"We need to rest. To sleep for at least four hours," she said. "We can't do long uses of the drive and you might need us later. Stop and orbit a moon or something."
Marshi paused. "We need to get there soon. We need to find a male host for the spores."
Goth nodded coolly. "You still need to get there. And then you need to get down. The Illtraming are not going to welcome you, you know."
Plainly this had not occurred to the plant-woman. Goth decided her earlier conclusion had been right. The thing had huge advantages with being telepathically linked—but it simply wasn't very bright. Thick as two short planks of wood, actually. Not used to anything standing in its way. "We can help."
"Why?" asked Marshi.
"Because if we don't, we'll die along with you," said Goth.
Marshi nodded. "When we get down we can spore-tag the llltraming. They respond well and fast to being part of the mother-plant."
"Glad to help," said Goth.
The mother-plant didn't twig on to sarcasm very well, either.
"It is known that you are very helpful. And very powerful. You will be rewarded by becoming part of the mother-plant."
"I can't wait," said Goth. "But we will need our klatha powers to get you down. They're not very friendly down there."
"How is it that you are aware of this?"
"We've been here before."
Then the plant-woman obviously accessed the relevant parts of Captain Pausert's memory. "Previously I had insufficient data. Light-shifts. And no-shape."
"Yes," said Goth, keeping herself as calm as possible. "Your Illtraming are very inclined to shoot first and eat anyone that's still alive to ask questions of later."
"The Megair Cannibals are not the Illtraming. They must be some form of slave. Janissaries. The Illtraming are browsers, not bred for combat."
Goth didn't think that she'd ever come across anything less slavelike than the Megair Cannibals, but she didn't say so. She wasn't sure what "janissaries" were, but she was quite ready to accept that the plant might just be wrong. The mother-plant's mind was closed on some ideas, and it certainly didn't fit Goth's game-plan to try to open it up.
The mother-plant had obviously reached some conclusions. "You will light-shift us. The other Karres human will be brought into the plant to keep you from misbehaving."
"Won't work. I need her to talk to them, and she does that with klatha," said Goth, her heart beating fast, readying herself for action. There must be all of forty or fifty of Marshi's goons on the
Venture
, she knew. And they could all act as one. Goth wished she knew what would happen when—if—Marshi died. She had a bad feeling that it might just be like cutting a branch out of a tree—hard on the branch but not fatal to the tree.
There was another pause. "Very well. There appear to be a number of Illtraming ships in orbit around the Illtraming homeworld. We will need you to take us inside that cordon."
It seemed as if the mother-plant hadn't figured out that the Phantoms were ignoring them. Goth smiled sweetly. "Sure. I'll just need some rest, and my sister."
Hanging in the emptiness of space, Sedmon of Uldune kept his guns trained on the one remaining damaged ship from Marshi's little flotilla. Should he have tried to stop Goth, her sister and the bodyguard leaving? Should he have fired on the
Venture
? And where were the rest of the witches of Karres? His own fleet was thirty hours away. The Imperials were still farther. What should he do now? He was alone—besides the rest of the hexaperson—and vocalizing sometimes helped to focus their thoughts. He did not expect a vocal reply.
"Probably nothing," said Toll.
"Or at least that is what the best of our predictors say. The situation is highly fluid and dangerous," said Threbus.
Sedmon gaped at them. "How? . . . what?" was the best he could manage.
"How did we get here and what are we doing?" prompted Toll helpfully.
Sedmon swallowed. Nodded.
Threbus raised his eyebrows at the Daal. "You don't seriously expect an answer to the first question, do you? Like you, we invest heavily in research. Yes, we do know why the House of Thunders looks a little dilapidated despite the money that continues to pour into Uldune's coffers. We also have things that we do not want the galaxy to know . . . yet."
"And as to the second question, I would think that it is obvious," said Toll.
"Sometimes the obvious is hard to see, dear," said the big blond-bearded Threbus. "It can be right in your face and not noticed. Like the vatch manipulation of the situation on the
Venture.
