Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (41 page)

“We've got a problem, ladies,” began Treet, settling beside them. “We have to find a way to get our vehicles across. I don't think they're made for underwater. Got any ideas?”

“A bridge?” began Yarden, then waved aside the idea at once. “Forget I said that.” She looked at the desolate hills across the water. “That side is just as barren as this. We'll just have to look for a fording place.”

“I guess so—unless Nho can help us out.” He looked at Calin directly. “What about it?”

“Treet, no.” Yarden put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Calin? Can your psi do anything?”

She considered this for a moment and then nodded. “It would be possible to carry them across perhaps. But I cannot—what is the word?”

“Swim?”

The magician nodded again quickly. “Yes. Swim.”

“That is a problem,” agreed Treet.

“You can't make her do it,” said Yarden. “Do you have any idea what using psi power does to a person?”

“Not really,” admitted Treet. “But we've come to a dead end, Yarden. I'm open to suggestions, but unless you know of a good ferry anywhere around, I don't know what else we're going to do.”

“Couldn't we at least look for a place to ford? We might find one, which would make crossing a whole lot easier and simpler.”

“True. Okay, we look. Here's what we'll do. You and Calin go south and I'll go north—say, for twenty kilometers.”

“Thirty.”

“All right, thirty. We'll meet back here and share what we've found. How's that?”

Both women agreed, so Treet pushed himself up and went to his skimmer, then donned a helmet briefly to speak to Pizzle and Crocker. “Look, you guys are going to have to get out of those hats. You're missing all the fun.”

“What's going on?” asked Crocker.

“Well, we're trying to find a way to get across. Any ideas?”

Crocker glanced at the skimmers. “They're much too heavy to lift that's for sure. A ford, I'd say.”

“That's what we decided. Yarden and I are going to split up and take a quick look both ways along the shore. You and Pizzle stay here with the other machine. We'll meet back here in an hour.”

“Sounds good,” said Pizzle.

“In the meantime, why don't you two work up your nerve and take off your helmets? As you can see, the air is fine. We're thriving. In fact, I think the oxygen content of the atmosphere is higher than Earth's. There's only a momentary discomfort, but that doesn't last.”

“Momentary discomfort? Is that what you call rolling around on the ground screaming your heads off? No thanks,” said Pizzle.

“Suit yourself. You're going to have to take them off sooner or later. Stay put. We'll be back soon.”

Treet, Yarden, and Calin left, driving along the bank, following the slow curves of the river. It wound easily through the hills, and Treet noticed that the river valley was a narrow band on either side, which meant that the water course was relatively recent, geologically speaking. The river had not had time to cut away and flatten the hills along its sides.

Staying close to the bank, he steered the skimmer northward and noticed a ridge ahead which advertised a clear view of the waterway below. Treet left the bank and made for the ridgetop. The promontory did indeed offer a good survey of a fair stretch of river, and nowhere did he see any variation in its width which might indicate shallows. It rolled on placidly beneath the white sun and eventually disappeared beyond a ruffled row of hills away to the north. Though the skimmer's odometer read only fifteen kilometers, Treet decided to turn back, knowing that were he to proceed further he would find only more of the same.

Yarden and Calin were waiting for him when he returned. “There's a shallow place about twenty kilometers from here. It's real rocky and the river spreads out pretty wide, but it doesn't look like it gets more than knee deep,” Yarden said, her face glowing with the excitement of discovery. “Did you see anything?”

“Nope. Let's go.”

It was as Yarden had said. The river widened and flattened as it ran over a rocky shelf which it could not cut through as easily as the soft, earthy hills. As the others looked on, Treet waded out a few meters into water that came to just over his knees and announced that it appeared not to get much deeper. He sloshed his way back and stood before Calin.

“Well, shall we give it a try?”

Yarden spoke up. “There are a lot of rocks around; maybe we could—”

“What? Build a bridge? Yarden, for crying out loud, we'd be here for months. Be reasonable.”

