The Garden - Melissa Scott [60]
The shuttle was descending rapidly, a steep glide path that Paris guessed was right at the limit of the machine's tolerances. Out the nearer window, he could see a checkerboard of farmland, the rough squares alternately green and gold, rising toward a wooded hill. He caught a brief glimpse of a clearing on the crown of the hill, but then the shuttle banked
again, lining up for its final approach. He could see the lake now, and the broad, blue-streaked sands that rose to meet them, and in spite of himself he braced for the crash. It couldn't be sand, he told himself, it had to be able to take the shuttle's weight; the Kirse might sacrifice one of their own, but not Revek, not so early in the negotiations, and then Grayrose lifted the shuttle's nose and dropped them neatly onto solid ground.
Paris gave a sigh of relief, and knew that Revek saw, but couldn't bring himself to care. Grayrose was a reckless pilot even by his estimation. / wonder, he thought, if there's any way of getting her to let me fly us home? Still, he had to admit that she was competent-the fact that they were down safely was proof enough of that.
The Kirse was already loosening herself from her safety harness, and Paris copied her. Grayrose opened the main hatch, a short ramp unrolling at the same time, and Paris followed her out onto the broad beach, Revek at his heels. The sand underfoot was solid, all right, and blue, streaked with every shade from the palest ice to near-black indigo, swirled together like frozen smoke. Paris shook his head, astonished yet again by the sheer beauty of the Kirse planet. You'd think I'd get used to it, he thought, that I'd start to expect to find another gorgeous vista around every corner, would start yawning at even perfection, but I don't. I wonder if it still amazes Revek?
"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Revek said, as if he'd read the other man's thoughts, and Paris gave him a startled glance.
"It is." Underfoot, the beach felt grainy, like sand, but his feet glided over the surface without displacing a single fragment of the color. He frowned, puzzled,
and Grayrose lifted her wings, working the heavy shoulder muscle.
"The beach was primed as a landing zone after the last Andirrim raid. They're afraid to land on the sand-and well they should be, the ground won't be solid for them."
Paris stumbled, his foot sinking in sand that was suddenly unstable, and Grayrose caught him, balancing his weight with arched and lifted wings.
"Sorry," she said, "I should have warned you. The field only extends a few dozen meters from the shuttle."
"Field?" Paris straightened, and glanced back at the shuttle. The sand beneath it was still solid, but on all sides the gentle breeze stirred the loose grains, carving out a broad oval of stability. "You didn't land on that," he said, in spite of himself, and Grayrose blinked.
"But I did. Oh, I see. The field travels with the shuttle, is created by the shuttle projector. I don't need a full landing strip."
"Better you than me," Paris said. In fact, he thought, the idea was appalling-if anything went wrong with the field, or its placement in relation to the shuttle, and the shuttle's speed, there would be nothing the pilot could do to prevent a crash. The Kirse didn't seem to believe in safety margins, and he wondered again if there was any way to avoid the flight back to the citadel.
"The fields are up above," Grayrose went on, and began trudging up the slope, balancing herself with her wings. Paris followed, the sand crumbling underfoot, and looked back from the top to see the smooth swirls pitted by footprints. Revek pulled himself up next, and pointed toward the distant hill.
"And that's one of the hardpoints."
Grayrose gave him a sharp glance, but then seemed to relax.
"Hardpoints?" Paris asked. They were expecting the question, he knew-at least Revek had planned it-but there was no reason not to go along with him, at least for now.
Grayrose gave the hill a rather wistful look. "The shuttle launch sites for platform maintenance, or when