Wind Spindle Chapter 12

 

 

 

Kallo circled the 24-kilometer-wide dome of Kinlani Observatory, now weirdly still; it's kilometer-diameter receiver dishes usually spun and shifted as they rotated under widening and narrowing armatures, but now they were frozen still, glittering darkly around the rim of Asia Mars volcano like hematite gems. Normally she would be able to receive the channel from the Observatory, but of course everything was dead.  Crows followed her in flight, curious and probably hungry.  But she had no cookies for them now.

The trench steppes stretched east in thousands of rows of quadroquinoa as exact as an old-fashioned circuit board, punctuated by cistern pumps at the switchbacks.  Herds of adapted sheep crept like dingy clouds along the steppes and west of the Observatory, where the concentric rings of yurts and hogans of the merging communities of Kinlani and New Khan looked bare, dry and vulnerable under the still, dry CAP towers.

If Kallo could take off again from one of the work platforms surrounding the Observatory tower, she would be able to make it back to the central grid tower from here.  If not, she'd be grounded unless the Observatory tube station was working. Her body quailed at the thought of being stuck on the ground.

But she had to carry out her Daddy’s plans. And she had to find Dohna though she wasn't even sure why, or what she would say to the old woman, or what to ask. She just knew that she had to see her. 

A beam of light jammed into her retinas, causing her to falter in flight.  She squeezed her eyes shut and corrected, her heart hammering as she was slapped with the memory of falling blind.  For several seconds she recalled perfectly the sensation of tumbling and careening.  She pulled herself out of the it, corrected her flight attitude and swallowed hard.  The laser had come from one of the dish apertures.  A trick of reflection?  Or had it been a warning?

She blinked, now seeing a line of figures, one waving a long black silk flag, which meant either Go Away or Land Immediately-Kallo couldn't remember.  It wasn't something she'd ever needed to remember.  She was a star performer, and everywhere she flew the sky had belonged to her.  

They had to know who she was; she had performed here many times.  They wouldn't be angry when they found out they had a celebrity among them.

Kallo decided to keep it simple.  No acrobatics.  She pulled her chutes.

It was a perfect landing, but there was no applause. She was running to a stop and saw them all closing in around her: Khams, in the Tibetan tradition, the guardians of Kinlani and New Khan for generations.  She had seen them at a distance many times before, but never this close.  They wore black felt hats over long hair woven full of opals. Swords glinted in their sashes and on their backs; they also wore laser pistols on their belts and knives in tall black boots, although now they were not holding weapons-just gathering in a tightening circle around her.

Kallo stood still while her chutes folded onto her back.

“I am Kalleyno.” she said, and waited through a tedious silence. “The wind spinner!” Did they really not know who she was?

“This way,” the tallest guard motioned, and Kallo followed him with the rest of the Khams flanking her up a steep walkway and into the entry courtyard of the Observatory. A woman strode into the courtyard, stopping in front of Kallo.

Kallo stared at the woman's dyed and beaded leather boots.  Layers of emerald and sage green velvet skirts swirled under her luxuriously thick sheepskin coat, which was oversewn with layers of green silk designs; her wrists and neck were wreathed with glittering, pale green peridot cabochons set in silver. She had a mix of Adapted and First Nations features; her nose was wide and flat and her eyes hooded like an Adapted, but her irises resembled labradorite-a compromise of radiation resistance with an Aurora Borealis sheen that protected, and depths of dark like the classic beauty of Earth eyes. Unlike the older generations of Navajo she had Adapted skin, a deep caramel that would sluff every day, taking radiation accumulation and damage with it. But her gleaming blue-black hair was pure Mars Dine', mounded on the back of her head in great loops of obsidian and trailing white yarn ties. Her hair must be meters long when loosed, thought Kallo. She had seen Kinlani royalty before at private flight exhibitions, but never conversed with them for long. She did not know all the protocols, and it now occurred to her that she was not very good at Kinlani dialect.

A Kham’s deep male voice jolted Kallo.

“You are before Princess Kinlani of the Kinlani Dry Canal Clan. State your business,.” he spoke in common Mars dialect, which had a stately, old-fashioned sound. But at least she could understand it. Of course they know who I am, she thought. Everyone knew who she was.

“My Daddy is hurt.” Kallo didn’t know why she had said this; her Daddy would not have wanted her to. “But-and anyway, the grid is down but we are rebuilding. And I want to talk to Dohna.”

“How seriously is Mano injured?”

“He’ll be alright. He’s rebuilding the grid. But I need to-”

“The Keeper does not come at your command,” said the princess, with a deep, cold calm.

Who?  wondered Kallo.  But she continued. “I have messages. Weather forecasts, infrastructure rebuild updates and the future of the independent Mars grid,” she recited. Then she said, “But first I get to talk to Dohna."

"Tonight we are holding a very important sing. Come back tomorrow and I will speak with you."

"No!" Kallo blurted, "I need to talk to Dohna right now!"

“Are you sure that Mano does not require help?”

Kallo shook her head. “But-I-”

The princess pointed her lips at the gate, “Escort her to a guest hogan, please.,” She turned with a rich ripple of velvet skirts and a heavy swish of hair., “Give her supper.  But keep a guard on her."

Kallo hated walking. She could be flying home if they had let her on the Observatory roof; it was high enough for take-off and there were enough prevailing winds. But instead she was mincing along in a crowd of tall guards who, infuriatingly, kept smiling down at her. She returned their indulgent looks with glares.

The steep, rocky path from the Observatory grounds on the edge of the volcano wound around and down. It was tiring and Kallo’s ankles already ached; they nearly always ached, but mostly she was able to forget about it. She stumbled and was caught, and lifted before she hit the ground. The guards stopped on the path, speaking to each other in a Tibetan dialect. A guard cupped one of Kallo’s feet in her hands and said, in Mars common dialect, “Do you have pain?”

“Put me down!” Kallo said. The guard moved her foot gently back and forth, and Kallo winced. There was more discussion, then Kallo found herself hoisted on to another guard’s back and riding as she had on her Daddy’s back when she was little.

“I want to go home!” She slapped the big guard’s shoulder, but without conviction. It was a relief to be off her feet.

“Tomorrow we will bring you back to speak to the princess,” he said.

“I want to talk to Do-” Kallo nearly stood up on the guard’s back. He stopped.

“The lagoons!” said Kallo. When the winds out of the north brought a stale scent of the quicksand lagoons through the Tharsis valley, it was often a sign of a storm brewing. But she couldn’t be sure. Another scent hit and she laughed. She smacked the guard several times hard on the shoulder, writhing. He set her down.

Kallo scanned their faces. “Why won’t you let me go home?” she wheedled. “I can take off from the Observatory tower.”

“Not tonight. The guest hogans aren’t far. We will bring you some stew.”