Flowercrash

by Stephen Palmer

  “Whistle out twice like a dancing beetle. Then get ready to leg it.”

  They waited for Zehosaïtra to return from planting small spheres in the earth. Nuïy watched as Zehosaïtra primed what looked like a trumpet with a black bulb on its end. It smelled of tree sap, though with a less coniferous fragrance. Apart from that the pair seemed unarmed. Deomouvadaïn climbed the rope in seconds, then Zehosaïtra followed, showing a strength and dexterity that Nuïy would not have thought possible if he had not seen it with his own eyes. Alongside the saluki they crouched on the upper ledge. A single light showed from the room.

  Suddenly there was a crash as the pair burst in. Nuïy listened intently. He heard voices, the sound of a scuffle, and then Zehosaïtra appeared at the window, pulling a struggling Alquazonan. Nuïy was confused, since gynoids were known for their superhuman strength. Perhaps pregnancy had exhausted her.

  Then a bizarre sight: the saluki threw up its forelegs and shook them into great wings. It caught Alquazonan by the scruff of the neck and jumped off the ledge, dragging her with it.

  It flew.

  Nuïy stared skyward, mouth open, as the struggling saluki flew away from the house. Deomouvadaïn was almost at the bottom of the rope, and Zehosaïtra was not far behind. But Alquazonan was not giving up without a fight. She struggled, and the saluki began descending.

  “Run!” Zehosaïtra shouted.

  Gynoids were pouring from the front door of the house. A couple vaulted the sill of ground floor windows and followed the flight of the autodog. Deomouvadaïn gave a shrill whistle, fingers in mouth, and the saluki redoubled its efforts. Flares detonated: Zehosaïtra’s spheres. They cast virtually no light, but Nuïy heard the faint pop they gave, and he saw the effect on the gynoids, who were sensitive to ultra-violet light.

  He ran. At a culvert he hid, to view the scene.

  Their plan was in ruins. The saluki was now just a few feet above the ground. Nuïy heard it whine and then saw Alquazonan plummet. The saluki shot up into the air and vanished. Deomouvadaïn and Zehosaïtra were gone. Blinded gynoids wandered the Guildhall gardens, but some were uninjured, and these adopted a hunting posture. Nuïy crept away and made for the rendezvous point where they had stowed their boat. They slunk in silence back to Emeralddis, Deomouvadaïn’s face a picture of repressed fury, Zehosaïtra’s eyes half closed behind his thick spectacles.

  ~

  Two days later there was a conference with Baigurgône.

  “What happened at the Guildhall?” she asked.

  “We failed through bad luck,” Zehosaïtra replied. “The gynoid was lost, and presumably returned to her house. We must try again. But their defences will be far stronger now they know their leader is in danger.”

  “Fools!” Baigurgône screeched, making the speakers distort her voice into fuzz. “Alquazonan’s offspring must be killed!”

  “Perhaps you could assist next time,” Sargyshyva remarked.

  “I should have last time. I assumed you would be capable of managing this trivial task on your own.”

  They shot glances at one another. To be spoken to by a plastic un-man in this tone of voice was unheard of. It was heresy the Green Man must stop. But worse was to come, for Baigurgône then said, “I have checked the Guildhall register and she has gone. The enemy have secreted her somewhere.”

  Silence fell.

  Nuïy felt like offering suggestions, but even he could see that the tension between the three clerics was at breaking point. They had suffered intense humiliation. Nuïy, familiar with the feeling, knew better than to worsen it.

  At last, after a long sigh, Zehosaïtra said, “We’ll have to search Zaïdmouth.”

  “That you will,” Baigurgône said. “I will help, but the likelihood is that they will screen local networks. They know I am a network entity, and they know my powers.”

  “What can you do?” Zehosaïtra asked.

  “I can make calculations of probable hides. When these are ranked, you will have to survey and search each one.”

  Sargyshyva said, “We baulk at yer plans, Bai—”

  “Yes! That is why you have sat idle this past month.”

  Sargyshyva continued, “Why must this unborn gynoid be killed? Is it so important? There could be hundreds of the things in just decades. How can we stop such a tide?”

