Sliding Scales Read online

  “It hass been decided that a sspecialized invesstigative unit sshould be created, whosse sstaff will be drawn from ssome of the ssharper mindss within the Authority. A unit whosse purposse will be to root out and identify ssourcess of Vsseyan resstlessness that are ssufficiently disscontented to resspond to our pressence on Jasst with violent demonsstrationss. By decission as well as review of record, it hass been decided that you are pressently the mosst qualified nye to command and direct ssuch a unit.”

  Takuuna stood stunned. What a wonderment of sand-falls the morning had brought! First the delicious encounter with the dynamic female Geelin. And now this. Anticipating condemnation over the outcome of his encounter with the intruding softskin, perhaps even a formal questioning by an interrogation panel, he instead found himself promoted! Any last vestiges of doubt he felt over terminating the visitor vanished beneath the import of the primary administrator's words.

  “Doess thiss appointment include the formal divesstiture of a perssonal subjunctive?” Had a human in such a situation made the inquiry, it would have sounded pushy. For an AAnn not to do so would have been unnatural.

  Hence, Keliichu was expecting it. “No. The appointment doess not carry that kind of hierarchical weight. However,” the senior administrator added in response to Takuuna's obvious dissapointment, “the ssuccessful ressolution of the ssituation we are facing and that you are being assked to deal with would almosst certainly produce ssuch a ressult.”

  Coming as it did from an official as high up in the local chain of command as Keliichu, the response boosted Takuuna's spirits even more than they had been already.

  “Resst assured, venerated primary adminisstrator, that I will undertake to excisse thiss ssocial cancer with the utmosst vigor of which I am capable.”

  “I am ssure you will.” Keliichu's tone was dry and polite. He did not know Takuuna well enough to dislike him. Such things, anyway, were not important. “Your mandate and directionss will be waiting for you in your office. Upon commencing your work, if you find that you require additional ressourcess, do not hessitate to bypass normal channelss to request them. Thiss iss a priority assignment.”

  After offering a heartfelt “truly” and taking his leave, Takuuna departed the chief administrator's sector. He had to force himself to walk and not bound down the corridor of the complex. A special designation! Everyone would be watching him. Naturally, too, everyone would be hoping for him to fail. But this was an exceptional circumstance. He would be operating for the safety and welfare of all nye. The cooperation he could expect from those who would normally be his competitors would be atypical, and could not be refused. He was in a unique and enviable position. In fact, in examining his new circumstances from every possible angle, he could find only one potential complication.

  To the best of his knowledge, there were no violently subversive groups operating among the Vssey.

  Certainly the human had never vouchsafed any interest in such. That had not stopped Takuuna from killing him. Just as the likely absence of any widespread organized opposition to the AAnn presence on Jast was not going to stop Takuuna from carrying out his newly assigned duties. In the absence of a reason to kill the softskin, Takuuna had managed to do so, anyway, neatly manufacturing a rationale after the fact. With the native authorities having promised to cooperate in any investigation, there was nothing to hold him back. Striding purposefully and proudly down the corridor, he hissed a happy threnody as he contemplated the first spate of anticipated arrests.

  6

  He remembered what rain was, but the remembering of it did nothing to sate his burning thirst or restore any more of his missing memory. Clearly, it rained in this land. There were too many growing things for it to be otherwise. He could not put a name to any of the growths around him, but many were very green, and he knew that meant the presence of moisture. So he kept walking and stumbling in the direction of the distant green line he had espied when he began to leave the great canyon behind.

  The flying snake was light on his shoulders. Apparently she was accustomed to resting there, because she repeatedly touched down and settled herself without hesitation. That was interesting, he reflected. In addition to giving the creature a name, he also somehow knew it was female. What else did he know that awaited only a chance glance, a quick flash of insight, for him to remember?

