Ally (40 page)

And it was Shan Frankland who was the funny alien pal whose morality—and she'd rewritten that book a few times—was the novelty here.

Accept that this isn't your manor. It's Nevyan's.

“Okay,” said Shan. And if she thought it was wrong, could she stop it? It was another event she'd agonize over. “Okay, so Umeh is drastically depopulated. That's a lovely phrase for it. What, three, four billion dead? Then it's a case of tally ho, nanites away, clear the land, replant. Or whatever. And the isenj still standing after all that change into some kind of Jain or Buddhist stay-at-homes, and everyone lives happily ever after, or else Wess'ej presses the button and gets rid of every last one of them.”

And then we terraform the place.

Shan had no idea whatsoever where that last thought came from, and she slapped it away.

“Succinct,” said Ralassi. “What is
tally ho?
”

“Never mind.” Shan looked for some reaction from Nevyan, but she seemed satisfied. She had that happy, scent of powdery contentment, but there was just the edge of
jask
on it. Shan was still curious to find out what she'd feel if a
matriarch unleashed a full blast of the pheromone at her, but it would have to stay academic curiosity for now. “I'm not advocating this, but if you want the Skavu gone, you could skip the targeted pathogen stage and go straight to Armageddon.”

Ralassi chittered. Rit did her impression of a gaudy chandelier in an earthquake. They seemed to understand the inference. “They would stay, though, to start a new ecosystem.”

“There's one other consideration,” said Nevyan. “I have no interest in wiping out the isenj species. It's wrong. We never interfered with them in their own territory—which doesn't include Bezer'ej, of course.”

Shan decided she must have been getting slow. “You want me to influence Esganikan with you, don't you? Lean on her with a bit of jask.”

“Yes.”

It was Nevyan's world. She was bred to lead, groomed for it, and it wasn't the job of a human copper to decide what was best for F'nar and for Wess'ej in general. If the other city states were content to let F'nar handle off-world relations, then it had to be good enough for her.

“I'll do it,” she said.

“We have an agreement, then,” said Nevyan. “Now Shan and I have to see Esganikan, and I will contact you when it's settled.”

Of course she needed Shan: she needed more
jask.
Ralassi and Rit left, and Shan was left with the certain knowledge that she was back to being the hired muscle, a role she hadn't played for many years. She was happier with that than she could ever imagine.

“So, we put the deal to Esganikan and give her a burst of the old mango persuader if she looks balky,” said Shan. She took one of the cakes and bit into it: the fragrant syrupy filling squirted against the roof of her mouth. “Okay. Let's set something up. Gives me a reason to be on Bezer'ej when Aras is.”

Nevyan beckoned Giyadas to her lap and wrapped her arms around the kid. “I didn't know if you would support me in this, my friend.”

“You should know me by now.”

“I've never doubted your wisdom.”

“It's not about wisdom. It's about pragmatism.”

“Is there a difference?”

“I think so.” Shan needed a plan B. Throwing your weight around with a bit of
jask
was fine, but it wasn't a science like ballistics: she couldn't calculate how much it would take to get the result. “What if we get it wrong and one of us ends up dominating the game?”

“This isn't a confrontation between two matriarchs like the time you deposed Chayyas.”

“Reminding me of that makes me a lot more confident.” Shit, she'd lost her temper with Chayyas and challenged her—wess'har
never
bluffed—by pulling the pin from a grenade. No bastard was going to punish Aras for infecting her, not God almighty and certainly not Chayyas. She had no idea it would trigger her to cede power. “Thanks a bunch.”

“Esganikan will cede. There is a collective will.”

“What if we've read her wrong? We've never tested her limits.”

Shan had no idea what being crushed by
jask
felt like. She knew it made her irritable and punchy when she smelled it, and it took a conscious effort not to succumb to the instinct to challenge. It scared her: wess'har might believe that if you acted wess'har then you
were
wess'har regardless of origins, but she knew she was a substantially human template with wess'har and other alien modifications, and that meant the competitive ape within her was still there.

Nevyan fidgeted with the collar of her
dhren.
“You fear ousting her rather than being subdued yourself, don't you?”

“I don't want her job.”

“What would you do if it happened?”