  “This one is the first,” said Baigurgône. “If she is born, innumerable others will surely follow, like worms out of a jar. If on the other hand she is killed, we set back the efforts of the networks to change themselves, for she is a singleton, and will be one of a kind until she herself gives birth. In the time between that setback and the next attempt we ourselves can change the networks, so that they conform to our wishes for ever. A great metaphoric battle is occurring. We are on the pure side, the side that wants to shape the future—the noblest task of all. The enemy are on the ignorant side, those who want to let any and every chaotic emotion rule the future.”

  “Aye t’that,” said Sargyshyva, “in the name of Our Lord In Green.”

  “We’ll search,” Zehosaïtra said. “How long will it take for you to complete your calculations?”

  “The possibilities are many,” Baigurgône replied. “Give me… twenty six minutes.”

  There was a pause, before Nuïy said, “I can tell you already what the first location will be.”

  “Can you, Nuïy Pinkeye?” Deomouvadaïn savagely said.

  “Yes.”

  Another pause.

  Zehosaïtra softly asked, “What will that location be?”

  “The Determinate Inn.”

  They waited. After the time she had set herself, Baigurgône announced herself ready. As predicted by Nuïy, she first suggested they survey the Determinate Inn.

  CHAPTER 21

  Manserphine was trying to sleep when a messenger from one of the houses opposite the Determinate Inn came to have her woken; and now here was one of the Shrine initiates at her door.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Two hours after midnight, sister.”

  “Oh… and I have to go to—”

  “The Determinate Inn. The girl said it was urgent.” Then the initiate spoke the codeword that Manserphine insisted on using for emergencies.

  Sighing, she paid over a brass cowrie, pulled on yesterday’s dress, shrugged a woollen robe around her shoulders, then stumbled out into the corridor. Outside the Shrine she had to struggle through the foot-deep layer of deactivated hoverflies that now choked every passage, courtyard and street in Veneris. It was like forging through a snowdrift. The smell of decaying oils—sweet and yet musty—was overpowering. And yet through this drift a myriad of violet flowers poked.

  At last she found herself inside the Determinate Inn, where she found Vishilkaïr, Kirifaïfra and Shônsair. “What’s happened?” she asked.

  Shônsair replied, “There has been an attack on the Wild Network Guildhall. Alquazonan was almost captured by men. She is damaged and there is worry concerning a possible miscarriage. We need to make council and decide what to do.”

  Manserphine cursed, sat down, then accepted a whiskey pick-me-up from Kirifaïfra. “Who are these damned men? Emeralddis criminals?”

  “Clerics of the Shrine of the Green Man, more likely. They control the ancient autodog technology, and two such beasts were seen.”

  “They know something,” Manserphine said, “and they’re trying to stop us. I bet Baigurgône is behind it. She might know about the link between our plans and the Wild Network Guild. She might know of Zahafezhan.”

  “Let us hope not. But whatever the motive, we must think of Alquazonan. If she is pregnant, she must be protected.”

  “She needs to be hidden,” Manserphine mused.

  “Could she be hidden in your Shrine?” Shônsair asked.

  “No. It’s too open. Besides, I don’t want attention drawn to me. As yet the clerics don’t know of my private work.”

  “They know about your private life,” Vis
hilkaïr observed, “by which I mean the mermaids, the interface and the rest of it.”

  “I must keep this inn a secret for as long as possible,” Manserphine said. “And yet, this inn would be the best place to hide Alquazonan. No nosy guests, peace and quiet, and most important of all, we’re all aware of the plan. Is Omdaton safe?”

  “She is on our side,” Vishilkaïr confirmed.

  “Then my advice is to bring Alquazonan here. She can be put in an upstairs room for now. To involve outsiders would be the big mistake. Here, we all trust one another.”

  “Very well,” Shônsair said.

  Manserphine asked, “Where’s Zoahnône?”

  “With Alquazonan at the Guildhall. We shall spirit Alquazonan away and bring her here.”

  “Wait,” Kirifaïfra said. “There’s a bottleneck where the floods meet the Woods. It might be better to take the long route, around the Woods to the north, then around the further edge of Veneris.”

