We Don't Know Why by Nancy Springer Read Free Book Online Page A

lights now from the Earthtime narratives. And I recognized that these were primitive humans.
    That didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid of them. The more primitive humans were, the less broadly they defined “human.” These people might not recognize me as one of them at all. My heart started to pound, and I sat up.
    There was a gasp, then a hush as if no one was breathing. Nobody moved, including me.
    But then one candle moved. It separated itself from the ranks and wavered toward me. Above and behind it I could make out the hairless face of a strong, old man, a grandfather, a patriarch, a—chief? Lord? Secretary of the Interior? The glinting, elaborate apparel on his head might have been a warrior’s bonnet or a crown. I should have worn my helmet after all. Aside from saving my stupid, aching head, its mass and orichalcum gleam would have impressed this dignitary. Yet he did not approach me with any of the condescension I had come to expect from men in large hats. He came forward slowly, with a measured, formal tread, and in the stillness of his face I saw fear.
    He bowed his head. Kneeled before me.
    Only then did I realize that I had been lying on a raised—something. Dais? The candles all flickered as everyone kneeled.
    The headdressed man said something, but of course I could not understand the words, not having a languagetran with me. Eye contact, gestures, might have helped some, but he spoke with his head tilted down, his eyes staring at the floor or maybe even closed—I could not tell. I felt as if he were speaking to me yet not to me at all. Then he shifted his candle to one hand and picked up something from the floor with the other. Blindly he stretched his arm toward me, offering—
    Bread?
    Brown loaves, dark and crusty as if they had been baked in ashes or something, definitely not a product of the electric simulator ovens on board. Even if I had been hungry, normally I wouldn’t have eaten such unsanitary-looking bread. But if I wanted to keep these humans happy, I knew, it would be a good idea to take one. I reached. There was a sigh, a murmur, as people began breathing again. I broke my little brown loaf in half, separated a mouthful with my fingers, and found that my hand was shaking. I ate. It wasn’t bad. All the time I was eating, the big-hat man knelt—reverent, that was the word. Or no, not just reverent. Awed. They all seemed hushed with awe.
    Should have made me feel good, right? But it didn’t. I didn’t want their damn awe. Chewing the tough bread made my head hurt worse than ever, every part of me hurt, and I was still in my boots and titanium torso panels and wings, big clumsy things battered by the crash—I wanted somebody to help me take them off, and after that all I wanted in the world was a hot shower and maybe some soup and a soft place to sleep and somebody, a mother—right, like I had a mother—to tuck me in.
    None of it was going to happen. I lay down where I was.
    The next thing I knew, it was light. There was warm light pouring into the—shadowy place? Yes, same place, same stubby brown people. The shadows had been night, a primitive night dark as a cave, but now day streamed down in many colors. Sunlight, through tall glass windows between ribbed stone arches—yes, I had heard about places like this. They had brought me to a sanctuary of their culture, a haven of light, where they burned candles by night and by day the windows glowed with prism colors arranged to form bright pictures.
    Pictures of—
    Kris?
    I sat straight up and stared—that is, I had to close my eyes until my head cleared, and then I stared some more. Each window glorified a tall, willowy, pale being with wings that shone like white fire. A mane of sun-colored hair. A blaze of light around the body. Chest plates on some of them, long white robes on others. Some flying, some standing—but details didn’t matter. My gaze caught on their grave faces, their wise wild eyes, their aureoles, their wings.
    No.