By midafternoon, I felt glumly extraneous: sorry for myself and irritated at that weakness. Rather than mope where someone might notice, I slipped away from the launch site and headed into the city. Athelrod and others were still going over the lark-plane; maybe they needed help carrying back salvaged components. I began to retrace the route Oar and I had taken in from the elevator… but I had only reached the point where we first saw Jelca when I came across Oar herself.
She sat huddled in the doorway of a glass blockhouse, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs and her face pressed against her knees. The skin of her glass thighs was rainstreaked with half-dry tears.
My Attempts to Help (Part 2)
I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. For a while, neither of us said a word. Then she whispered, "I am very sad, Festina."
"I know."
"It is not fair to be so sad."
"No. It isn't."
"Nothing is the way it should be."
"I'm sorry."
She didn't speak again, but leaned in toward me. I let her rest her cheek against my chest. I could see straight through the back of her head to the tear-stains dribbled down her face.
"Eel is not here," she said at last.
"So I heard."
"And Jelca does not care. He does not care about Eel or me or anything."
I leaned over until my lips touched the hard glass hair on the top of her head. "Jelca is quite the shit, isn't he?"
"He is extremely much the shit," she agreed. "Shitty fucking Jelca."
"To hell with him," I said.
"A very deep hell. With flames and everything."
"That's the spirit."
I gave her shoulders a squeeze. She reached down and patted my knee. After a moment she said more softly, "I would like to punch him in the nose."
"Yes?"
"I would like to make him feel very bad."
"I know," I told her. "But civilized folks like us don't hit people."
"What do we do?"
We brood, internalize, and make ourselves miserable, I thought. Aloud I said, "We give ourselves permission to indulge. Like eating something rich, or buying something we can't afford, or making excuses to get out of work!…"
She looked at me without comprehension.
"Okay," I admitted, "maybe those things aren't right for you. Is there someplace you want to go, something you want to do?"
"We could go visit ancestors," she said with sudden interest. "They live next door."
"Really."
"Yes. It is very fitting that Jelca lives beside the ancestors of this place. They both have bad brains."
"And you want to visit…" I didn't finish my sentence. It would be rude to describe the ancestors as senile near-corpses.
"It is pleasant inside the ancestors' home," Oar said. "It is warm and good."
"Ahhhh," I nodded, understanding. "You realize I can't go in with you?" I asked.
Her face fell. "Then maybe…"
"No," I stopped her, "you go. If it feels good, you deserve it. I'll wait outside."
"You will not go away?"
"I promise."
We got to our feet and walked arm-in-arm to the next building: an enormous tower, even taller than the sixty-story building where Ullis lived. Unlike other buildings in the city, this one had glass walls I couldn't see through; they had been opaqued to prevent the radiation inside from leaking out.
"I will not be long," Oar promised.
"Take your time," I called as she disappeared within. Oar looked eager for time in the tower; I didn't want her cutting the experience short because of me. It must be like a sauna, I thought — hot and steamy, the chance to lie around languidly…
Oar barreled out the door, mere seconds after she'd entered. "There is a problem, Festina. The ancestors are very upset."
"At you?"
"No. At you. Come inside."
Talking with the Ancestors
It took some time for Oar to understand that going inside would damage me. I doubt if she really believed it; but she grudgingly agreed to act as intermediary, carrying messages between me and the ancestors to learn what was wrong.
Me: Why are the ancestors upset?
[A pause while Oar ducked into the building, asked the question, and got the answer.]
Oar: Because a fucking Explorer is bothering them.
Me: Bothering them how? [Pause.]
Oar: Walking over them. Pushing them around. Stacking them against the walls.
Me: Deliberately trying to hurt them? [Pause.]
Oar: I do not think so, although some of the ancestors pretend they were grievously assaulted. Ancestors are stupid. I think the Explorer was merely clearing them out of the way. There is now a wide path down the middle of the room where the ancestors have been moved aside.
Me: Where does the path go? [Pause.]
Oar: I followed the path to the central elevator.
Me: Which means the Explorer was using the elevator for something. [Pause for me to think.]
What did the Explorer look like? [Pause.]
Oar: They say the fucking Explorer was shiny all over.
Me: I thought so. Look around inside, Oar… close to the door but maybe hidden. See if you can find a shiny suit.
[Pause. Oar returned with a bundle of silver fabric in her hands.]
Oar: How did you know this was there? What is it?
Me: A radiation suit.
I didn't mention that the glittery fabric looked like the same material as Jelca's silvery shirt.
Into the Tower
The suit was a sloppy fit on me. Tailored for someone taller: Jelca's size. It also had a holster attached to the belt. The holster was empty, but it looked like a perfect fit for Jelca's stun-pistol.
Unlike other radiation outfits I had worn, this one was comfortably light — no heavy inner lining of lead or one of the transuranics. Still, I had no doubt it would protect me from the tower's hot-bath of radiation. Jelca must have persuaded the local AI to construct the suit for him — a machine programmed by the League of Peoples would never endanger a life by building inadequate protective gear. Best of all, I knew Jelca was still alive; if he could go inside without being fricasseed by microwaves, I could too.
Radiation burns might not be a concern but vision was: the suit had no visor, no break at all in the hood covering my head and face. I could see very dimly through the semi-transparent fabric, like looking through a window bleary with rain. My view was at most three paces, and then just directly in front of me. I would have to move carefully and hope no one rushed me from the side.
For caution's sake, I checked the suit seals one last time, then stepped into the tower. The ancestors had indeed been moved to clear a path into the building — unlike the neatly ordered rows I had seen in Oar's village, these bodies were piled on top of one another, limbs dangling into each other's faces. No wonder they were annoyed.
"It is rude to treat ancestors like this," Oar whispered. I remembered that back in her own village, she had blithely kicked an ancestor in a fit of pique… but perhaps there was one set of rules for people inside the family and another for those outside.
"Ask them," I said, "how long they've been like this."
She spoke a few words in her native language, enunciating loudly and distinctly as if the ancestors were hard of hearing. Barely audible whispers drifted back from the clutter of bodies.