Serpent's Reach

by C. J. Cherryh

  Merek Eln had not fled. It was possibly the worst moment of his life, but he stood still. Her respect for him markedly increased.

  “Ser,” she said, “our presence here must be very important to you personally.”

  “Please,” he said in a low voice. “Please. Now. The station is not a secure place to be standing in the open. ITAK can offer you security. We can talk on the way down. It’s urgent.”

  All her instincts rebelled at this: it was dangerous, ridiculously dangerous, to accept local entanglements without looking into all sides of the matter.

  But she nodded, and walked with them. Jim followed. Warrior stalked beside, statuary in slow motion, trying to hold to human pace.

  Their course took them along the dock, nearer and nearer the Outsider berth.

  Raen tried not even to glance much that way: it distracted her from the general survey of the area, which her eyes made constantly, nervously. But there were Outsiders; she knew they must be such, by their strange clothing and their business near that berth.

  “Are such onworld too?” she asked. “Do they come downworld?”

  “There’s a ground-based trade mission,” Kest said.

  That cheered her. She could bear it no longer, and stopped and stared at a group of men near them on the dock…plainly dressed, doing azi-work. She wondered whether they were true men or what they were. They stopped their work and stood upright and gaped…more at the majat, surely, than at her.

  From Outside. From the wide, free outside, where men existed such as Kontrin had once been. Until now, Outsiders had seen only the shadows of Kontrin; she wondered if they knew—what betas were, or if they had the least comprehension of Kontrin, or realised what she was.

  “Sera,” Eln said anxiously. “Please. Please.”

  She turned from the strangers, reckoning the open places about them, the chance of ambush. Warrior touched her anxiously, seeking reassurance. She followed the Eln-Kests at what pace they wanted to set, uncertain whether they were evading possible assassins or walking among them.

  BOOK FIVE

  i

  “The old woman has something in mind,” Tand said. “I don’t like it.”

  The elder Hald walked a space with his grandnephew, paused to pull a dead bloom from the nightflower. Neighbouring leaves shrank at the touch and remained furled a moment, then relaxed. “Something concrete?”

  “Hive-reports. Stacks of them. Statistics. She may be aiming something at Thon. I don’t know. I can’t determine.”

  The elder looked about at Tand, his heart labouring with the heavy persistence of dread. Tand was outside the informed circles of the movement. There were many things of which Tand remained ignorant: must. Where Tand stood, it was not good that he know…near as he was to the old woman’s hand. If the blow fell, all that he knew could be in Moth’s hands in hours. “What kind of statistics? Involving azi?”

  “Among others. She’s asking for more data on Istra. She’s…amused by the Meth-maren. So she gives out. But here’s the matter: she muttered something after the committee left. About the Meth-maren serving her interests…conscious or unconscious on the Meth-maren’s part, I don’t know. I asked her flatly was the Meth-maren her agent. She denied it and then hedged with that.”

  The Hald dropped the dry petals, his pulse no calmer. “The Meth-maren is becoming a persistent irritant.”

  “Another attempt on her—might be advisable.”

  The Hald pulled off a frond. Others furled tightly, remained so, twice offended. He began to strip the soft part off the skeleton of the veins. It left a sharp smell in the air. “Tand, go back to the Old Hall. You shouldn’t stay here tonight”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  One of Tand’s virtues was his adaptability. The Hald pulled another frond and stripped it, trusting that there would not be the least hesitation in Tand, from the garden walk to the front gate to the City. He heard him walk away, a door close.

  His steps would be covered, cloaked in innocence…a supposed venture in the City; and back to Alpha, and Old Hall. There were those who would readily lie for him.

  The Hald wiped his hand and walked the other path, up to other levels of the Held residence at Ahlvillon, to east-wing, to other resources.

  A pattern was shaping.

  On Istra…things had long been safe from Council inspection. Communications had been carefully channelled through Meron, screened thoroughly before transmission farther.

