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Authors: Karen Lord
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the conversation and saw an
undershirt and tunic neatly folded nearby. Trust a Sadiri to have a breakdown but
still not neglect the small domestic rituals.
“Here’s your shirt,” I said inanely. “Let’s put it on, shall we?”
Still looking away, he heaved a great sigh and sat up slowly. He allowed me to maneuver
the undershirt over his head, then heavily moved his arms to finish putting it on.
His hair was mussed, and I resisted the urge to pat it back into place.
“What’s happened to you?” I whispered.
“Overextended myself,” he mumbled. “So much anger back there. So tiring to keep it
out.”
I knew there was more to it than that, but I said nothing, only handed him the tunic
and looked around for his boots.
“There,” I said at last with a weak attempt at cheerfulness. “You’re all ready. Let’s
go.”
Joral joined us as we came outside, discreetly ignoring his superior’s rumpled appearance—or
so I thought. Then I realized he was distracted by Lian. Already dressed, the Commissioner’s
aide was trotting past with biosensor in hand.
“Something’s tripped a perimeter alarm,” Lian explained. “Fergus is on it, but he
wanted a sensor reading to be sure.”
I was glad for the diversion. We could pretend we were still functional when lurching
from crisis to crisis; it was the time for quiet and introspection that was dangerous.
We jogged along behind, following Lian up a low hill to where Fergus was already in
place, half kneeling with his pistol held point down but ready. He gestured for us
to approach cautiously.
I didn’t see it at first against the blond color of the grass, but then it moved—a
short-haired animal rather like a wild dog in size and shape. The creature snuffled
around briefly, tossed its head in the air as if sneezing from the dust, and then
turned away to lope down the other side of the hill.
Joral was the first to unfreeze. Mute, expressionless, he simply turned around and
quickly went back the way we had come. I watched him go, frowning in puzzlement.
“Wild dog?” Lian asked in hushed tones.
“Savanna dog. I’ve never seen one before, but I hear they show up sometimes in this
region,” Fergus said. “They shouldn’t be any trouble as long as we don’t bother their
pups.”
The two Science Council officers came rushing up the hill with Joral, biosensors at
the ready. We followed them as they swept ahead for readings, followed them right
to the sloping crest of the hill, and crouched there, obedient to their silent, frantic
hand signals. I peeked through the coarse grass that fringed the crumbling edge and
saw them: a small pack of dogs comfortablyat home in the den they had made, sheltered and safe in the cleft of a small valley.
“No,” said Dllenahkh.
His voice sounded so strange that I looked at him sharply, immediately afraid that
he was slipping into that frozen depression again. He felt my concerned gaze and turned
to me.
“No,” he repeated with the most brilliant and beautiful smile that I never expected
to see on a Sadiri. “Not a savanna dog. Sadiri. Look.”
He gazed down intently into the valley, and one by one, first adults and then pups,
they went from a panting, relaxed demeanor to closed-jawed alertness. Their noses
pointed inquiringly at the air—
Who? Who?
Then they looked at Dllenahkh, looked straight at him through all the brush and grass.
Their jaws relaxed once more as if grinning in welcome, and their short whiplike tails
thumped the ground and whisked the grass in slow, cautious approval.
“Sadiri dogs, so far from home,” murmured Dllenahkh. “The taSadiri must have brought
them. So few remain now. The Science Council keeps them under protection.”
Nasiha and Tarik did not once take their eyes off the scene below them, nor did they
set down their biosensors, but their free hands met and clasped together with a quiet
passion that was like a
undershirt and tunic neatly folded nearby. Trust a Sadiri to have a breakdown but
still not neglect the small domestic rituals.
“Here’s your shirt,” I said inanely. “Let’s put it on, shall we?”
Still looking away, he heaved a great sigh and sat up slowly. He allowed me to maneuver
the undershirt over his head, then heavily moved his arms to finish putting it on.
His hair was mussed, and I resisted the urge to pat it back into place.
“What’s happened to you?” I whispered.
“Overextended myself,” he mumbled. “So much anger back there. So tiring to keep it
out.”
I knew there was more to it than that, but I said nothing, only handed him the tunic
and looked around for his boots.
“There,” I said at last with a weak attempt at cheerfulness. “You’re all ready. Let’s
go.”
Joral joined us as we came outside, discreetly ignoring his superior’s rumpled appearance—or
so I thought. Then I realized he was distracted by Lian. Already dressed, the Commissioner’s
aide was trotting past with biosensor in hand.
“Something’s tripped a perimeter alarm,” Lian explained. “Fergus is on it, but he
wanted a sensor reading to be sure.”
I was glad for the diversion. We could pretend we were still functional when lurching
from crisis to crisis; it was the time for quiet and introspection that was dangerous.
We jogged along behind, following Lian up a low hill to where Fergus was already in
place, half kneeling with his pistol held point down but ready. He gestured for us
to approach cautiously.
I didn’t see it at first against the blond color of the grass, but then it moved—a
short-haired animal rather like a wild dog in size and shape. The creature snuffled
around briefly, tossed its head in the air as if sneezing from the dust, and then
turned away to lope down the other side of the hill.
Joral was the first to unfreeze. Mute, expressionless, he simply turned around and
quickly went back the way we had come. I watched him go, frowning in puzzlement.
“Wild dog?” Lian asked in hushed tones.
“Savanna dog. I’ve never seen one before, but I hear they show up sometimes in this
region,” Fergus said. “They shouldn’t be any trouble as long as we don’t bother their
pups.”
The two Science Council officers came rushing up the hill with Joral, biosensors at
the ready. We followed them as they swept ahead for readings, followed them right
to the sloping crest of the hill, and crouched there, obedient to their silent, frantic
hand signals. I peeked through the coarse grass that fringed the crumbling edge and
saw them: a small pack of dogs comfortablyat home in the den they had made, sheltered and safe in the cleft of a small valley.
“No,” said Dllenahkh.
His voice sounded so strange that I looked at him sharply, immediately afraid that
he was slipping into that frozen depression again. He felt my concerned gaze and turned
to me.
“No,” he repeated with the most brilliant and beautiful smile that I never expected
to see on a Sadiri. “Not a savanna dog. Sadiri. Look.”
He gazed down intently into the valley, and one by one, first adults and then pups,
they went from a panting, relaxed demeanor to closed-jawed alertness. Their noses
pointed inquiringly at the air—
Who? Who?
Then they looked at Dllenahkh, looked straight at him through all the brush and grass.
Their jaws relaxed once more as if grinning in welcome, and their short whiplike tails
thumped the ground and whisked the grass in slow, cautious approval.
“Sadiri dogs, so far from home,” murmured Dllenahkh. “The taSadiri must have brought
them. So few remain now. The Science Council keeps them under protection.”
Nasiha and Tarik did not once take their eyes off the scene below them, nor did they
set down their biosensors, but their free hands met and clasped together with a quiet
passion that was like a
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