Nicola Griffith - Ammonite

Lost, Danner thought to herself later as she dressed in her best uniform for the evening; we all feel lost. But we won’t always be. We’ll make this our home.

Somehow.

To her surprise, Danner found that many of the foods Cassil’s kith served them at the tables and benches set up outside a house made of a bent-over skelter tree were already familiar. The Port Central cafeteria had been growing and serving native vegetables for years. She sat between Sara and T’orre Na, at the same table as Cassil and Lu Wai and Day, three other valley women, and a woman from the pastures, Holle, who still wore a bandage around her head. She enjoyed showing Sara how to eat the tricky goura with its big seeds, and how to pour from the huge pitchers of water without drowning their small goblets.

“No one seems to be talking much,” Sara said as she piled her plate with meat.

“Now is for eating,” T’orre Na said, “while the food’s hot and the water cold.

We’ll talk when the food is finished.”

“Just one of many sensible arrangements you’ll find here,” added Day.

Danner’s wristcom bleeped. “Please excuse me,” she murmured to Cassil, and eased back a little from the table before taking the call.

“Teng here.” There was some interference, a thin whine weaving in and out of Teng’s words. “The gig’s ready to go.”

“Good.” She was glad they had communication again with Port Central, but wondered why her deputy had bothered her with this. “Is there something else?”

“I’ve delayed departure; someone’s tampered with the second gig.”

Danner swore, then realized everyone at her table was looking at her, and modulated her voice. “How badly, Teng?”

“Crippled.”

It had to be the other spy, the one Relman had mentioned. Coming out of the woodwork at last.

“Request orders regarding the departure of the first gig.” Teng’s voice slipped a little. “Commander, it’s our only way off this world now. We can’t let it go.”

“A moment.” The wristcom hissed with static while she thought. “Teng, ask Nyo if she can fix the autopilot on the gig so that it’s tamperproof.” If she could do it to the Estrade systems, she should be able to get the gig up and back down safely enough…

“That’s a negative, Commander. But she says she can do something with the systems, cripple them so they can only be flown from our uplink station.” There was a pause. “She says to assure you she’ll be able to restore the functions once it gets back.”

“Good. Then let them go.”

Silence. Then: “Commander, you haven’t asked if we caught the saboteur. Don’t you want to know who it is?”

And Danner realized she knew, had known all along, who it was. Who it had to be. Who had always been nearby, who had access to privileged communications.

Who smiled at her every day in her offices. Vincio.

“Nevermind,” she whispered.

“What? I didn’t get that, Commander. Request—” A burst of static.

“Repeat that last.”

“…firm… let…”

“You’re breaking up.”

“It’s… storm. Think… your direction. Repeat. Please conf… let… gig go?”

“That’s an affirmative.” Pause. “Hello? Hello?”

Static crackled.

“Damn!” Danner turned to Lu Wai. “Lieutenant, please contact the repair party.

Inform them that the storm seems to be headed in our direction. It’ll hit them first.

Tell them to take shelter immediately.”

Lu Wai stood, bowed slightly to her dinner companions, and walked a few yards away. Danner watched her talking into her wristcom, then turned back to Sara.

“What’s going on?”

Danner picked up her knife but did not reply immediately. Vincio. Vincio who was always so helpful. For whom no request was too great.

“You look ill. Hannah, what’s happened?”

Danner shook her head, unable to speak. Vincio.

Lu Wai came back at a run. Her face was set and pale.“Commander, I couldn’t get through. There’s nothing but static.”

Marghe crawled from the old herder’s cot. The morning sky was blue, but the air was tight and hot. Ripe. There was another storm waiting, somewhere. But not today. Today they would walk to Holme Valley.

They walked steadily. Halfway up a rise of sun-dried grass, Thenike stopped abruptly and turned her head this way and that, listening.

“What do you hear?” Not the other storm, surely. There was no shelter here.

Marghe’s face was still sore from the wind and the rain of the previous night, and her shoulders ached from hunching away from the crashing thunder and lightning.

“I don’t know,” the viajera said. “Something…”

Marghe listened, thought she heard something, lost it, then heard it again: a faint up-and-down hum. She knew that sound. “It’s a sled.” A sled. They would be eating lunch with Danner. She brushed a stray hair from Thenike’s cheek, smiling. “Come on,” she said, partly eager, partly shy. She took Thenike’s hand and they walked over the rise together.

The sled was heading due south, and moving fast.

“Hoi!” Marghe shouted and waved her arms. The canopied sled turned in a wide hissing curve that flattened the grass. It did not slow down. Marghe and Thenike leapt out of the way.

The sled slammed to a halt and a Mirror leapt out, eyes wild, face smeared with dirt. Marghe crouched. This was not right. She rolled to her left and something thudded into the turf by her feet. A piece of wood. Like an arrow.

The Mirror was sobbing, trying to fit another quarrel to her crossbow.

Marghe came back to her feet, arms spread, ready to roll again. A Mirror with a crossbow? She did not have time to wonder at it: the Mirror was raising the bow to her shoulder again, shouting and crying. “Don’t move, you bitches. Just don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t—”

“Chauhan!” Another Minor stepped carefully from the sled. Her hair was gray.

One arm hung loose; one pointed a weapon steadily at Marghe.

Chauhan looked confused. The crossbow wavered.

“Chauhan, lower your weapon.” The older Mirror came closer. Marghe could see how much that arm hurt. “Identify yourselves.”

This Mirror seemed in reasonable command of her faculties. Marghe lifted both arms, spread her legs slightly, waited for Thenike to copy her. The Mirrors were nervous, and hurt. She and Thenike looked like natives. Better act like one, until they calmed down a little. “We have no weapons except a small knife each. I am Marghe Amun, a viajera out of Ollfoss, come to speak with Acting Commander Hannah Danner.” The older Mirror nodded. The other one, the crazy one, was staring at the ground, crossbow dangling from her hand. “You might recognize my other name more readily. I’m Marguerite Angelica Taishan, SEC representative.” She was surprised at how steady her voice was. “And you are…?”

“Twissel.” She pointed her weapon at Thenike. “And this?”

“I am Thenike. We bear soestre.”

“What?” Chauhan said. “Is that a weapon?” Her crossbow was back at her shoulder.

“Chauhan!” Then, more quietly, “Chauhan, go tend to Dogias.”

“Dogias?” Marghe dropped her arms; Twissel motioned for her to put them up again. “Letitia Dogias?”

Twissel studied them both a moment, then nodded once.

“Was it the storm? Did she have a… I mean, did she… Is she all right?”

“No,” Twissel said bluntly. “I think she’s dying.”

“Dying? Letitia? What happened?”

“Natives. Ten killed. No, keep still until I say different.”

Marghe stopped in midstride and made an effort to not shout at the Mirror. “And Lu Wai?”

“The lieutenant wasn’t with us.”