Seeds of Earth (22 page)

'I understand your distress,' said the Chatha, tilting its long head forward so that all four eyes could regard Sundstrom. 'But galactic history is littered with instances of the fate of small communities when they become an obstruction to powerful hierarchies. Perhaps my Imisil colleague has related a few more recent and relevant examples.'

'Estimator Jeg-sul-Mur,' Sundstrom said. 'Your confederation is large and powerful - if we were to appeal directly to you for assistance, would you give it?'

'The Great Cyclarchy of Milybi is indeed large and powerful, President Sundstrom, but it is also pragmatic and far away - my echelon senior would be swift to point out that we have no interests to defend in this part of the deepzone.' The emissary paused. 'However, I can tell you that your predicament is developing with unseemly haste. We have studied the various ploys which the Hegemonies or their proxies have deployed against a number of victims, and it would appear that one or more are in play here. Your world is clearly of great value to them and they have in the past proved themselves adept at presenting themselves as the injured party. I extend my fulsome sympathies but I regret that I am unable to offer you any direct support.'

Theo's growing frustration was diverted by the Chatha's final words, which seemed to imply that the Hegemony envoy Kuros was behind his own attempted assassination. Unless Kuros was a sacrificial pawn in a game played by someone else on his own staff ... his thoughts spun, trying to assimilate the implications of such a conspiracy. But then his critical faculty rebelled how could they locate a skilled marksman (and infiltrator) amongst the Darien colonists so quickly without raising suspicion?

'I am grateful for your considered remarks, Estimator,' Sundstrom said. 'A time may yet come when I can invite you to Darien for a longer, more relaxed period.'

'Against the weight of history I hope that this will happen,' said the Chatha. 'I would urge you and your trusted echelon to exercise great caution in all of your dealings with the Hegemony and any of its servants. Alternatively, if you need an escape from encroaching jeopardy, I am certain that diplomatic sanctuary may be sought with the Imisil delegation . . .'

'Yes, Holger,' said Ambassador Gauhux. 'This avenue is open to you and your immediate circle.'

'My thanks for this generous offer but my place is here on Darien.' Then he laughed. 'Gentlemen, there is an old human saying, "It's not over until it's over," which I intend to keep in mind at all times.'

'I applaud your determination in the face of great odds,' the Milybi emissary said, then began to speak in the alien tongues again, ending with: i bid you farewell in the name of the Great Cyclarchy of Milybi - may the Infinite and the Benign watch over you when you walk in dark places.'

Then with the two feathery attendants, the Chatha steered its carriage back along the room, retracing those deliberate insectile steps. The Makhori Gauhux watched him go for a moment then looked to Sundstrom.

'My friend,' it said melodically. 'I must accompany my colleague back to our ship and help him prepare for his departure — our auxiliary vessel will transport him back to Erenate space and the nearest Milybi mission. In the meantime, I shall remain and make plans for a modest residency ...'

'Does our situation really look that bad, Gauhux?' Sundstrom said.

'I'm afraid so, Holger.' The Makhori's large oval eyes seemed to be full of sorrow. 'My own analyst concurs with my Chatha companion - the Sendrukans are operating a deep scheme against you. Either one or more of your fellow Dariens have thrown in their lot with them, or the Sendrukans have brought a couple of humans with them for the purpose. Whichever is true, you'll have to stop them before they bring disaster down on you all. Now I must return, so until we meet again, good fortune . . . and hunt well.'

'Safe journey, Gauhux,' said Sundstrom.

As the Imisil glided out of the room Sundstrom turned his wheelchair to face the others.

'Any thoughts?' he said.

'They seem very certain that the shooting is a Hegemony ploy,' said Pyatkov. 'And unsurprised.'

'I think we should plan for the worst, Mr President,' General Soutar said bluntly. 'For example, if you were killed, then Jardine would become president, correct?'

Sundstrom's lips twitched with a ghost of a smile. 'I'm afraid so, General.'

Soutar nodded. 'And if both of you were killed, what then?'

'Then the cabinet would vote on a successor, in closed session.'

