“But it’s not quite like the story says, that the Darkness came afterward, or it did, but the king knew it was coming, because this king was the old race, the ancient Sawls who made the two goddess-machines, designed them to protect their descendants during the planet’s lethal passage through the Coal Sack.”
“But we never found any machines,” Susannah reminded him.
Danforth laughed exultantly. “Machine! Not plural. The other would be up north, I’d guess somewhere in the ocean.”
Stavros ceased his chant to listen.
“Organic, you said?” Danforth prompted. “A Sawl genetic match? Susannah, you were standing right inside it! What the ancients grew from their own flesh and blood were the goddess-machines themselves: actual daughters, actual sisters!”
“Grew machines…?” An organic bias clogged Susannah’s understanding.
“Every creature is a living machine, right? The brain most of all. A clump of biomechanical circuitry. An organic computer. Instead of building their AI, they grew it.”
“Oh yes,” said Stavros, as the vision swelled in his mind.
Susannah let the data shuffle and reshuffle. “But why go to all that trouble?”
“Like you said, lack of sufficient mineral resource. We tend to think technology begins with metallurgy. But the Sawls’ genius was biological. You saw that but even you didn’t follow it out far enough.”
“And even if they’d had the metals…” she pursued. “Be cause of the vast span of time involved, they needed a machine to last a near eternity without wearing out. They needed a self-repairing, self-replicating organism. Wow. Oh wow.” She gazed at him wide-eyed. “Have you figured out a food supply?”
“Fuel, not food,” he warned. “This was not a life as we know it. CRI would have felt more akin to it than we, despite its human genetic background. I think it was solar-powered.”
Stavros glanced at him, “Not…?”
“Your lithium connection I’m still pondering, but those miles of slanting translucent walls Susannah described sure sound like collectors to me. I’m guessing that’s what the whole vast weblike rift system was about. Whether the original impact that created it was man-made or not, I won’t venture to guess, but it provided thousands of square kilometers of convenient surface for solar collectors, to feed a gigantic mechano-organism that used magnetism and field mechanics to manipulate the climate, and tunnelled the rock down there like the roots of a vast tree. The old dwelling area you saw probably housed the builders originally, the geneticists and AI experts, the lab techs and the maintenance crew.” He sat back, arm stretched to the stick as if piloting a racer. “Phew! Can you imagine?”
Susannah could, and did for a while, in awed silence.
“Lagri, Fire-Sister…” Stavros mourned, as the living, breathing nature the Sawls had always claimed for their goddesses moved closer to scientific reality. “I heard her too late.”
“But wait,” Susannah remembered with a start. “If there were two machines, the other may still be functioning.”
Stavros shook his head disconsolately.
Danforth sighed. “I’ll give you the rest of my theory: climate has two basic components, heat and moisture. Lagri handled the heat, Valla Ired the moisture. Without Lagri to gather and redistribute the overheating from this now-lethal sun, there won’t be any moisture much longer. It’ll all be evaporated off by a thirsty atmosphere and then…”
Stavros pressed his head against the back of his seat with a soft moan as he squeezed his eyes shut against the grief that cut him as deeply as the Master Ranger’s knife had cut the prospector.
Susannah’s shoulders drooped. “So it seems that CONPLEX does offer the only possibility of saving the Sawls. Oh, Taylor, I’m not sure I can bear the irony.”
On the second day, coming off her shift, McPherson found Ghirra sitting untended. Susannah had given in to her own exhaustion and collapsed on one of the benches. McPherson heated a package of soup at the portable galley and brought it over to sit with the Master Healer, noisily spooning the thick reconstituted mush into her mouth, less with hunger than with a vain hope of arousing his appetite.
The shrouded corpse was a third presence between them. McPherson stared at it for a while, chewing thoughtfully, then gestured with her mug.
“I ain’t much good at speeches, but I just wanna say I don’t blame you, missing her like this so much. She was a no-bullshit lady, Aguidran, and I learned a lot from her. She even had me thinking if I had to stay here forever, it wouldn’t be so bad because, you know, at least I could work with her and be a ranger.”
