Quiet Invasion (45 page)

“In such a place as in the city’s bowels.”

Ta’teth dipped his muzzle. “Then it replicates furiously, devouring its host and releasing the undetected spawning segments, working too fast to be completely stopped or destroyed.”

T’sha did not deflate. She felt paralyzed by Ta’teth’s words, frozen as cold as a New Person. “It is a good theory. Is it being tested now?”

Again, Ta’teth dipped his muzzle. “They are hunting for viral DNA segments now and trying to map its life cycle.”

“And we might all be carriers?”

“Yes,” murmured Ta’teth. “Of portions of the disease, at least.” He swelled and shrank. “There might be more than one strain.”

The words sank into T’sha and she shivered, releasing old memories. What is the nature of life? went the first riddle in the story of Ca’doth. Three possible answers—a stone, a shell, the wind. A stone because life is strong and underlies the whole world. A shell because life contains and shelters what is precious. The wind because it is everywhere and cannot be stopped.

It is everywhere and cannot be stopped.
“Have you told Ca’aed?”

Ta’teth collapsed in on himself. “No. I didn’t think…I…”

T’sha flew over him, brushing her fingers against his crest. “No shame, Deputy. I’ll do it now.”

T’sha flew past the chains of her people being evacuated to the isolation shells, past the engineers with their flocks of tools surrounding them, between the walls patched with this strange, sweet cancer that mimicked a fungus so well. She knew where she wanted to be. There were eyes beside the main portal. Pretty silver eyes, which watched the winds and the world. She wanted to be there when she told Ca’aed.

“My city?” T’sha hovered before the city’s eyes, each one as big as a whole person.

“Ambassador?” murmured Ca’aed.

“You are very ill, Ca’aed. They think it is a new virus.” Slowly, carefully, she repeated what Ta’teth had told her.

The eyes remained focused on her, drinking her in as if she were the only thing in the world. Sorrow swelled T’sha’s body. She wanted to wrap the city in her arms and hug it to her belly as if it were a child. She wanted to carry it away from here to somewhere safe, where the winds were wholesome and it could be fed and healed. But there was no safe place, not in any latitude. The whole world might be infected by now; they had no way of knowing.

“You must cut it out,” said Ca’aed.

“What?” blurted out T’sha.

“This theory is sound. I ran it through my minds. It holds, life of us all, it holds. They apply anticancer treatments now, and they have some effect, but they will take dodec-hours, and we do not have the time.” Ca’aed paused as if gathering its strength. “You must cut out the affected sections of my body. You must isolate them, burn them if necessary. If my body is spreading infection, it must be stopped.”

There was no room in T’sha for further horror. She would not permit Ca’aed’s words to enter her. “No, a quarantine—”

“Will allow me to stew in my own disease,” interrupted the city. “This way we may be able to save at least my consciousness and keep the worst of the infection out of the wind.” Its voice was calm, collected. But T’sha still heard the fear.

Cut? Cut my city…

In front of her, a ligament snapped, the ends flapping into the wind.

“I am the shelter. I am the shell,” said the city, giving the old words of the unity chant, the one T’sha had recited every year when the city passed over the First Mountain.

“We are the bone. We are the embryo,” responded T’sha instantly.

“I preserve you.”

“We preserve you. Life serves life.”

“Life serves life,” replied the city. “Cut out this disease from me.”

Every bone in T’sha’s body clenched. Cut out the disease. It was barbaric but effective if the anticancer treatments weren’t working fast enough. Cut down the sails, cut out the homes, cut through the parks, the windguides, the promise trees….

Life and bone, the promise trees, and I’ve heard nothing from T’deu.
Suddenly, there was no question inside T’sha about where her brother was. He was deep inside the infected city, trying to save the beauty and intricacy he had dedicated his life to nurturing. Who knew what he carried inside him by now? The safety engineers would have to keep him quarantined even from the other citizens.

Oh, my brother! And I cannot even go to find you now.

“Are you speaking to Chief Engineer T’gen of your remedy?” T’sha asked Ca’aed, her voice barely a whisper.

“I am. He resists. Do not let him.”

