Read Online Finity's End - a Union-Alliance Novel by C. J. Cherryh - Free Book Online
Authors: C. J. Cherryh
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fingers.
Rains. The monsoon.
The weather reports at the Base had been saying there was a low in the gulf, up from the southern continent But those were advisements relayed from the station; the station watching from space was never that good about figuring out the weather—ultimately, yes, the conditions were changing, but they were never right. There were so many variables that drove the weather, and real ground-level data came only from four places in the world, from the farms to the south, the port, from a research station on the gulf shore, and from the Base, from a primitive-looking little box full of instruments. The staff was in the habit of joking that if you wanted to know the weather, the downers always knew and the atmospherics people used dice.
But the clouds were darkening with a suddenness that raised the fine hair on his arms. The monsoon was coming: born in space as he'd been, even he could feel disturbance in the sudden change in the sky and in the air.
That
was why they'd brought him and Bianca here. Melody and Patch pointed at the sky and talked about the wind blowing the clouds. Maybe, he thought with a sinking heart, they were feeling whatever drove downers to go on their wanderings. They would go into danger in their preoccupation.
Maybe this was the last day he would ever see them. Ever.
"River he go in sky"Patch said with an expansive wave of a furry arm. "Walk with Great Sun. Down, down, down he fall, bring up flower, lot flower."
Melody inhaled deeply. "Rain smell."
What might rain smell like? He wondered, among other things he wondered, but he didn't dare risk it even for a second. The clouds were uncommonly gray today, and if he'd had to guess the hour in the last fifteen minutes he'd think it more and more like twilight, even though he knew it was
noon
. In one part of his mind he was scared and disturbed. In another—he was suddenly fighting off a feeling it was near dark. An urge to yawn.
A danger sign, if your cylinder was giving out. But he thought it was the light. Light dimming did that to you, whether it was the mainday-alterday change on station or whether it was the rotation of the planet away from the sun.
"Feels like night," Bianca said without his saying anything,
"Yeah," he said,
"Rain," Melody said, and in a moment more a fat drop hit Fletcher on the hand,
More hit the weeds with a force that made the leaves move.
"We'd better get back," Fletcher said, He was growing scared of a danger of a more physical sort, lightning and flood. He'd seen occasional rain, but they'd all been warned about the monsoon storms, about the suddenness with which floods could cut them off from the paths they knew—dangers station-born people didn't know about. From a sameness of weather, highs and lows, days and nights, they were all of a sudden faced with what informational lectures told him was not going to be the full-blown monsoon, not all in one afternoon.
Light flashed. Lightning, he thought. He'd rarely seen it except from the safety of the domes.
Then came a loud boom that sounded right at hand, not distantly as he'd heard it before. They'd both jumped. And Melody and Patch thought it was funny.
"Thunder," he insisted shakily. He was sure it was. Shuttles broke the sound barrier, but only remotely from here. "I think we'd better think about moving"
"We take you safe," Melody said, and ran and patted the statues, talked a sudden spate of hisa language to the statues, and left a single flower with them.
Then they scampered back, grabbed them by a hand apiece, and hurried them back toward the Base as droplets pelted down, let them go then on their own and just scampered ahead of them. A strong wind swept through the trees, making a rushing sound he thought at first was water rushing.
A faint siren sound wailed through the woods, then, over the pelting rain: that was the weather-warning, late.
The Base itself hadn't seen it coming. Not in time. Someone was scrambling for the
Rains. The monsoon.
The weather reports at the Base had been saying there was a low in the gulf, up from the southern continent But those were advisements relayed from the station; the station watching from space was never that good about figuring out the weather—ultimately, yes, the conditions were changing, but they were never right. There were so many variables that drove the weather, and real ground-level data came only from four places in the world, from the farms to the south, the port, from a research station on the gulf shore, and from the Base, from a primitive-looking little box full of instruments. The staff was in the habit of joking that if you wanted to know the weather, the downers always knew and the atmospherics people used dice.
But the clouds were darkening with a suddenness that raised the fine hair on his arms. The monsoon was coming: born in space as he'd been, even he could feel disturbance in the sudden change in the sky and in the air.
That
was why they'd brought him and Bianca here. Melody and Patch pointed at the sky and talked about the wind blowing the clouds. Maybe, he thought with a sinking heart, they were feeling whatever drove downers to go on their wanderings. They would go into danger in their preoccupation.
Maybe this was the last day he would ever see them. Ever.
"River he go in sky"Patch said with an expansive wave of a furry arm. "Walk with Great Sun. Down, down, down he fall, bring up flower, lot flower."
Melody inhaled deeply. "Rain smell."
What might rain smell like? He wondered, among other things he wondered, but he didn't dare risk it even for a second. The clouds were uncommonly gray today, and if he'd had to guess the hour in the last fifteen minutes he'd think it more and more like twilight, even though he knew it was
noon
. In one part of his mind he was scared and disturbed. In another—he was suddenly fighting off a feeling it was near dark. An urge to yawn.
A danger sign, if your cylinder was giving out. But he thought it was the light. Light dimming did that to you, whether it was the mainday-alterday change on station or whether it was the rotation of the planet away from the sun.
"Feels like night," Bianca said without his saying anything,
"Yeah," he said,
"Rain," Melody said, and in a moment more a fat drop hit Fletcher on the hand,
More hit the weeds with a force that made the leaves move.
"We'd better get back," Fletcher said, He was growing scared of a danger of a more physical sort, lightning and flood. He'd seen occasional rain, but they'd all been warned about the monsoon storms, about the suddenness with which floods could cut them off from the paths they knew—dangers station-born people didn't know about. From a sameness of weather, highs and lows, days and nights, they were all of a sudden faced with what informational lectures told him was not going to be the full-blown monsoon, not all in one afternoon.
Light flashed. Lightning, he thought. He'd rarely seen it except from the safety of the domes.
Then came a loud boom that sounded right at hand, not distantly as he'd heard it before. They'd both jumped. And Melody and Patch thought it was funny.
"Thunder," he insisted shakily. He was sure it was. Shuttles broke the sound barrier, but only remotely from here. "I think we'd better think about moving"
"We take you safe," Melody said, and ran and patted the statues, talked a sudden spate of hisa language to the statues, and left a single flower with them.
Then they scampered back, grabbed them by a hand apiece, and hurried them back toward the Base as droplets pelted down, let them go then on their own and just scampered ahead of them. A strong wind swept through the trees, making a rushing sound he thought at first was water rushing.
A faint siren sound wailed through the woods, then, over the pelting rain: that was the weather-warning, late.
The Base itself hadn't seen it coming. Not in time. Someone was scrambling for the
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