Seeds of Earth

  rank and opening for business.'

  Linn Kringen smiled blandly. She was a pale-

  blonde, middle-aged woman with a steely gaze. 'This

  is hardly a comforting situation, Ambassador, espe-

  cially in the light of the recent revelation that the

  Brolturan Compact wants to assert sovereignty over

  us! You can surely see how troubling this would be to

  all Dariens.'

  'Troubling' was putting it mildly. Someone in the

  Darien Institute had leaked the Brolturans' faith-based

  territorial claim along with some choice excerpts from

  the less sympathetic chapters of the Omgur, and now all

  the media were in ferment.

  'Legator Kringen, I don't think there's any genuine

  cause for concern, simply because much of this is no

  more than gesture politics,' Robert said. 'The Brolturans

  can be somewhat sensitive about their perceived status

  so this is a face-saving exercise.'

  'Exactly, Ambassador,' said Deputy-President Jardine,

  a round-faced Scot with receding hair. 'The fact is that

  the Hegemony is the true power in the region and

  they're not going to let anything happen to one of their

  principal ally's colonies.' A calculating smile came to

  his lips. 'I fear that the real reason for Legator Kringen's

  visibility on this issue stems from the recent divisions

  within the Consolidation Alliance.'

  'As ever, the honourable Deputy-President fails to

  comprehend the facts, even when they are plain to see.'

  Kringen shook her head. 'Ambassador Horst, as oppo-

  sition spokesperson it is my duty to attend to the

  concerns and doubts of the people and to ensure that the

  government is doing its job. I thank you for your time

  and courtesy, sir, and I shall convey your estimation of

  this situation to the leader of my party. Mr Deputy-

  President . . .'

  And with a smile that was as sharp as it was frosty,

  she broke the connection.

  After that Robert was quick to bring the call with

  Jardine to a close, citing a pressing workload. Onct the

  screen returned to the ready cycle, he heaved a sigh of

  relief, leaned back and turned his chair away from his

  desk.

  'I quite liked Ms Kringen,' said Harry. He was sitting

  on the arm of a divan, shirtsleeves rolled up, and hold-

  ing a sheaf of papers in one hand. The monochrome

  image of Robert's AI companion stood in stark contrast

  to the subdued browns and greens of the townhouse's

  drawing room. 'Under that prim exterior I bet there's a

  champion dancer and an amateur scrimshaw hobbyist.'

  Robert gave him a mock-serious look. 'You were

  reading her file! - I wondered why you were so quiet.'

  Harry shrugged. 'All colonial politics starts to look

  and sound the same after a while, Robert, and truthfully

  I didn't care too much for Sundstrom's deputy.'

  'He was a trade-off placement, apparently,' Robert

  said. 'Sundstrom has his own coalition to keep in line

  too. But what is Kuros up to? - he's kept his doors closed,

  as we expected, yet he's off touring the colony, visiting

  landmarks, meeting local officials. We've already had to

  change my itinerary twice because he edged in before us.

  Then there's the presentation at that archaeological dig

  tomorrow, which I had planned to attend until one of

  Kuros's assisters told me, oh so politely, that the High

  Monitor wanted to be the sole dignitary, the "bearer of

  the Hegemony's friendship" to the Darien colony.'

  'Why, Robert - you sound peeved,' Harry said with a

  wry smile.

  Robert spread his hands. 'You'd think that I would

  be used to it by now, given our encounters with

  Hegemony functionaries down the years. Well, at least

  we'll be spared the joy of listening to one of these

  speeches he's been making.'

  'Ah yes - I've seen the transcripts,' Harry said, shuf-

  fling through his papers then striking a theatrical pose.

  '"Across the galaxy's vast ocean of stars, and down

  through the river of ages, certain values of life and free-

  dom have remained constant, changeless. As the willing

  inheritors of those cherished values, the Sendruka

  Hegemony bears the responsibility of promoting and

  sharing them amongst the many-formed family of sen-

  tient beings. We welcome you to our great family, as we

  welcomed your fellow Humans many years ago, and

  invite you to join with us in spreading the values and

  benefits of civilisation ..."' Harry looked up, eyebrows

  arched. 'And on it goes.'

  'What kind of reception is this bucket of platitudes

  getting?'

  'Rapturous applause,' Harry said. 'But then, the

  colony's only source of offworld news is Starstream and

  they've always been most supportive of our Hegemonic

  allies.'

  Robert nodded, feeling suddenly listless and tired, his

  neck and back full of aches, his mood growing despon-

  dent. It had been a long day and it wasn't over yet. He

  needed a short break from his cares and the chance to

  lift his spirits.

  Looking out of the bay window at the even grey sky,

  he said, 'Harry, I need some time to myself, just to

  unwind before the reception this evening. Okay?'

  'Of course, Robert. Say about an hour?'

  'An hour would be fine.'

  'See you later, then.'

