“What choice did we have? Although some warned against their enchantments, we were enchanted. Of course we said yes. Their forests spread over the world, and everyone prospered. Over a hundred centuries, we formed an unbreakable bond. Then they left, and some of the people went with them.
“We who chose to stay developed a modern society, which fell into a slow decline, until we became simple hunters and fishermen again. We call that the Longtime, and we don’t know how long it lasted. Some say millions of years.
“Then new ships came. They were the colony ships, and they brought news of a galactic civilization, and a war, and ruined worlds. They said they’d brought their forest home.
“They were the new people, and this is their forest.”
“How did you react to that?” asked Box.
“Badly at first. The usual clash of colonists and first peoples. We were the hunters, proud and unbending. We didn’t like their new ways. They were pious and strange. They perceived us as savages. There were wars. We held our own, but they were more numerous. Victory eluded everyone. But we were all Pursang. Finally, we resolved our differences, and became friends. Now only friendship remains.”
“How many of the first people are left?” asked Brin.
“About two percent, by population.”
“Why haven’t you bred out?”
“We intermarry, but the old blood and the new blood persist, along the female line of descent.”
“Meaning you’ll have blonde children?”
“Yes.”
“What about those original visitors, the alien terraformers. Are any still here?” asked Box.
“Of course, they’re everywhere.”
Later, Box said to the Water Bear, [I worry about Kitou.]
[In what way?]
[She seems to have religion.]
[What’s wrong with that?]
[Water Bear, you surprise me. Religion is a metaphysical tic, an irrational response to complexity.]
[Only if it requires the supernatural as an explanation. Kitou’s gods are natural beings.]
[You believe they exist?]
[Dr Box, I’m reliably told you spent a week with one.]
[The Pursang worship the Xap?]
[It’s more complicated than that.]
[Try me.]
[The Pursang worship the forest, as a philosophical idea. The forest shaped their destiny, the trajectory of their civilization. It manifests the divine. They choose to return the favor. Pando is the living personification of the forest, its representative in the Real.]
[Are you saying there’s one Xap individual?]
[That would be a simplification. The Xap extend throughout the galaxy. It would be a mistake to think of Pando as an individual.]
[But she’s an aspen forest, on Earth.]
[Maybe.]
[Is the Pando forest that old? Millions of years?]
[Who knows?]
[How did it get into space?]
The Water Bear shrugged, virtually.
[I need to get my head around it.]
[Reality is strange, Dr Box, and the Pursang are a highly sophisticated people. They live in the mystery. You could say they live in grace. Please give them the benefit of your uncertainty. You could find there’s something to learn here.]
They descended to the surface in a glider, fitted together from pieces of interlocking wood, like a sailboat. “Its simplicity is an illusion,” said Pax as they climbed aboard, and sat shoulder to shoulder in its welcoming seats.
When they touched the atmosphere, the aircraft pitched back, and Box watched heat build, a rosy plasma sheen, only centimeters from its leading edge.
“An adaptive field,” said Pax. “No moving parts. It knows its way home.”
They banked and pitched, and Box heard a whisper, as the air began to transmit sound to the cabin. Centripetal acceleration pushed her back into her seat. The whisper became a roar.
A readout in her sensorium said [1649°C].
“Why is it made of wood?” Box asked.
“For beauty,” said Kitou.
“I thought you people worshipped the forest?”
“We do,” said Kitou. “We make the most of its gifts.”
After several minutes spent converting velocity to heat, the craft waggled its delta wings, pitched its nose downwards, and dived.
“Holy moly,” said Box, five minutes later. “That was exciting.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” smiled a blonde Pursang woman, who had put down a trowel to greet them. Her hair hung in braids, and she was beautiful, in the same way Kitou was.
It wasn’t just her appearance. It was an unfathomable serenity, and a palpable toughness.
Like a Norse goddess.
They were in a clearing, near a small village, consisting of low houses and domed agricultural buildings. Their shuttle was already soaring away on its energy field. It was late afternoon, and the sun slanted down through a silvery haze. The air had the heady aroma of spring. Bee-like insects bumbled in the long grass. Kitou reached down, and crumbled the soft, loamy soil in her fingers.
“We’re looking for Jaasper Huw,” said Pax.
“Jaasper? I think you’ll find him loading his truck.”
The village was strung out like a necklace, between a forest of eucalypt trees, and open fields in which dozens of people were working. There were no obvious agricultural machines.
“Growing season,” said a smiling, middle-aged man. Then Kitou was down on her knees, and the man was touching her shoulder.
Pax said, “Sir, it’s a great honor.”
The man laughed heartily.
“It’s Jaasper Huw, or Jaasper to you. There are no formalities here. You must be the Po emissaries I heard talk about. Welcome to Stratego. Welcome to Fluxor. Will you help me fill my vehicle?”
The man’s truck was a large, sleek crawler. Its oversized tires were soft, like ruggedized party balloons. The tray was half-filled with hay bales, and boxes and bags of produce.
[What was all that about?] Box asked the Water Bear.
[You’re in the presence, Dr Box.] Even the ship seemed impressed.
[Of what?]
