Rift in the Sky by Julie E. Czerneda Page B

to do was approach the screen from one side, and it became nothing more than a white sheet strung across a path every bit as wide and open as the Tuana’s.
    Simple and effective. She approved. The last thing Sona needed was for a curious Om’ray—and they had their share, starting with Enris’ brother Worin—to roam where curiosity ran around on more legs than two. Or had none at all. One of Marcus’ new Triad was unable to move on land and floated above the ground in a tiny version of an aircar. Why such an unsuitable creature would come here puzzled her, although she hoped for a better look at it.
    But first . . . She stopped and turned to face Enris. “If we see an Oud, let me do the talking.”
    He raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re the Speaker.”
    Which meant she was the only Sona permitted by the Agreement to talk to non-Om’ray, and then only to her counterpart. She’d learned neither Oud nor Tikitik cared overmuch for the rules. And her Chosen, for all his matter-of-fact demeanor and charm, was incapable of not caring about Oud.
    Already the M’hir between them sizzled with pent rage.
    Enris.
    Don’t worry about me. His remarkable shields strengthened until all she could sense was the warmth of their bond. “You remember not to use Power. Some of these Oud could be Torments.”
    The Tuana name for Oud with Power. There was no evidence the beings used their Power to any purpose, but it did affect Om’ray. To use their abilities near such Oud produced pain and disorientation, increasing with greater Power. Aryl, having felt the effect for herself, agreed completely. “Once was enough, thank you.”
    The path opened on another clearing in the nekis grove, this one smooth and circular. At its far side stood three long buildings of the plain white material the Strangers favored, a white usually disguised behind more illusion.
    Not that it would matter at the moment, considering the crowd of beings in the clearing itself. That was the worst of non-Om’ray, Aryl thought with disgust. You couldn’t feel them before you found them.
    They’d been found, too. Marcus hurried toward them, pushing by an Oud with Human carelessness, his smile wide beneath the dark eye coverings he insisted on using during the day. He wore Stranger pants and a shirt with his name in Stranger lettering. Both looked new.
    Why?
    â€œWelcome! Welcome!” She could barely hear his shout above the grind of Oud machine treads into the stony ground. There were four vehicles, each pulling a pair of flat-topped carriers loaded with crates. In typical Oud-fashion, the slumped drivers appeared not to care about collision, imminent or occurring, or risk to their cargo. Aryl and Enris stayed near the grove and let the Human risk his life to join them.
    The building to the left was where Marcus stayed and worked. The other two, one new this spring, she’d been told were for storage. The door of the middle one gaped open for the first time. Inside, over the brown-cloaked humps of Oud, she could make out tables covered in objects. Two figures, disappointingly Human-shaped, stood to one side, busy sorting.
    As for the Oud, whenever one stopped its vehicle near the open door, other Oud grabbed the crates from the carriers and tossed them onto a growing, haphazard pile. Maybe the Humans were sorting what didn’t break under this treatment.
    What Aryl didn’t see was the Oud Speaker. Or rather, an Oud with a pendant. The beings were too alike otherwise: massive quivering lumps beneath brown, tentlike cloaks. One end was covered by a dust-covered, transparent dome and non-Oud treated that as a “head.” To an Oud, this didn’t always matter. They could move backward as readily as forward.
    After one last swerve to avoid an Oud machine, Marcus joined them, coughing at the dust. “Welcome,” he said again. His lean body, tousled brown hair, and