by Liz Williams
Peering over the side of the barge, she saw that the landing ledge had receded to a tiny slit in the distance, with the great wing of the raft hovering above it. The barge veered between towers and domes, beneath the immense span of bridges. The whole hot world smelled of growth and growing, the air saturated with the green fragrance of night-plants. Nowhere One steered the barge higher. Tides of information drifted by, pheromonal eddies snatched by the wind and carried upward on the wells of the world. Anarres looked back for signs of pursuit, but the backdrop of the city was simply too huge for anything to show. By degrees Nowhere One took the barge lower, until they were sailing over the temeni below. This part of the city was grim: bleak, barren land interspersed with ruined domes and abandoned towers. It smelled of dust. With a rush of hope, Anarres recognized the Naturals’ Quarter.
The barge dropped sharply and wobbled to a halt several feet above the ground. Nowhere One deactivated the air shield, then leaped to the bald earth below.
“Quickly. We don’t know who might be watching.”
Anarres raced after him toward the shadowy shelter of a ruined pod. When they reached its sanctuary, Nowhere One leaned against the curving wall, his chest heaving. Suddenly Anarres, too, was breathless. She sank down until she was crouching on the ground, and Nowhere One collapsed beside her, reaching out to take her hands. She could feel the weight of the capsule in his sleeve: the First Body of IrEthiverris, last and only administrator of Arakrahali.
And then four stilted figures moved out of the shadows.
18.
Varanasi, Temple of Durga
What is your opinion of Jaya’s Second Body? asked Ir Yth. Sirru was sitting cross-legged on a mat, holding a bowl of tea. It was one of the few substances here that he found straightforward to digest; most other things seemed to require an inordinate level of processing in order for no waste to be produced. Ir Yth would eat only ground rice, and appeared to be living off her own inner resources; already, her plump face was beginning to look a little drawn. Sirru glanced at the raksasa with interest and considered her question.
“I did not think she entirely resembled Jaya,” he said doubtfully. “But I could have been mistaken. After all, we were responsible for some extensive modifications when Jaya visited the ship. I must say, I didn’t know there was that level of advance here.”
There has been some success with cloning over the last twenty years or so. I confess, I have studied the progress reports closely, and my understanding was that Making was still in its infancy. But I fear, Ir Yth remarked with some embarrassment, that all the desqusai look alike to me.
“I suppose that’s natural,” Sirru said, swallowing his irritation. “But why then are the two bodies activated at the same time?”
Ir Yth said loftily, It is clear that you have not understood that Tekhei has different laws from our own enlightened society. One frequently sees primitive violations of common practice in such projects. Clearly it is permitted for both bodies to be extant simultaneously. She paused, then said with studied indifference, Do you intend to visit the Second Body?
“Why not? We should go soon; there are plans to leave the city tonight, to ensure our safety. It will be helpful, to have two Receivers. I wonder why they were not both activated at once… Maybe something retarded the other one’s development.”
Perhaps she might assist when the rescue ship arrives, Ir Yth suggested helpfully.
“Perhaps so,” Sirru said. He had taken to activating the scale armor whenever he was with Ir Yth, tuning it to a low setting so as not to betray its presence. He did not think the raksasa had noticed. It was fortunate that he had already taken steps to ensure that the communication system should be well under way, although the incident with the child had only increased his anxiety.
Something had gone deeply wrong with the Tekhein project over the course of its history. He thought with dismay of the viral indices eating away at the child’s body; this should never have happened. Something must had gone dreadfully amiss with the regeneratives, far back in the Tekhein past, for such mutations to occur now. And why hadn’t the Core been informed long before this? Then they could have quietly shut down the project and spared its unfortunate inhabitants generations of suffering. If there were two things that Sirru could not abide, they were misery and waste.
When should we visit the Second Body? Ir Yth persisted. The raksasa was up to something, Sirru was sure.
“Later this afternoon, perhaps?” he suggested, innocently. The raksasa agreed, with what Sirru perceived to be a faint trace of relief. Surreptitiously, and under the guise of scratching, he turned the scale to a higher setting.
