her people tell.”
“She did mention Jehane?”
“She told me some old legend. I think that name was in it once or twice. Can I see her? I want to put on record that the weapon she was carrying was my property—that I gave her—” She faltered. Behind the wall, they leaned together. Static crackled then bled away.
“… clear evidence,” finished the male voice. All three straightened.
“Have you any reason to suspect that the young Ridani you call Paisley has been at any time or is currently linked with the Jehanish insurrection?”
“I have never heard of any Jehanish anything, but I’m beginning to think that—” She broke off, remembering, for once, prudence.
“Would you like to complete that statement?”
“No.”
Static arced in a high, faint pattern above her. She circled the room four times before the intercom crackled back to life. The three questioners drew apart and rose.
“We have no further questions.”
“But I have!” The wall already dulled and, as the lights came up, it reverted to its original obsidian sheen. “I have!” She slammed the side of her fist into the black surface. It hurt
Behind her six guards filed in. She went without a word. She could not even imagine where she might be going now. But it was, of course, to a lock, and then into a ship—of course. Having presumably condemned Paisley, lost Heredes and Bach, and been, in the bargain, erased from existence at the order of Central Intelligence, she was to be sent back to the truly empty House of her family. She went meekly to her room or, better phrased, cell. They had left food and drink. There was a washing cubicle. She ate and drank and washed.
She was not aware of any ungrappling. When the first window came, it took her entirely unaware.
Fire. A tracery half-broken. The wind fanned it. The building collapsed—roaring; weight. Trapped in darkness.
And came out.
She was crying.
After a bit she recalled the futility of such occupation, so she dried her tears and washed her face. She did kata, basics, simply stood for long periods in her deepest stances. In such a stance, kiba-dachi, centered physically at least, she felt the ship go through.
Night. Utterly dark. The sightless must find a path. Wrists crossed. Long sweeps, half-moon, forge the ground. Light begins to rise.
And came out.
She still held deep in the stance. And as her final test, might as well stay in it as the ship came in to Unruli Station. It gave her something to concentrate on while she waited.
Because of it, she was, while completely surprised, not entirely unprepared when they went through again.
The angle of the left knee. Tendons. A slight shift. Vector. Each angle presupposes the next. Each prepares the other.
And came out.
She was so amazed by her sudden understanding of how to correct her straddle stance that she sat down. It was so simple, so obvious.
It was two windows to Unruli. Where, by the Void, were they going? It seemed suddenly absurd to Lily that after all that had happened to her, they—whoever they were, the government, presumably—would simply return her to Unruli and deposit her by Ransome House’s outside lift. Her last ship had gotten to Remote on one impossible jump. She could be anywhere. She felt immensely heartened.
A bed stood platformed into one wall. She lay down on it and slept. It had been told to her on one occasion that no human could sleep through a window. On other occasions, she had been told one merely had strange dreams. It seemed to her, when she woke, that she had had strange dreams, but how many, and how strange, she could not remember. She stretched, did a few exercises, ate and drank and washed. This ship could be going anywhere—even as far as Central. And she thought of Bach’s star map, and smiled.
The ship went through.
The guardian of the south: the spirit of power released. But to the west: the spirit of power in reserve.
And came out
She was still smiling—of course, because it
“She did mention Jehane?”
“She told me some old legend. I think that name was in it once or twice. Can I see her? I want to put on record that the weapon she was carrying was my property—that I gave her—” She faltered. Behind the wall, they leaned together. Static crackled then bled away.
“… clear evidence,” finished the male voice. All three straightened.
“Have you any reason to suspect that the young Ridani you call Paisley has been at any time or is currently linked with the Jehanish insurrection?”
“I have never heard of any Jehanish anything, but I’m beginning to think that—” She broke off, remembering, for once, prudence.
“Would you like to complete that statement?”
“No.”
Static arced in a high, faint pattern above her. She circled the room four times before the intercom crackled back to life. The three questioners drew apart and rose.
“We have no further questions.”
“But I have!” The wall already dulled and, as the lights came up, it reverted to its original obsidian sheen. “I have!” She slammed the side of her fist into the black surface. It hurt
Behind her six guards filed in. She went without a word. She could not even imagine where she might be going now. But it was, of course, to a lock, and then into a ship—of course. Having presumably condemned Paisley, lost Heredes and Bach, and been, in the bargain, erased from existence at the order of Central Intelligence, she was to be sent back to the truly empty House of her family. She went meekly to her room or, better phrased, cell. They had left food and drink. There was a washing cubicle. She ate and drank and washed.
She was not aware of any ungrappling. When the first window came, it took her entirely unaware.
Fire. A tracery half-broken. The wind fanned it. The building collapsed—roaring; weight. Trapped in darkness.
And came out.
She was crying.
After a bit she recalled the futility of such occupation, so she dried her tears and washed her face. She did kata, basics, simply stood for long periods in her deepest stances. In such a stance, kiba-dachi, centered physically at least, she felt the ship go through.
Night. Utterly dark. The sightless must find a path. Wrists crossed. Long sweeps, half-moon, forge the ground. Light begins to rise.
And came out.
She still held deep in the stance. And as her final test, might as well stay in it as the ship came in to Unruli Station. It gave her something to concentrate on while she waited.
Because of it, she was, while completely surprised, not entirely unprepared when they went through again.
The angle of the left knee. Tendons. A slight shift. Vector. Each angle presupposes the next. Each prepares the other.
And came out.
She was so amazed by her sudden understanding of how to correct her straddle stance that she sat down. It was so simple, so obvious.
It was two windows to Unruli. Where, by the Void, were they going? It seemed suddenly absurd to Lily that after all that had happened to her, they—whoever they were, the government, presumably—would simply return her to Unruli and deposit her by Ransome House’s outside lift. Her last ship had gotten to Remote on one impossible jump. She could be anywhere. She felt immensely heartened.
A bed stood platformed into one wall. She lay down on it and slept. It had been told to her on one occasion that no human could sleep through a window. On other occasions, she had been told one merely had strange dreams. It seemed to her, when she woke, that she had had strange dreams, but how many, and how strange, she could not remember. She stretched, did a few exercises, ate and drank and washed. This ship could be going anywhere—even as far as Central. And she thought of Bach’s star map, and smiled.
The ship went through.
The guardian of the south: the spirit of power released. But to the west: the spirit of power in reserve.
And came out
She was still smiling—of course, because it
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