  “Yes,” Manserphine agreed, “there’s a deep lane that I use to walk down to the shore mermaids. You could find that, then follow it until you see the Shrine of Our Sister Crone, then make east through the urb. If you use the wicket gate off the common land behind the inn, nobody will see you arrive here. Do it tonight.”

  “Then I must go,” said Shônsair. “There are but three hours until dawn. Wait here, all of you.”

  With that imperious command, she departed.

  Manserphine was left yawning. “This is going to be a difficult day,” she remarked. “I have to be in the Garden later this morning.”

  Silence from everyone.

  The hours passed. Manserphine sat half asleep in Kirifaïfra’s arms, sitting in the bay window, violet flowers outside tinkling as the wind shuffled them; and the moths came in their thouands. Insomnia kept her away from sleep, but curious half-visions came to mind, of great golden flowers, black bees, and a half running, half stumbling flight through the lush excesses of the Cemetery…

  “She’s here.”

  Manserphine jumped out of semi-slumber. The back door was open, letting a cool breeze into the inn, fragrant with night crocus; then footsteps and low voices in the kitchen, and the door shut. A dozen autospiders began scuttling towards the kitchen.

  With the front shutters closed, all the conspirators assembled in the common room. “Did it work?” Manserphine asked.

  “Yes,” Zoahnône replied.

  “I am not enjoying this summer,” Alquazonan grumbled. “When will you believe I am not pregnant?”

  “Are you hurt?” Manserphine asked.

  “A beast dropped me to the floor. I do not hurt, but something has changed in my belly.”

  “The gestation has been altered,” Shônsair said. Manserphine noticed cords in her neck flexing, as if under the stress of the moment. “There may be a miscarriage.”

  “We have postulated a fifty two year pregnancy,” Zoahnône pointed out. “At worst, the birth will be early.”

  “There will be no birth,” Alquazonan insisted. “I am cancerous. It is a great lump. The scan proved it.”

  Manserphine decided to break the argument. “We don’t truly know what may happen. This is a historical first.”

  “I don’t agree,” Alquazonan told her. “In your vision you saw a humanoid infant. I carry a formless lump.”

  “Perhaps a few more years development are required,” Kirifaïfra suggested.

  “I hope not to remain here for so long,” Alquazonan declared. “In fact, I won’t. I am the leader of the Wild Network Guild with many responsibilities.”

  “For now,” Manserphine said, trying to mollify them all, “stay here and recover from your fall. Who were the attackers?”

  “Two men with autodogs, most likely clerics from the Shrine of the Green Man. They intoxicated me with a softpetal spray.”

  “Well, you’re safe now,” Manserphine said. “Vishilkaïr, show her the secret room upstairs. I’m off to the Shrine.”

  After a kiss from Kirifaïfra, she departed.

  ~

  Further changes…

  She discovered that the Garden had altered again. For some weeks it had been moving from simple monochrome into a gloomy purple mode, as the networks of the Cemetery took over those ecological niches left open by the demise of the flower networks. Violet blooms and black flowerheads held Cemetery metaphors; necromantic knowledge, very ancient knowledge. The Garden was metamorphosing and they did not know where it would end.

  Manserphine shivered. Unlike the flower networks, most Cemetery species were evergreen. If the Garden failed to die during the five month winter recess, then the opportunity for Baigurgône to complete her plans would be much improved.

  The majority of the day was tedious—endless discussion of what to do, with never an answer in sight—and by afternoon she was too tired to care for official work. Taking a few hours sleep in the early evening, she woke half refreshed, put on a new dress, drank a mug of green tea and made for the Determinate Inn. The two men were out, but Zoahnône and Shônsair were upstairs standing beside Alquazonan, who lay stretched out naked on a bed, the lump in her belly thrusting upwards. Manserphine stopped at the door, surprised by this sight, glancing at Zoahnône and Shônsair, and then at the patient. She was intrigued to see that Alquazonan was formed like a human woman, even down to bushy pubic hair, but there were lumps on her stretched belly that looked like infected insect bites.

  “Is all well?” she asked.

  Zoahnône glanced at her, face neutral. “Something is happening. The lump is moving and Alquazonan reports a sensation similar to pain, yet with twinges of ecstasy. We worry about miscarriage.”

