The Lion in Paradise

by Brindle, Nathan C.

  "And as for the rest, a short time to repair the C3 infrastructure meaning, what?"

  "On the order of several hundred years, I should imagine. It will take at least that long to sort out the power structure and elect a new Emperor. The Emperor had grown children who were not within the part of the fleet which was destroyed, but they will fight among themselves, and with others, for the privilege of the high seat." He paused for a moment. "Their throne is not a hereditary one, though often it works that way, regardless."

  "How long have you known all this?" asked von Barronov, frowning slightly.

  "Not long. I took the liberty of absorbing their computer networks while we were sitting among them, and I am creating a project on Homeworld to translate the data. I sampled the higher layers, you know, current personnel, recent history, that sort of thing, but the rest will take centuries to work through." He smiled. "But I have learned more today about the Darkness than in the billions of years I have spent studying them from afar. And I thank you for that."

  "We still don't know what they look like," said Wolff. "Or are they actually the huge creatures we've been calling 'constructs'? Perhaps they aren't constructs at all, but the aliens themselves."

  "That could explain why their ships are so large," mused von Barronov. "Unless the ship complements are just huge in number to begin with."

  "I am sure it is in the data," Beam replied. "It is probably non-obvious, buried in medical or instruction handbooks or textbooks, because after all, there is no reason for them to think themselves outsized or oddly-shaped. They are simply 'normal'. Much as you humans think of yourselves. Where would I go to find information about the average human body, its size and proportions? I would not find it in a hurried, top-level skim of your hypernet, I am sure," he said, with a grin.

  "In the meantime," said Wolff, "we're down one pinnace, several small Iraqi towns with most of their people, a hundred-story iconic skyscraper and however many occupants didn't make it out in Chicago, and a busted-up moon in orbit over Mars. Of course the busted-up moon was already busted-up, but that's beside the point; my daughter and granddaughters had to fix it before we lost a very important repair base and a bunch of ships and personnel. And we nearly lost a liner full of people, out by Devlin's, just because one of my other granddaughters was aboard; and we lost the pirate we thought we were finally going to get some information out of, though that wasn't really related to the Darkness."

  "This angers you," said Beam, rhetorically.

  Wolff laughed, ruefully. "It does, big time, but what good does that do? Even with a time machine, we can't roll any of that back."

  Ariela looked thoughtful, then quoted,

  The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on:

  nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

  Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

  "I knew your folks sent you to college for something," grunted her father. "Is your knowledge of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat supposed to make me feel better?"

  She shrugged. "You're right. We can't do anything about it, because it's done. We can't even reverse it, since that would create a branch timeline where it never happened instead of fixing the problem in ours. I'm gradually coming to a mode of thought where I just can't worry about what happens to us, so long as we make sure whatever happens never happens again." With a smile, she added, "We're lucky it wasn't any worse – but it wasn't any worse, because we finally got proactive and did something to stop it."

  "For a while," Wolff pointed out.

  "Of course," she said. "But I have things to do during that 'while'. Like go see how the terraforming project is going on al-Saḥra'; I want my paradise, and my white sand beach someone once promised me, on the tideless ocean of a moonless alien planet. And you have the Bandersnatch to refurbish, and so many other things to do." She looked at him, and then at his crony von Barronov. "That's really what's got you guys down in the dumps, I think. Your baby girl got hurt, and now has to have an extremely expensive skin transplant, and other surgeries. Ohshitsnort."

  She couldn’t help it. She started laughing at the visual thus conjured up. Wolff looked at von Barronov; von Barronov looked back. They both started to grin, and the next thing they knew, they were laughing right along with Ariela and everyone else in the room.

  "Okay, enough of this," yelled LaForrest, finally. "Break out the damn whiskey and I'll call Charlie in to bring us some snacks. We have to call this one a win, or I'm going to be damned upset."

  And once everyone had a glass in their hand – including Beam – the captain raised his on high and said, "Here's to all of us – and confusion to the Darkness!"

  "CONFUSION TO THE DARKNESS!"