  He walked the balls of panelling and stone, into the shielded area of the house comp, leaned above it and sent a message that consisted of banalities. There was no acknowledgement at the other end.

  But three hours later, a little late for callers, an aircraft see down on the Hald grounds, ruffling the waters of the ornamental pond.

  The Hald went out to meet it, and walked arm in arm with the man who had come in, paused by the pool in the dark, fed the sleepy old mudsnake which denned there. It gulped down bits of bread, being the omnivore it was, its double-hinged jaws opening and clamping again into a fat sullenness.

  “Nigh as old as the house,” the Hald said of it.

  Arl Ren-barant stood with folded arms. The Hald stood up and the mudsnake snapped, then levered itself off the bank and eased into the black waters, making a little wake as it curled away.

  “Some old business,” said the Hald, “has surfaced again. I’m beginning to think it never left at all. We’ve been very careless in yielding to Eldest’s wishes in this ease. I’m less and less convinced it’s a matter of whim with her.”

  “The Meth-maren?” Ren-barant frowned and shook his head. “Not so easy to do it now. She’s completely random, a nuisance. If it were really worth the risk—”

  The Hald looked at him sharply. “Random. So what happened on Meron?”

  “A personal quarrel, left over from the first attempt. Gen and Hal have become a cause with the Ilits. It was unfortunate.”

  “And on Kalind.”

  “Hive-matter, but she wasn’t in it. Blues have settled again. Reds seem to be content enough.”

  “Yes. The Meth-maren’s gone. Meron’s damaged and Kalind isn’t unscathed. Attention rests where it doesn’t suit us. The old hive-master’s talent… Arl, we have an enemy. A very dangerous one.”

  “She hardly made a secret of her going to Istra. Why make so much commotion of it, if she’s not as mad as we’ve reckoned? A private ship could have reached there in a direct jump. She could have had time to work…”

  “The whole Council noticed, didn’t they? It was bizarre enough that it caught the curiosity of the whole Council. Attention focused where we don’t need it focused at all.”

  Ren-barant’s face was stark, his arms tightly clenched. “Cold sane, you think.”

  “As you and I are. As Moth is. I have news, Art. There was a majat on that liner when it left Kalind. We haven’t discovered yet how far it went, whether all the way with her or whether it got off earlier.”

  “Blue messenger?”

  “We don’t know yet. Blue or green is a good bet.”

  Ren-barant swore. “Thon was supposed to have that cut off.”

  “Majat paid the passage,” the Hald said. “Betas can’t tell them apart. The Meth-maren boarded at the last moment…special shuttle, a great deal of noise about it. We knew about her very quickly. Use of her credit was obvious, at least the size of the transaction and the recipient, which was Andra Lines, through one of their sub-agents. But the majat paid in jewels, cash transaction, freighted up dormant and inconspicuous…a special payment to someone, I’ll warrant. Cash. No direct record to our banks. No tracing. We still can’t be sure how much was actually paid: probably a great deal went into the left hand while the right was making records; but the Meth-maren was right there, using vast amounts of credit, very visible. We didn’t find out about the majat until our agents started asking questions among departing passengers. Betas won’t volunteer that kind of gossip. But the whole operati
on, that a hive could bypass our surveillance and do it so completely, so long—”

  “The Thons do nothing. Maybe we’d better ask some questions about the quality of that support.”

  “She’s Meth-maren; the Then hive-masters have no influence with the blues. And Council can vote Thon the post; they can’t make them competent in it. Anyone can handle reds. The test is whether Thon can control the blues. I think Thon is beyond the level of their competency, for all their assurances to us. The Meth-maren’s running escort for majat; she outwitted Thon, and she’s made Council look toward Istra. The old woman, Arl, the old woman is collecting statistics; she’s taking interest again; there’s a chance she’s taken interest for longer than we’ve known.”

  The Ren-barant hissed softly between his teeth.

