Eden's Revenge (Eden Paradox Book 3)

by Barry Kirwan

  Petra made a sceptical noise but didn’t say anything further.

  Micah swerved the skimmer around a tight bend and braked hard, skidding to a halt, Petra slamming into his back. Four spiders barred the entrance to Shimsha.

  “Guess we walk the rest of the way,” she said, easing herself off the seat.

  Micah powered down the engine and dismounted. The vehicle sank to the ground, crunching hard soil underneath. He waited for the spiders to part, but they didn’t move. In the moonless night, pale blue light seeped out from the city, casting long shadows towards Micah and Petra, making the spiders’ legs appear spindlier than the muscular, single-jointed limbs Micah knew them to be. He’d heard the outlying farmers gossip about how fast they could move, even jump, though he’d never seen them do it. Petra edged forward but he stayed her with his palm. Out of the shadows six more arrived, surrounding them.

  Petra backed away from them. “Micah, tell me this is some weird greeting ritual I’ve not heard about.”

  His adrenaline kicked in. This wasn’t just unusual, it was exceptional. In sixteen years of co-existence since the spiders had hatched, they had never once threatened any human. “Whatever happens, don’t run,” he whispered, unsure why; the spiders had no hearing, relying completely on visual and olfactory senses. “Get back on –”

  Suddenly, a spider was right next to him, its broad, headless body nudging his forearm. It was the first time he’d ever had physical contact with one, and although the body looked black and hairy, he was surprised how soft it felt, like velvet. It pushed him away from the skimmer, just as another two separated him from Petra. That was it. “Blake!” Micah yelled, as he and Petra were herded to the side of the road. One of the spiders’ legs curled around Micah’s and knocked him onto his back. He heard Petra shout his name, but he was too busy avoiding piston-like legs. His nannites rose to high alert, allowing him to react quicker than would have been possible for a normal human, his hands and feet hardening as he kicked back at the spiders’ legs.

  The night sky flashed brilliant white. Micah flinched, elbows and knees up to protect his head and body, temporarily unable to see, expecting to be trampled at any second. But as the flare diminished and his vision readjusted, he realized the spiders had gone, leaving Micah with nothing more than a few bruises. A lone, gaunt figure stood silhouetted by the city light, two large spiders behind him.

  Micah got to his feet and dusted himself off, glancing in Petra’s direction. She stood with her fists clenched, but seemed to be okay. She gave him a crooked smile, like Kat, her mother. “I’m okay, Micah, I can move fast, and I play mean.” She opened her hands. Black fur drifted to the ground. Micah wondered if the spiders had really meant to hurt them, and if so, why.

  They walked over to his former mentor. Micah shook his hand. “Care to explain what just happened?” He expected some sort of apology from Blake, as the spiders’ overseer.

  “I was delayed getting here, Micah. This shouldn’t have happened. They forget how fragile humans are, and they’re pretty upset right now. Come with me, you’d best see for yourself.” Blake turned without another word and strode into the city.

  Petra drew to Micah’s side, speaking softly. “We could have been killed, intentionally or not. Remind me, how long have you two been friends?”

  Micah stared in Blake’s direction. “There has to be a good reason.”

  “One I’d like to see,” she said.

  Micah realised it had been a year since he’d last visited Shimsha, and many more since he’d walked its streets at night. Single-storey dwellings with low domes, either rounded-off rhomboids or kidney-shaped affairs, lined the curving pathways, sharp cyan light spilling through broad doors and arched windows. Whereas Esperantia was all Cartesian angles, Shimsha was slow-twisting arcs. It was easy on the eye, calming. Wide plazas opened up every hundred metres or so, but the squat tables, where huddles of spiders would normally be seen conversing via flickering rainbow light exchanges, were empty. Where were they all? A fluorescent glow hung behind a row of longer buildings. As they approached the source, the aurora shimmered. It began to strobe faster. Blake held up a small device and projected a purple beam into the cloud of light. Abruptly, the night flooded back in. Micah sped up, turned the corner and stopped dead.

