The Prodigal Sun (19 page)

11

Sciacca’s World

Port Parvati

‘954.10.32 EN

0900

The orange sun rose above the horizon, casting brownish dawn-light over Port Parvati. Dull shafts crawled over the already bustling cityscape, here touching foodsellers arranging their produce in preparation for the day’s business, there catching artisans dusting their wares. The light crept with casual sureness into dusty streets and garbage-strewn alleys, melting pockets of shadow that had gathered in the night and waking the few remaining curb-sleepers that had yet to join the growing throng.

Even at this early hour, business was brisk. The sound of complaining machinery was nearly drowned by a rising hubbub of bargaining and arguments. And over that, the constant arrhythmic chug of the truck that carried Roche and her party through the streets.

At first, Roche watched the proceedings going on around her with indifference. Then, as they moved through the streets and various marketplaces, she found herself succumbing to a profound melancholy—one she saw reflected in the faces of the people bustling around their truck.

If Port Parvati had been a city on any other planet, Roche thought, it would have been demolished years ago: flattened, pulped, and turned into artificial topsoil fit for treading on and little more.

There was also an unpleasant smell about the place— something other than the stench of sewage occasionally spilling from the inadequate drain system, or that of rotting food rising from the dirty market stalls. The air was thick with it, lingering through all the streets they passed along, strong enough even to penetrate the fumes issuing from the methane-fueled engine of their vehicle. It was with some revulsion that Roche suddenly realized what that smell was: disease.

“Destroyed,” Roche muttered to herself, “
and
burned.”

Emmerik leaned forward from his place on the flatbed to speak. “What was that?” He raised his voice to be heard above the noise of the truck.

Roche shook her head. “How much further?”

“About five minutes.” The Mbatan raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and turned to bang on the cab of the truck. The truck suddenly veered down a narrow alleyway. Emmerik cursed aloud, steadying Roche. The abrupt turn unbalanced her before the armor’s built-in overrides could react. The truck’s suspension had needed an overhaul about twenty years ago, Roche thought; now, suspension was the least of its worries.

When their trajectory steadied, Roche turned her attention once more to the goings-on beyond the truck. This particular section of the city they were passing through appeared dirtier and more cluttered than other parts. The streets were certainly narrower and grimier, the dwellings often low and shabby. Wide and jutting verandahs shaded dark interiors from which dirty faces glanced briefly as they passed. Others paused upon the flimsy walkways that now and then arced between buildings, their solemn expressions enhancing the already growing melancholy that Roche was feeling.

Most of the people, she noted, were Pristine—but not all. The penal colony held all manner of nonviolent criminals, from habitual thieves to industrial conspirators, from Olmahoi to Hurn. Yet all looked the same beneath the universal garments of cheap robes and wide-brimmed hats, as dictated by environment and limited resources rather than fashion. Roche herself had donned similar garb to cover the combat armor. From a distance, she hoped, she would pass as a skinny Mbatan.

She ran her hands over the coarse and threadbare garment and frowned. “How the hell can people live like this?”

Despite the noise, Emmerik seemed to have heard her. “Ninety percent of the population lives here, Commander,” he said. “But it’s not as if we have any choice. There just isn’t anywhere else.”

The Box’s voice was clear beneath all the noise from the street.

want
to better their planet or not becomes an issue. The fact is, the authorities prefer it this way. It is easier to maintain order. The greater the number of towns, the more difficult security becomes.>

Roche nodded to herself, leaning away from Emmerik. Indeed, as she watched the crowd milling through the dusty streets, she realized that security was lighter than she had expected—and feared. Only infrequently did an Enforcement patrol serve to remind her that this was a supervised penal base, not one of the poorer COE planets.

Waving a hand to ward off the stench of a herd of vat-bred cattle, she looked back to Emmerik. Even his eyes seemed slightly more moist than usual in the high air of the city.

“Is all of Port Parvati like this?” she said.

He shook his head. “These are just the outskirts. Like any other city, we have varying standards.”

The truck lurched again as it took another sharp corner. This time Roche was prepared, and the suit kept her balanced. When their motion had steadied somewhat, she glanced under the makeshift canopy tied over the truck’s flatbed. The stretcher hadn’t been disturbed by the sudden turn, and the Eckandi’s face expressed no more distress than it had at any stage of their journey so far. Strapped to the Mbatan’s back through the old mines honeycombing the mountains beneath Houghton’s Cross, by petroleum- powered, propeller-driven airplane to one of Port Parvati’s many makeshift airfields, passing through a casual security check (with the aid of several small bribes in a currency unfamiliar to Roche), then onto the truck for the penultimate leg of their journey—he had remained unconscious throughout it all, oblivious to the rough plaster encasing his head and the distressed Surin constantly at his side.

“How’s he doing, Maii?” Roche asked, concerned as much for the reave as she was for her friend.

The girl didn’t respond at first. Her posture hardly shifted. But Roche could tell that she had heard—by the subtle change of the girl’s sullen expression, the way her head tilted ever so slightly to face Roche.

