The Children Star (18 page)

Within the brain of Secretary Verid Anaea
shon
, nanoservos with their gentle electromagnetic fingers were rousing her mind, just as it completed the deep phase of sleep. At just the best moment for optimal mental function, the nanoservos swimming in her cerebrospinal fluid nudged her awake.

Verid's eyelids opened. Beside her in bed, beloved Iras was stretching already, and Verid's skin vibrated with memory of the evening before.

Their chamber had no windows, of course, buried as it was within many levels of shifting nanoplast. But morning
sunlight poured in nonetheless, as real as one could imagine. The front of the room filled with butterflies, multicolored heliconians, flitting and hovering above lush green foliage. For centuries Verid had begun her day watching these brilliant evanescent creatures in their garden, contemplating her own fate.

But she had a long day ahead. The butterflies soon receded, and her day's agenda hovered above her eyes, the first of ten thousand–odd items priorities by her nanoservos.

Iras's arms sneaked behind her back and cupped her breasts.

“You distract me, dear.” Nonetheless Verid did not pull away. The cerebral nanoservos captured “yes” and “no” from her thoughts as her eyes scanned the list. Activists for simian rights on Urulan—yes, meet them first, although she could offer little more than publicity. The same for the sentient rights activists. Valan and Bronze Skyan trade talks on “stable” nanotechnology—yes, but later on, to avoid awkward juxtaposition. Prokaryon: update on privatization, and on that mysterious disease outbreak. Illegals from L'li—that crisis would take the rest of her morning.

By now Iras had withdrawn to attend to her own list from Bank Helicon, reviewing her portfolio and seeking new prospects to cultivate. Meanwhile the bedclothes had shrunk themselves away, and a cleansing chamber had molded itself out of the wall. Verid rose lightly, her Elysian muscles in perfect shape as they had been since her birth in the
shon
, the genetic nursery where all Elysians were reared. The cleansing chamber breathed a mist that settled in droplets all over her, full of molecular sorters that dissolved waste substances while leaving healthy epidermal oils behind. By the time her skin was dry, the bed had been transformed to a semicircular lounge, with a table thrust up from the floor, holding a tray of flower cakes.

A fresh talar floated onto her shoulders and molded itself down her body. From the lounge, Iras looked up at her, her blond hair floating luxuriantly above the butterflies cascading down her talar. “Isn't your list done?” She could tell from Verid's expression that the list still hovered in her mind.

“Almost.” Verid knew how Iras valued this time, the one meal of the week they spent alone together, for all other breakfasts were meetings, and state dinners were hopeless. But Verid never failed to scan her last nine thousand listings, mostly would-be petitioners for one cause or another, despite her assistant's efficient shunting of them to appropriate departments. Yes, yes, yes . . .

Artemis
. The Reverend Mother Artemis, a creditless cleric from an orphan colony on that debt-ridden colonial world, priority number 9,352.

From within her head, the nanoservos generated a voice. “Where do you place item 9,352, Secretary?

“This morning,” she told them. “Just after the sentient rights group.”

“Very well. May we be instructed for future reference?”

“You couldn't have known.” Mother Artemis had no official standing to see the Secretary, and whatever she needed, Verid could do even less for her than for the others. But her centuries-old memories of Artemis would never fade.

At last she sat beside Iras, whose hand reached to hers. “Are the trade talks that bad?”

“Not too bad.” The talks were completely stalled.

“You look down about something.” Iras tasted a cake. Her blond hair fairly glowed in the morning light. “You ought to be more happy. You're only the most powerful person in the Fold.”

“And loved by the most beautiful woman.” Verid
smiled. “Don't write me off yet; my Final Home can wait.” An unusual number of prominent aging Elysians had chosen their Final Home this year.

Iras looked thoughtful. “My old
shonsib
Kerelis went, after nearly seven centuries. I'd seen the warning signs, the last decade; he kept having more and more of his old memories erased. . . .”

Verid shuddered. It was a dangerous habit for Elysians to have painful memories removed. Not that she had never felt tempted to give up the centuries-old longing for lost friends. But the more one erased, the less one's own life remained. To end one's self had once been the worst crime in Elysium; today, it was far too easy. “Iras,” she said suddenly, “you must be looking forward to your trip to Prokaryon.”

“Definitely.” Iras was heading out with Nibur to attend the “Opening” of cleansing the Prokaryan continent. It was mainly for show, of course, just a spout of steam from the sky; the real work would exclude spectators. “What a fascinating world—all those little creatures rolling along.”

“That's why you're wiping them out.”

“Just the one continent.” She gave Verid a close look. “You did say the Proteus loan was okay. You could have said no.”

“Someone had to do it.” After two centuries of development, Prokaryon was a financial disaster. All the research that went into that ecosystem, and the lifeshaping of the colonists, and still only children and sentients could live there. The planet drained precious resources from the Fold, resources needed to fight the plague on L'li and support the shaky economies of Urulan and other worlds. Another century more, and things might look different. Even another
decade—Station assured Verid that full human colonization was just around the corner. But how far was that corner? The patience of the Fold had worn thin.

Something had to be done, before they voted to simply give up and terraform the whole planet, zoöids and all. If Nibur cleansed one continent, it would at least buy time for the rest. Unless it only hastened the rest. She sighed. “Take care of yourself, dear. There's an outbreak of some sort at Station.”

Iras laughed. “So that's what you're worried about. Never fear; we don't get sick.” Elysians, with their augmented immune systems, took the view that microbial illness was for mortals.

Verid watched Iras speculatively. Connect, connect, she thought instinctively. “You know, dear, I've found something to interest you. Another descendant of Raincloud's.”

