The Ascension Factor: Pandora Sequence

by Frank Herbert

  My way, he thought. I’ve had to teach them everything. Left to themselves, these Pandorans couldn’t get anything done.

  Flattery still marveled at his own progress. He’d built and fortified a city, unified politics and industry under one banner, and prepared a Voidship for launch. The Voidship would present them with more options than this stinking little hell-hole of a planet and Alyssa Marsh, the OMC, would point the way. Pandorans had been here for hundreds of years and hadn’t made nearly the progress he’d made in the past twenty-five.

  The trap topside had been sprung and was nearly ready for cleaning. This might come close to destroying any significant Shadow resistance. There couldn’t be many of them left, and the rest … well, he’d see to it that they were too hungry to fight.

  Except among themselves, for scraps. My scraps.

  Flattery’s losses, other than replaceable materials, were minimal.

  He pushed the meal aside and drained his glass. The mop-up operation would be a bore. The last of the mob would be torched outside the hatch in a matter of two or three hours. He keyed in his command post and noted the air of celebration among the junior officers.

  Nothing like a well-executed victory to lift morale, he thought. Nothing more dangerous than an army with no one to fight.

  Flattery knew that they would not turn on him, or each other, as long as they had the Shadows, food thieves and the kelp to contend with.

  The idle brain is the devil’s playground!

  Once again, Flattery keyed the voice frequency on his console.

  “Update me on the HoloVision foil’s position, Colonel.”

  “Still submerged,” Colonel Jaffe reported, “about fifty klicks downcoast from Victoria.”

  “Any sign of escort?”

  “No. The foil is proceeding solo through the accustomed channels.”

  “And the kelp is not interfering?”

  “Not exactly,” Jaffe said. “Our instruments show a marked increase in tension on the grid—the kelp’s fighting the signal from Current Control.”

  “The grid is holding?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re preparing to detour traffic to the outside in case we lose it. Tension’s rising fast, we’re getting some oscillations at this point. All vessels with Navcom are probably getting instrument disturbances, too. We’ll try to warn them, but as you know the sonic transmission stations down under have a very limited range …”

  “I understand, Colonel. Instruct Current Control that this is a priority one situation. They are to maintain this grid at all costs. Stump that stand, if you have to.”

  “Will do, sir. Currents remain stable. Are they to be intercepted in Victoria?”

  “That is not your jurisdiction, Colonel,” Flattery snapped. “A White Warrior team will take care of it. We will root out the brass of this Shadow operation this time, I’m sure. Notify me of any sign of kelp interference, anywhere.”

  He broke contact without waiting for a reply, and smiled.

  Yes, root them out, he thought, but not all of them. They will find new leaders, then we will hunt them down, too.

  He poured himself half a glass of wine and filled the rest with water.

  Moderation, he mused, it’s a lot like patience. We will prune them back, like my roses, to the very brink of death. They will always blossom under our control, always ready for the picking.

  Flattery stood at his console and stretched. He liked the privacy of his bunker. It was as spacious as the compound above him, with all of the attendant comforts. The view through his view- screens was not nearly as satisfying as real plaz looking over the real world—his world. Soon his Voidship would be manned and stocked, and he would hand over the husk of this world to anyone who wanted it. He planned on taking Beatriz Tatoosh with him.

  Flattery had monitored her broadcast, as was his custom. He noted both her loyalty to Ozette and her restraint. It proved she had due respect for his powers, but not a blind fear. This he admired in her. Still, he did not want to underestimate Ozette’s influence on her. The man had been pouring poison into her ear for quite a few years.

  Flattery smiled. He wasn’t one to leave much to chance, and he had a backup plan for Beatriz Tatoosh. She would meet Captain Brood, one of Flattery’s more innovative White Warriors. Brood’s plan would take out a number of those troublesome HoloVision people and finish a clean sweep of that little rat’s nest. They would go the way Ozette was going. That would teach the lot of them to back off when the Director said “Back off.” And it would keep them from helping out that Shadowbox, wherever it was hidden.

