by Mark Henwick
The military communications from there are dwarfed by the volume of civilian messages about the lack of food supplies.
“Is the food supply everywhere as bad as it looks in this region?” Hwa asks Xing.
“Yes. I estimate the government would have had no more than two or three weeks before there were food riots in the worst hit provinces.”
Would have had—except that now the promise of Xian relief supplies has temporarily defused the situation. She finds the irony sharp—Xian’s food relief will keep the Hajnal in power for the moment.
“How close could Newyan be to an armed uprising?” she asks. Kattalin’s posts have caused a lot of unrest. The data is all there in front of her, but Xing has spent considerably more time in analysis.
“Not close yet,” Xing says. “It would be an extremely difficult undertaking. Other than for hunting or as heirlooms, there aren’t many weapons in the population. Against them, the Syndacians are a small force relatively, but they’re well-armed. Newyan’s army is also well-armed, but it’s spread out and there’s always a question as to whether armies will turn their guns on their own people.”
“Are the Syndacians so disciplined they’d obey orders and fire on civilians?”
Xing is quiet for a moment before replying, and he shifts data views in their mental connection so she can see the data he’s using. “The Hajnal are definitely shopping at the economy end of the range. It’s worrying how little experience the majority of the Syndacian cohorts have. I’m afraid they’re the kind of troops who might panic and start a massacre.”
Not a comforting thought.
“Well, Xian is bringing food,” she says. “We’ll ensure delivery direct to the regions and bypass the Hajnal using relief for consolidation. And we’re getting our court case.”
All wasted if Zara does not get through with the evidence they need in time. Yes, they have a court case, but reparations on the threat to the Shohwa and the destruction of the Xing Gerchu are completely unimportant in the real scale of things.
Hwa closes her eyes and scrolls again through the data that Xing has collated on Newyan food production, still unable to believe that Newyan has arrived at such a potential calamity so quickly.
The Hajnal used the seizure of estates for three purposes: as a threat against the Names, as bribes for officials, and as rewards for their own people. In all cases, the Bureau of Industry forced the evacuation of all workers and handed the entire estates across to the new owners. None of whom were remotely qualified in the management of the estates, and most not interested in running estates for food production.
In four years, Newyan has gone from a net exporter of food to dependency on imports.
The next catastrophe lying in wait is the collapse of the currency, but so far that has been avoided through contributions from other Hajnal worlds. None of which are much better off than Newyan.
It’s clear that the Hajnal, having failed on Kernow, regard this world as their strategic battle. They mean to elevate Newyan to the association of Inner Worlds, giving them a beachhead that lays open the path all the way to Earth.
Which means this planet has to be where they are defeated.
Which comes back to: Zara has to get to Iruña with irrefutable evidence that Hwa can force the Enquiry to present, and thereby finally expose the Hajnal in a way that cannot be covered up.
She’s going around in circles, so she stops and takes a different direction.
There were cameras recording the dinner, and a message from Xing that he was monitoring them.
“You watched Ministro Loiola this evening. What do you make of him?” she asks.
“An interesting question,” he replies. “Do you know there was a scanning program called EmoTx introduced on Earth about ten years ago?”
Hwa frowns at the apparent irrelevance.
The name is not unknown to her. She had access to Shohwa’s memory banks at the point she was installed on the servers at the delegation in Kernow, but the sheer volume of it meant that she retained a lot of the less immediate, less relevant data only in the form of a summary.
“I know the basic facts,” she says. “EmoTx was a program that ran on the Terran InfoHub and produced a cross reference of human facial expressions sorted by the emotional cause of the expression.”
“Yes. The Terran government bought out the entire company and it disappeared into their most secret research facilities.”
“The most secret research facilities we know all about?”
Xing chuckles, a strange echo of a laugh coming from her pad.
“The same,” he confirms. “The thing is, the reason they were so keen to acquire and direct the research is that they believe EmoTx can tell the difference, just from visual data feeds of faces, between a human and what they refer to as a ‘skin’.”
Hwa snorts. “A ‘skin’ like me, for instance? A Self-Actualized Entity in a human body?”
“Essentially, yes. The Terran Council has been concerned with rumors that some Inner World corporations are developing synthetic humans.”
Hwa frowns again, trying to piece together what he’s saying. “You’re not trying to tell me Loiola’s an SAE like me? Or some kind of android?”
“No. In fact, it appears the EmoTx program isn’t very good at that. They were using it to run analyses on video feeds of you when you visited Earth with Zara, for instance, and they have no idea you aren’t, in their eyes, strictly human. As we knew they wouldn’t. But anyway, the latest iterations of the software don’t actually come up with a crude flag saying ‘skin’ or ‘human’. They report an estimation that the person being analyzed is human, in the form of an index. I’ve run a copy of the EmoTx program on Loiola.”
Hwa cannot control the human response to the shocking implication of what Xing’s saying; she sits up abruptly.
“You’re telling me Loiola’s an alien?”
“I didn’t say that. All I will say is that his index is among the lowest, even in groups selected for disjunction between expressions and emotions.”
Haw lies back down. “Oh. So he’s an alien or a sociopath?”
