ABOARD THE NANIWA
INSIDE THE POCKET, FOUR LIGHT-MINUTES FROM THE PINHOLE
Kosho woke to the sound of a reminder chime from her comp. Lying in the dimness of her cabin, she felt perfectly fine for approximately three seconds-then she moved her head, looking over at the screen to see what needed doing-and every muscle, joint, and tissue in her body complained. Oh Queen of the Heavenly Mountain, she thought blearily, did I take that many meds in the last two days?
The bone-deep achiness in her back, legs, and shoulders argued that she had, in fact, taken way too many stayawakes for her body to process in only four hours of sleep. Regardless, she swung out of her bunk and padded on bare feet to the comp.
Ventral end of magazine conveyor thirty-two, in fifteen minutes? Susan scratched her head, feeling an irritating graininess in her scalp, and realized she’d collapsed into bed without even washing her face. The sensation of grime clogging every pore on her body made the Nisei woman shudder, so she tapped a quick “acknowledged” into the comp and fled to the shower.
Fourteen minutes later, in a fresh uniform and with a bulb of tea in her hand, Kosho stepped out of the tube- and nodded in greeting to a junior engineer waiting for her in the little offloading station. Socho Juarez had attached himself to her as soon as Susan had left her cabin.
“ Kikan-shi Ige, good morning. Sho-sa Chac is waiting for me?”
“They all are, kyo. This way please.” The Mixtec engineer gestured for her to precede him.
They all are? Curious, Kosho drained the rest of the bulb and followed along. What is Chac up to now?
Almost immediately they descended a gangway passing through two layers of battle-steel and stepped out onto a hexacarbon walkway running the length of a railway tube. Susan recognized part of the Backbone from all the work they’d done during trials to get the maglev system up and running, but the number of crewmen standing along the sides of the tube ahead of her was surprising. There were at least thirty kashikan-hei with logistics flashes on their z-suits lined up along the walkways on either side of the rail. At the far end of the group, she could see Oc Chac’s polished visage watching for her, though the slim figure at his side was unfamiliar.
The Mayan’s companion was young, no more than a cadet, and what she could see of his face indicated he was straight from the Center, possibly from Tenochtitlan itself, with shining black hair like smoke tied back behind a smooth copper-colored neck. What piqued her interest, however, was the elaborate and beautiful costume he was wearing. A classical Nahuatl mantle formed of tiny gleaming white feathers was draped across his shoulders and back, leaving the front open to reveal a fitted shirt ablaze with green and gold and iridescent yellow. The shirt was also made of feathers, even smaller and more downlike than the mantle. Most of his face was hidden by a hummingbird mask figured in black and red and green-and the mask itself seemed to be formed of beaten gold inlaid with semiprecious stones and jade. His feet were bare on the platform, though tiny conch shells were braided around his ankles. As she approached, the kashikan-hei lining the side walls bowed respectfully, their caps pressed over their hearts, and Oc Chac saluted smartly.
The Mayan officer had set aside his z-suit and uniform and was wearing a hooded cotton cloak and tunic. Like the young man, his feet were bare, though unadorned.
“ Chu-sa on deck,” Juarez announced, his voice echoing in the tubeway. With a rustle, everyone knelt save the Huitzitzilnahualli and Susan. She glanced questioningly to Oc Chac, who motioned for her to step to the edge of the tube beside him and remain standing. When she had done so, the Mayan squatted down with a drum between his legs. A flat, calloused palm struck the stretched leather and a deep, basso boom-boom sounded. In the rail tunnel, the sound reverberated in each direction, generating a skin-tingling vibration.
In the first silence, the hummingbird dancer raised his arms, lifting one foot. As he did, the white mantle stiffened, conforming to his muscular arms, and the ends extended, becoming proper wings.
Stamp! His bare foot fell, striking the platform. In the same instant, Oc Chac struck the drum again. BOOM!
Thus the youth danced, first in an irregular pattern which wended this way and that, each light footstep ringing in the tubeway with the slap of his bare feet swallowed by the deep voice of the drum. Watching him, seeing the rapt faces of her crewmen and feeling a tension singing in the air, Susan felt chilled. Back and forth along the section of rail, the Huitzitzilnahualli danced as though flying, an irregular, swooping motion. From one end of the watching crowd he passed to the other, sometimes spinning, sometimes leaping in short, tightly controlled hops. The walls of the tubeway began to vibrate in time with the drum-faster now, as the dancer pushed himself, speeding through the intricacy of the pattern-and both of the Mayan’s hands were a blur on the huehuetl.
Suddenly, as the hummingbird dancer completed a high leap, the drum stopped cold.
The boy landed, instantly still, wings draped over his face, covering his head and shoulders.
Not even a breath disturbed the silence. Susan could feel her heart thudding in her chest.
A new sound entered-the soft wail of a conch-bellied mandolin-and the dancer contorted, flinging back his wings, exposing his iridescent chest to the roof of the tubeway. Kosho stiffened and more than one crewman gasped aloud. A thick crimson streak had appeared over the boy’s heart. It seemed as if blood were leaking from beneath the feathers, pooling under the green and gold. The Huitzitzilnahualli leapt straight up, flinging himself backward in a stunning reverse, and as he did so, the white mantle and the gleaming wings became speckled with irregular black spots.
He landed square on both feet, but now his stance had changed. No longer did he move with such delicate grace-instead he spun, wings inward, showing his broad back and mantle to the watching men-and with every revolution, swinging into ever tighter circles, the whiteness was pierced again and again by black, corrosive streaks. In a flurry of motion, the dancer was suddenly prostrate before Chac and Kosho at the end of the lines of watching men-and his mantle, his chest, his legs were all but consumed by stippled gray-on-black darkness, as though his limbs had washed away in a tide of corruption.
BOOM. The drum sounded fully one more time, the boy head down on the platform before them, his breath coming in audible gasps. Then Oc Chac struck the sides of the drum sharply with stiffened fingers, drawing everyone’s attention away from the Huitzitzilnahualli and onto himself.
“A poet once said:
Be joyful, there are intoxicating flowers in our hands. Put on these necklaces of flowers, flowers from the season of rain, fragrant flowers opening their corollas. Here flies a bird, he chatters and sings, he comes from the house of the Risen Lord. With flowers in our hands, we are happy. With songs upon our lips, sadness disappears. O great-hearted ones, in this way, your sorrow is put to flight. The Giver of Life, the Sacrificed One, he has sent them. He invents them, the joyous flowers, These put your sorrow to flight.”
When the Mayan’s basso voice fell silent, Susan realized the hummingbird dancer had vanished like smoke among the fir trees and the faces of all the engineers and Backbone kashikan-hei were open and glad, empty of fear or fatigue. Even she felt refreshed, in a strange way, as though some of the weight upon her shoulders had been lifted.
Several hours later, after taking her station in Command, Kosho saw Oc Chac enter, once more in his usual Fleet uniform. She beckoned him over, her expression curious. “ Sho-sa, my thanks for this morning’s invitation.”
The Mayan nodded grudgingly. “You were most welcome, kyo.”
“Did you need me to be present?” She tilted her head to one side, watching him closely. “Should the commanding officer attend these ceremonies?”
“ Chu-sa… No, it is not necessary. Most captains do not appear.”
“Was my presence helpful?” Kosho leaned back a little in the shockchair. “You let me stand-you made me part of the ritual. Were I absent, would you have taken my place?”
Chac shook his head. “No, kyo. The officer in charge of the damaged area would usually represent the Risen Lord-but Goroemon was off-watch, having stood in for mine, and I thought… I thought you might find it interesting.”
