deliberate insectile steps. The Makhori Gauhux watched
him go for a moment then looked to Sundstrom.
'My friend,' it said melodically. 'I must accompany
my colleague back to our ship and help him prepare for
his departure — our auxiliary vessel will transport him
back to Erenate space and the nearest Milybi mission. In
the meantime, I shall remain and make plans for a
modest residency ...'
'Does our situation really look that bad, Gauhux?'
Sundstrom said.
'I'm afraid so, Holger.' The Makhori's large oval eyes
seemed to be full of sorrow. 'My own analyst concurs
with my Chatha companion - the Sendrukans are oper-
ating a deep scheme against you. Either one or more of
your fellow Dariens have thrown in their lot with them,
or the Sendrukans have brought a couple of humans
with them for the purpose. Whichever is true, you'll
have to stop them before they bring disaster down on
you all. Now I must return, so until we meet again,
good fortune . . . and hunt well.'
'Safe journey, Gauhux,' said Sundstrom.
As the Imisil glided out of the room Sundstrom
turned his wheelchair to face the others.
'Any thoughts?' he said.
'They seem very certain that the shooting is a
Hegemony ploy,' said Pyatkov. 'And unsurprised.'
'I think we should plan for the worst, Mr President,'
General Soutar said bluntly. 'For example, if you were
killed, then Jardine would become president, correct?'
Sundstrom's lips twitched with a ghost of a smile.
'I'm afraid so, General.'
Soutar nodded. 'And if both of you were killed, what
then?'
'Then the cabinet would vote on a successor, in closed
session.'
'And if the entire cabinet was wiped out?'
'General!' said an angry Pyatkov.
'Hush, Vitaly,' Sundstrom said. 'I understand the
General's reasoning. Well, in the unlikely event of such a
catastrophe it would fall to the Speaker of the Assembly
to either assume the office himself or attempt to negoti-
ate a government of national unity.'
'Unless the military takes control, of course,' Theo
said.
It was Soutar's turn to be outraged. 'That's a
damnable accusation coming from the likes of you!'
'Really? And just how would you define the likes of
me?'
'Verra easily! - as a disloyal turncoat who ...'
'Right, that's enough from the both of you!' roared
Sundstrom with a stentorian fury that made even Theo
step back. 'This carping is of no use ...'
At that moment the climbing drone of the Imisil shut-
tle's engines came through from above, interrupting
tempers and sharp words. As the sound faded
Sundstrom began to point out that divisions would only
help their adversaries, but broke off when Theo's comm
chimed from his inside pocket.
The president frowned. 'I'd hope you would have
had it muted.'
it was,' Theo said, taking it out, staring at the oval
bluescreen. 'Only emergency calls can get through - and
I don't recognise this number.' Swiftly, he thumbed the
answer. 'Hello, who is this?'
'I'm disappointed, Major,' said a man's voice. The
accent was vaguely Russian and his manner quite
relaxed. 'I thought that you at least would have under-
stood, you, Major Karlsson, Black Theo, Viktor
Ingram's right-hand man . . .'
'Understand what?' he said, miming to the others for
something to write on.
'That this is our land, our world, the place where our
forefathers found sanctuary and fought and slew a piti-
less enemy.'' The man laughed softly. 'Ah yes, sounds
like a song, doesn't it, Major? Like a saga. And now our
time of testing has come and we also have an adversary
to fight.'
'You mean the Hegemony?' Theo said as he wrote on
a piece of notepaper - IT'S THE ASSASSIN. 'That's a
sizeable party to choose as your rival, boy. I mean, all
the First Families were up against was a crippled
machine-mind ...'
'It's not just the Hegemony, Major, it's all alien off-
worlders, all those twisted abominations. Like the ones
you just said goodbye to.'
'How do you know about...'
'7 have sources, Major, and a good view from an
office building across the square.'
'So what's your creed - us against the galaxy, is that
it?' Theo said.
'They need to learn that this is our world, our place
in creation,' said the voice, now more earnest. 'And the
Free Darien Faction is going to teach them that they're
not at liberty to wander where they like, that they're not
wanted.'
'You'll be stopped, boy. We'll see to that!'
'You're welcome to try, Major, but I think you'll find
that you've got your hands quite full. . .'
At that moment Theo heard the sound of an explo-
sion, a loud, echoing boom not far away but muffled by
buildings. For one horrible moment he thought that the
Imisil shuttle had been sabotaged, but Pyatkov was
already on his own comm, talking rapidly. Looking
down Theo saw that the mysterious caller had cut the
link.
it's the Founder Square zeplin terminal,' Pyatkov
said, still listening to his comm. 'Both mooring towers
blown off, fallen into the square . . .'
