Earthfall (Homecoming) (27 page)

So the assembly had to decide whether to tear Poto’s wing or to let him risk the people’s safety by going down to confront the Old Ones yet again.

Finally Boboi fell silent, the last of her supporters having spoken. How many were there? Fewer than half the assembly, but not very much fewer. If even a few of the silent ones voted with her, Poto would be torn and pTo would remain alone among the Old Ones.

It was Poto’s turn. The people were already tired. He would be brief. “I don’t believe the Old Ones are all our enemies. They were very angry at pTo or they would not have come up the canyon to find him. They rejected his offering, it’s true. But the one who struck him acted alone. I saw the others turn away from him or reach out to stop him—”

“How do you know what the Old Ones
meant
by anything!” Boboi interrupted him.

The assembly squealed their anger at Boboi for daring to interrupt. After all, Poto had maintained perfect courtesy. Abashed by the high screeching, Boboi turned her face away from the assembly.

Poto resumed. “I’m not the only one who saw this. If there’s any witness who denies that the other Old Ones did not seem to want him to break pTo as he did, then speak now, I give my consent.”

There might have been some who disagreed, but none who were certain enough to dare to repudiate him when he was pleading for his otherself.

“pTo was not dead—I saw how bravely he opened his eyes to show us that he lived. And the Old Ones, seeing him alive, chose not to eat him, even though he was not a child. They treated him tenderly and put him in their own leather to carry him down the canyon. I have no idea what they intended. But the Old Ones are not devils in their bodies, even if they are mostly hairless under their leather, and so perhaps they are not devils in their hearts. They came from the sky, didn’t they? So perhaps they are no longer angry at pTo, and if I went to plead for him, they would let me take him home, or at least stay and tend him until he dies.”

He swallowed, trying to think of what other points Boboi had made, so he could refute them. “I don’t think that the Old Ones are angry at all of us, or they would not have stopped with harming just pTo. It was dawn, and they could surely see the watchwomen flying above the village. They knew where we might be found, but they did not come further than the crest of the ridge. This shows that they do not hold the whole responsible for the acts of the one. Therefore I will not bring danger to the people even if they hate me for coming to them.”

What else? Most of Boboi’s argument had consisted of many people saying the same things over and over; he had little else to say. “People of the assembly,” said Poto, “I can add only this: My otherself did nothing more terrible than to follow in the footsteps of his wife’s illustrious ancestor, Kiti. Both of them were drawn to the Old Ones. pTo put us all at risk, but even though Boboi had declared that no one should go to the Old Ones until the assembly decided, the fact remains that the assembly had not yet forbidden what he did. It was foolhardy, but it was also brave and he acted, not for himself, but for what he thought was the good of the people. Should such a one be abandoned? Should his otherself be torn to prevent him from standing beside him? I think everyone here, even Boboi, would be proud to be the otherself of one as brave as my pTo. Let me be a true brother and friend to him. The danger to the people is not known. Should the unknown evil prevent us from doing the known good?”

With that, Poto slowly turned around on the branch and extended his wings, ready to be torn if the vote went against him. He could hear the sound of Boboi’s supporters dropping to the ground. How many? They went quickly, all at once, and then there were no more. So easily they made up their minds. Perhaps that meant that only those who spoke with her had voted with her.

Or perhaps not.

Chveya woke up first, as usual. It used to be that she could out-sleep Oykib any day of the week, but, to her surprise, pregnancy had already diminished her bladder’s capacity and she had to get up before daybreak whether she wanted to or not. And she didn’t often want to. There was no use trying to get back to sleep, either. She would just lie awake anyway, so she might as well get up and do something.

What she was doing today was sitting on a stool, leaning against the wall of their one-room house, trying to imagine Basilica, the City of Women. Mother had told her about buildings, thousands of them, so close together they touched on every side except the front. And sometimes people would come along and build a new house right in front of yours, completely cutting yours off from the street, unless you had the money to hire thugs to drive them away. They could build right across a street, completely blocking it—except when passersby, angry that someone was trying to close their street, would dismantle the building as they passed.

