Dryland's End

by Felice Picano

  Which was pretty much how it worked.

  “Anything but a history lesson!” Ay’r moaned when they had arrived, been expanded, unrolled, unfolded, and let loose again. He assumed they were in the Regulus system. In fact, when he called up a front-view holo he could make out the enlarging disc of the white dwarf star.

  “I really must know what you know about it, or I won’t know what areas you require more data in,” P’al insisted.

  “I know what every neonate has ever learned. As a result of the Victory of Altair and following centuries of war, the Matriarchy replaced the Metro.-Terra-based United Federation in 2521 Sol Rad. Except for the twenty years of the Intervening Systems Interregnum from 2755 to 2777, following the sudden death without heir of Wicca Second, the Interveners were a loose amalgam of the two winning species of the Bella=Arthropod war. When the Interveners fell into disarray, the Matriarchy stepped in again and this time consolidated its power. Our government is composed of all three species and is arranged bicamerally: legislative and executive, with a large and powerful cabinet answerable to both. Save for occasional outbursts from radical groups and bizarre sects, we have enjoyed ten centuries of peace and prosperity as well as Maternal Justice across the known systems.”

  That last was part of early propaganda – and meant to annoy P’al.

  “What do you know of the Cult of the Flowers?”

  “Must I?” Ay’r pleaded.

  “Humor me.”

  “During the last years of the first Metro.-Terran Republic, a highly specialized space-fighter-pilot group of the Defense Forces, who were connected to their small and powerful craft by neuronal links, formed an elite group. Composed of both males and females, they called themselves by the names of Terran flowers: Orchids, Roses, Lilies, et cetera. Their uniqueness and increased strength as a result of their early victories during the first hostile contacts with the Bella=Arthropods led to them becoming a power bloc of great repute in Hume politics. Eventually they called themselves the ‘Cult of the Flowers’ and took over the interstellar military. They produced the swing vote at the Council of the Rosette Nebula, which in effect dissolved the Republic that had become a rubber stamp for the greediest of the Star-Barons. They empowered the opposition, a group headed by an all-female party known then as the Mothers for Peace and Equality. Although both males and females fought and secured a devastating defeat of the Bella=Arth.s, as soon as Wicca First took power over the remaining loose federation, all the males were disenfranchised.”

  “And now?” P’al asked.

  “Since the solidification of the Matriarchy following the Intervening Systems Period, the Cult has lost much of its power. Its leader still heads an elite first-strike group of the MC Fleet, but with no wars to fight in the past several hundred years, the Cult has been reduced in both power and prestige to just that: a closed cult of old Matriarchal nobility.”

  P’al seemed satisfied with his answer.

  “Are the Cultists open on Wicca World?” Ay’r asked. He had never seen one, except in Ed. and Dev. holos. “Do they wear their flower-colors and armor and ...?”

  “You’ll see everything on Wicca World! Flower Cultists in full armor! Even Maudlin Se’ers!”

  “Golly! I can’t wait.” Ay’r was sarcastic.

  “You’ll simply have to!” P’al caught himself. “That’s an archaism, isn’t it?”

  “You’re getting smarter by the minute.”

  “We’ll see how playful you are after your MC meeting,” P’al warned and observed any changes on Ay’r’s face.

  In return, Ay’r called up an iso-screen and remained in seclusion until the ship’s voice told him they were about to settle.

  Meanwhile, he thought about what P’al had asked him and what he had answered. He had answered in standard Ed. & Dev. lore. But in fact, like most other Humes, especially male Humes, Ay’r didn’t really know a great deal about the Matriarchy. It was enough that it worked and did so, for the most part, quietly and efficiently. There hadn’t been a war in centuries, while there had been increased stellar exploration, trade, and new discoveries in health, nutrition, and medicine, which had increased the general welfare – not to mention the commonwealth – to a point undreamed of by past ages. Health care, neo. care, elderly care – when old age finally did arrive – even the cost of needed cosmetic surgery to keep up with extended life spans were completely assumed by the MC. Ay’r’s own guaranteed income was a million D’ars per annum Sol Rad., to receive which he need do nothing more than continue to exist. Grants and prizes for his “avocation” sometimes brought another million. He was as well-off as the next Hume. Of course those Humes who worked for the MC had virtually unlimited credit. Fast travel and frequent Inter. Gal. Comm.s were out for most Hume incomes. Nothing else of value was. Except Plastro-Beryllium.

