Seeds of Earth (20 page)

'Apologies are tendered for the lack of proprieties,' said the lugosivator. 'Master Avriqui had intended to greet you in person but reports of incipient violence caused him to remain at home.'

'Are such incidents considered normal here?' said Tumakri.

'No, Master Tumagri, but unfortunately Blacknest is experiencing one of its periodic outbursts of interclan rivalry in which revenue sources, such as the embarkation gates, become strategic prizes to be defended or captured by force.'

'Fascinating,' Kao Chih said. 'What about ships in dock? Are they also considered prizes?'

'Docked vessels are inviolable, Master Gowchee,' said the cart. 'Certain categories of passenger, however, are seen as legitimate quarry at times like this.'

Kao Chih and Tumakri exchanged a worried look.

'Would we fall into that category?' he said.

'Yes - you arrived in your own craft with no personal bodyguard and no protection brevet. Data spotters will have already sent your profiles out to several gang bosses . . .'

Tumakri hunched down in his seat, staring this way and that through the cart's transparent hull.

'. . . which is why I have brevets here to give to you, signed by Master Avriqui.' A thin tray slid out from a black panel below the windscreen - on it were two documents, folded sheets of light blue textured plas imprinted with lines of text in Tralesk, a trading language. Underneath was a swirling character written with a double-nib, which Kao Chih took to be Avriqui's signature.

'How long till we reach Master Avriqui's hold?' he said.

'We shall be arriving shortly,' said the cart. 'From the next junction we follow a vascule out to the tubeworks and our destination is not far beyond that.'

Kao Chih nodded and glanced out at the busy corridor. Away from the contested arrivals lobby, the station took on the kind of appearance he had been expecting, archway and doors along the corridors revealing markets, kiosks and tiny workshops enveloped in a hum of activity, a jostling flow of creatures and sentients from every corner of the galaxy. A red-and-black-furred hexapedal Bargalil gestured with a small forearm to a Gomedran selling light-splines and bubbles, while nearby a reptilian biped Kiskashin garbed in hooded leathers tended a stall where clusters of tarnished pipes smoked amid gauzy veils and glittering trinkets. A muscular Henkayan was raking through boxes of hardware with all four arms, examining finds with a headband scope. On the other side of the stall, an old battered mech shaped like an upright dumb-bell was doing the same thing with microfields while floating on its suspensors.

Relaxing a little, he smiled, enjoying the view which he was seeing from above as Avriqui's lugosivator trundled along the tall corridor's ceiling path. The shops and stalls went on and he wondered if most of Blacknest was like this. He saw a pair of Gomedrans haggling with a half-shelled Naszbur arms dealer; an octopoidal Makhori coldly eyeing passers-by from the opacity of its tank; a long-bodied Vusark propped up on a metal frame, its many sets of legs flexing rhythmically . . .

And a pair of beady eyes in a small, snouted face that stared straight up at him for an instant then broke away. Kao Chih had the merest glimpse of a cowl around the observer's head before it vanished into a side turning. He was about to mention this but the cart's sentience spoke.

'Sirs, my master wishes to communicate with you.'

A translucent panel appeared in the cart's forward windscreen and darkened into a display showing their adviser and prospective travel companion, Rup Avriqui, sitting in a high-backed wood-and-leather armchair. Behind him were the glows and shadows of a low-lit room. Rup Avriqui was a Voth, a squat bipedal race which bore a superficial similarity to a presentient Earth species called orangutans. The Voth certainly had long arms but also had broader torsos and shorter legs, larger ears and flatter faces. They also had a liking for bulky, concealing garments - Avriqui was wrapped in layers of clothing, some finely woven and intricately patterned, others coarse and plain, while on his head he wore a strange cap comprising beads and tiny mirrors over padded cloth.

'Ah, most viable our business, noble visitors, and most efficient my preparations. Soon we shall be discoursing upon the urgent matter of your task and my part in its workings.'

'Please accept our thanks for the brevets,' Tumakri said. 'Reassurance is a gift which lights our way.'

