ch 6 Kev

If a psychic ground existed, like the ground in an electrical circuit, it would have drawn a fat blue spark of resentment and apprehension. The Nobles' decision was final. The E-2 was headed to check out the signal. The mortals had half convinced themselves that Gull was lying somewhere just outside the ring wall. Lucas had glared at the blinking cursor on the comp screen map as it it had personally offended him.

"Ordinarily I'd say of course, if the Sparrow link goes off, we'd pitch right in. But this is kilometers from where Gull went down. We should be flying the perimeter, looking for tracks!"

Tiglath stood, patient as the marble statue he resembled. The Healer's words evidently called for no response. The Chairman had acquiesced to the Noble's counsel and ordered the pilot to come about.

Gull's father stared out of a window bubble, trying to see through the dense forest that now covered the ground. The old interstate right of way occasionaly showed as an area of thinner growth. He glanced at the comp screen. The cruciform cursor still crept toward the small river that indicated the boundary of the preserve. The arrow that showed their own position was visibly closing, but minutes crept slowly by. He tried not to grow too hopeful, and distracted himself with searching for any visible clue.

Kev was watching the screen, half afraid to look outside. He saw the cursors almost merge, then jump apart again as the pilot punched for a finer scale mapping. Topographic lines crept over the screen like moire´ patterns in doubled silk fabric. Outside the cargo hatch, treetops rushed by, the tallest almost brushing the belly of the E-2.

"Their signal's still moving- it looks like they're almost to the river," he reported. He felt the ship slacken speed, but the end of the forest still took them by surprise. They caught a sudden glimpse of green meadow, and their reflection in still water, like a sudden dark cloud.

The pilot called "Hang on!" and slewed the ship nose to tail, climbing a little to kill their momentum. Everyone crowded around the hatch to stare at the riverbank, a level lawn like a bite out of the forest. It was empty. Kev glanced at the screen: the two cursors were superimposed. Before anyone could speak, the brush stirred, and several figures emerged. Kev heard Adamson cry out.

Tiglath spoke. "Take us down, pilot."

A hissing howl filled the forest as something big passed overhead, sending a footprint of shadow past them. Mitch looked up, blinking sweat from his eyes as Gull's weight made his legs tremble. Blade and even Leda had helped somewhat, but the youth from the settlement was nearly Mitch's size.

"I hope that's the help you sent for, Leda," he panted, high stepping through the brambles.

They had seen the cargo ships from a distance, but the E-2 was quite big enough at close quarters. Like a huge halved egg, with the smaller bulges of the pilots' compartment and cargo hold depending like a double yoke, the airship hung motionless over the creek. As they reentered the meadow, it slid forward until the shadow from the overshot prow covered them. Leda had been leading the pony, and it shied a bit as the breeze from the maneuvering jets stirred the branches. With a percussive chuff, claw tipped tethers shot into the turf and motors whined, winching the ship into stability. Figures leaped to the ground as the hatch extended and dropped to form a ramp.

Mitch stood and allowed a worried man in an ill-fitting coverall to take Gull from his back. Two more settlers were behind him with a stretcher. They laid the boy back onto the foam surface and began cutting away what was left of his jumpsuit. Unpacking folding boxes of medical equipment and supplies, they began attatching various items to the exposed skin. After making sure that he was breathing, and seeing that he was deeply unconcious, the man stepped back out of their way and turned to Mitch. Tears streaked his cheeks.

"I'm the boy's father. I can't thank you enough for finding him-"

Mitch took the proffered hand, shook it a bit awkwardly. "Gull was awake a bit when we found him sir. He's a strong boy. But it wasn't me- it was Leda, over there."

Blade shoved the blushing girl forward. "I hope he'll be alright, sir," she said. "I was just following this pony, he'd run off into the Badlands-"

Adamson shook her hand vigorously. "Well, thank the Living Christ for runaway ponies, then. Bless you for giving my boy back to me!"

