Someone knocked on the front door before he got to it. Pat Staite, their neighbour, was standing outside dressed in elaborate blue and grey striped baseball gear.
“We’re looking for people to help make up the teams,” he said hopefully.
“It’s a little early in the day for me.”
“Absolutely. Terribly sorry. If you’re free this afternoon … ?”
“Then I’ll come along, certainly.”
Pat was one of Exnall’s growing band of sports enthusiasts who seemed intent on playing every ball game ever devised by the human race. They had already taken over two of the town’s parks.
“Thanks,” Staite said, not registering the irony in Moyo’s voice or thoughts. “There’s an ex-Brit living in the street now. He said he’d teach us how to play cricket.”
“Fabulous.”
“Is there anything you used to play?”
“Strip poker. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and catch some chickens for my breakfast.”
The chickens had broken out of their coop, but they were still pecking and scratching around the garden. They were a geneered variety, plump, with rusty yellow feathers. They were also remarkably quick.
Moyo’s first couple of attempts at catching one ended with him falling flat on his stomach. When he climbed to his feet the second time, the whole flock was squawking in alarm and vanishing fast into the shrubbery.
He glared at them, banishing the mud caking his trousers and shirt, and pointed a finger. The tiny bolt of white fire caught the chicken at the base of its neck, sending out a cloud of singed feathers and quite a lot of blood. It must have looked ludicrous, he knew, using his power for this. But, if it got the job done …
When he’d finished blasting every chicken he could see, he walked over to the nearest corpse. And it started running away from him, head flopping down its chest on the end of a flaccid strip of skin. He stared at it disbelievingly; he’d always thought that was an urban myth. Then another of the corpses sprinted for freedom. Moyo pushed his sleeves up and summoned a larger bolt of white fire.
There were voices drifting through the open kitchen door when he returned to the bungalow. He didn’t even have to use his perception to know who was in there with her.
Under Stephanie’s control the range cooker was radiating waves of heat.
Several children were warming themselves around it, holding big mugs of tea. They all stopped talking as he walked in.
Stephanie’s bashful welcoming smile was transformed to an astonished blink as she saw the smoking remnants of chicken he was carrying. A couple of the children started giggling.
“Into the lounge everyone,” Stephanie ordered the kids. “Go on, I’ll see what I can salvage.”
Once they had left he asked: “What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking after them, of course. Shannon says she hasn’t had a meal ever since the possessed arrived.”
“But you can’t. Suppose—”
“Suppose what? The police come?”
He dropped the burnt carcasses onto the tile worktop next to the range cooker. “Sorry.”
“We’re responsible only to ourselves now. There are no laws, no courts, no rights and wrongs. Only what feels good. That’s what this new life is for, isn’t it? Indulgence.”
“I don’t know. It might be.”
She leaned against him, arms encircling his waist. “Look at it selfishly. What else have you got to do today?”
“And there I was thinking I was the one who’d adjusted best to this.”
“You did, at first. I just needed time to catch up.”
He peered through the door at the children. There were eight of them bouncing around on the lounge furniture, none over twelve or thirteen.
“I’m not used to children.”
“Nor chickens by the look of things. But you managed to bring them back in the end, didn’t you?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, how long do you want to look after them for? What’s going to happen when they grow up? Do they hit sixteen and get possessed? That’s an awful prospect.”
“That won’t happen. We’ll take this world out of the reach of the beyond. We’re the first and the last possessed. This kind of situation won’t arise again. And in any case, I wasn’t proposing to bring them up in Exnall.”
“Where then?”
“We’ll take them up to the end of Mortonridge and turn them over to their own kind.”
“You’re kidding me.” A pointless statement; he could sense the determination in her thoughts.
“No. But the first few weeks would be fine.”
“To travel is to experience. I won’t force you, Moyo, if you want to stay here and learn how to play cricket, that’s okay by me.”
