Read Lords of the Seventh Swarm Online
Authors: David Farland
Chapter 25
Late into the night, Maggie built her Seeker. With her mantle of technology, it did not seem an onerous chore. Her first task was to disconnect the olfactory sensors from Lord Felph’s perfumery, a gaudy piece of equipment that took up a quarter of Hera and Zeus’s bedroom. The tremendously complex machine had olfactory sensors coupled to an artificial intelligence, along with synthesizers for creating scents. It could offer thousands of base perfumes, alter them at request.
She removed the faceplate from the perfumery and studied the machine, considering which tools she needed to remove the olfactors. She wondered how sensitive the equipment might be. She’d seen dronon olfactors used on Seekers, but they might be more sensitive than this. She didn’t know if this would work.
“Perfumer,” she asked, “can you smell me?”
“Yes,” the perfumer answered.
“Can you differentiate my smell from that of other humans?”
“Each human scent is unique, though it varies from day to day depending on the amounts of oil secreted by the skin; the colony types and growth rates of microbes growing on the skin; secretion of hormones; and the presence of chemical modifiers—such as perfumes or soap residues.’
Maggie wondered. The dronon had only begun sending Seekers after her a few weeks earlier. She’d been forced to run so fast, so far, she hadn’t considered options other than running. She suspected the dronon had only her scent. The nanoscrubbers in Gallen’s robe would make him difficult to track. On Manogian II, while Gallen, Orick, and Tallea were busy in a market a kilometer distant, a Seeker had found her. But the Seeker found only her, Maggie recalled. So perhaps the machines targeted only her. She was the Golden Queen. She was the one the dronon wanted.
“Perfumer,” Maggie asked. “Can I change my body scent, to make it unrecognizable?”
“Yes,” the perfumer answered.
“How?” Maggie felt hopeful.
“First, chemical and radiation therapies may kill exterior microbe colonies on your skin, and you could be seeded with new colonies of different varieties.” Maggie understood this. Every person has microscopic mites living in their eyes, lips, and skin. Funguses, viruses, and bacterial colonies are also common—so common in fact, most people have strains of microbe evolve to exist specifically on their own bodies.
The perfumer suggested that these could all be removed, thus altering the scent caused by microbial infestations.
“Second,” the perfumer added, “natural body odors can be masked. I can develop temporary scents for your use, or I can develop a permanent scent, to be continually administered.”
“How?” Maggie asked.
“Scent-generating cells can be inserted into the oil follicles of your skin. This technology is beyond my capabilities, but I can refer you to clinics that perform such services.
“Beyond this,” the perfumer offered, “your skin and body oils contain a unique aroma that can be altered through gene therapy by introducing retroviruses tailored specifically for your genome. In most planetary systems, such a radical treatment is not legal for use in scent therapy. This procedure is considered too dangerous for pregnant women.”
“You know I’m pregnant?” Maggie asked, surprised the perfumer could tell just from her scent.
“Yes.”
Another thought occurred to Maggie. This perfumer could duplicate scents. “One last question: can you copy my scent?”
“Yes,” the perfumer said.
“Do so,” Maggie said. “Make twenty grams of it.”
She pocketed the small bottle the perfumer filled. Maggie considered her options. So she could change her scent—change it completely—given time and resources. She hadn’t needed to come here at all. She could return to a civilized world. With a new scent, the dronon would never find her. Maggie almost wept from relief.
I must tell Gallen
, she thought.
She pulled off the perfumer’s olfactory sensors and artificial intelligence, connected them to a hoversled. She didn’t need to hook up a second Al to pilot the vehicle. A radio could let the sled talk to their ship, so flight instructions could be continuously relayed to the Seeker.
Though the Seeker was easily built, Maggie could not rest.
I know how to hunt this Qualeewooh, because I have been so hunted
, she told herself. She wondered how it would appear to the Qualeewooh—humans coming after it in superior numbers, bristling with weapons. The Qualeewooh could not escape her, Maggie felt certain. It might fly far and wide, but her Seeker would track it. It might come at Gallen with knives, but the Qualeewooh could not withstand a Lord Protector. Though Maggie knew Gallen hoped not to hurt the creature, Maggie felt for it. The Qualeewooh’s predicament and her own were too similar.
I am not like the dronon
, Maggie told herself.
I’m coming to save this Qualeewooh, not to destroy it.
