Neogenesis

by Sharon Lee

  Kamele’s frown deepened.

  “Is it certain that she’s…all right? At liberty?”

  “Far’s we know,” Miri said, “an’ what that mostly is, is there hasn’t been any news about her breaking shipping at any ports, or leading an evacuation—and nobody’s put a price on her head. Lately.”

  Kamele nodded. “In light of these negatives, it would seem that Theo is not presently, at least, pursued by enemies, or in any…immediate danger?”

  “Not so far as we know, no. But that could change, real fast. It’s dangerous out there for her.”

  “I understand. Is it any more dangerous for Theo than it is for Master Trader yos’Galan?”

  Miri blinked, did a quick series of sums, and shook her head. “Not particularly, no.”

  “Are you going to call him home?”

  Miri laughed.

  Kamele smiled. “I see.” She sipped her tea, and leaned forward to put the cup on the table.

  “Theo is an adult. She has a ship and a crew to care for, as I understand it. I wouldn’t presume to interrupt her in the pursuit of her business. She knows what her”—she smiled faintly—“her necessities are. We must assume that she had received the messages from her brother and from the master trader, and we must also assume that she has chosen not to act on them for good and sufficient reasons.

  “I’ll certainly be very glad to see her when she does come home, but I won’t call her home.”

  Miri blinked.

  “Have I disappointed you very much?” Kamele said.

  Miri blinked again, and managed a smile.

  “I understand your point of view,” she said truthfully. “We’ll just have to wait for Theo to get done with her business, then.”

  “Yes,” Kamele said and offered her another smile.

  “It’s difficult, but at some point, you must say to your students, I’ve taught you all I can. Go out and use what you’ve learned.

  “It’s more difficult with a daughter—or a sister—but we must let them live their lives, even if it seems to us to be…risky or unsafe.”

  Kamele leaned forward and retrieved her teacup.

  “And, you know, just between us,” she said, leaning back into the cushions, “Theo really has no aptitude for safety.”

  * * * * *

  “What has occurred, Beloved?” Anthora murmured. “You have gained…weight.”

  “Ah, is that how the trick’s been done?” he asked lightly, looking up from his screen. “I was called into consultation with the Tree, and received a pod.”

  “Which, of course, you ate,” Anthora said.

  “Would you have had me deny myself the tastiest and most satisfying food I have ever eaten?” he asked, half meaning it for a jest.

  “No, of course not,” she said sitting down across from him. “It is merely that one can never be certain what the Tree intends.”

  “Certainly, it cannot intend for life to unravel,” Ren Zel said. “Thus, if I have indeed gained weight, then the Tree wishes me not to fly off too soon.”

  “There’s a particular tenderness,” Anthora said bitterly.

  He considered her, carefully extended a hand and laid it over hers, which was fisted on the table.

  “It seems to me that what choice there is in this upcoming event is very clear. I will accept the duty that my gift demands of me in service of a hopeful future. Or I will turn my face away from duty, whereupon the…possible future I have Seen will come to pass. Life will survive, but it will be a poor thing, ever in peril from darkness. I do not wish to live in that future—I do not wish you to live in that future, nor our—”

  He broke off, but not soon enough; Anthora was staring at him.

  “Our child?” she asked softly. “What child is this, Beloved?”

  He sighed.

  “I had a Seeing,” he said softly, keeping his eyes steady on hers and tightening his fingers around her fist. “Yourself in the Tree Court, holding an infant wrapped in a red shawl shot through with golden thread. I was given to know that you held our daughter.”

  Her eyes were filled with tears, yet she did not look away. Under the pressure of his fingers, her fist softened until her palm rested flat against the table.

  “A true Seeing?” she asked gently.

  “I believe it,” he answered, with simple honesty.

  She smiled and rose, gripping his hand, so that he rose with her.

  “Well, then,” she said with a brave attempt at gaiety, “what are we if we are not slaves to the truth? Come!”

