Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Chapter 25

Late into the night, Maggie built her Seeker. With her mantle of technology, it did not seem an onerous chore. Her first task was to disconnect the olfactory sensors from Lord Felph’s perfumery, a gaudy piece of equipment that took up a quarter of Hera and Zeus’s bedroom. The tremendously complex machine had olfactory sensors coupled to an artificial intelligence, along with synthesizers for creating scents. It could offer thousands of base perfumes, alter them at request.

She removed the faceplate from the perfumery and studied the machine, considering which tools she needed to remove the olfactors. She wondered how sensitive the equipment might be. She’d seen dronon olfactors used on Seekers, but they might be more sensitive than this. She didn’t know if this would work.

“Perfumer,” she asked, “can you smell me?”

“Yes,” the perfumer answered.

“Can you differentiate my smell from that of other humans?”

“Each human scent is unique, though it varies from day to day depending on the amounts of oil secreted by the skin; the colony types and growth rates of microbes growing on the skin; secretion of hormones; and the presence of chemical modifiers-such as perfumes or soap residues.’

Maggie wondered. The dronon had only begun sending Seekers after her a few weeks earlier. She’d been forced to run so fast, so far, she hadn’t considered options other than running. She suspected the dronon had only her scent. The nanoscrubbers in Gallen’s robe would make him difficult to track. On Manogian II, while Gallen, Orick, and Tallea were busy in a market a kilometer distant, a Seeker had found her. But the Seeker found only her, Maggie recalled. So perhaps the machines targeted only her. She was the Golden Queen. She was the one the dronon wanted.

“Perfumer,” Maggie asked. “Can I change my body scent, to make it unrecognizable?”

“Yes,” the perfumer answered.

“How?” Maggie felt hopeful.

“First, chemical and radiation therapies may kill exterior microbe colonies on your skin, and you could be seeded with new colonies of different varieties.” Maggie understood this. Every person has microscopic mites living in their eyes, lips, and skin. Funguses, viruses, and bacterial colonies are also common-so common in fact, most people have strains of microbe evolve to exist specifically on their own bodies.

The perfumer suggested that these could all be removed, thus altering the scent caused by microbial infestations.

“Second,” the perfumer added, “natural body odors can be masked. I can develop temporary scents for your use, or I can develop a permanent scent, to be continually administered.”

“How?” Maggie asked.

“Scent-generating cells can be inserted into the oil follicles of your skin. This technology is beyond my capabilities, but I can refer you to clinics that perform such services.

“Beyond this,” the perfumer offered, “your skin and body oils contain a unique aroma that can be altered through gene therapy by introducing retroviruses tailored specifically for your genome. In most planetary systems, such a radical treatment is not legal for use in scent therapy. This procedure is considered too dangerous for pregnant women.”

“You know I’m pregnant?” Maggie asked, surprised the perfumer could tell just from her scent.

“Yes.”

Another thought occurred to Maggie. This perfumer could duplicate scents. “One last question: can you copy my scent?”

“Yes,” the perfumer said.

“Do so,” Maggie said. “Make twenty grams of it.”

She pocketed the small bottle the perfumer filled. Maggie considered her options. So she could change her scent-change it completely-given time and resources. She hadn’t needed to come here at all. She could return to a civilized world. With a new scent, the dronon would never find her. Maggie almost wept from relief. I must tell Gallen, she thought.

She pulled off the perfumer’s olfactory sensors and artificial intelligence, connected them to a hoversled. She didn’t need to hook up a second Al to pilot the vehicle. A radio could let the sled talk to their ship, so flight instructions could be continuously relayed to the Seeker.

Though the Seeker was easily built, Maggie could not rest. I know how to hunt this Qualeewooh, because I have been so hunted, she told herself. She wondered how it would appear to the Qualeewooh-humans coming after it in superior numbers, bristling with weapons. The Qualeewooh could not escape her, Maggie felt certain. It might fly far and wide, but her Seeker would track it. It might come at Gallen with knives, but the Qualeewooh could not withstand a Lord Protector. Though Maggie knew Gallen hoped not to hurt the creature, Maggie felt for it. The Qualeewooh’s predicament and her own were too similar.

