Fire Time by Poul Anderson Page A

a-rattle, and took a year to regain my health. But you have not heard of the quest.
    ‘I spent three years merely readying. First the dauri took food of mine and made caches for me along the way. In the Starklands it would not rot, nor would beasts eat it. Regardless, I almost starved. They had laid down too little; the load a daur can carry is small, and I had not foreseen how grim that country is. Still nearer did I come to death by thirst. It is not a desert northward, or was not before the Red One returned. But it is dry, its life needs less water than ours does, and this too we had not allowed for.
    ‘Yet in the end we won to certain ruins. I groped half mad among them, until a daur showed me the Thing that is full of unknown stars. I clutched it to me and sent my feet back across that land which scorned and scorched them. Somehow they bore me.
    ‘Since, the dauri and I have grown closer. We have secrets I am not free to share. But their will toward me is good; and my will toward you is good. My friends they will help, myfoes they will harm. This is enough to say. I have spoken; and you will understand.’
    Later, as he drifted toward sleep, Arnanak thought:
Enough to say to
him.
Humans would surely pay well to hear more. What I can tell them about the dauri might buy me their abandonment of the Gathering.

VI

    Anu was a few hours under the horizon and Bel quite low above. Light streamed yellow under the trees along Campbell Street. Where it passed through the translucent leaves of jackfruit, it flecked the shade beneath with spots of coral. The air lay quietly cooling, full of spicy autumn fragrances from across the river. Several children played hopscotch on the pavement. Their shouts flew thin and sweet to Ian Sparling’s ears. A bicyclist dodged around them. Otherwise nobody was in sight. The laboratories and industries whose low, garden-surrounded buildings lined this thoroughfare were closed for the evening, their workers at home or – a few score – outside the mayor’s house to see the Earthlings come forth and hope for a scrap of news.
    Actually, that first conference was finished. The Han-shaws had invited participants to stay for dinner. Sociability might ease a little of the stress between them. Sparling had excused himself on the ground that his wife would be disappointed if he didn’t return for a special dish she’d prepared. He suspected Hanshaw knew it was a lie, but he didn’t care. By taking the rear exit to an alley, and thence a roundabout way home, he avoided questions from the crowd.
    Pipe cold between teeth, fists jammed into pockets, he scissored space with his legs, scarcely aware of the world. Fingers must close on his arm and shake before he noticed. But then he saw Jill Conway. He stopped. The blood quickened and sang in him.
    ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘What’s the hurry? You’re traveling like the devil to a tax collector’s wake.’ Scant mirth was in her tone, and after a second she added, ‘Bad, huh?’
    ‘I shouldn’t–’ He nearly lost his pipe, crammed it away, and swallowed before he demanded, ‘What’re you doing here?’
    ‘Waiting for you.’
    He stared at her slenderness. Light ran down the street and struck gold from her hair. ‘Huh? But why–?’
No, obviously she didn’t wait for
me.
Just a chance to talk to me.
Sparling collected himself. ‘How did you know when or where?’
    ‘I asked Olga Hanshaw to phone me as soon as the official discussion ended. She wasn’t forbidden to, and she feels she owes me a favor.’ Jill had rescued the couple’s youngest child from drowning a couple of years before. This was the first time Sparling had heard of her claiming any reward. ‘Don’t mention it, please, Ian.’
    ‘No,’ he promised at once; then:
But God did request we keep things confidential till he’s planned how to tell Primavera and
…
the whole Gathering.
Then:
Well, I won’t go back on my word to Jill. I can’t. It’s harmless. If anybody on