McPherson lowered her mug, suddenly sad and sober. “Yeah. I guess I admired her most of anyone I ever met.”
Danforth tried his own hand at psychology. During Susannah’s next surrender to sleep, he eased himself awkwardly to the grated floor at Ghirra’s side and leaned against the hull, his bound legs stiff in front of him. He knocked the hard plastic enveloping his left thigh.
“A real pain in the ass, this is getting to be,” he began conversationally, then fell silent. Later, he tried again:
“Look, I know this has been really hard on you, doc, but believe me, it’s going to get even worse now with the machines gone. I mean, they may not have been working quite right, but at least they were doing something. The folks at home are going to need you, doc.”
He listened to Ghirra’s feather-light breathing, just audible within the field-damped hush of the cargo hold. It was unchanged. Danforth tried another tack.
“Doesn’t it mean anything to you that you were the first to propose climate control here, and you appear to have been right? You’re a good scientist, doc. Be proud of that.”
Danforth paused, eying him speculatively, then plunged ahead. “Even if this planet is finished. Well, it may be. But so what? So you come with us. A man of your talents and imagination can’t just give up. You’ve got to pull through this one, doc. Your home world may be finished but your work is not. There’s a whole universe out there for people like you to discover. If nothing else, you owe it to your sister’s memory. She was an explorer. I can’t believe she wouldn’t have jumped at the chance.
“So what do you say, doc? You coming with us? I know of at least one cabin that’ll be empty on the trip home…”
McPherson called him for his shift then. He struggled upright and onto his crutches with difficulty, and did not notice the Master Healer’s thin shoulders rise and fall in a sigh like a slow sea swell.
Later, when Susannah woke and brought him her usual patient offerings of soup and water, Ghirra had drifted into sleep, slumped against the hull. She laid him down gently and pillowed his head on a blanket, praying that sleep would be the restorative balm to his grief that all her well-meaning ministrations had failed to be.
At the end of the third day, nearing the northernmost range of the Grigar, McPherson piloted while the others slept. The rugged peaks saw-toothed the horizon, reflecting the bright pink-amber of the setting sun in slashes like the brush strokes of a painter in love with light. The sun was a red half-dome squatting in the west. North of the mountains, the sky was deep blue-green and streaked with glowing strands of salmon and orange.
McPherson had heard Danforth’s negative pronouncements. She peered at the colored strands intently. “Clouds?” she muttered aloud. “Nah. Can’t be.”
But an hour later, she reached behind her seat to the bench where Danforth slept and shook him awake. She pointed ahead into the topaz dusk.
The strands had swelled into soft pink-edged billows, spread across the full northern horizon, mounting high into the blue-lavender sky like a final mountain range of cotton wool.
“Clouds!” Danforth exclaimed.
His arm shot out to point a little to the east, where the sky below the cloud range seemed to thicken in vertical lines and grow opaque. “And rain! Jesus, Ron, rain!” His big fist pounded McPherson’s shoulder. “I don’t get it at all, but that is goddamn rain out the
re!”
“No shit, rain? All right!”
Their whoopings woke Susannah, who woke Liphar, who blinked at the distant dusky mist as if he were sure he was dreaming.
“ValEmbriha!” he breathed, then bolted into the hold to wake Stavros, laughing and crying, unable to keep his frantic hands from dancing midair.
“Han khem, Ibi! Han khem!”
Stavros stumbled forward, staring, half asleep. “What does it mean?” he whispered.
“It means life, Ibiá,” Danforth replied excitedly, “It means the possibility that it’s not over yet!”
45
They flew into DulElesi through a warm lavender dusk.
The clear evening sky was dotted with puffy clouds that wandered the arching violet expanse like pink sheep grazing a meadow. The sheer white cliff caught the sun’s last rays. It seemed carved of pure, brilliant gold, and the cliff stairs, long flights of gold ascending to purple-shadowed archways. The Lander’s tilted nose shone with the same magical light, like the gilded spire of some rich, exotic temple. A golden mist hung low over the fields. Golden rivulets, bright water reflecting the sinking sun, laced the amber contours of the plain.
