* * *
At first glance, Jnuluk appeared markedly similar to Yoeor’s domain, albeit with larger and more frequent structures. It was not until Merinel became aware of the residents – sometimes peering out from windows, sometimes talking intently in small groups – that she acquired a sense that they were passing through a settlement, and even then the atmosphere of tension was palpable. The blocky installations looked more like bunkers than homes, and the quick glances directed at the lifter – sometimes fearful, sometimes suspicious – reinforced the impression of Jnuluk as a battlefield rather than a place of hearths and homes.
Adimar shifted his weight and his cable, still coiled around his arms and shoulders, slithered menacingly and expanded into loops and arcs, making him appear as if he were bristling with steel.
“I thought you had a low opinion of attempts at intimidation,” murmured Merinel.
Adimar smiled. “These are not Iron Goats.”
Some of those who noted the lifter, Merinel observed, spoke swiftly into their mutterbands, and soon the travelers found their progress blocked by a gathering of frowning residents. An Alassa stepped forward from the crowd, propelling itself with its walking-arms as well as its serpentine belly, before rearing up on its coiled hindsection, folding its walking-arms as well as its much smaller grasping-arms across its columnar torso. It regarded them suspiciously through beautiful jewel-green eyes.
“Identify yourselves.”
“Merinel of Tenbor, female.”
“Adimar of the Iron Goats, male.”
The Alassa flexed the crests on either side of its head. “I am Draenel, incipient female. I am responsible for the security of Jnuluk.”
“Have a care,” whispered Adimar. “Alassas are irritable during their gender transitions.”
“That’s a myth,” whispered Merinel. “And shut up.” She spoke aloud to the Alassa: “Draenel, we do not intend to stay in Jnuluk. The Stadex is aware of our passage.”
“The Stadex has been relieved of his duties,” snapped Draenel, her crests flaring. “He was a puppet of the Crew and their demon-king Entities, and his endorsement counts for very little. What is your cargo?”
“Trade goods – nothing of note,” replied Merinel, trying not to betray her anxiety.
“Then you will have no objection to a thorough inspection, including, if we see fit, the dismantling of your vehicle.”
Adimar arose and flexed his cable. “I cannot permit that. You may escort us out of Jnuluk if you so wish. But none shall approach our belongings.”
A small black shape whirred from somewhere in the crowd and struck Adimar on the forehead; he tumbled senselessly onto the pushbar, his cable draped lifelessly over his torso. Merinel cried out in alarm and eased him back into his seat. A yellow bruise blossomed above his right eye, and the projectile – a rubber-clad sphere the size of a plum – rolled idly on the floor of the lifter. It did not return to its owner of its own accord, as a device of its size typically would. The people of Jnuluk, Merinel recalled, distrusted even the simplest applications of machine logic.
“He meant you no harm,” she insisted. “Our cargo is perishable. We simply need to pass through Jnuluk as quickly as possible.”
“A pair of secretive Humans arrive with a mysterious cargo just as Jnuluk proposes to thwart the conspirators of the Crew,” observed Draenel. “Is it possible they mean no harm? Of course it is possible. But it is not to be assumed. Your vehicle and person will be searched. Further resistance will be taken as a sign of malicious intent.” Draenel unfolded her walking-arms and strode towards the lifter.
Scenarios of disaster played out in Merinel’s frantic imagination – Tench discovered, Tench raving, the node recognized, death at the hands of the mob – when the lifter’s holodisplay flickered to life, displaying a an assortment of fragmentary glyphs and error messages. Draenel halted, her crests rigidly upright, and the crowd muttered in anger. Merinel could not imagine what Tenbor or the fish could hope to accomplish with their appearance – Jnuluk offered no logic-enabled machines for them to co-opt, and their very presence would confirm Merinel’s guilt in the eyes of the residents.
To her surprise, the display resolved not into the image of a quicksilver dove or a jeweled fish, but into the head and shoulders of Tench himself. Tench regarded Draenel and the mob for the briefest of moments, and the air erupted with hurtling silver shapes. Within an instant, Draenel and each of her cohorts had a length of Adimar’s cable around their necks, just long enough to encircle their throats, just tight enough to leave them struggling for air. Draenel slithered backwards, her grasping-arms clutching feebly at the cable.
“Stand aside, and I will depart at once, never to return,” announced Tench. “Do otherwise, and die instantly by my hand. Choose immediately.”
The mob hastened to back away from the vehicle, and the cable-lengths vaulted themselves with whiplike motions back towards the lifter, snapping seamlessly into an unbroken length which coiled itself neatly at Adimar’s feet.
As the lifter resumed its progress, the image of Tench rotated to face Merinel. “Relax,” he told her with an easy smile. “I will take you home.”
“No! Tench, please –” Merinel began, breaking off as she noticed a tiny jeweled fish peeking out from behind Tench’s ear. Absurdly, it wound a green shawl around its head, giving her an encouraging wink.
Puzzled, Merinel donned the shawl. She squirmed as one golden thread on either side gently extended into her ear canal.
“Ha! What say you now, Philistines?” boomed the voice of the fish. “You trifle with our slightly built, middle-aged, catatonic scholar at your peril.”
“What are we celebrating?” subvocalized Merinel. “I mean – I’m profoundly relieved not to be attacked. But he’s wide awake now. Is there any hope left for a cure?” Aloud, she chanted back the tears and trembling that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Oh, I daresay Szerar will sort him out without too much difficulty.”
“But … he’s marching us back to Tenbor!”
“My dear woman, you give us too little credit. Do you think we have been sitting idle this whole time? Your spouse transgressed one of the most ancient laws of biological pair-bonding: don’t touch the nanny. In so doing, he made himself vulnerable, and we have exploited this vulnerability.”
“What are you talking about? And where is Tenbor?”
“Tenbor is hard at work: it would not be wise for him to speak with you – hubby might notice. Make no mistake, it is still a delicate game we are playing.”
Merinel took a deep breath. “Hey, Fish. In the name of all hope, will you please tell me what is going on?”
The fish chortled. “It is simply too clever. Tenbor has spun Tench about, fore-and-aft. Your darling demented husband is bundling you towards Szerar, under the impression that it is the Dish.”