Capella Goodventure studied their faces a moment longer, then turned back to Moon. Moon met her stare; felt as though the Goodventure elder looked at her and really saw her for the first time in sixteen years. “I feel as though I must be dreaming,” Capella Goodventure murmured, as she looked out at the sea. “Perhaps the Lady has spoken to us all, in Her way.” She looked again at Moon, at Jerusha and Miroe. “You claim that you can actually talk to this merling; that she followed you here at your command?”
“Request,” Miroe corrected.
Jerusha nudged him into silence. “It was as much out of trust as real communication,” she said. “There seem to be very few concepts we have in common … we don’t even know how to ask them questions. So much of what they do seems to involve mersong—and the mersong is incomprehensible to us.”
“The mersong is how they worship the Lady,” Capella Goodventure said flatly. “No more, no less. It wasn’t meant for us to understand.”
“But we’ve found patterns in the mersong that are like those in traditional Summer music,” Moon said, forcing patience into her voice. “We would like to speak with people at the Festival today and record songs they remember, especially songs about the mers—and any lore they know, stories, superstitions. If you would help us, then all of Summer would begin to understand that what we’re doing is vital to everyone on this world.”
Capella Goodventure hesitated again, looking uncertain.
Moon glanced away from her, as unexpected motion on the steps caught her eye. She realized, surprised, that it was Ariele and not Tammis coming down to them. Ariele was trailed by three Summers, two boys and a girl; she swept past the four adults on the pier like a warm breeze, calling out to Silky with a series of trills. Silky came obediently back to the pierside, and she presented them to the merling with the obliviousness of youth.
Capella Goodventure watched them, and Moon watched all that the other woman saw: Ariele, so much like her mother, growing up in the city and yet somehow in her element, here with the mers. The Goodventure elder shook her head m something that could only be resignation. “Very well,” she said slowly. “I never thought I would live to see this day; but I have.” She looked back at Moon. “You and I have one goal from this day forward, Moon Dawntreader. We will do the Lady’s work together, from now on. I only hope that we can do it well enough.”
KHAREMOUGH: Orbital Habitat #1
“How did it go, Commander?” Vhanu rose from his seat, putting back the headset he had been using to pass the time as Gundhalinu stopped beside him. The conference had run overlong, as usual, and Vhanu had arrived here promptly, as usual.
Gundhalinu smiled. “It was just what Faseran and Thajad wanted to hear. I think everything is going to work out exactly as Pematte predicted.” They began to walk, threading their way through the workers, human and servo, who were laboriously fitting a new series of murals into place in the hallway of the Hegemonic Coordinating Center. “It will still take almost two years of preparation before they send the expedition to Tiamat—that’s if the ship production continues on schedule too, of course—” He looked back over his shoulder as they were forced to go single file. “But Faseran actually told me today that I can have the Chief Justiceship if I want it.”
Vhanu started in surprise. “Father of all my grandfathers! That is good news… . I do hope you’ll consider my application for a place on your provisional staff, Commander. That is, as you know, I—”
“After all you’ve done to help make this happen, NR,” Gundhalinu said, “you can name your position in the new government.” He smiled. “Even Commander of Police, if you still want it.” His smile widened as he saw sudden pleasure light up Vhanu’s face.
“Yes, sir. Very much—” Vhanu’s own smile widened; his fist tightened at his side like a surreptitious shout.
“Then consider it a—” Gundhalinu collided with the body that backed suddenly into his path. Hands flew up to steady him; the youth he had run into met his gaze with urgent gray eyes, and he felt the brush of a familiar handsign as a piece of paper was pressed into his palm.
His fingers closed over it, he opened his mouth—noticing just in time the registry numbers printed on the young worker’s forehead, that marked him as an Unclassified. Gundhalinu swallowed the words he had been about to speak as the day-laborer’s expression became deliberately abject fear. The worker flung himself flat in an abasement. Gundhalinu looked down at the dark, unkempt curls of the youth’s hair, and kept silent. By law Technician and Unclassified could not even speak directly, without an interpreter of intermediate rank. Even an apology was impossible, on either side. And no matter who was right, the Unclassified was always wrong.
“Look out, you dumb bastard—” A Nontech foreman caught the laborer by the neck of his coveralls as he began to rise, hauling him out of Gundhalinu’s path. “He begs your pardon, Commander-sathra—” the foreman said, shoving him; the worker grunted as his face collided with the chiseled stone images of their mutual ancestors on the wall.
“It was my fault,” Gundhalinu said, feeling the paper crumple as he tightened his fist. The laborer turned to look at him, with one cheek red, leaving a red smudge on the wall as he turned away from it. There was no expression at all in his eyes now.
“No, sathra. It was his fault.” The foreman shook his head. “You—!” The worker flinched as the foreman’s voice caught him. “You’re fired.” He nodded, head down, and started away without looking back. “Sir,” the foreman said, pleased with himself. He bowed and backed out of their way.
“Thank you,” Gundhalinu muttered as he started on, because it was expected.
“Gods,” Vhanu said, glaring at the laborer’s retreating back, “why do they even let these people work on such an expensive project?”
“Because they work for almost nothing,” Gundhalinu answered wearily, looking straight ahead as they went on toward the tram stop. “Vhanu, did you ever imagine how it would feel to live as a lowborn?”
Vhanu glanced at him. “Certainly not.”
Gundhalinu touched a sequence on the glowing plate of the tram’s callbox. “What if it had happened? Do you think you’d like it?”
Vhanu laughed. “I think I’d rather die.”
“That’s what I always said.” Gundhalinu smiled ruefully, remembering when his own convictions had been as rock-hard, and as simplistic. He turned away as he opened the crumpled piece of paper the worker had pressed into his hand. He swore.
“What is it, Commander?”
Gundhalinu turned back, handing him the note. Vhanu read it, reacting as he saw the cryptic symbol scrawled at the bottom. “Survey … ?” He passed it back again, uncomprehending. “What does it mean?”
“Trouble.”
Vhanu looked back down the hallway, where the day-laborer had already disappeared. “Do you want me to notify security—?”
“No.” Gundhalinu’s fist tightened, crumpling the paper again. “This is a family matter. Call ahead for a shuttle. I have to get across to Hub Two.”
“The starport complex? But what about the meeting with Jarsakh-bhai and the board, and the inspection of the—”
“Cancel everything.” The tram arrived, he held the door. “Say … say it’s a family emergency. You won’t be lying.” He got on board. “I’ll be in touch.”