  The plaza was filled with spiders, so many that it was as if there was a four foot high black lake rippling all the way across the square in the night breeze. Blake strode ahead, the spiders parting before him. The lack of light, the sudden absence of spider communication, put Micah on edge. He wished he’d come alone, though it wasn’t safe to leave Petra now. The two of them had never been very physical, but he stretched out his hand, half sure she’d ignore him or brush it away. Instead she clasped it, and they walked tall together behind Blake. As they reached the other end of the plaza, and the last spiders moved aside, Petra’s hand flinched inside his own.

  He stared at the blackened remains of one of the larger domiciles on Shimsha’s western edge, near the slope trailing up to Hazzard’s Ridge where he’d sat just a few hours ago. Amidst the ruins, four spider carcasses lay upside down, stumps where half their legs had been burned away, their torsos charred husks containing remnants of organs and entrails grilled to charcoal. A smell of sulphur seared his eyes. Petra let go of his hand, looking like she would puke, and confirmed his assessment a moment later. Without taking his eyes off the scene, he passed her a handkerchief.

  Stepping forward, he inspected the smoking, crackling remains of a house that had stood unblemished for more than a millennium, and switched into analysis mode. The burning had blazed brightest at the home’s entrance, sealing them in, in a clear attempt to cremate the occupants. The scorch-marks were consistent with the bio-fuel used to power the five jury-rigged tractors shared by Esperantia’s farmers. The spiders’ fur made them averse to any form of combustion, and there had never been a case of spider domestic violence or inter-spider rivalry. His jaw clenched of its own accord, a cocktail of emotions inside him: sadness and outrage, but also anger at the stupidity of such an act of aggression. He could only imagine how Blake felt. “Any idea who did this?”

  Blake’s stern features were sharp enough to cut metal. “I sent Zack to find out.”

  “That maybe wasn’t the best…” His sentence wilted under Blake’s glare. He turned around. In the dim light from the homes surrounding the plaza, the spiders seemed to loom towards him. He had little idea of their emotional repertoire; the spiders were supposedly pacifist, but he reckoned anger had to be in there somewhere, deep down. Besides, he and Petra had just experienced the first aggressive act towards humans. He turned back to Blake and tried another tack. “Who were they? I mean, why this group – or family.” Micah regretted how little he knew of their social structure.

  Blake’s voice was taut, emotions locked down. “Random hit; soft target on the edge of the city while the annual simulated battle in the dome distracted most people; easy escape over the hill back to Esperantia.”

  Micah noticed how Blake had slipped back into his military persona so quickly. Another thought intruded. “Why did the other spiders attack us at the perimeter? My lucky timing, or –”

  “You’re President. In their book you’re responsible.”

  Petra finished wiping her mouth, stood up. “He just resigned, though I guess that won’t count for much here.”

  Micah wondered out loud. “Why now?” But he knew why. Most likely it was one of the Steaders; the Genners were respectful of the spiders, and their aggressive ambitions were entirely focused on the Alicians. A few faces popped into Micah’s mind of Steaders who might be stupid enough – or scared enough – to pull a stunt like this.

  Blake kicked at a piece of steaming rubble. “Quarantine comes down in less than a week. The Ossyrians pick up their pieces and leave. Genners of age will follow suit, leaving just the Steaders and the spiders, with a new generation about to hatch.”

  Petra spoke up. “A provocation,
an act out of pure fear or bigotry, or both. A first strike, probably intended to stoke itself up into a decisive war, assuming the spiders are pacifists, and if not, proving they are a threat to be defended against. Typical human rhetoric; doesn’t help anything.”

  Micah stared at her a moment, recalling she was a Genner, far smarter than her years. He ran through various options, including trying to persuade the Ossyrians to stay.

  An unwelcome thought broke in: Sister Esma... If she knew about this, she would rub her hands with glee, and add it to her mountain of evidence that humanity should be eradicated for the terminally destructive species it was. For a second, as he stared at the corpses in front of him, he could almost agree.

  “We have to deal with this quickly, Blake, contain it. And you have to keep the spiders in check.”