  I expected them to get on the air right away with Crista Galli, he thought. What does that tell us?

  That they hadn’t got her to their broadcasting equipment yet. He smiled in anticipation.

  They’d better hurry! He laughed at the thought, They won’t want to broadcast what they get once the drugs take over.

  Captain Brood’s plan would clean out HoloVision and soften up Beatriz Tatoosh. Flattery always liked a plan that worked on more than one level. Brood would be the bad guy, and at just the right moment Flattery would whisk her out of Brood’s clutches. Then she would join him gladly in the command cabin of the Voidship. He planned an opulence for that cabin befitting a leader of his caliber, a woman of her grace and beauty.

  Our children will populate the stars, he mused. He drank to the future, and to the careful execution of plans.

  She shows no sign of any of the Pandoran mutations, he thought. He’d made sure that she’d had no surgical corrections to mask any of the Pandoran defects. We could start quite a world, the two of us. In his wine-tinted reverie Flattery saw the two of them naked in a great garden, heady with the scent of orchids and ripe fruit.

  The ready light winked on over the hatchway to the Greens, indicating a foil approaching the docking well. Only Flattery and Spider Nevi knew the coded sequence for docking inside the Greens. He glanced at his timepiece, then grunted his surprise and opened the hatch.

  Nevi’s a quick one, he thought. Too quick. Others, like Brood, guess at what pleases me. Nevi figures out my thoughts, my moves even before I do. That will have to be dealt with.

  He stood and adjusted his black dasherskin suit. When he wore this suit in the Greens, his pets were much more affectionate, more attentive to his needs. He tried his look of disdain on the mirror. It still worked. The suit was a nice touch.

  His console reported on the docking foil and identified two occupants.

  That fool! he thought. Bringing Zentz into the Greens … a waste. Too late to worry now.

  When the time came for Zentz to be silenced he would remind himself to have Nevi attend to it personally.

  The Greens was the Director’s preserve below the Preserve. Plasteel welders and laser cannon had spent two years quarrying four square kilometers out of Pandora’s stone. Crystallized particles of the old kelp root glittered like stars overhead. The domed ceiling arched to twenty meters at the center and shone with the black gloss of melted rock.

  The Greens itself was a lush underground park maintained by an old Islander biologist. At times Flattery called it “the Ark.” No one who had worked inside the Greens had lived to leave the compound. Spider Nevi came and went as he chose, and exterminated those who could not. They were easily replaced, and just as easily forgotten.

  The hatchway from the Director’s quarters in his bunker opened to the edge of a deep salt-water pool, circular, about fifty meters in diameter. A blue glow rimmed the lower portion, light diffusing in from the lamps installed around the lip outside. This had been the rootway gnawed by the kelp, the last vestige of a great Oracle.

  A gentle grassy slope led down to the pool, as well as three small streams that issued from the rock bulkheads. Animals did not do as well in the artificial light as Flattery would have liked, but his flowers, trees and grasses thrived. From where he stood inside the hatchway, Flattery admired the thickest concentration of terrestrial foliage in the world.
<
br />   He maintained no human security inside the Greens itself but his secret did not want for protection. As the bubbling hiss of the ascending foil seethed the waters of the pool, the Director’s trained dasher, Goethe, lay in wait. He knew that the other three remained hidden, stumpy tails twitching, somewhere within a quick bound. Nevi’s personal signal toned three times, then repeated itself. Flattery dogged the hatch behind him.

  The foil that rose from the pool was one of several that Flattery had designed for his own needs. These were the last foils manufactured by Merman Mercantile before the great quake destroyed their manufacturing complex two years ago. These were capable of flight but with a limited range and payload. They cruised faster submerged than any other models. A glance into the cabin and Flattery put on the proper mask of disapproval for Nevi, frowning and shaking his head.

  Well, Mr. Zentz first.

  Nevi secured the foil beside one of its twins and waited on deck for Flattery to give the dashers their “all clear” signal. Zentz stood in obvious awe at the hatchway to the cabin, the snags of teeth in his lower jaw glistening saliva.