[A Pursang holy warrior.]
The combined group of five made short work of the load, Brin and Kitou especially reveling in the honest labor. Jaasper grinned, and motioned the others to let those two finish.
“Young muscles,” he said. “I wish I still had those.”
“So, sir Navigator,” he said to Pax, as they sat in the shade of a lofty gumtree, sharing cold drinks brought by a blushing Pursang boy. “If I may start with you. What brings you to Fluxor?”
“Pando sent us,” said Pax.
The man nodded.
“This is Ophelia Box,” said Pax.
“I know that name.”
“Join the queue,” said Box.
“Dr Box has spoken with Pando directly,” said Pax. “We have reliable information, circulating outside the usual channels, about an existential threat to your world. Pando said to bring it to you. She named you in person.”
Jaasper sighed.
“I half expected this,” he said.
“What do we do with it?” asked Pax.
“Well,” said Jaasper. “First tell me your story. Then, if need be, at first light, we leave for Jura, to petition the Recorder.”
“Who is that?”
“Insofar as we have one, she’s our leader.”
“How far is Jura?”
“Two days.”
The village was called Stratego, or Strategos, depending on whether you were from it or not. The people laid on a festive meal, that stretched into the long twilight, to welcome their visitors. Meat, fish, fruit and drink were laid out on a long trestle. Children ran wild, at the opportunity to stay up past dark, and show off to the strangers. Box found the Strategos [or Strategosi,] instantly likeable. They were variations on Kitou: open, bright, and agreeable.
Strange, atonal music
was played by a disordered ensemble, consisting of instruments that seemed to move randomly around the party, with players joining in and dropping out as it passed. Long, stringed instruments and drums were passed from hand to hand, or hustled by delighted children, who made a game of guessing where the music would go next, and thus helped guide its direction.
Box asked Jaasper what it meant to be a holy warrior.
“Oh,” he said. “We’re mostly old farmers, who dreamt we were soldiers.”
“Do you remember I told you,” said Brin, “that no natural human could beat a Po master in a fair fight? Well, there’s maybe an exception.”
Jaasper laughed at that.
“Maybe? Po master,” he called out to Pax. “An exhibition? Shall we settle the old question, for once and for all?”
Pax grinned.
The villagers roared approval.
The children made a ring, with clothing, rope and ribbons. Clearly, such contests were a regular part of Strategosi festivities. The two men squared off, and circled, and lunged at each other.
What followed was the finest fighting that Box had seen. Jaasper lacked Pax’s imperious bearing, and his catlike menace, but he moved like poetry, and he was fast. Neither man hit hard, since there would’ve been injuries if they’d connected, but they put on a bravura show. It was hard to say who won, or if winning was even an issue. Jaasper was marginally the better fighter, and faster, despite his middle age, but Pax was the superior athlete, and the Po art was far superior to Jaasper’s showy mêlange of styles. Both were magnificent, and Box wondered how good Jaasper must’ve been in his youth.
Or what Pax would be like, with his combat wetware switched on.
After ten minutes they laughingly stopped, with both men breathing heavily.
Jaasper looked at Kitou.
“Now you.”
Kitou hesitated, then stepped in the ring. There was silence.
“Activate your combat wetware,” said Jaasper.
Kitou looked at Pax, who nodded.
Then Jaasper started to sing: a beautiful and haunting melody, of mountains, and forests, and snow in high places. Box realized it was only in her sensorium. No one else could hear it.
Except Kitou, who arched her eyebrows.
Then Jaasper lunged, and this time there was no holding back. He tried to hit her.
Kitou reacted, just in time, and skipped away.
The crowd gasped.
This was a different Jaasper. He pressed the attack, and this continued for the next several minutes, but he couldn’t get near her. She was too fast for him. Kitou had no chance to counter. She was fully defensive. It was an instinctive fight for her survival. Box wondered if he meant to hurt her.
Then he held up his hands.
“So, it’s true.”
He leaned on his knees, and took a series of breaths.
“Master Pax, when we come to Jura, can I borrow this one, for a day or two?”
Pax nodded. “Who am I, to deprive her of her birthright?”
“It’s not a right. She’ll be tested.”
[Will it hurt?] asked the Bat, in their sensoria.
“Bat?” asked Jaasper.
“You two know each other?” asked Box.
“The story entangles,” said Pax.
“They do,” said Jaasper.
At first light, when the first coral white of day was rising over the fields, and the village was first stirring, Jaasper powered up his truck, checked his load, and drove them into the darkness. At first, he picked an easy route through wide open spaces, between ghostly gum trees, with the looming beams of the truck lighting the way for kilometers ahead. Then they found a switchback trail, and they climbed, and the forest grew closer.
A field had firmed up the truck’s balloon tires, and they bounded efficiently along the track, with the suspension soaking up the terrain, providing a surprisingly pliant ride. They joined a wider trail, and emerged into open hill country. Soon they were powering along a grassy avenue, at speeds over 100 km/h, with the rising sun flashing through the trees.
Jaasper offered Brin the wheel. “I can see you want to,” he said. “There’s a fairly nonintrusive autopilot. Just push the throttle and steer, as fast as you dare, and the big lug’ll go where you say.”