Then the president's comm began to ring, along with
the general's. Moments later, Pyatkov was getting a
fuller picture.
'There were three devices, two on the towers, one in
a waste basket by the entrance ... no reports so far of
fatalities but many seriously injured . . . emergency
response teams already there and the Assembly marshal
has begun lockdown procedures.'
Sundstrom was motionless as he listened but his eyes
burned with anger. 'The scum is going for soft targets,
trying to show that it's not just the Hegemony he wants
to hit. . .'
Then Theo's comm pinged and looking down he saw
the symbol for a new voice note, as well as its origin
number.
i think this is from him,' said Theo, holding out his
comm so they could all hear it when he pressed the play
button:
'As I said, they need to learn that they're not free to
wander where they like. Don't worry, I'll get them, every
last one of the offworld filth - that was just the second
instalment of my course of instruction. I hope you all
learn the lesson.'
22
CHEL
Rain was falling through the dusk, falling on the dense,
lantern-speckled mass of Tapiola, as Chel made his soli-
tary way up a steep path towards the tree line. There
was little wind and the hiss of the rain came from all
around him in the darkened valley, filling the distance
with a vast, hollow murmur against which the drips and
patters from nearby bushes were soft and muffled. The
ground was spongy underfoot and the air
was cold,
moist, redolent of foliage.
Forty years before, when the daughter-forests of
Segrana were being planted in the soil of sad Umara,
the senior Listeners of the time had asked the Human
community to give names to them all. After much
deliberation, the Humans decided to name them after
great writers, all except the most northerly, which
they called Tapiola. This was the name of a mystical
forest from an ancient Human saga called the
Kalevala, composed at a time in their past, long before
books and devices, when singers and devout keepers
committed great histories and song cycles entirely to
memory.
As we still do, Chel thought. Even though we have a
written tongue and small archives exist in Segrana, we
continue that tradition.
Subdued lamps grew brighter as he drew near, a
string of hazy glows leading further into Tapiola Forest,
and the tall, hooded form of a Listener stepped into
view and waited. When Chel got to the edge of the
forest the Listener stretched out one bony hand, palm
outwards.
'Name yourself and say why you are here.'
i am Scholar Cheluvahar of the Benevolent Uvovo,'
he said, i have come to be husked in the sight of sacred
Segrana.'
'You will give up that which you were?'
i will.'
'Are you ready to cast off the shell of the now and
don the veil of becoming?'
i am ready.'
'Then enter, Scholar Cheluvahar, and know that this
is the last time you will be called as such.'
Chel shifted the weight of his travelsack to his other
shoulder then stepped out of the rain and into the wel-
coming shadows of Tapiola.
Few Uvovo actually resided in the daughter-forests:
scholars, gardeners and herders watching over the plants
and animals. But here there were dozens, gathered up
high, in or near temporary shelters made from vinework
and leaf layers, the lamplight from within making them
resemble giant cocoons. The Listener, who did not intro-
duce himself, wordlessly led Chel to a clearing from
where a sturdy-looking rope ladder curved up to one of
the lower branches of a huge ironwood tree. A couple of
female Uvovo who were conversing nearby as they
approached fell silent, smiled and bowed to the new-
comers.
'May Segrana make you welcome,' said one.
'May Segrana show you the Eternal,' said the other.
'Sisters, I thank you.' Chel bowed, then seized the
ladder and began to climb.
He had attended huskings before, back on Nivyesta,
and knew the significance of the climb, symbolic of the
rise from the commonplace to the astonishing, from the
familiar to the sublime, from ignorance to perilous
knowledge. He had always imagined that his own husk-
ing would happen back on the forest moon, guided and
cheered by his own family and friends, not here in this
cold, austere place, watched by no one that he knew
well.
From the ironwood branch another rope ladder led
up to a higher branch, and from there across to another
tree. Then straight up and across to a truly massive tree,
looming like a many-armed giant through the gloom.
This one had dozens of branches sprouting quite close
together, making it easy to follow the sequence of little
lamps that spiralled up the gnarled, mossy trunk.
At last he and the Listener came to a sizeable plat-
form of woven branches where a group of Uvovo
wearing thin brown shifts and pale yellow caps waited.
They were known as the Unburdeners and to them he
gave his travelsack, his outer and inner garments, his
knee and feet protectors, and the zoza stone he wore
about his neck. Then, following the Listener's directions,
he climbed naked up to the platform known as
Contemplation, where, as was customary, he paused to
gather his thoughts and prepare himself. Not far above
was the final stage, Threshold with its vodrun chamber,
and a solitary Unburdener who was waiting to offer
him the Cup of Light.
