Part 8 (1/2)
He left as soon as the last word was snapped out, and Nancia was grateful for that. Caleb was staring around the cabin with an expression she could not read. If he was going to be angry with her for going be- hind his back, she'd just as soon have it out in private.
”I... don't understand,” he said slowly. ”You aren't waiting to choose a new brawn? You're going to go out solo again?”
”Hardly that,” Nancia told him. ”I've had enough of solo voyages, thank you very much; I find that I much 96.
AnmMcCaffrey & Margaret Ba& prefer to travel with a partner.”
”Then...”
”Didn't you hear the man? From now on I'm the CN-935. I've decided that Psych Central was right,”
Nancia said. It was a struggle to keep her voice projec- tions calm and even. ”We make a very good team.”
Caleb was still speechless, and Nancia felt her one fear approaching.
”If... if that's all right with you?”
”All right, all right, all rigktl” Caleb exploded. ”The woman gives me back my life - and with the perfect brain partner-and she wants to know if it's all right? I - Nancia - oh, wait a minute, would you? There's something I've got to take care of before you restore external beam transmissions.”
He hurried off to his cabin, presumably to erase the job application letter that had taken so long to create, and Nancia permitted herself a small coruscating dis- play of stars and comets across her three wide screens.
It was going to be all right.
More than all right. ”Nancia,” she repeated to her- self. ”He finally called me Nancia.”
CHAPTER SIX.
Angalia, Central Date 2750: Blaize Blaize Armontillado-Perez y Medoc stared in dis- belief at his new home as the exit port of the XN-935 slid shut behind him. The mesa top that had served Nancia as a landing field was the only level bit of solid ground in sight. Behind the mesa was a wall of crumb- ly, near-vertical rock that rose in jagged peaks to block out the morning sun. The long black shadows of the mountains fell across the mesa and down into a sea of oozing glop that looked like the Quagmire of Despair as displayed in the latest version of s.p.a.cED OUT. The only variation in the brownish sea was that at a few locations large, lazy bubbles rose from the glop and burst with a sulfurous stink.
At the very edge of the mesa, cantilevered precariously out over the Quagmire of Despair, was a gray plastifilm prefab storage facility. Bulging brown sacks stenciled with the initials of Planetary Technical Aid hung from hooks on one side of the shack, dan- gling right out over the sea of glop. On the side of the shanty nearest Blaize, the plastifilm roof had been ex- tended with some sort of woven fronds to create a sagging awning. Beneath this awning lounged an im- mensely fat man wearing only a pair of sweat-stained briefs.
Blaize sighed and picked up the nearest two pieces of his kit. Staggering slighdy under a gravity consider- ably higher than s.h.i.+p's norm, he made his way 98.towards the obese guardian of Angalia.
”PTA tech-trainee Armontillado-Perez y Medoc, sir,” he introduced himself. Who is this guy? He's got to be one of the corydum miners. They're the only humans on An- gatia - except, of course...
”And the top of the morning to you, Sherry, me lad,”
- said the sweating man-mountain cordially. ”Never was so glad to see anybody in m'life. Hope you enjoy the next five years here.”
”Ah - PTA Grade Eleven Supervisor Harmon?”
Blaize hazarded. Except my new boss.
A richly alcoholic wheeze almost knocked him off his feet. ”You see anybody else around here, kid? Who d'you think I am?”
”The corytium mine - ”
”Dead. Defunct Abandoned. Kaput, all gone splash, stinko,” Grade 11 Supervisor Harmon said with relish.
”Went bust. Owner sold the mine to me for a case of spirits before he pulled out.”
”What went wrong?”
”Labor. Company couldn't keep miners here for love nor money. Not that they offered much love - even a corycium miner ain't desperate enough to try and get it on with a Loosie, heh, heh, heh.” Another wave of alcohol-flavored breath washed over Blaize.
”Loosie?”
