The Night's Dawn Trilogy (257 page)

Voidhawks, however, with their mass perception ability, had added to the sparse data over the centuries. Using
Oenone
’s senses, Syrinx could feel the moons’ uniformity; globes of a solid aluminum silicon ore right down to the core, free of
any blemishes or incongruities. Their gravity fields pressed into space-time, causing a uniquely smooth three-dimensional
stretch within the local fabric of reality. Again, all three fields were precisely the same, and perfectly balanced, ensuring
the triad’s orbital alignment would hold true for billions of years.

A pale silver-grey in colour, they each had a small scattering of craters. There were no other features; perhaps the strongest
indicator to their artificial origin. Nor could centuries of discreet probing by the voidhawks find any mechanical structures
or instruments left anywhere. The triad moons were totally inert. Presumably, whatever the “experiment” was, it had finished
long ago.

Syrinx couldn’t help but wonder if the triad had something to do with the beyond and the Kiint’s understanding of their own
nature. No human astrophysicist had ever come up with any halfway convincing explanation as to what the experiment could be.

Maybe the Kiint just wanted to see what the shadows would look like from Jobis’s surface,
Ruben said.
The penumbra cones do reach back that far.

It seems a trifle extravagant for a work of art,
she countered.

Not really. If your society is advanced enough to build something like the triads in the first place, then logic dictates
that such a project would only represent a fraction of your total ability. In which case it might well be nothing other than
a chunk of performance art.

Some chunk.
She felt his hand tighten around hers, offering comfort in return for the brief hint of intimidation she had leaked into
the affinity band.

Remember,
he said,
we really know very little about the Kiint. Only what they choose to tell us.

Yes. Well I hope they choose to let slip a little more today.

The question over the true extent of the Kiint’s abilities nagged at her as
Oenone
swept into a six-hundred-kilometre parking orbit. From space Jobis resembled an ordinary terracompatible world; although
at fifteen thousand kilometres in diameter it was appreciably larger, with a gravity of one point two Earth standard. It had
seven continents, and four principal oceans; axial tilt was less than one per cent, which when coupled with a suspiciously
circular orbit around the star produced only mild climate variations, no real seasons.

For a world housing a race which could build the triads there was astonishingly little in the way of a technological civilization
visible. Conventional wisdom had it that as Kiint technology was so advanced it could never resemble anything like human machinery
and industrial stations, so nobody knew what to look for; either that or it was all neatly folded away in hyperspace. Even
so, they must have gone through a stage of conventional engineering, an industrial age with hydrocarbon combustion and factory
farming, pollution and exploitation of natural planetary resources. If so, there was no sign of it ever existing. No old motorways
crumbling under the grasslands, no commercial concrete cities abandoned to be swallowed by avaricious jungles. Either the
Kiint had done a magnificent job of restoration, or they had achieved their technological maturity a frighteningly long time
ago.

Today, Jobis supported a society comprised of villages and small towns, municipalities perched in the centre of land only
marginally less wild than the rest of the countryside. Population was impossible to judge, though the best guesstimate put
it at slightly less than a billion. Their domes, which were the only kinds of buildings, varied in size too much for anyone
to produce a reliable figure.

Syrinx and Ruben took the flyer down, landing at Jobis’s only spaceport. It was situated beside a coastal town whose buildings
were all human-built. White stone apartment blocks and a web of small narrow streets branching out from a central marina made
it resemble a holiday destination rather than the sole Confederation outpost on this placid, yet most eerily alien of worlds.

The residents were employed either by embassies or companies. The Kiint did not encourage casual visits. Quite why they participated
in the Confederation at all was something of a mystery, though one of the lesser ones. Their only interest and commercial
activity was in trading information. They bought data on almost any subject from anyone who wanted to sell, with xenobiology
research papers and scout-ship logs fetching the highest prices. In exchange, they sold technological data. Never anything
new or revolutionary, you couldn’t ask for anti-gravity machines or a supralight radio; but if a company wanted its product
improving, the Kiint would deliver a design showing a better material to use in construction or a way of reconfiguring the
components so they used less power. Again, a huge hint to their technological heritage. Somewhere on Jobis there must be a
colossal memory bank full of templates for all the old machines they’d developed and then discarded God-alone-knew how long
ago.

Syrinx never got a chance to explore the town. She had contacted the Edenist embassy (the largest diplomatic mission on Jobis),
explaining her mission, while
Oenone
flew into parking orbit. The embassy staff had immediately requested a meeting with a Kiint called Malva, who had agreed.

She’s our most cooperative contact,
Ambassador Pyrus explained as they walked down the flyer’s airstairs.
Which I concede isn’t saying much, but if any of them will answer you, she will. Have you had much experience dealing with
the Kiint?

I’ve never even met one before,
Syrinx admitted. The landing field reminded her of Norfolk, just a patch of grass designated to accommodate inconvenient
visitors. Although it was warmer, subtropical, it had the same temporary feel. Few formalities, and fewer facilities. Barely
twenty flyers and spaceplanes were parked outside the one service hangar. The difference to Norfolk came from the other craft
sharing the field, lined up opposite the ground-to-orbit machines. Kiint-fabricated, they resembled smaller versions of human
ion field flyers, ovoid but less streamlined.

Then why were you sent?
Pyrus asked, diffusing a polite puzzlement into the thought.

Wing-Tsit Chong thought it was a good idea.

Did he now? Well I can hardly contradict him, can I?

Is there anything I should know before I meet her?

Not really. They’ll either deal with you or not.

Did you explain the nature of the questions I have?

