cskendrick
I'm Gnu :)
- Joined
- May 7, 2006
- Messages
- 30
Note: yes, this is a big extract. It's also a miniscule part of the entire manuscript.
Century/Medusa (Alpha Centauri B4): Explored by the U.S. Celestial Survey 2124; first landing in 2271. Terraformation begun in 2370 and declared finished in 2767, though large areas too dangerous due too alkaline concentrations, native flora, and other hazards. Primary developers were the United States, Bangladesh and Indonesia. Original settlers were mostly Europeans and Arabs displaced by invasions from successor civilizations and post-Yellowstone climate shift. U.S. assistance in the evacuation of Europe and Arabia did much to heal the centuries-long schism between the Americans and their erstwhile allies and foes.
Medusa (as the planet is commonly called) is half the mass of earth, similar to Mars in composition, with a thick atmosphere of hydrogen, helium and oxygen. Sufficient water vapor is retained to support a range of desert ecologies. Most Medusan plants take carbon from stone and soil, and water vapor is the chief exhalant of the hydrogen-breathing animals. However, some plants are carnivorous.
In its heyday 4.2 billion people lived on the planet. For approximately three years following the destruction of Mars and the devastation of Earth, it was the most populous world in all of the Slow Range.
That was before the Gorgon joined in war on behalf of the Empress....
Her full name and title is Empresa Galtana Salvadora Mercada Saraceiro. Fifteen centuries ago, she last set foot on Medusa. Regardless, the immortal world-spanning mind of the Gorgon remembered her, and cleared a landing meadow on the now-abandoned northern upland in her honor. Even such a short-term retreat of its purple-thorned, diamond-toothed functionaries was repulsive; the Gorgon remembered the plasma torches and lasers, the weapons used by the settlers, clear-cutting millions of hectares from its flanks, making room for their slave-crops and delicious livestock, their soft-shelled homesteads and their intolerably tall cities, casting shadows, blocking the lovely orange and golden of the Greater and Lesser Suns.
Then the Gorgon met the Empress, and after making contact with the Human overmind, things had gone much better: As a gesture of good faith, the Empress gave over the entire settler population of this world to the Gorgon’s minions. In this way, the balance was kept, the alien, beastly pestilence purged. The Gorgon’s wrath had been appeased. Furthermore, the Gorgon found something else in the Empress: A strange sort of equal, neither predator nor prey nor of its own collective body. Equal, perhaps, for the Empress was part of the vast Human collective that the Gorgon, now attuned to, sensed across the skies, in all directions.
Not only an equal, but perhaps a superior: For shortly after joining forces with the Empress, the Gorgon felt the shockwave of a dying world of the fourth-nearest sun, the momentary increase in illumination on its nightside fronds, and realized that this feat was the work of the miniscule creature now standing in its midst.
A standard Terremagne ring-wing shuttle set down in the glade, power running, wing still rotating. The “wing” was a partial distortion in the fabric of space-time, spinning as swiftly as necessary to generate traction against the force of gravity. The Gorgon did not care for such science, but it could sense the power of the aircraft. Several of its clear-branched radicals wanted to kamikaze into the ship, to prove the vitality of its variety. The Gorgon chuckled, such as world-spanning beings do, and restrained its impetuous elements.
No portals opened; they were unnecessary. The Gorgon witnessed with no small wonder as four Human-shaped discontinuities, man-sized bubbles, appeared outside of the aircraft, suddenly filling as if from a hidden spring with the inner makings of animals. Within two seconds, the forms were complete, the discontinuities gone with a chorus of crackles. The Gorgon witnessed Human starships performing the same trick in the space overhead its world, though the process was slower.
Red-caped, auburn-haired, amber-eyed, the Empress Mercada, former Mistress of the Emerald Realm, Protector of Brazil and Liberator of Nigeria, Savior of the Congo and Lady of the Americas, stood surrounded by three wary Cyberne guards. The Gorgon used its subsonic senses to assess them all. The guards were hybrid beings; the Gorgon could not tell where their animal fluids ended and their deadly instruments began.
