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  Chapter 6

  Ratty had never witnessed anything quite like Joy’s visit to the village, not even the multitude cheering the new pope in St. Peter’s Square. Here there were only a few dozen people, but they had worship enough for thousands. They groveling in the dirt for her, they sang hymns on their knees to her, and every face shone with love and devotion. The local gownsman—a plump fishwife with a rather grubby white cape—made a speech referring to Her Holiness’s previous visit, 278 years ago, which had ever since been a source of pride in the community.

  They had laid out enough food to feed a dozen priestesses, and they watched in delight as Joy sampled every dish, sitting in state in the village square. Boys rolled on the ground, punching and swearing, fighting over which of them would have the honor of washing and polishing the visitors’ flyers.

  Her Holiness’s handsome young squire was accorded honors not far short of hers, but Scrob accepted the adulation with practiced grace. He listened carefully to complaints about taxes and harbor repairs and delays in providing medical services. The villagers were slightly disconcerted by her other companion, probably the first off-worlder they had ever seen, but even he was treated like royalty. Ratty would have needed a year to eat every dish that was offered to him, but he did the best he could. He asked about earthquakes and volcanoes and weather, recording everything. He noted that the buildings were made of wood and sat on skids.

  Before leaving, Joy blessed every villager individually, from babe in arms to bedridden ancient. In her reply to the speeches, she promised nothing, certainly not miracles. She never claimed that she was the same woman who had trodden the same mud there so long ago. She did not deny it either. Nor did she claim to be the high priestess, because technically that was still Duty, her grandmother. Did the villagers understand those distinctions, or did they truly believe that this was the original Monody, immortal, young or old as she pleased to appear? Ratty was not crass enough to ask them, but while every inhabitant was intent on Her Holiness’s speech, he did ask Scrob.

  The gownsman shrugged. “They know and prefer not to know.”

  That pat little koan sounded like official doctrine from his training, but it was probably correct. Monody was eternal. A man might see her old in his youth and youthful in his old age. Why quibble? She was the Mother and appeared in whatever mode was necessary.

  * * *

  Overhead Javel was waning to a crescent and the eastern sky was growing brighter. The flyers passed through a rain squall and were soaked. That was a minor nuisance, to be ignored. Later, though, they came to a thunderstorm athwart their path and Scrob grew angry, shouting and gesturing downward. Evidently he won the cognized argument, for soon the flyers swooped down to the shore of a misty pond in a woody glade.

  Joy was pouting. “This is stupid!” she told Ratty. “We’ll never get to Abietin if we have to wait this out.”

  Strong winds were rare on Pock’s—air usually just went up and down—but a thunderstorm could be dangerous anywhere, and obviously Scrob did have some authority over Joy, for he ignored her anger, folding his meaty arms and looking stubborn.

  “Go and see if the water’s good for bathing,” she told him sulkily. He dismounted and strolled off. “Your friends know where you are.”

  Ratty said, “Are you in trouble?”

  She grinned. “Of course! I’m supposed to be in trouble. My job is to teach Mother patience. She’ll scream and I’ll scream back and nothing will happen. Wait until we get to Wisdom! She’ll tell me she was just the same at my age. She always says so, and she says Duty was worse, but Love was a goody-goody.”

  “You can’t all be exactly the same. Clones never are.”

  “Not quite, no.”

  Massive rain drops were thumping down. Thunder rumbled. Ratty hated thunder. It reminded him of his parents’ untimely end.

  “Wisdom must have been quite a cutup,” Joy said, watching Scrob and not Ratty. “She never appointed a consort. She had quite a few unofficial ones, Duty says, but none ever lasted long.”

  “Consort is not the same as child giver?” They kept sliding back to this subject.

  “Not usually. Oxindole is both; he’s Duty’s giver and consort and chief advisor. Bedel is Love’s consort but wasn’t her giver.” Joy pulled a face. “If I don’t want Scrob in my bed even once, you think I could stand him for a lifetime?”

