to make me,' he informed her. 'He intended me to five for a day. As He intends for each of us. I am a selfish, loud, arrogant, manly man, yes. But if I stay alive for two days, I am stealing another's life. Someone meant to be born but left without room. If I live for three days, I steal two lives. And if I lived as long as you wish . . . for a million days . . . how many nations would remain unborn . . . ?'
There was more to the speech, but she heard none of it.
She wasn't Snowfeather anymore; she was a young human again. Finding herself standing, she interrupted the translator's blather with a raucous laugh. Then scorn took hold, making her cry out, telling the Supreme-example-of-manhood, 'You know what you are? You're a stupid, self-absorbed turkey!'
His box hesitated, fighting for a translation.
Before it could speak, and without a backward glance, Washen leaped off the bladder, spreading the mechanical wings and plunging fast, her chest perilously close to the forest's blue-black face before a rising wind claimed her, helping carry her to the observation deck.
On her feet again, Washen unstrapped the almost-new wings and shoved them over the railing. Then she quietl y returned home. That day, or sometime during those next few months, she approached her parents, asking what they would think of her if she applied to the captains' academy.
'That would be wonderful,' her father purred.
'Whatever you want,' said her mother, her feelings coming with a relieved smile.
No one mentioned the Phoenixes. What her parents knew, Washen never learned. But after her acceptance to the academy, and under the influence of a few celebratory drinks, Father gave her a squidlike hug, and with wisdom and a drunk's easy conviction, he told her,'There are different ways to fly, darling.
'Different wings.
'And I think ... 1 know . . . you're choosing the very best kind . . . !'
Washen had always lived in the same apartment nestl ed deep inside one of the popular captains' districts. But that wasn't to say that her home hadn't changed during this great march of a life. Furniture. Artwork. Cultivated plants, and domesticated animals. With several hectares of climate-controlled, earth-gravity terrain to play with, and the resources of the ship at her full disposal, the danger was that she would make too many changes, inspiration ruling, never allowing herself enough time to appreciate each of her accomplishments.
While returning home from Port Beta, Washen composed her daily report, then studied the next passengers scheduled to board the ship: a race of machines, super-chilled and tiny, eager to build a new nation inside a volume smaller than most drawers.
Whenever she grew bored, Washen found herself dreaming up new ways to redecorate the rooms and gardens inside her home.
She would do the work soon, she told herself.
In a year, or ten.
The cap-car delivered her to her private door. Stepping out of the car, she decided that things had gone well today. A thousand centuries of steady practice had made her an expert in alien psychologies and the theatre that went into handling them, and like any good captain, Washen allowed herself to feel pride, knowing that what she did she did better than almost anyone else on board.
If there was anyone better, of course.
She wasn't consciously thinking about her long-dead lover, or the Phoenixes, or that fateful day that helped make her into a captain. But everything that she was now had been born then. The young Washen had no genuine feel for any alien species, much less for Manly. She never suspected what the Phoenixes were planning. Events had come as a complete surprise, and a revelation, and it was only luck and Washen's popularity that kept her from being tainted by the whole ugly business.
Several youngsters besides Washen had taken lovers. Or the Phoenixes had allowed themselves to be taken. Either way, emotional bonds were built on top of political hopes, and slowly, over the course of
There was more to the speech, but she heard none of it.
She wasn't Snowfeather anymore; she was a young human again. Finding herself standing, she interrupted the translator's blather with a raucous laugh. Then scorn took hold, making her cry out, telling the Supreme-example-of-manhood, 'You know what you are? You're a stupid, self-absorbed turkey!'
His box hesitated, fighting for a translation.
Before it could speak, and without a backward glance, Washen leaped off the bladder, spreading the mechanical wings and plunging fast, her chest perilously close to the forest's blue-black face before a rising wind claimed her, helping carry her to the observation deck.
On her feet again, Washen unstrapped the almost-new wings and shoved them over the railing. Then she quietl y returned home. That day, or sometime during those next few months, she approached her parents, asking what they would think of her if she applied to the captains' academy.
'That would be wonderful,' her father purred.
'Whatever you want,' said her mother, her feelings coming with a relieved smile.
No one mentioned the Phoenixes. What her parents knew, Washen never learned. But after her acceptance to the academy, and under the influence of a few celebratory drinks, Father gave her a squidlike hug, and with wisdom and a drunk's easy conviction, he told her,'There are different ways to fly, darling.
'Different wings.
'And I think ... 1 know . . . you're choosing the very best kind . . . !'
Washen had always lived in the same apartment nestl ed deep inside one of the popular captains' districts. But that wasn't to say that her home hadn't changed during this great march of a life. Furniture. Artwork. Cultivated plants, and domesticated animals. With several hectares of climate-controlled, earth-gravity terrain to play with, and the resources of the ship at her full disposal, the danger was that she would make too many changes, inspiration ruling, never allowing herself enough time to appreciate each of her accomplishments.
While returning home from Port Beta, Washen composed her daily report, then studied the next passengers scheduled to board the ship: a race of machines, super-chilled and tiny, eager to build a new nation inside a volume smaller than most drawers.
Whenever she grew bored, Washen found herself dreaming up new ways to redecorate the rooms and gardens inside her home.
She would do the work soon, she told herself.
In a year, or ten.
The cap-car delivered her to her private door. Stepping out of the car, she decided that things had gone well today. A thousand centuries of steady practice had made her an expert in alien psychologies and the theatre that went into handling them, and like any good captain, Washen allowed herself to feel pride, knowing that what she did she did better than almost anyone else on board.
If there was anyone better, of course.
She wasn't consciously thinking about her long-dead lover, or the Phoenixes, or that fateful day that helped make her into a captain. But everything that she was now had been born then. The young Washen had no genuine feel for any alien species, much less for Manly. She never suspected what the Phoenixes were planning. Events had come as a complete surprise, and a revelation, and it was only luck and Washen's popularity that kept her from being tainted by the whole ugly business.
Several youngsters besides Washen had taken lovers. Or the Phoenixes had allowed themselves to be taken. Either way, emotional bonds were built on top of political hopes, and slowly, over the course of
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