Yet she wasn’t certain. Gallen would track the bird; hoping to learn what had happened, then dispense justice. Perhaps the Qualeewooh had murdered Herm. Perhaps Gallen would kill it. Gallen would do what was right—as best he could determine. But in dealing with nonhumans, human minds failed at the task of judgment. So she fretted.
Gallen spent his evening checking his ship before departure. He had enough supplies to last a week on thin rations—long enough to jump to another world. Felph had outfitted the ship with weapons—heavy incendiary rifles, assorted pistols, repulsor shields, grenades—enough for a small war.
As Maggie finished cobbling her Seeker together, she went to the ship, found Gallen on his bed, servicing his old incendiary rifle. She stood in the door, leaning against the frame for support. She could hear the bears snoring in their stateroom.
Gallen’s face appeared thoughtful, pensive. He frowned at his weapon, apparently so involved he did not notice her presence. She thought that odd. “What are you thinking my love?” she said.
Gallen looked up. “Thinking about tomorrow.”
“What are you planning?” Maggie said. “You want to save the Qualeewooh. That much I’m certain of. But what beyond that?”
Gallen shook his head absently. “I don’t know. Something bothers me about Felph. I feel … that he is not as reasonable as he wants to appear. He’s furious at the Qualeewooh who killed Herm. I don’t trust him. I can’t let Felph murder the creature, simply because it isn’t human.”
Maggie understood. Her experience with the Inhuman, the memories of a hundred lives remembered and wasted, left her keenly sympathetic for the Qualeewoohs. Yet Maggie had to wonder. Felph seemed genuinely fascinated by the birds, by their history and heritage. Perhaps he would not be totally unfair to the creature.
“What of Zeus?” Maggie asked. “Do you think he’ll give us trouble?”
“I can’t imagine that he’d be much trouble.”
Maggie sighed. “I checked his genome today. He can throw an electric charge. He’s dangerous, even when not armed. That’s why Felph wants him with us.”
Gallen glanced at her. “My boots and gloves won’t carry a charge. If he tries anything with me, he’ll be surprised.”
“But you can’t guess what he might do,” Maggie said. “I don’t trust him. If we leave here, I wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing him along.”
Gallen gave her a long stare, as if trying to divine why she’d just said such a thing. Maggie knew it was out of character to sound so cold, but she definitely didn’t want Zeus following.
Please Gallen
, she thought,
just accept this
.
He shrugged. “Whatever you say.” Gallen set the rifle he’d been servicing on the bed, apparently satisfied. “We could drop him in town before we leave. Would that be all right with you?”
So the matter of Zeus seemed settled. Gallen knew what danger he presented. Maggie’s mind felt at ease. A few days ago, when running from the dronon, she’d felt desperate to find a safe place to deliver her child. She’d been so frightened, she’d wanted everything—food, shelter, medical facilities. Now that she’d rested, now that she’d put some distance between her and the dronon, she felt more prepared to meet circumstances as they came. Maggie’s mother had delivered her with the barest medical facilities; and on Tremonthin, through memories granted her by the Inhuman, Maggie recalled giving birth dozens of times—everything from dropping a child in the bush, to delivering twins as Princess Loa of the Davai, with all her maids and nurses attending.
After bearing that many children, delivering one more should not be hard. But to Maggie, this child would be special. All the memories the Inhuman had foisted upon her, all the propaganda and pain—all came from people long dead, the reminiscences of ghosts. The children she’d sired and nurtured, that she’d cried and prayed over—all had grown old centuries ago. Some died ignominiously; some gained notoriety on Tremonthin. Ghosts still, all of them.
In the past few months, Maggie had begun to come to terms with the Inhuman. When it had first downloaded its memories into her, her grip on reality had seemed tenuous. She’d become so lost in the past, to some degree she’d lost herself. But time healed much. Maggie no longer found it difficult to differentiate her own past from the lives of others. She took comfort in asserting her individuality.
So even though she recalled mothering hundreds of children, of nurturing them to adulthood, she knew that for the first time, she and Gallen would bring their own child into the universe. Flesh of their flesh, bone of their bones. A new beginning.
Maggie yearned for this child. Inadvertently, the dronon had given her a great gift: the memories of rearing hundreds of children. Because she’d been infected by the Inhuman, she’d be a better mother than someone who came to the task as a novice.
Maggie said, “All right. I’d drop the babe under a bush if you wanted. But after it’s born, we go back to civilization. I just spoke to the perfumer. On most worlds, scent therapists could change my aroma completely. We can have a new life. Four months, till the baby is born—that’s all we need.”
