Starfarers (17 page)

Spanning the distances they did, vessels could hardly ever prearrange a rendezvous. It was occasion for rejoicing and intermingling when two happened to be in the same port. When three or more did, it meant a Fair.

Fleetwing
came to Harbor and found
Argosy
and
Eagle
in
orbit.
Argosy
was about to depart, but immediately postponed it. Profits could wait; they were no longer large anyway. Fellowship, courtship, exchange of experiences, renewal of ties, the rites that affirmed and strengthened Kith-hood, mattered more.

Ormer Shaun, second mate aboard
Fleetwing
, and Haki Tensaro, who dealt in textiles wherever
Eagle
might be, walked together through the village, bound for the story circle. Tensaro wanted to hear what Shaun would tell; they had become friendly in the past few days, and besides, a real yarn-spinning with a bardic accompaniment was an art practiced in just four ships, which did not include
Eagle
. The two men had met for a beer in the Orion and Bull before starting out, and continued their conversation as they proceeded. It had gradually, unintendedly, gone from merry to earnest.

“A disappointment, I admit,” Shaun said. Sounds of revelry beat beneath his words. “Not so much for me, or most of our crew. But the boy, he was really looking forward to all the ancient marvels.”

“We’re quite safe on Earth nowadays, I tell you,” Tensaro argued. “No more persecution.”

“They still don’t like us, though, do they? To go by what everybody’s been saying.”

Tensaro shrugged. “I’ve seen things better there, but I’ve seen them worse, too. I think the next generation will be pretty tolerant.”

“Up to a point. I doubt we’ll ever again be exactly popular any where on Earth outside of Kith Town.”

“Why not?”

Shaun paused to marshal words. He contrasted with Tensaro, who was slim and intense, clad in formfitting lusterblack with white sash and cloak, and a headband on which a miniature light fountain made a dancing cockade. Shaun stood bigger than most Kithfolk, stocky, his features rugged and his hair a dark mahogany. For his garb today he had chosen a blouse that slowly shifted color across the visible spectram, a vest of silver links, a broad leather belt studded with Aerian eyestones, a shaggy green kilt, and knee-length
boots. A beret slanted across his brow. Both outfits were traditional festival garb, but the traditions belonged to two different ships.

“Earth doesn’t have enough to do with space anymore,” Shaun said. “People get in the habit of taking their ways to be the only right and decent ways. Governments feed on that. Meanwhile we insist on being peculiar, and bringing in unheard-of notions from elsewhere, and asking troublesome questions.”

The street down which they passed seemed to belie him. Turf covered it, springy and pebble-grained underfoot, breathing a slight odor not unlike rosemary into cooling air. On one side a lyre free curved its double trunk and feathery foliage aloft, on the other side an arachnea spread its web across a cloud tinted gold by the westering sun. The houses that lined the street stood each on its piece of lawn, among its flower beds. They were of archaic styles, tending to pastel walls and red-tiled roofs; time had softened their edges. All were currently vacant. Most of the families that owned them were afar among the stars, leaving machines to tend the property. Everyone staying here, whether as transients or permanently, had flocked off to the Fair.

Between the houses glimmered a glimpse of water. Beyond it the cliffs of Belderland rose white. Opposite, native forest spread red-splashed ochers and golds above the roofs. Long since deeded to the Kith, the Isle of Weyan retained much wilderness.

“Yes,” Shaun said, “I think
Fleetwing
’ll elect to make another swing from here—not as long as last time, of course, but we can give Earth forty or fifty years more to mellow further before we show our noses there again. The boy’ll be disappointed, like I said. But, what the gyre, learning how to wait things out is part of becoming a Kithman.”

“Well, if that’s what your crew favors, so be it,” Tensaro replied. “I expect you can sell what you’re carrying on Aurora or Maia as well as here. It’ll probably be exotic enough to fetch a price. But really, you’re too pessimistic. I
can understand how your last visit to Earth was embittering and made you decide on a long cruise. Nowadays, though—”

A trumpet cut him off. The noise from ahead had been waxing as they walked, voices, foot-thuds, song, boom and bang, the racket of merriment. Shaun and Tensaro came abruptly out onto open ground, where the Fair was. It surrounded the village. They had crossed from the tavern on one edge to this side.

