The hundred-meter walk down the slope of the chamber became an interminable trek for Wicca. But finally She arrived at the sunken dais above which hung and slowly revolved the enormous mobile sculpture of the galaxy in exact, minute scale, its swirling arms dotted with stars and nebulae, filling Her as it always had with its majesty – the majesty to which She had aspired and reached, and now ...
A Councilor – Wicca recalled her kind face but not her name – moved to Her side now and escorted Her to the curved transparent Plastro that served as central seat and throne. The woman – Wicca now remembered she was a Pegasus Arm Sector Nine Commerce Councilor – made the necessary ritual gestures of offering Wicca the seat. In rote response, Wicca gestured Her demurral of such an honor. Three times in all before She finally could no longer refuse and sat.
By now there were close to two hundred councilors scattered about in the enormous chamber. No longer did they stand and chatter. All of them sat silent with expectation.
Let them wait, let them be expectant. She knew now with certainty what She must do. Above Her head, the massive mobile of the galaxy turned with its predetermined and ineluctable slowness. It would be Her guide in all matters now.
The silence was almost a luxury. There had been so much noise lately. No sooner was She attuned to silence than it was broken. It sounded like a great mass of water gathering, a gigantic wave approaching the chamber from afar. Then the wave broke into the chamber in an enormous torrent: a tumult of sound, faces, bodies, motion as they all seemed to pour in at once.
For a moment – the briefest of moments – Wicca thought there, you see, they have come after all! Then She saw the wave part and through its center striding down the central aisle, glittering in crystal Beryllium and City Jet black ornaments, guided as though by the gravitational pull of his gleaming codpiece, the oiled naked masculine limbs and flamboyant hair of Mart Kell.
At his appearance, a cheer arose in the hall and echoed off the rotunda and reflected off the billion points of crystal stars in the mobile above Her head. Behind Kell, a phalanx of similarly clad Hesperian cohorts stalked down each of the other four aisles until their brilliant costumes and jewelry filled the chamber, transforming it from a sober and somber-hued gathering spot into a unexpected place of festivity and glamour.
Look well, women, Wicca thought and may have even spoken (though in the great din none would have heard Her). Look well at this male finery and glitter, at these oiled and muscled torsos, these carved and thrusting codpieces from which once My Mothers delivered you and to which you now once again willingly enslave yourselves. Look well and consider – before it is too late!
Mart Kell stopped at the dais and looked at Her. She looked back but otherwise did not move. She noticed that today Kell wore the floating diadem of Hesperia’s Inner Quinx Vice Chairman, which haloed his bronze hair like the rings around a planet on fire. Slowly, She rose from her seat. And was greeted by applause.
“Lady!” he greeted her – not Ma’am or Wicca Eighth or Your Matriarchy – but merely Lady.
“Lord!” She replied, making them at least for the moment equal.
“Lady, it is my pleasure to report that the Cyber Rebellion is destroyed. Completely at Groombridge Station and in a mopping-up operation now taking place at Carina Fornax Sector Fourteen.”
A great cheer of mostly male voices rose in the chamber.
“Lord, it is My pleasure to receive such information.”
And my humiliation, She thought, to receive it from you.
Another cheer, mostly of female voices now rose to match the males.
“Until all the Cyber rebels are known to have been destroyed,” Kell went on, “it is our duty to ensure Your safety, Lady. And that of Melisande. The Lady Llega Francis Todd, Premier of the Quinx, suggests that Your safety will be best ensured upon Hesperia itself. She requests that You be our City’s honored guest until all rebels are hunted down and destroyed.”
The many male voices thundered approval.
So She was to be taken away: to become a hostage. Not so fast. Not from under the very noses of Her Councilors, Her Ministers, Her Staff, Her People. Yet a refusal would be unthinkable – unacceptable. She was certain.
“The Lady Todd is most gracious, Lord Kell, in her concern for my safety,” Wicca said. “Perhaps too concerned. There are no Cybers in the Regulus Prime System, and My safety is uncompromised,” She countered, hoping to fend off Kell.