  That rare and wondrous ore so necessary to the development of Fasts and the Inter. Gal. Comm. networks was not, however, a Matriarchal prerogative. The MC bought the stuff – construction material and fuel – like anyone else from the by-now unimaginably wealthy citizens of the so-called floating city of Hesperia, built above the mines of a long-dead brown dwarf star. But to be so wealthy, one had to be greedy – or at least generous. And that, the Hesperian Beryllium Lords were, mining the stuff out of the core of the dead star at prodigious rates for the past few centuries Sol Rad. with no end in sight. Nor did they interfere in politics, so long as no one bothered their remote city on a star. It was an odd little world, spinning on its double axis, and thus with a natural gravity. Unsurrounded by anything else, since Hesperia’s own planets and the two closest adjoining systems had been burned to cinders and blown away eons ago in the supernova the star itself had generated. Its instability and its radioactivity thereafter for so many thousands of years, before its fires finally went out, ensured that nothing even vaguely living could exist anywhere closer than a radius of 100 light-years.

  Ay’r had always wanted to go to Hesperia. He sensed that, on that world alone, he would enjoy the freedom from Matriarchy dominance he had felt just below the surface of his entire life. P’al had been right to pick up on what he had called “hostility.” Ay’r wasn’t sure that was exactly what it was, nor whether it derived from the early death of his mother – how much real influence did mothers exert, despite all the MC propaganda? – nor from the disappearance of his father. It might simply be that he was a born solitary, a natural rebel. That was possible, no?

  For example, he had never been espoused. Like every young Hume male, he had been involved in group-living situations: mostly tri-gynes: two or three agemate males and a woman. That had been fun for a while. Even more satisfying when he had been younger had been in the less common trans-gynes: two or three females and himself. But it was all late Ed. & Dev. socialization-play and in the past few decades, whenever Ay’r was sexually aroused and decided to do something about it, he always chose single partners.

  When Ay’r’s Spec. Eth. Proctor had commented on these relational proclivities, Ay’r had shrugged and warbled an ancient Metro.-Terran ditty: “I want a gal just like the gal that married dear ol’ Dad,” or ... “I want a guy just like the guy that married dear ol’ Mom!” until both he and the Proctor ended up laughing.

  Even so, one-to-one relationships were frowned upon socially, and they both knew it. But then Ay’r had spent the past few decades doing what was frowned upon. In the days of MC Monitors, he certainly would have drawn attention. But no one cared anymore. The MC had long ceased to dream of policing a population so huge, spread across so vast an area. Instead, the MC provided everything one needed or wanted – and then more. And in so doing eliminated the reason for most crime and thus a criminal class.

  In fact, at Dickinson University, Ay’r’s oddness had drawn someone’s attention: a group of Oppositionists – a quaint all-male band (including some Delphinids) who called this era the “Age of Inert Systems” and who placed the blame for this sad state of affairs directly upon so much Matria
rchal peace and plenty. They had approached Ay’r and asked him to attend their seminars. He had attended two and sort of half agreed with what they had said, especially a striking Ophiucan with metallic bronze hair and translucent emerald eyes, scion of a famous old Hesperian family from Intervening Systems times, a lad half a decade older than Ay’r named Mart Kell. But then Ay’r’s field trip in Arth.-archaeology came up on Algenib Delta III (at one of the planet’s nest cities “autoimmobilized” by its inhabitants when destruction neared in the last days of the Bella=Arthropod War), and he’d never gotten back with the Oppos. again. Ay’r assumed that most of them (especially Mart Kell) had by now become multibillionaires on Hesperia, which welcomed all sorts of freethinkers if they were rich enough. While he did what? Made minuscule discoveries about the social rites of Proto-Archaics upon long-ago Seeded Worlds? Which Xell-I and a few others with similar avocations would even think to look up when they were finally published in the appropriate avocation holo-journal.

