Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (14 page)

“If you need it,” said Epcott, “I’ve got a thermal cloak in the sled.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Uqqex.
 
“Winters on Zerrax are colder than this.”

“Really?” Epcott glanced at her.
 
“Tough people.”

She laughed.
 
The cold wind carried her voice across the island.
 
“You have no idea.”

“Some idea,” said Epcott, a slight smile flitting across his face.

He led her away from the field, into the dark.
 
The night had returned with a vengeance, but Epcott’s warmsuit glowed, casting pink light across the snow.
 
Nevertheless, Uqqex wished that she had brought a pressure-torch.
 
Her people saw poorly in the dark.

Soon, they were walking through the forest.
 
A path had been carefully staked out with lambent guide ropes and
 
reflective tags attached to tree trunks.
 
The trees were covered with thick, slate gray bark.
 
An adaption to the cold environment, Uqqex guessed.

“What kinds of trees are these?”

“Knotlimbs,” said Epcott.
 
He lifted an arm, pointed above them at the canopy.
 
“See?”

Overhead, the branches had grown together into a tangle of limbs, forming a natural wooden canopy.
 
She nodded, and they continued.
 
After a few moments, they came to Epcott’s home.
 
It nestled among the knotlimbs, a rectangular structure with a peaked roof.
 
Uqqex examined it with interest.

“That’s not a Junian design.”

“No, it’s human.
 
Or as close to human as I could get.”

 
The house was made of a dark material that Uqqex realized mirrored the coloration of the surrounding forest.
 
She asked about it.

“Camouflage,” said the human.
 
“There’s active nanoware on the external surface.
 
Makes it harder to spot from the air.”

He reached for the door, which was also rectangular.
 
Pulling it open, warm light spilt across the deep snow.
 
They stepped inside, Epcott pulling the air-sled behind him.

Inside, the house was bright and warm.
 
The floor resembled golden wood, but Uqqex suspected it was some sort of synthetic material.
 
She could feel heat radiating from it through the soles of her boots.
 
Beyond the entryway, was a combination daychamber/kitchen.
 
A rectangular bar acted as a divider between the two spaces.
 
The walls of the daychamber were set to a lustrous yellow, more metallic looking than wooden.
 
Shelves had been extruded from them, and filled with all manner of items.
 
Uqqex recognized Junian info-spheres, Archival memory cards, Zerraxi speaking-stones.  There were even leather-bound books and a few scrolls.

The furnishings were Spartan.
 
There was a huge couch in the dayroom, facing a section of wall Uqqex suspected Epcott used as a screen.
 
A low wood and glass table was positioned before the couch.
 
Two spindly-legged wooden stools were set up by the bar.

“Cozy,” Uqqex decided.

“I think so,” said Epcott.
 
“May I hang your cloak?”

She slid out of it and saw his surprised expression as he saw what she was wearing beneath it; a sleeveless dress of grayish-purple, slit high up the thigh, and adorned with thousands of crystalline sequins.

“You weren’t cold in that?”

Uqqex laughed.
 
“No, not really.
 
Zerrax is a cold planet.
 
I’m actually more comfortable in climates like this, than in the tropics.”

“Really?”

“I just spent a week at the equator and thought I was going to melt.”

“You were in Mitasi Dov, right?
 
For the festival.”

Uqqex nodded.
 
“I was invited to read some of my work at the local arts center.
 
Have you been there?”

“Briefly,” said Epcott.
 
“Too crowded for my taste.
 
Come. I’ll show you your bedchamber.”

He led her through the daychamber, toward a dark corridor.
 
As they approached, illuminators set into the corridor ceiling brightened, revealing several doors.
 
He slid one open, exposing a blue-tiled wetchamber.
 

“The wastechamber is there,” he nodded at an identical door across from the wetchamber.
 
“It’s got the standard features.”

Uqqex nodded and Epcott led her to the bedchamber.
 
The floor was covered with thick, brownish carpet.
 
There was a large rectangular bed, flanked on either side by small tables.
 
Decorative illuminators, resembling frozen flames, stood on the tabletops.
 
Epcott touched one and it flared to life, filling the room with golden light.

Uqqex tossed her travel bag against the wall and sat on the bed.
 
She looked around the room.
 
“Is this what a typical human bedchamber looked like?”

“No,” said Epcott.
 
“This is what a typical human guest-room looked like.”
 
He grinned.
 
“If you want to see a typical human bedchamber, come with me.”

She followed him down the corridor to another door.
 
Epcott opened this one with a little flourish.
 
“Ta-da!”

Epcott’s bedchamber looked smaller than the guestroom.
 