  “That’s up to you to decide. Not your mother. You.”

  She smiled. “I know, but thanks for the reassurance. Wisdom never told anyone who her giver was. Just a guy she met in a saloon, was all she would ever say. Which is stupid! Can you imagine what would happen if I walked into a saloon? He must have been a very unsuitable choice. Married, likely.”

  Thunder banged almost overhead and Ratty jumped. Scrob was up to his neck in the pool and beckoning.

  Joy said, “Come on!” She dismounted and took off at a run. Ratty followed and they plunged in together without even breaking stride. Hot sulfur water was not much different from air on Pock’s World.

  * * *

  Abietin, the site of Monody’s principal residence, stood in rugged, wooded country between two volcanoes, one of which was smoking and rumbling. The flyers passed low over a fair-sized city and came at last to the divine palace, very little of which was visible from the air.

  They swooped down on a small park but, instead of landing, buzzed slowly along between trees many times larger than any Ratty had ever seen before, huge trunks soaring a hundred meters into the air before sending out branches. Furthermore, those branches seemed to intertwine, even merge, as if the trees were supporting one another. That might suggest that they connected underground also, so that the entire grove would be one enormous organism. Under this gigantic canopy, the palace buildings seemed like tiny wooden clothes chests arranged in curious patterns, but the way they loomed over people on the pathways showed that many were very large.

  The flyers landed outside the first permanent building Ratty had seen since the blockhouse at Elaterin Landing, and perhaps the largest and strangest he had ever seen. It occupied a clearing in the forest, and its roof was suspended on cables from a flanking ring of a dozen or so gigantic trees to form an oversized, irregularly shaped tent of what seemed to be multi-colored glass. Ratty just hoped that, whatever it really was, it was not breakable by earthquakes. The huge edifice had no walls—in case of tremor, just run? Even on a dull day like this, the play of color was fascinating. In direct sunlight it must be a blizzard of rainbow.

  Its floor was only slightly raised above ground level, a sheet of hexagonal black tiles, unfurnished and unbroken except for a lonely stone pillar in the center. Several people were coming and going across this overwhelming space, and it soon became clear that the focus of their interest was that gloomy-looking monolith. Joy and Scrob headed in its direction without a word. Ratty went along, busily recording.

  “Is this a church?”

  “It is the church! The temple of Quoad,” Joy said.

  The monolith at the sacred center was a phallic symbol if Ratty had ever seen one. Arrivals went to it and apparently kissed it, although it was far too large for even long Pocosin arms to surround. That seemed to be the whole of the ritual, for then they walked away.

  “Quoad’s a god?”

  “The first martyr.” Joy was scanning the mill of people and in a moment changed direction slightly to approach a man wearing a red cape. He was unusually tall, even by local standards, and he stood awaiting their arrival with his arms folded and jaw clenched. Joy muttered something secular under her breath.

  Scrob laughed. “You’re in trouble!”

  “So are you!” Still she marched forward with her nose in the air. The gownsman did touch one knee to the mosaic to honor her, but when he stood up again his expression was not at all respectful.

  “Live and die happy, Bedel!” Joy said brightly. “This is Friend Ratty Something. He was anxious to meet Wisdom, and since I was coming this way, I tho
ught—”

  “Silence! You are welcome, honored emissary,” he told Ratty, “and I apologize deeply for this child’s misbehavior.”

  Gownsman Bedel, Ratty recalled, was consort to High Priestess Love, so he was in effect Joy’s stepfather. He was not only tall, he was well built and good-looking, and his manner impressed. But then, any Monody incarnation should be able to choose an alpha male to be bed-mate and confidant.

  “No need to apologize, Gownsman. I have had one of the most interesting and enjoyable days of my life. I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds.”

  Joy beamed until she saw Bedel still glowering. But then he turned his displeasure on Scrob, who wilted and hung his head.

