“Perhaps, but I think he is sincere. If he had been like the others, he would have sent mercenaries to subdue the predators that killed the last team. But he didn’t…”
Akoi laughed. “I wasn’t aware we were part of the Federation and bound by some bullshit rules regarding first contact. It was a practical decision. It would be expensive and time consuming to enact a policy of containment, that is all.”
“Possibly, but I think he also acted from an ethical position. Listen, I have spoken to him about some of these things. He is no fool. They have a very sophisticated intelligence network. Think it through. Shunyata has a virtual monopoly on supercomputers…”
Akoi’s eyes widened with the realisation. “A backdoor?”
“Oui, but more than that. I think they have the capacity to defend their interests.”
“A corporate militia…?”
“Oui, and I must admit at first I thought you were a part of it, a corporate mercenary.”
“Me? Why would…? Oh, I see…”
“Yes, to control the mission, to make sure we come back, do as we are told.”
“You thought I might have secret orders?”
“Why not? Once we are there who could force us to do anything? He knows this, knows it’s a risk. It’s why he chose us. Think about it. He is not sending obedient soldiers, he is sending a rabble. And why me? I am trouble: an anarchist and anti-corporate activist. I mean, look at us eh? A Red Indian, an Aborigine, a crazy Jap, a gay Englishman…”
“Smith is gay?”
“Oui, of course, and Constance is bi. Haven’t you seen her check you out? She is a wild one – have you seen her tattoos? - she doesn’t know who she wants to jump first, but I think she likes the tough girls.”
“And you’ve worked this out already?”
“Oui, just as I now noticed you didn’t seem to be offended by the idea. Perhaps you like rough pussy too.”
Akoi laughed, “rich, white pussy maybe, just not Chinese pussy, not little China doll pussy.”
Li Li accepted the friendly insult with good humour because she knew it meant she had finally cracked Akoi’s hard exterior. “I think this project is serious about creating something new. Think about it. When we go we can claim the planet for ourselves, to be whatever we want it to be.”
Akoi looked wistful, “you know…” She paused, lost in thought.
“What?”
“Oh nothing, a crazy thought. A dream I have had since I was a child… When you interrupted me I was daydreaming about this new planet, wondering if I could rescue my people and start afresh, the way we used to be, before European contact, before the Arabs…”
“But why not?” asked Li Li excited. “I don’t think there are any rules they can enforce. Once we are there it will be up to the colonists. Why not hope that we can take the best from each culture?”
Akoi laughed. “Oh, I don’t think they could handle this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile device, selected an image file and threw it to Li Li. “This is my grandmother, when she was twelve.”
Li Li was impressed. “She is stunning,” she said as she looked at a coloured photograph of a thin, muscular girl, completely naked, her skin glistening with orange ochre and animal fat, her torso marked with ritual scars and adorned with a narrow waist band and necklace decorated with wooden beads and small shells. “She is dancing, non?”
“The nyertum - the dance of love. They are virgins choosing a man.”
“I have heard of these things. I have French African friends and they have told me stories of how things were before, of fertility dances. But I think I may have seen images like this before.”
“Yes, they were taken by a German photographer and made into a book. I have a copy; this is a scan. I take it with me everywhere, to remind me of who I am.”
“Ah, now I see the connection.”
“Yes, my parents were inspired to visit, but they came too late, by that time the war with the north had started. Now there is no nyertum. No proudly naked Nuba, just refugees in Western rags.”
“Perhaps, when we are on Eden, you will teach me this dance?”
Akoi laughed. “You, a little Chinese princess all oiled up, dancing naked? You do realise the dance ends with the girl taking the warrior into the bushes and fucking him all night long?”
Li Li smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “But of course, it is a fertility dance. I have told you not to underestimate me. You do not know what I am capable of, what I have already done.”
Akoi looked at her with suspicion, finding it hard to look past the stereotype of the innocent Chinese student geek. “Okay then, that’s a promise. If the planet does indeed turn out to be free of predators, you and I will go native, okay?”
“Oui, c’est une promisse, de jonne ma parole d’honneur.”
“Bien, il est fait.”
Li Li was surprised that Akoi answered in fluent French. “Parlez vous Francaise?”
“Oui, bien sur, couramment,” she admitted, smiling cheekily. “You should have asked. I speak five languages. Vous?”
“Six, but sadly not German: Mandarin, Cantonese, French, English, Spanish and a little Tahitian,” she said counting off her fingers.
“Je parlez Francais, Anglaise, Allemand – evidement; aussi Swahili et plusiers dialectes de Nuba.”
“So finally, we are friends?”
Akoi smiled with mock sincerity. “Oui, amis, camarades – pour l’instant,” she purred politely, the last condition a reminder that she still reserved some personal power.
She leant forward and gave Li Li the traditional French double kiss. Li Li held her for a moment, her arm on her back. She could feel Akoi’s strength and thought she would have some quite valuable genetic sequences: endurance, speed, psychological resilience. Perhaps certain African features would be best suited to Eden, a return to humanity’s ancient African ancestors? But that was a decision for the distant future. There were immediate plans to put into effect, now made all the easier by at least putting a tiny chink in Akoi’s armour.
