there. . . . Where is it?”
“Toward the center of the island.”
“Ah,” Arbuk replied, as he sank into the well-padded comfort of his favorite chair. “Then I think we’re in luck. . . . The wings believe that those who spend too much time in the island’s interior sicken and die. That’s superstitious nonsense of course, but variants aren’t as intelligent as we are, which makes them susceptible to ridiculous beliefs. Odds are that the transfer station is much as you left it.”
Both Tepho and Logos knew good news when it was placed in front of them. If wings who ventured in toward the center of Buru became ill, it was probably because the star gate’s power core was up and running, but neither entity saw any reason to share that piece of intelligence with the local.
“Good,” Tepho said blandly, as he stood with his back to the crackling fi?re. “So, given the fact that the phibs control the waters around Buru, how should we proceed?”
Arbuk had already given the matter some thought. Because if the weird little cripple and his talking shirt really could transport themselves up to the moon and reactivate a network of star gates, then he intended not only to benefi?t from the technology but control it. So, as the land-lord locked his hands together across the vast expanse of his belly, the essence of a plan had already been formed in his mind. “It’s dangerous to build ships in coastal towns,” the nobleman explained, “because the phibs have a tendency to come ashore and burn them.
“However, unbeknownst to the degenerate freaks, three steam-powered ironclads are nearing completion about twenty miles inland from Esperance. Within days, a week at most, we can bring those ships west by rail. Then, before the phibs can stop us, we will set sail for Buru. What do you think of that?”
Planning was best of course, but Tepho was grateful whenever good luck came his way, and he smiled crookedly as he spoke. “I think you’re brilliant.”
The city of Shimmer
The water at the center of the council chamber was chest deep, which made it diffi?cult to walk around, but allowed the phib politicians to sit half-supported by the water, fl?oat on their backs, or, in the case of those who felt the need to move about, swim out into the deep end and tread water. In the meantime, Mayor Pontho and representatives from the other city-states were seated on a stage above the deep end, where they were three hours and twenty minutes into a discussion of whether the city of Shimmer would be left to tackle Arbuk’s forces alone or would receive assistance from the other communities. The subject was rather controversial because the other mayors, who were understandably reluctant to upset the delicate status quo, had their doubts regarding the entire notion of star gates and wanted to know what was in it for them and their constituencies. Rebo, who had been forced to remain immersed in the water while waiting for the seemingly endless debate to end, was busy looking at his pruny hands when Pontho fi?nally called his name. Norr, who was half-fl?oating beside him, had to jab the runner in the ribs in order to get his attention. “Jak . . . she called your name!”
The phibs watched in amusement as Rebo churned his way across the deep end of the chamber to a set of stairs that led up onto the stage. The runner was wearing a pair of cutoffs, but still felt naked as he padded across the platform and left a trail of wet footprints to mark his progress. There were nine mayors, including Pontho, and all had seats at the oval table. None wore anything more elaborate than a genital pouch, and some were completely naked. Five of the politicians were female, which meant that four were male, all of whom appeared to be older rather than younger. There was a raised bench on which guests could sit, but the norm chose to stand. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Jak Rebo,” Pontho said. “Some of you have expressed concerns where Lord Arbuk’s new ironclads are concerned. They are by all reports powerful vessels that could interfere with an attack on Buru. . . . However, thanks to military expertise acquired on other planets, Citizen Rebo is ready with a plan that could neutralize the threat. Citizen Rebo?”
Rebo didn’t have any military expertise, not really, but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to say that. So, with all eyes upon him, the runner proceeded to outline his plan.
“As you know, Mayor Pontho’s agents report that three steam-powered warships are presently being constructed about twenty miles inland from the coastal city of Esperance, and will be ready within a matter of days.”
That was the projectionist’s cue, and the map appeared on the ceiling, where those who were fl?oating on their backs could see it, as well as on all three of the walls around the stage. But unlike the maps used ashore, this one ignored all but the most important roads to focus on the capillary-like network of streams and rivers that fed the oceans. A pistol-shaped electronic pointer had been left for Rebo’s use. After pointing the device at the wall, the runner pressed the fi?ring stud and was immediately rewarded with a red dot. It slid up to the point where the name esperance marked a large bay. And there, fl?owing into the harbor, was a narrow fi?nger of blue. “This is the Otero River,” the offworlder said. “What I propose to do is lead a party of raiders upstream, march a mile overland to the point where the ironclads are being constructed, and destroy them before the locals can transport them to Esperance. Then, with the steamships out of the way, we can attack Buru.”
It was a simple plan, but still worthy of another hour’s debate, and Rebo was back in the water fl?oating on his back when the fi?nal decision was made. A fi?nding that ultimately had more to do with a widely shared desire to destroy Arbuk’s warships than any particular enthusiasm for the offworlders, their talking snake, or the system of star gates they were so obsessed with. “Thank you,” Pontho said sincerely, as the results of the unanimous vote were announced.
“You won’t be sorry.”
Rebo wasn’t so sure about that, but hoped it was true, and let his hand stray to the good luck amulet that he wore around his neck. Except that the object wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for some time, even though he was going to need it more than ever.
Norr, who knew the runner pretty well by then, and could
“see” the doubts that swirled around Rebo, took his hand in hers. Nothing was said, and nothing needed to be. The end of the journey was near, and if they could survive the trials ahead, a much more pleasant journey was about to begin.
The village of Wattl
Inu Harluck was drunk, or had been, back before he stumbled out of the Evil Eye tavern, entered the adjacent stable, and passed out. It was a blissful state, and one that the fi?sherman-pirate preferred to remain in for as long as possible, which made the pain that much more annoying. But there was no escaping it, so Harluck was forced to surface and open his eyes. Shaz saw the man’s eyelids fl?utter, uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and removed the knife tip from the local’s neck. A single drop of blood welled up to mark the point where the surface of the drunk’s skin had been broken. “It’s time to wake up,” the combat variant said contemptuously. “There’s money to be made.”
