Metal Swarm - Kevin J. Anderson [105]
Ko'sh could no longer watch as workers removed the next diamondfilm panel. He sank to his knees and rubbed the lobes on his forehead. The chief scribe was younger than Vao'sh, his eyes close-set and hard. He raised his head as if it were a great weight and turned his bitter gaze toward Anton.
'The established Saga remained untouched for thousands of years. We were part of the story. We lived it. We knew our place in the great tale. But ever since we began associating with humans - since we allowed them to tangle our storylines - nothing has been the same.' He lifted his hands, palms upward, beseeching.
'The story of the universe does not belong solely to the Ildiran race, but to all races,' said Vao'sh. 'Even humans.'
'And now the humans pretend to be part of the !' Ko'sh said. 'Have you heard their green priest?'
Anton understood their uneasiness. 'I don't necessarily like it any more than you do. Kolker offered to open my mind to his “revelations”, but I like being myself. So don't blame me - J haven't intruded on your .'
Anton had always been a loner, preferring solitude so that he could read the great epics. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if his thoughts were totally open, his mind connected to many people, as well as the web of Ildiran . What Kolker and the others described as a wondrous sense of belonging sounded like a terrible invasion of privacy to Anton. Some Ildirans considered the converted humans to be interlopers, even threats.
And now his own work with Vao'sh on revising the sacred Saga was causing an even greater shakeup. The two of them were ripping out the very foundations of history. Even with the Mage-Imperator's blessing and support, he expected some Ildirans to view Vao'sh - and most especially himself - as heretics, just like those ancient astronomers who were burned at the stake.
The old rememberer placed a hand on Ko'sh's shoulder, a gesture Ildirans rarely used but one he had learned from Anton. You will study the new history, Ko'sh. No matter how accurately you memorized it and repeated it, some parts of what you knew were wrong. Even the stories of the Shana Rei may have been fabrications.'
Ko'sh shook his head, not denying his comrade's words but hating to accept them. 'If the truth can change once, then can it not change again and again?'
Sixty-two
Patrick Fitzpatrick III
Patrick had never seen anything as complicated, as jury-rigged, or as spectacular, as a Roamer skymine. The industrial processing city was like a mammoth ocean liner in the clouds, self-contained and almost self-sufficient. It ploughed through Golgen's atmosphere, its great scoops churning the convoluted swirls of gas. The intakes sucked up immense tankfuls, processed the hydrogen through ekti reactors, then spewed exhaust in a titanic vapour trail behind them. It was a big sky, and he felt very alone.
Over the past several days Zhett had refused to speak to him. Not a word. He'd known she was hot-blooded, but he hadn't expected to be cut off at the knees, unable even to approach her. Zhett had deftly disarmed him in a way that would have made his grandmother proud. Why couldn't she at least yell at him?
He had looked for her everyplace he could think of, going to the control deck, to the shipping levels, the dining hall. The Roamers all knew who he was now, and though they didn't throw him off the skymine (either figuratively or literally), they certainly gave him the cold shoulder. No one seemed to know where Zhett was. Obviously, she was avoiding him, but he refused to give up.
Patrick did find her quarters - by pure luck. Although he signalled at the metal door, she did not answer. He waited there for an entire shift, but she never returned. He came back four times at random hours, even in the middle of the night, but she wasn't there.
So he left