Kantovan Vault (The Spiral Wars Book 3)

by Shepherd,Joel

  A new Domesh entered with several more guards, black robes sliding over the cool pavings. The Domesh approached Lisbeth’s table, with several glances at the surrounding air. He sat opposite — another man, Lisbeth saw. All the high-ranking Domesh were men, unlike many of the other parren denominations and houses. A people who denied themselves everything would logically start with desire, and that was difficult where the sexes mingled, whatever robes they hid themselves beneath. To ensure a purity beyond temptation, one of the genders had to go, from the top ranks at least.

  “I am Gesul,” said the man’s translator as he spoke. “I am the second-most in charge, you would say, of the Domesh. I am told you brought a friend with you from Stoya.” Lisbeth said nothing, and sipped her tea. She did not yet know what would be safe to say. The Domesh had a fascination with the drysines, that was obvious. And inevitable, given their primary fascination with Drakhil, the drysines’ most loyal organic servant.

  “Where is Aristan?” Lisbeth wondered. It seemed odd that he would not have returned yet from Stoya. Because surely, if he were here, he’d have visited a matter such as this in person.

  “Occupied,” said Gesul. “Does it think? Do you command it?”

  There was little point in denying it, Lisbeth thought. There was little use in fighting to keep a secret that no longer existed. But if she went with it… possibilities dawned. Possibilities like no longer feeling so damn powerless, the plaything of alien power games that aimed weapons at her brother’s heart. She pursed her lips upon the brim of her cup. “You could mistreat me yourself, and find out,” she suggested.

  Gesul took a deep breath, and leaned back in his chair. He gazed at her for a long moment, as though with revelation. “We have tales of Phoenix’s exploits. Out in the far rim, on the edge of sard space and barabo. A great battle, against some remnants of the ancient ones. You were there?”

  “That depends,” said Lisbeth. “Most of the peoples of the Spiral have sworn not to toy with such things. I’m unfamiliar with the parren position.”

  “House Fortitude enforces those laws. Possession of this forbidden technology is punishable by death. Best that you do not allow this knowledge to anyone beyond the Domesh.”

  “That seems unlikely,” Lisbeth retorted. “Given that I’m a prisoner here, with precious few guests. Besides, I have no such possessions. Only friends.” She glanced back toward the assassin’s body in the balcony doorway. “Whose is he?”

  “Unclear as yet,” said Gesul. “We will investigate.”

  “Your best guess?”

  “Such guesses are needless. All fear the rise of the Domesh. We gain new followers in the flux, by a scale unknown to any other denomination. Soon we will rule all House Harmony. The other denominations all see it, and see that your brother’s venture with us may hasten their demise. It does not matter ‘who’. It is an unmysterious mystery.” He glanced up at the surrounding air. “Please inform your friend that we are not its enemies. We strive to protect you from harm, as it does.”

  “Up to a point,” Lisbeth said coolly.

  Gesul’s eyes regarded her seriously. Recognising a threat, however she’d intended it. “Should your brother succeed, it will not come to that. The Domesh intend only harmony between Phoenix, Debogande, and Domesh.”

  “Ah.” Lisbeth smiled, humourlessly. “Harmony.” It was one of those words that sounded nice, if you didn’t think too much about it. Lately, with human Fleet killing its own people to achieve its own style of harmony, Lisbeth was wondering if some tavalai-style chaotic discord might not have more to recommend it.

  From somewhere beneath the collar of her robe, she heard a faint buzz, a thrumming of small wings against her neck. She smiled more broadly, feeling suddenly quite bold. “I would like to get out of this room,” she said. “I feel that humans and parren — or Domesh, at least — should get to know each other better. Particularly as you’re about to become such a great force in parren affairs. Family Debogande would be well served to know such powerful parren, in the interest of harmonious human-parren relations, wouldn’t you say?”

  Gesul’s eyes gleamed. “You wish to see the power of the Domesh. I will show you.”

