Beowulf's Children

"But think, the paths cross," Ruth said.

"Or used to cross," Justin said thoughtfully. "Cassandra, consider the Scribe beasts. Is it likely that the crossing patterns of their paths is random?"

"There is negligible probability that the crossings were caused by random walks," Cassandra said. "I record seven cases in which the paths altered to approach each other. This is from records of past decades. At present the probability that the paths will cross is under ten percent."

"They're avoiding each other now?"

"It would so appear."

"Son of a bitch," Justin said. "First they cross, now they don't. I betcha Ruth is right, the pterodons guide them, and now they're steering them away from each other."

"Why would that be?" Aaron demanded.

"Avalon Surprise!" Ruth shouted in glee. "Actually, I think it's got something to do with Edgar's variable star. The weather's changing, and the Scribes—"

Aaron wasn't listening. He was staring out at the Scribe beast.

Justin joined the group who were loading food on the tables. Cold snouter meat, turkey and turkey eggs, vegetables and heads of lettuce from Camelot. The mainland crops weren't in yet. A glass cauldron of water was begi

Aaron said, long and low, "Wow!"

The edge of Asia's shell was scraping the rocky outcropping at the foot of the hill. Aaron stood at the hill's crest, not eating. Justin, with a turkey leg in his hand, tried to guess what Aaron was seeing. He'd never before heard Aaron say Wow.

The rippling blue lip was nearly hidden. They caught glimpses...

"Wow," Justin repeated softly. He turned and shouted, "Hey!" Heads turned. "The lips!" Justin shouted. "The lips are the only soft part of the beast! Everything else is armored. Why don't the grendels tear into the lips?"

Little Chaka left his place at the soup pot and came trotting to look.

Justin cried, "Chaka, it's Cadzie blue!"

Aaron whooped and began ru

Chaka looked down, nodding. "Poison, likely enough. There are life forms on Earth that signal like that, with some distinctive color. Snakes and insects and such. ‘I'm poison, get away.' Sometimes it's a bluff. Yes, that would... that would do it. The baby's blanket."

Aaron slowed as he approached Zwieback. Zwieback didn't shy; Ruth had trained him well. He spoke to the beast, then swung up. Zwieback began to move, to run. As he did, he faded from view. Justin watched, shaking his head and gri

They all stood at the edge of the cliff. Ruth was horrified. Justin was trying to find admiration in himself for Aaron. Admiration was all around him, at any rate, for the flying man on the nearly invisible chamel. Aaron rode straight toward the leading edge of Asia, then turned sharply to ride along her endless prow. The great eye of Asia watched placidly.

Aaron reached out with the slender wand of the chain saw, and slashed, and leaned far forward and snatched. He rode away waving half a square meter of blue flag.

Chaka said to Justin, "Camelot has your photos, you know. Cassandra has the view through your war specs and Katya's. If that's Cadzie blue, it's a wonder Cassandra hasn't told us."

Justin shrugged. "Cassie's got ice on her mind too." The computer program had been damaged in the first grendel attack. Recovering most of its memory had been the task of years. Lost medical techniques were still killing people.

Asia was just begi

Aaron pulled up whooping, just short of the dining table. The dead Scribeskin, taken with an edge of twenty-second-century sharpness, was only two or three millimeters thick. It was already begi

Aaron swung down, holding the swatch of blue high in one hand. Ruth was there. He swept her into his arms. And kissed her hard.

Ruth whispered in his ear.

Aaron froze. Then, "Wonderful!" he said cordially. "Your family will be so pleased!" He strode past her. Justin saw the shock on her face, and wondered for an instant, but he had to watch as Aaron let the slice of skin settle like a veil across a tree spread with Cadzie-blue blankets.

Justin turned away to hide the grin he couldn't stop.

Yes, it was Justin's idea. And if Aaron hadn't done something, Justin might have had the credit for solving Avalon's murder of Joe Sikes and Linda Weyland. But Aaron had stolen his thunder... and it had blown up in his hand.

Against the Cadzie-blue blanket, the thin piece of Scribeskin was conspicuously pale. The skin was the wrong color. Anyone could see it. Heads were shaking; Aaron was furious.

Ruth... Ruth handed Silver and Zwieback over to Katya, then spoke in low tones to Little Chaka. She pointed to Skeeter II, and then again toward distant Shangri-La. Chaka nodded. Ruth sat down next to him and stared at the ground.

It was a gorgeous, brilliant morning at Shangri-La. Clouds raced across the sky in streamers. The breeze was stiff and warm; still air would have made it an oven. The light... well. Dawn light had been different when Ruth was a child. Less dazzling, less... active? And Sol was even cooler than Tau Ceti, they said...

Less than two hours by Little Chaka's skeeter, and she was back at the base camp, back in a world where she didn't have to ache every time she looked at Aaron Tragon.

Horsemane trees stood huge and ancient along the eastern edge of the plateau that held their base camp. A ladder rose along the bare side of the biggest and oldest tree. Big Chaka held the ladder's foot. Little Chaka, at the top, reached around the bare side of the trunk and probed with a stick at the mane. A bit more than halfway up the tree, something hidden was nipping at his stick, shortening it in three-centimeter bites.

The Chakas might not have noticed a pair of long-armed crabs in the tree's peak. Three now, each as big as a small dog, leaned out of the brilliant green foliage as they peered down at the intruders. Ruth fished for her comm card without taking her eyes off the crabs.

Then she relaxed, because Edgar Sikes was on the far side of the tree with his face wrapped in war specs, and both Chakas were looking up. Edgar must have warned them. He was twitchy about top crabs, wasn't he? These might be related to the Camelot variety—

Something fell slantwise from the sky. It smacked into one of the top crabs and knocked it free.

Trees hid the rest of the action, and Ruth mewed in frustration. Her hand was on the phone now, and she put it to her mouth and ear and—

"Cassandra! Did you get that?" Edgar's voice.

"I have views through Chaka Junior's war specs and yours, Edgar.

Processing."

"Yah!" Edgar ran for the mess hall. Saw Ruth. Ran over, snatched her wrist, and continued ru

She was barely keeping up. And some masochistic part of her didn't want the exhilaration. She had earned her pain, dammit, and... oh, what the heck. It felt good to run. You couldn't mope when you were ru

They passed over the drawbridge, ran past the open gate of the electrified fence, guard dogs yipping their greeting. Past a happy maze of half—erected buildings: bare wooden beams, naked iron struts, plastic shells, drop-clothed wire frames.

The mess hall was a rounded half-cylinder on the main square. It was constructed of fabric on semicircular struts, sprayed with quick-setting foam. It was the first building erected, seven months before, and had served as both dormitory and cafeteria for weeks. Serving trays were an arc along the back. The big holostage was unfolded in its center, and Ruth made for that. Edgar was puffing, but heyyy, Edgar used to be a cripple!