The first place they set down, however, was in wilderness. Arun found himself strangely disappointed to be landing. On board the plane, everyone had been seated for most of the time, and he had almost forgotten his disability. Now, though, as everyone else rose to their feet, he could only rise on his chair’s servos and glide towards the exit ramp. Within the chair’s gleaming carapace, his upper limbs were bathed in a soothing gel intended to both protect and anaesthetize. He didn’t doubt that physically the latter was true, but the gel did nothing to suppress the memories. Now that his attention had been drawn back to his disabilities, he felt it again: the sharp pain of his torture, the stabbing agony of his toes. It haunted his dreams, not as a painful memory of past experiences, but as if he relived the whole awful experience again… and again. This, if anything, might have caused him to resort to drugs, but he couldn’t, not now.
“Are you all right?” Indiya asked quietly from beside him.
He must have flinched, must have reacted to the searing memory of suffering. He forced his muscles to relax. “Yes… yes, I’m fine,” he lied.
She wasn’t convinced, he could see that in her eyes, but at least she said no more as the royal party decanted from the plane and into a large semi-circular building that perched at the top of a cliff. They entered a sizable room, which seemed designed to allow every seat an unrestricted view out of the vast, curved window at its front. Arun wondered whether this was a restaurant or café, the sort of place where tourists might relax in a degree of comfort while enjoying the panorama – which was spectacular – except that he had no idea whether the White Knights did tourism; or restaurants for that matter. Certainly there were no other patrons, but he supposed the Emperor’s attendants could arrange such things without trouble.
There was no glass in the window, the room’s extensive frontage to all intents and purposes open to the elements, yet the severe winds that clearly scoured the rock face and its sparse vegetation failed to reach them. A force wall of some sort; one that gave no indication of its presence beyond the fact that it held the outside world at bay.
Beyond this unseen barrier a verdant landscape spread before them. The viewing room’s situation had been chosen with care. It sat at the head of a valley, its lofty vantage point giving a perfect view. The steep folds of land forming the valley were cloaked in rich forest or jungle. The barrier protecting them from the wind did nothing to block sound, and occasional bird calls rose above the ebb and flow of the wind’s gusting.
This was a long remove from the barren and dusty ground that surrounded the citadel, and seemed to hold out the promise of healing for even that war-ravaged land.
The bottom of the valley was lost to sight beneath a mist that might have been low-lying cloud. The mist had an alien tinge at its heart, a brownish orange: Flek; the same deadly gas that cloaked the world from orbit, but in these pockets of lower concentration produced a delicate tracery of color that was almost beautiful. For some reason, in this paler form, the misted Flek put Arun in mind of the gases in a Night Hummer’s chamber. He thrust the thought to one side, determined not to let such associations sour his mood.
As he watched, the mist appeared to swell, as if it were rolling along the valley towards them. A sudden flash caught his attention. It came from within the cloud, almost as if an energy weapon had been discharged.
He glanced across at the Emperor, who was gazing at the mist without any indication of concern. When he met Indiya’s gaze, though, he saw a mirror of his own worries. The possibility that this might be small arms fire, combined with the recent memory of Flek burning in the invasion of Australia, had Arun assessing their situation from a defensive perspective: they were exposed, sitting in a line like targets on a range. How effective was the force wall in front of them? It could hold the elements at bay, certainly, but would it be effective against concerted weapon’s fire?
There came another flash from within the cloud, more dramatic this time – the crack of released energy clearly audible – and it was followed almost immediately by another. Despite his unease, Arun drew comfort from the uniform lack of reaction displayed by the White Knight retinue. They were behaving as if this was exactly what had been expected. It occurred to him that the humans might have been deliberately left in ignorance, perhaps as a test, or even an anticipated source of amusement. Fearing that might be the case, Arun determined to deny them the satisfaction of any reaction. He would not start at each flash, or ask what was happening, but would instead wait for an explanation.
Fortunately, he did not have to wait long. “Almost time,” the Emperor murmured, as if to himself. But then he said more loudly, “Watch the mist.”
As if Arun’s attention could have been focused anywhere else.
The flashes were coming thick and fast now, any pretense not to be watching the mist had been abandoned; all around Arun the various alien forms of the White Knights were straining forward in obvious anticipation. The thunderous noise rose towards crescendo, as a pattern started to emerge in the bursts of energy within the Flek-tinged mist. It almost seemed as if the lightning acted to power some monstrous heart cloaked within the mist, the thunder coming so frequently now that it took on the guise of a drum roll, heralding something momentous.
Arun would wonder afterwards if some artifice had been employed to amplify the sound of the thunder for dramatic effect; certainly it rose to a peak that caused him to wince. Just as he started to do so, things came to a head. The mist abruptly burst open – or that was how he interpreted the sight. A host of comets burst from its heart – several hundred, Arun was convinced – trailing fiery sparks in their wake as they arced outward over the jungle in a multitude of directions: a candescent flower unfurling its petals.
“Birds,” Indiya murmured in awe. “They’re birds.”
