Joan Vinge - The Snow Queen

“Somebody’s been harassing Starbuck and the Hounds when they go mer hunting, and I gather they’ve been having too much success. The mer population must be pretty well depleted by now; it must be cutting into the Queen’s profits… and her measure of control over us. The interference involves some sophisticated jamming devices and comm gear, and there’s only one place that it could be coming from.”

“Hmm. So if we arrest any smugglers, we might get a lead on who’s doing the harassing?” He shifted restlessly again.

“Maybe. I’m not holding my breath. This whole trip is a waste of energy, as far as I can see.” And that’s just what LiouxSked intended it to be. “Frankly, I hope we don’t find anything. Does it shock you, BZ?” She grinned briefly at his expression. “You know, I hate to admit it, but sometimes I have trouble convincing myself these tech runners are doing anything wrong. Or that anybody who objects to cutting one species’ life short so that another species can stretch out its own abnormally is in the wrong, either. Sometimes I think that everything that disgusts me about Carbuncle is tied to the water of life. That the city draws rottenness and corruption because its survival depends on a corrupt act.”

“Would you still feel that way if you could afford immortality, Inspector?”

She looked up, hesitated. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t feel any different. But I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Gundhalinu nodded, and shrugged. “I don’t suppose either one of us will ever get to find out.” He changed position again, glanced down at the chronometer.

“What’s the matter, BZ?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” He gazed out at the sea with stoic Kharemoughi propriety. “Something I should have done before we left the city.” He sighed, and picked up his book.

“You travel awfully light. You sure you’re going to get all the way to Carbuncle from here, with nothing but the clothes on your back?” Ngenet pressed a long finger into the lock on the hovercraft’s door while Moon stood looking out over the harbor. They had covered the distance from Neith in hours instead of days. Her knees were weak with the unbelievable fact of her presence in this distant place.

“What?… Oh, I’ll be all right. I’ll crew with some trader from here — there must be a hundred ships in this bay!” Shotover Bay would have swallowed the harbor at Neith, and the village, and half of the island, with no trouble. The setting suns broke through clouds, scattered chips of ruby across the water surface; ships of all sizes rode high on the tide’s flow. Some had an alien ness of form that she couldn’t put a name to. Some were mast less she wondered whether they had been caught in a storm.

“A lot of Winter ships use engines, you know. A lot of them don’t even use sail at all. Will they take you on?” Ngenet’s brusque questioning tapped her on the shoulder again, as she suddenly understood why there were no masts. During their arrow’s flight across the sea she had not learned much about him except that he didn’t like to talk about himself; but his curt inquiries about her journey told her more than he knew.

“I’m not afraid of engines. And the work will be the same; there’s only so much you can do on a ship.” She smiled, hoping it was true. She ran her hand along the hovercraft’s chill metal skin, struggling against the fresh awareness that it could have taken her to Sparks in less than a day… Her smile faded.

“Well, you just make sure you find yourself a ship run by females. Some of the Winter men have picked up bad habits from the star port scum.”

“I don’t — Oh.” She nodded, remembering why her grandmother had told her to stay off the traders’ ships. “I’ll do that.” Even though she was certain that Ngenet was an off worlder he spoke as if his people meant no more to him than Summers or Winters seemed to. She hadn’t asked him why; she was no longer afraid of his surliness, but she wasn’t ready to impose on it. “And I want to thank—”

He frowned across the harbor at the sunset. “No time for that. I’m half a day late for this meeting as it is. So you just—”

“Hey, honey cake ditch that old man an’ let us show you a good time!” One of the two Winter males who had been weaving toward them along the quay angled closer, grinning appreciatively, arms out. But as she reached for a biting reply Moon saw his expression change. He pulled his companion into a precarious veer away, muttered something close to the other’s ear. They hurried on, looking back.

“H-how did they know?” Moon’s hands pressed against her slicker front.

“Know what?” The frown was still on Ngenet’s face, etching deeper, as he watched them go.

“That I’m a sibyl.” She reached down inside and brought the trefoil out on its chain.

“You’re a what?” He turned back to her, actually took the trefoil into his hands as if he had to prove its reality. He dropped it again, hastily. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Well, I didn’t… I mean, I—”

“That settles it.” He wasn’t listening. “You’re not staying here alone overnight. You can come with me; Elsie’ll understand.” His hand closed around her upper arm; he pulled her after him across the expanse of paving toward the quay’s town side

“Where are we going? Wait!” Moon stumbled after him with impotent anger as he strode toward the nearest street entrance. She saw light blossom at the top of a slender pole, and then another and another ahead of them, immense flame less candles. “I don’t understand.” She dropped her voice, “Do you believe in the Lady?”

“No, but I believe in you.” He guided them onto a sidewalk.

“You’re an off worlder

“That’s right, I am.”

“But, I thought—”

“Don’t ask, just walk. There’s nothing strange about it.” He let go of her arm; she kept up with him.

“Aren’t you afraid of me, then?”

He shook his head. “Just don’t fall down and skin your knee, or I might worry some.” She looked at him blankly.

Behind them another hovercraft, with the markings of the Hegemonic Police, drifted down toward a landing on the quay. But he did not look back, and so he did not see it settle beside his own.

“Where are we going?” Moon maneuvered around a cluster of laughing sailors.

“To meet a friend.”

“A woman friend? Won’t she mind—”

“It’s business, not pleasure. Just mind your own when we get there.”

Moon shrugged, and pushed her numbing hands into the pockets of her pants. She could see their breath now, as the temperature followed the sun down. She peered curiously into the assortment of one — and two-story building fronts, more buildings than she had ever seen in one place, but stolidly familiar in form. Mortared stone and wood planking leaned on each other for support, and among them she saw an occasional wall made of something that was not really dried mud. Multiple layers of exotic noise reached out to catch at her ears as they passed by one tavern after another. “How did they know what I was, if you didn’t, Ngenet?”

“Call me Miroe. I don’t think they did. I think they probably just noticed that I was a lot bigger and a hell of a lot more sober than either one of them.”

“Hm.” Moon fingered the scaling knife at her belt thoughtfully; she felt the knots go out of her back muscles as she realized that the eyes of everyone passing were not staying on her too often and too long.

Ngenet turned down a narrow side street; they stopped at last before a small, isolated tavern. Light rainbowed out onto the cobbles through colored glass; the peeling painted sign above the door read The Black Deeds Inn. He grunted. “Elsie always did have a peculiar sense of humor.” Moon noticed a second sign that read Closed, but Ngenet pulled on the latch; the door opened, and they went inside.