Seeds of Earth

by Michael Cobley

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 wasr />
  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,