Ally (14 page)

“Should have taken the freight tube rather than fly,” she said. The network ran underground, stark carriages for moving material and produce between cities without disturbing the surface. “But it's a few hours we don't have—”

“Ade will be fine. You needn't worry.”

“Okay, I didn't get to say goodbye to you before I ended up doing an EVA sans suit, and I didn't get to say goodbye to
either
of you when you went on your half-arsed let'ssee-who-can-sacrifice-himself-first mission to join the bezeri.” Shan rubbed her hand quickly across her nose, but she wasn't crying. She wasn't the weeping kind. “And I'm never going to risk that again. Not now. We think we might get separated—we part right. Okay?”

Aras nodded. Shan wasn't good at intimacy and it burst out of her sporadically, as if she wasn't sure how to use it. “There will be an end to this cycle of trouble,
isan
, and then we have no reason to be apart. And we'll savor boredom.”

Shan paused as if sizing up the idea. “I like the sound of boredom, actually. It's a novelty in itself.”

Aras flew the small shuttle to Mar'an'cas. He hadn't piloted a vessel in a long time, and his body recalled being a pilot and that he was good at it. Shan peered out of the cockpit's wraparound shield and seemed absorbed by the canyons and winding rivers that gave way to forests and eventually to coastal plains, where the island of Mar'an'cas sat staring back at Pajat.

It was just a gray rock. It seemed hard to believe that anyone could live there.

“Y'know, I've never flown over anywhere on Earth so unmarked by people,” said Shan.

No roads, no scattered towns, no big cities, no iconic buildings: it was the polar opposite of Umeh in every conceivable way. Aras still felt restoration would be wholly beyond the isenj. As he brought the vessel lower, Pajat emerged suddenly in the curve of cliffs, as dully gray as F'nar was frivolously pearlescent. “This is not a world for architects.”

“Maybe the Skavu will approve. Christ, it worries me that Esganikan didn't know they were showing up so soon.”

“You seem to think the Eqbas should be omnipotent.”

“Well, it's disconcerting to think that a million-year-old culture is as prone to bad communication, under-resourcing and getting in over their heads as the chimps back home.”

“There is no such thing as continual improvement. Just change.”

“Maybe I should adjust my expectations. I'm just glad I insisted on splitting the gene bank and keeping one in reserve.”

Aras set the vessel down near the beach. They sat in silence, listening to the ticking of the airframe as parts cooled.

“Five years,” said Shan. “It'll all be behind us. The colony, the Eqbas, Umeh Station, everyone—on their way back to Earth. Umeh—well, on the mend or a blank slate. We won't know what to do with our time, will we?”

Shan didn't mention the bezeri, or the Skavu. Aras also wondered what they might be doing in five years' time. Shan was still thinking like a creature that died within a hundred years, but it was early days for her.

“What did you have in mind for the gene bank?” he asked.

“The spare?”

“If the Earth adjustment fails, you won't commit your last resource to a second attempt.”

“No, I'll hand it to the Eqbas. Perhaps they can create a terrestrial environment minus
Homo sapiens
and give every other bugger a chance.” She nudged him with her elbow. “It's too big for me to think about. Right now, I'll settle for getting the colony to take on the Umeh evacuees. Tick 'em off the list one at a time.”

“This is an escalating problem.”

“Here's the trick,” said Shan. She swung down from the cockpit. She actually seemed more cheerful today: she hadn't mentioned the abortion for a while, and she wasn't fretting openly about Rayat and Lindsay. “You reach a point where there's so much shit coming down the pipe that you can't worry or panic any longer because you have no choices to make. You just deal with what's immediate. Tactical rather than strategic level. If tactical gets too much, I default to operational. Does that make sense?”

It was police jargon. “No.”

“Basically, you do what you can.”

She strode down to the shallow-draft boat on the beach. Nobody else went to Mar'an'cas. It was there for them alone. Aras followed her example, and thought of his list, the
tactical
things he might do to stem the feeling of being buried in chaos and unbidden memories.

