13'Sao-La
He invaded White Oak Park, mapped to the boundary between Pugwash and Skeinswift Neighborhoods. He
loped across its meadow from one toward the other. Ahead, waves of grass lifted into low hills.
The hills sprouted trees. He targeted a crease where the hills folded toward each other. The
stream that flowed out of that crease would lead him to the home of the new Aliens.
Heeded yesterday, Aliens far different from Gastarbeiter. From his post on the berm above the
drome, he couldn't canny other than their size and way of moving, so odd that he must repeat his
gander. Repeat so he could canny. Canny so he — and he alone — could return these Aliens as
prizes to his new Governor — as the mother rules told him to do.
13'Sao-La knew now that two more rules dwelt in each sandstorm of change. Use old rules where
there are no new ones, and lead rather than follow. These rules, along with "listen and obey,"
mothered him. They handled the muddy future.
Last night among the remains of the Propaganda Combine had exposed these mother rules.
The action at the drome had settled among its ruins. 13'Sao-La then sought a public entrance far
from that scene. The Em-Deh did not foil. Proud of this luck, brimming with recce, puzzled over
his non-canny, he linked as before to Governor Nu. As before, she provided recorded orders, a
simple one this time, to gather in an abandoned freighter garage. A new Ready Room to sortie from
till the Power Combine came to get them.
But she did not join him will-see as before. Sullied by this luck, vexed without new, rich orders,
he remembered old ones in their stead. Governor Sigma had said "Work, then rest to prepare to work
again." The Ready Room told him Governor Nu must agree. Thus: use old rules where there are no
new ones. Governor Sigma had also demanded wedges to drive through the Voiceless, levers to set
groups battling each other. So, when he dumped his recce into the maw of this lesser meeting,
13'Sao-La did not reveal the new Aliens, not as possible, only when zhuhndí prized his skill.
Later, the Ready Room rollicked for the dozen ollomani who gathered there. Shock, Control, Destroy
had applied to the drome. Shock, Control, Destroy would apply to Ganj Dareh as well when the Power
Combine moved against it. Yet, among the joy, threads of despair gathered. The Governor had
heeded no calls. Her silence, so abrupt after success, echoed the fates of Governor Sigma and the
Persuasion Combine. The ollomani lost not just boons accepted and rewarded by her Authority, but
also plans for tomorrow.
In the long night, without an active Governor, they needed a Rollkeeper. Without a Rollkeeper,
they wrangled. Without Timekeepers, they wrangled long. Without Ruleskeepers, they wrangled
hard. And heeding no rules, the League's, or their replace by Governor Sigma, in the end,
13'Sao-La stood alone and crowed his place as Rollkeeper. Led once more, the others settled into
sleep, to be ready for the plans, certain there would be plans. Leader again, 13'Sao-La found
another rule: lead rather than follow.
So, as Rollkeeper, 13'Sao-La must banish a muddy future. He had set sorties for the others: find
seeds in Ganj Dareh with which to plant disaster. He had set rendezvous for late afternoon. He
had promised them more orders from the Governor. He had flushed them from the Ready Room, then
sortied after the richest prize for himself, Others so strange he needed more recce, recce that
came from running into Skeinswift as he ran now.
Voices intruded. 13'Sao-La swiveled to see. A family wandered from the path across the meadow.
Man: laborer dusty, skimpy-diet thin, no threat, with a tarp, a rust-red bandanna around his
neck. Woman: same, with baskets. Girl: a whip, enjoying running, na‹ve in her chase through
tall grass. Boy: older, though not bigger, trying to stay ahead of his sister. Girl: just
learning to run, but racing her siblings anyway, falling over tufts and scrambling up again.
Gastarbeiter, the old Aliens: targets on any other day, any previous day when the
Kata-for-Delivery had prevailed. He would never strike children — none could compete with his
skills in this or any other arena — only their parents, so the children would gander and ponder
the gander and shrivel with the weight of an orphan future, as he had till the League rescued him.
These children, non-canny to that undelivered future, darted by him, happy to be out, burning up
energy in the bright sunshine. The parents passed by. He exchanged nods with the man, then
gandered secretly. They settled close to the stream where a stand of rushes gathered around a
pool. The woman set out food. The kids tested the water and their parents' attention.
Reining his lope to a trot, 13'Sao-La resumed his stalk. Soon, he slipped through trees and elated
in their company. Their furry heads swayed in the breeze, sharing with it sounds and smells so
different from home, soft and happy, not shrill and angry, woody and full, not sharp and sere. In
the New Order, this park would boon him often.
Here, the stream played accompaniment to the tree masters of the park, a lively ancestor to the
meadow's languid slave. It chuckled at their whispered dialogs. It washed their scents with its
water-heavy cool. It aped their rugged trunks with frothy ferns. He crossed it on a footbridge
and hidden from Gastarbeiter, loped once more.
Voices again: loud, fun-shrilled, young. He angled toward them, vexed by those same trees
blocking his gander. One running figure, strobing through the trunks, then more, large,
husky, same size as yester's Aliens. They lumbered. They clumsied. Like children, actions not
fitting their size. Only that gave them threat, but their non-agile took it away, made it easily
turned, easily whelmed.
Adding to non-canny, their voices disputed their size as well. They gandered young. They called
boisterous, unconsidered. They toned soprano. He plunged ahead for better recce.
The others followed the first, very, very like him, more similar than different. That one
gallumped and stunted. He hopped between two trees, stumbled over bushes. The next one aped while
stumbling differently. The leader — their chivero — airplaned a tree several times, his fingers
skimming the rough bark, his other fingers stretched high and away. The next took up the circle
while the third still hopped and stumbled. 13'Sao-La knew the game. He had watched others play
it.