  “There’s more,” the Hald said. “The old woman dropped a word about the Meth-maren being—useful. Useful. And that with her sudden preoccupation with statistics. Istran statistics, The Pedra bill is coming up. We’d better be ready, before the old woman hits us with a public surprise. Istra’s vulnerable.”

  “Someone had better get out there, then.”

  “I’ve moved on that days ago.” And at the Ren-barant’s sudden, apprehensive stare. “That matter is on its way to being solved. It’s not the Meth-maren I’m talking about.”

  “Yes,” the Ren-barant said after a moment. “I can see that”

  “Tand’s next to her. He stays, no breath of doubt near him. The organisation has to be firmed up, made ready on the instant. You know the program. You know the contacts. I put it on you. I daren’t. I’ve gone as far as I can.”

  The Ren-barant nodded grimly. They began to part company. Suddenly the Ren-barant stopped in his tracks and looked back. “There’s more than one way for Moth to use the Meth-maren. To provoke enemies into following the wrong lead.”

  Ros Hald stared at him, finally nodded. It was the kind of convolution of which Moth had long proved capable. “We’ve counted on time to take care of our problems. That’s been a very serious mistake. Both of them have to be cared for—simultaneously.”

  The mudsnake surfaced again, hopeful. The Hald tossed it the rest of the morsel: sullen jaws snapped. It waited for more. None came. It slipped away again under the black waters and rippled away.

  ii

  The Istran shuttle was an appalling relic. There was little enough concession to comfort in the station, but there was less in the tight confines of the vessel which would take them down to surface. Only the upholstery was new, a token attempt at renovation. Raen surveyed the machinery with some curiosity, glanced critically into the cockpit, where pilot and co-pilot were checking charts and bickering.

  The Istrans had settled in, all nine of them, Merek Eln and Parn Kest, the several business types and their azi guard. Warrior had taken up position in the rear of the aisle, the only space sufficient for its comfort and that of the betas. It closed both chelae about tire braces of the rearmost seats, quite secure, and froze into the statue-like patience of its kind.

  Jim came up the ramp, and after some little perplexity, secured the whole carrier into storage behind the Eln-Kest’s modest luggage…forced tire door closed. Raen let him take his seat first, next the sealed viewport, then settled in after, opposite Merck Eln, and fastened the belts. Her pulse raced, considering the company they kept and the museum-piece in which they were about to hurtle into atmosphere.

  “This is quite remarkable,” she said to Jim, thinking that Meron in all its decadent and hazardous entertainments had never offered anything quite like Istran transport.

  Jim looked less elated with the experience, but his eyes flickered with interest over all the strangeness…not fear, but a feverish intensity, as if he were attempting to absorb everything at once and deal with it. His hands trembled so when he adjusted his belts that be had trouble joining them.

  The co-pilot stopped the argument with the pilot long enough to come back and check the door seal, went forward again. The pilot gave warning. The vessel disengaged from its lock and went through the stomach-wrenching sequence of intermittent weightlessness and reorientation under power as they threaded their way out of their berth. The noise, unbaffled was incredible.

  “Kontrin,” Merek Eln shouted, leaning in his seat.

  “Explanations?” Raen asked.

  “We are very grateful—”

  “Please. Just the explanation.”

  Merek Eln swallowed heavily. They were in complete weightlessness, their slight wallowing swiftly corrected. The noise died away save for the circulation fans. Istra showed crescent-shaped on the forward screen, more than filling it; the station showed on the aft screen. They were falling into the world’s night side, as Raen judged it.

  “We are very glad you decided to accept transport with us,” Eln said. “We are quite concerned for your safety at Istra, onstation and onworld. There’s been some difficulty, some disturbance. Perhaps you have heard.”

  Raen shrugged. There were rumours of unrest, here and elsewhere, of crises; of things more serious…she earnestly wished she knew.

  “You were,” Merek On said, “perhaps sent here for that reason.”

  She made a slight gesture of the eves back toward Warrior. “You might ask it concerning its motives.”

