Infinity's Shore

Chafed from sitting on the bench for miduras, Sara eventually let go of the dismal oppression with a long sigh. She slipped off the wagon to trot alongside — at first only to stretch her legs, but then for longer periods, maintaining a steady jog.

After a while, she even found it enjoyable.

I guess I’m just adapting to the times. There may be no place for intellectuals in the world to come.

Emerson joined her, grinning as he kept pace with long-legged strides. And soon the tunnel began to lose its power over some of the others, as well. The two wagon drivers from the cryptic Illias tribe — Kepha and Nuli — grew visibly less tense with each league they progressed toward home.

But where was that?

Sara pictured a map of the Slope, drawing a wide arc roughly south from the Gentt. It offered no clue where a horse clan might stay hidden all this time.

How about in some giant, empty magma chamber, beneath a volcano?

What a lovely thought. Some magical sanctuary of hidden grassy fields, safe from the glowering sky. An underground world, like in a pre-contact adventure tale featuring vast ageless caverns, mystic light sources, and preposterous monsters.

Of course no such place could form under natural laws.

But might the Buyur — or some prior Jijo tenant — have used the same forces that carved this tunnel to create a secret hideaway? A place to preserve treasures while the surface world was scraped clean of sapient-made things?

Sara chuckled at the thought. But she did not dismiss it.

Sometime later, she confronted Kurt.

“Well, I’m committed now. Tell me what’s so urgent that Emerson and I had to follow you all this way.”

But the exploser only shook his head, refusing to speak in front of Dedinger.

What’s the heretic going to do? Sara thought. Break his bonds and run back to tell the world?

The desert prophets captivity appeared secure. And yet it was disconcerting to see on Dedinger’s face an expression of serene confidence, as if present circumstances only justified his cause.

Times like these bring heretics swarming … like privacy wasps converging on a gossip. We shouldn’t be surprised to see fanatics thriving.

The Sacred Scrolls prescribed two ways for Jijo’s illegal colonists to ease their inherited burden of sin — by preserving the planet, and by following the Path of Redemption. Ever since the days of Drake and Ur-Chown, the sages had taught that both goals were compatible with commerce and the comforts of daily life. But some purists disagreed, insisting that the Six Races must choose.

We should not be here, proclaimed Lark’s faction. We sooners should use birth control to obey Galactic law, leaving this fallow world in peace. Only then will our sin be healed.

Others thought redemption should take higher priority.

Each clan should follow the example of glavers, preached Dedinger’s cult, and the Urunthai. Salvation and renewal come to those who remove mental impediments and rediscover their deep natures.

The first obstacle to eliminate — the anchor weighing down our souls — is knowledge.

Both groups called today’s High Sages true heretics, pandering to the masses with their wishy-washy moderation. When dread starships came, fresh converts thronged to purer faiths, preaching simple messages and strong medicine for fearful times.

Sara knew her own heresy would not attract disciples. It seemed ill matched to Jijo — a planet of felons destined for oblivion of one sort or another. And yet …

Everything depends on your point of view.

So taught a wise traeki sage.

we/i/you are oft fooled by the obvious.

Lark

AN URRISH COURIER CAME RUSHING OUT OF THE forest of tall, swaying greatboo.

Could this be my answer already?

Lark had dispatched a militiaman just a few miduras ago, with a message to Lester Cambel in the secret refuge of the High Sages.

But no. The rough-pelted runner had galloped up the long path from Festival Glade. In her rush, she would not even pause for Lark to tap the vein of a tethered simla, offering the parched urs a hospitable cup of steaming blood. Instead, the humans stared amazed as she plunged her fringed muzzle into a bucket of undiluted water, barely shuddering at the bitter taste.

Between gasping swallows, she told dire news.

As rumored, the second starship was titanic, squatting like a mountain, blocking the river so a swamp soon formed around the trapped Rothen cruiser, doubly imprisoning Ling’s comrades. Surviving witnesses reported seeing familiar outlines framed by the battleship’s brightly lit hatchway. Corrugated cones. Stacks of ring’s, luxuriously glistening.

Only a few onlookers, steeped in ancient legends, knew this was not a good sign, and they had little time to spread a warning before torrid beams sliced through the night, mowing down everything within a dozen arrowflights.