Crossing the Line (23 page)

She looked as if she wanted him to share her satisfaction. He had hoped she would say that her delight at being host to the parasite was connected to him, but it seemed it was all about how much more efficient it would make her for her mission in life, whatever that was. She never said what she felt about the inescapably permanent partnership with him.

It was foolish. Wess'har only cared about what was done, not what was intended: and she certainly treated him as if she cared for him, even if her manner was brisk. It was just the nagging little human part of him that wanted reassurance. He tried not to listen to its insecure voice. He knew that the unique biochemical bonds
oursan
generated were as strong for her as they were for him. It was enough.

“If you were on your own, you might feel differently,” he said.

“Sorry. I wasn't making light of what you've been through. I just try to make the best of a bad job.” She screwed her eyes shut. “That's not a criticism. But isn't that what you're doing too?”

“Making the best of a bad job?”

“Well, you don't have much choice either. I'm the only female
c'naatat
around.”

“Did you ever ask
why
you're the only female
c'naatat
? It
was
a choice. I made it.”

Shan stared at him and was silent. Not having those scent cues made it hard now to work out what was happening. He fell back on human body language. That didn't help much either.

“I've hurt you and I really didn't mean to,” she said. Her voice was level, her expression neutral. “I'm still working out what I am right now. That's not easy when you're used to being certain about yourself.”

“I have experienced this, remember.”

“But you didn't enjoy it.”

“There were a few compensations, but not many.”

“I'm finding it quite invigorating.”

“You're a solitary person. I had family and friends and I lost them all. I'm sure it looks very different to you.”

“Ouch,” said Shan. But she didn't expand on that, and there was still no scent from her at all. She got to her feet, pulled on her clothes and went back into the house.

He regretted offending her. But there was no point apologizing for saying what was true and obvious.

 

Eddie was scheduled to return to
Actaeon
in the morning. It seemed appropriate to have a final dinner with him: Shan had no idea when—or if—he would ever be back, despite the fact that he seemed remarkably able to talk everyone into allowing him free access.

And she still had a task to set him. She hadn't thought of a way to ask him to collect tissue samples from the isenj, or even how he might do it, but she'd think of something when the time came. There was always the risk that he would be offended and she would lose his goodwill and with it his propaganda: but the stakes were high. A working bio-deterrent against isenj would mean peace for the bezeri without further lives being lost or resources being committed.

And Eddie wasn't the only one whose heart and mind she feared she might risk losing.

Aras wasn't actually ignoring her, but he did seem preoccupied. She knew she'd wounded him. It upset her, but it had been necessary.

Sod it, he was wess'har. He had to be used to females going their own way on things. A year ago he was a miracle of creation's diversity, a rare kindred spirit: now he was a partner who had opinions on how she should do her job and who—to be frank—got on her proverbial tits at times. He was turning into a regular man.

“Are you listening, Shan?” said Eddie, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Sorry. Miles away.” She glanced at Aras, who was topping up plates and cups, and caught his eye. There was no hint of anger: he simply gave her a slight smile—the best approximation of a human one that he ever managed—and added a few slices of bread to her plate.

“I was saying that the isenj stand to gain from a human presence on Umeh. They're really interested in terraforming.”

“Well, they've fucked their own environment,” Shan said. “So why stop there?”

“For them, it isn't actually devastated,” Eddie said. “Just overcrowded. They have to spend a lot on maintaining it, but they do manage to feed and breathe with a certain degree of ease.”

“They destroyed everything they didn't need for their own use,” Aras said suddenly “It's a world that revolves around their needs.”

“Well, plenty of humans back home take that view too. But we're only shipping back twenty isenj in
Thetis
. How much of a problem can they cause? I'm still astonished by the reaction. You'd think people would regard it as a miracle, really.”

“They breed,” said Aras.

“That's plague language.”

“I heard that word used on the news too.”

Shan didn't join in. She'd had enough of debate. They both knew what she thought and she was still wondering at what point she should ask Eddie to do a little job for her.

“Ual thinks humans have a fixation with vermin,” said Eddie.

“Define vermin,” said Aras.

“An animal in an environment where it isn't wanted and that can breed in large enough numbers to cause disruption to health, agriculture, or commerce.”

“Ah,” said Aras, and paused for a heartbeat. “Like humans, then.”

Shan stifled a laugh. Aras had the timing of a stand-up comedian. But it wasn't funny. It was true.

“I suppose that's one way of looking at it,” said Eddie.

“Every species' way of looking at it, except yours.”

“We're not all like that.”

“Enough of you are.” Aras leaned across the table and Eddie flinched visibly, but all the wess'har did was clasp his hand around the bottle of wine and tip it at an angle, like a sommelier presenting a fine vintage for inspection by a connoisseur. “Wine could well be an icon for your species. No wonder you base societies and ritual upon it. It's the fruit of polluted excess. The yeast colony gorges itself on saccharides until it dies poisoned by its own excretion. It doesn't know how to stop and it consumes itself to death.”

“We can learn to do differently,” said Eddie.

“Show me the evidence. Show me in a million years where humans have changed.”

“Constantine. The colonists.”

“Their instinctive greed is controlled by their fear. They recognize they have these instincts, and they believe that by suppressing them they will appease their god, but they still have them. And their greed is for time. They want to live forever.”

A strong citrus waft of agitation underlined his words. Had he been human, Shan would have dismissed the argument as too much alcohol over dinner, the sort of embarrassment that you slept off and that none of the other guests mentioned again, at least not in front of you. But he was sober, as he always would be, and she had never heard him voice the slightest criticism of the colonists. It stood in stark contrast to his fears for them the night before.