Gallen beamed at the news. “Great. I’ll look forward to it. But I don’t think you’ll bear our son while squatting under a bush. Wherever we land, this ship will serve as a better home than a lean-to.”
Maggie studied the ship’s ivory walls. Clean, smooth. Her home in Tihrglas had been more cramped. The couches and beds served well. If a world were nearly—terraformed with birds and beasts intact—Gallen could forage for food. It seemed an ideal dream—a cozy place without anyone to bother them.
Chapter 26
Zeus had Hera to comfort, and to offer comfort in return. They talked long into the night about Herm’s death, about the brevity of life, about how there were no longer any guarantees.
He expressed his anger at how she’d humiliated him, and Hera told him in turn how she felt humiliated by his infidelities. In an odd way, he felt relieved that she had deceived him, had lured him to stand naked before Lord Felph, Gallen, and Maggie. It was a powerful reminder of how much she loved him, how jealous she felt when he squandered his affection on lesser women. Hera was a great woman—cunning, crafty, devoted.
The cruel joke she’d played made him love her all the more deeply, yet he felt equally touched by her tenderness. The blow of seeing Herm’s corpse devastated Hera, as it did Zeus.
Even now, as he considered his loss, waves of grief washed through Zeus, battering him. Herm had been his constant companion, his support. Herm understood Zeus’s moods, laughed when he joked, arranged liaisons when he wanted a woman. He never judged, as Lord Felph and Arachne did.
So after Hera fell into an uneasy sleep when Lord Felph asked him to accompany Gallen on the hunting party, Zeus accepted.
Felph clapped Zeus on both shoulders, stared into his eyes, and said, “I send you on a man’s errand. Don’t fail me.”
“I won’t fail you—or Herm,” Zeus replied. The lights in the hallway shone dimly so late. Everything was perfectly quiet.
“I know,” Felph said. He looked down the corridor, to the darkened atrium just off the north wing, as if afraid someone might overhear. “Bring this Qualeewooh back, understand? I don’t trust Gallen O’Day. You’ve seen him. He may be efficient in his way, but he’s soft. I’ll not have him freeing the Qualeewooh that killed your brother. You remember that.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” Zeus had answered.
“Good. And remember,” Felph said, “Gallen works for us. You don’t work for him. I expect him to follow your orders.”
The coldness in Felph’s voice surprised Zeus. “If he doesn’t?”
“Take command of this expedition,” Felph said. “See that he does his job.”
“You expect trouble?” Zeus asked. “If I kill him, Maggie and the others will make trouble.”
“Kill him?” Felph said, shocked, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Why would you even think of killing him? I need Gallen to get the Waters of Strength.”
Zeus’s thoughts had been traveling dangerous paths, and he’d imagined Felph’s had followed the same. Yet obviously his father had never considered the implications of what he asked.
“You expect me to force Gallen to concede to your wishes,” Zeus said. “I doubt he can be pushed so far.”
Felph shook his head, as if saddened by Zeus. “I only meant for you to take charge. I-I never thought of harming anyone. But you—you think killing him will gain anything?”
“You want this Qualeewooh, and you want the Waters of Strength,” Zeus said. “You want me to go with Gallen, because you’re afraid he’ll leave Ruin, depriving you of both. So you want me to force him to stay, to get the job done, but I know of no way to force him. The only path I can see clear is to replace him.”
Felph shook his head, dismayed. “Replace him? You can do that!”
“You don’t need Gallen,” Zeus said. “It’s his mantle you’re after. If I took it, you could be assured that the Qualeewooh would be caught, and then
I
could go into Teeawah!”
Felph nodded, speechless for a moment, studied Zeus’s eyes. “I should have known,” he said sadly. “It’s my fault, not yours. I made you to hunger after power. I crafted you to be strong. I should have known you’d try to grasp for glory the easy way.”
Felph turned, shaking his head. “I … I’m sorry. I’ll send Arachne or Hera with Gallen, convince him to return with the Qualeewooh, as agreed. If we can’t …” Felph shrugged, signifying he would do no more. “Then Gallen will leave.” After a long silence, “If he does, perhaps you should go with him.”
That final turning of the back, the tone of abandonment, spoke volumes. Felph wanted someone to convince Gallen peaceably, and if he could not, then nothing mattered.
Nothing mattered. Zeus could go his own way, wander the galaxy. Like a broken toy, unwanted, a thing formed for the delight of its creator, now deemed worthless.
Felph’s most cutting words were unspoken.
I’ll let you die. You’re not worthy of more life. You matter not.