“Well,” he added. “I wish to rest. Shall we meet in the courtyard, in a couple of hours or so, and visit her together?”
Sirru returned to his small chamber, which overlooked the courtyard, and waited. A half hour or so later, not to his surprise, he saw a short bundled figure heading hastily across the courtyard. He slid over the sill and down the wall of the temple, sensitive fingers easily finding handholds. The guard at the gate was not the fierce black-hairy person, but a younger man barely more than a boy. He was alert over the gun in his lap, but Sirru slipped easily past him. The shadowy shape of Ir Yth was heading across the square to where the white pavilion stood. Sirru followed, skirting the rows of army vehicles and picking his unseen way through the makeshift tents and huddled bodies that filled the square.
The raksasa hurried to the entrance of the pavilion, which was illuminated from within like a great glowing sail, and relinquished her disguise. There was a flurry of movement from within; Ir Yth disappeared. Sirru hastened to the side of the pavilion. Its walls were secured by ropes, and there were plenty of cracks through which one might watch suspicious goings-on.
Jaya’s Second Body was sitting on a long couch arranged with cushions. She was wearing a length of golden material edged with red, and the light flashed and melted from the jewels at her throat. A small group of acolytes sat before the couch, talking in low voices. At Ir Yth’s entrance, Jaya’s Second Body gasped. One hand went to her throat, clutching the necklaces as one might when faced with a robber. Ir Yth bowed with frosty politeness, as befitted the greeting of goddess to mortal. The Second Body opened her mouth and stammered something. Then, recovering herself, she motioned to a place on the couch beside her. Tea and fruit and sweets were brought, which Ir Yth ignored. The Second Body radiated surprise, excitement, and alarm. Softly, looking nowhere but into the woman’s dark eyes, Ir Yth began to talk.
Sirru could not understand what she was saying, since it was directed purely at the Second Body, but the expressives that were emanating from Ir Yth to lend weight to her words were very clear. She was warning the Second Body. She was talking about terrible things, frightening things, and over and over again he heard his own name. Gradually an expressive coalesced and took shape.
The project could not be allowed to succeed. Failure must be engineered, otherwise destruction of the Tekhein desqusai would result, but the administrator—Sirru himself—must not know. Ir Yth could not go to the authorities directly, because the administrator might find out and exact a terrible revenge.
Sirru, alarmed, listened intently. Even after the events on the ship, he could not control his outrage at Ir Yth’s treachery. It was unheard of for a member of a project to undermine it in this manner; a violation of all manner of codes. The Core itself had ordered the project, stating explicitly that the Tekhein desqusai were to be brought into line with the rest of their kin, to have all the advantages and advances of the rest of the írRas worlds. Sirru thought, with sorrow, of everything he had seen or heard of so far on this world: the dreadful poverty, the primitive forms of speech which seemed to lead to so much confusion and strife, the wars and revolts mentioned by Jaya. The child’s illness: so horrible and unnecessary. Once the planet was brought under Rasasatran control, none of these things would be a problem anymore.
Yet here was Ir Yth telling the Seco
nd Body that Sirru was on Tekhei to cull and enslave the population, neither of which was true. Once full redevelopment had occurred, Tekhei would be left largely in peace, perhaps with a small administrative presence to maintain the superstructure, but otherwise under its own jurisdiction. Sirru had no intention of murdering anyone. Why would her?
But the conversation which he was now overhearing was final corroboration that Ir Yth, smug khaith that she was, had been placed here not as facilitator but as saboteur, to guarantee the crash of another project. Just like Arakrahali. Yet another failure might convince the Core back home that the desqusai should be phased out. If that happened, then not only this small world of Tekhei, but desqusai temeni and írTemeni everywhere would be integrated, their castes discontinued and their genes thrown back into the webs of the Core.
