Sharon Shinn - Wrapt in Crystal

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WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
By
Sharon Shinn
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Praise for The Shapechanger's Wife ...
Nominee for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer
Winner of the William Crawford Award for Achievement in Fantasy
"Sharon Shinn strikes me as the most promising and original writer of fantasy to
come along since Robin McKinley… Her deceptively low-keyed, marvelously
straightforward storytelling is a delight and a comfort to discover. This one knows
how it's done."
—Peter S. Beagle, author of The Last Unicorn
"Ms. Shinn takes a traditional romance and wraps it in a fantasy… rousing."
—Fantasy & Science Fiction
"Exceptionally lovely… incredibly appealing… a stunning reminder of how the
good, basic values of well crafted storytelling can create a delightful world to escape
into… sweet and beautiful."
—Locus
Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
THE SHAPE-CHANGER'S WIFE
ARCHANGEL
JOVAH'S ANGEL
THE ALLELUIA FILES
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
HEART OF GOLD
Wrapt in
Crystal
Sharon Shinn
WRAPT IN CRYSTAL
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace trade paperback / May 1999
Ace mass-market edition / April 2000
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1999 by Sharon Shinn.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
Check out the ACE Science Fiction & Fantasy newsletter and much more on the
Internet at Club PPI!
ISBN: 0-441-00714-7
ACE
Ace Books are published
by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the "A" design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
This book is for friends who haven't even read it yet:
Laurell, Lauretta, Mark, Martha, Tom, Nancy, Debbie,
and Gus. Thanks for welcoming me so warmly into the
group.
Soon or late, each new frontier
Yields: Forefathers braved the sea.
With scythe and plow, the pioneers
Broke the land. Technology
Tamed communication. Now,
We settlers seek a wilder place
To bridle with our rough know-how:
The midnight prairie miles of space.
Terran-born, we hopefully
Spread our nets for lights afar,
And catch the moon. Our sons will be
Moonchildren, and snare the stars.
—by Essex Bounty,
Old Terran poet,
circa 1990
Night of crystal, day of gold,
Goddess, in your arms enfold
Soldier, servant, saint and sinner—
Spring and summer, fall and winter.
Crystal midnight, golden dawn.
Flawlessly the days flow on,
Filled with pure ecstatic light—
Fiery morning, icy night.
Goddess, give us star and sun
To guide us through our mortal run.
Sweetly are the secrets told—
Wrapt in crystal, limned in gold.
—Prayer to Ava,
traditional,
origin unknown
WRAPT IN
CRYSTAL
Chapter One
Travel on the commercial cruiser was excruciatingly slow, but the vast Moonchild
fleet made few visits to Semay, and the planet's government had asked that this
mission be started, at least, as quietly as possible. So Lieutenant (Special
Assignment Officer) Cowen Drake came in by the conventional route, and divided
the long slow days between reading and brooding.
On the whole, the reading was more profitable. He had brought a stack of books
and visicubes and reports about Semay, and he pored over these with the
single-minded intentness that he brought to nearly everything he did. He could sit for
hours, immobile before the screen, scanning through the documents that described
and analyzed this small world on the fringes of the civilized galaxy. Gathered by the
formidable Moonchild intelligence forces, the reports tended to center around
specific events important to a certain time period; they were thorough as far as they
went, but they gave only the sketchiest overviews of the planet's history. The books
were a better bet, most of them coming from Semay itself, but the books he could
scarcely read.
He thumbed through one of them now, a hardcover volume bound in crumbling
red leather and illustrated with engraved prints. Hand-sewn into the frayed binding,
now and again the pictures unexpectedly came out in his hand.
Semay had been settled by a group of colonists from the planet Mundo Real,
which thousands of years before had been settled by pioneers from Old Earth.
Those Mundo Real settlers had all come from a segment of the home planet known
as Western Europe, and they carried with them languages and traditions that they
were determined not to lose. The colonists who, hundreds of years later, traveled
from Mundo Real to Semay had left the traditions behind but taken the languages
with them. As a result, the common tongue on Semay was some curious, hybrid
amalgam of Romance languages called Spanish and French and Italian, and Drake
couldn't understand one word in ten.
He was studying, though. He had brought language tapes with him as well as
history books, and he played these while he exercised, while he read, while he slept.
He could not say he had made a great deal of progress. Linguistics had never really
been his specialty.
Which had not seemed to bother Comtech Central, the assignment bureau
responsible for matching up Moonchild officers with crises in the Intergalactic
Alliance of Federated Planets. He couldn't speak the language, and he wasn't exactly
sympathetic to religious issues. And from what he could tell of his reading so far,
religion was at the heart of the problem on Semay.