  At dawn, Lisbeth was led out amidst the crowd of dark-robed Domesh at the base of the Domesh Temple. Timoshene led the way, as chants and shouts rose from the courtyard, and grand, echoing announcements were made on loudspeakers that could surely be heard from one end of the Kunadeen Complex to the other.

  Lisbeth saw a Shoveren — a psychologist, in human terms, but for the parren something closer to a holyman and master of rituals. This one was dressed in stately blue, which seemed the colour for those amongst the Domesh who did not wear the black robes, yet were unwilling to display the more traditional parren finery. The Shoveren’s helpers clustered about as he moved past, clutching old books, and bearing high banners inscribed with stylised symbols that seemed to Lisbeth vaguely familiar from her recent readings. Domesh parren faded from the entourage’s path, and the psychologist-priest gave Lisbeth an imperious stare.

  Lisbeth wondered at this crazy contradiction of the Domesh, that they denied all colour and vibrancy in such a colourful, vibrant people. They needed the Shoveren to conduct ceremonies on the scale of what this was turning out to be, yet the Shoveren could never dress as Domesh did, nor entirely embrace their interpretation of the Harmony Phase. How then could the Domesh ever rise to rule House Harmony, when they would forever be reliant upon those who did not share their denominational beliefs?

  Timoshene and company led her up stairs to the platform that separated her from the courtyard, then slid between rows of watching black robes to the front. There at the railing, Lisbeth gasped to see the scale of what confronted her.

  The entire main courtyard before the Domesh Temple, stretching for half-a-kilometre before her, was full of parren. They stood in countless rows, with the morning sun rising upon the hills at their backs, and the rows divided further into phalanx blocks, like the division of regiments in some old, pre-technological army. Each phalanx was assembled beneath a variety of banners. A light breeze twirled at long streamers atop the banners, the majestic waving of a thousand, winding fingers in the golden dawn.

  “It is the Isha,” said Timoshene at her side, his translated words sounding this time in Lisbeth’s earpiece, so as not to spoil the very parren scene. “Fifteen times in a standard year, the newly-phased assemble, to pledge allegiance.”

  Lisbeth stared across the endless crowd. Perhaps half-a-million strong, she thought, doing a rough count of ranks, then multiplying. This was why she’d been hearing shuttles landing all through the night. Parren from across a hundred systems had been assembling here, to pledge their new allegiance to the Domesh.

  “They all come here?” she breathed. “All the newly-phased?”

  “Only those that choose the Domesh denomination. There are fifteen recognised denominations within House Harmony. The Domesh currently rank fourth amongst them, in numbers. In the current flux, we shall soon be second, behind the Incefahd. Perhaps in no more than a year. From there, ultimate power within House Harmony is at hand.”

  “What happens when there are more Domesh in the Harmony Phase than any other?”

  “There must be a count, and the count must reveal a majority, in declared denomination. A full majority is not required — a denomination will assume the leadership of the House if it has the most declared, even should it have no more than a third of the total number. Currently, we estimate this should take no more than two standard years.”

  “And the Incefahd denomination will just hand you control of House Harmony?”

  “No,” Timoshene admitted. “Sometimes the rules are not followed.”

  “And what happens then?”

  “Trouble.”

  Lisbeth nodded in awed silence, doing some more fast maths. Half-a-million here. Fifteen times in a full year. That made seven-and-a-half million parren in a year… but Timoshene was talking
about standard parren years, which were three-quarters as long as a traditional human year. So ten million parren in a human year, becoming newly-phased adherents to the Domesh. But there were at least four hundred billion parren, divided almost equally into each of the five houses. So eighty billion per house, divided mostly into fifteen denominations… which made five-point-three billion per denomination, if distributed equally. And the Domesh were much larger than average — the second largest, Timoshene said. That could mean twenty or twenty-five billion followers. Which made this gathering before her…

  “How many of the newly-phased come here to the Kunadeen?” Lisbeth asked. “To show their loyalty like this?”