After a moment, the Surin’s quiet voice filtered through the noise of traffic and animals into Roche’s mind: <1 can still feel him. He’s deep—very deep. He has retreated to somewhere I can’t reach him. Somewhere he can heal.>

Or die
, Roche added to herself, forgetting that the reave could read the thought if she wanted. The shrapnel from the downed troop carrier that had struck Veden on the back of the head required delicate nanosurgery, not stubborn, blind denial. If she heard, however, Maii didn’t contradict her.

Turning back to Emmerik, Roche picked up the conversation where it had left off.

“You work underground here, too?”

The Mbatan spoke without taking his eyes from the road. “The city is built on the ruins of the original port. When the Commonwealth moved in, they decided it was cheaper to build over than rebuild. So that’s what they did,” he said. “And continue to do. The original city is buried under layer after layer of later settlements, but it’s still intact in places.” He grinned wryly. “The Dominion built well.”

Roche nodded. Houghton’s Cross was testament to that. “So you moved in?”

“The founders of our movement did. Some of the survivors of Ul-oemato had maps of the original city, and it was a simple matter to work out what had been what under the new surface.” Emmerik faced Roche now, wiping at the dust around his eyes. “All it took was some digging equipment, a little patience, and a lot of care to keep the work hidden from the wardens. Whole sections of the original maglev subway were intact, although the tunnels had cracked open in a few places. The rubbish that had filtered down was cleared out, and there we had it—a means of crossing the city without being seen by the wardens. There are buildings dotted all over the city that act as entrances to the tunnels: little more than empty facades hiding their true purpose. Gain access to one of these and you can go almost anywhere.”

“That’s a major achievement,” she said, studying him closely. When he went to look away again, she quickly added, “But why are you telling me about this now? Why the sudden trust?”

“I’ve always trusted you,” he said soberly. “But your involvement with Cane made me a little apprehensive.” The Mbatan shrugged wearily. “The difference now is that we need your help as much as you need ours. And the only way to begin helping each other is by talking—as equals.”

“Trade secrets, you mean?” she said, glancing over her shoulder to where Cane was riding on the tail of the flatbed, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd.

“I was thinking more of your AI,” put in the Mbatan. “I had no idea it was so powerful.”

Roche turned back to him and offered a fleeting smile. “Neither did I, to be honest.”

Emmerik grunted deep in his throat. The exhalation might have been a laugh, although his face displayed no amusement. “It’s running the suit, isn’t it?” he said.

Roche nodded. “Through the data glove.”

“For that function alone it is valuable. Any advanced weaponry is priceless here.”

Roche immediately understood what he was hinting at: the Dato wouldn’t be the only ones interested in getting their hands on the AI. But what Emmerik almost certainly failed to realize was that without her—without her palm-link, her implants—the Box’s value was reduced to zero. Without her in the driver’s seat, the armor was little more than dead metal, and the Box a useless valise.

When she explained this to the Mbatan, he only smiled and said:

“
I
understand this, but there are others who won’t. Take care to emphasize your own worth as much as the assets you bring with you. I am not typical of the bulk of our group, Commander.”

She nodded, taking his warning to heart. Whether he was referring to Haid himself or just those surrounding him, it didn’t matter. That the threat was real was enough for now. She would keep her guard up.

Moments later the truck swung into a sheltered garage and shuddered to a noisy halt. The rebels clambered out of the cab and off the flatbed and began to unload the truck. Emmerik joined them, leaving Roche to make her own way down. The bulky armor took the short drop with ease, thudding to the concrete floor like a lump of lead. Cushioned within, her injured shoulder was barely disturbed by the jar of impact.

She brushed some of the ubiquitous dust from her cloak and turned to help Cane with Veden’s stretcher. One on each end, they swung it down and placed it against the far wall. Barely had they put it down when two unfamiliar rebels appeared through a door leading deeper into the building and spirited him away.

Maii, when she tried to follow, was politely but firmly rebuffed. Roche moved to comfort her, but the girl shrugged her away.

“You have medical facilities here, Emmerik?” said Roche.

The Mbatan paused in the middle of unloading the truck to look at her. “Some.”

“How sophisticated?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not my field.”

“He’ll need X-rays, CAT and QIP scans, nanosurgery if you have it—”

“We’ll do what we can, Roche,” he cut in sharply, more calmly adding, “
When
we can. Okay?” He returned to his work without another word.

Feeling impotent, Roche tried to find something to do. Two of the rebels were struggling with a large crate of projectile weapons retrieved from the ruins of their headquarters in Houghton’s Cross. With the power-assists of the armor, she took the crate from them and placed it with others along one wall, then turned to do the same with the rest of the crates on the truck. The warning from Emmerik still rung in her mind; the more she could do to gratify herself to the locals, the better.

put in the Box unexpectedly, harking back to her conversation with the Mbatan.

Roche grunted, only half listening.

Roche put down the crate she was carrying. This was interesting.

Roche prompted when the Box fell silent.

you
?>

Midnight
.>

she said, thinking of the way the Box had saved them at Houghton’s Cross.

“Roche?”