The Children of the Sky

The radio at her feet came to life, gobbling Tinish. Here and there, Tinish heads came up. The chords sounded like the same demand as before. Hah! It was exactly the same, just a recording of the demand that the raft head for Rock Harbor. That was dumb, Nevil. The exact repeat would be recognized as unmindful. Sure enough, not more than a dozen of her mob paid any attention. And when the message repeated again, there was no visible response whatsoever.

There were more people on the South End piers than a minute before. It was still too far away for her to recognize anyone, but there were lots of Children and lots of Tines. She stood tall and waved. Even if they didn’t have binoculars, they would know that some human was out here among the Tropicals.

Johanna watched the perspective change as the raft slid toward Hidden Island. The tide was with them, and as the channel narrowed, the winds had picked up. The raft must be making three meters per second. All the rafts were following her. To the east, the semaphores by Rock Harbor waved desperately, ignored by all. Ahead of her on the mainland side, she could see the funicular’s steep path up the cliffs. Springtime waterfalls made little rainbows all along the sheer drop and at the top she could see the tiny silhouettes of houses against the sky. Starship Hill and Newcastle town were out of sight, but in another few seconds she would see Oobii.

And vice versa!

Even as she crouched low, Johanna caught a glimpse of iridescent green, one of Oobii’s ultradrive spines. She grabbed the radio and slid down the west side of the cargo pile, out of sight of the cliffs and the starship. She and Jef were the only Children who had seen the beam gun used for much more than warming residential hot-water tanks. Johanna remembered what it could do with its amplifier stage, the slagged metal, the exploded bodies. Surely, Nevil wouldn’t dare commit murder in front of so many witnesses? Maybe not. But how much had those on the South End really seen? He might chance it. He would make some slick, crazy explanation. After all, didn’t Tami say that the “something on the barge” looked like a rag mannikin?

So play it safe, stay out of sight till she was ashore and everyone could see the undeniable truth. She tossed her radio into the water, just another red herring for Nevil.

Johanna crawled around to the west side of the raft, taking little detours to keep out of the way of Tines who were busily managing the sheets and rudders. The mob’s attention was fixed on making a safe landing; the fact that she was no longer cheerleading had become irrelevant. She crawled onto one of the forward containers that she’d torn open in the search for heavy cloaks. From here, she had a clear view of the approaching piers.

There was Ben Larsndot! He was part of the mixed crowd, humans providing just enough buffering that the packs didn’t get in each other’s space. They were armed with all manner of ad hoc weapons: timbers, cargo hooks, staves. Johanna waved as broadly as she could. “Hei, Ben! All of you. These Tines are friendly. Don’t hurt them.”

Her voice was lost in the sea breeze. She felt a snout poking at her shoulder. It was Cheepers. Johanna swept her hand across his shoulders. “Say what I just said, okay?”

A second later, her voice boomed across the water, the same words she had shouted the moment before. Other Tines on the raft picked up on it. The chant grew louder. She stuck her fingers in her ears to blunt the pain of it. The chant was mercifully brief, but as they swept closer, the echo of her voice came back from the inland cliffs. Denying her arrival had just gotten a lot harder!

She didn’t say anything more. Her ears couldn’t take the reshouting. Instead she crawled forward along the “deck” of freight containers.

They were thirty meters from the pier. This close to shore normal packs would bring down the sails and use ground lines and mooring poles to ease the raft to a soft stop. The mob wasn’t into that. They were used to the crushable middens along the River Fell. The sails stayed up, but her crew was doing miracles with the breeze, slowing the craft as they slid closer and closer. Ashore, packs and humans were backing away, shouting at the mob to drop their sails.

Johanna looked up and down the pier. She’d have no trouble getting off, and there were plenty of humans around. Once ashore, Nevil would have to kill lots of others to get at her. But he just might do even that. Somehow she had to get off the pier and hidden in town.

How about going under the pier just ahead of the oncoming crash? This was getting crazier and crazier, but.… She looked into the shaded spaces below the pier. Maybe.

“Cheepers!”

Cheepers and several others moved closer. “You stay here. You all stay on the raft, okay? Everyone is friends here.”