40
Prax
He was sitting at his desk reviewing the most recent reports sent from the Northern States when he thought he heard a bump outside. He was initially startled but dismissed it as just a pesky ghost possum. He cursed at the irritating realisation that he might have to go outside and shoo the damn thing away. He returned to the screen and started to flick through images of a deserted city being systematically pulled apart by organised salvage teams. The reports suggested that the Northern States had perfected recycling and were building an economy based on trading recovered precious metals. This was promising because trading nations understood the importance of treaties and formal diplomatic relations.
When he heard a whispering sound a chill ran down his spine. It wasn’t a noise a ghost possum made. He turned slowly and couldn’t believe what he was seeing through the window: a large glow, far too large to be a glow bird. Another chill ran up his spine from the fright of seeing something totally unfamiliar. He stood up and listened, the fright sharpening all his senses. Was that the sound of muffled giggling? He strained to hear. Then he was certain. He crept to the door and opened it slowly.
“I know it’s you, thought you’d try and trick me?”
He stepped out in the dark. It was unusually still.
“I know you are there: Mae, Sun, Riku?”
He stood still, listening carefully for any movement. A branch creaked to his left and he turned to see a shape leap out of the tree and light up with bioluminescence. “Boo!” it exclaimed.
“Heard you,” he said nonplussed.
“It was Sun’s idea. I told her it was lame,” said another figure lighting up to his right.
“We’ve been reading about ghosts,” said a voice to the left, lighting up as it came out from behind a tree. “Mae thought we could scare you.”
“You did, at first,” he confessed. “It’s a natural reaction. I got goosebumps.
Satisfied?”
“No, Sun was hoping you’d jump…”
“Or shit yourself,” said one, causing the others to laugh.
“Unlikely. I don’t believe in ghosts. My reason took over pretty quickly.”
“We also thought we’d show you our lux genes at work,” said one as they stood before him, their thoughts causing the lux genes to fade and glow in patterns.
“Impressive, but I’m surprised you’re interested in ghosts, in superstition.”
“Earth is a superstitious place. They believe in ghosts.”
“They will think we are ghosts…”
“Demons…”
“Or fairies, goblins…”
“When we go…”
“So we are practicing. We have been studying psychological warfare.”
They were standing around him, smiling. “Part of your assassin’s training?” he asked.
“Perhaps…”
“An assassins trick…”
“To warn…”
“To scare…”
“To surprise…”
“Better than to kill…”
“If they think they are being haunted…”
“They may run away and not fight.”
“That’s really why we are here…”
“We can go if it’s too late…”
“No, its okay. I don’t need much sleep. So, why are you really here?”
“Vera said we should ask if you’d teach us.”
“To play chess…”
“Properly…”
“We can already play but we beat most people.”
“And you are a chess master…”
“A strategist, a game theorist…”
“It’s why they chose you.”
He looked at them calmly, trying not to be patronising. He remembered that he had hated it when he was young, that he had craved being taken seriously by adults. “But I don’t have a set with me.”
“We do.” One of them ran back toward the trees. It was then he saw a box leaning against a tree trunk. She returned and handed it to him. “A gift from Vera.”
It was an exquisitely carved box made from rare, fragrant ivory wood. He recognised it immediately as a set made by the master carver Jamila Boonchalong, who specialised in recreating the carving of the Khmer empire. He knew what to expect when he opened it: exquisite pieces carved in the likenesses of demons and dakinis, the major pieces decorated with filigree metalwork to highlight crowns, robes and ornaments; red gold for the dark ivory wood pieces and white gold for the cream ivory wood pieces.
“She’s leant you her set?”
“No, it’s a gift…”
“To thank you for teaching us.”
“Ah, I see.” He smiled because it was a clear signal that he was to treat this request very seriously, as a favour for a friend. It was also a signal that these girls were very important. “Well, I can hardly refuse then, can I?”
The girls broke into broad smiles, their excitement demonstrated by waves of colour and light running across their skin as they pushed ahead of him into his small cabin. They immediately set up the board in the middle of the floor, carefully arranging the intricate pieces in their correct places.
“Sun will go first,” said one.
“It was her idea, we’ll watch.”
One of them sat crossed legged in front of the board and the others sat beside her waiting politely and patiently.
“So,” he said as he sat opposite. “Let’s see how advanced you are. You go first.”
Sun did not hesitate, confidently moving her first pawn (each an individually carved dakini). He responded immediately and was pleased to see her react just as quickly, clearly utilising a common opening gambit. About half way through the game he thought he had their measure. They were certainly above average for their age, but their repertoire was limited, although with time he expected he would see considerable improvement.
“It’s not just about board strategy,” he said adjusting his position to relieve the pressure on his left ankle. “It’s also about psyching out your opponent.” They looked at him, their concentration remarkably intense. “If you can find their weakness, you can exploit it. And I’ve found your weakness.”
