"Fffft!"

"Think Parnalee knows?"

"Haven't told him."

"Maybe I should change my mind about moving over."

"Nice having someone to talk to."

"There is that."

They started walking again. After several minutes, Aslan said, "I don't like helping Tra Yarta put the boot to the Hordar."

"Nothing much you can do about it and keep your own skin whole."

"I can um put a twist on what I tell him."

"Get yourself whomped some more. Maybe turned into fish bait."

"I've already started. You might not want to be "Daaira dai, Lan, do me good to practice my kicks." Xalloor chuckled. "Could even be fun."

Half a year before Aslan lands on Tairanna/ three years before Adelaar hires Quale and crew.Airship/over the Duzzulkas/cloudless summer night.

Karrel Goza tugged a length of wool from the skein, draped a few loops over his thigh. Ruya was brushing the horizon directly ahead of him, fatly gibbous, Gorruya was nearly out of sight overhead, an anorexic crescent riding a fan of stars that were particularly brilliant this night; the wind was still, even the veil of dust that generally hung over the southern Duzzulkas had settled for the moment. The land was flowing dark and silent beneath the airship, the watchfires of the herders were scattered pinp.r.i.c.ks of red beside spreading shapeless blotches, yunk herds, nubby black against the ripples of silvery black gra.s.s. The clock on the panel gave him another twenty minutes before he made Koy Tarla; the pylon lights should be visible soon. He was a thin dark man, short, neatly made, a man at peace with himself; as his hands manipulated the needles and the bulky gray wool slid steadily about his fingers and the sleeve grew longer, his mind drifted without effort from image to image.

Three sweaters by the time I get home. Not bad. Ommar keeps hinting I should get married. Hmm. I don't want to shift Houses, whoever it is will have to adopt in. Gily? Ommar'd eat her alive. Her father's tavern's doing good, be a nice add to the family business. No, she's all right to warm a bed, not for a long haul, too changeable, I'd never know who she was getting off with when I was gone. Long haul. Hmm. I don't like Sirgun sending me out alone for this haul.

Dangerous. And I'll have to lay over at some Koy and catch some sleep. Isn't the stopping I mind, it's the G.o.d forgotten Noses with their stinking questions, wouldn't believe you if you said the sun was shining. Nehir. She's a weaver, that's good. Prime weaver. Bring a lot to the family. Even Old Pittipat likes her work. She wouldn't mind me being off flying so much. Not going to quit flying, wife or no wife. What would I do if I had to quit? Don't think about that, Kar, it won't happen. Nehir, Nehir. I don't know. She's not bad looking, but ... I like her brother. Not marrying her brother. Good solid business. Hmm. Doussi? Prettiest woman in gul Inci. Wonder why she's not married yet? Five years older than me. Keeps the family factory ticking steady. There's always someone needing motors for new airships. Sirgun Bol could use new ships, replace this old whale. He rubbed his foot against the control stick, smiled dreamily, shook his head. They haven't bought a new ship for two years, hmm, maybe more. Something's going on. Maybe I should think about changing companies. Percin Hizmet left last month. Hasn't found a place yet. That's odd. He's a top mechanic, he shouldn't be having trouble getting on somewhere, Casma. Wonder if she'd be willing to stay onsh.o.r.e. I doubt it, being she's a diver. Divers are too sc.r.a.ppy for me, I can do without fights when I'm home. Way she dances would make a statue stand. Maybe we could work out something. I'm gone so much, she could spend those days at the Farm, be on land a couple weeks when I'm home. Affiliated to a Sea Farm, mmh.

The needles clish-clashed, small clicks and ticks came from the instrument panel, a ghost of wind noise filtered through the windows, wire stays sang sustained sweet notes into the shifting creaks of the gondola, cables burred deeper, stronger notes into the cargo bales. .h.i.tched beneath it. Inside the c.o.c.kpit, the light was dim, bluish, mostly from the panel though a small spotlight shone on his hands and woke watery gleams from the sea-ivory needles. Girls' faces, fragmentary musings, dim apprehensions drifted in an unhurried stream through his head until the alarm chimed.

He set the knitting aside, looked out. Lights in two columns above the much fainter glows from cracks in curtains and the occasional yellow square where an unshuttered shopwindow announced the business was still open. "Koy Tarla."

