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Authors: Vinge Vernor
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been trapped in that pit; she hadn’t seen friends tortured and murdered. Once they returned to the barge, and the village was irrevocably behind them, it was easy to put the terror from her mind. She could enjoy the Welcoming Back, the honor given to her and Rey Guille and Brailly Tounse, the greater honor given to Tatja Grimm.
It was as close to an adventure book ending as could be imagined. Thirty-six from the Science had died. But nearly one hundred had survived the adventure and would return with the barge, much to the surprise of their sponsoring universities, who hadn’t expected to see them for two years. When Tarulle sailed into the Osterlais—and later the Tsanarts—everyone would be instant celebrities. It would be the story of the decade, and an immensely profitable affair for the Tarulle Publishing Company. Whatever their normal job slot, every literate participant in the rescue had been ordered to write an account of the operation. There was talk of starting a whole new magazine to report such true adventures.
And management seemed to think that Cor and Rey had masterminded their Publishing coup. After all, he had suggested the landing; she had produced Tatja/Hrala. Cor knew how much this bothered Rey. He had tried to convince Svektr Ramsey that he had fallen into things without the least commercial savvy. Of
course, Ramsey knew that, but he wasn’t about to let Rey wriggle free. So Guille was stuck with producing the centerpiece account of the rescue.
“Don’t worry about it, Boss. They don’t want the truth.” Cor and the Fantasie editor were standing at the railing of the top editorial deck. Except for the masts and Jespen Tarulle’s penthouse, this was as high as you could get on the barge. It was one of Cor’s favorite places: a third of the barge’s decks were visible from here, and the view of the horizon was not blocked by rigging and sails. It was early and the morning bustle had not begun. A cold salt wind came steadily from the east. That air was so clean; not a trace of tarry smoke. White tops showed across miles of ocean. Nowhere was there any sign of land. It was hard to imagine any place farther from the Village of the Termite People.
Rey didn’t answer immediately. He was watching something on the print deck. He drew his jacket close, and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter. We can write the truth. They won’t understand. Anyone who wasn’t there won’t understand.” Cor had been there. She did understand … but wished she didn’t.
Rey turned back to watch the print deck, and Cor saw the object of his interest: The man wore ordinary fatigues. He wandered slowly along the outer balcony of the deck. He was either lonely, or bored—or fascinated by every detail of the railing and deck. Cor suspected the fellow wasn’t bored: Part of the Hrala fraud had been the demand that the Termiters replace her damaged “property” (the dead from Brailly’s party and the Science ). It seemed unwise to retract the demand completely, so five unfortunate villagers were taken aboard.
This was one of them; he had been a Termiter priest, their spokesman/interpreter. Cor had talked to him several times since the rescue; he made very good copy. He turned out to be a real innocent, not one of the maniacs or hard-core cynics. In fact, he had fallen from favor when the cynics pushed for trial by combat. He had never left the village before; all his Spräk came from reading magazines and talking to travelers. What had first seemed a terrible punishment was now turning out to be the experience of his lifetime. “The guy’s a natural scholar, Boss. We drop the others off at the first hospitable landing, but I hope he wants to stay. If he could learn about civilization, return home in a year or so … . He could do his people a lot of good. They’ll need to understand the outside world when the petroleum hunters come.”
Rey wasn’t paying attention. He pointed further down the deck.
It was
It was as close to an adventure book ending as could be imagined. Thirty-six from the Science had died. But nearly one hundred had survived the adventure and would return with the barge, much to the surprise of their sponsoring universities, who hadn’t expected to see them for two years. When Tarulle sailed into the Osterlais—and later the Tsanarts—everyone would be instant celebrities. It would be the story of the decade, and an immensely profitable affair for the Tarulle Publishing Company. Whatever their normal job slot, every literate participant in the rescue had been ordered to write an account of the operation. There was talk of starting a whole new magazine to report such true adventures.
And management seemed to think that Cor and Rey had masterminded their Publishing coup. After all, he had suggested the landing; she had produced Tatja/Hrala. Cor knew how much this bothered Rey. He had tried to convince Svektr Ramsey that he had fallen into things without the least commercial savvy. Of
course, Ramsey knew that, but he wasn’t about to let Rey wriggle free. So Guille was stuck with producing the centerpiece account of the rescue.
“Don’t worry about it, Boss. They don’t want the truth.” Cor and the Fantasie editor were standing at the railing of the top editorial deck. Except for the masts and Jespen Tarulle’s penthouse, this was as high as you could get on the barge. It was one of Cor’s favorite places: a third of the barge’s decks were visible from here, and the view of the horizon was not blocked by rigging and sails. It was early and the morning bustle had not begun. A cold salt wind came steadily from the east. That air was so clean; not a trace of tarry smoke. White tops showed across miles of ocean. Nowhere was there any sign of land. It was hard to imagine any place farther from the Village of the Termite People.
Rey didn’t answer immediately. He was watching something on the print deck. He drew his jacket close, and looked at her. “It doesn’t matter. We can write the truth. They won’t understand. Anyone who wasn’t there won’t understand.” Cor had been there. She did understand … but wished she didn’t.
Rey turned back to watch the print deck, and Cor saw the object of his interest: The man wore ordinary fatigues. He wandered slowly along the outer balcony of the deck. He was either lonely, or bored—or fascinated by every detail of the railing and deck. Cor suspected the fellow wasn’t bored: Part of the Hrala fraud had been the demand that the Termiters replace her damaged “property” (the dead from Brailly’s party and the Science ). It seemed unwise to retract the demand completely, so five unfortunate villagers were taken aboard.
This was one of them; he had been a Termiter priest, their spokesman/interpreter. Cor had talked to him several times since the rescue; he made very good copy. He turned out to be a real innocent, not one of the maniacs or hard-core cynics. In fact, he had fallen from favor when the cynics pushed for trial by combat. He had never left the village before; all his Spräk came from reading magazines and talking to travelers. What had first seemed a terrible punishment was now turning out to be the experience of his lifetime. “The guy’s a natural scholar, Boss. We drop the others off at the first hospitable landing, but I hope he wants to stay. If he could learn about civilization, return home in a year or so … . He could do his people a lot of good. They’ll need to understand the outside world when the petroleum hunters come.”
Rey wasn’t paying attention. He pointed further down the deck.
It was
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