Calin stopped any further discussion. “I will do it.” She pressed Yarden's hand, and Treet noted the gesture. An understanding of some sort, a sisterhood, had bloomed overnight between the two women—which was only natural, he supposed. They were, after all, the only females on this expedition, and they were entitled to their own company. But there was something besides the sisterly concern—a harmony between them. Perhaps the gifts they possessed drew them together in a unique way.

“I think it would be best for two of us to go with you. I could go on one side and Pizzle on the other—to steady you in case you slipped or something.”

Calin nodded once. She had, Treet noticed, already begun retreating back into herself. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes dulled as her consciousness shifted to that other place where her power lay. She stared straight ahead for a moment, her body very still. Then she moved stiffly to the nearest skimmer, bent to place her hands lightly on its side just above the runner, and straightened. The vehicle floated into the air and hovered.

Pizzle and Crocker stood with mouths agape, and Treet chuckled to himself. He hadn't warned them about what they intended doing; the spectacle no doubt astounded them down to their toenails.

Treet stepped to Calin's side and gestured for Pizzle to do likewise. Pizzle only stared in uncomprehending amazement, so Yarden said, “I'll go with you.” She put her hand on the magician's shoulder, and together they walked out into the water.

The river had worn the rock shelf smooth, but it was not slippery. Still, they carefully placed each step, moving slowly out into deeper water to midstream. Even at its deepest point, the water was clear enough to see the bottom, allowing Treet to steer them around the few holes he saw. Soon the water grew shallower again, and they were climbing back out on the other side.

Treet guided them to a flat place near the shore, and Calin put the skimmer down. She straightened, her eyes still dull, her face expressionless. “Do you want to rest or anything?” asked Treet.

Calin shook her head, so he said, “Okay, only two more to go. Let's take it slow and easy; we're doing great.”

The second crossing, went as easily as the first, but when Calin released the machine, it slammed down heavily, bouncing on its suspension. Yarden's wrinkled brow showed concern; she threw a quick, imploring look to Treet which said.
Do something!

“I think we should rest for a second, Calin,” he said. “There's no hurry. We're almost finished.”

But the magician turned and started back across the river once more. Yarden's worried expression accused Treet. “I tried to stop her,” he said weakly.

The third crossing began like the first two, and proceeded without incident until they reached midstream. Treet noticed trouble when the skimmer began to waver in the air. Calin stopped abruptly,

“Cal—” began Treet. The skimmer dipped dangerously toward the water.

“Shh! Don't disturb her,” whispered Yarden harshly.

Calin became a portrait of exertion: eyes closed tight, sweat beading on forehead, features darkening with strain, knotted veins standing out on her neck. The skimmer hobbled, its bulk rocking wildly as if slipping through her grasp. One runner touched the water.

“Concentrate,” cooed Treet. “You can do it. Go slow. Just a little farther; we're almost there.”

They took one more step.

“Ahh!” Calin cried, falling back. The skimmer twisted in the air and plunged into the river with a tremendous splash.

Water showered over them
as the machine crashed down. The resulting wave knocked them backwards off their feet to flounder helplessly in the backwash. Treet, aware that Calin had fallen, blindly reached out for her, snagged her collar, and held on.

Though the current was not swift, it was strong and Treet was pulled downstream. He flailed his arms and kicked his legs as he fought for a foothold. Finally he managed to get his feet under him and stood, staggered as the water pressed against him, but stayed up. He felt hands on him and cried, “I'm okay! Help me get her out!”

Dashing water from his eyes, Treet saw Calin's limp form slung between Pizzle and Crocker as they sloshed toward the near bank. Yarden stood behind him, hair plastered to her skull and hanging in long sopping ropes. The fright in her expression was replaced with malice as Treet began to laugh.

“Just what's so funny, mister?” she sputtered belligerently, shoving dripping sable locks over her shoulder.

