Khe (26 page)

Hall is silent. Then it sends:
When individual transportation vehicles were first developed in large numbers for those set-placed doumanas to use at Resonance, the lumani seemed bothered. Resonance never bothered them before that. It was the vehicle
s. Hall makes a noise like a sniff.
This is the only thing the lumani and I seem to agree on—we don’t like vehicles.

Why don’t you like them?

At Resonance, there are so many, zigzagging every direction. Set-place doumanas are fools, running here and there to lay their eggs. Corenta doumanas all go together, with us, the way it should be.

But why do the vehicles upset you?

Resonance changes the energy of the planet. All those vehicles upset the balance even more. It hurts in every grain of my being when they come close to us
.
I suppose vehicles must hurt the lumani, too.

Yes
, I send, and pull myself to my feet.
Thank you. It’s been wonderful to talk to you.

If you want to talk again
, Hall sends,
you know where to find me
.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Raise a joyful song in praise of our sisters.

--The Expectation of Returning

The moon’s light reflecting off the ice-covered ground brightens the land around us. Azlii, Larta, Pradat, and I cast long shadows as we make our way toward Chimbalay’s gate. Probably it would have been better to wait, to let Azlii rest another night and day, but we can’t afford the time. In two days, the corenta will pick itself up and leave for the far-away kler of Hawnya.

I wonder about my own strength. Kelroosh isn’t far behind us, and already my legs and feet ache. I tell myself that it isn’t physical strength that will matter once we are inside Chimbalay, but strength of will. And that has not weakened in me.

The snow that we’d slogged through the last time we’d passed between kler and corenta has melted and refrozen. We tread carefully across the slick ice. We’ll need to tread even more carefully inside Chimbalay. Dressed in kler-style cloaks, the hoods pulled over our heads to hide our faces and necks as much as possible; we are as disguised as we can be. I worry that the lumani are watching for us. No disguise will fool them.

The high, silver-metal gate of Chimbalay and the smaller door within it are shut for the night. We expect the gate to be bolted and guarded, though Larta trusts that any guardian on watch will let her in and allow us to pass. I don’t share her opinion. My thinking is that by now, the lumani will have convinced everyone in Chimbalay that Larta is a babbler, at best.

She tries the small door. It opens easily. No guardians or kler doumanas seem to be nearby.

“Could someone have forgotten to lock it?” Pradat asks.

Larta shakes her head.

“It’s an invitation from the lumani,” Azlii says, and I agree.

Larta pushes the door further open and motions with her hand for us to follow. Azlii goes next, then me, then Pradat.

Light leaks through the small back windows of a few of the dwellings that form the outermost ring of Chimbalay. I catch the sound of voices coming from inside. We don’t see anyone.

“Khe,” Azlii says, her voice a near whisper, though there is no one but us to hear it. “You have to find the lumani now. Where are they?”

My throat tightens. I’m as fearful that I will find the lumani as that I won’t. I search the only way I can think to find them, looking for emotions they alone would have. Leaning against the wall next to the gate, I seek out hatred.

Something like a fist knocks into me, slamming my head hard against the wall. Everything turns black—a hole into nothing. It hurts as if my life force is being wrung out. I fight through the pain, the blackness, to find the place where the hatred begins.

“Where are they, Khe?” Azlii says.

“Near.” The word sticks in my throat. “Follow me.”

I dive into the black current, struggling against the tide. I sense Azlii, Tanez, and Pradat behind me—their worry and fear. I sense the lumani, many of them, together. I feel something else from them—hunger.

I’m running, both repelled and drawn by the lumani. The others follow. I cut across a pathway between streets, coming out on Crimson Circle. The emotions are stronger here, and I know I’m heading in the right direction. I take another pathway, crossing through Pale Pink, then on to Green. Doumanas are on the streets. Some look away quickly as we approach with a wildness and rush they never see. A few change direction when they spot us. I worry that they will alert the guardians, but they are not important. Only finding the lumani matters. I push through the black waters of the lumani’s emotions. We cross circle after circle, emerging finally at the innermost heart of the kler.

I stop. I’ve found them. A feral hatred streams through me—my emotions, or the lumani’s? My feet feel suddenly heavy. I can hardly lift them.

