Hidden Empire (21 page)
R
linda Kett awoke satisfied from a comfortable night’s sleep beneath the whispering worldtrees. After devouring an extravagant
breakfast of fruits and nuts accompanied by clee—a steamy, potent beverage made from ground worldtree seeds—she felt ready
to tackle any decision.
“If I stay here on Theroc much longer, I’ll gain a dozen kilos,” Rlinda said to Sarein. “That would both endanger my health
and decrease the mass cargo I can carry on the
Voracious Curiosity.”
Sarein had added metal combs to her hair and wore a traditional Theron gown, looped with court finery, beautiful scarves and
shawls made from ephemeral cocoon fibers. Rlinda wanted her own wardrobe of the cloth—to demonstrate its beauty to new customers,
but also so she could preen in front of the mirror. Although she had no intention of attracting yet another husband, she saw
no harm in looking pretty.
“My parents would like to speak with you,” Sarein said with a confident smile. “We must make a good impression.”
“Leave it to me, Sarein. I can make a good case.” Rlinda brushed herself off and stood, looking longingly at the various dishes
she had not yet found time to sample.
Inside the largest chamber of the fungus-reef city, Father Idriss and Mother Alexa held court. Airy gaps to the outside were
covered with prismatic condorfly wings that served as stained-glass windows. The two leaders sat side by side, statuesque
and handsome, dark-haired and bronze-tanned.
Rlinda stepped forward, her steps surprisingly delicate and careful for a woman of her size. She bowed deeply, with all the
grace she could manage. “I am most pleased for the opportunity to speak to you, Father Idriss and Mother Alexa.”
Idriss leaned forward on his large chair. He had a squared-off black beard and wore a headdress of feathers and beetle carapaces
that gave him an imposing and magisterial presence. “Our daughter Sarein speaks well of you. I think she considers you a friend.
How could we not meet with you, when our eldest daughter requests it?”
Beside him, Mother Alexa wore a dazzling gown with impressive shoulder apparatus that stood tall like the plumage of a peacock.
Part of the queen’s costume had been assembled from the whole wings of condorflies, color-coordinated with the clothes she
wore. Her glossy raven hair fell to her waist.
Rlinda straightened. “I hope Sarein hasn’t exaggerated my importance. I am not a particularly prominent person in the Hanseatic
League, and this is a great honor for me.” Sarein stood off to one side, attentive, but the merchant woman kept her focus
on the two rulers. “The forests of Theroc appear to be rich with possibilities. Sarein showed me many of your native products,
and I believe there are countless trade opportunities we could explore. Frankly, I’m surprised that armies of merchants haven’t
already attempted to forge alliances with you.”
“Few people see beyond our green priests,” said Alexa. “That is all the Hansa seems to want.”
Idriss added, “And we aren’t overly eager to complicate our lives. We speak for the green priests, but the worldforest helps
them to make all their decisions. In truth, we have little to do with their choices. Here, the Therons have everything we
need. We are content, with no large-scale causes of human conflict.”
Sarein touched Rlinda’s broad shoulder in a companionly gesture. “Some even claim that the benevolent presence of the worldforest
suppresses the natural human penchant for violence and conflict.”
“Then I applaud your efforts to spread treelings to other planets.” Rlinda smiled wryly. “I can name plenty of places that
would benefit from it.”
“Our priests are doing all they can.” Mother Alexa nodded to her husband.
Idriss and Alexa took care of local disputes, occasional personal squabbles, marital troubles or civil cases, but their most
important purpose was to act as an interface with the outside. The Mothers and Fathers of Theroc had always calmly made decisions
based not on greed and wealth, but on their genuine beliefs for the good of their culture.
Rlinda glanced at Sarein for encouragement. “Well, your daughter has made my head dizzy with all the things I’ve seen and
tasted here. I can name hundreds of possible markets for your exotic fruits, berries, nuts, and unusual fabrics.” Her stomach
growled, as if to emphasize her opinion.
