Depending on who you were and what you believed, there were at least three ways of viewing the motion of the sun around Patra-Bannk. If you were of Ta-tjenen, all the Patras and Bannks were the same length—six teclads—and, timewise, the sun always climbed at a constant rate per teclad. If, on the other hand, you were Gostum, the Bannks varied in length and the time between sunrise and noon of one Bannk wasn’t even nearly the same as during another. Thus, the sun did not move at a constant rate; it moved according to its whim, sometimes shooting across the sky, sometimes—during the Weird Bannk—seeming to hover as though lifeless near the horizon for teclads on end before deciding to get on with its journey. Of course, varying the angle in the sky added a third possibility, and if you were Effrulyn, it didn’t matter and you could have it all ways at once.
But, to a first approximation, you could say that the terminator crawled to Konndjlan and Ta-tjenen at the rate of less than one degree per Two-Bit day. The air became colder until the windows from the terminator started pumping heat into the dark side. And then the winds grew violently turbulent, as they had been at sunset.
Finally came the sun, which a few hardy Tjenens witnessed. They had gone Above several times during the last beclad to make sure it was coming, because by Patra’s end, Alhane’s clocks were often off by more than a beclad, and Alhane still didn’t trust his father’s data. The sky was already light and the last stars had faded from view. Stringer found himself anticipating the day with a greater eagerness than he could ever remember having waited for anything. How many months in the dark? He couldn’t remember; months meant nothing. How many kilometers paced in claustrophobic confinement? Uncountable. And now the sun was coming, any moment now. Alhane was wrapped in quazzat, eyes on pedestaled transit, ready to call down to his daughter at the first trace of the sun so that she could set the master clock. Why weren’t all the other Tjenens Above to witness the event? How could they stay Below? Stringer wondered as the cryogenic air howled around his head and he steadied himself against the house.
Then he saw the trace above the western horizon. There it is!
he shouted, trying to lift his voice
above the wind. There it is!
He jumped and
pointed. It was only the minutest of lines above the far plains, but it was
the sun. And Stringer waited for the glorious sun to rise and illuminate
the world, ready to bask in its life-giving rays. But it remained where it
was, not moving, laughingly defying him. Come
on!
he yelled. Do something!
The sun, as
always, didn’t listen, and Taljen caught his arm and took him Below. Now
Stringer understood why the Tjenens didn’t bother with sunrises.
It was now four beclads after sunrise, Killer Bannk beclads, a third again as long as those of the Weird Bannk. Stringer paced the Under nervously. Every minute, every second, every clad, belclad, and telclad were important now, but it was still too cold and windy for him to move. He kept himself occupied by putting the last touches on the sailplane. Alhane, taking time off from his new hobby, helped by painting an outline of a bird on the nose, wings, body, and tail. He said it was a solofar, a giant bird that Stringer had only heard about. Alhane wanted to call the sailplane Bidrift, which was a small cousin of the legendary solofar. Stringer couldn’t understand why Alhane wanted to call the craft a bidrift after claiming he had painted it as a solofar, but in any case, Stringer thought that One Shot was a more appropriate name. Alhane refused to be pessimistic, and they compromised by calling the sailplane Nothing.
In the end, even that chore was finished, and Stringer could only pace or play his rodoft for the dances. But his heart was not in the music, if it ever had been.
When finally someone entered the communal room and announced that it was time to go Above, Stringer almost threw his rodoft in the air. Candles were lit and lines to the Gateway were formed. Stringer marched out among the chatty Tjenens, warmly dressed, holding his candle. The attendant at the Gateway was about to extinguish Stringer’s candle as he emerged, but a gust of wind blew it out beforehand. So goes the ceremony, Stringer thought happily.
He watched the Tjenens disperse, the constant talk turning to silence as they emerged from the tunnel. They gathered into their appropriate nestrexas and set about finding their new houses.