  Blake faced Micah, the afterglow from the embers highlighting the grey strands in Blake’s reddish hair, and the pockmarks on his right cheek from Earth’s Third World War. Micah knew the Ossyrians had offered more than once to remove those scars.

  Blake’s voice softened. “Sorry about what happened to you both out there. They were young, upset, two of them were…” He swallowed, seeming to search for the right word. “… related.” He nodded to the corpses.

  Petra jumped in. “They could have killed Micah, you know, injured him at least.” She gave Micah a curious look. “Not sure how he got off so lightly, actually.”

  Micah ignored the remark. “Blake, tell them we’ll find who did this, and deal with them severely.”

  Blake walked up to the spider closest to them who, to Micah, looked somehow different to the rest – maybe it was the way it stood. Blake raised the hand-held device he’d used earlier, his fingers dancing over its surface. A small holo of flickering hues appeared between him and the spider, then vanished.

  The lead spider’s band around its circumference lit up, repeating the pattern. Colour cascaded backwards to all the other spiders behind it, fanning outwards to all sides of the plaza, like a rainbow wave. Then it rebounded back to the front, terminating at the lead spider. Micah had just enough time to see that the returning pattern was far more dense, more nuanced, but with a central scarlet diamond that seemed to shake. At last the light-show stopped, the original spider being the last one to go dark. Micah surmised that they’d all just discussed it, and ‘voted’. It had taken four seconds.

  Blake shook his head. “Not nearly enough, Micah. They want whoever did this delivered here, to them.”

  “Blake, you know –”

  “I know what will happen if you don’t.”

  Micah wished Glenda was still around; she’d softened Blake, moderated him. But although the Ossyrians had saved Blake’s wife from cancer and extended her life by a decade, there had been too much damage. Blake had taken her death hard, as had the spiders, since she’d raised many of them, tending night and day to the nursery in their first vulnerable year. Micah had seen spiders at her graveside more than once, standing vigil.

  He cleared his throat. “Blake, I came to talk to you about something important.”

  Blake turned away, crouched down, and laid a hand on one of the husks. “Her name… It can’t be pronounced, it was a particular light pattern. She was an artist, taught Glenda how to sky-paint, was with her at the end…”

  Micah walked over to Blake, thought about placing a hand on his shoulder, then thought again. The commander had been his mentor, and that relationship could never reverse in Micah’s book. “I’ll find out who did this, Blake.” He turned to Petra. “We’re leaving.”

  They made their way unhindered back to the city’s edge, though Micah had the feeling they were watched every step of the way. Neither of them felt like talking until they reached the skimmer.

  Petra’s shoulders were hunched as she climbed aboard, her lips pursed. Micah waited, not mounting the skimmer. At last she spat it out. “You Steaders are dangerous, Micah. We Genners understand why the Tla Beth executed the judgment they did back at the trial.”

  He’d thought this over a thousand times. “Do you think we should be condemned to oblivion as a species? Our only heritage Genners and Alicians?”

  She folded her arms. “Evolution isn’t always kind, Micah. There’s no conscience behind it.”

  He stared at her. “But this wasn’t natural selection, Petra, this was a conscious societal act that –”

  “No difference. I’m surprised at you, Uncle. Don’t you get it? Whether it’s like the vids I’ve seen of lions and gazelle on the plains of the Serengeti, or us and the Q’Roth in the Grid, it’s all natural selection.”

  “There are choices. There’s room for empathy.”

  She shook her head. “Not much. Billions of stars, but not that many planets capable of sustaining all the life in the Grid. It’s always been a jungle, always will be.” She unfolded her arms. “I don’t want to argue with you, and I’m getting cold sitting here, so can we go?”

  There was tenderness in her voice. He dropped the argument and mounted the vehicle. She touched his arm.

  “What did you come here for, Micah? What were you going to ask him?”

  He primed the engine. “War is coming. Soon after the quarantine comes down, we’ll be in the thick of it.” He thought of his original intent, to persuade Blake to come back. This arson, this murder, had hardly helped that cause.

  “Looks like we started early,” she said.