Sarein stepped forward, breathless. Her eyes were intense. “Think of all the doors it could open for us, Father. Mother? We
could become a powerful trade presence without giving up our independence.”
“We have talked about this before, Sarein,” Idriss said.
Seeing the leaders’ closed expressions, Rlinda felt a sinking sensation. She began to suspect that she had been brought in
as Sarein’s cat’s-paw in an old argument between complacent parents and their ambitious daughter.
“Rlinda is willing to accept sample loads of our products to prove their commercial viability, but she is also taking a risk
by investing her own resources.” Sarein’s face hardened, then she astonished Rlinda by suddenly adding new terms. “Therefore,
she has also requested several green priests—five would be a good number—in order to give her a bit of insurance. I feel that’s
only fair. Don’t you?”
She looked at Rlinda, who tried to cover her shock. They had never discussed this, but it seemed to have been Sarein’s secret
intention all along. Rlinda now feared the delicate negotiations might crumble.
“She would also carry treelings to help expedite the spread of the worldforest,” Sarein continued in a rush. “You see? Everyone
benefits.”
Father Idriss looked disturbed, though not quite angry with his daughter. “We do not command the green priests where and when
they must go, Sarein. The worldforest operates outside our political leadership. The priests defer to the wishes of the trees,
and Mother Alexa and I must defer to the priests.”
“It was merely a suggestion, sir,” Rlinda said quickly. “Theroc has so many things to offer. Let’s not become focused on one
sticking point—”
“But it’s an unreasonable sticking point, if only you would open your eyes,” Sarein said, openly defiant. Rlinda wanted to
call a recess before an argument ensued that would end negotiations entirely.
Mother Alexa said, “We maintain careful records and control over the distribution of the treelings. Regardless of your interest
in our fruits and berries, Rlinda Kett, we understand that our telink communication ability is the strongest coin Theroc has
to offer.”
Idriss continued, “It would not be wise for us to establish a precedent by allowing you to take our priests along with our
forest products.”
Flustered, Rlinda looked at Sarein, wishing the young daughter had said nothing. “Please don’t be hasty. I sincerely apologize
if an ill-spoken comment gave you a bad impression of me. Could we discuss the matter further tomorrow? I’ll give you specific
examples of items I’d like to carry aboard my merchant ship.” She backed away, trying to dismiss herself before Father Idriss
denied her completely.
Alexa answered with a condescending, though beautiful, smile. “We will listen, because that is the basis of communication.
But we will not be swayed. Green priests are valuable to us.”
“I agree fully, as you will see,” Rlinda said, with a final deep bow. She wished Sarein had never made the suggestion; it
had never crossed Rlinda’s mind. “I look forward to another discussion at a later time.”
With Sarein frowning about the meeting, Rlinda walked with her out of the meeting chamber. She had to rethink her approach
and make a different sales pitch. Next time, perhaps, without Sarein’s “help.”
T
he deserts of Rheindic Co filled his eyes with a geography unlike anything he had ever seen on Theroc. Typically, a green priest
would find such bleakness disturbing, but Arcas felt the desert calling to him. He had never expected to feel so alive. The
quality of light, the sharp shadows, the dry air… and the
silence
. It awakened an unexpected delight in his heart. He reveled in the warm sunlight on the rocks, the layered strata of red
iron ore, green copper oxide, white bands of limestone. At last, a task he could enjoy.
While Margaret and Louis Colicos began their work in the main Klikiss city, the compy DD maintained the camp with meticulous
care. When Arcas had finished his early-morning tending of the treelings, he longed to follow his heart and explore places
that interested him.
He went to the larger tent where the two xeno-archaeologists lived. The old man had already gone with the three Klikiss robots
to the cliffside ruins, and Margaret was packing up her notes for the morning. She looked up expectantly. “Yes, Arcas? Do
you intend to go with us to the ruins today, or will you stay in camp with your treelings?”