He patted Fud-40's panel. "Good old girl."

He cut out the automatic pilot, began matching maneuvers and hit the pylon latch dead center first try. The noselock wouldn't click home. He swore under his breath and made another pa.s.s, slipped loose again. Fud-40 hadn't been properly serviced for months, there were a lot of parts that needed replacing, nose gear was so worn it was near unusable. The third time he tried, he revved the motors up more than he liked and held her vibrating against the pylonuntil the instruments gave him a GO. Swearing some more, he brushed the back of his hand against his sweaty brow, swiveled a rotor and nudged the side of the gondola against the platform extending from the pylon, watching the panel anxiously until the readouts told him he was set in solid. He released the rearend cable, felt the gondola shudder as it unreeled. When the hook hit the ground, a buzzer sounded and he shut off the motors with a sigh of relief and a fleeting suspicion that he wouldn't finish this long haul with bag and self intact, a thought he immediately suppressed. He rolled up his knitting, stuffed it in its bag, clicked off his harness and got to his feet. The locks held the gondola stable; besides, Fud-40 was heavy with bales of yunk wool.

It'd take more than his weight to knock her about.

Karrel Goza pulled the lift door shut, checked the cable out, it was taut and locked to the eyebolt. Birey Tipis was reliable as an old boot, bless the man.

Rubbing at his back, he crossed the stretch of beaten earth to the office, pushed open the door and went inside.

"Alo, Bir, how's it go?"

"Slow and slower. You better get that nose fixed, Kar."

"Don't tell me, tell Sirgun. What you got for me?"

"Two pa.s.sengers for Koy Vaha, six bushels orps with the rind on and five sacks tarins, dried. Old Muntza Tefrik, he brought in some hanks of unbleached kes yarn and he wanted to know if his package had got here."

"Pa.s.sengers." Karrel Goza grimaced; they always wanted to come up and talk to him, Fud-40's musty cabin started closing in on them the minute he shut the door. "Nuh, nothing for here this trip. Geres Duvvar is due along in a couple weeks, coming from the west, he might have it. If he makes it here. He's got Hav-13 and that bag makes old Fud up there look like a yearling."

"How's it on the coast?"

"Like here. Slow and slower." Karrel Goza took the manifest, checked the weights, nodded. "Fud can handle this." He set the clipboard down, smothered a yawn. "What's open? I need to eat and catch a few hours sleep. Sirgun laid my co off for the duration."

"You too, eh?"

"Too?"

"You haven't heard?"

"I've been short hauling along the coast, that's why you haven't seen me for a year or so."

"We've been getting singles since the thaw. Navlun Bol and Ilkan Bol just like Sirgun. Cut way down on the schedule too. I get an earful of complaints from the Fehz and everyone else, their goods sit and rot waiting for a hauler to come along. Everyone's notching their belts. For the duration they say. I'm getting an earache from hearing the word. I ask myself what's it mean and I answer me, nothing." Birey Tipis lifted the flap, came through the counter.

"Food, hmm. You remember Annie Arkaday?" He waved Karrel Goza to the door, lifted the key ring off the counter and slipped the keys about, hunting for the one he wanted. "Yeh, not many forget her cooking. She had to shut the cafe, the rent got to be too much for the trickle of customers to cover. She pet.i.tioned the Fehraz to lower it for the duration,"

a soft chuckle sounded over the clink-clank of the keys, "for the duration,"

he repeated, "but he wouldn't, so he gets nothing, intelli- gent, eh?" He shut the lights off, crossed to the door, followed Karrel Goza through. "Folks stay home these days or stake out a table in Mahanna's Tavern with a couple cups of kave, it's still open, but that's because Mahanna's got freehold on the building and only pays a ritseed rent." He finished with the pair of locks, thrust the ring into a side pocket of his jacket. "Annie works out of her house now, same reason, it's freehold, she's piled her kids one on top of the other and hires out their rooms and fixes meals for whoever can pay. And the kids run errands when they can. She's doing all right so far." He pointed down the street. "That way," he said, "across town from here. It's not far." He walked beside Karrel Goza as they went down the middle of thevillage's main street. "You heard anything? Been rumors the lines are going to drop half their stations, let the clerks in them go. I've been in that office near a score of years."