For perhaps the hundredth time, he pulled out his case files to review details of
the murders on Semay. Five people had been slain, all women, all priestesses
belonging to the two major religious sects on the planet. All five had been killed
within the borders of Madrid, the principal city of Semay. The local police force (the
"hombuenos," according to Drake's file) were used to regarding the priestesses as
sacrosanct, and thus were reluctant to investigate the tragedies with the ruthlessness
they might muster in another case. They needed help.
Drake turned another page in the report. The local governor had asked for
assistance from the local Moonchildren stationed on Semay. But there were only
three of them, and they were deep in political negotiations with the planetary
government. They had recommended instead the full-time investigative skills of an
SAO dedicated to the case. The governor had been grateful for the suggestion. And
a few days later, Drake was on his way.
It had taken him several readings to get a grasp of what exactly was happening on
Semay, and why it was important enough to merit the attention of Interfed and its
elite peacekeeping forces. The murders, though baffling, were straightforward
enough. First to be killed was a priestess of the Triumphante sect, the dominant and
most widespread order on the planet. A few weeks later, a member of the Fidele sect
had been found dead. Both women had been garroted and left on abandoned
property. Next, another Triumphante was murdered, then another Fidele, then
another Triumphante.
Drake thumbed forward to the appendix describing the religious orders on
Semay. Everyone seemed to worship the same goddess, Ava, but how they
approached her said a lot about their individual personalities. The Triumphantes were
a wealthy, powerful and popular sect that espoused a philosophy of worship as joy.
Among their adherents were the rich and the politically ambitious. The Fideles were
stern ascetics who gave away all possessions and spent their days ministering to the
poor. Different though they were, the two sects had managed to co-exist in harmony
for more than a thousand years. They preached no gospel of derision or hate. So
who had learned to hate the priestesses, and why?
And why did Interfed care? Drake closed the folder, then closed his eyes.
Semay's major export was a handful of aromatic desert spices that had not been
successfully transplanted anywhere, and this unique crop had guaranteed it a place in
the free market of the civilized planets. It had also made Semay reluctant to accept a
long-standing invitation to federate, since planetary officials feared the inevitable
influx of off-world merchants. But Interfed wanted Semay within its protective and
commercial net. Indeed, the small Moonchild contingent even now in Madrid was
there specifically to woo this skittish bride and bring her home as the latest Interfed
conquest. Actually, that courtship had been in progress ten years or more, and to
date Semay had shown very little interest in accepting Interfed's proposal.
Drake leaned his head back against his chair. But. The Interfed was equally
interested in attaching Corsica, a military planet with a high level of technological
skill. Corsica, desperately seeking a trade alliance with Semay, had agreed to federate
only on condition that Semay also step inside the Interfed net If Interfed could
convince Semay, it would win over Corsica, it would secure the whole Aellan
Corridor. It would sew up yet another loose corner of the galaxy.
Drake opened his eyes and smiled sardonically. Whenever an issue seems unclear
or improbable, look for the profit motive. Interfed had never been an altruist. Drake
was not being sent to Semay merely to save the lives of a few religious fanatics. He
was going there to make the universe a haven for commerce. He felt much better
once he understood his proper mission.
The cruiser made dozens of stops between its embarkation point of New Terra and
its final destination, of Fortunata. From there, Drake would have to catch a shuttle to
Semay, a loss of another two days. He was by nature a patient man, but he hated
waste, and this slow, meandering journey seemed a criminal waste to his fastidious
mind.
The night before they made planetfall on Fortunata, Drake was joined at dinner by
a fellow traveler who had introduced himself as Thelonious Reed. He was a small,
graying, older man who was perpetually cheerful and indiscriminately friendly; he
would strike up a conversation with the surliest crew member or the most reserved
passenger. He whistled incessantly as he sauntered through the brightly lit corridors
of the ship, as he waited for his meals to be served in the low-ceilinged dining room,
as he stood at the windows in the viewing cabin and watched the stars slide by.
From a distance of two rooms, Drake could hear him coming, and escape him if he
chose, which the Moonchild often did. For some reason, Drake distrusted a man
who so openly broadcast his arrival and his mood.
He was, however, well-trained enough to cover his mild dislike. He nodded
genially when Reed asked to sit with him at dinner, and even forbore to be irritated
when the older man carefully arranged his linen napkin over his chest and lap.
"I never asked," Reed said when this task was accomplished to his satisfaction,
"is it convicts or commerce that brings you to Fortunata?"
Even an impassive face could be expected to betray a little surprise at a question
like that. "I'm not sure I understand," Drake said gravely.
Reed widened his eyes. "Fortunata," he repeated, as if that explained everything.
"That's all we have to offer, you know. Biggest trading center in the Aellan
Corridor—and the biggest prison in this half of the galaxy."
The question now made sense. Drake allowed himself a small smile. "And which
end do you favor?" he asked.