Let’s see how he would get past that without unsheathing his claws.
“Alas, Lady, were that only true!” Kell said, without missing a beat or losing a drop of honey in his voice. “Assassination reports are rife, mostly from the Church of Algol. And if merely in honor of Your symbolic stature, Lady” – he paused significantly – “may I extend the insistence of all Hesperian Cityzens that you accept Lady Todd’s offer.”
Symbolic stature, he’d said, meaning it was now clear to all that She possessed no actual power. And the word “insistence,” which meant just what it said.
She knew what She had done to bring this down upon Herself. But She had done it for them, to retain a shred of Matriarchal glory. She had done it for all those hundreds of women out there in the chamber watching, listening to this exchange without a single one of them coming to Her assistance now that She needed them. It was to be Her agony: seeing all those female faces and knowing that after all She had done for them, suffered for them, that now not one would help Her.
It wasn’t over. Not yet. She would show those women, show Hesperia, show Mart Kell. Even though She must be a prisoner of the City.
“Well, then, Lord Kell, if Hesperia insists ...?”
“We do, Lady!” And now he bowed slightly.
“How can I possibly refuse?” She added and felt Her cheeks redden with shame as the thousands of male and female voices rose in a cheer that grew and crossed and recrossed the chamber, as Kell put out his beringed hand and She took it, amid Her shame and amid the unthinking absurd cheers of jubilation that rose and fell around them as She allowed herself to be guided by Kell back up the central aisle and out of the rotunda.
Outside the chamber, a guard of Orion Spur Federation Humes and Delph.s met Wicca and its leader, oozing politeness, requested that She have Her servants gather what She most needed quickly. They wished to escort her to Hesperia within a half hour Sol Rad., and as stealthily as possible. Whatever else She needed could be brought later on.
In Her apartments now, Wicca directed Her women to get what She would need. While they were all busy, She moved to her most private room and closed and wrist-locked the door behind her.
A panel slid open that attached to the Cyber complex recently owned by the traitor Councilor Rinne’s and rerouted for Matriarchal use. Wicca touched Her wrist connection to its central chip and it came to life.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Jenn-Four. Are you prepared for all exigencies?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“As previously programmed, once this final sequence is carried out, you will do what, Jenn-Four?”
“Self-destruct, Ma’am.”
“Get me the sequence for the Eden-Breed program.”
“You have it, Ma’am.”
“Are they ready? All of them?”
“They have been, Ma’am, for two hours Sol Rad., as per your previous order.”
“What is the Eden-Breed program, Jenn-Four?” Wicca asked, setting up the fully required vocal-order parameters for the sequence.
“The Eden-Breed project consists of seven hundred and ninety-nine Hume females of childbearing age and perfect health and excellent molecular-genetic status, uninfected by the sterilizing Cyber-virus. It also consists of seventeen Hume males of equal health and proven virility, all of whom are multiply qualified in a minimum of four highly professional capacities which may be required for the project.”
“What is the purpose of the Eden-Breed program, Jenn-Four?” Wicca asked.
“To protec
t Matriarchal females in an acceptable Matriarchal environment and to propagate their young in such an environment until they are strong enough as a race to return and regain the Center Worlds and continue the hallowed traditions of the Matriarchal Council.”
Excellent. Rote though it was, and though She had heard it before, it was exactly what Wicca needed to hear right now.
“When the Fasts containing the Eden-Breed project jump, where will they jump to, Jenn-Four?”
“Destination unknown, Ma’am.”
“But ... what is the probability of where they will go?” She countered.
“It is most probable that they will ultimately arrive at one or another planet orbiting one or another of the G- or M-class stars among those in the so-called globular clusters which exist in severe angular direction to the elliptical plane of the galaxy. The exact location to be determined upon arrival at one such cluster.”
“How long will it take the Eden-Breed craft to arrive at their destination?” Wicca asked.
