by Jaine Fenn
Kerin said, ‘Sais, do not think to save my feelings; you wonder if the Sidhe had more than one source of Consorts, do you not? You have explained what happens to the boys, that they become – I forget the word—’
‘Transit-kernels. You’re right; I’m sure that at one time there were more worlds like this, because shiftships were more common in Protectorate times, and the Sidhe would never have relied on a single location to breed their shift-minds. But that was then; these days I’m pretty sure it’s just Serenein.’
‘Which makes my world valuable, for all the wrong reasons.’ When he glanced up at her, Kerin’s expression was grim. ‘I am sure the people of human-space will not simply give us what we ask for out of kindness. What do we have to trade, Sais? If the answer is “our children”, then I do not wish this gift you have brought. I will not replace one unseen tyranny with another!’
‘Kerin, that was never the plan,’ Jarek said, bending over the panel again.
‘Then just what was your intended fate for my world?’ She sounded almost aggressively sceptical, a far cry from the meek woman who’d saved his life when he first arrived on Serenein. ‘Surely in this universe of plenty, a backwards world like mine is of little interest?’
‘Actually it is,’ Jarek said firmly. ‘We have this system – we call it beevee – which allows communication between different worlds . . . but it does more than that. The whole economy of human-space is based on it – specifically, on its capacity.’
‘Its capacity?’
‘Sorry, I’ll explain. These beacons, like the one I’ve got for you, allow a fixed amount of information to pass through them at a fixed rate, and they transmit it without any time-lag. The universe is short on constants like that. And every system has this capacity, because every system has a beacon. So they trade capacity – well, it’s more the promise of capacity . . . to cut a complicated story short, most people accept this capacity – cap – as the universal currency. They don’t need to think any more about it than that. From your point of view, what you need to know is that just having a beacon gives your world an intrinsic value.’ He pulled out the final screw with a flourish.
‘So you give me a beacon, for nothing, and I trade its output for all the advantages of human-space? That sounds too good to be true!’ said Kerin as she leaned forward to take the panel from Jarek.
Jarek moved along to the next floor-panel. ‘You’re quite right; of course there’s more to it than that. If you’re going to buy medicines, or much in the way of tech, you’re going to need more than just the revenue your beacon’s capacity can provide – but that’s okay, because that leads me on to Plan B. Er, can you take these and put them in the tray in the toolbox?’
Kerin accepted the handful of loose screws, put them away, then waited for Jarek to continue.
‘You remember I mentioned the beevee network?’ he said as he began undoing the next panel. ‘Well, to trade your beacon’s cap – capacity – you need to be linked into it, and that’s going to cause quite a stir – especially when people discover that your world has been going its own way since Protectorate times. They’re going to be absolutely fascinated. Beevee transmits sound, and images too, so they’ll be able to see this amazing lost world for themselves – that’s a privilege they’ll be more than happy to pay for,’ he added confidently. It helped that the Sidhe had already put surveillance satellites in orbit, and instituted rules, like all acts of worship taking place under the open sky, to ensure the populace were easy to observe.
‘So what you are saying is that our backward nature is our main asset . . .’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Jarek slowly. Somehow his big idea didn’t sound so brilliant when he said it out loud.
‘Sais, we are not some sideshow for others to gawp at! We are a world, we are many thousands of people – we may not have great knowledge or magical machines or all the advantages your people have, but our lives are no less valid!’
‘I know that, Kerin’ he said, ‘and I’m not trying to belittle you, but you have to understand how human-space is likely to react to Serenein. Most people live full and comfortable lives without ever leaving their home world – but they do crave novelty. Entertainment is big business.’
‘But only while we remain primitive? That is the feature which makes us of interest, is it not? But it is exactly such isolation and ignorance I seek to end.’
‘Yes and that’s the catch.’ He turned his attention to a recalcitrant screw on the current panel. Once he’d freed it, with Kerin remaining silent he said, ‘This is all optional. Until I register your beacon, it isn’t tied into the beevee network, so if you don’t want me to do that, I won’t.’
‘Would people want to come here, if this world interested them enough? You say travel is rare, but it must happen, must it not? For you are one such traveller.’
‘In the long run yes, there might be enough interest for people to come out here. Probably tourists, and possibly other traders, if I—’
‘Sais, the situation below is very delicate! The arrival of strangers from the sky . . . I shudder to think of what effect that might have.’
‘As I say, it’s all optional. You could veto visitors. There are panhuman Treaties in place that allow systems to remain physically isolated if their inhabitants prefer it that way.’
‘Good. But in that case, how would the benefits we might buy come to us?’
‘We can use the revenue from the cap and beevee rights. I’ll organise whatever you need and bring it to the transfer-station. In the long run, maybe I can also pick up items for trade – handmade stuff, embroidery, pots, that sort of stuff. It’ll fetch a good price because it’s unique to Serenein, which makes it rare. We can exchange the goods when the carousel makes its annual ascent of the silver thread at – what’s it called again? Oh yeah, Sul Esgyniad – or more often, once you’ve got people to accept changes to their old ways.’
