Seeds of Earth

  town or village, they served as a Listener shrine, a

  refuge for private meditation, as well as the centrepiece

  of public ceremonies. An outcast like Pgal could

  become a full member of either Uvovo clade by taking

  a vigil in a vudron, but only if invited by a Listener.

  Like Weynl.

  'I am happy for you, Pgal,' she said. 'Thank you for

  all your help, and go in peace.'

  The herder smiled, bowed his head, then steered his

  trictra down from the platform and along the meshed

  vines.

  And thank you, Weynl, she thought, watching him

  leave. You really don't want me going near the forest

  floor, do you? Well, let's see what my wee camera spot-

  ted, shall we}

  She glanced around her to make sure she was alone,

  then took out the cam, fitted a viewing ocle to the

  output, pressed Play and held it up to her eye.

  And saw . . . only flickering confusion. The timer

  readout was the same as when she got the trip signal,

  but the recording was a blurred, stuttering mess. She

  ran it again and again, trying to find more than just

  hints of a dark form that might have been a creature,

  or shaky stick-like things that might have been

  limbs . . .

  She lowered the cam and sagged against one of the

  platform's heavy, woven hawsers. She suddenly felt

  weary, as if the recording had knocked the vitality out of

  her. It had been such a waste, scrounging the cam from

  Lyssa Devlin's team over at Skygarden, skulking down

  there to plant it then retrieving it, all a waste of time and

  effort. It might be possible to process and filter the

  image data, but only the Institute office at Viridian

  Station would have that kind of equipment and anyway,

  how could she explain how she obtained such a record-

  ing without admitting to multiple violations of the

  Respect Accords?

  Disconsolate, she put the minicam away in her

  pouch, slung the baggy robe over one shoulder and

  climbed the branch stairway that led to the Human

  enclave. Halfway up, the stairs trembled a little under-

  foot as someone came hurrying across a flimsy-looking

  gantry from another platform. It was Tomas Villon, one

  of her team's tech assistants. His features were ffusl ed

  and excited as he raised a hand in greeting and :al ed

  out.

  'Doctor Macreadie,' he said. 'Have you heard the

  news?'

  'No - what news?'

  He grinned. 'The president announced it in his wide-

  cast this morning, and the channel heads have been

  talking about nothing else . . .'

  'Sorry, Tomas, but I've been working hard, and Ive

  been away all morning. What's happened?'

  Clearly delighted at being able to let her in on the

  story, he cleared his throat. 'Well, as I said, the president

  came on the vee this morning to tell us that the

  Hammergard government has been in contact with a

  ship from Earth!'

  First she gasped in disbelief, then started talking,

  almost tripping over her own words.

  'But that's . . . incredible! You're sure, Tom as,

  absolutely sure?'

  'It's the honest truth, Catriona, I swear! The ship is

  called the Heracles and it's entering orbit around Dan en

  right this moment. Look, there's a vee-panel up in the

  mess hut which is where the rest'll be, watching the live

  relay from Port Gagarin.'

  A web-tethered flock of membrane insectoids drifted

  past on a warm updraught as they hastened up to the

  enclave buildings. Catriona grinned while trying to

  think through the giddy thrill she was feeling.

  'It's unbelievable,' she said. 'I never thought I'd live to

  see this - I wonder what they'll be like? You remember

  that play by Fergus Brandon?'

  'The Lifeline?" He chuckled. 'I doubt that any would-

  be colonists will be queueing to come out here. Said as

  much to Greg Cameron earlier.'

  'Greg?' she said, trying to sound vaguely disinter-

  ested. 'What were you calling him about?'

  'Neh, he called us to gossip about the announcement.

  We gabbed on about it and the Brandon play came up.

  Yah, he's just as excited about it as everyone.'

  Of course, Catriona thought. Those two were good

  friends at college, so it's no surprise that he would call. She

  felt a small shiver go through her. I wonder how he's been

  since he came back .. . but why should I wonder? He's

  just another man who's got better things to do than .. .

  She had only met him a few times, ever since she'd

  suggested the link between the proportions of the temple

  on Giant's Shoulder and the physique of the Uvovo, and

  she had hoped that their professional friendship might

  become something deeper. And then he gave up every-

  thing and moved away up north to Trond to get

  married, settle down and have kids, apparently - only to

  return several months later, alone. Hopes which had col-

  lapsed rose again, but tempered this time with a dash of

  realism and caution.

  And now she was resolved not to let Greg Cameron

  or her failed minicam experiment dilute her excitement

  at Tomas's news.

  'Right, Tomas,' she said with a determined laugh as

  they came up to the mess hut. 'Let's see if we can get a

  good seat!'

  6

  ROBERT

  On board the Earthsphere cruiser Heracles, in the

  largest of its three staterooms, Ambassador Robert

  Horst was indulging in the archaic practice of packing

  luggage.