“They are in there,” I say, and break the emotional connection I’d had with Weast and the other lumani. I stare at the ten-level high building, trying to catch my breath.

“What is this place?” I ask between gasps.

“Chimbalay’s energy center,” Larta says.

Pradat hunches into her shoulders. “Why would they come here?”

“They’re feeding on the electrical field,” I answer, suddenly knowing the answer as clearly as if I were lumani. My head aches where it hit the wall. If I’m still alive tomorrow morning, I’ll have a good-sized bump to show. “They’re weakened. I don’t know why.”

“Good,” Larta says. “They’ll be easier to defeat.”

I tsk my tongue. “They’ve been feeding for a while and are growing stronger. We have to hurry.”

“Now we know what the extra electricity the kler makes is being used for,” Larta says.

Azlii laughs without humor. “I hope they choke on it.”

“That would save us some effort,” Larta says. “The large vehicles are stored on Bright Blue Circle. It’s a bit of a ways to go.” She starts walking, taking the lead.

I’ve walked Chimbalay’s streets twice now and they’ve begun to feel familiar. I know that Bright Blue is one of the kler’s middle rings. In Chimbalay, as in Lunge, all vehicles belong to the community. The large, hauling vehicles are stored mid-kler, so that no doumana need walk more than halfway through Chimbalay to get one.

We’ve decided on haulers to use against the lumani. They’ll be more difficult to move into position than smaller vehicles, but we’ll need fewer of them. Larta and Pradat have experience with vehicles and will be our pilots.

We take the pathways between streets, crossing the same circles that brought us to the lumani. Night has settled in. There are few kler doumanas out now. Larta turns right, heading up Bright Blue Circle. Pradat, Azlii, and I follow. My legs throb. Twice I stumble and Azlii has to help me up. Pradat sends me a worried look, but I shrug and make myself walk with long, strong strides. The smell of coming snow is in the air. I send a small prayer to the creator, asking for success in our mission.

Do the lumani also pray? Are they as nervous and desperate as we are? Do they ask their creator to bring us to them? I shake the thought away.

Larta stops in front of a large building secured with black metal gates. The vehicles inside are neatly placed, the largest in front. All the biggest vehicles are painted white, the color of satisfaction. The smaller vehicles behind are sun-yellow, and behind them, the smallest vehicles are new-leaf green. I let out a breath, grateful that we won’t have to move the haulers out from behind. It’ll be easier this way.

Larta pulls on the unlocked gate, swinging it open. No one expects a doumana to steal a vehicle. My heart is pounding. The skin on my neck prickles. Larta licks her lips. She looks calm, but I know she’s as nervous and frightened as I am. As we all are.

We pick two vehicles from the front row, big haulers that move by creating and collapsing magnetic fields of opposite polarity. The opposing fields repel each other, pushing the vehicle forward. Pradat and I head toward one vehicle, Azlii and Larta toward another. I spring open the foldaway metal ladder on the side of the towering vehicle and climb into the cabin. Pradat is faster up her ladder than I am and is already seated behind the controls.

My mouth is dry and my palms are wet. Pradat pulls a small black knob on the control box sitting on the floor between us. A low pinging ticks inside the instrument panel, but the vehicle doesn’t start. My breath falls into the same awkward rhythm as the pinging, as if that could force the vehicle into action. The pinging stops. Pradat frowns, pushes the knob in and pulls it out again. Nothing.

“Something’s wrong with the energy storage unit,” she says, and bends to look at a gauge tucked underneath the panel. She sucks in a breath between her teeth. She sits up and says, “It’s totally drained.”

I know enough about vehicles to realize that if the storage unit is empty, the hauler can’t create the initial energy field it needs to start moving.

“Give it another pull,” I say.

Pradat tugs on the knob. We hear two quick pings and then silence. And the clang of someone climbing the ladder on Pradat’s side of the vehicle.

Larta’s face appears in the window next to her. “We’ve tried three haulers. None of them will start.”

My teeth clench in anger. We can’t fail before we’ve even begun. I think of the firestarter, and how the lumani have changed me. I lean over and pull on the black knob.