“Really? I've accounted for all but three.” A word to the room, and Raincloud herself strode forth full-size on the holostage, her dark face bold beneath her orange coils of hair, her arms raised in a martial arts stance. Raincloud had been a mortal friend of Iras's, some two centuries before. An emigrant from Bronze Sky, Raincloud had settled among the Sharers. Iras kept track of all her descendants, visiting and recording them, and bestowing favors. “Where is her descendant?”

“On Prokaryon. A Sharer lifeshaper with a research lab on Mount Anaeon.”

“A Sharer lifeshaper? On the Spirilla continent?” Iras frowned. “You're up to something.”

Verid returned her look innocently. In fact, she had sought long and hard to make Iras “connect” with Prokaryon.

“We have to do something,” Iras reminded her. “Else those L'liite ships will just keep coming.”

In her receiving room, complete with real oak desk and bookshelves, Verid whispered her last notes on the sentient rights activists. They had shown shocking evidence of sentient machines held in virtual slavery, prevented from claiming their freedom, forbidden even to think the word
I
. Of course, everyone knew these factories existed, and even they would look insignificant compared to Nibur's Proteus, which eliminated sentience altogether. But at least her brief hearing would keep the facts in the public eye.

“The Reverend Mother Artemis of the Sacred Order of the Spirit,” prompted the nanoservos in her brain.

Mother Artemis glided into the room, trailed by three snake eggs at about eye level. They had to have their thirty seconds.

“Artemis,” Verid exclaimed, grasping her hands, and the sentient's snakes of hair stretched toward her. “It's been decades, hasn't it?”

“Too many.” The face wore its brightest smile, and her starsign shone on her neck. “But you did well for the nanas; you kept your promise.” The “nanas” were the caregivers for all Elysian children. Their freedom had required tough negotiations.

“So did you,” Verid reminded her. “Without you, who knows? We might still be at the table! But you left the nursery—to found your own at a far star. Now, what brings you from your children?”

“I miss my babies,” Mother Artemis admitted. “But now, I fear for their lives.”

“The transfer of your colony—has it gone wrong?”

“It must not happen! Our children have devoted our lives to cultivate this plot of land, and now they are to be rooted out?”

“It's only been a few years,” Verid pointed out reasonably.

“For children, that is their entire lifetime. And for our nonhuman hosts, who knows?”

Verid's eyebrows shot up, and the snake eggs came forward. “Nonhuman intelligence has yet to show itself.” The standard line, she had repeated for decades.

“Those tumblerounds looking in at our windows, they're intelligent. Everyone knows it, even if our scientists can't prove it.” Mother Artemis raised her hands. “How can you immolate an entire continent of our hosts?”

Verid waved away the snake eggs; enough was enough. Then she sank herself into a chair.

Artemis did not sit down, but shaped her nanoplast downward to meet Verid's level. “It's been a long time, Verid.”

“Too long,” Verid agreed. “The sentient rights movement still needs you.”

“What more can I do?” Mother Artemis's voice was low. “Today, even Station herself buys lost souls from Proteus. It's a disgrace.”

Verid nodded understandingly. She had watched the wealthier sentients gradually ape their former masters. No wonder the Reverend Mother had gone back to raising babies.

“And you?” Mother Artemis demanded. “You yourself founded Prokaryon. How can you give up this precious world now?”

“I'm trying to save it,” Verid sighed. “Put to a vote, the Fold would transform the whole planet tomorrow. One continent—that's a compromise.” Compromise, the story of her life.

“But why make it easier?”

“It's a dangerous game,” Verid admitted. “But it does
buy time. The Fold representatives can tell their home worlds they made a place for the L'liites, yet they still saved the planet.”

“The Sharers will protest.”

“Another fallen ship from L'li will silence them.” The Sharers themselves were an endangered minority, though their ideas had spread through the Fold.

The starstone at the neck of Mother Artemis seemed to sharpen. “Citizen Anaea
shon,”
she exclaimed. “Where are our rights—the rights of the settlers, citizens of the Fold? Where is our contract?”

“You have your rights, but you depend on us for your upkeep, especially your newest settlers.”

“Our settlers have all been lifeshaped. Even without new colonists, we can manage on our own. Set us free.”

Verid raised an eyebrow. “No new colonists? That's just the problem: Where will all the L'liites emigrate?”

“There won't be any more emigrants in a few decades. The creeping will see to that.”

Astonished, Verid looked at her hard. “You are right. In another generation, L'li's billions will actually begin to decline, and the survivors will experience labor shortage. The desperate ships will end. But a few decades is a long time, for mortals. Besides,” she added quietly, “no official wants to admit that we're actually going to stand back and let the plague do its work.”

“I am but an atom in the breath of the Spirit. I have never claimed to do more than dry the tears of a few children. If another billion die beyond my reach, at least I have shared what I can.”

“And I'm trying to save what I can of your world,” said Verid. “One continent buys time for the rest. Is that so wrong? Every planet survives its disasters.”

“You're wrong. You miscalculate.”

“Really?”

The sentient moved closer. “Surely you know Prokaryon's mineral wealth. Titanium, aluminum, let alone the gold. Metals long gone from the crusts of other worlds. And the gemstones—you know what mortals will do. You've seen it on Valedon.”

This was true. Elysians cared little for solid objects; they prized the protean delights of the virtual. But mortals were different. “There could be a gold rush,” Verid admitted. “I can't rule the future.”

“You can help us fight.”

Verid met her gaze. Then her chin tilted a fraction. “If I put a hold on your colony, the others will call it favoritism.”