The Night's Dawn Trilogy (133 page)

Fenton arrived at a river, and peered out of the bushes lining the steep bank. Reza requested a chart from his inertial-guidance
block, and confirmed their position.

“Pat, there’s a river one eighty metres ahead, it leads into the Quallheim eventually. Send Octan along it to check for any
boat traffic.”

“Right.” The voice seemed to emerge from a small qualtook tree.

“Are we going to use it?” Ariadne asked, a clump of knotted tinnus vines.

“Yes, providing Octan says nobody else is. It’s narrow enough, good tree cover. We can cut a day off our time.” He called
silently to his hounds, and ordered them to cut back behind the team, covering their rear.

They reached the river three minutes later, and stood at the top of the four-metre bank.

“What is that stuff?” Jalal asked.

The water was clotted with free-floating fleshy leaves, pure white discs a couple of metres in diameter, a tiny purple star
in their centre. Each had an upturned rim of a few centimetres, natural coracles. They bobbed and spun and sailed calmly along
with the current, undulating with the swell. Some overlapped, some collided and rebounded, but they all kept moving along.
Upstream or downstream, whichever way the team looked, the river was smothered in them.

Kelly smiled inside her shell-helmet as the daylight dream of her Lalonde didactic course came slithering into her conscious
thoughts. “They’re snowlilies,” she said. “Quite something, aren’t they? Apparently they all bloom at the same time then drift
downstream to drop their kernel. It really screws up the Juliffe basin for boat traffic while they’re in season.” She tracked
her retinal implants along the river. It was all going into a neural nanonics memory cell, scenes of Lalonde. Capturing the
substance of a place was always important, it gave the report that little edge, adding to reality.

“They’re a bloody nuisance,” Reza said curtly. “Sewell, Jalal, activate the hovercraft; Pat, Ariadne, point guard.”

The two combat-adepts unslung the big packs they were carrying, and took out the programmed silicon craft, cylinders sixty
centimetres long, fifteen wide. They slithered down the bank to the water’s edge.

Kelly focused on the sky downstream. At full magnification the northern horizon was stained a pale red. “It’s close,” she
said.

“An hour away,” Reza said. “Maybe two. This river winds a crooked course.”

Sewell shoved a couple of snowlilies aside and dropped his cylinder into the clear patch of water. The hovercraft began to
take shape, its gossamer-thin silicon membrane unfolding in a strict sequence, following the pattern built into its molecules.
A flat boat-shaped hull was activated first, five metres long, fifteen centimetres thick. Water was pumped into its honeycomb
structure, ballast to prevent it from blowing away. The gunwales started to rise up.

Theo Connal dropped lightly to the ground beside Kelly. She gave a slight start as he turned off his chameleon circuit.

“Anything interesting?” Reza asked.

“The cloud is still shifting about. But it’s slower now.”

“Figures, the spaceplanes have gone.”

“All the birds are flying away from it.”

“Don’t blame ’em,” Pat said.

Kelly’s communication block reported that a signal was being beamed down from the geostationary satellites, coded for their
team. It was a very powerful broadcast, completely non-directional.

“Kelly, Reza, don’t respond to this,” Joshua said. “It looks like our communications are wide open to the invaders, which
is why I’m transmitting on a wide footprint, a directional beam will pinpoint you for them. OK, situation update; we’ve got
big problems up here. Several spaceplanes were taken over while they were on the ground, the invaders are now busy hijacking
starships, but nobody can tell which ones. You know Ashly wasn’t sequestrated, so that means you should be able to trust me.
But don’t take orders from anyone else, especially don’t broadcast your location. Problem two, a navy squadron has just arrived
and shut down the strike mission. Jesus, it’s a total fucking shambles in orbit right now. Some of the hijacked ships are
trying to run for a jump coordinate, I’ve got voidhawks blocking the
Lady Mac
’s patterning nodes, and two of my fellow combat-capable trader starships are heading up to intercept the navy squadron.

“Your best bet is to turn round from that cloud and just keep going, out into the hinterlands somewhere. There’s no point
in trying to locate the invader’s bases any more. I’ll do my best to pick you up in a day or two, if this cockup gets sorted
by then. Stay alive, that’s all you have to worry about now. I’ll keep you informed when I can. Out.”