Do what you can.

He settled for accepting that his five-hundred-year vigil to keep Bezer'ej from being despoiled again had failed.

From there, things could only improve.

The Temporary City, Bezer'ej

Esganikan Gai had expected the call sooner, but the isenj were no longer working together globally. The Northern Assembly, millions of miles away on Umeh, had finally detected the Skavu fleet.

“Minister Shomen Eit wants an explanation,” said Aitassi. “I didn't tell him it was too late to debate about this.”

Esganikan wondered whether to tell him that Minister Rit had already asked for her immediate intervention, but the internal power struggles of the Northern Assembly cabinet didn't concern her. “If Rit intends to remove Shomen Eit to ensure the restoration goes ahead with some degree of cooperation, that will be a bonus.”

There was nothing the isenj could do about it either way. Their long-range systems still fed back data, but their strike
capacity was gone. In the command center cut into the rock of Bezer'ej, the Eqbas crew paused to watch the exchange. Humans, Shan said, didn't conduct critical meetings in front of an audience. Esganikan couldn't see why; the more people who saw it, the better informed everyone was, and the more chance they had to make a useful contribution.

But
gethes
didn't work that way. Earth was going to be hard work in more ways than one.

“What is this, Commander?” Shomen Eit appeared on the screen, agitated. Esganikan wasn't sure if raised quills meant anger or fear, but this certainly wasn't a relaxed isenj on her screen. The cabochon beads of green gems that tipped his quills rattled, making his gasping delivery of English harder to understand. “These look like Eqbas ships. Are you sending more support, or are you invading?”

“They are Skavu,” said Esganikan. “From Garav.” Did isenj have any knowledge of the system? It was so close as to be next door—a few light-weeks—but that didn't mean they had ever had contact with each other. “Garav is—”

Shomen Eit seemed to expand. His quills were now almost 90 degrees from his body. “We
know
about Garav,” he said. Every word was sucked and exhaled through a hole in his throat, bypassing his own vocal system. “We have seen what you did to Garav, and many other worlds. Minister Ual was keen to show us the evidence to justify why we should cooperate with you.”

“The Skavu can help you restore your planet once we give them the means.”

“You give them ships and weapons, they wipe us out. Yes, I understand.”

“They don't want conquest. They want balance. I don't have the troops to fight street by street with your enemies. So choose, Minister—I can deal with your planet very rapidly from orbit, or I can give you land forces who'll do a more considered job and isenj will survive.”

“But they will not be under
our
command, will they? All other states are at war with us, and that small problem has to be resolved before I can worry about planting more
trees.
” Shomen Eit did a very good job of spitting out the word for
a creature who wasn't using lips to form sound. “So tell me what your Skavu allies can do that's
helpful.
”

“Minister, your domestic affairs are your concern. What do you plan to do? Surrender?”

Shomen Eit was silent for a moment. “I have a number of options. I may have to capitulate and accept enemy terms.”

“Which are?”

“As before, sever all ties with off-worlders, and join the rest of the states to rearm and remove the wess'har from this system once and for all.”

“And you want Asht—Bezer'ej—back too.”

“We have indeed had this conversation before.”

“And your colleagues across Umeh know that you have no hope whatsoever of launching any credible assault on Wess'ej, and that once you start down that path, we will remove you from this system.” Esganikan had her misgivings about Tasir Var. “Is your satellite's administration involved in this?”

“In the event of war, we would expect their full support.”

“I have no more patience left, Minister.” Esganikan couldn't take any more of the indecision and maneuvering. There
would
be a clear course of action at the end of the day. “Here are your options. Cooperate globally—reduce your population by three-quarters. Cooperation between the Northern Assembly and us—reduce the global population by three-quarters. Unite, declare war on Wess'ej and attempt to invade Bezer'ej—we will exterminate you all. Choose.”

