The pod-driver covers the yellow hooter and climbs off to stretch. She’s a middle-aged female Tivonel hasn’t met. Iznagel presents her with food-packets and the driver sparkles enthusiastic thanks; it’s a long trip up and the fresh wild food is a treat after the boring rations in Deep. But first she must offer Iznagel her memory of conditions in the wind-layers below. Tivonel sees the two females’ mind-fields form in transmission mode, and feels the faint life-signal snap as they merge.
“Farewell, farewell!” The Station crew is starting to flicker their goodbyes. It’s time for the males to embark. But they are not to be hurried.
Tivonel planes down to the pod-driver.
“A message for Food-Supply Chief Ellakil, if you will,” she signs politely. “Tell her Tivonel will be down later. I’m going first to Far Pole to see the Hearers.”
The driver, munching embarrassedly, signals assent. But Iznagel asks in surprise, “Whatever for, Tivonel?”
“The Father-of-my-child, Giadoc, is there.” Just in time she remembers to restrain her thoughts. “I want to hear news,” she adds—which is true, as far as it goes.
Iznagel’s mantle emits a skeptical gleam.
“What’s a Father doing at Far Pole?” the driver demands, curiosity overcoming her shyness at public eating.
“He became a Hearer some time ago, when Tiavan was grown. He’s interested in learning about the life beyond the sky.”
“How unFatherly.” The driver’s tone is tersely grey.
“You wouldn’t say so if you knew him,” Tivonel retorts. “Someone should gain knowledge, and our fields aren’t big enough. It takes a Father’s sensitivity to probe the sky.” But as she speaks, something in her agrees a little with the driver. Never mind; my Giadoc is a true male.
“Here they come at last. Move back.”
The big males are jetting somewhat awkwardly out to the floater. As they near it, a clamor of shrill green shrieks breaks out from under their mantles: The youngsters are appalled anew at the prospect of entering the pod. They scream and struggle shockingly against their new Fathers, contorting their little mind-fields against the huge strange energies that envelop and soothe them. They’re strong young ones, deformed by premature activity in the Wild. Even big Ober seems to be striving for composure.
As they go by, Ober’s mantle flaps upward, revealing his bulging Father’s pouch and a glimpse of the child’s jets. The pod-driver squeaks bright turquoise with embarrassment. Iznagel only averts herself, glowing amusedly under the conventional rosy flush of appreciation for the sacred Skills. Tivonel is used to the sight of such intimate gathering after the last months. That silly driver—Deepers forget the facts of life, she thinks. It’s better up here where people are more open to the Wind.
Behind her she notices the two young Station males, their life-fields flaring straight out with intense emotion. Probably seeing grown Fathers in action for the first time. Belatedly, she checks her own field, and tunes her mantle to the correct flush. The last of the Fathers are going in.
“Goodbye, goodbye! Wind’s blessing,” she signals formally, unable to check an eddy of her field toward them, hoping for a last warm contact. But of course there’s no response. Don’t be foolish, she chides herself. Their important, high-status life has begun. Do I want to be an abnormal female like the Paradomin, wanting to be a Father myself? Absolutely not; winds take the status! I love my female life—travel, work, exploration, trade, the spice of danger. I am Tivonel!
The party is all inside, their life-emanations crowded into one massive presence. The driver climbs onto the guide-seat. “Farewell, farewell!” the Station-keepers’ mantles sing golden. The floater’s vanes tilt up, the helpers jet forward with it into the wind.
Abruptly it angles up, the wind takes it, and the pod leaps away and down. The departing life-fields she has known so well shrink to a fleeing print, dwindle downwind into the lifeless dark. A gentle yellow hoot sounds twice and ceases. All is silent now; the Sound has set.
Tivonel lifts her scan and her spirits bounce back in the lovely day. Time for her to start upwind, to Far Pole and the Hearers. To Giadoc.
But first she should inquire about the trail. She hesitates, tempted to strike off on her own skill. It would be easy; already she has detected a very tiny but stable life-signal from far upwind. That has to be the Hearers. And her mantle-senses have registered a pressure gradient which should lead to an interface between the windstreams, easy jetting.
But it’s polite to ask. Ahura, ahura, she tells herself. If I go down to Deep acting this way they’ll take me for a Lost One.
Iznagel is directing the stowage of a raft of food-plants destined for Deep that will have to await the next floater.
Tivonel watches the scarred senior female with affection. I’ll be like her one day, she thinks. So rugged and work-tempered and competent. She’s been up to the top High, too, look at those burn-scars on her vanes. It’s a big job keeping the Station stable here. But a good life; maybe I’ll end here when I’m old. Worry dims her momentarily; now people are starting to grow so much stuff down by Deep, how long will they keep the Station up here? But no use to fret—and that tame food tastes awful. Iznagel finishes; Tivonel planes down.
“May I know the path to the Hearers?” she asks in formal-friend mode.
Iznagel flashes cordial compliance and then hesitates.
“Tell me something, Tivonel,” she signs privately. “I could hardly believe what your memory gave us, that those Wild Ones tried to do—well, criminal things.”
“Oh, they did,” Tivonel shudders slightly, remembering the nastiness of it. “In fact I didn’t put it all in your memory, it was so bad. The males can tell the Deep Recorders if they want.”
“They actually struck at your life-fields?”
“Yes. Several of them tried to mind-cut us when we came close. A male attacked me and tried to split my field! I was so startled I barely got away. They’re untrained, thank the Wind, but they’re so mean. They do it to each other—a lot of them looked as if they’d lost field.”
“How hideous!”
“Yes.” Tivonel can’t resist horrifying her a little more. “There was worse, Iznagel.”
“No—what?”
“They weren’t just trying to mind-cut us. They… pushed.”
“No! No—you don’t mean life-crime!” Iznagel’s tone is dark violet with horror.
“Listen. We found a Father who had pushed his own son’s life-field out and stolen his body!” Tivonel shudders again, Iznagel is speechless. “He wanted to live forever, I guess. It was vile. And so pathetic, seeing the poor child’s life around the Father’s ragged old body. Ober and the others drove him out of his own body and got the child back in his. It was the most thrilling sight you can imagine.”
“Life-crime… Imagine, a Father doing that!”
“Yes. I never realized how awful it was. I mean, they tell you there could be such a bad thing, but you can’t believe what it’s like till you see.”
“I guess so. Well, Tivonel, you certainly have had experience.”
“And I intend to have some more, dear Iznagel.” Tivonel ripples her field mock-flirtatiously. “If you will kindly show me the trail.”
“Certainly. Oh, by the way, speaking of bad things, you might tell the Hearers there’s more rumors in Deep. Localin the driver says the Hearers at Near Pole have been noticing dead worlds or something. The Deepers think maybe another fireball is coming in.”