Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  “And then?” Leresha added.

  “Peace with our neighbors in the Fold.” The treaty prohibited any military establishment upon Shora, or support of those elsewhere. Was that the trouble?

  “If I stand idly by while my sister hastens death, am I a deathhastener?”

  Verid paused. “Not if my hands are tied.”

  “If I provide the weapon, am I a deathhastener?”

  She guessed what was coming. She let out a breath. “Raincloud, dear, you can relax a bit; don’t overtire yourself.”

  Raincloud took the hint and slowed the pace of her interpreting, giving Verid more time to think.

  Leresha continued, “If I ‘finance’ the weapon, am I a deathhastener?”

  “Finance” was a Valan word, its concept alien to the communal Sharers. But they had come to comprehend it well enough. Leresha’s use of the Valan word, rather than the Elysian, confirmed Verid’s guess. “We finance no Valan weapons,” she said guardedly. This was strictly true, although plenty of Elysian cash reached the Valan military via intermediaries.

  “Then what,” asked Ooruwen, “is a ‘white hole’ device?”

  A white hole was a singularity in space-time which spouted matter out of some distant point in space. A few decades before, physicists had discovered a way to generate small white holes which exploded within a fraction of a second. The new technology had developed first as a laboratory curiosity, then a means of earth moving, then an approach to major restructuring of planets.

  About ten years ago, the Valans had started tipping their interstellar missiles with white holes. The missiles ought to have been done away with decades before, after Valedon had joined the Fold. But because of Urulan, the Fold members had looked the other way.

  “White holes are a highly technical subject,” said Verid. “I will call an expert out in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” said Leresha. “The mechanism of the device signifies less than the use to which it is put.”

  “The terms of our loan agreements restrict the function of the devices we finance,” said Verid. “Valedon is, however, a sovereign world. If they stretch the restrictions, there is little we can do. As you know, they face a lethal threat from Urulan.” This last sentence gave even Raincloud pause; it was so full of alien concepts as to be virtually untranslatable. Usually Verid chose her words with greater care, but she was beginning to wear down.

  “That’s all right,” murmured Leresha to Raincloud, for she comprehended the Elysian well enough. “Sharers have long tried to stay out of that which one nest of fleshborers shares with another,” she told Verid, with a trace of contempt. “But your loan agreements tell a different story. You will build a white hole device for the specific purpose of planetary ecocide.”

  Verid’s lips parted in silence. Her guess had been only half right. “I don’t understand,” she said, genuinely puzzled.

  Beside her Raincloud tensed and took a deep breath.

  “You’ve had contractions for some time, sister,” Leresha observed to Raincloud. “Yshri is waiting for you.”

  Raincloud nodded, her lips tight. She let Eerea help her up and take her down the tunnels where the lifeshaper Yshri would deliver her child. What a difference from the servo-driven incubators of the shon.

  “We don’t share understanding,” Verid repeated in Sharer after Raincloud had gone. “Elysium has forsworn terraforming since the founding of Bronze Sky, two centuries ago. Some of the ‘loans’ are still being ‘paid off,’ but why bring that up now?”

  The L’liites were pressing the richer worlds to found a new frontier world to take their excess population. But Elysium routinely turned down all such requests for financing, lucrative as they were. A good third of Elysium’s wealth had come from terraforming Bronze Sky.

  “Shora,” exclaimed Ooruwen, “why do you keep sideslipping, like a fish caught in a net? We shared ignorance of the death of Bronze Sky, until it was too late. But now you plan to hasten yet another world.”

  “We have no such plans,” Verid said carefully. Some day, of course, white holes would greatly enhance the power of terraforming. In the past, without white holes, the best that could be done was to focus stellar energy into the biosphere of a planet, boiling its seas and eliminating all but a few microbial life forms. The terrain was little changed, as on Bronze Sky, whose active geology made the planet unattractive to prospective immigrants. But white holes would reshape continents and smooth over fault lines. They could make planets habitable at several nearby stars. Some day, it would have to be done—hopefully well after her own term at Foreign Affairs.