Pyrus waved an empty hand around at the scenery.
You told me when you contacted the embassy. We don’t know if they can intercept singular-engagement mode, but I expect they
can if they want. Next question of course is would they bother. You might like to ask Malva exactly how important we are to
them. We’ve never worked that out either.

Thank you.
Syrinx patted the top pocket of her ship-tunic, feeling the outline of her credit disk. Eden had loaded it with five billion
fuseodollars before she left, just in case.

Will I have to pay for the information, do you think?

Pyrus gestured at the Kiint transport craft, and a hatch opened, the fuselage material flowing apart. It was close enough
to the ground not to need airstairs. Syrinx couldn’t quite judge if its belly was resting on the ground, or if it was actually
floating.

Malva will tell you,
Pyrus said. advise total openness.

Syrinx stepped into the craft. The interior was a lounge, with four fat chairs as the only fittings. She and Ruben sat down
gingerly, and the hatch flowed shut.

Are you all right?
an anxious
Oenone
asked straightaway.

Of course I am. Why?

You started accelerating at roughly seventy gees and are currently travelling at Mach thirty-five.

You’re kidding!
Even as she thought it, she was sharing
Oenone
’s mind, perceiving herself streaking across a tall mountain range eight hundred kilometres inland from the town at an awesome
velocity for atmospheric travel.
They must be very tolerant of sonic booms on this planet.

I suspect your vehicle isn’t producing one. My current orbital position doesn’t allow optimum observation, but I can’t locate
any turbulence in your wake.

According to
Oenone
, the craft decelerated at seventy gees as well, landing some six thousand kilometres from the spaceport field. When she and
Ruben stepped out a balmy breeze plucked at her silky ship-tunic. The craft had come to rest in a broad valley, just short
of a long lake with a shingle beach. Cooler air was breathing down from the snowcapped peaks guarding the skyline, ruffling
the surface of the water. Avocado-green grass-analogue threw thin coiling blades up to her knees. Trees with startlingly blue
bark grew in the shape of melting lollipops, colonizing the valley all the way up to the top of the foothills. Birds were
circling in the distance; they looked too fat to be flying in the heavy gravity.

A Kiint dome was situated at the head of the lake, just above the beach. Despite the fresh mountain air, Syrinx was perspiring
inside her ship-tunic by the time they had walked over to it.

It must have been very old; it was made from huge blocks of a yellow-white stone that had almost blurred together. The weathering
had given it a grainy surface texture, which local ivy-analogues put to good use. Broad clusters of tiny flowers dripped out
of the dark leaves, raising their pink and violet petals to the sun.

The entrance was a wide arch, its border blocks carved with worn crestlike symbols. A pair of the blue-bark trees stood outside,
gnarled from extreme age, half of their branches dead, but nonetheless casting a respectable shadow over the dome. Malva stood
just inside, a tractamorphic arm extended, its tip formshifting to the shape of a human hand. Breathing vents issued a mildly
spicy breath as Syrinx touched her palm to impossibly white fingers.

I extend my greetings to you and your mind sibling, Syrinx,
the Kiint broadcast warmly.
Please enter my home.

Thank you.
Syrinx and Ruben followed the Kiint along the passage inside, down to what must have been the dome’s central chamber. The
floor was a sheet of wood with a grain close to red and white marble, dipping down to a pool in the middle which steamed and
bubbled gently. She was sure the floor was alive, in fact the whole chamber’s decor was organic-based. Benches big enough
to hold an adult Kiint were like topiary bushes without leaves. Smaller ones had been grown to accommodate the human form.
Interlocked patches of amber and jade moss with crystalline stems matted the curving walls, threaded with naked veins of what
looked to be mercury. Syrinx was sure she could see them pulsing, the silver liquid oozing slowly upwards. An aura of soft
iridescent light bounced and ricocheted off the glittery surface in playfully soothing patterns.

Above her, the dome’s blocks capped the chamber. Except from inside they were transparent; she could see the geometric reticulation
quite plainly.

All in all, Malva’s home was interesting rather than revelational. Nothing here human technology and bitek couldn’t reproduce
with a bit of effort and plenty of money. Presumably it had been selected to put Confederation visitors at ease, or damp down
their greed for high-technology gadgets.

Malva eased herself down on one of the benches.
Please be seated. I anticipate you will require physical comfort for this session.

Syrinx selected a seat opposite her host. It allowed her to see some small grey patches on Malva’s snowy hide, so pale they
could have been a trick of the light. Did grey indicate aging in all creatures?
You are very gracious. Did Ambassador Pyrus indicate the information I would ask for?

No. But given the trouble which now afflicts your race, I expect it is of some portent.

Yes. I was sent by the founder of our culture, Wing-Tsit Chong. We both appreciate you cannot tell me how we can rid ourselves
of the possessed. However, he is curious about many aspects of the phenomenon.

This ancestor of yours is an entity of some vision. It is my regret I never encountered him.

You would be most welcome to visit Jupiter and talk to him.

There would be little point; to us a memory construct is not the entity, no matter how sophisticated the simulacrum.

Ah. That was my first question: Have the souls of Edenists transferred into the neural strata of our habitats along with their
memories?

Is this not obvious to you yet? There is a difference between life and memory. Memory is only one component which comprises
a corporeal life. Life begets souls, they are the pattern which sentience and self-awareness exerts on the energy within the
biological body. Very literally: you think, therefore you are.

Life and memory, then, are separate but still one?

While the entity remains corporeal, yes.

So a habitat would have its own soul?

Of course.

So voidhawks have as well.

They are closer to you than your habitats.

How wonderful,
Oenone
said.
Death will not part us, Syrinx. It has never parted captains and ships.