IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume
VII: The Burning
Chapter
1 This
Weapon, Deirdre Keller
Thursday, March 11, 2709 Dinner,
again, Makhliya's orders.
I try to tell her that she's the pregnant one, not me; I
don't need to
eat for two. But she doesn't
listen. Kiril
has laced my beans with a soft, fresh cheese, probably
fermented right here in Merchant Caverns (from llama-milk, by
the taste of it,
really rich stuff) and sprinkled it with sprouts of
cutting-celery, beets,
radishes, onions and garlic (I'm happy to see that others have
seen the usefulness
of maintaining my sprout garden.) I
also
have a hunk of fresh-baked rye bread to dip into it betimes,
smothered in
butter that tastes like it came out of a can–but oh, it's good
enough for me! (Leaving
bodies in supposedly inaccessible places might be good
enough for some, but not for a Peshawr.
What's the good of having a mountaineer nephew if he
can't see to your
final repose, Auntie?) "Makhliya
gives her blessing, with reservations, to sending you
out again," Cyran says, pacing around my table. "She
still thinks you need to gain more
weight, though." I
snort at that, while trying to disentangle a spoonful of beans
and sprouts from the long, pale threads of cheese.
"I'm a warrior, not some buxom barmaid to
plump up for the customers." I feel
quite
sleek, even heavy. It seems that I
hardly turn around but they put more food before me.
(I test my weight on the line, with a fear
that I haven't felt before. Till
now I
have never attempted such a long, steep descent alone.) "I
know. Yet we have some
reason for concern. When you
mentioned
that levitation burns calories, Makhliya asked the smugglers if
they could get
any information on what levitators might require, and as some of
the longer
words taxed her literacy, I read to her the textbook that they
brought her--and
it shocked us both. That's why I
tested
your flying ability yesterday. You
seem
up to it, though I wouldn't say you have much margin."
E eyes me up and down, and doesn't seem to
see me as sleek at all. "Guerillas
never have much margin.
We're used to that." (My
stomach feels queer, floating over nothingness, knowing that
this time I have no margin, no one to catch me if I fall.) "But
we're not used to you–one year doesn't give us
everything we need to know about witches of the Tilián, not by a
long shot." I
say with my mouth full, "Please don't call me that." "I
don't have enough information.
The way greenfire hits you, for instance.
None of the rest of us pass out so often, or
take so long to recoup." "Can't
help you there.
Nobody ever taught me anything about how greenfire
affects levitators,
either. My teachers just assumed
I'd
never use it." I take a swallow
more of
beans. "I assumed the same."
I think uneasily of how battle-drugs left me
in a coma on my first mission, but apparently I've adjusted,
since. I do that. E
sits right in front of me, forearms before hir on the
table. "There's more.
You're not telling me everything, Deirdre." I
tense, spoon midway to mouth.
"What do you mean?" "Come
on. I've done my
research, every chance I get between engagements since you came
on board with
us. You move too fast.
The Tilián teach many things, but not how to
move like a blur, nor how to react instantly the way you
do—dodging bullets, no
less. That's something else–isn't
it?" I
stare at hir, warily blotting my lips with an unbuttered corner
of the bread. At last I say,
"Please
don't make me answer you, Cyran." "Oh,
but I insist. I need
to know the capabilities–and flaws–of every weapon in my
arsenal." Slowly
I say, "But it's my secret–even my own government doesn't
know the truth." "So
you said before–something to do with how you got a weakened
shoulder." Hir eyes glint over a
mirthless smile. "Your initiation
party. You thought me too drunk to
remember
at the time, but I do. I remember
everything." E leans forward. "I've watched you carefully ever
since." I
glance around, to see who else might hear.
Nobody stands close. I drop
my voice down low. "I took part in
a...an experiment. An illegal
experiment." I clasp hir hand and
in a rush say, "Cyran,
you must never tell anybody–never a soul!
The careers of a lot of people would go up in smoke–not
just mine." "I
will tell any medic who must work with you, and Father Man, but
otherwise I can honor your request. And
they're
all sworn to secrecy." "Father
Man already knows.
I, uh, told him about it in confession." E
straightens up at that.
"Ah. So something about it
requires confession, does it?" Again
I glance around. E
sees, rises, snags a folding chair with one hand and with the
other motions me to retreat into my "room", bowl and all.
Once past the cork curtain (and with a final
glance out to assure my privacy, I whisper to hir,
"Only at the beginning." I
find my secret burning in me, desperate for
revelation. "The reflexes sped up
too
fast for the conscience to keep up with, at first.
But in time we got it under control."
I stare at hir, searching those cold blue
eyes for any kind of understanding.
"Things...happened. But they
won't happen again." "Hence
the dislocated shoulder?
Another guinea-pig did that to you?" "Someone
very dear to me.
Yes. But he would never do
it
now." "Reflexes,
you say. But
that's not all, is it?" "I
perceive faster, absorb knowledge faster, adjust faster to
changes in my environment, make mental connections faster,
things like
that. I have an accelerated neural
system, overall." E
blinks at that. "Wouldn't
that kill you?" "It
nearly did!" I pull
myself up in my turn. "You have no
idea
what agonies I suffered to become the agent that I am, before my
body
adjusted." E
leans back in hir chair, crossing hir arms, regarding me.
