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Authors: Jr. L. E. Modesitt

BOOK: Adiamante
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We all ate for a while, and my head cleared somewhat. After several mouthfuls, I filled the impossibly fragile-looking and almost indestructible armaglass goblet and took a long swallow before setting it on the pale green tablecloth.
“ … earth's last reign and rain …”
Morgen's words danced in my thoughts, and I tried to fit it all together as I ate another slice of cheese.
“In non-Construct societies, luxuries become necessities,” I announced. “Then they can't be denied, and the resource requirements override ecosystem balance requirements.”
“Maybe …” mumbled Rhetoral through a mouthful of bread. “Have to think about that.”
“It doesn't matter,” said the dark-haired Elanstan. “We have to get the system running, and we can't produce these any more, and I'll enjoy them while I can.”
“She has something there,” I said to Rhetoral.
“She usually does.”
I studied the window, where the huge ship had almost disappeared beyond the Sfrisco bridge. The whole setting still left me unsettled, as if it were a window on the past that I found hard to believe had ever existed.
I looked from the routinely exquisite automated workmanship of the goblet to the tasty rich bread and the strong and tangy cheese and then to the silky tablecloth.
We'd opted for solid basics, but I could see the appeal of luxuries. I smiled wryly. Then, the bridge, the city, and the ancient ship all were gone, and had been for millennia. Only a few time-preserved relics remained, and those only because of the Construct.
Morgen had been right.
“ … and though the sun will blaze our tears,
our joys will last the endless years.”
In the end, only what each of us could hold endured, and only while we endured.
T
he cross-connection of the main net conference aboard the
Gibson
provided the officers with a backdrop of flickering flames and muted red lights.
“Why did you pick the inferno idea?” asked Commander Ideomineo, the executive officer.
“Because hell is preferable to where we are right now,” snapped Commander Gibreal, each word a fiery bullet.
“Toil and trouble …” The words whispered from nowhere.
“Status,” continued Gibreal. “The demis have already billeted a full armed company of marcybs. Their leader watched the billeting, without any reaction of the sort that would be expected if they were fully knowledgeable. Majer Ysslop believes this Coordinator Ecktor is aware of the weapons already landed. Majer Henslom disagrees.”
“Trust Ysslop.” The veiled words appeared from nowhere.
Lightnings rattled the net, and, in his seat, Commander Ideomineo rubbed his battered forehead.
“Subcommander Kemra?” asked Gibreal.
“We can detect no overt buildup or change in global power sources or distribution, with one exception. The demis seem to be making an effort to rebuild their satellite navigation system,” observed Kemra. “They still have two stations that aren't online.”
“Would it help in a ground war?” asked Gibreal.
“Would it help? Would it help to have a system that could probably drop an HE warhead on the focal point of a laser? Or a hovertank?” Gorum's sarcasm oozed both heat and the redness of blood across the net.
“It wouldn't take that long to knock out those beacons,” noted Gibreal.
“Longer than you think, ser,” answered the weapons officer. “Every one of those stations is buried inside an asteroid—a big lump of solid nickel-iron. They probably have retractable backup antenna grids—maybe even use the whole surface as a broadcast web.”
“So … that would make the nav systems an early warning device as well?” mused Gibreal. “Not quite so open and trusting, are they?”
“They are demis.” Kemra's words were edged in frost,
and cold fog drifted across the net, hissing as it struck the flames and hot rocks.
“Analysis?” asked Gibreal.
“The demi leader showed a marked physiological reaction to Subcommander Kemra,” announced MYL-ERA.
“It wasn't significant,” observed the nav. “Certainly not statistically significant.”
“Perhaps not,” reflected Gibreal. “But, according to the construct's measurements, he was the only one who showed any reaction. Any insight would be better than none.”
“Just blast the place,” snapped Weapons.
“Our mission was also to reclaim any advanced technology possible.” Gibreal's words held the chill of absolute zero. “It's hard to reclaim what you've destroyed, and I'd just as soon not be the one to make such a report to CybCen.”
“You need a navigator. No one else …” began the subcommander.
“Majer Lyans has almost the same qualifications as you do, Subcommander. And their leader, Coordinator, whatever they call him, isn't likely to entertain the majer. So you must.” Gibreal's words slithered across the net with the fanged ominousness and sibilants of the legged snakes of Gates.
“Just because I resemble someone who triggers a reaction?”
“What else do we have to exploit?” Leering image of a naked woman with spread legs.
The flash of power and lightning rumbled the net, and three overrides tripped.
“Imagery was excessive,” announced MYL-ERA over the speakers. “Overrides tripped. Repairs are commencing.”
“Touchy, isn't she?” rasped Ideomineo in his seldom-used voice to no one in particular.
“Conference ended,” muttered Gibreal. His fingers went to his temples, and his eyes glittered in the privacy of his stateroom.
Subcommander Kemra unclenched her teeth and massaged her forehead, her eyes flickering aft to where she knew the weapons officer lay dazed. “Teach him … teach them all.”
