voice sounded thin. Jace studied him, didn’t see that the bird appeared much different, but he was still learning what a healthy bird might look like. Jace reached out with his forefinger and stroked the bird’s good wing. “Easy, now.”
Feathers rustling, Zem tipped his head and stared at him, blinked.
“I’ll do that.”
Zem gave a mental sigh.
“We’ll get you well. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Jace vowed. He already loved the bird fiercely.
Just that had him forgetting that people avoided him. He, Jace Bayrum, had a
Head high and with a steady step, Jace walked past all the tables, ignoring more whispers and over to the cook again. Trago the Healer jerked his elbow into Jace’s path but with a fancy bit of footwork, he dodged. Trago cursed at him anyway.
Without actually looking Jace in the eye, the cook scraped some raw ground clucker and furrabeast onto Zem’s plate and Jace returned to the end of the table where he and Zem sat alone.
So what if the others thought he was bad luck? Even resented him enough that they preferred to think him a thief? He had Zem, and Maxima believed in him. That should be enough.
He’d accept it as enough.
Raz Cherry T’Elecampane stepped into the tent and walked straight to Jace. Though the actor’s face wore a mild expression, sparks of ire danced in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Jace asked.
“I don’t know how the rumor started and how it passed around so quickly, but your ‘bad luck’ has tainted my,
Thirteen
What happened?” Jace asked.
Raz T’Elecampane scowled down at him. “Gossip has already circulated the camp that it would be dangerous to open the box because it might have deadly Earth spores in it. A terrible virus from Earth that will kill Celtans . . . or something.”
Jace choked on a bite of clucker. “What!”
Raz nodded. “Who knows what we might open and release? Stories of cursed camps and expeditions are making the rounds, too. I take it you did not start this rumor?”
Jace stood, kept his expression mild because others were watching. He spoke in a low tone, “No.”
“Gossip also stated that you instigated that notion.”
Jace shrugged, trying to appear less angry than he was. “Someone has a hate on for me . . . and I didn’t have much time to start such a rumor. I took Landolt to his tent, neither he nor one of his partners talked to me. I didn’t talk to them.”
He raised his voice so it echoed throughout the tent. “On my way here I talked with Andic Sanicle and Funa Twinevine, both of whom are here. They are the only ones I spoke with. They know what I know.”
“You fligger!” Funa yelled, then rose from her place, dumped her metal plate and utensils into the cleanser with a clatter and stormed out.
Jace nodded at Funa. “She thinks I’m bad luck, so does Sanicle. I wouldn’t put it past either one of them to talk me down, and Zem and I reached here after they did. Did the gossip come from this direction?”
Raz shrugged. “Who knows? Everyone here has enough Flair to be telepathic with good friends or lovers.” His smile sharpened with teeth. “You’ve had several lovers here.”
“Yes,” Jace said. “I’m friendly with a lot of people. Doesn’t mean that someone didn’t set me up for theft and isn’t smearing my name. Someone wants my rep blackened.”
Raz rocked back on his heels, also seemingly casual. “Perhaps.” His blue stare met Jace’s. Cold, considering. “Once a project gets a reputation as being unlucky, it’s hard to keep it going, keep staff.”
“And any little thing that goes wrong is blamed on bad luck . . . or me,” Jace said. Since his appetite for the rest of his meal—overcooked greens—had been spoiled, Jace picked up his metal plate, took it over to the garbage, scraped off the leftovers, and slipped his plate in a track of the cleansing bin. When he turned back toward his place, Raz was gone.
Jace felt the gazes of everyone else in the tent. Bending down, he offered his arm to Zem and left.
Not wanting to gather with the others to watch the communications set up—he knew no one in Druida and had on a good brood—he spent time using a shovel. He dug with others at the place where the Elecampanes believed the main entrance to the starship to be . . . who knew how many levels down? They only had two big earth-movers that anyone with a little Flair could power. Jace wasn’t given the option to use those, either.
After lunch, Glyssa strolled with most of the camp to the new communications center, which still didn’t look like much to her. Lepid coursed ahead of her and ran back.
He barked in excitement. About two-thirds of the folk looked on indulgently, but the rest scowled at his behavior. Nothing she could do to curb him right now, but she got the idea that they should take walks—all right, she’d walk and Lepid would run—a couple of times a day. The exercise would do her good and she’d explore more of the camp, maybe even walk along the outline of the ship that was within sight of the tents.
Soon she headed back to work, stretching her legs as she sauntered in the open air, enjoying the sunlight. In Druida City, she spent most of her time in the PublicLibrary and teleported home to her Residence, hardly ever getting outside . . . and forgetting about time as it passed.
She already knew that here in the camp she’d be very aware of the time. Unlike in the city, nature affected people’s lives greatly here. Breakfast began near or at dawn, lunch at midday and dinner just before dark. A couple of septhours after dark and campfire stories everyone retired. Meals, sunrise, and sunset were the main time distinctions of the day.
She smiled, knowing she’d fall into that mind-set, too.
After dinner, Lepid deserted Glyssa again, saying that Zem needed more food, hadn’t been eating enough. Since her small fox appeared unaccustomedly serious, she thought he told the truth. So she agreed he needed to hunt more for his “good friend.”
She had no illusion why Lepid liked Zem so much. Her FoxFam had saved the bird and loved being the hero. Something she sensed was true of her HeartMate, too.
Not something she had ever considered important, like knowledge, or learning a new skill.
Had to be an aspect of self-identity. She didn’t need to be a hero, didn’t much—
But if she had to divide them into groups she believed there were three: one bunch liked her for herself, was amused by Lepid, liked animals. Such as the Healer Symphyta.
One group thought she was snobbish, too fussy, and believed she embodied a number of other negative characteristics, or these folk simply
A calculating third portion thought she could be useful to them, maybe manipulated by them—a scholar who understood esoteric, uninteresting matters, but with little innate cleverness. Funa Twinevine.
She found herself building a persona to shield herself, not being completely open, for the first time in her
