Broken Circle

by John Shirley

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  The Refuge: An Uncharted Shield World

  850 BCE

  The Age of Reconciliation

  Tersa and Lnur were in Ussa’s Garden, on the eco level of the shield world. She had a hand in the crook of his right arm, an ancient way for a female to walk with a male, an informal courting that carried with it as yet no commitment. But even this casual touch made Tersa’s nostrils flare; he couldn’t keep from occasionally daydreaming about her . . .

  What would it be like to raise childlings within the steel womb of the Refuge? Would they never see a true sky?

  The artificial sun within the shield world illuminated the small trees, the rugged stone outcroppings, the flowing water, the light safely refracted and filtered by translucent energy fields so there was no dangerous radiation or glare. Overhead, the icicle shapes of the cryptic devices jutting from the distant metal concave ceiling gleamed dully; shadows crisscrossed oddly here and there, random stripes across the garden area. Something rustled softly in the brush.

  “Tersa—at times I wonder if that solid-seeming metal up there will simply break open all of a sudden, and Covenant ships will come for us. Could they have followed us here somehow?”

  “I believe—I have to believe—that Ussa ‘Xellus took every precaution. He would have left no trail—and we are a long way from Sanghelios. No, this is precisely what we call it. Refuge.”

  Privately, Tersa thought that there was no knowing for certain. He reckoned that the Covenant had a great many resources; the San’Shyuum were cunning, and the kaidons of the city states back on Sanghelios would never cease their search for the traitorous Ussa ‘Xellus. Separate clans, separate cities—that was permitted. But those who dared renounce Sanghelios forever went gratingly against the cultural grain.

  But it was Tersa’s instinct to at least attempt to protect Lnur from those worries.

  As if an omen, a shadow fell over them—but it was just a passing robotic conveyance, flying quickly past overhead. It was gone in an instant, taking its shadow with it.

  “Will we really be here for the rest of our lives, do you think?” she asked.

  “I do not know. I would like to think we’d use this as a base—and when the time was right, make some kind of sally and perhaps harass the Covenant, or just some exploration in this star system. It would not be natural for Sangheili to have no possible adversary, nothing to test ourselves against.”

  “I agree with you there—to just vegetate in here, studying, never pitting ourselves against anything . . . we’d degenerate.”

  They walked on, following a stream that went down a slight slope. After a few thoughtful moments, Tersa said, “There are not that many of us here—we need to stay unified. But a Sangheili warrior must test himself against an enemy. It has occurred to me that if we do not find enemies on the outside, we will find them here. We could become divided, factionalize—and that would be a volatile situation in a self-contained world such as this. It would be almost like a mutiny on a spacecraft. A high risk for everyone. The wrong kind of risk.”

  “I have had the same thought—especially after that encounter with ‘Crolon. I’ve heard rumors about him, and a few others . . .”

  He glanced at her. She was young, and occasionally he’d heard her engage in hearsay—he didn’t want to encourage it. Hearsay could lead to the very thing that they’d been speaking of. It could be the seed of factionalism, division, mutiny, and ultimately the failure of the colony.

  “I have no liking for ‘Crolon,” she went on ruefully. “The females in my clan have a strong protector-of-eggs tradition.” She glanced at him. “Very strong.”

  “Yes? More than is . . . orthodox?”

  She hesitated. “I will be direct with you, though it’s taking a chance. Yes. More than is orthodox.” She then added with a certain defiance: “We believe females can become warriors. And more. But . . . it is not something we speak openly about—at least not with males.”

  He felt an internal flutter, a mix of astonishment and admiration. What Lnur had said was heretical, but also brave. And “between his hearts,” as the Sangheili saying went, he knew she was right.

  “Perhaps, hearing that,” she went on, a little louder as the sound of a waterfall increased from up ahead, “you would not want to walk with me anymore—perhaps you would not care to be seen with me at all. I wouldn’t blame you. But . . . I wanted you to know.”

  “I suppose I did know—the way you took to that burnblade. Lnur, I am honored you trusted me.”

  She pursed her mandibles in a combination of amusement and appreciation. “You do know the right things to say, Tersa . . . at least to me.”

