Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1

by Seeds of Earth

  when he reached for the memories of when and how he

  had been damaged, there was nothing, a gap where

  familiar recollection should have been waiting to be

  relived. He felt the panicky edge of fear and subdued it,

  focusing on discovering the reason.

  What he found was a terrible swathe of decay which

  had eaten into one of the biocrystal chines of his cortical

  augmentation. His awareness function had failed to

  detect it as the sensor web had itself been affected, and

  the worst of it was that the rot was still advancing. If

  unchecked, it would in just a few years kill him.

  His thoughts were wry with a black humour.
  survived these limitless chasms of time and all the trials

  that came before is still a great achievement. And now I

  have the opportunity to deliver unto my brothers and sis-

  ters a final victory. I am of the Legion, and although

  individual knights may fall, the Legion must triumph.

  The laws of convergence must triumph. >

  The analysis of the Darien report was before him, but

  he decided he would institute a final recovery trawl

  through the corroded biocrystal while he assessed the

  data.

  He saw the world Darien, a place of lush vegetation

  and a living landscape of mountains and rivers; he saw

  the moon and recognised remnants of the enemy's

  defences with no sign of his presence . . .

  With the powers of their machinemind planetoids, the

  Legion of Avatars cut through the extrinsic and intrinsic

  layers of material existence and opened an unstable fis-

  sure in the face of reality. In vast phalanxes they fled

  from a dying universe into this one, then used the plane-

  toids to tunnel up through the hyperspace tiers of this one

  in search of a new home, a new dominion . . .

  He saw the colonists, the Humans, saw all their weak-

  nesses and saw how weak they were in the face of the

  political realities surrounding them . . .

  There had been a battle, a gargantuan struggle spread

  across many thousands of star systems, a savage,

  resounding clash in which whole worlds and entire sen-

  tient species were eradicated as a matter of course . . .

  He saw the visual data, the near-complete ruins amid

  the forest, recognised more of the enemy's work and won-

  dered if it held their deadliest weapon, the one that had

  defeated the Legion even in the full glory of its might. If so,

  it could be turned to their advantage ...

  Fragmentary memories were being recovered . . . it

  hard vacuum, a close-quarters grappling struggle with

  one of the enemy's sentient machines, hooked and edged

  extensors searching for purchase on each other, then

  one of his greater tentacles found the jutting edge of. I

  hull plate, wrenched it aside and thrust a high-energy

  lance into the vitals . . . the knights of the Legion of

  Avatars gathered in a council of war, their millions wait-

  ing in curved ranks and arrays within the flickering

  gloom of a deep, desolate tier of hyper space, all intoning

  the catechisms of convergence . . . and an old, old

  memory of his own cyborg-form not long after his trans-

  formation, the long, armoured carapace patterned in

  dark reds and greens, the ten greater, articulated tenta-

  cles and the six lesser ones tipped with every kind of

  effector from tearing chainclaws to delicate manipula-

  tors, a magnificent new body which had freed him from

  the pains of the flesh .. . then a part of him realised

  that there was no memory of his organic appear am e

  from before his ascent to biomechanical immortality,

  nothing except the vague recollection that his chist n

  cyborg-form was utterly different from his old body . . .

  He assessed the Darien situation and the strategic

  implications of its location as well as the fact that the

  Humans were dispatching a mission to their lost colony.

  Then he considered various possible journey routes, but

  not for himself. With its battered substructures, leaking

  carapace plates, stuttering main drives, and near-defunct

  sensor array, his biomachine body might be able to drag

  itself into orbit but the lengthy voyage to Darien would

  be too hazardous. He would have to delegate that grave

  responsibility to lesser agents, three Instruments to carry

  out the task, each one an abridged simulacrum of his

  own persona, each one created out of his own neural

  substrate, each one a small loss, and a small addition to

  his freight of pain.

  10

  THEO

  Theo hated formal occasions, and since the ambassador's

  arrival three days ago he'd had to endure five of the

  damn things, at Sundstrom's insistence. Hammergard's

  main hospital, the McPhail Memorial, a zeplin yard,

  a root refinery, a church, and a distillery. Today,

  Ambassador Horst had been due to spend the morning

  at Pushkinskog, the Uvovo-tended daughter-forest south

  of Lake Morwen, but plans had changed overnight and

  now he was visiting Membrance Vale near Landfall

  Town, to see the hollow shell of the Hyperion and to pay

  his respects to the dead. And Sundstrom had asked Theo

  to attend, in an unofficial capacity. Tonight, a banquet in

  honour of the ambassadors was due to be held in thi

  Assembly ballroom, followed by speeches and a ceilidh.

