Valhai (The Ammonite Galaxy)

by Gillian Andrews

  “That’s what you think!” muttered Grace between her teeth.

  “What was that, Grace?”

  “Be with you in a blink!” Grace gave the wall a growly look. It would be improper to show Amanita directly what she thought of her. She went to look for Cimma.

  Her mother followed her back to the tridi at her own pace, which gave Amanita time to take Grace to task.

  “What is this painting thing, Grace?”

  “Err . . . just a hobby I have taken up. I like painting the views of Valhai. It is soothing.”

  “Well it seems very strange to me. Perhaps you should stick to cataloguing the 48th floor collection. After all, who knows when Xenon may need it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Amanita gave a smile. “You didn’t think any of those things were yours, I hope? The whole skyrise is Xenon’s now, to dispose of as he wishes.” She preened herself. “Although I don’t anticipate him requiring any of the artifacts. We are not profligate.”

  Grace raised one eyebrow, and tried valiantly to refrain from arguing with the woman. She was quite right, it was Grace’s brother who now “owned” everything. That could not be changed, however much it pained her to admit it.

  Amanita went on, supremely unaware of the jostling emotions her calm words had aroused in Grace, “I heard that Vion visited you the other day, and that it wasn’t a virtual visit.”

  “He wished to pay his respects to Xenon 48.”

  “Yes, I was told that too. Was that the sole purpose of his visit?”

  “That, again, Amanita, is nothing to do with you.”

  Amanita shook her head. “I must beg to differ, Grace. As female head of the 256th Sellite skyrise I may require all females of the same house to report to me any non-virtual visits.”

  Grace’s eyes flashed. “If you must know he gave my mother a check-up at the same time. He prescribed a sleeping draft.”

  “So I was right!” Amanita congratulated herself.

  Cimma finally appeared, not very pleased to be disturbed by her daughter-in-law. “Amanita,” she said.

  “Cimma. I wish you would put that stupid knife down!”

  “I expect you do.”

  “Well? Are you going to put it down?”

  “No.”

  “As female head of the skyrise, I am telling you to put that knife down, Cimma!”

  “I can’t do that, Amanita. I need it for protection.”

  “You are perfectly safe.”

  “That’s what you want us to think. But I know better. Anyway, nice of you to call, but I am very busy. Cut—”

  “I called to invite you both for dinner,” interrupted Amanita. “You can come up tomorrow night. I thought we ought to . . . that is, we thought you would like to visit with us non-virtually.”

  Grace’s first reaction was to turn the invitation down flat. But she had promised Vion that she would make more of an effort. And it might be good for her mother to see Xenon. So she nodded.

  “Fine. Come up at eight. Oh, and Grace . . .?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t have any more non-virtual visits without asking my permission first, will you?”

  “Of course I will ask your permission,” said Grace in dulcet tones. The day Almagest turns blue, she thought.

  Amanita gave an acid smile. “Cutting the connexion,” she said.

  At last Grace was left to herself. She was so cross that she found she was shaking after the encounter with Amanita. Whatever had her brother seen in the wretched woman? She turned back to the interscreen with relief.

  Using Vion’s skyrise pass, she was able to access any information she wanted about the programs. She had started with a back search to see what had happened to the past candidates after they had donated, and found very little.

  All the previous candidates had mysteriously vanished into the rarified Valhai air. Grace spent the rest of the day trying without success to trace the missing candidates. None of them had been listed as residents of Valhai. But none of their names were down on any passenger manifests as leaving the planet. They had quite simply disappeared.

  Finally, Grace turned her attention to the current batch of candidates. She quickly found out about the boy who had died in transit, and that another of the apprentices was under Vion 48’s treatment due to an almost incapacitating terror of shut-in spaces. The other ten were apparently doing well. It would be another year and a half before the first operations were carried out – as they normally were – under the attentive eye of the investor.

  Exactly at eight the following evening Grace called up the orthogel lift at the front of her floor, and shepherded her mother inside. Grace had tried to make an effort, and dress in something which would meet Amanita’s approval, but Cimma was wearing the dressing gown, though she had changed the thin robe underneath. The lethal Xianthan knife was still clutched in her hand.

  Grace was glad that she had made the effort. Amanita was clad in a very high-priced gold weave gown, and had even decked the children out in embroidered finery. Grace would have been definitely in trouble had she not made any effort at all. Even so, her lack of face highlights did not meet Amanita’s standards.

  “We like to dine according to tradition,” she told Grace severely.

  “I expect, since you and your mother have lived alone, you’ve slipped into more informal customs?”

  Grace bowed her head, but didn’t answer. She had made up her mind not to engage in battle tonight. She would be calm and considerate, as befitted a Sell, would interest herself in the wellbeing of her niece and nephew, and avoid all controversial topics. She had decided that the problems she had with Amanita were probably in good part due to her own failure to empathize with the older woman. She would try harder. The only subject she was determined to bring up was that of the donor apprentices; and that would be when she could get her brother alone for a moment.

