Judge (23 page)

Aras felt a sense of complete desolation. He had no ghosts here, no real memories, but the seemingly endless ranks of uniform white slabs left his stomach feeling scraped hollow.

“Give me a minute, will you?” said Ade. “I need a bit of time on my own.”

He meant Shan too. He set off at a slow pace, pausing at each stone to read the inscription, and finally stopped at one in particular before squatting down on his heels, elbows braced on knees, hands clasped.

Shan seemed to be focused entirely on him, frowning slightly. Esganikan, distracted by the sound of two rotary-winged aircraft overhead, looked up into the sky.

Aras forgot Ade. All he could see in his field of vision were ranks of white stone that appeared to be moving slowly away from him, and the moment when he and his comrades, a tiny wess'har army faced by millions of isenj, had decided in desperation that whatever resistance he'd developed on Bezer'ej while in isenj captivity was worth trying for its healing properties.

We didn't know then what it really did.

But later…later I knew all too well. And I still infected Shan against her will because I couldn't bear to see her die.

Aras knew how easy it was to fall to
c'naatat
's temptation. He also knew the consequences better than Esganikan ever could. Looking at the stones, he tried hard to remember his brothers—not comrades, not
brothers in arms
as Ade sometimes called them, but his first house-brothers. He'd been the youngest, the smallest, and hadn't had time or chance to father a child when the bezeri begged for help to remove the isenj colonies from Bezer'ej. He was a brilliant soldier and pilot. His
isan
was proud of his precocious talent.

A hard war to win. But I lost. I lost everything.

Self-pity was an ugly thing, and he rarely fell prey to it. The seemingly endless ranks of graves had triggered the thoughts.

Shan turned. She was seldom an emotional woman, but her eyes were glazed with unshed tears.

“Sad, isn't it?” she said. “War graves always do this to me. When you see them all together…you can see just how many lives and families were ripped apart. I hope the bastards who sent them had a fucking good reason they didn't share with the rest of us. Either that, or I hope there's a hell for them to rot in.”

Ade had never passed an opinion on that. He was still squatting by the grave that mattered most to him. Shan walked over to kneel down beside him and rub his back reassuringly with one hand, then reached out and placed a pebble on the ledge at the foot of the headstone. Humans seemed to do that as some kind of personal act of memorial. Eventually they both stood up and walked slowly along the rows, Ade pointing at some of the stones and stopping, shaking his head sadly.

It took some time. Kiir stood behind Esganikan like a statue, hands clasped and resting on his rifle rather like a human honor guard—and Aras wondered if, for all his very vocal and violent dislike of
c'naatat,
he felt for Ade as a fellow soldier.

Ade and Shan walked back towards them, stopping to touch Dave Pharoah's headstone again. Ade, who found it much easier to express his emotions than Shan, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and let her put her arms around him.

No hurry, Ade. We all need time to say goodbye, and it'll be a long time before you see this again, if ever.

Eventually Ade seemed to have had enough. He walked briskly to the shuttle and almost ran up the ramp. Aras followed and settled down next to him, Shan on his other side.

“I always find goodbyes hard,” he said. “I didn't get chance the first time.”

Shan squeezed his shoulders. “I think he'd appreciate the gesture. A hundred and fifty trillion miles is a hell of a long way to come to say goodbye.”

“Bit of a downer for you, Boss.”

“No, I'm honored that you let me come along.” Shan pressed her temple against his. “It's right. It's very right.”

It was a moment of complete and exclusive intimacy, just a second or two where the rest of the world—including Aras—vanished for them. He never minded, but he wondered why he didn't experience the memories of Dave Pharoah's death as vividly Shan did. It was an oddly lonely feeling that passed as soon as it began.

The shuttle lifted, and Aras moved forward to the cockpit to sit next to Aitassi and learn more about the Eqbas navigation system.

“We have our escort again,” she said. “Look.”

Four fighters appeared on the bulkhead display, two above and two below. Aras didn't know the capabilities of FEU aircraft, but he was a pilot, and he knew that they were far too close.

