Of Fire and Night - Kevin J. Anderson [87]
He reached the immense tree's nerve center, a vaulted chamber akin to a warship's command bridge. Wooden pillars dripped like stalactites fused into a support framework. At the center of the chamber sat a half-dissolved creature overgrown by cellulose drapings. The pilot.
Beneto could make out the elongated head, angular chin, and upswept cheekbones. The close-set birdlike eyes seemed to be little more than knots of wood. This creature was not meant to appear human, had never been human. An unknown alien species.
The pilot turned its nearly fused head, and Beneto faced it. He could hear whispered history through the immensely complex library of worldforest memories.
Long before humanity had begun to build cities on Earth, some other race--now lost to all records, hidden even in the folds of the verdani mind--had served as green priests in the first war with the hydrogues. After so much time aboard the verdani battleship, little more than a wisp of the original life form remained, just this tiny sculptured afterimage. But it was still aware, still serving the worldforest.
Fused into the soft, pulsing heartwood, the overgrown face lifted so that its birdlike eyes met Beneto's. The two of them shared a destiny, and both accepted their fates. Without words, Beneto received a flood of the pilot's experiences and knowledge, warnings and joys.
The alien brain was like a pattern of permanent stains on the battleship's wood. Beneto absorbed the breadth of the long journey out of the Spiral Arm and into unknown reaches of the Galaxy. A cascade of centuries filled his mind, giving him a poignant understanding of endless time. Until now, Beneto had never had any concept of what ten thousand years felt like.
Now he knew what was to become of him.
The verdani requested the same commitment from Beneto to find other volunteers among the green priests, and the same sacrifice of life and time.
Then they asked him to help them create more giant organic vessels to throw against the hydrogues. Many more. And for that he needed to call on the assistance of the wentals.
50
NIRA
The surrounding hills had turned a crackling brown in the dry season. Nira hoped there wouldn't be fires again, though part of her longed to see this whole camp burned to the ground. She had hoped, and prayed, never to return here--and she'd certainly never expected it to be under circumstances like these.
Osira'h took her by the hand and led her toward the austere buildings where the descendants from the Burton lived out their lives, men and women forced to breed with Ildiran subjects. The captives found their own glimmers of happiness, selecting companions and mates for when they weren't locked in the breeding barracks.
Nira shuddered at the sight of those dark buildings to which she'd been dragged during her fertile times. No one had bothered to tell her--or any of them--the purpose of the breeding program, but she suspected that Udru'h had enjoyed it all. There, by the fence, the guards had beaten her, dragged her away, and told everyone she was dead.
The ground showed no bloodstains. Four young children played together by the fence as if their lives were perfectly normal.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She wanted to turn and run again, to clamber through the fences and flee into the tinderbox-dry hills. Osira'h sensed her distress and squeezed her hand. "It'll be all right, Mother. We're together now."
At her arrival, people came out into the bright sunlight, curious and amazed. Though Nira must look worn and weary, these people knew who she was. They had never seen any other green priest. Benn Stoner, the ostensible leader of the camp, studied her, as if she might be an illusion. "We thought you were dead. They put up a grave marker for you."
"The Designate is no stranger to covering up terrible deeds." Nira doubted she would ever shake off her revulsion for this place until she was away from here forever. During her previous time here,