"Sooooo.
This weapon, Deirdre Keller, has quite a number of
advantages over the
standard model–I can see that. But
also
flaws, inherent in the design. Has
it
occurred to you to even think of what greenfire might do to a
system like
yours?" "Um...no." E
laughs harshly. "No
weapon does much good while still in the holster–and that
includes enhanced
brains, apparently. Had I known
this,
Deirdre, I would never have let anyone–anyone!–give you
leaf." E stands
up, shaking hir head. "I haven't
the
foggiest idea how to calculate how much fuel you need.
And that disturbs me. You
must burn even more than a standard
levitator. I don't know how to keep
you
properly supplied." I
stand, too. "I'm a
guerrilla," I say with a wry smile. "I
run
pretty well improperly supplied." We
go out again, and walk together, while I munch the last of my
bread, and while others, at hir signal, pointedly occupy the far
end of the cave. "But every time
you crash, Deirdre, other
people have to take care of you. That
ties
up resources." I
shrug. "Isn't the best
equipment worth a little extra maintenance?" We
come to the ledge and stare down into a great ocean of cloud,
luminous under a half-moon,
with peaks like islands jutting up from its slow, mysterious
spume. No road visible, today. "Sometimes," Cyran agrees.
"But since you happen to have some claim to
sentience, I want you to take better care of your own
maintenance, when you
can." The wind feels moist against
my
face; I think it rains down there. I
hardly even register the sting of my burnt chest–superficial
damage, thank
heavens! (Rain
pounds down against the slippery stone as I make my rappel,
and lightning strikes all around, in breath-shocking flashes
and deafening
thunderclaps too soon after. Oh
God,
don't let me die like this, with nothing accomplished!
Let me bury Aunt Soskia first, and then let
me die in battle!) "You
want me to go back to Abojan Pass–is that it?"
I haven't spent these days ignoring the talk
around me, the warriors coming and going. "No,
Deirdre. I may have
needed someone special to take the pass, but the common
run can hold it,
now, against the waves of government troops."
E laughs. "They think they
can
beseige us again. It hasn't yet
occurred
to them that the smugglers keep us well-supplied this time. And the ones that we escort through
play up,
pretending to have barely eluded starving bandits to get their
goods through,
claiming all the while that we stole what in fact they've sold
us. And then they up the price of
their goods to
those below, for hazard-pay." E
laughs,
then scratches hir chin. "Speaking
of
which, did you know that Lufti came across a nice, fat vein of
ruby-laced
vermiculite? Enough to keep the
smugglers happy for quite awhile–hey, the vermiculite would've
done the job by
itself: Istislani and Paradisians buy it up like tobacco for
their hanging
gardens. But no, I don't need to
tie you
up in one base like that." "Meanwhile
they tie up their own forces trying to break what they
mistake for breakable. Nice." Flashing glows and rumbles in the
clouds
below tell me of lightning striking way down there.
"So what do you have in mind for me?" (I
see most of the car, now–finally. It
has taken me all day to get here, and now
its dark finish fades into the shadows of twilight.
I don't think I would have spotted it at all
if not for the lightning reflecting off of all the broken
glass. How fitting, at least,
that Aunt Soskia
should come to her final rest in a landscape bejeweled!) "I
can at least send you on a better-supplied mission than I have
in the past–which should mollify Makhliya, at least.
Word has come to me that a tanker left
Sargeddohl Harbor, supposedly to pick up a cargo of sugar from
Strivane, on
December 28. Except it won't come
back
with mere sugar. We don't know what
the
government wants, but it does intrigue me that they wish to
disguise it as
another shipment entirely." E turns
to
me. "The ship should return by the
time
you make it to Sargeddohl. I want
you to
find out what they have, why they have it, and do something
about it–whatever
you think best on the spot." "Sounds
ambiguous enough–I like it." "Along
the way, see if you can recruit among the upper
castes. The servant network
indicates
that some look ready to sway to our side."
E smiles grimly. "It seems
that
it finally dawns on them that oppression's getting bad for
business." "Ah–that's
what you mean by a better-supplied mission." "Don't
push yourself any harder than you have to.
I've allowed plenty of time for you to get to
Sargeddohl at a reasonable pace." Then
e
turns to me, hir blue eyes dark under gathered brows.
"I do not authorize you to use
greenfire on this trip, Deirdre. For
any
reason. Do you understand?" I
salute hir. "Yes,
Memsir." (I
will not bury her tonight.
I need to recoup my strength after a descent like that.
But that's all
right, I have food enough for several days in my pack–for it
will take longer
to ascend, of course. And I have
my foldable shovel,
and atop it all my all-seasons sleeping bag, warm as a hug
from home. Aunt Soskia imported
it for me. Tomorrow
I will do everything necessary. Though
we've gone below the perpetual snow
line, she and her chauffeur will keep till then, for the
nights get frosty
enough.) |
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