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"Don't worry," he assured me gruffly, "this is my project. I have to be able
to return you to your couch-mate." He grinned, that he had used the proper
term. If one would seem less a danger, seek aid against some small threat.
"You must be sure of your safety, to wait upon him," I observed.
"If I left him there, knowing of us, I'd be a fool." He sighed, sat back in
his chair. "Your friend Khys gave us a time limit within which to return you.
My guess is, he's pretty busy right now, and that he'll wait. If he's got all
that power, he'll take you when it's convenient. If not, I don't have to
worry."
"What happens at the end of the time limit?"
"If we don't return you?" Softly, plucking tiny high notes. "He'll relieve us
of our most distant moon, Niania." His eyes searched my face, his own
expression uncommitted. "That moon is populous," he added. "The destruction
that such an unprecedented occurrence would wreak is incalculable. There are
the other two moons to consider. And upon M'ksakka, earthquake, flooding,
possible volcanic eruption, axial realignment, violent turbulence too much to
conceive." I only sat and looked at him. I was not shocked, as he seemed to
be. "Could he, realistically, do such a thing?"
"Before the battle of Amarsa, '695, even I could have done it." I raised my
arms above my head, WIND FROM THE ABYSS
157
stretched, wriggling. "Of course he can. It is easy to just unmake something,
especially something large. Harder it is to take a thing and change it,
leaving all else around it unchanged. Did he choose to take such drastic
measures, he would, I am sure, contain all side effects. Khys has a great
reverence for life. He would not kill so many as you project."
M'tras shielded his eyes with a spread hand. "You think he'll do it, then," he
said from under it. "You think he can do it."
"I have never known him to break his expressed word," I said solemnly. "Give
me back to him now, and you might avoid all that will otherwise follow."
"I can't do that. I have great deal at stake. I need time."
"Khys has given you time," I whispered, wishing he had not done so.
"I don't believe any of this," he spat. "I can't believe it. I'm sitting here
actually considering aborting a project because some back-space monarch
threatened a not-much-saner local officer who is long overdue for a rest:
'Divest you of your smallest moon' was the quote I got! It's unreasonable to
demand that we stretch our credibility that far." He rose and paced, stopped
before me.
"What did your computer say?" I asked
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Can't get a sane answer put of it, either. The basic information we fed it
has shown up faulty. I'm going to have to tear down the program and start
again. All I want the bastard to do is negotiate! Behave like a civilized
being, that's not too much to ask, is it?" He glowered down upon me, his hips
jutting forward. "Is it?" he snarled.
"Losing," I said, craning my neck to meet his eyes, "is not in Khys's
conception."
He looked at me with evident disgust. "I don't know who you people think you
are," he said
158
Janet E. Morris through curled lips, as the partition between the sleeping
slabs began chiming. His boots slapping the steel floor, he hurried to it,
palmed its face, and flopped down upon the velveted slab before it.
"What!" he snapped at the partition. "It better be good."
"Uh ... we have collection on Dellin, dock fifty-seven minutes." The partition
spoke in Maref's voice. "Systems check out fine. Your favorite toy thinks it
needs alternate instructions, having aborted when the probability low you
specified was reached. The boss wants to talk to you. We're rigged right to
jump, and holding." I found myself halfway to the slab, stopped, crossed the
distance.
"#67-a4-32. It's a Systems A reel I brought with me," said M'tras, his belt as
jitter-lit as the partition, where a small replica of Maref's face chewed its
lips.
"Wait. Got it," said Maref, pleased at whatever he saw offscreen. A blurred
figure passed behind his head, was gone. M'tras patted the slab beside him. I
perched there. "And where" Maref grinned "will that take us, if you don't
mind me asking?"
"My place. Wide elipse. Orbit only," said M'tras, in the tone of one who will
hear no argument, sprawling more widely upon the slab.
Maref raised one tiny eyebrow. "You'll clear it?"
"My presence clears it. But I'll call the lady and confirm, gladly."
"Fine with me," he said, miniature eyes roving. "Having any success?" They
stopped upon me, well-replicated M'ksakkan blue.
"Some," M'tras said. "I'll let you know later."
"You ought to spend some of that charm on you-know-who. She's feeling
resentful, usurped. This side trip won't help."
"It might save her unfortunately extended life," he said. "I'll call you
back." And the face was gone, the screen panel retracted, replaced by what
WIND FROM THE ABYSS
159
I had first seen there: an attractive arrangement of geometric light forms.
M'tras stretched hugely, muscles sliding under the black, clinging uniform. I
wished I had retained my seat at the table. What might lurk there, beneath the
cloth? His appraising glance was unmistakable. I hoped he was not barbed, as [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]