  Manserphine sighed. “Can’t we find out what is going on?”

  “You put it well when you described this as uncharted territory.”

  “Then all we can do is wait.”

  “I suspect we will not have to wait long.”

  Manserphine returned to the common room. Her body clock was so out of phase with the rhythm of the day that she felt disconnected; lacking sleep, awake from the tension of events, tired of her Garden work, desperate to feel Kirifaïfra’s body upon hers yet too exhausted to actually do anything. Sighing, she drank more whiskey.

  Kirifaïfra and Vishilkaïr returned an hour after midnight. While Vishilkaïr locked and barred the door, Kirifaïfra threw two false beards upon the table, then slumped into a chair and downed a glass of vodka in one.

  “You’ve been to Emeralddis,” Manserphine said.

  “Yes. Checking out rumours.”

  “Are there any?”

  “We were only interested in the Shrine. It seems there is something going on there, but nobody knows what. The locals report a great cloud of insects at the time of Baigurgône entering the networks. They also report comings and goings more recently, but it is difficult to separate truth from guesses. Certainly, the Shrine is up to something, but we knew that already.”

  “There was one thing,” Vishilkaïr said. “You remember the tall, silent youth with the pot plant who came here? He did something catastrophic down at the Percussion Lodge some months ago. He’s been seen going in and out of the Shrine a lot.”

  “Nothing much to go on,” Kirifaïfra said, “but it’s a start.”

  They retired to bed. Stimulated by the spices in her drink, Manserphine pestered Kirifaïfra, until they made love and she almost fainted from her joy. She stretched, gazing out of the window. Some of the iris outside were so tall their screen-heavy heads knocked against the glass, and for a few selfishly erotic moments she wondered if it would be possible to tease out from their active nets a visual record of the night’s activities. She laughed at how she had changed.

  But tomorrow she had a vital task to perform. After the Garden session she would go into the northern garden and at last pull out from the matted networks a certain procedure copied into a crocus bulb. Then she would take it down to the mermaids.

  The day was very hot, and hoverflies were ev
en more numerous than usual. Masked against them and carrying a parasol, she took the crocus bulb south, wading through the insect drifts along the green lane to the shore, where she saw half a dozen mermaids lying at the edge of the sea. Neither Abvoloyns nor Gholequie was present, but one young mermaid slipped into the sea, and ten minutes later both of them were sliding onto the shore.

  “Here’s the procedure,” Manserphine said, kneeling at their side as excitedly they examined the bulb. “I went to Novais and caught a dozen of the reified abstractions from the back of the Shrine of Flower Sculpture. Then I created a hardpetal interface and set the whole arrangement in the garden of my Shrine, where they evolved very nicely. Some were weak, but this one is very strong. It only wants to reproduce itself.” She laughed. “Rather like me at the moment.”

  Gholequie looked up, to say, “I must meet this lover of yours.”

  “One day I’ll bring him down here, and we can all swim in the sea.”

  “For now,” Abvoloyns said, “we must concentrate on draining the flood. The hardpetal reef is stronger than ever, encrusted with real organisms and softpetal weeds that have coagulated from the outflow of the Shrine of the Sea. They twist and turn as they seek new ideas with which to expand themselves.”

  “Have you created your creature?” Manserphine asked.

  “Yes. Gholequie, go and fetch one, please.”

  Gholequie dived back into the sea. Abvoloyns looked with curiosity at Manserphine to say, “You enjoy a man, then?”

  “Oh, yes. I enjoy him.”

  Abvoloyns frowned, then glanced away. “Hmmm.”

  “Why?”

  “No mermaid has ever foreseen you with a lover. But I suppose the future is mutable. Love affairs are so often rooted in chance, whatever they eventually become.”

  Manserphine was for a few seconds chilled by this, but she touched the metal braid in her hair, and, reminded of Kirifaïfra, knew that everything would be all right.

  Gholequie returned. In her right hand she held a foot long lobster, glowing pale blue like an insect repellent, with two massive claws and beady black eyes. “This is a night lobster,” she said, “which we made from other lobster species. Once it’s imbued with the desire to eat hardpetal it will attack the reef, and in days we should have a hole so big the thing just collapses.”