"You are not hidden from me," the injured one said.
One of the soldiers laughed at her then and thrust his spear in her direction. He did it almost playfully. "Get along, old woman. You may've traveled far but I can send you farther."
His companions guffawed at the jest.
Hali recalled Ship's reassurance: No one bothers an old woman. The injured man called out to her: "Let them know it was done!"
Then the angry shouts of the crowd and the swirling, odorous dust engulfed her. She almost choked as they moved past, caught by a coughing spasm which cleared her throat. When she could, she turned to gaze after the crowd and a gasp was forced from her. At the top of the hill beyond the crowd two men were hanging on tree constructions with crosspieces such as that being dragged along with the injured man.
A momentary opening in the crowd gave her another glimpse of the injured one and, turning back toward her, he shouted: "If anyone understands God's will, you must."
Once more, the milling crowd hid him from her.
God's will?
A hand touched her arm and she jerked away in fright, whirling to see a young man in a long brown robe at her side. His breath smelled of sewage. And his voice was an unctuous whine.
"He says you come from afar, mother," the foul-breathed one said. "Do you know him?"
The look in Foul-breath's eyes made her acutely aware of the vulnerable old flesh which housed her consciousness. This was a dangerous ma.... very dangerous. The look in his eyes reminded her of Oakes. He could cause great pain.
"You had better answer me," he said, and there was poison in his voice.
You call Avata "Firefly in the night of the sea." Avata has doubts about such words because Avata sees the landscape of your mind. Avata moves through your landscape with difficulty. It shifts and twists and changes as Avata goes through. But Avata has made such journeys before. Avata is an explorer of such landscapes. Your phantoms are Avata's guides. We are linked in motion.
What is this thing you call "the natural universe"? Is that something taken from your god? Ahhh, you have separated your parts to create the unique. You do not need this separation for your creations. This fluid evasiveness of your landscape is your strength. The pattern.... ahhh, the patterns. From yourself come the forces which shape the course of each thought. Why do you confine your thought in a tiny fixed landscape?
You find a distinction between measurement and preparation of your landscape. You continually prepare, saying: "I am going to say something abou...." But that limits what you say and it tells your listener to accept your limits. All such measurement and limiting date back to a common system in a simple, linear landscape. Look about you, Human! Where do your senses find such simplicity?
Does a second look at the landscape yield the same view as the first look? Why is your will so inflexible?
***
A magical affinity between object and likeness, between being and symbol, underlies all symbol systems. It is the assumed foundation of language. The word for thing or object in most languages is related to the word for say or speak and these, in turn, have their roots in magic.
OAKES STOOD in stunned silence, staring at Jesus Lewis standing just inside the Ceepee cubby's hatch. Somewhere, there was a background buzz. Oakes realized he had left the holofocus projecting Agrarium D-9. Ye.... it was full day side out there. He slapped the cut-off.
Lewis moved another step into the cubby. He was breathing heavily. His thin, straw-colored hair was disarrayed. His dark eyes moved left, right - probing the room. It was an eye movement which Oakes identified as characteristic of groundsiders. There was a patch of pseudoflesh over an injury on Lewis' narrow, cleft chin, another over the bridge of his sharp nose. His thin mouth was twisted into a wry smile.
"What happened to you?"
"Clone...." Deep breath. "...revolt."
"The Redoubt?" A sharp twinge of fear shot through Oakes.
"It's all right."
Limping, Lewis crossed the room, sank into a divan. "Is there any of your special joy juice around? Every last drop was lost at the Redoubt."
Oakes hurried to a concealed locker, removed a bottle of raw Pandoran wine, opened it and handed the whole bottle to Lewis.
Lewis upended the wine and took four long swallows without a breath while he stared around the bottle at Oakes. The poor old Ceepee looked to be in bad shape. There were dark circles under his eyes. Tough.
For Oakes, the moment was welcome as a time to recover his wits. He did not mind serving Lewis and the sense of personal concern this conveyed would have a desired effect. Obviously, something very bad had happened at the Redoubt. Oakes waited until Lewis put down the bottle, then: "They revolted?"
"The discards from the Scream Room, the injured and the others we just can't support. Food's getting very short. I put all of them outside."
Oakes nodded. Clones thrown out of the Redoubt were, of course, condemned to death. Quick and efficient disposal by Pandora's demon.... unless they had the misfortune to encounter Nerve Runners or a Spinneret. Messy business.
Lewis took another deep swallow of the wine, then: "We didn't realize that the area had become infested with Nerve Runners."
Oakes shuddered. To him, Nerve Runners were the ultimate Pandoran horror. He could imagine the darting, threadlike creatures clinging to his flesh, savaging his nerves, invading his eyes, worming their ravenous way through to his brain. The long agony of such an attack was well known groundside and the stories had made the rounds shipside. Everything Pandoran feared the Runners except, perhaps, the kelp. They seemed immune.
When he could control his voice, Oakes asked: "What happened?"
"The clones raised the usual fuss when we put them outside. They know what it's like out there, of course. I suppose we didn't pay as close attention as we should. Suddenly, they were screaming, 'Nerve Runners!'"
"Your people buttoned down, of course."
"Everything shut up tight while we tried to spot the boil."
"So?"
Lewis stared at the bottle in his hands, took a deep breath.
Oakes waited. Nerve Runners were horrible, yes; it took three or four minutes for them to do what other demons did in a few eyeblinks. Same result, though.
Lewis sighed, took another swallow of the wine. He appeared calmer, as though Oakes' presence told him that he really was safe at last.
"They attacked the Redoubt," Lewis said.
"Nerve Runners?"
"The clones."
"Attacked? But what weapon.... ?"
"Stones, their own bodies. Some of them smashed the sewage baffle before we could stop them. Two clones got inside that way. They were infected by then."
"Nerve Runners in the Redoubt?"
Oakes stared at Lewis in horror. "What did you do?"
"There was a wild scramble. Our mop-up crew, mostly E-clones, locked themselves in the Aquaculture Lab but Runners were in the water lines by then. The lab's a shambles. No survivors there. I sealed myself in a Command room with fifteen aides. We were clean."
"How many did we lose?"
"Most of our effectives."
"Clones?"
"Almost all gone."
Oakes grimaced. "Why didn't you report, ask for help?" He tapped the pellet at his neck.
Lewis shook his head. "I tried. I got static or silence, then someone else trying to talk to me, trying to put pictures in my head."
Pictures in his head!
That was a good description of what Oakes had experienced. Their safe little secret communications channel had been penetrated! Who?