la le la la le la
yesterday be gone away
la le la la le la
games we play
words we say
la le la la le la
dead and done
dry bones in a drying pond
ripples pass beyond and gone
la le la la le la
echoes to relay replay
yesterday
la le la la le la
dessicated dull and dry
are you am I
are we today
nil and null
reclaiming sway
on and over
yesterday
la le la la le la
goodby lover
never hover
can’t recover
yesterday.
She sighed, dissatisfied, and pushed the pad away.
Jamber Fausse stood beside Quale, watching Adelaar and Pels hunched over their consoles. “There’s this woman I know,” he said, “had a kid, a boy. Time he was three he was taking things apart, see how they worked. Drove him near crazy when he couldna figure what did what ’n why. No one to school him, they were borderfolk, lived ’tween Chel and grass, family got broke up, the da, he was horned and headpriced, she took the boy down to Inci. He’s dead. Built him a yizzy ’fore he was nine. Bitbits got him, shot away the pods, poured his firejuice on him and lit a match. This Parnalee of yours, you say he wants to kill Huvveds?”
Quale smoothed his hand along his beard. “Yeh, but you wouldna like his methods.”
“Eh?”
“Why you think he wants this ship?”
“Since you be reading the man’s mind, you tell me.”
“Work the sums yourself, he’s after the hide of every Huvved on Tairanna and he doesn’t give a handful of hot shit for Hordar, not being Hordar or having any ties groundside. You doubt that, go look at your dead down in Sleepers. And he’s cracked to the marrow. Talk to Aslan, you want the book on that, have her read her bonebreaks and bruises for you. For that matter, ask the Hanifa what she thinks. Way she’s acting now, she got the point a time ago.”
“Point being don’t trust Outsiders?”
“Long as you use your head, not your gut.”
Jamber Fausse took a long look at him, then strolled across to Adelaar. “Yabass,” he said.
She started, looked round. “A minute. Let me finish this.”
He waited, hands clasped behind him, watching lines of symbol and number flicker in and out so fast no one who didn’t already know what they were could take them in. The schematic of the Bridge returned suddenly, the green lines overlaid with red. Adelaar contemplated them a moment, then looked over her shoulder, “What is it?”
“What’s this Parnalee know you don’t know?”
Quale frowned at the screen. “You’ve shut him out?”
“Right. He can’t hear us now.”
Jamber Fausse looked at the screen, then from one Outsider to the other. “What’s he know you don’t?”
She pushed the chair around so she didn’t have to keep stretching her neck. “Obviously he thinks he can take her away from me.”
“Can he?”
“How the hell do I know? All I can do is scramble this Brain so radically he couldn’t possibly straighten it out before she drops in Horgul.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Jamber Fausse looked down at his hands; he held them palms up, thumbs out, fingers cupped in fingers; he looked at them as if he read Parnalee’s mind in the lines and folds. “He may be crazy, but he’s no fool. Has to be something else.”
After a moment’s strained silence, Quale said, “Monarch class Warmaster. The youngest it could be is ten thousand, more likely around fifteen. My Slancy was built around then. Rummul Empire Trooper. The Rummul were the ones that built most of the Warmasters, so she could know something about them. We never bothered purging Memory; matter of fact, some of the bits in there have been useful for this and that, so when she needed more capacity, we just added it on. Del, you think you could punch a line to her without him knowing?”
“He’ll know something’s happening, not what.”
“He knows that now, with you cutting him off like this.”
“Your point. Give me room, this is going to get delicate at times, I’ll let you know when I’m ready to link.”
12
Kinok skritched two of ves tentacles together, sounding ves irritation at being drawn away from an erotic rite ve was performing with vesself and ves new Kahat and a drivehead. After some more strident grumbling which the infant Kahat didn’t bother translating, ve allowed vesself to be talked into a degree of reasonableness.
“Call up Oldest Memory for me,” Quale said. “Reference Monarch Class Warmaster.”
“You are not getting involved with that fancy, are you?”
Quale blinked. The words were dismissive, but Kinok somehow managed to infuse the light tenor of the translator with a degree of wistful longing more appropriate to the romantic hero of some operatic fantasy. He opened his mouth, intending to explain what he planned to do with the Warmaster, changed his mind before more than a croak got out. He’d run into difficulties before with Kinok, over things that seemed eminently reasonable to him but which slammed into one or more of the Paem’s peculiar religious and moral tenets. Killing the Warmaster meant killing her drives and he was willing to bet that Kinok would object strenuously to being connected in any way with the death of a set of drives. He thought about the voice tone. Especially if the Paem was getting his roots in a twist about this particular set. Erotic passion did weird things to the panter; he winced as a few of his own more idiotic obsessions went floating across his mind. “Not involved,” he said. “Just pull together everything you can find and squirt it over to us, we’ll keep the line open.”
“It is in progress,” the translator said. “How much longer is Slancy staying at this place?”
“Getting bored, Kinok?”
“Ve-who-speaks is never bored; only a stupid mind, a mind gross and unspiritual grows bored. Ve-who-speaks merely wishes the answer to an ordinary question.”
“Ah. Not so ordinary. With luck, two three days, maybe four.”
“That is heard with pleasure. Ve-who-speaks will prepare the blessings and ready our Slancy for the run.”
“Get her ready for trouble, too, Kinok my friend. We might have a hot welcome when we shift out of the insplit.”
“Ve-who-speaks has had our Slancy listening. Her ears have tingled not once. Ve-who-speaks believes those on that world still do not know that they have visitors.”