Reed selected a roll from the bread basket on the table and watched while the
waiter laid the night's dinner before him. "I'm a businessman myself," he said. "Run
thirty merchantmen cargo ships from my base in Fortunata. Times are good. I
remember when it was only ten."
Drake was slightly interested. He had the Moonchild's ingrained hunger for raw
data, no matter how valueless. "What kind of cargo?"
Reed waved a hand. "Whatever I can buy or sell. Fortunata's a crossroads for the
Aellan Corridor and the Maxine Circle. We ship anything anywhere. All strictly
aboveboard, too."
Drake repressed a brief grin; legitimate merchants had, in the past, had their share
of disputes with independent mercenaries who could carry small, valuable and often
illegal cargoes from planet to planet and avoid inconveniences like taxes and import
duties. "Spices?" he wanted to know.
The other man nodded. "The luxuries of life—the cargo I prefer," he said. "Deal
with the rich, my friend, for they can always pay, and they are always civilized."
Drake toyed with his food. He was not here undercover, after all, and he openly
wore the wristbadge and earring that would brand him as a Moonchild. Still, as a
matter of principle, he disliked playing his hand too openly. "Do you import and
export spices from Semay?" he asked.
Reed's face took on a bright look of excitement. "Ah, Semay," he said, as if
someone had mentioned his favorite daughter. "I have several ships that regularly
make the run to Madrid. Best spices in this part of the galaxy. Possibly the best
spices within Interfed. Are you a connoisseur of such things?"
"Not yet," Drake said. "Hoping to be someday, maybe."
"Then you're on your way to Semay, I take it? Not Fortunata after all?"
"Semay," Drake confirmed.
"Give my respects to Ava," the little man said. "We do not worship her on
Fortunata, but she has always been a favorite of mine. A happy goddess."
"Then you must pray with the Triumphantes," Drake said.
Reed smiled at him. "Any reasonable man would," he replied.
Drake escaped from his dinner companion after a bit of graceful lying. Once Reed
realized that the Moonchild would have a twelve-hour layover in Fortunata, he
offered to put him up at one of his hotels (apparently he owned several in the
shipping district) or even his own home. Drake was not in the habit of making
lifetime friends out of chance traveling companions, so he said that arrangements had
been made for him back on New Terra. In fact, he planned to spend the night in one
of the Spartan rooms set aside for transient Moonchildren at the local base on
Fortunata, but he was sure Reed would not understand why he would prefer such a
bed to the luxury of a hotel.
They were only about eight hours from planetfall and Fortunata had become the
biggest thing in the night sky. Drake spent more than an hour, solitary in the
observation room, watching the violet planet grow closer and more distinct. He did
not, on the whole, find the approach to civilization as miraculous and absorbing as
his intent expression would indicate. He preferred the vast intervals of unsettled
space to the comfortable harbors of the colonized worlds.
He could, by turning his head, still gaze on the limitless miles of spangled night
that sprawled out behind the moving ship. It was a sight that never failed to intrigue
him, no matter what his mood or mission. He was not a particularly literate man, but
they had all been forced to memorize the Essex Bounty poem that had, centuries
ago, coined the name Moonchild, and some of its lines inevitably occurred to Drake
as he watched the night fold back.
She had called the vast expanse of untamed stars "the midnight prairie miles of
space," a phrase that had seemed apt enough when he first heard it. Not until he had
spent a month on the agricultural planet called Kansas did he fully understand what
the poet meant. Drake was a transgalactic traveler; he was used to distance and he
knew how to conquer it with machines. But on this serene, quiet, undulating world of
flat plains and heavy crops he had learned to appreciate distance when it was
measurable only by time and human effort.
He had taken a horse and ridden for five straight days across a plain almost
unpacked by a man's foot. For two days, he had seen no other living soul; the last
buildings he had sighted, without stopping, had been tumbledown homesteaders'
shacks where young families were trying to prove up their acres of land. At night, he
built his own campfire and cooked his own food and heard about him the
mysterious singing of the prairie insects; and he felt, as if it were a tangible force,
every mile of that land pressing in on him from long, unimaginable distances.
Essex Bounty had lived on Old Earth in the days before space travel, but she had
known a metaphor when she saw it; and she had captured for Drake exactly the way
he felt about the silent, watchful, living tableland of the stars.
Fortunata's main port, Drake felt, gave ample evidence of its two main concerns. It
was one of the busiest ship harbors he had ever seen, and its control tower
admirably directed the landings and takeoffs of thousands of vessels a day. Drake
identified the markings of every major planet in Interfed as well as a few small, fleet
ships that could only belong to independent mercenaries or outlaw dealers in the
most dangerous of goods.
摘要：

 Color1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8--9-TextSize10--11--12--13--14--15--16--17--18--19--20--21--22--23--24WRAPTINCRYSTALBySharonShinnContentsChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenCh...

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