  “You did not exactly justify our trust in you, Companion! You are confined to your room until eclipse prayers—incommunicado. Meditate on adult responsibilities.”

  Scrob muttered, “Praise the Mother. The elders of Fanfaronade had petitions.”

  “File your report. If it is well done, that will be noted on your record.”

  “No!” Joy said. “I want his cape, Bedel.”

  The consort rolled his eyes heavenward. “But why, for her sake? What’s he done?”

  “He is just not acceptable.” Joy had colored, but she looked convincingly determined.

  Bedel sighed, ran an appraising glance over Ratty, then back to Joy: “Cannot this wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. Scrob has to go.”

  “Joy, I have far too many things to worry about without having to find and train a companion for you every time you take a childish dislike to someone who is only trying to do his job. You may find yourself stuck here at Abietin for days, you realize?”

  “I hate the sight of him! I’ve told you!”

  “Oh, very well, child. Companion, you are relieved of duties. You have our thanks. All in all, you did very well, and you will receive the full compensation you were promised. In fact I will double it, in recognition of the impossible job you were given, herding this wayward brat. You lasted longer than any of your predecessors. File your report and go with the Mother’s blessing.”

  Scrob grabbed the red cape on his shoulder and tore it away, ripping the cloth and sending the jeweled pin rattling across the floor. As he strode off to pay his respects to the central pillar, he was still glaring murder over his shoulder at Ratty, who thought it wisest not to comment.

  “Joy,” said the gownsman, “you go to your room and stay there until your mother sends for you. I have told the Brain to allow you no cognizing at all.” Bedel turned again to Ratty. “Let me show you to your quarters, Friend Ratty. Emeritus Wisdom will receive you shortly. I have grave tidings to report.”

  “What sort of bad tidings?”

  “As bad as they can get. STARS did not wait for your report.”

  Chapter 7

  Athena found herself babysitting.

  “Does it mean we’re all going to die?” Solan whispered.

  The two gownsmen were cognizing, no doubt advising many other people of Braata’s dire news. Braata, or Zyemindar, had gone off with Brother Andre to the galley, where the motors made enough noise that voices would not be overheard. Linn and Millie Backet were studying the scenery. Athena had finished up next to Solan.

  Outside the landscape was a rugged plain of red-weathered lava with scattered patches of yellow sulfur and islands of dark green forest. Inside, a child who had shown heroic courage only an hour ago was now terrified, and with good reason.

  “No, it doesn’t,” she said, keeping her voice low. “First of all, Solan, STARS is a shady, shifty organization. It has lied before and without doubt will lie again. I don’t think Braata is lying to us. He’s a brave and honest young man. He belongs to Brother Andre’s church and wouldn’t lie to a priest, which Brother Andre is. You wouldn’t try to lie to Monody, would you? But I am not convinced that STARS has told Braata the truth. It may be hoping to deceive us by deceiving him. There are some odd things in his story.

  “My job, the reason we came here from Ayne, is to find out if there really are cuckoos on Pock’s World. I am a suspicious person, and I will look very hard at all the evidence. STARS may be lying about that, too.” What other arguments could she find to comfort him? “I know that STARS has good reason to threaten this terrible thing. It must convince us that its story is true, or it will lose a big political battle.”

  Solan stared up at her with big, dark eyes. “What about the boy in Hederal?”

  Athena’s heart stopped beating. It started again reluctantly. “What boy in Hederal?”

  “The one you’re on your way to see. He’s not human, Dad says.”

  “Where did they find him?”

  “They caught him a week ago. I don’t know where exactly.”

  With a mouth suddenly desert-dry, she said, “We shall look at him very hard and make sure he is not a STARS fake, too.”

  “But if he is, then you’ll let STARS destroy the world?”

  “I’ll fight them all the way, I promise.”

  On the opposite side of the cabin, Skerry had another coughing fit. His hands were shaking worse than ever. The man was desperately ill. Your mother would have been proud of you, he had said. How long since she died?

