Slvasta cleared the last of the trees. The riverbank was twenty metres ahead of him now, with the two long wooden-hulled barges sitting calmly on the water. Smoke was drifting out of their tall iron stacks.
He approached the group cautiously. ‘Lieutenant Slvasta, Cham county regiment. And we’re assigned to sweep this area.’
‘Didn’t know that. We’ve swept as well as we could, of course.’ The man gave him a smile that was on the verge of mockery. He was tall, probably in his late twenties, with a shock of shaggy blond hair and the greenest eyes Slvasta had ever seen. His raincoat was long and brown, almost like waxed suede, but a lot thinner and lighter; raindrops rolled off it easily. The metal buttons were small and odd, somehow. Slvasta hadn’t seen a coat quite like it before. The man’s accent was foreign, too; he drawled each word.
‘Who are you?’
‘Sorry, should have said. I’m Nigel. This is my wife, Kysandra. And these are my grunts.’
Slvasta pushed back his hat’s soggy, sagging brim to get a better look. ‘Your what?’
‘Grunts: soldiers. Under my command.’
‘I need to know if you’re human.’
‘Fair enough, I’ll drop my shell. Pervade away.’
‘No. That’s not good enough. Fallers have the same organs as we do.’
‘Then how do you suggest we proceed?
Slvasta slipped the carbine’s safety on and let the strap hold it loosely at his side. He drew his knife from its scabbard.
‘Ah,’ Nigel said. ‘If you insist.’
‘Cover me,’ Slvasta told his troopers. By now, the entire mooring area was surrounded by the squads, with troopers taking position behind trunks, their carbines aimed at the rangers from Erond. He walked up to Nigel, feeling a slight ex-sight flow questingly over his stump. ‘Your thumb, please,’ he said.
Nigel held his hand up, thumb extended. Slvasta nicked the skin with the tip of his blade. Sure enough drops of red blood came out of the small puncture. He nodded in satisfaction. ‘Faller blood is dark blue,’ he explained.
‘So I’ve been told,’ Nigel said. ‘Nice confirmation. Fool-proof, even.’
Again Slvasta had the impression he was being mocked. But the man’s thoughts were calm and composed. The only emotional content Slvasta could pick up on was of a serene confidence – which was probably where his own notion of mockery originated from. He did his best to ignore it and beckoned Kysandra forward.
The ‘wife’ held her hand out. Slvasta thought she was around sixteen or seventeen, a sweet-looking girl with plenty of freckles and a mane of thick dark ginger hair, tied into a single tail. He felt sorry for the poor thing, but refrained from comment. Arranged marriages were relatively common out in the countryside, and Nigel’s odd clothes were clearly expensive. Her attitude was a copy of Nigel’s, but with less emotional control. The contempt she felt for him and his troopers was a whole lot easier to ascertain. She was human, too.
‘Gentlemen,’ Nigel gestured the rangers forward. They walked over to Slvasta one by one to be checked.
Slvasta didn’t know what recruitment was like in Erond county, but the rangers looked more like a town’s gang of thugs than troopers. And they made no attempt to hide their scorn of him, a couple of them openly sneering at his stump.
‘All clear,’ Slvasta announced after the last one dripped red blood into the rain. He couldn’t keep his puzzlement from showing. ‘What in Uracus are you doing out here? This is nowhere. We only just arrived.’
‘Chance, really,’ Nigel said. ‘I’m a trader. My boats were in Dural with a cargo of folax. I was looking to exchange it for hethal seed. We saw the beacons light up and volunteered to help sweep. Everybody does what they can, right? The regiment captain in the town sent us upriver.’
A large bird came swooping through the rain to land on one of the boughs above them. The whole bough swayed under its weight. Slvasta had never seen anything like it before. It had broad wings, well over two metres across, and the face was definitely mod. Yet the size and grace was way beyond anything any adaptor he knew had ever produced. ‘Is that a mod-bird?’ he asked.
‘A ge-eagle,’ Nigel said. ‘Yes.’
‘A what?’
‘A type of mod-bird, a very good one,’ Nigel glanced up affectionately at the bird, who stared unblinkingly at Sergeant Yannrith and the troopers round him. Its claws were metal tipped, Slvasta saw.