A contingent of mesquite-like radicals, the most successful of the rapid-reaction warriors to date, moved into complementary positions. One snapped its meter-long scissor-thorns menacingly at a flinching Human functionary. The Empress gestured sharply to her soldiers. An electromagnetic shout went out. The Gorgon understood the words easily: Do nothing. The overmind assumed direct control of the wayward radical and it calmed down immediately.
The Empress watched the summary proceedings, nodded her satisfaction at the outcome. “I have returned to you, great Gorgon, to provide surety of my vows, and ask for one small, additional favor.” She said this aloud. Normally, the Gorgon conveyed its wishes by infrasonic vibrations. However, the Gorgon listened with its more delicate fronds to the calls -- and cries -- of prey. This skill had been developed before the rise of air-breathing life on Earth. The Gorgon, however, did not speak as Humans did. It spoke with its own voice, trusting to Human instrumentation to translate.
One of the soldiers, members of the ancient and now-forbidden Cyberne caste, set a crystalline stake in the ground.
In her ears, and hers alone, Mercada heard the voice that no one, outside of herself and the rest of the exiles onboard the Osiris even guessed existed, the voice of the first alien sentience that Humanity had unwittingly encountered, to the cost of over four billion lives.
In her ears, and hers alone, Mercada heard the voice that no other Human even guessed existed:
“You have returned, Night-Empress and so promptly. I am pleased. However, I am not so pleased that your minions continue to persist in my domain.”
“They are newcomers. Rebels, momentarily outside of my power.” Mercada had checked the latest Terremagne census before arriving on Medusa; there were a mere 89 million inhabitants on the planet now, all descendants of newcomers after the Gorgon had feasted on the original population.
The verge of the clearing suddenly rushed inward. “Then perhaps I am mistaken, and you are not the true overmind of Humanity.”
Mercada frowned and muttered a swift subvocal command. Suddenly, the distortion ring of her aircraft greatly magnified in size, brilliance and power, a now-audible, searing halo of certain death hovering overhead. “Do not test me, Gorgon!” she cried. Heat from the shearing of reality itself filled the glade. At the same time, a sheet of X-ray radiation began to discomfit the Gorgon’s more delicate functionaries, gatherers and other support elements.
The Gorgon, however, was unimpressed. Its warrior-fronds were modified for radiation exposure. Several advanced into the circle, through the protective radiation shield, clearly on the attack. The Cyberne guards tensed, drew weapons. The Empress transmitted a silent command to her shuttle.
It was then that the ring wing, a modulated gravitational gradient, showed its true power; the trespassers were shredded to pieces, like blades of wheat in a thresher.
The Gorgon relented. “Enough. I yield, Empress, You surpass me. For the moment, that is.” The Gorgon withdrew the fringe of the clearing. Mollified, the Empress reset the protective halo to an idle setting. “You mentioned a small favor, I believe,” the sussurating voice of the Gorgon whispered.
Mercada smiled openly. “Yes. There was near the old Human city of Archangel a large statue, resembling a winged Human.”
The Gorgon rumbled powerfully enough to shake the ground. “It was one of the first structures that I destroyed. The tallest of the abominations. Its unholy shadow was an outrage that could not longer be endured.”
Mercada nodded indulgently. “Yes, yes. Within its foundation, however, there was a small sphere...a stone about as large as one of your radical’s brain-seeds, and of similar composition.”
The Gorgon paused, reflecting on past communications with fronds near the old Human ruin. Its functionaries transmitted holographic memories; all that they detected was transmitted and stored, if not reflected upon right away. It would not do for a collective intelligence to overlook details; they might be needed later.
“The object that you speak of is buried under the rubble, but is of exceptional durability. I assume that you wish to take possession of it?”
“Yes.”
“I must insist on compensation, as transporting such an object over such a long distance will be wearisome.
“I could fly there and transport the object myself.”
“No.”
“No?” the Empress repeated.
“There continue to be Humans on my world. You are not in balance, Empress. So long as this is the case, you will not travel over my domain.”
Mercada sneered. “You cannot defy me, you overgrown thornbush!”
The ground shoook again, from the thrumming of a hundred thousand root systems. “Threaten me again, and I will destroy your precious brain-seed.” The Gorgon paused. “And there are ways to overcome your impressive toys.”