Our daughters and Pausert are really quite bright, and yet they did not see it."
Sedmon was not at all sure what they were talking about, or even if he really wanted to know. Especially with Toll smiling sweetly at him like that. So he shifted tack. "What do you plan to do with that ship over there?"
Threbus shrugged. "About what you're doing, I am afraid. As it is a telepathic organism, we can't afford to make part of the mother-plant aware of our presence, because we have no desire to alarm the part that has our daughters in its toils."
"And future son-in-law," said Toll. "The miniature subradio device was a good thought, though," she said. "Well done."
"So . . . they're not in any real danger?" asked Sedmon, privately relieved. He was fond of Goth and the Leewit, he had to admit, and Hulik was more so. That wouldn't have stopped him, but still, it was good to know he'd made the right decision. "The situation is under control? This . . . vatch . . . ?"
Threbus shook his head at him. "They are in the greatest danger. And the situation could possibly erupt, according to our best precogs, into a galaxy-wide war against a telepathic foe, or something worse, that we are not sure that we could win. And while we think the vatch likes the Leewit, Goth and the captain—it might be better to say, enjoys them—it is still a vatch. An observer, mostly, as their kind are. And not a very powerful one, even if it does decide to participate."
Sedmon understood only part of that. But he understood the important part. The part about a war that even Karres was not sure it could win. They seemed very cool about it. He said as much.
Toll gave him another one of those looks of hers. "You still have a great deal to learn about parenthood."
And then they both disappeared.
Sedmon stood there, as if frozen, for a few seconds, while the hexaperson consulted with itself. Then he went to carefully check his instruments.
One recorded a gravitational anomaly less than five light-minutes away. Checking back, it had been there—where there was obviously nothing but empty space—for roughly the same length of time as he been speaking to them.
It was a large anomaly. A planetary-sized mass! Only it wasn't there now.
Sedmon recalled a long-ago conversation with Hulik do Eldel, back when she had merely been an Imperial agent, and not a part of his hearts, and she'd informed him that the world of Karres was no longer in the Iverdahl system. She'd scoffed at the time at the idea of a super spacedrive that moved worlds, or that Karres could be made invisible and undetectable.
He went and poured himself a drink, and thought about it. The more he thought, the more sure he was that they'd only let him have the mass reading as an indication of what they were capable of. Comfort and a warning. Or were they misleading him? The witches were capable of fooling with an instrument, just as they were capable of projecting holographic images of themselves into his cabin.
It was then that he noticed that the other half of his new miniature subradio had gone missing from where it had definitely been sitting just before their visit.
He had a great deal to think about. Some uncertainty—but one thing he was clear on. He would rather have the witches of Karres regarding him as a friend than otherwise. Much rather.
He sweated a little bit, wondering how they had known that the wristwatch on Goth's arm, as well as being a miniature subradio and spyscreen, was also a potent hyperelectronic bomb.
The
Venture
had passed, undisturbed, through the last orbiting shield of Phantoms. The Leewit, well slept and fed, sat at the communicator.
Of course one had to know it was the Leewit sitting there, otherwise an observer might have thought it was a Megair Cannibal.
Listening to her, if one spoke the language of croaks and whistles, the listener might have thought that she was a very triumphant and successful Megair Cannibal—having been locked into a cabin, and having escaped and captured the ship. The Cannibal speaking to the Cannibal port control was bringing home a shipful of fresh meat. And what was more, a way of evading the Phantom ships that held them prisoner here.
They were, not surprisingly, free to land.
Goth was very proud of the Leewit.
The entire exercise had had quite an impact on the mother-plant Marshi too, Goth could tell. The plant life-form probably had no idea how much other animals could read of the mother-plant's thoughts from the postural cues of the host. The Leewit and Goth would have to be very careful.
