High Couch of Silistra by Janet Morris Page B

woman seemed to have no trouble understanding him. Could she have gotten the meaning of his words from his mind?” he asked, looking at me.
    “She could, but I could not. My mother was an exceptional telepath, but not enough of a deep-reader to go to the Day-Keepers.”
    “Pity,” said M’len, his chin propped on his fist. The console hissed and burped up a small flat oblong and two sheets of the orange, rubbery fax.
    “Do you want stills?” he asked. I nodded, and he ran his hands over the coder again. The machine spit two palm-sized color holos into his waiting fingers. He then turned from the console and faced us. The Liaison First handed me the fax, stills, and the black flat oblong, which he explained was a modern version of the silver cube. I nodded as he instructed me in its operation.
    “I would leave now,” I said to my host.
    “I expected that you would want to go today when I realized how little I could make of this. Dalf is at the hover, ready when you are. Take care, Estri. I like this whole business less, the more I know.” He was genuinely concerned.
    The Liaison First extended his hand palm up to the Liaison Second. “All is in readiness for you in Arlet. You have the call codes if you need me. Tasa, Liaison.”
    “Tasa,” Dellin and I said in unison. We had been delicately dismissed.
    “How long will it take to get to Arlet in the hover?” I asked Dellin as I grabbed up my belongings and stuffed them in my old parr-hide sack. I would leave nothing behind this time.
    “A set, at least,” said Dellin.
    “A set!” I cried. “I could walk there in that time.”
    “Ah, but it will be infinitely more pleasurable to fly,” said he.
    “I must get to Arlet,” I objected.
    “You will,” he assured me as we made our way across the stone court to the egg-shaped, creamy metal hover. “But you must teach me of Silistra on the way.”
    We climbed the ramp, and I ducked my head in the low entry. It was a very tiny space, filled with more hateful blinking gadgets and three contoured seats. I chose the back one, away from the window. I do not like to fly. One must give over too much of one’s destiny to the caprice of circuits and steel. The Beten pilot waved.
    I was not pleased with Dellin. I knew he could have had me in Arlet before next sun’s rise. I leaned back on the seat and closed my eyes. I was hungry and irritable and tired. I felt guilty about sneaking off from Santh, but I knew he would have insisted on following, and one cannot be inconspicuous with a giant hulion at one’s heels. I had been lucky to get away without him. I heard the pilot bringing the engines to life. I was very tired. I was asleep before the hover gained the air.
    I dreamed I was in a strange checkerboard land, where all of time-space were jammed together like some impossible collage. A piece of winter laid half atop a chunk of primal sea, which bubbled over an unseen edge into a volcano that vomited fire and ash onto a plain covered with waving grain, while hailstones fell bouncing into a triangle of rainforest that grew in the midst of desert dunes, and a great bronze figure stood laughing, towering over the scene, legs astraddle. He pointed at me with a finger, and I saw that that finger was adorned with my father’s ring. I fell down on my knees and cried in fear, but the giant only laughed and snapped his fingers. Instantly I was imprisoned in a block of transparent ice.
    I awoke sweating, to find Dellin shaking my shoulder.
    “You were moaning and crying. Are you all right?”
    “Yes, now,” I said, knuckling the sleep from my eyes. My stomach churned, and my face and eyes stung from lack of sleep. “I had the strangest dream. About the ring.” I sat up, wide-awake. “I forgot to show M’len the ring! I am such a fool, it is a wonder I can feed myself.” I groaned.
    “Easy, Estri.” He brushed my hair from my eyes. “We are going to set down for a meal. I thought you would prefer it to eating in