He realized she was right. At the front of each fiery trail an avian form could be glimpsed, shooting forward in a blur of flaming wings. It was over in a matter of seconds. The thunder, the roiling flashes of lightning were gone, and the mist seemed to settle, to recede a little, as if gathering in on itself. The birds had all disappeared, presumably distributed across the jungle without, miraculously, setting any of it alight.
“Firebirds,” the Emperor proclaimed. “A wonder, don’t you think?”
Arun could only agree.
“The Flek plays a vital part in their life cycle, the Emperor continued. “Only when concentrations reach a critical level are the birds able to breed – a spectacle you’ve just witnessed. You’re fortunate to have arrived when you did. For each colony this only happens twice a year at most – sometimes just once – and there are only two colonies of the birds remaining in all of Athena.”
Arun couldn’t help wonder how big a part luck had played if any; he wouldn’t put it past the White Knights to manipulate the Flek levels here as they had to defend the citadel so that it reached the correct concentration to trigger the birds’ breeding frenzy. For all that, the more time he spent in the presence of the Emperor and these other, mostly silent, courtiers, the less in awe of them he felt. Whatever their purpose in arranging this ‘grand tour’, he had a feeling his growing familiarity and the confidence it brought would prove to be the most beneficial result; for him, if not for the White Knights.
“Now,” the Emperor said, with a definite ephemeral cobweb of wrinkles in the corner of each eye, “time for refreshments, I believe.”
——
“There is a certain irony, do you not think, in the fact that among all our client species you humans are the ones who most closely resemble my own royal form?”
It was the second day of the tour. Indiya had departed the previous night, and Admiral Kreippil had flown out to replace her as Arun’s aide. The Littorane looked awkward in his heavy suit, and Arun had the impression he would have given much to be somewhere else; anywhere else.
The resemblance the Emperor referred to hadn’t escaped Arun. He wondered if this might have been a factor i
n the Night Hummers’ decision to develop humans as the instruments of their lofty schemes – or one of the instruments at any rate. He still wasn’t entirely clear as to how the Hummers’ politics panned out and where the Hardits fitted in. Was it really a case of different factions developing rival strategies, as Indiya seemed convinced, or was this all part of one grand scheme, the nature of which eluded the poor puppets destined to dance to the Hummers’ tune? He wouldn’t put it past those gas-breathing slugs to be playing a long game, which humans and Hardits alike were so close to, so immersed in, that they couldn’t step back and grasp the broader picture.
“Yes,” was all he said by way of reply – accompanied by the obligatory smile.
They didn’t have far to travel for their first destination that day, flitting to a region on the far side of the mountain range from where they’d seen the firebirds. Here a broad river plunged over a cliff edge to produce a spectacular waterfall. The sound was deafening, and so much spray arose that for a moment Arun could make out an ephemeral rainbow.
“At this season more than 120,000 cubic meters of water plunge over the crest-line of the falls every minute,” the Emperor explained, “dropping over fifty meters to the Lower River.”
Arun couldn’t help reflect that he was being shown around by surely the wealthiest and most powerful tour guide in history, and that continued to bother him. He didn’t believe for a moment that the Emperor did anything without a clear purpose, and the longer the tour went on the less convinced Arun became that the trip was designed merely to impress him.
After leaving the falls they followed the Lower River to the sea and then skimmed along the coastline to a lagoon where great sea leviathans fought – the ship’s hull once again enabling them to see more than the naked eye could have hoped to, piercing the surface of the ocean to show the combat in gory detail. The beasts, identified by the Emperor as Nahjin, tore at each other with sharp talons and the single spiral horn that each bore, a horn that emerged from their ridged foreheads just above the eyes.
Text appeared as Arun watched, providing sub-titles that explained how the male Nahjin shed both horns and talons following the mating season, the forelimbs resuming their customary form as flippers, which were far more practical once the beasts returned to their natural home in the ocean’s deepest reaches. Here they would remain for two full Athenian years, until the imperative to mate once more brought them from the depths to seek their traditional courting lagoons.
Once every two years. Again, it would appear that Arun’s arrival involved some very fortuitous timing. How lucky was he?
The subtitles were a new development, causing Arun to glance around in the direction of his host. The Emperor was conversing with his advisors, and nobody apart from the ‘humans’ seemed remotely interested in the spectacle below. Arun bit back his anger, convinced more than ever that the White Knights were deliberately wasting his time.
“Very interesting,” Arun said loudly, cutting across the Emperor’s conversation, “if a little blood-thirsty.” The Nahjin were giving no quarter, and the sea was rapidly churning with so much blood that at times even the plane’s capabilities to produce a clear image were challenged.
“Indeed,” the Emperor replied, breaking away from his conversation. “I thought it might appeal to your martial instincts.”
Arun exchanged glances with the general.
The next stop on the tour brought them to a vast swath of open farmland, where regimented rows of upright green plants marched away towards every horizon. Here and there among these sentry-straight stems long-legged creatures paced, pecking intently at the ground. They would have come up to Arun’s knees, back in the days when he could stand. Another type of bird, he judged, although they seemed to lack feathers and their wings had regressed to the point where they were no more than residual stumps.
