Eden's Trial

by Barry Kirwan

  He came back to the seat and faced Kat’s bewildered face. “It’s okay, it’s over. We’re going to the Grid. All three of us.”

  “What did you say to them? They looked pretty furious, until now.”

  “They were. Most wanted me destroyed – as an abomination. They even tried to blackmail me with you and the baby. That was when I offered them something they couldn’t refuse. You see, Kat, I’m an experiment, and it’s not over. I offered them all my data, as I develop, on how what’s happening to me could be cross-adapted to another race – theirs.”

  “But I thought they were happy with their lot, their level?”

  “Kat, the Grid Society is a hierarchy. No matter what anyone says, everyone wants to move upwards.”

  She eyed him with a mixture he could tell included fear, respect and love. He smiled, knelt down and kissed her hand, and then placed his and hers on her belly. Chahat-Me appeared next to them. “Oh, Kat, I left out one small detail.”

  Kat raised an eyebrow.

  “Chahat-Me is coming with us.”

  “To ensure you keep up your side of the bargain, you mean?”

  He frowned. “She’s taken us on as her responsibility, and in any case it might be better for her to be off-world for a while, I more than ruffled a few fur coats just now.”

  Kat made to say something, but her body went rigid , then convulsed. She screamed once and dropped to her knees, hands covering her eyes.

  “What is it?” Pierre said, then noticed the Hohash had sprung to life. All the Ossyrians froze, watching its display. Those who had started to leave quickly re-entered the room.

  He found it hard to make out at first. It resembled a fleet of space ships lined up facing a translucent glittering curtain of light. Flashes of intense brilliance shook the image, and the curtain ripped apart. The scene shifted to one of utter carnage, ships torn apart, fragments of rocks spilling in all directions, and what looked like corpses frozen in a star-less space.

  Kat lifted her head, pale as porcelain. “Pierre, something very bad has happened. I’m not sure what, but the Hohash reached inside my darkest fears, to convey how serious it is.”

  He glanced at the Chief, who crossed over to Kat and the Hohash. “The Ossyrians here were dimly aware of an unusually intense military exercise at the farthest edge of the galactic rim, and had dispatched a contingent of medical staff out there over an angt ago. But this doesn’t look like an exercise, or if it was, it went badly wrong.”

  “It’s not, the threat is real. The Hohash wanted me to convey a message, because it doesn’t have a good communication rapport with the Ossyrian species.” She glanced at Chahat-Me. “No offence.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “Wait. It wants me to speak as it shows a particular image. Here, watch the display: two words – Kalaheii, and Qorall. That’s it.”

  Pierre scrutinised the frozen image of a face of red-hot lava, parting to reveal a black pit that could only be a mouth. In the centre of its forehead was a snake-yellow vertical slit, an eye of some sort. Two bone-like tubes protruded from the mouth, curving to the back of its head. Around its neck were metal rings, like he’d seen once on a visit to an African village, except the rings fluoresced darkly.

  Most of the Ossyrians fell back. Some had already quit the chamber. The Chief stared at the image, silver eyes still. Abruptly, she turned to Pierre.

  “What is it, Pierre? They’re all afraid aren’t they?”

  “The Chief says this message has to be delivered as soon as possible, and in person – it’s not safe to transmit on any carrier-wave, no matter how secure. She will deliver it herself to Grid Central. She asked if there was anything else in the message.”

  Kat looked down. “No.”

  Pierre’s observational analysis told him she was lying. Fine, she must have her reasons. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

  “How do you feel, Kat?” It was a pathetic question, but he needed to break the silence.

  She sat knees against chest, holding herself. “Hollow. Cheated. I know it’s safer for the baby this way, but…”

  He sat down and put his arms around her. “They said the baby will be fully matured in two weeks, and can then leave the maturation chamber. Hey,” he lifted her chin, then dabbed at tear-stains with the back of his silver knuckles. “I’ve heard childbirth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She rubbed her temple against his hand, like a cat.

  “They’re putting us into stasis again, Kat, in a few minutes. The journey is using a high-energy jumper; it’ll burn out a ship’s engines just to get us there faster.”