‘Assuming I manage to do that. But Jarek, surely all this selling of “rights” and trading them for Serenein’s requirements will distract you from your fight against the Sidhe?’
‘Don’t worry; I’ll be using people I trust, and I’ve got access to lawyers who’ll draw up watertight contracts—’ he looked at her face and grinned an apology. ‘Sorry, we’ll get written agreements to make sure you and your people won’t get exploited.’ He held up the next panel. ‘I’ve already made a few initial enquiries – discreetly of course. And if you do link in your beacon, you’d have full control over the feed to the beevee company: people would only see what you let them see.’
Kerin took the panel, then hesitated, her eyes clouded. ‘This decision is too important to be made in haste,’ she said slowly. ‘I will need to think about it.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Getting Damaru into the v-suit had tested Taro’s patience and taken most of the trip back up to orbit. The boy was more interested in playing with the tech than in wearing it. He felt the fabric, fiddled with the backpack and stuck his hands down the legs to try and reach the boots.
After Kerin had tried and failed to talk Damaru into getting dressed, Taro hit on the trick of taking his own suit off and making a game of putting it on again: ‘C’mon Damaru, bet I can get into mine quicker than you can get into yours!’
Damaru was up for that, until he got distracted by Taro’s extra hi-tech suit. Taro carefully explained he had to have that particular suit, because it was the only one that fitted him, and Damaru’s lip quivered – at which point Kerin had a few sharp words to say . . . which brought on a minor sulk—
—until Damaru noticed that Taro was very conspicuously getting dressed, at which point he was back on side again.
As Damaru bent over to pull his own suit up, Kerin caught Taro’s eye and said quietly, ‘My son is not the fool people think, but he does select carefully what he sets his mind to.’
Taro understood. Damaru reminded him of Vy (on a bad day) – which made sense, given they were both ma
le Sidhe, more or less.
They still had a few minutes before they docked, so Taro decided to take Damaru through the operation of the helmet and com – not that they expected to need them, but if something did go wrong and they had to suit up fully there wouldn’t be time for lessons. Plus it stopped Damaru trying to fiddle with the settings on his – or worse, Taro’s – suit. Damaru wasn’t wild about having his head enclosed, but the whole voice-in-the-ear thing tickled him so much that Taro had a job to get him to fold the helmet back when they heard Jarek coming down the steps.
Nual hung back when they boarded the Setting Sun; staying in the background to avoid pissing off Damaru and his mother. For once, Taro was glad when she didn’t try to mindspeak to him, because he didn’t want her to know how hard he was trying not to think about how she knew so much about this ship . . . Taro had only met the Setting Sun’s human pilot briefly. He hadn’t liked him much. He’d liked what’d happened to him even less . . . though it hadn’t been entirely Nual’s fault: after all, he and Jarek had let her do it . . .
Before Damaru went into the transfer-station Kerin had a few quick words with her son. Even though he was raring to get at the tech, he gave her his full attention, at least for a little while, and Taro found himself remembering Malia, the woman who’d brought him up, before she’d been murdered. He swallowed, trying to clear his tight throat. Kerin turned away, probably so the boy couldn’t see her worried expression.
‘Right, this is it,’ Taro said cheerfully, ‘suit-lights on!’ and he stepped across the threshold, taking small, shuffling steps to stay in contact with the deck. He kept an eye on Damaru’s feet; he wasn’t sure the boy understood how complicated things could get if he lost his grip and started to drift off. Damaru spent a while watching his hands float in front of his face and brushing at his halo of hair; Taro was glad he’d thought to tie his own, longer hair back.
‘Tummy feels funny,’ complained Damaru.
‘Funny as in “sick”?’
‘Just . . . funny.’
‘You let me know if you’re gonna p— be sick, right?’
‘Right.’
Taro really hoped Damaru had it under control: nothing ruined your day quite like floating vomit.
The further in they got, the colder the air became, and Taro was glad of the insulation provided by his suit. Their breath steamed in the beams of their lights. Damaru drew closer; Taro suspected he found the huge dark room as spooky as he did.
Working out which bit of identical wall they needed to head for led to a few false starts, but by counting support struts he finally homed in on the section his com was indicating. ‘We’ll get this open together, and then I’m gonna point out a few things you need to know,’ said Taro, trying to sound like he knew what he was on about. ‘After that, just ask if there’s anything you want me to look up. Oh, and don’t touch the stuff I tell you not to. In fact, don’t touch anything until I say it’s safe.’
‘Energy,’ Damaru said hungrily. ‘Behind here.’
‘Oh yeah. And it’s enough to hurt you, even if it ain’t enough to do what it needs to.’
The maintenance panels were supposed to slide out of the way, but they obviously hadn’t been opened for a long time and they were very stiff. It took both of them, pulling together, to get the first one moving. Taro’s injured hand throbbed but whatever drugs the medi-glove was releasing were doing a prime job of keeping the pain at bay.
When they pulled back the final panel they revealed a set of four dark-brown squares, about a metre wide. The surfaces were ridged, to vent excess heat from the capacitors inside. Taro double-checked the diagram on his com against the tangle of wires and cables packed in between the capacitor covers: yep, this was it.
