Bolam hustled forward to greet the stranger. Arita remained by her tent, wondering how often casual visitors showed up on Eljiid. The man spoke to Bolam. “My name is Tom Rom. I’m here to study the Klikiss.”
“Another Klikiss research expedition? I wasn’t informed about this.”
Tom Rom seemed unfazed. “I didn’t know I was required to let you know. No one owns the Eljiid ruins and the Klikiss bodies left behind.”
“No, no, of course not. I just like to keep track, that’s all. It’s part of my organizational duties. What institution sponsors your work? Maybe your research will dovetail with some of our university teams. Perhaps Lara Vanh?”
Tom Rom looked at him. “I don’t think so. I work alone. My research is privately funded.”
Bolam did not argue with the oddly intimidating man. “As you wish. Don’t expect any formal help, though. Our resources here are limited.”
“Not asking for help. In fact this was the emptiest Klikiss world I could track down that suited our purposes. If there was an emptier one, I would’ve gone there.”
Bolam gestured around the camp, as if Tom Rom had asked for advice or permission. “We have a community area over there. Those water pumps are for everyone’s use. You can set up your tent wherever you like.”
“Yes, I’ll do whatever I like.” He headed away from the settlement into the deepening twilight without even a glance over his shoulder.
Arita watched him under the camp lights, envying the stranger’s confidence. She began jotting down notes, making plans on how she would map out the Whistler forest near the hive city ruins. If she kept doing her work as a naturalist, maybe someday the verdani would reconsider and give her a second chance to take the green.
She and her childhood friend Collin had made up their minds at an early age that they would become green priests. She’d been so dedicated as an acolyte… and yet the trees chose Collin but not her, and in the process they did strange things to her head. Their rejection had damaged Arita, but she would not be defeated…
Near the base of the Klikiss structures, thorny thickets filled the arroyos. As night breezes stirred the thicket, she heard an eerie whisper now, a song that was like a murmur of conversation in a large crowd, but with a lyrical quality.
The Whistlers were an unusual species of cactus with hollow woody stems dotted with holes, which the winds of Eljiid played like a natural flute. The cacti exuded the strong chemical stench of an alkaloid toxin that was rumored to cause unpleasant side effects, although no one had done a thorough study.
There was some evidence—perhaps wishful thinking, perhaps just overactive imaginations—that the Whistlers communicated through chemical traces in the air and through their root systems. That communication manifested through modulated tones in the wind. And though Arita didn’t want to admit it, her fascination went beyond mere scientific interest. She hoped the Whistlers could help her…
Bolam came up to her, making sure she heard the sounds. “Wait until the wind whips up, then you’ll really hear a symphony. I think it’s just noise myself, a coincidence, but some folks call it communication.” He chuckled in an abrasive voice, and Arita heard no humor there. “Though I couldn’t imagine what a bunch of cactus has to talk about! ‘Dry weather today, isn’t it?’ ‘How are your spines doing?’ ‘Looks like rain.’ “ He snorted.
Arita kept staring toward the spiny thicket. She pointed out, “The verdani have insightful conversations with green priests.”
Bolam shrugged. “Sure, but those are the worldtrees. That’s different.”
Different, Arita thought, but she hoped not too different. If there was some connection between the Whistlers and the worldtrees, maybe she could find a way…
SEVENTEEN
TASIA TAMBLYN
Part of the binary planet loomed in the sky overhead, fissured and cratered, as if ready to fall on top of them.
Tasia Tamblyn flew the Voracious Curiosity on its final approach to the Sheol landing structure. Although Rlinda Kett wanted to pilot her famous old vessel for the meeting with Lee Iswander, after hitting severe thermal storms in the atmosphere, she quickly handed over the piloting chores. “This has ceased to be fun, Tamblyn,” Rlinda said. “I’ll bow out in favor of a better pilot.”
“What do you mean a better pilot? I’m the best pilot.” As Tasia white-knuckled the ship down, she secretly allowed a bit of buffeting—just to give them a good ride.
Robb Brindle saw what his wife was doing and muttered, “You don’t need to impress Rlinda.”
She blinked her eyes innocently. “I was trying to impress you, dear man.”
Rlinda was neither frightened nor impressed. “I know damn well what Tamblyn’s capable of, and I’ve flown through rougher conditions than this myself. Let’s stick to business. We’ve already caused some consternation by showing up a day early.”
“I thought that was the intended effect,” Robb said.
“Exactly.”
Below, the molten sea churned and swirled. A cascade of lava spewed up, ejecting globules high enough that they cooled and hardened in the air. Tasia gave the scarlet spray a wide berth.
Rlinda looked around. “This is for anyone who ever told me to go to hell—they can’t say I didn’t listen.”
Tasia admired the fact that Iswander had built a thriving industrial operation here. In the past, many clans had eked out an existence in ferociously inhospitable environments, but they had softened much in the past twenty years. “Roamers don’t have to do such risky work anymore, but it looks like Iswander made it a viable operation.” She settled the Curiosity down on the landing deck, where workers in heat-armor would load the ship with cargo.
When the shielded heat tube connected to the Curiosity’s hatch, Rlinda led the way into Tower One. She still owned Kett Shipping, but rarely involved herself in day-to-day operations now, letting Robb and Tasia handle the business. Tasia came from the well-known Tamblyn clan, Roamers who had operated the water mines on Plumas for generations. And Robb Brindle was the son of General Conrad Brindle, the former EDF commander. Together, they were well suited to run Rlinda’s shipping company.
The big woman entered the administrative deck of Tower One, waving at the workers as if she were throwing a party. Through the thick observation ports Tasia scanned the large, roving foundries outside, and was astonished to spot two armored workers riding lava sleds over the sluggish waves to inspect the pumping and hardening apparatus.
Deputy Alec Pannebaker came up as she marveled. “I can take you out on one if you like. It’s a lot of fun.”
“Looks dangerous.”
Pannebaker shrugged and repeated, “It’s a lot of fun.”
Lee Iswander arrived, shook hands, and introduced himself; Tasia recognized him from his appearances before the clans. As he took them toward his office deck, she thought Iswander had a harried look, but he covered it well. He said, “I’m glad you arrived early, Captain Kett. Our supplies are ready to be loaded, and I want to make sure that this delivery gets to Newstation in time.”
“Guaranteed, Mr. Iswander,” Rlinda said. “You need to make an impressive showing to prove to the clans that you’re a good businessman, an innovative manufacturer, and a true Roamer.”