Tatja Grimm's World

“Don’t, Svir!”

Time slowed to a human pace. In a single second, Profirio had forced a stalemate. Svir realized this as he glanced at Jolle, who had his weapon nearly unslung—and could probably aim and shoot in a fraction of a second. But he didn’t move. Svir looked at Profirio, who appeared to be unarmed. This was the Celestial Servant who had talked to him in the tunnel. But now his face seemed younger, though very different from Jolle’s. Above his beard, Jolle’s face was smooth, deeply tanned. Profirio’s was paler, and creased with frown and smile lines.

Why didn’t Jolle shoot? Svir glanced at Tatja. Her crossbow was leveled and aimed—at Jolle. He looked at the glowing pile Profirio had spilled from the cabinet, and realized that at the instant he had accused Jolle of killing Cor, on a different level he had convinced Tatja that things were not as they seemed. Now that Jolle’s machine lay exposed, Svir could see there was a shape imbedded in its fiery matrix. That shape was horribly familiar: An oval lump, six inches across. From the lump led a ropelike strand, with finer strands splitting off it. Barely visible, the finest ones touched the silvery boxes that surrounded the pile. How many times had he passed that exhibit at U Krirsarque Museum, and shuddered at the pickled brain and spinal column there? Here the spinal column was bent into a circle to conserve space, but the rest was all the same.

As it lay on the floor, the pulsing treasure whimpered. Broken away from its machine tasks and left for a moment without a program, its high-pitched voice keened over and over, “Where am I, where am I, am I…” and the answer was nowhere anymore. Several of the astronomers fled outside, preferring hypoxia to the nightmare that had come to their shrine.

So Jolle was the slaver, after all. The revelation had strangely little effect on Svir; it was irrelevant what Jolle had done to strangers. The stock of his crossbow drifted back to the intruder. Svir’s universe shrank to Profirio’s blue-lit face. This murderer must die.

Less than five seconds had passed since the other’s appearance. Now he spoke for the second time. “And this is how he did it!” His hand whipped out to slap the side of the signaler. Red lightning. Even at ten feet, the heat of that beam scorched his face—just as it had once before. The beam clipped the dome, and shards of wood and glass showered down. Prompted by this cue, the thing on the floor spoke, its voice suddenly deep and male, “Ter ashe gaul, Jolle.”

The memory of the last time Svir saw that light was suddenly very sharp: Jolle had dismissed the signalman just before it happened. He had moved himself out of the way. Jolle put the golem in the tree and made it use the signaler to kill. Svir felt his muscles jerk. All men had been puppets to these three. Even now he was being maneuvered as unsubtly as a skoat. That didn’t matter. He was remembering a charred face; he would never quite be able to remember how Cor’s face had looked in life. His crossbow swung toward Jolle. The bearded one hardly seemed to notice. He was talking low and fast, to Tatja. “We can be. You love—”

Svir’s finger pressed the trigger. Jolle reacted with characteristic speed, bringing his weapon down before Svir could shoot. The alien’s left leg was blown off as Tatja loosed her bolt. The last thing Svir felt was the explosion as Jolle’s bolt smashed everything into darkness.

Twenty-five

The daybat fluttered through the intricately wound branches of the needle tree, settled beside a large pink flower, and folded its blue and orange wings. Its tiny, sleek head moved back and forth as it wiggled between the petals and licked the juices in the base of the flower. This far from human settlement, most animals were not shy of humans—the flower in question was barely fifteen inches above Svir’s head.

O’rmouth was one hundred miles away. The mountains dominated the horizon to the east—if one chose to look through the leaves and green branches in that direction. Here the air was thick and rich, just warm enough so that the breeze moving along the ground was pleasantly cool. Here the sunlight was muted by green leaves, not reflected with merciless intensity by snow and ice.

Three hundred feet away, their battle group was setting up bivouac. The universe had chosen to wear its mask of light and love today. Svir recognized the deception. The real world was snow and ice and red thunderbolts that…

There was a crackle of branches as Tatja entered the little open spot by the tent and sat down beside him. The daybat jerked its head from the flower and looked warily about, then went back within the pinkness.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Tatja wore a gray fatigue uniform. There was about her none of the purpose or intensity that had driven her before. The Doomsdaymen were far behind them. There were no more threats to face.

Tatja’s hand slipped onto his elbow. Then her face was before his and her eyes bore the same quiet, personal interest that he had seen more than four years ago in a certain tavern in Krirsarque—where this dream had begun. “A lot of people died in this adventure, and I am truly sorry it had to be … but Cor I miss the most. The most.”

He tried to produce an ironic chuckle but all that came out was a croaking sound.

“What?” asked Tatja.

He opened his mouth again. The words came fast, low, slurred. “I was just thinking if Jolle’s golem had been a bit more accurate he could have had me too an’ maybe saved himself later on.”

She raised her hand to his shoulder. “The golem was perfectly accurate, Svir. By killing her, Jolle made you into a tool and eliminated a major threat. Of all the people there, Cor was the only one I might have listened to.” Tatja’s voice faded. “In all the world, Cor and Rey Guille were the only ones I might have listened to… How I wish I hadn’t frightened Rey away. I was just a brilliant animal when I found Tarulle; they made me a person. For a while I had a home, people I could talk to. Rey’s telescope was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He and Cor seemed so smart, almost like me. The first days on the barge were the happiest of my life. Now years have passed … and those I didn’t drive away are all dead. Friends deserve better.” She made a peculiar choking sound.

“No, Svir. Jolle meant to kill Cor. And it was only luck that his plan did not work. You see, Profirio was less than one hundred yards from the bunker when the golem shot Cor. Profe had already been separated from his supporters. He was trying to move across the no-man’s-land to our side. He saw the murder; eventually he learned who had been killed. He talked to you during the walk up the snow tunnel. By the time we reached the observatory, he knew how Jolle was using you, and he knew how to approach you.

“He did sneak below the main floor, as we thought. But you remember that the water from the wind turbines had to go into those quarters. The pipe was too small for him, but the ground around the entrance hole was not rock hard. Profe dug his way out during the first hours. Jolle was too near his goal to take everything into account and I … I wasn’t thinking very straight myself. Anyway, Profe got outside, and while you and Jolle were mounting the signaler, he crawled onto the dome and down into the telescope.”

Svir looked at her face, saw without comprehension the tears in her eyes. His attention wandered back to the bat on the branch above them. The flower’s juices splashed over the petals and a sweet smell drifted down. He had no interest in what had happened in the last hundred hours—in whether the world had been saved or not. His hands clenched and unclenched as he considered what he would do if that bat were so incautious as to come lower.

“Svir, you aren’t the only one who had his world kicked to pieces.” She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “I loved Jolle. He manipulated me just as I have all the rest. If I hadn’t been fooled, most of this would not have happened. Cor would be alive.

“But this doesn’t change the fact that I really loved him. Jolle turned out to be evil, but he was also … someone strong, who seemed to like me. Profe is a kinder man. But he’s not Jolle.

“I’m going to disappear tonight, for good. So is Profe. 1 won’t go into the details—I’m afraid they wouldn’t be completely intelligible—but Profe signaled his vehicle last night, and we have transportation now. 1 imagine Haarm Wechsler will be quite relieved. The bureaucrats will have to find a Crown Surrogate, but after the way I treated them above O’rmouth, I don’t think they’re interested in having a ruler as unreliable as me. They may even believe I’m something supernatural. Yet everything I did was child’s play.

“Now … I’m so scared. After tonight, everyone I meet will be as smart as me. Once more I’m just a bright animal. Profe can’t lie nearly as well as Jolle: Profe is really not sure if I’ll