Only Kroel refused his portion, and Ruiz split it with Molnekh. The bony mage ate with an excellent appetite, despite his skinniness. “I’ve had worse,” Molnekh said, smacking his wide lips, when he’d scraped the last bit from the container.
Ruiz touched Nisa’s arm. “You should stretch your legs,” he said. “You may not have another chance soon.”
“Yes,” she said, and they walked slowly in the boat’s shade, not quite touching. “Tell me,” she said finally. “Tell me why. Was it those metal wasps? Did Banessa send them to fetch me back?”
“One of them. The other was for me. The sting would have been terrible, like nothing you’ve ever felt.” He put his arm lightly around her waist. “There was no chance, Nisa. Though it was a fine try.”
She pulled away from his touch.
The Dilvermooner saw them, frowned, and spoke to the giantess. “Time to load,” Banessa said.
Before the straps were replaced, Banessa allowed the prisoners to use the boat’s recycler, one at a time.
The boat flew on. Ruiz dozed off lightly now and then. The others eventually relaxed enough to do the same, except for Kroel, who sat hunched with terror, eyes wide and rolling.
At the next stop, the boat sat in the long grass of the uplands when the prisoners stumbled forth. The air was cooler, and a light breeze rippled the grass. The sun was setting swiftly behind a wall of jagged peaks, far away over rolling steppes. The vista was empty except for a herd of browsing creatures, tiny in the distance.
Banessa leaned her great bulk against the ramp and watched as the herman carried out her instructions. From the upper end of the ramp, Marmo scanned the grasslands, a splinter gun cradled in his manipulators. Ayam brought out an armload of perimeter sensors and dropped them every few meters, marking a hundred-meter circle centered on the boat. The herman was clearly nervous, and returned to the boat with a sheen of fearful sweat on its face. Ruiz surmised that the long grass held predators, though it was hard to imagine a predator that could evade the ruptor turret’s sensors. Perhaps Marmo was overcautious.
The hull of the boat extruded a security light. It lit a circular area at the side of the boat, and Ayam set a group of self-rooting leashes around the edges. The leashes spun noisily in the grass, then like great worms sank their tendrils deep into the soil.
One by one Ayam attached the prisoners to the two-meter whips of the leashes. It came to Ruiz last, and as it locked the whip to Ruiz’s collar, it leaned close and whispered, “One has the responsibility of the graveyard watch tonight. One plans to visit your tent; be ready. Or perhaps one will visit the woman first — one puts you next to her, so you may listen, and anticipate.” The herman smiled and pinched Ruiz’s cheek painfully.
Ruiz’s fingers ached for the herman’s throat. The giantess was watching, with her hand over the collar controller. He did not believe he would lose his head if he acted up. But he would certainly be sedated, and thereafter any opportunities that appeared would be lost.
Ayam passed out supper, which differed in no discernible way from lunch. As the prisoners ate, the herman unloaded tubetents from the boat, and activated one by each leash. They puffed up like huge white sausages; then both Ayam and Banessa went inside the boat. Marmo remained, his metal face slowly scanning the darkening grasslands.
Nisa seemed lost in thought, picking at her food. She went into her shelter without speaking, though she gave Ruiz a very small swift smile.
Dolmaero squatted in the grass, eating his supper, making a wry face with each bite. “I rely on your assertion that this is edible, friend Aw. Otherwise I would fear to be poisoned.”
“I make no guarantees.”
Dolmaero laughed. “You’re a cautious man. Tell me, why do we stop? Does the flying egg depend upon the sun’s light for its power? Or do terrible beasts roam the night skies?”
“It’s the Shards,” Ruiz said. “They permit no movement above the nightside surface. No night flights.”
“The Shards? Who might they be?”
Ruiz realized he had spoken without his customary restraint. But… Dolmaero might find a description of Sook entertaining, perhaps even useful, if they somehow escaped before the Gencha took them.
“Dolmaero,” Ruiz answered, “do you know of the Acasta, in the King’s city?”
Dolmaero finished the last bite of his supper. “Oh, yes. The quarter where anything may be found, for a price.”
“Yes. Well, this planet, which is called Sook, is the Acasta of the outworlds.”
“Sook… it has a low ring to it.”
Ruiz glanced about. No one else was paying attention. “Sook is the slave world, the world where bandits are born, where old pirates go to die.”
“So? Then the Lady Corean is a bandit? Slaving is not permitted in the worlds?”
“Oh, she’s a bandit. But slaving is legal on most of the pangalac worlds. She’s doing something else that isn’t legal — she’s stealing slaves that belong to others.”
“Ah? Who did we belong to, before?”
Ruiz concealed his uneasiness at this question. Once again he had underestimated Dolmaero. “I don’t know,” he lied.
Dolmaero considered this, eyes bright and noncommittal. “And the Shards — who are they?”
Ruiz glanced up at the sky, where the glitter of the orbital platforms outshone the stars. “Sook belongs to the Shards; they make the rules here, what rules there are. They permit no large craft or large fleets of small craft to ground on Sook. They allow no high-speed air transport, no heavy weapons, no large-scale settlement. They watch. From up there, Dolmaero.” With his hand, Ruiz indicated the swarming lights of the platforms. “Otherwise they don’t care what happens here, so long as the taxes are paid.”
Dolmaero gazed upward, mouth hanging open in wonder. “What are they like? Are they like you, Ruiz?”
Ruiz laughed uneasily. “No. They’re not even human. Much stranger than the Pung. Imagine a river lizard with a dozen arms, and in the palm of each hand, whispering mouths with poisoned fangs.”
Dolmaero shuddered. “Do they ever come down?”
“Never. But the platforms carry terrible weapons. They could reach down and turn me to a puff of smoke without disturbing you in the least.”
“Where did they come from? Why do they permit criminals to use their world?”
“No one knows. The guesses I’ve heard… maybe they’re a very old warrior race, tired of conquest, but still trying to maintain their way of life. They collect entry fees from visitors, a lucrative business. Or they think they’re running a game preserve. Or perhaps they simply find our antics entertaining.”
They sat silent for long minutes. At last Dolmaero said, “And they watch? They can see us now?”
“They can. But whether or not they’re watching at this very moment… that I don’t know.”
Dolmaero looked at him, eyes wide. “I believe I’ll sleep now.” The Guildmaster crawled into his tubetent.
Ruiz saw that he was the only prisoner still outside. He sighed and went to bed.
He woke in a thrash of terror, soaked with sweat. A moment passed before he remembered where he was. He breathed in ragged gasps and his heart thumped, as if he had been running.
When he was calmer, he heard a quiet scrabbling sound, a sound unlike the other sounds of the night.
Ruiz put his head cautiously through the tent flap. From the wheel of the stars, he judged the time to be well after midnight. He listened. The sound came again, from Nisa’s tent. He craned his neck to look up at the boat. No one stood guard at the top of the ramp.