Seeds of Earth

by Michael Cobley

  adjustments, and glancing at him occasionally. The cock-

  pit's viewport was clear, revealing a strange vista, a dull

  yellow sun the size of a coin, its amber radiance casting a

  daylight crescent over a grey-brown planet which filled

  about a quarter of the frame. At first sight, it seemed that

  clouds of asteroids hung in spreading orbits about the

  nameless world .. . until a dark, jagged object tumbled

  past not far off, catching the sunlight on torn metal edges,

  a faring, a section of hull. Glittering and dwindling, it fell

  away into the planet's gravitic embrace.

  -

  'Wreckage,' said Cora, who had been watching him.

  'Debris, the smashed remains of ships, combat and civil-

  ian, big and small, armed and helpless. Welcome to the

  Shafis System.'

  Kao Chih frowned. 'You say that as if you expect me

  to know what it means, but I do not.'

  She arched her eyebrows. 'KC, where have you been?

  I'm not a newsleech but even I've picked up a few details

  about Shafis here and there. Okay, here's the short ver-

  sion - which is all I can be bothered with. Shafis is a

  system on the edge of the Yamanon Domain, where it

  shades off into the Huvuun Deepzone, and so far

  Coalition forces have fought three battles here. First

  time it was with retreating remnants of the Dol-Das

  fleets, then it was against an armed reconnaisance group

  from some Aranja Tesh civ, probably Metraj, trying to

  rescue survivors from that dustbowl of a planet. Third

  time, which was just a couple of weeks ago, it was a

  bunch of idiot Sageist zealots putting together a fleet to

  attack Coalition positions, using the high-orbit shell

  here as a staging post while trying to recruit from the

  scrabblers down on the surface. Each time, the

  Hegemony - and its loyal Earthsphere sidekick -

  stormed in with their ships and destroyed any vessel

  which offered resistance. And "offering resistance" was

  interpreted pretty loosely, I hear, resulting in these pic-

  turesque clouds of wreckage you see today. Along with

  a few more additions to the survivors down on the

  planet.'

  'So why are your employers stationed here?' Kao Chih

  said. 'Are they scavengers as well as revolutionaries?'

  'Benefactors, KC, rescuers. Since that third battle, the

  one with the holy armada, was fairly recent, it is possi-

  ble that there may be survivors trapped on some of the

  hulks drifting out there, which naturally interests my

  employers. Who are also interested in similar individuals

  down the gravity well, but orbital searches come first."

  'Recruits,' said Kao Chih.

  'Exactly. You're catching on.' A clunking sound came

  through the hull and a rasping voice spoke over the

  ship-to-ship in a language that seemed to defy the lin-

  guistic enabler. Cora replied in kind and fingered several

  controls, putting most of the pilot controls on standby.

  'Time to meet your new masters.'

  Kao Chih's bonds were rearranged and lengthened,

  then, at gunpoint, he helped her wrap Drazuma-Ha* in

  a sheet and together they carried the mech out through

  the airlock and into a much larger one made of some

  dark, flexible material which had formed an airtight

  constriction around the Castellan's airlock flanges.

  Hatch doors closed behind and opened ahead and Cora

  gestured with her skinny gun to continue. His ankles

  and wrists were now bound with two-foot-long secure

  straps which made movement a chore, but he managed

  to back out of the raised hatch edge, carrying his end of

  Drazuma-HaThen he turned and saw that they were

  in a large, well-lit hold with equipment racks, luggage

  nets, upper-wall walkways, through-floor risers and

  overhead cargo lifts. There was also a welcoming com-

  mittee, a tall reptiloid Kiskashin and a Gomedran

  garbed in grey overalls and carrying an odd figure-of-

  eight device.

  At Cora's direction he helped carry the quiescent

  mech over to the two sentients and stood it on its end.

  'Congratulations, Talavera,' said the Kiskashin in

  deep-throated 4Peljan. 'A high-grade human and a func-

  tioning Strigida-9 drone, just as you described. Truly,

  you are my most prized procurer.'

  So this is a revolutionary} Kao Chih thought.

  The Kiskashin was nearly seven feet high, and

  beneath a sleeveless, three-quarter-length bluefibre coat

  wore what looked liked pieces of combat armour on his

  arms and shoulders, grey polyhedral surfaces worn at

  the facet edges, scored and pitted. Kiskashin were upright

  bipeds with muscular, birdlike legs and wide-toed feet. It

  was only after Kao Chih looked more closely that he

  realised that the Kiskashin's arms were artificial, having

  spotted the shoulder ball-joints and the fact that those

  arms had a longer reach than normal.

  'As always, it is an honour and a privilege to serve

  your cause, Castigator Vuzayel,' Cora said, giving a

  slight bow.

