Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [242]
Beneto walked among the shaken people. The falling rain drenched his wooden form, making his grain-patterned skin look more lifelike than ever. “It seems we have more allies than even the worldforest anticipated. Long ago, the wentals were powerful enemies of the hydrogues. But the hydrogues, the faeros, even the verdani, believed they were extinct.” Then his expression hardened. “And now the hydrogues know that the wentals have come back.”
Chapter 124—ANTON COLICOS
Space was vast, empty, and their ship drifted utterly alone. The infinite void extended in every direction: up, down, on all sides. Anton Colicos felt as if they were falling no matter which way he looked.
He had never paid much attention to the distances between the scattered worlds, especially not within the Ildiran Empire. He couldn’t recall how many days he and Vao’sh had traveled aboard the passenger liner to Maratha in the first place; he and the rememberer had been too absorbed in getting to know each other.
Now, although the automated systems assisted even a novice pilot like him, Anton was afraid that in the gulf of space he would never locate Ildira. “You’d think with seven suns in the vicinity, it couldn’t be too difficult to see.” Fortunately, all Ildiran ships used their capital planet as a zero point for nav systems, and the built-in guidance routines could always find their way home.
He did not, however, know how long Rememberer Vao’sh would last.
After escaping the massacre at Secda, the old storyteller had been plunged into the equally devastating horror of utter isolation. As they sat together in the small ship, Anton made every effort to keep conversing with him.
“We’ve got plenty of time.” He smiled brightly and forced enthusiasm into his voice. “Why don’t I tell you some Earth stories? It might fill the hours, keep your mind off things—at least until we can stumble upon another Ildiran ship or find our way to an inhabited planet.”
Vao’sh blinked at him, dazed. His body sagged as if he had no strength to hold himself upright. His large eyes were bleary and unfocused, and the multicolored lobes on the rememberer’s expressive face had gone dull and gray.
“Our situation reminds me of a classic human story called Robinson Crusoe,” Anton said. “It was written in the eighteenth century by an English author named Daniel Defoe.” Vao’sh blinked again, as if struggling to focus, and Anton could see he had part of the rememberer’s attention. “Crusoe was a castaway, shipwrecked on a deserted island. He lived alone for a long time until finally he encountered a native whom he named Friday. Friday became his close companion, a faithful follower. The two of them lived alone on their island and found a way to make it their home. Sounds like the two of us, Vao’sh.”
A shudder of anxiety rippled through the rememberer’s body. He looked sadly at his companion, but forced a question to show his interest. “And did they die? What happened?”
“Oh, another ship eventually found them. Crusoe was rescued and told his story to the rest of the world.” He patted his friend’s shoulder. “That’s what you and I will have to do, as soon as we get back.”
Anton quickly went through his repertoire of stories about desert islands and how brave shipwrecked heroes managed to overcome the odds: Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island, Wyss’s Swiss Family Robinson, then the more tragic Rime of the Ancient Mariner. But the rememberer’s attention faded, and Anton wondered if he was making their situation worse by reminding Vao’sh of how humans had courageously survived such isolation as no Ildiran could ever tolerate.
So he changed his approach and told humorous anecdotes, clever fables, absurd parables. Anton kept thinking of how all the others in the skeleton crew had been killed. He explained the human condition of agoraphobia, in which