Eight tall fluted columns supported the roof. A large square opening in the middle acted as a light well, filling the atrium with indirect sunlight that sparkled off a pool. A woman in a white tunic sat on a tall upright stool beside an office screen shaped to look like a broken column. The black snake and staff logo of the medical guild was emblazoned over her left breast.
Allenson’s footsteps on the marble floor slabs echoed off the bare stone walls. They looked like marble but that material was not found on Paragon. If the slabs were synthetic a highly sophisticated process must have been employed. It would probably be cheaper just to pay the extortionate shipping costs to import the real thing.
The woman looked at him enquiringly but did not otherwise move or speak. He focussed on the matter at hand rebuking himself for his wandering mind. His stepmother had often found herself forced to comment on his inability to concentrate.
“My name is Allen Allenson. I’m here to see Sar Todd Allenson. I believe he is in the Destry Gallery,” he said.
The woman ran her finger down the screen, her conservative flat purple-colored hair flopping slightly around the headband that almost kept it away from her face.
“Yes, Sar Allenson. Sar Destry said you would be here shortly. Do you know the way?”
He nodded and moved past her. There was no sign of any security other than the petite receptionist but Allenson had no doubt that armed guards waited close by. They had probably watched him on concealed cameras from the moment his frame materialized in the courtyard. The Villa Palencia offered its wealthy clientele quiet serenity and ensured their privacy with top quality, unobtrusive Brasilian security.
The large square archway into the peristylium was open. Allenson could see the lines that marked where concealed blast doors could be slid out on magnetic fields. He passed into a large formal garden with dwarf trees, fountains and sculpted waterfalls. He turned along the covered walkway that ran around the inside of the peristylium until he came to a door marked with the Destry logo—a cockerel crowing at a star.
Allenson paused for a moment, took a deep breath and knocked.
A servant girl, marked by her short light-brown tunic and work-calloused hands, opened the door and ushered him along a hall into a reception room that was decorated with blue mosaics of Brasilian sea life. Destry and Hawthorn sat inside drinking scented tea from ornate ceramic cups. Linsye motioned for the servant to refill their drinks. She stood to welcome Allenson, slits down the length of her heavy ankle-length dress opening and closing to show teasing glimpses of her body through gossamer-thin petticoats.
He held her hands and she kissed him lightly on the mouth, the proper greeting that a lady made to her husband’s male relatives. As a Destry, Royman’s sister, Linsye did everything properly.
“You look well, Linsye,” Allenson said.
In truth, she looked worn out as if she had been stretched too thin. She had always been an angular woman but now her face was gaunt with projecting cheek bones. Ironically, grief had lent her an empyreal beauty that had been denied her in happiness.
She waved a hand as if brushing at an invisible web.
“I look terrible,” she said. “I do my best, for Todd’s sake.”
“Is there any change?” Allenson asked.
“No,” she replied. “He slips further away from me, day by day. The genesurgeons and doctors have tried everything but all they can do is slow the process and make him comfortable. His cell lines are aging at an ever accelerating rate.”
“So they have not identified the cause?” asked Allenson.
She shook her head. “The best guess is that he came into contact with an unknown dormant virus weapon left over from the biowars.”
“How could he be attacked without the rest of us also falling victim?” asked Allenson, sceptically.
“The genesurgeons suggest that he must have some unique vulnerability hidden in his genotype. One even speculated about a unique combination of bioweapon and alien DNA or even an alien bioweapon,” Linsye replied.
She snorted dismissively, as well she might. Mankind had never discovered an alien capable of making a flint knife let alone a bioweapon—if you allowed that the Riders were essentially human. Offering alien bioweapons as a diagnosis was the medical equivalent of throwing one’s arms in the air and blaming black magic.
“Right!” Allenson took a deep breath. “I will go up and see him.”
