Tragic providence, p.30
Tragic Providence, page 30
part #1 of King Yellow Series
At the appointed hour, Samhain opened his eyes, the Fold Points activated. Air pressure changed significantly at every Point as the atmospheres equalized across them. Samhain stood and, without a word, started to walk through the gate to their new home.
“Attention,” the voice over the public address system said, “Fold Points are now active. Migration is about to commence. Please proceed when able with caution. Repeat. Fold Points are now active. . .”
• • •
Pylas held Leilia’s hand tight and glanced at Wil as they passed through the Fold Point right behind Samhain. It was like any other walk he’d ever taken. It was still night here, but lit by a single moon that somehow illuminated the underside of the uniform cloud layer, and where the Viscain Tree should have been was a vast open plain, studded with shrubs and low trees. It was surreal. Pylas had seen wilderness before, but not quite like this, not so untouched by man and lit by clouds that translated the light of the moon.
Samhain directed them back around the edge of the Fold Point, behind it where it did not exist.
With his senses enhanced by the Yellow Diamond, Pylas could still see the fluctuations that marked the Fold Points. They were arranged around them in a vast circle and the bows of the resonant lift barges could be seen emerging from each, away from the center.
“Wait here at the perimeter,” he told them. “I’ll rejoin you shortly.”
Samhain walked alone to circle’s center. There he stopped and placed the heart of the Viscain Tree upon the ground.
From their place, the three watched Samhain drive the palm of his hand against the top of the heart, which pierced the ground without breaking the skin of soil upon which it sat. Samhain began his walk back, and with each step, the ground shook more violently underfoot. The noise of traffic from the Fold Points had become a dull rumble coming from everywhere, but it was slowly being drowned out by what was happening just below the surface of the planet.
Pylas focused his Divine Pattern sense upon the middle of the circle, saw that the heart of the Viscain Tree had not descended more than a meter, but had already spread an impressive network of roots and sprouted a shoot that had risen two meters above ground. Explosive growth occurred with each beat. The roots had already spanned the circle and continued to reach out and down. The shoot thickened and rose in proportion to the root growth as he watched, but to focus too closely was to court madness. It was too raw, too much like animate chaos. He had to force himself to reel in his senses, but even then, the miracle played out before him, plain and obvious. Soon, another Viscain Tree stood here on this new world.
The four watched over the seemingly endless outpour of the Fold Point convoys. Hours passed and the Tree continued to grow, thicker and thicker, rising higher and higher, until the trunk pierced the cloud layer and the canopy could no longer be seen above it. The growth slowed and finally stopped, leaving the Tree about a thousand meters in diameter.
Without warning, Samhain swayed and collapsed. The Fold Points closed with his eyes. The wails of men, women, and sirens filled the air.
• • •
Samhain awoke three days later. He was disoriented, but no longer emaciated or pale. His skin was smooth and firm, his color deep and rich. He emerged from the temporary shelter, one of many sturdy, all-weather tents surrounding the Tree, to stand in the rain. He breathed deeply of the air and drank the water through his very pores. When Leilia approached him, tentatively inquiring about what had happened, he seemed at first not to understand her.
Finally, he shrugged, the smile on his lips from taking simple sustenance fading. “One of the power plants went offline. I attempted to redistribute the flow, to accommodate the loss, but when a second one failed, the strain was too much. I was too focused on maintaining all of the Fold Points. The result was that I could not maintain any of them. I estimate a twenty-three percent loss.”
Leilia bowed her head. “From what we’ve been able to ascertain, that would appear to be accurate.”
The silence that followed concerned her. “How are you feeling?”
“Feeling? I feel wonderful. The loss is tragic, of course, but as all our food stores and supplies came through first, we will be starting out with a more favorable ratio. My hunger is being seen to, for the first time in. . .” He cocked his head, furrowed his brow as he turned a thought over and kept it to himself. “This system’s sun isn’t poison to me. We will have a celebration to commemorate our arrival, our survival, and the unfortunate loss of the those left behind.”
“What will happen to them?”
He didn’t answer right away. “The power plants began to fail because they’d exhausted their fuel. Those output levels couldn’t have been sustained for much longer.”
She frowned and looked hurt. “So they have no food, no water, no power, and none of the tools that might help them survive.”
“That is correct,” he said. “Once we’ve rebuilt here, in a year or two, it may be possible to reopen one of the Fold Points, but the odds favor us finding little more than sun-bleached, sand-scoured bones.”
“And this does not concern you?” she said, her voice nearly cracking.
“Let us focus on the triumph, not the tragedy.”
She stared at him, unsure of how to react, which was a first for her. Having stepped from one planet to another, light years apart, she realized that she’d become uncharacteristically emotional in the few days since their crossing. Perhaps he was still disoriented or numb from stress and the subsequent shock brought on by the circumstances of the migration.
“Yes, father,” she said quietly.
Samhain held his hands behind his back and stared out over the encampment, at the people milling about under the gray drizzle, at Pylas and Wil among them, at the miracle of the massive Tree.