  They all drank, and the two generals looked at each other again. "I think I feel better now," said von Barronov.

  "Yeah," agreed Wolff. "Our little girl will be fine."

  Then his face clouded over, remembering a long-ago vision and prophecy.

  "I only hope our big girls will be, too."

  EPILOGUE:

  THE LION IN PARADISE:

  2321 AD

  The Eskaasali'i

  Ariela relaxed in her chaise lounge, sipped her mint julep, and sighed, happily.

  It had taken two hundred years to bring up all – or most of all – of the ancient ocean water trapped beneath the Mesh of al-Saḥra'. Everything had to be done carefully, to keep the planet in balance with itself, and not disturb its orbital or rotational characteristics, or its axial tilt. The whole thing had been done with only a couple of dozen 8" wells she'd created two centuries before, scattered widely across the planet, with automated valves at the wellheads, and monitoring equipment galore to keep the balance just so. She'd even consulted with Beam throughout the project, just to ensure nothing popped up and surprised them. They were discussing dropping a couple of small comets into the mix, to bring the water the rest of the way up to what they'd determined were the historic levels, but for now, things were looking really good.

  The giant rift in the middle of the lowest depression in the largest desert had also required repair, which she and her daughters had managed with their ability to manipulate the Mesh.

  It was still unclear exactly what had created that rift. She'd talked to Beam about it, and the only thing they could come up with was something relatively large, relativistically fast, and aimed pretty much right at the former moon of al-Saḥra'. Most of the former moon, as scientists had confirmed, was now sitting in the planet's trailing Trojan point as a large group of differentiated debris. And whatever had hit the moon had traveled right through it and struck the biggest ocean on al-Saḥra'. What had happened next was fairly obvious; and as a pool shot, Ariela actually had to admire it somewhat.

  Their best guess was the projectile, whatever it had been, actually struck so deeply as to have been subsumed into the planet's iron core.

  Based on the skirmishes of 70-odd years ago, they'd have chalked the whole thing up to the Darkness and their poor aim, but the rift had been created long before the human time trunk had been dropped into the True Universe. So it was a mystery, and short of taking one of the pinnaces on a time-travel trip to investigate, it was going to remain such.

  And Ariela, much as the whole thing interested her, didn't care right now. She wiggled around a bit and got comfortable, soaking up the slightly-brighter light of the local star, and trying to work on a decent tan.

  "You know," said Mei, looking up from the book she was reading in the next chaise lounge over, and also enjoying a mint julep, "I could get used to coming out here to visit."

  "Yeah, but don't you still have a job on Mars?"

  "Sure! But it doesn't require me to be there every damn sol of the year. And no matter what Elon says about how glorious Mars is, you still can't go out on the beach like this, there."

  Ariela snorted. "You still almost can't go out on the beach like this, here," she reminded her friend, pointing up generally at the big sign on
the beach cabana's roof that said

  CAUTION! STAY 100 METERS BACK

  OR YOU WILL BE SHOT!

  in both English and Arabic.

  "Still having problems with the holdouts?"

  "Unfortunately, yes, and unfortunately, they do sometimes come out here and act like the primitive, woman-hating assholes they are."

  "So that explains the fire team of Space Force Marines at that little security post just up the beach."

  "And the local coast guard trimaran just offshore with its deck gun run out and gleaming in the sun," agreed Ariela.

  Mei faux-pouted a bit. "But no handsome, virile, ripped lifeguards in tiny bathing trunks."

  Ariela rolled her eyes. "Mei, this isn't . . . what the hell was that stupid TV show when I was growing up? This isn't Baywatch al-Saḥra', you know."

  Mei frowned, then dropped her book, grabbed her holotab, and punched in search terms. "Oh. Ohhhhhh. Wowf. Thank you, darling, now I need to watch that entire series."

  "For all the erudite dialogue, of course," teased Ariela.

  Mei winked. "Of course."

  Delaney walked out of the cabana, just then, carrying a towel, a bottle of water, and wearing the smallest possible orange polka-dot bikini and top she owned. "I'm going down by the water," she said. "Really want to get some sun after being stuck on that damn cruiser for six months."

