Of course, as a Ket I should show no sign that I recognized her beauty or rank. "How may I help you, young-D'Dsellan?" I replied in her language.
"My use name is P'Lka-D'Dsellan, Madame Ket." She offered one shapely, triple-hinged claw for my touch. It was cool and slick under my fingertips, like fine, polished marble. "I have been assigned as guide and liaison to your ship's complement. As you are the first crewmembers to disembark, I was notified of your location. Please let me know how I can help you enjoy our home." P'Lka bowed.
Liaison or spy. Likely both, I reasoned without disapproval. It was typical Hive thinking. P'Lka was also the perfect ally. It was inconceivable she would place any Human concerns or questions above the merest whim of her own kind. "I do require your assistance, P'Lka-D'Dsellan," I began, keeping an eye on my companions to be sure they stayed out of earshot. "I need some help arranging a private meeting."
"And she gave us these seats. Just like that."
I let my fingers race lightly over Ragem's coat sleeve, a delightful woven garment I suspected he'd chosen to attract my attention. "Her task is to please visitors, Paul-Human. Are you not pleased?"
"I'd be pleased if I knew why."
"Don't listen to him, Nimal-Ket," Willify said cheerfully from her seat in the row behind us. "Ragem's becoming much too glum for his own good. I swear he'll see a conspiracy in his next pay raise—if he gets one!"
There was a chorus of agreement from the dozen other crewmembers around us. P'Lka had been as good as her word, delivering this block of seats to one of the truly memorable spectacles on Panacia. The crew, and Ragem, appreciated the rare honor they were being granted.
We were at one end of the newly constructed amphitheater, its roof open to the night air. Rows of seats curved away from us on both sides to almost touch at the other side of the oval. There were easily a hundred rows above us, and as many below. Every seat was filled, most with Panacians of every caste, but a considerable number with aliens such as ourselves. I'd managed to wedge my long legs and arms between my Human companions with a minimal amount of good-natured collision.
There was the usual provision for the presence of Queens in a crowd: certain seats were set within barriers of living B'Bklar plants. I'd overheard Ragem explaining to Tomas how the plants were chosen both for their lovely flowers and their ability to absorb airborne organics, helping to neutralize the impact of each Queen's pheromones on her hapless neighbors.
The amphitheater itself had been constructed with great care around the event we were to see. It was a magnificent structure, curving back at its height as if encouraging the witness of the stars blazing in the cloudless night sky. Yet the amphitheater was merely a frame for what it cradled between its walls of spectators. It was the Spring Emergence.
The floor of the amphitheater was patterned in a mosaic of color and pattern that at first bewildered the eye. There were spirals and other curved forms. There were areas that seemed abstract, then resolved into meaning which slid away again as your eyes tried to encompass it. Panacians believed that aspects of the future could be predicted from analysis of the patterns. Already, those in the audience who had not seen the mosaic until tonight were entering their speculations on notepads or dictating memos. The result was a low roar of sound, more like the rise and fall of waves on an ocean shore than conversation.
The mosaic was composed of all the pupae ready to emerge this season, many from the surrounding countryside as well as the city itself. The timing was precise, predictable to the hour. The whitish-gray pupae were brought to this place months in advance, arranged in plain straight lines by neuters of every caste until the reed-strewn floor of the amphitheater-to-be was covered completely. Then, as construction of the viewing stand went on around the sleeping offspring, the color of each pupal case began to change. Some darkened to the purple of the builder caste, and enlarged to accommodate the last growth spurt to produce the requisite size and shape. Others took on the gold of harvesters, or the russet of rememberers. The proportion within each caste—and indeed the number of castes themselves—would be known only when all the pupae were mature.