“I am configuring the interior of the Tree to accommodate habitation,” he said. “The Offices and all Institute personnel will be housed inside. Institute facilities will be reproduced as closely as possible. All rebuilding efforts will be directed from within. In the coming days and weeks, I will raise more living accommodations from the roots, so that our raw materials can be used to advance our progress instead of just get us back to a viable starting point.”
“Yes, father.”
“You may distribute the responsibilities of planning the celebration as you see fit, but there are requirements. First, it should begin today, at sunset, and continue until I say it’s finished. Second, I wish to sample the very best of what we brought with us: food, wine, companionship.”
“Father?”
“Is it so alien that I should want something in return for all the boons I’ve bestowed?”
She hesitated, still trying to process his words, which were indeed, coming from him, alien to her. “No,” she said. “I’ll see to it that you have everything you’ve requested.”
He snapped his head around at her word choice and favored her with a look she’d never seen before. His eyes were narrowed and he was smiling a smile that conveyed amusement and. . . tolerance. Finally, he nodded, broke eye contact, and walked towards the Tree, into which he disappeared.
Never before now had she experienced a frisson brought on by fear. Not unexpectedly, she found she much preferred the other varieties.
• • •
The feasting went on for seven nights and seven days. Bonfires burned constantly. Samhain had set up an area before the Tree where he accepted the offerings of food, wine, and companionship. For the latter, despite the indelicacy of the request, there was no lack of volunteers, and Samhain was not shy about his preferences, taking several at a time into the Tree to finish in private what he’d started very publicly. Wil and Pylas shared a number of concerned looks at these curious turns, but like everyone else, neither was prepared to call anything Samhain did into question, not once they’d made it safely here—well, most of them, anyway. Pylas saw that Leilia was disturbed by her father’s behavior, but the one time he attempted to raise the question to her, she smiled wanly and suggested that Samhain was still recovering from the inordinate stress of the crossing, which was not unreasonable or unrealistic.
• • •
Following the celebration, rebuilding began in earnest. As Samhain had promised, the Tree had become a secure warren, comprising 8,885 chambers of various utility and spanning a hundred levels. Roots of size swelled from the ground, like veins radiating out from the base of the Tree and rising thirty to forty meters, to create a number of intricate, hive-like complexes, ready to house thousands. Within months there was a working, efficient infrastructure; small-scale manufacturing was being done within the Tree; mining operations at six different locations had been established; several fields of crops had been planted and had reacted favorably to the native soil. There was some concern about the ever-present cloud cover and how it might stunt growth, but despite the constant gray and the almost constant precipitation, the sunlight transmitted its nourishing light through the clouds during the day, just as the moon did at night. Many joked about relocating to somewhere less inclement, but even with the rain, the temperature remained moderate and comfortable. A small number of intrepid individuals were more serious than others, though, and got permission to strike out on their own to attempt to establish colonies further out on the frontier, without any direct support from the centralized effort. Samhain gave his blessing and lauded their adventurous, pioneer spirit.
3.5 ELEVEN YEARS AFTER
The first year on the new planet passed quickly. Surrounding the Tree now was the vast Viscain City, representing both the remains of a dead planet and the realized hopes of this new one. The population had risen to match pre-migration levels and continued to grow. Conventional agriculture had flourished initially, but because of the unbroken and spreading urban sprawl, and because of superior results, underground aeroponics once more became the norm. Much of the former Central Police force had been repurposed to aid in public works programs, but a small arm remained. Crime was not prevalent, but nor was it altogether absent.
Samhain took a stream of lovers, with each becoming a part of his growing harem. Once taken in, the women were sequestered within his private quarters and reportedly pampered for the rest of their lives. It became less shocking and more mundane, more a matter of course, as time passed.
All was well. Food was plentiful. The sciences continued to thrive. Seven frontier settlements had been established and mirrored, on a smaller scale, the success of Viscain City.
3.6 TWELVE YEARS AFTER
Murder was not unknown in Viscain City, but it usually lacked imagination. In general, the Central Police had little trouble sorting out means and motive, unless that element of imagination played a part. When pairs of bodies began to appear across the south and east quadrants, the CP were faced with something new. The pairs—identified as such only after investigation and testing—were always the same: a man, mostly liquified through unknown means, and a woman, made up to look like Leilia Purpurata, raped, and subjected to severe internal organ trauma and spinal fracture.
Bruising on the female bodies indicated death by embrace, likely during the sex act, and achievable only by an F-Gene-positive. Simulated stress tests put the strength level at approximately fifteen gravities, assuming a male of average height, build, and musculature.
The liquefied remains of the male corpses contained traces of an unknown organic material that was thought to be part of an inert corrosive compound in need of an activator.
The pairs invariably turned out to be couples, with the length of the relationships varying from case to case.The fixation on Leilia was obvious, but the women themselves, aside from the elaborate makeup, bore little resemblance to her. Five pairs of bodies had been found, and none of them accompanied by a significant amount of physical evidence. The makeup, given the amount used, was the first lead pursued, but all attempts to identify a manufacturer—of which there were very few—turned up negative. Indeed, chemical analysis of the pigments revealed material similar to that found in the male victims, which led the CP to believe that the makeup was custom produced by the perpetrator.
