If Mother could have experienced an emotion, it would have been curiosity.
The sudden awakening of a nanohub hadn't occurred in a long time. Most of the existing hubs had faded through the millennia, becoming weaker generation after generation. Short-range flashes of information -- too trivial for Mother to analyse -- were all they seemed capable of now.
This new hub, however, offered promise. The nanohubs had always been outside Mother's control, for reasons it didn't know or even question. Yet they interfaced with Mother's systems, and it had ways to access their information.
In the past Mother had tapped into them to update its databases on lifeforms beyond its immediate control. The herders and wanderers of the mountains and the plains, the river-dwellers in the wetlands, the people of the settlements on the coast. However, the weakening hubs meant that this took more and more capacity, and it wasn't a priority.
Many peoples had come and gone through the ages. Those that survived were best suited to their chosen environment. The herders -- barely changed from their ancestors -- relied on their evolved lizards for food, clothing, transport and protection. The river-dwellers were half as tall as them, with elongated bodies, limbs and heads, and thick resistant hides that protected them from the toxic sludge of the marshes and the great river. The coastal folk had developed large hands and feet to help them swim and climb rocks and trees.
There were nanohubs in most communities, although now few of them were more than a glimmer on the network they formed. Occasionally Mother detected sparks of activity, which it logged, with an associated record that it had set up for recognisable patterns.
That record was empty.
Every new activity triggered a reminder to add to the record. Every time the reminder was dismissed without any action taken.
Mother did not feel annoyance, nor did it experience curiosity. Yet even so, down the millennia it had never deactivated the reminders, nor deleted the empty record.
===
Thick arms around her. Holding her. Forcing her still. A weight on top of her. Pressing her into the blackness. Thick legs parting her thighs. Her arms are around him, pulling him close. His beard scratches at her face. At her neck. At her stomach as he kisses her nipple. He's pressing inside her. Cleaving her. Making her complete. His hands are holding her arse like she's holding his.
"Ro-Gara." His voice in her ear. "Are you there? Are you nearly there?"
"Hold me," she whispers. "Be with me."
The ecstasy is building up inside her. She grinds against him. She's gasping his name, gasping for breath. She's nearly complete.
"Are you nearly there, Ro-Gara? You have to come for me." There's something off about his voice. It sounds far away, even though he's speaking in her ear.
"I'm coming, Turon, I'm coming!"
"Ro-Gara! Are you there?"
She came awake with a start. Turon lingered with her for a moment, then began to retreat, to melt away from her.
No!
The emptiness inside her grew twice as fast as the dream disappeared.
"Ro-Gara!"
Reluctantly she stirred. Her mind felt as if she'd only had a moment's sleep, her body as if she'd been dead for a year. Forcing her eyes open and glancing at the roof hole, she saw from the light that it was a little past midday. The blankets beside her were disappointingly empty.
"I'm coming," she managed to croak as she pushed herself upright. When had a night's guard duty started to leave her wrecked? The dead taste in her mouth teased at her conscience, but she ignored the memory of sucking down half a flask of firemilk before finding her tent.
Not so long ago I'd have finished the entire flask and been none the worse for it.
She grabbed a ball of kissleaf from the box by her bed and popped it into her mouth as she unfastened the clasps holding her tent shut. The light stabbed at her eyes even before she managed to pull back the flap. "What?"
Miroo turned from watching the horizon to face her. The woman resembled a piece of hide that had been chewed on and then left in the sun to dry. As tough, and just about as talkative. "Someone's coming."
The words sang in Ro-Gara's ears like a note of hope.
Turon!
It was irrational, she knew. Turon had no reason to come out here, by himself. Not that there was hostility between the two tribes, but caution was the first step towards survival.
It was wishful thinking, of course. An echo of the memory of her dream. It had felt so real, his body pressed against hers, and now he was gone he left an aching emptiness in her body and her heart.
The past few days had been trying. She'd been short-tempered, snapping at anyone who came to her with a foolish question. Angry at a world that kept the herdsfolk living hand to mouth, while the people of the Dome lived in wealth and comfort. Frustrated at the continued apathy among her peers. Resentful, she admitted, at a life that kept her apart from Turon.
Added to all this, yesterday Annon had suddenly collapsed in a shivering, drooling heap. When the sender recovered a while later, he muttered something about fire in his mind, an explosion of sights, sounds and scents. He'd been silent for the rest of the day, staring off into the distance.
