Seeds of Earth

you require repair or systems check, hmm?'

  Kao Chih rushed over, full of anxiety, but the mech

  was retreating from the Voth, then gliding towards the

  exit.

  'I am undamaged,' it said. 'But I intend to wait in the

  shuttle. Please continue with your work.'

  Kao Chih watched the mech leave then turned

  sharply to Yolog, who was trundling back over to the

  console.

  'What happened?' he said.

  'I do apologise. Most unfortunate - a discharge from

  a faulty charging stall,' the Voth said as his long dex-

  trous fingers played the bead keys. 'Much of my

  equipment is obsolete and in serious need of upgrades

  yet my orderbook is so full that I cannot afford to have

  machines standing idle. Certain older devices, however,

  retain their usefulness, like this manual interface which,

  despite its anachronistic nature, permits a more relaxed

  approach to neural tasking.' Suddenly Yolog ceased

  keying and lifted his hands from the silvery keys. Then a

  short melody of soft, descending notes sounded and he

  plucked out the memory crystal and returned it.

  'Your course data, fully restored and updated.'

  'Thank you, honourable Yolog. You have been most

  helpful.'

  The Voth grinned, showing off a spectacular set of

  ochre-hued teeth.

  'Yes, hmm, well, our transaction has certainly light-

  ened my mood and provided a new store of musical

  mysteries to explore. And now you must return to my

  shuttle, which will take you back to my parts hold from

  whence you can continue your journey.'

  'Are you accompanying us?'

  'Work detains me, Human Kaachi - the repair of that

  junkheap of a charger, amongst others.'

  'Then goodbye, Yolog, and good fortune.'

  The Voth smiled, nodded and went over to examine

  the cabinet.

  Back in the shuttle's small cockpit, Kao Chih found

  the mech floating lengthwise against the low ceiling.

  'Our business is concluded, I trust,' it said.

  Kao Chih held up the memory crystal, which was

  quickly probed with a brief needle of icy blue light.

  'It seems to be in order. What delays our host?'

  'Yolog says that he has to work on that faulty charger

  and ...'

  'Passengers aboard,' interrupted an autovoice from

  somewhere in the cockpit. 'Are passengers ready to

  depart? - answer yes or no.'

  'Yes!' Drazuma-Ha* said loudly. 'Before I am forced

  to deal with more trickery.'

  'What do you mean?' said Kao Chih.

  'That piece of theatre with the charging cabinet was

  meant as a cover for the burst-scan which was simulta-

  neously directed at me from a ceiling-mounted device.

  But I had already reconfigured my sheathing shields

  before arriving here - his scandata will show something

  besides what he expects.'

  'Which will be what?'

  'Detailed schemata for a household valetbot, not

  unlike those on display back there.'

  Laughing, Kao Chih wedged himself into the pilot

  couch and pulled the straps tight just as the shuttle

  declamped from its mooring. There was a lurch, a faint

  thrum of motors, and the Voth's craft flew sedately out

  of the garbage scow access. Drazuma-Ha* declared that

  he was suspending activity functions in order to run a

  systems check. Kao Chih nodded and leaned back, feast-

  ing his eyes on the vast intricacy of Tagreli Openport, its

  glittering clusters and spokes and hangars, the vessels of

  all sizes and shapes that came and went, and the innu-

  merable hopcraft, taxis and pleasure-boats, all set

  against the muddy grey-green world around which it

  orbited. And wished his family and friends were there to

  see it too.

  Back in his workshop, with the showroom lighting

  muted, Yolog sat at his console, looking at the female

  Human whose face filled half the screen.

  'Got your message - what do you have for me?'

  The Voth smiled hesitantly. 'Well, friend Corazon, I

  have a lead on a Human and a mech who needed their

  course data recovered ...'

  'Are you saying that they were in your grasp and you

  let them walk out? Were they part of a larger group?'

  'Ah, no, they ...'

  'That wasn't part of our deal, friend Yolog.' The

  woman smiled, cold and dangerous. 'You are supposed

  to securely detain solitary Humans ...'

  'It was the man's mech,' the Voth said hurriedly. 'It's

  an old, very powerful and cunning sentient machine,

  which foiled my attempt to scan it. If I had tried to

  imprison the Human it might have attacked me, even

  killed me!'

  The woman, whose full name was Corazon Talavera,

  shook her red- and black-furred head. 'If they've left,

  they are no use to me.'

  'I have a copy of their course data,' Yolog said.

  'They're going to Bryag Station and I had one of my

  remotes put a tracker on their ship while they were over

  here.'

  'Better, if not ideal,' said Talavera. 'What are their

  names?'

  'The man is called Kaar-Chee and the mech is

  Drazuma-Ha*.' With a shaky hand he fingered the sil-

  very bead-keys. 'I'm sending you all the data I could

  obtain on them, image files and statistics as well as the

  parameters of the tracking signal.'