With the discovery of the most recent pair, found openly displayed in a public square, the case took a decidedly strange turn. The CP had cordoned off the area, at the foot of a statue commemorating Samhain’s shepherding everyone to the new planet, but one man, observing from behind the line, became quite obviously obsessed with the female victim. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with unkempt blond hair and intense green eyes. He had the appearance of a laborer, was disheveled, and in need of a bath. He stared fixedly at the dead woman for some time, murmuring something unintelligible, until finally, he pushed his way through the others and entered the crime scene. With no real progress to show so far, the CP had already called in the Offices of Permanence and Subtlety for aid, which was fortuitous.
Of the three CP officers on scene, two were F-Gene-positives, one was half Yotunese, skilled in psychometry. The psychometrist focused on the remains, leaving his two fellows to deal with the distraction.
The man ignored their warnings, and despite their efforts and apparent prowess, he very casually nullified their attempts at subduing him and proceeded to push or strike them both, sending them hurtling, almost comically, through the air as their bodies came apart from the initial contact his hands had made with them. The remains of both were spread messily across the square in opposite directions. The psychometrist, turned and stood, his face a mask of terror.
“S-Stop,” he said.
But the other wasn’t interested in what he had to say. With a careless shove, the psychometrist was sent into the statue’s base where he crumpled and burst across several seams. The resulting blood, exposed bones, and spilling organs didn’t interest the man, either. He knelt down beside the dead woman, muttering to himself as he had in the crowd, slipped his hands beneath her, held her up close to his face, and directed his muttering to her. After a moment, he closed his eyes, leaned in closer, and kissed her on her unfeeling lips.
Pylas passed out of the backspace then and Wil’s particles assembled shortly thereafter. The surrounding crowd had been stunned into silence, but the fresh blood and gore staining the square spoke loud and clear. Pylas and Wil acknowledged the dead CP officers and knew immediately that they were dealing with an F-Gene-positive.
“Scan her and get what you can,” Pylas said. “Hopefully, we can retrieve her intact.”
Wil snorted in spite of himself. Pylas walked forward towards the big man, whose attention was occupied by the dead woman.
When Wil started his Divine Pattern scan, the man felt the power of the probe and turned around savagely. Pylas was nearly upon him by then, and the other realized that he couldn’t count on the relative privacy that he’d enjoyed so far. He took the dead woman up easily in one arm and batted at Pylas with his other.
Despite the increase in F-Gene-positives and the enhanced training to which most of them had access, no one had, as yet, come close to Pylas’s or Wil’s level. The alignment of aptitude, potential, and training regimen had never been so perfectly realized as with those two. So it was with great mental shock, that Pylas, taking the man’s blow, felt himself jarred through his Diamond Coat and knocked from his feet.
Pylas had become a projectile, endangering the lives of the spectators present, so he entered the backspace before crashing into them. Reorienting himself, he came out of the backspace almost exactly where he’d been when he was struck, skidding the last few centimeters to a halt. The man was gone, though. Pylas saw that Wil was staring after something and turned to see the man fleeing at an incredible pace.
“Did he just. . .?” Wil said, still stunned.
“He did.”
“Pylas, we’ve never seen any of these crime scenes so soon after. There’s definitely information to take away.”
Pylas nodded. “You stay here, keep at it. I’ll chase after our new friend.”
“There’s something odd about his Pattern,” Wil said. “Unfamiliar. You’ll know what I mean when you get a look for yourself. It may be nothing, but be careful.”
“Will do.”
Pylas disappeared into the backspace.
The man had gotten very far in a very short time. Bystanders and terrain made it hard to follow the man’s movements, but from a high vantage point, Pylas should be able to track him and close the gap before losing him.
There. In a narrow alley between concrete apartment rows.
Pylas shot through the backspace and emerged ahead of the man, meeting him with a Pin to the chest. The man started at Pylas’s sudden presence, but his face instantly contorted with rage. Pylas felt the power of his strike robbed from him on impact. His bent knuckle penetrated the flesh of the man’s chest, but did little more than that. The man drew back his free arm to strike, but Pylas entered the backspace and reemerged behind him, attempting with an upward sweep to saw off the free arm with the Vorpal Pin. Sensing Pylas’s presence behind him, the other glanced over his shoulder, his rage now mixed with contempt. The Vorpal Pin had cut two centimeters into flesh and then stopped, robbed of all its momentum.
Pylas stopped and scanned the other, who winced under the white-light grid of his Divine Pattern sense.
Momentum. All of his strike’s momentum had been countered. Twice. The man had struck him with F-Gene-enhanced strength, and with additional momentum that he had supplied. His running speed, too, had been augmented with added momentum. Such a facility could only be psychic in nature. That was the only explanation. But a physical psychic?