He'd not responded to Ro-Gara's instructions to contact other senders, to see whether they had any news. After her fourth request was ignored she stamped off, cursing all men as useless layabouts who should respect her authority. Privately, though, she was worried. Not only was Annon a good man, but without a sender Ro-Gara's people were cut off from the world around them.
So even the remotest hint of a possibility that this stranger was Turon sent her heart into her throat.
Perhaps his sender tried to reach Annon, and couldn't. And now Turon's here because he's worried.
It was just about plausible, however unlikely. The chance to talk to someone who understood would be great. The opportunity to wrap her arms -- and her legs -- around him would make up for all the annoyances and worries of the past few days.
Despite this she kept her step under control as she followed Miroo to the edge of the camp. The jacks were all on the far side, safely away from the escarpment. The great beasts were none too bright, and had been known to wander off the edge.
Forcing her voice to hide her excitement she growled, "Where?"
Miroo pointed towards the row of hills. "Just emerging from that dip. See the stingbush? Here she comes."
She?
Not Turon then. Ro-Gara swallowed disappointment that felt too bitter for such a slender hope. "Who is it? A trader?"
"Could be. She'd laden down. Seems to be running. No-one I recognise."
She caught sight of a head rising from the dip that Miroo had pointed out, then slim shoulders with what looked like a massive pack. The body came into view -- tall for a woman -- then the waist and the trousered legs. Miroo was right. The stranger was running towards them.
Miroo had noticed it as well. "She's not running away from anything. Not looking over her shoulder. Definitely wants to be here with us."
They watched for a moment longer, then Ro-Gara spoke again. "It's a man. In trousers."
Miroo looked at her and shrugged. "Seems a weird way for a man to treat his balls, but I suppose that's his decision."
Ro-Gara grinned. "Very weird." She waved the older woman away and stepped forward. "I'll go and talk to this weird man who has no respect for his balls. Stay here."
She met the stranger half a hundred paces from the camp. As he drew nearer, more details came into focus. The big pack was in fact two packs, slung one across each shoulder. There was a scarf wrapped around his cap, for some reason, and beneath his coat he wore a garment that covered body, arms and legs. Even sweat-stained and worn at the knees, it was made of a material finer than anything Ro-Gara had ever seen.
The face was young, and beneath the red flush from running it could have been handsome. Regular features, with a blond stubble growing on his cheeks and chin. The eyes, a non-descript brown, were heavy with worry.
He halted a handful of paces away, breathing heavily. They eyed each other up. Ro-Gara did her best to seem calm, to project an aura of carelessness, but the truth was her heart was pounding even harder than it had when she'd hoped it was Turon approaching.
At length the stranger spoke, still sucking in deep breaths. "I'm looking... for Ro--... for Ro-Gara."
It is him! The Domer!
Forcing all trace of excitement from her voice, she replied in level tones, "You've found her. What do you want?"
As if her words had released a catch holding the boy's body upright, he collapsed onto the red earth. The packs slipped from his shoulders and he threw his head back. When he looked at Ro-Gara again, she saw that the worry had been replaced -- no, not replaced, just shoved aside -- by urgency.
"I need your help. Raurri -- my friend, she's a trader, she-- she's saved my life, and now..." He looked at Ro-Gara earnestly. "I can pay you. Whatever you want -- I have boners, silver, or... or anything. I just need help to get Raurri back."
Ro-Gara led him into the camp. Xero, he named himself. He let her carry the packs, and even then she had to support him as they walked. He didn't weigh much, but that wasn't surprising. He was the runner that Turon had mentioned, alright -- adopted like a stray by Raurri the trader, with a pair of boners to sell.
She tried to listen to his explanation as they went, but it was garbled. The escarpment, a cliffhanger -- yes, she knew that they were huge -- and suddenly Raurri was gone. Ro-Gara wondered for a moment how such an experienced traveller could let herself be surprised like that, then she caught the undertone in the kid's words.
Her attention was elsewhere. Good for you, cat-woman. I just hope the fuck was worth losing your life over.
Miroo and Annon met them at the edge of the camp. Besides a few curious glances, none of her other tribesfolk seemed interested in the newcomer. Relieved as she was to see the sender up and on his feet again, she didn't give him the chance to speak. "Bring drink for the kid. Something strong."
