Dreaming in Smoke by Tricia Sullivan

Author:Tricia Sullivan [Sullivan, Tricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-22T04:00:00+00:00

PICASSO’S BLUES

NEKO’S CRAFT SLIT THE WATER, A WEAPON gliding home over glowing skin. It was morning, and Kalypso had been allowed to sleep until she woke on her own. She stood almost straight, maybe not actually revived, but not wasted, either. They had traveled all night, carried by a fortuitous current parallel to the Rift. Ahead she could see other boats, each one illumined as if by flames. The clouds were blacker than ever and the sun somewhere behind them a dim lost seed blown across the sky. It gave just enough light for Kalypso to make out Neko’s profile.

“It’s cold here,” Neko said. “You could take off your suit. If you want.”

Kalypso was sick of wearing the thing and complied, retaining only the hood with its breathing gear.

It was actually very hot by Kalypso’s standards, and she was soon sweating fiercely, but the wind was dry and she didn’t mind. Flecks of pale gray ash lodged in her pores.

“The one in front is the funeral boat,” Neko told her, and for a second Kalypso got the notion that she was inhaling the ashes of the dead instead of volcanic tuff. A cylindrical enclosure, evidently made of luma, rose from the deck. It was from the top of this structure that the fire rose, brilliant and smokeless.

“I don’t understand,” Kalypso signed, “how you can spare a craft for dead bodies. It seems sentimental.”

Neko smiled. “Wait. See.”

The funeral boat was the first to arrive. Its pilot hooked Neko’s boat, pulling it close, and talked with Neko in the Sign dialect Kalypso didn’t understand; then Neko signed to Kalypso, “This is Teres. She will be doing the negotiating with your Mothers.”

“Negotiating?”

Teres showed a huge smile. She reached across the gap between boats and rubbed her hand along Kalypso’s collarbone and down one arm with a familiarity that set Kalypso’s teeth on edge.

“Not plump,” she signed broadly. “But not all dried-out either. I am pleased.”

“Negotiating for what?” Kalypso demanded.

Teres smiled again, looking happier all the time. Something Kalypso couldn’t read passed from her to Neko.

“Quickly,” Neko indicated, holding up a sheath of fluid. Kalypso recognized it as the product culled from Neko’s tame luma. “I have the catalyst. Let’s feed her.”

For a moment Kalypso was afraid they were going to make her ingest the stuff, but despite Neko’s words, Kalypso was ignored. The two Dead went to the stern of the funeral boat, where tame luma formed a wide cylinder about as tall as Neko, resembling a smokestack. The “fire” was actually a mass of steaming phosphorescence within the upper segment of the stack, from which issued sheets of glowing gas that rose and vanished in the atmosphere. Synthetic capillaries clung to the sides of the luma; a braid of them extended along the hull and was lost among Teres’ equipment. And a single line flowed to a tall vial, less than half full with a substance whose color changed slowly but constantly through a sequence of rich, fluorescent hues.

Neko saw her staring and commented, “That’s precious fluid.

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