  If he did not find water soon, he knew, whatever he did or did not know would not matter. As days passed, the green line came closer, faded, darkened anew. He was near enough now to make out individual bits of foliage, strong and sturdy. Some of the growths were notably larger than himself. They obviously required a good deal of water, more than occasional rain could supply. So, where was it? He couldn't see it, couldn't smell it. Neither, if she had any heightened senses in that regard, could Pip.

  The nearer he drew to the oddly squarish green growths, the steeper and more treacherous the route he had chosen became, until he found himself walking along a ledge running above a narrow gulch. The gully wasn't deep or wide, and he welcomed the shade it provided from the heat of the day.

  He was growing delirious. He knew that was the case because for the better part of the morning he had been hearing the sound of running water. But there was no running water. The surface underfoot was solid rock, the bottom of the ravine dry and sandy, and no life-giving waterfalls cascaded from either rim. Already deprived of memory, his traitorous mind was playing further tricks on him.

  An airborne Pip was gliding along parallel to him, occasionally crisscrossing the bottom of the gulch. Periodically she would climb up from the bottom of the ravine to flutter in front of his face before dipping downward once more. He did not find the behavior odd because he could not recall anything of her normal behavior and therefore had no history with which to compare it.

  Then he misstepped, his right foot bent sideways, he overcorrected to keep from spraining the ankle, and down he went. Faithless as it was, he still tried to protect his head as he tumbled over and over. At least, he thought as he fell helplessly, the sand at the bottom of the canyon looked soft. It was, but not in the way he had expected.

  Faced with the fact that the large gangly object accelerating toward them was not going to halt, the pack of somnolent creek browsers, who spanned the watercourse from bank to bank and whose natural camouflage consisted of adjoining flat backs that looked just like a sandy surface, inflated the myriad of tiny airsacs concealed beneath their skin and rose into the air of the gully. Still tumbling uncontrollably downslope, arms and legs flailing in a feeble attempt to halt his plunge, he caught a quick, wild glimpse of the free-flowing creek the ascension of the rapidly rising browsers had exposed. Then he splashed noisily into it. He lay there in the shallow water, stunned by dual sensations of wet and cold that were as welcome as they were unexpected.

  He was not delusional. The sound of running water had been real. The stream had been there all the time. It had simply been hidden beneath the bodies of dozens of sand-backed browsing things.

  Lying in the little creek, the placid current applying the gentlest of pressure against his limbs and body, he began to drink. It was effortless. He simply opened his mouth and let the water flow in. Almost immediately, he began to choke.

  Drowning here and now, in this dry, desiccated place, would be more than ironic, he decided as he forced himself to sit up. He did not try to crawl out of the stream. Instead, he let it flow around him, quietly ecstatic in the grip of its moist caress, and brought water methodically to his lips by forming a cup with his hands. The fresh spring-water soothed his bruised, abraded exterior as effectively as it did his insides. Nearby, Pip lay flattened and fully extended on the sandy shore, pleated wings folded against her sides, and sipped delicately from an eddy.

  When he had drank as much as he dared and an ache was threatening to develop beneath his ribs, he struggled to the bank beside her and lay there among the coiled green and vermilion grass-like growths, watching the stream that had saved his life. Th
e cautious creek browsers were returning one by one. As they resumed their immobile feeding positions spanning the watercourse, they once again blanketed it from sight above and below his location. But the several meters of creek running in front of him remained open to air and sky. Their caution was well considered, as he found himself beginning to wonder if any of the grassy coils or creek browsers might be edible. Sating his thirst only served to magnify the weakness he felt from hunger.

  If he wanted to take chances with his digestive system, there was plenty to choose from. The profusion of mostly waist-high growths and ground cover attracted by the permanent water were in shades of deep, dark green to pale pink. Finger-length fruits hung from one growth. Plump and pale blue, they were as tempting to the mind as to the eye. But though he studied them for what felt like an hour, not so much as a wandering arthropod availed itself of this seemingly vulnerable and extensive food supply. The lack of attention suggested that, attractive as they were, the blue fruits might be something other than edible. Even in the absence of memory, he retained caution. Tempted as he was, he forced himself to keep looking.