Memories. A thousand, a million memories of a world that grew and changed, of life, and family and ambition, worry and debate, flight and stillness. Through all that there was only one constant—Ca’aed. Her ancient city, her soul’s home. “No, I will not let him resist.”

“I am ready.”

“Stay ready.” T’sha turned from the city walls and flew toward the isolation shells. It was not engineers she needed now but harvesters with their saws and hooks and pruning sheers. She needed to lead them deep into their city to places the engineers would numb. She needed their nets, their patience, and their precision. Ca’aed might be gutted, but Ca’aed might be saved.

But only if they were fast enough, only if they were right. Otherwise, they would be doing nothing but killing the city a piece at a time.

T’sha closed her mind against the thought and flew.

Y
AN SU SAT IN
front of the full membership of the Colonial Affairs Committee of the United Nations. Their hearing room was something out of another age, with a crystal dome and green marble floor, polished wooden trim, benches and tables. All around the walls, gold leaf picked out the words of great sages from throughout history, messages of tolerance, patience, long thought, and calm.

Calm especially, she needed that today. She surveyed the committee, all twenty-two of them. She was number twenty-three. She had kept her appointment by hook, crook, and means that did not always bear the light of day, but she had kept it. Now, though, her colleagues all watched her with hard eyes and skeptical faces.

Nothing was eased by the fact that the holotank in the center of the crescent bench was activated to show the three Secretaries-General—Kim Sun, Avram Haight, and Ursula Kent. They sat in their conservative clothes and comfortable chairs with desks in front of them that had tidy rows of screen rolls laid out for convenient reference. The Secretaries looked cool, detached. The souls of worldly reason, they waited to see what the committee brought to light.

From the beginning, Su had known the events on Venus would end up here, and she had thought she’d be ready to speak about them. But now that she was here, she was no longer sure. She had faced down the committee before, but never had her prepared speech seemed so…absurd. She was used to arguing civil rights, articles of incorporation, land ownership, and mineral exploitation rights. She was not used to making announcements of discoveries. Especially not like this.

Su glanced at the representation of Helen Failia, who sat next to her in another holotank. The real Helen was in her private office on Venera, wearing an assembler rig and watching the proceedings through her wall screen. The image beside Su sat as still as a stone, except for her eyes. Grim exhaustion still hung about Helen from dealing with the sudden deaths of the Cusmanos brothers aboard Venera, and those tired, determined eyes scanned the members of the C.A.C. They looked for the members’ reactions and tried to judge what Helen should do or say next.

The initial announcement about the contact with aliens had already been made. Now that the committee had sufficiently calmed down, it was time to move on and give them something else to chew over.

Su didn’t give Helen the chance to do or say anything. Speed-of-light delays could be so useful at times. Su just cleared her throat and spoke with a confidence that had more to do with political experience than honest belief. “I would like to take this moment to say that Dr. Failia and the governing board for Venera Base were quite right in bringing this situation to our attention immediately. This is a diplomatic event unparalleled in human history, and as such, it deserves to be addressed with immediate and undivided attention.

“We must not,” Su went on, “no matter how much our imaginations want to revert to old stories of invasion and attack, forget for a moment that our first indication that these…people existed was when they performed a rescue of seven human beings. Let me say that again. They rescued seven human beings. Seven human beings whose lives would have been lost if not for the selfless intervention of the aliens.”

Screen rolls rustled and Patrick James, a fat, florid committee member with a thatch of yellow hair looked up. “What about the eighth human being? The report says the scarab had a crew of eight.”

“Yes,” said Helen’s projection when the question reached her. “The eighth crew member, Bailey Heathe, was killed in the initial accident. His remains were not recoverable.” She did not glance at Su. Helen had told Su why the remains were not recoverable. They had agreed that that particular revelation should be left for later, if it ever needed to be brought out at all.

Secretary Avram Haight, a needle-thin man with pallid brown skin and his hair cut short under his black cap spoke. “Have these…People…said what they are doing here?”

This was going to be tricky. Su and Helen had worked on the wording for an hour and agreed that Helen, as the one from the scene, should deliver it.