The two hovercraft had finished erecting themselves. Sewell and Jalal were unpacking the energy matrices and superconductor
fan motors ready to slot them into place.

“Now what?” Ariadne asked. The team had all gathered around Reza.

“Keep going,” he said.

“But you heard what Joshua said,” Kelly exclaimed. “There’s no point. We have no orbital fire-power back-up, and no mission
left. If we just manage to survive for the next few days it’s going to be a bloody miracle.”

“You still haven’t grasped it yet, have you, Kelly?” Reza said. “This is bigger than Lalonde; this isn’t about doing a dirty
job for money, not any more. These invaders are going to challenge the entire Confederation. They have the power. They can
change people, their minds, their bodies; mould whole planets into something new, something that we have no part in. Some
time soon those ships in orbit are going to have to try and attack, to put a stop to it all. It doesn’t matter whether it
is Smith or the navy squadron. If the invaders aren’t stopped here, they’ll keep on coming after us. Sure we can run, but
they’ll catch us, if not out in the hinterlands than back at Tranquillity, or even Earth if you want to run that far. But
not me. Everyone has to make a stand eventually, and mine is right here. I’m going to find a base and let the ships know.”

Kelly held her tongue, she could well imagine how Reza would react to her wheedling.

“More like it!” Sal Yong proclaimed.

“OK,” Reza said. “Finish fitting out the hovercraft, and get our gear stowed.”

It took a surprisingly short five minutes to complete their preparations and clamber in. Fully assembled the hovercraft was
a simple affair, with a big fan at the rear and two cycloidal impellers filling the skirt with air. It was steered mechanically,
by vanes behind the fan.

Kelly sat on a bench at the rear of her craft, riding with Sal Yong, Theo Connal, and Ariadne. Now the decision had been made,
she was quite glad to be free of the pack and walking through the jungle.

Reza’s lead hovercraft moved out from the bank, skimming easily over the snowlilies, and turned downstream. Fenton and Ryall
sat in the prow, blunt heads thrust out into the wind as they picked up speed.

One thing Princess Kirsten had always insisted on after ascending to the throne of the Principality of Ombey was keeping breakfast
a family affair. Crises could come and go, but giving the children quality time was sacrosanct.

Burley Palace, where she ruled from, was situated at the top of a gently sloping hill in the middle of Ombey’s capital, Atherstone.
Its pre-eminent location gave the royal apartments at the rear of the sprawling stone edifice a grand view over the parks,
gardens, and elegant residential buildings which made up the city’s eastern districts. Away in the distance was the haze-blurred
line of deeper blue that was the ocean.

Atherstone was only fifteen degrees south of the equator, putting it firmly in the tropical climate belt, but the early morning
breeze coming in off the ocean kept the temperature bearable until about ten o’clock. So Kirsten had the servants set the
table on the broad, red-tiled balcony outside her bedroom, where she could sit amid the yellow and pink flowers of the aboriginal
tolla vines that choked the back of the palace, and have a leisurely hour with her husband and three natural-born children.

Zandra, Emmeline, and Benedict were aged seven, five, and three respectively, the only naturally conceived children she and
Edward had produced. Their first five offspring had been gestated in exowombs after the zygotes had been carefully geneered
to the latest physiological pinnacle which the Kulu geneticists had achieved. It was the Saldana family way; incorporating
the freshest advances into each new generation, or at least that part of it destined to actually hold high office. Always
the elder children, following the old Earth European aristocratic tradition.

Kirsten’s first five children would probably live for around two hundred years, whereas she herself and the natural-born three
could only hope for about a hundred and eighty years. She had been sixty-six in 2608, when she was crowned in Atherstone Cathedral,
two months after her brother Alastair II had assumed the throne on Kulu. As the ninth child, she had always been destined
(barring an accident among her older brothers and sister) to rule Ombey, the newest principality.