  At the Director’s hand signal Goethe slunk back into the foliage. The one he called “Archangel” crouched between himself and Nevi. Archangel, unlike Goethe, was an extraordinary hybrid of a successful gene-swap between the cats in hyb and the hooded dashers of Pandora. They were faithful and wished to please their master—two traits that Flattery admired in anyone, so long as he was the master.

  Archangel’s eyes watched Nevi’s every move and he bristled when Zentz, too, approached the Director. There was another backup “at ease” signal for Archangel, but Flattery didn’t give it.

  Zentz is cornered, he thought, and cornered animals commit the unexpected. Since Zentz would be killed soon, Flattery spoke freely in front of him. “Mr. Director,” Nevi said, inclining his head slightly.

  “Mr. Nevi.”

  This was their ritual greeting. Flattery had never known Nevi to shake a hand. To Flattery’s knowledge, Nevi only touched the people he killed. He did not know Nevi’s record with women and did not intend to ask.

  Flattery smiled and indicated the Greens to Zentz with a generous sweep of his hand.

  “Welcome to our little secret,” he said, and strolled briskly from the docking pool toward a section of fruiting trees.

  “Pity there isn’t time for a tour. Near-tropical heat, but you don’t know much about the tropics, eh? Bore deep enough into rock and you get heat. Fewer than one hundred people have seen this garden.”

  And fewer than five survive.

  Zentz swallowed audibly. “I—I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Flattery did not doubt him.

  “One day all of Pandora will look like this.”

  Zentz brightened so much that Flattery forgave himself the lie.

  He turned to Nevi. “You saw the trap sprung topside?”

  Nevi nodded. “Looks like we burned about three hundred. Crews are out chasing down the wounded. So far, nobody big. As we suspected, their eagerness outstripped their readiness.”

  “We cannot make that same mistake,” Flattery warned. “That is why you must bide your time with Crista Galli and the others. Her abduction must be turned to our advantage in every way possible. To take them now would be easy, and foolish. Remember, from now on she’s only the bait, not the quarry.”

  A pair of white butterflies tumbled the air between them and Zentz backed away.

  Flattery smiled. “They aren’t dangerous,” he said. “Beautiful, don’t you think? We’ve released these topside. They drink the wihi nectar. They have already multiplied the wihi threefold in and around the Preserve. You know its value for defense—a natural booby trap. A problem, at times, with the livestock. The larvae of these beautiful creatures … well, another time. I have two specific demands of your mission.”

  Flattery strolled to a plot of young trees, carefully planted in rows, in various stages of bloom and fruit production. Nearby, several hives of bees kept audibly busy. Nevi did not care for the bees, this Flattery well knew. He enjoyed Nevi’s mastery of the neutral expression. He picked each man a fruit.

  “Golden Transparent,” he said. “A very hardy apple Earth-side. Since I am developing a Garden of Eden of sorts I thought them most appropriate.”

  He indicated two carved stone benches under the largest of the trees and sat. Nevi was clearly impatient to be off on the chase, but Flattery could not let them go yet. Nor could he bear watching Zentz make a slobber of his magnificent fruit.

  “There are objectives more important than their capture,” he emphasized. “Ozette must be discredited. He was popular on HoloVision, and his disappearance has already been aired, thanks to Beatriz Tatoosh. This only firms our resolve to expose him as a monster. He must be seen as a madman in the clutches of madmen, with the deathly ill Crista Galli as their slave. We will play on her beauty and her innocence; leave that to me and to HoloVision. That is the first thing I require of your mission.”

  “And the second?” Nevi asked.

  Such a question was uncharacteristic of Nevi—how much he must want to be on with it! Flattery wondered what this enthusiasm would add to Nevi’s performance.

  “Crista Galli will be a problem for them shortly,” he said. “They’ll want her off their hands. We want her to be seen asking for our help. She must want the Director to save her and the people must know this. It is our only way of guaranteeing absolute control after this little action topside—our only way short of all-out extermination of these pocket villages and little Zavatan monasteries that are the breeding grounds for these Shadows.”