Earlier, the radicals wanted to prove their vitality by suicide attack on the Human aircraft. The Gorgon refused, but only to have time enough to figure out how to best place the Empress at his mercy.
The Gorgon knew that the technology of the Human functionaries, while daunting, consumed a great deal of energy, like sun or nourishment, but of a sort that did not exist in the necessary concentrations on the surface of Medusa. The original Human invaders had been overrun the same way: by siege. The newer invaders were far more powerful. Still, the old ways were good ways.
The Empress's demonstration of power had depleted the ringwing’s reserves; this the Gorgon sensed directly. The Gorgon had enough data to assess how many of its minions it would have to spend to destroy the Human aircraft. It was an acceptable sacrifice.
The verge of the meadow was now far away from the Humans, who stood near the front of the shuttle. However, the nearer warrior-fronds had not retreated at all from the rear side of the aircraft. The mundane purple-thorned components had, in fact, continued to inch closer to the flying machine. Suddenly, they rushed, activating the security protocols of the craft. Dozens, scores of the minions were scythed down by radiation and compressed gravity. The ring-wing's power was depleted further.
The Humans had but turned around to notice the sudden surge of activity, when a wave of crystalline radicals, shockingly fast, bounded up, then leapt through the air toward the upper hull of the ringwing. The protective halo dispatched them, as well. The ring-wing's power fell to critical levels.
A trio of crystalline wedges rushed the ship, separated by 120-degree angles. Coherent gravitational pulses obliterated first one, then another, and decimated the third...then sputtered empty. Even the emergency reserves of energy were depleted; the craft was wide open to attack. Nothing but the ship's self-destruction could threaten the Gorgon now.
In the time it took the onboard sentience to decide to throw caution to the wind and use that margin, the surviving attackers had swarmed over the ship and made short work of its hull, using a combination of diamond scissor-fronds and natural digestive acids.
The melee took less than twenty seconds.
“It would appear the moment of triumph is mine.” The Gorgon chortled.
“Empress?” one of the Cyberne asked, fear in his voice, beginning to raise his atlatl, a traditional Brazilian energy weapon modeled after a much more ancient innovation.
“Stand down!” she hissed, then addressed the Gorgon: “You cannot overcome my warships in space. You will not risk the destruction of your entire planet.”
The Gorgon paused, then started a low, amused rumble. “Indeed, Empress? I have been listening to your ‘subjects’ for fifteen hundred years! They’ve forgotten you. You are a long-lost fairytale to most. You dare nothing against me! The, what is the name? The Terremagne rules now.”
Mercada paused. It was all true, of course. “Would you prefer to treat with the new management, then?”
“No.” The Gorgon answered angrily. “In truth, you honored your pledge. It was this successor overmind that returned your beastly plague. And I cannot rule out that you would not destroy me, and disappear into the void for another fifteen hundred years.”
“No.” she said in a neutral tone. The Gorgon’s ruminations argued best for her interests now.
“And yet, you come now, and in need. for something either you have lost...or this Terremagne has.”
“I come to strike a new balance.” Mercada ventured.
“So be it." The Gorgon paused. "Here is my proposal for balance, Empress. In half a cycle of the Great Suns, forty of your years, I will either give the object you seek to you, or give it to your rival overmind, the Terremagne.”
“No!” She blurted out. “I must have the sphere!”
“Then we have the makings of a balance. In return you will assist me in ridding the southern mountains of the last of the Human interlopers, these...Pavons, as they call themselves.”
“Do you need my assistance?” The Empress glanced at what remained of her shuttle. The warrior-fronds had disintegrated the ship and were taking every last trace of it away.
“It is a question of the expense required to extract the pests, and of your commitment.”
“I do not understand.”
“You will help me obtain the balance that I seek, and receive your reward. Otherwise, what memories this odd brain-seed of yours contains, and whatever secrets concern you so, will pass into the hands of your enemy.
“You will help me cleanse my world again." The Gorgon finished.
Mercada nodded. She had sold out four billion erstwhile loyalists before; betraying ninety million Terremagne traitors would be nothing in the final analysis.
