Steal Across the Sky Read Free

HAS BEEN NOTED IN NO OTHER INTERVIEW RECORDED BY USAF INTELLIGENCE OR BY THOSE COUNTRIES PARTICIPATING IN THE ALIEN DATA-SHARING INITIATIVE.]
    O: Why do you want to send human Witnesses to those other planets anyway? You’re the ones with starships, why not go yourselves?
    A: We cannot answer that.
    O: You mean—and I say this with all due respect, sir—that you choose to not answer it?
    A: Yes.
    O: Well, okay. Then . . . you call yourselves “Atoners.” What are you atoning
for
? [NOTE: STRONGLY ACTING CONTRARY TO PREINTERVIEW BRIEFING. INTERVIEWEE WAS SPECIFICALLY AND REPEATEDLY INSTRUCTED NOT TO ASK THIS, AS A MATTER OF DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS.]
    A: Were you told to not ask that question?
    O: Well . . . yes.
    A: Then why did you ask it, Ms. O’Kane?
    O: Because I . . . Oh, fuck, I really blew it, didn’t I? You’re not going to accept me as a Witness. So I don’t have anything to lose, but I still would like to know. Shit, the whole
world
would like to know! What are you atoning for?
    A: We choose to not answer that.
    O: Okay. Your right. Anyway, thank you for the trip up here. I never thought . . . This is something I’ll remember my whole life. And I wish you luck, sir, with your project, whatever it is.
    A: Thank you.
DATE: May 16, 2020
INTERVIEW RESULT: Interviewee
Accepted

 
     
3: AVEO
     
     
    THE SOLDIERS CAME FOR HIM at his son’s burial. Aveo saw them on the other side of the pit, which was already half-filled with wrapped bodies. Although a few of the green burial cloths were spider-silk, smooth and glossy, most were only coarse sarel fiber. The corpses of the very poor were barely wrapped at all, merely wound with two token strips of rough cloth around chest and head. Over all the dead, of whatever caste, lay the clumps of lime that partly masked the reek of decay. Ojea had not yet been covered. Aveo’s son’s strong young body, decently wrapped in green to please the Goddess that Aveo did not believe in, lay on top of several shovelfuls of white lime, a pristine bed.
    Ojea had always valued cleanliness.
    The soldiers were silhouetted against the moon, rising huge on the horizon. They marched along the edge of the pit, four of them in bronze breastplates and helmets, plus a
cul
with the royal slashes of blue painted on his bare breast. The mourners around Aveo, none of whom had come for Ojea, melted away. Aveo didn’t run. It would have been undignified, and useless.
    “Aveo ol Imbro.” It was not a question. They did not give him his title.
    “I am Aveo ol Imbro.”
    “Come with us.”
    Aveo did, a little surprised that he was not struck, or tied, or even touched. The four soldiers formed a square around him and marched him toward the city. The wind followed, smelling of death and lime and loss.
    Death lay on the hot land as well. Fields that should have been bursting with grain near harvest had already been stripped. Broken stalks poked at the sky. Empty
gleisin
pens, shorn orchards, all gone to feed the army. What would the city eat this winter?
    He would not be alive to find out.
    At dusk the silent procession entered the West Gate. Beggars and slaves shrank from the soldiers; market women cast down their eyes and made themselves small. To Aveo’s surprise, the
cul
didn’t lead him toward the prison close against the city wall. Instead the
cul
marched toward the palace, through its gates, and—yes—to the Hall of the Goddess of All Green.
    Aveo had been here before, many years ago, when everything had been different. A reception for scholars from the university. Wine, laughter, smiling slaves in white skirts serving delicacies. Uldunu Three had been on the throne then, not his murderous son. Before the assassination, before the war, before the university had been closed and the slaves stripped and branded. Before.
    They marched into the Hall. His Most Sacred and Exalted King Uldunu Four sat on the Green Throne. Advisors in their red robes clustered behind him. Aveo recognized