Steal Across the Sky by Nancy Kress Page A

word carefully and slowly, ten separate times. He had decided on it as he trudged out of sight of the village, and he had never called Gianna that. Or anyone else. It was a stupid and unnecessary experiment, but then, what else did he have to do with his brain?
    When he returned, he found Chewithoztarel in the community lodge. She had just come in from building snow spikes, or whatever they were supposed to be, outside with her friends, and her little face was flushed rosy. Lucca sat down next to her.
    “Did you have fun outside?”
    “Yes! Did you see our
seclis
?”
    The translator didn’t recognize the word, but Lucca nodded. “Yes. Very nice. Did Ragjuptrilpent help you build it?”
    Her dark eyes widened. “No! She was with you!”
    “Of course. With me.”
    “She likes you,” Chewithoztarel said with her gap-toothed grin. Her mother called to her and the little girl jumped up, but Lucca put a hand on her arm. He kept the personal shield turned off all the time now; these people were not dangerous.
    “Chewithoztarel, did Ragjuptrilpent hear me say ‘Soledad’ again?”
    “I don’t know. I have to go now, Lucca, Mama wants me.”
    He released her arm and she bounced off. But then she threw over her shoulder, “Oh, she just told me. You didn’t say ‘soledad.’ You said ‘amica.’ Bye!”
    She ran to her mother, and he sat there, shattered and, all at once, unexpectedly afraid.
     
    TELEPATHY. IT WAS THE ONLY THING his dazed mind could come up with. This must be what the Atoners had sent him here to witness. Had it evolved everywhere on the planet, or just here? Had it evolved at all? It must have, and he could see certain evolutionary advantages . . . better coordination of hunting parties and . . . and . . .
    His thoughts shimmered like heat waves in the vineyards of home. He couldn’t seem to fasten onto any one idea, couldn’t seem to follow it logically through—Could these people read his mind? Was that why they were so reticent with each other: privacy taboos to compensate for no mental privacy?
    No, there was still Chewithoztarel. If she could read his mind, she would have seen the image of Soledad and not had to ask what a “soledad” was. So she hadn’t seen into his mind. Perhaps the telepathy was language dependent, which would explain why all she had was a word, no images . . . or did she—What if the ability only came with puberty? Or maybe disappeared with puberty? Or if . . .
    He couldn’t think. This was too large, too all-encompassing. It smothered his thinking, like snow smothering grass on the steppes. He needed to tell Soledad, tell Cam—Did the telepathy exist on Kular B, too? He needed to—
    He needed to think. And he couldn’t seem to.
    Nor could he get away to commlink anyone. It had begun to snow in earnest, thick white sheets that made even the closest huts invisible out the lodge window. Lucca would get hopelessly lost if he tried to go out on the plain. And if he went to Hytrowembireliaz’s hut, that monster child would surely follow. He would have to wait to spill this amazing news.
    The dancing and foot stomping had resumed. Lucca sat in his corner, leaning on his wooden staff, watching the dancers. The womenleaped as exuberantly as the men, their short hair crackling around their faces, their red teeth flashing. What did they know, what could they do, that he could not—and what did it have to do with the Atoners’ self-alleged crimes?

 
     
10: CAM
     
     
    IT MADE NO SENSE . Aveo wanted to
walk
to the capital.
    They lay on their beds in Escio’s tent, Aveo still asleep, in the very early morning. The naked little slave girl had crept in with water practically the second that Cam sat up and stretched on her pallet. The girl must have been lurking outside, which made Cam uncomfortable. Had she been there all night? The tent was warm enough, but most likely outside had turned cold, with no blankets and no clothes.
    “Hello,” Cam had said, but of