Shaun threw up his hands. His laugh rang. “Haki, us old fools, we’ve gotten serious! What ails us? Did the beer wear off that fast? Come on, let’s get back to our proper business today.”

He quickened his pace. His comrade grinned wryly and trotted along.

People swarmed about. Folk costumes from the separate ships mingled with gaudy individual choices, often inspired on other worlds in other eras. A middle-aged couple strolled by, he in the blue-and-gold tunic and flowing white trousers, she in the red frock, saffron cloak, and massive jewelry of
Eagle
. Shaun smiled at a young woman he knew aboard
Fleetwing
. Her brief and gauzy gown twinkling with star points, she walked hand in hand with a young man whose fringed yellow shirt and black knee breeches said
Argosy
. Memory stirred—courtships flowered like fire when crews met, and if the marriages that followed took place quickly, they endured, for the elders of both families had first considered what was wise. Shaun’s wife was a
Flying Cloud
girl; but his brother had joined his own bride on
High Barbanee
, because that seemed best … Children dashed about, shouting, marveling bits of rainbow.

Pavilions had been erected throughout the area, big and gaudy. Banners above them caught the sea breeze and the evening light. From one drifted savory smells and the sounds of clinking cups and cheery chatter. In another, a benched audience watched a classic drama, performed live; in another they heard a concert, which included music brought back from artists who were not all human; in
another, visual artworks were on display, created aboard ship as well as on remote planets, and in this quiet atmosphere a few officers took the opportunity to discuss business or exchange information. In a clear space, a band played lustily for scores of dancers. Mirth whooped as some tried to learn, from others, measures new to them, the sarali, the Henriville, the double prance.

Nearby stood the Monument Stone. The bronze plate on it shone bright, having lately replaced a worn-out predecessor. The inscription was the same,
Here camped Jean Kilbirnie and Timothy Cleland of the first expedition to Harbor, afterward of Envoy and our future in the cosmos
, with a date in a calendar long superseded. Likewise, only scholars could read the language, ancestral to Kithic, but everybody knew what it said. A few meters off, wood was heaped to be burned after dark—fire, evoking prehistoric memories and instincts older still, which were doubly strong in a people who rarely saw it.

The narrators’ pavilion lay a little distance onward. About a hundred persons sat inside waiting, mostly adults, mostly from
Eagle
and
Argosy
, though several youngsters and
Fleetwing
crew also felt they would enjoy the performance. They gave Shaun the salute of greeting as he entered, came down an aisle, and mounted the stage. Rusa Erody was already there. She made a striking sight, clad in a long dress of scales that glittered in the subdued light, herself a genetic throwback, tall and blonde. Her fingers drew vigorous chords from the polymusicon on her lap. The song she sang was as ancient as her looks, translated and retranslated over the centuries, because it spoke to the Kith.

“The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,

And the Deuce knows what we may do—

But we’re back once more on the old trail,

our own trail, the out trail,

We’re down, hull-down, on the Long Trail—the trail

that is always new!”

Words and notes clanged away. Shaun took the chair beside hers. The tumult outside washed like surf around sudden silence.

He lifted a hand. “Good landing, friends,” he drawled. A comfortable informality was his style at these events. “Thanks for coming, when you’ve got so much else you could be having fun with. Well, you men have had my partner to admire, Rusa Erody, biosafety technician and bard. I’m Ormer Shaun, second mate and occasional storyteller. Those of you who docked here earlier have heard others tell of things that
Fleetwing
did or encountered or got wind of, sometimes generations ago. Rusa and I will relate a happening on our latest voyage, just finished.”

“But it was well-nigh a hundred years agone, for Aerie is the farthest of all worlds where humans dwell, our last lonely home in the heavens,” the woman half sang. Music wove low beneath her voice. Her role was to call forth a mood and bring a scene to life. If she deemed that meant repeating common knowledge, it worked as a refrain or a familiar line of melody does. “Not even our explorers have quested much beyond, where time must sunder them from us more than the hollow spaces themselves.”

