Stardogs (44 page)

“What is it saying?” demanded Martin Brettan, beating the others to the punch.

“It says I am to place the mnemonic crown in that receptacle,” Juan pointed, “and then that we will be transported to Bio-zoo unit 23, where we will be safe and comfortable and there are many others of our kind.”

“Here we go again. Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” said Sam cheerfully. “I wouldn’t give it to them if I were you, boy.”

“Of course he must!” Johannes was horrified by the idea. “We’re prisoners and all hostages. I dare say these aliens will kill us all if he doesn’t do what they say.”

Juan battered his vocal chords about and whistle-click-chirped at the wall.

“What did you say?” asked several people.

“I said it was my duty to take the crown to the Memory Vaults.”

Kadar clicked his tongue in annoyance. He stood up, not without difficulty, as the stevedore beasts were manhandling the sample cage onto the cargo-transport. “You little fool. Do what you’re told. Stop endangering all of us, or we’ll take it off your head and do it for you.”

“Speak for yourself, you slab of misery,” said Sam shortly, staring out at the alien craft, trying to
feel
what would be best.

“Do the Denaari lie?” asked Tanzo of Juan.

“I don’t think so. Um. It’s difficult… I’m only Denaari when I’m not really all me… But the Denaari part of me believes that the Denaari would put us in a safe place, I think. They don’t look at killing as lightly as we do.”

“So we can join other humans, and be safe if you co-operate. Well, I’ll do it for you,” said Kadar, making a grab at the crown.

Mark Albeer pulled Kadar’s legs out from under him. He fell, and struggled to strike at the thickset bodyguard.

“That’s enough!” Shari snapped. “Don’t you realize you’re being watched? You’re making fools of the entire Human race, you idiots. Now stop it. The boy’s reply established us as responsible aliens deserving some respect. We want that respect, ladies and gentlemen. I hope they don’t put honorable and responsible aliens into their Zoo. I’d rather be free, than caged and safe.”

“I’d rather have food and drink,” muttered Johannes. But he didn’t say it too loudly.

Martin peered out at the stars. “We’re going to cross those mountains if we keep going in this direction. Toward where young Mr. Biacasta said those vaults were. It appears as if you may be right, Princess Shari.”

Martin Brettan was unaware of the time-bomb his accidental use of the honorific just then had set in motion within the Dagger of the Goddess’s head. Brettan’s own thoughts were far from the Factotum, who had proved to be such an adroit killer. The alien machinery in this place still seemed to be functioning, after all these years. Surely that meant the Denaari still survived? Nothing could really have lasted 3000 years without maintenance, after all. Could the Denaari be used? The Emperor would not thank him for their return, wishing to reclaim their Empire. However, if the Denaari could be suitably convinced… made allies against the League, well, that would please Turabi. A darker idea came to him. Apparently, there were other humans here, on this world. No need to turn to Turabi the blob at all, perhaps. He could have his own army and own Denaari allies… while they were convenient.

Now that Johannes and Kadar had got over their initial fears, different variations of the same idea were occurring to both of them too. It kept the three from the welcome sleep that the rest of the party had slipped into.

The cargo-transport came to a soft landing outside the vaults. The back wall of the sample cage slid open. Juan stared at the high arched doorway of which he had received such clear images. The Denaari would naturally have thought nothing of the door being fifteen feet off the ground. Juan found himself spreading his arms and felt remarkably foolish. The cargo-transport abruptly began to move, edging itself closer to the platform at the foot of arched entrance. Obviously someone or something had been watching and had realized they could not get into the vault.

With the cargo-transport up against the wall, and a leg-up from Mark, Juan was able to pull himself up. He was about to walk on, his momentous task weighing heavily on him when Una called him back. She was reaching her arms up to him, with a trusting, hopeful puppy look. He could no more have left her behind than he could have deserted Rat. She was, he noticed as he pulled her up, heavier than she looked. She didn’t let go of his hand as he turned to walk into the open archway.

Central knew it was gambling. One of them, even the helmet wearer, could be a saboteur. This was possibly the holiest place on all Denaar. They could damage or even destroy it, although that would take some doing. Yet Central allowed the aliens access and watched them to assess their behavior. Of course it was the sort of gamble which a computer would be prepared to undertake. It couldn’t actually lose. The most precious part of the vaults were the memories. Those existed in quintuplicate, with the other copies being kept in four separate distant sites. Everything else could be replaced if need be.

