Wasteland of flint

such a place? Do I want to see such things? Do you really think humanity must be coddled in this way? Wouldn't -'

Hummingbird turned, eyes flashing. Gretchen felt his disapproval like a physical blow.

'You are very young, if you think men and women do not need protection. If you really believe this, you should take off your z-suit.'

'Peace! Peace, old crow.' Gretchen raised her hands. Her face grew still and Hummingbird – who had been about to speak sharply – waited instead.

'I have been thinking about my children,' she said. 'My mother and I – all the adults on our steading – watch after and protect them. Why am I angry if you watch over the Empire and all the sons and daughters of man?' Gretchen's mouth quirked into a wry smile, opening her palm toward him. 'On the mountain, you expressed a low opinion of my science, of tools. But you are a societal tool yourself – a very, very specialized one – a soldier of the mind rather than guns or steel.'

Even in the darkness, Gretchen could tell the nauallis's expression became sour.

'I am not making fun of you,' she said, unsealing a pocket on her vest. The packet of paper unfolded under clumsy, gloved fingertips. Inside was a glittering powder. In the starlight, Gretchen thought the crystals burned a golden color. 'You are aware of your purpose, which is far more than I could say. Do I take this dry or mix with water?'

The nauallis shifted, head turning towards her. Both goggle lenses caught the lantern light and shone brilliant silver. 'Put it under your tongue. Let it dissolve.'

Gretchen leaned her head back, fist cupped over her mouth. There was a sharp bitter taste.

'Now, you should lie down.' Hummingbird was at her side, guiding her into the cave. His voice grew distant, then louder again, before fading away entirely. Darkness closed around her, a comfortable, heavy old blanket.

Indefinable time passed.

Gretchen became aware of a single voice echoing in a void. She tried to open her eyes, thinking dawn had come and Hummingbird was calling her to wake, but she found only limitless darkness, unbroken by any source of light. There was nothing to touch or smell, taste or feel. Only echoing sound, only the one voice – almost familiar – tense and irritable. Gretchen realized the sound was a man – a very old man speaking in a sonorous, trained way – arguing bitterly.

Immediately, the voice split into two. A young woman made a sharp, angry reply.

'Even the least organism must adapt to changing circumstance! Everyone in service to the Mirror knows you plead the poor mouth to the ruling council and the colonial office, saying the naualli are stretched too thin.'

'We are!' The elderly man let his full voice boom in response. 'The Empire is too large for us to protect – changes will have to be made -'

'Abandonment, you mean.' Acid bitterness etched the woman's voice. 'Reserving the naualli to watch over the 'important' worlds, the Mйxica colonies, the Fleet! What of the other settlements? You will leave millions of humans without even the slightest protection.'

'We do not have enough men to watch every squatter's camp and unlicensed mining station.' Gretchen could tell the elderly man was entirely sure of himself and his policy. Certainty throbbed in every perfectly enunciated syllable. 'We hold a hundred worlds which are not full! Even on older colonies like Tlaxcallan and Shinjuku there is room for millions. Those worlds are already watched, already guarded by the tlamatinime. Without more judges, we dare do nothing else.'

'Then,' the woman said, drawing a breath, 'let us help.'

'No.' The man's voice was sharp and firm.

'Change the policy,' the woman pleaded. 'Let the tititil go out among the people. Let us watch in darkness, as the naualli do.' Her tone changed, once more veering into anger. 'Abandoning the frontier colonies will suffocate the Empire. You know as well as I what will happen to fresh populations sent to Tlaxcallan – or Shinjuku or Budokan – they will find only the lowest professions open to them. Doctors and scientists will toil in laundries or dig in the fields. They will be servants!'

'These are not matters for us to decide,' the man said patronizingly. 'Each man – and each woman – finds their own way in the world. Only the survival of the race is our concern.'

The woman made an almost familiar hissing sound. 'You don't care about the race. You only care about your calmecac friends and the hunger of the pochteca companies for cheap labor! What organism can thrive in an ever-shrinking niche? Nothing! If you cared about the race, you'd let us train alongside the men and stand watch as they do.'

'Foolishness.' A faint thread of irritation wove into the man's voice. 'Women and men do not train together. The ancient traditions are wise to forbid such things. Like to like is the proper path. So it has been, so it will be.' There was a creaking sound and Gretchen wondered in confusion where a wooden chair had come from. There are no chairs in our cave.

'You will return to your classes and duties, Papalotl. We will not speak of this again.'

The elderly man's voice held a tone of complete finality. Gretchen strained to hear more, but the two voices dissolved into only one and Anderssen recognized the sound, at last, as Hummingbird muttering under his breath.

Without any kind of transition – no slow lightening, no sudden brilliance – Gretchen was staring at the roof of the overhang, her gaze fixed upon gray and black stone. The dark, striated rock was split with dozens of crevices and fissures. She could see the way each layer of clay had been compressed by the eons of terrible pressure into flat sheets with unexpected clarity. The violence of the mountain range's creation had tilted the ancient sediment, exposing the edges of the layers to the wind from the east. Now they eroded, millimeter by millimeter, and shaled away from the rooftop a finger's width at a time. Gretchen became uneasy, then almost frantic, realizing she could pick out the smallest detail of the eroding stone.

She could even see the faint, shining presence of minute Ephesian stoneflowers growing in cracks between the slabs. She could see them moving as the light of the sun began to gild the roof of the overhang. Though Gretchen was unaware of making a noise, there was suddenly a sharp gasp of pain echoing in her ears.

A shadow moved on the ceiling, almost lost among the crevices. She heard boots crunching on sand. Gretchen rolled her head to the side, feeling strangely empty, as though everything inside her body had been drawn out through a very small straw.

Hummingbird approached, silhouetted against the rising sun. Behind him, the wings of both Midge s were shining with fabulous rainbow brilliance.

For an instant, as the shadow moved toward her, Gretchen saw something strange. A shifting cloud of Hummingbirds filled the mouth of the cave. Some wore their djellaba over one shoulder, some had none, the z-suits of some were dark, some light. Some of the figures had long hair, some short. One indistinct shape had pale skin. The sound of boots on gravel grew deafening, then subsided.

The old Mйxica leaned over her, smoky green eyes concerned. His mouth opened, one hand reaching down to touch her shoulder. Smoke billowed from between his teeth, curling around his goggles and lean, weathered face.

Gretchen closed her eyes, head thudding back on the blanket. She welcomed onrushing darkness with vast relief.

The Palenque

Magdalena leaned forward on one paw, yellow eyes intent on the main v-pane.

'What is he doing? Where's Doctor Anderssen?' Parker slouched against the control panel, his thin body enveloped in a big, bulky field jacket. He looked cold and a little ill, though the bridge was really very warm from the ring of heaters around the command station.

'She must be inside the cave,' Maggie replied, adjusting the light levels of the feed. The dawn line had just passed over the eastern side of the Escarpment and everything was terribly washed-out. The figure of Hummingbird could be seen moving around the tied-down ultralights. The Mйxica knelt momentarily beside both of the Midge s. 'He's checking the sand anchors.'