  “I can’t believe I have two 50th level grandchildren!” Cimma said, reaching down to give each of them a hug, without putting the knife down. “Hello, Xenon 50, Genna! You are so much bigger than I remember.”

  “I don’t know why that should surprise you,” sniffed Amanita, “growing is a perfectly normal procedure for children.”

  “Grandmother Cimma, what is the knife for?” asked Genna.

  “To protect you!” said Cimma.

  Genna’s eyes widened. “Are we in danger? Are there bad men out there?” She looked around fearfully and began to cry.

  “Of course there aren’t,” said Amanita. “Take no notice of your grandmother. Really, Cimma, do you have to frighten her like that?”

  “They have to be protected,” insisted Cimma. “They both belong to the generation who will sit at the Second Valhai Votation! It will be their votes that decide the future of the planet.”

  “Naturally Xenon 50 will be fully instructed in all facets of the decision-making involved, and I can assure you he will be educated to take his obligations most seriously,” Amanita said.

  “No, I meant . . .” Cimma stopped. “He’s just a little boy.”

  “He is already five.” Amanita looked at them seriously. “He will be brought up to know the extent of his responsibilities. Anyway,” She went on, “Xenon will be down in a moment. He has a lot of work currently, but will join us for the meal.” Her tone implied a very great honour.

  “It is kind of him to make time for his mother,” Grace murmured.

  “Indeed.” Amanita inclined her head.

  Grace had taken a breath and was about to reply when the food arrived. The bell on the food lift rang, and the three women hastily hurried over to the lift to remove the plates, and distribute them around the table in the eating area.

  Xenon 49 put in an appearance just as they were serving out the first course.

  “Mother,” He touched fingers with her perfunctorily. “you are well, I hope.”

  “Very. Is the work going well?”

  “Fine. What is this I hear about a
non-virtual visit from Vion?”

  “He only came to pay his respects to your father’s tomb.”

  “An obvious excuse. What did he really want?”

  Cimma hesitated. “Well, if you must know he thought I was looking a bit under the weather.”

  “I knew there was more to it than just a courtesy visit.” Xenon was pleased to be proved correct. “Did he tell you to stop carrying that ridiculous knife?”

  “No, but he gave me a tonic.”

  “I think you may need rather more than a tonic, Mother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The whole of Sell is talking about you.”

  “Why would they do that, dear?”

  “I think Xenon is a more appropriate form of address now, Mother, given my . . . err . . . status. And if you insist on waving a weapon around your head all the time you must expect some notoriety!”

  “Your father told me most clearly to carry this at all times. I don’t see anything odd about it at all. It would be stranger if a wife didn’t obey her husband’s wishes!”

  “Father is dead, Mother. You know that.”

  “Well, of course I know that, I don’t live on another planet! But that doesn’t mean he can’t talk to me, now does it?”

  Xenon 49 raised his eyebrows and looked at her steadily.

  “You don’t know anything about it at all, dear,” Cimma said quite contentedly. “You had better leave everything to me, now. I won’t let anything hurt your sister, don’t you worry about that!”

  Xenon caught Grace’s eye. Grace looked quickly away. Amanita was staring at Cimma with an unbelieving expression, and both grandchildren were open-eyed.

  Xenon 49 left them as soon as he had finished eating, so Grace was forced to wait until it was time for Xenon 50 and Genna to go to sleep for the opportunity to talk to him alone. As soon as Amanita had taken the two youngsters away, trailing a Cimma who had assumed office as a bodyguard, Grace slipped unannounced into her brother’s office.

  “I’m glad to talk to you alone, Grace,” he said. “Mother really can’t go on like this. I will have to ask Amanita to take cards in the matter.”

  “Please don’t, Xenon. She doesn’t do anybody any harm, and I am sure she will get better soon.”

  “She had better. I really don’t need all Sell to be talking about Mother. It’s too bad of her to behave like this. She doesn’t seem to realize that I am head of house now!”

  “She is just mourning Father.”

  “Well, why can’t she mourn like anybody else? Without causing any fuss?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the predis button in order to silence the interscreen. “Why should I have to put up with all this?”

  “Actually,” Grace pointed out, “you don’t have to put up with very much at all.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I hope that is not a criticism against your head of house, Grace?”

  “No, of course not. I just meant . . . that is I’m sorry.” She hung her head.

  “Very well. Now go away, do. I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

  “I wanted to ask you something about the program.”

  He frowned. “Since when have you been interested . . . oh, very well, but make it fast.”

  “It will only take a minute Xenon.” Grace was forced to put her question into unreceptive air: “What do we do with them all?”

  “‘Do with them all’?”

  “What happens to the candidates?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said evasively. “Now do go away Grace. I really do have a lot to do today, and I can’t see what possible interest you could have in any of this. It is none of your business. And I must say I wish you showed as much interest in your schoolwork as you do in things that have nothing to do with you. I am getting tired of reading indifferent reports from Atheron.”

