Subcutis (Bona Dea Book 1) Read online

  SUBCUTIS

  © 2018 Harper J. Cole

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Based on artwork by Tithi Luadthong

  Dedicated to my family

  because some projects take longer than others

  Prologue

  Look at them. Gluttons, gorged on death.

  Isik Karteeb had witnessed the fruits of war before, but never a scene so visceral as this. Bodies, dead and dying, lay strewn about the morning snow wherever he turned. They had succumbed to any number of fates: victims of air-to-ground missiles, guns, knives, even the bare hands of their enemies. Some lay crushed beneath the rubble of fallen buildings; others, who had braved the frozen surface of the lake, had crashed through patches of treacherous ice into the frigid waters that lurked below, never to resurface.

  The 7th Monosade-Anasade War was drawing to an end.

  Activity to the north caught Karteeb’s eye; a number of shapes moving furtively through the campus of the venerable Botanical University. A mental command instantaneously sent him skimming in that direction, the icy ground rushing past beneath his feet. He was not there on Anasade in person, of course – it wouldn’t do to be caught by a stray bullet – but his omniglobe allowed him to track proceedings from the safety of his astral home, light years removed from the scene of the struggle. Here he could drift in space and watch the mighty assault ships tear one other to pieces, or zoom in to the microscopic level and observe the gases of putrefaction as they ruptured the skin of a fallen soldier. For the moment, he chose to witness the dying embers of the war from the perspective of the remaining Monosadan invaders.

  The University proved to be in ruins when Karteeb reached it: the central turrets demolished, the elegant buildings levelled, the famous gardens, established in the first days of the colony, now a grey travesty devoid of life.

  In the shattered husk of a vast meeting hall, a ragtag band of Monosadan ground troops were preparing to make their final stand. It was a far from ideal spot, the domed roof of the building having been obliterated some days ago, the remnants resembling a gaping maw, waiting to be fed. A reasonably accurate missile should finish the whole sorry lot of them.

  How many are there? Twenty-four, perhaps? He consulted with Xerpa; the computer’s reply was instantaneous. Twenty-five. Quite impossible for them to do any serious damage. They surely know the battle is lost. And yet …

  His reverie was interrupted by the soft swish of the door behind him. Footsteps approached, the newcomer striding swiftly toward the centre of the omniglobe.

  Karteeb judged the speed of approach to be disrespectfully high.

  “A little over five years ago, the government of Monosade ran a survey,” he began conversationally. He did not turn to see who the newcomer was. “They were curious to discover the spiritual beliefs of the people, so they asked them the usual questions. Is there a God? Do we have souls? Does another life follow this one? Less than an eighth of respondents answered the third question in the affirmative. Nearly half felt sure that this brief existence is all they’re going to get.”

  “Unsurprising,” came the reply. The voice was young, female … ah, yes. Surna. Brilliant, brash, politically ambitious. An enemy. Karteeb had always grudgingly admired her mastery of vocal modulation; she could convey a potent contempt while discussing the most banal of subjects. “Religion as a concept has never recovered from the Vitana incident. I studied the underlying psychology as a young girl.”

  “Quite so. And yet, how do these unbelievers react when faced with a choice between having their lives ended, or prolonging them by the simple act of surrender?” Karteeb gestured about him. The Monosadans were continuing to ready themselves for battle, checking their weapons and taking up positions behind such cover as the ruined building still provided. There was little talk; their expressions were either grim or openly fearful. But there were no protests, no suggested alternatives to fighting.

  Surna had moved to the periphery of his vision. “No-one wants to be viewed as a coward or traitor.”

  “If, as they believe, their existence ends with death, then it hardly matters how they’re perceived.”

  “And if they live? A soldier who has abandoned his duty might some day yearn for the release of non-existence.”

  “So as to be free of the burden of guilt? That would ease with time.” He stepped close to one wide-eyed Monosadian, strong and tall but still little more than a boy, his shoulders narrow, his body hair light and sparse. “Your life is such a fleeting thing, young warrior. Why throw the greater part of it away?”

  “Even if he could hear you, he wouldn’t know the answer,” said Surna, sounding uninterested and slightly frustrated. She was evidently impatient for him to ask the reason for her visit, which was sufficient cause for him not to do so. “Their understanding of psychology is no better than any of the other offshoots of our species.”

  “And what does your own understanding tell you?” asked Karteeb, his tone subtly softening to resemble that of a patient teacher.

  “That uneducated Gadi are irrational and easily influenced by ideals and propaganda.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It’s enough.”

  “I disagree.” Movement beyond the crumbling walls caught his eye. A large troop were heading this way – Anasadan soldiers, fit and fully armed, backed up by gleaming war engines.

  Here to finish the job.

  The Monosadans saw them too, their weapons raising to shoulder height as they waited for the enemy to come within firing range.

  “This is their seventh war, but it won’t be their last. The Monosadan failure to claim this planet leaves neither side the victor. Another spell of uneasy peace will ensue, and then – perhaps a generation from now, perhaps only a few years – all this will happen again. If we could understand the psychology of these people better then we might be able to break them out of this futile cycle.”

