Power Play - Anne McCaffrey [100]
“I was about to be the gentleman, Marmion,” Namid said, but his mouth and eyes smiled.
“Gentle, yes, man, yes, but . . .” The uplift to the final word was all the invitation Namid required to be both, in the right order.
One could only watch and wait and, sometimes, sleep, while the humans made themselves at home. Through the howling winds one had brought them safely here, through snow like swarms of icy insects biting into one’s eyes, ears, and nose. Even with the watchfulness of the Others, some had slipped between their reluctant guardians to wander, freeze, and die. They would not be found before the snows had melted once more.
Coaxtl and the youngling were at rest. The metal bird’s master was at rest, as were the cave dwellers of Bogota. Inside the Home, the hot spring burbled warmth throughout. Outside the snows swathed the world with seas of white growing deeper by the moment. At the entrance of the cave, the bears humped like living drifts away from the warmth of the inner cave. The other clouded leopards, the snow lions, the white tigers, the lynx and bobcats, waited out the storm within the cave as well, crowding the humans deep within the inner chambers of the Home.
Some, like the young male with the cub, stared with open delight at the Home, hearing its singing in his blood, seeing its colors inside his eyes, vibrating with its rhythms. The youngling and her ken smiled in their hard-won sleep.
As for those others, though! The noises they made as they flailed about were so shrill and penetrating that at last one was forced to put one’s paws over one’s ears to achieve any rest.
Namid slipped gently from Marmion’s bed, put more wood in the stove, and, after a few false starts, stirred up the fire in the fireplace. Then he donned his borrowed warm clothing, long underwear, heavy woolen socks, woolen pants, shirt, leather sheepskin-lined boots painted with beaver oil for water resistance, scarf, hat, mittens, and parka. Into the pocket of his parka, he slipped the holo disk. Then with a last lingering look at his sleeping lover, he opened the door and walked out into the pastel Petaybean dawn.
He crunched down the wide track leading between the homes of Tanana Bay to the Murphys’ cabin, and let himself in through the unlocked door. He had hoped to be alone on this mission, but he saw that young Diego Metaxos lay in a sleeping bag with his ear against the trapdoor.
The boy awoke as the cold air entered the cabin with Namid. “Morning,” he said, in a clear, wide-awake voice.
Namid nodded. He didn’t feel much like conversation.
“You’re up early,” Diego said.
“I need to speak to Dinah.”
“I don’t think she’ll be able to talk to you,” Diego said.
“Why not? What’s happened to her?”
Diego shrugged. “I dunno. But judging from how contact with the planet affected my dad at first, I think she’ll be in a pretty bad way. They were carrying on until way late last night.”
“What do you mean ‘carrying on’? Has something hurt her?”
“No worse than she’s hurt others, I expect. But for people with certain kinds of mind-sets, their first contact with the planet can be devastating. You might find it that way yourself.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. It’s always been wonderful to me. I was just lying here, thinking of a song to write about all that’s happened. I suppose it’s safe enough for me to go down there now, but I’m not sure about you.”
“I’ll risk it. But—no offense, I’d rather go alone.”
“It’d be easier for you with one of us.” The boy was exuding a subtle air of male challenge.
“You’re not native, and you’ve been all right.”
“Yes, but I’m young.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll try it on my own. My mind isn’t that rigid and set in its ways yet.”
Diego shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m going down in a few minutes anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a talk with Petaybee. I may not be native, but I’ve missed it.”
He stepped out of the way and Namid descended the stairs, not seeing the small orange cat that darted through the