  He remembered something Louise had said to him a lifetime ago, that men carried war in their heads, wherever they went. For the past eighteen years he’d begun to hope she was wrong, but now even Petra had said as much. Still, he hoped; there was so much good in people if you knew where to find it, and they’d all had such a rough time of things in the past two decades. He gunned the engine and they sped off into the darkness.

  “Where are we going now?”

  He didn’t really know.

  “Antonia would like to see you,” she said.

  His first thought had been of Sandy; she’d have ideas, but seeing her was out of the question, and she hadn’t talked or listened to him in years. Antonia? She would offer good counsel, but what about Petra’s absent mother, Kat, Antonia’s wife? It seemed a dangerous idea. Then again, Petra was wiser than her years, or maybe just shrewder. He decided to follow her recommendation. Besides, he needed to drop Petra home. He’d just stop to say hello to Antonia. Just a quick hello. Maybe a cup of coffee, as he was tired.

  Petra wrapped her arms around his waist, her head leaning against his back. Micah had never understood how Pierre could have left her behind.

  Antonia answered the door, auburn hair piled on top of her head, eyes a weary red.

  “Working late?” Micah asked.

  She sighed, rolled her eyes. “Sewage reclamation project, mainly. Come in, Micah, I was just making tea.”

  “Are you sure, it’s late, and –”

  Petra shoved him in the back, pushing him across the threshold. “You two kids go talk, I’ll fix tea.”

  Micah sat in one of the four wooden chairs in the lounge, while Antonia powered down her pad. He watched the contours of her body move within her shim-dress, the ubiquitous functional material leant them by the Ossyrians. Micah remembered how glamorous she’d been back on Earth, an ambassador’s daughter. He caught himself staring as she bent over to put things away, and reminded himself she belonged to Kat, something he’d accepted long ago.

  “How’s it going? You know, the, er, sewage project.” He felt idiotic.

  “Well, if we can bring it off, it will help the farmers immensely; after all, it’s something we’re never short of.” She smiled, almond eyes flashing, dimples opening on her cheeks.

  Her smile disarmed him; it always had. He wanted to… well, at the least, console her about Kat having been missing now for two years. She caught his look, held it, then sat in the chair opposite him.

  Petra arrived with a tray carrying a crudely fashioned metal teapot and three cups. “Still ta
lking shit?”

  “Petra, don’t start, please.” Antonia took the tray and placed it on the squat table.

  Petra sat cross-legged on the floor. “I spoke with Chahat-Me yesterday.”

  Micah sat up. So did Antonia. Petra said nothing more.

  “Well?” Micah asked.

  Petra gave him a look. “Are you sure you’re interested? I mean excrement reclamation sounds enthralling.”

  Micah had been trying to extract the latest news out of the Ossyrian leader for weeks. Petra was close to Chahat-Me, having been the first to be genned by the Ossyrians, followed shortly thereafter by Gabriel. He knew Petra liked Gabriel, and Gabriel liked her too, though not that way. Given his own lingering and unrequited interest in both Antonia and Sandy before either had gotten married, he realized he and his adopted niece had a lot in common.

  Petra pouted. “I’ll trade. A truth-swap game us Genners play when we’re nine, before we grow up. When we’re stuck in the playground phase, and we twist the truth, rather than speak it.” She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what it’s like living with you people, watching the pathetic games you play, hurting each other all the time?”

  Micah half-stood to leave, but a glance from Antonia set him down again. Besides, he needed the information. “Okay, what did Chahat-Me say?”

  Antonia began pouring the tea.

  “First, Micah,” Petra said, “we trade truths. Do you love Antonia?”

  Tea spilled all over the table. “Petra!” Antonia cursed.

  “Why do you do this, Petra?” Micah asked, feeling tired. He stood.

  Petra stood too. “Louise has Kat. She’s still alive.”

  Micah’s eyes flashed to Antonia, who froze, still holding the teapot. She swallowed, then with a shaking hand, placed it on the table.

  Petra pointed to Micah’s chair. “Sit please, if you want to hear the rest.”

  Reluctantly, Micah did as he was told.