Bringer of Light (32 page)

‘Flawless functionality? Bring it on.’ At least she was answering his questions, sort of. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ From the way his stomach was grumbling it had to be a while.

‘Answer: it was necessary to induce sleep lasting somewhat longer than a normal rest period in order to facilitate your recovery. I have only awakened you now in order to give you news that you will wish to hear.’

‘I will?’ He wasn’t so sure.

‘Aye-okay. You are to be returned to your companions.’

‘My— I am?’

‘Clarification: we are en route to the Consensus, where you will be reunited with the rest of your crew.’

The relief was so intense it was almost physical: an unwinding sensation deep inside. His face broke into a smile. ‘That’s pure blade – just what I wanted to hear.’

Zhian’s answering smile looked genuine to Taro.

‘Er, listen,’ he continued, ‘I don’t suppose I could maybe com them?’ Quite aside from being desperate to hear Nual’s voice, there was something he needed to warn her about.

‘Clarification request: you wish to use our com system?’

‘Yeah – unless we’re nearly there.’

‘Negative. Apology: such activity is not feasible at this time.’

Whatever that meant – but then, it probably wouldn’t have been a secure link anyway, and what he needed to tell Nual wasn’t something he wanted anyone else – certainly not a male – to overhear. ‘I’ll leave it for now then. Don’t want to be any trouble. D’you know how long before we get to this Consensus place?’

‘Answer: this is a fast ship and we will reach the Consensus habitat in a matter of hours.’ She sounded pleased with herself.

‘Prime. Any chance of something to eat before then? And some clean clothes maybe?’

‘Aye-okay. Request: kindly wait here for the moment.’

As she vanished back down the corridor, Taro eased himself off the couch. The floor was chilly, and he jiggled from foot to foot while he was waiting. He hugged himself as though trying to keep warm, using the excuse to check the fold in his underpants where he’d hidden a certain tiny item. Yep, it was still there. His med-tat had already faded back into near-invisibility, which was a relief.

Zhian returned with his clothes, cleaned and folded. ‘Nice ship you’ve got here,’ he said as he dressed. ‘You the captain?’

‘Negative. Clarification: our command structure does not have that rank. However, I hold a position of authority. Request: kindly follow me to where sustenance will be provided.’

She led him out of the medbay and he looked around him with interest. The ship was halfway between Device’s cold perfection and Jarek’s random homeliness. A little way along the corridor they passed a couple of ‘free humans’, both wearing unflattering suits like Zhian’s. These people had no sense of style, Taro thought. Still, they nodded politely as he passed.

Zhian led him to the canteen, where several crew members were eating. They nodded too, and Taro nodded back. He reckoned these coves were a bit freaked, but trying hard not to show it.

The food came from wall dispensers but was surprisingly good: some sort of chewy vegetable, fresh crispy leaves, and a tasty pale meat Taro decided not to think too closely about. Once he’d crammed enough down his throat to remind himself what his stomach was for, he looked over at Zhian, who was nursing a sweet-smelling hot drink.

‘I ain’t thanked you yet,’ he said.

‘Request for clarification: thanked me for what?’

‘For rescuing me.’

‘Statement: you are welcome,’ said Zhian gravely.

‘So, d’you just happen to be passing when you noticed someone’d made a hole in the surface of CN— Uh . . . CN-361?’

‘Negative. Clarification: we responded to the downed ship’s distress message.’

‘Oh, so it did put out a mayday . . . I wasn’t sure.’

‘Clarification: if an avatar’s ship has to make an emergency landing in another patron’s domain it automatically broadcasts a brief distress call, then goes into open-minimal mode to await assistance.’

Which might explain the mysteriously opening doors . . . Taro really wanted to know what she knew about the Gatekeeper and his plans, but decided it might be wiser not to mention anything for now. Instead he said, ‘Good job you turned up when you did: the locals had just worked out that I didn’t want to buy their rock.’ When Zhian didn’t look confused at his statement he continued, ‘What’s the deal with that place, anyway?’

‘Answer: CN-361 is a semi-neutral domain, which is why your ship was permitted to land. However, it has a bankrupt populace.’

‘A
what
?’ There was no way that sounded good . . .

‘Answer: a bankrupt populace is one that has lost contact with both their patron and the outside world.’

Taro was interested to see Zhian’s hands tighten slightly on her mug as she spoke. He got the impression she was finding talking to him stressful, despite the friendly face. Nual would know the truth, of course . . . He felt a sudden pang, sharp as the physical hunger he’d just sated. He told himself he’d see her soon.

‘I thought patrons cared for their people.’ Taro tried not to make it sound like a criticism.

‘Response: most do.’ She sounded offended. Then she smiled a little, and asked, ‘Query: do you require clarification on this matter?’

‘Yeah, I’d like to know whatever you can tell me.’ Ideally without all the stupid ‘query’ ‘answer’ shit, though he knew better than to say that.

‘Clarification: on rare occasions a domain’s populace may fail and fall. This is one such occasion. CN-361’s patron turned over his assigned planetoid to his populace. It contained rare elements which he wished mined by lo-tech methods. The humans in question were modified accordingly and provided with bio-engineered animals capable of aiding the mining process and filling critical gaps in the world’s limited ecosystem.’

Taro remembered the huge, slow breaths he’d overheard in the dark tunnels.

‘Their society was structured to exploit the resources of their planetoid. Eventually, these resources were exhausted. By this time the patron had also changed focus.’ Zhian’s mouth kinked. ‘As a result, the humans on CN-361 were left isolated and untended.’

