The Farpool (68 page)

Kloosee stopped several times to
inquire about the great roam that was even now forming just beyond
the seamounts. One pedestrian along a smashed floatway indicated
the
vish’tu
would start some
ten beats to the south of the Metash’pont, along the outer
borderlands of the Sk’ork Current, which curved south and
southwest.

“Too much noise…too much rubble and mud…too
many tremors,” the pedestrian admitted. “It’s not safe…and we have
visitors from all the kels.”

Kloosee drove the kip’t to the landing pads
of the Kelktoo em’kel, located halfway up the T’or seamount and
parked it there.

“Come on,” he told Chase. “Most of the other
Metahs are already here…the roam is starting soon.”

“Don’t we have time to eat and rest?” Chase
asked. His stomach had been growling all the way from Likte.

“The servlings will bring us food during the
roam. I’m already hearing things on the local repeater net…you’re
wanted right away. The Metah expects you to be at the head of the
formation, with her and the court. It’s a great privilege.”

They sped off, Chase completely blind because
of all the silt raining down. He had to rely on Kloosee and Pakma,
who pulsed their way unerringly to the flanks of a great gathering
of kelke outside the valley of Omsh’pont. There was nothing to see
but people, hundreds, maybe thousands, maybe the entire kel,
gathered in a single curving line, some five to ten abreast, all
jostling, shoving, honking and clicking, to secure their
positions.

Kind of like a Croc Boys
concert
, Chase thought to himself.
On a good night.

Slowly, as if they had been swallowed whole
and were being pushed along by peristalsis, Kloosee, Pakma and
Chase made their way through the gathering to the head of the roam.
Approaching the circle of Metahs, they were firmly intercepted by
prodsmen.

One of them gruffly blocked their way, using
his prod as a shield. “This is a protected position. You must be
tekmetah to come here.”

Kloosee explained who they were. The
prodsman looked doubtful but the news was passed forward and in
moments, they found themselves escorted by more prodsmen through
grumbling court hangers-on and privy council members, the Kel’em,
to near the front of the
vish’tu
. There, they encountered Iltereedah
herself, along with Lektereenah, the Metah or Ponk’et and Okeemah,
Metah of Sk’ort. The kel of Sk’ort occupied much of the southern
seas, south of Omt’or.

Lektereenah recognized Chase
immediately. “This is the
eekoti
visitor who came to Ponk’t and stirred up my kelke, talking
with the Tailless, having
ke’shoo
with our women, fighting our tuk artists…why should I roam
with this foreign scum?”

This made Iltereedah mad. “Because
the
eekoti
knows how to
rebuild the Uman machine. He knows how to re-create the Farpool.
Treat him with respect. Ke’shoo and Ke’lee doesn’t only happen in
Ponk’t.”

Chase was about to say something but
Kloosee nudged him.
Save it for later.
Answer her questions. Don’t speak unless spoken too.

Jeez, she doesn’t look like
the Queen of England
, Chase thought, but he kept
silent. Just keeping up with the roam was going to be hard
enough.

They set out and in an hour were cruising
over a rubbly plain black with silt and mud, surrounded by
thousands of kelke from many kels singing the songs in unison.

Iltereedah made her appearance with her
full court in tow. The
vishtu
formed swiftly as she paddled toward the head of the roam. A
hush rolled through the crowd like a strong current and there was
furious commotion behind them as the kelke pulled themselves
together. Kloosee stole a pulse at the magnificent sight: the
flanks curved out of range around the end of the valley and spread
out into the Omt’orkel itself, in evenly stepped divisions. He
imagined it as a massive seamother, poised to strike. A prodsman
tapped him on the dorsal and told him to face the Metah with all
pulses. From now on, he was expected to remain in flank with Chase
and Pakma.

They set off at a slow pace and Shookengkloo
Trench dwindled behind them; ahead, the southern limb of the
Serpentines could barely be pulsed.