'I am gratified to be able to confound the misfortunes of the current unrest,' the Voth said. 'I must confess, however, that I had to nominate Master Gowchee's species profile as being Roug in order to dispatch the brevets with my lugosivator. Now I see by the evidence of my own eyes, as well as the profiles obtained just moments ago, that Master Gowchee is not of the exalted and ancient Roug.' The hooded eyes regarded Kao Chih. 'Humans are not popular, you see, thus there is danger for you at every turn. Fortunately, you will both soon be within my hold and I shall have the brevets modified . .. what
is
that noise?'

A faint knocking sound had suddenly become a loud banging. Muttering angrily, the Voth levered himself out of his seat and moved out of sight, shuffling footsteps receding. For a moment all was quiet onscreen, then there was a shout followed by the sound of running feet. Rup Avriqui abruptly rushed into view, his headgear askew, his eyes bulging as he lunged at the controls near the vidcam.

'Exigency nine, exigency nine!' he shrieked, stubby fingers scrabbling at the panel as a pair of hands, one metal, one flesh, grabbed his shoulder and dragged him screaming away. Then the screen went opaque for a second before melting into transparency. Kao Chih and Tumakri stared at each other in horror, then grabbed the edges of their seats as the cart jerked to a sudden stop halfway down the corridor wall.

'Passengers must evacuate at once,' said the vehicle as its sides sprang open. 'Deepest apologies for unforgivable treatment, masters, but the Avriqui hold has been compromised, therefore this unit can no longer guarantee your safety.'

'But . .. but what must we do?' said Tumakri, voice quivering with shock.

'Return to your ship is the safest course - the safest course - safesafesafesafe . . . please return to your seats there is no danger we will soon arrive at residential unit stem nine radial twelve ...'

Fighting a surge of panic, Kao Chih jumped up from his seat and dragged Tumakri away from the suborned lugosivator.

'It was right,' he said. 'We have to get back to the ship!'

'... yes,' said the Roug. 'Yes, we must!'

Then he shrugged off the Human's support and leaped into a headlong sprint back the way they had come. Amazed, Kao Chih took after him, but with his longer legs Tumakri soon opened up a good lead. The Roug wove between stalls and knots of sentients, ignoring Kao Chih's shouts to slow down. So intent on his destination was he that he never noticed the gang of fur-snouted Gomedra rushing out at him from a side passage until it was too late.

Kao Chih saw the ambush, shouted Tumakri's name . . . and in the next instant felt something tangle his legs, causing him to dive forward and land with jarring force.

'Bind him!' said a guttural voice.

Half-dazed, he fought against rough hands that tied his wrists and fixed a gag to his mouth.

'The Blacktooth vermin are escaping with the other one,' came another nasal, rasping voice.

'Then render him worthless,' said the first.

Fearful, Kao Chih tried to yell around the gag and struggled against his captors. Instead, he was hauled upright in time to see an armour-clad Bargalil raise a hexabow and fire off three bolts. There was a brief, high shriek and Kao Chih knew with horrible certainty that Tumakri was dead.

'Sack this one and bring him to our new nest!'

A cloth hood stinking of machine oil enfolded his head and, grasped lengthways, he was carried off, friendless, soundless and wrapped in darkness.

20

ROBERT

He hated to be late for meetings, hated being out of breath and feeling sweaty and grimy, but sometimes the only thing to do was accept it and move on.

'My most sincere apologies to you all,' he said as he entered the president's private conference room, a low-roofed chamber with green-textured walls. 'Communications with my government have proved very slow overnight.'

'That is quite understandable, Ambassador Horst,' said Sundstrom. 'But now we can proceed - I assume you recognise everyone present?'

There were seven people at the large oval table including Robert, Sundstrom; Deputy-President Jardine; the intelligence chief, Vitaly Pyatkov; Theodor Karlsson, an adviser to the president; General Morag Soutar, the C-inC of the Darien Volunteer Corps; and the sixth, a heavily built, middle-aged man in a dark sober suit, whose name escaped him until Harry appeared nearby and said, 'Edvar Storlusson, master-provost of Trond and Sundstrom's unofficial deputy-president for the Northern Towns.'

Robert smiled and nodded, partly for Harry but mostly for the gathering. 'Indeed I do, Mr President.'

'Good, then before we discuss this terrible event, I want us all to take stock of the latest reports. We'll start with you, Vitaly - tell us about the High Monitor and his staff, then what your investigations have uncovered.'

