Hidden Empire (59 page)
When Talbun came to greet him, his skin dark and decorated with a hundred tattoos of his impressive life accomplishments,
Beneto felt as if he had known the aged man all his life. Talbun embraced the young man with skinny arms. “I thank you for
coming, Beneto. And the trees thank you.” He touched the small new treeling from Theroc, as if greeting it.
Beneto smiled. “The Corvus Landing colonists would not want to be without a green priest. You have spoiled them.”
Talbun laughed. Even his gums were dark green. “The settlers don’t use my services all that much, but having access to telink
and the immediate news I bring gives their colony a certain status in the Hansa.”
“Ah, status. I am the second son of the rulers of Theroc. Do you think they’ll be able to handle so much importance?” Talbun
led his younger comrade away from the colony’s small spaceport, which was not much more than a paved clearing used as a flea
market and meeting place when no ships were due to land.
“They’ll get over it soon enough, and then you’ll want to go back to your fancy fungus-reef city. Why would you want to be
a monk, when you can live as a king?” Talbun was joking, but he seemed truly concerned about the possibility. “I am leaving
them in your care, Beneto.”
“Don’t worry about that. My first and truest dedication is to the trees. I want to live here, to read to the trees, to help
the grove flourish. I won’t flinch from getting my hands dirty, if I need to help the colonists. I am just grateful to be
serving a valid purpose.”
Talbun walked in contemplative silence for a few moments, then turned back with a genuine smile on his dark face. “I know,
Beneto. Everything I’ve learned about you from the worldtrees tells me that my grove and the colonists are safe in your hands.”
He increased his pace. “Let us go quickly, before the mayor and a thousand colonists want to welcome you, introduce themselves,
and tell you stories about me.”
“Plenty of time for that later,” Beneto said. “For now, after being so long in space, I would rather see the trees you have
planted.”
With a spring in his step, the aged priest took Beneto away from the concentric circles of low buildings. Talking comfortably,
the two walked along a dirt footpath toward a shallow extended valley where the expanding grove grew in the Corvus sunlight.
Beneto could sense the yearning trees even before he drew close. It was like being reunited with an old friend.
“When the first colonists came here, Corvus Landing was a blank slate ready to be converted and farmed,” Talbun told him.
“Hansa surveys had shown that there was mineral wealth in the northern latitudes, with no native forests to get in the way
of strip-mining. Much of the ground was bare of vegetation and composed of exposed rock.”
“I saw some native groundcover from the skies,” Beneto said.
“That’s an interconnected hairy moss, not even grass. It reproduces by spreading and breaking off shoots. The largest indigenous
plants here are simple ferns that grow no higher than my shoulder.” He trudged up a hillside, not even panting as the path
steepened.
“Unfortunately, our grazing animals could not eat the native groundcover at first. Finally the colonists tried genetically
modified goats. Those animals could digest the native mosses and grassy sprouts, as long as farmers supplemented their diet.”
Beneto chuckled. “So it’s true that goats can eat anything.”
“Just about,” Talbun said. “And humans can eat the goats, too. For years, goats provided the only fresh meat and milk here.
Such products were truly a delicacy, considering that the settlers mostly ate preserved and packaged food that they bought
from passing merchants. We relied a great deal on regular supply shipments.”
From the top of the ridge bounding the valley, they looked back to see the orderly patterns of planted farmlands.
“At first, the Corvus soil structure couldn’t support even the hardiest Earth plants, until the colony investors spent most
of their capital on shiploads of fertilizer. Ah, it was considered a marvelous joke in the Hansa—the great manure convoy to
Corvus Landing—but carrier after carrier spread it across our plains. After the colonists had stabilized the soil chemical
levels the next season they were able to make the transition to wheat and oats and barley.” Talbun sighed. “I wish the trees
had been here to record everything. Massive amounts of seeds were planted in an industrial fashion, low-flying aircraft strewing
them like cropdust all across the plains.”
The old priest looked wistful as he led Beneto down the gentler slope on the other side toward the beckoning grove. “I came
here after three years, and it took the settlers five to turn Corvus Landing around. Now we’re marginally self-sufficient,
modestly profitable, though we have little to export. The northern mines produce enough minerals and refined metals that we
can build our structures. Mayor Hendy has changed Colony Town into the thriving boom city you saw at the spaceport.”
Beneto and Talbun passed a low structure that the aged priest identified as his home. “The women of Colony Town cook for me
and insist on cleaning my house. It’s important to them. They’d never let a green priest forget how much they respect and
appreciate us.” Talbun gave a weary smile and continued toward the whispering fronds of the worldtree grove. “In truth, though,
I spend little time within walls. I prefer to sleep and pray out among my friends the trees.”
They walked into the grove, and Beneto immediately felt the benevolent sensation around him, the dozing, infinite mind of
the worldforest. Beneto knew he would take his rest out here as well, where the grove could speak to him. The trees would
whisper in his dreams, and he would whisper back to them.
When Talbun touched the scaly bark of the nearest tree, his face became wistful, as if decades had melted away from him. “Every
day, I come here and tell the trees whatever news I’ve learned. Not much happens on Corvus Landing, but they seem to enjoy
it if I just ramble on about philosophical matters.”
