Judge (29 page)

The patriarch slid to the front and draped his limbs over the edge of the cliff, no doubt doing his leopard-in-tree impression to show how relaxed he was about talking to a wess'har. “I'm here.”

“How do you feel about a few scientists coming here to test you?”

Saib considered the question without any display of lights. “How few?”

“No more than six.”

“Six….”

“We promised you that we'd keep the Eqbas out of here. These would be Eqbas personnel, but those are all we'd allow in.”

“The tests might be dangerous.”

“Yes. It might go wrong. Removal might kill you. I can't promise anything, not even how long it might take. Nobody can.” Giyadas paused a beat. “Did you hear me tell Lindsay that Pili's tribe now numbers five hundred or so?”

“We hear now…” Saib rumbled.

“Well, will you allow the scientists to land?”

“They can land,” Saib said. “And I'll volunteer.”

“I'll let Shapakti know,” said Giyadas, as if it was routine.

You can go home, Lin.
Eddie felt the relief.
Leave the bezeri to it. You've done all you can.

Giyadas walked back along the pebbles with Lindsay to the shuttle. There was no ussissi pilot. Giyadas was definitely a matriarch to break with tradition and habit.

“It'll be five years or so before the team arrives,” she said. “You know the distances involved. But if you want, I can send you to Eqbas Vorhi now to be treated.”
Treated
was an interesting word to use, not at all a reflection of how wess'har saw
c'naatat.
“In cryo terms, you'd feel you were back home in a few weeks.”

Eddie expected Lindsay to jump at the offer. He'd started thinking of what he might do for her while she waited, how he could bring her up to speed with events on Earth in her absence and make it a little easier for her to settle back in to human society. A few days and she'd be out of here—tidy her limited affairs, steel herself to recovering David's remains, and then…home.

“You could see Eqbas Vorhi,” Eddie said. “I haven't even been there. It looks amazing. Might as well go while you're in the neighborhood.”

Lindsay seemed to be thinking it over. He couldn't judge her mood; apart from the voice, there wasn't a single human clue to her emotions, not a face he could read or gesture he could interpret.

She sighed, though. She actually sighed, a real crushed and weary sound that said it all.

“I can't leave until we've resolved the situation here,” she said. “Thanks, but I've waited twenty-five years. I can wait another five.”

Giyadas cocked her head, all curiosity, but didn't press her. “A responsible choice,” she said, and climbed into the shuttle. Eddie, stunned at Lindsay's resolve, almost went back and grabbed her, but he didn't have the right.

It was bloody hard to accept it, though. He got into the shuttle and for a few seconds, he was sure she'd rap on the hull and say she'd changed her mind, and that she'd leave after all and put all this nightmare behind her. But she didn't. As she'd told him before, it was both her choice and her fault that she'd come to this point.

“Extraordinary,” said Giyadas, lifting the shuttle clear of the beach.

“Yes, Lindsay's found a steel backbone somewhere along the line.” She'd been quite pretty; blond and petite, quite the opposite of the Amazonian, dark-haired Shan. “Cometh the hour, cometh the woman and all that.”

“Yes,” said Giyadas. “Now you see why wess'har choose their males according to the genetic qualities they'll bring to the whole clan. A little element of Shan via
c'naatat
has transformed her.”

Giyadas wasn't a cruel person—no wess'har was, not that he'd seen—but it was possibly the most accidentally spiteful comment she could have made about Lindsay. The woman had always been in Shan's shadow. Now not even her courage was regarded as her own.

One day, when it was safe to do so, he'd make sure history knew about Lindsay Neville, just an ordinary human who learned to be heroic.

Like he always said, everyone needed heroes. But the heroes who had to try hardest were sometimes the best of all.

 

Kamberra, en route for the Reception Center.

 

“Well, that was bloody awful,” Shan said, leaning her head against the window of the car. “I'm sorry about that, Laktiriu. A baptism of fire, we call it.”

They sped out of Kamberra on a deserted road. It might have been the heat, but Shan could see cordons at the intersections, and beyond those there seemed to be a lot of activity. The police were keeping people well away from the mission. The policing alone must have been costing them a fortune.