  “Interesting,” Nevi said. “This will require some care. Maybe it’s a job for your propaganda people at HoloVision. Have you found any drugs to be useful for her … persuasion?”

  “Details of her drug program are in the briefing you will receive in the foil,” Flattery said. He glanced at his timepiece. “I will say that if she has eaten, she could be catatonic any time. Instructions, precautions and drugs have been prepared and are stowed with your briefing materials. Her persuasion is completely up to you. The manner of persuasion, too, is up to you.”

  Nevi smiled one of his rare smiles. That was what Flattery liked about the man … if one could call such a creature a man. He rose to a challenge.

  “The Tatoosh woman, does she launch today with the drive system and your OMCs?” “Yes,” Flattery said, “as planned. Why?”

  “I don’t trust her,” he said, and shrugged. “She’ll be up there with Current Control and we’re going into the kelp …”

  “She will be no trouble,” Flattery said. “She’s been very helpful to us. Besides, she’s my problem, leave that to me.”

  Zentz had finished gnashing down his apple and was once again gawking about the Greens. “Any of those Zavatans ever tunnel in here? They have hidey-holes all over the high reaches.”

  He still has his uses, Flattery reminded himself.

  “My pets love exploring,” Flattery answered, indicating Archangel. “Did you know that 90 percent of their brain tissue is dedicated to their sense of smell? No one has tunneled in yet, and whoever does will face Archangel. Then we booby-trap the tunnel for the rest.”

  Zentz nodded. “A good arrangement,” he gurgled.

  “You haven’t tried your apple,” Flattery said, nodding to the bright yellow fruit in Nevi’s palm.

  “I’m saving it,” the assassin replied, “for Crista Galli.”

  Chapter 21

  Do you know how hard it is to think like a plant?

  —Dwarf MacIntosh, Kelpmaster, Current Control (from HoloVision Nightly News, 3 Jueles 493)

  The Immensity prickled its long, gray-green fronds and sniffed the current in its chemical way. The sniff did not detect a presence so much as the hint of a presence. It was more a prescience than proper smell or taste, but the kelp knew that something of itself passed by now in the current.

  The Immensity was a convol
ution of kelp, a subtle interweave of vines that sprawled, like a muscular brain, throughout the sea. It had begun as wild kelp, an ignored planting inside a long-abandoned Merman outpost. It had barely known “self” from “other” when it first encountered the Avatalogical study team led by Alyssa Marsh. Most of what the Immensity knew of humans it had learned from Alyssa Marsh.

  This stand of kelp knew slavery from the human memories that her DNA held, and it knew itself to be enslaved by Current Control. With the right tickle in its vines it raised them, lowered them, retracted or extended them. Another electrical tickle set off the luciferase in the kelp, lighting the passage of human submarine trade. There were other tricks as well, all pulsed a current through a channel—simple servility, simple stimulation-response. This was reflex, not reflection.

  The Immensity had all of eternity at its disposal. It allowed this exercise because it pleased the humans and did not interfere with the stand’s extended contemplations. Thanks to Alyssa Marsh and her shipmate Dwarf MacIntosh, the kelp had learned how to follow the electrical tickle to its source. Everything that humans transmitted now flowed straight to the heart of the Immensity. Everything.

  The Immensity was finally prepared to send something back. It was getting closer to a breakthrough to these humans, and that breakthrough would not be through touch or the chemical smell, but through light waves intersecting in air.

  Pleasing humans was a trivial matter, displeasing them was not. Once, soon after waking, this kelp had lashed out in pain to pluck a runaway submersible from among its vines. The huge cargo train had torn a hundred-meter swath nearly a kilometer long in its path through the vines. After the kelp slapped the deadly thing and plucked it apart, Flattery’s slaves came with cutters and burners to amputate the kelp back to infancy. The Immensity knew that it had not been able to think right for some time after that, and it did not intend to give up its thinking ever again.