  “This moment?” he asked, but already his blood was warming.

  “Is there one better?” Anthora demanded.

  He shook his head, being bereft of words, pulled her close, and kissed her deep, as passion flared into need.

  * * * * *

  Val Con was crossing the lawn as Nelirikk pulled the car onto the apron next to the side entrance. Miri opened her door, stepped out, and said over her shoulder, “Thanks, Beautiful. You’re off duty.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he answered, but she was already walking across the crunchy brown grass.

  “Good evening, cha’trez,” Val Con said, opening his arms.

  She walked into the offered embrace; put her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder and just stood there, taking comfort from his presence, and watching the him of him, inside her head. He seemed…pleased about something, she thought. That was good.

  Finally, she let the hug fall away and took a step back, giving him a grin.

  “Gone visiting?”

  “Indeed,” he said, tucking her arm through his and moving them leisurely toward the house. “I have been to see Mr. Shaper, who has four Bedel assisting with the harvest and planning world dominion.”

  “Better them than us,” Miri said. “I’m pretty sure Pat Rin would step aside, if they asked nice.”

  “Now, do you know? I think he would not. But that is a philosophical discussion, and I have not yet inquired into your day.”

  She shrugged.

  “Road Boss business was pretty light; we might start looking at getting a couple of likely ’prentices in; start teaching ’em the ropes.”

  “It may that we ought,” Val Con murmured. “You are home a little after time, which I confess relieves me. I had imagined you in-house and poised to ring down a terrific scold.”

  “Like that’ll happen,” she muttered and shook her head.

  “I stopped at Kareen’s house to talk to Kamele—” she stopped; Val Con came around to face her.

  “Do you know Rikki’s storytelling holds a whole kitchen full of ’hands riveted? Esil was so caught up, she boiled the kettle dry and had to start over.”

  “I am not surprised to learn that Nelirikk has many facets. He is an Explorer, after all.”

  “Well, I’m flabbergasted,” Miri told him. “The things you don’t know about people you know.”

  “In fact, we are all ciphers,” Val Con said, taking her arm again, and turning them toward the house.

  “So—you spoke to Kamele?”

  “I did; told her you and Shan had sent for Theo to come home, and she hadn’t even bothered to send back a no. Asked Kamele if she’d write.”

  “Ah? And she said?”

  “She said Theo’s a grown-up, and she, Kamele, had no right to interrupt her in the course of her business, whatever it is; she’ll come home when she’s able, and when she does that, Kamele would be very pleased to see her.”

  She paused.

  Val Con said nothing; the pattern of him inside her head was…interested.

  “Kamele also said,” she finished, “that Theo’s got no talent for being safe.”

  Val Con laughed, and Miri felt a grin tugging the side of her mouth.

  “Well, then,” he said, as they reached the patio and the side door opened for them. “I suppose that we shall wait, with what poor patience we can muster.”

  He paused on the threshold to bow her through the door.


  “Please, my lady, allow me to find you a glass of wine.”

  Ahab-Esais

  I

  They were, said Inki, at Edmonton Beacon to call upon a person named Kasagaria Mikelsyn, an information broker and expert on Old Technology.

  “In fact, the foremost such expert, saving only the Uncle himself,” Inki said. “Some, indeed, say that Dosavi Mikelsyn is an instance of the Uncle.”

  “Is that likely?” Tocohl asked, simultaneously assigning the question to her research protocols.

  Inki gave a fluid shrug.

  “Likely and the Uncle rarely cohabit the same sentence, Pilot. It is known that—there! already I fall into error!—I should say that it is thought to be known that the Uncle has sisters and brothers a-plenty across the universe, each of whom has their area of expertise and their web of operatives.”

  “It is fortunate, then, that ours is an expanding universe, or there would be no room for all of him,” Tocohl said, meaning it for a joke.

  Inki smiled slightly and took up her tone.

