Ally (37 page)

“They think you own the gene bank, and that it's a Christian privilege.”

“Well, Esganikan needs to explain that God owns it, and we're taking it back to where he intended it to be. Because I doubt that I'll be making the decisions.” She stopped to watch Becken, Qureshi and Chahal assembling a habitation cube and apparently enjoying it enormously. “See? We're all transformed. The Lord does that. And…Aras, he's done that for you too. You faced your past on Umeh. Do you feel cleansed? Have you forgiven the isenj?”

Aras was distracted by her son, James, now a man in build, as he cut through the avenues of tents and cubes. He glanced at Aras with blank disregard, nothing more, and that summed up their relationship now: James had reached his understanding of Aras's execution of his father in a more silent way than his mother. Little Rachel, who'd once adored Aras and would run laughing to him, was nowhere to be seen.

“I can't forgive someone who's dead,” Aras said. “The isenj who tortured me is in my memories anyway—I recall what he recalled. And that's both good and bad, because I understand why he did what he did to me, but I also feel he's taking away my present.”

“Why?”

“I can't erase the memories, and I can't reach him to talk
about them, or do something different with the future. That's forgiveness, isn't it?” Some human concepts eluded him even now. “I also recall what I was before he captured me, and what I can never have.” He stared into Deborah's face and saw wide baffled brown eyes and the faint, fine blue veins around them. “Is this Hell?”

“What?”

“As long as I live, I can't escape him. It strikes me that being trapped with your victim is the kind of elaborate punishment that your god would choose.”

“It's not like that, Aras.”

“I know. God is not there for me. I was only curious.” No, he was disturbed, and he wanted to get back to the self he was when Shan came back from the dead, when for a brief few days—just days, that was all it was, in so long a life—all he and Ade and Shan were
happy.
“And this judgment day…”

“We'll all be judged, Aras, and you mustn't worry. I've wondered how the glimpse of God we get from Earth can give us a full picture of his plan, and now I've been allowed to see you and so many different species, I think that's to teach us that we
haven't
seen all that God intends to show us. And so we can't judge you.”

It was—finally—some kind of acceptance that humans weren't special. “Esganikan is going to fulfill that role for Earth, Deborah. That's your judge.”

“We're given more glimpses of the picture each day. Esganikan is another instrument of God's will. I can accept that.”

This was the point where Aras struggled with Deborah's logic. He
knew
what Esganikan was. She was a military commander, an
isan
with special skills: she subdued planets and remade them. She was the instrument of an ancient culture—his, however distant in form and place—that wanted a balanced, fair, ecologically sustainable galaxy. There was no mystery, divine or otherwise. This was consequence and
fair play,
as Shan called it. If Deborah couldn't see God's purpose, Aras could certainly see Esganikan's.

“What if she has to kill humans as part of this plan, like she's killed isenj on Umeh?” he asked.

Now it was Deborah's turn to struggle. “Aras, we reach Earth in less than thirty years. A great deal can change in that time. Something
will
happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Knowing that a hugely powerful army is coming that will enforce change
forces
change.” She was a pattern-recognizing human: the extreme events she'd lived through were rationalized into some divine plan, but there was at least some logic in the deterrent effect of an Eqbas fleet. “It's called seeing sense.”

But humans never saw sense when they were warned about impending environmental disaster. Was it worth saying that? Aras never knew whether pointing out the error in her logic achieved anything, and if something had no bearing on an outcome then it wasn't worth saying. He stayed silent. Humans called that diplomacy.

“Did the isenj forgive you, Aras?”

“I didn't ask,” he said. “And it doesn't matter.”

He walked off in search of Barencoin and Ade, who'd shown up with tools and were helping Webster get a bank of generators running on human waste. It was an inventive adaptation from the recycling system in Umeh Station. Webster was head-down in a square tank, legs visible over the edge, all dappled combat pants and solid boots. Rhythmic banging reverberated in the tank. Ade and Barencoin, stripped to the waist, were feeding pipes through apertures, squatting down and bobbing up to check where the alignment was. Barencoin saw him and straightened up.

“We're really cooking with shit now, 'Ras,” he said, grinning. “You don't look too happy.”

“I've been discussing God's plans with Deborah.”

Ade bounced up from the ground and his attention was immediately on his house-brother. He gave Aras a boisterous shove that was clearly designed to meet Barencoin's standards of what was acceptable contact in adult males. There was no hug. “Just nod and smile, mate.”

“She keeps saying they have thirty years to achieve some change on Earth before the Eqbas arrive.”

Webster reversed out of the tank, kicking her legs to get
upright. Her face was red and shiny from effort. “Well, a bit short of that, but as near as damn it in round figures.”

“She thinks that means thirty years to talk.”

“Oh shit, you didn't explain relativity to her, did you?”

“No.”

“If they don't sort it in the next four years, then they won't be doing much more talking until they land,” said Ade. “With a big gap to catch up on.”

“A place can really go downhill in that time.” Barencoin picked up a sawn length of pipe and blew across it, producing a plaintive note. “I love a surprise.”

“Give us a hand, Aras.” Webster offered him a metal tool. “Big strong lad like you shouldn't be standing around idle.”

Aras knew they didn't need his help. It was just a friendly gesture to make him feel accepted. He helped manhandle the tank into position and they spent the next few hours connecting pipes, separators, catalysts and extractors to create an impressive, bright yellow arrangement of rectangular boxes. There was, he agreed, a fundamental satisfaction in getting a job done.

“I claim the inaugural shit,” said Webster, standing back to admire her work. “And I declare this shit-powered generator officially online.”

“Ladies first,” said Barencoin. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Ade stood with hands on hips, looking much as he did when he first arrived on Bezer'ej. Only the bioluminescence that was concentrated around the tattoos on his upper arms, a blue backlight to symbol of a globe circled with leaves, gave any hint of his vastly altered physiology.