* * *
Todd sat wired into a medical monitoring chair positioned so he could look out onto the garden. He had lost body mass since Allenson’s last visit and his hair had thinned to the point that a bald patch was visible on the crown. Allenson paused, composing himself so his brother would not notice his disquiet.
Todd had a book propped on an anglepoise. He struggled to turn the page manually, refusing to use the remote. That was so like Todd. Allenson’s older half-brother had indomitable determination. After Allenson’s father died, Todd became his guardian and instructor. Todd had been the strong one, full of fire and wind, endlessly energetic. Most of all, he had been Allenson’s best friend.
Allenson reached over Todd’s shoulder and turned the page for him.
“Hell’s teeth, you startled me Allen. How long have you been there? For a big man you have an annoying habit of sneaking around. I recall threatening to hang a bell around your neck when you were young; too late now I suppose.”
“Far too late,” Allenson said. “You won’t be hanging bells on anything until you get better.”
“Cut the bollocks, brother,” Todd said. “You and I both know that I will leave this place in an urn. They will insist on cremating the body in case of infection. There was some reluctance to let you in to my room given the level of paranoia about my condition. I told Linsye that I wanted to see you if you came and I expect my wife made my wishes crystal clear to the clinical staff.”
He grinned at Allenson and winked, just for a moment looking his old self. Linsye was notoriously formidable in defense of her family’s interests and would have left the staff in no doubt as to who called the tune.
“Pull up a chair and tell me your news,” said Todd.
Allenson did as he was bid. Clearly there was nothing yet wrong with Todd’s mind despite his physical deterioration. After dutifully repeating family gossip, Allenson related the more interesting events from his expedition into the wilderness. Todd listened intently, asking probing questions. For a while, his eyes were alight with the old fire but eventually he slumped back exhausted, struggling for breath.
“Maybe I should let you rest,” said Allenson, alarmed.
“No, wait. The machines will soon revive me,” Todd said.
Todd rested his eyes, breathing shallowly. Allenson waited patiently until his brother recovered.
“See, I am much better already. I want to talk to you about the future. The great powers are in the mood to flex their muscles. The four horsemen are set to ride and I fear that the Cutter Stream is on their itinerary.”
“I know the situation is tense but . . .” began Allen.
“Here to the galactic west, the conflict will be between Terra and Brasilia, of course. They daren’t try to strike at each other directly so the Cutter Stream and Hinterland colonies will be the arena.” Todd said, ignoring Allen’s interruption. He spoke impatiently like a man who needed to convey an important message but only had a few moments before he had to be on his way.
Todd coughed: once he started he couldn’t stop until he hacked up thin spittle. Allenson wiped his mouth and considered what Todd had said. It was nigh impossible for one Home World to successfully invade another. The logistics were insurmountable. The invader had to haul equipment and supplies laboriously through the Continuum while the defender could focus a massive counterattack within minutes of detecting a landing. Of course, one could sneak in agents to spy, assassinate and commit sabotage but these were pinpricks, mere gestures that had little strategic value.
It would be terrifyi
ngly easy to infiltrate an agent with a bioweapon capable of decimating a Home World’s crowded population but two could play at that game. The biowars of Old Earth presented a terrible historical lesson for even the unimaginative.
The Home Worlds, in a rare display of touching brotherly solidarity, had declared such weapons to be immoral, inhuman, and against the Word of God. Mass destruction weapons were banned and Interworld Bailiffs enforced the Home Worlds’ will, delivering severe reprisals against offenders.
The sentence of genocide against the Terran colony of Prospero stood as a demonstration to all that the Home Worlds really, really meant what they said.
“Do you know what caused the collapse of the Third Civilization?” asked Todd.
“What!” Allenson said, confused by the abrupt change of topic. He started to order his thoughts. More academic sweat had been devoted to this issue than all other events in human history combined. “Well . . .” he began.
“I don’t want a list of incidents,” said Todd. “Let’s try something simpler. Why did the First Civilization fall?”
