Matriarch Read online

  “Well, actually, matey, that’s not all that matters.” She found her attention fixed on Aras’s charcoal eyes; they were all iris and almost no sclera, just like an animal’s, not a gold wess’har cross-hair gaze at all. Her face burned and the pressure in her ears felt close to explosion. Ade’s restless movement caught her peripheral vision. “What matters is that we don’t have this bloody parasite under our control any longer. A government agent has it. You know what he’ll do with it?”

  “He’s not—”

  “Supersoldiers. Then they flog it off to the pharmacorps, because no government can resist money in the end. Or it gets out into the wider population by accident. Pandemic. You can spread it by sex, by body fluids, by wounds. You can do the maths, Aras. Wasn’t that why you quarantined Bezer’ej to start with? Because you saw what happened in the isenj colony there?”

  “This is one man, trapped on Bezer’ej.”

  “No, this is a spook, a very competent spook, and Lindsay Neville too, and even that idiot bitch can be trouble.”

  “How can they leave? How can they pass it on? The bezeri never caught it from me, and I moved among them for nearly five hundred years.”

  “There’s no such thing as can’t in this universe, Aras. Even the bloody dead come back to life.” Shan could feel her own voice becoming thin and compressed in her own skull. “And Rayat will find a way, trust me. I would if I were him.”

  You lost the will to live when you thought I was dead. But you were ready to run away and live with the bezeri.

  She tried to shake that thought out of her head. It was a selfish thought, a woman’s reaction without consideration of anything beyond her own hurt feelings. It wasn’t professional. She tried to slap it down.

  Ade moved. She saw him reach out cautiously, slowly. He laid his hand on her forearm and she concentrated on not jerking it away. His expression was the utter dejection of a beaten child.

  “There’s another way of looking at it, Boss.”

  “Really?” She was fond of Ade to the brink of falling in love, but right then she wanted to punch the shit out of him. The impulse appalled her. He usually brought out the vestige of her protective urge, but she’d vented her anger on him before. “Forgive me if I haven’t spotted it.”

  “The little shit’s stuck on the seabed with a bunch of aliens who hate him. Forever. So’s she. That probably even beats hanging them.”

  If Shan had been looking for vengeance for the near extinction of the bezeri, then Ade had a point: it was extreme punishment, as extreme as it got. Shan wondered what changes c’naatat would make to the two of them to keep them alive in the deep ocean and knew that whatever it was, it might be a lot more traumatic than the largely invisible tinkering that the parasite had carried out on her.

  And I know what it’s like to drown. And to drift in space. Oh yes, that’s fucking bad. Living with the squid might be too good for Rayat.

  “You’d better be right,” she said. “Because I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life making sure they don’t pass it on. Or hunt the fuckers down and fragment them.”

  A well-placed detonation was the only way to disrupt c’naatat’s lightning defenses of its host organism. It was the way the wess’har c’naatat troops—accidental hosts, thinking their malleable genome had picked up just a handy adaptation for fast healing—had ended their lives when not aging or dying became too much to bear.

  Ade managed to look her in the eye. “I’ve let you down, haven’t I?”

  “Bloody right you have.” Shan stood up and walked over to the deeply hollowed stone set under the water spigot, the nearest that wess’har had to a sink. She couldn’t stop herself raging. “How could you do such a frigging stupid thing? After all that’s happened?”

  “I had to make a decision there and then. We never planned to let them live.”

  “Jesus, am I the only one here who can think beyond the next five minutes? I pretty well died to stop anyone getting hold of this, but you two just hand it over, good as gold. I suppose Rayat made a really good case, did he? Talked you into it?”

  “No, Lindsay did,” said Aras. “This satisfied the bezeri, and stopped either of us taking their place. Because somebody had to help the few still left. Or at least give them some semblance of justice.”

  Shan recalled the last time the bezeri had called for justice; a scientist had been executed over the death of one of their young. And Aras had carried it out, whatever she’d told the Thetis camp. Even then, Shan felt it was her responsibility. She’d been in command for far too long and it was an inextricable part of her. She hated standing on the sidelines.