McPherson skimmed the golden fields and set the Sled down in the Lander clearing. She cut the power and sat back. As the force field dissolved, the evening eased in to replace stale, machined air with breezes indolent with heat and moisture. The stunned passengers were wrapped with damp earthy fragrances and the music of running water. They gazed at each other dumbstruck.
“Something truly remarkable has occurred,” Susannah whispered, as if the jewel-like landscape might vanish with the quiet opalescent pop of a soap bubble.
“Looks like Valla’s been hard at work,” Danforth murmured.
Stavros stood up, swaying like a dreamer. High up on the glowing cliff, a PriestGuild relay’s call rang out, a clear trill of welcome.
Liphar broke from his wondering daze and answered impulsively, joyously, then raced alongside McPherson to undog the hatch and slide it open. Dancing impatiently aside while she set the ladder, he found himself facing Aguidran’s shrouded corpse and her brother’s mild, blank stare. His eager joy faded and he edged back to Stavros’ side. From the cliff came the chatter and rumble of a gathering throng as word spread of the Sled’s return. Weng and Megan appeared at the mouth of the entry cylinder, smiling.
Danforth went first down the ladder. The clearing was spread with a velvet carpet of young plant growth. The tips of his crutches sank into the spongy ground as he swung to meet Weng.
“There’s been a death,” he told her. “Two, in fact.”
Weng’s eyes flicked past him, seeking a head count as the others descended the ladder.
“Clausen and Aguidran,” he supplied.
“Ah;” said Weng, unsurprised.
Behind her, Megan’s shoulders heaved, with relief, Danforth thought, then sadness for the loss of the Master Ranger. “The guild must be informed,” she murmured. “How’s Ghirra taking it?”
Danforth’s mouth tightened. “Not well.”
McPherson strode up with a crisp salute, which Weng returned with equal formality. At the bottom of the ladder, Stavros sank to one knee, Liphar beside him. Dazedly, he fingered a handful of earth rich with vegetation.
Danforth said, “We thought… we were sure…” He spread his arms in amazement. “What’s happened here? Do you know?”
Weng patted his arm, an oddly maternal gesture. “Yes. And it was a very close call indeed, Dr. Danforth.” She moved past him to stand before the kneeling linguist. “Congratulations, Mr. Ibiá. It worked.”
He stared up at her, the thick earth clotting moistly in his palm.
“It?”
“You.”
Cautious hope surfaced slowly. Stavros rose, one hand grasping Liphar’s shoulder. “You mean They’re not…?”
Weng smiled. “If you will come inside, CRI has finally come out of her own little spell and can explain to you what your instincts already knew.”
As eager as she was to hear the story, Susannah stayed with Ghirra in the hold, too afraid of what he might do if he woke and found himself alone.
Aguidran’s knife was hidden at the bottom of her medikit, along with Clausen’s laser pistol, but the cargo hold was rich with potential weapons of self-destruction, even for one who would probably be too weak to move when he did awaken. Susannah decided to keep him in the Underbelly for treatment, where he could be fed intravenously if needed.
Megan stuck her head through the hatch, then plodded up the ladder. “There you are.”
“Oh, Meg. A sight for sore eyes.” Susannah hugged her gratefully.
“Looks like, the last act of a Jacobean tragedy in here.” She nodded at the nearer bundle of silverfilm. “Aguidran?”
“Umm.”
Megan bent to lay a palm to the Ranger’s body. “What a waste.”
Suddenly, Susannah could not bear any more mourning. “What’s important now is getting Ghirra the hell out of here. See if you could hunt up some help, maybe a stretcher?”
Megan nodded but she was gazing at the other shrouded bundle lying alone at the back. “Killed each other off, did they?” Susannah hesitated the merest fraction. “Yes. They did.”
