The Night's Dawn Trilogy (268 page)

No. If we’re interpreting this properly, there is more to the beyond than eternal purgatory. That would be wondrous.

I agree.

Then why didn’t he tell us exactly what awaits? And why would it only be us who escape the entrapment, and not the Adamists?

Perhaps Malva was being more helpful than you realized when she told you the answer lies within us. If you were told, you
would not have found it for yourself. You wouldn’t have known it, you would simply have been taught.

It had to be Laton, didn’t it? The one person we can never truly trust.

Even you can’t trust him?

Not even I; despite the fact I owe him my life. He’s Laton, Mother.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t tell us. He knew we wouldn’t trust him. He did urge us to research this thoroughly.

And so far we’ve failed thoroughly.

We’ve only just started, Syrinx. And he gave us one clue, the kind of souls that have returned. You encountered them, darling,
you have the most experience of them. What type are they?

Bastards. All of them.

Calm down, and tell me what they were like.

Syrinx smiled briefly at the reprimand, then gazed at the pink water lilies, trying to make herself remember Pernik. Something
she still shied away from.
I was being truthful. They really were bastards. I didn’t see that many. But none of them cared about me, about how much they
were hurting me. It didn’t bother them, as if they were emotionally dead. I suppose being in the beyond for so long does that
to them.

Not quite. Kelly Tirrel recorded a series of interviews with a possessed called Shaun Wallace. He wasn’t callous, or indifferent.
If anything he seemed a rather sad individual.

Sad bastards, then.

You’re being too flippant. But consider this. How many Edenists are sad bastards?

No, Mother, I can’t accept that. You’re saying that there’s some kind of selection process involved. That something is imprisoning
sinners in the beyond and letting the righteous go on this final journey into the light. That cannot be right. You’re saying
there is a God. One that takes an overwhelming interest in every human being, that cares how we behave.

I suppose I am. It would certainly explain what’s happened.

No it doesn’t. Why was Laton allowed to go on the great journey?

He wasn’t. Souls and memory separate at death, remember? It was Laton’s personality operating within Pernik’s neural strata
that freed you and warned us, not his soul.

Do you really believe this?

I’m not sure. As you say, a God who takes this much interest in us as individuals would be awesome.
Athene turned from the pool and slipped her arm through her daughter’s.
I think I’ll keep hoping for another explanation.

Good!

Let’s hope you find it for me.

Me
?

You’re the one gallivanting around the galaxy again. It gives you a much better chance than me.

All we’re going to do is pick up routine reports from embassies and agents about possible infiltrations by the possessed,
and how local governments are coping with the problem. Tactics and politics, that’s all, not philosophy.

How very dull-sounding.
She pulled Syrinx a little closer, allowing the worry and concern in her mind to flow freely through affinity.
Are you sure you’re going to be all right?

Yes, Mother.
Oenone
and the crew will take good care

of me. I don’t want you to worry anymore.

•  •  •

When Syrinx had left to supervise the last stages of
Oenone
’s refit, Athene sat in her favourite chair on the patio and attempted to involve herself in the household routine again.
There were plenty of children to supervise at the moment, the adults were all away working long hours, mainly in support of
the defence force. Jupiter and Saturn were both gearing up for the Mortonridge Liberation.

You shouldn’t try to hold her so tight,
Sinon said.
It doesn’t help her confidence seeing you have so little in her.

I have every confidence,
she bridled.

Then show it. Let go.

I’m too frightened.

We all are. But we should be free to face it by ourselves.

How do you feel, then, knowing your soul has gone on?

Curious.

That’s all?

Yes. I already exist in tandem with the others of the multiplicity. The beyond is not too different from that.

You hope!

One day we will know.

Let’s pray it’s later rather than sooner.

Like daughter, like mother.

I don’t think I need a priest right now. More like a stiff drink.

Sinner.
He laughed.

She watched the shadows deepen under the trees as the light tube enacted a rose-gold dusk. “There can’t be a God, can there?
Not really.”

•  •  •

He doesn’t look terribly happy,
Tranquillity said as Prince Noton stepped into one of the ten tube stations which served the hub.

Ione pivoted her perceptual viewpoint through a complete circle, as if she were walking around the Prince. She was intrigued
by his air of stubborn dignity, the kind of face and body posture that indicated he knew he was old and outdated but still
insisted on interpreting the universe the way he wanted to. He wore the dress uniform of a Royal Kulu Navy admiral, with five
small medal pins on his chest. When he removed his cap to climb into the tube carriage there was little hair left, and that
grey; a telling sign for a Saldana.

I wonder how old he is?
she mused.

A hundred and seventy. He is King David’s youngest exowomb sibling. He ran the Kulu Corporation for a hundred and three years
until Prince Howard took over in 2608.

How strange.
Her attention flicked back to the Royal Kulu Navy battle cruiser docked in the spaceport (the first active duty ship from
the Kingdom in a hundred and seventy-nine years). A diplomatic mission of the highest urgency, its captain had said when he
requested permission to approach. And Prince Noton had an entourage of five Foreign Office personnel.
He’s part of the old order. We’re hardly likely to have anything in common. If Alastair wants something from me, surely someone
younger would have been a better bet? Maybe even a Princess.

Possibly. Though it would be hard not to respect Prince Noton. His seniority is part of the message the King is sending.

For a moment she felt a twist of worry.
I wonder. If anyone knows your true capabilities, it is my royal cousins.