A
cold mist drifted out of the north as I hurried down Jung toward the admin building, glad that I had landed at the locial before the weather closed down. I still hated letting the system control the flitter: the sign of the true demi, I supposed, worried about systems controlling people. Of course, cybs didn't believe in people, and put more faith in systems.
I wiped the dampness off my forehead as I crossed the park. To my left, across the browned grass, droplets of water had beaded up on the statue of the unknown draff. I hoped I didn't end up like him, but there weren't many guarantees the way the cybs were behaving.
“Coordinator?” asked Keiko's smooth voice through the net.
“I'm coming. I'm coming.”
“Majer Henslom is here, waiting for you.”
“What does he want?” Whatever the cyb majer wanted, I wasn't going to like it.
“He says he has something to discuss with you, not with your lowly subordinate.” The hint of a white-toothed smile followed the words.
“He didn't say that.”
“He might as well have.” Keiko laughed, a laugh unheard by Majer Henslom.
“I know. They're worse than Coordinators.”
“Not much.” The laugh was more pronounced.
“I'm crossing the park now.”
When I got to the admin building, I hurried, but not to the extent of taking the stairs two at a time.
Henslom was waiting, in greens so smooth they could have come from an antique metal press. I inclined my head to him and gestured toward the office. “Come in, Majer.”
He stood stiffly on the other side of the broad desk as I peeled off my jacket—bison leather.
“Sit down.” I motioned to one of the green chairs and dropped into the swivel. It creaked, as I expected. “What can I do for you?”
Henslom sat as stiffly as he had stood, at attention on the front half of the chair, watching me as if I were some demon from the past.
“Coordinator Ecktor … the majority of our troopers have not been planetside in months. Some have not been off their ships since we left Gates.” Henslom's voice was harsh, as if he had been told to ask me. He would have rather demanded. “We appreciate your assistance in billeting the first five hundred, but we have several times that number of troopers.”
I fingered my chin. “We're a small society, Majer. I don't see how we could billet another five hundred troopers—that was what you had in mind, wasn't it? Not in the Deseret locial. We might be able to work something out in Ellay.”
“Ellay?”
“That's the locial west of here, about thirteen hundred klicks. We could probably open another residence bloc there in the next few days.” I spread my hands. “It's not as though we had large empty dwellings or antique hotels. The residence blocs function more as temporary housing,
and some sections are like guest houses for people visiting friends or family, but we don't travel that much here. Coming up with space for a thousand extra bodies in one locial isn't that easy.”
“We could bring down temporary billets,” said Henslom flatly.
“That's not feasible. We're still trying to get the ecosystems balanced.”
“A few thousand people couldn't do that much damage.” His voice was disbelieving.
“We'd rather not risk it. There's a great deal you need to find out about Old Earth before you make statements like that. Remember, unlike Gates, Old Earth suffered unbelievable ecological damage. We're still expending close to sixty percent of our societal resources on ecosystem maintenance or rehabilitation.” I paused, then added. “Reforestation was an early and comparatively easy accomplishment, but even after all these millennia, in some areas more than ten percent of the trees are meleysen groves.”
Henslom looked blank.
“Sorry. Meleysens are bioengineered trees which detoxify soil. They literally die and decompose once there are no unnatural chemical organics and certain heavy metals left in an area.”
He still looked uncomprehending.
“Majer,” I said softly. “Think about it. If more than five millennia after reforesting was initiated we still have ten percent of some forests with areas of high toxics levels, just how stable is the ecology? We still have unbelievably high mutation rates in many species, and some totally new species that have evolved.”
“I see,” he said. I could tell he didn't.
“I'll begin arrangements to vacate a residence bloc in Ellay. We'll try to have it available in three days.”
“I had hoped—”
“Majer. We have to move several hundred people.” I forced a smile. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Your head …” That was subvocalized, and I ignored it.
“Not now.” Henslom stood. “Thank you. I will tell Commander Gibreal that we can land another five hundred troopers in Ellay. He will be pleased. We can work out more arrangements later.”
“Let me know what you need.” I wasn't promising, just saying I'd listen if asked.
I got the barest of nods.
After the majer left, I linked to the net and tried to connect with Locatio. I probed his index, but there was no response. I hated using the voice-storing feature, but sometimes there was no option. “Locatio, this is Ecktor. The cybs have requested additional earthside billeting for their marcybs. In order to ensure continued harmony as the cyb visit to Old Earth progresses, I'd like to request that you make available a five-hundred-person residential bloc for that purpose. This will have to be done by the day after tomorrow. You're authorized to grant comptime credits, temporary housing upgrades, whatever is necessary. Thank you.”
Then I went out and told Keiko.
“How many marcybs do they have stacked up on those ships?” she asked, black eyes glancing toward the hall and the open staircase down which the majer had departed in his stiffly fluid strides.
“Five thousand, I'd guess, from the design and comparative analysis.”
“Enough to create a mess, but not enough to take a planet.”
“They don't want a conquest,” I pointed out, “but a reason to slag Old Earth. It's hard to avoid giving them that reason.”
“That's an understatement.”
I yawned.
“Do you want some tea?” she asked.
“I could use it, if you wouldn't mind.”