  That struck a moment of silence.

  “Kontrin,” said sera Kest, leaning forward from the seat behind. “For whatever reasons you’ve come here—you must realise there’s a hazard. The station is too wide, too difficult to monitor. In Newhope, on Istra, at least we can provide you security.”

  “Sera—are we being abducted?”

  The faces about her were suddenly stark with apprehension.

  “Kontrin,” said Merek Eln, “you are being humorous; we wish we could persuade you to consider seriously what hazards are possible here.”

  “Ser, sera, so long as you persist in trying to tell me only fragments of the situation, I see no reason to take a serious tone with you. You’ve been out to Meron. You’re coming home. Your domestic problems are evidently serious and violent, but your manner indicates to me that you would much rather I were not here.”

  There was a considerable space of silence. Fear was thick in the air.

  “There has been some violence,” said one of the others. “The station is particularly vulnerable to sabotage and such acts. We fear it. We have sent appeals. None were answered.”

  “The Family ignored them. Is that your meaning?”

  “Yes,” said another after a moment.

  “That is remarkable, seri. And what agency do you suspect to be the source of your difficulty?”

  No one answered.

  “Dare I guess,” said Raen, “that you suspect that the source of your troubles is the Family?”

  There was yet no answer, only the evidence of perspiration on beta faces.

  “Or the hives?”

  No one moved. Not an eye blinked.

  “You would not be advised to take any action against me, seri. The Family is not monolithic. Quite the contrary. Be reassured: I am ignorant; you can try to deceive me. What brought the two of you to Meron?”

  “We—have loans outstanding from MIMAK there. We hoped for some material assistance…”

  “We hoped,” Parn Kest interrupted brusquely, “to establish innerworlds contacts—to help us past this wall of silence. We need relief…in taxes, in trade; we were ignored, appeal after appeal. And we hoped to work out a temporary agreement with MIMAK, against the hope of some relief. Grain. Grain and food. Kontrin—we’re supporting farms and estates which can’t possibly make profit. We’re at a crisis. We were given license for increase in population, our own and azi, and the figures doubled our own. We thought future adjustment would take care of that. But the crisis is on us, and no one listens. Majat absorb some of the excess. That market is all that keeps us from economic collapse. But food…food for all that population… And the day we can’t feed the hives… Kont’ Raen, agriculture an
d azi are our livelihood. Newhope and Newport and the station…and the majat…derive their food from the estates; but it’s consumed by the azi who work them. There are workers enough to cover the estates’ needs four times over. There’s panic out there. The estates are armed camps.”

  “We were told when we came in,” Eln said in a faint voice, “that ITAK has been able to confiscate azi of some of the smaller estates. But there’s no way to take them by force from the larger. We can’t legally dispose of those contracts, by sale or by termination. There has to be Kontrin—”

  “—license for transfer or adjustment,” Raen finished. “Or for termination without medical cause. I know our policies rather thoroughly, ser Eln.”

  “And therefore you can’t export and you can’t terminate.”

  “Or feed them indefinitely, Kontrin. Or feed them. The economics of the farms insist on a certain number of azi to the allotted land area. Someone…erred.”

  Eln’s lips trembled, having said so. It was for a beta, great daring.

  “And the occasion for violence against the station?”

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” one of the others said.

  “But you fear that it will. Why?”

  “The corporations are blamed for the situation on the estates. Estate-owners are hardly able to comprehend any other—at fault.”

  There was another silence, deep and long.

  “You’ll be glad to know, seri, that there are means to get a message off this world, one that would be heard on Cerdin. I might do it. But there are solutions short of that. Perhaps better ones.” She thought then of Jim, and laid a hand on his knee, leaning toward him. “You are hearing things which aren’t for retelling…to anyone.”

  “I will not,” he said, and she believed him, for he looked as if he earnestly wanted to be deaf to this. She turned back to Eln and Kest.

  “What measures,” she asked them, “have the corporations taken?”