Genetic meltdown, thought Sirru, and his cool skin flushed colder. He couldn’t let the project collapse. The future of his own caste was at stake, and he also had a duty to finish what he was assigned here to do. Tekhei might be a project gone awry, but he was damned if he was going to let it be eradicated in this way, especially not now that there was a chance of mending things.
Across the courtyard, the tethered beast raised its great head and cried, as if mourning what was to come. Within, Ir Yth was still whispering poison into the Second Body’s ears, but Sirru had heard enough. Slipping from the wall of the pavilion, he went back across the square to the temple, making plans with every step.
19.
Varanasi
Kneeling before a little statue of Durga, Kharishma Kharim bowed her head with as much humility as she could manage and prayed. She thanked the goddess for her guidance, for her wisdom, and most of all for her beneficence in granting the mandate of Heaven, albeit in the rather improbable form of Ir Yth, to Kharishma herself.
There was a movement at the door. Kharishma glanced up and saw the face of Amir Anand reflected in the gilt of the statue, and her heart leaped. She felt a sudden rush of gratitude to the goddess. After all, Jaya Nihalani had no prince to worship her; just some mountain boy, some peasant-turned-terrorist who was in any case dead. Unbidden, the image of Jaya as she had last seen her swam into Kharishma’s mind: lean and lithe, silver-haired and golden-eyed. Why, she’d looked almost younger than Kharishma herself—ruthlessly, the actress suppressed this unwelcome thought. Forcing a smile, she rose gracefully to greet Amir. His face was an odd chalky gray. He said in a whisper, “What the hell is that thing?”
“Darling? What—?”
“That—that creature. Out there in the main tent. The alien.”
Kharishma realized, with a heady rush of power, that Amir was actually afraid. Ir Yth was lending her authority in more areas than one, she thought. Graciously, reassuringly, she took Amir by the arm.
“Don’t worry, darling,” she said. “Everything’s all right. The alien—Ir Yth—has explained everything to me. I’m going to save the world.”
20.
Varanasi, Temple of Durga
Twilight had just fallen, and Shiv was spanning down the walls of the Web, seeking secrets. Jaya, still shaky with shock, leaned over his shoulder and stared grimly at plans as they hatched. She had put the boy Halil to bed in the most comfortable chamber; he seemed numb and drowsy, but she doubted he would sleep well.
“Where does this come from?” she murmured.
She pointed to the shifting uncertainties of the screen. Words stabbed out at her: “enslavement… A cull.” What have I done? Jaya wondered with a cold flush of dread. What demon have I conjured up now? Whatever it was, she was responsible. She had to finish what she’d started. Shiv murmured, “This has just come in through Reuters. Through a via-channel based in Singapore.”
“Do you know where it originates?”
“It’s very recent. The report mentions a source in Varanasi.” Shiv shifted uncomfortably in his seat and would not meet her eyes.
“Does it give a name?” Jaya asked, in a voice that could have reached all the way to Hell.
“Yes. Yours.”
There was a long, electric silence. As if he had not spoken, Jaya said, “This claim that the aliens have come to enslave us. Do you think it’s true?” She turned to Rakh, who gave an unhappy shrug.
“Who can say? It’s as likely as anything else.” He met her gaze without expression, trusting her, as always, to do what was right. But then again, I never was a real oracle, was I?
“If it’s true, then the worst fears are the right fears. And yet—” And yet Sirru had healed the child. The dichotomy still obsessed Jaya: healing and harvest. If Sirru had come to murder and enslave, then why cure Halil?
“No surprise there,” Rakh said, in response to her last words. “You said it yourself—everyone comes to take. But to take what?”
As if on cue, Sirru appeared in the doorway. His usual insouciance was gone; the pointed face looked drawn and tired. If he could hear emotions, Jaya thought, then he would have to feel as if he was being shouted at right now. His arms were wrapped around himself; she wondered whether he was cold.
“Sirru?” she said, quietly.
The alien murmured something that she could neither hear nor understand. Then he said a word that was entirely intelligible.
“Ir Yth.”