“I surrender.” He laughed, and kissed her firmly. “They won’t be able to walk, not all that way. We’ll need some sort of bus or truck. I’d better scout around and see what Ekelund left us.”
***
It was the eighth time Syrinx had walked to Wing-Tsit Chong’s odd house on the side of the lake. For some of these meetings it would be just the two of them sitting and talking, on other occasions they would be joined by therapists and Athene and Sinon and Ruben for what amounted to a joint session. But today it was only the pair of them.
As ever, Wing-Tsit Chong was waiting in his wheelchair on the veranda, a tartan rug tucked around his legs. <<Greetings, my dear Syrinx. How are you today?>>
She bowed slightly in the Oriental tradition, a mannerism she had taken up after the second session. <<They took the nanonic packages off my feet this morning. I could barely walk, the skin was so tender.>>
<<I hope you did not chastise the medical team for this minor discomfort.>>
<<No.>> She sighed. <<They have done wonders with me. I’m grateful. And the pain will soon be gone.>>
Wing-Tsit Chong smiled thinly. <<Exactly the answer you should give. If I were a suspicious old man …>>
<<Sorry. But I really have accepted the physical discomfort as transitory.>>
<<How fortunate, the last chain unshackled.>>
<<Yes.>>
<<You will be free to roam the stars again. And if you were to fall into their clutches once more?>>
She shivered, giving him a censorious glance as she leaned on the veranda rail. <<I don’t think I’m cured enough to want to think about that.>>
<<Of course.>>
<<All right, if you really want to know. I doubt I’ll venture out of Oenone’s crew toroid quite so readily now. Certainly not while the possessed are still loose in the universe. Is that wrong for someone of my situation? Have I failed?>>
<<Answer yourself.>>
<<I still have some nightmares.>>
<<I know. Though not as many; which we all know is a good sign of progress. What other symptoms persist?>>
<<I want to fly again. But … it’s difficult to convince myself to do it. I suppose the uncertainty frightens me. I could meet them again.>>
<<The uncertainty or the unknown?>>
<<You’re so fond of splitting hairs.>>
<<Indulge an old man.>>
<<Definitely the uncertainty. The unknown used to fascinate me. I loved exploring new planets, seeing wonders.>>
<<Your pardon, Syrinx, but you have never done these things.>>
<<What?>> She turned from the railing to stare at him, finding only that annoying, passive expression. <<Oenone and I spent years doing exactly that.>>
<<You spent years playing tourist. You admired what others had discovered, what they had built, the way they lived. The actions of a tourist, Syrinx, not an explorer. Oenone has never flown to a star which has not been catalogued; your footprint has never been the first upon a planet. You have always played safe, Syrinx. And even that did not protect you.>>
<<Protect me from what?>>
<<Your fear of the unknown.>>
She sat on the wickerwork chair opposite him, deeply troubled. <<You believe that of me?>>
<<I do. I want you to feel no shame, Syrinx, all of us have weaknesses. Mine, I know, are more terrible than you would ever believe me capable of.>>
<<If you say so.>>
<<As always, you remain stubborn to the last. I have not yet decided if this is a weakness or a strength.>>
<<Depends on the circumstances, I guess.>> She flashed a mischievous smile.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. <<As you say. In these two circumstances, it must therefore count as a weakness.>>
<<You would rather I had surrendered myself and Oenone?>>
<<Of course not. And we are here to deal with the present, not dwell on what was.>>
<<So you see this alleged fear of mine to be a continuing problem?>>
<<It inhibits you, and this should not be. Your mind should not be caged, by your own bars or anyone else’s. I would like you and Oenone to face the universe with determination.>>
<<How? I mean, I thought I was just about cured. I’ve been through all my memories of the torture and the circumstances around it with the therapists; we broke up each and every black spectre with rigorous logic. Now you tell me I have this deep-seated flaw. If I’m not ready now, I doubt I ever will be.>>
<<Ready for what?>>
<<I don’t know exactly. Do my bit, I suppose. Help protect Edenism from the possessed, that’s what all the other voidhawks are doing right now. I know Oenone wants to be a part of that.>>
<<You would not make a good captain at this point, not if you were to take an active part in the conflict. The unknown would always cast its shadow of doubt over your actions.>>
<<I know all about the possessed, believe me.>>
<<Do you? Then what will you do when you join them?>>
<<Join them? Never!>>
<<You propose to avoid dying? I will be interested to hear the method you plan for this endeavour.>>
<<Oh.>> Her cheeks reddened.