  'Bryag Station, eh? Not easy to get there before

  them.' Corazon Talavera glanced down, no doubt seeing

  the data packet arrive, then gave Yolog a hard, apprais-

  ing look. 'But when I return we are going to have a little

  talk, just to remind you how our agreement is supposed

  to work.'

  Then the screen was blank, leaving Yolog trembling

  and sweating. For a second he sat there, utterly relieved

  that she was gone, then anger welled up and he raised

  his exo-clad arms, clenching his fists.

  Gods of infinite space, how he hated Humans, and

  the Talavera woman especially. Were all their females so

  cruel and pitiless? Many years past, he had made a

  small, very small mistake which had led to the tragic

  death of one of the aged and venerable Henkayan

  Abstainers, all purely through a chain of chance and

  accident. He thought that only he knew the truth until

  that cursed Human had turned up and showed him the

  damning evidence which she had locked safely away, so

  long as he did what he was told.

  Yolog thought about packing his essentials and valu-

  ables and fleeing Tagreli, off into the depths of known

  space, but that was a well-worn fantasy, just like the one

  where he fled instead to the Aranja Tesh, to some world

  near the Yamanon border, and helped build combat

  droids for the struggle against the Hegemony and their

  despicable Human lackeys.

  He uttered a bleak laugh, knowing that only immi-

  nent, life-threatening catastrophe could make him leave.

  On the other hand, it was not impossible that the impos-

  ing mech Drazuma-Ha* might deal fatally
with Talavera

  should a confrontation take place.

  With that happy thought, he put his earpieces back in

  and began checking shipment manifests while the

  sweeping rhythms of a song called 'Kashmir' filled his

  head.

  29

  CATRIONA

  From her viewport she could see glimpses of Nivyesta's

  single massive landmass through breaks in the cloud

  cover as the shuttle made its banking, spiral descent.

  The green of Segrana was rich, dark and mysterious

  from this height, yet the clouds looked soft, inviting.

  Whenever she saw them during a shuttle journey she

  imagined them to be a strange, floating terrain of pure

  whiteness with its own flora and fauna . . . until the

  shuttle scythed through them. Then there were only

  moisture droplets crawling across the outside of the

  viewport while steely-grey fog rushed past.

  As they swept on through cloud, her thoughts drifted

  back to her encounter with that apparition which

  looked so like a Pathmaster, or how she imagined one

  would look. Seek out a vodrun and undertake a vigil -

  all will become clear to you, it had said in a sighing, sibi-

  lant voice, but why would it say such a thing? And had

  it been real or had she just imagined it? If the latter, it

  called into question her mental stability and fitness for

  her position and responsibilities ... and if it was real?

  She knew from research with male and female Uvovo

  that those who underwent the vodrun vigil said that

  they experienced the feelings of Segrana and heard her

  thoughts, so perhaps she should attempt it, although

  how she would obtain permission from a Listener was

  as yet unfathomable. She would ponder this - later,

  when she got back to the enclave.

  Soon, the cabin staff announced the final approach

  and everyone strapped in to their couches. Catriona's

  fellow passengers numbered eleven, mostly ecologists

  and biologists with a pair of Uvovo scholars well into

  their maturity going by the grey tufts behind their ears.

  In addition there was one mystery man, seated a row in

  front and on the other side of the aisle - during the nine-

  hour flight he had eaten nothing and drunk only a few

  cups of water, spoken to no one, read nothing, listened

  to nothing on his couch phones and watched nothing on

  the overhead display. All of which convinced Cat that he

  was one of the Enhanced. She didn't recognise him, but

  then the project directors had rigorously segregated all

  the coactiles of students with the aim of enforcing a

  tight group loyalty. The faces of her own coactile were

  vividly and accurately recollectable, yet others who were

  there at the same time were scarcely more than vague

  blurs.

  The dear brothers and sisters of my coactile, she

  thought sourly. A smothering straitjacket of peer pres-

  sure, all individuality subsumed to the group, an identity

  controlled by those directors, who were interested only

  in creating living processors capable of high-level com-

  putation. Walking calculators ...

  Sighing, she relaxed back into the comfort of the

  couch and wondered how to find out his name, maybe

  even discover what an Enhanced was doing on Nivyesta.

  From that early, cloistered part of her life she knew that

  many Enhanced ended up working for the government

  in their Special Designs Division. But what would the

  SDD be doing here on Nivyesta?

  The approach and landing took another twenty

  minutes. Vibration came in successive waves, as did

  the loud moan of the engines applying staged braking.

