front of them, and they climbed in.
'Welcome to Kharemough,' Cress said pointedly in Tiamatan, 'where the gods speak Sandhi.' He grinned at her.
Elsevier claimed the next taxi; the Kharemoughi Nontech at the controls gave them a group stare of mild astonishment when she asked for the estate of KR Aspundh. She held up a graceful hand, showing him the ruby signet she wore on her thumb. He turned back to the controls without comment and began a long arc around the perimeter of the field.
'What's wrong with the sky, anyway?' Moon peered out through the taxi dome; the sky was brightening, the aurora faded before the light of day.
'Industrial pollution,' Elsevier said quietly. 'Are we forever doomed to repeat the errors of our ancestors? Is history hereditary, or environmental?'
'Nicely put,' Cress said, glancing back from his seat beside the pilot.
'TJ's words.' Elsevier brushed the compliment aside like a gnat. 'Kharemough was fairly well-off even after the Old Empire fell apart, Moon. They still had some industrial base — though hardship was great here, like everywhere, after they were cut off from the interstellar trade that had supported them. They learned to do things for themselves, but in ways that were cruder and infinitely more wasteful. They suffered the consequences of pollution and overpopulation; they almost destroyed their world over a millennium ago, before they got clean hydrogen fusion and moved most of their industry into space. But now they've exchanged their old problems for new ones — not such serious ones, at present, but who knows what they'll mean to future generations? Cause and effect; there's no escape from them.'
Moon touched the tattoo hidden under the enameled sunburst collar, looked past Silky at the sea of green foliage beneath them. She leaned away from him as she looked down; knowing he was afraid of her touch, and still secretly repelled by his glistening alien ness They had drifted up and across the narrow band of city — mostly, from what she could see, warehouses and shops of every imaginable kind, not yet stirring to the day; but not many apartments or houses. Now they were rising over open woodland, broken by small park like clearings holding private homes. 'I thought you said there were still too many people here, Elsie. They aren't even as crowded as islanders.'
'There are, my dear — but with so many of them and so much of their manufacturing out in space, the surface dwellers have all the room they want, and can afford. They gather around hubs like the one we just left, that distribute everything they need. The wealthier you are, the farther out you live. KR lives quite a way out.'
'Is he rich, then?'
'Rich?' Elsevier chuckled. 'Oh, filthy rich... It all should have been TJ's, he was the oldest; but he was censured and stripped of his rank for his scandalous behavior. I'm sure he did it on purpose, he loathed the whole caste system. But not KR; he was always a supporter of the status quo. He and TJ didn't even speak.'
'Then why would he want to see us?' Moon moved uneasily.
'He'll see us, have no fear.' The enigmatic smile touched her face again. 'Don't let me make you think badly of him; he's a very good man, he simply lives by a different set of values.'
'All Kharemoughis are intolerant,' Cress said. 'Only they're intolerant about different things.'
'KR came to TJ's funeral; and he told me that he knew he owed everything he had, and was, to TJ, who had given it all up. He said that if I ever needed anything, I had only to ask.'
'How did TJ die?' hesitantly.
'It was his heart. Passing through the Black Gates puts a strain on the human body, on the heart. And disappointment puts a strain on the heart.' She glanced away, out and down, at the greens and the dusky reds of the rolling forest land. Immense knobs of gray rock pushed up through the trees now, like thick, stubby fingers; houses clung precariously to the tips and sides. 'It was very sudden. I hope that I, too, may be taken by surprise.'
They were dropping down again now, into the grounds of a large estate; skimming above paintings laid out on the land in beds of glorious blooms, shrubs trained to mimic strange creatures, fragile summerhouses wrapped in mazes of hedge. The pilot set them down on the flagstoned landing terrace before the main house, a structure the size of a meeting hall, but all curves and hummocks and gentle slopes covered with vines, imitating the land itself. There were many windows, many of them filled with colored glass, repeating the forms and hues of the art gardens. Gaping at the house, Moon saw the great frescoed doors begin to open.
'You want me to wait, citizens?' The pilot hung an arm across the edge of his seat back, looking skeptical.
'That won't necessary be.' Elsevier passed him her credit card coolly; Moon climbed out with the others.
'Looks like just the spot for a day in the country.' Cress stretched his arms.
'Many.' Silky turned slowly where he stood, looking back and down over the tiers of gardens.
Elsevier led them to the entrance. A dignified middle-aged woman with pale freckles and a silver ring piercing one nostril stood waiting for them; she wore a simple white robe wrapped by a wide sash, covered by strand on strand of heavy turquoise jewelry. 'Aunt Elsevier, what an unexpected surprise.' Moon was not certain if the gracious smile that included them all went any deeper than her skin.
'Hardly unexpected,' Elsevier murmured. 'One of the inventions that made my father-in-law's fortune was a system that screens callers electronically... Hello, ALV, dear,' in Sandhi. 'How nice that our visits coincide. I've a friend your father to see brought.'
She touched Moon's arm. 'I hope he well is.' Moon noticed that she did not use the familiar thy.
'Fine, thank you; but at the moment the physicist Darjeengeshkrad is him consulting.' She ushered them into the cool interior, closing the doors. Light from the stained glass panels on either side fragmented Moon's vision, softened her sudden awareness of their group incongruity. 'Let me you comfortable make until he's through.' She gestured them on down the hall; Moon noticed that her fingernails were long, and had been filed into sculptures.
She took them through a series of rising rooms into one where the wide, color-banded window overhung the painted gardens. ALV pressed one of a series of controls in the wall inset by the door; a large painting of several Kharemoughis picnicking under the trees became a threedy screen full of arguing men. She nodded toward the mounds of red and purple tapestry cushions, the oases of low wooden tables inlaid with gold and amethyst. 'Here you are. The servos will in and out be ... in case you anything need. And now I hope you'll me excuse; I'm going over the tax data for Father, and it's a dreadful project. He'll you join, just as soon as he can.' She left them alone with the declaiming debaters on the wall.
'My, my.' Cress folded his arms, wheezed indignantly. 'Make yourselves at home; steal some silverware.' Family ties meant something on Big Blue. All my parents—'
'Now, Cress.' Elsevier shook her head at him. 'I've only met the girl — the woman — twice, once when she was eight, and once at TJ's funeral. She can't have heard much good about any of us in between. And you know how the highborns are about—' she glanced down at herself, 'mixed marriages.'
Cress shook his head back at her, nudged a table leg with his sandal. 'This's fine workmanship, Elsie,' loudly. 'We could four digits for a couple of those stones upstairs get.'
She hissed disapprovingly. 'Control yourself. Moon?'
Moon started, turned back from the window.
'Didn't I tell you it was beautiful here?'
Moon nodded, smiling, without the words to say how beautiful.
'Do you think you could stay, and be a sibyl here?'
Moon's smile faded by halves. She shook her head, moved slowly back into the room and settled onto a pile of cushions. Elsevier's eyes followed her, but she couldn't answer them. I can't answer any question! She pointed at the screen, changing the subject, as Elsevier sat down beside her. 'Why are they angry?'
Elsevier peered at the gesticulating speakers, concentrating. 'Why, that's old PN Singalu, the Unclassified's political leader. Bless me, I didn't know he was still alive. It's a parliamentary debate; there's an interpreter, so that temperamental young dandy on the right must be a highborn. They can't speak directly to each other, you know.'
'I thought the Unclassifieds didn't have any rights.' Moon watched the two men face each other burning-