“They are interested in surveying the planet,” said Helen.

“Just surveying?” Even through the holotank, Su could feel the weight of Secretary Haight’s gaze. “This is an exploratory team?”

The question traveled to Venus. Screen rolls were shuffled. Eyes glanced around the room, measuring reaction, guessing intentions. Su’s gaze met Edmund Waicek’s and saw nothing there but cold hostility. Frezia Cheney had been as good as her word, and Edmund’s spinners were now all in a scramble, reexplaining his every statement against the colonies, trying to salvage the impression that his judgment was sound and unbiased. There was even some careful talk of a conflict-of-interest hearing. Very careful, but there it was.

Every little bit helped. Some people were finally beginning to get the hint that a completely anticolonial viewpoint was no longer flying with the entire population of Mother Earth.

Finally, Helen’s answer reached the hearing chamber. “No, Sir, it is not just an exploratory team,” she said. Her voice was calm, but Su could see how tightly she held herself. “They wish to assess the possibility of establishing a permanent colony on Venus.”

Here it comes.
Su held her breath. But the explosion did not happen. Instead the committee just murmured and whispered. Even Jasmine Latimer, who went in for shouting and pounding the table, blanched only slightly.

Maybe we can pull this off. Maybe it won’t have to be a circus.

“Dr. Failia.” Secretary Kent unrolled a screen and swept the gaze of her overlarge blue eyes across it. “What are the Venerans doing now?”

Again the speed-of-light delay stretched out. Helen’s image sat at Su’s side, making motions Helen had made six minutes ago.
Does Edmund know I raked his background back up?
Su found herself wondering. Probably not, or she would have felt the backlash by now. No, her campaign to keep him busy appeared to be working.

At least something is. Keep your focus, Su. This is not about Edmund; this is about Venera.

Helen’s image spoke. “We have asked members of the U.N. investigative team to establish communication with the People.” Helen had her hands folded together in front of her. Su tried not to notice her white knuckles. The statement was only a minor stretch. Dr. Hatch was a team member, and Dr. Kenyon was not really a Veneran. “The People seem quite willing to talk.”

Secretary Kent looked down her long nose at Helen. “Has it been made quite clear that no one on Venera has any power to negotiate any kind of treaty?”

When that question reached her, Helen answered with forced patience. “Yes, Secretary Kent. Everyone is aware of this.”

Su minutely adjusted the table microphone. “Dr. Failia decided to address the C.A.C. immediately because Venera lacks trained mediators, linguists, or diplomats at this time. A new team needs to be assembled as soon as possible.” Several of the committee members nodded in approval, but everyone else seemed to be waiting for the word from on high. The faces of the Secretaries were not revealing.

“It is very clear we need a new team,” said Secretary Sun. He looked like a young, vigorous man with a full head of black hair, a round, open face, and eyes that rivaled Secretary Kent’s for their size. Su had once heard an estimate of his yearly bill for med-trips and body-mod. There were counties in North America that didn’t make that much in a year. “What we want to establish here is that Venera Base has not overstepped its bounds.” Secretary Sun looked directly at Helen. “Why are you still allowing your people contact with the aliens?”

More waiting. Su’s fists tightened until her nails pressed painfully into her palms. Too much waiting. It was stretching her thin. She had waited for Helen to contact her, even after she had found out there were aliens. She had waited for Mr. Hourani’s answers to all the questions raised by the shipyard bombing. She had waited for each and every one of her questions to reach Helen sitting up there alone in her Throne Room as they tried to work out a strategy for coping with a miracle so huge that Su’s mind shied away from contemplating it.

“The people establishing contact with the aliens are not my people,” said Helen. The gaze from her image met the gaze of Secretary Sun’s image without hesitation. “They’re yours. The optical specialist you sent us, Dr. Veronica Hatch, has taken charge of the communication project.”

Su wondered what Dr. Hatch was going to say when she heard how Helen worded that particular fact.

“She did this without your permission?” Like Secretary Kent, Secretary Sun had perfected the art of looking down his nose. Su supposed it was something that came with high office.