Evening's Empires (Quiet War 3) (10 page)

‘I am frightened,’ the eidolon said.

‘Strobe the lamp and give me a siren,’ Hari said.

The big man-ape reeled back as lightning stuttered and the siren howled. Hari laughed, gripped by an atavistic exhilaration. He beat his chestplate, roared, sloshed forward.

The man-ape stared at Hari, then looked up at the sky and turned and scampered back to the shore, pausing to glance back before following the others into the darkness under the trees. Hari had
almost reached the apron of bare rock around the towering monolith when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, saw a teardrop-shaped craft dropping out of the sky. The common channel lit, and a
high clear voice speaking Portuga told him to stay exactly where he was.

Hari’s cell was a self-contained egg of glass and plastic scarcely larger than the lifepod, hung from the overhead of a white-tiled tube. A spigot supplied distilled
water. Food was extruded from a patch in the cell’s floor: variations on dole yeast and edible plastic, no worse than the stuff supplied by the ascetic hermit’s maker on Themba.

Identical cells dwindled away on either side, spaced at regular intervals. Those nearest Hari’s were empty; the occupants of more distant cells did not respond to any of the questions he
shaped with his hands. No doubt they were all rock-huggers who didn’t know shiptalk.

At irregular intervals an eidolon brightened in the air outside the tall oval window and interrogated Hari about the hijack, his escape from his would-be captors on Themba, the pursuit that had
brought him to Vesta. It refused to tell him when he would be released, what had happened to his pressure suit and Dr Gagarian’s head, if his pursuers had docked at Fei Shen. It told him that
an investigation into his misdemeanours was under way, interrogated him about the story he had told the commissars who had arrested him for landing without permission on Vesta.

During the first session, Hari had explained that he was on an urgent mission to save his family, and must be released at once. ‘Before my pursuers forced me to change course, I was
heading to Tannhauser Gate. My family has a broker there. Rember Wole. He’ll vouch for me.’

Hari had only met the broker once. Four years ago, the last time
Pabuji’s Gift
had docked at Tannhauser Gate. Rember Wole, a tall man with a cloud of black hair and a grave
manner, had come aboard, Hari had been introduced to him, they’d had a brief, inconsequential conversation. He didn’t really know the man, and he’d never met his partner, Worden
Hanburanaman, but he was certain that they would help them. Why else would he have been aimed at Tannhauser Gate?

‘Contact Rember Wole,’ he told the eidolon. ‘Talk to him. Talk to his partner, Worden Hanburanaman. They will confirm my identity: Gajananvihari Pilot, the son of Aakash Pilot,
the true heir to the salvage ship
Pabuji’s Gift
.’

But when the eidolon returned the next day, it told Hari that it had been unable to speak with either Rember Wole or Worden Hanburanaman.

‘Let me try,’ Hari said. ‘They’ll talk to me.’

‘Unfortunately, Rember Wole and Worden Hanburanaman are dead,’ the eidolon said.

Hari felt a freezing plunge of shock, asked the usual stupid questions about when and where and how. The eidolon told him that the two men had disappeared on the day that
Pabuji’s
Gift
had been hijacked, and their bodies had been found three days later.

‘The murderer or murderers have not been identified,’ it said. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

‘I know who killed them. Or at least, I know why they were killed. It is connected to the hijack of my family’s ship,’ Hari said.

But the eidolon refused to allow him to talk to Tannhauser Gate’s police, and vanished when he demanded to be allowed to speak to someone with real authority. It wouldn’t talk about
the murders the next time it appeared outside the window of the cell, began to ask random questions about Hari’s story as if nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. Hari had been given a mission. Reach Tannhauser Gate; find Rember Wole and Worden Hanburanaman.
Rember will help you get in contact with the hijackers and
negotiate the return of the ship. Worden will help you understand Dr Gagarian’s work, and how to carry it forward.
He still had to contact the hijackers, still had to negotiate with
them, but there was no longer anyone to help him. He was on his own, pursued by a powerful, highly organised enemy.

He told himself that despair and self-pity were selfish and pointless indulgences. He told himself that he still had what his enemies wanted. He still had leverage. He was in prison, but that
was part of his plan. Eventually the Free People would realise who he was, and release him. Perhaps they would even help him.