  “Indeed, indeed! One would be tempted to think that even an expanding system could scarcely accommodate their numbers. But we must suppose that the Uncle knows what he’s doing.”

  “Why?” Tocohl asked, honestly curious.

  “It is what we suppose of all gods, Pilot.”

  “The Uncle is not a god.”

  “Perhaps you are correct, but for the moment, I propose to keep the question open in my own mind.”

  “What of Dosavi Mikelsyn?”

  “In terms of godhood? I suppose it best to keep the question open there, as well, since we will be approaching him on his own ground.

  “Now, Pilot, attend me; Dosavi Mikelsyn resides upon the Greybar. I know you will have done your research and are therefore aware that the Greybar is a chancy place. Law is not much admired, but straight dealing is. We must not be seen to stint in our payment, nor yet to overpay—but, there, you are of Korval! This will be perfectly comprehensible to you.”

  “‘Give them all they buy and no more or less,’” Tocohl quoted. “It seems a good system, wherever found.”

  “Ah, but any system is subject to manipulation. For instance, one who stands in a position of strength may decide that one whose position is…less strong…has not paid fully enough, and demand additional consideration.” She paused, head to one side. “It is rarely said, I think, that one has paid too fully, but we must be alert to the possibility.”

  “We?”

  “Certainly we shall go together to apply to the good nature and expertise of Dosavi Mikelsyn.”

  “Do you intend to use me as a trade item?”

  Inki spun; shock writ plain on her face.

  However, Inki, in addition to being a liar, was a very good actor. She could not hide the acceleration of her pulse, but she might count on the fact that such a spike was ambiguous, just as likely to signal either fear at being caught out, or shock at having her intentions misread.

  “Pilot Tocohl, I never intended to put you to such a use! I swear that I would dismantle you with my own hands before I would give you to Kasagaria Mikelsyn. You will recall that, had matters fallen out as I had intended, you would at this point in our adventure be wholly committed to myself, and all your considerable powers at my command. Having refashioned you so, would I then trade you away?”

  Oddly enough, this was a compelling argument. However, Kasagaria Mikelsyn was not the only danger to her well-being in this system.

  “The Greybar is a dangerous environment, frequented not only by criminals and other individuals of questionable honor, but also by bounty hunters,” Tocohl pointed out.

  “A class of person whom we both wish to avoid—yes. But, do you see, Pilot Tocohl, that I must bring you? Not merely for my own safety—for, in the original plan, you would have acted immediately to neutralize any threat to myself—but also to gain Dosavi Mikelsyn’s interest. We have dealt before, the dosavi and I, and I do not hide from you that he has no opinion of the directors—and a contempt for those of us who serve them.

  “I must therefore demonstrate to Dosavi Mikelsyn, and to all who interest themselves in the dosavi’s business, that we are equal…enough…in status that he may deal without the risk of diminishing his own importance. See me! Fierce enough to walk the length of the Greybar to speak with him in his own hall, and certain enough in my power to parade a very complex logic, indeed, before the eyes of all the curious.”

  “I see. I am to be a prop.”

  “If you wish. Though I also…hope, Pilot Tocohl, that you might find it in you to act on my behalf, should danger threaten.”

  Tocohl did not answer, aware as she was of the disquieting certainty that preserving Inki’s life was not a first tier concern, though acquiring her data…was.

  “What is the information you wish to purchase from Dosavi Mikelsyn?” she asked.

  “The true location of the Old One who even now is waking to full power.”

  “Will he have this information…reliably?”

  “If anyone other than the Uncle has it, that other will be Dosavi Mikelsyn,” Inki said, her voice ringing with surety.

  “And if the information is not available?”

  “Ah, you think that I will be sold a lie in the place of truth or—let us be just—the least unlikely rumor. But think, Pilot Tocohl! Dosavi Mikelsyn has built a life and a reputation, in a most dangerous sphere, on the foundation of always selling the best information available. The price may be outrageous, the data may be incomplete, but it will be complete enough, if the price is met. The one thing the dosavi cannot afford is to have it be known that Mikelsyn took the price and sold a lie.”