  “Either?” she asked. “What do you mean by either of you?”

  Ade closed his eyes for a moment and it disturbed her. She found no satisfaction in making a brave man cower. “Yeah, well…it was a case of both of us trying to do the decent thing. We…persuaded each other out of it.” He paused and adopted that I-wish-I-hadn’t-said-that expression. She realized that she didn’t know him as well as she thought, and that meant she didn’t have control of the situation. Control mattered. “I wanted you to be happy.”

  “Ade, for fuck’s sake, having you two end up as squid-men isn’t going to make me happy.” This was why she didn’t trust relationships. They weakened you. She hated herself for feeling wounded because for the first time in her life she had become used to being the center of a man’s world—two men’s worlds, in fact. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Did it occur to you that I have to tell Esganikan? This is a major biohazard, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  She took her jacket from the hook on the wall and fastened it, trying hard not to descend further into diatribe and profanity, But Aras had broken the taboo of centuries to save her life with the bloody thing in the first place. Maybe the crazy god-bothering colonists were right; maybe it really was the ultimate temptation of the devil, to be eradicated once and for all.

  “Where are you going?” asked Aras.

  “To catch Esganikan before she leaves for Umeh. She needs to hear this from me. I don’t want either of you telling anyone about this. Okay?”

  It wasn’t true: she could have sent a message to Esganikan. Eqbas didn’t stand on ceremony and a call would have done the job. But she needed to walk away, because the Superintendent Frankland part of her was welling up and demanding to be let out to give her underlings a thorough, foul-mouthed bollocking and maybe a thump in the ear for failing her.

  But that wasn’t really what the Shan at the core of her felt.

  That Shan was hurt. She’d believed them when they both said they were devoted to her. They’d put something else before her—and that was what she’d always done herself to anyone who might have been close enough to love.

  Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite.

  It was hard to look your own failings in the face. Shan closed the door behind her and set off to look at Esganikan’s alien disapproval instead.

  Eqbas camp, F’nar plain

  Esganikan Gai understood only too well that she would not be returning home to Eqbas Vorhi for at least fifty-five years by Earth reckoning.

  She’d diverted her ship to Wess’ej to carry out a reconnaissance mission on the way back to Eqbas Vorhi. Earth hadn’t been part of the plan.

  The bulkhead of her cabin was set to transparency so that she could look out on the plain of F’nar even if others couldn’t see in. She knelt on the deck, thinking about the time that would separate her from her own culture and took comfort in the knowledge that a society used to spacefaring made allowances for those in temporary exile. Humans, apparently, did not. Their world moved on and forgot those on deployment, and found it hard to adjust to their time-frozen ways on their return.

  But there were few of them, and nobody cared.

  Esganikan envied Shan Frankland, who appeared to have dealt with permanent exile by immersing in the culture in which she found herself. How did she cope with the Targassati philosophy here, the doct
rine of non-intervention in the problems of others? Shan acted decisively. She did not withdraw.

  Aitassi, the ussissi aide who accompanied Esganikan, sat back on her haunches and waited patiently for instructions. All her pack—males, juveniles, sisters—were part of this mission. She had left nobody behind in suspension to await her return to Eqbas Vorhi in the way a few of Esganikan’s male crew had.

  I’ve had enough of this task. I must make Earth my last mission. I want to have my own clan.

  “Connect me to the gethes,” Esganikan said quietly.

  “It’s time they allowed us direct access to the minister,” said Aitassi. “I dislike this rationing of contact.”

  “At the moment we have no choice.” Ussissi were impatient creatures. Esganikan was never sure how they found the forbearance for deep space missions. “We go the long route.”

  “You need an interpreter.”

  “I speak English well enough now, if I concentrate.”

  There was a dubious pause. “Very well.”

