Fish Tails (77 page)

Grandma sat staring at the child. “I'll go see what the medical machines advise,” she said, leaving with some haste.

There were two beds in the room, one that Grandma had obviously used. Her slippers were beside it, her night water bottle was on the table. Grandma always had a night water bottle. She rarely if ever drank from it. Needly used to ask her why she had it. Grandma always said she might need it if the house caught on fire. The other bed was for Needly. Her pack was there. She undressed and put on the light sleep trousers and shirt Xulai had made for her, like Willum's. She had admired Willum's. They looked so comfortable and had turned out to be so, even though they were made from old shirts. Xulai didn't have any more old shirts. She had made the bottoms from old bed sheets. Needly lay down on her bed with the book.

She realized she hadn't told Grandma she was hungry. Of all those little dishes and kettles and vials of stuff, only half a dozen of them had been tasty. Six tiny spoonfuls. And she was thirsty. She'd have a drink out of Grandma's water bottle. She sipped . . . and stopped. That explained why Grandma had a water bottle. It wasn't water.

Grandma's room was near the reception area. She went out to find the food machine Grandma had talked about. It had a start button and a keyboard. She pushed the one and found the letters to spell “fried chicken.” The machine whirred and went
thunk
. A silvery sack dropped into a bin. She took it back to their room. The chicken was hot and tasty, and she ate it with some of the trail stuff she had in her pack. Corn—­some parched, some popped—­and dried, fried pieces of corn flats, and piñon nuts and dried pieces of apples, apricots, cherries, and plums. Needly munched some, sipping not-­water between munches. The not-­water must be liquor. The stuff that was stronger than beer, which she had tasted before, in Tuckwhip. It gave one a very funny sort of floating feeling.

She dozed off for a while. The room sensed she was asleep and put a blanket over her. Only a little later, she half woke, thinking she had heard something.

The door opened and Grandma came in. She was trying to smile. “The Oracles were annoyed,” she said, almost in a whisper. ­“People—­that is, human ­people—­are not expected to come up with answers that the Oracles haven't thought of first. It took them some time to decide on the correct reaction. They wished to ignore your suggestion, but they decided that would be undignified. They wished to ignore the fact that your suggestion might work, but they decided it would be equally undignified not to recognize it. Therefore, they wish to congratulate you on having had a good idea. All that before I had a chance to ask the machine.”

“And?” Needly cried.

“Needly, much of what I just said is . . . interpolation. Nothing was as clear or definite as I said it. When I quoted the Oracles as saying ­people aren't expected to come up with answers, what they actually said was ‘machine job, not for person.' However, the machine didn't help much. It gave us an equivocal reading. A maybe. So we tried what you suggested. The machine is much stronger than a person, and much more delicate at the same time. It pulled the shaft out and washed out the hole to get all the bits out, if any. It warmed him until he was a tiny bit warmer than usual body temp. Not too high, it said, because there was a danger of cracking him. It blocked the hole in his back. It warmed the gel and poured it into him. When it set, it turned him over and put a little more gel in the back and evened up the gel on both sides of him and de-­rocked him.”

“Did he wake up? Is he moving?”

“He opened his eyes. That's all the movement he could make because he was in terrible pain. Terrible screaming pain. The machine reacted immediately. It had analyzed the rock medicine and had created some; it used the rock medicine on him again and put the arrow shaft back where it was. It's now humming furiously again, rethinking the whole thing. It doesn't want him to move, eat, do anything until everything has grown. Why are you crying? It's too early to cry. We've just started.”

Needly, her eyes awash in tears, could not stop. “Grandma, he was so brave. He didn't even think, he just jumped in front of that arrow, protecting the little Griffin.” She wiped her face, got out of bed, and pulled on her jacket. “I can't just lie here. Do you have the stuff to de-­rock Sun-­wings' leg? Where's Abasio and Xulai? I need to go tell them about Willum. They were really upset. We need to go tell them. And Coyote and Bear; somebody needs to tell them, too.” She took a deep breath, trying to remember other . . . concrete things. Definite things. “And we need to give some of the antidote to someone to take back to Sun-­wings. Can I ask Precious Wind to do it? She's feeling annoyed at herself.”

“I gave the antidote to Precious Wind hours ago, child.”