”h.o.m.osimlis Lucilla Angalii to you, m'boy. The veg- heads Lucilla Sharif discovered, d.a.m.n her soul, and reported as possibly intelligent on the FCF, double- d.a.m.n her, and for her sins we're stuck administering Planetary Technical Aid to a bunch of walking zuc- chini. All the company I've had since they closed the mine. And aHyou'U have for the next five years. Next PTA transport comes by here is taking me off-planet.”
Harmon looked enviously at the sleek length of the XN-935, her tip now gleaming in the sun that peeked over the jagged mountains. ”Nice perks you High99.
Families kids get, transport like that. I don't suppose you could persuade that brains.h.i.+p - ”
”I doubt it,” Blaize said.
Harmon chortled. ”No, didn't much sound like it, way you come out yelling and screaming over your shoulder, with it dumping your luggage after you. You musta p.i.s.sed it off real handsome. No matter. Next PTA s.h.i.+pment oughta be along any day now. And when it comes, my new a.s.signment should be ready.”
He stretched luxuriously, took a deep drink from the bottle beside him, and sighed with antic.i.p.ated content- ment. ”Reckon I've earned myself a nice long tour of duty on Central, in a nice office tower with air con- ditioning and servos and no need to pay any b.l.o.o.d.y attention to b.l.o.o.d.y nature unless you happen to feel like looking out the window. Sit down, Madeira-y- Perez, and don't look so miserable. Do your five years and maybe they'll post you back in civilization. You're in luck, coming when you did.”
”I am?” The sun was over the mountain by now, and it was hot on the mesa. Blaize pulled his largest grip under the shade of the awning and sat down on it ”Sure. Today's feeding time at the zoo. Put on a real show for you, the Loosies will.” Harmon waved again, this time as if beckoning the cliff that towered above them to come on down. Blaize stared in shock as crag- gy bits of mountain broke loose and trickled down to the mesa top, shambling like crazy puppets made of rocks and wire. Strange costumes - no, they were naked; that was their skin he was looking at.
”Yaohoo! Feeding time! Whoeel” Harmon yodeled, simultaneously jerking the cord that ran along the side of the PTA prefab. One of the sacks overhanging the muddy basin opened and brownish-gray ration bricks spilled out in a torrent, piling up in the mud below the mesa, The Loosies scurried to the edge of the mesa and let themselves down into the muddy sea, fingers and toes 100.clinging to crevices in the rocks. The first ones down threw themselves on the ration bricks as if they were greeting a long-lost lover; the later arrivals piled on top of them, swinging uncoordinated limbs and wrig- gling to burrow into the muddy heap of rations.
Blaize felt a rumbling vibration coming up through the soles of his feet.
”Look out!” Harmon roared.
Blaize jumped and Harmon chuckled. ”Sorry to startle you, kid. You wouldn't want to miss the other big show of Angalia.” He pointed to the western horizon.
It seemed to be moving.
It was a wall of water. No, mud. No - Blaize strug- gled for the right word and could only find the one that had first occurred to him: glop.
The ”Loosies” had ignored Harmon's shout as if they were deaf, but something - perhaps the rum- bling vibration that Blaize felt - alerted those still at the bottom of the quagmire. They swarmed up the sides of the mesa, clutching their ration bricks in teeth and fingers. The last one got out of the way just before the advancing tide of glop struck the mesa.
The whole desperate, squirming consumption of ration bricks had taken place in total silence. Now, less than three minutes later, it was over and the mesa was surrounded by a sucking, slimy tide of glop. As Blaize watched, the tide receded, sliding back down the sides of the mesa until the new mud melted into the same soggy configuration of puddles and bubbles that had greeted him on arrival.
”That was a small one,” Harmon said with regret.
”Oh, well, there'll likely be some better ones before you go. Bound to be, in feet.”
In response to Blaize's questions he explained, without much interest, that the erratic climatic pattern of Angalia produced a constantly moving band of101.
thundershowers in the mountains which surrounded this central basin. Whenever the storms stayed in the same place for a while, the rainfall built up into a flash flood which raced across the plain, picking up mud as it went, and sweeping away anything that might be foolish enough to remain in its path.
”Terraforrning,” Blaize mused. ”Dams to catch the rainfall and release it slowly...”