Stations of the Tide

But though the bureaucrat yearned to go with her, to be raped away to Undine’s faraway storybook islands, there was something hard and cold in him that would not budge. He could not back down from Gregorian. It was his duty, his obligation. “I can’t,” he said. “It’s a public trust. I have to finish up this matter with Gregorian first.”

“Ah? Well.” Undine stepped into her shoes. They closed about her calfs and ankles, fine offworld manufacture. “Then I really must be leaving.”

“Undine, don’t.”

She picked up an embroidered vest, buttoned it up over her blouse.

“All I need is one day, maybe two. Tell me where to meet you. Tell me where you’ll be. I’ll find you there. You can have anything you want of me.”

She stepped back, tense with anger. “All men are fools,” she said scornfully. “You must have noticed this yourself.” Without looking, she whipped up a scarf from where it had fallen hours before, and tied it about her shoulders. “I do not make offers that can be accepted conditionally.” She was at the door. “Or that can be taken up again, once refused.” She was gone.

The bureaucrat sat down on the-edge of the bed. He fancied he could catch the faintest trace of her scent rising from the sheets. It was very late, but the surrogates outside, aligned to offworld time standards, were partying as loudly as ever.

After a while he began to cry.

12. Across the Ancient Causeway

“You’re in a surly mood this morning.”

The flier continued southward, humming gently to itself. The bureaucrat and Chu sat, shoulders touching, in recliners as plush as two seats in the opera. After a time Chu tried again.

“I gather you found yourself a little friend to spend the night with. Better than I did, I can tell you that.”

The bureaucrat stared straight ahead.

“All right, don’t talk to me. See if I care.” Chu folded her arms, and settled back in the recliner. “I spent the fucking night in this thing, I can spend the morning here too.”

Tower Hill dwindled behind them. Gray clouds had slid down from the Piedmont, drawn by the pressure fall fronting Ocean, and they flew low over forests purple as a bruise. Behemoths were astir below, digging themselves out from the mud. Driven from their burrows by forces they did not understand and swollen with young whose birth they would not live to see, they crashed through the trees, savage, restless, and doomed.

The bureaucrat had patched his briefcase into the flight controls, bypassing the autonomous functions. Every now and then he muttered a course adjustment, and it relayed the message to the flier. There was a layer of vacuum sandwiched within the canopy’s glass to suppress outside noise, and the only sounds within the cockpit were the drowsy hum and rumble of vibrations generated by the flier itself.

They were coming up on a river settlement when Chu shook herself out of her passive torpor, slammed a hand on the dash and snapped, “What’s that below?”

“Gedunk,” the flier replied. “Population one hundred twenty-three, river landing, eastmost designated regional evacuation center for—”

“I know all about Gedunk! What are we doing over it? We’ve gotten turned around somehow.” She craned about. “We’re headed north! How did that happen? We’re back over the river.” From this height, the cattleboat on the water looked a toy, the evac workers scurrying dots. To the south of town the ragged remains of the relocation camp stood forlorn. A tent that had torn loose from its pegs flapped weakly on the ground like a dying creature. The massed evacuees were crammed into side-by-side rectangular pens by the pier. A steady trickle were being one by one checked off and fed into the boat.

“Take us down,” the bureaucrat instructed the flier. “That melon field just west of town will do.”

The flier reshaped itself, spreading and flattening its wings, throwing out cheaters to help it dump speed. They descended.

As the flier landed, half the white melons scattered across the field suddenly unrolled and scurried away on tiny feet, sharp-nosed creatures, gone before the eye could fix on them. Fish would graze these meadows soon. Ramshackle sheds and a broken-spined barn stood open-doored in the distance, ready for new tenants, undersea farmers, or submarine mice, whichever the lords of the tide would provide. The canopy withdrew into the flier.

Puffs of wind pushed here, there, from every point of the compass. The air was everywhere in motion, as restless as a puppy. “Well?” Chu said.

The bureaucrat reached into his briefcase, and extracted a slim metal tube. He pointed it at Chu. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I assume you’ve seen these before. You wouldn’t want me to use it. Get out.”

She looked down at the gleaming tube, the tiny hole in its tip aimed right at her heart, then up at the bureaucrat’s dead expression. A rap of her knuckles and the flier unfolded its side. She climbed out. “I don’t suppose you’re going to bother telling me what this is all about.”

“I’m going on to Ararat without you.”

The wind stirred Chu’s coarse hair stiffly. She squinted against it, face hard and plain, looking not so much hurt as puzzled. “I thought we were buddies.”

“Buddies,” the bureaucrat said. “You’ve been taking Gre-gorian’s money, ru

Chu froze, an island of stone in the rustling grasses. At last she said, “How long have you known?”

“Ever since Mintouchian stole my briefcase.”

She looked at him.

“It had to be one of the two of you who drugged me in Clay Bank. Mintouchian was the more obvious suspect. But he was only a petty criminal, one of the gang that was counterfeiting haunt artifacts. His job was ru

“Shit!” Chu turned away irritably, swung back again. “Listen, you don’t know the way things are here—”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“You don’t! I — look, I can’t talk to you like this. Climb up out of the flier. Stand on your own two feet and look me in the eye.”

He raised the metal tube slightly. “You’re in no position to give orders.”

“Shoot me, then! Shoot me or talk to me, one or the other.” She was so angry her eyes bulged. Her jaw jutted defiantly.

The bureaucrat sighed. With poor grace he clambered out of the flier. “All right. Talk.”

“I will. Okay, I took Gregorian’s money — I told you when we first met that the planetary forces were all corrupt. My salary doesn’t even cover expenses! It’s understood that an operative is going to work the opposition for a little juice. It’s the only way we can survive.”

“Reconfigure for flight,” the bureaucrat said to the flier. He felt sick and disgusted, and yearned for the clean, empty sky. To judge by Chu’s expression, it showed on his face.

“You idiot! Gregorian would’ve had you killed if it hadn’t been for me. So I left the occasional dead crow in your bed. I didn’t do anything any op in my place wouldn’t have, and I did a lot less than some. The only reason you aren’t dead now is that I told Gregorian it wasn’t necessary. Without me, you’ll never come back from Ararat.”

“Wasn’t that the original plan?”

Chu stiffened. “I am an officer. I would have brought you out alive. Listen to me. You’re completely out of your depth. If you have to leave me behind, then don’t go to Ararat. You can’t deal with Gregorian. He’s crazy, a sociopath, a madman. With him thinking I was his creature, we could have taken him. But alone? No.”