Diamond Mask (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (46 page)

Thanking her brother, she drove off to the main farm road, headlamps illuminating the snow. It quickly became warm inside the tractor cab and she took off her gloves and unzipped her suit. Dawn was breaking over An Teallach, the huge extinct volcano that most people knew by its Standard English name, the Forge. At 7350 meters, it was the highest point on the continent, with
a short but formidable glacier on its eastern slope that fed icebergs into the sea all year round.

The River Tuath on her left was still unfrozen, steaming amidst the snow-capped boulders in its bed. A flock of white rinkies bobbed and paddled in the Big Pool, semireptilian native “birds” that usually remained out among the fjord islets in good weather. There was probably going to be more snow soon, and it would get colder.

Dee backed into the lane, bordered by repellor-fencing posts, that lay between the horse and cattle pastures. The sledge fetched up at the heated trough that provided water for both groups of animals. Snowy humps in the cattle field stirred and turned into shaggy little red beasts with long horns that came ambling toward the load of fodder. They were incredibly hardy and almost never took shelter in their stone bàthach.

The small herd of coal-black miniature horses had been huddled in a three-sided open shed on the western side of their field. They let out shrill whinnies and milled about for a moment after emerging. Was it really breakfast arriving, or were the stupid cattle merely reacting to a fence rider or some other false alarm? Suddenly a tiny filly broke away from the group and came hurtling toward Dee at a full gallop, throwing up a great cloud of fine snow. Electrified, the other horses followed.

Cutach!
Dee farspoke the horse, and then called
Pigean!
to the West Highland bull who trailed protectively after his harem of cows. The girl fastened her suit, hauled on her gloves, and jumped down from the tractor cab. Cutach came to the fence’s invisible barrier and hung her head over it so that Dee could embrace her. Like her herd-mates, she was a perfectly proportioned true miniature, not a pony, with a withers only slightly higher than Dee’s waist. Tiny horses were raised as companion-animals on many human planets and sometimes used for chariot races, trotting contests, or pulling wagons on festive occasions. Ian Macdonald kept the horses only for the pleasure of their company, for they would follow humans through the rough terrain like dogs, carrying packs of supplies for the two-legged walker as well as for themselves.

Cutach had a bobtail (hence her name) and a thick, furry coat. As a newborn foal two years earlier, she had not been expected to live. Only Dee’s nursing and clandestine redaction had saved her, and she had become the girl’s special pet.

“I’m going to miss you,” she told the little horse, kissing its nose. “But I’ll be back and we’ll climb An Teallach together.”

She checked the drinking trough to be sure the defroster was working, then put out the oats and hay and horse-chow. By the time she had finished with the horses the bull named Pigean had shouldered his way through the eager cows, snorting and tossing his horns. His coat reached nearly to his hoofs. The small Highland cattle were also raised mostly as pets, but in spring the cows gave rich but meager milk that was a marvelous accompaniment to fresh strawberries or the equally sweet golden native berries called oidhreag. None of the other children had been able to approach fierce Pigean, but he had gone instantly tame when first confronted by Dee.

She patted his muzzle. “I’ll miss you, too, old potbelly. Don’t you dare chase Gavin while I’m gone. Hear me?” She smiled. “Well, maybe you can chase him a little.”

She gave the cattle their food and stood for a few minutes amidst the cloud of sweet animal breath, checking each horse and cow over carefully, as she always did when it was her turn to feed them. One mare, flighty Aigeannach, had a small cut on her left rear shank. Dee healed it easily. Then, before tears at the thought of leaving them could come, she got into the tractor and drove back to the road.

It was full light now and there was still plenty of time, so instead of returning to the farmstead Dee continued northward to the shore of Loch Tuath, passing between ranks of leafless coleus trees. There were coinean tracks everywhere, but no creatures visible. The furry, long-eared reptilians had fled at the sound of the approaching tractor.