  “That sounds like empathy.” Surna made no effort to hide her distaste.

  “No. Impatience.”

  “I see. Continuing hostilities do rather delay the realization of our ultimate ends, don’t they? Perhaps you need a diversion to ease the burden of waiting.”

  Karteeb said nothing, his hands resting lightly on his hips as he watched the Anasadan attack force draw closer. Surna wanted him to inquire as to the purpose of her visit, a show of weakness – of need – that he was minded to avoid. She, for her part, surely realized the nature of the little power game that he was playing; for several long moments she remained silent, trying to wait him out.

  Finally, doubtless realizing that the stars would burn cold before Karteeb would relent, Surna spoke.

  “My deep space probes have made a rather provocative discovery. A ship, roving the stars in our arm of the galaxy, light years beyond the farthest colony. Its design is unlike any I’ve seen before, and its inhabitants are unquestionably alien.”

  As though to punctuate Surna’s revelation, both the Monosadan and Anasadan forces chose that moment to open fire. The boom and roar of their weaponry assailed the ears from all sides; large chunks of stonework exploded into dust; soldiers bellowed with pain and fury as enemy bullets found them.

  Xerpa, without needing to be told, turned down the volume of the simulation.

  “Alien,” repeated Karteeb. “Interesting.”

  “And rather embarrassing for you, I imagine. You’ve been vocal in your claims that no intelligent organic life exists in the galaxy beyond our own species.”

  “Your memory is faulty – or your comprehension, perhaps. I do not claim, I calculate. In this case, I demonstrated that the probability of such life existing was a li
ttle over three in sixty-four, based on a comprehensive climatic analysis of every world surveyed within the habitable zone. Obviously, this new information alters the equation significantly, but I stand by my work.” Now, at last, he turned to face her, letting his lips draw back ever so slightly. “Show me an error, if you can find one.”

  Surna frowned and said nothing. Karteeb considered her. Being an adult, she was hairless, just as he was, and she wore the same white robes. They had little else in common though. She was tall and broad-shouldered, her eyes a rich green, her skin the colour of the earth. The slope of her brow was strong and elegant – a striking woman. He, by comparison, looked old, pallid and forgettable.

  No matter.

  “I assume that this craft doesn’t meet our own technological standards.”

  “Correct. In fact,” - Surna indicated the beleaguered Monosadans - “while they’re slightly more advanced than these in some areas, there’s little to catch the eye. Crude jump technology to move through space, hydroponics and aeroponics to preserve oxygen, limited artificial gravity. Their computer systems are giving me a few problems – there’s no pulse signature, so we won’t be able to read the data without using a physical interface. Still, we’ve had no trouble listening in on their conversation. Xerpa’s analysing their language as we speak. It’s already gleaned quite a bit of information.”

  “Oh?” Karteeb turned back to the battle, where the Anasadans were pressing home their advantage. A rivulet of dark red blood ran from a fallen body towards his feet; he resisted the urge to step aside, and the liquid passed through him, intangible.

  “They come from a planet called ‘Earth,’” said Surna. “At least, that’s the most likely name. Xerpa does give “America” as a secondary possibility. It’s clear on the species name: ‘Human.’”

  “Hardly crucial information, the names these creatures give to themselves.”

  “They originate from a considerable distance away. An analysis of their flight pattern suggests the minor spiral arm.”

  “Unsurprising – we’ve completely surveyed the more local systems. Do we know the purpose of their visit?”

  “No, though we can infer a certain amount based on their behaviour. Xerpa has the data – why not link in and judge for yourself?”

  “Perhaps later. If there’s nothing else, I’ll resume my observation of this petty war.”

  “As you wish, honoured senior,” replied Surna, slickly insincere in her choice of words. She strode back to the door, but lingered on the threshold for long enough to deliver a parting shot. “You know, the last two Isiks to be voted out of office prematurely both tried to impose interventionist policies. Consider that a friendly reminder – something to ponder as you conduct your ‘observations.’”

  That one’s going to be a lot of trouble in years to come, thought Karteeb as she left, but for the moment, she’s still too reckless to be dangerous. Charging in here, too eager to gloat over my perceived error to think things through.

  Her news had been interesting, though. A new and sentient species evolving completely separately from any Gadi. Their own history, their own philosophy … the concept intrigued him far more than he’d let on to Surna. If they’d been at a higher technological level, it might have fundamentally altered his perception of the galactic order. As it was, they still were an oddity worthy of study.

  After ordering Xerpa to lock the door – one disturbance was quite enough today – Karteeb had the artificial intelligence transfer its knowledge of the human vessel directly into his brain. He felt a familiar throbbing sensation deep in his hippocampus as his microscopic implants interfaced with Xerpa’s colossal reservoirs of data.

  Then the knowledge was there in his long term memory, masquerading as facts he’d always known. He “remembered” that the human spaceship was called the Bona Dea, that its crew consisted of twenty-one biological lifeforms and four robots, that each of those twenty-one were women.