  'I don't know why you don't ask the room to do it for

  you,' said Harry, his AI companion.

  'But the room doesn't know what I need to take with

  me.'

  'The room has access to your sartorial profile, as well

  as Darien's styles and customs, such as they are. So

  where's the problem?'

  'The room can't know what I need,' Robert said,

  smiling as he placed a semi-formal tunic into his parti-

  tioned valise. 'Because I don't know myself. Or rather,

  when I see it I'll know that I need it.'

  Harry smiled and shook his head. In Robert's field of

  vision, Harry seemed to be standing over by the state-

  room's centrepiece, a sleek porcelain and perspex

  column with a holobase in each of its five faces. He

  resembled a young man dressed in an immaculate but

  outmoded black suit, his round features displaying a

  perpetual amusement and a hint of cynicism. Robert

  had chosen to model his companion upon the main

  character from an American black-and-white flat-movie

  from the mid-twentieth century, whose storyline dealt

  with postwar intrigue and betrayal. Orson Welles's por-

  trayal of the mercurial Harry Lime had captivated the

  young Robert Horst, and after deciding on his compan-

  ion's form he had also resolved that he would appear in

  monochrome. After all, he was the only one who would

  see it.

  'I'm not sure that the perso
nal touch will be helpfu ,'

  Harry said. 'After 150 years of isolation and resource

  scarcity, social fashions are bound to be a little rustic'

  'My God, Harry, you're a snob.'

  'Not at all. I just feel sure that these poor, Earth-

  hungry colonists will want an ambassador from the auld

  country to look the part.'

  Robert wagged a finger. 'What, play the lofty aristo

  come to dispense wisdom to the local yokels? Sorry,

  no - that's the Sendruka approach, not mine.'

  'Shame on you, Robert, for denigrating the high

  ideals of our allies in the cause of peace and justice,'

  Llarry said, adopting a stance of mock grandeur fol-

  lowed by a sly grin. 'Besides, your honoured Senclruka

  colleague Kuros and his Ezgara goons are just along the

  corridor. Who knows how many spymotes are drifting

  around the ship by now, listening to our every word?"

  'Not with the new antisurveillance systems the

  Earthsphere Navy brought in after the Freya incident,'

  Robert said, selecting from a small open section of the

  storage wall a pair of Russian leather gloves, a couple of

  plaid kerchiefs and a carved wooden ring. 'I'm more

  concerned about why they're here at all.'

  The Heracles had been en route to the Huvuun

  Deepzone when new orders came through to divert to

  Chasulon, the capital world of Broltur, and take on

  board the honoured High Monitor Utavess Kuros and

  his unspecified personal guard. Which turned out to be

  eight Ezgara commandos, four-armed biped soldiers

  with a fearsome reputation, who wore all-enclosing,

  steel-blue body-armour and never revealed their faces.

  But Kuros and his guards were to be accorded every

  courtesy, since they were there at the personal request of

  Earthsphere President Erica Castiglione, apparently in a

  dual capacity: as Alliance advisers, and as observers on

  behalf of the Brolturan government.

  Personal request*, he thought. I bet it was more like a

  demand and Erica was on the receiving end of it.

  T don't imagine that there's much to be anxious

  about,' Harry said, resting his foot on the edge of a low

  table. 'The Hegemony thinks that it has to keep tabs on

  every political event otherwise things might fall apart,

  the centre cannot hold and so on. Whereas things would

  probably proceed quite normally if Hegemony attention

  was elsewhere.'

  'Harry, for you that's practically heresy.'

  'I know. I blame it on prolonged exposure to the life

  and works of Robert Horst! Anyway, it'll be politics on

  a rather lesser scale for you in the weeks ahead.'

  'True, but it could turn out to be quite productive.

  One of the files sent from President Sundstrom's office

  gave an interesting summary of their resource manage-

  ment and extraction policies . . .'

  'Ah, you mean these sifter roots that they got from

  the Uvovo?' Harry chuckled. 'Ingenious way of getting

  hold of pure elements, for a pre-nanofac society

  Properly adapted, they could be put to use in other or -

  texts, like hardvac prospecting for example. Or even

  licensed out to cultures that prohibit nano applications.'

  Robert shrugged. 'That sounds possible. I'm more

  interested in the relations between our people and the

  Uvovo, not to mention the colony's inner politics.'

  'Well, for a small colony they've had a somewhat

  chequered history. Problems with a shipboard AI that

  went rogue, then a very tough first fifty years, expansion

  problems, lack of resources, then contact with these

  Uvovo sentients and an abortive civil war which exac-

  erbated some already prickly divisions. But it's this Al

  taboo that could pose difficulties. You should read some

  of their novels and plays - artificial intelligences come

  across like the rampaging death machines of the

  Commodity Age. I find it positively insulting. What's

  more, every year they celebrate the trashing of that poor,

  dumb AI. Founders' Victory Day, they call it.'