He tried to empty his mind with mediation. He sat cross-legged and chanted a mantra he had found in Kinson Ib Kana’s book.
All things shall be well and all manner of things shall be
well.
He exercised, strengthening the muscles in his legs and arms and back. The gravity well of Fei Shen’s small rock had been deepened, like Vesta’s. Hari needed to build up his
strength. He did sit-ups and press-ups. He did squat thrusts. He did pull-ups, when he was strong enough. Wedging his fingers against the top of the frame of the cell’s window, lifting and
lowering himself until the muscles in his arms and shoulders liquified. And he slept, sank away into hours of blissful oblivion. He exercised and he meditated, but most of the time he slept.

One day, he was woken by a ragged percussion that immediately reminded him of the ape-men on Vesta. It was the other prisoners, drumming on the walls of their cells as two commissars walked down
the long white tube. The commissars halted outside Hari’s cell, and before he could frame a question the base dilated and he dropped straight down and landed in a breathless sprawl at their
feet.

Hari and the commissars rode an elevator up a transparent shaft to the so-called new section of the city, walked through a sunlit forest of screw pines and birches and tree
ferns. Aakash had taught Hari the basics of architectural geomancy, using his viron as an exemplar. Showing him how a rich patchwork of spaces could be created by clever landscaping, subtle
transitions, and the choices provided by networks of intersecting paths. How framing vistas and blending the borders of the viron into its backdrop made its small footprint seem much larger than it
really was, how shade and the white noise of falling water encouraged restful contemplation, how open sky and contoured paths that restricted sightlines and revealed views from different angles
encouraged exploration, and so on and so forth. Hari knew that the forest biome, the perspectives of its green aisles, ladders of sunlight leaning between trees, was meticulously constructed to
induce a sense of oceanic peace, and he could appreciate the intimidating beauty of the glade where one of the Free People’s matriarchs, Ma Sakitei, was waiting for him. A flawless carpet of
scarlet and maroon turf spread within a circle of trees and flowering rhododendrons, copper and gold butterflies tumbling through subaqueous light, a small brown bird perched on a low branch,
trilling a lovely, liquid song. The product of centuries of patient, masterful skill. A statement of strength and will no less powerful than an iron throne flanked by ranks of shuttered
myrmidons.

Ma Sakitei sat zazen-style on a handwoven mat in the centre of the glade. An old woman less than half Hari’s height, white hair as tightly curled as airsheep wool, dressed in a plain tunic
cinched at the waist by a broad belt hung with pouches and tools. Butterflies circled her, landed on her hands, clung to her cheek or to the corners of her eyes. Tiny sparks of information that
pinged Hari’s bios but were, to him, unreadable. Green thoughts in a green shade.

The matriarch dismissed the commissars and asked Hari to sit with her, asked him to tell his story. As if he hadn’t already told it a dozen times, and been questioned about every aspect of
it. He spoke plainly and concisely, without any trace of anger or self-pity. Nabhomani had taught him that those with power over others were not moved by crude attempts to manipulate their
emotions. It implied weakness, and powerful people despised weakness. It was always best to keep your story simple and straightforward, without qualifications or justifications or special
pleading.

There was a long pause after he finished. The bird sang on with inexhaustible invention, as if it was singing the world into being, moment to moment to moment. Bright packets of information
fluttered by. Hari believed that most of Ma Sakitei’s attention was focused on these little messengers. As far as she was concerned, he was a trivial problem, a blip in the calm flow of the
days and years of tending this forest biome and the wild forests and deserts of Vesta. Yet his life turned on the hinge-point of her decision.

At last, she said, ‘Usually, we prosecute trespassers. Two of your fellow prisoners, for instance, are traders in biologics who attempted to plunder Vesta’s ecosystems.’

‘I had no choice. My ship was badly damaged.’

‘You could have allowed your pursuers to capture you.’

‘I have been given an important mission. I will not give it up so easily. I would like to thank you,’ Hari said, ‘for rescuing me.’