  “You do have a plan,” Leresha said. “Your agreement with the L’liites was shared with us only two days ago. This is not your usual procedure.”

  “What was shared?”

  “The document, in Elysian letters, with your sister’s finger marks.”

  Verid’s forehead turned to ice, and the chill permeated to her fingers. “Her sister” Flors must have made a secret deal with the L’liites. That was why they had settled so quickly. And Hyen had gone along with it—without telling her. How could he stab her in the back that way? How could he imagine they would get away with it? She would resign in protest.

  All of these thoughts passed through her mind over a few seconds. Then she collected herself. She could not help Hyen’s governing style. After all, he had concealed from Flors her meeting with Zheron; and after the trip to Urulan, Flors would have to swallow the result.

  If Hyen survived that long…How the document had leaked was another question; such things happened, but this one was extremely serious.

  Meanwhile, Verid was left the unenviable task of defending a major treaty violation. She put her face in her hands, massaging her forehead. “I must consult with my sisters,” she said at last. “If we understand each other correctly, this matter is most—”

  “What is there to consult about?” Ooruwen interrupted, waving her hand. Leresha caught her arm gently. “The violation is clear. Just share good sense with your sisters to clear it up, and that’s all.”

  “That is what I will try to do.” With what success, she had no idea. First of all, she would have to find out what exactly was agreed to. She could not admit, here, the embarrassing extent of her ignorance. “I share your distaste for terraforming. But, realistically, Shora and Urulan are the only two planets colonized successfully in their native state—and neither can support more than a handful of humans.”

  “No world can share more than a webful of humans,” said Ooruwen. “Perhaps it’s time Shora reconsidered the status of our Elysian guests.”

  Abruptly Verid looked up. After forty generations, Sharers could still call Elysians “guests”? “What right do you have to tell us what to do?” Her words tripped with anger. “Who keeps your sky clear of hungry immigrants? What would you do with them all? Have you any idea what it is to feed and shelter billions of people? What do a few alien trees and trilobites count for, in the face of that?”

  “‘Compassion is, loving everyone and eating no one,’” Leresha quoted.

  “Not to the point of madness.” Verid blinked and squinted as rays of sunrise peeked through the window. Outside, a stream of cruel brilliance dribbled across the shoreless sea.

  Chapter 16

  THE SUBGUARDIAN RETURNED TO HELICON TO MEET WITH Hyen and Flors, who was now her equal partner at Foreign Affairs. She could barely focus on the butterflies in the garden, for she had not slept in over twenty-four hours. She got by on medication which would knock her out afterward; in the meantime, she felt as if the world had receded slightly from her vision.

  “What’s this agreement with the L’liites?” she demanded. “Why was I not informed?”

  Flors avoided her eye. “We approved a foreign loan request for Bank Helicon.”

  Verid took a breath. If Iras had anything to do with this…

  “Bank Helicon made the loan to a Solarian development company.” Solaria was a world of twelv
e billion, some hundred light-years across the Fold. Hard to reach even by Fold-jumping, Solaria had limited contact with other members of the Free Fold.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “Who cares what the Solarians do with it?” Flors replied testily. “It’ll take a year for the news of the deal even to reach Solaria.”

  “The Solarians,” Hyen admitted, “are expected to pass the funds back to Valedon, which will develop certain…applications. It’s all research, nothing more.”

  “Great Helix,” Verid exclaimed “You thought you could get away with that?”

  “Why not?” said Flors. “We’ve earned off of Bronze Sky for centuries. Why didn’t Sharers object to that?”

  “They found out too late,” Hyen observed quietly. “It shook them too much.”

  She could see that. By their own reasoning, the Sharers shared the responsibility for what they had failed to prevent—the annihilation of a living world. They were too shocked to face it in full. “Well now, they’ve had eight generations to face up to it; and they’ve got a chance to prevent the next one. Green-eyed flies in Papilion are nothing compared to what’s coming.”

