Read Online Steal Across the Sky by Nancy Kress - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy Kress
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, American Science Fiction And Fantasy
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her along. The child opened her mouth to scream, but Aveo said something sharply to her and she scurried into file behind him. “Let her go,” he said quietly to Cam, “and she’ll follow.”
It seemed endless miles, endless hours to the ship. But no one stopped them, no one questioned the orders that Aveo snapped at the gate guards. Halfway across the enclosure, shouts arose behind them. “Run!” Cam said, and sprinted forward, dragging the old man. She got them inside as the first spears were thrown, flung herself in after them, and closed the shuttle door.
She had killed a man. She, Cam O’Kane, who swerved her car to avoid snakes on summer roads. She had killed a soldier of the king and now she stood in an inhuman ship, staring at two humans with whom she had absolutely nothing in common, wondering what the fuck she was supposed to do next.
11: AVEO
IF EVER AVEO WOULD HAVE thought that this woman was a goddess, it would have been at this moment. Standing beside her in an impregnable silver egg, having watched her kill Cul Escio without any weapon actually touching him, seeing the strange and frightening objects around her—even to him they were frightening, and the slave girl had been terrified into numb rigidity—he knew that Ostiu Cam was not of this world.
But not a goddess, either. No. A goddess would not look so distraught, so scattered. Even the Goddess of All Green, said those who followed her, killed with the impartial necessity of frost on the fields, meat for the table. But Cam, despite the hard and clear simplicity that was her usual manner, had been badly upset by killing the
cul
. This was a human woman, not some supernatural figure. Aveo knew so beyond doubt, and in knowing felt a sharp stab of something between disappointment and relief.
There might be worlds beyond this one, but they held no goddesses to conduct one to the beloved dead.
Ojea
. . .
“Just . . . just sit down,” Cam said, her voice quavering.
At the sound of her voice, Obu screamed, began to wail, and tore at her hair.
“What . . . Aveo, tell her to stop!”
“She won’t,
ostiu
. She is mourning her dead.”
“What dead? Do you mean
Escio
? He raped her!”
“I doubt she sees it that way. In kulith—”
“Oh, damn kulith! Just shut her up!”
Definitely not a goddess.
Aveo grasped Obu’s arm and spoke to her in a low voice, the onlywords that would quiet her: Cul Escio lives with the Goddess of All Green, he feasts in her Hall of Warriors, Obu will one day see him again, and if she did not stop wailing right now then he, Rem Aveo, an important scholar, would intercede with the Goddess so that Obu would never be allowed into the Hall during all eternity. Instead, she would be doomed to perpetual slavery digging the Goddess’s coldest fields, where nothing grew but frozen and withered roots. Fortunately, Cam was not listening.
Cam talked to a section of the wall, which answered. That was frightening enough, although it was possible a person was concealed behind the wall. But Aveo also realized something else. Always before, Cam’s speech had been hesitant, with a small pause after every few words. Now it gushed forth in an uninterrupted torrent. Why?
“Soledad, I killed him. And I—don’t—I’m in the shuttle and . . . What? No! Don’t you understand, I—” The sounds made no sense to Aveo, and neither did the answering sounds from the wall. But slowly the
ostiu
calmed. Obu, too, now sat quietly on the floor, head between her bent knees, terrified into submission. Aveo, listening hard, caught a few repeated sounds: “Lucca” and “Kular” and “witness.” None had meaning.
Finally Cam said “okay”—another meaningless sound—and turned away from the wall. Her gaze fell on Obu. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. She is mourning.”
Cam grimaced. “Well, that’s the worst thing about slavery, isn’t it? It brainwashes . . . deludes . . . the slaves
It seemed endless miles, endless hours to the ship. But no one stopped them, no one questioned the orders that Aveo snapped at the gate guards. Halfway across the enclosure, shouts arose behind them. “Run!” Cam said, and sprinted forward, dragging the old man. She got them inside as the first spears were thrown, flung herself in after them, and closed the shuttle door.
She had killed a man. She, Cam O’Kane, who swerved her car to avoid snakes on summer roads. She had killed a soldier of the king and now she stood in an inhuman ship, staring at two humans with whom she had absolutely nothing in common, wondering what the fuck she was supposed to do next.
11: AVEO
IF EVER AVEO WOULD HAVE thought that this woman was a goddess, it would have been at this moment. Standing beside her in an impregnable silver egg, having watched her kill Cul Escio without any weapon actually touching him, seeing the strange and frightening objects around her—even to him they were frightening, and the slave girl had been terrified into numb rigidity—he knew that Ostiu Cam was not of this world.
But not a goddess, either. No. A goddess would not look so distraught, so scattered. Even the Goddess of All Green, said those who followed her, killed with the impartial necessity of frost on the fields, meat for the table. But Cam, despite the hard and clear simplicity that was her usual manner, had been badly upset by killing the
cul
. This was a human woman, not some supernatural figure. Aveo knew so beyond doubt, and in knowing felt a sharp stab of something between disappointment and relief.
There might be worlds beyond this one, but they held no goddesses to conduct one to the beloved dead.
Ojea
. . .
“Just . . . just sit down,” Cam said, her voice quavering.
At the sound of her voice, Obu screamed, began to wail, and tore at her hair.
“What . . . Aveo, tell her to stop!”
“She won’t,
ostiu
. She is mourning her dead.”
“What dead? Do you mean
Escio
? He raped her!”
“I doubt she sees it that way. In kulith—”
“Oh, damn kulith! Just shut her up!”
Definitely not a goddess.
Aveo grasped Obu’s arm and spoke to her in a low voice, the onlywords that would quiet her: Cul Escio lives with the Goddess of All Green, he feasts in her Hall of Warriors, Obu will one day see him again, and if she did not stop wailing right now then he, Rem Aveo, an important scholar, would intercede with the Goddess so that Obu would never be allowed into the Hall during all eternity. Instead, she would be doomed to perpetual slavery digging the Goddess’s coldest fields, where nothing grew but frozen and withered roots. Fortunately, Cam was not listening.
Cam talked to a section of the wall, which answered. That was frightening enough, although it was possible a person was concealed behind the wall. But Aveo also realized something else. Always before, Cam’s speech had been hesitant, with a small pause after every few words. Now it gushed forth in an uninterrupted torrent. Why?
“Soledad, I killed him. And I—don’t—I’m in the shuttle and . . . What? No! Don’t you understand, I—” The sounds made no sense to Aveo, and neither did the answering sounds from the wall. But slowly the
ostiu
calmed. Obu, too, now sat quietly on the floor, head between her bent knees, terrified into submission. Aveo, listening hard, caught a few repeated sounds: “Lucca” and “Kular” and “witness.” None had meaning.
Finally Cam said “okay”—another meaningless sound—and turned away from the wall. Her gaze fell on Obu. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. She is mourning.”
Cam grimaced. “Well, that’s the worst thing about slavery, isn’t it? It brainwashes . . . deludes . . . the slaves
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