“You must speak aloud your assent, Empress," the Gorgon prompted.
“I agree!” She barked back. She knew not to treat lightly with such an ancient intelligence, knew to respect its vast, age-spanning wisdom. Yet in her bones, she could not shake the conviction that this was just a great, big potted ivy that could mimic intelligence. This prejudice, hardly unique to herself, made it easy for the Gorgon to kill billions long ago, once it had been shown the necessity of doing so, and how to do so.
She had even taught the Gorgon how.
The planet-spanning super-mind had learned quickly the Human arts of war. And now it knew to diversify its sources of information, as well, to rely on its own intelligence.
If I'm not careful, I will end up working for the thornbush, not the other way around, Mercada mused, disliking the taste of such words.
The Gorgon paused. “There is one other matter. My fronds expended a prodigious amount of energy in this...conversation. I must ask for nourishment on their behalf.”
“I could send back livestock upon our safe return.”
The Gorgon send a negatory pulse through the ground. “I am afraid that is neither sufficiently reliable, nor timely, nor...contrite.” There was a considerable pause, as separate sonar readings sized up Mercada’s three guards. “However, these beasts will do nicely.” The nearer killer-trees began to move forward; Mercada's guards gathered close by her.
"They won't go quietly," she said. Of course she'd sacrifice them, splendid Cyberne that they were. But what a terrible loss!
"It is always better, when the meat struggles." the Gorgon said. "Time for you to say your good-byes, Empress."
“I cannot yield on this,” Mercada said loudly, for the benefit of her guards. “They attack. Defend me!”
The crystalline elements of the Gorgon rushed forward. Her three guards were already beset with enemies. Slashing, cutting, burning, chewing fields their last moments.
Mercada drew her own atlatl, partly for show, but found herself batting aside a swipe from a scissor-branch that sliced to close for comfort.
With her free hand, the Empress sent the emergency retreat signal, but for herself alone.
As she faded from the surface of Medusa and merged with the reality onboard her flagship, the Osiris, the Gorgon’s radio voice called after her:
“Half a Great Cycle, Empress. I give you forty of your years and no more. By then it will be in my power to hunt you across the stars.”
Century/Medusa (Alpha Centauri B4): Explored by the U.S. Celestial Survey 2124; first landing in 2271. Terraformation begun in 2370 and declared finished in 2767, though large areas too dangerous due too alkaline concentrations, native flora, and other hazards. Primary developers were the United States, Bangladesh and Indonesia. Original settlers were mostly Europeans and Arabs displaced by invasions from successor civilizations and post-Yellowstone climate shift. U.S. assistance in the evacuation of Europe and Arabia did much to heal the centuries-long schism between the Americans and their erstwhile allies and foes.
Medusa (as the planet is commonly called) is half the mass of earth, similar to Mars in composition, with a thick atmosphere of hydrogen, helium and oxygen. Sufficient water vapor is retained to support a range of desert ecologies. Most Medusan plants take carbon from stone and soil, and water vapor is the chief exhalant of the hydrogen-breathing animals. However, some plants are carnivorous.
In its heyday 4.2 billion people lived on the planet. For approximately three years following the destruction of Mars and the devastation of Earth, it was the most populous world in all of the Slow Range.
That was before the Gorgon joined in war on behalf of the Empress....
Her full name and title is Empresa Galtana Salvadora Mercada Saraceiro. Fifteen centuries ago, she last set foot on Medusa. Regardless, the immortal world-spanning mind of the Gorgon remembered her, and cleared a landing meadow on the now-abandoned northern upland in her honor. Even such a short-term retreat of its purple-thorned, diamond-toothed functionaries was repulsive; the Gorgon remembered the plasma torches and lasers, the weapons used by the settlers, clear-cutting millions of hectares from its flanks, making room for their slave-crops and delicious livestock, their soft-shelled homesteads and their intolerably tall cities, casting shadows, blocking the lovely orange and golden of the Greater and Lesser Suns.