"I'm glad I could help. The trader gave me this necklace just yesterday." she held up the distorted pendant. "Did you really hear the signal?"

"We most certainly did. " Adamson turned back to the medics. "How is he, Lucas."

The healer's face was grave. "Well, we're treating him for shock and exposure, and he's stable, for the moment. There's not much residual radiation on him, but it's hard to say how much he was exposed to. It doesn't look good though- you see the bruising. He's probably had a stiff dose."

"We gave him a little water, when we found him, sir," Leda volunteered. "But he threw it up and then passed out." She watched the healers work, cleaning cuts and abrasions with a foaming solution, spraying a clear sealer on the worst. A humming, blinking box about the size of a potato was strapped to Gull's upper arm. He moaned and moved restlessly on the stretcher. Lucas made an adjustment on the unit, and he subsided.

"It's best for him that he be sedated right now," he explained. "We'll bring him out of it later. Jacob, you finish it up, and then we'll get him in the ship." He got to his feet, and came over to Leda with several instruments. "Young miss, with your permission, we'll check you and your friends, make sure you haven't been contaminated by young Ben Adamson. Miss-"

"Leda Istoria, sir. We've been here all night- we were caught by the storm, and spent the night under the old overpass."

"You did a marvelous job, all the same." His hand went to the silver chain around her neck, lifted out the misshapen tube. "I take it that you were the one who used the Sparrow link. I must say I didn't expect it to be put to use so promptly. Let me replace the transmitter for you." He got some shears out of one of the boxes and snipped the tough polymer casing, replaced it with an unblemished tube that snapped securely into the chain.

"Thank you, sir, but we need to hurry back to the village; some of our friends are headed that way now. We-" she faltered, her gaze going past his left shoulder. Lucas turned to see what she was looking at.

"Please allow us to give you a lift back to your village." Mawri said. She and Tiglath glided majestically down the ramp, moved to the stretcher. Jacob finshed tucking a foil blanket around Gull, and backed out of the way.

"This will take but a moment. Healer Lucas and Jacob have done well, but I believe we should take a closer look."

Mawri held her staff horizontally, and passed it smoothly down the length of Gull's body, her eyes closed in concentration. Leda gasped as a three dimensional image appeared, floating in the air above him, sketched in hair-thin lines of colored light. In response to the Noble's hand, various areas of the image glowed and faded. At one point, Leda thought she saw Gull's heart beating, drawn in ghostly detail. The image faded.

"Let us all board the ship; we will transmit our scan back to the City for consultation with the Chavvah," stated Tiglath. The healers picked up Gull's stretcher; Mitch and Blade followed them eagerly, but Leda hung back.

"You are not nervous about flying, surely," chided Mawri. Leda shook her head, dark hair flying.

"N-no, ma'am." She held up the rope of the pony's halter. "I don't know that they want him in there, but I need to get him back to John Howard's.

Anyway, I don't know if I could get him inside in any event. He's pretty wild." Leda was surprised to find that she could talk easily to the Noble.

"Let me see if I can help." The Noble took the rope from Leda's hand, clucked softly to the horse. Evidently, the fascination that mortals had with Nobles extended to the animal kingdom, too: as if in a daze, the little beast followed her onto the ramp, and stood as if rooted, even when the ramp lifted under its feet and closed them all into the belly of the ship.

Leda stood, hanging onto a strap, trembling more than the pony. She was flying! She looked around. Used to hand hewn lumber and blacksmith forged steel, the interior was almost alien in appearance. In a world that had almost nothing in the way of large scale industrial metalworking, the fuselage was organic, flowing. In many cases, surfaces were actually grown, chitenous panels similar to the crystalmoss that formed the walls of the hangar. The outer skin of the pods were honeycombed for stength and insulation. Even if the Niven-Hawking fields were turned off, the ship would have needed the tethers; a strong wind would send it rolling like a tumbleweed.

The ship twitched, as the grapples broke free of the ground with small explosive charges. Leda felt dizzy, and the others must have looked concerned, because another boy, between Mitch and Blade in age, spoke.