<<Death is always the great unknown. And now we know more of it the mystery only deepens.>>
<<How? How can it deepen when we know more?>>
<<Laton called it the great journey. What did he mean? The Kiint said they have confronted the knowledge and come to terms with it. How? Their understanding of reality cannot be so much greater than ours. Edenists transfer their memories into the neural strata when their bodies die. Does their soul also transfer? Do these questions not bother you? That such philosophical abstracts should attain a supreme relevance to our existence is most disturbing to me.>>
<<Well, yes, they are disturbing if you lay them out in clinical detail like that.>>
<<And you have never considered them?>>
<<I have considered them, certainly. I just don’t obsess on them.>>
<<Syrinx, you are the one Edenist still with us who has come closest to knowing the truth of any of these. If it affects any of us, it affects you.>>
<<Affect, or hinder?>>
<<Answer yourself.>>
<<I wish you’d stop saying that to me.>>
<<You know I never will.>>
<<Yes. Very well, I’ve thought about the questions; as to the answers, I don’t have a clue. Which makes the questions irrelevant.>>
<<Very good, I would agree with that statement.>>
<<You would?>>
<<With one exception. They are irrelevant only for the moment. Right now, our society is doing what it always does in times of crisis, and resorting to physical force to defend itself. Again I have no quarrel with this. But if we are to make any real progress in this arena these questions must be examined with a degree of urgency so far lacking. For answer them we must. This is not a gulf of knowledge the human race can survive. We must deliver—dare I call it—divine truth.>>
<<You expect that out of a therapy session?>>
<<My dear Syrinx, of course not. What sloppy thinking. But I am disappointed the solution to our more immediate problem has eluded you.>>
<<Which problem?>> she asked in exasperation.
<<Your problem.>> He snapped his fingers at her with some vexation, as if she were a miscreant child. <<Now concentrate please. You wish to fly, but you retain a perfectly understandable reticence.>>
<<Yes.>>
<<Everyone wishes to know the answer to those questions I asked, yet they do not know where to look.>>
<<Yes.>>
<<One race has those answers.>>
<<The Kiint? I know, but they said they wouldn’t help.>>
<<Incorrect. I have accessed the sensevise recording of the Assembly’s emergency session. Ambassador Roulor said the Kiint would not help us in the struggle we faced. The context of the statement was somewhat ambiguous. Did the ambassador mean the physical struggle, or the quest for knowledge?>>
<<We all know that the Kiint would not help us to fight. QED the ambassador was referring to the afterlife.>>
<<A reasonable assumption. One hopes the future of the human race does not rest on a single misinterpreted sentence.>>
<<So why haven’t you asked the Kiint ambassador to Jupiter to clarify it?>>
<<I doubt that even a Kiint ambassador has the authority to disclose the kind of information we now search for, no matter what the circumstances.>>
Syrinx groaned in understanding. <<You want me to go to the Kiint homeworld and ask.>>
<<How kind of you to offer. You will embark on a flight with few risks involved, and you will also be confronting the unknown. Sadly your latter task will be conducted on a purely intellectual level, but it is an honourable start.>>
<<And good therapy.>>
<<A most fortuitous combination, is it not? If I were not a Buddhist I would be talking about the killing of two birds.>>
<<Assuming the Jovian Consensus approves of the flight.>>
An amused light twinkled in the deeply recessed eyes. <<Being the founder of Edenism has its privileges. Not even the Consensus would refuse one of my humble requests.>>
Syrinx closed her eyes, then looked up at the vaguely puzzled face of the chief therapist. She realized her lips were parted in a wide smile.