  She nodded, head down again.

  He knew it was unfair, and bad timing, but he needed to know. “Kat, there was something else in the message, wasn’t there?”

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “Please, Kat, you need to tell me.”

  She raised her chin. “Pierre, I’ve already lost too much today. Besides, it wasn’t for them, it was…” She bent her head again. “Personal.”

  He heard the low hiss of the gas entering the room. His mind kicked into hyperdrive and ran through the possibilities and probabilities: personal; lost too much today; she wouldn’t look at me. It’s about me. About losing me. The Hohash is connected to her, to her emotions, to our discussions. It knows what she has asked of me … and it disagrees. Earlier he had been coherent, had wanted to stay with Kat, but now he wasn’t so sure. Why did the Hohash disagree? Choices – but the decision will have to wait. He lapsed into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Pierre’s nannites had evolved considerably, after more than two hundred thousand short-lived generations since their activation on Eden. They were barely recognisable compared to their original design, vastly mutated on account of Pierre’s genetic re-engineering, and the recent infusion of Ossyrian DNA prior to the Mannekhi attack. Pierre, their host, hadn’t made up his mind about whether to continue his transformation, and nannites were not big on independent thought. They detected the stasis field and subdued their activity, mimicking shutdown. After an hour they resumed. The basic choice was whether to continue the evolution or not, that much they understood. Their host had not decided. The nannites, however, needed a mission. If they’d been told to stop, they would have, but they had not. In a micro-second they settled on continuing his development during stasis. After all, if their master were further evolved, they reasoned, it could help him decide, resolving his tension one way or the other. They swept into action, buzzing around his brain and neuro-endocrine system.

  Nannites didn’t need sleep. The need for rest while unconscious and unprotected seemed to the nannites a ridiculous, untenable weakness, and they understood that a major threat was coming. So this would be their host’s last sleep, they decreed: he would never need it again. But they had to make choices, too. The nervous system re-construction activity required energy and raw materials. Some internal functions might need to be sacrificed. In particular the nannites didn’t favour all these gland-fed emotions their host had to endure – they caused indecision and made their host vulnerable. The lead nannites – the youngest and hence the most evolved – voted on what functions and glands could go. It took a full three micro-seconds to decide, and then they went to work.

  Chapter 20

  Nest

  Blake grimaced as he woke up; his shoulder practically numb. His neck grated like rusted iron as he lifted his head. He pushed upward from the man-sized tarpaulin covering the rock floor with sluggish arms, and heaved himself into a sitting position. His post-coma muscles were on strike.

  “You slept well,” Rashid said.

  Tea was brewing. Rashid squatted next to the kettle in vest and shorts, despite the bracing air, heels flat on the ground, with an ease that most sedentary Westerners, including Blake, could only dream about. He wondered just how much tea Rashid had managed to bring from Earth. With an effort Blake got up, and started the loosening exercise routi
ne he’d done every day for twenty-four years since enlisting. Shafts of sunlight cut through the chill morning air at the opening to the cave. Cubes of yellow tofu, like they’d had for dinner last night, laced with honey, were lined up for breakfast. At least it didn’t look curried like yesterday.

  Rashid told him that the main priority from the nutritional point of view was to get vegetables growing on Ourshiwann. Despite being a largely barren planet, the soil was favourable. Vince had had the foresight to bring nitrates, seedlings, and crops including wheat and squash. They were faring well, growing quicker than back on Earth, aided by a few irrigation tricks Professor Kostakis had conjured up. Someone had even had the presence of mind to bring some birds and insect larvae in stasis, though debates still raged about waking up the latter.

  The bland tofu came from the spider-race’s huge underground vat complex, and would last long enough until the meagre livestock that had survived the journey on Jennifer’s ship reached sustainable numbers. Farmers, Blake thought, we need to become farmers again.