"No one tells us pilots anything except which route we're on or we're laid off till G.o.d knows when." Karrel Goza kicked at a pebble, watched it bound along the worn pavement until it disappeared into a pothole. "It's a long low, but must 've about hit bottom, don't you think?" Karrel Goza looked around. The village didn't seem to have changed much since he'd seen it last, shabby, one-story buildings, red tile roofs showing above the packed earth walls that went round the house and the bit of garden that only friends and family ever saw, here and there trees rustled in the sometime wind and the shutters over the front windows of those shops that were closed for the night rattled with the gusts, the dark was kind and concealing, there was a lot he wouldn't see, a lot hidden behind housewalls. He wished Birey Tipis would shut up about all this, it made him sick thinking about it and more than a little scared.

"Can't say, Kar, you and me, we've still got our jobs, knock wood, but what do we do if Sirgun and the others go broke?"

"Nuh, Bir, they won't let the carriers fail, Tairanna would fall apart if they did."

"Don't be too sure. The Fehz would survive and the divers would still be bringing up rosepearls, so I can't see Pittipat sticking his fingers in, what's he care about a bunch of surrish grubbers? I don't see any light ahead." Birey Tipis glanced at Karrel Goza, wiped sweat off his forehead. "Wouldn't say all this if I didn't know you don't run off at the mouth, Kar." The tip of his tongue flicked along his lips. "Used to be we didn't worry ourselves about what we said, used to be Yapyap, that's what we call the Sech's Nose, he let folks know when he was coming around so they could stop talking about anything he'd have to report." He caught hold of Karrel Goza's arm, stopped him. "Listen, Kar, I don't know about other Koys, but watch what you say to folk here, Yapyap's gone serious, got a bodyguard, a couple sc.r.a.pings imported from Ta.s.salga. Hurum Deval got drunk last week and wouldn't shut up, he started spouting all those jokes about the Impe-rator, you've heard 'em, I'm sure, he didn't mean anything by it, he always gets a mouth on him when he's reeling. Thing is, come morning he was gone, we haven't seen him since. The Fehraz he sent some men over and packed up the family, shipped 'em to gul Brindar on the west coast, we got word a few weeks later they were doing scut work for the Fehdaz there and hoping Hur would show up.

He hasn't so far. And he's a long way from the first to slide down a dark hole without a bottom." He started walking again. "What say you let me buy you a beer? Mahanna's come up with a tarin brew that slides down sweet as honey.

Don't worry about Annie, she'll whip up something for you, doesn't matter how late it is."

"Why not. Old Fud's still a lady in the air. One thing though, who's going to be wrestling the cargo come morning? If it's me, I pa.s.s."

"You got a spare goum or two, I can scare up some strong backs for that."

"I could put in a requisition for expenses. Don't suppose Sirgun would honor it."

"There's another way, wouldn't cost you or show on the books."

"Huh?"

"There's some brothers who need a lift to the coast."

"Off the manifest?"

"What else."

"This Yapyap of yours, won't he be hanging around the pylon?"

"There's ways for handling that."

Karrel Goza walked on. At first he was sure he didn't want anything to do with the proposition. Running like that, it must be serious what they'd done. If something went wrong he could suck his family into their mess. The Ommar'd eat me raw. He glanced several times at Birey Tipis; the old man was strolling along, eyes on the road ahead, face placid as a ruminating yunk, no sign of the nervousness he'd showed a moment before. Karrel Goza was suddenly sure hewas going to do it, he wasn't quite sure why, he was so scared of it, thinking about what could happen tied his stomach in knots and pumped acid up his throat, but somehow he couldn't not do it. "Family'll divorce me if this comes out."

"It won't. Um . . ." Birey Tipis dug his thumb into the soft folds of skin hanging under his jaw. "The boys've done this before."

"Maybe you'd better tell me some more."

"The less you know, Kar, the safer you are."

"I am?"

"You got a point. Everyone is. Safer, I mean. I can say this, it's not thievery or anything like that."

"Make sure you take care of Yap Yap and his friends."

"We will, no fear of that, my friend."

We, Karrel Goza thought, that's interesting. He didn't say anything, just followed Birey Tipis through the tavern's swing door.

Four months after the Duzzulka flight. Speakers Circle/Ayla gul Inci.