Sundstrom sat back in his wheelchair, looking weary but also, Robert thought, sustained by the anger and outrage he had expressed during his vee broadcast to the colony last night. The man had articulated a burning repugnance for the attempted assassination in language of such lyrical force and delivery that Robert was able to imagine what Sundstrom must have been like in his younger, healthier years.

'High Monitor Kuros,' said the intelligence chief, 'is well and fully recovered from the shock and distress of the attack. He and his staff will be holding a private mourning ceremony later today for their murdered colleague, Assister Morild. As to the attack itself, we have determined that the gunman opened fire from dense forest cover overlooking the Giant's Shoulder excavations. The murder weapon was a forty-year-old 8.5 calibre Ballantyne rifle, modified for hunting with a 15x50 telescopic sight and a sculpted, rebalanced wooden stock ...'

Photos of the weapon were being passed around, and General Soutar was quick to comment.

'Practically an antique,' she said in a booming voice. 'Aye, and pricey, too. But deadly in the hands of a marksman - wouldn't you agree, Major Karlsson?'

There was a brief but uncomfortable silence, then Karlsson gave an unflustered smile. 'The gunman was probably a good shot, certainly, General. He also has excellent woodcraft and stealth skills, but then so do most of the faraway hunters and trappers. What I'm puzzled about is why he abandoned the rifle - he must know that it will inevitably furnish us with information.'

'We are trying to trace the rifle's origins and previous owners now,' Pyatkov said to him. 'Although the killer left no prints or any other evidence, we know from the flattened grass that he was of average height with a fairly lean physique. One of the High Monitor's bodyguards took away swab samples from the rifle to see if any DNA evidence can be recovered.

'As for suspects, we have brought a number of known seditionists and extremists in for questioning, but although some claim to be members of the FDF no one can name their leaders or give a coherent summary of their aims beyond a handful of slogans.'

Sundstrom nodded. 'There may be a degree of disquiet amongst the general populace about some aspects of the new situation and its consequences,' he said. 'But there is no grassroots support for violence and killing. Every call to my office, and to every other legator, has condemned the shooting, often in vigorous and colourful language! This has extended to my decision to cancel the Founders' Victory Day celebrations, but you can't please everybody.'

There were a few laughs and knowing grins around the table. Robert smiled.

'It is most reassuring to know that the Darien Colony is united in its opposition to this act of terror,' he said. 'Whether they turn out to be this Free Darien Faction or someone else.' He paused. 'Has anyone claimed responsibility yet, Mr President?'

'No one at all,' said Sundstrom. 'It's as if they were expecting their vile act to start an uprising but nothing happened.'

'They're not finished,' Karlsson said grimly. 'The next one will be worse.'

'We have to make sure that there isn't a next one,' said Sundstrom. 'The Hegemony is adamant about that.'

'So you've spoken with High Monitor Kuros about this matter, Mr President?' Robert said.

'No, Mr Ambassador, but informal channels between ourselves and the High Monitor's advisers have remained open.'

'I see.'

Robert sat back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. His AI companion Harry leaned on the back of his chair, bent close to Robert's ear and said, 'You'll have to give them some idea of what they're in for if these attacks don't stop.'

He nodded slightly and sat straighter, facing the waiting Dariens.

'My friends, the Hegemony takes attacks on its officials very, very seriously indeed - if this shooting had occurred on Hegemony territory they would have instituted the severest measures. Curfews, confiscation of firearms, a ban on public assembly, restrictions and censorship of all public media ...'

'That's outrageous,' said Storlusson, the provost of Trond.

'I've not finished, sir. Satellite surveillance would be employed in conjunction with positioning tags fixed to all vehicles and, if necessary, to all civilians. Communications would be filtered and spying devices of every kind and size would become omnipresent.'

'But this is not Hegemony territory,' Pyatkov said.

'True, but the Brolturans have made a claim to this region of the Huvuun Deepzone and I have just learned that they have dispatched their ambassador to Darien aboard a line warship - originally it was to be a diplomatic corvette but news of yesterday's attack has altered their posture. So you see, it really is in your interest to show High Monitor Kuros that you mean to keep him and his staff safe while doing all you can to capture this murderer.'