The Darkside Of The Sun

dryly. ‘My name is Fff-Shs. And you are Chairman Sabalos.’
    ‘Not till tomorrow,’ moaned Dom. He winced as the pain came again.
    ‘Ah. Yess. Do not on any account make ssudden movementss. I have treated the burn. It iss superficial.’
    The phnobe stood up and walked out of Dom’s vision. The small creature still watched him intently.
    Dom turned his head slowly. He was lying in a small clearing in the centre of one of the floating islands that thronged the marsh rhines. It was moving slowly and, remarkably, against the wind. From somewhere below the reed mat came the occasional deep pulse of an antique deuterium motor.
    A coarse woven net was slung across the clearing, hiding it effectively from airborne eyes. With the motor and the ancillary mechanisms that must be hidden under the thick reed mat, the little island would not hold its secret long against even unsophisticated search equipment. But there were several hundred thousand islands in the marsh. Who could search them all?
    A conclusion began to form in Dom’s mind.
    The phnobe passed in front of him and he saw he was holding a double-bladed tshuri knife lightly, tossing it thoughtfully from hand to hand. Dom was mother-naked, except where dry salt rimed his black skin.
    The phnobe was embarrassed by his presence. Occasionally he stopped juggling with the knife and stared at him intently.
    They both heard the distant swish-swish of a flyer. The phnobe dived sideways, flipped back a section of reed and killed the island’s speed, then on the rebound flung himself down by Dom with the knife pressed against his throat.
    ‘Not to utter a sound,’ he said.
    They lay still until the flyer had faded into the distance.
    The phnobe was a pilac smuggler. The dagon fishermen under licence from the Board of Widdershins rode out by the hundred when the big bivalves rose up from the deep, to snatch the pearls of nacreous pilac by the light of the moon. They used lifelines, leather body armour and elaborate back-up procedures – like the factory float which included a hospital where a missing hand was merely a minor mishap and even death not always fatal.
    There were other fishers. They traded safety for an odd conception of excitement and accepted as the price of an illegal fortune the complete lack of any opportunity to spend it. By nature they worked alone and were highly skilled. What they snatched from the sea was theirs alone, including death. Occasionally the Board launched a campaign against them and made half-hearted attempts to stop the pilac being smuggled offworld. Captured smugglers were not killed now – that would certainly be against the One Commandment – but it occured to Dom that to those of their nature the alternative punishment was far worse than the death they courted nightly. So the smuggler would kill him.
    The phnobe stood up, still holding the knife by the heavier, forward-facing blade.
    ‘Why am I here?’ asked Dom, meekly. ‘The last I remember ...’
    ‘You were floating among the lilies sso peacefully, with a stripper burn across your chest. The ssecurity has been out ssince dawn. It seemed they were searching, for a criminal maybe, so I am jusst a little curiouss and pick you up.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Dom, easing himself into a sitting position.
    The smuggler shrugged, a strangely expressive gesture in a high-shouldered bony body.
    ‘How far are we from the Tower?’
    ‘I found you forty kilometres from the Sky Pillar. We have travelled maybe two kilometres ssince.’
    ‘Forty! But someone shot at me at the Tower.’
    ‘Maybe you swim well for a drowned man.’
    Dom lifted himself gradually to his feet, his eyes on the twisting knife. ‘Do you gather much pilac?’
    ‘Eighteen kilos in the last twenty-eight years,’ said the phnobe, watching the sky absently. Despite himself, Dom did a quick calculation.
    ‘You must be very skilful.’
    ‘Many times I die. On other time lines. Maybe this universe is my chance in a million and the other thousands of selves are dead. What is skill then?’
    The knife continued its brief flights from hand to hand. Overhead the sun shone like a gong. Dom felt dizzy and was briefly sick but managed to stay upright, waiting for his chance.
    The phnobe blinked.
    ‘I seek an omen,’ he said.
    ‘What for?’
    ‘To see, you understand, if I am to kill you.’
    A flock of blue flamingoes flapped slowly overhead. Dom gasped for air and readied himself.
    The knife was thrown faster