The Night's Dawn Trilogy (43 page)

After five metres the floor became level and the walls widened out to a couple of metres, the coarse mat of fibre which passed
for the gigantea’s bark giving way to smooth bare wood. Carved, he realized. God’s Brother, he’s cut his home into the tree.
How much effort has gone into this?

There was a glimmer of light up ahead. He walked round an S-bend, and into a brightly lit room. It was fifteen metres long,
ten wide, perfectly ordinary except for the lack of windows. Pegs on one wall held a row of dark green cagoules. Gigantea
wood was a pale walnut colour, with a widely spaced grain, making it look as though the walls were built from exceptionally
broad planks. There was a desk, like a long bar, running down one side, that had been carved from a single block. A woman
stood at the far end of it, watching him impassively.

Quinn broke into a slow grin. She looked about twenty-five, taller than him, with black skin and long chestnut hair, a petite
button nose. Her sleeveless amber blouse and white culottes showed off a full figure.

A flicker of distaste crossed her face. “Don’t be disgusting, Dexter.”

“What? I never said a word.”

“You didn’t have to. I’d sooner screw a servitor house-chimp.”

“Do I get to watch?”

Her expression intensified. “Stand still, don’t move, or I’ll have Clive dissect you.” She picked a sensor wand off the desk.

Still grinning, Quinn lifted his arms out, and let her run the wand around him. Clive stood to attention a couple of metres
away, perfectly still, as if he was a mechanoid construct that had been switched off. Quinn tried not to let it show how much
that bothered him.

“So how long have you been here?” he asked.

“Long enough.”

“What do I call you?”

“Camilla.”

“OK, Camilla, that’s cool. So what’s the story here?”

“I’ll let Laton tell you.” Her tongue was pushed into her cheek. “That’s if he doesn’t just decide to incorporate you like
Clive here.”

Quinn threw a glance at the stationary man. “One of the colonists from the Schuster homesteads?”

“That’s right.”

“Ah.”

“Your heart rate is high, Dexter. Worried about something?”

“No. Are you?”

She put the wand back on the desk. “You can see Laton now. You’re no danger; two implants and a whole load of attitude.”

He flinched at the mention of implants. There went his last advantage, tiny though it had been. “Got me this far, hasn’t it?”

Camilla started to walk towards the door. “Getting in is the easy part.”

There was a broad spiral staircase leading up through the bole. Quinn caught glimpses of corridors and rooms. A whole level
was given over to a large pool-cum-spa. Steam was thick in the air, men and women were lounging about in the water or on various
ledges; one was lying flat on a slab being given a massage by a middle-aged woman with an empty expression he was beginning
to recognize. He realized what was missing: some people were laughing, but nobody was talking. Servitor housechimps scurried
down corridors on mysterious errands; they were about a metre and a half tall, walking with an almost human gait, their golden
fur well groomed. When he looked closely he saw they had proper feet rather than the paws of their Earth-jungle ancestors.

God’s Brother, those are Edenist constructs. What the fuck is this?

Camilla took him down a corridor that looked no different to any other. A door opened soundlessly, a thick wooden rectangle
with some kind of synthetic muscle as a hinge.

“Lion’s den, Dexter; in you go.”

The door closed as silently as it had opened. Inside was a large circular space with a vaulted ceiling. The furniture was
a severe minimalist style: a glass-topped desk with metal legs, a dining table, also glass topped, two settees facing each
other; every piece arranged to put a maximum amount of distance between them. One section of the wall was a vast holographic
screen with a view of the jungle outside. The camera was well above the treetops, showing an unbroken expanse of leaves; steamy
scraps of cloud drifted in meandering patterns. An iron perch, three metres high, stood in the centre of the room. On it was
the kestrel, watching him intently. Two people were waiting, a man seated behind the desk and a young girl standing beside
the settees.

Laton rose from behind the desk. He was one of the tallest men Quinn had ever seen; well muscled, with cinnamon-coloured skin,
looking like a tan rather than natural pigmentation, a handsome, vaguely Asian face with deep-set grey-green eyes and a neat
beard, ebony hair tied back in a small pony-tail. He wore a simple green silk robe, belted at the waist. His age was indeterminable,
over thirty, less than a hundred. That he was the product of geneering was in no doubt.