'And if the entire cabinet was wiped out?'

'General!' said an angry Pyatkov.

'Hush, Vitaly,' Sundstrom said. 'I understand the General's reasoning. Well, in the unlikely event of such a catastrophe it would fall to the Speaker of the Assembly to either assume the office himself or attempt to negotiate a government of national unity.'

'Unless the military takes control, of course,' Theo said.

It was Soutar's turn to be outraged. 'That's a damnable accusation coming from the likes of you!'

'Really? And just how would you define the likes of me?'

'Verra easily! - as a disloyal turncoat who ...'

'Right, that's enough from the both of you!' roared Sundstrom with a stentorian fury that made even Theo step back. 'This carping is of no use ...'

At that moment the climbing drone of the Imisil shuttle's engines came through from above, interrupting tempers and sharp words. As the sound faded Sundstrom began to point out that divisions would only help their adversaries, but broke off when Theo's comm chimed from his inside pocket.

The president frowned. 'I'd hope you would have had it muted.' it was,' Theo said, taking it out, staring at the oval bluescreen. 'Only emergency calls can get through - and I don't recognise this number.' Swiftly, he thumbed the answer. 'Hello, who is this?'

'I'm disappointed, Major,'
said a man's voice. The accent was vaguely Russian and his manner quite relaxed.
'I thought that you at least would have understood, you, Major Karlsson, Black Theo, Viktor Ingram's right-hand man . . .'

'Understand what?' he said, miming to the others for something to write on.

'That this is our land, our world, the place where our forefathers found sanctuary and fought and slew a pitiless enemy.''
The man laughed softly.
'Ah yes, sounds like a song, doesn't it, Major? Like a saga. And now our time of testing has come and we also have an adversary to fight.'

'You mean the Hegemony?' Theo said as he wrote on a piece of notepaper - IT'S THE ASSASSIN. 'That's a sizeable party to choose as your rival, boy. I mean, all the First Families were up against was a crippled machine-mind ...'

'It's not just the Hegemony, Major, it's all alien offworlders, all those twisted abominations. Like the ones you just said goodbye to.'

'How do you know about...'

'7
have sources, Major, and a good view from an office building across the square.'

'So what's your creed - us against the galaxy, is that it?' Theo said.

'They need to learn that this is our world, our place in creation,'
said the voice, now more earnest.
'And the Free Darien Faction is going to teach them that they're not at liberty to wander where they like, that they're not wanted.'

'You'll be stopped, boy. We'll see to that!'

'You're welcome to try, Major, but I think you'll find that you've got your hands quite full. . .'

At that moment Theo heard the sound of an explosion, a loud, echoing boom not far away but muffled by buildings. For one horrible moment he thought that the Imisil shuttle had been sabotaged, but Pyatkov was already on his own comm, talking rapidly. Looking down Theo saw that the mysterious caller had cut the link. it's the Founder Square zeplin terminal,' Pyatkov said, still listening to his comm. 'Both mooring towers blown off, fallen into the square . . .'

Then the president's comm began to ring, along with the general's. Moments later, Pyatkov was getting a fuller picture.

'There were three devices, two on the towers, one in a waste basket by the entrance ... no reports so far of fatalities but many seriously injured . . . emergency response teams already there and the Assembly marshal has begun lockdown procedures.'

Sundstrom was motionless as he listened but his eyes burned with anger. 'The scum is going for soft targets, trying to show that it's not just the Hegemony he wants to hit. . .'

Then Theo's comm pinged and looking down he saw the symbol for a new voice note, as well as its origin number. i think this is from him,' said Theo, holding out his comm so they could all hear it when he pressed the play button:

'As I said, they need to learn that they're not free to wander where they like. Don't worry, I'll get them, every last one of the offworld filth - that was just the second instalment of my course of instruction. I hope you all learn the lesson.'

22

CHEL

Rain was falling through the dusk, falling on the dense, lantern-speckled mass of Tapiola, as Chel made his solitary way up a steep path towards the tree line. There was little wind and the hiss of the rain came from all around him in the darkened valley, filling the distance with a vast, hollow murmur against which the drips and patters from nearby bushes were soft and muffled. The ground was spongy underfoot and the air was cold, moist, redolent of foliage.