“It was most educational,” said Laktiriu. She actually seemed pleased. Shan could hear a little
urrring
undertone in her breathing, not unlike Aras's when he was content. “To know that there are humans who think as we do is very encouraging. This is something we can build on. Their connections between nations…this is useful. This is what we can use. But those are not what Esganikan refers to as
your terrorists,
are they?”

Shukry glanced over his shoulder as he drove, but didn't join in the conversation.

“No,” said Shan. “They're just people who take the environment and those sorts of issues very seriously. You'll get on with them just fine.”

Laktiriu went back to gazing at the passing landscape. Shan glanced at Aras, and he tilted his head slightly in mute approval. It only took one meeting of minds to kick off a chain reaction. Maybe this was the tipping point of the mission.

“Shan Chail.” Laktiriu lowered her voice. “May I ask your advice about a dilemma?”

Oh shit. I hope it's on existentialism and not Eqbas sex.

“As long as you understand I don't have all the answers.”

“I have been asked to conceal an important fact. I think it's best that the matter is discussed more openly.”

“Depends on the fact.”

“Biohazards,” said Laktiriu, in eqbas'u.

Ah
. She didn't want the
gethes
up front to know about it. They spoke English in front of their hosts, so this must have been a
big
dilemma indeed. Shan was discovering just how different the Eqbas were from their Wess'ej cousins, who would have blurted it out regardless.

Shan turned towards Shukry. “Personal stuff. Don't mind us girls.” She faced Laktiriu and switched back to eqbas'u. “Go ahead. What's troubling you?”

“How difficult is it to live with
c'naatat
?”

Here we go. Please don't let her be infected. Please. I can't take out the whole bloody crew…

“It has its advantages,” Shan said carefully. “But it can be terrifying. It takes away a lot of your choices.”

Aras joined in. He was, after all, the expert. “I spent five hundred years in exile, without even the companionship of humans for most of that time. It is a very, very isolating thing.”

“Ah,” said Laktiriu. “Thank you for being frank.”

“Why is it bothering you?” said Shan. She knew anyway, but she played along. “Worried about us?”

“I was asked not to tell you, but I'm unhappy concealing critical information from someone I must work with. Esganikan Gai also has
c'naatat,
and she indicated she would pass the organism to crew members who wanted to experiment with it.”

Aras let out a very faint hiss like air escaping from a tire. He was angry, and the car filled with that distinctive scent. Laktiriu froze for a moment, taken aback. Shukry seemed oblivious. Wess'har scent signaling went largely unnoticed by humans.

“Aras has very unhappy memories of sharing his
c'naatat
with his comrades during the wars with the isenj to reclaim Bezer'ej,” Shan said. “He'd tell you spreading it was a bad move.”

“You have no
idea.
” Aras lost it. He didn't lose his temper often, but when he did, it stopped Shan in her tracks. “You have absolutely no idea what Esganikan asks of you,
chail,
but I do, because I was there and
I caused it.
I was the first to be infected. If I could go back and choose again, I would
never
have done it.
Ever.
I have a happier life now and a family I love, but I lost my first family, and I lost all my comrades, and in the end they wanted to die. I lived through it. It
costs.
And you have
no idea
how much it costs, none of you.” He was so agitated that even Shukry looked back over his shoulder. “Don't do it. Don't let it happen to you.”

“Wow,” said Shukry. All he'd heard was a stream of eqbas'u. “This isn't about the wedding, is it?” He seemed to interpret
personal
as being connected to Shan's ménage à trois which she had almost forgotten would still attract attention in most parts of Earth. “I got it fixed. I know it's not the best timing what with all the…okay, never mind.”

The last thing she wanted Shukry to know was what was really going on.

And that was how strongly Aras felt, was it? Shan wasn't sure that it hadn't been necessary at the time, because wess'har were far more self-sacrificing for the community than most humans. But in terms of personal pain, it was as bad as it got.

But that's where I am right now. And Ade, and Aras. And it doesn't feel so bad. Maybe, after centuries, though, it looks different.

