"It's been a long time," he whispered, "and I am sore wounded," relieved that others were moving out on the floor. They formed a square with Hendrick and Phyllis.
In a few moments there were squares all over the hall, and Zack was calling and fiddling, the band was playing, and Cadmann's considerations were lost in the urge to keep the rhythm and watch his feet.
Mary Ann was an excellent square dancer, and she pulled him along with her into the mood. Soon Cadmann was part of an interweaving pattern of human rectangles, do-si-do-ing and skip-stepping as their square broke and re-formed, changed places and swiveled joyously around the floor. Sharp reminders from half-healed wounds eased as he warmed up. The seated observers whistled and clapped and stomped their feet.
Before he realized it, Cadmann was grinning and sweating and thoroughly convinced that he was keeping better time than anyone out there.
At the end of an hour the dance broke up with a spontaneous cheer and hugs all around, and Cadmann's drunken whoop was as loud as any. What the hell—this is your family. You need them—at least Mary Ann does. And don't be surprised that square dancing makes you feel like part of the community. Earth magic, that's what it is. What it's always been.
The holofield projector was wheeled back to the center of the quad. Once again the air shimmered, causing squeals of delight—Carlos's boat had breached the rapids, and it was deliciously easy for Cadmann to lose himself in the illusion.
He was aboard their boat, hovering directly above Carlos's shoulders as he spun the wheel, guiding the boat through the rushing water. The water was beginning to churn white, and there an outcropping of glistening wet rock scraped the side of the inflatable. The boat jumped, and beside him Bobbi screamed delightedly.
Elliot's boat was right behind him, and with a jolt the holofield changed its perspective. La Donna was at the wheel, and the couple were whooping it up more than competing. As the boat hit each spill, they grabbed each other in mock fear, mugging ferociously for the cameras.
The water grew whiter, choppier, and the race was really on. The river was narrower and faster here, and the towering walls of the northern mountains rose up around them in jagged iron-gray sheets.
Elliot coaxed his engine to sharper life. With a sure hand La Donna wove them through the rocks. Every dip, every eddy was breathtakingly real, three times larger than life.
The water splashed up and licked at them, and Cadmann wiped at his face reflexively. Elliot's boat shot a short falls, landed flatbellied, with a crash and a whoop from the hall.
The image switched back to Carlos, who was looking back over his shoulder at the approaching boat.
Cadmann's palms were sweaty and shaking. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to roll up his sleeves and grab a pole: there was a rock spur! Ah, good. Bobbi, with movements as quick and light as the flicker of a whip, nudged their boat away from it.
Everyone was cheering now, and it grew riotous as the image switched from one perspective to the other; the gap between the boats narrowed, and the race finally became nose to nose. The river narrowed as it sluiced through a gap between, two towering slabs of rock, and Carlos narrowly held his lead, Elliot coming up fast.
Then, as they came out of it, and the way widened again, Elliot rammed Carlos from the rear. La Donna squealed as their boat hit a rock and lurched in a drunken circle. Elliot cursed fluidly as Carlos's craft shot past.
Elliot's boat spun twice, dipped and swung perilously and then finally stabilized.
The hologram switched to Carlos's craft and a triumphant Bobbi shaking her fist at Elliot as they widened the distance.
Carlos gunned the motor fully, and their boat rose in the water and shot north toward the ocean. Far behind them now, Elliot opened his throttle and skimmed along the surface, churning the water into white as he roared in pursuit.
Rock walls flashed by. Cadmann's heart thundered as he remembered the sheer speed of the boats, their near-hydrofoil design that kept a minimum of prow in the water, minimizing drag.
Fast!
But then...
"Switch back!" someone yelled, and suddenly they were with Carlos's boat, and it was in trouble. Something was terribly wrong, and the boat was spinning—
Another rock? But Carlos's face was distorted, and he was grabbing for Bobbi, screaming something unintelligible. The boat seemed to be collapsing, the holoimage buckling and blurring. The last image that they had was of rocks and water and churning foam, and a brief glimpse of Bobbi tumbling through the foam toward the rocks, thrashing her hands frantically as she disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Chapter 16
ON THE CLIFF
All men think all men mortal, save themselves.
EDMUND YOUNG, Night Thoughts
First there was a humming. Mama was a good distance from the water, and her mouth was full of blood and feathers. She looked for insects swarming. If she found the nest she would eat it whole...
But the swarm sound was louder now, and too uniform, and there were no dark clouds that could be insects. Something strange, in unfamiliar terrain. Mama made for the water, not yet fast but already wary.
The humming was louder as she reached the water.
It came around a bend upstream. She couldn't see the intruder's shape; it was too distant yet. But it moved on the water, not through it. Moved fast.
Finally. Mama's eyes were above the water. The snorkel between her eyes drew air; her lungs heaved. There was rage in her, and something else: sphincter muscles relaxed back of her neck, speed began dripping into her blood, and her entire body began to fizz. The vulnerable snorkel withdrew into her head. She watched the intruder come—not quite toward her, she hadn't been seen yet—then why was the intruder already fast?
But Mama was fast now, and she moved.
This was her territory now. She knew it that well, she had been here that long. Mine. She too was almost above the water as she reached the intruder. She struck from the side. For a bare instant she knew that she had won.
Skin with a thin taste, a taste like metal but not as strong, ruptured on impact and tore in her jaws. No meaty texture, no taste of blood. Not won: lost! Tricked! And where was her enemy?
The metallic skin filled with water and began to sink. Confusing tastes drifted in its wake. Things thrashed the water in slow motion, beasts caught between fighters. She ignored them. Where was her rival?
Still fast, Mama streaked for her cave before she could be blind-sided. At the underwater mouth she turned. She couldn't be attacked now except from the front.
Now there was time. Mama lifted her eyes above the water and watched two beasts thrashing. If meat were suddenly snatched beneath the surface, she would know that her enemy was below. But the prey were swept downstream, thrashing, trying to reach the river's edge. They reached shore unmolested, and scrambled from the water unmolested.
Mama had been tricked. She had bitten something, but it wasn't meat, and where was her enemy?
There! Just like the other, it skimmed across the water, almost toward her. It swerved away as Mama streaked toward it. The intruder was fully on speed, and young. Mama thought. She herself had never moved so fast... but its turn was too slow. She was on it, and her teeth closed with terrible strength—
On thin, tough, tasteless skin, and flesh that ruptured and bone that broke—fragile bone, prey blood, prey meat, with no taste of speed. Not at all the flesh of her own kind, and she'd been tricked again!
She had barely slowed. She kept moving, fleeing the site of her kill, curving toward safety, sliding across the bucking surface of the water. Where is my enemy? Where?
Behind her, meat thrashed in the water, then subsided. More prey was climbing the cliff, unmolested, and that was hardly surprising. In the middle of a duel one does not pause to dine.