Damaru was watching him intently, waiting for his word. He smiled at the boy, and said, ‘I’m gonna take you through what we’ve got here – what comes in, what goes out, what you can disconnect safely and what you really don’t wanna touch. Then it’s over to you.’
Though Damaru appeared to have listened to Taro’s instructions, Taro still tensed the first time the boy reached for a cable. When nothing happened he relaxed, sending out a stream of white breath. Kerin was right: Damaru could be pretty smart, if he wanted. Taro only had to explain something once, and the boy had it – in fact, he’d actually worked out some of the set-up before Taro had finished looking it up on his com.
They ran into a few practical issues once they started using tools on the cables: neither of them had done anything like this in normal gravity, let alone in micro-grav, and more than once Taro found himself fielding a pair of pliers or waving aside an errant bit of wire. And it was bloody freezing in here, so they had to work with their suit gloves on, making some of the delicate stuff a bit tricky.
It was going to be a long haul, but looking at the expression on Damaru’s face, Taro was certain they’d get there: the crazy kid was as happy as a stoned rat.
Nual had not realised quite how strong the antipathy was when male and female Sidhe met in the flesh. Being in Damaru’s presence blocked her arcane senses, effectively blinding her – and made her skin crawl. No doubt she had the same effect on him. Despite this, there was an attraction there which, whilst not as strong as the repulsion, was more disturbing – if she were to be totally honest with herself, the sensations he sparked in her were not entirely unpleasant. In some ways, that was even worse. She told herself he could not help being what he was, any more than she could change her own nature . . .
And here she was surrounded by reminders of that nature. Not so long ago she had read the mind of the human pilot of the Setting Sun – no, more than that, she had subsumed his mind, taking everything he was at the moment of his death. To do that, she had had to seduce him. She had had no other choice; the man had been too damaged by his Sidhe mistresses for her to read him normally. And it had worked: the pilot’s memories were part of her. Nual had told herself she had his knowledge, but not his soul; yet being here, in the place he had thought of as home, she was not so sure. Everything she saw, everywhere she looked, triggered a rush of associations, from the bed where he had pleasured his Sidhe lovers to the personalised set-up on the ship’s main control panel in front of her. Even the comp’s voice was modulated to sound like one of the man’s mistresses, though that particular problem was easily fixed, and she did so at once.
The sensations awakened in her by being in the pilot’s personal space were disconcerting, and she could not afford any distractions. Though the routine she needed to run was a variation on the standard pre-transit power-down, there were important differences. She needed to apply herself fully to the problem, and for that, she must shut out her darker thoughts.
Only when she was sure everything was progressing as it should did she allow herself to relax a little. Her unease was still present – and with it now came a sharp, sweet taste deep in her throat. This wasn’t merely an unfortunate stolen memory: this was foresight.
Of what, though?
The sense of narrowing options almost overwhelmed her for a moment, but the details remained infuriatingly vague.
When intuition fails . . . try logic. What would be the worst thing that could happen right now?
There was one obvious answer. A Sidhe-driven ship didn’t need a beacon to exit from shiftspace, so theoretically it could turn up anywhere. However, the nature of the translation through shiftspace meant a ship usually arrived near the point where any other recent visitors had dropped into realspace.
Nual turned the ship’s sensors on the arrival point the Heart of Glass had used. There was nothing there. She got the comp to scan a wide volume of space around that point, allowing for the distance a ship arriving any time in the last four hours might have travelled since. That was all clear too. She extended the search, running the simulation all the way back to the Heart of Glass’s original arrival. She knew Jarek would have been running scans of his own until flying through the debris cloud took up all his attention, b
ut there was no harm in double-checking.
Once again there was nothing.
She left the sensors trained on the exit point; if anyone did arrive, she’d know at once.
If whatever was tugging at her subconscious wasn’t the arrival of the Sidhe, then what was it? Could it be to do with Taro? He and Damaru were dealing with forces that could kill if not handled carefully . . . but he knew that, and he would be careful. And this didn’t feel like something that affected only her lover. This time the infuriatingly nebulous sense of impending doom encompassed all of them.
She was distracted from her brooding by a system message: the shutdown was entering the final stage. Could the problem be with the reactor itself? She reran her earlier diagnostics. The board was still green. Not that, then.
Something to do with the planet below, perhaps? No, that wasn’t it either – but thinking about Serenein did distract her for a moment. She found herself wondering about how it would be to live as the Cariad. There was something to be said for ruling an adoring people, caring for them while being worshipped unconditionally. It would be a lonely life, of course, never having contact with your own kind, having no one to confide in – not that she herself had any contact with the Sidhe, at least not if she could help it. But she did have Jarek – and Taro, of course—
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she nearly missed the single line of text scrolling across the bottom of the flatscreen monitor. Then the taste of ginger almost overwhelmed her.
As soon as she had control of herself again she let her hands glide over the board, guided by instincts not her own. She needed to be absolutely sure of this.
Finally she drew a long, hissing breath and commed Jarek. ‘They’re here,’ she said.
‘Who’s here?’
‘The Sidhe.’
‘Fuck. You’re sure? I mean when you say here—’