“The Monument Builders? That’s common knowledge,” replied Allen. “They created huge populations in climatically favorable periods but could not withstand a few bad harvests when conditions changed. The resulting mass starvation and disease demonstrated to the people that the ruling classes’ magic had failed. The inevitable revolts caused organizational collapse and hence more degradation of resources in a downward destructive spiral.”
“Exactly, and so civilization collapses,” said Todd. “The Second Civilization must have thought that better technology would insulate them. The chariot warriors built great palaces with cyclopean defensive walls. They had vast storehouses of grain reserves and fresh water. The people might starve but the aristocracy intended to survive—and yet the palaces fell.”
He paused to catch his breath. Allenson felt completely helpless. It was pitiful to see the wasted remains of is elder brother. Todd’s condition was all the more disturbing because it hinted at Allenson’s own mortality. You are fit and strong now, was the subliminal message, but one day you will be like me—as you are, so I was, as I am, so shall you be.
Allenson noticed the odor of Todd’s room, the chemical smell of hygienic purifiers spiced with the plastic tang of new high-tech equipment. He forever after associated that as the scent of death.
“You were about to give me an academic account of how the Third Civilization fell,” said Todd, with a smile. “No doubt you would have discussed the trigger events to war such as the assassination of the Turkish Prime Minister or General Chou’s declaration of independence for Shanghai. Then you would have moved on to the underlying processes of collapse such as the Water Wars or the proliferation of bioweapons?”
Allenson smiled back and nodded his agreement.
“It’s so much simpler than that. All civilizations fall because human beings are bacteria.”
Something must have shown on Allenson’s face because Todd snorted. “Don’t look at me like that, little brother. My brain is not quite addled yet. Tell me, what happens when you put a dab of bacteria in a new Petri dish of agar?”
“The culture grows,” replied Allenson, happy to revert back to their old relationship of tutor and pupil. It was like wrapping himself in a warm blanket.
“The culture grows exponentially,” Todd said. “Until it fills the dish, uses up the entire agar and dies in its own toxic waste. Human civilization is like a bacteria culture. It expands until it has exploited all resources and then it collapses at the first shock. All technology achieves is to create a bigger Petri dish and a larger population so that the crash is all the more disastrous when it finally happens.”
“But surely this is of historical interest only,” said Allenson, playing Boswell to Todd’s Johnson. “It can have no relevance to the modern world.”
“Oh, why not?” asked Todd.
“Because we have broken the historical boom-crash cycle with our improved political and technical skills,” replied Allenson.
“Just like the Second and Third Civilizations,” Todd said.
“But we really have,” Allenson protested. “However skilled they were in some disciplines, the Third Civilization was trapped on Old Earth by their peculiar superstitions about the nature of the universe. Humans now live in many Petri dishes not just one, to use your bacteria analogy. We have access to the galaxy.”
“We have access to one small corner of the galaxy,” Todd said. “Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you are right about our technology, although I think you delude yourself about our supposed political superiority. Do you know how much of the galaxy we occupy in realspace.”
“Realspace,” repeated Allenson, to give himself time to consider. He was more used to thinking of distances across the Continuum. The dimensions between reality and the Continuum did not exactly match and energy currents made some regions in the Continuum easier to traverse than others. It was an energy current flowing across the Bight that made the Cutter Stream colonies economically viable, albeit barely. “I don’t know, maybe a couple of thousand light years.”
“All the Home Worlds fit into a single thousand light year bubble. Just one supernova in the wrong place could knock out human civilization. Do you recall what the Ordovician supernova did to life on Old Earth?” asked Todd.
“The gamma-ray burst wrecked the biosphere,” replied Allenson.
“Exactly, and the resulting ice-age drove half of all life into extinction. That nova was at least six thousand light years from Old Earth,” said Todd.
“Supernovas are very rare,” said Allenson. The chance of one occurring across the Home Worlds must be incredibly low.”
