Ally (24 page)

“This is what is wrong,” she said. “We follow chains. We connect, like we were still colonies communicating one to another. Networks touch and share information, but there is no…”

“Big picture.”

“Is that the phrase?”

“It's what Eddie Michallat calls it.”

“We need a single source of images and information, that anyone can reach directly.” She needed to spend more time talking to Eddie. Her husband had found his insights useful,
in some cases essential: whether Eddie knew it or not, his advice had played a part in creating the cataclysmic events she was now watching. Ralassi said knowing that would appall him.

Doesn't Eddie know that every action we take changes the world in some way? How can he think he exists in a separate state of being?

“You have a terminal, Minister.” Ralassi tapped the screen and cycled through a few network portals—Rit noted her access to all the government ones had now been revoked—until one of the many BBChan streams of information appeared. “Minister Ual perfected his spoken English from this channel. He found it educational, if baffling. Would you like me to activate the translation?”

“Yes, but I meant that I would like a similar source of information of our own.” She imagined Ual here, watching the activity of far-distant humans and learning their language, alone and lonely while she was with the children on Tasir Var all that time. “Wess'har understand all this?”

“Some speak English. Eqbas are learning it too. They plan to visit Earth.”

“Visit. As they
visit
here?”

“Their objective is the same wherever they go. You know this.”

Rit settled in front of the screen. The image was hazy—humans detected only a limited visual spectrum and their transmitted material was proof of that—but it was a window on a civilization that was less like hers than she'd thought.

And they made no mention whatsoever of anything other than their own world. The stop-start war on Umeh didn't appear, even though humans should have been interested to see what awaited them when the Eqbas
visited.

Earth looked wonderfully rich, though. Images of a devastating storm showed giant green trees with feathery crowns not unlike the
dalf
's, and large open areas with foliage, and clean gray-blue oceans whipped by white foamy waves.

An ancestral memory in Rit recalled seas like that. She felt she was operating largely on the impulses of that memory now as it guided her in a crisis.

“Anyone on Earth can see this, yes?”

Ralassi had seen it all before and appeared bored, “If they want to. There are many information conduits like this, and some require payment.”

“But everyone knows these are available. They don't have to inquire, or rely on contacts to help them locate information that's not easily found.”

“Yes. In fact, BBChan and the other providers of this material go to great lengths to tell humans that it's there and invite them to see it.”

That
was the difference that fascinated her.

Isenj were as much driven by the genetic memory of their lineage as they were by new daily experiences. They lived within those social networks. Those networks cooperated, but…

“It's very repetitive,” said Ralassi. “The information is all very similar. Not only similar, but actively repeated.”

It might have been tedious for Ralassi, but for Rit it was still a striking novelty. It wasn't about people and situations she knew. It should have been utterly irrelevant to her. But it wasn't. This was now her future, and—more to the point—her children's future.

Rit waited. Across the city, at the cabinet offices, Eqbas troops were landing to secure the building.

They could have tired of the discussions and launched the universal pathogen that would kill every isenj on the planet. But they hadn't, and had taken a more difficult option to preserve isenj. Oddly, it gave her hope. Hidden in what others would see as a holocaust was actually something…
positive
that she never expected.

The traditional enemy, the wess'har—Eqbas or Wess'ej born—had changed its stance.

Wess'har were not immune to negotiation as everyone believed. Some of them could be
persuaded.
The wess'har couldn't be driven out, but if they were open to persuasion—they could be peaceful neighbors again, just as her husband had dreamed.

F'nar, Wess'ej, underground storage complex: Day one of the Umeh invasion

“They never learn, do they?” said Shan.

The future of Earth sat in industrial refrigerators in the tunnels under F'nar. Like all miracles, it could be reduced by observation to the measurable and mundane, and Shan preferred things that way. There were enough wild cards in life already without adding conjuring tricks. She even knew how people rose from the dead: it was a parasite, not divine intervention.

Nevyan stood watching her in the same indulgent way she did with Giyadas, as if Shan was just getting the hang of reality. “Esganikan Gai is hardly likely to respond to a court order to hand over the gene bank when the fleet arrives.”

“I never saw her as respectful of bureaucracy, somehow.” Shan pressed the seals of the freezer unit to reassure herself they were still locked, and reminded herself she had no technical expertise whatsoever to verify anything. She was just indulging in a nervous tic of ownership, checking the bloody
thing like it was a kitchen appliance and not an ecology worth fighting wars to protect. “You know what surprises me? That even now I'm still stunned by how
stupid
human beings are. Here's one of Earth's two superpowers thinking that a court order is going to make an alien fleet—hundreds of thousands of years more advanced than theirs—hand over
anything.
What do they use for brains? What in the name of God do they think the Eqbas are?”

“Why God?”

“Nev, it's just a phrase. I'm asking a real question. How can humans be that insanely blind to reality?”

“If you've been the dominant species for millennia, how can you suddenly accept that you have little significance in the scheme of things?”

“It's whistling in the dark. That's what we call it. Mindless activity to stop yourself feeling scared.”