At the sea-loch’s edge Dee stopped and climbed out again. It was low tide, and the seaweed on the exposed rocks smelled like iodine and Earth oranges. There were more animal tracks, the large four-toed footprints of a fish-eating dòbhran and the smaller marks made by sgarbha, larger birds resembling red cormorants. Then, on the other side of the dock, she made an exciting discovery. In the wet sand were drag-marks, wide as a wagon, where a female teuthis had scrambled out of the sea to plant one of her amazing homeothermous egg-cases on the upper strand. Dee wished she could have seen the huge, tentacled decapod emerge at high tide. She had never seen a living teuthis, although bits and pieces of the sea monsters, killed by zeugloids, often washed up on Beinn Bhiorach shores. Ken still treasured the model of the creature that Grandad had given him when they first came to Caledonia.

Dee’s deepsight found the barrel-sized packet of embryos
buried beneath a big pile of shingle and debris that now blocked the doors of Daddy’s new boatshed cum warehouse. But it didn’t matter. By springtime, when the building was in use again, the fierce babies would have hatched and crawled back into the sea.

The waters of Loch Tuath were black, lapping as turgidly as oil against the beach and the snow-bonneted rocks. Soon the north wind would blow small icebergs into the fjord and it would freeze into slush for nearly half its length.

A single rhamphorhynchus flew overhead, trailing its long bony tail with the feathered tip and uttering melancholy shrieks.

“I will not cry,” Dee said firmly.

She got back into the tractor and headed south at top speed. After returning the equipment to its place, she trudged around the stock barn and across the white-blanketed truck garden to the schoolhouse. Gavin was flat on his stomach in the snow at the edge of the road, connecting the new section of melting grid to the subterranean power main. A small dragline, a composite mixer, bags of sealing compound, and an open kit of tools were scattered around him.

“For chrissake stay off my sidewalk,” he growled at her. “It’s taking forever to set in this cold.”

She decided not to remind him that the freshly poured sealant mix would harden instantly once the melting grid was turned on. Entering the school, she took off her suit and boots and padded to her study carrel in stocking feet. Today was Di-sathuirne, when satellite school was not ordinarily in session; but the Education Ministry in New Glasgow was expecting Dee to log on and obtain her transcript data. It was much more economical for Gran Masha to carry the data-fleck to the new school on Earth than for the Caledonian school system to transmit it via subspace.

Dee took up the command microphone and summoned the office of her form. To her surprise, the round, smiling face that appeared on her monitor was that of Tutor Una MacDuffie, her favorite teacher.

“There you are at last, Dorothea! I arranged to come in so I could say a very special goodbye. You must never say a word about this to the other children in your school … but I’ve always thought of you as a very special pupil. So creative and bright! I’m not at all surprised that you’ve gone operant.”

Dee could not help showing her surprise and uneasiness. “Nobody was supposed to know.”

The tutor laughed merrily. “Not know? Oh, lass, it’s been the
talk of Tutorial House ever since your metapsychic assay was done last month. Even Dirigent Hamilton got word of it and called us. Didn’t your father tell you that your quotient is the highest that’s ever been recorded on Caledonia?”

“No, ma’am,” Dee whispered, stricken with dread.

“Well, don’t go getting a swelled head over it. Just do your best at the Preceptor’s on Earth and make us Caledonians proud of you.”

“I’ll try, ma’am.”

“Bless you, dear. Be sure you keep on with your clothes-designing and jewelry-making, too. It’s good to work with the hands when one has to spend overmuch time cudgeling the brain.”

Dee nodded. “I think you’re right, Tutor MacDuffie. And I will.”

“Now I’d better transmit your fleck data. You’ve more important things to do this last day on Callie than chunnering with me.”

Dee asked the tutor to send Ken’s data as well. When the two flecks—transparent squares no wider than thumbnails with a microscopic data-carrier sandwiched in the center—popped out of her computer, she put them into a boîte, said a final goodbye to the tutor, and shut her computer down.

She left her carrel and wandered around the schoolroom for the last time. The half-finished projects of the other children—the printouts, the science experiments, the artwork, and the other hands-on assignments that were part of satellite school—were still strewn about the worktables. None of her things or Kenny’s remained. No one would ever know they had studied here.

Outside, the sky had darkened again and a few snowflakes were falling. Gavin was still working on the power connection. Looking out the window, Dee let her ultrasense flick over him and learned a few new obscenities. Why should she walk past him again and endure more insults? She decided to use the burrows.