Juan knew the others had come behind him. He could feel their presence. It mattered not. In fact it was fitting. He was Juan-Denaari now, come to perform the last and most sacred rite.

The hall was vast, the high arches soft lit and distant. In Juan’s mind he saw how it had been once when !whistle paa!tch had come here as a new-fledged to receive his own father and mother’s precious memories. The air had been full of winged bodies, and thick with the scent of the nutmeg-and-lemon Theez incense. The air had been full of keening sorrows and deep joys too. Una squeezed his hand. He glanced at the slight alien girl and saw, to his surprise, tears coursing down her thin cheeks. Then he felt that he too was weeping, his alien body responding to the emotion which this place stirred in him.

At the end of the hall were the rows and endless rows of crown receivers, their pedestals blackened with hundreds and hundreds of generations of Theez smoke. Juan-Denaari knew that this was but one of the many halls in the memory vaults, once all suffused with the fragrance of the Denaari myrrh-incense. As he came up to the receivers he must have commented in Denaari about it. Somebody asked what he’d said, and as he walked forward he explained in English.

“Wait. Here.” Caro handed him a tiny exquisitely cut crystal bottle. “It’s not incense… but it is all I’ve got.”

It was the right thing to do. Juan-Denaari poured the entire contents of a rare and fabulously expensive perfume out onto the pedestal. Then he took the crown from his head and put it in the receiver. The crown slid down and the myriad nerve tendrils of the colonial organism that was the vaults began to share the memories they drew from it. Once these would have been re-imprinted into the crown of descendants. The creature which was the mnemonic crown gave up its memory-store with joy and haste. It had finally returned to the vector. Now it could breed, at long last.

The Dagger of the Goddess followed ten paces behind the boy. He walked slowly, his head bowed. Confusion stirred within him, threatening to overwhelm him. This was a holy place, a place of love and sadness, full of ghosts. Yet it was a Denaar-filth place. Who could have dared to consecrate and make holy a place of the ancient evil? And was that truly Princess Shari Tamar of the Imperial House walking a few paces before him? Why did he feel that he should have encountered her in a garden, not within what could only be a temple?

His right hand twitched, and then jerked spasmodically. Within him the Nano-surgeon worked frantically. The control-web had to be re-established, even at the risk of killing the host.

The Dagger looked around at the rest of the company, feeling as though he was a man staring through a mist which eddied and swirled, almost, almost allowing him to know who these people were, before obscuring them again. There was the tall, well-built man. A Viscount… he felt he must distrust the man. But who was he? The blond who had provided the scent offering, who was she? How did he know she was trustable but foolish? The stocky, dark man who held her hand as you might a flower, must be watched. The Baroness… how did he know she was a Baroness? She didn’t look like one, but he knew that she had become both thinner and infinitely happier, as she walked beside the… thief? The left side of his face twisted in a sudden rictus. He really did not feel well. He would have liked to have a drink of water and to lie down. But this was a holy place… and where were the League-scum? Who were the League-scum, and why were they to be so despised and hated?

The boy placed the crown in the small well in the stonelike pedestal. There was a moment of silence. Then the walls suddenly reverberated with the voice of Central, shocking the Dagger-almost Deo out of his puzzled reverie.

The huge biocomputer that was Central had watched their progress with care. Eight sentient aliens had accompanied the crown-bearer into the Vault-mouth. Nine plus two other life forms. Interesting. The Denaari had often brought other creatures with them too. Yet two of the same species as the crown bearer had not come to honor the passing of the memory. Why had the thinner one restrained the other in the red integument-covering and led him away to a point out of sight of the vault-mouth? The behavior of those within was appropriate, even if they could not follow the ritual flight-pattern dance. The stuff used was unlike Theez, but the gesture was unmistakable. Central was a computing device, but it was self-aware, and those who had made it had attached much to these rituals. Central was impressed. Then the crown-data began to flow into its data analysis and codifying system. Within microseconds billions of terabytes of processing ability were at work.