‘Where did you get it?’
Nigel’s smile was sardonic. ‘A man from Ashwell village used to craft them. But that was long ago and far away from here.’
‘I see.’ Slvasta was aware he was losing face in front of everybody. ‘We’ll need to search your boats.’
‘Of course,’ Nigel said.
Sergeant Yannrith took a squad on one boat, wading out through the shallows. Corporal Kyliki took the other.
‘You trampled down a pretty big track across the countryside,’ Slvasta said. ‘That’s how we found you. What were you carrying?’
‘Just us,’ Nigel said.
‘It looked like you were dragging something. Something large.’
‘A couple of the horses were hitched up to stone boats, yes. We piled them up with our camp equipment. Something wrong with that?’
‘What’s a stone boat?’
‘A flat sledge. They move quite quickly, allow us to sweep more ground. After all, you can’t use a cart out here, lieutenant. No wheels will work in this kind of country.’
The way it was said – emphasizing the completely obvious, as if Nigel was explaining to a class of five-year-olds – made Slvasta feel stupid. Which was probably the intention.
‘Check for sledges,’ he told Yannrith and Kyliki.
‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Nigel said. ‘The arm?’
‘I fell into a Faller nest,’ Slvasta replied impassively. ‘I was being eggsumed when the Marines arrived.’
Nigel gave his nicked thumb a quick glance. ‘I haven’t met anyone who escaped that before. You were lucky.’
‘Yes.’ Slvasta tried to block out the memory of Ingmar, the awful pleading.
‘And so now you understand the threat as few ever do, you’re one hundred per cent committed to the regiment, to defending Bienvenido. That must worry your senior officers.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Nigel looked at him as if judging from on high. It was all Slvasta could do to return the stare.
‘You’re better at the task than they are. They know that and so do your troopers here. Your level of dedication will also unnerve them. Belief always does that to old men grown comfortable in their position and privilege. Comfort is the enemy of change. Comfort is easy. It’s a good meal and nights in a warm bed. Anything that challenges that is seen as dangerous.’
‘Brigadier Venize is an excellent commander.’
Nigel smiled knowingly. ‘I’m sure he is. But consider this: is he as good as you would be if you had command of the regiment?’
‘I . . . That’s a ludicrous question. I’ve only just made lieutenant.’
‘And yet I’ve known ambition like yours, lieutenant. You, of all people, must realize that the Falls will never end. That the regiments and even the Marines, Giu bless them, are nothing other than damage limitation. If the Fallers are to be defeated, first this sheep-like attitude of acceptance must be broken. After that, after the status quo – so welcome to old powerful families – has been swept away, new attitudes can prevail. Then, and only then, can we dare to dream once more, as someone said long ago. And if that ever happens, life on Bienvenido can change.’
Slvasta was aware of just how uneasy the troopers were with this talk. For himself, it was unexpected, yet Nigel spoke the right of it. These were the very thoughts he never dared to voice. He would have very much liked to sit down and have a long, long conversation with this enigmatic man. Yet . . . something about the whole encounter was wrong. Nigel seemed about as far from a gang boss as you could get – cultured, suave, s
elf-assured beyond even a National Councillor – yet the men with him were a type Slvasta knew so well. And he still didn’t get Kysandra. The girl was clearly no simple submissive trinket Nigel owned. In fact, she didn’t seem fazed by any of this, just stood there, tired and trail-dirty, but with a superior knowing smile on her face. The way Quanda looked at me. Could some Fallers have red blood? Uracus, I’m paranoid.
‘They have sledges, sir,’ Yannrith’s ’path voice announced.
Slvasta couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Nigel was giving him an expectant glance – waiting patiently for him to do the right thing.
‘Stand down,’ Slvasta told his troopers.
‘Thank you,’ Nigel said as the carbines were returned to their slings and holsters. ‘Now, if you have a map, I’ll be happy to show you the area we’ve swept. Duplication is waste. And every day an egg lies free is a day it can lure someone to Fall.’