Dipping a long finger in Shiv’s tea and disregarding the latter’s protest, the alien drew a line along the tabletop, then a square with a circle at each corner. He gestured around him; after a moment, Jaya realized that this signified the temple. Sirru drew the square, then another circle, and a line that connected the two. He repeated the raksasa’s name.
“Ir Yth went to Kharishma today?” Jaya’s eyes met Rakh’s dark gaze. “And told her something?”
“Kharishma must be ripe for the plucking,” Rakh mused. “The raksasa doesn’t seem to have had much luck in influencing you.”
“It makes a certain sense,” Jaya said. “That’s what that bitch wants to be, after all—Jaya Devi, out to save the world. But is she wrong to want that?” Stepping across, she placed her hands on Sirru’s shoulders. They felt hard and bony beneath her hands. He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. Jaya turned to Rakh and Shiv Sakai.
“Go now. We’ve got things to discuss.”
“But, Commander—” Rakh had to be upset, she thought, to resurrect that old title.
“Don’t argue with me, Rakhi. Please. Just go.”
Reluctantly, Rakh and Shiv Sakai left, closing the door behind them. Jaya rested her forehead against the alien’s breastbone. The skin at the back of her neck prickled; she did not like being so close to him, after the episode with the child.
“Sirru. I need the truth from you. Why are you here?”
She thought it with all the force she could manage, mentally shouting, projecting out. And Sirru dutifully replied, dutytired/miss-complexity-home-other selves/afraid/no harm/. A pause. Harvest
If she was to trust him, it would be a decision and not an instinct, for the latter could deceive. She sensed bewilderment and even affection; how easily could he lie, she wondered? And he had cured Halil.
Dangeryou/your people/—“Ir Yth.” Distressbetrayal/fear/
“Ir Yth?”
“Ir Yth.”
“All right,” Jaya said wearily. She thought of the voice of the ship, living in her mind for so many years and now silent, and then of Ir Yth, whom she neither liked nor trusted. And then, again, of the child: healed, but at what cost to his psyche? At least you seem the lesser of many evils, Sirru, whatever your methods.
She could, of course, wash her hands of the whole lot of them, but that would mean risking trading her power for a return to outlaw status. Once again, she had responsibilities, and she had to live up to them. Besides, there was a cure for Selenge, and it rested with Sirru, not Ir Yth. How much do I have to lose? And there might be a world to gain.
“Come with me,” she said to Sirru. Taking his arm, she led him out into the courtyard, where her men were waiting. Wi
th a deep, unsteady breath, she said, “We’re leaving. Tonight, as planned. Things are getting too hot here—Anand, Tokai, Kharishma’s people, the military. There are too many jackals circling. And we’re taking Sirru with us.”
She could see the doubt in Rakh’s face, but he wouldn’t publicly challenge her word. He said, practical as ever, “What’s to be done?”
“We need to find a safe haven, somewhere we can plan.” She knew as well as he that there was only one place that could be described as safe: Yamunotri, the fort in the mountains. Sirru was looking from face to face, trying to understand.
“Very well then,” Jaya said. “Start packing up. We’re moving out.”
But that was easier said than done.
An hour later, Jaya went up onto the battlements. Across the square, in the hazy lamplight, she could see movement. Raising her night-sight binoculars to her eyes, Jaya saw that the square, packed to the bursting point the day before, was already half empty. People were being led away. Men in a uniform that Jaya did not recognize were clearing the throng, silently and—for Bharat—without fuss. Light glinted off the butt of a gun. As she watched, Jaya saw a familiar stumpy figure bustling out of the pavilion, four arms folded in a complex insectoid huddle. The lithe form of Kharishma Kharim strode after Ir Yth.
Jaya shifted position to see where they were going, but they vanished out of sight behind the billowing pale wall of the pavilion. She did not need the activity in the square to tell her that something was happening. Change rode the air, reminding her of the days of her illfated revolution. She noticed for the first time that the temple monkeys had all disappeared. Jaya headed back down into the courtyard.