  "Sucks to be in command of a shipboard contingent, doesn't it?" smirked her mother.

  "Yes. Yes, it does. I can't wait till I get my bump to brigadier and get out of that racket. I want to go back to intelligence. And stay there."

  Ariela smiled. "Well, your grandfather would like you to be there. He's got a billet all set for you, when the time comes. Although he will probably be the Space Force Commandant by then."

  Delaney looked surprised. "General Buford is stepping down?"

  "In a year or so. For a while. I think he'd like to colonize, get married, have some kids, take a break. With long life, who knows how things may shake out; your grandfather may sit in that chair for a couple of hundred years, and then trade it back to him. It's silly to waste knowledge and experience by forcing people to retire."

  "Yeah," said Delaney, thoughtfully, "but I know what he really wants is to go back to SFMID. Not that they'd let him do field work, again – he's too valuable for that."

  "People can get calcified easily and lose their edge by staying in the same position too long," Mei reminded them. "Even way back in my PLA days, I knew that. The colonel whose regiment got destroyed by its own tank-killer weapon when he tried to break down the door of your grandfather's shuttle with it was a perfect example of active/stupid in action."

  Delaney looked puzzled. "I'm not sure if I know that story."

  Mei laughed. "It was the day he and I met, in 2017 – in your mother's timeline."

  "Oh. That mission."

  "Yes."

  "Well, I've thunk my heavy thoughts for the day," decided Delaney, "so I'm off to get some sun while FTSA1 is holding down the security post."

  "Do you have sunscreen?" asked her mother, in the most motherly fashion possible.

  "Mom . . . nanos. They take care of the damage."

  "Yes, but you still itch for days till they do."

  "I'll be fine."

  Ariela sighed, and shrugged. "You know best, of course."

  "I'm 251 years old, I have a husband, four children, two of them have children of their own, and I should hope to spit I do by now."

  "Yes, but I'll always be your mother."

  Delaney, bested in maternal combat, simply rolled her eyes, grinned, and walked away.

  "That went well," observed Mei.

  "Yes," murmured Ariela, closing her eyes and leaning back. "And I won, because I got the last word."

  And so things were left for a while. Ariela dozed, Mei went back to her book, Delaney stretched out on her beach towel near the water and took a snooze.

  But no plan survives contact with the enemy.

  At the edge of the woods, back of the beach, there was a rustle in the greenery.

  "Ari!" hissed Mei, carefully not looking behind them.

  "Huh? Wazzat?" Ariela woke up, muzzily, out of a very . . . interesting . . . dream. "Mmmm . . . " she said, and then realized where she was. "Mei? Did you say something?"

  "There's something or someone skulking around in the trees behind us."

  The greenery rustled again. This time, Ariela heard it.

  "Damn it," she sighed. "They won't give me a minute's peace." Her movement shielded by the back of her chaise lounge, she picked up her comm and punched a speed dial entry. "Fred."

  "What's up, Ari?" came her husband's voice.

  "Something in the woods back of us. Come and get it."

  "Oorah. Don't move. Twenty seconds."

  Twenty seconds later, FTSA1, armored up, with Sergeant-Major Fred Fox in the lead, and Colonel Norm Harbinger right behind him, came pounding around the front of the cabana and leveled M12 Harbingers at the woods. Delaney, who'd awakened when the cavalry came a-runnin', was standing there, too, next to Mei, M12 out and leveled.

  Mei started to laugh. Ariela rolled her eyes. "Here we go again," she said. "Delaney, where in the world did you hide that M12 in that tiny bikini?"

  "Mesh pocket holster, left thigh, fits great. Don't have time for this now, Mom, I'll show you how later."

  "Come out, hands up, then drop to your knees with your hands behind your head," yelled Fox, "or we'll blast the area you're standing in with explosive .45 XCP, clear back to the road behind it. I'm not concerned about blowing up all those plants, they grow back in about a week anyway."

  Something walked out of the woods, hands high. It looked like it was wearing a ghillie suit. It knelt on the sand and placed its hands behind its head.

