DIE WITHOUT THIRST

1560 4D

He awoke to water trickling over his face. The sky was gone, and he seemed to be in a tent or enclosure with slanted walls that rippled slightly as if in a wind. He turned his mouth upward, not questioning, and a cool stream ran over his dry tongue. He coughed, choked and struggled up onto his elbows. An older woman, as dark as the boy, knelt beside him, a large jug in her hands. Just as the boy did, she wore a dark robe and a light skinsuit, but her hair was mounded in coils atop her head. The corners of her dark eyes bore mazes of fine folds radiating outward. Her long, delicate nose had a minute inscription tooled into the edge of each nostril.

Jeff finished choking, and shook his head. “Thank you,” he said, nodding, smiling.

The woman’s eyes widened. She turned and said over her shoulder, “Borinn, ezza komun. Ezz komun.” Her tone was wondering. The youth who had found Jeff leaned over her shoulder.

The two studied his face. “Andro?” the boy said.

The woman shook her head, and reached out to touch Jeff‘s face. “Suiche, ma tanann, zeh?” Then she said to Jeff, “Hu arr yeha?”

Jeff‘s eyes widened. It sounded like ‘Who are you’ — she was speaking Share, but with a barely understandable accent. “My name is Jeff Hark-ness,” he said slowly.

“Cheff Arakanesi,” she repeated. They worked back and forth until her sounds satisfied him.

“Who are you?” he asked in turn.

She gestured around them. Her accent thinned as she spoke. “Incarnastar people. My name is Ramoya Reisso Parín.” She pointed at the boy. “Here is Bonnin Reissan. Are you from City?”

Jeff pointed upward. “No, Ramoya. I came from up there. I was in space. I will show you my flyer.” He remembered Dree.

Her eyes widened. “You are from City. City people have flyers.”

“No, no. I am not City people. I came from Earth. You have cities here?”

The woman turned to the boy, chattering a burst of syllables, and he stood, turned, and vanished out of the dark space, a flash of daylight blinding Jeff for a moment. The woman brought her face close to Jeff‘s, sniffing. She turned aside. “You smell like machines. Not life.”

Jeff recoiled. “I’m a man. I was alone for a long time in space. Your world is beautiful.” Hunger and thirst welled up in him, and sadness, and hope. He groped for more words. “I was asleep for thousands of years.”

Ramoya touched the fabric of his suit, moved the tips of her fingers along a seam. “This is very old cloth,” she said. She caught a fold, twisted her finger, and her nail tore through the fabric as if it was tissue paper.

“Thousands of years old.” Jeff nodded.

She shook her head slightly. “Like City cloth. No good up here.”

“Up here? Where are we?”

Daylight blazed in the entry for a moment, and two figures entered: the boy, and a much larger man. The boy stood back respectfully as the man approached Ramoya and Jeff. “Zanas ki‘an,” the man rumbled, and Ramoya stood up and back. To Jeff, the man said, “Get up.”

Jeff tried to gather his legs under himself. “It’s hard,” he said.

“Get up!” The man reached down, took Jeff under the arms, and lifted him as if he were a child. He set Jeff down on his own feet, and watched as Jeff wobbled, staggered, and then righted himself, swaying. “City people are forbidden here. I can have you shot.”

“I’m not City people,” Jeff said. His vision dimmed again, and he fought to keep from fainting. “I can show you how I got here.” Then his legs crumpled.

The man caught him. “You can’t show me anything,” he said, contempt in his tone. “You can’t even stand. Ramoya, feed him. Bonn, b’hard na.” He dropped Jeff to the ground, turned, and left.

“Who was he?” Jeff asked Ramoya.

“Turquian Saa,” she answered. “He is our coll chief, after Cinchar Dikio. I will bring you food.”

“Why does he want to kill me?”

She shrugged. “You are City people. This is Incarnastar reserve land. Our land. Here. Drink some water.”

Jeff drank and drank. “Is it better if I die without thirst?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

The answer didn’t stop him from finishing the water.