<<Is everything all right?>> he asked politely.
<<Absolutely.>> Taking a cautious breath, she eased her legs off the side of the bed. The hospital room was as comfortable and pleasant as only their culture could make it. But it would be nice to have a complete change.
<<Oenone.>>
<<Yes?>>
<<I hope you’ve enjoyed your rest, my love. We have a long flight ahead of us.>>
<<At last!>>
***
It had not been an easy week for Ikela. The Dorados were starting to suffer from the civil and commercial starflight quarantine. All exports had halted, and the asteroids had only a minuscule internal economy, which could hardly support the hundreds of industrial stations that refined the plentiful ore. Pretty soon he was going to have to start laying off staff in all seventeen of the T’Opingtu company’s foundry stations.
It was the first setback the Dorados had ever suffered in all of their thirty-year history. They had been tough years, but rewarding for those who had believed in their own future and worked hard to attain it. People like Ikela. He had come here after the death of Garissa, like so many others tragically disinherited from that world. There had been more than enough money to start his business in those days, and it had grown in tandem with the system’s flourishing economy. In three decades he had changed from bitter refugee to a leading industrialist, with a position of responsibility in the Dorados’ governing council.
Now this. It wasn’t financial ruin, not by any means, but the social cost was starting to mount up at an alarming rate. The Dorados were used only to expansion and growth. Unemployment was not an issue in any of the seven settled asteroids. People who found themselves suddenly without a job and regular earnings were unlikely to react favourably to the council washing their hands of the problem.
Yesterday, I
kela had sat in on a session to discuss the idea of making companies pay non-salaried employees a retainer fee to tide them through the troubles; which had seemed the easy solution until the chief magistrate started explaining how difficult that would be to implement legally. As always the council had dithered. Nothing had been decided.
Today Ikela had to start making his own decisions along those same lines.
He knew he ought to set an example and pay some kind of reduced wage to his workforce. It wasn’t the kind of decision he was used to making.
He strode into the executive floor’s anteroom with little enthusiasm for the coming day. His personal secretary, Lomie, was standing up behind her desk, a harassed expression on her face. Ikela was mildly surprised to see a small red handkerchief tied around her ankle. He would never have thought a levelheaded girl like Lomie would pay any attention to that Deadnight nonsense which seemed to be sweeping through the Dorados’ younger generation.
“I couldn’t stonewall her,” Lomie datavised. “I’m sorry, sir, she was so forceful, and she did say she was an old friend.”
Ikela followed her gaze across the room. A smallish woman was rising from one of the settees, putting her cup of coffee down on the side table. She clung to a small backpack which was hanging at her side from a shoulder strap. Few Dorados residents had skin as dark as hers, though it was extensively wrinkled now. Ikela guessed she was in her sixties. Her features were almost familiar, something about them agitating his subconscious. He ran a visual comparison program through his neural nanonics personnel record files.
“Hello, Captain,” she said. “It’s been a while.”
Whether the program placed her first, or the use of his old title triggered the memory, he never knew. “Mzu,” he choked. “Dr Mzu. Oh, Mother Mary, what are you doing here?”
“You know exactly what I’m doing here, Captain.”
“Captain?” Lomie inquired. She looked from one to the other. “I never knew …”
Keeping his eyes fixed on Mzu as if he expected her to leap for his throat, Ikela waved Lomie to be silent. “I’m taking no appointments, no files, no calls, nothing. We’re not to be interrupted.” He datavised a code at his office door. “Come through, Doctor, please.”
The office had a single window, a long band of glass which looked down on Ayacucho’s biosphere cavern. Alkad gave the farms and parks an appreciative glance. “Not a bad view, considering you’ve only had thirty years to build it. The Garissans seem to have done well for themselves here. I’m glad to see it.”