Forty years before, when the daughter-forests of Segrana were being planted in the soil of sad Umara, the senior Listeners of the time had asked the Human community to give names to them all. After much deliberation, the Humans decided to name them after great writers, all except the most northerly, which they called Tapiola. This was the name of a mystical forest from an ancient Human saga called the
Kalevala,
composed at a time in their past, long before books and devices, when singers and devout keepers committed great histories and song cycles entirely to memory.

As we still do,
Chel thought.
Even though we have a written tongue and small archives exist in Segrana, we continue that tradition.

Subdued lamps grew brighter as he drew near, a string of hazy glows leading further into Tapiola Forest, and the tall, hooded form of a Listener stepped into view and waited. When Chel got to the edge of the forest the Listener stretched out one bony hand, palm outwards.

'Name yourself and say why you are here.' i am Scholar Cheluvahar of the Benevolent Uvovo,' he said, i have come to be husked in the sight of sacred Segrana.'

'You will give up that which you were?' i will.'

'Are you ready to cast off the shell of the now and don the veil of becoming?' i am ready.'

'Then enter, Scholar Cheluvahar, and know that this is the last time you will be called as such.'

Chel shifted the weight of his travelsack to his other shoulder then stepped out of the rain and into the welcoming shadows of Tapiola.

Few Uvovo actually resided in the daughter-forests: scholars, gardeners and herders watching over the plants and animals. But here there were dozens, gathered up high, in or near temporary shelters made from vinework and leaf layers, the lamplight from within making them resemble giant cocoons. The Listener, who did not introduce himself, wordlessly led Chel to a clearing from where a sturdy-looking rope ladder curved up to one of the lower branches of a huge ironwood tree. A couple of female Uvovo who were conversing nearby as they approached fell silent, smiled and bowed to the newcomers.

'May Segrana make you welcome,' said one.

'May Segrana show you the Eternal,' said the other.

'Sisters, I thank you.' Chel bowed, then seized the ladder and began to climb.

He had attended huskings before, back on Nivyesta, and knew the significance of the climb, symbolic of the rise from the commonplace to the astonishing, from the familiar to the sublime, from ignorance to perilous knowledge. He had always imagined that his own husking would happen back on the forest moon, guided and cheered by his own family and friends, not here in this cold, austere place, watched by no one that he knew well.

From the ironwood branch another rope ladder led up to a higher branch, and from there across to another tree. Then straight up and across to a truly massive tree, looming like a many-armed giant through the gloom. This one had dozens of branches sprouting quite close together, making it easy to follow the sequence of little lamps that spiralled up the gnarled, mossy trunk.

At last he and the Listener came to a sizeable platform of woven branches where a group of Uvovo wearing thin brown shifts and pale yellow caps waited. They were known as the Unburdeners and to them he gave his travelsack, his outer and inner garments, his knee and feet protectors, and the
zoza
stone he wore about his neck. Then, following the Listener's directions, he climbed naked up to the platform known as Contemplation, where, as was customary, he paused to gather his thoughts and prepare himself. Not far above was the final stage, Threshold with its
vodrun
chamber, and a solitary Unburdener who was waiting to offer him the Cup of Light.

Chel shivered. It was colder at this height, dark and misty beneath the canopy, with occasional droplets coming down through the foliage. He thought of Gregori, who had given him one of the new music devices as a parting gift, and wondered if the murderer had been caught. Then he thought about Catriona and her obsessive search for the Pathmasters, knowing that she would only find them if they wanted to be found. And he thought about Listener Weynl and Listener Faldri and the nameless Listener below (whom he thought might be a Starroof Listener called Eshlo) and tried to imagine his own body changed, bones lengthening, flesh stretching. Would there be pain, and for how long .. .?

Wishing suddenly that Greg and Catriona were there, he breathed in deep and turned to face the last ladder.

J
am to be unmade and remade,
he thought.
No more delay.