Orpheus with his lute of eight blue stars, Miraldra the Enchantress with blazing Fenim for her diadem, and low in the southeast the star-veils of Alastor Cluster. How pleasant this evening might have been, thought Schaine, had circumstances been different! She felt depressed, a mood distinct from her worry in regard to Uther Madduc. Lovely old Morningswake had become a vortex of ugly emotions, and she was uncertain as to her ultimate sympathies. Not, she suspected, with her father, although it made no difference; she loved him anyway. Why then, she wondered, did she detest Gerd Jemasze so intensely? His opinions were identical to those of her father; he was no less resourceful and self-sufficient. She looked toward the rail where Elvo Glissam and Gerd Jemasze spoke together. Both were about the same age; both were physically personable; both were individuals with pride in their own identities. Elvo was warm-hearted, impulsive and happy; he was sympathetic and idealistic; he concerned himself with moral ultimates. In contrast Gerd Jemasze guarded his feelings behind a cool mask; his humor was sardonic; his code of ethics—if such it could be called—was based upon a self-serving pragmatism…Their conversation drifted across the night; they spoke of morphotes and erjins. Schaine listened.
“—somewhat peculiar,” Gerd was saying. “The palaeontologists find a fossil record of morphote evolution, all the way up from a creature similar to the creeper we ate for supper. The erjins have left no fossils. Their skeletal substance disintegrates over just a few years so that the evolutionary sequence isn’t at all clear; no one even knows how they breed.”
“Except the Wind-runners,” said Kelse.
“How do the Wind-runners domesticate erjins? Do they capture cubs? Or work with adults?”
“Uther Madduc can tell you more than I can; he’s just come down from the Palga.”
“Maybe that’s his ‘wonderful joke’,” suggested Kelse.
Gerd Jemasze shrugged. “So far as I know, the Wind-runners hatch out erjin eggs and train the cubs. Wild erjins are telepathic; maybe the Wind-runners block off the faculty. How? I’ve no more idea than you.”
Kelse and Gerd Jemasze elected to sleep on the ample settees of the Apex and presently took themselves off to bed. Elvo and Schaine walked out to the end of the pier, where they sat on an overturned skiff. Stars reflected along the dark water. The Hilgad fires had guttered low; from somewhere along the shore came music: quavering wails accented by plangent bass outcries. Elvo Glissam listened. “What dire sounds!”
“Blue music is never cheerful,” said Schaine. “The Blues, on the other hand, consider all our music insipid tinkling.”
The Hilgad music dwindled off into silence. The two sat listening to the wash of the waves through the piers. Schaine said: “For you this can’t be a very exciting occasion. Naturally we didn’t plan so much inconvenience.”
“Don’t speak of it! I only hope it’s just inconvenience.”
“I hope so too. As Gerd says, Father carries weapons, and even if his car has gone down we’ll find him tomorrow.”
“Not that I’m pessimistic,” said Elvo, “but how can you be so sure? It’s a long way to Morningswake. There’s a great deal of territory he might have flown over.”
“We always fly by auto-pilot, from destination to destination, just in case our air-cars do come down. It’s an elementary safety precaution. Tomorrow we’ll fly back along the flight line, and unless Father deviated from course we’re certain to find him.” She rose to her feet. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
Elvo stood up and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well and don’t worry—about anything.”
Chapter 4
U nder the gray and rose-pink sky of dawn, the sea lay motionless. From the Hilgad camp smoke drifted across the inlet, carrying a pleasant spicy reek.
Within the tavern the landlord, grumbling and yawning, set forth a breakfast
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley