"A download. We will download the Qualeewooh's memories into both you and me, then we can judge the creature based upon its thoughts and intents. No sentence will be handed down unless we both concur that the sentence is fair."
Felph shook with anger. He could hardly refuse such an offer, not without seeming churlish. Indeed, perhaps he sensed that if he did not concede, if he merely took vengeance, he would damage his own soul. Yet by the hardness in his eyes, Maggie could tell that he did not trust Gallen. He feared Gallen would not agree to a sentence, regardless of the crime.
"You will agree to death?" Felph said. "If you find it justified?"
Gallen whispered coldly, "I've killed men before, dozens of them. A Qualeewooh is the same."
Felph sighed deeply, as if his anger suddenly abated. "Very well, then."
Gallen turned to Maggie. "I want to be certain we get the right Qualeewooh. I won't slaughter innocents. Maggie, can you rig up a scent detector on an antigrav sled--like the Seekers the Dronon send after us? It should be able to match the scent on that feather, tell us if we find the right Qualeewooh."
Maggie hesitated, thinking. "I'd need some sophisticated olfactory sensors."
Felph said, "The perfumery in Hera's sleeping chamber. It has a scent detector subtle enough to do what you require. I can provide everything. Felph turned to address the droids, commanding them to bring the provisions.
"What else will we need?" Maggie asked.
"Nothing," Gallen said. “It shouldn't take more than a day. I've still got food and weapons on ship."
"And Zeus," Felph added, addressing Gallen. "Take Zeus with you. He should be there to help avenge his brother. Otherwise, he'll always regret this." The hesitation in Felph’s voice said more than words. He still didn't trust Gallen. He wanted to make certain Gallen returned with his prize. So Felph would send his son to ensure that Galle returned.
"Do you think it wise?" Gallen asked. "He's pretty torn up.”
“All the more reason for him to go," Felph said. "The deeper the pain, the greater the need for action. I insist on this."
Gallen nodded, none too quickly. "All right. Zeus comes, too. Is it likely the Qualeewooh will be flying at night?"
"Not hardly," Felph said. "It will sleep after such a heavy meal."
Gallen stood, thoughtful. "Maggie will need some time to put together a Seeker." He addressed her, "Can I leave at dawn?"
Maggie considered. Even she wasn't certain of Gallen's intent. Perhaps he wanted them all on the ship together, the easier to leave this world once and for all. "I can throw a Seeker together, but I think I should come-in case it needs adjusting or if it falls apart."
Chapter Twenty Four
Cooharah could not sleep, though his full belly weighed on him, making his thoughts sluggish. He and Aaw slept in the open, on a small pile of rocks. It was not dangerous to sleep so, this far from the tangle. His only fear in the desert was that thin, translucent glass snakes might crawl from their sandy burrows and slip quietly up to drink some blood as Cooharah slept. The snakes drank little, but Cooharah and Aaw might be days from water. They couldn't afford the blood loss.
Yet fear of glass snakes is not what kept Cooharah awake, gazing at stars that burned so steadily tonight, blazing in the heavens. No, not glass snakes. It was voices whispering in his head, the reproach of his ancestors. "Blood debt," they whispered. "You owe the oomas a blood debt."
Cooharah envisioned a Qualeewooh composed of light, beating its wings among the stars. It stared at Cooharah accusingly.
The voice of his ancestor came clear tonight, of all nights, when it bore a message Cooharah didn't want to hear. The onus of a blood debt was heavy. If Cooharah had stolen food from another Qualeewooh, he owed food. Twice the amount taken.
With a creature as large as the one they'd killed, Cooharah could not pay the debt with less than six skogs. Probably eight. Of course the skogs could not be killed on the oomas' territory. They must come from land near Cooharah's own aerie.
But Cooharah and Aaw had no aerie, no territory to hunt. Their oasis had gone dry. The Qualeewoohs lived only on hope, thin as it was. Rain would come soon. The oases would be watered anew. Rivers would flow--a few months from now. But presently Cooharah and Aaw had no hunting territory.
"Even if we owe the oomas," Cooharah said to his ancestor, "we cannot pay now. Their oasis is far from others. If I kill a skog, I won't be able to take it to them. I will die."