  Brother Andre returned, looking grim. Braata followed him in. Solan started to rise, and Athena put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Friend Braata will never take your seat!”

  “Of course not!” Braata smiled and sat on the floor, long legs crossed.

  “Honored friends,” Oxindole said. “The situation seems to be even worse than we thought. Skerry?”

  “I have been checking on the pirate probe,” Skerry said hoarsely. “I contacted the observatories at Gadroon and Voussoir, which have no ties with STARS, so far as we know. They have confirmed that there has been a change in the pirate’s orbital elements, and while they cannot be certain yet—not without more observations—they agree that it will impact Pock’s on Sixterdy or at least come perilously close.”

  He paused, and Linn prompted: “But?”

  The gownsman was staring at his child. “The machines can find no reason for the change, no natural reason. They even allowed for the effects of the radiation storm and the increased drag from Javel’s atmosphere. In other words, they confirm that STARS has deliberately altered the pirate’s orbit. I think that answers the question of whether it will be a direct hit or a near miss. I don’t suppose STARS has missed once in thirty… thousand… years.”

  Skerry was close to weeping as he pronounced this death sentence. He held out his hands to his son, and Solan went across to his embrace, stepping over Braata’s knees. They hugged.

  “I have cognized Her Holiness, of course,” Oxindole said. “And between us we conferred with leaders of some major governments. Others are being informed. Nothing much can be done until we determine the exact orbital elements, but if imminent disaster is confirmed, then Her Holiness will have to decide whether to reveal it to the population.”

  “Can there be any doubt of her choice?” Brother Andre said. “The Monody I knew would not have kept the world in ignorance. She is Wisdom now, but can her daughter be so unlike her?”

  “I never try to second-guess any of them!” The gownsman spoke sharply and then smiled. “But you are probably right. People have a right to know their fate, she will say. And I very much doubt that we could keep the secret. All attempts to contact STARS have met with failure. However it has issued a statement accusing Engineer Braata of murder and grand larceny and demanding that he be apprehended and turned over to it for trial.”

  “I never murdered anybody!” the youngster said hotly. “I knocked out a guard, but he was breathing when I left—his lip was bleeding, so I turned him face down to be sure he wouldn’t choke. I did steal the flyer, and I damaged a lock.”

  In her time Athena had watched a thousand liars testify. She did not think this boy was another. Yesterday he had been brash and cocky; now he was chastened and haunted. Not
hing trivial had changed him.

  Oxindole said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning again and go through it one more time, just in case we’ve missed something?”

  “As you wish, Gownsman.” Braata paused to collect his thoughts. At least two of his listeners were recording. “I am registered as Zyemindar 4,756. I was born in, and am a citizen of, Calade. I am Zyemindar to my family, who believe I am an explosives specialist employed by a minor mining company, which is why I must often visit asteroids—Pock’s formed too far from its star to collect a decent complement of metals, as you know, but fortunately Javel drags in fragments from the inner parts of the system. Professionally I am STARS Engineer Second Class Braata. Eleven days ago, I was assigned to Operation Check Point, the expedition to intercept the pirate probe. It was a dicey trip because we would be cutting our fuel limits very fine. Check Point was commanded by Friend Chessel, whose true name I do not know. I believe she is a project manager in Research.

  “We matched orbits with the probe and were able to study its exterior during our approach. Full-spectrum readings showed clear evidence of erosion by the galactic medium, and the external fittings were compatible with those of an interstellar probe. We located an access lock that seemed to be in good shape, and I made the first entry.” He grinned at Solan, whose eyes were wide. “That is one of the honors of being the bomb man! I found no booby-traps. I reactivated the lighting and cooling systems. Heat could have been a serious problem—probes are cooled by circulating huge amounts of water through them, and if that system is turned off after a long trip, the water may overheat in places, causing the probe to explode—but the living quarters were barely above normal temperature, in line with estimates from other data that we had missed the invaders by no more than twelve days.”