“You don’t know anything,” Tar`ro said.
“That’s what I do at school,” Karlan said. “I sit and know nothing.”
Tar`ro cursed.
“But I followed you back,” said Karlan.
Most of the survivors watched Karlan, but Nissim and then Diamond stared at the guard, studying his face and the one hand that was out of sight, holding the butt of his little reserve pistol.
“The tree was breaking, and sure I chased you,” Karlan said. “Why the hell wouldn’t I? This bag was my best hope to get out of school alive.”
Tar`ro sighed.
“I saw your partners’ brains,” Karlan said.
The engines throbbed and the blimp started climbing again.
Karlan made a laughing face. “Which one made you the fool?”
Tar`ro said, “Quiet.”
“Because you’re an idiot,” Karlan said.
Tar`ro breathed deeply through his nose, his hand still massaging the unseen gun.
Karlan held still, ready for whatever happened next.
What happened next was a door opening and a policeman shouting down into the darkness.
“Ivory Station is open for business,” he called out. “And the Archon herself is waiting for us.”
FOUR
No district was eternal. Borders and names found ways to shift, as did the allegiances between seats of power. But the coronas had always lived beneath these trees, and Father knew every guess why: the creatures congregated below them out of habit or superstition, or this was where they preferred to hunt, or there was no better place to breed and raise their young. Or perhaps these were just the weakest members pushed out of an overpopulated realm. But even as he offered those possibilities, the retired slayer reminded his son that hunting and killing the coronas had taught him only how little he knew. It didn’t matter why the bravest or weakest or the most foolish coronas rose out of their realm, up into the cold whispery-thin air. They came to this world and both species of humanity thrived, and lucky slayers grew old enough to sit at their dinner table, explaining their ignorance to their sons.
There had always been an Ivory Station, regardless of its name or precise location. Today’s Station was a complex of buildings, fletch hangers, and critical offices fitted to together like blocks against Hanner’s giant trunk. A wide platform lay at its base, paved with silver corona scales, and twin pillars had always stood at the landing’s main entranceway. The pillars were built from corona teeth, predating Hanner as well as several long-dead trees. After the attack, brave souls took upon themselves to save those treasures, using power saws to cut them free of the wooden planks below. One of them was already on its side, ready to be shoved into a rude sling that would be carried off by the first available blimp. But the would-be heroes were noticed, reprimanded and ordered to more valuable posts. Later the police blimp appeared, towlines dangling, the spent, overheated engines leaking black fumes. Diamond was standing in the nose. Amplified voices and a set of bright flags ordered the blimp to one end of the landing, and a dozen big men grabbed the lines and tied them down. An audience had gathered near the tree trunk—soldiers and government workers, and the Archon, and standing beside Prima, one retired slayer.
“Father,” said the boy.
Tar`ro stood on one side, Nissim the other. It was the teacher who put a strong hand on Diamond’s shoulder, squeezing as he said, “We’ll be down in another recitation, don’t worry.”
Perched on his boy’s head, Good clucked softly.
“Why aren’t we at the hangers?” Elata asked.
“They want us where we can take off fast,” Seldom said.
“Why would we take off?”
“Hanner might fall,” Seldom guessed, making everyone uneasy, including the boy who made the claim.
But Tar`ro said, “No, the tree’s strong enough. They don’t want this little balloon in one of their berths.”
“I suppose they wouldn’t,” said Nissim.
“Why not?” asked Elata.
The adults pretended not to hear. But from the back, Karlan said, “They’re saving space for the warships. District reserves are going to fuel up and arm up, and then we’ll launch the counterattack.”
There was a pause.
Then his brother asked, “Who will we attack?”
“Whoever we want,” Karlan said, buoyant enough to laugh. “Anyone who gives us reason gets smashed and burned.”
That’s when Diamond and Good leaped out the doorway.
Falling through the sunshine was a pleasure. Falling had a beginning and some inevitable end, but there was the great middle where a mind could concentrate, drawing out details and slowing time until it felt as if there was nothing in Creation but the busy sound of wind in the ears and wind against the clothes, hands twisting like tiny wings, dancing with the air that was trying its best to make the plunge last forever.
Legs bent, the boy struck the landing with as much luck as grace.
The crowd immediately pressed towards him.
Then the monkey landed and bounced, ending up on Diamond’s right shoulder, showing the world how bravery looked with its orange fur fluffed wide and every tooth shining.
Diamond ran for Father, and Father ran before falling back into a quick shuffle, arms crossing on his chest, squeezing once before the hands lifted, wiping at his miserable, joyous face.
The two called to each other.
Good shouted, “Merit.”
Tar`ro’s colleagues formed a protective ring around the boy.
Father was allowed through, smothering his son with shaking arms, and the same as when he was falling, his son struggled to make the next breaths last forever.
Good hissed at the unknown faces.
Standing at a polite distance, the Archon spoke to a younger woman. With an urgent voice, the aide said, “The scout ship’s reporting.”
“Reporting what?” Prima asked.
“I wish I knew, madam. The captain wants to speak to you, alone.”
The Archon nodded, eyes fixed on Diamond.
And just like that, time charged ahead, and the boy could do nothing but watch the world doing everything at once.
“For the time being, you’re me,” Prima told the aide. “Welcome each survivor, make everybody comfortable, and make certain, please, that Diamond and his people remain together. Understood?”
“Yes, madam.”
The little woman walked away.
Diamond didn’t want to speak, and he wished that he could stop thinking. But he heard himself ask, “Where’s Mother?”
Dripping eyes looked at him. Fingertips touched the bullet holes in the school uniform’s chest, and Merit said nothing. His face seemed weak, and then his face changed. Diamond couldn’t name what changed. But Father had stopped crying, gazing out at the emptiness and inviting his son to do the same. Hanner was solid enough to trust, but many of the named branches had been sheered away by Rail’s collapse. A dozen mature trees had been lost, fires roaring far above and one giant hole ripped into the forest, and the sun-washed air couldn’t seem more vacant or anymore dead, reaching for a fantastic distance until the trees began all over again.
Three old men wearing green silk uniforms and fur busbies stood at attention, speaking about their competence and their innocence, and with blood shining beneath naked faces, single mouths cursed the enormous evil that had brought this day’s treachery.
King listened from a distance, and sitting much closer, Father listened.
Father used nods and little winks, assuring his generals that he understood their words and respected them deeply. Indeed, he was walking with them down this very ugly branch.
That subterfuge made the old warriors courageous.