  “Less than one-in-a-hundred,” said Timoshene. “This is barely a raindrop in a downpour.” Ten million a year, thought Lisbeth. Times a hundred, was a billion, and then some. Meaning that the Domesh were adding somewhere over a billion new followers each year, and what she saw before her, in regimented, disciplined ranks, was only the tiniest fraction of the movement unfolding across parren space.

  “How do they decide a denomination?” she asked. “Parren phase to one of the five Houses, one of the five states of mind. But denominations are not phased, they’re chosen.”

  “Yes,” said Timoshene, with a final pride, as though she’d answered her own question without realising it. “The parren wish to be strong again. Like the humans, we too have lived beneath the heel of others’ boots. The time has come to make the other species of the Spiral feel the weight of our heel for a change.”

  Gamesh security stank. Dale passed the security station without incident, past bored kratik contractors, his forged ID scanned, his passbook stamped, and that was it. The arrivals hall was none-too-impressive either, exposed steel and bare fittings, the smell of recycled air and crowded with aliens.

  He kept his head down, gloved hands folded within the wide sleeves of his robe, dark glasses firm above the facemask, not an inch of bare human skin exposed. Soon their two parren guides were through — neither of them as well-covered, to demonstrate to any watchful security that at least some of these dark-robed figures were actually parren. But the security were all contractors, and Gamesh’s reputation as one of the most successful free-cities in tavalai space had not been gained by prying too deeply into the backgrounds of visitors, nor on placing too many restrictions on how long they could stay, or what they got up to.

  After the parren came his familiar Alpha Platoon, First Squad team — Lester ‘Woody’ Forrest, Cilian ‘Tricky’ Tong, and Peter ‘Spots’ Reddy. He’d had the option of sifting through Alpha Platoon for volunteers — which would have been pointless, because all hands had been raised — or of searching for those with the best qualifications. But in truth, none of them were truly qualified for this very civilian job, save perhaps for Ensign Jokono, who also accompanied them, along with Petty Officer Kadi from Phoenix Engineering. But now, beneath their black cowls and masks, he had only the vaguest idea who was who.

  The parren led the way through the throng, eight black clad figures drawing only a few stares from passing aliens. Despite Gamesh being a free-city, a half of those passing were tavalai, most hauling luggage, or having it trail after them on carry-bots, as display boards showed the latest arrivals and departures, and speakers announced things in languages other than Togiri. They crossed an open-air walkway from the spaceport terminal to the adjoining elevated maglev, and Dale caught his first proper view of Gamesh — great, red-brown mesas looming beneath a dull yellow sky, the city washing at their feet like an ocean, teeming and untidy with noise and commotion. Overhead, a lander thundered skyward, heading for one of the many huge transit stations in geo-sync about the world of Konik.

  Dale’s team had come from one such station just that morning, having arrived by civilian freighter after a week-long journey from Ponnai, following a transfer there via a tavalai Fleet shuttle to avoid State Department suspicion. Security on some of the general stations was as tight as usual in tavalai space, but on those whose traffic was mostly a direct-ticket down to Konik, it was slacker than a barabo station. But slack or not, neither he nor his team had any weapons, and though there was no immediate danger in crowded, buzzing Gamesh, he felt naked without them.

  Their luggage caught up with them while waiting on the platform — carry-bots whizzing and darting through the crowds, handing off bags and collecting homing tags before zooming off. Then the maglev arrived, a whooshing hum as it arrived, and disgorged another throng of people. Dale’s group found standing room by a maglev window, and gazed out at the city as it whizzed by below.

  Gamesh had no apparent centre, just an endless sprawl of dusty buildings in all different styles and architectures, with organic clusters of towers erupting from major traffic intersections. It did not look like one of the wealthiest cities in tavalai space. In fact, Dale thought it looked like a giant slum, every view faded and brown with wind-blown dust from the surrounding desert. So little water anywhere. Dale wondered how the tavalai in particular could bear it.