Brin took the wheel, and egged on by Kitou, they were soon going faster again. They bounded onto a wide-open ridge that ran straight to the horizon.
“Put your foot down,” he said, and [250 km/h,] soon flashed in Box’s sensorium.
The truck’s cab was an ovoid bubble, clear at the front and opaque at the rear. In the front were two shapely seats, designed for long-distance travel. There were no seat constraints, the ubiquitous Pursang forcefield instead holding the riders in place. Behind was a comfortable living space, with a wide couch and two rearward-facing chairs, and an overhead sleeping compartment. A table appeared from a recess, and over a breakfast of cold meats and cheeses, Jaasper told them his story.
“I was once a bruiser,” he said. “A prize fighter, and a good one. I was surprised enough to get the call to be tested, since I was sure I lacked the right character, but I did well enough.”
He made a hot drink, like bitter vanilla, and passed cups around, and gave two to the drivers. The slow rocking movement of the truck’s ride, over the wide-open terrain, was hardly noticeable.
“I was so good at bruising,” he said, “that I was assigned to bodyguard duty, for important people, in treacherous places, and I became a specialist in that line of work. I became the personal bodyguard of a Pursang officer, called O Roza, who you might have heard of.”
“The former commander of the Thousand worlds army,” said Pax.
“Former, you say? Oh yes, of course, you come from the future. I trust she is well, but I’m not going to ask you. Anyway, I rose on Roza’s fast-rising tails, and when she decided my apprenticeship was completed, I became an officer, and in time, I was given responsibility for the security apparatus.”
“O Roza’s security detail?” asked Pax.
“No, the thousand worlds security service.”
“You were a spymaster?”
“The spymaster. When I came home, I’d amassed enough credits for this,” he said, gesturing around the cab. “And several more like it. Now I’m a farmer.”
“Are you happy?” asked Box.
“I do like to keep my hand in, with other things.”
Night fell while they were still on the ridge. It made for a spectacular sunset. Fluxor’s star, smaller and brighter that Earth’s, fell through a china-blue sky, then two brilliant moons rose, then Fluxor Station. Boundless blue forests stretched out either side. The darkness seemed to ooze out of the air, quite different to nightfall on Earth.
This is an alien world, she reminded herself. It might look like Earth, but it isn’t.
They stopped to set up camp.
“This ridge is called the Igháán,” said Jaasper. “The Spine. It runs the length of this continent, south to north. We’ve come almost a thousand kilometers today. Tomorrow we’ll climb, then descend into Jura.”
He pointed into the sunset, where the Igháán joined a snowy mountain range. “Out there is Lhotse,” he said, “and Atwusk’niges.”
Kitou looked at him.
“You have family there. Do you want to visit them?”
She shook her head.
“When all this is over,” she said.
He put his arm companionably around her.
“So be it,” he said.
And then, “let’s establish a perimeter.”
He opened a hatch in the back of the cab, exposing six open tubes, like muzzles. He stepped back, and six cylinders soared up, and landed fifty meters in every direction. Six sets of spidery legs unfolded, and they began to crawl like spiders.
“The nightlife is dangerous here,” he said.
Over a meal of hot, spicy soup, and freshly made bread, and excellent Stratego wine, they talked about farmi
ng.
“We Pursang believe that farming is a way of being,” said Jaasper. “Not just a practical thing. We try to cultivate good people, who can live in harmony with the world they exist in.”
“The Lo have similar ideas,” said Pax, “about the sea and its gifts.”
“How goes it between the Lo and the Po?” asked Jaasper.
“The Lo are seafarers,” said Pax. “The ethnic Po, like Ito Nadolo, are a culture of warriors. It’s a great honor for any Lo to be chosen to be a Navigator.”
“And be the Po’s soldiers?”
“We’re not their soldiers,” said Pax. “We fight beside them as equals. But first, we must all prove our worth, as soldiers.”
“Like Brin here?”
“Brin is an excellent soldier,” said Pax.
“She is an oak,” said Jaasper. “I can see that. But not the archetype.”
“What do you mean?”
“The eternal soldier is driven to war. I perceive that Brin chooses to go there.”
“So it goes with all of us,” said Pax. “We all choose to be soldiers.”
“Are you soldiers?”
“Our mission is to wage peace,” said Pax. “It suits us to be called soldiers.”
“What about you holy warriors?” asked Box. “Are you soldiers?”
“We’re mercenaries, Dr Box. Fighters. We fight for money.”
“In foreign armies?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Jaasper. “It provides necessary income for our world. Our only source of foreign exchange, since we export nothing else. However; like Brin we choose.”
“A Pursang holy warrior is a great military asset,” said Pax. “And also a liability.”
Jaasper nodded. “We’ve been known to change sides.”
“Why?” asked Box.
“When our masters fail to be righteous.”
“Who would employ you?”
“The righteous.”
Jaasper turned to face Pax. “A great war is coming, Navigator. Some say it’ll consume us all.”
Pax nodded. “It could.”
“I hear things about these three women.”
“What things?”
The Water Bear Page 17