“I don't want to cause problems for Esganikan,” said Laktiriu. “But I don't think it's something I want to risk.”

“Very wise,” said Shan. “And I won't say a word to her.”

After Shukry dropped them off, past a growing maze of security barriers and roadblocks that seemed to stretch out further from the center each day, Shan and Aras retreated to their room. Ade wasn't around.

“This is madness,” Aras said. “Giyadas was right.”

“Did you think she wasn't, then?”

“I thought it was extreme to ask you to execute Esganikan, but if she plans to spread the parasite, then this is out of control, and I agree with her.”

“I know how many bad memories this brings back.”

“When are you going to do it, then?”

“When I think Laktiriu is ready to step in.”

“Make it soon, then,” he said. “I want to go home.”

Immigrant Reception Center grounds.

 

There was plenty of unusable land around the center, enough to accommodate barracks for the Skavu. Esganikan walked around the perimeter fence with Laktiriu, Aitassi and Shukry to get an idea of how it might blend in with the center itself.

“I think we should create the accommodation before we reshape the center itself,” she said. “Then we can move our own crew there while we reshape the rest of the center.”

“What do you need us to do, ma'am?” Shukry asked.

“Nothing. Nanites will reclaim the materials and rebuild the center to our design. It'll be much more comfortable and efficient.”

“How long will that take?”

“A week or two. Don't worry. When we leave in due course, the building will deconstruct itself and leave nothing.” Shukry looked puzzled. “I apologize. Would you prefer the building to remain?”

“It's not that,” he said. “I don't understand what you mean.”

Esganikan decided it was time to give Shukry a show of Eqbas construction techniques. She remembered how mesmerized Shan had been by the construction of Eqbas buildings, and also by their rapid dismantling when Nevyan Tan Mestin had asked them to leave Wess'ej. Her Targassati noninterventionist sensitivities were offended by Eqbas policies, just like her ancestors who had left Eqbas Vorhi to live their isolationist life on Wess'ej ten thousand years earlier.

She asked for our aid. Nevyan summoned us to keep the
gethes
out of Wess'ej space forever, and yet she thinks we interfere. We'll do more than confine the humans—we'll help them along with the rest of the inhabitants of this planet. Where's the wrong in that?

“Find me an engineer, Aitassi,” she said. “Just a small demonstration, a wall perhaps.”

Shukry had that excited look, eyes wide, that all humans adopted whenever Esganikan showed them something new. “Is it going to be worth vidding?”

“You want to record it? Yes, you can.”

An engineer was found and persuaded to start work on an outbuilding at one end of the complex. She released the template nanites on the concrete, spraying them from a canister, and walked off again.

Shukry held his recorder steady. “I can't see a thing…oh…hang on.”

Now he could see it. The process was slow, but judging by his noises of approval, Shukry was impressed by a process that could take material, break it down into its components, and remake it into something new. He edged in closer and eventually just let the little penlike cam drop to his side while he stared at the transformation. The flat, flaking blocks were taking on a more curved form; there was a bloom on them, an almost velvety appearance.

“This…is the most amazing thing I've ever seen,” he said at last. “We use nanotech, but nothing like this.”

“That,” said Laktiriu, “underpins everything—the ships, the way we remediate contamination, everything.”

Shukry was an instant convert. Perhaps winning human minds was simply a matter of showing them little things that seemed like magic to them. Esganikan savored the sense of optimism and walked the rest of the perimeter to stretch her legs.

Now that Bari had started the human world thinking seriously about what changes would have to be made, it was time for her to show the decision makers what the mission could do to make the transition as painless as possible, and how long it took was up to them. As long as there was no backsliding, and they stopped breeding to excess and consuming so much, then they could reduce their population over many years, without killing.

There would be starvation and disease, of course. There was no point repairing this world simply to let humans fill it again.

The storms of recent days were still circling beyond the defense shield, and Esganikan considered changing the settings to let all the rain through, just to experience the volume of water in this arid land. It was at times like this that she longed for Surang and its greenery.

Only a few years, and then perhaps I can surrender command to the incoming fleet, if enough progress is made.