Before he knew what was happening,
Chase found himself roughly conveyed by a phalanx of burly prodsmen
forward, up to the very head of the roam. There he found himself in
the midst of all the Metahs, Iltereedah, Lektereenah, Okeemah,
Oolandrah, all of them fronting the great
vish’tu
as it wound its way south by
southwest.

Iltereedah spoke, her voice strong and
powerful. Behind her, the Songs had fallen off to a rhythmic
chant.

“Eekoti
Chase,
you came as a guest to Omt’or. Now we depend on you. Now we need
you. You’ve become kelke with us. What can you tell us of this
great machine we’ve acquired?”

Now Chase looked over at Kloosee, who was
vigorously stroking alongside.

Thank God for this
cow
, he told himself.
I’d
never be able to keep up
. He patted the back of the
tillet, which twisted and turned to keep up with the roam. It
seemed to know what to do even if he didn’t.

“Your Majesty—“ How
did
one address the Metah? “—the Time Twister
has been brought to Likte…we have all the parts, all the
components. Now we just have to put them together.”

It was Lektereenah, Metah of Ponk’et,
who spoke now. “You can do this,
eekoti
? You have the knowledge to re-assemble
this infernal device?”

Chase wondered how he had come to this
point.
Jeez, what am I…chief engineer? I
sell T-shirts….”
Your Majesty, the Umans…the
Tailless…gave me a small memory tab awhile ago…it explains how the
machine works. With this, I think we can put the Twister back
together and make it work.”

Which, of course, was absurd. He had no idea
how to put the Twister back together. The engineers and craftsmen
and technicians and herders and spinners and other experts from
Omt’or, indeed from all the kels, would have to do the work. But
what else could he say? He was on a big stage, surrounded by
people…kelke…he couldn’t very well say no, could he? He hadn’t felt
like this since the Croc Boys’ first gig, that high-school dance at
Apalachee, so long ago. The birds were jumping up and down in his
stomach.

Lektereenah considered this. She was one of
the younger, smaller Metahs. Maybe middle-aged, supple, muscular,
even athletic. Kind of like Angie, with fins and a tail…yeah, he’d
always liked Angie’s tail—

“Our Ponkti technicians—“ the echobulb
translated Lektereenah’s words as
technician
—“ will help you.”

“Yes,” said Okeemah, the Sk’ortish Metah.
“Yes, we all want the Farpool working again. Time is running
out.”

Now Iltereedah was clearly worried.
“
Eekoti
Chase, it’s vital the
Farpool work as before. Your world…this place known as Urth…it is a
world of water, as is ours?”

Finally, something he could answer. “Yes, yes
it is, Your Majesty. Our world is mostly water…maybe seventy
percent. There are continents…big islands…that’s where my people
live.”

“And there are kelke in these waters,
no?”

Chase gave that some thought. “There
are fish, many species, living creatures adapted to the water. But
no intelligent---“ No, he didn’t want to say that, exactly.
Dolphins, whales, even octopus, they were pretty smart, weren’t
they? “There’s room for many kelke,” he finally blurted out.
Now I sound like a diplomat.
He
flashed on the Statue of Liberty:
give me
your tired, your poor, your wretched masses….

What was he getting himself into here? Could
be even speak for the rest of the planet?

Iltereedah went on. “We all agree…all
the Metahs have come to agreement on this. The Uman machine must
work as before, at least enough to make the Farpool work.
Eekoti
Chase, you must tell us what
you need. People, supplies, perhaps the proper scents, all of our
echobulbs…I’ll command the Kelktoo to make these available…all our
knowledge.”

“And ours too,” said Lektereenah and Okeemah,
almost simultaneously. The other Metah’s chimed in as well.

“But first, it has been decided,” Iltereedah
said. She pulsed Chase deeply, finding anxiety, nerves,
confusion…perhaps that was the way of Umans—“you must become
tekmetah…an arm of the Metah.”

Chase had heard the phrase before. “Uh…what
actually does that mean?”

He would find out when the great
vish’tu
completed its circuit of the
equatorial seas and returned to Omsh’pont, nearly a day
later.