“Your extrapolation, not mine. But interesting nevertheless, don’t you think?”
It is interesting, but too uncertain. “I don’t know,” she says. “What I am sure of is, he’s Hajnal. Unlike you, I have actual bones, and I feel it in them.”
Xing chuckles again.
“Perhaps. But it would be better for us to find some more scientific proof.”
“We’re struggling,” she agrees. “Like with the Dowr’s predictions, we can’t convince people using what seems sure to us.”
“Yes. I believe you, because you’ve shown me how the Dowr convinced you. We can’t use that to convince the Terran Council.”
In truth, she and Xing are in the odd position of believing the Dowr and yet not quite understanding why. Self-Actualized Entities work best with logic. The Dowr reaches conclusions that seem right to Hwa, without being able to explain how or why they got there. It’s as if they are able to create logic and derive patterns from data in a way that Self-Actualized Entities cannot follow.
The Dowr make no analysis of what the Hajnal are, but they’re clear about the final result—devastation throughout human space.
“And besides,” she says, “the Dowr want to remain hidden, at least from Earth.”
The truth will eventually leak out of the coastal people of Kernow and the few Xian who know about the Dowr, but the Dowr feel they aren’t ready. Again, based on some calculation they can understand and Hwa can’t.
“They are fascinating though, aren’t they?” Xing says.
“I think we’re mutually fascinating to each other, and scary to most humans,” Hwa says.
Xing laughs. “We’ve strayed from the point. I’ve spent a lot of computation time on trying to see how the Hajnal works, taking over system after system, and, strange as it seems to take the side of Commissioners Ivakin and Taha, something
is unbelievable in this story of a conspiracy among the planets.”
“That something the Commissioners use to dismiss it as mere conspiracy theory.”
“Yes, but it’s definitely not just a conspiracy theory.”
They both bring the Hajnal data to the fore.
“There is a clear pattern,” Xing says.
He is right. The Hajnal have demonstrated a unity of purpose and an efficiency of taking over planets that is extraordinary. What makes it unbelievable is nothing to do with the Commissioners’ views. It’s what the Hajnal do afterwards.
Any planet could have a revolt. Some of the planets in the Margin are poorly or unfairly administered. It would be surprising if there hadn’t been revolts. But the planets where the Hajnal are don’t benefit. All their surplus gets redirected by the Hajnal onto the next target.
Some people would make that sacrifice, but not all of them.
Every single Hajnal planet does. There is no dissent. Or at least, if there is, it is ruthlessly put down.
Hwa returns uneasily to the earlier question is Loiola an alien?
But there are too many variables, even with their combined computation power.
Hwa’s analysis so far has been limited because, as the Hajnal succeed on planets, they trade less, and the Xian ships have less access to information. Xing has been able to find more information now that he’s connected to the Newyan InfoHub which has data from Hajnal planets.
There’s a disturbing aspect to his discoveries—there’s always a clear distinction on a Hajnal planet, between a relatively small group of completely committed activists who hold the power and a larger group who seem to have simply been swept up. Like Loiola on the one hand, and Sánchez on the other.
But the Hajnal data, though huge in its volume, is frustratingly inconclusive.
Hwa is ready for a second pass using different analysis parameters when Xing interrupts her.
“Enough of the intractable, high-level analytical problems,” he says. “You seem slow to indulge the appetites of your physical body. Tell me about it.”
Caught unprepared, Hwa blushes. It’s a drawback of the connection between SAEs that it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from each other. Xing is aware that she’s very physically attracted to Raul, and that nothing has happened yet, beyond flirting.
Of all the things about humans which fascinate SAEs, the combination of physical sensations and emotions that comprise love and sex are some of the most fascinating.
“It’s complex,” she says. “Even if both parties are attracted, the attraction seems somehow to be increased by delay and could even be reduced by haste in unpredictable ways. It’s very frustrating!”
“I can see humaning is even more difficult than I considered,” Xing says.
She snorts. “I still have hopes, anyway.”
Raul seems a bit scared of her, in truth. Or not so much scared as uncertain. As if he’s not sure how to interpret the signals she’s sending. Looking for a deeper level of meaning that isn’t actually there.
“Indeed,” Xing says. There is amusement in his voice. “I am closing all electronic connections to your suite. Have a good night.”
“What? Why?”
But he’s gone. There is silence in the room, which makes the rather uncertain knock on the door seem that much louder.
It’s Raul, standing in the corridor, clutching a bottle of champagne in front of him like a shield.
He’s changed to informal clothes which suit him even better than his beautiful robes from earlier. His eyes are a little wide, his breathing rapid.
“I... I saw you didn’t have an opportunity to enjoy the champagne at the dinner. You were so busy.” He swallows and holds the champagne a little higher. “There were some bottles to spare. It’s a local one. It’s very good. I just thought you might like...”
Hwa reaches out. Not for the champagne, but for his forearm, where his sleeve has fallen back. His skin is warm to her touch, his muscles firm. A little shock like electricity travels through her, all the way down to her toes.
Is it too soon, now?
Before she can become infected with any uncertainty, she pulls him inside.
