The heavyhandedness of it all weighed drearily on me. I sat on a glass bench and tried to will myself into seeing the color as sincere celebration, not a vain roaring against the bleakness.
Silence. The emptiness of a place whose spirit had died.
Many Happy Returns
With a swish, a door opened in a building behind me. Four Skin-Faces marched out, two men, two women, all holding spears. They fell into position beside the doorway, men on one side, women on the other — like an honor guard lining up to welcome a VIP.
"Attention!" one of the men called. Attention: the English word. All four spear-carriers slammed the butts of their weapons on the ground and snapped rigid in perfect Outward Fleet form.
I didn't move. If I ran, they might chase me; and where could I hide in a city of glass?
Two imperious hand-claps sounded sharply from within the building. I couldn't see who'd clapped — the Skin-Faces blocked my line of sight. Very slowly, I adjusted my grip on the stunner, in case the clapped command was an order to attack.
It wasn't. One of the women cleared her throat, hummed a musical tone, then began to sing: Happy Birthday. The others joined in.
On the third line ("Happy birthday, lord and master"), a figure emerged from the building: a person in tightsuit, its fabric smeared with grass stains, brownish sludge, and clots of rust-red. The suit's helmet had its visor set to oneway opaque; I couldn't see whether the face inside was flesh or glass.
Walking slowly, bowlegged, the tightsuited figure passed between the lines of Skin-Faces and continued across the plaza — straight toward me. I raised the stunner, ready but not aiming it directly at the approaching stranger.
The figure stopped, then spread its arms wide, showing its hands were empty: an obvious "I'm unarmed" gesture.
I didn't lower the stunner. I did, however, say the words. "Greetings. I am a sentient citizen of the League of Peoples, and I beg your Hospitality."
A chuckle sounded within the suit — a male chuckle. "Hospitality?" The figure reached up, popped the releases, and took off its helmet. "A lot you know about hospitality, Ramos. You haven't even wished me happy birthday."
"All right," I said. "Happy birthday, Phylar."
Part XIII
GIVEAWAYS
The Tip
Phylar Tobit's face spread into a grin. One of his front teeth was vividly whiter than its yellowed siblings. I assumed the clean tooth was false.
"Bet you didn't expect to see me," he chortled.
"Happy birthday was a dead giveaway," I replied. "So the Fleet finally pulled you from the Academy teaching staff?"
"Eight years ago," he nodded. "Something about setting a poor example." He opened his mouth and loosed a belch; trust Tobit to be able to do that at will. "I think we both know how the council handles embarrassments to the uniform."
"And what a delightful coincidence," I said, "that on a planet the size of Earth, we happen to run into each other. What are the odds?"
"Damned good," Tobit replied. "Assuming you got the tip."
"The tip?"
Tobit shrugged. "If you didn't get it, maybe your partner did. Or whatever turd of Admiralty shit you escorted here. The tip."
"What tip?"
"The tip that you should land on this particular continent. Best chance for survival and escape."
I stared at him. "Someone told you that? Before you landed?"
"Told my partner." He held up his hand to stop my next question. "No, I don't know how the tip was delivered — my partner didn't share confidences… especially not with me. We were assigned to each other for this mission only; she knew the council wanted me Lost, and was pissed as hell to get dragged down with me. Selfish bitch. All she said was someone passed the word: land in this neighborhood if you want to save your ass."
Chee or Seele, I thought to myself. The tip had to come from Chee or Seele. They'd already visited Melaquin; and their looped broadcast claimed there were spaceworthy ships in that city to the south. Now that I thought about it, Chee had said he ran a spy network throughout the Technocracy. He might have used it to find out who was due for marooning… and to tip off the Explorers who'd be sent along for the ride. It almost made me think fondly of the old bastard again — even if Chee had sold out to the council, he directed fellow Explorers to the same escape route he'd found.
Of course, he hadn't tipped off Yarrun or me — we'd chosen the Landing site ourselves. If we'd picked the wrong continent, would Chee have talked us out of it? Or were his brains so scrambled that he'd forgotten all about Melaquin? YouthBoost meltdown does ugly things to memory; Chee had said so himself. It would have been ironic if we were the one party to land on the wrong continent, because Chee couldn't remember his own advice.
Tobit was still talking. "Think about it, Ramos. Once you've decided on this continent, where are you going to land? West of the prairies, you've got mountains all the way to the coast — ugly terrain for touchdown. So you either pick the plains themselves, or go for a clear space in the lake country up north. Nothing else makes sense."
"True enough," I admitted. And maybe that explained why Jelca and Ullis had put down in the same neighborhood we did. Plains vs. lake country was a fifty-fifty choice; and if you chose the lakes, Explorers would then start looking for a region of bluffs, to get the advantage of a height of land. "Still," I said, "this continent must have a million square klicks of landable area. I find it remarkable we should just run into each other…"
"Run into each other?" Tobit laughed. "I don't know about you, Ramos, but I got ambushed by a fucking glass shark. There's dozens of those things patrolling the river; they've got the whole watershed covered, hundreds of klicks upstream and down. Anyone crossing the water stands a good chance of getting captured — you think you're the first Explorer I've seen in eight years? You're number thirteen, sweetheart, and piss off if you're superstitious."
I stared at him. "You mean there are twelve other Explorers in this town?"
He made an exasperated sound. "Not now, Ramos. One look at me, and they took off like gassed rabbits. Shows what loyal friends I made at the Academy."
"So there's a way out of this town?"
Tobit grimaced. "You just set a record, Ramos. Shortest effort at small-talk before you brought up the subject of leaving." He gave a jaundiced grin. "Even at the Academy, you were famous for your people skills."
"So were you," I said.
People Skills
One of the Skin-Face women trotted up to us. "Lord Tobit," she said with a worshipful bow, "the bell just rang again."
"Hot damn!" he replied, rubbing his hands together like an enthusiastic host. "The sharks have brought another visitor, Ramos. Your partner, no doubt."
"No. My partner is dead."
"Dead?" Tobit stared as if I'd made a joke. "An Explorer dead? On a candy planet like this? What'd you do to him?"
I returned Tobit's gaze till he flinched.
"The new visitor is probably a friend of mine," I said coldly. "A local. We'd better go reassure her. She gets upset easily."
"A local," Tobit repeated. "All glass?"
"Yes."
"Eloi," snarled the Skin-Face woman, her lips curling into a sneer.
"None of that," Tobit snapped. "No one starts a fight on my birthday. Take the squad back to base, lieutenant."
"Yes sir," she answered immediately. With a brisk salute, she pivoted away and returned to her three companions. A moment later, they disappeared into the nearest building.