  “Preposterous,” exclaimed Flors. “Look, you know what the L’liite rescheduling just cost us; the banks will be hurting for decades. They badly need healthy assets. How can we afford to give up such a source of revenue? Your own mate made her fortune off Bronze Sky.”

  Accustomed to envy of Iras’s wealth, Verid did not rise to the bait. But if Iras had a finger in the Solaris deal, there would be trouble.

  “You’re right, Flors,” said Hyen. “We need the white hole contracts. How unfortunate the deal leaked.”

  Flors put his hands on the edge of the mooncurve and half rose from his seat. “I tell you, nobody else knew about it.” He looked more agitated than she had ever seen him. “Bank Helicon never leaks. The Solarians took the contract and jumped Fold the same day. The L’liites I informed only in general terms.”

  “The Sharers had an authentic copy of the contract.” Verid had seen it, to her astonishment.

  “No one had access to it.”

  She could see that Hyen did not believe him, and she did not either. Foreign Affairs had had leaks before, although rarely one which involved an official document.

  “That leaves us in a tight spot, doesn’t it.” Hyen sighed. “You’ve authorized a contract that can’t be undone,” he told Flors, “in direct violation of our treaty.” The “you” was emphasized. Hyen had carefully kept his own name off the contract. “I’m afraid, shonsib, that I will most regretfully accept your resignation.”

  So Flors would take the fall. Under other circumstances, Verid would have rejoiced. But now, left alone to defend the terraforming scheme before an ocean of hostile Sharers…she envied Flors.

  IRAS SWORE SHE KNEW NOTHING OF THE DEAL. “I’D never touch terraforming—too high risk.”

  “It’s illegal, damn it,” Verid grumbled, only half-satisfied. “Never mind the risk.”

  “It’s not illegal to lend to Solarians. It was dumb to put the rest in writing. Anyway, I told them I’d have no part of it.”

  “You mean they approached you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well you always say, dear, we have to keep our business separate.”

  That was true enough, Verid agreed ruefully.

  For the rest of the day, she got hold of one Sharer affairs expert after another. She even reached Draeg, the purple L’liite at his lab.

  “Can you help us?” she urged him. “You attend the Gathering. You know why we have to terraform. Your own home world will have to send people somewhere.”

  Draeg’s dusky features wore an uncomfortable look. Understandably so, she thought; a typical foreign worker, he was not exactly used to pleas for help from an Elysian Subguardian. “What can I do?” he asked guardedly.

  “Speak for us in the Gathering,” she said. “Try to help them see our case.”

  His lips tightened, and the muscles shifted in his neck. She could sense an internal struggle in the man. “Sharing works both ways,” he muttered. “I begin to see their point. What good is it for us L’liites to make so many people that we have to ship them off? Instead of damming rivers, why don’t you make your loans to the little people, to better themselves so they don’t need extra children just to put them to work? So long as there are worlds to terraform, L’li will stay poor.”

  His frankness startled her. She agreed with him, to a point, but that was no help now.

  She returned to Kshiri-el, to catch Leresha once more before the third sundown. “We need time,” she pleaded. “However you found out, this has all been too sudden. Just share some time with us—until the next World Gathering. We’ll work something out, I promise.”

  Leresha barely looked at her. The tangled scars that lined her body seemed to close her off, like a nascent butterfly in its chrysalis. “There is nothing to work out.”

  Verid watched her searchingly. She had known Leresha since before she took her selfname—even before the smooth-complexioned youngster had dived into the nest of fleshborers. “You know me, Leresha. Your mother and grandmother knew me. I defended the right of your ancestors to share a fugitive from Elysium’s highest law.” She paused. “A year, now, will give me time. Elysians are proud to live on a world with a native ecosphere. We can seek alternatives. The ‘contract’ can be ‘renegotiated.’ But we need time.”

  “Time,” repeated Leresha bitterly. “Time is something you Elysians have plenty of. What do you do with it? With ten times our lifetime, are you ten times as wise?”