13'Sao-La pondered an intercept for recce ambush. The game disputed planning, but they did tend
downhill, out of the trees, onto the park's meadow. He ghosted alongside the train of Aliens, cut
over three times for ambush, missed twice.
Up close, frollicking past, they shivered him. Their ears mocked normal, crystal in position, but
large enough to flop, furry and slowly. Their eyes bulged under drooping lids. Their toothy
mouths gaped between shrills and titters, totally wordless. They tripped over bushes and fallen
branches as if they didn't see them. And their smell — oddly like the trees, oddly like grass.
Muddy! The word crumpled in his mind with failure. He sought other dark words. Soot, fine and
smooth, no. Cave-dark, cool and scary, but exciting in its mystery, no. Memory shafted him with
tales, frightening him and the other children of the sect, telling of souls gone astray in forests
of temptation, lost to the Righteous, hunted by succubi, haunted by glimpses of the True Light, and
finally, rended and gnawed by trolls. Trolls, ugly, wicked, white of skin, dark of hair, gray of
eye. Shaped differently, yes, but these Aliens revealed like trolls. He stared after
them, his loins suddenly quivering with fear, but his heart bulging with duty. He would honor the
Governor with news of these trolls, and the Governor would honor him with a pledge of their
destruction.
On the leader plunged. The others followed happily. Eight in all. Then, bringing up the rear, a
Native in dogged pursuit of the trolls, as though oblivious to their evil. He wore pale-green
pants and jacket with white stripes that triggered "Enemy" in 13'Sao-La's mind. Not the True Enemy
of the anshin, but some other authority ... maybe. The fuzziness of the label bothered him, but he
couldn't focus it better.
One more gander to make his recce complete: test their threat zhuhndí. The plan quavered his
resolve. He had named them "trolls" and trolls could conjure, narrow, ugly conjure to feed their
cruel appetites. Could these trolls conjure as well?
The protest of his loins firmed the duty in his heart. The Governor required recce to act, but an
incident in the open would boon the recce and confirm the ripeness of the troll's incite. An
incident that would prove how einheimischer and gast Arbeiter hated and fought the trolls.
Memory gifted him with the family picnicking in the meadow. The trolls coursed in that very
direction. He would just tail alongside, find a play somewhere, and force an incident.
The troll chivero hit the bridge, his footsteps thundering. He somersaulted into the meadow. The
other trolls followed and finally, the Nurse — snap of insight! — who carried no real Authority
after all except to witness the incident. 13'Sao-La bolted from hiding, tracked the trolls from
the other side of the stream, gandered as trolls discovered children and children discovered
trolls. They ran toward each other, apparently delighted, though the parents beyond didn't seem so
sure. They stood up on the tarp, torqued with uncertainty.
The play unfolded. Proximity probabled, a collision possibled, either and both ripe for a skew
toward a portrayal of violence. 13'Sao-La gandered for his route. A gap in the ferns, stones
lifting above the stream's flow, and he crossed sprinting. He wound a cry of warning from his
throat, like a siren for disaster. Beyond, the parents fell into walk, hampered still by
uncertainty.
The troll chivero romped toward the toddler, his arms slicing the air like a wobbling aircraft,
throat burbling with the imitation. Behind him, the other trolls turned into airplanes too. The
older children flung themselves to a halt and watched the parade, forgetting their sister for a
trance of delight.
Time to cancel parental uncertainty, to consume delight with a pyre of fear and hatred. 13'Sao-La
cut down the troll chivero from the back, folding his knees, collapsing him like a pile of lumpy
trash, dumping him onto the toddler, inciting squeals of alarm, then pain. Piling success on
success, 13'Sao-La rolled away, spun to his feet, and whirled back. He pinned down the troll,
blank-eyed and breathless and prostrate, with fists that threatened and a bellow that accused.
"You won't eat our kids today!" He planted a foot in the broad back and stepped with it, riding on
thick muscle, heeding its threat, then raving on to the other trolls. "You can't attack us in our
own park! Not today, not ever!"
13'Sao-La gandered for reaction. The older children sprang toward defense. Beyond, the parents
dashed forward, fear crushing their uncertainty. He swung back to the trolls. Leary of their
strength, he broke a knee to drop one in a thud, tripped another with a leg and a hard buck with
his shoulder. Snapped another gander — and stumbled over his own startle.
The older girl craddled the toddler, patting her bruises, cooing away her tears. The boy, though,
stroked the troll, easing its fear, probing its injuries. And the parents! The mother curved away
to another fallen troll, but the father targeted him, 13'Sao-La, with narrowed eyes and grim jaw.
13'Sao-La bounced to combat stance. He waited for an angle of attack, sure about this fight, vexed
with unsure how it fit in the incident he planned.
The father slowed, then stopped, kept a distance, attacked with words instead. "Whut you tryin'
here? Those pe'ple come to play with our'n kids, not hurt'n them. Whut you tryin' here, son?"
"Sorghum, Aalit," the mother called then, taut with concern. "Katmai's hurt."
The Nurse dashed past, heeding the mother's call.
"Sorghum," the boy yelled. "Sun's not hurt. Scared, though, 'bout what he might've done to
Muriel."
"Maw, Paw," the older girl spoke up then, reporting in as well, like the family had katas too.
"Muriel's alright, coupla bruises."
13'Sao-La gandered the father still. Not my father! Not your son! Vex rammed through his neck,
wrenched at his jaws. He flared, "You love trolls. Others won't. We will find other Voiceless
who hate your trolls. You sully my incident. We will find others who hate you! You and
your happy family!"
He retreated then. He would carry this vital data to the Governor. She would wage it against
Ganj Dareh. Any town that lived with muddy trolls would die with those muddy trolls if he had to
destroy each muddy one himself.
