LOSS OF ONE MEANS LITTLE TO US. It’s hard to tell, but it might sound just a little sheepish. It turns in place, and looks at me with a different eye. This one is blue.
“The loss of two means a lot to me. So does the loss of me. You know who I work for, Buhr. It means a lot to him, too. He’s not someone you want to disappoint.”
The Buhr hums. WE ARE AWARE OF THIS HUMAN. It hums some more, thinking it through. YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE, HULGLIEV?
You’d think that might have been clear. “I do.”
MR. CAPONE HAS AUTHORIZED PAYMENT?
"He has."
The Buhr buzzes to itself, maybe talking to others of its kind. They’re not quite a hive-mind, some sages say. Others disagree. It could be checking with another Buhr that’s sitting in 1930’s Earth, right next to one of Capone’s accountants.
Or it could just want me to think that.
It waves the feeding tube at me. I take that for a good sign. WHAT IS IT YOU REQUIRE?
“Transportation to Tamaranth, for myself, the team, and the ship.” They won’t do it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.
The Buhr shrugs. NOT POSSIBLE, it says. NOT ON YOUR BUDGET. It buzzes again. YOU WILL PROVIDE US ACCESS TO THE CRAFT. WE WILL… REPAIR… IT, SO YOU CAN CONTINUE ON TO TAMARANTH.
I laugh. They’d repair it right back to wherever it is they call home, I’m sure.
I shake my head, and explain what I want.
The Buhr rotates again and studies me with a different eye, this one brown, as it studies the ship with another.
It names a price.
I name a much, much lower amount.
It pretends to act insulted, and we go back and forth like that for awhile. It amazes me how common these kinds of negotiations are, regardless of the species you’re dealing with. We lock on a price, actually a little lower than I expected.
Satisfied, the Buhr gets out of my head, which is a relief.
It steps to the mouth of the corpse road and starts to ramp up its buzzing and crackling, and it makes some awkward gestures I’m almost sure must be made-up to look mysterious.
It’s not long before another Buhr squeezes up through the hole, though, followed by another and another, pushing out in quick succession until there are so many it’s impossible to count them. They fill up the top of the tower, and start to spill down the wreck of a stair—the buzz of their breath and the chirps and creaks they make sound like a field full of a hundred barrel-sized, three-legged giant crickets, their striped feeding tubes all waving in the wind.
I can see Kjat watching us, from down by the ship, and I give her a wave to let her know it’s all right. I push my way through the crowd, down the stairs, and I lead them back to the ship.
The Kerul team emerge, blinking, from their blankets as the wave of Buhr converge around the ship like a cloud, swarm underneath it, and lift it as one onto the mass of their furred backs. There must be more than a thousand of them.
“So, it looks like we have a plan?” Mircada says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
Ercan studies me, and his hand is close to his knife—he’s trying to figure out if I’m taking just the ship, or them along with it.
Frankly, if I were smarter, I’d probably leave them here. But after that ceremony earlier, I know I can’t.
I nod. “Come on,” I say. “I got us a ride.”
The Kerul hurry to gather up their things, and climb up inside the ship. But I’ve got a better idea—I use some of the exterior handholds to climb up the outer hull, and Kjat follows me. We find an indentation from a cannonball up near the front, and I use some rope from my pack to tie us in. One of the Buhr climbs up too, and perches up near the bow to direct the herd.
And then, we’re off.
The Buhr haul us down the winding mountain path. The ride is surprisingly smooth, despite the snow and the uneven terrain. We move so fast that the wind pushes my ears back flat on my head and it whips through my fur, getting rid of some of my exhaustion. Sleep is
“The loss of two means a lot to me. So does the loss of me. You know who I work for, Buhr. It means a lot to him, too. He’s not someone you want to disappoint.”
The Buhr hums. WE ARE AWARE OF THIS HUMAN. It hums some more, thinking it through. YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE, HULGLIEV?
You’d think that might have been clear. “I do.”
MR. CAPONE HAS AUTHORIZED PAYMENT?
"He has."
The Buhr buzzes to itself, maybe talking to others of its kind. They’re not quite a hive-mind, some sages say. Others disagree. It could be checking with another Buhr that’s sitting in 1930’s Earth, right next to one of Capone’s accountants.
Or it could just want me to think that.
It waves the feeding tube at me. I take that for a good sign. WHAT IS IT YOU REQUIRE?
“Transportation to Tamaranth, for myself, the team, and the ship.” They won’t do it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.
The Buhr shrugs. NOT POSSIBLE, it says. NOT ON YOUR BUDGET. It buzzes again. YOU WILL PROVIDE US ACCESS TO THE CRAFT. WE WILL… REPAIR… IT, SO YOU CAN CONTINUE ON TO TAMARANTH.
I laugh. They’d repair it right back to wherever it is they call home, I’m sure.
I shake my head, and explain what I want.
The Buhr rotates again and studies me with a different eye, this one brown, as it studies the ship with another.
It names a price.
I name a much, much lower amount.
It pretends to act insulted, and we go back and forth like that for awhile. It amazes me how common these kinds of negotiations are, regardless of the species you’re dealing with. We lock on a price, actually a little lower than I expected.
Satisfied, the Buhr gets out of my head, which is a relief.
It steps to the mouth of the corpse road and starts to ramp up its buzzing and crackling, and it makes some awkward gestures I’m almost sure must be made-up to look mysterious.
It’s not long before another Buhr squeezes up through the hole, though, followed by another and another, pushing out in quick succession until there are so many it’s impossible to count them. They fill up the top of the tower, and start to spill down the wreck of a stair—the buzz of their breath and the chirps and creaks they make sound like a field full of a hundred barrel-sized, three-legged giant crickets, their striped feeding tubes all waving in the wind.
I can see Kjat watching us, from down by the ship, and I give her a wave to let her know it’s all right. I push my way through the crowd, down the stairs, and I lead them back to the ship.
The Kerul team emerge, blinking, from their blankets as the wave of Buhr converge around the ship like a cloud, swarm underneath it, and lift it as one onto the mass of their furred backs. There must be more than a thousand of them.
“So, it looks like we have a plan?” Mircada says, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
Ercan studies me, and his hand is close to his knife—he’s trying to figure out if I’m taking just the ship, or them along with it.
Frankly, if I were smarter, I’d probably leave them here. But after that ceremony earlier, I know I can’t.
I nod. “Come on,” I say. “I got us a ride.”
The Kerul hurry to gather up their things, and climb up inside the ship. But I’ve got a better idea—I use some of the exterior handholds to climb up the outer hull, and Kjat follows me. We find an indentation from a cannonball up near the front, and I use some rope from my pack to tie us in. One of the Buhr climbs up too, and perches up near the bow to direct the herd.
And then, we’re off.
The Buhr haul us down the winding mountain path. The ride is surprisingly smooth, despite the snow and the uneven terrain. We move so fast that the wind pushes my ears back flat on my head and it whips through my fur, getting rid of some of my exhaustion. Sleep is
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