  When he looked round there was no sign of Harry

  and he got up and left the room. Along the polished

  wood corridor were his personal rooms, one of which

  he kept locked with an intricate old-fashioned key which

  came with the house sets. Once inside his bedroom he

  crossed to that door, unlocked it and stepped through.

  'Hi, Daddy - glad you're back. Looks like it might

  rain.'

  Rosa stood by the window, her faintly opaque form

  appearing oddly grainy in the natural light. Like an

  ancient, pre-digital photograph. Like a memory.

  'It rains a lot in this part of Darien,' he said, settling

  into an armchair. 'So, what have you been doing today?'

  'Oh, just reading my book and listening to the radio,'

  she said.

  The ghostly shape of a book lay on the undisturbed

  bed, projected there by the intersim which sat on the

  shoulder-height mantelpiece. Two thin cables ran out

  from the small unit, one to a module that drew power

  from the house supply, the other to a pen-sized radio.

  The book, Robert knew, was most likely either Lewis

  Carroll's Alice Through The Looking-Glass or The

  Empire of Propaganda by Nolan Chilcott, her favourite

  dissident writer. Her grey cardigan and long blue

  woollen dress were from a family holiday six years ago,

  but her short hair and flower earrings were from the last

  time he saw her alive ...

  He knew what Harry would say, that he was being

  lulled and enervated by the holosim's verisimilitude, but

  he dismissed it. He was using this detailed imitation of

  his daughter to dull the gr
ief that he still felt, to help him

  come to terms with the loss. Harry was mistaken - he

  knew what was real and what was not.

  'If I look between those houses,' Rosa said, 'I can see

  a lake and a forest and mountains. So beautiful.' She

  turned to him. 'Daddy, on the radio I heard that the

  moon people, the Uvovo, have planted what they call

  daughter-forests, using seeds and saplings from their

  world. Have you seen one yet? I've heard that they glow

  at night.'

  'Actually, I'm due to visit the one near Port Gagarin

  the day after tomorrow - would you like to come?'

  'Oh, could I? That would be wonderful.'

  'It's settled then - we'll go together.'

  Rosa's face was bright with a smile free from the

  burden of care as she picked up the translucent book

  from the bed. 'I know you've not much time, Daddy,'

  she said. 'But would you like me to read some Alice to

  you?'

  'I'd like that very much,' Robert said, smiling.

  So he settled back in the armchair's comfort and lis-

  tened to his daughter's precious voice tell the story of a

  little girl who passed through into a looking-glass world.

  13

  CATRIONA

  As soon as the drinks waiter came up onto the temple

  rampart, she selected a glass of yellowbead and

  knocked it straight back. Ignoring the waiter's look of

  amusement, she took a second glass and went to stand

  next to the rampart's mossy, time-ruined wall, staring

  morosely down at the chattering knots of people. It

  was a cloudless day and not yet noon, and from where

  she stood she could see almost the entirety of the

  Giant's Shoulder dig site, from the sections of shattered

  wall that delineated the blunt point of the promontory

  to the grassy, hillocky expanse almost 300 metres to the

  rear, where steep, jagged rocks reared up to join the

  buttresses and crags that jutted from the densely

  forested ridge overseeing all. The bulk of the ruins were

  scattered around the area immediately behind the ram-

  parts - fragments of walls, corners, tumbled heaps of

  masonry debris lying where they were discovered.

  Numerous ongoing excavations had been roped off,

  although some of the old ones, like the Stairwell or the

  Crypt, had been refurbished with benches and info-

  panels for sightseers. Areas of flagstones long since

  unearthed from the topsoil were now occupied by

  small tents within which cabinet displays depicted arte-

  facts and an easy-to-digest potted history of the site.

  But it was the largely uninterrupted stretch directly

  below her vantage point where rows of seating had

  been laid out for the reception and presentation in

  honour of the Hegemony representative, High Monitor

  Kuros.

  And part of that presentation was to be delivered

  by Catriona Macreadie. It was a source of raw annoy-

  ance to her, knowing as she did that many of the

  Institute's Darien-based members were perfectly capa-

  ble of giving a brief talk and answering the esteemed

  Sendrukan's questions. She had made this point

  bluntly to her superior, Professor Forbes, in his office

  at Pilipoint Station nearly fifteen hours ago, but to no

  avail.

  'That may be so, Doctor Macreadie,' Forbes had

  said, wearing his habitual thin smile. 'But it seems that

  the Sendruka delegation has specifically requested that

  you be the one to assist Mr Cameron during their visit

  to the site.'

  'Why me?'

  'Sadly, I am not privy to these aliens' reasoning,

  nor did Director Petrovich indicate that he possessed

  such information. However, he was most insistent

  that you be on the next shuttle back to Darien

  which . . .' he had paused to look round at the hideous

  ornamental clock on his wall'.. . leaves in less than an

  hour.'

  Catriona had forced herself to be icy calm, deter-

  mined not to lose her composure and tell him which

  species of forest-floor bug he most closely resembled

  This time.

