Power Lines
- Автор: Маккефри Энн, Скарборо Элизабет
- Серия: Petaybee #2
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Power Lines». Краткое содержание книги:
Only solid evidence would convince the company to leave the planet alone, and for all its sentience, Petaybee's communications were highly subjective; indeed, some outsiders seemed entirely immune to its voice. So Yana and her friends would have to find some other way to prove that the planet was worth more to the company alive than dead...
Sighing at a reluctance to repeat down what she had only recently gone up, Yana was agreeably surprised to find a broad, rutted grassy road leading down in an easy gradient, switching back and forth down the side of the cliff to the village that was Harrison's Fjord. This trail had to have been man-made. Nanook, tail tip idly twitching, padded on ahead of them, acting advance guard as usual.
"Harrison," Sean said. ''He hated climbing, had problems with balance. I don't know who he bribed of the original TerraB group, but he got the road done and the village settled, the harbor carved the way he wanted it."
"Where did your sister and her husband enter caves-" Yana broke off, seeing that the rock formation along the road side did not lend itself to caves.
As Sean pointed toward the waterfall, Yana was surprised to see Nanook look in the direction he was pointing and sneeze. "Near that, slightly to the left on the far side, is where the fjord cave opens."
Suddenly dogs began to bark and, while Yana made a private bet with herself, several orange cats wandered up to greet them, lifting themselves to their hind legs to exchange sniffs, nose to nose. She won. The cats immediately moved on to greet the travelers, who had undoubtedly been vouched for by Nanook.
"Wherever we go? she asked Sean, who was bending to run a hand down an orange back. Yana could hear the purr from where she was, seven paces behind.
"Not everywhere," Sean said, lightly stressing the first word, "but they get about." He stroked another one and then fondled the ears of a shaggy black dog, with light brown and white face markings, who presented itself for similar attentions.
Going from purr to full voice, the first cat stropped itself about Yana's ankles, and she had the oddest feeling that she was welcomed for herself and not just as Sean's companion. She bent to scratch the cat under the chin and heard the vibrations of a renewed purr. More barking dogs came trotting up to greet them, weaving an adroit and skillful way among the cats.
"Who comes?" called a rasping bass voice.
"Sean Shongili and Yanaba Maddock!" Sean shouted back.
"Sean, is it? And his lady, no less? Thrice welcome!
Hurry on down! A glass of the warm awaits you!"
There was no way to "hurry" down, with cats and dogs insisting on sniffing, receiving caresses, and generally impeding their progress. Nanook had leapt down and disappeared, a movement that caused Yana to scrutinize the odd arrangement of the houses: each of the twelve or fourteen had been carefully inserted on an earthen terrace, with the cliff for a back wall, and the terrace jutting out far enough to provide a small garden or yard complete with benches. The houses were perched on each side of the road as it ribboned down to the final broad terrace, which was wharf, as well-and high above the fjord water. Boats were neatly propped up on racks; nets hung from racks of high poles, drying in the last of the sun. At the farthest end of this wide terrace there was a large wooden hall where, Yana supposed, boats could be built. But the water looked an awfully long way down to make Harrison's Fjord a practical fishing port.
"Low tide," Sean said to her when he heard her exclamation of surprise. "When the tide turns, the water comes up here like a herd of running moose. Everything had better be stored high, dry, and safe. Ah, Fingaard, good to see you!" And suddenly Sean, who was no small man, was engulfed in the embrace of one of the largest men Yana had seen on this planet.
"And I, you, Shongili!" the man replied, grinning over Sean's shoulder at Yana. "This is your woman?" And he swung away, to advance on Yana. She held her ground but had to keep looking up and up as the giant approached, until she was in danger of falling backward.
Suddenly he bent his knees so his face was on her level and placed pitchfork-sized hands on her shoulders with remarkable gentleness. He peered into her eyes, with as kindly and searching a gaze as Clodagh's, and smiled. "Ah, yes, of course."
With one movement, he had taken the reins of the curly-coat from her, and placed his huge hand on her back like a prop against which she could safely lean during the rest of the switch back way to the village.
By then, others had emerged from their houses. Every house seemed to have its own set of stairs to reach the roadway, and another, she discovered, to get down to the next level.
"We heard you'd be coming," Fingaard said jovially. "You can tell us how to help Petaybee!"
"Fingaaaaaard, where are your manners, you great oaf?" A woman, nearly the size of him, clambered up to the road-way, smiling at Yana before she continued to berate her husband. "Drink, first: eat, second, and you've all the night to talk and get the needful done. Don't mind him, missus. He means well." This was directed at Yana. A hand, not quite as large as Fingaard's, was shoved at Yana, who gripped it, steeling herself for a viselike crush; but the fingers only pressed gently and withdrew. "I'm Ardis Sounik, and wife to Fingaard. Welcome, Yanaba Maddock."
It was no surprise to Yana to see the cats clustering around Ardis's feet, somehow avoiding being trampled on or swept away by the leather skirts the woman wore. They were beautiful1y tooled with remarkable patterns, all inter-linked in a way that looked so familiar to Yana that she tried to remember what the design was called.
She didn't have much time for coherent thought after that, because the rest of the village and there seemed to be far more people than twelve, fourteen, or even forty houses could accommodate comfortably-gathered about them. The ponies were led away, while the dogs and cats disposed themselves in places particular to them under benches, and on ledges. Sean and Yana were seated on the longest bench and given a cup of the "warm" to drink.
Her first surreptitious sniff told her this was nonalcoholic, and not at all similar to Clodagh's "blurry". Her first sip filled her mouth with flavor so skillfully blended that she couldn't name any one taste, but the overall effect made for one of the most satisfying drinks she had ever drunk. She sipped as Sean did, sipped and savored, and tried to remember the names of the folk introduced to her. They were so glad to have visitors, so glad it was the Shongili himself who had come to tell them how to help in this emergency, for even here the planet had told them that their help was needed and they would be shown what could be done.
Yana cast a sly glance at Sean to see how he was taking that news, but he nodded as wisely as if he had been well briefed. Probably he had. So she kept on sipping.
Then there was eating. Trestle tables appeared like magic, and torches were set around so that even as daylight faded, the hastily prepared banquet remained well lit. Yana had never seen so many ways to prepare fish: poached, grilled, spread with spicy sauces, deep fried with a coating that was seasoned to perfection, pickled in a sharp liquid, a chowder with potatoes and vegetables-"the last of dried from the year gone out but well kept." And then sweets-made of fish jelly and flavored by Herb's-and a funny thick paste that dissolved in the mouth. And more "Warm" drink.
Singing began, and before she had a chance to dread it, Yana was asked to sing her song of the debacle of Bremport, for one of the boys from Harrison's Fjord had been there, too. Whether it was all the "warm" or not, Yana just lifted her head and sang her song, and this time she had no trouble meeting the eyes of the parents of the lad lost when she had nearly died, too. This time she knew she eased their hearts, and that eased hers, too. Maybe there would come a day when the awful nightmare of Bremport would be no more than the words of a heart-sung song.