  In addition to the gently sloping, sandy banks of the stream, the water itself was swarming with life. Translucent fronds like the tentacles of coelenterates thrust upward from the bottom. As he rose and stumbled downstream, scattering browsing sandbacks like tawny bed-sheets, he encountered deeper pools where such growths reached lengths of several meters or more. Though they were nearly transparent, he was able to make them out because they undulated with the current. When they did so, they would catch the light and bounce it upward. Small balls of dark green carpeted the sides of the deepest pools, quivering like anxious rodents in the racing water.

  Out of strength at last, he sank exhausted to his knees. Pip rose from his shoulders as he slumped, circling around to flutter in front of his face. Feebly, he waved her off. There was nothing she could do. Potentially toxic or not, he realized that he was going to have to try to eat something before he lost even the energy to chew.

  In front of him, a host of small creatures were rising and falling from the depths of the pool. Inflating diverse arrangements of small airsacs on their backs, they would shoot upward from below, break the surface of the water, and continue upward toward the rim of the gulch, only to disappear over the edge. Meanwhile, others would vent air from their lifting bladders and drop into the water. There they would descend to feed on the underwater forest and the tiny swimming things that dwelled within it. It was an arrangement as practical as it was novel, since each small diver would retain enough air in its sacs to enable it to breathe underwater.

  As he was debating whether to try plucking and munching on some of the long, translucent streamers, the green globules, or one of the lazy swimmers, a pair of new arrivals caught his attention. About a meter long, they had slim bodies that flattened to sharp edges at both sides, as if their bodies had been squeezed from opposite directions. In color they were silvery, with black stripes running the length of their flattened forms. Triple lifting sacs ran from just behind the integrated head down to the broad, flattened terminus. Large eyes with prominent golden pupils were set securely in hard-shelled foreheads that tapered to narrow, pointed snouts. From the snouts, tongues a third the length of the entire creature flicked repeatedly in and out, reminding him of similar oral appendages in hummingbirds. Hummingbirds—something else remembered, he realized with a jolt of satisfaction.

  But the tongues of these new arrivals were not designed for delicately sipping flower nectar. The last several centimeters of each appendage was tipped with lethal-looking, backward-facing barbs.

  By venting air from the lifting bladder on either side, the creatures were able to move fairly quickly back and forth. Anterior nozzles pushed them forward. As they hovered, they scanned the water below. He blinked. He had to try to eat something, and soon.

  An explosive puff of air interrupted his reverie. Venting the contents of all three longitudinal lifting bladders simultaneously, the slightly smaller of the two tongue-masters plunged nose-downward into the water. Its companion followed within seconds. Leaning forward and peering into the depths of the crystal-clear pool, he saw them combine to attack a school of slow-drifting, dual-finned, bluish-purple spheres. Though the spheres scattered rapidly, they were unable to avoid the attack from above. The shape of the lancet-like diving carnivore was as hydrodynamic as it was aerodynamic.

  Helpless victims squirming on the end of barbed tongues, the two divers made a leisurely ascent to the surface. There they floated while drawing their still-living prey into their gaping, narrow jaws. As an increasingly shaky Flinx watched, they slowly reinflated their lifting bladders.

  Three more of the lithe, lethal flesh-eaters arrived, dropping down over the rim of the chasm. Like nearly every other aerial animal he had encountered on Jast, having no wings to beat they made no sound as they descended. He expected them to repeat the predatory dives of their predecessors. They did not.

  Instead, venting air from their propulsive nozzles, they drifted curiously in his direction.

  He was having difficulty sitting. Drained of fuel and pushed to their limit, his muscles struggled to hold him in an upright position. It would be so easy, so simple, his addled mind insisted, for him simply to lie down. Have a good rest, and then try again to find some food. Dimly, he saw Pip interpose herself between his prone form and the barb-tongued fliers. But she was weak and tired, too. She could not stay airborne forever. At her intervention the fliers backed off. But they did not leave. Two more joined the first five, then another quartet.

