"Prikazyvat Gold." The print shifted. The pilot was gripped by ternfled fascination, unable to look away. The Scientist's Apprentice asked the Grad, "Can you read?"
"Certainly."
"Goldblatt's World probably originated as a Neptune-like body, a gas giant world in the cometary halo that circles Levoy's Star and TeeThree, hundreds of billions of kilometers…klomters out. A supernova can spew its outer envelope asymmetrically due to its trapped magnetic field, leaving the remaining neutron star with an altered velocity. The planetary orbits go all to hell. In Levoy's s-scenario Goldblatt's World would have dropped very close to Levoy's Star, with its per perihelion actually inside the neutron star's Roche Limit. Strong Roche tides would quickly warp the orbit into a circle. The planet would have continued to leak atmosphere to the present day, replacing gasses lost from the Smoke Ring and the gas torus to interstellar space.
"Goldblatt estimates that Levoy's Star went supernova a billion years ago. The planet must have been losing atmosphere for all of that time. In its present state Goldblatt's World defies description: a worldsized core of rock and metals—"
"Enough. Very good, you can read. Can you understand what you read?"
"Not that. I can guess that Levoy's Star is Voy and Goldblatt's World is Gold. The rest of it—" The Grad shrugged. His eye caught the pilot's, and the pilot flinched. He seemed shrunken into himself.
Dominance games. The Scientist's Apprentice had assaulted the pilot's mind with the wonders and the cryptic language of science. Now she was saying, "We have that data on our own cassettes, word for word, as far as I can remember. I hope you brought us something new."
A shadow was congealing in the silver fog around them. They were drifting back toward London Tree.
The carm's free-falling path had curved back toward the tree's midpoint. East takes you out. Out takes you west-He had a great deal to learn about flying the carm. Because he must learn. He would learn to fly this thing, or end his days as a copsik.
There were structures here. Huge wooden beams formed a square.
Inward, four huts in a column, not of woven foliage, but of cut wood.
Cables and tubes ran down the trunk in both directions, further than the Grad could follow. A pond had touched the trunk: a silvery globule clung to the bark, and that seemed strange. A single pond in this region of mist? Men in red moved around it, feeding it water carried in seed pods. It too must be artificial.
With all these artificial structures, London Tree made Quinn Tuft look barbaric! But was it wise to. "Scientist's Apprentice, do you cut the wood for these structures from the tree itself?"
She answered without looking at him. "No. We bring it from other integral trees."
Now she turned, startled and annoyed. He wasn't expected to judge London Tree. The Grad was developing a dislike for the Scientist's Apprentice…which he would try to keep in check. If she was behaving as a typical citizen toward a copsik, it augured badly for Quinn Tribe.
The trunk was coming at them, too fast. The Grad was relieved when he heard the motors start and felt the carm slowing. Those wooden beams would just about fit against the carm's windowed end…and that was what the pilot was doing, tapping at blue lights, fitting the window into that wooden frame. Watch his hands!
Chapter Fourteen
Treemouth and Citadel
IN THE LARGE HUT THE WOMEN WERE STRIPPED NAKED AND examined by two women taller than humans, like Ilsa of Carther Tribe.
Their long hair was white and thin enough to expose scalp. The skin seemed to have withered on their bones. Forty to fifty years old, Minya thought, though that was hard to judge; they looked so strange. They wore ponchos in tuftberry-juice scarlet, closed between the legs. Their walk was easy, practiced. Minya judged that they had spent many years in the tide of London Tree.
"It looks like people live a long time here," she whispered to Jayan, and Jayan nodded.
The supervisors would not answer questions, though they asked many.
They found dirt and wounds in plenty, but no disease. They treated Minya's bruises, and brusquely advised her to avoid offending citizens in future. Minya smiled. Offended? She was sure she had broken a man's arm before they clubbed her unconscious.
Ilsa was clearly pregnant. Jayan was also declared pregnant, to her obvious surprise, and sent off with Usa. Minya gripped Jinny's arm, afraid that she would attempt a futile battle for her twin.
One of the supervisors noticed Jinny's distress. "They'll be all right," she said. "They carry guests. One of the Scientist's apprentices will have to look them over. Also, the men won't be allowed near them."
The what would what? But she would say no more, and Minya had to wait.
The Grad watched through the small windows; the big bow window now gave on to rugged bark four ce'meters distant. Things were happening outside.
A man in a white tunic was talking to men in blue or red ponchos that fit like oversized sacks. Presently the others all launched themselves along the bark toward the lowest of the column of huts.
"Who's that?" the Grad asked.
The Scientist's Apprentice disdained to answer. The pilot said, "That's Kiance the Scientist. Your new owner. No surprise there, he thinks he owns the whole tree."
Klance the Scientist was arguing with himself as he approached the carm. His white smock reached just below his hips; the ends of a citizen's loose poncho showed below. He was tall for a tree dweller, and lean but for a developing pot belly. Not a fighter, the Grad thought — forty-odd, with slack muscles. His hair was thick and white, his nose narrow and convexly curved. In a moment the Grad heard his voice speaking out of the air.
"Lawri." Sharp, with a peremptory snap in it.
The pilot tapped the yellow button and spread two fingertips apart over the resulting pattern of yellow lines (remember), beating Lawri to it. The carm's two doors swung out and in.
The Scientist was already in conversation as he entered. "They want to know when I can move the tree. Damn fools. They only just finished topping off the reservoir. If I moved it now the water would just float away. First we have to—" He stopped. His eyes flicked to the pilot's back (the pilot hadn't bothered to turn around), then to the Grad, then to Lawri. "Well?"
"He's the Scientist of a ruined tribe. He carried these." Lawri held up plastic boxes.
"Old science." His eyes turned greedy. "Tell me later," he said. "Pilot."
The Navy man's head turned.
"Was the carm damaged in any way? Was anything lost?"
"Certainly not. If you need a detailed report—"
"No, that will do. The rest of the Navy party is waiting for the elevator. I think you can still catch it."
The pilot nodded stiffly. He rose and launched himself toward the twin doors. He nearly brushed the Scientist, who held his ground, pulled himself through the doors and was gone.
The Scientist tapped at yellow lights. The window sprouted a display.
"Fuel tanks are damn near dry. We'll be filling them for weeks. Otherwise…looks all right. Lawri, from you I do want a detailed report, but tell me now if anything happened."
"He seemed to know what he was doing. I don't love the treefeeder, but he didn't bump any rocks. The foray team brought back these, and him."
The Scientist took the plastic objects Lawri handed him. "A reader!" he breathed. "You bring me treasure. What's your name?"
The Grad hesitated, then, "Jeffer."
"Jeffer, I'll wait for your story. We'll get you cleaned up first. All these years I've been waiting for the Navy to lose my carm, reader and all. I can't tell you what it means to have a spare."