Stringer looked about him. The roof of the meeting tent was almost gone; he himself had seen it fall. In fact, most of Ta-tjenen seemed to be leveled. The nearest houses were all either completely collapsed or rent by huge gashes in their sides. Pieces of netting were strewn over the ground as far as he could see, and bits of wood were tuck into the frozen snow. At his feet, any bare spots on the plaza showed new cracks from expanding ice during the long Short Patra. The pod-trees around the park were, for the most part, still erect, except for a few unlucky ones, and they were all still closed, insulating resin completely solid. The Tjenens would have much resurrecting to do. Stringer walked around, climbed up to the numerous reservoirs that opened below, peered in, and saw ice.
Taljen found him later. Already her skin, like that of a chameleon, had
darkened several shades, and her eyes were no longer the light blue of the
Patra. Will you help with the repairs?
she asked
him.
I have work of my own to do.
Stringer, you can do nothing quite yet. Help with
the repairs. You are in Ta-tjenen still, and at Bannk’s beginning everyone
helps with the repairs. Everyone. And do not be anxious. This is not a
Bannk to look forward to, especially in our solofar.
All right.
Stringer gave in. He glanced
briefly to the west and was glad to see more of the sun.
Another two beclads passed before the town looked any cleaner and before
Stringer dared take out the sailplane. He detached the wings and searched
out Alhane. How are we going to get it
outside?
The door, obviously. Look here, Stringer.
Alhane
showed him a door in the old storeroom that Stringer had not noticed all
Patra. It opened to a sheltered spot not halfway up the hill on which
Ta-tjenen sat.
The Time Keeper’s children were called upon to help, as was Taljen, and the craft was carefully taken out of the storeroom and down the hill. They loaded it onto a large flat cart, and Stringer watched Alhane’s son, whose name was Alhen, whip the grask into action. The five of them walked down the shore road to the east as the glider made its first short journey. On the last rise before the sea Stringer saw the frozen ocean. Indeed, it was visible from the top of Ta-tjenen, but Stringer had not noticed it. He noticed it now, though, a vast, unbroken plain of frosty white stretching interminably. Only near the edge of the beach was water beginning to replace ice as the yellow sun crawled up into the air.
In a short while the wings were securely in place and Stringer was sitting in the cockpit. Long, light cables from the shuttle connected the glider to the grask team on the beach, leaving thin trails in fast-melting snow and mud.
Do you want to try it, Stringer? It is still very
windy.
It will always be very windy!
Stringer shouted
in reply and bit his lip.
Alhane shut the hood over Stringer’s head and waved to the others on the beach.
Stringer saw the cables grow taut and felt the glider begin to slide across
the ground. The wind buffeted the plane and he had to force himself to
relax. The ground grated by and suddenly there was no more sound. Stringer
looked down; he was in the air. A push of the lever and the cables were
gone. Up! Up!
he urged. Take me up!
He felt the controls in his
hands. They felt good; it had been a long time. A little too much roll this
way, a tendency to slip that way. The rudder was stiff; the elevators, a
little sticky. Stringer made mental notes as he watched the ground below
him streak by. He found a current of rising air and soared. He found an air
wave over a hill and rose higher. He had to exercise great restraint in
order not to fly away right then and leave Ta-tjenen behind him forever. He
searched for a landing spot and hit the wind crosswise. The plane lurched
and slipped. He tightened his grip on the stick and remembered rusted skills
not used for Patra-Bannks. The landing was rough, the ground came up fast,
but Nothing bounced twice on its wheel and slid to a halt,
undamaged. Stringer pushed the hood back and looked around. He saw his
friends come riding down the beach on graskback. Snow and dirt were flung
into the air behind flying hooves.
You did it!
the Time Keeper cried.
How was it?
Taljen yelled as she dismounted.
Stringer was backslapped by all. Rough wind. But
it flew and that’s good. We have to make some adjustments yet. And with you
in it.