Needly, who felt that if she had to lie still right now and not think about Willum, she would simply die, said so. Worriedly, Grandma told her in that case they would join the singsong that the Artemisians were having on the campground.

I
N THE BUILDING WHERE THE
Griffins were lodged, near the Wide Mountain Clan House, a clan member who had just arrived on watch looked up suddenly to see a woman walk in through the door and approach the large Griffin, who appeared to be asleep, though it was still early in the evening.

“Hey,” he said. “What you doing here?”

“Is Wide Mountain Mother available? I suppose she's asleep.”

“I'm not gonna wake her up, 'f that's what y're after.”

“Don't need to. Can you get me a bucket of water?” She smiled.

He enjoyed her smile. “I 'spose.”

“I'd really appreciate that.”

He brought water. The woman spoke into the Griffin's ear, which twitched upward. A very large eye opened. The Griffin said, “I do not like hearing that about Willum!”

“I do not like telling it to you. Oh, here's the water. Whoops. Cold! Can you stand it cold, Sun-­wings?”

“I'm eight or nine hundred years old. Winter on top of those mountains is not a tropical holiday.”

“We're only going to do the leg so the rest of you won't get chilled. Right! Instructions are, do it once. Wait to see how much sensation comes back. If it's still dead-­ish, do it again. Okay?”

The woman and the water carrier bathed the Griffin's rear right leg, every crease and dimple, then, at the water carrier's suggestion, while awaiting results, they retired to the adjacent room.

When they returned after a rather lengthy interval, they asked Sun-­wings to move the leg, which she was almost able to do. It quivered, but almost was not good enough. The woman and the water carrier bathed the leg again. This time the results were satisfactory. Within moments, the leg moved freely. The Griffin stood, shakily at first, then with increasing strength. Dawn-­song—­wakened by the movement and the loud rejoicing—­came from her bed in the corner and began chirruping in celebration.

The woman urged caution. “Sun-­wings, your wing still isn't quite well enough healed for you to try flying. It doesn't need much time, maybe another day or two. Don't try it before it's fully healed or you'll rip it and we'll have to start over. As far as the leg goes, by morning you should be able to move around comfortably. Since we don't know where Despos is, you and the little one will stay undercover, yes? When Needly gets back, she's bringing some stuff that will heal the wing even more quickly and prevent scarring. Be patient.”

The Griffin hummed. The woman took this for assent. “Thank you for your help,” she said to the water carrier.

“Thank you, Precious Wind,” he said. “That was most enjoyable. It's strange how we keep encountering each other.”

“Not at all. I asked Wide Mountain Mother to put you on night guard before I left.” She smiled at him again and disappeared. It would take about ten jumps to get her back to the Oracles. Such a pleasant night for traveling.

“Ouishuc,” said Deer Runner fondly.

T
HE NEWS ABOUT
W
ILLUM WAS
circulated in the outdoor camp among the Artemisians. Most of the Artemisians had not known the boy except as a sprawled statue, but they knew the circumstances of his injury and considered him one of themselves. They built up the fire and passed around a beverage with instructions that Willum was to be the subject of concern, that all present were to send caring and concerned thoughts to him. Needly had been asked about the “naming” meeting she and Willum had had with the Griffins, and she had acted it out for them at length. They then had many questions about the big male. Everyone was conscious of their surroundings, their proximity to the Oracles, however much they were separated by thick walls of stone, and they kept it reasonably quiet. Needly and Grandma had been honored guests, given a special pillowed log to sit on and provided with full cups of whatever was being drunk. Grandma had told them honestly about the situation with Willum. If they wished to have a liquid-­fueled song and prayer meeting, it was all right with her. Doubtless the religiosity part of it would dwindle as the imbibing part increased.

Needly asked, “Did you know the Artemisian ­people before, Grandma?”

“I knew them when I was much younger, before I was sent to Hench Valley. I grew up in a house just up the hill over there, not far. It's a very comfortable, well-­equipped house, and why it's out here, all by itself, I have no idea. I suppose I'm probably part Artemisian, genetically. Maybe part Tingawan, too.”

“Did the Oracles adopt you or something?”