  Theo was strolling along the westward road that led

  from Landfall to the vales of the Tuulikki Hills, which

  would take a good thirty minutes on foot. The morning

  sky was bright and clear, the air cold and laced with the

  odours of growth, ideal weather for walking. Besides,

  Theo had decided to walk so that he could meet some -

  one on the way, and was pondering once more what

  Sundstrom had said yesterday. Holger was a few years

  older than Theo but he considered that they were essen-

  tially of the same generation; during the Winter Coup

  they had been on opposite sides, Sundstrom a Trond

  councilman who voted against supporting Viktor

  Ingram's insurrection then went underground to actively

  work against the coup. That and his political efforts at

  reconciliation while arguing forcibly for the new Accord

  policies had persuaded Theo that he was a man of

  integrity and substance. In addition, just as Theo had

  had his years in the wilderness after the failure of the

  coup, so too had Holger been forced to quit politics

  after the injury that led to his lower-body paralysis. Yet

  in later life, both found themselves back in the thick of

  it.

  And Sundstrom's mysterious information source

  troubled Theo. The Enhanced were the living results of

  a short-sighted genetics programme shut down twenty

  years ago, most of whom worked on research pro-

  grammes of one kind or another. Redesigned cortexes

  and synaptic connectivity had given them astonishing

  mental abilities, but they suffered from a corresponding

  lack of social
intuition that made it hard for them to

  deal with ordinary people. Theo had only met a few in

  his time, but he knew from reliable contacts that the

  Enhanced were essentially looked upon by government

  departments not just as a kind of intellectual resource

  but as a badge of prestige which, once acquired, was

  retained for as long as possible. The president was sup-

  posed to be above this kind of bureaucratic jostling,which made Theo wonder how much political risk he might be taking if he was using Enhanced help.

  Before long the road passed into the woods, their

  overarching branches interweaving to form a leafy

  tunnel through which spears of sunlight lanced to touch

  the road with gold. This was a sparsely populated area,

  and apart from the occasional spinnerbus taking visitors

  back and forth, Theo saw no one else. When he came to

  where the road crossed a steep-sided gully, he stepped

  off the verge and sat down on a weatherbeaten bench

  overlooking the crevice. Moments later heavy footsteps

  approached through the undergrowth and an overalled

  Rory sat down heavily beside him.

  'You're not exactly a woodsman, Rory.'

  'Aye, well, I was never any good at all that creepi

  about and hidin', Major - canna stand the bugs.' As if to

  make his point he vigorously waved away a few hover-

  ing insects. Theo grinned.

  'Let us hope we don't need to head off into the wilds,'

  he said. 'Anyway, what have you learned?'

  'Right, Ah got tae the Hyperion early this morning

  and sure enough, more graffiti. The manager and his

  boss were practically tearing their hair out so when Ah

  turn up wi' my handy cleaning sprays and sponges they

  put me to work straight off.'

  Theo frowned. Such vandalism was almost unheard

  of on Darien, yet since the arrival of the Heracles more

  and more had been cropping up, mainly in Hammergard

  and nearby towns. Then yesterday, the Knudson

  Ecumenical Church and the Chernov Brothers distillery

  had both been defaced shortly before Ambassador Horst

  was due to arrive, which was why Theo had sent Rory

  on ahead earlier, pre-equipped.

  'What did it say? Any reference to these personal

  AIs?'

  Rory's eyebrows went up. 'Oh aye! Stuff like

  "Machine-lovers leave Darien", "No Al-slaves here",

  "The only good AI is a deleted AI", that kinda thing,

  along with "Darien for Dariens" and FDF logos.'

  FDF stood for 'Free Darien Faction', a previously

  unknown group clearly intent on stirring up resentment

  and unrest, neither of which Theo was strongly opposed

  to, provided it was for a good reason. But the FDF was

  appealing to the baser instincts of parochialism and prej-

  udice, and with yesterday's breaking news about the use

  of AI implants by the Earthsphere ambassador and

  others, a dose of fear was stirred into the mix. No doubt

  Horst's visit to the site of the colonists' triumph over a

  deadly AI enemy was meant to counter such adverse

  popular opinion.

  He'll never get that imp back in its bottle, he thought.

  The only positive tack he could take is to meet the dis-

  trust head-on, but he doesn't seem to have the steel for

  it. Wonder what advice he's getting from this AI com-

  panion of his}

  'Okay, Rory,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I have to get

  along. You be on your way to the Pushkinskog daugh-

  ter-forest - I've already told Listener Gansua to expect

  you.'

  Rory stood, scratching his sandy hair. 'Whit d'ye

  think these FDF guys'll do there? - graffiti a tree?'

  'God knows. For all we know they may not be will-

  ing to involve the Uvovo, but given their lack of respect

  for certain landmarks I wouldn't bet on it.'

  Rory paused, a half-smile on his lips. 'I guess you'll

  have been asking about the ither colonyships, Major,

  aye? I heard that they've still no' been found.'

  'Still missing, Rory, still a mystery.'

