“Do you like samlon?” Aaron asked.
“What? Well, yes, of course,” Cadzie said.
“And what are samlon?”
“The juvenile form of grendels—oh.”
“Easy to forget, isn’t it? Back on the island, we farm samlon by caging some grendels as they grow to adolescence, let them lay and fertilize eggs, and kill them before they can kill us. Hard to be herders when you kill off your breeding stock every generation. Better to tame them. And the continent’s big and there are grendels everywhere there’s fresh water linked by streams. We have to live with them; don’t you think it’s a good idea to understand them better?” Aaron spoke in easy tones. Soothing. Almost hypnotic. His grendel-taming voice.
He’s said all this a hundred times, Cadzie thought.
“Never thought much about it, Aaron.”
“Why would you? Anyway, we had a little problem here a couple of days ago,” Aaron replied.
“Problem? What kind?”
“Attack on one of our herds,” Aaron said. He was speaking too casually, as if uncomfortable talking about it. “Three wild grendels using a pincer tactic. Killed two dogs and took a bison cow.”
The implications of that was disturbing as hell. “That’s . . really strange,” Cadmann replied. “They don’t usually cooperate. Were they some of yours?”
“No,” Joan said. “I heard about this. They seemed to act with forethought. We were lucky to kill them. Lucky it was only cattle, too.”
Cadzie had a notion. “Do you mind if I take one of the corpses back with me?” When there was no response, he continued, “The Shakas will certainly be interested.”
“If you wish,” Aaron said. “What brings you out here?”
“News. Excessively big news.”
The odd phrasing made Aaron pause. “And what would that be?”
“Someone’s coming.” Cadzie watched carefully. There always seemed something . . dead behind Aaron’s eye, almost like an alien peeking out from behind a human mask. Did he perhaps fancy himself part grendel?
“Coming where?”
“Here.”
“To the mainland?”
“To Avalon.”
Finally, the implication seemed to sink in.
“From . . where?”
“Cassandra’s not sure. Earth, we think.”
“A ship? A starship?” And now for the first time, real emotion mobilized Aaron’s scarred face. “How long have we known?”
“This morning. Cassandra called Carlos this morning, about dawn. He called me—”
“You? He called you?” Aaron’s expression didn’t change.
“Yes. Carlos tried to reach you, but you didn’t answer. He wouldn’t tell me over the air, so I had to go to his house, and then fly to the dam. Then I couldn’t tell Joan because of your blasted protocols, but she was the only one who knew where you were. This is the first she’s heard of it. You can get the rest from Cassandra.”
“What is it?” Aaron asked.
“A Geographic-size object, rapid deceleration, probable destination co-orbit with Geographic, origin unknown. The path is toward Sol, but not directly. It’s as if they started for a destination in our general direction, but somewhere along the line they changed course and headed for us. If you can get a better analysis out of Cassandra, go ahead and try. I can’t.”
“No wonder you look puzzled. What do—what does this presumed visitor say?”
“No communication detected. Cassandra assumes anything that big is manned, but she got no replies to messages. We’ve agreed to tell you before taking important actions, and—” He looked without much approval at the cages and other apparatus around him. “Carlos thinks doing anything more would be an important action. I assume you agree.”
Aaron fiddled with his communicator. “Cassie?” he asked.
“Yes, Aaron?” Cadmann couldn’t help noticing that Cassandra’s voice for Aaron was lower (sexier?) than the one she used for him. He wondered what that said about Aaron.
“What do you know about this approaching mass?”
“It is as Cadmann the Second described. Geographic-sized, decelerating, and on a path projected to match orbits with Geographic. It presumably changed course at least once assuming it came from Sol. There is no other reasonable assumption.”
“Artificial, then? Man-made?”
“The exact origin cannot be determined. Insufficient data.”
“Widen your parameters,” he said. “Make a guess.”
“I prefer not to speculate about extrahuman intelligence, Aaron.”
He frowned. “But it might be a starship?”
“That is certainly possible, Aaron.”
“And we don’t have communication with them?”
“Nothing to report at this time,” Cassandra replied. And disengaged.
Aaron grunted. “Odd,” he said.
Cadzie stepped into the breach. “By now Carlos will have informed the rest of Camelot. I see Joan is on the phone so I expect she’s telling the other Starborn.” Tragon’s daughter had stepped away. Her wristband pulsed a dull red, and she chattered excitedly into the air. Those wristband pulses were the only thing that told you someone was talking to another human being, not merely babbling.
Aaron spoke, perhaps to Cadzie and perhaps to the air, “A ship from Earth. When did they leave?”
“We don’t know?”
Aaron frowned. “Why not?”
Cadzie shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t know. They’re not answering.”
Joan and Aaron exchanged quizzical expressions. “Isn’t that strange?” Joan asked.
Aaron said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Cassandra may. The old girl is creaking a bit, but I have no real reason to doubt her.”
“Ummm . . .” Joan’s discomfort was obvious. With what? Him? Her father? The notion of visitors? Or something else? He couldn’t read her. She toed the dirt and stared off in the opposite direction.
“Do I?” Aaron asked. “Josie?” he called to his assistant. “Watch things here. I have something important to take care of.”
With Aaron sitting in the jump-seat behind Joanie, the autogyro’s engine made angry sounds as it labored back to the dam. Some private words between Aaron and his daughter had triggered a dark expression, followed by silence. Their combined weight strained the aging skeeter’s engines as they flew.
When they returned, she would not tell Cadzie what was going on, only that he needed to stay until dark, that there was something she wanted to show him. When he protested, she evaded direct answers by encouraging him to strip and repair the autogyro, offering him Toad and his assistants to dig in and clean the fuel lines.
Why was she so desperate to stall him? Why wouldn’t she speak? Was she playing a little tit-for-tat? He’d made her wait, so she was making him wait? No . . it seemed more purposeful than that. “Why are you trying to keep me here?”
She smiled with an odd, cool humor. “Oh, Cadzie. Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”
“That’s a relief.” He and Joan could rarely be in the same room for five minutes without rubbing each other raw. “What is going on?”