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“You want trade? Give you what, starman?”
“What you have too much of. What we don’t have. Maybe carvings. Maybe fish.”
“Bone’s ours,”Elai said. The starman was insolent as she had thought; she tapped Sun in his soft skin, beneath the collar, and the collar went up. They retreated yet again, and beyond them another figure mounted half up the access to their ship. “But fish, maybe. Maybe things you want to know, starman. Maybe you’d like that better. Maybe you sit behind that Wire and ask your questions. This land’s mine. Cloud’s mine. All this–” She swept her arm about, a pass of her spear. “My name’s Elai, Ellai’s daughter, line of the first Cloud, the first Elly; of Pia, line of the first Jin when they made the world. And you’re on my land.”
They backed up from her. “McGee,” one said.
“I’d move,” MaGee said equably, from somewhere to the rear. “The First just told you she’d trade, and where; and you don’t want an incident, you really wouldn’t want an incident at the foundation of the world. I’d really advise you pack up and get this machinery out of here.”
There was some thinking about it. “First,” one said then, and both of them made a downcast gesture and began a retreat with more dignity than their last.
They took the ship away. The calibans just stood and looked up at it with curious tilts of their heads, and Elai did, sitting on Sun–waved her spear at them, adding insult to the matter. Her riders jeered at them. Paeia looked impressed for once, she and her heir.
“Come on,” Elai said to MaGee, touching Sun to make him put his leg out. “Ride behind me.”
VIII
OUTWARD
i
Year CR 305, day 33
Fargone Station
Union Space
One saw all sorts dockside, military, merchanters, stationers, dockers, the rare probe‑ship crewman. This was new, and the dock crew stared, not unlike other crews, all along the long, long metal curve, in the echoing high spaces that smelled of otherwhere and cold.
“What’s that?” someone wondered, too loud, and the young man turned and gave them back the stare, just for a moment, stranger estimating stranger: but this one looked dangerous…tall, and lean, and long‑haired, wearing fringed leather and white bone beads of intricate carving. He had a knife, illegal on the docks or anywhere else onstation. That they saw too, and no one said anything further or moved until he had gone his way ghostlike down the line.
“That,” said Dan James, dockman boss, “that’s Gehe
“Heard there was something strange came in,” another man said, and ventured a look at a safely retreating back.
“Got his dragon with him,” James said; the docker swore and straightened up, satisfying effect.
“They let that thing loose?”
“Hey, they don’t letit anywhere. That thing’s human, it is. Leastwise by law it is.”
There were anxious looks. “You mean that,” one said.
The place was like other such places he had seen–he, Marik, son of Cloud son of Elai. He explored it in slow disdain, gathering information, which he would go home again to tell; and all the same he was excited by this knowledge, that they could travel so far and still find stations like Gehe
Only he left Walker in her hold, where there was warmth. She would not like this cold; it would make her restless; and the sounds would irritate her, and besides, enough people came to her. Walker was not bored, at least, and had gotten used to strangers, enough to give them the lazy stare they deserved and to go on with her Pattern, figuring this trip out. He told her what he could. She was working on it.
Some things he was still working on himself. Like what the universe was like. Or what starmen wanted.
There was a problem, they said, a world that they had found. There was life on it, and it made no sense to them.
A Gehe
So they would go and see.