Capella Goodventure’s eyes came alive. “What do you want us to do?”
“I want you to spread the word among the Summers—to ask their help, when they’re out on the sea, to mark the presence of offworlders hunting for the mers, and do anything in their power to disrupt the hunt, without endangering themselves. You can interfere with the Hegemony’s ships and equipment, or better, disperse mer colonies when hunters are approaching.” They had never been able to make the mers understand the threat of an attack by hunters. The mers seemed incapable of comprehending the brutal unpredictability of human nature.
“Of course,” Capella Goodventure said. “But it will be hard. The offworlders have their technology—” The word grated like a curse. “It will be hard to get around them.”
“I know.” Moon nodded. “I’ll get you equipment of your own that can show you their locations and interfere with their tracking devices. I can get sonics that will panic the mers and drive them into the sea, to force them to save themselves. I don’t like the idea of that either—” she insisted, as Capella Goodventure frowned. “But I’d rather use the offworlders’ equipment against them than see the mers slaughtered. Wouldn’t you?”
Capella Goodventure pulled irritably at the heavy cloth of her scarf. “I don’t like anything to do with the offworlders’ technology, as you well know,” she said. “Learning how to use their equipment, even if it is to use it against them, goes against everything I believe to be right.”
Moon tensed at the other woman’s threat of refusal. But Capella Goodventure shrugged, her hands knotting deep in the pockets of her loose trousers. “But for the mers—only for them, this has nothing to do with you, and don’t you take credit for forcing me—I accept your offer. Equipment will go on the ships and be used for the purpose intended, to defy its masters and protect the Sea’s Children, if that is the Lady’s will. And I am sure She will let us know whether it is Her will, or not. …” She leaned over the rail and spat three times, reverently, into the water listening below. It was only then that Moon realized Capella Goodventure was speaking not to her, but to the Sea Mother Herself.
“Thank you, Capella Goodventure.” Moon smiled, satisfied. “The Lady is well-pleased with your dedication.” Not sure, herself, which one of them she spoke for, or of, she offered her own prayer of resolution and dedication to the nameless, lifeless thing they both served.
TIAMAT: Carbuncle
“Damn it, boss, you’re late—”
Reede jerked to a stop at the entrance to Starhiker’s as he was unexpectedly accosted by Niburu. “So what?” he said. He had almost not come at all, knowing that Ariele Dawntreader would be here, waiting for him, with that look in her eyes. He had come anyway, finally, telling himself that it was only to break off this lie of a relationship. He had to make sure that she stayed away from him from now on—absolutely sure. It had gotten them noticed, gotten him in trouble, made him vulnerable… and her. He couldn’t afford that, couldn’t afford to let anybody get close to him ever, while he wore the Source’s brand.
He told himself again that she was only a habit he had gotten into. Just because she loved the mers, and talked of growing up with the sea as if it were the most natural, beautiful thing in the world … just because she belonged to this world, and this strange city, that seemed to touch some part of his shattered soul with exquisite, inexplicable déjà vu… that was no reason to think he felt anything real about her. Just because when he talked of those things with her he knew peace, and a sense of his own humanity; just because she looked at him with longing, as if he were really a man, whole and sane… . Habits were made to be broken.
None of it meant shit, he told himself fiercely. It couldn’t; it was suicide, murder. She had saved his life. Now he would save hers, by never seeing her again.
“Ariele—” Niburu said.
“What about her?” Reede demanded. He caught Niburu by the shoulder, making the shorter man wince.
“She just left—” Niburu gestured down the Street.
Reede let him go, glancing away into the crowds. He thought he caught a glimpse of silver-white, wasn’t sure. “So what?” he repeated, oddly relieved that fate had granted him a delay. He started to push past Niburu, heading into the club.
“Reede!” Niburu shouted, in sudden exasperation. “Listen to me, you bastard!”
Reede turned back, mildly incredulous.
“I think maybe she’s in trouble.”
Reede came back to him. “What do you mean?”
“She was waiting for you like usual, and that kid Elco Teel started hassling her, trying to get her to go to some party with him, and she wouldn’t. And then all of a sudden she changed. It was night and day, suddenly she was all over him, and then they went out together.”
Reede frowned. “So she went to a party.” He gave a grunt of disgust. “You expect me to give a damn?”
Niburu caught his sleeve, holding him when he would have turned away again. “I said she changed. It wasn’t like she changed her mind, it was like something happened to her. Tor saw it too, she says Elco Teel slipped Ariele something.”
Tor—the woman who ran the club. He remembered that Niburu was having an affair with her. “She was practically eating him, right there in public, boss. It didn’t look right to me either. Tor said if you care anything about her, you ought to check it out.”
Reede swore, searching the crowd again, not seeing anyone now who might have been Ariele. “Which way did they go?”
“I sent Ananke to follow her. You can track him by remote.”
Reede looked down at him, with abrupt surprise. “Good.” He nodded. He touched Niburu’s shoulder briefly, as he switched on the tracer and found Ananke’s signal.
“You want me to go with you, boss?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said.
“I can keep up. If there’s trouble—”
“If there’s trouble it’s not your legs that get in my way. It’s your fucking conscience.” Reede turned on his heel and started off into the crowd.
The trail led him down the Street’s languid spiral; not up it like he’d expected, toward the townhouses that belonged to the rich Winters and offworlders. Instead Ananke, and the ones he was following, were headed into rougher territory, the interface of the lower Maze and the Lower City, where most of the Summers lived, closer to the sea—where warehouse districts and processing plants took up entire alleys, and things were likely to happen that nobody wanted to talk about the next day.
He pushed himself, moving faster as he realized where they were headed, as the crowds thinned out around him. At last he reached the entrance to an alley that looked entirely deserted. He hesitated and then started down it, as the tracer told him, in an insistent monotone, that it was not as deserted as it looked.
He moved deeper down the empty throat of silence, reaching into his heavy jacket. He drew his stunner and checked the charge as he walked like a hunting cat along the looming, ancient building fronts. At last he heard something, a faint echo of voices; he slowed, entering the claustrophobic accessway between warehouses. “Ananke!” he whispered, as his eyes made out a familiar form waiting in the shadows.
Ananke jerked around and Reede saw light flash on metal; saw his face go from grim fear to stupefied relief inside of a heartbeat. “Boss—” he murmured, sagging against the wall. The dagger he always wore at his belt, that Reede had never seen him draw, was in his hand. “I was going in—”