There was one tear in the brilliant pattern below, a harshly angled hole revealing dull brown reeds below. I could hear the Humans around me asking about its significance. They were not answered. I could have told them the gap would have contained a cluster of pupae that had turned the warning orange of the warrior caste. The Panacians were capable of a coordinated ruthlessness beyond what Humans would find comfortable. Fifteen generations ago, the Hive had come to a simultaneous and largely unconscious decision, reinforced by the Queens' pheromones, that the warrior caste was no longer necessary in a peaceful, multispecies universe. In one day, not only had any warrior pupae been killed, but neighbor had turned on neighbor until all warriors were gone, on the colony worlds and ships, as well as on Hiveworld itself. The bloodshed was minimized solely by the fact that the warriors also accepted this decision and died willingly.
Although I deplored loss of life, nothing in me found this act of genocide offensive. It was the way of the Hive, to cull what wasn't necessary to the whole. It was equally their way to nurture the new, as witnessed by the evolution of the newest caste, the ambassadors, small enough to be comfortable in a starship, with rnouthparts more capable of foreign speech, and a nature at once secretive and friendly. This development was quite deliberate, the Hive being as expert in engineering themselves as their buildings. It worked for them.
As the current spectacle worked for my purpose. A quiver, like the twitch of a dreaming child, started in the middle of the pupael cluster. There was a hint of movement suddenly across the floor of the entire amphitheater. The audience stopped its chatter and speculation, instead starting up an involuntary trilling sound, something all castes were capable of producing with an organ on their thorax; multiplied by hundreds of thousands the trill made speech quite impossible.
I tugged at Ragem's sleeve. When I had his attention, I made a grimace and held my hands against the sides of my head. The trill was pleasantly pitched to Human ears, but I was counting on Ragem not knowing my expression of discomfort wasn't real. I gestured that I was leaving. He cast a longing look at the now-incredible view of the thousands of pupael cases starting to crack in unison, then got up as if to accompany me. I smiled and pushed him firmly back in his seat, before making my awkward exit across laps, knees, and far too many feet.
When I glanced back, Ragem and his crewmates were gazing with rapture at the simultaneous birth of forty thousand adult Panacians.
P'Lka met me at the end of the row, her trill noticeable, but so automatic that she didn't seem to notice the music under her words. "A programmed hoverbot is waiting for you at the end of this corridor, Madame Ket. When you are finished your meeting with Sec-ag C'Cklet, it will return you directly to the shopping concourse. It is only a brief walk from there to your ship. Do you need directions?"
"No. This Ket is familiar with the area. Thank you again, P'Lka-D'Dsellan. Her Glory-D'Dsellan will hear of how you expedited the mission of this Ket on her behalf."
"I serve the Hive in all things," she murmured with obvious pleasure.
* * *
Out There
DEATH was still primitive, running on instincts from a lifetime between stars, but it was capable of learning. Caution had been the first lesson. Avoid pain. Ambush was a safer technique than pursuit, so Death began taking its pleasures in dark corners and lonely places.
Pleasure had been another lesson. Death no longer simply fed. Now it savored, relished, took its satiation with the attention it deserved. A pity its prey didn't appreciate the honor.
Most importantly, Death had learned to have a goal. The new prey it had tasted once, briefly, so tantalizingly, must be found again.
And, on one of the worlds in a system called Panacia, Death had at last come across a hint of what it wanted, a trace of seductive flavor on the wind, a direction to hunt.
Death moved stealth
ily across the planet's surface, determined not to miss this opportunity, only consuming those unfortunate enough to fall in its path, following the trail, almost blinded by wanting.
* * *
27: Hiveworld Night
« ^ »
RAGEM and Tomas had been able to coax some disquieting information from the drones at the mineral bath. I considered what they told me as my hoverbot danced and jigged its way among dozens of others, the D'Dsellan version of waiting to land. The deaths, or rather disappearances, had originally occurred on the other continent, then stopped. They'd suddenly begun again on this side of the freshwater ocean, but with less frequency. The most recent disappearances had been in this city, which was why Kearn had chosen this spaceport for the Rigus out of the seven on D'Dsel. Tomas and others of the crew speculated it was most likely some criminal, perhaps a crazed xenophobe of sorts: somebody a planetary authority could catch.