  He felt something sharp probe the bare skin of his right leg, where he had torn his pants during the plunge into Saudaunn Chasm. Glancing back and down, he saw a barbed tongue ripping away a small piece of flesh. Pip was there in an instant, but she did not have the strength to spit. As the audacious flier retracted the barbed appendage back into its mouth and backed off, others began to close in from the opposite side. Flying protective circles around her inert master, Pip held them back. She could not do so forever.

  Rest, his mind told him. What was a little meat between visitor and locals? He contemplated crawling into the water to escape. But that wouldn't protect him from these carnivores, who were as adept at spearing prey underwater as they were above. No, rest and sleep were the simplest options. They would allow him to ignore the new pain in the back of his thigh as well as the two new ones that were beginning to trouble his back.

  Faintly, he heard a voice. It was not human. That was hardly surprising, since he was in all likelihood the only human on Jast. He did not think of it as an exception, however, any more than he particularly thought of himself as human. He was just himself. And, anyway, the important thing was that he could understand the speaking.

  It was very sibilant.

  There was more than one voice. They began to shout. Large shapes moved to and fro around him, dimly perceived. The multiple pains went away. He felt strong hands lifting him, turning him over. A slight weight landed on his chest. The flying snake chose not to intervene with the newcomers who were handling her master. Or perhaps, exhausted, she could not. He struggled to focus on the face that was peering down at him. For a brief moment, lucidity returned and he could see clearly. The face was bright of eye, shiny of scale, and sharp of tooth.

  “It livess,” the voice that belonged to the face murmured in surprise. “I think it iss a human.”

  What's a human? he wondered. Then he passed out.

  Voices, echoing. Warmth against his back. Something caressing his chin. Nothing known.

  Try opening your eyes, idiot. Idiot. He knew what that was. He tried. Light replaced darkness.

  Alert, vertical pupils stared back out of a scaled, iridescent green face. Hissing with delight at the sight of her master once more revived, Pip took to the air and spun circles around the ceiling. It was an interesting ceiling, he decided. Lying flat on his back, he had an excellent view of it.

  It wa
s fulsomely decorated with hovering clouds of cotton candy. Predominantly pink and rouge, pale carmine and umber highlighted with gold and yellow, the intricate sworls and sweeps of gossamer material hung from the ceiling as if spun by a million tiny spiders giddy with delusions of grandeur. Seemingly weightless, the ethereal puffs of pastel-hued lightweight material formed clouds and star maps populated by all manner of imaginary creatures sprung full-blown from fevered imagination.

  Except they were not imaginary. The spun-glass artwork dazzling his newly roused consciousness replicated real animals and plants. That he first thought them mythological was not his fault. They dwelled on worlds neither he nor his kind had ever visited. And the imaginations, as well as the skills, that had reproduced them on the ceiling of the chamber in which he lay recuperating were anything but fevered. By nature and by choice, their creators were in fact calm, considered, and contemplative. Their contemporaries also thought them mad, but he knew nothing of that particular sociological divergence yet.

  He managed to sit up. He was in a large, circular room with a gently domed ceiling to which the wonderful artwork clung. The walls were composed of some transparent brickwork that enabled him to see the Jastian landscape beyond. There were a lot of plants outside, too politely spaced to be anything other than gardened. Beneath him and supporting him was perfectly clean, brushed flat, sterilized sand, the fine particles heated from beneath to a temperature that bordered on blistering. Their subject matter alien, a couple of slender sculptures rendered in what might have been black marble, or black metal, thrust upward from the sand. Rising, he started to brush it from his pants—only to discover that his pants, and his shirt, had been replaced by a loose white robe that had been embellished with swirling patterns of tinted ferric oxide. He did not recognize the patterns. Nor did he have to brush sand from the garment when he stood. It had been treated and shed any clinging sand like water. Twisting to peer behind and down at himself, he did wonder why the rear of the robe featured a slit running from waist to hem.