I doubt he will ask anything dishonourable.

Ione had to jog down the last twenty metres of the corridor, fumbling with the seal on the side of her skirt. She had chosen
a formal business suit of green tropical weave cotton and a plain blouse; smart but not imperious. Trying to impress Prince
Noton with power dressing, she suspected, would be a waste of time.

The tube carriage had already arrived at the station of De Beauvoir Palace, her official residence. Two serjeants were escorting
the Prince and his entourage down the long nave. Ione raced across the audience chamber in her stockinged feet, sat behind
the central desk, and jammed her shoes on.

How do I look? Beautiful.

She growled at the lack of objectivity and combed her hair back with a hand.
I knew I should have had this cut.
She glanced around to check the arrangements. Six high-backed chairs were positioned in front of the desk. Human caterers
were preparing a buffet in one of the informal reception rooms (housechimps would have been a faux pas given the Kingdom’s
attitude to bitek, she felt).
Change the lighting.

Half of the floor-to-ceiling panes of glass darkened; the remainder altered their diffraction angle. Ten large planes of light
converged on the desk, surrounding her in a warm astral glow.
Too much—oh, hell.

The doors swung open. Ione rose to her feet as Prince Noton walked across the floor.

Go around the desk to greet him. Remember you are family, and technically there has never been any rift between us and the
Kingdom.

Ione did as she was told, putting on a neutral smile: one she could turn to charm or ice. It was up to him. When she put out
her hand, there was only the slightest hesitation on Prince Noton’s part. He gave her a politely formal handshake. His eyes
did linger on her signet ring, though.

“Welcome to Tranquillity, Prince Noton. I’m very flattered that Alastair should honour me with an emissary of your seniority.
I only wish we were meeting in happier times.”

The staff from the Foreign Office were staring ahead rigidly. If she didn’t know better she would have said they were praying.

Prince Noton took an awkwardly long time to answer. “It is a privilege to serve my King by coming here.”

Ah!
“TouchÉ, cousin,” she drawled.

They locked gazes while the Foreign Office staff watched nervously.

“You had to be female, didn’t you?”

“Naturally, though it was completely random. Daddy never had any exowomb children. Our family tradition of primogeniture doesn’t
apply here.”

“You hate tradition so much?”

“No, I admire a lot of tradition. I
uphold
a lot of tradition. What I will not tolerate is tradition for tradition’s sake.”

“Then you must be in your element. Order is falling across the Confederation.”

“That, Noton, was below the belt.”

He nodded gruffly. “Sorry. I don’t know why the King chose me for this. Never was a bloody diplomat.”

“I don’t know, I think he chose rather well, actually. Sit down, please.” She went back to her own chair. Tranquillity showed
her the Foreign Office personnel exchanging relieved expressions behind her back. “So what exactly does Alastair want?”

“These fellers.” Prince Noton clicked his finger in the direction of a serjeant. “I’m supposed to ask you if we can have their
DNA sequence.”

“Whatever for?”

“Ombey.”

She listened with dawning unease as Prince Noton and the Foreign Office personnel related the details of the proposed Mortonridge
Liberation.
Do you think this will work?

I don’t have the kind of information available to the Royal Navy, so I cannot provide an absolute. But the Royal Navy would
not undertake such an action unless they were confident of the outcome.

I can’t believe this is the right way to go about saving people who have been possessed. They’re going to destroy Mortonridge,
and a lot of people will get killed in the process.

Nobody ever claimed war is clean.

Then why do it?

For the overall objective, which is usually political. Certainly it is in this case.

So I can halt it then? If I refuse to give Alastair the sequence.

You can be the voice of sanity, certainly. Who would thank you?

The people who wouldn’t get killed, for a start.

Who are the people currently possessed, and would endure any sacrifice to be freed. They do not have the luxury of your academic
moral choices.

That’s not fair. You can’t condemn me for wanting to prevent bloodshed.

Unless you can offer an alternative, I would recommend handing over the sequence. Even if you prevaricated, you would not
halt the liberation campaign. At the most you would delay it for a few weeks while the Edenists spliced together a suitable
warrior servitor.

You know damn well I don’t have any alternative.

This is politics, Ione; you cannot prevent the liberation from going ahead. By helping, you will form valuable alliances.
Do not overlook that. You are pledged to defend all those who live within me. We may need help to do this.

No we don’t. You alone of all the habitats are the final sanctuary against the possessed.

Even that is not definite. Prince Noton is correct: old orders, old certainties, are falling everywhere. What must I do, then?
You are The Lord of Ruin. Decide.

When she looked at the old Prince, his immobile face, and his impassioned thoughts, she knew there was no choice, that there
never had been. The Saldanas had sworn to defend their subjects. And in return their subjects believed in them to provide
that defence. Over the Kingdom’s history, hundreds of thousands had died to maintain that mutual trust.

“Of course I will provide the DNA sequence for you,”

Ione said. “I only wish there was more I could do.”

•  •  •

With an irony Ione found almost painful, two days after Prince Noton departed for Kulu with the DNA sequence, Parker Higgens
and Oski Katsura told her they had located a Laymil memory of the spaceholm suicide.

Almost all other research work on the Laymil project campus had stopped to allow staff from every division to assist in reviewing
the decrypted sensorium memories. However, despite being the prime focus of activity, the Electronics Division was no busier
than the last time she had visited. The decryption operation had been finalized, allowing all of the information within the
Laymil electronics stack to be reformatted into a human access standard.