“No. One day they were just here. The empty caves were full of equipment and stuff, all kinds of stuff. I was very young and curious—­I couldn't have been more than six, Needly. Remember you at six and you'll come close to what I was like. Curious. Probably impertinent. So I hung around the place and asked questions. Sometimes the Oracles would say things for no reason, sometimes they would answer a question I had asked, sometimes they would say something that seemed to be the answer to a question I had asked the day before, or many days before. This was not as surprising to me as it might have been for other children because I lived among humans who were often dreamy and unworldly, to whom time meant little or nothing, so I already had acquired a tendency to ‘fill in the blanks.' The ­people I lived with never corrected me, so I presumed that was the way some creatures communicated, with a lot of siIences and vacancies scattered among the answers and informations. I thought I was filling in the blanks pretty well. I did it with the Oracles sometimes when they had said things or indicated things or hinted at things that I cared about a lot. As soon as I learned how to use the machines, I became quite certain that they hadn't answered because they knew the machines could answer me, and they expected me to find out by myself.

“Needly, all the grown ­people I had associated with were wise about something. None of them were simply stupid or ignorant. I did not realize a simple fact:
Though silence and vagueness can be a mask for profound knowledge, they can also mask total ignorance!
Sometimes silence and vagueness are
the reality.
The Oracles simply knew nothing about the things I had asked them about.

“But they had all these great machines, edubots that were . . . well, the most advanced ones that had ever been made. They were just there, up in the front of the cave, and the Oracles, they didn't seem to pay any attention to them at all. I put two and two together to get what I considered reasonable. They didn't need the machines because they had put the information into the machines to start with. So there I was, young and curious and with all kinds of time on my hands, and with machines that would answer any question I asked. That was enough. I never went farther back into their . . . territory than that. And they never invited me into those areas.

“I asked the edubots and the other equipment they have in there what I should do with my life. One of the machines I asked set off a whole series of bells and whistles and red lights and urgent messages to say that they, or someone, was looking for a particular genotype that fit me. Oh, I was smart enough to ask how they got my genotype, and the machine replied that it was well equipped to analyze spit and sweat and skin cells and . . . and . . . and. Quite honestly, I crowed over that a little. It's nice to feel special, which I did not feel at home. Every person in that house, to hear them tell it, was unique and more special than anyone else in the world, and I was merely the girl child.”

“They should have thought more of you than that, Grandma!”

“Maybe they did and just didn't show it. Too late now to ask them. At that time I felt some of those machines were more . . . human than some of the humans I knew. The humans, often as not, said, ‘Go away and don't bother me,' but the machines actually welcomed me. I asked if I was the one they were looking for . . . one of the ones, I should say. As I remember, their answer to that question was that I was ‘the type that had been selected.' They never actually told me who did the selecting. I foolishly assumed the Oracles had.

“As for the inducements I was offered . . . when I asked what was to be my payment for being ‘the type that had been selected,' I got a document printed out on one of the machines. I have no idea who actually wrote the thing. At the time I just assumed the Oracles were responsible for it all. The inducement talked about the history of Earth and the problems of ­people, and it offered me the opportunity to have ‘children who would contribute positively to the future of the earth; the opportunity to meet men of very high attainments.' Things like that. At the bottom it said: ‘If you agree, sign at the bottom and insert into slot A.' Which I did.”

“Are you glad you . . . like you said, worked for them or whoever it actually was?”

“On balance, I'd say so, though I'd have preferred more disclosure and less mystery. Joshua, my first partner, didn't arrive until years later, of course, but the machines were there all the time. And when I saw the house being built near ours, of course I went over to meet the person who was building it. I was sixteen by then, and Joshua and I became very, very close, and no one at my house said ‘don't' or ‘no' or ‘What do you think you're doing?' I didn't really think about it at all. And when we became partners, he took me to Hench Valley. No one ever explained why Hench Valley either. He built a house for me there. He left me, but he told me someone else would be coming along. The partners that arrived from time to time were really wonderful men, joyful, joyous men, capable of delight, the kind of men that . . . when you meet them, you think they have known you forever and you have known them, just that long. Our children were delightful. Though giving them up was neither delightful nor even bearable. But if I hadn't agreed to it, you probably wouldn't be here at all. You were certainly an inducement when you came along.”