“All right.” Zeus spoke before Felph could walk away. “Of course you’re right. I’ll convince Gallen to do as you ask.”
Felph turned, querulous. “How? Speak up. You had better be persuasive, or I’ll send Arachne!”
“Please, Father,” Zeus said,” send me! Give me this honor. The problem is … you give me nothing to barter with. You want Gallen to concede to your wishes, but he only wants assurance you’ll be fair. He doesn’t know you as I do. I’ll convince him you are just.”
Felph watched Zeus. Zeus had been able to speak with an urgency, a compelling tone, that demanded Felph’s attention. “How will you do this?”
“I … don’t know, yet,” Zeus said. “But I have Maggie’s ear, and she has Gallen’s. She was willing to serve you to win our freedom. In spite of our Guides, you required little of us. I’ll let her know. As for Gallen, I’ll tell him you were angry last night, that you could think of little more than vengeance—but your wrath fades quickly.”
Felph eyed him a long moment. “Whatever you do, don’t whine and wheedle.” Zeus had to stifle the urge to sigh in relief at the acceptance of his offer. “I want you to be a statesman, a diplomat—not a beggar, nor a thug. Go convince Gallen to keep his bargain. If you do, you’ll make me proud.”
Felph left, his still-bloody robes flowing behind him as he strode down the corridor. Zeus let out his breath. Almost his father had abandoned him. Almost he’d doomed Zeus to mortality.
As Zeus went back into his room, to Hera’s arms, he lay the night, unable to sleep, thinking. He considered ways he might convince Gallen to bring the Qualeewooh back to the palace, but in his mind’s eye, he could not envision any plan working. Gallen did not trust Felph. Gallen must have recognized a certain lack of character in the man, and all Zeus’s impassioned pleas might not change Gallen’s mind.
Zeus wondered. If he had Arachne’s insight into the human mind, he might be able to persuade Gallen that Felph’s intentions were honorable. But the truth was, even Zeus doubted Felph.
Zeus thought
, Or if I had Herm’s cunning tongue, I could have lied so sweetly, Gallen would never know the truth. Or even if I had Hera’s basic decency and cunning, or Athena’s quiet wisdom, I might have found a way to twist Gallen to my will.
But Zeus lacked all such gifts. The truth was, that in the Great and Dreadful Game, Zeus was the worst player in the family. His bullishness left him ill disposed to intrigue and diplomacy.
The real problem, Zeus decided, was that Felph did not recognize a more viable plan, even when revealed to him.
Zeus considered the possibilities. If he murdered Gallen for his mantle, then killed Orick and Tallea—he’d still have Maggie. He liked the fiery redhead. Zeus had bet Herm he would sleep with her. Three points if he took her willingly one if against her will.
It would be ironic
, he thought,
if I won that last point after all. A pity Herm couldn’t have lived to witness it
.
He imagined how it would be, wearing the mantle of a Lord Protector, hunting down the Qualeewooh. Certainly, if Zeus returned home with the quarry, Gallen and the others all dead, then Lord Felph could not complain. No one outside the palace would ever know what had happened to Gallen and Maggie. Felph would not tell, Zeus felt sure, not so long as Zeus followed his wishes. In fact, after the deed was done, Zeus decided he could make up a lie, tell Felph some reason why he had to kill Gallen in order to get the Qualeewooh.
Felph would have his Qualeewooh, and Zeus would get … what? The mantle? Then Zeus could get the Waters of Strength.
Yet as Zeus pondered the possibilities, he realized that giving the Waters of Strength
What better way to drink from them
, Zeus wondered,
than to discover them myself? I could drink, and if they do me no good, Felph would get them in turn.
But if they give me the kind of power Felph believes …
So Zeus spent a sleepless night, plotting, wondering. It seemed so callous to consider murder so casually. Yet Zeus needed that mantle—and the Waters of Strength. Without them he would die. Felph would let him die. With them, he would never be under Felph’s thumb again.
Hera woke several times during the night, and Zeus rocked her to sleep. When he finally rose next morning, his eyes were gritty, his mind clouded from too much thought.
As Zeus dressed, he felt surprised Hera continued to sleep so soundly. She’d spent so much time weeping during the night, he did not want to disturb her. After kissing her gently on each eyelid, he slipped out the door just as a droid wheeled the breakfast buffet to his room. He grabbed a sticky Votifrian wafer and mango juice, then headed for the ship.
Arachne met him in a hall near the landing bay.
