The Orphaned Worlds by Michael Cobley Page B

civilian work; otherwise he would face the choice of self-death or execution, or mind-shredding if betrayal took place.’
    ‘Harsh but necessary,’ Kuros said. ‘Very well, Captain, proceed.
    My operations assister will dispatch the assent to Security and Transorbital Control.’
    Juort inclined his helmeted head. ‘My thanks, Ambassador. We will keep your office informed.’
    ‘Very good. One more thing – remind me which commandery you belong to … is it the Black Sun?’
    ‘No, Ambassador – all of us assigned to Darien are from the Fireblades Commandery. The Black Sun is led by the Marshal Paramount.’
    ‘Of course. My thanks and farewell.’
    Once the Ezgara was gone, Kuros called up the Sky Balcony simulation again, set it for dusk, and sat there gazing down at the brilliantly lit expanse of Erizan, its spires and domes, the towering clusters of the monoclan mercholds, shining and glittering, while thousands of aerial vessels flowed in and out in strings and chains, streams of glowing beads. He pondered the punishments that Juort had just described, comparing them to the ignominy he would have suffered had Teshak decided to dismiss him. Yet the Clarified had instead made him privy to some astonishing truths about the other two Human colonies, not the kind of information to be shared with someone marked for dishonour.
    On the contrary, might it not be a sign of better things to come? Kuros smiled. If he was careful, and proved his worth to the Clarified Teshak, who knows how high his name might rise?

CATRIONA

    Cradled in the growing green darkness, Catriona listened, eyes closed, as Segrana sang to her.
    The song was sad, a braided river of lament that ran beneath the hard harmony of sensations that flowed through Cat’s perceptions. The remnants and leftovers of recent showers leaked from tree trunk crannies or spilled like tears from cupping leaves nudged by a breeze or the weight of a bird alighting for a moment on the supporting sprig. Down a thousand paths water trickled, rilled and pattered, and to Catriona it was as if it all poured over her own skin. At the same time she felt the heat of the sun, bathing the upper canopy’s sprigs, leaves and blooms in a delicious blaze. Yet Segrana’s song was an undeniable undercurrent of double premonition. It had begun with low, faint notes of warning as the first Brolturan troops had stepped ashore. When it became apparent that a large offensive force was being assembled, undertones of warning turned to sorrow at the prospect of more death.
    Cat could feel their presence at the edge of the forest, could almost sense the weight of their booted feet. In the few weeks since the murder of President Sundstrom, her mind and her reflexes had become more deeply intertwined with the psionic weave of the continental forest. There was a breath and a pulse to it, the wave of heat and light as dawn swept continuously around the moon, the tug and sweep of weather systems bringing wind and rain. Then there was the purpose of the Brolturans, their occupation of Darien and their grand invasions of Segrana, of which this would be the fifth. Were they still trying to test the defences, or were they engaged in a war of what they imagined was attrition? The latter might make sense, were it not for the huge technology gap – the Brolturans could have fielded land, sea and air attack vehicles or even sprayed the forest with defoliant, yet they had not.
    They want something, the temple-halls perhaps, or the ancient knowledge chambers, or Segrana herself , she thought. Or perhaps they’re unsure what’s hidden here and are making these probing attacks to see where we fight hardest .
    She shrugged her shoulders and shifted slightly in her leaf-padded recess. It was a cuplike cavity in the branching shoulder of one of Segrana’s colossal pillar trees. During her sleep, pale rootlets had sprouted from the wood to curl about her brow while other tendril tresses spilled down around