I looked down at the warmly lit globes below that marked the outer ring of homes of Mixs' kin and really hoped Tomas was right. And I was wrong.
Abruptly, the hoverbot dropped to within a handsbreath of the ground and halted. The antigrav inside completely dampened both the acceleration and stop; nonetheless, I gulped. As a Ket, I wasn't the best at high-speed maneuvering. There was no time to collect my thoughts as the door opened and the seat in the 'bot urged me upright.
"Madame Ket."
Something's wrong. I felt my hearts pounding as I took in the somber expressions on the two Panacians standing before me on the landing platform. The surrounding garden was beautifully lit, a lush display of living architecture I'd otherwise have enjoyed examining. "Where is Her Glory-D'Dsellan?" I whispered.
The younger of the two seemed to crumble into herself, her four upper appendages wrapped tightly around her thorax in an expression of grief and despair.
I didn't hesitate. Mixs' memory in mine contained the most recent plan of the entire complex. I knew where she would have met me. They called out as I hurried past them, but didn't otherwise object.
No one did. Every member of Mixs' family I passed in the convoluted hallways acted oblivious to my presence and my urgency, caught in the paralysis the D'Dsellans felt in the presence of tragedy. I might have been invisible, except that in my haste I bumped into an older drone, then almost tripped over the tools of a builder left abandoned in a doorway, sending them sliding across the polished floor to crash into a wall.
Mixs' room. It was a huge expanse, with tables covered in scale models and benches festooned with bits and pieces of construction materials. There wasn't a chair to be seen—typical of Mixs. This was where she worked, not rested.
I stepped inside very slowly, careful where I placed my bare feet, unsure if what was left of the ceiling would stay in place. No wonder the other D'Dsellans were in a horrified daze.
Titans had battled here.
Trembling, on the verge of losing form, I screamed "Mixs! Mixs!" only to have my voice lock itself somewhere inside. Slipping on broken bits of dreams, I searched the room, hurrying as much as I could without the risk of losing some clue. Then, like a nightmare, I saw it.
A hint of blue glistened along the spiked edge of a shard of glass. I gripped my hoobit like an anchor, resisting the urge to consume and learn. Impulse overcome, for the moment at least, I wrapped the glass in a piece of fabric and tucked it into the carrysack I wore around my waist. The web-flesh would spoil and lose whatever it could tell me within minutes, but I couldn't cycle here. Already, groups of silent Panacians were gathering in the doorways to this shattered place, watching me between awed glances at the scorched hole that had replaced the ornate raised ceiling.
"Madame Ket, the Queen will speak to you."
My grip on the hoobit became an absolute clench. But I nodded graciously at whomever spoke and followed without protest. The Queen of any family here was the final law; a comfortable enough arrangement to one raised by Ersh.
The Queen of Mixs' family was old enough to keep her successor close at hand where she could learn the family business and understand its management, and young enough to insist her beloved heir sit on the floor, two steps below the ring of drones that never left their Queen's side. I bowed as I passed through the tingle of the force field that concentrated the Queen's pheromones for transport to all of her diffuse family, and waited for her to speak. It was a singular honor, if one I could have done without as Mixs' fate continued to rot in my pouch.
"Madame Ket." The Queen's voice was feather-soft yet clear. "You come to us on a night of terror. I remember dear Mixs telling us to trust her courier. Can you explain the events here?"
"Tell me what happened, and I will try, Queen-D'Dsellan," I said as quietly, my own passions subdued by the calm in this place, a calm reinforced by the absence of corners or edges, by the complex, subtle patterning of the walls.
The Queen raised a claw. One of the four drones attending her spoke from his place at her feet. "There were terrible cries from Her Glory's workroom, the sounds of furniture being broken. We rushed to Her aid, only to be thrown from our feet by a tremendous explosion. The harvester in the garden saw a projectile, like a streak of light, break through the roof and head into space. The house watchers have found no evidence. They have not found Her Glory either."