  All female? That could hardly be co-incidence. Karteeb wondered whether they might be a hermaphroditic species, but no … preliminary scans had already provided a wealth of information on their biology. They each had wombs, but no means to impregnate.

  Female, then. Where were the males? Dead? Subjugated, perhaps? Or was the explanation more mundane? This might be nothing more than a group of friends out on a fun excursion. No … their low level of technology surely prohibited the use of interstellar travel as a source of entertainment. It must take a lot of work to keep that crude ship in one piece.

  Karteeb turned his attention to the vessel’s flight path, and at least one of the mysteries surrounding the humans was promptly solved. They had been visiting stars which had a good prospect of boasting numerous orbiting planets, and they had confined themselves to the habitable zone.

  These women were on a quest to find another intelligent species.

  But they surely won’t succeed, he thought. Their sensory equipment is primitive – it wouldn’t detect a verdant planet until their ship was practically in orbit. Given the paucity of fruitful targets and their current power reserves, the probability that they stumble upon an inhabited world is less than one in four thousand one hundred ninety-six.

  A wasted trip.

  A flash of light brought his attention back to the simulation of Anasade. He’d quite forgotten about the battle, and now found that he’d missed the end of it. The Anasadan forces had evidently tired of small arms fire and launched an explosive missile at the ruined meeting hall sheltering the Monosadans. They’d been obliterated; no sign of them besides a stray limb or two. The building itself had fared little better. The battered walls were all but gone now, and Karteeb stood suspended in mid-air above a deep, ugly crater.

  Feeling a strong wave of distaste, he zoomed his perspective out to the macro level, the battlefield dropping away beneath him as he hurtled upwards into space. Soon, the whole of Anasade was visible, a flattened globe painted in shades of white and blue. Letting his gaze drift beyond the North Pole, he noted the glimmer of light that was Monosade – a green world when seen up close, it might easily have been mistaken for just another star at this distance. Two Anasadan years from now, the orbit of the inner planet would take it past the outer, close enough for both to see serious increases in tidal forces.

  Karteeb wondered whether that would be the catalyst for their next war.

  It wouldn’t be so hard to force peace upon these people. Exposing or eliminating a few incendiary elements might be enough. The simultaneous introduction of some suitably pacific individuals in key roles would ensure our success.

  But Surna’s right – everyone’s afraid that a policy of interventionism may make our existence more than a rumour in the minds of the colonials.

  He stiffened abruptly.

  Yes … that was the answer. Indirect action – the introduction of a rogue element to upset the equilibrium the colonies had settled into.

  He ordered Xerpa to bring up an image of the human ship. Anasade faded away, to be replaced by an awkward, blocky vessel. The image was monochromatic and low on detail – there were certain things their long-range scans couldn’t tell them – but conveyed the crudity of the ship clearly enough.

  A small band of explorers, searching the stars for life.

  What might happen if they found it?

  PART ONE – BONA DEA

  I

  … We can no longer be content with the progress we have made on Earth, for the world of our birth is not the future. The next chapter of the human story is being written even now, and written without us.

  In the past thirty years, the percentage of women aboard deep space exploration vessels has fallen from close to 35% to barely a third of that figure. Women in positions of real authority, either on ships or colonies, are now virtually unheard of. The male-dominated GSEC Governance Committee has long since ceased to make more than token efforts to reverse this trend.

  We were once told, “A woman’s place is in the home.” Th
at seems to have become, “A woman’s place is on the home planet.” Many seem to believe that this represents acceptable progress. I most certainly do not …

  – Miriam Hunter, Wake Up Call

  “What’s happiness?” asked Charlie.

  “Happiness?” Flora shifted her head slightly on his chest. “That’s quite a question to hit me with after half an hour of silence.”

  “More like 27 minutes, actually. But you told me yesterday that you’d answer one question per session. Any subject.”

  “Well … yes, but I wasn’t expecting anything quite that heavy. More along the lines of ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ or ‘Who was your best friend at school?’ … you know, personal trivia.”

  “Still, you did agree to answer anything. Your reputation for scrupulous honesty will lie in tatters if you back out now.”

  A short laugh. “We wouldn’t want that, would we? Fine, let me screw my thinking cap into place.” Thirty seconds of thoughtful biting of her little finger, then she gave it a try. “It’s a good feeling. Light, positive. It comes about as a result of recent events in your life going well. Having said that, sometimes you might feel happy for no obvious reason. Or narcotics can produce happiness artificially. I mean, that’s what I’m told, but it’s a cheap imitation of the real thing, so it doesn’t really count. There are physical changes as well: more energy, a spring in the step, your brain perceives things with more … optimism, ah … I’m not being very coherent, am I?”

  “No, but eight out of ten for effort. I do understand that some things are harder to describe than others; colours, for instance. How about a slight modification to my question: when in your life have you been most happy? Personal trivia, as requested.”

  “Ah, well that one I can answer straight away, no thinking cap required. Chamonix, summer of ‘32. I was eight.”

  “Chamonix … sounds French?”