He turned and smiled at Aras. “We better get back soon,” he said. “Shan will never forgive us if we miss dinner. Jesus, mate, I love that woman more than my own life, but she's a fucking awful cook. Just nod and smile, remember. Works with anyone.”

Everyone was concerned with forgiveness lately. Ben Garrod, Josh's ancestor and Aras's first human friend, said his god forgave transgressions. Aras pondered the nature of forgiveness—acceptance, getting on with the future, not let
ting the past consume you—and wondered how God could take personal umbrage at so many things done to others, and why the deity had the right to forgive the perpetrator if the victims didn't want to.

It was none of his business. The more Aras thought about the concept, the more it struck him that God was the distillation of humankind's worst tendencies, not its best. God, like humans, presumed too much.

Bezer'ej: Esganikan Gai's cabin, outside the Temporary City

“We've found them.”

Esganikan looked up from the image of Earth's rising oceans re-created in the bulkhead of her detached section of ship. The Ouzhari remediation team leader stood in the open hatch.

“Come in, Cilan.” She gestured to him to join her on the deck. He knelt down and took out his
virin.
“So, how many?”

“All of them.” Cilan projected the recording from his
virin
onto the bulkhead. “Forty-five. They're all living on dry land. It's extraordinary. They've adapted, and that confirms they all carry the parasite.”

“Rayat said there were forty-four. Does this mean they've reproduced already?”

“No, we think the extra bezeri is the human female in a metamorphosed state. Look.”

The images were an aerial view of the islands south of the Temporary City. Greatly magnified, they showed a clearing and a number of large gelatinous shapes moving around: and there was one much smaller figure, bipedal, and very humanoid in form. “We thought it was worth trying a search on land, and we used remotes rather than overflying the area. They appear to have built a settlement on Nazel.”

“We need to monitor their movements. We can't afford to lose them again.”

“That's being done.”

Esganikan felt delicious relief. She hadn't experienced that in a long time, and she savored it. The bezeri could be tracked, studied, and, if absolutely necessary, eliminated. She would tell Shan Frankland the situation was now under control, and forbid her to take any action. It was one problem removed.

“Is there any sign that the parasite has spread to other species?” Esganikan asked.

“None. That doesn't mean it hasn't happened, and it would be a huge task to check every species. The bezeri are very tied to territory, though, and that means they'll probably stay in this area.”

“The evidence is that
c'naatat
likes large, mobile hosts.”

“We found very few native species that meet those criteria.”

I could simply destroy them now.

At the moment, she had no way of removing
c'naatat
from bezeri. She would be killing them on the basis of what they might do: infect other life-forms, or reproduce to excess. She had no evidence that they could do either.

And if they can, this is my best chance to prevent it happening.

Unlike the isenj situation, the need wasn't staring at her in the form of desperately overcrowded cities on a barren planet. And the isenj weren't a species reduced to a few individuals.

Her relief at finding them evaporated and gave way to concern again. “I need to brief the Skavu on this,” she said. “As long as they're on Bezer'ej, they run the risk of encountering a bezeri. I don't want any accidents.”

Cilan tilted his head on one side. “I hear they're very disturbed by
c'naatat.
The story of that human soldier has spread across their fleet.”

Skavu didn't have accurate recollection. They were as unreliable as humans when it came to memory and observation. But
c'naatat
was spectacular, and they were right to worry.

As long as they confined their reaction to caution, Esganikan would tolerate it.

“How's the remediation progressing?” she asked.

Cilan projected radiation levels onto the bulkhead. “We're pleased with the results so far, but repopulating the island with appropriate species will be difficult. Aras Sar Iussan believes that most of the vegetation that grew there was unique to Ouzhari.”

So Mohan Rayat had succeeded only in wiping out grass, small species, and nearly exterminating the bezeri. And poor Cilan: he should have been on his way home now, along with the rest of Shapakti's party. She wondered how many of the Eqbas crew she might be able to release rather than extend their tour of duty with the Earth mission. Shapakti could continue his research back on Eqbas Vorhi, and taking Rayat with him would put the human far beyond the reach of Earth forever.

Esganikan got to her feet in one movement. “I have to warn the Skavu about the bezeri. If they were accidentally contaminated, it would be an ugly situation.”

It was always better to deal with Skavu in person. She had personal authority, but she was never confident that any other Eqbas commander could carry the same weight. She found Kiir, Fourth To Die, walking along the shore and looking out to Constantine.

“This is commendably unspoiled, Commander,” he said.

“Aras Sar Iussan says this was all isenj settlements before the wars.” Yes, Kiir would approve of Aras. “I have to warn you all to look out for bezeri that have been infected with
c'naatat.
”

He took the news as she expected.

“You want us to eradicate them? We would appreciate advice on how to—”

“No,” said Esganikan. “These are the last of their kind. I want you to avoid them—to leave them alone. They've become terrestrial, so you might encounter them ashore.”

“I understand they destroyed a number of other species, Commander. That makes them a threat to the balance here.”

“I'm aware of that, but until I have reason to think they're a problem, I want them left alone. My crew are monitoring them.”

Kiir was deferential, but Esganikan had the feeling that he was beginning to think of her as…sloppy.

“I had no idea that
c'naatat
was so widespread,” he said. He stood at the edge of the shore and stared out to sea. “Or that you
tolerate
it.”

“It's a soil-dwelling organism, so it's not a matter of tolerating it,” she said. “Much of strife in this system was caused by someone attempting to destroy it on an island south of here. Nuclear devices. The attempt failed miserably, and
c'naatat
survives.”

Kiir was still staring at the water as if he expected to see bezeri. “Why have you not eradicated the risk in hosts, then?”