Retrieving her suit and putting on her boots, she descended in the lift to the tunnel system that connected all of the farmstead buildings. The burrows were brightly lit and warm, with smooth gray cerametal walls. A mole-car came trundling along a few minutes after she tapped the call-pad.

Her father was already seated in it.

“Get in, Dorrie. Your grandparents just arrived. I was on my way to meet them. Livestock all in good fettle?”

“Yes, Dad. They’re fine. I went down to the loch shore after I finished with them. A teuthis buried its egg-case right in front of the warehouse door! I’m sure of it. The track was just like ones I’ve seen on the Tri-D.”

Ian Macdonald laughed. “Well, the nerve of the brute! That hasn’t happened around here for years. Not since before you came.”

Dee found that she couldn’t reply. She turned her head toward the tunnel wall and once again willed that tears not spill from her eyes. A moment later the car slowed and stopped at the farmhouse.

Ian climbed out and extended his hand to her. After she had disembarked he stood there, silent, looking down at her. As always now, she permitted herself to know only the outermost thoughts in his mind. They were puzzling. She had expected the fear mixed with love, the deep disappointment, even the suppressed anger. But why was his mental image of her superimposed upon the image of her mother?

“Dorrie, I’m going to ask a strange thing of you.” He hesitated.

It’s all right Dad. I’ll do anything! Anything! Ask! …

“Your mother. Find out why it happened. I can’t believe she and the others died only by chance, as they say, just picked at random by those anonymous murderers. There was some reason. Find it! You mustn’t say anything to the other operant adults, though. Don’t let anyone know that you’re prying around. You could get into serious trouble …”

He broke off, as if suddenly aware of the burden he was placing on an eleven-year-old child. “Och, God, no! What am I saying?” He was shaking his head, his face twisted with emotion, moving away from her toward the lift. “I’ve no right to ask this of a wee lass! Forget what I said, Dorrie. I’m a glaiket loon.”

Daddy. Wait.

He halted and turned back to face her, startled and then suddenly terrified at the realization that he had been coerced. He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “But you’re not just a child, are you? You’re not even like
her.
You’re more than she ever was. God only knows what you are.”

“I’m your daughter,” she said. “I love you and I’ll do as you asked. Find out about Mum and the others. I was going to do it anyway.”

He stared at her.

“Please, Daddy,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I’m the same as I always was.” The same.

“Yes.” There was despair in his eyes. “I know that … now. Go ahead then and see what you can find out. It’s driven me half-daft, you see, thinking it was a stupid casual killing. That God let Viola be snuffed out for no reason, like some ant getting stepped on …”

“I don’t think it was like that. I can’t tell you why, but that’s what I think. I’ll find out, Dad, and I’ll tell you.” And if it’s possible, I’ll do even more.

He nodded, seeming to understand.

The lift car was waiting. The two of them got into it without speaking further. She handed him the little plass box with the school transcript flecks and he simply nodded. At the first floor, Ian Macdonald got off. Dee continued up to the third floor, to her own room.

Quickly, she washed and put on the pleated Macdonald tartan skirt she had made herself, a white silk blouse, and a hunter-green blazer with silver buttons. They were her best clothes. Grandad’s pearls went around her neck and she put the rhinestone mask pin in her skirt pocket. It took only a few more minutes to pack a seat-bag with pajamas and personal things, and to tuck a clean handkerchief into the new leather purse that had been a farewell gift from Janet.

Her other things were already in the small, tightly packed trunk standing near the bedroom door. Had she forgotten anything? She looked in the bath, checked the dresser drawers, opened the tall wardrobe.

Her handsome silver flight suit hung there, with the helmet and boots on the wardrobe floor. She had intended to leave it behind, but now …

“Kenny!” She grabbed the outfit, dashed out of her room, and went into her brother’s, across the hall. “You’ve got to help me! I don’t have any more room in my trunk.”

He looked up with a startled expression, his arms filled with folded shirts and jerseys. “You want to take that? What the hell good will it do you on Earth?”

“Please,” she begged. “I just
have
to take it.”

Muttering good-naturedly, he made room in his trunk. “Good thing for you I’m not a clotheshorse.”