Ancient Light

by Mary Gentle

  ‘And they’ve had some success with the observer-craft. No sign of any offshore fleet.’ Only the normal shipping you find in summer, in the seasons of Durestha and Merrum, in those coastal waters from Ales-Kadareth to Tathcaer to Morvren Freeport and the Kasabaarde Archipelago … ‘All they can pick up is a concentration of life forms near Rimnith, and that must be the Coast Ortheans. Doug, I’m willing to bet there are Anzhadi there, maybe Sethri himself –’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t make the suggestion that you’re going to, Lynne. You cannot attempt to make con tact with a group of guerrilla invaders.’

  ‘Somebody has to.’

  The shuttle’s interior was cool, illuminated with that faintly green and soothing light; and the silence was no silence, but only the hum of powered-down systems. I noticed the imprint of footsteps on the floor: the sandy earth of Melkathi trodden in. Doug leaned back and rubbed at his eyes, the light from the imageless holotank casting upward shadows on his features. He sighed.

  ‘We’re running out of time.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘I must talk with Cory Mendez. If storm conditions abate, and I can get through to Rachel at Kel Harantish, then …’ He looked up. ‘We have just enough fuel to make a landing on the way back.’

  For half an hour I let the shuttle stand by the ruins of the Rimnith telestre, partly to seem no threat, partly to see if it would provoke attack. I stayed in the shuttle, exterior-sensor and transmitter working, and didn’t venture outside, because I’m not stupid. Doug Clifford stayed at the comlink, trying to contact the Coast.

  The earth still smoked blackly. In the orange light, angular hanelys stood like iron lace. Wisps of smoke curled up from the ground. Even the stones of the sprawling complex of buildings were cracked with the heat.

  ‘I’ll move a mile or two south,’ I said. ‘I can’t tell if the heat-sensors are reading body-heat, or hot spots in the earth.’

  The shuttle lifted heavily, wallowing south, and I set it down on bare heathland that had escaped the conflagration only because there was so little to burn. And waited. At last the sensors showed a moving body. A small figure appeared, approaching the shuttle. When he got close, I saw the filthy meshabi-robe that cloaked him: a male, elderly, with a brown-blond mane. At his belt hung both a hook-bladed knife and a CAS-IV holster.

  ‘Earth tech,’ Doug said, leaning over to look at the holotank’s exterior-image. ‘I want this recorded for evidence. Are there other hiyeks here?’

  ‘I can’t tell. The heat’s still masking the sensors.’

  ‘Kethrial-shamaz shan’tai!’ The Orthean’s voice came through the transmitter pick-up. I saw how he craned his neck, looking up at the shuttle’s blank walls. ‘Are there s’aranthi there?’

  ‘What hiyek?’ I asked. He glanced round, found no focus for the voice. His bare feet were blackened with ash, and membrane covered his eyes so that they looked blankly white. Alone. And where are the Ortheans with you, who set the fire in Rimnith’s sparse fields, put the spark to the tinder-dry reed thatch of the telestre buildings? I repeated, ‘What hiyek? Anzhadi?’

  A flicker of reaction. I keyed the image into close-up. Brown-blond mane rooted down broad shoulders; he had a square, stolid face. He said, ‘If there were Anzhadi here, shan’tai, they wouldn’t come in reach of you.’

  ‘Is Sethri-safere with you? He’ll talk to me. Tell him Lynne Christie –’

  ‘You talk to me or none. What do you want with us, offworlder?’

  One of the Peace Force shuttles split the sky overhead. The hiyek male flinched. I heard Doug talking with Cory’s officers, but I concentrated on the nameless Orthean male.

  ‘Do you want to bring that down on you?’ I remember Cory saying: All I can do is threaten. And here am I, threatening. ‘It’s hardly an army you’ve brought with you, ten or a dozen jath; and it wouldn’t help you if all the Coast were here, would it?’

  ‘Can you take us from among these people?’

  He let the question stand. One claw-nailed hand was at his belt, close to that incongruous CAS-IV; and the rising wind blew his unbraided mane across his face, and whisked ashes into the air.

  ‘Can you?’ he repeated. ‘Take the jath. There they are. Have them. Take the empty siiran on the Coast, and much good may they do you; take the canals, every one of them, and the cities they flow through; take it all, we don’t need it now –’ His eyes unveiled, they were a striking glass-green. ‘But if you want us, you must pick us out from among your friends – and if there are few of us, there are still fewer of you s’aranthi!’