  He strolled to the cave entrance and stood in a martial chi gung posture facing the sun. And soldiers. Before they had gone to sleep in the absolute quiet of the desert, Rashid had given him more of the low-down on Shakirvasta’s budding empire: how any critics tended to be pushed out to the furthest farms, or, worse, sent on ‘expeditions’, never to be heard from again. He’d explained how a virtual caste system was emerging, with Shakirvasta and Josefsson’s cronies enjoying luxuries, as opposed to ninety-five per cent of the population being reduced to peasant status, working the land twelve hours a day. Schooling had been introduced, heavy on indoctrination into the need for order and societal restructuring. Dusk till dawn curfews operated for people’s ‘safety’ – martial law by any other name.

  There were glimmers of hope, such as Antonia’s position on the Council. However, although a cause for good, and a quick study in political survival tactics, Rashid felt it was only a matter of time before Shakirvasta was irritated enough to find an excuse to get rid of her. A second ray of hope lay in Sonja’s fledgling hospital and medical staff. The third was a minor underground movement, led by Rashid, branded an outlaw, covertly supported by Carlson, who also retained a seat on the Council. Most were afraid to speak openly or join the movement. Jennifer’s militia kept a firm grip on the population; reactions to the slightest infractions were swift and brutal.

  Blake was surprised how quickly things had deteriorated, and how fast Shakirvasta had centralised power and control. Rashid said he wasn’t. He’d seen how his fellow Indistani had turned ailing companies around in a matter of months back on Earth, using ruthless business methods.

  “He’s treating Ourshiwann as if it is another corporate takeover,” he said, “but this time he has military muscle to back him up.”

  Blake lowered his hands and relaxed, having learned through the years that the best soldier was dispassionate, though that was easier said than done. He walked back inside and sat down on a rock, accepting the cup of steaming chai from Rashid.

  “Rashid, I’ve been meaning to ask you – Rashid isn’t exactly an Indistani name. Were your parents Kashmiri refugees?”

  Rashid nodded, his hands continuing the work of scouring last night’s field crockery. “Yes, after decades of fighting over the territory, the land was finally poisoned by terrorists, or by governments – no one knows the truth – so, much of Kashmir had to be abandoned. Neither side could absorb everyone. My mother and father ended up in Tangiers, where I was conceived. They thought we would have to stay there for good, so they gave me an Arabic name. A few years later we moved back to the new, united Indistan. So many had died in that joining of those two long-divorced nations, that the new government needed all of its people back, especially those who had not suffered through the Integration. My parents decided to keep my name.”

  “You’re proud of your ancestry, aren’t you?”

  Rashid nodded, his dolphin reflecting the first rays of light entering the cave. “Five thousand years of civilisation.”

  Blake coughed. “Several months ago,” he frowned – the lost time took some getting used to – “Jennifer told me you were Sarowan. What does that mean, exactly?”

  Rashid paused. He put down the cups, turned away, and lifted the back of his vest. Blake saw a faded tattoo. Two pairs of three diagonal lines, like the feathers of an arrow separated horizontally, slanted downwards. Beneath them sat a waving red line, all boxed within a rectangle depressed at the middle, like the outline of an open book.

  “Q’Roth,” Blake whispered.

  “The face of our enemy, lest we forget.” Rashid lowered his vest and returned to where he had been squatting before. “The Sarowan are – were – an ancient tribe, at war with the Alicians and their Q’Roth patrons for nine hundred years. I was born Sarowan. The best of the Sarowan became Sentinels.” He reached for Blake’s cup.

  “So, you were trained to fight them, or the Alicians?”

  Rashid poured fresh tea into the cups, spilling a little. Blake had never seen Rashid lose a drop before. “Oh, I was trained all right.” He turned to Blake, his dolphin a blur of reds. “But foremost I was a scientist,” he said in a mocking tone. “I did not believe all that paranoid nonsense about aliens and monsters and Rangers: there should be evidence, and there was none! I had no time for it, so I left and went to University, made my way up in the world, leaving behind my family and their delusions…” He stopped moving.

  “You weren’t to know.”

  Rashid spoke to the floor. “I’ve lost my family, my wife and child, my world, and now my eyes. I have paid dearly for my arrogance.”