“Natural adversaries.” Megan sighed, heading for the ladder. “A stretcher, humm. Well, there should be plenty of help along in a moment—the whole population’s on its way down here to welcome him.”
“Him?”
Megan grinned back at her crookedly. “Stavros. Or as they call him now, Kav Ibiá.’
“But he’s not…” Susannah could not make herself repeat the syllables.
“Funny how things work out,” Megan continued. “The Sawls say the weather changed because Stav talked the Sisters into settling their arguments with gentler games. CRI’s story has a somewhat more technical emphasis, but the results are the same: perfect balmy weather for the last three ship’s days, with a lovely rainshower every fifteen hours. The vegetation’s running riot and the FoodGuild’s planting a new crop already. The Goddesses have remembered their sibling duty.”
As Megan disappeared down the ladder, Susannah turned to find Ghirra awake. His breathing was fuller and his eyes more focused than they had been since she had ripped his sister’s knife from his blood-slick hand. He stared up at the lavender sky and its docile herd of pastel-tinted cloud. His attention drifted toward her, then away again, but his lips parted and he seemed to be trying to move.
Susannah ran for water and brought back a brimming mug. She eased Ghirra into a sitting position and cradled his head against her shoulder. She offered the mug as she had nearly every hour for three long days, expecting him to refuse it again. Instead he allowed a trickle of water into his mouth and swallowed awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how. Then he willingly drank all she would allow him.
When she set the mug aside, he shuddered faintly and turned his face into her chest. Susannah folded her arms around him and rocked him, while he wept against her like a child.
46
The ranger honor guard who came for Aguidran’s body helped Susannah settle Ghirra into a cot in a quiet corner of the Underbelly. The force field was down, and though it was not yet dark, Weng had set out oil lanterns that glowed and flickered in the faint, fragrant evening breeze. Ampiar and Phea joined them quietly, and stationed themselves beside their guildmaster to wait and watch.
Susannah took the senior ranger aside and surrendered Aguidran’s knife, as a treasure of the guild and a precious relic of her leadership. He took it gratefully but sheathed it quickly in his boot. Susannah was relieved to have it out of her possession.
As the rangers were leaving, Ghirra roused briefly. In a whisper like the dry rustle of leaves, he begged them to delay his sister’s funeral until he had strength enough to attend. Though the guild and not the family held precedence in matters of a member’s death, the four rangers showed the grieving Master Healer great deference and promised to
plead his case before the elder guildsmen. This calmed him sufficiently for Susannah to persuade him to take a few swallows of soup before he retreated again into sleep. Convinced that he had decided to live after all, she left him with Ampiar in the lavender shadows and went to listen in on CRI’s debriefing.
The expedition members were gathered around the computer terminal as if around a dinner table. An oil lamp burned beside the keypad. Megan and Weng stood a bit aside, already privy to the story. Danforth leaned forward eagerly to study the flash of figures across the glowing monitor. McPherson pressed against his back, reading over his shoulder. Stavros sat beside him, frowning slightly but constrained, for a moment again the overly intense young man he had been only short months before. But Liphar, his priestly familiar, the material evidence of his transformation, curled against him, sound asleep.
“… Lagri’s alarm loop,” CRI was explaining to augment her visuals, “was set off by the first series of exploratory charges, but it carried an inbuilt reset signal.”
Susannah could not recall having heard the computer refer to the Goddesses so familiarly before.
“When Mr. Ibiá’s priority program ordered me to relay that signal back to its source, the failure mode was interrupted and the reloading of Lagri’s initial programming began automatically. The first thing she did was interpret Mr. Ibiá’s warning correctly and absorb the second, larger charge when it detonated.”
Reading the figures, Danforth let out a low whistle. “She ate up the energy from that explosion like it was candy.”
“Through the link that Mr. Ibiá established,” CRI continued, “I have been monitoring the reload, which required giving over more of my sectors to that effort than might have seemed preferable. I hope I have not seriously inconvenienced anyone by remaining out of communications for so long. I judged it important enough to do so, and was careful to maintain all other functions.”
Reign of Fire Page 45