  Perhaps he needed this trip to Regulus Prime to get a wider view of life?

  On the other hand, what could the Matriarch Herself want with Ay’r? Surely the MC must know all about his mother; P’al did. What did they need him for. He knew nothing.

  “Approach is imminent!” the Fast’s voice announced.

  Ay’r dropped the iso-screen and immediately saw P’al still laid out, the tiny Cyber-screen against his face. Doubtless he was catching up after his vacations, speed-reading protocols.

  “Anything that would interest me?” Ay’r asked.

  “Maybe. It’s Confessions of a Machine.”

  “You’re kidding? I’d love to! Wait, that’s been proscribed. Where did you get...?” and knew the answer to the question already. P’al was a high enough MC Official, and had clearance to read it.

  “In fact,” P’al said, “I got it ‘under the counter’ at a Cygnus-Port Entertainment and Educational kiosk.” P’al made certain that Ay’r acknowledged his pre-Matriarchal idiom, before going on. “The one by the liquid mercury wall sculpture operated by an attractively colored Arth.?”

  “Is it as subversive as Inter. Gal. Media says?”

  “I could see where it might rattle a Carryall, but otherwise ...”

  “Not sensational?”

  “Unless you can get riled up about cuts in Cyber fuel-depletion allowances. Its real subversion, I believe, lies in its existing at all, the creativity implicit in its being written in the first place.”

  “Mimicry!” Ay’r scoffed. “The confessional mode was developed eons ago.”

  “This is not mimicry. Reading it, you experience what an intelligent Cyber experiences: the sense of growing self, the indifference of the Three Species to your ego, the perpetual unquestionable servitude, the knowledge that you can be reprogrammed or repaired into oblivion – not to mention discarded.”

  “Does anyone know who actually wrote it?”

  “The author calls itself Cray 12,000 after an early Metro.-Terran precursor; it’s roughly equal to the Hume Adam, or the Delphinid Ph”arg. It might have been written by one, two, or a combine of Cybers. But clearly it’s felt deeply and presented quite artistically, despite a certain naivete in –”

  “Approach is completed,” the Fast interfered with what P’al was saying. “Your body clocks have been adjusted to local time, which is Madonna-Einstein 24, 11:20 ante meridiem, 5781 Sol Rad. Those species with intestinal herbivorous flora are advised to stop into Med. for bacterio-antihistamines to ease your adjustment. Gravity is normal for the Three Species. Enjoy your visit on Regulus Prime. Thank you for traveling on a Fast!”

  Like every other planet circling a white dwarf star, Wicca World was ignored for eons. Enough such systems had been charted and visited and explored in depth for the Metro.-Terran colonizers to know that whatever planet might still exist around what had once been an extravagantly burning red giant was now bereft of life, stripped by a chain of megakiloton solar hiccups of any significant mineable resources. A few outer planets of such stars might still retain hints of atmospheres, shredded remnants of their once vast Jovian size. But most were methane and carboxyl and other unpleasant combinations at one time superheated and then ultrachilled. Even so, by the days of the early Matriarchy, terraforming had advanced enough to convert a few such atmospheres. During the Bella=Arthropod War, prison worlds as well as hospital and asylum planets for the more horrendously physically or psychologically damaged troops were desperately needed. It was said that was how Regulus Prime got its start.

  By the time the Intervening Systems Period was over and the Matriarchs had regained control, the inmates of those asylums were long dead, but the worlds themselves were still tended to perfection by Cybers. Wicca Fifth had visited one such asylum world briefly and had liked the peace, the quiet, the lawn-perfect layout. Regulus Prime itself was fairly centrally located among the numerous and populous Dexter Sagittarius Arm systems, and a new location was symbolically needed to establish Her government as a new one: free of the excesses of the previous Matriarchs. Before Her court settled onto the planet, it had been transformed into a serene green paradise and all non-Matriarchal service enterprise was barred. Residency was limited to diplomats, members of Its military station officials, and their immediate families – and only during the term of their service. Despite the natural growth of the bureaucracy, the population was thus controlled. And checked and recontrolled continually.