  'Right, aye, but it makes ye wonder, ye know . . I

  mean, there's the old Hyperion just up the road,' he

  said. 'What if the other ship AIs cracked up too, like a

  design flaw, maybe?'

  Theo shrugged. 'I've heard that theory before, and if

  it is true then perhaps we are the lucky ones to have sur-

  vived.'

  'Call this luck, Major?'

  Exchanging waves, they went their separate ways,

  Theo's smile fading a little, his thoughts growing sombre

  as he crossed the bridge that led to the outskirts of

  Membrance Vale.

  11

  GREG

  The reporter Lee Shan scanned the ruins of the site

  through an opaque oval eyepiece attached to a sleek

  white headset, its flattened band encircling his bald head

  and anchored to a second around his neck. An equip-

  ment pannier floated quietly nearby on suspensors.

  'Very nice, Doctor Cameron, very atmospheric, so

  what we would like to do is take lots of shots of the

  ruins - and some of you at work, obviously, especially

  at the sacrificial altar, then we embed simz of those

  Uvolos, but that'll be done Earthside, before tiercast...'

  Greg stared at the reporter, Lee Shan, with a mixture of

  annoyance and intent curiosity, wondering who was

  speaking, the man or the AI implant. He then pointed to

  the grey stone bowl to which the reporter had been drawn.

  'They're called the Uvovo, and that is not a sacrificial

  altar—'

  'I see, I see, so do you know what it is, Doctor?'

  'Mr Lee,' he said carefully, 'the Uvovo abandoned these

  ruins thousands of years ago, after which this entire

  promontory was covered with jungle. Where we are stand-

  ing was the roof and this bowl was most probably used for

  ritual fires, perhaps even cooking.'

  'So you're not completely certain what it is?'

  'The Uvovo have affirmed that blood sacrifice never

  played any part in their culture.'

  'A useful testimony, I am sure, Doctor, but after several

  millennia how can they be sure?'

  Lee Shan smiled. In the background his aircams

  darted around just above head height, scanning every-

  thing in sight and unintentionally providing great

  amusement for the Uvovo scholars. The reporter's

  small, neat smile, however, served only to aggravate

  Greg beyond the already strained limits of his courtesy.

  He knew that he should ignore the man's arrogance,

  but the situation was like a door through which he

  could not help but walk.

  He matched the reporter's smile with one of his own.

  'You know, Mr Lee, perhaps you've got a point.

  Perhaps we're not being imaginative enough in our

  hypotheses. How about this - we could suggest that the

  ancient Uvovo sacrificed criminals and prisoners to, let's

  say, giant alligator creatures from the sea, and that these

  blood-soaked ceremonies took place at night because

  the alligator-things only came up to the beach after

  dark. It ma
y be that those sea-borne predators who

  failed to consume any of the sacrificial carrion were

  themselves killed and eaten by the Uvovo ancestors ...'

  'Doctor, do you have any proof for any of this?'

  'Not a scrap but it's such fun, don't you think? And -

  and to demonstrate these hypotheses I might be able to

  persuade our Uvovo scholars to dress up in furs and

  ritual paint then hold a re-enactment for you and the

  cameras after nightfall, complete with torches, drums

  and barefoot dancing. Perhaps some of my Norj and

  Dansk colleagues might come in horned helmets and I'll

  wear my kilt. What d'ye say?'

  There was an awestruck silence, and the sense of

  breaths being held by the Uvovo scholars and Rus

  researchers, who had all paused to stare at the con-

  frontation. Anger smouldered in the reporter's eyes, but

  his voice remained level and unhurried.

  'I do not take kindly to those who impede my pursuit

  of the facts, Doctor.'

  'Well, perhaps you made the mistake of ignoring the

  facts you didn't like and making up ones that you did.'

  He lowered his voice. 'You also made the mistake of

  thinking that we're all gullible yokels eager for your

  godlike wisdom. Or perhaps you were badly advised - I

  understand that these personal AIs aren't quite infalli-

  ble.'

  Lee Shan's gaze was all icy calm.

  'So I am to be shown the way out?'

  'Sadly no, Mr Lee, since you undoubtedly have writ-

  ten permission from the Institute to be here, which

  means that you are at liberty to record whatever you

  please. However, I insist that you do not interfere with

  any excavation or exposed relics, nor interrupt any of

  my staff while engaged in their work. As for background

  detail, you have a copy of the site's tourist dossier - I

  suggest that you read it.'

  For a moment Lee Shan said nothing, then gave an

  acquiescing bow of the head and turned away to his

  pannier. Greg breathed in deeply and hurried back to

  the small hut where he had been categorising finds

  before the reporter's arrival. He knew that his treat-

  ment of the man had gone beyond rebuke into public

  humiliation, which a media celebrity like Lee Shan was

  not likely to forgive or forget. And yet it had been so

  satisfying, a guilty pleasure.

  It took about fifteen minutes and a fresh cup of kaffe,