Seeds of Earth (7 page)

'As I've heard before,' she said. 'Not least from yourself, and yet I have come across other tales that give different accounts.'

'Some of the handfolk of the Benevolent Uvovo have a more literal understanding of the
ssu-ne-ne.
They are often led astray by such things as that ruined stone ring, which was a very old but very ordinary meeting place and hub of a marketplace . . .'

As they conversed, the Listener urged his
trictra
down to ground level. Catriona prompted Pgal to follow suit, and found that there were another three
trictra-mcamed
Uvovo waiting below, all displaying on their beaded tunics the circular symbols of the Warrior Uvovo.

'. . . and so such imaginings should be considered with care. We of the Warrior Uvovo retain a more re ilist approach to these matters.' Then he indicated the others with his herding stave. 'Ah, these are my waykin - we were returning from a
vudron
contemplation when we chanced upon you here.'

Catriona nodded, not believing him for a moment. 'So you feel that I am wasting my time chasing this . . .
arassu?

It was the Uvovo word for 'sad ghost', and as she said it astonishment flashed across the features of two of Weynl's companions. The Listener, however, only smiled.

'Just so,' he said. 'Now, since our destination is Starroof Upper-Way, we would be honoured to escort you back, Mistress-Doctor, if you wish.'

Part of her wanted to rebel and refuse, but common sense reminded her of the minicam in her shoulder pouch, so she graciously consented to the Listener's offer.

The journey back up the green canyons of Segrana seemed to take for ever. The weight and shape of the minicam teased her constantly as Pgal's
trictra
laboured from branch to vine-cluster to crossed-trunk. Listener Weynl stopped for a rest at a junction village that just happened to be the one that Catriona and Pgal had bypassed on the way down. As the Listener talked jovially with his way-kin she wondered if this was an example of Uvovo humour.

At last the light grew brighter as they neared the canopy, and when gantries, ladders and platform dwellings became frequent she knew that they were near the town of Starroof. Insects glittered in the shafts of sunlight that angled down through the foliage and wafts of cool, fresh air brought the fragrance of dayblooms.

'Our courses must part here, Mistress-Doctor Catriona,' Listener Weynl said. 'My
vudron
lies further above, in the Highsonglade. Please remember that if you wish to seek knowledge at the roots of Segrana, you should ask for guidance from myself or any Listener.'

'My apologies, Listener,' she said. 'I never intended to give offence.'

'It is more your safety that is of concern,' Weynl said. 'Some of the darker corners below harbour predators that could devour a Human in a bite or two.'

T understand your concerns, Listener,' she said. I assure you that I will take them very seriously'

The elderly Uvovo regarded her for a moment, his amiable smile never wavering, then he nodded.

'Seek with care, Doctor,' he said before tapping his
trictra's
side carapace with his herding stave.

Even as the Listener and his companions continued up the braided cable-ladders, Catriona told Pgal to hurry. The herder guided the
trictra
up hanging ne;s and across leafy curtains, reaching the hammock platform nearest to the cluster of adapted native dwellings that constituted the enclave of Human scientists. Unstrapping herself from the saddle restraints, she climbed out onto the springy matting, stripped off the bulky robe and turned to Pgal. But he spoke first:

'I not carry you again.'

Astonished, she stared. 'Why, Pgal? Has someone threatened you?'

It was the herder's turn to be surprised. 'No! - I go to Highsong
vudron.
Rejoin Warrior clade.' He smiled. 'Very happy'

Catriona nodded, understanding.
Vudrons
were large, spherical chambers fashioned from huge, empty · seed husks which grew only at the highest places of Segrana. Bonded to a branch or trunk near a Uvovo town or village, they served as a Listener shrine, a refuge for private meditation, as well as the centrepiece of public ceremonies. An outcast like Pgal could become a full member of either Uvovo clade by taking a vigil in a
vudron,
but only if invited by a Listener. Like Weynl.

'I am happy for you, Pgal,' she said. 'Thank you for all your help, and go in peace.'

The herder smiled, bowed his head, then steered his
trictra
down from the platform and along the meshed vines.