‘We did not rescue you,’ Ma Sakitei said. ‘We arrested you before you could harm the man-apes. They were created by Trues, who used to hunt them with spears and take their
heads as trophies. We believe that it is our duty to care for them as best we can, to atone for all that has been done to them in the past. We do not allow anyone to interfere with them.’

Hari apologised and said that he had meant the man-apes no harm, had only been trying to drive them off after they had attacked him.

‘They attacked you because you trespassed on their territory,’ Ma Sakitei said.

Nabhomani had taught Hari that, even when negotiating from a position of strength, it was important to control your emotions. Pride gave you confidence and motivated you to maximise outcomes and
build strong relationships, but you should never let it tip over into arrogance and conceit, or use it to humble or belittle other people. And sometimes, if you overreached yourself during
negotiations, if the other side uncovered a transgression or exposed an attempt to deceive or trick them, it was necessary to swallow your pride, express guilt and contrition, and accept
responsibility for your actions. It was necessary to expose your throat to the teeth of your opponents, and hope for mercy.

Exposing his throat now, Hari said, ‘I realise that I have made some foolish mistakes. I hope I can learn from them.’

‘I hope you do,’ Ma Sakitei said. ‘Tell me about the head you were carrying. The head of the tick-tock philosopher, Dr Gagarian. Why do your pursuers think it so
valuable?’

‘They didn’t tell me. I assume it has something to with his research into the Bright Moment.’

‘With the files locked inside his head.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you open them?’

‘No. That’s why I was heading towards Tannhauser Gate.’

‘Where your family’s broker lived.’

‘He and his partner were supposed to help me.’

‘And they were murdered.’

‘That’s what your commissars told me.’

‘It seems that your pursuers have a long reach. That they are no ordinary dacoits.’

‘I’m not sure what they are,’ Hari said. ‘I do know that I would surrender the head at once, if I could be certain they would give me my family’s ship and any of my
family who might still be alive.’

‘But they were all killed during the hijack. Only you are left alive.’

‘I think so.’

Hari was amazed that he could speak so calmly about his dead.

‘Your pursuers tell a somewhat different story,’ Ma Sakitei said.

‘You have spoken to them? They’re here?’

‘They passed through cis-Vestan space and rendezvoused with your ship and continued onwards. But we have spoken to them. They claim to be specialists hired by your family. They say that
you murdered Dr Gagarian and stole his head, then murdered two of their companions who gave chase. They say that they are attempting to bring you to justice.’

‘Did they also tell you that they hijacked my family’s ship? That they wiped my father’s viron, and murdered my brothers and the woman who raised me?’

‘We are not your enemy,’ Ma Sakitei said. ‘We are merely trying to establish whether your story is true.’

Hari apologised. He was ashamed of his loss of self-control, scared that he’d compromised any chance that the Free People would help him.

A butterfly landed on Ma Sakitei’s hand, perching on the web between thumb and forefinger. She lifted it to the level of her eyes and studied it for a moment, and then it fluttered
away.

‘Your pursuers asked us to render you up to them,’ she said. ‘You, and the head of the tick-tock philosopher. We refused. First, because they deployed a weapon inside the
volume of space that we control. Second, because we are minded to grant you refugee status.’

Hari began to thank her, fell silent when she held up a hand.

‘We cannot confirm many of the details of your story,’ she said, ‘but your DNA profile confirms that you are the son of Aakash Pilot, and the nephew of Tamonash Pilot. We were
able to compare your profile with theirs because both have done business with us in the past. Both have been good friends to us.’

‘Tamonash Pilot?’

‘The free trader.’

‘He is my uncle?’

‘You do not know him?’

‘I have never met him,’ Hari said.

No one in his family had ever mentioned that his father had a brother. That he had an uncle . . .

Ma Sakitei threw a small file – the requirements and qualifications for refugee status – to Hari’s bios, and told him to study it.

‘We are an open city,’ she said. ‘We provide a peaceful, neutral environment where trade and business flourish. But when it comes to maintaining order we are vigilant, and
swift to punish any who exploit or abuse our hospitality. And we do not takes sides in disputes and vendettas outwith our sphere of influence. While you remain here, you will make no attempt to
contact your pursuers, or anyone able to negotiate with them on your behalf. If you seek justice or revenge you must look elsewhere.’