Kiir said nothing but gestured to Aitassi to let him have the controls. She slipped off of the seat and let him move into it.

“So they know we're Eqbas,” Shan said quietly, “but have they worked out who's on board?”

“FEU knows exactly who you are and can recognize you from aerial surveillance,” Aras said. “So I think this will be an unpleasant episode.”

“Sorry, Boss,” said Ade. “My fault.”

“No, it's the pilots' choice to harass us or not, Sergeant Bennett,” Esganikan said. She turned the hull to transparency. “As it's also their choice to withdraw. We've done no harm here.”

The fighters stuck with them across country, keeping a constant distance but swapping positions from time to time. The coast came into view. Aras suspected that they didn't want an incident in Turkish airspace. It was a country that could easily slip from the FEU to the African Assembly if provoked, Barencoin had told him. An incident like that might tip it.

“I could simply outrun them,” said Kiir. “But I anticipate they'll attempt to intercept.”

Esganikan watched impassively. “As long as they don't try to force us down, continue.”

Kiir accelerated south, climbing a few hundred meters. One of the fighters streaked ahead of him, dipping down and blocking his path. It was clear to Aras that they still didn't know what an Eqbas ship could do; they seemed to think they could force it to deviate by threatening a collision. Kiir carried on, building speed, and now there were two fighters ahead of them and two on their tail. The transparent bulkheads with their full visibility were an advantage in a combat situation. It was only when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Shan and Ade looking alarmed—quiet and calm, but definitely alarmed—that he realized how vulnerable an invisible hull made them feel.

One of the fighters dipped its wing and cut across the shuttle's nose. Kiir didn't seem bothered; he could have simply increased speed and left the fighter behind, but he seemed to be assessing it.

“He's telling you to follow him and land,” Ade said.

“He's trying to capture us?”

“Stupid idea, but yes.”

“Slow to learn,” said Kiir. “Too slow.”

The ITX link burst into life. It was probably the only band that the FEU was certain it could use to get the attention of Eqbas ships.

“Eqbas vessel, change course and follow us to—”

“FEU craft—withdraw before I fire on you.”

The nearest land was Sinostates or African territory, neither of which appeared to be supporting the FEU at the moment. If the fighters were trying to force the Eqbas ship to ditch, then they probably knew that any
c'naatat
hosts would survive and so it didn't matter who was killed with them.

But forcing an Eqbas vessel to do anything when it was cocooned in countermeasures was next to impossible. Kiir, showing unusual restraint, waited until he saw the flare and trail of a missile before he fired one burst of light that split into three; the missile and both fighters ahead of them exploded in a ball of flame. It lit up the whole shuttle and Aras heard Shan's shocked grunt.

“Shit,” said Ade. “Shit.”

The two fighters on their tail broke off the pursuit and Kiir streaked away at top speed towards the Arabian Peninsula.

“From tomorrow,” said Esganikan wearily, “we return to normal rules of engagement.”

It wasn't an act of invasion by a long stretch of the imagination, but Aras knew it would be recorded as the first attack by an alien vessel on a human ship in its own airspace. As things went, a war had definitely begun, regardless of legal status. Aras simply felt sorry for Ade, having his day of such emotional significance marred by more deaths that needn't have happened.

But if the FEU had wanted to capture Shan, the missiles hadn't been fired to hit, merely to pass close and intimidate. It was another tactical mistake based on treating the Eqbas as humans.

The FEU never stood a chance of seizing Shan from a ship like this. Ade sat forward with his head resting on his hands, elbows braced on his knees.

“Sorry, Dave,” he said.

 

Reception Center: Eqbas officers' quarters, meeting area, 5th floor.

 

“So you went out of curiosity?” Laktiriu Avo asked.

“I did,” said Esganikan. “The graves are so
orderly.
Humans seem to find more reverence for each other when they can no longer benefit than while they're alive. They always come to their senses too late.”