  'And to serve your own, hah?' the Kiskashin Vuzayel

  said. 'The great cause of money!' With the finger and

  thumb of one articulated, armoured, six-fingered hand

  he took a black velvety pouch from within his immacu-

  late bluefibre coat. 'Selling souls for profit, Talavera -

  few sins are as black as that in the eyes of the Great

  Sower. I sometimes think about inviting you to join the

  struggle, to lay down your sinful burdens and follow the

  path taken by those you have already brought into my

  care. But then I realise what a loss to the cause, the Writ

  of Sacred Revenge, that would be so I decide to forgo

  my duty, to further our greater ends.'

  'I am glad that I will continue to be of service to you,

  Castigator,' Cora said unflinchingly. 'And to be paid.'

  The velvety black pouch hung there for a moment,

  then was whisked out of sight, stowed back inside the

  coat.

  'Later. First, I wish you to give our newest arrival the

  extended tour of our mighty vessel, the Sacrament, show

  him its most inspiring sights while the Strigida drone is

  being redacted.' Vuzayel glanced at the waiting

  Gomedran. 'Take it down to the examiners.'

  The Gomedran bowed then stepped over to where

  Kao Chih still held Drazuma-Ha * upright, the sheet

  having been removed by Cora. The Gomedran

  motioned Kao Chih back, then slapped the figure-of-

  eight device onto the mech's carapace, thumbed its

  control pad and a moment later was carrying the mech

  out of the hold on his shoulder as if it weighed next to

  nothing.

  Kao Chih found himself being studied by Castigator

  Vuzayel, pale yellow Kiskashin eyes regarding him,

  occasionally tilting that narrow-snouted head to focus

  one of them on him.

  'I do not know what barbarous gods you Humans

  worship,' he said. 'But when you make your offering in

  the name of Sacred Revenge,
know that you will be

  redeemed. You and the other devotees are the lucky

  ones - we, the leaders of the Chaurixa, must put off the

  joyous sacrifice until the Great Sower's writ has been

  fulfilled, a sorrowful burden which we stoically shoul -

  der. But before you begin your journey, Human, tell

  your name.'

  'I am called Kao Chih, sir,' he said. 'I am a freelance

  chandler, so if you have any unfilled contracts I would

  most happy to offer my services.'

  Vuzayel laughed, a horrible grating sound.

  'If nothing else, you Humans are entertaining! Go in

  peace, Karrchi, the Great Sower awaits you.'

  As the Kiskashin headed for one of the exits with a

  heavy tread, Cora pointed with her gun at a flight of

  stairs that led up to a grillwork walkway. Glumly, he fol-

  lowed her directions, his thoughts inevitably focusing on

  his mission to Darien and the erratic route that had

  brought him to this end, the reprogramming of his com-

  panion, Drazuma-Ha*, and his own conversion to these

  fanatics' cause. No doubt he would face some form of

  brainwashing, perhaps a combination of drugs and

  sense-deprivation, or maybe even some kind of immer-

  sive procedure. Whichever it was he was determined to

  resist for as long as he could.

  Cora prodded his shoulder with her gun then indi-

  cated a pair of heavy pressure doors just along the

  walkway. 'Straight through and down the ramp.'

  Ankles restricted by the secure straps, he shuffled for-

  ward and the doors slid aside to let them past.

  'I liked the way you tried to take my place,' Cora

  said. '"Freelance chandler", eh? Good title. I think I'll

  adopt it now that you won't have any use for it.'

  'I wouldn't plan too far in advance, Ms Talavera,' he

  said, trying to sound as if he were in good spirits. 'Your

  master hasn't paid you yet. But then you didn't mention

  our little Ezgara problem -1 wonder why.'

  Cora's laughter was light and edged with malice.

  'Keep flapping that mouth and I'll have one of the aspi-

  rants nerve-block it.'

  Kao Chih shrugged and continued down the ramp,

  which turned leftward twice. The Chaurixa mothership's

  interior decor was in simple yellows and greens with

  notices and signs in dark red, often hurriedly stencilled to

  the walls. From a couple of location guides he discovered

  that the ship had a linear module configuration, four

  large hull sections built on a central axis, the drives and

  engineering at the stern, the bridge and quarters in the

  prow segment, while the two midsections were dotted

  with a number of arcane-looking symbols utterly myste-

  rious to him. He had figured out that they had docked at

  the third hull module from the prow and were heading

  forward to the second. Cora steered him round a couple

  of corners and into the ship's spinal corridor, up steps

  and through the connecting passage, and down more

  steps. She then had him turn left and follow the grav-

  plating track up the portside curve of the hull past a

  series of opaque doors. Each door had a grey panel bear-

  ing one of the symbols he had seen on the wall guides.

  'I know what's going through your head, KC,' Cora

  said behind him. 'You think you'll have to endure beat-

  ings and torture and drugs and crazy mind-scrambling

  virtsensoria . . . well, no, these people don't work that

  way. These people are professionals with pressing dead-

  lines and precision needs, so they're not going to waste

  time trying to beat their point of view into you.'

  She stopped him in front of one of the doors and the

  grey panel melted into transparency. Inside was a white

  surgical theatre where two masked and gowned

  Henkayans were working on a bulky form bound to a

  large cradle. The patient, or victim, was a Bargalil, its

  six-limbed body lying still and silent.