“The time scales involved in this are beyond them. One thing I've learned about
gethes
in observing them is that anything more than a few seasons in the future is never going to happen.”

“You said it.”

This was the original gene bank, the one that the
Christopher
mission had gambled billions of euros and a human community to send as far from Earth as it could to protect it until it was safe to return not only animal material but also all the unpatented, unregistered food plants that no corporation owned or controlled. It was Earth in a kit, copyright God, free for use without alteration, the holy shareware of life. The loony God-botherers had succeeded and Shan had no doubt that even the ludicrously tolerant Deborah Garrod had allowed herself a private moment of “Up yours, heathens!” when the Eqbas showed up to complete the miracle.

Shan bloody well had. But she didn't do tolerant. And she didn't do trusting. She'd had the gene bank divided and duplicated, so that only one version of the irreplaceable collection took the risk of returning to the world whose greed and stupidity had made it necessary in the first place.

She'd hang on to the other bank here as long as it took. It
was insurance: and she'd be around forever to keep an eye on it. That made her feel better than she ever imagined possible, and for a moment she almost saw Deborah Garrod's delusional God-logic pointing out that
c'naatat
had an enabling purpose in all this too.

Fuck you, Eugenie Perault. You never banked on me pulling it off, did you?

The jumble of emotions ambushed Shan and she shook them off. “This is what I hate about genetic memory,” she said. She motioned Nevyan out of the compartment and closed the hatch of the chamber behind them. “You get mad ideas. You have to learn not to listen to the voices.”

“I watch you with concern.”

“Am I that different now?”

“No, and that's why I'm concerned. Events should have tempered your zeal.”

Nevyan walked ahead of her along the dimly lit tunnel that led to the surface, her mane of tawny hair bobbing with her rolling gait. Shan pondered on her observation in silence until they emerged from the tunnel and stood in the cool night air of F'nar. The clean clarity of it still caught Shan unawares sometimes. When she looked up into the sky, the stars—constellations she was now beginning to recognize—were more vivid than anything she'd ever seen from Earth. They were almost as harshly bright as they'd been in the uninterrupted vacuum of space.

Shan could think about that more frequently these days without reliving the terror and pain. It heartened her. She was getting used to the long, long term perspective of
c'naatat.

It's only pain. Everything passes.

Her swiss beeped for attention as soon as they moved clear of the tunnel entrance. “Bloody thing,” said Shan. “I think it's on its way out.” Everything else passed on in the end, even this little gadget that she'd carried all her adult life. She flipped the key and found a message waiting from Ade. “Still, not bad going for an antique.”

“Livaor could repair it for you.”

“He did a great job even getting an ITX link into it, but I think it's just getting too old.” Maybe she'd part with it for a
few days if Livaor could give it a stay of execution. “Ade's going to think I'm ignoring him.”

“He's very anxious about your view of him.”

“He doesn't have to be.”

“You still refuse him
oursan.
”

Nevyan's unflinching wess'har pragmatism about sex and bodily functions didn't sting Shan as much as it used to. “Actually, no. Shapakti came up with a mechanical solution to the problem. The sex situation is back to normal, more or less, except there's no exchange of genes.”

“Your reproductive system has regrown
again
?”

“No, it hasn't. I check every day.” Shit, what if the swiss's penetrating scan was playing up too? “I just can't take the risk again.”

“This is very sad.”

“Most humans manage to get through life without swapping genetic memory, Nev. So will we.” Whatever Ade wanted probably wasn't urgent. He'd have called Aras by now if it was. She pressed the
return
key, tiny and worn smooth by owners long before her, not minding if Nevyan heard an intimate conversation. “Come on Ade…”

He must have been clutching his link to his chest. He answered immediately, voice shaky.

“You're going to be angry, Boss.”

Oh, shit. Ade, don't do this.
“What is it?”

He took an audible breath. “I had to tell the detachment that Rayat and Lin are alive.”

Relief flooded her; stomach first, then legs. She'd imagined something worse, formless and unguessable. “Okay. Why?”

“It's okay?”

“They're bloody special forces. I'm sure they can handle surprises and keep their mouths shut. You're right, I should have leveled with them from the start. Anyway…why?”

“Had a contact from HQ, offering to reinstate everyone if we could find Rayat. Are you
sure
you're okay about this?”

“Yes. Look, why the interest in Rayat now? You reckon they know what he's carrying somehow? If it's Eddie—”

“Eddie's not the problem. I don't know if they do know. Just that now they can get on the ITX direct to Cargill, they're interested again.”

“Well, it's an embarrassment to lose a spook. I can see how they'd want to tick him off the list. They're not personnel you can write off if they go AWOL.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“What?”

“I thought you'd kill me.” There was almost a little sob in his voice. “I really thought I'd done it this time.”

Was that what she'd made of him? Shan felt ashamed that Ade was still scared of her reaction. It told her more than she wanted to know about herself.

“They had to be told,” she said. “I'm sorry if that's the deal. Tell HQ he's dead. I'll provide the body if they insist.”

“You're serious?”