Chel shivered. It was colder at this height, dark and
misty beneath the canopy, with occasional droplets
coming down through the foliage. He thought of
Gregori, who had given him one of the new music
devices as a parting gift, and wondered if the murderer
had been caught. Then he thought about Catriona and
her obsessive search for the Pathmasters, knowing that
she would only find them if they wanted to be found.
And he thought about Listener Weynl and Listener
Faldri and the nameless Listener below (whom he
thought might be a Starroof Listener called Eshlo) and
tried to imagine his own body changed, bones lengthen-
ing, flesh stretching. Would there be pain, and for how
long .. .?
Wishing suddenly that Greg and Catriona were there,
he breathed in deep and turned to face the last ladder.
J am to be unmade and remade, he thought. No more
delay.
With renewed determination he climbed to the
Threshold platform, where a pair of lamps hung from
curved poles. A masked Unburdener stepped forward
and offered a small oval bowl, which he accepted, then
drank from its narrow end. It tasted fresh, like skyleaf
water only carrying a variety of subtle flavours that
eddied slowly across his tongue. The door of the
vodrun lay open and without hesitation he crouched to
duck inside then sat on the plain bench carved from the
interior. Fleetingly he wondered where the Listeners had
found a seedpod of the immense vunris tree, supposedly
extinct on Umara. By the lamplight he could see that
the vodrun's inner surface was covered with fine carv-
ing, patterns, faces, creatures of Segrana, and some
strange shapes that looked like erratic, random out-
lines . . .
The Unburdener stood in the doorway, his wooden
mask regarding him.
'Segrana awaits you,' came a female voice. 'Her pur-
pose will show you all the pathways of the Eternal - be
ready.'
Chel smiled, bowed his head. The Unburdener
stepped back and swung the door shut, plunging him
into darkness.
With eyes closed he leaned back against the rough
podwall. He knew that the Cup of Light was meant to
unfasten the moorings of his mind, but so far he felt
quite calm and unchanged. The flavours from the
strange drink still lingered in his mouth but were
steadily fading, tastes of nuts and berries dissolving
away to nothing - and just then he caught a whiff of
smoke. He sniffed, quickly then deeply, sure that some-
thing was burning just outside the vodrun. Then he saw
a glow next to the floor, bent down and saw a tongue of
flame extending up the curved wall, splitting and
spreading, a fine network of fire.
He called out and banged on the door, but it was
shut fast from the outside and no answer came. Chel
began to panic and fumbled on the floor for the stop-
pered flask of water that was usually left there. Nothing.
The blazing web expanded, covering the whole of the
pod's wall till he was crouched down in the centre,
enclosed in a shell of quivering, rippling flames. The
carven creatures crawled while patterns contorted and
faces turned to him and spoke in harsh voices, demand-
ing, commanding and condemning. The voices all ran
together, echoing and changing as the flames fragmented
and shrank, sinking into the wall of the vodrun until it
glowed a rich reddish yellow.
The shapes and patterns carved there looked far more
detailed now. Fascinated, he moved closer to study, just
as more colours streamed across the wall, shades of dark
green spreading up to and along one of those odd,
erratic outlines while a deep blue flooded and filled the
other side of it. Then an obscuring mass of opaque grey-
ness drifted slowly across the upper part of the wall he
was examining. All distress forgotten, he stared, sud-
denly realising that it was a coastline seen from orbit.
He giggled and looked closer, following the shore round
and down a long, curving stretch to a short peninsula
shaped like a hook.
Just like the one where the Humans have their stilt
buildings, he thought. Pilipoint Station ...
The details drew his gaze; engrossed, he looked still
closer and the coastline leaped a little nearer. More
details emerged, the texture of Segrana's vast expanse,
the rough, dark surface of the Silversong Sea, then
nearer still with coves and inlets becoming visible . ..
vertigo stirred in his head, his chest, his stomach, and he
tried to pull away from the dizzying vista.
Then the wall of the vodrun melted away, and with
nothing to brace against he fell, limbs flailing as he
shrieked, plummeting through layers of cloud in a head-
long dive towards the ground. Soon he could make out
treetops and wheeling birds, lines of waves and tiny
figures walking along the shingle. And Segrana rushed
up to embrace him.
Through layers of foliage he fell, a battering descent
of broken branches, collisions and glancing blows. He
felt every one, yet there was no pain, no sense of bones
broken or blood spilt. He tumbled and rebounded down
into the cool, humid darkness of Segrana's interior,
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