‘Of course.’ Slvasta went further under the huge wanno tree, where it was practically dry. He took out his map and unrolled it. ‘Did you get a good price for your folax?’
‘Haven’t sold it yet,’ Nigel said. ‘I’ll try again, downstream.’
‘You must be a good trader. Those boats don’t look cheap.’
‘I have a rich family.’
‘But you struck out for yourself?’
‘Yes. Estates can provide you with a very comfortable life, but it’s a life that doesn’t change. There’s never anything new. You never go anywhere or see anything fresh; you’re never challenged. That means you can never achieve anything.’
‘You’re very keen on change, aren’t you?’
Nigel raised an eyebrow. And for once his smile wasn’t mocking. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not. I haven’t seen any regiment squads as motivated as yours. That’s a substantial achievement, especially on this world. I know what it’s like to push against the dead hand of inertia and tradition. If I have any advice for you, it would be: don’t let the bastards grind you down. Keep pushing, lieutenant. That and the obvious, of course.’
‘What obvious?’ Slvasta asked, feeling helpless to stop the conversation.
‘Old law: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. If you keep going the way you are – and I hope to Giu you do – then the effect you will have on those around you will grow larger. Ripples, my friend. People will look at you, what you’re doing, rewriting the regiment rule book, and they’ll want to do the same for themselves. That’s when you’ll start to run into resistance. That’s where the politics begins. And that’s the dirtiest fight there is.’
‘Right.’ Slvasta nodded seriously. It was as if his brain was fizzing from the impact of these words. He’d been waiting his whole life to hear them.
‘Don’t be afraid of your future,’ Nigel said earnestly. ‘You have principles. Stick with them, but don’t think that you can fight fair to achieve them. Make the deals, build alliances with anyone who’ll support you, walk away from people when it’s convenient or they’ve outlived their use. Because, trust me, your opponents will use those same skills to bury you. That’s the game. The only game. Play it well, and you can achieve miracles.’
‘That sounds . . .’
‘Cynical? Damn right. It’s a big bad world out there. Kill or be killed, son, that’s nature. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’
Slvasta saw Yannrith and Kyliki wading ashore. ‘Thank you.’
‘Pleasure.’ Nigel shook his hand. ‘Good luck. Axe one of those bastard eggs apart for me, huh?’
‘I will,’ Slvasta was smiling, and he couldn’t say why. This was still all very weird.
He stayed on the riverbank, watching Nigel and Kysandra wade out to the boats, holding hands. The last three horses were taken on board and settled in the mid-hold. Then the hawsers were untied. The boats puffed out steam from their aft vents as the pistons began to pump away with a loud clattering.
Slvasta waved solemnly as the boats chugged out to midstream. Nigel waved back before he and Kysandra went below deck.
Sergeant Yannrith came up beside him. ‘Orders, sir?’
It was like the breaking of a spell. Slvasta glanced up at the sky. The clouds were thinning out. Sunlight haloed the treetops, producing a perfect double rainbow. He checked his pocketwatch with a scan of ex-sight. ‘Dark in three hours. We need to connect with our horses and make camp. We’ll resume the sweep first light tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant looked at the map Slvasta was holding. ‘Will we be sweeping the area the rangers cleared, sir?’
‘Every damn centimetre of it, sergeant.’
‘What were they really doing here? You can’t get any closer to nowhere.’
‘I have no idea.’
As the troopers picked their way back along the track Nigel had made, Slvasta sent his mod-bird flying as high as he could. His ex-sight was strong, allowing him to sense a good distance. The bird could see the two boats sailing down the river, three hundred metres away now. He hadn’t realized they were that fast. Two large specks floated effortlessly in the air above them.
Two – what did Nigel call them? Ge-eagles? Slvasta started to wonder just how long Nigel had known the squads were chasing him.
How would you prepare if you had that kind of warning?
‘Andricea.’
‘Yes, lieutenant?’
‘Send your mod-bird as far downstream as you can. Tell me what you see.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Her mod-bird soared away, gaining altitude as it headed west. She had the longest ex-sight reach in the squads, as well as a prodigious ’path voice. Slvasta sought out the mod-bird’s eyesight, seeing the meandering river slicing through thick bands of jungle and broad swathes of scrub. Far ahead of the two boats, a smudge of smoke was wafting up from a jungle which hid the river.
