Descending Road - DOMARO DIES by Dana W. Paxson

DOMARO DIES

1529 4D

Three andros stood waiting outside Jeddin‘s cubby, looking up the street, only a few feet from him across the way. Two were men, one a woman; all three wore Indigo skinsuits that accented their pale complexions. Jeddin froze as two andro hunters drifted silently up to the group.

The two were lithe, sinewy, with skins almost as pale as the andros themselves. They moved with immense fluidity and speed. One, a man, handled a massive, rifle-like beam weapon as lightly as if it were a pencil; the other, a woman, fingered a splay of throwing blades, making them ripple like water. Both wore silver skinsuits that shaded into the colors of the street.

“Where is Jeddin?” the knife-bearing woman said to the andro woman, in a voice that grated with anjive discords.

“We haven’t seen him,” the woman said in anjive, “We’ve been in Rumchi Zone all day working for the Pilcheedi family.”

The knife-bearer took her arm. “We’ll see,” she said. She stuck out a long tongue and licked the skin of the andro woman’s arm from wrist to elbow, drawing back the skinsuit sleeve as she worked her way. “Yes, at least you’ve got Pilcheedi on you. Now you.” She turned to one of the two men, who drew back in fear. “Got a problem?”

“No, I’ve been… I was at the skerrishee in Grand Scour after we left the Pil--“

“Ah, I see. Scrubbed clean, are you?” The knife-bearer turned to the other andro man. “And you? You were skerrishing with him, I suppose?”

“Yes.” As the second andro spoke, the first two glanced with large eyes at the gun-carrying man, who smiled.

“We’ll see, again. Your arm?” The knife-bearer didn’t wait for an answer; she seized the second man’s hand, ripped the fabric of the skinsuit up to the armpit, and ran her tongue all the way up from the wrist. “How interesting. Pilcheedi.”

The three andros relaxed slightly; Jeddin noted their body temperatures rise back toward normal a bit.

“Pilcheedi, and something else.”

The gun-carrying hunter pointed the muzzle of his weapon at the second andro man, and said, “Jeddin?”

The knife-bearer said, “Not Jeddin, but an intermediary. Jeddin‘s genesign. All right, you two go away. We want to talk to your friend here without you. Go. Go!” The second hunter motioned with his gun. The two andros moved away, out of Jeddin‘s sight. He heard a high panicked anjive hiss in a woman’s tone: “Goodbye, Domaro! We love you!”

“Now tell us where you’ve been since the Pilcheedi place. Everywhere you’ve been.”

As the andro stammered out his comings and goings to the hunters, Jeddin tried to remember the places he’d visited and the people he’d seen during the last day’s hours. The knife-flashing hunter stepped forward, a smile on her face. Jeddin closed his eyes. In a man’s high anjive he heard the wispy stutter of a rapid prayer:

“Free me from this prison, Hyonarsa,

Free my being from this prison,

Guide me out of darkness, Hyonarsa,

Guide my being into inner--“

Domaro‘s death-cry wrenched Jeddin‘s heart. He opened his eyes again. A huddle of black on the street surface oozed dark andro blood. The two hunters were gone.

Jeddin waited a long time, opened the cubby door to look up and down. No one was there. The cleaners, or if they were late, the children and other scavengers would be along to claim the body or its parts soon. He bent low over Domaro‘s corpse, sniffing. Ah. The andro had visited Aswal Narr this day, and that was where Jeddin had seen several friends. He straightened and ran. They would have to be warned.

But first, he needed Ferdinand.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	DOMARO DIES 1529 4D Three andros stood waiting outside Jeddin‘s cubby, looking up the street, only a few feet from him across the way. Two were men, one a woman; all three wore Indigo skinsuits that accented their pale complexions. Jeddin froze as two andro hunters drifted silently up to the group. The two were lithe, sinewy, with skins almost as pale as the andros themselves. They moved with immense fluidity and speed. One, a man, handled a massive, rifle-like beam weapon as lightly as if it were a pencil; the other, a woman, fingered a splay of throwing blades, making them ripple like water. Both wore silver skinsuits that shaded into the colors of the street. “Where is Jeddin?” the knife-bearing woman said to the andro woman, in a voice that grated with anjive discords. “We haven’t seen him,” the woman said in anjive, “We’ve been in Rumchi Zone all day working for the Pilcheedi family.” The knife-bearer took her arm. “We’ll see,” she said. She stuck out a long tongue and licked the skin of the andro woman’s arm from wrist to elbow, drawing back the skinsuit sleeve as she worked her way. “Yes, at least you’ve got Pilcheedi on you. Now you.” She turned to one of the two men, who drew back in fear. “Got a problem?” “No, I’ve been… I was at the skerrishee in Grand Scour after we left the Pil--“ “Ah, I see. Scrubbed clean, are you?” The knife-bearer turned to the other andro man. “And you? You were skerrishing with him, I suppose?” “Yes.” As the second andro spoke, the first two glanced with large eyes at the gun-carrying man, who smiled. “We’ll see, again. Your arm?” The knife-bearer didn’t wait for an answer; she seized the second man’s hand, ripped the fabric of the skinsuit up to the armpit, and ran her tongue all the way up from the wrist. “How interesting. Pilcheedi.” The three andros relaxed slightly; Jeddin noted their body temperatures rise back toward normal a bit. “Pilcheedi, and something else.” The gun-carrying hunter pointed the muzzle of his weapon at the second andro man, and said, “Jeddin?” The knife-bearer said, “Not Jeddin, but an intermediary. Jeddin‘s genesign. All right, you two go away. We want to talk to your friend here without you. Go. Go!” The second hunter motioned with his gun. The two andros moved away, out of Jeddin‘s sight. He heard a high panicked anjive hiss in a woman’s tone: “Goodbye, Domaro! We love you!” “Now tell us where you’ve been since the Pilcheedi place. Everywhere you’ve been.” As the andro stammered out his comings and goings to the hunters, Jeddin tried to remember the places he’d visited and the people he’d seen during the last day’s hours. The knife-flashing hunter stepped forward, a smile on her face. Jeddin closed his eyes. In a man’s high anjive he heard the wispy stutter of a rapid prayer: “Free me from this prison, Hyonarsa, Free my being from this prison, Guide me out of darkness, Hyonarsa, Guide my being into inner--“ Domaro‘s death-cry wrenched Jeddin‘s heart. He opened his eyes again. A huddle of black on the street surface oozed dark andro blood. The two hunters were gone. Jeddin waited a long time, opened the cubby door to look up and down. No one was there. The cleaners, or if they were late, the children and other scavengers would be along to claim the body or its parts soon. He bent low over Domaro‘s corpse, sniffing. Ah. The andro had visited Aswal Narr this day, and that was where Jeddin had seen several friends. He straightened and ran. They would have to be warned. But first, he needed Ferdinand.