  He and Rashid had never had an easy relationship, but Blake felt sorry for him. “Survivor guilt, Carlson would say.”

  Rashid snorted. “And you, Commander, what would you say?”

  He leaned back. ‘I’d say you had every reason to be mad as hell, more than most, except maybe the dead. But you’re alive, Rashid. We’re both soldiers. You know the deal as well as I do. Besides,” he chewed on it a bit before letting it out, “You have Sonja, apparently. I’m not ecstatic about it, but you need to protect her.”

  Rashid stayed silent.

  Blake stood up, interlaced his fingers and stretched them above his head, then bent forward so that his palms grazed the floor. He swung up again fluidly. “Think I’ll go for a short walk.”

  “The large bush thirty metres to the right is where I went this morning. Sir. I suggest you find another. There is some paper in the satchel by the skimmer.”

  Blake nodded, took the paper, and headed out.

  “Ah, while we are on the subject, Commander, Ramires also has this tattoo, though he is not Sarowan by birth. He is a Sentinel, the last one alive.”

  “Does that mean he’s a good soldier, or an assassin?”

  “Try to imagine the best four soldiers you ever knew, taking him on, and then imagine them all dead before they hit the floor.”

  “Does he have a nanosword, like Jennifer?”

  “Of that I am sure, but he is far better at concealing it than she. Sentinels and Sarowan play the long game, you see.”

  Blake wasn’t sure he did see, and headed out to find a bush.

  “What is out there?” Rashid asked.

  Blake peered through the viewer as they lay on the dry ground atop an escarpment. A warm wind whistled softly over the ridge. The magnification was up all the way, and he could just make out a diminutive girl strutting around between three commando-types. It looked like she was shouting down a radio. “Trouble,” he replied.

  They jogged back to the cave. Once inside, Blake needed to sit down – he kept forgetting his muscles hadn’t been used for three months. The booster Sonja had given him only had so much to work with. “Why don’t they search for us with the sling-jets?”

  Rashid fished around inside one of the skimmer saddlebags. “Fuel stocks from Earth are almost exhausted, certainly for sling jets. Colonel Vasquez comma
ndeered a chunk of the remaining fuel for his platoon’s trip into the wilderness one month ago. He has not been seen since.”

  “No satellite coverage, eh? So we can’t communicate with him once he’s too far away?”

  Rashid pulled out a flashlight from a rucksack. “That seemed to be the idea. I think it was a mutually acceptable arrangement between him and Shakirvasta.”

  “Why do you need a flashlight, Rashid?”

  “I don’t,” he said, handing it over.

  Blake hefted it, feeling its weight. “It’s just Jennifer. We can talk with her.”

  “She is not alone,” Rashid replied.

  “So, they’re using a spiral net tactic, groups of four strung out along a curving line, closing in on us. How’d they find us anyway?”

  Rashid ran a finger along the upper rim of his dolphin – Blake had seen him do it a few times before. “Perhaps this, or a tracer buried in you somewhere. It makes little difference now, the net is closing. We must go deeper into the caves. But first, since they now know where we are, we can contact Esperantia.”

  Rashid produced a small glass cylinder, flicked a switch so that the small light at one end flashed yellow, then after a few seconds, a steady green. He aimed one end at Blake, holding the other end close to his own mouth. “Citizens of Esperantia, behold: our honourable Commander Blake is alive and well, and will be returning soon, your Chairman Shakirvasta and his cohorts permitting. If you do not see this man in the next three days, then it is on the Chairman’s account. Please, Commander, say something to the people of Esperantia.”

  He inwardly cursed Rashid for doing this, though he understood why it was a good idea – an insurance policy. Rashid could have warned him though. He cleared his throat. “It’s good to be awake again. I know a lot has happened since we defeated the Alician threat. I want to say first of all that I’m proud humanity won that battle. We should all be proud of that day. But I’ve heard disturbing rumours that suggest that, well, frankly, we’ve lost our way. So I’m coming back to see for myself and, if necessary, to get us back on track. Oh, and if my wife Glenda is hearing this, don’t worry, I’m coming to see you soon.”