Infinity's Shore

He still might have tried talking Sara out of her intention — perhaps suicidal — to join the Earthlings’ desperate breakout attempt. But there was something new in the way she carried herself — a lean readiness that took him back to when they were children, following Lark on fossil hunts, and Sara was the toughest of them all. Her mind had always plunged beyond his comprehension. Perhaps it was time for her to stride the same galaxies that filled her thoughts.

“Remember us, when you’re a star god,” he had told her, before their final embrace.

Her reply was a hoarse whisper.

“Give my love to Lark and …”

Sara closed her eyes, throwing her arms around him

“… and to Jijo.”

They clung together until the urrish smiths said it was the last possible moment to go.

When the balloon took off, Mount Guenn leaped into view around him, a sight unlike any he ever beheld. Lightning made eerie work of the Spectral Flow, sending brief flashes of illusion dancing across his retinas.

Dwer watched his sister standing at the entrance of the cave, a backlit figure. Too proud to weep. Too strong to pretend. Each knew the other was likely heading to oblivion. Each realized this would be their last shared moment.

I’ll never know if she lives, he had thought, as clouds swallowed the great volcano, filling the night with flashing arcs. Looking up through a gap in the overcast, he had glimpsed a corner of the constellation Eagle.

Despite the pain of separation, Dwer had managed a smile.

It’s better that way.

From now until the day I die, I’ll picture her out there. Living in the sky.

Alvin

AS IT TURNED OUT, I DIDN’T HAVE TO EXPLAIN things to my parents. Gillian and Uriel had already laid it out, before it was time to depart.

The Six Races should be represented, they explained. Come what may.

Furthermore, I had earned the right to go. So had my friends.

Anyway, who was better qualified to tell Jijo’s tale?

Mu-phauwq and Yowg-wayuo had no choice but to accept my decision. Was Jijo any safer than fighting the Jophur in space? Besides, I had spine-molted. I would make my own decisions.

Mother turned her back to me. I stroked her spines, but she spoke without turning around.

“Thank you for returning from the dead,” she murmured. “Honor us by having children of your own. Name your firstborn after your great-uncle, who was captain of the Auph-Vuhoosh. The cycle must continue.”

With that, she let my sister lead her away. I felt both touched and bemused by her command, wondering how it could ever be obeyed.

Dad, bless him, was more philosophical. He thrust a satchel in my arms, his entire collection of books by New Wave authors of Jijo’s recent literary revival — the hoon, urs, and g’Kek writers who have lately begun expressing themselves in unique ways on the printed page. “It’s to remind you that humans are not in complete command of our culture. There is more than one line to our harmony, my son.”

“I know that, Dad,” I replied. “I’m not a complete humicker.”

He nodded, adding a low umble.

“It is told that we hoons were priggish and sour, before our sneakship came to Jijo. Legends say we had no word for ‘fun.’

“If that is true — and in case you meet any of our stodgy cousins out there — tell them about the sea, Hph-wayuo! Tell them of the way a sail catches the wind, a sound no mere engine can match.

“Teach them to taste the stinging spray. Show them all the things that our patrons never did.

“It will be our gift — we happy damned — to those who know no joy in heaven.”

Others had easier leave-takings.

Qheuens are used to sending their males out on risky ventures, for the sake of the hive. Pincer’s mothers did emboss his shell with some proud inlay, though, and saw him off in good style.

Urs care mostly about their work, their chosen loyalties, and themselves. Ur-ronn did not have to endure sodden sentimentality. Partly because of the rain, she and Uriel made brief work of their good-byes. Uriel probably saw it as a good business transaction. She lost her best apprentice, but had adequate compensation.

Uriel seemed far more upset about losing Tyug. But there was no helping it. The Earthers need a traeki. And not just any traeki, but the best alchemist we can send. No pile of substance balls can substitute. Besides, it will be good luck for all races to be along.

Huck’s adoptive parents tried to express sorrow at her parting, but their genuine fondness for her would not make them grieve. Hoons are not humans. We cannot transfer the full body bond to those not of our blood. Our affections run deeper, but narrower than Earthlings’. Perhaps that is our loss.

So the five of us reboarded as official representatives, and as grown-ups. I had molted and Pincer showed off his cloisonné. Ur-ronn did not preen, but we all noticed that one of her brood pouches was no longer virgin white, but blushed a fresh shade of blue as her new husband wriggled and stretched it into shape.