  Which was really difficult for it, because it had four arms and the two on the bottom didn't quite reach its head.

  "The hell?" said Fox, eyes wide. Just like everyone else in the group.

  A croaking voice came to them . . . in English.

  "Come in peace. Mean no harm. Is time to show face."

  "You may lower one arm to pull off your head cover," directed Fox.

  "Is well." The being lowered its right upper arm, and swept the cover away. It blinked oversize eyes, heavily, in the bright sunshine.

  It looked like a bipedal frog. A really pale one. With six limbs.

  "Who are you?" breathed Ariela. She'd risen from her chaise in a combination of astonishment, and also recognition that she was the only diplomat present.

  "Am Gorsh'kii," it replied, "of clan Kesh'ka'ii. We Eskaasali'i. Live in caves, dark, wet, but once lived on surface, light, wet. Then came crash, Little Sister gone, legends say moved to caves, became dark-dwellers." It reached its hand out to Ariela. "I gomeskasaloi't, you say, envoy. Have learned your English to come to you, O Lion of God."

  "Stand down, Marines" said Ariela. She walked forward as the Marines, somewhat surprised, brought their weapons to safe carry.

  Taking Gorsh'kii's hand, she said, "Why have you come to me?"

  "To thank you," it said. (She still had no idea if it were male, female, or some other completely different sex.) "You brought waters up from hiding. Caves, still wet, but surface better. No more dark dwellers, skulking in caves. Come to surface. Live as old. Honor saviors of our people."

  "Rise now, Gorsh'kii," she said, quietly. "You need honor no one. We did not know you were here, we really did all of this for ourselves, but now that you have come, we are glad you are here. Our intent was only to put things back the way we thought they had been. Have we done well?"

  "Elders say yes," replied Gorsh'kii, rising. "Waters at peace in light. World grows green beneath feet. We do honor, and we do thank. But need help. Too long dark dwellers. Hard to be here. Much light."

  "How many are you?"

  It ducked its head. "Not know exact. Hands of hands of hands. Caves large, long, together come . . . not know word."
r />   "Interconnected? Means many different caves, but they connect together, to form a network." She interlaced her fingers to demonstrate. "You understand network?"

  "Yes! Good word. Use nets for fish. Net-work. Work of net. See it."

  "So there could be—" She looked at its hands; six fingers each. "There could be as many Eskaasali'i as your own group has fingers and hands. What we might call thousands. A thousand is . . . um . . . as close as I can come is a hand of a hand of a hand of a hand. Twelve hundred ninety six in decimal," she said, for the benefit of the humans.

  "Add one more hand. Is close to number in local area."

  "In the neighborhood of eight thousand," said Delaney.

  They all looked at her.

  "What? I'm good at times tables. And it's 6 to the 5th power. Easy. Right?"

  "We will need to get a count," said Ariela, to Gorsh'kii. "We are a rich people, but we did not become or stay that way by making others dependent on us. While we are willing to help, it will be in the form of helping you transition from living in the dark to living in the light. Which is not to say such help will be either paltry or stingy; only to say that it is a hand up, not a hand out."

  "Understand," said Gorsh'kii, nodding. "Proud people, us; not slaves. Know what slave is. Have watched people in city. Also watched you free slaves. Understand difference between peoples. Would not reveal to city people. Will reveal to saviors. Honor demands. Will find way to repay saviors. Honor also demands. I call witnesses to show selves for agreement. Eskaasali'i kekkesh'li!"

  "Do not," said Ariela, calmly, to the Marines, "even think about raising those M12s."

  Colonel Harbinger nodded. "Aye, aye, General. Keep 'em stood down, Marines," he ordered.

  Slowly, carefully, hands raised, without weapons, about a hundred Eskaasali'i emerged from the edge of the woods.

  "I'll give 'em this," said Fox, wryly, "they are a bunch of quiet, sneaky people."

  "And they don't show up on scanners," added Foster, who was fiddling with the portable scanner in her hand. "Ah. Now they do. Lower body temperature."