  That clear gaze went past me, he stared only at the hull of the shuttle. In that gaze I saw siiran, those plant-filled underground chambers of chiruzeth, pictured them empty. Pictured Molly Rachel’s research team in Maherwa, the canal system’s controls left open to their investigation … What’s happening on the Coast now, under cover of hurricanes? Do all the jath and jath-rai wait there, are the men and women of the hiyeks beginning to drift back towards their homes, have they abandoned this crusade? Or are there other ships slipping out on to the Inner Sea, a migration rather than an invasion?

  ‘Northerners won’t have you on telestre land,’ I said.

  ‘They will have seen this.’ He jerked his head in the general direction of Rimnith.

  ‘That won’t work –’

  Doug leaned across and switched from outside transmitter to comlink.

  ‘Doug –’

  ‘This is a live transmission. An observer-craft. Lynne, look.’

  At first it looked like a repeat image of Rimnith. Then I saw that the billowing black smoke rooted on a shallow hill, and that the burning buildings were only half consumed. No person moved, but two – no, three – bodies lay motionless in the burning hanelys and reedbeds.

  ‘Keverilde telestre,’ he explained.

  ‘Doug, that’s thirty miles away from here.’

  Another image inset itself over the burning hillside, a close-up of a rocky gully. It was shaded over with the black rods and spines of hanelys, and under the vegetation was a gleam of white. Voices over the comlink went wild.

  That’s a groundcar!’

  ‘Cory’s people can track groundcars, they’re energy sources – when they’re in use.’ He paused. ‘They say the hiyek people may have as many as eight or nine.’

  A lot went through my mind in that silent second. That Sethri must have brought them over, you could load small groundcars on jath ships; but what’s the black-market connection for Earth technology? That the Peace Force would be able to trace where the hiyek-Ortheans moved in Melkathi, and what would they do about that?

  I keyed back to exterior-view, but the hiyek male had vanished. His body-heat was lost among the deep hidden fires in the peat heathland, sensors couldn’t track him now.

  ‘Is Cory herself there? Put her on-link, Douggie, we’re going to have to talk to her sometime.’

  ‘As government envoy, I have the right to know what action she plans to take – although if she has a modicum of wisdom,’ Clifford added, ‘she’ll practise some masterly inactivity … Lynne, you know the multicorporates, you know them better than I do: how is PanOceania going to react?’

  The comlink suddenly formed a clear image. It was split: half showing Corazon Mendez in the interior of a Peace Force F90, that hawk-face and sleek hair immaculate; the other half was the unsteady image of a wristlink, showing churned earth and excavations and black cloud-cover, and then shifting to the dark face of Molly Rachel. The wind tugged at her coverall, blowing that mass of tangled hair.

  ‘– take no immediate action,’ she was saying. Then: ‘Lynne? Is that you? Get out of the area. Is that Douglas there with you?’ Her voice was loud, raised over the buffeting of the wind and rain.

  Doug, over my shoulder, said, ‘I must know what action you’re advising. I protest most strongly against any use of force against the local population by Commander Mendez.’

  Cory interrupted from the F90.
‘Damn all national governments! I can’t even get data on the size of the invading force. This may be a raid or it may be a full-scale invasion; and until we can get surveillance working we’re as blind as the natives.’ Her attention shifted to Molly Rachel. ‘I won’t engage in low-tech hostilities on those terms, Representative Rachel. Any action must be hi-tech, for the sake of my men.’

  The Pacifican woman put a hand up to hold shaggy hair out of her face. Rain starred the holo-image. She smiled, almost snorted with humour, and said, ‘All I want you to do is watch, for the next few hours. I need you here, Commander. All hell’s broken loose in Kel Harantish – there’s fighting inside the city. No one’s attacked the T&A site yet, but I want some protection for those installations.’

  I cut in: ‘Who’s fighting, Molly? Even the Coast hiyeks aren’t crazy enough to attack the telestres and Kel Harantish together.’