“I'm serious. And you trust those fucks in Spook HQ to honor that deal, do you? Call their bluff.”

“The brigadier said the verdict couldn't stand whatever that is worth.”

Nevyan was watching her face intently. Wess'har had no concept of intrusion, no human habit of looking away and pretending they couldn't hear a conversation taking place right next to them. Shan tried not to feel spied upon.

“Ade, that's not a pardon. Everyone knows the court-martial was a diplomatic trick to appease the wess'har for what happened on Ouzhari. It didn't work. When the Eqbas reach Earth, they'll be able to get the FEU and all their shitty minions to do anything they tell them, so let the detachment know it'll be put right, with or without Rayat.”

She meant it. If this was fear for their futures, the marines didn't have to worry about that. Earth wasn't only going to be a much-changed place for them when they returned: it was going to change out of all recognition for
everyone.
And if this was about reputation and honor—she understood that, she certainly did—then she'd get Eddie to write them a new history. He could do that just fine.

Ade was silent for a moment. There was no time delay on this ITX router.

“You still there, Ade?”

“Okay, Boss, I'll tell them that.”

“Sit tight. Tell you what, I'll come over for the evacuation.
I'll
talk to them.”

“I'll do it. I'm still their NCO. Even if I'm not exactly their most trusted buddy at the moment.”

“Tell them I made you keep it quiet. I did, remember? They ought to understand that. Orders.”

“I'd never lied to them before.”

It was a forlorn little boy's comment. As always, it pushed the button that made her want to defend him and punch the shit out of anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. She was millions of miles from him. Impotent protective anger blinded her for a moment.

“It's Mart Barencoin, isn't it? Give him a message. Tell him I'll be there, and I want a chat with him.”

“Boss—”

“Tell him, Ade.”

“Okay. You can't always make things right for me, you know that?”

I'll die trying.
“I'll see you soon. Don't take any shit, okay?”

Shan shut down the link and dropped the swiss into her breast pocket. Nevyan was still watching, head tilted, clearly baffled by the exchange.

“Honor is a curious concept,” she said, and began walking briskly towards the steps that led up the terraces. “This is part of your problem with lies. Would you come to eat with us tonight? You and Aras?”

Shan followed her, now able to deal with the rapid changes of topic and the twin-track nature of wess'har conversation. She was even capable of it herself now. “That would be very nice, Nev. Why lies?”

“Because humans destroy reality by willingly sharing an invented universe. What wess'har
know,
what
is,
remains unchanged. But because
gethes
lie so much, your world is unreal. You have no basis for anything you think, because you alter facts.”

Wess'har logic was always a cold bucket of water over
the head, even now, even though she had their blood in her veins. “Worse than theft.”

“I don't understand.”

“A mate of mine used to say that you could lock things away from a thief, but you could never protect yourself against a liar.”

“Indeed.
Some
of you understand, then. Lies are dangerous. Of course, the situation is made worse by the nature of human perception, which is so malleable and limited anyway. The marines' actions exist and can't be changed by opinion.”

It was a nice clean-cut view of the world, and smacked of the nobility enshrined in the Rochefoucauld maxim Eddie had once sent her by way of a half-arsed apology for suspecting her motives.

Perfect courage is to do without witnesses what one would be capable of doing with the world looking on.

Yeah, that was about right. If you answered only to God or your own standards, then it was great. Eddie, of course, tried to swim against the current in the illusory river of smear, spin and stupid audiences, and had become fixated on telling the truth—whatever that was.

“I cared about my reputation once.” Shan thought of Op Green Rage, and yogurt-knitting terrorist Helen Marchant, who she had an overwhelming urge to contact and call every fucking cow under the sun, although they'd parted as friends and the object of Shan's anger was her long-dead two-faced politician of a sister, Eugenie Perault. “I turned from an antiterrorist officer to pretty well being one of them. Turning a blind eye. Leaks. Letting Marchant's people get away. I lost my good name, all right. I was busted for negligence.”

“But you could just as easily have been
busted
for deliberately helping them.”

“Yes.”

“And you chose incompetence, which I doubt anyone believed for one moment.”

“No, but they couldn't pin a damn thing on me. I'm good at covering my tracks. Believe me, I'm
good.
”

“And there is your pride, Shan.”

Her own motives and attitude to that loss of honor still troubled her. “I know. And that's why I decided to play dumb rather than do the whole anti-hero act. You know all that.”

“I know, but you raise the matter again, and so I wonder if
you
yet know why you did it.”

“Because I needed to know that I did it because it was right, not because it'd make me look heroically principled. That's why.”

“If you had admitted your complicity, would that have jeopardized Marchant and her activities?”

Shan paused. She usually thought through every last angle in a situation. But she'd never considered fully confessing, and if it would have made any difference to Marchant's people. If she kept her mouth shut about one thing, she could have put her hands up to being the leak and nothing else. A prison sentence—no joke for a copper—and disgrace, versus a demotion for incompetence, and disgrace.
Jesus, was I just too scared to go to jail? I don't remember thinking that way.