And Jelca… Jelca appeared before me as a whirlwind — a bodiless force of nature, a black funnel cloud stretching as tall as the trees. He could not talk; but his sound could sweep from the barest whisper to a deafening roar, uprooting giant oaks or slipping through the woods without rustling a leaf.
He excited me.
The programmed session was conventional fare: defeating a cadre of demons who gradually increased in power until we faced The Supreme Evil In Its Lair. It was a blessing my archetype couldn't speak any more than Jelca's; otherwise, I might have spoiled the mood with deprecating comments on the creators' lack of imagination. Without words, however — without the ability to remind each other this was only a simulation — we had no choice but to enter the spirit of the piece, to vanquish our enemies with wind and claw, until the final fiend lay bloody at our feet. Then…
Then…
Then the Supreme Evil's lair turned into a glittering palace; Jelca and I found ourselves in a sumptuous bedroom; the knowledge came into our heads that we could remain as we were or be transformed into the prince and princess we deserved to be. Crassly put, we were invited to celebrate victory with a virtual fuck, either as cat and tornado or human beings. All things were possible. Soft music filtered out of nowhere, the bedsheets pulled themselves back, candles lit themselves, the walls turned to mirrors…
And in that moment, I saw my archetype fully. The mirrors showed a phantom jaguar: evanescent and fierce, pure ghost white… except for a lurid purple disfigurement on the right half of its face.
That was the "fantasy" dredged out of my mind.
That was what Jelca had looked at all night.
I never asked him out again. I avoided him in the halls. I scarcely took an easy breath until he graduated and was posted into space.
Peaks
An hour after our lark had taken off, the southern mountains appeared on the horizon — grassy foothills first, then thickly treed slopes, and finally stony snow-capped peaks. It was a young range, geologically speaking: its crags were sharp, untouched by erosion. Good climbing if you had the right partner…
No. Stop that train of thought. I was tired of bleeding.
Fingering my cheek, I searched for the first landmark Chee and Seele talked about. The lark had been traveling blind, without charts; we could have been several hundred klicks off course. However, I sighted our target after only half an hour flying above the foothills — a steamy area of geysers and hot springs, simmering with enough vapor to be visible for thirty kilometers. After that, the route was easy to follow: up a winding river valley that snaked its way through the foothills and on into the mountains. Within minutes I ordered the plane, "Land wherever you can… as safely as possible."
For once, things went without a hitch. The lark had vertical landing capability; it touched down on grass beside the river we'd been following, only half a klick from the entrance to Chee and Seele's city. Not that we could see the entrance — like everything else on Melaquin, the doorway was hidden — but I was sure we were in the right place.
"This land is strange," Oar said as we clambered out of the cockpit. "It is very tall."
"You've never seen mountains before?" I asked.
"Oh, I have seen many, many mountains," she replied quickly. "I am not such a one who has never seen mountains." She affected an air of blase sophistication, waving her hand dismissively. "I have seen much better mountains than these. Pointier. Snowier. And ones that did not block the light so unpleasantly. These mountains are very gloomy, are they not, Festina?"
I didn't answer. Our landing site was shadowy, when contrasted with our flight in the bright sunshine — we were at ground level now, and the sun was low enough to be blocked by a peak to the west. Still, a little shade didn't mean the place was gloomy… or even very dark. Four nearby peaks still glistened with sun on their snow, filling our valley with a reflected light of heartbreaking quality. The world was clear and quiet: nothing but the murmur of the river and the tick-tick-tick of the lark's engines cooling.
Peace.
For ten seconds.
Then a man strolled out of the forest, wearing nothing but a red tartan kilt.
A human man. An Explorer.
We looked at each other for a long moment. Then we said in unison, "Greetings. I am a sentient citizen of the League of Peoples…"
We both broke up laughing.
One of the Family
He told me his name was Walton: Explorer Commander Gregorio Walton, but he disliked his given name and hated his rank. At first, I thought he'd become an Explorer because of his face — the most wrinkled face I'd seen on a human, a droopy deep-pile face with the jowls of a basset hound. It was only later I noticed that his fingers were webbed like duck feet. That was what made him expendable; the wrinkles were recent developments, the result of decades on Melaquin without benefit of YouthBoost.
Walton had been here twenty-six years. He was only eighty, but appeared twice that age. His general bearing looked healthy enough, but his webbed hands trembled constantly. I had to force myself not to stare.
He used one of those trembling hands to pat the lark's fuselage. "Nice plane," he said. "Noisy, though."
"You heard it coming?" I asked.
"Long before I saw it," he nodded. "Eyesight's not what it was."
"The lark's made of glass," I said. "Hard to see at the best of times."
He smiled. "I like a woman with tact."
"I have tact too," Oar announced.
"Good for you," Walton said.
"For example," Oar continued, "I will not talk about how ugly you are."
"I appreciate it," Walton answered with a smile.
"So are there others nearby?" I asked, to change the subject.
"I'm the only one who comes outside much," he replied. "Meteorology specialist. Put in a small weather station up the mountain a bit — thermometer, anemometer, simple things like that. I was tinkering with the equipment when I heard your engines." He gave me an appraising look. "Don't suppose you know anything about fuzzy circuits? I've got a glitch in my barometer."
"Sorry," I answered. "I'm a zoology specialist. The best I can do is identify the species if something's been nibbling your wires."
He chuckled. "Maybe I should go back and play with the equipment while there's still some light. Getting close to the big day, and we wouldn't want to launch our ship into the teeth of a blizzard."
"You have a ship ready for launch?"
"Depends who you ask," Walton said. "Some'll tell you it's been ready for months. Others say it needs months more testing. Damned if I know — only aviation I understand is weather balloons."
"Is it…" I paused to think of how to put my question. "Is it a big ship?"
"Don't worry," he replied. "There's room for everyone. Won't be long before you're heading for home."
Walton smiled. I'm sure he expected me to smile back, overjoyed at the prospect of getting off Melaquin. But I wasn't leaving — a murderer couldn't. I tried for a smile anyway, but it didn't fool Walton. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," I answered quickly. "Just… bothered that I've dropped in at the last moment when the work's nearly all done."
"No one will hold that against you," he assured me. "You're one of us, Ramos. You're an Explorer." He took my hand and gave it a friendly shake. His skin felt grizzled against my fingers. "Welcome to the family," he said. "Whatever hard times you've had on Melaquin, you're not alone anymore."
I smiled… and felt alone anyway. Suddenly, I didn't know why I'd come here. To see other Explorers? To see Jelca? Walton's manner was sincerely warm, but I found I could not return it. Any day now, he'd be leaving. They'd all be leaving.