Eddie seemed to have noted that too. “Do I detect a real anti-human movement here?”

Aras stiffened. “It's not about species. It's what you
do.
Do you know what I despise most about you?” His tone, as ever, was deceptively even, like a priest giving absolution to a monster and trying hard not to let his personal revulsion show. “Your unshakable belief that you're
special,
that somehow all the callousness and careless violence that your kind hand out to each other and to other beings can be forgiven because you have this…this great human
spirit
. I have viewed your dramas and your literature, you see. I have lost count of the times that I have seen the humans spared by the aliens because, despite humanity's flaws, the alien admires their plucky
spirit
and ability to strive. Well, I
am
that alien, and I
don't
admire your spirit, and your capacity to strive is no more than greed. And unlike your god, I don't love you despite your sins.”

Shan leaned over the table between them. “Come on, you two. Break it up, for Chrissakes.” She began gathering the plates. It cut across the tension. “This isn't the time or the place for a row. And I'm tired.”

Aras took hold of the plates with a carefully blank expression and tugged just enough for her to relinquish her hold on them. Eddie couldn't have noticed, but the wess'har smelled of seething anger. He wandered off and began rinsing the plates. Shan gestured to Eddie to leave the table and sit down on the sofa.

“Sorry,” said Eddie. “When did he turn into Rochefoucauld?”

“Maybe I'm a bad influence,” Shan said. “Me and my sunny view of human nature, maybe.”

“He's right, though, isn't he?”

He was. And something had changed that night, something she had always known was fragile, but it was a cold moment nonetheless. A chill spread from her lower gut and into her thighs, a sensation she had felt before only when she was physically terrified.
A sheet of flame spreading down the transparent riot shield she held in front of her as petrol and glass crashed and ignited in her face
. It couldn't touch her then, but it scared her. And it couldn't touch her now, not even if it really did burn her.

There were humans, and there were aliens, and she was standing on an ice floe and drifting away from humanity. The gap opening up in front of her would now never close.

But there was work still to do. “I won't dress this up, Eddie,” Shan said. “Are you prepared to provide something for me?”

“Information? Okay. I'll do my best.”

“Bit more concrete than that.”

A pause. “I ought to say no. But try me.”

“I'll do a trade. Here's some information in exchange for material. I'll give you the wess'har war forecast for the next few months and you pick up a sample for me if you can.”

“Sample of what?”

“Isenj DNA. You being so chummy and all that.”

“Now why does that worry me?”

“Because you know what a clever and nasty bunch of bastards the wess'har are, and that they've got big sisters who are even worse.”

“Oh, I need more facts than that, Shazza.”

“Okay. They're going to seed Bezer'ej with a persistent artificial pathogen that's selective against humans. They used my DNA to create it. It's a bloody great keep-out sign.”

Eddie still had his half glass of wine in his hand, and he was inspecting the contents with unnatural diligence. “And they want an isenj sample to do the same.”

“Spot on.”

“And what if the matriarchs decide to use it as an offensive weapon?”

“Well, Earth will be fucked anyway if we really piss them off, but look at it this way—they could have creamed Umeh ten times over, but the isenj didn't try to invade them, so they didn't attack them on their home ground. If humans show the same good sense, I don't think it's an issue.”

“It's that word
think
that I don't like.”

“Eddie, given time, they'll find how to extract it from my genome. I've got a dash or two of isenj in me. That's how I acquired a genetic memory, via Aras.” She flashed her illuminated hands. “And a bit of bezeri too. So you might say we're family.”

“How
did
you get
c'naatat?
”

“Aras gave me a transfusion of his blood when I was shot. It saved my life. So—are you going to do it or not?”

“You give me your word it won't be used as a weapon?”

“You'd trust me, would you?”

“Are we going to get a word in between us that isn't a bloody question?”

“Deal.”

“You're an immensely persuasive woman.”

“Seriously, Eddie. You've got a pretty good appreciation of what's a threat to these people and what isn't. Will you help?”

“I'll do what I can.”

“Thanks. I mean it.”

“Don't thank me. Like I said before, it's Falklands time.”

“I didn't understand that.”

“Twentieth century war history. You might want to read it sometime. I've seen accounts from British naval officers of how they sat on board warships in the Falkland Islands combat zone listening to the radio. There they were, in a place called San Carlos Water, just waiting for more Argentine air attacks, and the news was broadcasting information on what the British battle plans were. The government briefed reporters about everything. And there were these sailors, listening to this, knowing the plans were blown, and just waiting for incoming. Now, I don't know who was more to blame for making that information public, the politicians or the journalists, but that was the day reporters couldn't pretend we were neutral observers any longer.” He scratched his cheek as if he were suddenly embarrassed by his impassioned speech. “It's hard to prove it changed events, and perhaps it didn't, but I always wondered what
I
would have put first. There are only so many times that you can stand back and say you were only doing your job.”

Shan wondered if Eddie were acting. He seemed in his own private world, thinking aloud and wrestling with personal demons. The fact that he was inclined to wrestle at all endeared him to her. But if this was all part of his professional sleight of hand, she would kill him.

And she realized that she was being wess'har-literal when she thought that.

The wess'har were at the start of a siege, one potentially more serious than the last isenj war. So few of them, and so many humans and isenj waiting to take their place: but if Eddie needed that knowledge of their growing desperation to ensure his compliance and sympathy, she wasn't going to give it to him just yet.

“What do I need to do?” he said.

“Any biological material. Fluids—”