Then the Gorgon met the Empress, and after making contact with the Human overmind, things had gone much better: As a gesture of good faith, the Empress gave over the entire settler population of this world to the Gorgon’s minions. In this way, the balance was kept, the alien, beastly pestilence purged. The Gorgon’s wrath had been appeased. Furthermore, the Gorgon found something else in the Empress: A strange sort of equal, neither predator nor prey nor of its own collective body. Equal, perhaps, for the Empress was part of the vast Human collective that the Gorgon, now attuned to, sensed across the skies, in all directions.
Not only an equal, but perhaps a superior: For shortly after joining forces with the Empress, the Gorgon felt the shockwave of a dying world of the fourth-nearest sun, the momentary increase in illumination on its nightside fronds, and realized that this feat was the work of the miniscule creature now standing in its midst.
A standard Terremagne ring-wing shuttle set down in the glade, power running, wing still rotating. The “wing” was a partial distortion in the fabric of space-time, spinning as swiftly as necessary to generate traction against the force of gravity. The Gorgon did not care for such science, but it could sense the power of the aircraft. Several of its clear-branched radicals wanted to kamikaze into the ship, to prove the vitality of its variety. The Gorgon chuckled, such as world-spanning beings do, and restrained its impetuous elements.
No portals opened; they were unnecessary. The Gorgon witnessed with no small wonder as four Human-shaped discontinuities, man-sized bubbles, appeared outside of the aircraft, suddenly filling as if from a hidden spring with the inner makings of animals. Within two seconds, the forms were complete, the discontinuities gone with a chorus of crackles. The Gorgon witnessed Human starships performing the same trick in the space overhead its world, though the process was slower.
Red-caped, auburn-haired, amber-eyed, the Empress Mercada, former Mistress of the Emerald Realm, Protector of Brazil and Liberator of Nigeria, Savior of the Congo and Lady of the Americas, stood surrounded by three wary Cyberne guards. The Gorgon used its subsonic senses to assess them all. The guards were hybrid beings; the Gorgon could not tell where their animal fluids ended and their deadly instruments began.
A contingent of mesquite-like radicals, the most successful of the rapid-reaction warriors to date, moved into complementary positions. One snapped its meter-long scissor-thorns menacingly at a flinching Human functionary. The Empress gestured sharply to her soldiers. An electromagnetic shout went out. The Gorgon understood the words easily: Do nothing. The overmind assumed direct control of the wayward radical and it calmed down immediately.
The Empress watched the summary proceedings, nodded her satisfaction at the outcome. “I have returned to you, great Gorgon, to provide surety of my vows, and ask for one small, additional favor.” She said this aloud. Normally, the Gorgon conveyed its wishes by infrasonic vibrations. However, the Gorgon listened with its more delicate fronds to the calls -- and cries -- of prey. This skill had been developed before the rise of air-breathing life on Earth. The Gorgon, however, did not speak as Humans did. It spoke with its own voice, trusting to Human instrumentation to translate.
One of the soldiers, members of the ancient and now-forbidden Cyberne caste, set a crystalline stake in the ground.
In her ears, and hers alone, Mercada heard the voice that no one, outside of herself and the rest of the exiles onboard the Osiris even guessed existed, the voice of the first alien sentience that Humanity had unwittingly encountered, to the cost of over four billion lives.
In her ears, and hers alone, Mercada heard the voice that no other Human even guessed existed:
“You have returned, Night-Empress and so promptly. I am pleased. However, I am not so pleased that your minions continue to persist in my domain.”
“They are newcomers. Rebels, momentarily outside of my power.” Mercada had checked the latest Terremagne census before arriving on Medusa; there were a mere 89 million inhabitants on the planet now, all descendants of newcomers after the Gorgon had feasted on the original population.
The verge of the clearing suddenly rushed inward. “Then perhaps I am mistaken, and you are not the true overmind of Humanity.”
Mercada frowned and muttered a swift subvocal command. Suddenly, the distortion ring of her aircraft greatly magnified in size, brilliance and power, a now-audible, searing halo of certain death hovering overhead. “Do not test me, Gorgon!” she cried. Heat from the shearing of reality itself filled the glade. At the same time, a sheet of X-ray radiation began to discomfit the Gorgon’s more delicate functionaries, gatherers and other support elements.