And thank you, Weynl,
she thought, watching him leave.
You really don't want me going near the forest floor, do you? Well, let's see what my wee camera spotted, shall we}

She glanced around her to make sure she was alone, then took out the cam, fitted a viewing ocle to the output, pressed Play and held it up to her eye.

And saw . . . only flickering confusion. The timer readout was the same as when she got the trip signal, but the recording was a blurred, stuttering mess. She ran it again and again, trying to find more than just hints of a dark form that might have been a creature, or shaky stick-like things that might have been limbs . . .

She lowered the cam and sagged against one of the platform's heavy, woven hawsers. She suddenly felt weary, as if the recording had knocked the vitality out of her. It had been such a waste, scrounging the cam from Lyssa Devlin's team over at Skygarden, skulking down there to plant it then retrieving it, all a waste of time and effort. It might be possible to process and filter the image data, but only the Institute office at Viridian Station would have that kind of equipment and anyway, how could she explain how she obtained such a recording without admitting to multiple violations of the Respect Accords?

Disconsolate, she put the minicam away in her pouch, slung the baggy robe over one shoulder and climbed the branch stairway that led to the Human enclave. Halfway up, the stairs trembled a little underfoot as someone came hurrying across a flimsy-looking gantry from another platform. It was Tomas Villon, one of her team's tech assistants. His features were ffusl ed and excited as he raised a hand in greeting and :al ed out.

'Doctor Macreadie,' he said. 'Have you heard the news?'

'No - what news?'

He grinned. 'The president announced it in his widecast this morning, and the channel heads have been talking about nothing else . . .'

'Sorry, Tomas, but I've been working hard, and Ive been away all morning. What's happened?'

Clearly delighted at being able to let her in on the story, he cleared his throat. 'Well, as I said, the president came on the vee this morning to tell us that the Hammergard government has been in contact with a ship from Earth!'

First she gasped in disbelief, then started
talking,
almost tripping over her own words.

'But that's . . . incredible! You're sure, Tom as, absolutely sure?'

'It's the honest truth, Catriona, I swear! The ship is called the
Heracles
and it's entering orbit around Dan en right this moment. Look, there's a vee-panel up in the mess hut which is where the rest'll be, watching the live relay from Port Gagarin.'

A web-tethered flock of membrane insectoids drifted past on a warm updraught as they hastened up to the enclave buildings. Catriona grinned while trying to think through the giddy thrill she was feeling.

'It's unbelievable,' she said. 'I never thought I'd live to see this - I wonder what they'll be like? You remember that play by Fergus Brandon?'

'The Lifeline?"
He chuckled. 'I doubt that any wouldbe colonists will be queueing to come out here. Said as much to Greg Cameron earlier.'

'Greg?' she said, trying to sound vaguely disinterested. 'What were you calling him about?'

'Neh, he called us to gossip about the announcement. We gabbed on about it and the Brandon play came up. Yah, he's just as excited about it as everyone.'

Of course,
Catriona thought.
Those two were good friends at college, so it's no surprise that he would call.
She felt a small shiver go through her.
I wonder how he's been since he came back .. . but why should I wonder? He's just another man who's got better things to do than .. .

She had only met him a few times, ever since she'd suggested the link between the proportions of the temple on Giant's Shoulder and the physique of the Uvovo, and she had hoped that their professional friendship might become something deeper. And then he gave up everything and moved away up north to Trond to get married, settle down and have kids, apparently - only to return several months later, alone. Hopes which had collapsed rose again, but tempered this time with a dash of realism and caution.

And now she was resolved not to let Greg Cameron or her failed minicam experiment dilute her excitement at Tomas's news.

'Right, Tomas,' she said with a determined laugh as they came up to the mess hut. 'Let's see if we can get a good seat!'

ROBERT

On board the Earthsphere cruiser
Heracles,
in the largest of its three staterooms, Ambassador Robert Horst was indulging in the archaic practice of packing luggage.

'I don't know why you don't ask the room to do it for you,' said Harry, his AI companion.

'But the room doesn't know what I need to take with me.'

'The room has access to your sartorial profile, as well as Darien's styles and customs, such as they are. So where's the problem?'