This was the presence Quinn had looked for when Clive Jenson had pulled off his chameleon-suit hood. The invincible self-assurance,
a man who inspired devotion.

“Quinn Dexter, you’ve caused quite a stir among my colleagues. We have very few visitors, as you can imagine. Do sit down.”
Laton gestured to a royal-purple settee where the girl was waiting. “Can we get you anything while you’re A decent drink?
A proper meal, perhaps? Dear old Aberdale isn’t exactly flowing with milk and honey yet.”

Quinn’s instinct was to refuse, but the offer was too tempting. So bollocks if it made him look grasping and inferior. “A
steak, medium rare, with chips and a side salad, no mustard. And a glass of milk. Never thought I’d miss milk.” He gave Laton
what he hoped was a phlegmatic smile as the big man sat down on the settee opposite. Out-cooling him was going to be a major
problem.

“Certainly, I think we can manage that. We use starscraper food-secretion glands, modified to work from the gigantea’s sap.
The taste is quite passable.” Laton raised his voice a degree. “Anname, see to that, would you, please.”

The girl gave a slight, uncertain bow. She must have been about twelve or thirteen, Quinn thought, with thick blonde hair
coming down below her shoulders and pale Nordic skin; her lashes were almost invisible. Her light blue eyes put Quinn in mind
of Gwyn Lawes in the moments before his death. Anname was one very badly frightened little girl.

“Another member of the missing homestead families?” Quinn guessed.

“Indeed.”

“And you haven’t incorporated her?”

“She’s given me no reason to. The adult males are useful for various labour-intensive tasks, which is why I kept them on;
but the young boys I had no requirement for at all, so they were stored for transplant material.”

“And what were your requirements?”

“Ovaries, basically. I didn’t have a sufficient quantity for the next stage of my project. It was a situation which the homestead
females were fortunately able to rectify for me. We have enough suspension tanks here to maintain their Fallopian tubes in
a fully functional state, thus ensuring they keep dropping their precious little gifts into my palm each month. Anname hasn’t
quite matured enough for that yet. And seeing as how organs never really prosper in tanks, we allow her to run around the
place until she’s ready. Some of my companions have become quite fond of her. I even confess to finding her moderately tolerable
myself.”

Anname flashed him a glance of pure terror before the door opened and let her out.

“There’s a lot of bitek at work here,” Quinn said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were an Edenist.”

Laton frowned. “Oh dear. My name doesn’t register amongst your memories, then?”

“No. Should it?”

“Alas, such is fame. Fleeting at best. Of course, I did achieve my notoriety a considerable number of years before you were
born, so I suppose it’s to be expected.”

“What did you do?”

“There was an irregularity concerning a quantity of antimatter, and a proteanic virus which damaged my habitat’s personality
rather badly. I’m afraid I released it before the replicant code RNA transfer was perfected.”

“Your habitat? Then you are an Edenist?”

“Wrong tense. I was an Edenist, yes.”

“But you’re all affinity bonded. None of you breaks the law. You can’t.”

“Ah, there, I’m afraid, my young friend, you are a victim of popular prejudice, not to mention some rather sickly propaganda
on Jupiter’s behalf. There aren’t many of us; but believe me, not everybody born an Edenist dies an Edenist. Some of us rebel,
we shut off that cacophony of nobility and unity that vomits into our minds every living second. We regain our individuality,
and our mental freedom. And more often than not, we choose to pursue our independent course through life. Our ex-peers refer
to us as Serpents.” He gave an ironic smile. “Naturally they don’t like to admit we exist. In fact they go to rather tedious
lengths to track us down. Hence my current position.”

“Serpents,” Quinn whispered. “That’s what all men are. That’s what God’s Brother teaches us. Everyone is a beast in their
heart, it is the strongest part of us, and so we fear it the most. But if you find the courage to let it rule, you can never
be beaten. I just never thought an Edenist could free his beast.”

“Interesting linguistic coincidence,” Laton murmured.

Quinn leaned forwards. “Don’t you see, we’re the same, you and me. We both walk the same path. We are brothers.”

