Simple and effective. She approved. The last thing Sona needed was for a curious Om’ray—and they had their share, starting with Enris’ brother Worin—to roam where curiosity ran around on more legs than two. Or had none at all. One of Marcus’ new Triad was unable to move on land and floated above the ground in a tiny version of an aircar. Why such an unsuitable creature would come here puzzled her, although she hoped for a better look at it.
But first . . . She stopped and turned to face Enris. “If we see an Oud, let me do the talking.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re the Speaker.”
Which meant she was the only Sona permitted by the Agreement to talk to non-Om’ray, and then only to her counterpart. She’d learned neither Oud nor Tikitik cared overmuch for the rules. And her Chosen, for all his matter-of-fact demeanor and charm, was incapable of not caring about Oud.
Already the M’hir between them sizzled with pent rage.
Enris.
Don’t worry about me. His remarkable shields strengthened until all she could sense was the warmth of their bond. “You remember not to use Power. Some of these Oud could be Torments.”
The Tuana name for Oud with Power. There was no evidence the beings used their Power to any purpose, but it did affect Om’ray. To use their abilities near such Oud produced pain and disorientation, increasing with greater Power. Aryl, having felt the effect for herself, agreed completely. “Once was enough, thank you.”
The path opened on another clearing in the nekis grove, this one smooth and circular. At its far side stood three long buildings of the plain white material the Strangers favored, a white usually disguised behind more illusion.
Not that it would matter at the moment, considering the crowd of beings in the clearing itself. That was the worst of non-Om’ray, Aryl thought with disgust. You couldn’t feel them before you found them.
They’d been found, too. Marcus hurried toward them, pushing by an Oud with Human carelessness, his smile wide beneath the dark eye coverings he insisted on using during the day. He wore Stranger pants and a shirt with his name in Stranger lettering. Both looked new.
Why?
“Welcome! Welcome!” She could barely hear his shout above the grind of Oud machine treads into the stony ground. There were four vehicles, each pulling a pair of flat-topped carriers loaded with crates. In typical Oud-fashion, the slumped drivers appeared not to care about collision, imminent or occurring, or risk to their cargo. Aryl and Enris stayed near the grove and let the Human risk his life to join them.
The building to the left was where Marcus stayed and worked. The other two, one new this spring, she’d been told were for storage. The door of the middle one gaped open for the first time. Inside, over the brown-cloaked humps of Oud, she could make out tables covered in objects. Two figures, disappointingly Human-shaped, stood to one side, busy sorting.
As for the Oud, whenever one stopped its vehicle near the open door, other Oud grabbed the crates from the carriers and tossed them onto a growing, haphazard pile. Maybe the Humans were sorting what didn’t break under this treatment.
What Aryl didn’t see was the Oud Speaker. Or rather, an Oud with a pendant. The beings were too alike otherwise: massive quivering lumps beneath brown, tentlike cloaks. One end was covered by a dust-covered, transparent dome and non-Oud treated that as a “head.” To an Oud, this didn’t always matter. They could move backward as readily as forward.
After one last swerve to avoid an Oud machine, Marcus joined them, coughing at the dust. “Welcome,” he said again. His lean body, tousled brown hair, and green-brown eyes, edges crinkled by his cheerful smile, might be those of an Om’ray Chosen of middle age; the not-real of him to her inner sense was proof he was anything but. Aryl shrugged inwardly, and the customary confusion passed.
His hands reached for theirs; Humans touched, Aryl had learned, when Om’ray would not. She and Enris allowed it. In fact, such were their feelings for this one Human, they reached out as well.
Greeting done, Aryl waved at the activity behind Marcus. “Should we come back another time?”
Marcus shook his head vehemently. “This is good time. Best. Very best. Glad you are here.” He slapped Enris on the shoulder. “Hungry?”
The Tuana slapped him back, careful not to rock the slighter being off his feet. “Starving.”
She’d look for the Oud Speaker later, Aryl decided.
“Sorry for the mess.” Objects flew in every direction as the Human burrowed to what should be a table. “Don’t spend much time in here. Oops! Thanks.” As Enris intercepted the flight of what looked fragile and gently deposited it on a crate. “Mustn’t break another densitometer this early in the day. It is early, isn’t it?” He looked uncertain. “Breakfast?”
“Lunch,” Enris supplied willingly, despite knowing full well the Human ate reheated rations from small boxes. He’d eat anything, Aryl thought fondly. She wouldn’t. She offered the small packet of baked turrif she’d obtained from Rorn: sweet, crispy, and his latest triumph using Sona’s stores. Best of all, the ingredients were ones that wouldn’t make the Human, in his words, turn green and die.
Marcus Bowman, Triad First, Analyst, Human, took it with a glad expression that needed no translation. “You’ve picked a very good time,” he assured them again, hunting a clear space to put the treat. “No one needs me. Vogt and Tsessas are cataloging.”
Fewer of his words were unfamiliar. It wasn’t that she’d learned them, Aryl decided as she helped toss clothing from the benchlike chairs that sprouted from the floor. Marcus spoke less about his work each visit, preferring to ask about Sona, about their fields, about her.
Well, not her exactly.
“May I?” There he was again, bioscanner held hopefully to his chest. It had been on the table. “See baby?”
Aryl sighed and sat down, arms wide. “Humans.” Her fond, if exasperated, use of the name always made Marcus smile.
Enris leaned forward, eyes intent. Noticing, Marcus offered him the ’scanner. “You see?” Now there was an Om’ray smile to dazzle the sun.
They conspired against her. Aryl grumbled to herself, but didn’t object as first Enris, then Marcus, waved the device over her abdomen and made various approving noises.
Until Marcus frowned distractedly at the ’scanner, and played with its lighted buttons.
Enris frowned, too. “I thought it said Sweetpie was healthy.”
“Yes. Oh, yes. Very healthy. Perfect.”
“And not a dessert,” Aryl muttered.
The Human ducked his head to look at her in that sidelong way he had when he wanted to ask an awkward question. “How much longer?”
“Until she’s born?” Aryl shrugged. “Up to her.” Mother and unborn were tightly bound. When physically mature, the baby must relax her grip on that link for birth to take place. Not all had the courage or will, leaving it to a Birth Watcher to convince the unformed mind that freedom did not mean loss. Theirs was Seru.
“Human mothers, nine monthgestation.” He smiled at her frown. “Sorry. Three seasons, Cersi.” A lift of the bioscanner. “This says your baby grows quicker than Human. How long for Om’ray?”
Three seasons? That, she didn’t envy his Chosen. “This summer. Why?”
“Oh.” He looked unhappy. “I wanted to be here.”
Both Om’ray stared at the Human. “You’re leaving,” Enris said at last.
He couldn’t leave, Aryl assured herself, swallowing hard. Her belief in other worlds was a fragile thing. Easier to believe in Marcus slipping into the abyss of the M’hir than taking flight beyond the sky. “I thought the Oud had found your Hoveny ruins. Didn’t they?”