“You look like a wet cat,” he laughed. “You okay?”

“As if you cared.” She turned and stomped toward the shore.

Treet followed, watching her shapely form moving beneath the clinging wet singleton. Desire spread through him in an instant, shocking Treet with the force of its presence. Yes, he admitted, Yarden Talazac was a very desirable woman. Perhaps he'd wanted her since the beginning, or perhaps now she seemed more of a warm-blooded woman to him and less the cold, ethereal mystic.

He joined her on the shore and said, “I'm sorry I laughed. I just—”

“You just have no sense of compassion!” she snapped. Her light copper skin glowed with anger; a magenta blotch tinted the base of her throat.

“You're really mad.” Treet's tone was quiet astonishment.

Yarden quivered—whether with rage or chill, Treet could not tell. Her voice, however, was stiletto sharp. “Of course I'm mad. You could have gotten us all killed with your stupid insistence. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen.”

“Wait a min—”

“You can't absolve your guilt in this one! It's your fault.”

“My fault! How is it my fault?” Desire was dwindling rapidly as indignation piqued. “Just how do you figure that?”

“You made her use psi. I told you it was dangerous, but you insisted it was the only way. It is
never
the only way.”

“Maybe not, but it was the best way.”

“No, not even the best way.”

“Suppose you tell me what would have been better?” Treet glared, and Yarden glared right back, the magenta blotch deepening and spreading up her throat.

“Oh sure, pretend ignorance. It won't work. You're not shifting blame, Orion Treet,” she huffed. “Think about it.” Yarden spun away, leaving him with a stinging reply on his tongue and no one to say it to. He watched her march over to where Pizzle and Crocker bent over Calin, trying to revive her by rubbing her hands. Except for the glassy helmets and breathing packs, it was a scene out of a Victorian melodrama where the ineffectual male drones cluster around a fainted female offering smelling salts and encouragement.

Treet snorted and splashed back into the river. The skimmer had landed on its side and was half in the water, one blade gleaming in the sun. Eddies in the current formed whirlpools around the machine, making little sucking noises along its underside. Treet tried to rock it back onto its runners, but even with the push of the current to help him, the vehicle was too heavy to budge. He gave up and joined the others on the bank.

Calin's eyes were open, and she blinked at those bending over her as she came to. She moved to get up, but Yarden said, “Rest a moment. You're safe now. Nothing happened.”

She lay back again and her eyes went to Treet. “I—am sorry. I have disappointed you,” she said.

“Disappointed me!” He knelt down beside her. “You haven't disappointed me. It was an accident. I'm just glad you weren't hurt, that's all.”

Calin looked at him strangely, as if she were distrustful of anyone expressing concern for her. She glanced at the others around her and sat up, looking at the marooned skimmer. “I failed.”

“That's all right,” said Treet. “We'll find a way to get it out. Don't worry about it right now.”

Treet donned a helmet from a nearby skimmer and put it on. “Is Calin okay?” asked Pizzle.

“She seems to be. We should try to get that skimmer out,” Treet said into the mike.

“There's probably no hope. Water tends to ruin electric circuits something fierce.” Pizzle shook his head dismally inside his helmet.

“We should try in any case,” remarked Crocker. “It could be that the circuits and motor casings are sealed. We won't know until we fish it out.”

“I suppose you don't want to take off your helmets for this little salvage operation. It would make things easier.”

“How would it make things easier,” inquired Pizzle, “to have us writhing and crying and coughing our lungs out?”

“It only lasts a second,” said Treet.

“Later maybe,” said Crocker. “Give us time to work into the idea.”

“You've had enough time already.” Treet clamped the helmet's neck seal down and felt it grab at the tabs on his singleton. The air inside the helmet smelled stale and unwholesome—like the air of a tomb—after breathing the stringent, light-drenched atmosphere of Empyrion. “I'm not going to argue with you about it. Let's get that skimmer out.”