  ‘This was something internal, some factions in the city –’ She broke off. In the background, clearly heard, was the whine of CAS weaponry: the side-leakage of Coherent Amplified Sound. She said, ‘Some of them have CAS-III and CAS-VIII equipment. When I find out how that got imported …’

  ‘I’ll send Jamison down from the orbiter with a squad of flyers,’ Cory Mendez said. ‘That should serve as warning, to keep your installations safe, Representative.’

  Too much of a coincidence. Someone knew the telestres would be attacked, decided to take advantage and act themselves, while the Company’s too busy to interfere … I let Doug talk to Corazon and the Pacifican woman, and I thought of Calil bel-Rioch. Alive still, or dead; caught in the fighting, defending, or its instigator? I can’t believe she has nothing to do with this.

  Doug said, ‘What’s the situation on the canals and in the Coast ports?’

  ‘I’ve sent out a shuttle on visual surveillance; David Osaka –’

  The split image was abruptly blank on the left-hand side, reduced to coruscating light; and Cory’s image turned to bawl at her comlink officer to restore the link. Molly’s face appeared for a moment, soundlessly speaking, and then again vanished.

  ‘Get out of the area,’ Cory Mendez cut her link with an equally scant courtesy, and without the excuse of an equipment breakdown. I switched back to exterior-view. In the sepia haze of the sky, specks that were F90s and observation craft quartered the air above Melkathi. Not yet three hours since I’d heard the noon bells ring in the Citadel. Exhaustion had such a grip on me, I felt I could sleep where I sat. And could only then realize that this, this afternoon of Durestha Eighthweek Nineday, is the date the WEBcasters will use to mark the outbreak of war …

  And what day to mark its end?

  ‘I’m taking us back to Tathcaer,’ Doug Clifford said. ‘I have to talk to the T’Ans. It’s likely that they appreciate the implications, but one must be certain.’ And then that small-featured round face creased in a smile that held no humour. ‘God alone knows what they’ll do about naming a new T’An Suthai-Telestre now.’

  23

  Night Conference at the Wellhouse

  Early afternoon sun shone on the white façades of Tathcaer, on pollen-yellow air, and a harbour full of bustle as jath-rai put out to sea. The ferry that took us from Kumiel to the city rocked in their wake.

  Riders will have gone out, I thought. And jath-rai. None of them can have reached the Rimnith area yet. Blaize won’t be back from Eirye. And here we are, already back. We live in different worlds.

  ‘It’s imperative I have some contact with Molly Rachel again, and in the near future.’ Doug stepped on to the quay, saying over his shoulder to me: ‘Will you go up to the Citadel and endeavour to find out the T’Ans’ reaction to this –’ He broke off; smiled. ‘I’m treating you as though you were advisor to the government. Lynne, I apologize.’

  ‘This isn’t the time to worry about that. Yes, I’ll see the T’Ans.’

  I stood for a moment and watched him vanish into the crowds, a small neatly-dressed man, dull among the brilliantly-robed Ortheans, intent on reaching the comlink at Westhill-Ahrentine. Faces turned as he passed. Unfriendly looks for s’aranthi? Perhaps. I turned to look for a skurrai-jasin to take me up to the Citadel, moving again at the Orthean pace.

  And the Citadel, that great sprawling stone building, was empty of T’Ans; gone down into the city, or out towards Melkathi by whatever means they could travel; all of them gone, except one. My footsteps were loud, walking through those low-roofed halls. It wasn’t until I saw his stricken, immobile face that I made the connection: Nelum Santhil Rimnith. Dusty sunlight shone on that sleek brown mane, on the unveiled eyes. Grief dazzled him. He no longer wore the insignia of a T’An Melkathi.

  ‘Give you greeting, t’an Orhlandis,’ he said, no recognition in his eyes, ‘tell me how Melkathi burns.’

  Towards mid-afternoon I got back to Westhill-Ahrentine. The Wellhouse took in Nelum Santhil, and I could find no other T’An, mad or sane. Just the steps from the courtyard to the first-floor rooms of the telestre-house exhausted me. Twenty-seven hours: a day not to be endured without some break for sleep before evening, the human biological clock demands it.

  ‘Get through to Molly?’ I asked, looking in on Doug Clifford where he sat at the comlink.

  ‘Her base at Kel Harantish doesn’t answer. Rashid Akida and the research team are being evacuated to the orbiter …’ He rubbed red-rimmed eyes. ‘Corazon suggests that young Rachel and the other two – Pramila, is it, and David Osaka? – may be in the city itself. Some form of protective imprisonment?’