  “Just wondering, that’s all. Not important.” She turned and let herself out of the room. Her brother had already turned back to the papers on his enormous desk.

  Grace looked around her at the new floor her brother had had built. Everything still smelt new, and it all glistened. But it felt cold and hostile to her. It was a place to come only when unavoidable – the scene of a social obligation to be endured. She knew that she would never come up here of her own accord.

  As soon as she got home Grace changed into her bare planet clothes, and picked up three mask packs. She simply had to get out again. She physically needed to walk out under the stars, where everything was put into easy perspective and hopefully her overactive brain would quiet down enough to let her sleep when she got back.

  She let herself out onto the first floor terrace again via the back lift, and then slowly negotiated the steep metal stairs set into the rexelene.

  She felt free, exhilerated, as she stepped down onto the planet. Everything was easier, this second time. Everything was familiar, welcoming her back. She turned her face up to the stars and basked in the grey light. Even through the mask pack she could feel it.

  The stars were magnificent. They jostled each other for her attention, each one calling out to something inside her. I wish, she thought. I wish I could just close my eyes and feel part of you. I feel so insignificant against such a display of age. I am seeing you as you used to be thousands, millions, even billions of years ago. It makes it hard to think that my tiny life is of any moment at all.

  Without consciously meaning to, her steps took her back to the black lake, back to where the donor apprentices were. She sat down next to the edge of the lake, and took a sip from her water bottle. It was quiet again now, there was no movement anywhere to disturb the peace of the spot.

  The orthogel in front of her was tempting in its very immobility, and she put her hand to the surface. Even though she was protected by the light bodywrap around her fingers, she could feel the substance.

  “AARGH!” She leapt back, terrified. Something had touched her hand, through the orthogel. She almost choked before she managed to get control of her breathing again, so that the mask pack could work efficiently.

  There was nothing in the lake that could hurt her. She knew that there were no vertebrate animals on Valhai, except those imported by the Sells and bound to remain under the aerated covers especially made for them. The only life which had been found on the surface of the small planet was microscopic, and the reason that the orthogel was perceived as black. It was full of tiny chemotrophs. Nothing nearly big enough to push at her hand.

  “Nothing scary,” she assured herself nervously. “So . . . that means that you have nothing to be afraid of. Which in its turn means that you can go back there and put your hand back because you probably imagined it.”

  She forced herself to go back to the shore, and to place her hand down onto the black surface again. At first nothing happened. And then, one by one, and very slowly as if to avoid scaring her again, she felt a pressure on her fingers.

  She snatched her hand back. But nothing had hurt her, had it? So after waiting for a few moments she tried again. Again she felt the pressure against her hands. She moved her own fingers, and there was an immediate response which felt almost eager. The sequence was repeated, three times, as if to congratulate her.

  The apprentices! The donor apprentices must have found a way to communicate with her! She couldn’t think how, but there didn’t seem to be any other explanation possible either. She moved her fingers again against the orthogel. No doubt about it, the pressure which was instantly returned was trying to communicate with her. She felt sure of it.

  She realized that the same fingers were being pressed insistently, in the same order. She was sure that they were trying to tell her something, whoever they were. But what? Grace returned the sequence so that they knew that she had received the communication, but she couldn’t translate it into anything.

  In the end she was forced by the bleeping of the last mask pack to leave the dark lake. She pressed both hands to the surface, imitating the Valhai way to say goodb
ye. The orthogel duly pressed back on all her fingertips. Whoever it was had seemed to understand.

  Grace made her way back home in a daze. What had happened was incredible, but there was nobody she could tell about it. She was outside illegally, and in any case she wouldn’t be believed. For a moment she contemplated telling Vion, but decided that even he might feel obligated to inform the authorities. She didn’t think he would, but it didn’t seem fair to put him in the position of having to choose.

  Although it was now quite late at night, the sky remained almost exactly as it always did. Variations in the light were due to the orbit of Sacras, the binary star; and small changes in the Valhai orbit around its triangular stable point. So the only thing which had changed since she had come out several hours ago was the position of the stars in the sky. The light was exactly as before. It seemed that time stood still on Valhai, because there was nothing to separate day from night, nothing to mark the passage of time.

  She needed to work out what the code could be. But she was too tired to do anything about that now. She jotted down the sequence which had been repeated to her so often, and then went to her bed chamber. It was time to rest.

  Chapter 7

  SIX LAY IN bed talking to Diva. They had got into the habit now of speaking to each other for ten minutes or so before they went to sleep, each in their respective bubble. Under the cover of the top blanket of orthogel they were able to push down on the surface of the bed without the movement being seen from any possible cameras. Six thought it was unlikely Atheron would invigilate them when they were supposedly sleeping, but he wasn’t going to take any chances either.

  It was amazing how fast they were able to communicate with each other. Their fingers flashed as the spelled out the words, gradually using a shorthand to make the conversation even quicker.

  “How are the classes with Atheron?” signed Diva.