"Don't worry, we're not falling. What you're feeling is the lift field. The ship, including us, is getting lighter, which allows the whole thing to float."

He smiled, though Leda got the feeling he was nervous, too. He huddled on a bench across the back of the compartment, staring at the figure on the stretcher. Leda smiled back, then glanced out the window and gasped.

"We're so high up already!" Mitch and Blade scrambled to portholes to gawk at the sight of the Yon hills below them, and the broad roof of the Hilton, already visible through the trees. Leda didn't know where to look first- at the landscape, or the interior of the ship with its multitude of unfamiliar doors and hatches. There was even what seemed to be a TV screen on the far wall. It held the images of several men and a weeping woman, and the tall Noble was standing before it, speaking, evidently in contact with them. Leda studied Gull a moment, detecting despite his swollen features, a strong resemblance to the woman. His mother, most likely. Leda remembered cradling the youth on the forest floor. He seemed to her a marionet from a summer fair theatre with its strings missing. She felt strangely maternal, herself, as if she was somehow connected to him.

"Hey, Leda," called Blade. "We're almost over the Hilton."

She looked down, seeing the almost calligraphic scrawl of the white gravel Market paths. She could hear the ringing of the meeting bell in the Hilton's cupola, saw the scurry of townsfolk dragged from breakfast.

"Leda, come here." The voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. She looked over, saw Gull's eyes were open.

"Hey, flyboy. How are you feeling?"

"Not a thing. The medpack is seeing to that. Da says that it was you that called the ship."

"Well, I figured that you'd rather not walk home. Look, you probably ought to rest or something." She was concious of the Healer, shifting impatiently behind her.

"I'm resting- the docbox barely lets me move my lips. . I want to say thank you. I won't forget this. Tell me, is there a tall, blonde kid in the ship with us?" Leda looked up at the boy, sitting on the bench, out of Gull's line of sight. He seemed to wilt under her gaze.

"Yeah, there is."

"Send him over. I'll probably hate him later, but I'm too full of endorphins right now." The boy got up reluctantly, and squatted on the other side of the stretcher.

"Geez, Gullible. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Can it shrimp." He breathed a ghost of a laugh. "It's almost worth it to see you so miserable." His eyelids fluttered. "Man, I'm tired. Gotta go. Just watch your back, cousin..." he smiled, and then succumbed to the urgings of the docbox.

"Is he going to die?" Kev asked the healer.

Lucas started to say something comforting, but stopped. "Yes, Kevin, it's possible. There seems to be massive damage on the cellular level. We don't know now whether he'll be able to repair it on his own or not."

"Just tell me if there's anything I can do. I mean, didn't they do bone marrow transplants on radiation casualties, before?"

Mawri spoke. "Such crude and painful methods will not be neccessary."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Lucas.

"Discussion must wait, until the boy and both his parents are present. It is... a drastic step." There came the sound of the tether lines being fired, and the return of normal weight. Daylight flooded the hold as the hatch yawned. Kev could see a crowd of faces ranged around the E-2, some curious, some annoyed at what they viewed as an invasion of their territory. Those annoyed were somewhat moillified as the passengers emerged, to excited reunions with friends and families. He noticed that Leda was met by no one, though she chattered with the other children of the village. The Chairman and the Nobles briefly left the ship, to make explanations and express appreciation.

As the ship rose into the air, Kev could see a small figure, dressed in brown homespun, trudging along the bank of the river, away from the resuming bustle in the meadow. Then, the ship turned for home and the sight was lost.

"Kevin- Kevin, wake up!" He struggled to sit up, groaning at the ache of a stiff neck. It was his father. For a moment, muzzy with sleep, Kev thought that the past thirty-six hours had been a dream. Then, he realised that he was belted into his seat on the E-2's bench, back in the hangar. With the release of tension on the return flight, he must've fallen asleep. He looked around, trying to work a kink out of his neck. The ship was empty, and his father stood at the top of the ramp. Hatcher Vanduvier, blonde and tall like his son, though a good deal huskier, was actually a great uncle of Gull's father, though he looked little older, and had seen more of the foolishness that mortal man is capable of. He looked at his son without expression.