  'I agree, it's a problem, but I'm going to wait until

  I've experienced Darien culture first-hand before con-

  sidering solutions.' Robert parted another tall section of

  the wall and touch-opened the units within. 'It's a matter

  of how to establish the notion of everyday, common -

  place, benevolent AIs . . .'

  As he reached in, almost absentmindedly, and pulled

  out one of the shallow drawers, he stopped and stared in

  dread at the palm-sized object it contained.

  'Ah, so that's where the room put it,' Harry mur-

  mured. T can have it stored somewhere else if you like.'

  'No, no, it's all right,' Robert said. T can't keep on

  avoiding it. . .'

  It was an intersim, a flat octagonal pad, mainly pale

  blue in colour with ochre trim around the readout and

  fingertip controls on one of the sides. The projection

  plate on top was like dark, smoky glass within which

  clusters of faceted emitters were just visible. It had a

  certain solidity to it, like the weight of compacted tech-

  nology, or the weight of memory.

  It was now almost a year since his daughter Rosa

  had died while on board the Pax Terra, z. refitted,

  unarmed scoutship owned by the protest group Life and

  Peace. The Pax Terra had been taking part in an

  attempted blockade of a wayport on the Metraj border

  from which Earthsphere and Sendruka Hegemony war-

  ships were leaving for the Yamanon Domain. The

  official version was that the protest boat was a sus-

  pected bombship pursuing a collision course with a

  Hegemony cruiser whose commander had no option but

  to open fire. Initially Earthsphere government had made

  mild objections, but soon dropped the matter.

  Robert and his wife Giselle were distraught, and the

  Diplomatic Service was thankfully swift to offer him

  compassionate leave. But Robert was unable to stay at

  home in Bonn and mourn - he had to know the truth

  about Rosa's death.

  Sitting at the end of a blue settle, he held the interac-

  tive sim in his hands and recalled the months spent

  tracking down witnesses to the blockade incident and

  speaking with her friends and colleagues at Life and

  Peace. What he learned utterly contradicted the official

  version of events, while confirming much of what he

  knew about his daughter, about her intellect and wit,

  and about her compassion and her willingness to put

  herself on the line for what she believed in. Millions

  had died when the Earthsphere-Hegemony coalition

  invaded the Yamanon Domain and bombarded the Dol -

  Das regime's key worlds. Rosa had called those deaths

  an atrocity, a judgement he could no longer disagree

  with.

  'We taught her to love,' he once said in a message to

  his wife during his travels, 'and she did what she did out

  of love.'

  He was on Xasome in the Kingdom of Metraj, trying

  to glean corroborating data fro
m public archive reports,

  when he received a package via the local Earthsphere

  consulate. It was from Earth, from his wife, and accom -

  panying it was a short note that read: 'Dearest, I have

  found a way to bring the light back into our lives, and

  now you have one too. With love and joy - Giselle.1

  Thinking it to be some compendium of images and

  other recordings from the family archive, Robert had

  placed the intersim on a desk and switched it on. The

  device had emitted three flashes, mapping the room, and

  a moment later, abruptly, Rosa was standing then,

  dressed in one of her favourite outdoor rigs, smiling at

  him.

  'Hi, Daddy!' she had said.

  So brightly she spoke, so vibrant with that delighted

  alertness of hers, that he almost said, 'Rosa! - you're

  alive . . .'

  But the words had choked in his throat as reason

  took hold, and he had stared at the simulation of his

  daughter in a wordless horror.

  'Daddy, how are you?'

  Unable to speak or look away, still he had reached

  out deliberately, with all of his will, and switched the

  device off. Looking at it now, resting on his palm, he

  knew what had driven Giselle to have such a thing

  made. He had understood and let the anger fade, know-

  ing that part of the anger had been directed at his own

  despairing need for Rosa not to be dead.

  And yet . . . and yet he could not bring himself to

  destroy the sim, or at least have its memory wiped, not

  then and not now.

  Then, reaching a decision, he slipped the intersim

  into his jacket pocket, stood and resumed packing.

  'Are you sure that's wise?' said Harry.

  Robert smiled as he tucked away the last items of

  clothing. 'You think I may be putting my negotiating

  temperament and thus this assignment at risk?'

  Harry assumed a look of mock surprise.

  'What a hurtful interpretation of my genuine con-

  cern. I merely suggest that leaving the damned thing

  here would help your peace of mind.' He paused, face

  becoming more serious. 'Robert, I think that you're

  hurting yourself by taking it with you.'

  Robert sighed. 'I appreciate the concern, Harry, truly.

  But you worry too much. Unlike Giselle, I have come to

  terms with Rosa's death and I know that this simulation