  'Professor Forbes, that doesn't give me enough time

  to return to my quarters and prepare, not to mention

  the question of what to wear.'

  'I'm sure that the Externals office at the Institute can

  provide suitable attire for you on your arrival,' he had

  said. 'And you may use the archive hub if you really feel

  the need to brush up on the Uvovo, but whatever you

  do please try not to embarrass us. Deliver a straight

  summary of our findings and restrict any speculation to

  verified facts. That will be all . . .'

  Now, standing on the temple rampart, she could still

  feel the anger and frustration simmering away inside,

  unquenched by the glass of yellowbead liqueur. Anger

  at Forbes, and frustration at being a world away while

  a certain package was probably sitting in the mail

  drawer in the enclave storage hut back at Starroof

  Town. She had persuaded Galyna, a researcher friend at

  Pilipoint Station, to process her forest-floor recording

  with a lab imager on the quiet, thus hopefully revealing

  just what had passed before the minicam. The

  processed file had been due to arrive in the daily drop

  several hours ago.

  Instead here I am, getting ready to pose as a glorified

  tour-guide for some self-important alien bureaucrat.

  Yes, hand-holding offworlders through a pre-teen-level

  commentary seems to be all the Institute thinks I'm fit

  for...

  She halted her spiralling bitterness, swallowed a

  mouthful of yellowbead, and sighed. Patience was a

  virtue she felt she was always having to learn anew,

  despite which she turned her thoughts to listing all the

  enigmas she had encountered, ranking the Pathmasters

  first. . .

  Then music interrupted her musing, the sound of a

  lone piper, the high, pure tone of the chanter floating

  above the suddenly hushed crowd, picking out the notes

  of a stately, soulful pibroch. Then the deeper voices of

  the drones rose, a steady undercurrent for the deliberate

  pace of the melody. The piper, a young, dark-haired man

  decked out in the full regalia, walked in time through

  the ruins towards the attentive gathering.

  Catriona loved pipe music in general, even the mod-

  ernist tranzy dance fads, but it was the performance of

  a solo piper that truly moved her. To her it sounded

  lonely yet defiant, dignified but not pompous, and it

  spoke to her of faraway Earth and that small corner of

  it which only some of the First Families had known

  first-hand.

  More than once during her years as an Enhanced,

  she had gone up onto the dormitory roof after dark to

  sit with pipe music playing quietly on her little radio

  as she looked up at the dust-hazed point of stars. With

  no way to know if Earth and Humanity had survived

  the Swarm invasion, she could only gaze and wonder

  and wish,
thoughts and music spiralling up into the

  sky . . .

  'He is a very good player, is he not?' said a female

  voice behind her.

  She turned to see a tall, middle-aged woman dressed

  in a pale blue, ankle-length gown that was all elegant

  folds and embroidered hems and which stopped just

  short of ostentatious. A patterned grey shawl covered

  her shoulders and arms, and her silvery hair was

  braided and held back with a carved wood headband.

  She seemed vaguely familiar.

  'Yes, he is,' she replied, smiling hesitantly. 'Very

  expressive.'

  'When I was younger I saw his father win the

  Northern Towns Trophy three times,' the woman said

  in a Norj accent. 'I am Solvjeg Cameron.'

  Recognition flooded Catriona's thoughts. 'Ah, you're

  Greg's mother . .. oh, I'm Catriona Macreadie.'

  As they shook hands, Solvjeg Cameron smiled. 'So

  you are the Doctor Macreadie who worked with Greg

  before. Are you here today in an official capacity?'

  'Yes, I'm going to be giving a brief speech about the

  Uvovo, and answering questions.'

  'Fascinating,' Solvjeg said, suddenly giving her a

  curious look. 'Macreadie ... are you related to the New

  Kelso Macreadies, by any chance?'

  Although outwardly calm and poised, Catriona's

  thoughts were scattering in panic, and the lie came to

  her lips seemingly of its own accord.

  'No, my parents were both from Stranghold,' she

  said. 'They died when I was very young.'

  'I am so sorry to hear that, my dear,' Greg's mother

  said, suddenly sympathetic. 'You must have had a diffi-

  cult childhood . ..'

  But before the next line of questioning could get

  under way, Solvjeg's gaze shifted to the side a little and

  she waved. Glancing round, Catriona saw an older man

  in hillwalker browns wave back briefly before heading

  along the grassy slope towards the steps that led up to

  the ramparts.

  'My brother wants me to come down,' Solvjeg said.

  'But no doubt we shall meet again. I hope the day goes

  well for you.'

  Catriona smiled and gave a little wave goodbye while

  inside she was thinking, Why did I say that? How could

  I be so stupid? Greg's mother was one of those ultra-con-

  nected matriarch types - it would only take a couple of

  enquiries to find out that Catriona was a failed

  Enhanced. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed or embar-

  rassed, but it was an undeniable fact that the Enhanced,