"Dad! You're back!" Kev had hoped that the news of his escapade hadn't reached the logging camp. Evidently a futile hope. But to his surprise, his father's voice was more weary than angry.

"They took Gull on to the infirmary. I heard that you were a fair amount of help on the flight. That's good. Go home, clean up, and try to get some rest. The Council will be meeting this evening to try and figure out what to do with you."

"Yes sir." Kev followed his father in silence along the path from the hangar. He looked at the sky: between the treetops, wispy clouds scattered over stoneware blue. By the angle of the sun he judged that lunch was well over. He knew that his mother would be there, waiting with some fruit and a small meat pie. Ordinarily, meat pie a la mother was something to look forward to, but his throat constricted at the thought of the Council. In the new World, crime was rare, but swiftly punished; violence was almost unheard of. What could he expect? Public flogging? Exile? What if Kev should die? What did an eye for an eye mean if the offense was radiation poisoning?

They crossed several paths that radiated from the common lawn around the Great Hall. Not really streets, they were never meant for vehicular traffic. The kibbutz' residences were scattered within walking distance of the Hall, along avenues formed by the clearing of brush and smaller trees, and planted with the tough, dwarf ruggrass.

They turned down their lane. It was unmarked, except by a handmade signpost someone had fashioned in the kibbutz' early days. It held several small arrow-shaped signs pointing in various directions. One said 'Albny 1800 km', another said 'Jerusalem 23421 km'. Another said 'Antarctica' and had several distances, successively crossed out, a joking reference to the accelerated continental drift brought about by the disasters of the Apocalypse. Still another said 'Washington', and pointed almost straight down. Kev didn't know if this was just a fastener failure, or another joke.

Several houses peeped from the foliage along their route. One sported an onion-shaped dome, another was deeply earth-sheltered, with wildflowers blooming on a sod roof. Diversity in design was encouraged at Kibbutz Jeshua. Some houses reflected their owners' cultural heritage, some merely their taste. If you didn't agree with it, well, there was plenty of room, and you could always plant more shrubs. They turned beside an azalea thicket the size of the E-2, and up a pattern of river stone that thickened into a small, irregular pavement outside the Vanduvier's front door. Many of the homes in the settlement were constructed like the hangar: an inflated membrane was sprayed with crystalmoss spores, which were carefully tended and watered. They sprouted, producing an interlaced mat of silica-cored branchelets that produced small, fleshy leaves the size of fingernails. These multiplied, overlapping one another untill the surface resembled the hide of some scaly dinosaur. The plant sweated a thick coat of resin that fused everything together, choking off further growth. It took several months to mature, but was self-healing: damage released more spores.

The Vanduvier residence reflected the occupation of its owner. The core of the house was a small timber cabin, thrown up to provide a husband and wife basic shelter, and then added to over the years with lumber from the forests around the kibbutz. The roof was random width pine boards sealed with crystal moss . The wood had an almost mirrorlike shine that came from the braided molecule cutting filaments that had replaced bandsaws and other relics of the Steel Age. The floor and foundation were river stone, cut like cheese with the same blade and set in a matrix of polished housecoral, which sent its antiphototrophic filaments deep into the ground and bound whatever it found into a concretelike mass.

Esther Vanduvier rose from the desk beside the house core, the compscreen clearing of its image, to be replaced with the default scroll, a collection of pictures produced by the settlement's children over the years. Everything from simple flower-and-sun scrawls to fantasticly detailed landscapes and portraits danced over the screen set into the fixture.

"There you are!" Kev's mother was a petite woman, but well rounded, with dark, curly hair framing plump cheeks. She hurried over to them and hugged them both. Kev felt a kick from his sister-to-be, still several months away, but already active.

