Shi-mi.
Agnes was startled by the small female voice, coming from the ground beside her. She glanced around quickly; the hunters were far enough away for them not to have heard the family pet speak. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I tracked the hunting group. Of course I would come here. I’m a cat. Save for the chickens people imported here, these big mothers are the only birds anybody’s found in this world . . .’
Oliver looked their way. He had noticed the cat, though hopefully he hadn’t heard her speak. He grinned and called softly, ‘Hey, kitty. So you found the nest? Well, this is a world where the birds chase the cats, so you’d better take care.’
Lobsang picked up Shi-mi. ‘Oh, she will,’ he said. ‘She will.’
Nikos said, ‘I think it’s clear, Dad.’
Oliver listened for a while, peered around in all directions. ‘OK. Quick and careful.’
Nikos got to his feet, loped across the clearing to the nest, and after a final glance around he reached into the nest with both arms and extracted an egg. It was maybe two feet long from end to end, and obviously heavy. He bundled this into netting, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way back to his father.
Oliver helped his son bind up the egg tighter, and smiled at Lobsang and Agnes. ‘This will make one hell of an omelette. But we’re not doing this for the food. You can see that these birds nest on the ground. Every so often we find a nest like this, where the bird has roamed too close to our campsites and hunting grounds for comfort. Gotta keep them away from the kids. So we removethe egg, and with any luck the mother wanders away too. No problem, unless—’
Nikos pushed his father’s head down. ‘Unless the bird catches us,’ the boy whispered.
Now, crouching down as deep as she could, Agnes saw movement in the deeper forest, between the trees: a figure taller than a human walking on two tremendous legs, with a boulder of a body, a strong neck, a powerful beak. Surprisingly small wings were covered with iridescent blue feathers. The bird was a hunter itself, evidently; it was treading astonishingly quietly, round eyes above that cruel beak inspecting the undergrowth, the low branches.
‘So,’ Agnes murmured, quietly enough for just Lobsang and Shi-mi to hear, ‘when the furballs come out to hunt the insects, this comes out to hunt the furballs.’
‘That looks like a gastornis,’ the cat said softly. ‘A predatory flightless bird of the Palaeocene—’
‘Hush,’ Lobsang said. ‘I don’t want to know about it that way. We’ve come to live in this world, remember, not to study it.’
Shi-mi said, ‘And thereby denying the reality.’
That surprised Agnes. ‘Denying what? What reality?’
‘I too have had trouble sleeping, Agnes. As if the day is too short , subtly. And getting shorter.’
Agnes, startled, said, ‘Too short? What could that possibly mean?’
But Shi-mi would say no more.
Now the bird had passed out of sight, evidently unaware as yet of the tampering with its nest. Silently Oliver and Nikos got to their feet, lugging the net with the egg, and started to make their way back out of the forest, gesturing for Agnes and the others to follow.
Lobsang got up. Agnes had no choice but to follow him.
12
I N THE SHADOW of a half-built liquid hydrogen plant, shielded from the intense Miami sun, Stan Berg was playing poker with a few construction workers.
In the year 2056, two years after the arrival of Lobsang and Agnes at New Springfield, Stan was sixteen years old. The purpose of this community, a much transformed Miami West 4, was to construct a space elevator, a ladder to the sky. But the construction of the Linsay beanstalk had been held up for weeks now. There was pretty much nothing to do. And so, at a table full of LETC stalk jacks twice his age or more – some ostentatiously wearing their hard hats even though they hadn’t worked for days – Stan played steadily, folding when
Agnes was startled by the small female voice, coming from the ground beside her. She glanced around quickly; the hunters were far enough away for them not to have heard the family pet speak. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I tracked the hunting group. Of course I would come here. I’m a cat. Save for the chickens people imported here, these big mothers are the only birds anybody’s found in this world . . .’
Oliver looked their way. He had noticed the cat, though hopefully he hadn’t heard her speak. He grinned and called softly, ‘Hey, kitty. So you found the nest? Well, this is a world where the birds chase the cats, so you’d better take care.’
Lobsang picked up Shi-mi. ‘Oh, she will,’ he said. ‘She will.’
Nikos said, ‘I think it’s clear, Dad.’
Oliver listened for a while, peered around in all directions. ‘OK. Quick and careful.’
Nikos got to his feet, loped across the clearing to the nest, and after a final glance around he reached into the nest with both arms and extracted an egg. It was maybe two feet long from end to end, and obviously heavy. He bundled this into netting, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way back to his father.
Oliver helped his son bind up the egg tighter, and smiled at Lobsang and Agnes. ‘This will make one hell of an omelette. But we’re not doing this for the food. You can see that these birds nest on the ground. Every so often we find a nest like this, where the bird has roamed too close to our campsites and hunting grounds for comfort. Gotta keep them away from the kids. So we removethe egg, and with any luck the mother wanders away too. No problem, unless—’
Nikos pushed his father’s head down. ‘Unless the bird catches us,’ the boy whispered.
Now, crouching down as deep as she could, Agnes saw movement in the deeper forest, between the trees: a figure taller than a human walking on two tremendous legs, with a boulder of a body, a strong neck, a powerful beak. Surprisingly small wings were covered with iridescent blue feathers. The bird was a hunter itself, evidently; it was treading astonishingly quietly, round eyes above that cruel beak inspecting the undergrowth, the low branches.
‘So,’ Agnes murmured, quietly enough for just Lobsang and Shi-mi to hear, ‘when the furballs come out to hunt the insects, this comes out to hunt the furballs.’
‘That looks like a gastornis,’ the cat said softly. ‘A predatory flightless bird of the Palaeocene—’
‘Hush,’ Lobsang said. ‘I don’t want to know about it that way. We’ve come to live in this world, remember, not to study it.’
Shi-mi said, ‘And thereby denying the reality.’
That surprised Agnes. ‘Denying what? What reality?’
‘I too have had trouble sleeping, Agnes. As if the day is too short , subtly. And getting shorter.’
Agnes, startled, said, ‘Too short? What could that possibly mean?’
But Shi-mi would say no more.
Now the bird had passed out of sight, evidently unaware as yet of the tampering with its nest. Silently Oliver and Nikos got to their feet, lugging the net with the egg, and started to make their way back out of the forest, gesturing for Agnes and the others to follow.
Lobsang got up. Agnes had no choice but to follow him.
12
I N THE SHADOW of a half-built liquid hydrogen plant, shielded from the intense Miami sun, Stan Berg was playing poker with a few construction workers.
In the year 2056, two years after the arrival of Lobsang and Agnes at New Springfield, Stan was sixteen years old. The purpose of this community, a much transformed Miami West 4, was to construct a space elevator, a ladder to the sky. But the construction of the Linsay beanstalk had been held up for weeks now. There was pretty much nothing to do. And so, at a table full of LETC stalk jacks twice his age or more – some ostentatiously wearing their hard hats even though they hadn’t worked for days – Stan played steadily, folding when
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