“Do what I did when I out-scented Chayyas,” she said. “Hand the command over to someone else. I'm not leading some armada with no idea what to do with it. I'm just a copper. It's all I've ever been.”

Shan pulled out her swiss and let it dangle on its lanyard as if she could hypnotize herself with it. No, she wasn't hypnotist's material. Then she thumbed the keys and scrolled
for Esganikan's ITX terminal. She got the Temporary City operations center.

“This is Shan Frankland,” she said. “Tell Esganikan that Nevyan and I are coming to see her.”

Giyadas watched them both intently, gaze going from one to the other. “What happens to Bezer'ej?” she asked. “Will the Skavu leave there too?”

It was a good question: there was nothing to make them, except Esganikan's command. They didn't like the idea of infected bezeri, but they didn't seem likely to have the means to do anything about it beyond destruction, and that wasn't easy with the elusive bezeri.
C'naatat
was a mystery to them, beyond their technology.

“Let's add it to the shopping list,” said Shan.

Bezer'ej: Nazel, also known as Chad Island

Lindsay didn't see the boat come ashore: none of them did. But Keet spotted the intruder walking along the boundary of the marshes, and came thudding into the settlement to raise the alarm.

“The one I spoke to is here,” said Keet. “The one who used to protect Bezer'ej. He comes.”

It took Lindsay a few moments to work out that he meant Aras. She looked up at the woven nests strung in the trees, and the mud plaster drying on the newly built huts, and decided there was no point pretending their location could have remained a secret much longer. But Aras had no greater powers now than they did—unless he had a grenade launcher. There was no reason for one
c'naatat
to fear another.

“Well, then,” said Lindsay. “Let's be hospitable and show him what we've achieved.”

She laid the shell trowel across the top of the tightly woven container of mud daub and almost went to tidy herself, but Aras wasn't human, and she barely qualified now. What did appearance matter, for either of them? When he'd arrived with armed wess'har troops to expel the
Thetis
crew from Constantine, she'd feared and resented him; she'd feared his technology and weapons, and resented the fact that Shan Frankland's life was deemed worthy of saving with
c'naatat
while her baby's wasn't.

No, Shan made the decision. Aras saved who he loved, just like I would.

She found it hard to resent him, and his technology was only relevant as something to acquire.

“How does he know where we are?” asked Keet.

Bezeri still had a lot to learn about life above water. “There are devices up there.” She pointed skyward. “In space. They watch this planet to keep it safe. There are many ways of finding things from a long way away.”

“He would never have found us in the sea.”

“The Eqbas found you, by testing water samples. It's hard to hide anywhere.” She prodded Keet's mantle; he was warm and firm, like a beach ball left in the sun. “But it might be a good idea to stay clear of him. Just in case.”

Saib lumbered across the clearing and stood amid the gathering group, reminding everyone that he was still the patriarch. “He would never harm us.”

“He is angry,” said Keet. “He thinks we did wrong.”

“We
have done nothing, and he knows that.”

Lindsay wondered how far Aras might go. He'd executed Surendra Parekh, and he was no stranger to genocide himself. She tried to understand wess'har ethics and failed, seeing only the intersecting lines that cut across her own.

Hang on. I did this too. I didn't intend to, but I killed bezeri. And I saved them too, like he saved Shan. We're as bad as each other. Or the same.

“Don't take anything for granted with Aras,” she warned. “Be careful. Just shut up and let me deal with him.”

Half of the bezeri had gathered around her. The others had gone to explore Clare island again. They waited silently, with no exchange of lights or sound, just the occasional crack of vegetation as they shifted position. A few lounged in their treetop vantage points, tentacles dangling like tails.

“He is coming,” one of them called.

Aras covered the ground fast. He strode into the clearing, almost human if it hadn't been for that strikingly angular half-animal face, and looked up. If it was possible to gauge astonishment in an alien whose expressions she didn't understand, then he hadn't expected to see bezeri in trees.

“Aras,” said Lindsay. “I'd say welcome, but I'm not sure why you're here.”

He froze and stared at her, which wasn't surprising under the circumstances. She'd been a normal woman when he last saw her. Now she was only vaguely humanoid in shape, and not the flesh and blood either wess'har or human recognized. After a few long seconds, he turned his head and his gaze tracked across the gathering of cephalopods transformed into land animals.