  ‘She’d get out before that happened,’ I protested. ‘We’ve had that once before, she wouldn’t … Where the hell is she?’

  The holotank was now showing pictures of a telestre-house. Low, sprawling stone buildings, with marhaz pens, and in the background the wind-whipped sandflats and the sea. It seemed untouched, and then the lens panned round to the north, and I saw flames, like the teeth of a comb, jagged on the heathland and sweeping towards the sea.

  ‘– Commander Mendez will make an announcement in four hours,’ the WEBcaster’s voice said.

  ‘Tapping into WEB transmissions?’

  ‘As they go from the orbiter to Thierry’s World. I’ve given the WEBcasters on the orbital station permission to land.’ Doug keyed across the board, and a half-dozen other transmissions showed variant images of Melkathi. ‘I estimate that within twelve days every NET at home will carry these transmissions. At that point, surely, some restrictions will be imposed on PanOceania –’

  ‘By the other multicorporates, if by no one else.’ I touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Leave the Citadel until evening, no one’s there. Wake me for Cory’s announcement, hey? If I don’t sleep, I’m just plain going to fall over sideways …’

  He chuckled. ‘Lynne, you’re getting old.’

  ‘And when I’m awake, you can sleep.’

  I lay down in the further room on a couch-chair piled with zilmei pelts, and the warm air of summer brought the scent of kazsis, and the voices of Ortheans in the alley below; all fragile now, all temporary and under threat.

  A rough hand shook me awake. Doug’s voice said, ‘You’d better hear this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Corazon Mendez. She’s broadcasting to the WEB personnel on the orbital station.’

  ‘What?’ I sat up, swung my feet off the couch-chair, and the world swam. Light hurt my eyes. Light of early evening, not yet even second twilight. I staggered through to the comlink in the other room, still half doped with sleep.

  Doug leaned over the holotank. The image split between WEBcasters, seven or eight of them, clustered in one of the orbiter’s cabins, and Corazon Mendez in an F90 shuttle. Adrenalin spurred me awake.

  ‘What has she said?’

  ‘That she’s making her announcement before the stated time – listen –’

  ‘I repeat,’ Corazon’s voice came thinly, ‘this announcement is for the benefit of the Wave-Energy Broadcaster nets. This Company has the situation on
Carrick V under control. Necessary action to implement this was taken at 22.00 localworld time, when a surgical strike was made on hostile areas, using six F90 shuttles armed with mid-tech long-range weapons. The F90s used their weapons to make a high-level strike on the following Desert Coast ports: Reshebet, Nadrasiir, Mesh-lamak, Nazkali, Saransiir, Psamnol, Luzukka, Gileshta, Merari, Lakmarash, Kumekaruk, and Quarth … Satellite surveillance now shows the harbours at these locations to be blocked, and thus impassable to hostile craft intending to invade the northern continent –’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘She did what?’

  Doug moved his hand in an abortive gesture. ‘She – I don’t – we –’

  The WEBcasters crowded the ‘link in the orbiter. I glimpsed the face of the Visconti woman, saw it stricken, some faint echo of outrage; then someone asked a question not audible on pick-up, but Corazon Mendez heard, and nodded: ‘Yes. Our F90s left from the government base on Thierry’s World. They refuelled from the PanOceania orbiter, and left from our company docking facilities at 21.30. They made three over-flights and three forensic strikes –’

  ‘Forensic!’ Doug spat.

  ‘– and returned to orbital docking. I’m pleased to say all six craft returned safely.’

  I sank down into the comlink chair, too weary to stand. ‘Isn’t that amazing?’ I appealed to Doug. ‘F90 shuttles attack jath-rai and a population armed with knives and rakes, and the shuttles get away unscathed – Jesus, they were lucky!’

  He gestured for silence, intently keying through the comlink channels; and I guessed he was searching for the satellite-images.

  Corazon Mendez finished: ‘This decision was taken in view of the danger of hostilities spreading from the relatively small area of the northern continent to which they are at present confined, and in view of the possible danger to Company and government personnel stationed at present on Carrick V.’

  ‘She can’t have –’ I tried to key in, found the link restricted.

  ‘What about the Company’s commercial representative?’ called one of the WEBcasters.