Karrel Goza rubbed his back against the stone of the wall, watched the clot of heavily robed men mill about atop the minaret, a thirty-foot-tall column of stone with a round shingled roof rising to a graceful point above the broad arches that went round the speaker's platform. He was listening to the talk around him, soft muttered voices punctuated with slitted suspicious glances at everyone else, angry voices, kept murmurous by the fear that a wrong word at a wrong time was deadlier than poison, a fear justified by the events of the past months; almost everyone knew someone who'd vanished as quietly and completely as a sailor washed overboard in a summer storm; almost everyone thought he or she knew why. There was the unexpressed hope that the missing were in prison somewhere not dead; there was the equally unexpressed fear that they'd been airshipped out over the ocean and dropped in Saader's Cleft.

Geres Duwar came threading through the crowd in the Circle, in each hand a paper cone smudged with grease from the estani nuts inside. He gave a cone to Karrel Goza who moved over so his cousin could lean against the wall beside him. "You got some change coming, Kar. There was a little war going on over there 'tween the peddlers."

Karrel Goza grunted, dug cautiously into the h.o.a.rd of hot nuts.

Geres Duwar swallowed. "Hurry up and wait, huh." He waggled the cone at the group on the speaker's platform.

"Yeh. Don't look like there's much good to say or they'd be saying it."

The clacker sounded, the crack of wood against wood reverberating through the dull mutter of the crowd. Silence spread like fog.

The Stentor separated from the other robed men, spread his arms. "Sim, O Kisil, sim sen, Hear o People, hear thou. Thy Ollanin return to report the outcome of their pet.i.tion." There was a pause. Behind the Stentor one of the Ollanin murmured to him. He nodded, faced out again. "Sorrow, sorrow, the pet.i.tion was heard, the pet.i.tion was denied."

The crushed nut in Karrel Goza's mouth was suddenly bitter. He spat it out, ignoring the scowl of the woman whose skirts he spattered with the bits. Geres Duvvar beat his hand slowly steadily against the stone, cursing under his breath.

"Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. This is the Imperator's reply. Let those among you who are needy apply to the Houses for bread and work." A groan rose from the crowd. "Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. If you who are needy are turned away, give word to the Fehdaz. Every House and every Farm who turned you away will be a.s.sessed two score rosepearls or the equivalent in tapestries and art pieces."

A swelling of sound, with a double center, on one side those who have, on the other those who have not. "Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. Two of thy Ollanin lifted their hearts against this and spoke. The Divine one cast them down into a dark and stinking cell. The Ollanin who murmured but spoke not, the Divine one had them taken from him and sealed into their rooms. For two days, thy Ollanin saw not the sun nor the moons, for two days thy Ollanin drank only water, for twodays thy Ollanin tasted not bread nor meat." Rising-falling moan filled with fear and rage. "Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. The Divine One spake unto your Ollanin thus: It has come to me that the merm beds and the rosepearls are a State resource. It has come to me that it may be wrong for such a resource to remain in the hands of Families, not the State. Be warned, O Kisil, thus the Divine one spake, I will cease my wondering for this moment, I will not act as my heart requires if I am not stirred to it by thy unruly importunities.

"Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. And then it was that the Divine one cast at the feet of thy Ollanin the two of them whose hearts had rebelled. And then it was the Divine One spake again: Take these and let me not see them, let me not hear their names, let them be as nothing in my sight and thine.

"Sim, O Kisil, sim sen. Thy Ollanin have come to thee in sorrow, ashes in their hair and heart, thy Ollanin say to thee, we have failed thee, what is thy will?"

The Stentor folded his arms and stepped back. Robes pulled tight about them, cowls drooping over half-hidden faces, the Ollanin started down the stairs. When they reached the pavement, the crowd in the Circle, silent, impa.s.sive, gave way before them, opening a corridor so they could cross the Circle and pa.s.s into the Fekkri. They didn't wait for an answer, they wouldn't get it then; that was coming three days later. Karrel Goza and Geres Duwar wouldn't bother coming back to hear it. At least the City Ollanin had tried to help, that was more than the Fehdaz had done. He was old and sick and about to die, his sons had died before him (there were rumors about that, how they died and why, Incers were very nervous about the character of the next Fehdaz), his grandsons and the Nephew were all there waiting like vultures, no one in the place bothering their heads about anything else.