There were Skavu out on the landing strip, and not all of them were officers. Some of the engineers had also shown up from the Saint George camp; they must have been getting anxious to move the troops here too. Esganikan could see Kiir talking to them in a very animated way, and then looking in her direction, as if they were arguing and Kiir was threatening them with the wrath of
Gai Chail
for some shortcoming or other.

He did seem very angry. Skavu tended towards passionate anger. No doubt he would let her know if the situation required her intervention.

 

Records and Registrar's Office, Kamberra: shortly after the funerals of Qureshi and Becken.

 

Shukry was a gem, he really was. Ade had never met a bloke in his kind of job who was happy to do the donkey work, like driving and running errands.

He'd met the Eqbas shuttle from Rabi'ah at the reception center, and driven the funeral party into Kamberra so the detachment could pretend to be normal people for a while. They didn't even have to change out of their dark suits. They looked smart enough for a wedding even if their mood didn't match the occasion.

Ade had never felt less like celebrating, and he was beginning to hate himself for spoiling the day for Shan by having Izzy's and Jon's funerals in the morning. She never complained. She never did. But she had never been the type to want a fancy ceremony. If anything, she looked embarrassed and uneasy in a severe black dress. It would have been office-formal on anyone else, but on a woman he'd only ever seen in uniform, it was as exotic as a full white-lace rig and veil. They all sat facing each other on plush upholstered seats in one of the prime minister's official cruisers, Barencoin, Chahal, and Webster on one side and Aras, Ade and Shan on the other. There was no point worrying about it being bad luck to see the bride before the wedding now. They'd had fucking terrible luck so far, and it was hard to think of it getting worse.

“You've got legs,” Ade said, trying to shift gear from a grief that made it hard to even eat. “Two of them.”

“You've seen them before.”

“Not like that.”

“Is this okay? Be honest.”

“You look the business, Boss.”

“Nice dinner afterwards, yes? Damn, it's good to be able to access your account with a century's interest. God bless the Australian Treasury.” Shan tried to draw the others into the strained conversation. “So when are you joining up?”

“We're supposed to get our papers next week,” said Webster.

“I'm not sure I want to.” Barencoin stared at his hands. He always scrubbed up well, except for the five o'clock shadow that he could never quite defeat. “I've been thinking about a civvy job. Anything. Police, fire, paramedic, whatever. I'm going to grab the first woman I find and marry her, even if she's ugly, and we'll start banging out kids. Although I reckon the Eqbas are going to sterilize everyone or license shagging or something.”

“Us ugly birds are grateful,” said Shan. “Good call, Mart.”

They tried to laugh, but Ade found it brought him to the brink of tears and he was scared he wouldn't be able to make it through the ceremony. It was one of the things that he'd planned in his mind. They said blokes never had daydreams about weddings, but it wasn't true. He had, and more than once. Not the day itself, the stuff that women seemed to care about, but the simple fact that it would be nice to be married and know there was someone waiting for him who wasn't just called
girlfriend.
It was a rubber stamp that said they weren't just marking time until something better came along, even if they were.

Most marriages ended up that way, of course, but people still got married; always had, always would. It was something humans did. If they invented something more than marriage—well, he'd go for that too. He'd make the biggest gesture he could for Shan because he loved her, and now she was just about all he had left.

The registrar's office was a mock-Georgian setting in one of the administration centers sunk into the city, not quite as grim as he'd expected. It was a rush job, after all, and Shukry was pulling out all the stops, without questions.

“You could have had my old parade lovats,” Barencoin said, studying Ade critically. He stood where Becken should have standing as best man. That was painful. “I told you so.”

“I'd look a complete twat. You're six inches taller than me.”

“Ring?”

“Got it.”

The registrar checked the information twice.

“Are these dates of birth correct?” he asked, looking at them both with faint unease. He obviously didn't get many couples who clocked up a few centuries between them on paper. “Twenty-two-fifty—”

“Yes, I'm over eighteen,” Shan said. “How far over eighteen is my problem.”

The registrar gave her a nervous smile. “We're bound to get a query on that. Confirm your full names, please.”

“Shan Frankland.”

