Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [69]
“We did notice considerable local activity on the way in,” Tuvok acknowledged.
“In two days we’ll cross into the Zone and the madness begins,” the Listener went on. The Tenji came in all sizes, shapes, and colors, and there was no way for her guests to know if she was a native or a human whose hair had been replaced with iridescent feathers. “You’ll want to be gone before then.”
“We plan to mingle with the outgoing traffic and slip into the Zone that way,” Sisko said.
The Listener thought this over. “Then we haven’t much time to get you the information you need. As if they didn’t already have reason to be jumpy, this time of year makes the Tenji even jumpier. They don’t like either side and, for obvious reasons, they feel more than a little vulnerable out here. But this is their world, and they make the best of it.”
The “obvious reasons” lay beyond the habitat domes of the planet’s enclosed cities. Tenjin’s axis was pointed toward its sun, leaving it a sharply divided world of barren lunar landscape, of pocked and pitted waterless wasteland, one hemisphere constantly fried by a merciless sun, the other facing the frozen void of open space. The Tenji lived entirely in enclosed habitats.
“Like so many huge glass paperweights,” Sisko had remarked as the Albatross juddered into her assigned berth in synchronous orbit above the night side.
“Indeed,” Tuvok had concurred.
Inside the habitats, night and day were internally regulated to keep the inhabitants from going mad with constant exposure to either light or dark. Outside the safety of the habitats, there was atmosphere to breathe but, depending on which side of the planet one lived on, the temperature was a constant of either desert heat or arctic cold, and dust storms or storms of needle-sharp ice crystals often obscured the stars. If they were ever attacked and their habitat domes damaged, the Tenji would not survive for long.
Still, within the tenuous safety of their domes, they had developed a rich and varied culture based primarily on trade. As one of the last free ports on the Federation side of the Zone, Tenjin flourished. Over a dozen species speaking as many languages strolled past the landing party amid a maze of kiosks and shops and restaurants exuding enticing sights, sounds, and smells; displaying clothing in more colors than the eye could see and the flashing lights of the latest personal technology; offering samples of everything from Risan massage to domjot games to freshly made chorizo. The Tenji themselves strutted and preened like so many peacocks.
“Market day in New Orleans meets Tokyo’s Ginza,” Sisko said, inhaling deeply. His educated sense of smell told him that someone somewhere in this place was preparing an eggplant ratatouille, and he intended to find out who and where. “Ever been to New Orleans, Tuvok?”
“I cannot say that I have,” Tuvok replied. He and Selar were enacting their Vulcan personae on Tenjin. As they moved with the crowds, Selar was surreptitiously scanning each passing shopper with a medscanner equipped with an added long-range filter to record every cough or sneeze occurring within this particular dome. Tuvok would as unobtrusively collect atmosphere samples, dust samples, even samples of the soil in the potted plants displayed everywhere, whereas Zetha-
“How do they live?” she blurted out, and Sisko realized she must be practically dizzy with sudden sensory overload. “Where does all this food come from?”
“My sister’s eldest,” Selar told the slightly startled Listener, absolutely deadpan, slipping the still-scanning medscanner into a pocket. “It is her first offworld journey.”
“And so naturally she is curious about everything,