A spherical illuminator hung from the center of the ceiling, above a bed that Uqqex doubted would hold more than two people comfortably.
 
The bed was covered by a piebald fur that she thought smelt artificial.
 
 
Static images were depicted on the walls.
 
Scenes from Epcott’s homeworld, she assumed.
 
A tall, skeletal tower made of dark metal rising from a
 
cityscape.
 
A crumbling stone arena.
 
There was an image of a mountainside with faces carved into it, and another of a huge bridge spanning blue water.
 
She wondered at the significance of these places to Epcott.
 
Were they cultural touchstones?
 
Religious shrines?
 

In one corner of the room was a dark wooden table.
 
On it were a mechanical timepiece and a PIN depicting a grid of squares.
 
 
It took Uqqex a moment to decipher the grid as an alien calendar.

There was a shelf above the table, filled with more leather-bound books.
 
Uqqex glanced at them, but their titles were incomprehensible to her.
 
Written in human, she thought, and then wondered if they were artifacts from Epcott’s homeworld or copies, manufactured here on Juni?

She sat on the bed and inhaled.
 
The room smelt strongly of Epcott, the cleansers and scents he used.
 
Her hand stroked the bed covering.
 
“Is this real fur?”

Epcott stood by the door, watching her.
 
He shrugged.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I got it in Ivta Vu.”
 
He sat next to her.
 
“What do you think of the place?”

“Tell me about the images.”

He rattled off their names.
 
The Eiffel Tower.
 
Mount Rushmore. The Golden Gate Bridge.
 
The Coliseum at Rome.

“I saw the Golden Gate Bridge and Mount Rushmore, before the plague.
 
But afterwards, the others might as well have been on the moon.”

“You only had one moon?”

“Just the one.”

“My world doesn’t have any moons,” said Uqqex.
 
“Not in the traditional sense.
 
Just the Rings.”

“I’ve read about those.
 
Zerrax sounds impressive.”

“It’s beautiful and harsh.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

“Years,” she said. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.”

He gave her a curious look.
 
“Can’t you go back?”

She shook her head, drew her lip back in a snarl of unconscious anger.
 
“It would be too dangerous.”

Epcott didn’t press her, and for that, Uqqex was grateful.
 
He stood.
 
“You must be tired after your trip.
 
Would you like to sleep?”

She considered it, thought about the dreams probably waiting in ambush for her once she closed her eyes.
 
“I’d rather eat.
 
And if you’ve got some
jojora
wine lying around the place, I wouldn’t refuse a glass or two.”

“I think I can find something.”

* * * * *

 
Morning came, its arrival heralded by the walls in Uqqex’s room slowly turning transparent.
 
The shift in light roused her from her sleep, and she raised her head from the pillows to find herself peering into the knotlimb forest.
 
The light being transmitted through the walls was grayish and dim.
 

Yawning, Uqqex tasted the
jojora
wine she and Epcott had shared last night.
 
They had finished off an entire bottle of the potent stuff.
 
Her head throbbed and she licked her lips.
 
They felt dry and cracked.

Sliding into an embroidered dayrobe, she left the bedchamber.
 
The corridor beyond was dimly lit, but she could see that the walls in the daychamber/kitchen were also transmitting images from outside the house.
 
Epcott was up and seated on his couch.
 
He had a PIN in his hand and several memory cards and info-spheres were scattered across the small table.

“Good morning.
 
Did you sleep well?”

“Like a babe,” said Uqqex.

“There’s
deggo
on the bar.”

She wrinkled her nose.
 
“Foul stuff.
 
I’d rather drink water.”

“Suit yourself.”

Epcott turned back to the PIN he held, frowned, and then stabbed at its gray surface with a stylus.
 
Uqqex wandered into the kitchen, found cups and chose a large one.
 
After she filled it with cold water from the dispenser, she joined him on the couch.
 

“What are you working on?”

“Answering queries from specialists,” said Epcott.
 
He shook his head and tossed the PIN aside.
 
“It’s amazing some of the conclusions these so-called experts make about human culture.”

“They’re asking you to confirm their research?”

“I am the only real expert. Right?”

She shrugged.
 
“Do you want to answer their questions?”

“It would be easier if their questions could be answered with facts.
 
Names. Dates. Places.
 
Things like that.
 
But more often than not the questions I’m asked have to do with motivation.
 
Why did Henry VIII feel he had to execute his wives?
 
Why did the introduction of the sewing machine cause riots?
 
Those kinds of things.
 
There aren’t any clear answers.
 
I can give them my interpretation of things, which may or may not be right, but the specialists are all treating my answers like they’re the gospel truth.”