'The room can't know what I need,' Robert said, smiling as he placed a semi-formal tunic into his partitioned valise. 'Because I don't know myself. Or rather, when I see it I'll know that I need it.'

Harry smiled and shook his head. In Robert's field of vision, Harry seemed to be standing over by the stateroom's centrepiece, a sleek porcelain and perspex column with a holobase in each of its five faces. He resembled a young man dressed in an immaculate but outmoded black suit, his round features displaying a perpetual amusement and a hint of cynicism. Robert had chosen to model his companion upon the main character from an American black-and-white flat-movie from the mid-twentieth century, whose storyline dealt with postwar intrigue and betrayal. Orson Welles's portrayal of the mercurial Harry Lime had captivated the young Robert Horst, and after deciding on his companion's form he had also resolved that he would appear in monochrome. After all, he was the only one who would see it.

'I'm not sure that the personal touch will be helpfu ,' Harry said. 'After 150 years of isolation and resource scarcity, social fashions are bound to be a little rustic'

'My God, Harry, you're a snob.'

'Not at all. I just feel sure that these poor, Earthhungry colonists will want an ambassador from the auld country to look the part.'

Robert wagged a finger. 'What, play the lofty aristo come to dispense wisdom to the local yokels? Sorry, no - that's the Sendruka approach, not mine.'

'Shame on you, Robert, for denigrating the high ideals of our allies in the cause of peace and justice,' Llarry said, adopting a stance of mock grandeur followed by a sly grin. 'Besides, your honoured Senclruka colleague Kuros and his Ezgara goons are just along the corridor. Who knows how many spymotes are drifting around the ship by now, listening to our every word?"

'Not with the new antisurveillance systems the Earthsphere Navy brought in after the
Freya
incident,' Robert said, selecting from a small open section of the storage wall a pair of Russian leather gloves, a couple of plaid kerchiefs and a carved wooden ring. 'I'm more concerned about why they're here at all.'

The
Heracles
had been en route to the Huvuun Deepzone when new orders came through to divert to Chasulon, the capital world of Broltur, and take on board the honoured High Monitor Utavess Kuros and his unspecified personal guard. Which turned out to be eight Ezgara commandos, four-armed biped soldiers with a fearsome reputation, who wore all-enclosing, steel-blue body-armour and never revealed their faces. But Kuros and his guards were to be accorded every courtesy, since they were there at the personal request of Earthsphere President Erica Castiglione, apparently in a dual capacity: as Alliance advisers, and as observers on behalf of the Brolturan government.

Personal request*,
he thought.
I bet it was more like a demand and Erica was on the receiving end of it.

T don't imagine that there's much to be anxious about,' Harry said, resting his foot on the edge of a low table. 'The Hegemony thinks that it has to keep tabs on every political event otherwise things might fall apart, the centre cannot hold and so on. Whereas things would probably proceed quite normally if Hegemony attention was elsewhere.'

'Harry, for you that's practically heresy.'

'I know. I blame it on prolonged exposure to the life and works of Robert Horst! Anyway, it'll be politics on a rather lesser scale for you in the weeks ahead.'

'True, but it could turn out to be quite productive. One of the files sent from President Sundstrom's office gave an interesting summary of their resource management and extraction policies . . .'

'Ah, you mean these sifter roots that they got from the Uvovo?' Harry chuckled. 'Ingenious way of getting hold of pure elements, for a pre-nanofac society Properly adapted, they could be put to use in other or texts, like hardvac prospecting for example. Or even licensed out to cultures that prohibit nano applications.'

Robert shrugged. 'That sounds possible. I'm more interested in the relations between our people and the Uvovo, not to mention the colony's inner politics.'

'Well, for a small colony they've had a somewhat chequered history. Problems with a shipboard AI that went rogue, then a very tough first fifty years, expansion problems, lack of resources, then contact with these Uvovo sentients and an abortive civil war which exacerbated some already prickly divisions. But it's this Al taboo that could pose difficulties. You should read some of their novels and plays - artificial intelligences come across like the rampaging death machines of the Commodity Age. I find it positively insulting. What's more, every year they celebrate the trashing of that poor, dumb AI. Founders' Victory Day, they call it.'