"Blood debt. You owe a blood debt," the ancestor whispered. "Double payment. Food for food, chick for chick. Turn back."
"Negative to the third degree," Cooharah trilled. "I owe no blood debt. I--how do I know it was an animal the oomas owned? It could have been a predator the humans are well rid of!"
The green ancestor flapped its wings. Its eyes blazed like twin suns. "Blood debt," it whispered. "You owe a debt."
Cooharah knew he owed a blood debt. He'd never heard of any predators brought by the humans that used projectile weapons. This beast must have been a pet, perhaps a guardian. The humans had given it a weapon.
Cooharah could not bear the accusation in the ancestor's voice. If he could have removed his spirit mask, he would have. He would have clawed it from his face with his tiny paws; pried it, tearing flesh from bone. Yet to do so was suicide. Cooharah could not deprive Aaw of a mate, someone to hunt for her and her chick in the new land. No, the spirit mask was part of him. His parents had painted it to his face at adulthood, and it would remain a part of him till he died and his own chicks used it to line the walls of some aerie.
Cooharah closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, trying to deny the voice. commanding him to return to human lands. "Not now," he screamed silently, prying at his mask with the thin fingers at the apex of his wings, clawing till blood ran down his jaws, soaking his feathers. "Not now. Someday. Someday I will pay!"
Chapter Twenty Five
Late into the night, Maggie built her Seeker. With her mantle of technology, it did not seem an onerous chore. Her first task was to disconnect the olfactory sensors from Lord Felph's perfumery, a gaudy piece of equipment that took up a quarter of Hera and Zeus's bedroom. The tremendously complex machine had olfactory sensors coupled to an artificial intelligence, along with synthesizers for creating scents. It could offer thousands of base perfumes, alter them at request.
She removed the faceplate from the perfumery and studied the machine, considering which tools she needed to remove the olfactors. She wondered how sensitive the equipment might be. She'd seen Dronon olfactors used on Seekers, but they might be more sensitive than this. She didn't know if this would work.
"Perfumer," she asked, "can you smell me?"
"Yes," the perfumer answered.
"Can you differentiate my smell from that of other humans?"
"Each human scent is unique, though it varies from day to day depending on the amounts of oil secreted by the skin; the colony types and growth rates of microbes growing on the skin; secretion of hormones; and the presence of chemical modifiers--such as perfumes or soap residues.'
Maggie wondered. The Dronon had only begun sending Seekers after her a few weeks earlier. She'd been forced to run so fast, so far, she hadn't considered options other than running. She suspected the Dronon had only her scent. The nanoscrubbers in Gallen's robe would make him difficult to track. On Manogian II, while Gallen, Orick, and Tallea were busy in a market a kilometer distant, a Seeker had found her. But the Seeker found only her, Maggie recalled. So perhaps the machines targeted only her. She was the Golden Queen. She was the one the Dronon wanted.
"Perfumer," Maggie asked. "Can I change my body scent, to make it unrecognizable?"
"Yes," the perfumer answered.
"How?" Maggie felt hopeful.
"First, chemical and radiation therapies may kill exterior microbe colonies on your skin, and you could be seeded with new colonies of different varieties." Maggie understood this. Every person has microscopic mites living in their eyes
, lips, and skin. Funguses, viruses, and bacterial colonies are also common--so common in fact, most people have strains of microbe evolve to exist specifically on their own bodies.
The perfumer suggested that these could all be removed, thus altering the scent caused by microbial infestations.
"Second," the perfumer added, "natural body odors can be masked. I can develop temporary scents for your use, or I can develop a permanent scent, to be continually administered."
"How?" Maggie asked.
"Scent-generating cells can be inserted into the oil follicles of your skin. This technology is beyond my capabilities, but I can refer you to clinics that perform such services.
"Beyond this," the perfumer offered, "your skin and body oils contain a unique aroma that can be altered through gene therapy by introducing retroviruses tailored specifically for your genome. In most planetary systems, such a radical treatment is not legal for use in scent therapy. This procedure is considered too dangerous for pregnant women."
"You know I'm pregnant?" Maggie asked, surprised the perfumer could tell just from her scent.