  Hearing that, Tersa felt a subtle thrill of confirmation, a recognition of destiny perhaps, like an energy charge all about them . . .

  They’d come to the edge of a small bluff overlooking a dale. The stream tumbled over the cliff, plunging just far enough down to make the waterfall sound louder.

  Tersa then heard something penetrating the burring splash of the waterfall. Voices. ‘Crolon—and ‘Drem. And someone else.

  He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. “Do you hear voices?”

  “Yes. Is that . . . ‘Crolon?”

  Tersa and Lnur looked at each other. Then in silent mutual agreement they eased closer to the edge of the bluff and looked over, toward the pool below.

  There were four Sangheili gathered down there—‘Crolon, ‘Drem, Scorinn, and Gmezza the Limper. Scorinn was a female; Gmezza the Limper, so nicknamed because of an injury that had made his right leg a little shorter than the left, was her mate.

  From here, the voices carried up the cliff side, though blurred by the sound of the falls. “. . . If we fail to take action, we will all die either way,” ‘Crolon was saying. The next phrase was partly obscured by the noise of the waterfall. Tersa heard only “. . . alternative, so far as . . .”

  “But Scorinn and I—we would need proof. This idea that Ussa will commit a mass . . .” Tersa lost consistent track of Gmezza’s voice then. “. . . hard to . . . cannot go about . . . we could all be executed . . .”

  “What ‘Crolon says is true!” ‘Drem said insistently, his voice loud enough to cut through the waterfall’s hiss and splash. “You notice Ussa rarely allows us to carry weapons. Why? And that flying construct is in on it! It wants to summon the San’Shyuum!”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Scorinn. “If Ussa plans what you say, why would he summon—”

  “Silence, female, the males are speaking!” barked ‘Drem.

  “ ‘Drem!” warned the Limper. “That is my mate—”

  “Gmezza,” put in ‘Crolon. “Did I not hear you mention yesterday that this place was a mistake? I would hate to have to . . .”

  “Look! Someone is up there, listening!” ‘Drem cried. “At the top of the waterfall!”

  Lnur instinctively tried to jerk back—and her foot slipped. She tottered on the edge of the cliff.

  Tersa grabbed her arm and steadied her. “We need to leave now.”

  They hurried away, Tersa wishing Ussa had not forbidden the carrying of weapons without permission. Hunting parties were allowed. There were furred and feathered creatures in the stony, tree-flecked level of the Refuge, most unfamiliar but none dangerous—and many had been shown by scanners to be edible. The colony would rarely need the protein synthesizer from this time forward.

  The weapons order was controversial, and almost inimical to a Sangheili. But Ussa was concerned about close confines, fights flaring that would only divide a relatively small settlement and weaken it when the time came to confront a real enemy. Ussa had declared that weapons would be issued if the shield world were attacked; at times they were permitted for practice sessions with targets, and sparring.

  But Tersa needed one right now. ‘Crolon might well be pursuing them. If, as it seemed, he’d been plotting insurrection, he’d want to know immediately who had ov
erheard them. He had likely witnessed Lnur on the cliff’s edge, at the very least. She was in danger . . .

  Lnur seemed to be thinking the same way. She paused, picked up a broken limb from under a tree, desiccated and lightened by time, and gave it a good grip.

  Her timing was excellent—‘Drem was suddenly there, leaping down from a boulder to block their way. He had a work knife in his hand—something used in construction, but deadly enough. Breathing hard, he hissed, “The others are slower, but they’ll soon be here! We’ll have a word with you!”

  And he brandished the blade.

  Tersa stepped in front of Lnur. “Get out of the way, you fool!”

  ‘Drem snarled, “You would insult me?” He rushed in, slashing at Tersa, who easily sidestepped the attack. The evasion gave Lnur a chance to step in and swing the club. She caught ‘Drem solidly on the side of the head with it.

  ‘Drem spun and went down, groaning, clutching his head.

  “Good aim!” Tersa said admiringly.

  “Come on!” Lnur said, leaping over ‘Drem and hurrying off.