His mother laughed, but quickly sobered. Laying a hand on his cheek, she looked into his eyes. "Are you alright, Kevin? You look tired."

Kev stood stiffly at attention. "I'm fine, ma."

"Can you eat anything? You've been going night and day, and I bet you haven't had a thing. Come on, both of you." She slapped their waists. "You both look like hound dogs with their tails caught in a door. I've got some sandwiches going, and I may have a meat pie around somewhere."

She shooed them ahead of her to the small kitchen on the other side of the core. The house service core was one of the few large items shipped to the kibbutz from the Continent. It contained communications and energy storage modules around a telescoping mast that carried antennas and collectors. Esther called it her giant swiss army knife. She opened the oven door, in a cloud of fragrant steam, beside the cluster of hand appliances in their charging slots. Kev's stomach suddenly revived, choosing to ignore anything but the most immediate future. The men sat at the large table, made from a ten centimeter slab of a hundred year-oak.

"We all listened to you on the comm, you know," she chattered. "The pilots kept us posted on what was going on. Just before you came in, I was talking to Beth Adamson up in the infirmary. She called here, can you imagine! She says that Gull is sleeping, that he's still stable, and that she appreciated your help today. I was very proud of you, volunteering to go down into Crater."

Kev eyed the stoneware plate that she laid before him. "I hope that she tells that to the Council. I'm really worried about what they're going to do to me."

"Oh nonsense! They've got to understand that you didn't mean it!"

His father spoke. "I hope so too, Esther. But what Kevin did was more serious than loosening the cover on the methane digester." Kev choked on his bite of meat pie. He hadn't realized that his father knew about that one. "Everything we do is subject to the weather. Before the City came, they relied on brute force solutions- high powered engines to punch through the atmosphere, and even then a bad storm could cause a ship to crash. Of course, everyone was in a hurry, back then, and who could blame them, living only seventy or eighty years. Now, with the City providing major weather management and reporting, when they warn us that something's coming, we can get out of the way. Even in the logging business, I need to keep a close eye on the wind so the aircranes stay under control. Maybe Gull should have kept a closer eye for storm sign. But it was Kevin's job to pass on the bulletins, and his cousin got more than wet. They didn't say much on the comm, Esther, but Gull recieved a pretty stiff dose of radiation walking out of Crater."

Esther looked stricken. "What could the Council do?"

"It depends on what happens to Gull."

The Council met in the Chairman Elder's office. It was a large room, with its own fireplace, and banners and hangings that softened the stone walls. Eleven men sat at a long table at the foot of the Chairman's desk. Prayer shawls over their shoulders, they consulted data slates that contained the charges, and information like the computer log of the previous day and statements from witnesses. Kev held a similar slate in his hands and watched the words and pictures scroll across the screen.

"Kevin Ben Vanduvier, do you find any innacuracies in the record?" The Chairman, like most of the other Council members, was one of the founders of the setlement. Five were actual Survivors, men who had lived through the Bad Years and the Rescue. The rest of the council were second generation except for John Gonzalez, chosen to replace a past member of the Council who had decided to retire and start farming again. Born in the early years of the settlement, at 73 he was the youngest member of the Elders. All however, appeared to be vigorous, if mature men.

"Sirs, I regret to say that it seems to be accurate." Kev stood erect opposite the table, feeling the warmth of the setting sun through the antique glass of the window behind him. His father sat uncomfortably to one side, and Tiglath and Mawri stood near the door, looking amazingly like the embroidered angels in one of the banners.

"Does this one have an Advocate?" The Chairman spoke the formal words, and Kev's father rose, came to stand beside his son.

"I am his Advocate. I ask for mercy. My son confesses that he was negligent in his duties at comm watch. However, it was not his intention to cause such injury to Gull Ben Adamson."

"Nonetheless, harm was done." One of the council spoke, from midway down the table. "Ignoring this... this prank will, I fear, send the wrong message to the youth of this community. 'Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction will drive it far from him.' Kevin is far too old for a parental spanking, but some strong correction is warranted."