“What is that?” asked Sun calmly.
“Well, each person has a gesture or tic that tells you if they are confident or under stress. A very good player will learn to hide any such signal. At the moment I know you are struggling, losing confidence.”
“How,” said the one to the left - Riku he thought.
“You’ve been very good at controlling your chromatophores, but not quite good enough. I’ve noticed a subtle shift of your cheeks to red when a move surprises you, green when you regain confidence. Right now Sun’s face is slightly red, which tells me my strategy has been successful. Check in five moves.”
They looked at each astounded.
“This is why Vera sent us,” said Mae, the one on the right.
“To learn control,” said Riku.
Sun returned her focus to the board. Her face became even redder.
“She is angry,” said Riku. “She knows you are right.”
Sun looked up him and attempted a smile. “You’ve trapped me. If I move my priestess to here, your warrior takes it; if I move my fortress to here, in two moves you move your rani into position. It is as you say. How long have you been leading me into this trap?”
“It can never be one trap. There has to be many possible outcomes, but you lost command ten moves back. You made a fatal move that closed down your options.” He rearranged the board to the earlier stage. “If you had moved your priestess to here, you would have forced me to consider other options. Instead you got impatient and took my pawn.”
“Which you had sacrificed?” asked Sun with a sudden realisation.
“Yes, and it is something you should all remember. You don’t want to be pawns in anybody’s game. Pawns are always sacrificed.”
“And even the main pieces?” asked Riku
“Yes, they too can be sacrificed, even diplomats. It isn’t about how many pieces you take if your opponent has sacrificed them to lead you into a trap.”
“And there will be many traps on Earth?” asked Sun.
“Possibly. I would never underestimate the Terrans; after all they invented chess. But the thing to remember is that on Earth all the pieces will have their own motives. Imagine how complex it becomes if pieces decide to change sides or have their own ambitions?”
They packed up the set carefully; it was two in the morning. He expected them to disappear into the night in the same way they arrived, like spectres. Instead they requested they stay and sleep in his hut, unconcerned at the lack of a bed. He did not object. The final surprise was that Riku asked that Sun be allowed to sleep beside him, as a reward for her effort.
“We like you Prax,” said Mae.
“Will you be our friend?” asked Riku.
“Of course, I like you too. I think you could grow on me.”
He slept deeply, comforted by the warmth of Sun’s body. He couldn’t help but feel there was a strong neurochemical component to it, exactly like the oxytocin released when any parent hugs their child. It also occurred to him that this was part of the plan too, to build a bond to ensure an emotional investment and a desire to protect.
41
Biyu
She had always understood there was a fine balance in preparing for a fight; between rest and warming up; recreation and psychological preparation; eating the right foods at the right time; just enough hydration, not too much.
Zoe knew what it was like. It was the same preparing for a performance. In this she was the perfect companion, acting to ensure Biyu did all the right things. She had come over the night before and made a delicious but light meal. They had an early night and satiated any sexual desire so that Biyu would get a sound night’s sleep. In the morning they slept in for an hour, enjoying the comfort of each other’s skin. Thi
s was followed by an easy run and a big breakfast. With a few hours of recreation time to spare they rode to the beach, body surfed and then lay in the sun, bringing each other to gentle orgasms as the sun helped relax Biyu’s muscles.
Then, at the agreed time, Biyu began the process of psychological preparation, turning her attention from Zoe to her opponent, allowing the tension to steadily increase with the adrenalin flow of anticipation. The ride to the gym was faster, with Zoe goading Biyu about how much of a bastard her opponent was, how she was going to smash his teeth in, and how proud she was that she was her warrior lover.
The afternoon was set aside for warm up exercises and a light spar to sharpen her reflexes. She did not have any solid food, turning instead to a carefully managed liquid regime designed to store the energy she would need that night. Then there was an enema to flush her system and a shower to wash away the sweat.
The most difficult part of the day was the journey to the venue, the central Olympic stadium. She would sit in silence, her mind focused on her opponent so that her recent memorisation of his fighting style would be fresh. At this time her adrenalin levels had to be managed. She had to attain a state of alert calm: not enough adrenalin and her reflexes would be dulled, too much and she would react rashly, burning too much energy in the process. At this stage Zoe left her to sit by herself whilst staying just in earshot. Zoe understood how important this stage was. She had stood in the wings before a performance, her stomach a nest of bumbleflies, almost ready to vomit.
The flight in by hover was mercifully quick but there was no escaping the crowd that awaited her arrival: officials, fans, sporting journalists taking pictures, drone cameras buzzing about sending the images live to eager fans watching the event in homes, clubs and anywhere there was a screen. It was even being broadcast to her scattered parenting circle in remote mining camps, on fishing trawlers and camped out in the wilds of the great northern continent. This was also the time her opposition would plant people who would try to distract and undermine her by shouting insults and stirring up her loyal fans. It was all part of the theatre of the event, part of building crowd excitement.
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