Stringer worked constantly for a beclad on trimming the sailplane for flight. He forced himself to go without sleep as the sun urged him on with its headlong chariot ride into heaven. Why couldn’t that sun move at a constant rate? Always too fast when time was scarce and too slow when he didn’t need it. The line of ice was receding from the beach as the sun’s heat turned it into freezing water, and the snow on the beach was almost gone now, fast melting into nothing. Stringer eventually satisfied himself that he had a plane that would handle well and had a glide ratio of at least twenty to one, not good for a Two-Bit glider, which easily made seventy or eighty, but respectable for a homemade monster. He took one more look at the sun and the beach and the snow and knew it was time to leave.
He walked briskly to the shuttle for his tent and grasers. Even before he entered, he remembered the exile and climbed anxiously into the craft. In the cargo compartment, empty ration packets were neatly stacked up on one side, and his tent, rolled into its sack, was laid across two seats. Stringer checked all the compartments and the latrine. They were empty.
Well, good luck to us,
he said, and departed.
Shortly after Stringer reached the beach, the crowd began to form. He glanced at Taljen and she nodded. Word traveled quickly indeed in Ta-tjenen. He did not recognize any faces at this distance. He wondered how many were friends, those for whom he had played the rodoft, and he wondered how many were enemies, those who thought of him as an evil Polkraitz come back to destroy them. He was sure that most would be happy to have him leave, and he was glad to oblige.
Alhane walked along the crowded road on his way to the beach and mingled with the spectators.
I’ll bet you are glad to see him off, Time
Keeper,
Benjfold said in his rising voice.
Alhane sighed at the young man. Glad? I don’t know,
even if you do. The Alien asked interesting questions, which no one else
here asks. But he was troublesome, even I will admit to that.
Troublesome! I hope this insane trip kills him for
his gift of troubles!
Not a child’s punishment, this trip, whether the sun
acts benevolently or not.
Does he deserve a child’s punishment? After
killing the girl—
You speak strangely, Benjfold.
Is it any wonder? The Alien has done this to all
of us. He tried to kill me, you remember—
—and even myself.
You?
Yes,
Alhane chuckled. It
was near the end of the Bannk when we found the exile Above. Stringer
helped him by sheltering him in the shuttle—
Are you telling the truth?
Benjfold cried.
I have no reason not to.
Then he must be stopped now! Immediately! He is
Polkraitz in league with the Gostum and must be stopped!
But—
Alhane raised his arm, but Benjfold had
already lost himself among the throngs of people.
Alhane did not try to find Benjfold to reason with him, nor Kenken Wer to stop what he knew would shortly be a disaster. He ran out to the beach, struggling over his slight limp until he reached the glider. The crowd was already moving in his direction.
Stringer, you must go now! Go! Hurry! Don’t wait or
you’ll be killed. The found out about the exile. It was my fault. Go! Go!
Don’t wait for the sun!
Stringer saw Benjfold break away from the crowd and begin running toward them.
He nodded sharply to Alhane and got into the cockpit, where Taljen was already waiting.
Remember to keep a record for me, Stringer!
Alhane said, patting Stringer on the back with one hand and signaling to
the waiting grask team with the other. He stepped back just in time to
avoid the tail of the moving sailplane and being hit by a rock thrown from
the mob.
Rise, Bidrift, rise!
Alhane shouted
from the ground.
Up, Nothing! Sarek, get up!
Stringer
urged from the cockpit. He saw the crowd approaching from the corner of his
eye and winced. When he dared look again, they were falling behind with the
ground. A flick of the release lever and the glider was free; a rising air
current discovered and they were up; the southerly wind caught and they
were away. Stringer allowed himself a deep sigh of relief, but Taljen
remained tense.
You have two things to explain to me, Stringer,
she said from behind him. One is what that was all
about, and the other is how to fly this bird.
I helped the man who was left Above for the
Patra. They just found out.
Although Stringer couldn’t see Taljen, her face grew pale and she pressed
her hands over her eyes. You didn’t,
was all she
could say.
Stringer grinned, purposely sardonic. How does it
feel to be cooped up with a Polkraitz traitor?
Taljen sucked in her breath. Teach me to operate
this bird.
Stringer nodded to himself. Yes, Ta-tjenen is
behind us now.