Elder Gonzalez raised a finger. "In a simple assault case, a public flogging might be appropriate. This is a case of thoughtless mischief. Too harsh a sentence might make a hero out of the boy. He has already largely redeemed himself in the eyes of many by his efforts on the rescue."

Another Councilman tapped on his data slate with a stylus. "Brother Adamson himself presses no charges, but your son's actions affected others besides himself and Gull. There is the economic loss of the hyperlight, and the cost of the search effort, and the cost of Gull's medical care while he recovers. I understand," the man said, with a nod to the Nobles, "That he will recover."

Kev lost the thread of the proceedings in a rush of relief. Gull was going to live! The words became a litany, repeated over and over, while the Council discussed fines, permanent or extended duty in Methane Management, or more direct forms of punishment. He was returned to reality by an elbow in the ribs by his father. Tiglath had stepped foreward, and Kev watched the Council as they fell silent. He was surprised to see momentary flashes of fear or anger on several faces.

Tiglath's voice resonated in the chamber like a bass violin. "Will the Council permit a suggestion?"

"By all means." The Chairman waved a hand.

"I sense that the boy has repented of his actions. Let us design a punishment to fit the crime, as it were, the better to drive home the lesson. Gull will be going to Jerusalem for treatment. He will indeed recover, but it will be a difficult process, and take some time. Let young Vanduvier accompany him, to see to his needs. This will save the kibbutz nursing expenses and give Gull family in a distant place. It may also remove an irritant from the community and allow tempers and memories to mellow."

An irritant! Kev's cheeks burned, but at the same time his heart hammered at the thought of a trip across the ocean to the Continent. Those who could afford it, and those the community could spare went to Jerusalem for the High Feast at summer's end. It had been years since his family had made the rotation and boarded the Lady Jeshua for the nearly week-long flight. Those who stayed behind made do with home-grown entertainments and watched the ceremonies via satellite on the beamcast channels. The studios in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem took a break from their normal schedules of education and entertainment and everyone gathered around their house cores or the big repeater in the Common Hall.

The Chairman Elder frowned, then smiled. "Yes, upon reflection, I can see how that would be appropriate. Does the Council concur?" Nods from the long table. "The Advocate ?"

Kevin and his father looked at each other for a long moment. Kevin nodded, and Hatcher turned to face the Council and said the traditional words:

"Just and wise are the judgements of the servants of God."

The Council stood and departed. Father and son faced the Nobles in the darkening room.

Tiglath spoke. "Kevin, you need to be at the hanger in hour hours. We are arranging fast transport for Gull. He needs treatment immediately."

Kevin blinked. Four hours?

His father set a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go, son. Your mother isn't going to be very happy about this, but I do think it will be best. Let's get you packed."

"Okay, Da. May I go check on Gull first? I'll meet you back at the house."

"I suppose. It will give me a chance to break the news to Esther."

For a while , Gull was either unconcious or sedated. Certain images , such as the face of the Native girl, flitted like butterflies through his dreams. Her dark brown eyes under the roughly cut walnut hair sometimes superimposed themselves on his memories of Mary, who had stopped in at the infirmary to bring him a plate of brownies. She had looked at the IV tubes, and the beta burns that lobstered his legs and arms and burst into tears. Halfway between the two states of conciousness, Gull could do little more than attempt a smile and mumble. She kissed his cheek, dripping a salty tear onto his lips, and left, with Gull's mother clucking anbd patting her arm.

They told him he was going to Jerusalem. The words echoed and rebounded as if spoken inside a tunnel. Sure, somebody was pretty sick- you had to take them to Jerusalem. Now, who was going? He was taking a trip where? After a while they let him sink back into the cotton fluff that seemed to fill his head.