“Quinn Dexter, you and I share certain qualities; but understand this, you became a waster kid, and from that a Light Brother
sect member, because of social conditions. That sect was your only route away from mediocrity. I chose to be what I am only
after a careful review of the alternatives. And the one thing I retain from my Edenist past is complete atheism.”

“That’s it! Yo u said it. Shit, both of us told ordinary life to go fuck itself. We follow God’s Brother in our own way, but
we both follow him.”

Laton raised an exasperated eyebrow. “I can see this is a pointless argument. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I want your help to subdue Aberdale.”

“Why should I want to do that?”

“Because I’ll turn it over to you afterwards.”

Laton looked blank for a second, then inclined his head in understanding. “Of course, the money. I wondered what you wanted
the money for. You don’t want to be Aberdale’s feudal lord, you intend to leave Lalonde altogether.”

“Yeah, on the first starship I can buy passage on. If I can get down to Durringham before any alarm gets out, then I can use
one of the villagers’ Jovian Bank credit disks without any trouble. And with you in charge back here there wouldn’t be no
alarm.”

“What about your Ivet friends, the ones you seem to be busy baptizing in blood?”

“Fuck ’em. I want out. I got business back on Earth, serious business.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“How about it? We could work it together. Me and the Ivets could round up the women and children during the day when the men
are out hunting and farming, use ’em as hostages. Get ’em all into the hall and take their guns away. Once the men are disarmed,
it’ll be no problem for you to incorporate ’em all. Then you just make ’em live like they do now. Anyone turns up later, Aberdale
is just another crappy colonist village full of arse scratchers. I get what I want, which is
out of here
, and you get plenty of warm bods; plus there’s no more security risk of someone stumbling on this wood palace and shouting
to Durringham about it.”

“I think you’re overestimating my ability.”

“No way. Not now I’ve seen what you’ve got. This incorporation gimmick has got to be like persona sequestration. You could
run a whole arcology with that technology.”

“Yes, but the bitek regulators we implant would have to be grown first. I don’t have them in store, certainly not five hundred
and fifty of them. It all takes time.”

“So? I ain’t going anywhere.”

“No, indeed. And of course, were I to agree, you would make no mention of me once you returned to Earth?”

“I’m no squeal. One of the reasons I’m here.”

Laton eased back onto his settee and gave Quinn a long thoughtful look. “Very well. Now let me make you an offer. Leave Aberdale
and join me. I can always use someone with your nerve.”

Quinn let his gaze wander round the big vacuous room. “How long have you been here?”

“In the region of thirty-five years.”

“I figured something like that; you couldn’t have landed after the colonists arrived, not if you’re as well known as you say
you are. Thirty-five years living in a tree without any windows, I gotta tell you, it ain’t me. In any case, I ain’t no Edenist,
I don’t have this affinity trick to control the bitek.”

“That can be rectified, you can use neuron symbionts just like your friend Powel Manani. More than a third of my colleagues
are Adamists, the rest are my children. You’d fit in. You see, I can give you what you want most.”

“I want Banneth, and she’s three hundred light-years away. You ain’t got her to give.”

“I meant, Quinn Dexter, what you really want. What all of us want.”

“Oh, yeah? What?”

“A form of immortality.”

“Bullshit. Even I know that ain’t on. The best the Sal-danas can do is a couple of centuries, and that’s with all their money
and genetic research teams.”

“That’s because they are going about it the wrong way. The Adamist way.”

Quinn hated the way he was being drawn into this conversation. It wasn’t what he wanted, he’d seen himself making his pitch
on how to subdue Aberdale, and the boss-man seeing the sense of it. Now he was having to think about freaky ideas like living
for ever, and trying to make up an excuse why he didn’t want to. Which was stupid because he did. But Laton couldn’t possibly
have it to offer anyway. Except this was a very high-technology operation, and he was using the girls for some kind of biological
experiment. God’s Brother, but Laton was a smooth one. “So what’s your way?” he asked reluctantly.

“A combination of affinity and parallel thought-processes. You know Edenists transfer their memories into their habitat’s
neural cells when they die?”

“I’d heard about it, yeah.”