She sat, back to the wall. She looked calm. Of all Zeus’s children, she alone seemed unsurprised by death. Her dark eyes looked up with familiar intensity. Her silver hair was unbraided. She’d merely combed it behind her ears. This style so radically departed from the norm, she seemed undressed, incomplete.
“So,” Zeus said softly as he walked toward her. “Did you anticipate this? You knew of Herm’s death?”
“I hadn’t imagined it. His death was so … random. But I smell death in the air, more deaths coming. I spoke to Father. I know what he wants from you. And I know what you plan to do.”
“You know what I plan?” he asked in mock surprise. The truth was, even Zeus had not yet decided what he would do. He kept thinking
yes, I’ll kill Gallen, then again no
. Right now, he leaned toward no. He feigned ignorance. “So why are you here? Do you have some words of warning?”
“Don’t go on this expedition.”
Zeus laughed. He had imagined that she would give him some faint hints about how best to handle Gallen, or warn him not to kill the Lord Protector. “Surely you can be more direct. Exactly why don’t you want me to go?”
She studied his eyes. He could hardly bear her scrutiny, the careful way she studied his lips, his face. “You plan to kill Gallen. Even you aren’t certain that you’ll do it now, but the temptation will come, and when it does, you will succumb to it. I fear that nothing I say can change your mind. But what if I could tell you something you don’t know? What if I told you that if you kill Gallen, you will die? Would you stay here then? If I asked you to, would you walk away from this fine palace, from Lord Felph and his plots, from your dreams of glory?”
Zeus considered. Leave Lord Felph and the palace. “What would I gain from it?”
“Nothing,” “Arachne said. “But I’m asking you to walk away, to leave now and wander the desert. You could become a hermit. You will gain no glory. You will die old and alone, unloved. You would be miserable all of your days. But in doing so, you would let others live. This is what is best.”
“Best for whom? Best for me?” Zeus asked.
“Best for everyone but you,” Arachne said. “Father doesn’t see it completely yet, but he has begun to have misgivings. He’ll discover that you are a mistake. He wanted to create a new race of leaders. He thinks the Tharrin are too weak to control the world. He imagines that humans would be more amenable to someone like you, a powerful leader with human frailties. But our father is a fool. He thinks force must always be met with greater force. He doesn’t recognize the futility of his dream. Even if you could become a leader, others more cunning and ruthless would simply rise up to take your place, and we would find ourselves governed by men no better than dronon. Creating you was a mistake. Don’t let Father’s shortsightedness lead you down this path.”
“I don’t plan to kill Gallen,” Zeus said, surprised at the vehemence in Arachne’s tone, surprised at her conviction. “His actions dictate what will happen today, not mine.”
Arachne shook her head slightly. “You’ve decided to kill him, whether you know it or not. The temptation is too strong.”
Zeus stood, considering. He did not like Arachne’s halftruths and innuendos. So she knew he’d been considering murder. Certainly she couldn’t expect him just to walk away from this opportunity, just to run into the desert for a reason only hinted at. “So why have you come? To ask me to walk away from home? Or will you help me? You hint that if I kill Gallen, it will lead to my demise. Certainly my wise sister has some advice for me.”
“I’ve already given it,” Arachne said wearily. “But you will not follow it, no matter how sane my counsel, no matter how faultless my reasoning. So I am left with only one hope.”
“Which is…?”
“That you die today. Better that you die, than that you live on in misery.”
Zeus instantly became suspicious. He studied her hands, the folds of her yellow robe, searching for weapons. He wondered if she planned to shoot him in the back. But he could not imagine Arachne doing such a thing.
“Do you plan to kill me?” Zeus asked.
Arachne nodded. “I’ll do any part.”
“How?”
“With deadly knowledge.” Arachne waited for a moment for those words to sink in, waited for Zeus fully to realize she planned to tell him something that would lead to his death. She said softly. “Beware of Gallen. He is more than he seems.”
Arachne fell silent, and Zeus waited for her to continue, yet she did not speak. He stood over her, lingering. Her vague warning troubled him.
Gallen was a Lord Protector, a supreme fighter, but could he have hidden abilities, abilities like Zeus’s? Or was Arachne lying in an attempt to keep Zeus from attacking Gallen? If she wanted Gallen to live, perhaps she hoped Zeus would be frightened of him, would keep his distance. Or perhaps she spoke truly, and she planned to create some indecisiveness in Zeus, keep him from attacking quickly. Perhaps Arachne believed that if Zeus was indecisive, the Lord Protector could counter Zeus’s attack.