  The maglev headed straight for one of those enormous mesa cliff-faces, then accelerated as it plunged into a tunnel. For a moment there was only hissing speed, and flashing tunnel lights. Then an eruption of sunlight, and they were zooming along the lower side of a far-side cliff, the maglev track built into the rock, and now flashing past buildings that had done the same, crawling up the rocky face as though attempting escape. Beyond and below stretched a new section of the same, sprawling city, only this neighbourhood looked larger, denser, more clustered together, and framed all about one side by a semi-circular stretch of red cliff.

  The maglev arrived at a cliff-side station, then disembarkation took them down long elevators to the cliff base, and a crowded taxi-circle amidst the tall, wealthy buildings there. Up here, they had a view, Dale thought, gazing up at the towers as they waited for the queue ahead to claim their vehicles. The apartments in these towers looked enormous, with wide windows and balconies, while the streetscape was surprisingly green and pleasant. Finally they reached their vehicles — two groundcars, as the parren had informed them that aircars were not always secure even in Gamesh — to take them to their destination.

  The cars took them through an increasingly confusing maze of roads before plunging into tunnels, which emerged startlingly into vast underground spaces. Here were new buildings, lights ablaze in the dark of permanent night, as overhead, enormous steel gantries held up the ceiling that supported the upper-city. Dale had been told that Gamesh had once been a vast underground city, but you really had to see it to appreciate what that meant. For thousands of years after first settlement, Gamesh had been uninhabitable on the surface. Terraforming took a long time, so the first settlements were built in the great underground caverns, valleys and basins that dotted this region. The first engineers had built these colossal ‘rooves’ over the top of those hollows, to create contained underground spaces, where air was not lethal.

  When the terraforming had sufficiently changed the atmosphere, and created some large oceans and forests in the temperate zones, Gamesh and other Konik cities had begun to emerge above ground, but had never abandoned their subterranean heritage. The resulting, twenty thousand plus year evolution had created this tangle of unplanned, unregulated urbanity, which somehow got by, and made its inhabitants a lot of money, despite its often bedraggled appearance.

  The groundcar took them down smaller streets, then into a tangle of narrow lanes and little shopfronts. Finally they halted, and emerged amidst the raucous glow of too many advertising signs, aliens, automated vehicles and the occasional bot pushing and sidling past this new obstruction. Food stalls, Dale identified most of the storefronts, seeing lots of aliens eating, and two nearby animatedly discussing in loud voices above drinks and smokes. Mostly tavalai food, Dale thought, as at least three-quarters of the people here were tavalai, and the food looked mostly fishy. And could that small crowd of tavalai at the next cross-corner be queuing to get into a nightclub? O
r maybe a brothel? He repressed a shudder at the thought. His curiosity only went so far.

  The parren took them down a narrower lane, then up tight stairs where the smell of someone’s recent cigarette mingled with the smell of oily cooking from nearby. Two levels up, and the parren pressed a door intercom. A wait. Then a green flash of deactivated security. The door opened, and a broad tavalai face peered out, then grunted assent and let them in.

  The apartment within was much larger than the narrow lanes and stairs had led Dale to expect. Jokono indicated to the marines, and they fanned out to inspect the place, checking bedrooms, peering out windows into lanes below, while Petty Officer Kadi carefully placed his important gearbags on a chair, and the two parren faded into the shadows of a corner, watching. When the marines were satisfied, Dale threw off his hood with relief, and began unwrapping the robe. That damned black fabric had been his prison for the past several days, and ‘never again’ would still be too soon. From the gasps of relief his marines gave, he knew they felt the same. The two parren gave them looks, perhaps offended.

  The tavalai who’d let them in was watching them from his open kitchen, with great, refrigerated wall racks. He had a cane, Dale saw, an unglamorous, gnarled stick in an equally gnarled hand. From his stance, and the way the skin sagged about his big, wide-set eyes, Dale thought he might be very old. His expression seemed wary. Most tavalai were businesslike with introductions and meeting new people, even those they disliked. The old tavalai simply watched, and said nothing.

  “You’re Tooganam?” Dale asked. “Our contact? Is this place yours?”