It was hard to imagine such a place, so many people. In her entire life, Chveya had known only the people of their colony. The only new people she had met were the babies who were born. The only buildings she had seen were the buildings they built with their own hands—and the impossible, magical buildings of the spaceport, and that was no city, since its population consisted entirely of the same people she had always known.

The diggers had a city, though, didn’t they? Even though it was underground, except where the entrances of their tunnels were bored upward into the trees. Chveya imagined how they must have scrambled when the humans first arrived from Harmony and started cutting down the trees, extending the meadow where they had first landed. The tunnels that led to doomed trees had to be filled, so that when the humans looked down into the hollow trunks, they wouldn’t see that tunnels opened out underneath them. And yet even with so many tunnels filled, the digger city was a vast network of connected chambers.

Chveya knew it was real. She could now see the connections among many, perhaps most of the diggers, and she knew that there were hundreds of them down there, constantly coming and going. It was the only real city she had ever seen, but she hadn’t really seen it, probably never
would
see it. She would never crawl along the tunnels. She
hoped
she would never crawl through them, in the darkness. Her skin didn’t glow the way Father’s could, when he wanted it to. It would be night down there all the time. And she would be surrounded by strangers. It wasn’t that they were so alien, so animal-like. It was that she didn’t know them, didn’t know what to expect. Even Elemak, even Meb and Obring, dangerous and untrustworthy as they were, seemed safer to her because after all she
knew
them. The diggers were all strangers to her.

And that’s how it must have been in Basilica. Nobody could possibly know that many people, so walking along the streets must have meant being surrounded by strangers, by people you had never seen before and would never see again, people who could have come from anywhere, who could be thinking anything, who might be desiring terrible things that would destroy you or those you loved and cared for and you had no way of knowing.

How did they do it, the people who lived there? How could they bear to live their lives among aliens? Why didn’t they just retreat to their homes, block the doors, and cower in a corner, whimpering?

For that matter, thought Chveya, why don’t I? Right now, knowing that I am surrounded by diggers that I don’t know, that I can’t predict, who have the power to destroy me and everyone I love—why am I still going to bed at night, getting up in the morning?

Someone clapped their hands softly outside the door.

She got up and went to the door. It was Elemak.

“Is Oykib up?” he asked.

“Um, no,” said Chveya. “But it’s time he was.”

“I’m up,” said Oykib sleepily from the bed. “Awake, anyway.”

“Come in,” said Chveya.

Elemak came in. He stood until Oykib sat up in bed and indicated his eldest brother should sit at the foot of it. “What is it?” he asked.

“Volemak wants me to work with this digger hostage,” said Elemak.

“If you want to,” said Oykib.

“I do my duty,” said Elemak. He smiled nastily. “I took the oath.”

“Well,” said Oykib. “Then we’re both supposed to learn his language.”

“You have a head start,” said Elemak. “I’d like you to teach me what you know about the language.”

“Not much yet. Just a few words. I don’t know the structure yet.”

“Whatever you know, I’d like to learn it. I’d like Protchnu to learn it, too. Can you give us a class in digger language?”

“That’s a good idea,” said Oykib. “Yes, I will.”

Someone was running around outside. Pounding feet. Protchnu stood in the doorway. “Father,” he said.

Elemak stood up.

“There’s one of those angels standing on the roof of Issib’s house.”

“Who’s on watch?” asked Oykib, standing up, pulling on his clothes.

“Motya,” said Protchnu. “He sent me to fetch you.”

“To fetch
me
?” asked Elemak.

“Um, to get the adults.”

“He didn’t mean me,” said Elemak.

Protchnu looked defiant. “But
I
did.”

“Go get Volemak,” said Elemak.

Chveya was surprised that Elemak understood so well what his role in the community was now—and that he seemed to accept it. She knew that his connection to most people was very thin these days, but she could see that his bond with his eldest son was bright and strong. Yet he had let his son see his own humility. It made her rather sad that he could not be as strong and proud as Protchnu longed for him to be. It was bound to cause real pain in Protchnu, and yet Elemak faced it openly and….

Unless he
wanted
to make sure that Protchnu felt that pain.