“We raise both for food,” the Emperor explained, “the cereal and larchen alike. The whole process is entirely automated, of course. It’s an efficient symbiotic system – the larchen feed on a diet of dropped seeds and insects, in the process helping to keep parasites at bay. The plants provide the birds with shelter and food, the birds protect the plants by disposing of harmful insects while also enriching the soil with their guano.”
“And then you eat both,” Arun observed. “Do you grow all your own food, then?”
“By no means. If the entire surface of Athena were devoted to food production, there would still be too little to sustain the population of the Habitat. No, the vast majority of what we consume is synthesized, but there remains a nostalgic pleasure in eating food grown naturally. We consider it a delicacy.”
“I’ve seen no sign of industry anywhere,” Arun remarked. Everything he had been shown so far had been either rural idyll or wild spectacle. He realized that the Emperor – or whoever was advising him – was picking and choosing the itinerary and, in all likelihood, would steer him away from less savory sights, but Arun was keen to see the dirty underbelly of White Knight society as well, assuming that such a thing existed.
“Nor will you find any,” the Emperor replied. The Emperor’s face remained bland, unreadable to human eyes, but Arun fancied he caught the ghost of disdain, just for a moment. “We are the White Knights. We do not participate in ‘industry’.”
“Of course not,” Arun murmured. “You have subject races for that sort of thing.”
“We do. Subject races and automation. There are vast areas of the Habitat – which you call the Tree – dedicated to processing and production, but we do not get directly involved in such things.”
Arun caught a glimpse then of a decadent society, for whom every task was performed by others, leaving them with nothing to occupy their time except for time itself. “What do you do, then?” he asked, curiosity making him bold.
“We rule.”
——
The third day of the tour saw Del-Marie arrive to join Arun. He looked tired, and frustrated.
“Going well?” Arun asked.
“Not exactly.”
While Arun and the Emperor were proceeding across the surface of Athena, Del had begun the real work, negotiating with a party of Imperial advisors. The idea being that, between them, they would have thrashed out some of the ground rules and found common areas of consensus for when Arun and the Emperor joined them at the tour’s conclusion.
“We’re going round in circles,” Del explained. “The White Knights are showing no real interest in negotiating at all; they’re stalling, buying time, I’m certain of it.”
“What for?”
Del shrugged. “The Emperor’s return, perhaps?”
Arun hoped that was all it was. Del’s assessment gelled uncomfortably with his own suspicions. Initially, he had seen the grand tour as an attempt by the Emperor to woo his favor, but he now couldn’t escape the conviction that it was nothing more than a deliberate waste of his time, intended to distract him. But from what?
“Have Indiya put the fleet on alert,” he said, quietly, not convinced that the Imperial’s couldn’t eavesdrop if they chose to but seeing no other choice. “And use the Hummers. Get reports in from every sector.”
“Looking for what, exactly?”
“Anything: unusual activity, suspicious shipping movements… I don’t know. I just feel we ought to be looking over our shoulders.”
Del met his gaze and nodded.
——
Perhaps inspired by Arun’s comments regarding a lack of industry, the tour took a new turn on this third day. The royal plane landed on a platform in the side of one of the great towers that supported the Tree. Arun wasn’t sure how far up they were from the ground, but, glancing down, he would guess several kilometers, which still meant they were only part of the way towards the vast artificial shell that enveloped Athena.
From a distance, these towers appeared to be slender, spindly things, far too fragile to support the great shell. Close up, this one at least was revealed to be a vast and solid con
struct, capable of supporting almost anything. Questions flashed through Arun’s mind – not his own so much as excited queries raised by the freaks and others on the science staff: are the towers really supporting the tree or are they merely providing a physical link between planet and shell? Has the additional mass of the Tree slowed Athena’s orbit or rotation? If not, how have the Knights compensated? If so, what effect has this had on Athena’s climate and geology…? Arun dismissed the questions. Doubtless those curious enough would get their answers, and when they did, he’d be happy to hear them. For now, though, he was content to accept that the White Knights were capable of doing almost anything.
As soon as the plane settled the platform retracted, bringing them into the enclosed environment of the tower. Arun could not have been more pleased. There were only so many fields and forests a man could take, at least this man, and over the previous two days he had seen more than his fill. Raised on the subterranean world of Tranquility and having spent most of his adult life cocooned within the confining environment of one ship or another, he felt far more comfortable in the tower’s interior than he did under open blue skies, however contrived those blue skies might have been.
From the plane they decanted to an elevator, giving Arun little chance to take in his surroundings. Metal conduits, blisters and protrusions of opaque purpose, and a vague impression of activity despite the fact they encountered only a few people – all of them White Knights – and then their party was being whisked upwards. It took a matter of seconds to complete an ascent that must have covered a considerable distance – ten klicks, twenty? – but seemed as smooth as silk.
War Against the White Knights Page 27