Karrel Goza counted the coins in his hand, closed them in his fist. "Gidder's should be open by now. What about a beer?"

Geres Duwar slipped his watch from its pocket, clicked it open. "Do we have time? Old Niffiz is getting touchy about checking in." He shut the watch, shoved it back. "He's Immel. He's got a thing about us in Goza-Duwar-Memeli.

You don't want to give him an excuse to boot us, not the way things are these days."

"May he fall in yunks.h.i.t up to his honker." Karrel Goza put the coins away.

"Let's get back. That wormy old skink won't give an inch."

Ayla gul Inci/Waterfront/one year and six months after the return of the pet.i.tioners.

The bay was gray and leaden, an echo of Karrel Goza's mood. He took out the notice, reread the single line of print. His head throbbing with resentment and fear, his body cold and sick with the horrible emptiness of failure, he tore the paper into small hairy pieces and dropped them into the water. One breath he was angry at Geres Duvvar for holding onto his job with Sirgfln, the next he was dead ash, wondering how he was going to tell the Ommar he was a drag on the Family, not a support. Out on the bay he saw boats coming in. He straightened, stared. He'd played in these waters when he was a baby; when he was older, he'd taken girls out sailing if he could talk a cousin into lending him a boat; he knew enough of the sea's caprices and her moods to understand what he was seeing. There was a bad blow coming. He watched the gray waters heave beneath the pier and hated her, Mother of Storms, treacherous unfeeling b.i.t.c.h, stealing from him his last respite from shame. He had to get back to the House and help tie down for it, no time to get a little drunk to pillow the pain. He cursed softly, bitterly, cursed Sirgun and the Huvved, the Kabriks and their obsession with new products, the mushbrained Imperator and his mushbrained advisors, the Fehrazes and the Fehdazes, the city council, the sneaks and most of all the alien slaves who made all this trouble for workers.

"They are that." A girl's voice.

He swung around. "What?"

"You heard. What happened, you laid off?"He looked her over. She was small and dark, brilliant eyes, not exactly pretty, but coming into a room she'd be the first you noticed. The fine wandering scarlines on her arms were very white against the dark gold of her tan. A Dalliss. No one ever completely tamed a Dalliss even when her diving days were finished. His mouth curled down with dislike, but he touched eyes and mouth and ipread his hands in polite acknowledgment of her presence.

"Blessings, Dalliss." He turned and started past her.

"Oh my, the little man's soul is bruised." She closed her fingers about his arm, said, "You're a pilot. I need a pilot."

"For what?" Disgusted with the leap of hope he couldn't help, he pulled free.

"Storm coming. I'm going home."

"Couple hours before you need to start tying down. Stop a while and give me a listen, you might like what I'm going to say." She stepped back from him, swung herself onto a bitt and sat kicking her bare heels against the agatewood, watching him with a hard bright expectation that sent warning tremors along his spine.

He lowered himself to the planks and sat with his legs hanging over the edge, his back against another bitt. "Job?"

"Not for taking home to Ommar. We could come up with some coin if you've got to have it." She swept her arms wide, waggled her small slim hands as if to say you can have what you want, it doesn't matter long as you do the thing.

Whatever the thing was.

She had beautiful hands, he noticed that with a small jolt of surprise, delicate, supple wrists. And fine ankles. Like a lot of women these days, she'd taken to wearing trouserskirts, wide-legged things made out of the new yosscloth, its silky flow clinging to her legs in a way he found exciting. The top she wore was a tube knitted from black kes yarn, it had a square neck, no sleeves, she wanted to display her arms with their scars, the badge of her achievement. Used to be pearlers wore long sleeves and lace mits to hide the merm marks. Not this one. He found himself approving her pride. He looked away, frowned out across the heaving water. "Just tell me what it is."

"Remember Jamber Fausse?"

He started, went still. "Why?"

"Show you I know a thing or two. You lifted him South after he hit the Fehraz Ene Karrad's strongroom and dropped half the coin to the Kiks that Karrad pushed off his Raz. You've been a busy little man the past few months.

The cold was back in his bones; he stared at the water and said nothing.

"No need to sit there shivering like an ishtok out of water, Karrel Goza. This isn't a noose about your neck. If you don't want to fly for us, forget it."