the disaster than females. This has created some … disruption
to our usual bonding customs. For this reason, the excess of males was sent to this
colony. The Science Council of New Sadirawill as a priority select for a greater number of females to be born as soon as possible.
Given our life span, it is possible that they may be our future wives.”
I pondered this, realizing the truth of what he said. Most of the Sadiri on Cygnus
Beta were, by their standards, very young. But how distressing and strange to spend
decades on some kind of genetic backroom shelf waiting one’s turn to clinically contribute
to the expansion of the species!
I said something of the sort to Dllenahkh. He let me know my views were inappropriate.
I shut up.
The Hall of Names is a very complicated place. The obvious part of it is the walls
with the names of the thousand dying nations who came here or were brought here, but
there is also a low susurration of a thousand extinct languages; the occasional whiff
of smoke, incense, or perfume from various half-forgotten rituals; the distant moan
and skirl of ancient instruments that no one knows how to make anymore. It’s a very
apt place to ponder the future of an entire world, but it’s a little depressing as
well.
“What do you think the emissary is going to say?” I asked.
Dllenahkh said nothing. Perhaps he did not know. Perhaps he knew but would never tell
me.
“Let’s go have lunch,” I said.
We fell back into our usual routine after that, which is to say we were all business. I knew that the
Sadiri homesteaders continued their cultural outreach, visiting the towns and other
provinces and permitting visiting groups in return. They did indeed seem to be taking
note of how various cultures had adapted to social conditions on Cygnus Beta, so even
what appeared to be recreational also had some element of anthropological studyto it. I did not delve deeper, and although the Sadiri emissary returned for another
visit some months later, I did not quiz Dllenahkh about it.
Gilda, on the other hand, was a font of information. She called me at my desk one
day, too excited and impatient to walk the few meters to my office. “Have you heard
the news? Ain has been quarantined. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out.”
That got my attention. I dropped everything and drew close to my monitor. “What? Has
the tribunal given the verdict already?”
Gilda looked very sober, which was extremely unusual for her. “The trial isn’t over,
but Ain is incommunicado.”
“That’s impossible,” I stated. “The Terran embargo works because we can see everything
they do and show them what we want them to see. Ain’s technology is too advanced.
Maybe they did it to themselves. Maybe they’re hiding.”
She scoffed. “They’re not
that
advanced. People are saying it was the Caretakers. Personally, I’m glad. Sadira’s
going to be nothing but sterile rock for a very long time.”
My eyes widened, and I felt a little thrill.
The Caretakers!
It was as if angels had descended to avenge the Sadiri. “I guess they don’t like
people undoing their work. How are the off-planet Ainya handling it?”
Gilda gave a wry smile. “Here’s the irony. You know only two fleets have ships that
can travel as far as Ain.”
I laughed without humor. She meant the Zhinuvians, who’d charge an arm and a leg for
passage, and the Sadiri who … well … I wasn’t sure what they’d do, but any Ainya would
have to have a lot of gall to approach a Sadiri pilot now.
The sequestering of Ain was a big change in more ways than one. Even though there’s
bad blood between Ain and Sadira—
seriously
bad blood—I’d had a vague hope that they might cometogether after a generation or two out of necessity if nothing else. It looked as
if the options had been whittled down from three to two, and where that left the Sadiri
I had no idea. New Sadira was a