“Adrian John Bennett.”

“And you both confirm that you're legally free to enter into marriage, and that you do so voluntarily and not for the sole purpose of gaining residency permits in this country.”

Ade swallowed. His sinuses felt flooded from suppressed tears. “Confirmed.”

“Yes,” said Shan.

“Are there any additional legal agreements you wish to submit now as part of the marriage contract, such as disposal of property in the event of a divorce?”

“No,” said Shan. “It's unconditional.”

Ade nodded once. “Nothing from me.”

The registrar touched a few icons on his desk, a reproduction baroque-style table. It felt more like being hauled in front of the CO for a bollocking than the sweetly emotional moment that Ade wanted imprinted in his mind to tell him he was now Officially Happy. The registrar frowned at the text that appeared in the surface of the desk, hit another icon, and then seemed satisfied that it had accepted the information. It was probably their dates of birth again. They were both in the wrong century; they looked like errors. They
were
errors They didn't belong here.

“Now, you may exchange rings, tokens, and any personal vows you wish to make,” said the registrar.

Barencoin passed the ring, and Ade slid it on Shan's finger next to the one he'd already given her when he had nothing but his mother's ring to offer.
Okay, you wrote out your vows, you know it by heart now
—

He took a silent breath, ready to launch into words he'd spent a long time composing, measuring, erasing, and parted his lips to speak. But the tears were going to get there first, long before the happier words, and he dried up. Shan didn't seem to notice. He hadn't told her he'd had anything special to say. The moment passed.

“Congratulations.” The registrar held out his code stylus, expecting them to proffer their hands for their chips to be updated. “You're now legally recognized as partners throughout the Pacific Rim States and in all states that are signatories to the Beijing Convention. I can now revise your records.”

“We'll take the paper instead,” Shan said. “We're not wired.”

And that was that, their big day, a day that started by burying two people he'd loved and who'd been his family before he met Shan. It was early evening, and Shukry had used whatever magic words a PM's bagman used to get them a table in a restaurant with a private area where no other diners would sit and stare at Aras. Ade had insisted that he come too. It seemed unforgivable to marry a woman and leave a house-brother out of it.

It was a good meal, all vegan, culturally neutral territory. Shan raised a glass and said: “Absent friends.” It was Thursday, so the toast should have been to a bloody war and a quick promotion, but that would have been more than Ade could take.

“Shall we go and find a bar now?” Chahal asked.

“You go on,” Ade said. It wasn't because Aras was with them; four marines could handle security on their own, Ade was sure of that, but he wanted to find some private silence to make sense of the last week. “We'll call Shukry and head back to the center. We'll go out on the piss before you take the Aussie shilling.”

In the back of the car, Shan took his hand and just held it, comforting and not at all bridelike.

“You're a bloody good bloke, Ade,” she said quietly. “It's worth every shitty moment I've ever had just to be your wife.”

“Same here, Boss,” Ade said. “Same here.”

 

Reception center.

 

Aras didn't know how to make the day better for Shan and Ade so he kept quiet, and tried not to rub raw emotions.

He didn't need any memories transferred through Shan via
oursan
to know exactly how Ade felt about dead comrades. The concept of special days that were sacrosanct and so had to be kept free from the intrusion of unpleasant reality defeated him, though, and he simply accepted it. He'd seen many weddings in the Constantine colony over nearly two centuries. They were all part of the god-ritual that he could follow but never fully experience.

At the reception center, the hand of Eqbas technology was becoming more apparent. Nanites were busy digesting and reforming an area to the west of the entrance, shaping the architecture into new shapes and building in new functions, and the altered temperature and humidity within the defense shield—more important as protection against the relentless heat than attacks—had triggered long-dormant seeds. Plants were already struggling back to life. Aras took some pleasure from that.

“That's what Deborah would call a sign,” he said, catching Shan by the shoulder and pointing out the scattering of seedlings to her. He thought of the isenj, clustering in bewildered excitement around a single imported
dalf
tree planted in a bomb crater, the first tree and the first glimpse of bare soil on Umeh for centuries. “I'm very encouraged.”