"Yes."
Another thought occurred to Maggie. This perfumer could duplicate scents. "One last question: can you copy my scent?"
"Yes," the perfumer said.
"Do so," Maggie said. "Make twenty grams of it."
She pocketed the small bottle the perfumer filled. Maggie considered her options. So she could change her scent--change it completely--given time and resources. She hadn't needed to come here at all. She could return to a civilized world. With a new scent, the Dronon would never find her. Maggie almost wept from relief. I must tell Gallen, she thought.
She pulled off the perfumer's olfactory sensors and artificial intelligence, connected them to a hoversled. She didn't need to hook up a second Al to pilot the vehicle. A radio could let the sled talk to their ship, so flight instructions could be continuously relayed to the Seeker.
Though the Seeker was easily built, Maggie could not rest. I know how to hunt this Qualeewooh, because I have been so hunted, she told herself. She wondered how it would appear to the Qualeewooh--humans coming after it in superior numbers, bristling with weapons. The Qualeewooh could not escape her, Maggie felt certain. It might fly far and wide, but her Seeker would track it. It might come at Gallen with knives, but the Qualeewooh could not withstand a Lord Protector. Though Maggie knew Gallen hoped not to hurt the creature, Maggie felt for it. The Qualeewooh's predicament and her own were too similar.
I am not like the Dronon, Maggie told herself. I'm coming to save this Qualeewooh, not to destroy it. Yet she wasn't certain. Gallen would track the bird; hoping to learn what had happened, then dispense justice. Perhaps the Qualeewooh had murdered Herm. Perhaps Gallen would kill it. Gallen would do what was right--as best he could determine. But in dealing with nonhumans, human minds failed at the task of judgment. So she fretted.
Gallen spent his evening checking his ship before departure. He had enough supplies to last a week on thin rations--long enough to jump to another world. Felph had outfitted the ship with weapons--heavy incendiary rifles, assorted pistols, repulsor shields, grenades--enough for a small war.
As Maggie finished cobbling her Seeker together, she went to the ship, found Gallen on his bed, servicing his old incendiary rifle. She stood in the door, leaning against the frame for support. She could hear the bears snoring in their stateroom.
Gallen's face appeared thoughtful, pensive. He frowned at his weapon, apparently so involved he did not notice her presence. She thought that odd. "What are you thinking my love?" she said.
Gallen looked up. "Thinking about tomorrow."
"What are you planning?" Maggie said. "You want to save the Qualeewooh. That much I'm certain of. But what beyond that?"
Gallen shook his head absently. "I don't know. Something bothers me about Felph. I feel...that he is not as reasonable as he wants to appear. He's furious at the Qualeewooh who killed Herm. I don't trust him. I can't let Felph murder the creature, simply because it isn't human."
Maggie understood. Her experience with the Inhuman, the memories of a hundred lives remembered and wasted, left her keenly sympathetic for the Qualeewoohs. Yet Maggie had to wonder. Felph seemed genuinely fascinated by the birds, by their history and heritage. Perhaps he would not be totally unfair to the creature.
"What of Zeus?" Maggie asked. "Do you think he'll give us trouble?"
"I can't imagine that he'd be much trouble."
Maggie sighed. "I checked his genome today. He can throw an electric charge. He's dangerous, even when not armed. That's why Felph wants him with us."
Gallen glanced at her. "My boots and gloves won't carry a charge. If he tries anything with me, he'll be surprised."
"But you can't guess what he might do," Maggie said. "I don't trust him. If we leave here, I wouldn't feel comfortable bringing him along."
Gallen gave her a long stare, as if trying to divine why she'd just said such a thing. Maggie knew it was out of character to sound so cold, but she definitely didn't want Zeus following.
Please Gallen, she thought, just accept this.
He shrugged. "Whatever you say." Gallen set the rifle he'd been servicing on the bed, apparently satisfied. "We could drop him in town before we leave. Would that be all right with you?"