“Unknown!”
“Most probable time?”
“No less than four weeks, no more than six weeks at jump speed.”
“Who will know of this after I am gone?”
“Only myself, but I shall self-destruct.”
“And what of those on the ground at Merak Xi who aid the Eden-Breed jump craft?”
“One minute after the Eden-Breed craft have left, their entire facilities and themselves will also self-destruct, without their knowledge.”
Good. As preprogrammed. As planned. None but She would ever know because everyone else at the Eden-Breed program’s station on a tiny satellite of Merak Xi would be destroyed instantly. Yes, and now it was all She could do to save the Matriarchy, to keep it intact somewhere in the universe. She had no other choice.
“Initiate Eden-Breed launch! This is not a test. Initiate Eden-Breed launch,” She repeated.
“Initiated, Ma’am.”
She waited until Jenn-Four confirmed that the several craft had jumped and then confirmed that the Eden-Breed station had self-destructed. She waited while Jenn-Four self-destructed. Then She left the room and wrist-locked the door behind her.
Her Aide of the Day met her in her sleep chamber, breathless and harried.
“Ma’am we’re almost ready. And they’re insisting we leave.”
“We are ready,” Wicca said.
Her Aide of the Day sniffed. “What’s that odor?”
“Nothing.” Wicca pushed her ahead, out of the sleep chamber.
“It smells like a Cyber’s electronic overload. Doesn’t it? I wonder what it could be?”
“The future, child,” Wicca said.
Chapter Eleven
The surf rolled steadily against the nearly white sand and tickled Ay’r’s feet. ’Dward lay on his stomach, sleeping or pretending to sleep, one arm stretched out and touching Ay’r’s body as though he might get up without telling ’Dward. Between them, Cas’sio gurgled and played with his toes, his delicate skin covered by a little sunshade ’Nton had devised before grabbing Oudma and half cajoling, half dragging her into the mild ocean tide.
It had been two days Sol Rad. since they’d arrived at the Unmoored Islands, and Ay’r was still trying to relax, even though there was little else to do here. Lulled by the beauty of their home, protected and defended by their shield as much as by their – his Father’s and Mother’s – Greater Plan and its seemingly utter relevance to every aspect of their lives – the Islanders went about their business with a peculiar combination of enthusiasm and lassitude, efficiency and ease. They all had work to do, but even the busiest and most important had hours left over to sun on the beach, to zip around racing their water-sleds, to get up mildly competitive team sports, to loll about on chaises talking, to dance and party and make love and sometimes merely to go to a particular secluded spot to enjoy a sunset.
None of it seemed particularly organized. People came and went, and suddenly an afternoon party was occurring. They left and asked one to join them, and suddenly one was dining out. One guest knew someone else Ay’r or ’Harles must meet, and suddenly they were at late-night festivities held around midnight, bathing at someone’s pool. It all seemed to flow as though planned far in advance, although, when asked, ’Nton assured Ay’r that there was nothing even remotely like a social schedule to be followed.
Ay’r knew the problem was his alone. None of the others were sitting about moping, trying to fit together all the pieces of their extraordinary journey across Dryland, and having the same difficulty he was in making it all add up to this: their final, paradisiacal destination.
Naturally, the Ib’rs were all simply happy to be reunited and far from danger – for the moment. P’al and Alli Clark were occupied and somewhat agog taking in all the scientific and medical sights, guided around by TallChief and Zhon Azura, taken to labs and examination rooms, to obstetrics offices and labor rooms. With Creed Lars’son’s blessings they had witnessed a Drylander youth giving birth yesterday, the tiny infant removed from his proud male mother and placed immediately into a small, perfect, artificial environment similar to the womb, except that he could see and hear and be touched and cuddled by his parents and other Humes. P’al opined it a wonderful modification – the infants grew so quickly and developed their faculties so rapidly in this external womb that it was almost as though they knew they would never have to suffer birth trauma.