“The trees love to drink in information wherever they are, regardless of the subject.” Beneto stood beside the old man in
the grove, feeling as if he had come home. These worldtrees were much younger than the ancient forest that covered Theroc,
but still exactly the same.
Talbun looked at his young comrade, obviously relieved—as if anticipating when he could rest at last. “Corvus Landing is no
one’s dream of a paradise, Beneto, but it is a planet where hardy pioneer spirits can make a home for themselves. I hope you’ll
like it here.”
Together, they scooped a hole out of the soft earth and planted the new treeling from Theroc. Straightening, Beneto closed
his eyes and reached out to touch the trees. He spoke aloud, answering both the old green priest and the forest itself. “Talbun,
this place is
exactly
what I had hoped for.”
B
ound by cultural expectations, Prime Designate Jora’h brought an endless string of lover-applicants to his private chambers.
Some of the women were exotic, some ethereal and beautiful, others strange and sturdy. They represented the variety of kiths
in the Ildiran race.
However, after studying the long list of prospective mates, Jora’h could not drive thoughts of the enchanting Nira Khali from
his mind. He had read the names of supplicants from his own race and viewed images of the females, a spectrum of Ildiran beauty.
His assistants would consider the records of previous lovers he had chosen, so that he would not appear to play favorites
among the kiths. Jora’h had to be fair to all his people.
But more than anything else, he wanted Nira. The green-skinned, beguiling woman from Theroc filled his thoughts. None of the
other names in the catalog of options could compare with her innocent, exuberant charms.
At last the Prime Designate chose at random, a singer who came to him trilling and ecstatic. Her large dark eyes were wide,
her smile and smooth body eager to please him. She was called Ari’t, and when she told him her name, she sang it in musical
notes rather than speaking more familiar sounds.
Jora’h’s delighted laugh was a harsh and guttural sound compared with the tones that flowed like honey out of Ari’t’s mouth.
His smoky eyes gleamed with starlight reflections as he looked appreciatively at the ethereal singer.
“My deepest gratitude for choosing me, Prime Designate,” Ari’t said, and ended her sentence with a flourish of wordless melody.
“I hope you find me acceptable as a mate.”
Jora’h wished for nothing more than to forget his fantasies of Nira. He sank back into his curved chair, admiring the singer’s
exotic form. “You are very acceptable, Ari’t.”
She looked back at him, awestruck and nervous, giddy with disbelief. Jora’h let his eyes fall half-closed as he studied her
body, her face. Without referring to the list, he couldn’t remember if he had ever chosen a member of the singer kith before.
Ari’t’s chest was broad, her ribcage expanded to accommodate powerful lungs. Her throat was enlarged to contain a symphony
of delicate vocal cords. She had the most beautiful voice that Jora’h had ever heard. Ari’t supposedly had the ability to
make her audiences weep, or laugh, or fall in love.
“Sing for me first, Ari’t.” His voice went husky, a little afraid of what she might be able to do. “It would be my honor,
Prime Designate.” And out of her mouth flowed a swirling river of music, melodies and tones that needed no words or verses,
only the colorful crystal of sound itself. Jora’h felt as if he had been hypnotized.
For decades now, since he had come of age, the Prime Designate’s staff had maintained lists of the women who applied to become
his lovers. He had done his duty with diligence, choosing carefully and spreading his noble bloodline among the lesser kiths
as well. He mated with swimmers and scalies. He honored women of the least-humanoid-looking breeds. All kiths had admirable
qualities, and Jora’h found beauty and strength in each one, though other nobles might have seen only ugliness.
The Prime Designate showed kindness and deference to every one of his mates, though he was never expected to fall in love.
Even with mates that he found unattractive, Jora’h took care never to allow them to feel belittled or inadequate.
He particularly remembered a tall, brutish-looking female of the warrior kith, whom he had impregnated the previous year.
Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h had taken great pains to impress upon his oldest son that each breed of Ildiran had its unique role
in the Empire, and it was Jora’h’s duty to honor them all. Besides, the Prime Designate had enough gorgeous and exotic lovers
to make up for any unpleasantness he might briefly endure. In fact, he recalled with generous optimism, that warrior female
had given him some of the most exhausting and athletic sex he’d ever enjoyed.
Now in his private chambers, Ari’t’s song carried him through his thoughts and memories until he was no longer aware of where
he was. Slowly the singer’s melody changed and her tone grew richer, transforming into an incredibly erotic trilling. Jora’h
found himself unbearably aroused, exactly as the singer had intended. Ari’t spoke to him with her music, seduced him with
her voice. Breathless, Jora’h came to her. She continued to hum deep in her throat even as he ravenously kissed her, playing
his lips down her face and her long, slender neck. His golden hair crackled and thrashed like a static storm around his head.
Oddly, despite the intensity when he and Ari’t were making love, Jora’h’s thoughts were once again diverted, his imagination
drawn to the beautiful and unassuming Nira… who was so very different from any Ildiran woman.
A
s Chairman, he never had a moment of peace. Given the vastness and complexity of the Terran Hanseatic League, Basil Wenceslas
expected and accepted a constant string of crises and emergencies. He had to make the decisions and mitigate the disasters.
In moments of triumph, King Frederick gloried in the applause and accolades; whenever a plan went wrong, faceless and unnamed
bureaucrats took the fall. Either way, Basil remained safely behind the scenes.