The infirmary was a couple of large airy rooms on the second floor of the Common Hall. They were used mostly for childbirth and accidental injuries; even the once common cold was no match for the Tree of Healing. The infirmary had its own core unit, and Lucas was seated at its comp terminal, pecking at the keyboard in the light of the glowglobes; evening had fallen outside the open windows. He maintained that he knew he was a doctor, because his handwriting was so bad that not even the data slates' recognition program could decipher it.

Kev tapped at the doorframe. "May I come in?" He stepped inside at Lucas' nod, looked around at the empty chairs against the wall. "Where's everyone?"

"The family's gone to get some food, and pick up Gull's things for the trip. As far as I can tell, it's going to be an extended stay."

Kev went over to the bed. Gull was cleaned up and dressed in a traditional hospital gown. His abrasions and burns were glistening with ointments, the worst cuts bandaged, but already showing evidence of continued bleeding. The docbox continued its serene blinking, though his breathing was labored, with a slight rattle. Kev shook his head and stood for a moment, eyes closed and head bowed. He spoke.

"I'm supposed to be going, too. What are they going to do with him?"

"They say I don't need to know the details." Kev could tell that Lucas was miffed.

"I've been trying to run something down on the core computer, but no luck. I just keep getting 'Information not available'."

Just then, the core beeped. "Message for Lucas," announced the synthetic voice. He turned back to the screen and touched a keyspot. Mawri's image came up on the screen. He could see the tapestries of the Chairman's office behind her.

"Greetings, Lucas. How is your patient?"

"Sedated and resting comfortably, though the electrolytes and blood gasses are drifting toward redline. Are you sure you won't give me a clue as to his treatment? We might need it for someone else someday- it might be good to keep the equipment or whatever on this continent."

"Gull's treatment must be undertaken by those of the City of God. The techniques and equipment would be beyond the capabilities of your people. You must inderstand that releasing certain technologies would be inappropriate."

"But-"

"I have spoken." Lucas tried and failed to meet her eyes, even second hand, through the comp screen. The Noble appeared to be a young woman, but Lucas sensed that she was older than some civilizations. He bowed formally.

"I heed and obey Lady. I am a servant of the Servants of God."

She smiled, seemed merely a young woman again. "Don't pout, Lucas, it doesn't become you. It has been a while since you visited the Holy City. How is your apprentice, Jacob coming along? Could the settlement spare you for a month or two?"

Kev watched the older man startle, caught off guard. "Let me think... no, Tabitha isn't due until August. I think Jacob could handle things for a while."

"Good. Pack your things, I will notify Jacob. You will be going with Gull and Kevin this evening, since your curiosity will not let you rest. A ship will be arriving in several hours. We will be coming up shortly with Gull's family."

"I will have him ready to go." Lucas broke the connection and sat back, stroking his short beard. Kev watched as Lucas went to his quarters in an adjacent room and began tossing clothing into a case. Suddenly, he stopped and danced a little jig.

"We're both going, my boy!" he shouted. "The Nobles may not release tech directly, but there's no telling what little tricks I might be able to pick up by looking over their shoulders."

"Good for you, sir. I'd better get out of here. See you at the hangar."

By the time Gull's family arrived, Lucas was back to his usual, dignified self. "How was dinner, Beth," he inquired.

Beth Adamson was dark haired, like her son. She smiled, trying to put on a brave face for him, but the last night and day had put dark circles under her eyes. She adjusted the baby in it's sling-carrier, who slept, indifferent.

"Fine, except they wouldn't let me help with it. I'm not the one who's in bed! How are you feeling, dear?" she moved to the bedside and ruffled his hair. Her son slept on, unheeding.

"I wish I could come along," she told him. Her husband joined them, Rafe pushing in between them like an affectionate puppy, curious about the bandages and equipment with the offhand indifference of the young.

"Now, Beth, we've gone over that," Adamson said. "We've got Rafe and the baby to think of, and Gull will be in better care than we can give him. We'd only be in the way."

"The ship is on its way," said Tiglath, from the doorway. "Time to leave."

Chapter 7