The Gorgon, however, was unimpressed. Its warrior-fronds were modified for radiation exposure. Several advanced into the circle, through the protective radiation shield, clearly on the attack. The Cyberne guards tensed, drew weapons. The Empress transmitted a silent command to her shuttle.
It was then that the ring wing, a modulated gravitational gradient, showed its true power; the trespassers were shredded to pieces, like blades of wheat in a thresher.
The Gorgon relented. “Enough. I yield, Empress, You surpass me. For the moment, that is.” The Gorgon withdrew the fringe of the clearing. Mollified, the Empress reset the protective halo to an idle setting. “You mentioned a small favor, I believe,” the sussurating voice of the Gorgon whispered.
Mercada smiled openly. “Yes. There was near the old Human city of Archangel a large statue, resembling a winged Human.”
The Gorgon rumbled powerfully enough to shake the ground. “It was one of the first structures that I destroyed. The tallest of the abominations. Its unholy shadow was an outrage that could not longer be endured.”
Mercada nodded indulgently. “Yes, yes. Within its foundation, however, there was a small sphere...a stone about as large as one of your radical’s brain-seeds, and of similar composition.”
The Gorgon paused, reflecting on past communications with fronds near the old Human ruin. Its functionaries transmitted holographic memories; all that they detected was transmitted and stored, if not reflected upon right away. It would not do for a collective intelligence to overlook details; they might be needed later.
“The object that you speak of is buried under the rubble, but is of exceptional durability. I assume that you wish to take possession of it?”
“Yes.”
“I must insist on compensation, as transporting such an object over such a long distance will be wearisome.
“I could fly there and transport the object myself.”
“No.”
“No?” the Empress repeated.
“There continue to be Humans on my world. You are not in balance, Empress. So long as this is the case, you will not travel over my domain.”
Mercada sneered. “You cannot defy me, you overgrown thornbush!”
The ground shoook again, from the thrumming of a hundred thousand root systems. “Threaten me again, and I will destroy your precious brain-seed.” The Gorgon paused. “And there are ways to overcome your impressive toys.”
Earlier, the radicals wanted to prove their vitality by suicide attack on the Human aircraft. The Gorgon refused, but only to have time enough to figure out how to best place the Empress at his mercy.
The Gorgon knew that the technology of the Human functionaries, while daunting, consumed a great deal of energy, like sun or nourishment, but of a sort that did not exist in the necessary concentrations on the surface of Medusa. The original Human invaders had been overrun the same way: by siege. The newer invaders were far more powerful. Still, the old ways were good ways.
The Empress's demonstration of power had depleted the ringwing’s reserves; this the Gorgon sensed directly. The Gorgon had enough data to assess how many of its minions it would have to spend to destroy the Human aircraft. It was an acceptable sacrifice.
The verge of the meadow was now far away from the Humans, who stood near the front of the shuttle. However, the nearer warrior-fronds had not retreated at all from the rear side of the aircraft. The mundane purple-thorned components had, in fact, continued to inch closer to the flying machine. Suddenly, they rushed, activating the security protocols of the craft. Dozens, scores of the minions were scythed down by radiation and compressed gravity. The ring-wing's power was depleted further.
The Humans had but turned around to notice the sudden surge of activity, when a wave of crystalline radicals, shockingly fast, bounded up, then leapt through the air toward the upper hull of the ringwing. The protective halo dispatched them, as well. The ring-wing's power fell to critical levels.
A trio of crystalline wedges rushed the ship, separated by 120-degree angles. Coherent gravitational pulses obliterated first one, then another, and decimated the third...then sputtered empty. Even the emergency reserves of energy were depleted; the craft was wide open to attack. Nothing but the ship's self-destruction could threaten the Gorgon now.
In the time it took the onboard sentience to decide to throw caution to the wind and use that margin, the surviving attackers had swarmed over the ship and made short work of its hull, using a combination of diamond scissor-fronds and natural digestive acids.
The melee took less than twenty seconds.
“It would appear the moment of triumph is mine.” The Gorgon chortled.
“Empress?” one of the Cyberne asked, fear in his voice, beginning to raise his atlatl, a traditional Brazilian energy weapon modeled after a much more ancient innovation.