I must control myself. Fiercely I shot up my temperature to the limit this form could tolerate and remain conscious in an effort to keep form integrity. Mixs gone? I had to deal with this part of her family before I could deal with my own loss or its cause.
"This Ket does not know what has happened, Queen-D'Dsellan," I admitted. "But I feel certain that Her Glory has been murdered." I paused while the audience and the Queen trilled their distress. "The vessel which brought this Ket to D'Dsel is searching for a creature that—" I stumbled over the word, "—hunts this way. We feared it had reached your world."
The Queen curled herself into a posture of despair. Almost instantly, all of the other Panacians followed suit, helplessly obedient to the emotional signals she released into the air. I took a step backward, then halted as she raised her head and gazed at me with her glowing eyes. "There will be cooperation with the Commonwealth ship, Madame Ket. We wish this creature eliminated as a threat." She made a gesture of dismissal. "Mixs' business with you is not of their concern. I expect your discretion as you may ours." She straightened, gesturing gracefully with one slender limb. "We shall await the next incarnation of our beloved Mixs."
How could I explain? I hesitated, torn between the truth and comfort. Perhaps there was no need. In the way of the D'Dsellans, Mixs' name could well rise again in the next generation. That it wouldn't be Mixs this time mattered only to me and mine.
I bowed and left.
There was only one chance to find out what had happened. Once inside the hoverbot, I disabled its interior sensors, cycling into web-form almost instantly. I consumed both pouch and glass in my haste, but what mattered was the trace of Mixs and what it might tell me.
An instant later, I cycled back to Ket, replaced the hoobit and pulled on my skirt in a breathless contorted struggle that would have been amusing under other circumstances, and reactivated the sensors.
All I'd tasted was surprise.
* * *
Out There
DEATH writhed in ecstasy and confusion, careening through space like a comet, shedding excess mass in a spree of self-destruction that ended far short of pain.
Self-awareness.
Assimilation.
All she knew, I know.
All she was, I am.
Death, confident and full of purpose, took note of the stars and distances.
That way. My next feast is there!
* * *
28: Starship Morning
« ^ »
"THERE'S been another disappearance," Ragem announced, not bothering with politeness. At least he'd pitched his voice for my ears only before dropping into the seat opposite mine in the galley. The engineering shift from last night wa
s busy cleaning up from their supper and preparing to play some game or other. The officers from the day shift were filing in for breakfast and discussing protocols. There seemed a surprising amount of activity for a ship on the ground. "A Sec-ag of the planning caste. Right out of her home."
I looked up from my plate. "Not an auspicious beginning to the day, Paul-Human."
Ragem accepted a cup of sombay from Lawrenk Jen as she passed with a trayful, nodding an absent thanks. His gray eyes focused on the fragrant steam curling upward, then lifted to mine. "It happened last night. During the Spring Emergence." He took a larger than normal swallow and grimaced. "Where were you, Nimal-Ket?"
I fluttered my fingers in a deliberate chuckle. "This Ket sought peace and quiet, Paul-Human, as you know."
"Where?"
So. I gazed at his face, noting its deliberately mild expression. Ragem should never play cards with Lawrenk Jen's crew, I thought. His eyes always betrayed him. Right now they were quite alarmingly suspicious.
I picked up a piece of toasted bread and enjoyed the sensation of pulling it into bite-sized pieces. The outer surfaces were prickly in delectable counterpoint to the soft interior. Many Human foods were this contradictory. Shame they had no perceptible taste to this form. But I'd procured some Ket sauces in the market on my way back to the ship and I tapped one of the small jars with a finger before I dipped the toast into my favorite. It had a standard poison warning on it—Panacians were no more capable of ingesting Ket delicacies than Humans. "This Ket enjoyed the market, Paul-Human. I do not understand your curiosity about the doings of this Ket when such a tragedy has taken place." I let my vice grow stern.
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