  Part of the bulkhead became opaque and formed an image of the blue United Nations portal that used the communications link the gethes called an ITX. A human male appeared on the screen. Esganikan concentrated on his face, trying to read the eye and brow movements that she interpreted as anxiety. He had dark skin, even darker than her own, and she could see no blood vessels as she could in the pale-skinned variety of human. Blue veins were visible in Shan Frankland’s wrists. The blood could be seen pulsing through them; sometimes she seemed as transparent as a bezeri.

  “I want to speak to the Pacific Rim lead delegate,” said Esganikan, seeing no need to identify herself.

  There was the usual five-second delay caused by the light-speed relay between the ITX node and Earth. She was used these imperfect communications. “I’ll see if Mr. Matsoukis is available.”

  “Why can I not have a direct link to the Australian government? They are our hosts.”

  “Ma’am, this isn’t something I can—”

  “Gethes, we are coming. The more we discuss matters between now and then, the easier our task will be.”

  The man gazed out of the screen in baffled silence for a moment. “I’ll get my supervisor.”

  Humans didn’t appear to be able to take decisions on their own. The image defaulted to the blue holding screen and Esganikan waited. The humans’ need to be told what to do and follow orders might work in their favor: they might be more cooperative in due course.

  She glanced to one side of the screen. Outside the ship, a steady drizzle was falling. A fine haze of tiny, fast-growing plants tinted the usually arid gold plain with dark red and purple. They appeared to have sprung up overnight.

  “Captain,” said a male voice. Esganikan jerked her attention back to the screen where a thickset gethes with glossy, almost black hair—like Barencoin, one of the human soldiers—sat fidgeting, clasping and unclasping his hands. “I’m sorry to keep you. We live in a universe of bureaucrats.”

  We don’t. And the rank confused her. She had only recently learned what a captain was. “Why can we not talk when we wish, Matsoukis?”

  Jim Matsoukis was not the man she wanted to talk to. She wanted direct access to the Australian government in the form of Canh Pho, the head of state who had invited the Eqbas Vorhi mission to his territory.

  “The United Nations is insistent on keeping the ITX link available to all nations, ma’am.”

  The gethes were mesmerized by instantaneous communications; it had lured them into their alliance with the isenj. They loved communicating. But they never seemed to listen to responses, and they often communicated useless and untrue information. She decided they had no real need of ITX. They simply wasted it.

  “Communication appears to be a significant aspect of power for humans.”

  “It certainly is. You’re aware that military and diplomatic pressure was used to stop the Europeans monopolizing the ITX?”

  “Yes, but I fail to understand it. Suppressing information will not change what happens.”

  “I think we treat information very differently here.” Matsoukis licked his lips; agitation, she assumed. “I’ll certainly take the matter up again.”

  “Give me the latest environmental data you can provide.”

  “Have you got access to the United Nations databank?”

  “No. What is that?”

  Matsoukis frowned. “Out of date. I’ll ensure you get ours. The information is disputed in some quarters.”

  Ah. Humans can never agree on facts. Everything is filtered by their needs and expectations. “Can you predict what your environmental pressures will be in thirty years? I need to ensure we bring the appropriate countermeasures.”

  Matsoukis looked as if he didn’t understand. Isn’t my English clear enough? She knew that look now. She’d seen it on the face of Eddie Michallat, a creasing of the brow and a slight head movement, both quickly suppressed. “If you can receive data, I’ll get you the latest real-time information from our satellites. The ones we control. Topography, climate, land use, bathymetry. Then you can judge for yourself.”

  Esganikan was pleasantly surprised by his transparency. With the information she had from the matriarchs here and from Umeh Station, she could build her own projection of Earth’s environmental changes.

  “Your biggest problem is still rising sea levels and temperatures.” She called up a map of Asia and the planet’s southern hemisphere and reminded herself that Australasia was three major land masses—Australia, New Zealand, and Antarctic Territory—and the Pacific Rim States seemed to mean those plus a scattering of islands stretching almost to the Sinostates coast. She decided she was dealing almost entirely with the individual and dominant state of Australia. “Or I should say that your diminishing landmass requires a reduced population.”