The
Venture
dropped slowly towards the clouds and then down into them. The mother-plant was focused on matters besides the view. The ship from which the two witches and the bodyguard had come might as well be taken. The craft was not damaged and would appear to be fast in its own right, for a small freighter. Even if something went wrong here, those haploids still survived, along with some within the Empire. One of them could switch sexes and become a new prime. The mother-plant had no real concept of anything except self. They were all just parts of her.
Closer at hand, these two witches had been shown to be very cunning. Cunning to a level that worried the mother-plant. It was possible that their dangerousness and abilities outweighed their potential usefulness.
She decided it was time to use one of the tools of the criminal gangs she had taken over: a metal collar with a highly sensitive explosive in a tube inside it. Once the collar clicked shut around the victim's neck, the circuit was complete and within four hours the explosive would detonate, severing the head, unless the properly coded signal was received. The charge could also be triggered by the same small remote used to send the deactivation signal.
The devices were useful for ensuring the cooperation of the untrustable. Trust was not a problem the mother-plant had had before. If something needed trust, it did it itself. But the collars were appropriate this time.
As soon as she had successfully enspored the Megair Cannibal motiles, of course, the two little Karres creatures would have to die. She was surprised to feel within herself some resistance to that idea. When the mind has thousands of components it was easy to lose touch with which parts were which. But none should resist her will. It took a period of self-examination to isolate the feeling to the motile that had once called itself Pausert.
That was not good. Not for one that was totally subsumed. So it too would have to be eliminated.
The
Venture
set down on the edge of the landing-field, next to a swamp—perfect for Illtraming—and, on the other side, were a number of ships that were, the mother-plant noticed, not of Illtraming design.
The Karres witch Goth asked: "Do you want us to get you in? I can escort you, light-shifted."
The mother-plant was not sensitive to the nuances of this host species, undomesticated. Perhaps for that reason, she was very suspicious.
"There is a price, of course," said Goth. "Pausert and my sister must stay here."
Aha! There was the plan. The witch planned to sacrifice herself and allow the other one to attempt to capture the ship and leave, with the part of the plant they considered valuable.
Marshi shook her head. "No. You and your sister must accompany us. She is needed to speak."
Goth slumped her shoulders. "You must promise to keep Pausert safe. You agreed to let us go."
The airlock opened. "I will leave him here, under guard," said Marshi. Pausert stood empty-eyed and chewing. Like all animals, he seemed to be constantly feeding.
She got the spore box and the collars. "Put these around your necks."
Gullibly, they did so. The collars clicked shut. She then explained what the collars would do if not disarmed within four hours.
They seemed less upset than they should be, somehow.
"Take us in to the mound," the mother-plant said.
Goth hoped she was right about the collar. Could it be 'ported off their necks? Could Vezzarn pick the lock? At least they'd gotten Marshi to leave the captain aboard the
Venture
. Goth had been hard at work 'porting chunks of the leafy stuff from the swamp into the stomachs and even the mouths of all those she could see. Ta'zara had assured her that it was just about the most common tree there. She had checked its lobular fleshy leaves with him before sending bits of it.
It was amazing how the animal instinct to chew little tasty fragments in your mouth worked without much thought. The Leewit meanwhile kept the mother-plant distracted, talking them in to land.
They had a few hours at least to survive, to find out if it worked.
"We need close contact to enspore some of these host-creatures," said Marshi, who was walking along towards the mound as the apparent prisoner of the Leewit—who appeared to be a triumphant Megair Cannibal.
"I'll tell the Leewit," said Goth calmly, and fell back to speak to her, vanishing into no-shape at the end of the column.
"Our dear Marshi wants you to get us nice and close to the Megair Cannibals in order to infect them."
"I don't think I can do that, Goth," said the Leewit quietly. "They're clumping Cannibals . . . Or do you think they also eat the plants here?"
"Bound to. There is nothing else for them to eat. And they'd run out of people to eat and even other Cannibals, otherwise. Anyway, it doesn't matter."
"They'd be pretty horrible if we're wrong," said the Leewit, doubtfully. "There's a whole bunch of them coming towards us now."