Divers pulled his attentions back where they belonged, which was outside. “You’re from the City of Round Roads, we think.”
“Yes,” said Zakk.
“Your parents belong to the League, and one of them, probably your father, is a member in high standing with the government there.”
Zakk blinked. “You must have read about me.”
“No, we’re just guessing,” Divers confessed.
“But I’m not here because of my father. I’m qualified on my own.” The boy’s feet squirmed against the rubberized floor, and he stared at the giant papio body—at the long hair and the child’s face and the brown flesh that was entirely one color and one flavor. And in particular, the boy watched those long, quick-moving telescopes.
“Ask questions, Zakk.”
The boy nodded. “I think it’s interesting. You can see in two directions at once.”
“It’s easy, if you have multiple minds.”
“Those are huge telescopes,” said Zakk.
“We don’t hear a question.”
“Are you Divers?”
There was no point denying it. “You’ll never talk to anyone else. Other voices lead to confusion.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Is it, Zakk?”
The boy said, “I’ve read about all of you.”
“Wonderful.”
He began to name each important name.
“They gave you the standard briefing,” Divers said, interrupting.
“And Tritian,” Zakk said. “I read all I could about him.”
There were reasons to avoid this subject, but Divers decided on straightforward questions. “Did somebody steer you toward that subject?”
“No.”
“Studying my brother was your idea?”
“His blood is orange,” the boy said, as if that was ample reason. Then he added, “I saw a sample inside the doctor’s book. It was just a little dried spot, but I thought it looked very pretty. And then I read about Tritian, and he seems wonderfully strange.”
“Stranger than Divers?”
Happy with the subject, the boy grinned. “I only meant that he’s very different from the rest of you.”
“In some ways,” she allowed.
“In many ways,” the boy said.
The crews and soldiers had finished their work, and when they fell silent, Divers looked back at them. The creatures were resting on their haunches while staring at the Eight. Several smiled until Divers looked directly at them, and then they stood tall and silent for a moment, making themselves feel brave before they retreated into the darkness.
Others emerged from a doorway—a few high officers and government people had come out to greet the morning, gathering beyond the hanger’s iron door. They were conversing with mouths and long arms. Divers found the subject interesting. This would be a fine moment to approach, offering to help with their difficult day.
Zakk followed closely, chattering about Tritian’s blistering hot acidic blood and the orange muscles that also worked like hearts and the other organs—muscles that could live outside the body for days. One silent brother absorbed to the unexpected praise. The other six ignored that half-informed noise. Their voices were what mattered, and they spoke to one another—one busy shared murmur discussing possibilities and practicalities about important matters that this boy would never understand.
The officers were still angry about yesterday’s disasters. Government people saw nothing but ugly ramifications. Both sides agreed that war wasn’t their goal or anyone’s policy. The policy seemed to be rage, every papio face betraying a combustive mood.
The ranking general gestured at the two vast telescopes, asking, “Have you seen anything new?”
“Nothing,” said Divers, walking out from under the hanger’s roof.
“Stay inside,” said the general.
“But I can’t see as much that way,” she said.
She had better eyes than anyone else, and she had the telescopes and endless practice watching the world from here. But the world could see her when she was in the open—another difficult-to-measure risk resting on a great pile of hazards. The important people were no doubt asking themselves if they should try to coax the Eight into the dark. But odds were that Divers would ignore them, which was disagreeable enough when you were standing alone. They weren’t alone. The other important people would see the brave one fail, and that’s why nobody tried to argue with her, every face nervous, lips curling while the hands built anxious fists.
The Eight walked out into the open, and Zakk followed. The safest position for the boy was inside their shadow, letting the enormous invulnerable body absorb any lost bullets. Yet without warning, the newcomer suddenly turned fearless, hurrying far out onto the rubber tarmac. Without a worry in his world, he dropped down on his haunches, a tiny pair of what looked like toy binoculars coming out of his deepest pocket.
Divers laughed gently, gazing up at the sprawling wilderness.
Talk among the officers fell back to the usual obsessions. Who had orchestrated that first attack? Was it the tree-walkers, some element in the papio ranks, or a marriage that straddled the reef and forest? Counts had been made. No weapons or fuel were missing from the local stocks, which was wonderful news. But you didn’t become important by trusting the first report, and the ranking general demanded fresh counts. Then a government woman asked for the latest target assessments, which meant Diamond. The intelligence officer claimed that the boy had survived the onslaught. But was that believable? Everyone was talking at once. Nobody held real evidence. Diamond could be anywhere in the Creation, including beneath the demon floor. Beneath the floor meant that he could be lost for the next million days. And even if he was alive and still somewhere the Corona District, how much were the papio willing to do, trying to gather up this prize before the tree-fools succeeded in destroying that half-grown gift?
The Eight settled on their haunches, eyes watching the wilderness.
Divers didn’t miss any word or the smallest breath.
A lesser general described the enemy’s overnight attacks. Two distant Districts, working together, had attacked fortifications of the reef’s lip, as many as one hundred dead and dying.
At that point, a government voice mentioned retribution.
The ranking general gave an unhappy sigh. “Our assault killed hundreds of our cousins yesterday,” he said.
“Cousins” was the most polite word for tree-walkers.
“But they didn’t have to fight us,” the woman said. “We were carrying out a rescue mission. We haven’t declared war. We were trying to extract our consulate personnel, and without provocation—”
“They’d endured one attack already,” the general said contemptuously. “Do you really think they wouldn’t try to slaughter the lot of us?”
Once again, various voices dismissed every blame, government people being the loudest and least secure.
“Anyone can build that kind of bomb,” said the ranking civilian.
“And what reason would we have to attack?” her aide asked, trying to support a superior.
“None,” said the woman, with feeling. “And besides, if war was our policy, then our first strike would have been fifty times more savage.”
No general would argue with that blunt opinion. Divers put down the telescopes and glanced over a shoulder, finding looks that were uncomfortable and slippery, ready for any excuse to change subjects.
Every voice inside the Eight had fallen silent.
Then Zakk put down his tiny binoculars. He said, “The wilderness is prettier here than at home.”
Divers lifted just one telescope, pressing it to the left eye. “Why does it seem prettier?”
“Because it’s different,” Zakk said.
Then inside the Eight, a voice said, “Watch this one. I don’t like him.”
Tritian.
The others told him to be quiet.
Divers didn’t need to reprimand her brother. She rarely had to police her siblings. The great accomplishment of her brief life was to convince the Seven to obey her directions. They were free to offer opinions, and didn’t she often bow to their shared will? But they understood what Divers had always known: each of them was tiny—a speck of flotsam riding the same Time together, hundreds of days and millions of little voices bringing them to this very dangerous brink.