“I came to see if you're the threat to the Bezer'ej ecology that the Skavu dread,” he said.

“Usually,
hello
works best.” Lindsay couldn't hate him. She had no reason, although she'd never had a close relationship with him and some of their interaction had been tense and hostile. “Who are the Skavu?”

“Allies of the Eqbas. More fanatical, you might say, than we are. Shan calls them
eco-jihadim.
” He'd said the dreaded name and summoned the Devil from the pit; Lindsay genuinely expected to see Shan emerge from the bushes with a grenade to settle the score once and for all. She glanced around as discreetly as she could, but Aras knew her preoccupation. “No, Shan didn't come. So, are you a risk? Should the Skavu balance you?”

“It's the Skavu calling the shots, then, not you.”

“Perhaps, but I still want to assess the situation.”

“There's just forty-four of them left, Aras. That's all.” They'd put paid to the
sheven
on Chad, though. They complained that they found none when they plunged into the depths of the bogs and marshes. She decided not to tell him. “They're not the isenj.”

“I know how many there are.” Aras ambled around the clearing, gazing at the huts and the tree nests. “Rayat told us.”

Oh God. What the hell is that slimeball up to now?
“Ah, so you got him. I bet Shan—”

“He's alive and well.”

And scheming.
“I'm surprised. He must have some use to you, then, or he wouldn't be.”

Aras simply stared back at her. She noted his sidearm, a wess'har device about thirty centimeters long, and the knife he always carried, like a machete with a notched
tip. “Have you infected any other creature, to your knowledge?”

It was impossible to know, but the bezeri hadn't infected anything they hunted. Nothing escaped alive.

“As far as I can tell, no,” she said.

“I want to look around?”

“Why?”

“To find a reason to tell Esganikan Gai that this colony isn't a threat, won't spread across the planet like the isenj nearly did, and won't repeat the actions of its forebears.” Aras stopped as he caught sight of Keet, and—astonishingly—he seemed to recognize him. “You said you weren't sorry last time I met you. Remember?”

“I remember,” said Keet. “And I am still not sorry.”

“I don't need your repentance. That was my human element getting the better of me.” Aras walked on a little further, hands clasped behind his back. “I need to know if you have learned and changed.”

Lindsay thought of the
sheven
. No: the bezeri mentality hadn't changed at all, and she still didn't know how she might handle that. But if their physiology could change, so might their mentality.

Saib edged forward from the group of bezeri watching Aras. He swung forward and reared up into a sitting position, settling a good deal taller than Aras and—knowing Saib—showing him who was boss. Aras, never visibly intimidated, simply looked up at him as if admiring a building.

“We have returned to what we were,” Saib said. “In a different place, in a different shape, but the people we once were—that is what we are again.”

Shut up, Saib.
He could never resist having his say. Lindsay tried to judge the right time to cut in.

“What do you eat?” Aras asked.

Saib rumbled with exhaled air. “Everything.”

Aras turned around and continued his stroll through the camp, apparently unconcerned. Lindsay went after him, trying to think what might look like incriminating evidence to a wess'har, and remembered that if Aras had known the bezeri for five centuries, then—even if their history came as a
shock—he knew how they fed. He walked over to a hut and peered inside. Then he turned in the direction of the open wetlands.

“I can't smell sea creatures,” he said. “You always smelled of the sea. Now I smell something else.”

Lindsay had forgotten a lot about wess'har, including their sensitivity to smell. They also had no patience with lies, and now, willing Saib and Keet to keep quiet, she debated whether to tell Aras the truth. What could he do? What could these Skavu do, come to that, or Esganikan, or any of them? All the bezeri had to do was vanish into the sea again and wait, but that wasn't the plan,
that wasn't what she wanted for them
. She wanted them to be able to repel invaders.

“Commander Neville,” said Aras, glancing over his shoulder, head cocked on one side. “Why did you give
c'naatat
to the bezeri?”

“Because it was their only hope of survival. Rayat must have told you that the survivors couldn't breed.”