So the matter of Zeus seemed settled. Gallen knew what danger he presented. Maggie's mind felt at ease. A few days ago, when running from the Dronon, she'd felt desperate to find a safe place to deliver her child. She'd been so frightened, she'd wanted everything--food, shelter, medical facilities. Now that she'd rested, now that she'd put some distance between her and the Dronon, she felt more prepared to meet circumstances as they came. Maggie's mother had delivered her with the barest medical facilities; and on Tremonthin, through memories granted her by the Inhuman, Maggie recalled giving birth dozens of times--everything from dropping a child in the bush, to delivering twins as Princess Loa of the Davai, with all her maids and nurses attending.
After bearing that many children, delivering one more should not be hard, But to Maggie, this child would be special. All the memories the Inhuman had foisted upon her, all the propaganda and pain--all came from people long dead, the reminiscences of ghosts. The children she'd sired and nurtured, that she'd cried and prayed over--all had grown old centuries ago. Some died ignominiously; some gained notoriety on Tremonthin. Ghosts still, all of them.
In the past few months, Maggie had begun to come to terms with the Inhuman. When it had first downloaded its memories into her, her grip on reality had seemed tenuous. She'd become so lost in the past, to some degree she'd lost herself. But time healed much. Maggie no longer found it difficult to differentiate her own past from the lives of others. She took comfort in asserting her individuality.
So even though she recalled mothering hundreds of children, of nurturing them to adulthood, she knew that for the first time, she and Gallen would bring their own child into the universe. Flesh of their flesh, bone of their bones. A new beginning.
Maggie yearned for this child. Inadvertently, the Dronon had given her a great gift: the memories of rearing hundreds of children. Because she'd been infected by the Inhuman, she'd be a better mother than someone who came to the task as a novice.
Maggie said, "All right. I'd drop the babe under a bush if you wanted. But after it's born, we go back to civilization. I just spoke to the perfumer. On most worlds, scent therapists could change my aroma completely. We can have a new life. Four months, till the baby is born--that's all we need."
Gallen beamed at the news. "Great. I'll look forward to it. But I don't think you'll bear our son while squatting under a bush. Wherever we land, this ship will serve as a better home than a lean-to.”
Maggie studied the ship's ivory walls. Clean, smooth. Her home in Tihrglas had been more cramped. The couches and beds served well. If a world were nearly--terraformed with birds and beasts intact--Gallen could forage for food. It seemed an ideal dre
am--a cozy place without anyone to bother them.
Chapter Twenty Six
Zeus had Hera to comfort, and to offer comfort in return. They talked long into the night about Herm's death, about the brevity of life, about how there were no longer any guarantees.
He expressed his anger at how she'd humiliated him, and Hera told him in turn how she felt humiliated by his infidelities. In an odd way, he felt relieved that she had deceived him, had lured him to stand naked before Lord Felph, Gallen, and Maggie. It was a powerful reminder of how much she loved him, how jealous she felt when he squandered his affection on lesser women. Hera was a great woman-cunning, crafty, devoted.
The cruel joke she'd played made him love her all the more deeply, yet he felt equally touched by her tenderness. The blow of seeing Term's corpse devastated Hera, as it
did Zeus.
Even now, as he considered his loss, waves of grief washed through Zeus, battering him. Herm had been his constant companion, his support. Herm understood Zeus’s moods, laughed when he joked, arranged liaisons when he wanted a woman. He never judged, as Lord Felph and Arachne did.
So after Hera fell into an uneasy sleep when Lord Felph asked him to accompany Gallen on the hunting party, Zeus accepted.
Felph clapped Zeus on both shoulders, stared into his eyes, and said, "I send you on a man's errand. Don't fail me."
"I won't fail you-or Herm," Zeus replied. The lights in the hallway shone dimly so late. Everything was perfectly quiet.
"I know," Felph said. He looked down the corridor, to the darkened atrium just off the north wing, as if afraid someone might overhear. "Bring this Qualeewooh back, understand? I don't trust Gallen O'Day. You've seen him. He may be efficient in his way, but he's soft. I'll not have him freeing the Qualeewooh that killed your brother. You remember that."
"I'm not likely to forget," Zeus had answered.
"Good. And remember," Felph said, "Gallen works for us. You don't work for him. I expect him to follow your orders."
Lords of the Seventh Swarm, Book 3 of the Golden Queen Series Page 23