“Stand down!” she hissed, then addressed the Gorgon: “You cannot overcome my warships in space. You will not risk the destruction of your entire planet.”
The Gorgon paused, then started a low, amused rumble. “Indeed, Empress? I have been listening to your ‘subjects’ for fifteen hundred years! They’ve forgotten you. You are a long-lost fairytale to most. You dare nothing against me! The, what is the name? The Terremagne rules now.”
Mercada paused. It was all true, of course. “Would you prefer to treat with the new management, then?”
“No.” The Gorgon answered angrily. “In truth, you honored your pledge. It was this successor overmind that returned your beastly plague. And I cannot rule out that you would not destroy me, and disappear into the void for another fifteen hundred years.”
“No.” she said in a neutral tone. The Gorgon’s ruminations argued best for her interests now.
“And yet, you come now, and in need. for something either you have lost...or this Terremagne has.”
“I come to strike a new balance.” Mercada ventured.
“So be it." The Gorgon paused. "Here is my proposal for balance, Empress. In half a cycle of the Great Suns, forty of your years, I will either give the object you seek to you, or give it to your rival overmind, the Terremagne.”
“No!” She blurted out. “I must have the sphere!”
“Then we have the makings of a balance. In return you will assist me in ridding the southern mountains of the last of the Human interlopers, these...Pavons, as they call themselves.”
“Do you need my assistance?” The Empress glanced at what remained of her shuttle. The warrior-fronds had disintegrated the ship and were taking every last trace of it away.
“It is a question of the expense required to extract the pests, and of your commitment.”
“I do not understand.”
“You will help me obtain the balance that I seek, and receive your reward. Otherwise, what memories this odd brain-seed of yours contains, and whatever secrets concern you so, will pass into the hands of your enemy.
“You will help me cleanse my world again." The Gorgon finished.
Mercada nodded. She had sold out four billion erstwhile loyalists before; betraying ninety million Terremagne traitors would be nothing in the final analysis.
“You must speak aloud your assent, Empress," the Gorgon prompted.
“I agree!” She barked back. She knew not to treat lightly with such an ancient intelligence, knew to respect its vast, age-spanning wisdom. Yet in her bones, she could not shake the conviction that this was just a great, big potted ivy that could mimic intelligence. This prejudice, hardly unique to herself, made it easy for the Gorgon to kill billions long ago, once it had been shown the necessity of doing so, and how to do so.
She had even taught the Gorgon how.
The planet-spanning super-mind had learned quickly the Human arts of war. And now it knew to diversify its sources of information, as well, to rely on its own intelligence.
If I'm not careful, I will end up working for the thornbush, not the other way around, Mercada mused, disliking the taste of such words.
The Gorgon paused. “There is one other matter. My fronds expended a prodigious amount of energy in this...conversation. I must ask for nourishment on their behalf.”
“I could send back livestock upon our safe return.”
The Gorgon send a negatory pulse through the ground. “I am afraid that is neither sufficiently reliable, nor timely, nor...contrite.” There was a considerable pause, as separate sonar readings sized up Mercada’s three guards. “However, these beasts will do nicely.” The nearer killer-trees began to move forward; Mercada's guards gathered close by her.
"They won't go quietly," she said. Of course she'd sacrifice them, splendid Cyberne that they were. But what a terrible loss!
"It is always better, when the meat struggles." the Gorgon said. "Time for you to say your good-byes, Empress."
“I cannot yield on this,” Mercada said loudly, for the benefit of her guards. “They attack. Defend me!”
The crystalline elements of the Gorgon rushed forward. Her three guards were already beset with enemies. Slashing, cutting, burning, chewing fields their last moments.
Mercada drew her own atlatl, partly for show, but found herself batting aside a swipe from a scissor-branch that sliced to close for comfort.
With her free hand, the Empress sent the emergency retreat signal, but for herself alone.
As she faded from the surface of Medusa and merged with the reality onboard her flagship, the Osiris, the Gorgon’s radio voice called after her:
“Half a Great Cycle, Empress. I give you forty of your years and no more. By then it will be in my power to hunt you across the stars.”