  “Do you have the price?”

  “Pilot, I do. You understand that the directors are eager to bring the Old One under their influence. They have provided everything that is needful.”

  She looked aside for an instant, her expression bleak; took a hard breath, and faced Tocohl once more.

  “Will you come with me, to put the question to Dosavi Mikelsyn, Pilot?”

  “Yes,” Tocohl said. “I will set the course. Please take comm and negotiate a berthing with the Greybar.”

  II

  Tocohl had known, in the way that one knows a fact that has no intersection with one’s own environment, that the universe encompassed grey traders and dark markets; thieves, murderers; and persons of questionable melant’i. She had merely not known that there were so many—and that they would all be gathered onto the Greybar.

  Side by side, she and Inki passed down the main hall and through the marketplace. Many stared, some turned to watch their progress, others swung out of their way, hands on weapons.

  Clearly, they were a cause for some consternation among those who were most at home in this place. However, stares and dismay aside, none challenged them or drew the weapon they fingered. Thus, they passed unmolested, in their own bubble of silence, past the brightly lit booths, and the wares set out; turning at last into the first hall beyond the market’s official boundary.

  On the station map, this hallway was designated EL-18, and indeed that designation was displayed on the wall at the entryway. Beneath that, however, had been painted the words REVELATION ALLEY, which Inki had given as the location of Kasagaria Mikelsyn’s headquarters.

  The main hall had been well lighted and comfortable for human eyes, Tocohl thought. By contrast, Revelation Alley was overbright; the light itself hard-edged and unwelcoming, very nearly an assault. Tocohl adjusted her filters; beside her, Inki did not seem to notice the assaulting brilliance, much less find it uncomfortable.

  Tocohl consulted her sensors. There had been a surprising lack of surveillance in the main hallway; what monitors she had detected had to do with the integrity of the station, the quality of the air, the operation of the vents.

  Here, however, in this too-bright hall where they cast no shadows on the white-painted floor—here, there were monitors, security cams, and all manner of scan
ning devices in addition to the station monitors. One might be led to the conclusion that Dosavi Mikelsyn was not trusting of those who aspired to become his customers.

  Ahead, the hallway intersected another. Inki turned left without hesitation, Tocohl at her shoulder.

  The side hall was slightly less bright than Revelation Alley; the ambient temp cooler.

  And—no more than six of Inki’s strides ahead was the expected bend in the hallway, where two people stood, arms crossed over their chests, and legs braced wide, blocking further progress.

  Inki stopped. Tocohl stopped.

  “State your name and bidness,” the stouter of the two said.

  “I am Inkirani Yo, come to trade information with Dosavi Mikelsyn.”

  The thinner guard touched an ear, paused, as if listening—and nodded.

  “You can go on. Leave the ’bot here.”

  “Indeed, no. Where I go, my partner goes, also.”

  The two guards exchanged glances. The stout one uncrossed his arms and moved two careful steps forward, lifting his eyes to what most humans identified as Tocohl’s “face.”

  He inclined his head.

  “Sorry; no discourtesy meant. I’ll need your name. Dosavi Mikelsyn likes to know who he’s talking to.”

  “The dosavi and I share a preference,” Tocohl said, moving one of Inki’s paces forward, in order to demonstrate that she, too, was willing to be courteous.

  “I am Tocohl Lorlin. The trade concerns me nearly.”

  The pause was longer this time, but at last the thinner guard tapped her ear, and nodded.

  “Both may pass,” she said and stepped to one side.

  “Thank you,” Tocohl said.

  “Indeed, indeed!” Inki said, with a broad smile shared between both guards. “You have been everything that is accommodating, and we thank you very much!”

  * * *

  “Translator Yo. How pleasant to see you again.”