James P. Hogan by Migration Page B

beings of such power and magnanimity that a vagabond trickster, his accomplice, and two fugitives from a petty tyrant could be worth such effort? Masumichi, whose face had been the first to appear in the window of the metal beast, and others who had spoken from it since, had shown interest in Korshak’s magical and other arts. He confessed to himself that he was at a loss. Did they believe that they had something to learn from him ?
    He looked down at Vaydien, who was sitting close, one hand clasping his, her head resting against his shoulder. She seemed in a daze and had hardly spoken. Korshak slipped an arm across her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly.
    “Are we really here?” she murmured. “All this around me is real?”
    “Oh, yes, very real,” Korshak told her.
    Vaydien was silent for a while. “Then I’ve woken up from a nightmare,” she said.
    Meanwhile, an image of the Great Ship’s king continued speaking from the window on the wall at the far end of the room. Along with the others, Korshak had been given a box small enough to carry in a pocket or clip to a belt or the edge of a tunic, connected by a cord to a plug that the wearer placed in an ear. From the plug, a voice repeated the king’s words in whatever tongue was selected by turning a wheel on the box.
    “I know the thought sits heavily with some of you that we will never see nor set foot on Earth again. But is that really such a tragedy? The forces and passions appearing there are the same as those that destroyed it before. Let me share with you some of the things I’ve observed in recent years, and where I think they will lead before very much longer….”
    “Does the thought sit heavily with you?” Korshak asked Mirsto, who was sitting on the far side of a small table from them, his cloak draped over the adjacent seat. Sultan was lying alongside Mirsto’s feet, ears erect and eyes shifting constantly, taking in the strange new world.
    “Oh, I think I’ve seen as much of it as I care to,” Mirsto replied. He seemed to be recovering from his exertions down on the surface. “A world this size from now on should suit me just fine. Gallivanting around in all that space down there was beginning to be somewhat taxing.”
    Ronti was sitting a short distance from them, near the people who had also been brought up in the white bird. They were dressed in all manner of garb and carried an assortment of bags and other objects that looked as if they had been grabbed in haste at short notice. Their speech was different from that of the Arigane and Shengshoan regions, but like Korshak, Ronti had picked up a smattering of it in their travels. What intrigued Ronti most of all was the talking, manlike metal creature that had single-handedly routed an entire troop of Zileg’s cavalry with exploding lights and streaming fiery smoke. If the Builders so chose, they could surely have vanquished the world. But to rule over a world of the vanquished was not what they desired. So what depths of wisdom and insight were there to be learned here?
    The creature was sitting beside the captain of the white bird, as it had during the brief journey up to the flying island. Less than two hours before, it had performed a feat greater than that of any hero that Ronti had heard sung of in ballad or told in legend; yet it showed no more emotion than would a house servant after driving away a pack of noisy dogs who were being a nuisance on the street. What manner of creature was it? Did it live, or had the Builders made it, as they had the craft that sailed in the skies and everything else that made up this world of miracles that they were now in?
    All the same, Ronti’s natural cockiness hadn’t deserted him entirely. He was pretty certain that he could show it a thing or two when it came to acrobatics, he told himself as he eyed it up and down.
     
    “One thing I can promise you all is that the things we are saying farewell to will fade into insignificance compared to