“What does this thing called tekmetah
involve?” Chase asked Kloosee, when they were back in Omsh’pont.
The two of them had retired to a small cave-like chamber at the
base of the T’or seamount, where Putek’tu, Kloosee’s em’kel, had
quarters. “What do I have to do?”

Kloosee was preparing a meal for all of them,
crab, ertleg stalks, bulbs of stew. “Your echobulb should explain.
Turn it on.”

So Chase activated his bulb’s dictionary
function and listened…

“Tekmetah - The act of spiritually binding
any member of the kel to the will of the Metah for a specified
period of time. Basically a contractual relationship entered into
for the purpose of doing something the Metah would rather not be
associated with. Free-bonds can be used for anything but have come
to be employed in espionage and intelligence work in modern times,
thus a certain social stigma results from the public knowing a
person is bound this way. Failure to carry out the stipulations
requires the bound one to take his own life in shame. The bond is
cemented by consuming a vial, called a pot’l, of the Metah’s blood.
The incentives are many: loyalty, patriotism, special favors from
the Metah….”

“Take his own life…you’ve got to be kidding?”
Chase switched off the bulb, helped himself to ertleg claws and
sucked loudly. Others gathered around and there was a jostle of
smacking and sucking and chomping around the platform.

“It’s a formality,” Kloosee said.
“Being tekmetah means you become an agent of the Metah. You have
duties, certainly, but as tekmetah, all kelke are bound by law to
help you and give assistance, anyway they can. It’s a great
honor,
eekoti
Chase.”

Chase was dubious. “if you say so. When does
this happen?”

“First thing tomorrow.”

The ceremony was held at the Metah’s
pavilion, on a small hill in the center of the city, a hill nearly
obscured by rain and silt, dark and slowly being buried in mud.
Strong cross-currents had knocked down some of the baffles that had
once encircled the pavilion and the small and select audience had
trouble staying in position.

Iltereedah was there, as were most of her
court and the em’kel leaders from around the city, known as the
Kel’em. Chase was conducted to a small position alongside
Iltereedah. One difference in this ceremony was the presence of
other Metahs…there were five of them lined up behind Iltereedah.
Kloosee had said this was unusual, even special, signifying the
importance of the occasion.

Chase swallowed hard. The birds started
flapping around his stomach again.

For some time, Iltereedah made a speech. It
sounded like a cross between a song and a chant. Chase let his
echobulb translate but even the translation didn’t make any sense.
It sounded like Iltereedah was giving them all a history lesson,
reciting a long list of every important moment in Omtorish
history—

“…
the Eepkos plot…the
Pillars of Shooki…a great potu shortage…in the spirit of the Peace
of Tekpotu…mah’jeet blooms…the Boskeldic wingcraft….”

Chase decided that politicians were ever the
same, whether on Seome or on Earth.

Finally, the time came for him to swallow the
pot’l, a vial of the Metah’s blood. Iltereedah handed him the tube
and showed him how to unseal it. Chase looked around. They were all
looking right at him, expectant faces, half-smiles, frowns,
anticipation, disgust, concern, hope…it was hard to tell from the
faces. Seomish faces always looked the same.

He swallowed the blood and gulped it down,
then gave the vial back.

Mostly, it seemed to have little immediate
effect. It was warm, recently drawn, a bit salty, thick and brassy
in taste. Not too bad…but it wasn’t exactly a shrimp taco.

Then he felt momentarily faint and had
to be helped to a small pedestal nearby. He was briefly nauseated,
and not sure how regurgitation worked in his new body, but it
passed. The faces swam and blurred and for a time, he was back on
stage at Apalachee High again, this time it was the prom and he was
plucking at his
go-tone
, the
rhythm coming easily, he was nailing each note and he was
concentrating on the faces up front, there was Angie, only he
didn’t really know her well, but she was cute and he winked at her
and through some kind of signal neither of them understood, it was
arranged that she would turn up backstage after the set and that
was the beginning of that—

Then the next thing Chase knew, he was back
at Kloosee’s em’kel chamber and being fed strong gisu to suck
on.