Shomen Eit said nothing. Without eyes to focus on or scent to guide her, Esganikan felt unsettled. But the choice was made: the Northern Assembly couldn't get cooperation from the rest of Umeh, so its only option was to stand alone and accept Eqbas military intervention.

Nobody would choose to fight in those circumstances.

The Northern Assembly could survive with a single choice, and its neighbors would not.

Esganikan felt time dying; every day now, she was more aware of the empty minutes and the time she would never be able to relive. It was more than impatience. She felt robbed.

It was time to decide. The choice was obvious. “You
agreed to our restoration. We offered you nonlethal methods of reducing your numbers. I have no more time to give to this when I have other worlds with more pressing needs.”

Shomen Eit was completely still.

“Then,” he said, “I regret that I must join my fellow isenj and prepare for war.”

The communications officer, Hayin, following the English conversation with difficulty, bent down to catch a translation from Aitassi. He bobbed up again and tilted his head in amazement. “Insane,” he said.

Esganikan had almost expected it, given the isenj history of fighting when guaranteed defeat. But it still surprised her. It was, as Hayin said, an insane choice.

But they had made it.

“Then we have nothing further to discuss,” said Esganikan.

She closed the link. Nobody offered an opinion. The command center was silent except for the occasional tick of monitoring systems and the sigh of air from the vents.

“For a race of engineers, they appear extraordinarily unable to grasp reality,” she said.

“I think the Skavu made up their minds.” Hayin ran his hands over the console and checked channels. “What happened to Minister Rit?”

“Either she's been forced to abandon her coup, or she'll contact us very soon.”

At least Esganikan had a clear objective now. She'd never done the full erasure of a world before: there had been so very few in history. She might need a little advice and information from Surang, but she had the bioweapons, and it was simply a matter of organizing their distribution and delivery.

Then she could focus on Earth, on talking to the Australian hosts, refining and modeling the Earth mission. There was surprisingly little time left before the main task force reached the rendezvous point: less than five years, during which she also had to ensure Bezer'ej wasn't heading for disaster.
Infected bezeri. A complication, but not a disaster, not caught this early.
“At least the Skavu's journey won't be wasted.”

The mood in the command center was somber, and she understood that. She looked around at the disappointed faces, and inhaled the agitation scents she expected. Nobody enjoyed erasing a planet. It was an admission of defeat for professional restorers, and it also meant billions of deaths.

“In generations to come,” she said, trying to soothe them, “we may have a world on which to revive the Earth gene bank. Shan Frankland doesn't trust humans to look after the first one well.”

“Full erasure and repopulation has only been done once,” Aitassi said.

“Depending on how the Earth adjustment mission goes, it may have to be done
twice.
” Esganikan walked to the door. “I was wrong to try to reconcile two objectives. Security for Wess'ej and Bezer'ej were the priorities, the isenj request for help distracted me. Isenj will resent wess'har as long as they exist. Their genetic memory ensures it. I apologize for my lack of clarity.”

The air group commander, Joluti, opened the link to the Skavu fleet and stood waiting with an expectant expression on his face. The silence of the command center vanished and was filled by the hum and trill of voices.

“You still haven't spoken to them yet,
chail,
” said Joluti. “Now would be advisable.”

“They're far too keen,” she said. “I should talk to Canh Pho. I haven't had a conversation with the Australians for some time.”

It was simply the past demanding too much attention. The past couldn't be changed, and so had to be learned from and then put away, and only allowed to touch the present if it could improve it. Memories of the war on Garav didn't improve Esganikan's present day at all.

“And Shan Frankland has called for you twice,” Hayin said. “She wants to know if we can transport the personnel from Umeh Station. Under the circumstances, we must.”

Shan.
There was always that bright obsessive light in her face that was also in the eyes of the Skavu. They might find some common ground, but they would need to have
c'naatat
explained to them carefully, and be ordered not to interfere.