“Actually, neither,” he said, embarrassed. “I’d like to explore the nearby canyons. The geology is very interesting to me.”
Arcas did not need her permission, because green priests followed no leader except the worldforest. In fact, Margaret never
seemed to know what to do with him.
“Take whatever equipment you require. Do you need DD along?”
The suggestion startled him. “No … I would rather be by myself.”
Margaret was intent on hurrying to follow her husband out to the excavation. “See if you can make measurements and record
your data. We are on a scientific mission, and geological analyses can be useful, too.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Arcas had hoped just to take a walk, to enjoy the scenery and drink in the details, which he would then
repeat to the treelings for dissemination through the worldforest. The sentient trees were not accustomed to desert landscapes,
and he would at last feel that he had served a useful role as a green priest. Nevertheless, he gathered imagers and data-collection
devices from the camp supply shed and placed them in a pack.
Margaret took one of their short-range vehicles, accompanied by DD, and headed off to the cliff city. Standing in the empty
camp, Arcas took a glance at the twenty thin treelings planted in rows behind his tent. They now stood chest-high, waving
as if basking in the sunlight. “So you like the desert too?” he said. If he touched the treelings, they would answer him.
With no specific destination, Arcas drew a deep breath, tasted the dry and dusty air. Trudging into the wrinkled landscape,
he headed toward a gorge that had been cut by ancient waters. Unfiltered sunlight tingled his green skin.
Arcas had never really wanted to be a green priest, yet once a person bonded with the worldforest, the symbiosis could not
be reversed. He could leave the trees, never engage telink again, but he would always remain green-skinned and part of the
network.
His mother had died while he was young, and Arcas had always had a very close relationship with his father. The older man,
Bioth, had longed to become a green priest, but had been caught in a different career. Bioth would sit with him under the
canopy, looking up at the whispering fronds and talking about his dreams, about how much he wanted his son to serve the worldforest.
Arcas had never been enthusiastic at the prospect. “Father, we all serve the worldforest, no matter what we do.” He had been
more interested in history and geology, but Bioth already had his mind made up and never noticed his son’s reluctance.
When Arcas was fifteen, Bioth had fallen out of a high tree while harvesting epiphyte juices. The older man had landed in
a tangle of vines that acted like a net. Unfortunately, when the vines broke his fall, they also snapped his neck. Young Arcas
had rushed to his father’s side as the workers lowered him to the ground. With his last choked words, Bioth begged his son
to make him proud, to become a green priest. With everyone listening, Arcas could not deny his father’s final wish. Once the
tragic story became known among the Therons, Arcas was easily admitted into the priesthood.
So, he had done his duties without any particular passion or inspiration. He had never wanted an impressive or pampered assignment
in an opulent colony government house, because then people would be bothering him all the time. He found tolerable assignments
by choosing history tracts and geology texts to read to the trees. But here, on Rheindic Co, the desert serenity called to
him.
Now as Arcas walked away from the camp, looking at the wrinkle-backed mountains, he followed a line of boulders up an alluvial
fan that narrowed into a canyon. As the rough walls rose above him, he saw the gnarled striations of geological layers that
reminded him of the growth rings in a cut tree.
Arcas crunched along the loose riverbed. The echoes reflected eerily from the narrow walls. He looked around, keeping his
eyes open for any discovery that might help the Colicoses’ work. When he’d joined this mission, Arcas had offered more than
just his services as a green priest. His passing knowledge of archaeology and geology made him a potential assistant.
As he proceeded deeper into the canyon, he realized he had never in his life been so far from the comforting touch of plants
and trees. Or crowds of people. The ruddy sun angled into the canyon, and he looked up at a smooth, white section where a
slab of limestone had sheared off in large, cream-colored lumps. With awe, he saw shapes and designs molded into the limestone:
fossilized remains of alien creatures that had lived uncounted millennia ago, a bent frond of what looked like a fern, a bony
sea creature with large jaws and sharp fins.