  “Yes, flood and storm defenses are now taking eight percent of our GNP.” Matsoukis seemed to miss the point, perhaps deliberately. “That’s our national income. I realize you don’t have our kind of economy. It’s a mechanism to allocate scarce resources among competing users—”

  “Your economy is…an ecology of resources controlled by the exchange of tokens. It must remain in balance or some benefit at the expense of others. Yes, I think I understand economies. Life itself is an economy.”

  Matsoukis flashed white teeth, a ussissi’s threat. Aitassi didn’t react; she was almost used to human gestures now. “We’re under considerable pressure to withdraw our offer to allow you to land in Australian territory.”

  “What form is this pressure taking?”

  “The threat of military action. We’re fairly immune to trade sanctions because we’re self-supporting in terms of food and raw materials.”

  Esganikan looked at the chart again. “You are an isolated group of islands. Can your enemies launch an attack at that range?”

  “Yes, but we have allies. Canada and Greater Norway. You understand the strategic significance of that?”

  Esganikan looked at the map again and rotated it to look at Earth from its northern pole. Canada stretched halfway down the North American landmass, almost level with a place called Washington. Norway and its territories faced it across a stretch of sea. The allies were in easy striking distance of the Sinostates and the FEU.

  “If your enemies attack you, that will not stop us landing,” said Esganikan. I’ve carried out opposed landings before. You’ll be nothing compared to Garav. “Tell them that. Or I will.”

  “They want us to withdraw the offer.”

  “You cannot.”

  “I know. We never give in to pressure.”

  “I mean that now you have invited us, we will come even if you do withdraw the offer. The need is established.”

  Matsoukis paused. His mouth was slightly open but no sound came out. Esganikan smelled someone enter the ship, someone who projected strong jask, a very dominant isan. She concentrated on her English skills and put the distraction out of her mind.

  “
I’ll—I’ll get my office to transmit the data now, Captain Gai.”

  That’s not my name. No matter. “I await it.”

  “Good day, ma’am.”

  The screen deactivated and the blue opaque panel floated on the gold and red plain beyond the bulkhead. Esganikan inhaled and Aitassi turned her head slowly.

  “Now there’s a man who’s shitting himself,” said Shan Frankland. She walked across to the bulkhead, put her hand against it, and made that quick compression of her lips that said her mind was not on the subject she was discussing. There were violet and gold lights in her fingertips and palms; Esganikan was still fascinated by that. “Do you understand how he reacted?”

  “Probably,” said Esganikan. Shitting. She searched her memory. “I alarmed him.”

  “I don’t think he’d worked out that he can’t uninvite you. That’s a bit of a shock for a human.”

  “Have you come to offer your assistance?”

  Shan thrust her hands in the pockets of her knee-length black coat and shrugged. She seemed at ease with her bizarre parasite, utterly human except for the bioluminescence in her hands. “Do you need it?”

  “I would never refuse it. Your grasp of English is superior and you know your own people.”

  “That’s reassuring. But you really want Eddie Michallat for that. He’s a journalist, so he’s no more normal than I am, but he’s a lot better at dealing with subtlety.”

  “Is that a refusal?”

  Shan paused. There was no hint of her scent now. Her jask—her matriarchal dominance pheromone—had obviously been a warning and now she had suppressed it. Esganikan no longer took it as deliberate deception, but it still unnerved her.

  “No,” said Shan. “Just a suggestion. But that’s not what I’ve come here for. I have to tell you something.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “I’ve got two more human c’naatat cases on Bezer’ej.” Still no scent, or facial expression; but the muscles in Shan’s jaw had tightened and her shoulders were set as if she had tensed her muscles ready to attack. Her pale gray eyes blinked occasionally. Esganikan found the single black pupils unnerving. “The bezeri wanted someone to help them rebuild and they got Commander Neville and Dr. Rayat.”