Evidently, neither had Ay’r. Which didn’t at all explain why he was now reacting so differently from the others. Even Alli Clark had settled down a bit after her first day of complete outrage. After all, as P’al pointed out, she had accomplished both goals she had been sent to achieve: she had found an abundant water source, and she had located Ferrex Sanqq’ – and with him a possible solution to the Cyber-virus. While it was clear that this particular possible solution grated hard upon her Matriarchal sensibilities, she was too much the scientist not to want to know every single detail about it. And she was too much the MC Official not to be secretly pleased by its ramifications for her future career.
Perhaps something else was irritating Ay’r: the responsibility he suddenly felt placed upon his shoulders to be a model and, more, a leader for an entire new way of life. He didn’t feel like a leader or representative, no matter how the Islanders gawked at him, no matter how much Ferrex Baldwin Sanqq”s mind – or its hologram – insisted. He was a mere Species Ethnologist. Actually not a bad one, but try as he might, on this Island, he felt he was in far over his head.
He watched Oudma come out of the water and stand on the wet shoreline, looking at her brother ’Nton, who remained farther out, swimming. She turned a bit, swiveling the top of her body, clad in a soaked tunic, and smiled at Ay’r, mouthing the word “tonight.” Oudma had always been tall and lean, but now with that particular stance – her long, light-colored hair tossed by the tidal breeze, her skin glistening as the water evaporated, the perfectly outlined upturn of her breasts, one hip jutting out provocatively – she seemed far more voluptuous, far more desirable.
As did ’Dward, who had moved in his half sleep, crossing his arms beneath his face to block out the light. The motion and his new position only accentuated the musculature of his arms and shoulders, the strong, almost ideal curve of his spine, all his dorsal muscles aiming toward the shape of a chevron, accented by two tiny dimples above the sudden bloom of buttocks that, barely enclosed in his tiny swimsuit, seemed to shimmer in the warm sunlight: all of ’Dward’s body inviting a caress.
’Dward had accepted his destiny as a future childbearer, partly because he was so fond of Ay’r and knew it would secure Ay’r to him, partly because it was a new and – he had been told by his brother and other Islanders – altogether pleasant experience. After that Islander briefing yesterday afternoon, ’Dward had more or less placed himself in Ay’r’s hands and forced him into lovemaking, a somewhat surprising experiment for the two of them. ’Dward because he had never been penetrated before, and Ay�
�r because once they had begun, he had never wanted to penetrate anyone so badly before.
’Dward wouldn’t be ready to conceive for a few more weeks Sol Rad., but after their session he told Ay’r (in a tone that Ay’r would have laughed at if it weren’t so serious) that he wanted to be ready, completely accomplished when the time came. Worse, somehow or other, ’Dward and Oudma had gotten together and worked out a temporary truce: when Ay’r arrived at his sleep chamber last night, Oudma was waiting for him. When he awoke, ’Dward was next to him.
A problem, Ay’r thought. Then he thought, wait: a week ago Sol Rad., I really had problems. This ...
Little Cas’sio began to cry. Before Ay’r could even turn to him, ’Dward jumped up and, still disheveled from dozing, immediately lifted the infant and began rocking him, touching him, comforting him until the baby was gurgling again.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Oudma said returning to sit next to them. “That such a wonderfully trusting child should be the result of –” She stopped, looked at Ay’r as though she had said too much, and took over from ’Dward, laying Cas’sio back onto the sand mat and playing with his toes.
’Dward got up, stretched, then ran into the water with a great shout to ’Nton to watch out, here he came.
A few minutes later, Oudma said, “’Nton spoke with us, ’Dward and me, a great deal last night, while you were out with the others. We told him you were taking us away. ’Nton wants to go, too.”
“He’ll go. All the Islanders will go,” Ay’r said, wishing he could say that every Drylander on Pelagia would go, too.
“’Nton wants Cas’sio to go with him, but he’s afraid what Zhon will say about it.”
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