Taro thought of the filthy, hopeless bastards scraping a living and breeding new and interesting diseases, living for the day when someone would come back to trade for their shiny rocks. Except no one ever would.
Poor fuckers.
‘That ain’t the way we do things in human-space,’ he said.

‘Negative,’ said Zhian coldly. ‘Clarification: we are not in human-space. The patron would have been within his rights to kill the bankrupt populace and reseed his domain, but he chose instead to let them live.’

If you called that living . . . Taro took the hint and dropped the subject. He decided to ask a question that’d been bugging him – Zhian might refuse to answer, but even that would tell him something. ‘Talking of patrons,’ he said, ‘I was wondering if there’s an avatar on this ship. You said you don’t have a captain – is that ’cos there’s an avatar in charge?’ And possibly in charge of every ship, though the angry lightsail cove who’d commed them when they first arrived hadn’t sounded much like an avatar.

‘Negative,’ said Zhian. ‘Clarification: we are free humans.’

‘So you don’t let avatars on your ship?’

‘Answer: we sometimes transport avatars from our own or allied septs. However, our main function is as traders between open domains with differing resources.’

‘Does your patron know you’ve got me on board?’

‘Affirmative.’ Her tone told him how stupid she thought
that
question was.

Taro hoped her patron wasn’t one of the Gatekeeper’s mates. ‘And you just happened to be passing when you picked up the distress call, that right?’

‘Request for clarification: please rephrase your query.’

‘Did your patron tell you to pick me up, or did you do it ’cos you wanted to?’

‘Response: naturally our decisions are those we are certain our patron would endorse.’

So much for being ‘free’– and so much for clearly answering questions!

Zhian continued, ‘Apologies: I have other duties to attend to now. I will leave you alone for a while. You are free to do as you wish; I will notify you when we are close enough to the Consensus for secure communication.’

‘Sure. Thanks.’

Zhian was already getting up. Taro got the impression she was glad the conversation was over.

‘Where is she now?’ asked Kerin.

‘I have no idea,’ replied Urien wearily.

Kerin tried not to feel any pleasure at discovering that Urien’s plan had failed. She hoped the girl had run as far and as fast as she could, and that she was already on her way to start a new life. ‘Well, that is that, then.’

‘So we must hope,’ muttered Urien.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing that should concern you, Kerin.’

How she hated it when he gave the impression of doing her a favour by not keeping her informed. Kerin had no choice but to trust Urien, for he was her only link to the complex hierarchical world of the Tyr, but the previous evening’s events had shaken that trust. He had not seen the cursed girls as lives destroyed, just as another problem to be solved.

‘As you wish,’ she said coldly. Then, on impulse, she added, ‘Urien, may I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ His tone belied his words. He would far rather she never asked questions, just listened, and did as he suggested – which only strengthened her resolve further.

‘What really happened to Lillwen?’ Kerin had only briefly met the woman who had previously masqueraded as the Cariad. Lillwen had been a figurehead only, controlled by the old Escorai, all of whom were now dead. And the Escorai themselves had been acting out the roles assigned to them by the last Sidhe Cariad. Sais had told her how the Sidhe left compulsions within a person’s mind; he had called it ‘programming’. In the case of the conditioned Escorai, the ‘programming’ ensured that order was maintained if a Cariad died in office – always a risk, because the Sidhe left Serenein to its own devices for years on end, while they waited for its strange harvest to mature.

‘What do you mean?’ Urien asked, sounding weary.

‘You said that when Lillwen recovered from her mistreatment she was given money and set free. Is that really what happened? After all, she was a witch too.’

‘She was, but she was no threat. Her experiences had left her too damaged. As far as I know, she left Dinas Emrys in search of her daughter.’

Not for the first time, Kerin wished she had the priestly ability to know when she was being lied to. ‘I hope she found her,’ she said, bitterly.

‘Kerin, rulers cannot afford to think or behave as ordinary people. They must weigh up what will be gained and what will be lost with every choice they make.’

‘And what happens if we are too busy making those choices and we lose sight of what we strive to achieve?’

‘That is an excellent question. I wish I had an answer for you.’ Typical Urien: at once calmly accepting and faintly disapproving.

After he had left, Kerin wondered, not for the first time, if Urien only put up with her because she was the mother of the one person able to operate all the Sidhe technology.

She made an appearance at the Senneth that morning, sitting in on a ruling to allow non-priests to use skymetal. The Senneth was made up of merchants, guildmasters and representatives from the provinces and the law passed easily once she had given it her personal blessing.

As her palanquin was borne back through the sweltering streets afterwards, she found herself musing on the relationship between greed and fear. Those holding secular power were only too eager to embrace a change that brought them profit, provided they were first reassured that said change would not also bring Heavenly retribution. What had been true in her village was equally true here: understanding and manipulating the balance of greed and fear lay at the heart of effective leadership.

She disembarked and returned to her rooms alone, dispensing with the formality attendant on any public appearance. She was grateful that the previous Cariad had been used to wandering the halls of the Tyr by herself. The Sidhe Cariads had obviously valued their privacy.

Despite her lack of talent, she sensed a certain unease in the priests she passed. It might be the unpopularity of her ruling on the use of skymetal, which further eroded priestly privilege, or it might be that this particular law had required a change to the Traditions themselves, although Urien had assured her there was precedent for that. Cariads had often made small modifications to the accepted rule of ‘Heaven’ before now. What was different was the pace of reform. Naturally, some people were not happy.

Damaru was playing with the wooden puzzle she had bought for him on her last incognito foray into the city. He had solved it within minutes of being given it, but he still continued to rearrange the pieces. She persuaded him to activate the console, and he obeyed with relatively good grace, then went back to his puzzle. Since he had established that he could not regain control of the technology above, the console held little interest for him.