She watched the BBChan transmissions, fascinated by the flurry of activity that the shooting down of the fighter had caused. The FEU was enraged. Michael Zammett, the leader who Bari seemed to dislike so intensely, appeared every ten minutes on one channel or another declaring that it was an act of war and that the Australian government was complicit if it harbored the Eqbas aggressors. There was a certain irony in that.

“You could have your say on that channel,” Laktiriu pointed out. “Premier Bari's office tells me they've had hundreds of requests to
interview
you.”

Esganikan knew all about interviews. Eddie Michallat had been an excellent teacher, and when she decided it was time to speak, she would address BBChan exactly as advised. It was a pity he hadn't come; but he was a human with a strange conscience, just like Shan and Ade, and so he'd be a hindrance as often as a help. The exposé of Prachy had made the top headlines for a full day.

“I'll wait,” she said. “Let's see.”

The reporters were pressing Zammett to say if he thought the
repeated incursions,
as they kept calling them, were connected to the Eqbas demands to hand over Katya Prachy. Zammett snarled defiance. He didn't mention Shan, though. It was yet another confirmation that they wanted her as a biological sample, and didn't want anyone else to focus on her. Bari's aide said a formal request for Shan's extradition was sitting on the Prime Minister's desk, and that he was using it as a coaster.

“I feel pity for Ade Bennett,” said Esganikan. “Still mourning his friend after so many years. He even mourns the pilots we shot down yesterday. He's too sensitive for his line of work, I think.”

Laktiriu didn't look up from her
virin.
“Yet he still does it well.”

“And it pains him each time.
Shan Chail
feels her losses too, but she's so much better at ignoring them.”

Esganikan spoke not only from observation but from the many perspectives her parasite gave her. She felt as Shan felt, occasionally, and as Ade Bennett did. They lived painful inner lives. So did Aras. Small wonder they clung together.

“She looks impervious to me,” said Laktiriu. “I can't even detect her mood from her scent.”

“She's
far
from impervious.” Esganikan hadn't worked out significance of the large humanoid animal, the one who kept gesturing frantically in Shan's memories, or the sheet of flame that sometimes flashed into her mind, or even the flaking blue door, but Shan certainly wrestled with demons. “She collects painful events and seems not to know what to do with them.”

“So you two talk more than I imagine. I thought she found you difficult to deal with.”

It was as good a time as any, Laktiriu was pragmatic and would understand. Sooner or later, Esganikan would do something that would reveal her condition—an accidental wound that healed immediately, something she couldn't plan out of possibility—and that would demand explanations.

“I have her memories.”

“I don't understand, Commander.”

“I carry the
c'naatat
parasite.”

Laktiriu stared at her, utterly still with shock. “She
contaminated
you? When? Is there nothing you can do to remove it?”

“I acquired it deliberately, from Rayat, and so I have his memories, too, and several others'. It would make sense to Laktiriu in the end, she knew it. “I was prepared to experiment, knowing that if Da Shapakti is never able to remove it, I have the option of a quick death. But if we can control it—as we now appear to be able to control it in humans—then it offers us huge advantages on long deployments like this.”

Laktiriu's pupils were snapping open and shut. Esganikan had almost expected someone to notice how different she was becoming, but not even Shan seemed to have spotted it.

“I think you're foolish to sacrifice yourself for an experiment,” Laktiriu said at last, “but it's very courageous.”

“I haven't mentioned it to anyone else. I wouldn't want the Skavu to know. They reacted very badly to
Shan Chail
when they found out what
c'naatat
was, and I have to maintain control of them. So sensible discretion is called for, and I know how unnatural that is for us.”

“Understood. But we face unnatural challenges.”

“If any of you want to join me in the experiment, you're free to do so. The matriarchs of Surang are fully aware of what I've done.” Esganikan hadn't spoken to them since leaving Bezer'ej. Hers was another ongoing restoration now, expected to carry on quietly unless there was a serious emergency she couldn't handle.
C'naatat
made that even less likely. “Shan is not aware of it. Like the Skavu, she reacts in an extreme way, and I don't want this mission disrupted. She even aborted her own child to stop the spread of the parasite, Shapakti says.”