No, she wasn’t going to believe that Elemak had some elaborate plan that involved the kindling of deep resentment in his son’s heart.

Oykib was dressed now, and heading out the door. Elemak gave no sign that he intended to follow.

“Aren’t you curious?” asked Chveya, as she followed Oykib out.

“I’ve seen one,” said Elemak.

When they got to Issib’s house, the angel was standing on the roof, rigid, unmoving. Issib and Hushidh and their children were outside, looking up at him; other people were gathering, too. “He looks so frightened,” said Chveya.

“Not of us,” said Oykib. He gestured toward the trees. The shadowy forms of diggers could be seen in the branches, in the underbrush. “Their word for the angels is
mveevo
. Meat from the sky.”

“They eat them?”

“They prefer the babies,” said Oykib. “Let’s just say that international relations between diggers and angels are on a kind of primitive level.”

But Chveya was seeing something else now. The angel on the rooftop had the brightest, strongest connection she had ever seen between any two people, and the connection led to the ship. “He’s here for the other one,” she said. “For the injured one in the ship.”

“I guess so,” said Oykib.

“I know it,” she said.

“He’s praying that we won’t give him to the devils before he finds his…brother. But more than a brother.”

“Then let’s take him,” said Chveya. She walked to the edge of the roof, reached up, took hold of the roof beam, and started climbing up the rough log wall.

“Veya,” said Oykib, annoyed. “You’re pregnant.”

“And you’re just standing there,” she said.

A couple of moments later they were both on the roof. The angel looked at them, but didn’t move. Oykib held out a hand. So did Chveya.

The angel spread his wings, unfolding himself like an umbrella. The effect was astonishing. From being a small, quivering thing, he was suddenly transformed into a great looming shadow. So this is what the injured one would look like, if he were strong and healthy. Like a butterfly, though, the body was so thin and frail inside the canopy of the wings. Only the head was still in proportion to the great width of the wings. The heavy, nodding head.

“Well, we can’t carry him or anything,” Oykib said. He beckoned for the angel to come closer. The angel took an awkward step. “Not much of a walking animal, is he,” said Oykib.

“He’s not an animal,” said Chveya. “He’s a very brave and frightened man, and he loves his brother.”

“His other self,” said Oykib. “That’s what the word is. His otherself.”

“So let’s lead him there.” She went to the edge of the roof, sat down, swung off. Oykib followed her. And a few moments later, the angel perched on the edge, then swooped off. Some of the children shrieked and ran off a little way.

Chveya could see the diggers in the forest draw nearer, but they apparently didn’t dare to cross the line into human territory.

Oykib was explaining to Nafai and Volemak what he and Chveya had seen, what they had decided.

“Do we want the two angels together?” asked Nafai. “What will his reaction be when he sees how badly injured his brother is?”

“More to the point,” said Volemak, “what would his reaction be if we blocked him from seeing his brother?”

Nafai nodded. In the meantime, Oykib and Chveya led the angel toward the ship.

pTo had awakened several times since the Old Ones took him, but every wakening had been like a dream. He drifted, floating on his back, as if the air had grown thick and now held him up without effort. He didn’t know whether he could move or not because he couldn’t summon up the will to move, not even his lips to speak. And when he let his eyes fall open, what he saw was a female Old One, also floating, slowly drifting into and out of his field of vision. Above him the sky, of a neutral color, as if the clouds had not yet decided whether to be stormy or benign. And there were faint breezes, coming from no particular direction—perhaps from below him. Nothing smelled alive except his own faint sweat and the mustier perfumes of the Old One.

Then he drifted off again, not into sleep, really, but into oblivion.

Is this death? Do Old Ones take us to the sky god? Is this life inside a cloud?

But then, perhaps the third time or the fifth time he awoke—he wasn’t sure how many separate memories had gone before—he realized that this must be the inside of the tower of the Old Ones, and the sky was no sky, but rather a roof. So would this be considered a tunnel, like the ones the devils made, only built above the ground? Or would it be a sheltering nest, like the woven thatch that the people build above the nests where infants clung, first to their mothers’ fur, and then to the twigs under the nest?