Shaun frowned slightly. A storytelling was not rehearsed, but improvised. The hint that outwardness was faltering fitted ill with the lightness he intended.
But Rusa generally knows what she’s doing
, he thought.
A touch of sad or anxious, like a pinch of sharp spice
—He decided to follow suit for a moment, in prosaic wise, before he went on to his tale.

“Well, being that distant, Aerie gets visitors few and seldom. Previous one, as near as we could learn, was about a century before. We figured to do a brisk trade in the goods and information we offered.

“But also, after what we’d just been through on Earth, we didn’t care to see it again soon. Insults, restrictions, place after place that didn’t want us for customers, throatgrip taxes—yes, once a mob threw rocks at some of us, and I saw a woman of ours bleed and heard little children of ours crying—but many of you know this, maybe better than we do.
To the Coal Sack with ’em. We’d come back after they were dead, if they hadn’t meanwhile spawned too many like themselves.”

A smile crinkled his face. His tone eased. “Moreover, frankly, a lot of us were curious. What’d been going on, way out at Aerie? What new and odd might we find? We’d been in the Quadrangle Trade from some while and were getting a tad bored with it. Time for a change of scene, a real change.”

“The Quadrangle Trade,” Erody chimed in. “Biochemicals from the seas of Maia’s uninhabitable sister planet Morgana, worth harvesting and transporting because it costs more to synthesize them. Rare, useful isotopes from the system where Aurora orbits. Arts and crafts from Feng Huang. Biostock from Earth, to nourish the Earth life on yonder worlds.”

This was not entirely another chorus for Shaun. Neither
Eagle
nor
Argosy
had plied that circuit, and crewfolk of theirs might know of it only vaguely. She did not add that it, too, was declining, losing profitability as the demand for such cargoes diminished. “We fared from the Quadrangle toward the Lion,” she finished.

“A long haul, aye,” Shaun said. “Considering how scarce traders had been on Aerie, and how small the population and industry probably still were, we loaded a lot of stuff more massive than usual, machinery and so on.”

“Besides our several hundred men, women, and children as always, their life support, their household treasures, their tools and weapons that they may have need to wield when we arrive, their need to be together, to be families, and thus keep the life of the ship alive.” Not information, for those who sat listening—affirmation, for every Kith member, living, dead, and unborn.

“So our gamma factor was well down, seeing as how our quantum gate’s no bigger than anybody else’s.”

“Not like
Envoy’s
, for none of our ships is
Envoy
, outbound beyond the borderlands of history and bearing no more than her fabled ten. Well could we wish for an engine like hers, but the gain and loss of trade say no, it cannot pay,
and though we travel not for trafficking alone, it is by the traffic that we abide as the Kith.” More rituality, as a priest at a service may recite an article of the creed to strengthen feeling in a congregation that may know it word by word.

“Ninety-seven light-years took us eight zero-zero months. Oh, we were good and tired when we got there—tired, anyway, and cramped and grubby and ready to settle in for a while.”

“Where ground and grass were under our feet, a breeze and unfeigned odors of growth in our nostrils, heaven blue overhead, and strangers around us, new souls for us to know.”

“Who hadn’t heard every joke and anecdote we could tell, folks who’d think we were glamorous and our wares were marvelous. And they ought to be interesting to us, of course, and have things to trade that’d fetch decent prices back at the heart stars.”

“Yet theirs is a harsh holding.”

“You know Aerie’s not just far off from anywhere else human, it’s a lump that never would’ve been settled if planets where people can settle at all weren’t scarce.”

“Vanishingly scarce. The sun of Aerie dim, its light across the lands of summer like the light of hazy autumn over Earth. The glaciers north and south, mountain-high. The cold seas that clash around the one tropical continent that our race could make its own. But the rings, the remnants of a shattered moon, the rings on a clear night are very beautiful.”

“Well, the land’s not that bad everywhere. The region where we set up our pitch, after
Fleetwing
took orbit, was shirtsleeve in its fashion. Naturally, that was the spot we negotiated to stay at, and, naturally, it belonged to the grand high rambuck.”

Shaun continued with incidents from first contact, the establishment of groundside camp, trade, personal encounters, mostly as amusing as he could make them. Erody filled in descriptions.