  ‘Drem was starting to sit up, once more wielding the knife. Tersa kicked ‘Drem’s wrist, hard enough to send the knife spinning from his grip. Then he rushed after Lnur.

  It didn’t feel honorable, not to stay and engage in full combat with ‘Drem, but somehow it also wouldn’t have been right to linger and kill him. Three of ‘Drem’s companions were coming, and Lnur would be unprotected if they set upon her.

  But then again, it appeared she didn’t need much protection. Perhaps, he thought, she should be protecting him.

  “I wonder,” Tersa said, when he caught up with Lnur, “if we should’ve killed him.”

  “Yes, I wonder about that, too.”

  Reskolah, Janjur Qom

  850 BCE

  The Age of Reconciliation

  The dropship was moving through the night as slowly as possible, so as not to attract attention. Its occupants were following the contours of a deep ravine through a verdant tableland. A river ran below them—but Mken ‘Scre’ah’ben was not sightseeing, not in that way.

  Hunched uneasily in his antigrav chair, behind Trok ‘Tanghil, who was now piloting the craft, Mken stared into the topographical hologram of Crellum projected over his chair. The image was being transmitted from the orbiting Vengeful Vitality, its scanners penetrating the cloud cover. Waving his hand over the holoswitches, he turned the image this way and that, expanding it to include a goodly distance from the settlement. Crellum was merely a double row of oval wooden and plaster houses, a fishing community curving along the edge of a large lake, some of the houses on stilts over the water. Some part of Mken’s scholarly mind noted that the edifices were old-style, their outlines evoking the shape of an average San’Shyuum’s skull seen from above.

  But mostly he was scanning for movement, shifting the image through several spectra, looking for heat signatures. He could see a number of figures moving down the lane between the houses; animals that must be garfren, thick-bodied stock animals kept mostly for milk, shone from a kind of corral. He had a treasured garfren-fur coverlet on his bed, back on the Dreadnought. Was Cresanda snuggled under it now, tossing and turning, trying to sleep as she worried about him?

  Don’t think about her now, he chided himself, looking more intently at the hologram.

  Cupping the village was thick undergrowth, with every so often a larger tree looking lonely among the shrubs—most of the forest that had once stood there had been logged off many centuries ago. Something was moving rather oddly through the undergrowth, several shapes of the same kind, ones he did not recognize. Mixed in with it were other body signatures that might be San’Shyuum.

  But he saw nothing that looked like an armed force, no overflights, no aircraft, nothing that looked like turret emplacements.

  Trok ‘Tanghil glanced over his shoulder. “How lies the land, Your Eminence? Are the hostiles aroused?”

  “If they’ve set a trap for us, it’s too cunning for me to penetrate. It’s time to move in—and take our chances. The females should be awaiting us.”

  “Can our . . . our special guests really be waiting for us?” Trok asked, turning his gaze to the windshield and steering the vessel out of the ravine.

  “The message was sent via holo, through an Eye . . . and two of them responded. The latest message indicates that seven others are also willing. There are almost no young males in this part of Reskolah—and when they are about, apparently they treat the females barbarically.”

  “The settlement’s males have died in battle?”

  “They were conscripted—whether they are dead, we don’t know.”

  “We are approaching possible landing site one . . . It appears to be clear. Our stealth field must be doing its job.”

  “Good. Then let us land. Deploy the Rangers and the others the instant we set down.”

  “So it will be, Your Eminence.”

  The cloud cover had fractured for the time being, letting the moonlight come unsteadily through to dance on the small waves of the broad lake. Accompanied by three Sangheili, Mken tramped along the curving beach toward the small settlement of Crellum. He was supported by an antigrav belt, which was not as efficient as the chair. Still, the chair’s holo instrumentation glow would have put any local Stoic soldiers on alert: Here is the Reformist invader you’re looking for.

  And Mken knew they were indeed searching for him. By now they’d have realized that the two encountered outside the grotto couldn’t be the only ones planetside.