The office seemed empty, but it was immense enough that I could have had the entire representative Committee of the Consensus around the desk and it still would have felt empty.
The park was filled with gray mist, and droplets formed on the outside of the office windows, then condensed into globules that ran down the glass in random tracks.
“Your tea, Coordinator.”
I tried not to jump. So distracted and unfocused had I been that I'd not even heard her enter. “Thank you.”
“They don't make it easy.” In a black jumpsuit and with her black hair, she was probably the cybs' nightmare version of a demi. She nodded in the general direction of the south residential bloc where Majer Henslom's marcybs were boarded. “That's why you're Coordinator.”
“Such a vote of confidence.”
“No one has ever been that fond of whoever was Coordinator—not until much, much later.”
“Like I said … a great vote of confidence.”
She smiled briefly, then left, her steps silent and graceful.
A faint trail of steam wafted up from the pale brown mug that sat on the middle of the desk.
After drinking half a cup of Keiko's royal blend—that was enough to wake up a hibernating bear—I connected into the uppernet and pulsed a link toward Ell Control. “Elanstan?”
“She's on Kappa, Ecktor.” Somehow, Rhetoral felt more tightly wound, and I could almost sense the chill of angry blue eyes. “Do you want me to twist the link there?”
“No. That's fine.” I tried to keep my words easy. “How is it going?”
“The rest of the system is warming, slowly. The online stations will be above ninety percent by tomorrow.”
“That says you've still got problems with Delta and Kappa.”
“Elanstan says Kappa will take three or four days. She's not talking about Delta. I suppose you want everything on line tomorrow?”
“We have some time, but I had to agree to vacate another residential bloc. This one's in Ellay.”
“Do you think it's a ploy?”
“No, Henslom was told to ask me. He didn't want to. The cybs haven't quite figured out how to proceed. I think they expected outright hostility, and our welcome has upset some of their notions.”
“That won't last long.” He laughed harshly.
“You're right, but I'll take all the time they'll give us. Keep me up to date.”
“We will.”
After the link cleared, I swallowed the rest of the royal blend, too quickly. Then I walked to the window and stared southward across the park, where sunlight was beginning to break through the gray mist. Patches of blue appeared in spots, especially to the south.
“Ecktor! Some Coordinator you are!”
The words burned through the net, jolting me upright in the green swivel that squeaked sharply with my startled movement.
“You didn't even have the courtesy to consult with me before this … the request.” Each of Locatio's words burned like red-hot iron spears.
“It wasn't exactly a request, honored Consensus representative,” I offered smoothly.
“I know that! You're the Committee's representative, not its dictator!”
I swallowed before answering. “Under the Coordinator's charter, there are no limits on my actions, except my immediate removal. The Committee could probably even send me to one of the swept isles, Locatio. But a Committee
can't respond fast enough, or assess the changing situation. I did what I thought best.” Maybe so, but I was beginning to sweat as I responded. Had I done right?
“Letting another five hundred of those monsters back on Old Earth? Displacing hundreds of our people? Without even consulting those most affected?”
“Guilty as charged—except that I have to consider the alternatives. Crucelle's team hasn't come up with a viable blazelink. The satellite system isn't fully on line, and there are twelve adiamante hulls in orbit, and each one generates as much power as all of our locials together normally. I'm trying to purchase time as cheaply as possible. Do you have any other ideas?”
The silence stretched across the link. I wiped my forehead.
“It's still high-handed. Couldn't you have at least said that you'd let them know?”
“The one advantage we possess is myth—the myth of demi unity and decisiveness. If I wander around like a demented cleft cow, I give that up.”
“You have an answer for everything, Ecktor.”
I wished I did.
“I'll be talking to you later.”
The faint hissing vanished with the link, and I rubbed my temples. Talking with Locatio in person was difficult; linking was almost impossible.
A knock on the half-open door got my attention, and I motioned Keiko in.
“While you were on the net, the majer sent a force leader over here. They're not happy with the food supplies. They claim they need more animal protein.” Keiko rolled her dark eyes.
I frowned and went into the logistics net, trying to track something I thought I'd seen. After a timeless instant, I found it. Keiko was still there when I shook my head. “There.” I passed the data to her. “The midplains bison
herds are above eco-norm. See if the Kaysta locial can cull what we need.”
“I'm glad we're not in Afrique. You'd have someone culling rhions.” This time, she offered the thought without a smile.
I winced. Rhions made vorpals look small and mild, but rhion meat was good.
“Coordinator …” The smooth oiliness of the netlink betrayed K'gaio's presence even before her signature-link identified her. “Locatio just contacted me.”
Keiko nodded to me and slipped back out of the office, graceful and silent.
It had to be the middle of the night in Kelang, but K'gaio was as unruffled as she always sounded or appeared. That might have been one reason why I wasn't comfortable with her. No one was that calm all the time, and I wondered what inner fires stoked her.
“I could sense the firebolts from here,” I offered with a laugh.
“He was somewhat agitated, and he asked me to intercede on his behalf, or, more properly, on behalf of the Ellay locial.”

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