Like all her nine exowomb siblings, and the five naturalborn children of her mother and father, she was tall and physically
robust; geneering gave her dark red hair and an oval face with well-rounded cheeks—and of course a thin nose with a tip that
curved down.

But geneering could only provide the physical stamina necessary for the stresses resulting in a century of wielding the supreme
authority vested in a reigning monarch. She had been in training for the intellectual challenge from birth; first loaded up
with the theory, endless politics and economics and management didactic courses, then five years at Nova Kong University learning
how to apply them. After serving a twelve-year naval commission (compulsory for all senior Saldanas) she was given divisional
management positions in the Kulu Corporation, the massive kingdom-wide utilities, transport, engineering, energy, and mining
conglomerate founded by Richard Saldana when he settled Kulu (and still owned solely by the king), graduating up to junior
cabinet posts. It was career designed with the sole intent of giving her unrivalled experience on the nature and use of power
for when she came to the throne.

Only the siblings of the reigning monarch ruled the Kingdom’s principalities on his behalf, keeping the family in direct command.
The hierarchy was long established and extraordinarily successful in binding together nine star systems which were physically
spread over hundreds of light-years. The only time it had ever come near to failure was when Crown Prince Michael germinated
Tranquillity; and the Saldana family would never let anything like that happen again.

Kirsten came out onto the balcony the morning after the
Ekwan
’s arrival feeling distinctly edgy. Time Universe had been triumphantly broadcasting its Laton exclusive since yesterday evening.
She had given the news programmes a quick scan after she woke, and the deluge hadn’t yet abated. Speculation over the
Ekwan
and Guyana’s code two alert was red hot. For the first time since her coronation she found herself considering censorship
as an option for calming the mounting media hysteria. Certainly there would have to be some sort of official statement before
the day was over.

She pushed up the voluminous sleeves of her rising robe and looked out over the superb lawns with their mixture of terrestrial
and xenoc flower-beds, and the artificial lakes graced by black swans. The sky was a deep indigo, without any cloud. Another
gorgeous, balmy day; if not in paradise, then as close as she would ever see. But the sunshine panorama left her unmoved.
Laton was a name which carried too many adolescent fear-images with it. Her political instinct was telling her this wasn’t
a crisis that would blow over in the night. Not this one.

That same political instinct which had kept the Saldana family securely on their various thrones for four hundred years.

The children’s nanny brought her excitable charges out of the nursery, and Kirsten managed to smile and kiss them all and
make a fuss. Edward lifted little Benedict into his lap, while she seated Emmeline next to her own chair. Zandra sat at her
place and reached eagerly for the jug of dorze juice.

“Grace first,” Kirsten admonished.

“Oh, Mummy!”

“Grace.” Zandra sighed woundedly, clasped her hands together and moved her lips. “Now can I eat?”

“Yes, but don’t bolt it.” She signalled one of the four attendant footmen to bring her own tea and toast.

Edward was feeding Benedict slim slices of bread along with his boiled egg. “Is the news still all Laton?” he asked over Emmeline’s
head.

“Yes,” Kirsten said.

He pulled a sympathetic face, and dangled another bread soldier in front of a cheerful Benedict.

They had been married forty years. A good marriage by any reasonable standards, let alone an institution as odd as a royal
marriage. Edward was old money, titled as well, and an ex-navy officer who had served with some distinction. He was also geneered,
which was a big plus; the court liked matches with the same range of life expectancy—it made things tidy. They hadn’t quite
been pushed into it by the family, but the pressure had been there for someone like him. All the senior Saldanas displayed
for public consumption the Christian monogamy ideal. Divorce was, of course, out of the question. Alastair was head of Kulu’s
Church, Defender of the Faith throughout the Kingdom. Royalty didn’t break the commandments, not publicly.

However, she and Edward enjoyed a relationship of mutual respect, and trust, and even considerable fondness. Maybe love had
been there too at the start of it, forty years ago. But what they had now was enough to carry them through the next century
together without bitterness and regret. Which was an achievement in itself. When she thought of her brother Claude’s marriage…

“Mummy’s thinking again,” Emmeline announced loudly.

Kirsten grinned. “Thinking what to do with you.”

“What?” Emmeline squealed.