  With Mken were Commander Trok ‘Tanghil, and two Sangheili Rangers: Vil ‘Kthamee and a stocky, frightened-looking Ziln ‘Klel, the latter clutching his rifle close to his chest. The Sangheili had a reputation for being insanely brave, but somehow R’Noh had assigned a couple of shaky Rangers to the expedition—Loquen and now this one. More of R’Noh’s treachery, probably—but the Minister of Anticipatory Security hadn’t counted on the resourcefulness of Vil ‘Kthamee, someone who had a great destiny to fulfill. Mken would see to that.

  Mken hoped the dropship was safe with the others—it was underdefended, and if it was taken down, despite the stealth field, this mission would be useless.

  The Prophet of Inner Conviction stopped and his armed entourage paused at his signal. He didn’t want to blunder into a trap. He listened, and heard only faint voices, carried across lapping waves. He could smell the tarn’s living waters; he heard the grunt and splash of some large creature out there, perhaps a hungry ilpdor. The immense six-legged predators were amphibious—he hoped they didn’t come to shore to try for a taste of his expedition. It would take their plasma rifles to kill the creature, and that would attract unwanted attention.

  Lamps in Crellum shone from windows with power collected during the day from the energy of the sun—gathered by plants carpeted on the roof, according to the corvette’s analysis scans; the lights made circles of illumination shaped by the round windows in the lozenge-shaped houses. Mken could see boats tied up, clacking against pilings with the movements of waves, and light reflected from the water around the houses on stilts. Occasionally he glimpsed San’Shyuum walking by, silhouetted against the lights. He saw only one who seemed male, and the fellow moved haltingly, as if quite elderly.

  We are fools to be here, he thought. And what if something happens to the Purifying Vision and the Luminary back at the dropship? We should take it to orbit. I should be studying both—not fumbling about a primitive settlement.

  But he was appointed to pick up their charges at a certain hour. He must be there on time . . .

  He sighed. “Let us go on.”

  He led the way, trudging along, wishing he had a more powerful antigrav belt.

  The message had said they were to meet a female named Lilumna just outside the village along the shore. And up ahead—was that not the dark silhouette of a female San’Shyuum?

  Yes. There was something, too, about her posture, her body language, that expressed nerv
ousness, alertness—waiting.

  “That is probably her,” Mken whispered. “Do not get nervous with those weapons. Stay here.”

  He hobbled toward her, hand casually resting on the pistol holstered at his hip. But he wasn’t much good with it. The antigrav chairs had their own weapons and did much of the aiming, too.

  By the Great Journey, but this could end badly . . .

  The San’Shyuum female looked more frightened than dangerous, however, as Mken approached her.

  “Are you Lilumna?” he asked gently.

  She stared at him. Then, her big eyes catching a flash of moonlight, she came a little closer. “Yes,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Are you . . . ?”

  “Yes. My name is Mken—I am from off-planet. From High Charity. I am the one sent for you.”

  She stared at him, then came a little closer. She was wearing a robe that was loose up above, clinging to her lower parts, sewn with the ancient home symbols of Reskolah and ancient symbols of fertility. It was a traditional robe worn by San’Shyuum females seeking mates.

  Lilumna looked him up and down, frowning. “You seem . . . not entirely well. Is everyone like you there?” Her accent was thick, her word usage not entirely familiar, but he made out what she was saying, and she seemed to understand him.

  He winced inwardly at her blunt assessment. “It is merely that—I am not used to the higher gravity here.” That wasn’t the full explanation. But if he admitted that the typical Reformist San’Shyuum was feebler than the males she knew here on Janjur Qom, she might never come with him, and his mission would fail. Feeling obscurely guilty, he went on. “We are not all alike, no. Are you and the others still willing to come with us?”

  She made a sinuous motion with her snaking neck and a hand gesture that was still the same with San’Shyuum, even on High Charity. It meant, I have decided. It will be done.

  “Excellent, Lilumna. But I must ask—are there soldiers here? Anyone looking for off-worlders?”

  “I’ve seen no one like that tonight. But there was a folasteed patrol this afternoon, asking questions. None of us spoke to them—they’re brutal. We all despise them quite thoroughly and completely. They are a good deal of the reason we want to leave Janjur Qom. And there are so few males that one would care to mate with. And as for me . . .” She looked at the sky. “I want to see what is up there, beyond the moon.”