the resources required of our group. Afvriks and handlers will be ready for departure in two days’ time. We will not be source of delay.”
The spectators sounded off pleasure and gratitude as they streamed down from the tiered rows, bombarding the volunteers with sample requests. Others surrounded Pablo for a peek inside his buckets. Pablo gave Aether a pleading look.
Unhkte wedged her way in, shooed away the lot encircling Pablo, and gestured to the buckets. “Do you have enough remaining to demonstrate for two others? Massoss Artsh and Massoss Feesap must be convinced to divert attention from new aqueduct and bridge.”
Pablo peered into the buckets. He held up three fingers.
“We have enough,” Aether said. “But if, like you, we coat only one arm, perhaps we could avoid any further potential gaps in support.”
Unhkte regarded her before grasping her meaning. “The council.”
Aether signed, “Yes.”
Aether stood waiting on her loaded skimmer pad, pondering what else they might need on the journey, or other tasks Zisa, Qin, and Tom should focus on in her absence.
She glanced behind her at the clear hatch over the pad’s internal storage bay. A pressed tentacle slithered across the hatch, smearing PJ. Eeahso was probably cooking in there. A preview of Eeahso’s farm-life to come, the sun would be at mid-afternoon intensity when they dropped her off. Though the council had agreed to spare her, the proviso of a life spent toiling in the fields was unlikely to play out as they expected. Aether pictured Eeahso lounging in a cool domicile each day, simpleminded farmers waiting on her with food, water, and massages. Aether didn’t care either way. She just needed her out of everyone’s hair, especially Tom’s.
Aether turned to Zisa and Pablo, still standing with hands clasped behind the other’s back, face to face, whispering, weeping, laughing. They looked like a pair of teenagers heading home to distant cities after a summer of love.
She opened an M to Pablo, about to put an end to it, and then thought of a task for Qin. He and Tom were nowhere to be seen. She activated audio to Qin.
“Hey, is there a way for you to track our progress out there? The supply pods can see skimmers, right?”
An instant reply. “I should be able to, yes. If you give me a few minutes I’ll tell you before you have to leave. Walking to P and Z’s EV now.”
A moment of silence. Beyond the beige tent tops, she saw EV2’s hatch rise and slide up over its roof. She refocused on Zisa and Pablo, their faces fused at the mouth. She yelled, “Wrap it up, kids! You have two minutes.”
Qin’s voice in her ear, “You need to come over here.”
“It’s okay if it’s too much trouble. Just do what you can. We’ve got two loaded Threck boat-fish-things waiting for us at the harbor.”
“Not that. Please come to EV-two.”
Well, that sounded serious. What could it be? Aether popped open the floor hatch, allowing Eeahso to flop out.
“What happens?” Eeahso called after her.
Aether breezed past Zisa and Pablo, around the work tents, and strode to EV2’s open hatch. She poked her head in. Qin was already standing up. He moved aside and nodded toward a console. Aether climbed in, sat down, and tried to understand what she was looking at.
Before she could ask, Qin said, “That’s the supply pod network’s homepage.”
Aether read.
Post-station evac, EV6 landed Hynka country…
A moment later, her eyes hung on Minnie’s final words—reserved for Aether—eloquent in its brevity, paralyzing in its depth.
I wish we’d met sooner; I could have loved you longer.
She read it over and over.
Qin finally broke the silence. “Says John’s hurt pretty badly.”
Aether’s senses returned and she scrolled back to the top. Level 8. No other specifics. All she could know was that his injuries were life-threatening and/or involved organ failure or loss of limb. Or at least that was the case when the message was left. When had Minnie written all this?
Qin added, “Seems pretty convinced about Ish—”
“When is this from?” Aether interrupted. “There’s no date.”
“Let me see.” He navigated on his fone, both eyes twitching as if following a fly. “Wow. File updated just yesterday.”
They were still alive—at least John and Minnie. They’d made it fifteen days! How difficult would another week be? Possibly very. Minnie had offered no indication of their security conditions, but the fact that she thought John would soon be well enough to travel, that was something.
The voice, though… the tone of the message, the mixed use of present and past tense… It was a farewell letter, ripe with nostalgia, naval gazing, and regret. It suggested that, besides John and Ish, Minnie didn’t expect to ever see them again. Did it mean she thought them dead, or that she doubted her own continued survival?