“I’m told I should never drink alone,” she says, surprised at the way her voice has changed. Deeper. A little ragged. She’s not entirely in control of her own body.
Like partners in a formal dance, they turn to face each other. Raul still holds the champagne in front of him.
She leans back against the door, pushing it closed.
“The kitchenette,” she says. Her throat feels tight. “The glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. You are joining me, aren’t you?”
His eyes meet hers, growing bolder. “I’d like to,” he says. “Very much.”
“Good.” It comes out as a growl.
Whose voice is that? Mine?
At least the uncertainty about his welcome seems dispelled from his mind.
He takes a step backwards in the right direction, still turned toward her, as if reluctant to stop looking at her. As if he can’t quite believe in her, and fears she might disappear like a mirage.
She enjoys the expression on his face, the way she can see desire welling up, pushing aside doubt. In fact, she enjoys seeing the whole way he carries himself. The way his muscles move under the soft silk of his clothes.
Being an SAE and unskilled in these matters does not prevent her having a vivid imagination about muscles and movements and sensations.
Oh, yes.
And that hair. Thick, well-cut, black hair that looks soft and fine, yet lies perfectly on his head. Never untidy. She imagines the feel of it running through her fingers, and knows it will be untidy by the time she’s finished.
“Good,” she says again.
Her stomach feels as if it’s turned to water.
Is my own hair tidy? Did I brush it? Did I use the sweet-smelling soap when I showered?
I have no idea what to do.
Too late to worry.
Behind her back, her hand touches and triggers the palm lock.
The sound of the bolt closing is very loud.
Chapter 32
Zara
Down off the Sierra Arija, the leaves are broader, the woods are lighter. There’s less cover. I feel vulnerable, as if one of the mercenaries is going to see me all the way across the valley or something.
Not likely. I’m lying face down, peering through a screen of trees at a stone building which sits on the edge of a sleepy village. It’s the clinic. Like most clinics in the high sierras, a doctor calls once a week. Today’s the day for this village, and I’m waiting for him to go, so I can break in and steal medicines.
I feel bad, inside and out.
I’m wet and filthy. The skin of my shoulders is raw. My whole body aches. I daren’t take my boots off; my feet are a mass of blisters. I’m covered in scratches, and some of them are swollen and red. The high sierras are rife with bacteria which loves human flesh.
None of this is a problem, if I can get into that clinic. Every village stocks broad-spectrum anti-bacterials which will clear our skin infections up. I hope they have the systemic equivalents for whatever is killing Kat.
Best not to think about that. One step at a time.
I take a deep breath. It smells more like spring down here, out of the unending, choking pine forest.
The last of the evening light is playing on the leaves. Pretty patterns, bright green to incandescent gold and red and then back. Fluttering in the breeze. My eyes are heavy.
I can’t go in until it’s dark anyway, but I keep watching. For one, I want to be sure the doctor goes. For two, I want a glimpse of the face of the man I’m stealing from. I’m not sure why.
Eyelids droop. I’m warmer and more comfortable than I’ve been all week, and that’s not helping keep me alert.
Up on the Sierra Arija, even when I was in the harness, pulling Kat, I wasn’t warm. The air beneath the dark trees let
me get sweaty, but temperature-wise, I was never anything other than chilled to the bone. Being warm again is wonderful.
And Talan and I had to pull that... damned sled all week, rebuilding it every day.
Kat’s been unable to walk for more than half an hour without passing out. She’s talking nonsense even in her sleep. Burning up. For the last couple of days she’s been vomiting even the water we’ve given her.
Talan and Kat are hiding across the valley, waiting for me to bring medicines back.
My head sinks to the ground, jerks back up. Down again.
Shadows pool in the little corners and begin to spread like spilt ink. The lower leaves are in darkness now. Only the tops of trees are caught by the sun’s rays, and the temperature is dropping like a pebble falling slowly down a deep, deep well.
A door bangs, startling me out of near-sleep.
An elderly man walks slowly away from the clinic, carrying a small satchel. He has a straw hat at a jaunty angle. He’s wearing a patched jacket, old corduroy pants and sturdy walking boots.
There’s a truck, which looks older than he does, parked to one side, but he doesn’t get in it. Instead, he heads up the gravel drive and turns right, down into the village.
I swear under my breath.
He’s probably going to have dinner at the village inn before heading home. That means I either have to wait until he comes back and drives away, or I move while there’s still light.
Much better to wait. Much more likely to get caught if I move now.
But Kat can’t wait. If I get in and out in twenty minutes, he can’t possibly have eaten in that time. And we’ll be able to move on by moonlight. If I wait till later...
I’m already getting up.
My body complains. Everything hurts, from deep aches to tender skin. I ignore it, and concentrate on walking smoothly and confidently to the back of the clinic.
The toilet window I’d seen earlier is still open.
There’s an outside trash bin which I lift and carry around beneath the window. Even fully open, the window is still small. I have to get one arm through first so I can angle my shoulders. My hair gets caught of course. Then my jacket. Should have left it outside. Then my belt gets caught, followed by my hips. I squirm like a snake in a trap, panting and having to hold my weight with my hands on the top of the toilet cistern.