“He did.” Aras caught his braid with one hand and centered it down his back, unselfconscious. “Perhaps it was the element of me in
c'naatat
that drove you to do such a foolish thing. My mission to protect the bezeri, and my inability to resist using
c'naatat
to save a life that mattered to me more than the balance of planets.”

He said it as if it was just a speculative thought. It probably was: wess'har, according to Shan, weren't spiteful or devious. They either killed you or they didn't. They spoke their minds, unfiltered and unedited.

But motives didn't matter to them either, and the idea still punched Lindsay in the face, a fresh pain. Her mind and her motives were not her own. She had no way of knowing if it was her idea or an echo of Aras in her genetic memory that made her take that final step of infecting one bezeri.

Was that him?

She wondered how much longer she could hang on to the core of Commander Lindsay Neville, naval officer, bereaved mother, pilot, raised in a dale that the Vikings once invaded. No sense of self still mattered. Loss of that was real death.

Aras walked on and she followed him automatically. Saib
went to follow too, but Lindsay turned and shoved him as hard as she could, bezeri-style.

“No, you stay where you are, Saib. You leave this to me.”

“But I am the patriarch.”

“And I'm the boss when it comes to dealing with things you don't understand.” Maybe he
did
understand, though. If Shan's memories and impulses were in him, Aras's might surface too. “Just stay clear of him.”

She trailed a few paces behind Aras, enough to maintain an appearance of being on hand to answer questions rather than stalking him. It reminded her of following a captain through her ship during a dreaded inspection. The sense of impending doom for the discovery of something neglected was as strong as ever.

“Tell me about the Skavu,” she said. “I'm guessing that you regard them as a threat.”

“I do. They reacted very badly when they realized what
c'naatat
does.”

“Have they met Shan?”

“Yes. Quite emphatically.”

“Ah, I get it. Our problem is your problem. They don't just think we're a risk, they think
you
are as well.”

Aras never seemed to be troubled by comments that would put a human on the defensive. “Yes. They do.”

“It occurs to me that you might be looking for an ally, then. They can die. We can't.”

“We.”

“Don't deny it.”

“I hadn't considered it. I have now.”

Suddenly Lindsay felt a lot better about life; she
understood.
Aras lapsed back into silence and she let him set the pace, following him patiently while he inspected the ground they'd cleared and the structures they'd built. He shielded his eyes against the sun as he looked up into the trees.

“They were always very skilled architects,” he said. “And now they climb trees.”

“They glide, too.”

Aras did that instant freeze, more still than a human could
ever be, but it was gone in a moment. He examined plants and peered in the undergrowth, pausing from time to time to cock his head and stare at something. He froze, riveted by something unknown, for a full five seconds at one point. But it was the tree nests that kept drawing his eye.

“I find it interesting that they embrace so much change when many of their ideas are so utterly fixed.”

Lindsay smiled, but he probably couldn't tell. “Sounds like humans.”

“You went back to Constantine, then.”

“Rayat's obviously been very communicative.”

“I saw David's grave, actually. You took some of the glass.”

Ah.
The memory felt cushioned now, not quite as raw, more a flat dull ache. “Yes. Do you understand human grief?”

“You think we don't feel it? Shan may be back from the dead, but I lost the most precious thing in my existence, and I had no idea how to face the next moment in each day without her.”

It was as good a description of grief as any. “How's the detachment?”

“Your marines are well. Hungry much of the time, bitter about being dismissed, anxious about their future on Earth. But they find things to be happy about, and they stay busy. They have an end in sight.”

Lindsay understood that perfectly. Goals kept her going and erased all distraction, all unhappiness. This was as close to friendly conversation as she'd ever come with Aras. They were in the wetland north of the settlement now, still within sight of the nests and huts but looking out onto levels dotted with islands of vegetation and hills rising in the distance. Aras skirted the edges, apparently able to see the boggier ground.

Then he jerked his head up. “Listen.”

She heard it now. The noise had become so much a part of the backdrop of her world that she hadn't noticed it, but there it was: the sporadic splashing of something in the bog.

She hoped, for once, that it was a
sheven:
but it wasn't. As
she picked her way across the saturated ground, she moved clear of bushlike vegetation clinging to a solid patch and saw Pili plunging into the bog, easing herself out again and diving back in.