  The impact of landing on water made the craft shud-

  der and the pitch of the engines altered. Soon they

  had taxied up to Pilipoint Station's floating dock, a

  large, curve-roofed structure capable of accommodat-

  ing two shuttles. As the passengers gathered their

  belongings and donned outdoor garments, Cat found

  herself wondering, not for the first time, what Greg

  was up to back at Giant's Shoulder, knowing full well

  that for him the temptation to go back into that

  puzzle-trap corridor would be irresistible. As it would

  be for her.

  Please stay out of trouble, she thought. Or at least go

  looking for it with someone you can rely on.

  She grasped her holdall and was quick to get behind

  the mystery man as the cabin lock cycled open. Slowly

  trooping to the exit, she overheard the steward call him

  Mr Yurevich and saw him take two substantial pieces

  of luggage from the stowing booth before stepping

  through the airlock. One was an ordinary barkleather

  suitcase but the other was a tall, grey case on small

  wheels; its sides had stickers saying HANDLE WITH

  CARE - PHOTOGRAPHIC DEVICES but she recog-

  nised it as a standard transport case for lab equipment

  as used in the Enhanced project.

  A moment or two later she emerged from the shuttle's

  smelly recycled air, setting foot on the combiplas deck-

  ing of the dockside and taking a deep breath of

  Nivyesta's atmosphere. Yurevich was hurrying away but

  that was okay - his name and description and the 99 per

  cent certainty of an Enhanced status was more then

  enough to trace him through the whisperway. Now,

  however, she faced the onerous duty of reporting to

  Professor Forbes, who had no doubt seen coverage of

  the shooting at Giant's Shoulder and probably read the

  preliminary reports.

  What she had to do was put herself in a resilient,

  unflappable frame of mind. It was not a question of

  whether or not Forbes would be objectionable and

  mean-spirited, merely a matter of how it would show

  itself.

  But all this was forgotten as she entered the low-

  ceilinged, slightly shabby transit lounge. The lounge had

  two vees, usually tuned to sports and light entertain-

  ment, but right now both were showing news and were

  surrounded by dozens of anxious-looking people. On

  the screen was one of the better presenters, grey-haired

  Jan Kronagen, addressing viewers from the studio, so

  she paused to see what it was all about.

  '.. . but members of the Sendrukan Hegemony dele-

  gation have still declined to make any comment, and

  since there is as yet no Brolturan Compact representa-

  tive on Darien we must gather viewpoints from where

  we can. Let us return to the Heracles, where our spot

  reporter, Serj Tanilov, has obtained more views of the

  Brolturan vessel, as well as some hard data. Serj?'

  'Yes, Jan, thank you. More information on the

  Brolturan ship, which is called Purifier, by the way - its

  official designation is a Tactical Dominance Enabler ...

  Ah, we have it now? . .. Right, we can show more vid as

  supplied by a Gomedran freelancer who was on board

  one of the Heracles's atmosphere boats when this

  leviathan took up stationary orbit above Darien.'


  The screen abruptly switched to a view of the stars

  from orbit, the nearest of them blurred by the dust-

  clouds of the deepzone. But the foreground was filled

  with an immense, gleaming, fabulously ornate ship, its

  forward sections bearing a passing resemblance to a

  sweeping, stepped pyramid while the stern tapered

  slightly towards the blocky main drive manifold. The

  view swayed a little and suddenly zoomed in on the

  prow, where a huge statue of a Brolturan in archaic

  battle armour emerged from the hull. In one hand it

  cradled a mirrored polyhedral while the other held out a

  long, straight sword, pointing forward.

  The Gomedran freelancer then panned slowly up the

  length of the warship, showing decks, launch bays,

  weapons arrays, missile batteries, all amid the most

  incredible embellishment Cat had ever seen outside

  some of the Rus chapels. During all this, the reporter

  was reeling off statistics - the Purifier was nearly 700

  metres long, had a crew complement of 12,000, a sup-

  port and interceptor complement of 2,800, a troop

  transport capability of 10,000 alert or 20,000 cryo, and

  the commander probably held the rank of father-admi-

  ral... Tanilov added that these were not official figures,

  having been gleaned from various tiernet sources, and a

  few enthusiasts from amongst the Heracles's crew. Back

  in the studio, Kronagen reminded the viewing audience

  that an ambassador had been expected from the

  Brolturan Compact, though not in such an imposing

  ship.

  Shaking her head, Cat shouldered her holdall and

  headed for the shuttle-dock's small lobby.

  They might have sent an ambassador, she thought,

  but that ship constitutes undiplomatic language. Maybe

  we're supposed to be intimidated by its scary ornaments

  or something; if so I think they're in for a surprise ...

  The way to the exit led past a small bar, and as she

  drew near she noticed Yurevich, seated in one of the

  easy chairs, talking to someone. Walking further on she

  saw that it was a woman with short dark hair whose

  face slowly came into view past the foliage of a plantpot.

  She was just a few paces away when recognition hit her

  so forcefully she almost stopped in her tracks. At that

  moment the woman looked round, saw her, straight-