“It is a finite possibility and its only one of many doomsday scenarios,” said Todd. “The only sure way to protect civilization is for it to grow to such an extent that it cannot be destroyed by a single chance event. Ideally, we should expand in all directions but habitable worlds to the galactic north and south are rare and The Golden Path control the route to the east. I hope that frozen theocracy does not represent the future course of human civilization. That only leaves the west so the worlds across the Bight are our best chance for new living space and the Cutter Stream is the gateway. Whether we like it or not, politico-geography decrees that we will be at the center of the struggle. The Cutter Stream colonies need leaders, by which I mean leaders drawn from our own people who will concern themselves with safeguarding our own interests. I had hoped to be one of them but fate decreed otherwise. You are now the head of our family, Allen. You must do what I cannot, brother.”
“I will, brother,” said Allenson, somewhat confused but unwilling to contradict Todd.
Todd relaxed and shrank into himself. “I’m tired now.”
“I’m sorry. I kept you talking too long. I will come back later when you are rested,” Allenson said.
“No,” Todd said. “We shall not meet again.”
“Goodbye, brother,” said Allenson, agreeing to nothing.
Todd had already closed his eyes. There was nothing left to be said so Allenson kissed his brother on the forehead, scorning the risk of infection. Then he left, the positive air pressure outside the room pushing at his clothes before the door shut behind him.
Linsye waited at the bottom of the stairs.
“Will you take a turn with me along the shore,” she said. “There is a shell beach nearby. Todd and I walked on it when he was still mobile.”
A servant showed them to a side door leading outside. Linsye waved away the girl when she showed signs of accompanying them. Palm trees shaded a path down to the ocean where the sharp salt-tang was a welcome relief from the clinic’s filtered air. Low waves burst rhythmically onto a shell ridge that marked the shore, retreating back into the sea with the sucking rustle of moving shell flakes.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching sunlight sparkle on the water. Allenson picked up a likely looking flat chip of shell and
spun it horizontally across the water with a snap of his wrist. It bounced twice before turning sideways and plunging into a wave crest with a plop.
“I am out of practice at skimming stones,” said Allen. “Todd taught me how to play. He was always better at it than me. I saw him throw a fourteen once.”
He looked around for another flat piece of shell.
“Todd often talked of your childhood,” said Linsye. “It sounded as though you had such fun.”
She sounded wistful. An aristocratic girl’s childhood would have been much regulated.
“How long?” Allenson asked.
“Soon,” Linsye replied. “The doctors won’t commit themselves but Todd will die soon. I feel it.”
“Then I’ll stay,” said Allenson.
“Todd would hate that,” Linsye said sharply.
More gently she said, “He would rather you remember him with his mind intact. Leave him some dignity, please. It is my responsibility to oversee his nursing, not yours.”
They walked on in silence until Linsye stopped abruptly. She studied Allenson carefully like the chair of an interview board eyeing a potential recruit. She seemed to be turning something over in her mind. She gave a little nod as if confirming a decision that she had already made.
“Have you ever wondered why I married Todd?” asked Linsye. “And why my father permitted a marriage beneath my social standing?”
“It had not occurred to me to consider the matter,” replied Allenson, stiffly. “I assumed it was a love-match.”
“Love!” Linsye said. “What has love to do with marriage?”
Allenson could not think of a suitable reply.
“Don’t look so shocked, brother-in-law. You should have progressed beyond romantic notions fit only for giggling schoolgirls. Come; let us have frankness in our dealings. I respected and admired Todd. That is a much sounder basis for a marriage than some childish crush.”
She indicated that they should resume their stroll.
“My father intended that I should marry into a Brasilian ruling gens to improve our family’s opportunities for preferment. However, I persuaded him that our future lay in the Cutter Stream and that any return to prominence in Brasilian society for our branch of the family was a pipe dream. I considered our interests better served by an alliance with the right local family.”
Into the Hinterlands-ARC Page 4