Slvasta groaned in dismay. There had been three boats. By waiting for them at the river, letting them check out him and his rangers, Nigel had pulled off a perfect delaying tactic.
‘What in Uracus is on that boat?’
*
Slvasta had them break camp at first light. He was grumpy and unsympathetic to the troopers’ grumbling. It had been a despondent night. Sleep had been elusive as he’d wrestled with the problem for hours.
Nigel was engaged in some kind of dubious activity. That was in no doubt. Slvasta’s only active option was to send one squad back to the nearest sheriff’s office in Marlaie, a day away, and alert them that there may be something illegal on a boat – only he didn’t know what the boat looked like or where it was by now. The sheriff was probably out on a sweep, and if he was there he would probably laugh it off – after all, what could he do? Even if by some miracle a law officer caught up with Nigel, that dazzling charm would be played to the full, and there would be nothing incriminating on his boat, that was for sure.
It was like facing down Quanda all over again, just without the life-and-death stakes. There was simply no way he could win this one. All he cared about – as Nigel had so smartly determined – was running a successful sweep. By comparison, Nigel’s activities were petty and irrelevant. But it galled him that he’d been suckered like that. He was furious with himself for being so gullible. And maybe, that nasty unquiet thought at the back of his head kept insisting, it was because Nigel was so obviously from the landowner class – smart, intelligent and confident. The background Slvasta lacked and had been taught to respect.
Yet Nigel told me to kick against that. Very convincingly.
He made an effort to rein in his frustration as he called Yannrith and the corporals over. A breakfast of hot tea and honey bread was served. They spent ten minutes discussing how the squads would be dispersed across their area. He was keen to make up for the lost hours yesterday.
Tents were packed up. Equipment stowed on the horses. Packs loaded.
Nebulas were still visible in the dawn sky as they set off. Giu was at the zenith, the scarlet crown of the heavens,
with translucent prominences radiating out in all directions, captured stars within their gauzy veils twinkling brightly. The gold and turquoise flower that was Tizu was sinking below the horizon as the sun rose, while Eribu’s misty spiral contained many ruby-tinged stars. And the Forest was visible if you squinted against the sun’s glare, like a scintillating equatorial tumour in the corona. Thankfully, Uracus was on the other side of the planet. Having that scarlet and sulphur gash casting its benighted glow down on him would have been too much like a bad omen this morning.
Once they were underway, Tovakar came over. He looked somewhat on edge, with a hard shell round his thoughts. Slvasta waited patiently, knowing the man would speak his mind eventually. Trusting officers didn’t come easy to Tovakar.
‘I have a cousin, sir,’ Tovakar said. ‘A third cousin, mind, we’re not close.’
‘Of course not. And what does this cousin do?’
‘Nothing much. He’s a bit of a layabout, in truth. Got a cabin out in the Noldar wetlands.’
‘That’s good soil, so they say.’
‘Yes, sir, when it’s drained properly. Thing is, some farmers out that way grow narnik.’
‘I see.’ Slvasta had tried smoking the herb when he was younger, just like every teenager did, probably right back since the Landing. Ingmar had sneaked a wad from his older brother’s stash, and the two of them had bunked off school one afternoon. It hadn’t been what he’d expected. The loss of control had scared him, and he’d been sick most of the next day. He found out later they’d smoked far too much at once.
His second taste came from the Marine doctor back in Prerov, who had dosed him up with the plant’s refined extract to deal with the pain from his amputated arm. This time he’d welcomed the weird dreams and visions that replaced rational thought. So afterwards he could appreciate the pull it exerted, taking the edge off an impoverished existence. It would have been easy for him to slip into a life bolstered by that sweet narcotic smoke. But those last haunting minutes with Ingmar were stronger than any cravings to annul self-pity. He had been spared, one of very few who had ever escaped being eggsumed. And in return for that gift, he was determined to be guided to the Giu nebula a fulfilled man. Throughout all the weeks of misery and pain, lying there in hospital, he had sworn that to himself.