  'The Chaurixa medtechs have three ways of remould -

  ing minds to fit the task. There's viral programming,

  where they use tailored bugs to edit and rewrite an

  ordag's brain, creating new compulsions, fears and

  desires, whole chunks of behaviour dedicated to carry-

  ing out the mission . . .'

  'What was that name you called him? Ordak . . .'

  'Ordag - short for "ordained agent",' she said. 'Well,

  anyway, that seems like the worst way to me. You are

  yourself, you feel like yourself, but there's all these mem-

  ories and instincts making you do things you don't

  understand. Creepy.'

  She motioned him on to the next door. The panel

  went transparent, revealing a tall Sendrukan male, his

  eyes blindfolded as he lay strapped to a cushioned table

  while a hooded device on a segmented cable moved all

  around his head as if examining it from all directions.

  There was no one else in the room.

  'Another way is to just simply wipe away the mind,

  flatten all the characteristics, leaving aside the auto-

  nomic and certain learned reflexes. Then they embed a

  new persona sufficiently complex to carry out whatever

  task it's needed to do.

  'But some tasks can be too involved and socially

  demanding for an embedded persona, so the Castigator's

  clever underlings came up with kernelling - basically,

  parts of the cortex are scooped out and a paraorganic

  nanostructure is grown in its place, which serves as the

  residence for a partial, or sometimes a full, AL'

  'Efficient,' said Kao Chih, horrified but maintaining

  his composure. 'In Chinese mythology there are many

  hells, some as elaborate as these rooms.'

  She looked at him. 'For example?'

  'There is the Hell of Disembowelment where hypocrites

  and tomb robbers have their bowels cut out. Or there is

  the Hell of Sawing where kidnappers and those who force

  good people to do bad things are sawn into pieces.'

  'You're making that up.'

  He shrugged. 'Chinese history goes back a long, long

  way, so some things might indeed be made up. And

  some may not.'

  She smiled and wagged a reproving finger. 'You can't

  spook me, KC. Besides, you haven't seen the rest of our

  little circle of hell yet.'

  The walkway led past another couple of milky

  opaque doors, curving over to the starboard side, where

  Cora had him stop before a set of double doors.

  Through the clear panels Kao Chih saw a white room

  with a few thin-legged chairs and another pair of doors.

  He also saw an octopoidal Makhori laid full-length on a

  wheeled trolley, its pale tentacles stretched out and still

  while its torso showed regular, slow breathing. Its large,

  open eyes stared blankly upwards.

  'It's just been wiped,' Cora said, giving him another

  prod. 'This is the augmentation area - go on in.'

  He pushed through with both hands and stopped to

  gaze down at the immobile Makhori.

  'Sometimes missions require a strength or speed

  bey
ond the abilities of ordinary organic creatures,' she

  said. 'So ordags are brought here for alterations, modi-

  fications, refurbs, whatever the mission calls for,

  occasionally the full, customised cyber-augmentation -

  heart, veins, muscle, blood and bone, from the roots of

  your hair to the nails on your toes. No sense left

  untouched.'

  One of the inner doors opened and to Kao Chih's

  surprise a Human emerged, a thin, old man in a brown

  robe, grey-haired and stooped. He saw Kao Chih and,

  peering, came over.

  'So they got another,' he said in a creaky voice as he

  held out a wrinkly hand. 'I'm Josh - what's your name,

  son?'

  'I am Kao Chih, sir - I am honoured to meet you.

  How do you come to be here?'

  'Likewise.' Josh indicated Cora, who was still holding

  her gun levelled at Kao Chih's chest. 'Came here cour-

  tesy of your friend's one-way service.'

  'Did she put you to sleep as well, Josh?'

  'Three times - I was a cranky passenger.'

  Cora rolled her eyes, just as the inner doors opened.

  A green-clad Henkayan entered, seized the trolley with

  all four stubby hands and wheeled the insensible

  Makhori away beyond the doors. A second, more

  imposing Henkayan appeared, garbed in pale green,

  ankle-length robes and wearing a yellow band around

  his throat. His wide, tapering head was crowned with

  dense purple hair coiffed into stiff, upward coils and his

  large, coarse features were grinning as he approached

  Josh.

  'Very good, superior one, but keep up practice of

  New Montana accent, become perfect. Go now to out-

  fitters, they are expecting you.'

  'My thanks, Compositor Henach. May the Great

  Sower's will be served.' So saying, the man called Josh

  straightened his posture and, ignoring Cora and Kao

  Chih, strode out of the main doors. The grinning

  Compositor Henach turned his attention to the new-

  comers.

  'Castigator Vuzayel has spoken to me,' he told Cora.

  'This one is to be sent to one of the Tertiary Grace

  worlds in Metraj, to assassinate a Vikantan industrial-

  ist.

  Cora made an impressed sound. 'So a partial aug-

  menting, I'd guess.'

  'Yes, and then wipe and persona overlay, not unlike

  my most recent patient.'