Electricity jolts through me, making my fingers twitch and sting. The sting spreads up my arms and through my body. My heart shudders, beating too hard, then stops, only to pound again. I concentrate, pushing the incoming electrical flow outward. I feel the energy reverse, magnify, then spurt from my core out to my hand. My arm shakes. The stinging grows, becomes pain. My eyes water and my ear holes ring. Blue sparks fly from the knob. The air smells like something burning. A jab of electricity knocks my fingers off the knob. The machine hums to life.

Larta stares at me, wide eyed.

“Try one of the other haulers, Khe,” Pradat says. “See if you can start it.”

I slump against the seat, staring at her, trying to get my breath back. But I know she is right. We need two haulers, and time is passing.

My knees are wobbly as I make my way to another hauler. I open the door slowly and reach for the starter. I don’t want to feel that draining again, my own energy being sucked out through nerves and skin and into the vehicle’s storage unit. I take the knob and pull, holding on to it even when my whole body is shaking and my teeth rattle in my head. The hauler starts. Azlii and Larta clamber inside.

We glide through the open gate and onto the street. The haulers move with a silent grace. I slump in the seat between Azlii and Larta, my head lolled to one side. My bones feel splintered, my muscles crushed. Azlii glances at me. Concern is in her eyes, in the purple gray haze I see coating her skin, and in the lit spots on her neck. She strokes my throat and pulls her focus back to piloting the hauler.

My strength slowly returns, enough to realize what miserable, uncomfortable machines the haulers are. The seats are hard, the cabin cramped. The vehicle floats forward with nerve-wracking slowness.

No one is on the streets now, which is a blessing, and nearly all the dwellings are dark. We reach the energy center and move the vehicles into the positions we’ve already decided on, one on each side of the tall structure where the lumani are. The magnetic fields the vehicles make will push the negative bits of the lumani in only one direction. To push the bits first in one direction and then the other, forcing the pieces to collide, the field’s sources have to be alternated.

Azlii and I have to stay within sight of each other, to coordinate the powering up and shutting down of the vehicles. We’re going to have to be fast, to weaken the lumani quickly, before they can flee or attack us in return. My heart pounds and my throat prickles. I push open the door, lower the ladder and climb down.

The moment my feet touch the ground, energy rushes through me. A profound sense of well-being seeps through my foot casings to my feet, rising through my legs to my belly. It’s like the energized peace we feel in Resonance, but many times stronger. The feeling races upward, through my chest, warming the skin on my neck, putting a flush on my scalp. The spot where I’d bumped my head stops hurting.

The feeling is so unexpected that I shake for a moment. In that moment, I realize what is happening—that the planet itself is giving me this gift. The idea makes no sense, but I know it is true. I spread out my toes, stretching the fabric of my foot casings, to increase my connection with the ground. A long, slow breath whispers over my lips.

Azlii is already in place on the other side of the center, waiting for my signal. Pradat, too, has her eyes on me. Pradat will start her vehicle first. Then Azlii will signal Larta to fire up her machine.

The Song of Returning
leaps into my head. A happy song with a lively beat,
tat a tat tum, tat a tat tum
; it was always one of my favorites. I tap my foot to its rhythm and raise my hand to tell Azlii to power up and then turn my palm to signal that it’s Larta’s turn. I don’t know if the song’s cadence is the right one to disrupt the lumani, but I use it to keep a steady beat.

Pradat said that if the lumani pieces bang together hard enough—they will explode. Like lightning, she said, which occurs when cloud tops and bottoms get too much build-up of positive and negative charges. My heart begins to pound. I struggle to keep the beat even for the hauler pilots. If one explosion starts another, we could destroy the entire kler.

My foot taps. My palm swings toward Azlii, then toward Pradat, then back again, signaling them when to turn the engines on and off. If all of Chimbalay is blown to fragments, it will be worth it to stop the lumani.

The hum of the haulers is so quiet that I can’t use sound to know if Pradat and Larta are in rhythm or not. I watch Azlii signal to Larta. The gloom of night deepens.

A soft crackling sound tingles my ear holes. The smell of something acrid burns my nose. I concentrate on the song, on keeping the beat, on helping Azlii and Pradat keep the mag field inversions quick and even.
Tat a tat tum, tat a tat tum.