  For that there was no answer. The wind shrieked across the raft, scattering fallen raftblossoms in its path. “You haven’t answered my questions, either,” Verid reminded her. “Sharers and Elysians, we both need each other.”

  Leresha looked past her. “It would be better that our people shared an ending, than that another world should die.”

  Stunned, Verid had nothing left to say. She walked slowly back upraft, toward the shuttle.

  As she plodded along the mossy raft trunk, three little Sharer children came romping over. The sight of children instantly stripped away centuries, bringing back her decades as generen. She smiled involuntarily. Sharer children looked so funny, with their outsized webbed feet. Turning their heads backward, they shrieked and laughed at something. Verid remembered how Iras longed for a child; odd, for Iras had never cared much for all Verid’s hundred-odd shonlings before.

  The object of the children’s laughter clambered after them, over the raft branch. It was a trainsweep.

  Verid froze in her tracks, suddenly struck with dread. Sharers and servos—an unlikely connection, and yet…That had been next on her list to take up with Leresha, and now it would be impossible. Just how much contact did the servos have?

  A thought occurred to her. Casually she approached the children, stopping as their path crossed hers. “That’s quite a pet you share, sister,” she called out to the tallest of the girls.

  “Yes, yes!” the girl cried out happily; she must have been eight or nine.

  Verid nodded at the trainsweep, unsure what to call it in Sharer. “I never heard of such a thing—a creature made of non-life, coming to play with Sharers! Does it happen often?”

  The girl stopped to think. “Not often. This one came to stay with us, but then she went home with Hawktalon. Now she’s come back to play with us again, while Hawktalon awaits her baby sister.”

  Of course, it was Raincloud’s trainsweep. She recognized the crayon markings of Raincloud’s children. She sighed with relief; perhaps that was the end of it after all.

  Then another girl leaped up, waving her fingers until the webs flashed. “She had a visitor once, you know! A visitor made of non-life! Remember, sister?”

  “Oh yes,” said the older one. “The visitor walked tall like a person, but her legs were stiff, and she wore a painted face, like this.” She pulled the corners of her mouth into a wide grin and
leered comically at the others, who burst into giggles once more.

  A nana, Verid instantly recognized. Nanas, the most advanced and dangerous of servos; and the saddest to treat like servos. Somehow a nana had learned that the Sharers had harbored a fugitive trainsweep. Yet how could a nana get out here, all alone? No generen would allow it…

  Except for Kal.

  RAINCLOUD’S LABOR HAD CONTINUED FOR TWELVE hours. The pain was not particularly bad, and the contractions came with no orderly pattern like the one Blackbear’s medical text described; now a dozen minutes between, then six, then back to nine or ten. “I’m always irregular,” she warned the lifeshaper.

  Yshri the Foolish One, with her bald head and oval face, gave her a puzzled look. “Why should you share any greater regularity than the swell of the ocean?”

  Raincloud grinned back appreciatively. They were outside, now, in the protective shadow of the silkhouse, the ocean purring beneath the afternoon sun. The lifeshaper applied living green tendrils which twined around her belly; their secretions dulled the pain without diminishing the force of her tightening.

  Raincloud gripped Blackbear’s hand and smiled at Hawktalon, who sat cross-legged on the raftmoss, holding a statuette of the Dark One. She missed her mother and sisters, who would have joined her chanting the sacred texts of Mu, celebrating the great mystery of creation.

  But the Sharers celebrated too, in their own way. From Yshri’s silkhouse, and from Leresha’s, their sisters collected as the day wore on. The unclothed purple women gathered around her with their flutes and whorlshell horns. They played songs and riddles and shared tales of babies born long ago, entertaining Hawktalon and Sunflower while Raincloud focused on the tightening universe within.

  Blackbear watched her as she paced on the raft branch to help gravity do its work. The sea was lively today, and at times great bursts of spray reached her, bringing welcome relief. For a moment she stopped to rest and catch breath, admiring the piercing blue of Shora’s sky. “You didn’t believe it at first,” she reminded him. “You thought it was the wrong planet.”