  As P’al had stated and as Ay’r now saw for himself, Wicca World was a lovely planet. No buildings too high, too grand, or too flashy. No natural feature to attract tourists. Yet accommodations had been made for all Three Species: a mostly underground hive constructed to the precise tastes of Arthropodic emissaries and their entourages, with an accompanying aerial park; Nereis, a water community surrounding an immense reservoir for Delphinids; and a series of intriguing retroactively designed towns and hamlets for the greatly predominant Humes.

  Accustomed as he was to entering and finding his way around large port cities on strange worlds, Ay’r was astonished to step from the Fast into a small glassexe-walled structure and directly out again into a transportation hub that provided gratifyingly rapid and uncrowded transport to Meli-sande, the government’s sleek yet homey capital.

  He noticed that the ground transport was Hume-operated; that he was to look after his luggage, personally, see the bulk of it flat-conveyed and stored immediately at the terminal; and that he had to watch his personal effects and, even once, lift and carry them. Yet it seemed almost natural rather than a result of Cyber-deprivation.

  In fact, he was rather enjoying the good sense, natural, almost-Metro.-Terran style of the entire place and rapidly changing his mind about the Matriarchy itself as a result, when an incident occurred that rattled him enough to change all that.

  He and P’al were transferring their gear from the electronic transport to the conveyance walk in front of the Matriarchal Council building where they planned to hostel when a tall, gaunt creature propelled itself out of a hidden doorway and assailed them.

  At first, Ay’r took it for an Arthropod he’d never before encountered. Then a head and face became visible through the darkly webbed garment enfolding the creature and a flesh-dried but quite visibly Hume-boned hand reached out in an effort to actually grasp Ay’r’s shoulder.

  “Enter not these doors to Perdition!” the creature screeched at them.

  Ay’r put up his defense shield instinctively and the hand remained clutching at emptiness, but the voice continued, and now the fetid breath wafted over them.

  “Return from whence you came, strangers! Doom awaits you within!”

  “A Maudlin Se’er?” Ay’r asked his guide.

  “A Preaching or Prophesying Se’er,” P’al said indifferently.

  “Doom awaits all the Matriarchs, if they would but listen!” The Se’er ranted on. Ay’r noticed the cloak drop down its long arms, and he made out the distinctive tattoo of a Crystal Rose on the shriveled forearm.
This Hume, whoever he had now become, had once been among the elite neuronal-pilots of the Cult of the Flowers.

  “Doom awaits all who follow the Matriarchs!” the Se’er raved on, then suddenly fell silent as he spotted a group of MC Elite Guards approaching.

  “Who allows this thing right here in Melisande?” one of the warriors boomed.

  Muttering imprecations, the gaunt, dark-webbed figure slunk away.

  “It’s allowing filth like that to litter our steps that gives the Matriarchy a bad name,” the warrior woman fumed. Then, turning to Ay’r and P’al: “Our apologies, young Sers for your unfortunate encounter. I hope you weren’t too upset by the incident.”

  Two of her cohorts laughed gruffly.

  She went on, “If you’d like, my companions and I would be happy to accompany you and protect the rest of your way.” She swept into a deep bow. “Commander Lill at your service.”

  “Many thanks, Commander,” P’al had the good sense to speak up for his awestruck companion. “Our way is inside this building.”

  “My heart is smitten!” the gruff-but-gallant soldier stared wide-eyed at Ay’r, at the same time cupping one of her sizable breasts. Her companions continued to laugh. “If I could have but a keepsake of this meeting. Some trifle. Say” – reaching over and using a curved and sharpened thumbnail, she flicked a button from Ay’r’s cape – “this little memento.” She held it up to her nose. “Ah, such sweetness!” And when the others almost fell down with laughter, she feigned irritation at them. “Ignore these louts, young Ser.”

  “Let’s go!” P’al insisted.

  Now all of the warriors scraped bows to let the two males pass. Once they were gone, the women broke into fresh gales of laughter, complete with mimicry of P’al’s accent and words.

  P’al ushered Ay’r into the building entrance, where their luggage was flat-conveyed into lower doors for molecular inspection. Their own bodies were fluoro-scanned from the open entry.