life, and Shan tightened his dust veil over his face and settled his weight back onto the seat. Then he guided the bike carefully out of Songwind’s area. The woman was badly misnamed, and Shan suspected that if he threw sand up or dislodged a windbreak post, the woman would demand labor days from him. It’d been a long time since he did mechanical work, and he really didn’t feel like doing it under Ista Songwind’s eye.
Before he’d quit it, his own apprenticeship had been under a white-haired man named Holmes who had chewed a reed and watched silently as Shan made his own mistakes… well, unless Shan was working on something like computer circuits, which were both sensitive and rare. Then Holmes had become a sharp-eyed taskmaster, so Shan could hardly blame Songwind for being equally sharp. Cyla had only been working for a bit over a month, and computer chips were too valuable to have an apprentice ruin a whole board of them. The fact that Ista taught her at all was a boon that none of them could have hoped for, yet something felt wrong.
Shan guided his cycle past the low, slanting roofs of the town and toward the open desert. The guidance system in his bike beeped to tell him he was off path, but he ignored it as he steered around a ponderous scoop hauler that slowly trundled over the sand toward town. Holmes would never have allowed Shan to tend so many circuits without watching, and Shan had been talented with machines. The computer command boards were too rare and too important. With the inner worlds off on their ridiculous wars, the promised tech had dried up as quickly as spilled water on the sand.
The cycle’s back tire spun as Shan leaned too far forward, his weight uneven. Shan settled back and let his mind chase random thoughts as he turned his front tire toward home. The facts were like a broken piece of glass. Parts fit, but other edges wouldn’t marry up, no matter how Shan considered things. It was like some piece was missing, and he couldn’t figure the shape of the whole.
The first deep desert dune commanded his attention, and Shan leaned back and focused on guiding his machine up the shifting sands. The feeling of it under him was familiar, and the task at hand demanded all his attention. For a time, he allowed himself to feel the cycle and the desert and the rhythms of life on Livre. The sand sparkled, red and gold, the patterns shifting as the gentle midday wind tugged at the surface of the dunes. About an hour into his long journey, a whining hiss made Shan tilt his head and focus on the straining engine. He could come up with a hundred reasons for a straining engine to whine in protest, but none would have that high-pitched tone that cut off so suddenly. The second whine came a half second before a tuft of sand spurted up from the ground, right in front of him.
For a half second, Shan couldn’t figure out what was going on. He looked over his shoulder, and a sand hunter was roaring toward him. The wide vehicle had one driver and a second person standing on the side board with a weapon on his shoulder. The cycle started sliding out from under Shan, and his body shifted instinctively to correct the balance. At that moment, the gun flashed, and another whine warned Shan a half second before a bullet hit the sand next to him.
God’s mercy. Surely there was some sort of great confusion or perhaps a great bout of drunkenness. Nothing else made sense. However, rather than debate the senselessness of the situation, Shan aimed his bike toward the top of the dune and opened the engine. The cycle screamed to life and lurched madly under his grip, but Shan rode it to the ridge and then felt the cycle fall out from under him as he hit the backside of the dune. Normally, Shan would fishtail the back of the bike to slow his descent, but this time he threw his weight forward as he went into a near free-fall down the front of the dune.
Sand whipped by his face so fast that individual particles worked
Before he’d quit it, his own apprenticeship had been under a white-haired man named Holmes who had chewed a reed and watched silently as Shan made his own mistakes… well, unless Shan was working on something like computer circuits, which were both sensitive and rare. Then Holmes had become a sharp-eyed taskmaster, so Shan could hardly blame Songwind for being equally sharp. Cyla had only been working for a bit over a month, and computer chips were too valuable to have an apprentice ruin a whole board of them. The fact that Ista taught her at all was a boon that none of them could have hoped for, yet something felt wrong.
Shan guided his cycle past the low, slanting roofs of the town and toward the open desert. The guidance system in his bike beeped to tell him he was off path, but he ignored it as he steered around a ponderous scoop hauler that slowly trundled over the sand toward town. Holmes would never have allowed Shan to tend so many circuits without watching, and Shan had been talented with machines. The computer command boards were too rare and too important. With the inner worlds off on their ridiculous wars, the promised tech had dried up as quickly as spilled water on the sand.
The cycle’s back tire spun as Shan leaned too far forward, his weight uneven. Shan settled back and let his mind chase random thoughts as he turned his front tire toward home. The facts were like a broken piece of glass. Parts fit, but other edges wouldn’t marry up, no matter how Shan considered things. It was like some piece was missing, and he couldn’t figure the shape of the whole.
The first deep desert dune commanded his attention, and Shan leaned back and focused on guiding his machine up the shifting sands. The feeling of it under him was familiar, and the task at hand demanded all his attention. For a time, he allowed himself to feel the cycle and the desert and the rhythms of life on Livre. The sand sparkled, red and gold, the patterns shifting as the gentle midday wind tugged at the surface of the dunes. About an hour into his long journey, a whining hiss made Shan tilt his head and focus on the straining engine. He could come up with a hundred reasons for a straining engine to whine in protest, but none would have that high-pitched tone that cut off so suddenly. The second whine came a half second before a tuft of sand spurted up from the ground, right in front of him.
For a half second, Shan couldn’t figure out what was going on. He looked over his shoulder, and a sand hunter was roaring toward him. The wide vehicle had one driver and a second person standing on the side board with a weapon on his shoulder. The cycle started sliding out from under Shan, and his body shifted instinctively to correct the balance. At that moment, the gun flashed, and another whine warned Shan a half second before a bullet hit the sand next to him.
God’s mercy. Surely there was some sort of great confusion or perhaps a great bout of drunkenness. Nothing else made sense. However, rather than debate the senselessness of the situation, Shan aimed his bike toward the top of the dune and opened the engine. The cycle screamed to life and lurched madly under his grip, but Shan rode it to the ridge and then felt the cycle fall out from under him as he hit the backside of the dune. Normally, Shan would fishtail the back of the bike to slow his descent, but this time he threw his weight forward as he went into a near free-fall down the front of the dune.
Sand whipped by his face so fast that individual particles worked
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