I am not like the dronon, Maggie told herself. I’m coming to save this Qualeewooh, not to destroy it. Yet she wasn’t certain. Gallen would track the bird; hoping to learn what had happened, then dispense justice. Perhaps the Qualeewooh had murdered Herm. Perhaps Gallen would kill it. Gallen would do what was right-as best he could determine. But in dealing with nonhumans, human minds failed at the task of judgment. So she fretted.

Gallen spent his evening checking his ship before departure. He had enough supplies to last a week on thin rations-long enough to jump to another world. Felph had outfitted the ship with weapons-heavy incendiary rifles, assorted pistols, repulsor shields, grenades-enough for a small war.

As Maggie finished cobbling her Seeker together, she went to the ship, found Gallen on his bed, servicing his old incendiary rifle. She stood in the door, leaning against the frame for support. She could hear the bears snoring in their stateroom.

Gallen’s face appeared thoughtful, pensive. He frowned at his weapon, apparently so involved he did not notice her presence. She thought that odd. “What are you thinking my love?” she said.

Gallen looked up. “Thinking about tomorrow.”

“What are you planning?” Maggie said. “You want to save the Qualeewooh. That much I’m certain of. But what beyond that?”

Gallen shook his head absently. “I don’t know. Something bothers me about Felph. I feel … that he is not as reasonable as he wants to appear. He’s furious at the Qualeewooh who killed Herm. I don’t trust him. I can’t let Felph murder the creature, simply because it isn’t human.”

Maggie understood. Her experience with the Inhuman, the memories of a hundred lives remembered and wasted, left her keenly sympathetic for the Qualeewoohs. Yet Maggie had to wonder. Felph seemed genuinely fascinated by the birds, by their history and heritage. Perhaps he would not be totally unfair to the creature.

“What of Zeus?” Maggie asked. “Do you think he’ll give us trouble?”

“I can’t imagine that he’d be much trouble.”

Maggie sighed. “I checked his genome today. He can throw an electric charge. He’s dangerous, even when not armed. That’s why Felph wants him with us.”

Gallen glanced at her. “My boots and gloves won’t carry a charge. If he tries anything with me, he’ll be surprised.”

“But you can’t guess what he might do,” Maggie said. “I don’t trust him. If we leave here, I wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing him along.”

Gallen gave her a long stare, as if trying to divine why she’d just said such a thing. Maggie knew it was out of character to sound so cold, but she definitely didn’t want Zeus following.

Please Gallen, she thought, just accept this.

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.” Gallen set the rifle he’d been servicing on the bed, apparently satisfied. “We could drop him in town before we leave. Would that be all right with you?”

So the matter of Zeus seemed settled. Gallen knew what danger he presented. Maggie’s mind felt at ease. A few days ago, when running from the dronon, she’d felt desperate to find a safe place to deliver her child. She’d been so frightened, she’d wanted everything-food, shelter, medical facilities. Now that she’d rested, now that she’d put some distance between her and the dronon, she felt more prepared to meet circumstances as they came. Maggie’s mother had delivered her with the barest medical facilities; and on Tremonthin, through memories granted her by the Inhuman, Maggie recalled giving birth dozens of times-everything from dropping a child in the bush, to delivering twins as Princess Loa of the Davai, with all her maids and nurses attending.

After bearing that many children, delivering one more should not be hard. But to Maggie, this child would be special. All the memories the Inhuman had foisted upon her, all the propaganda and pain-all came from people long dead, the reminiscences of ghosts. The children she’d sired and nurtured, that she’d cried and prayed over-all had grown old centuries ago. Some died ignominiously; some gained notoriety on Tremonthin. Ghosts still, all of them.

In the past few months, Maggie had begun to come to terms with the Inhuman. When it had first downloaded its memories into her, her grip on reality had seemed tenuous. She’d become so lost in the past, to some degree she’d lost herself. But time healed much. Maggie no longer found it difficult to differentiate her own past from the lives of others. She took comfort in asserting her individuality.

So even though she recalled mothering hundreds of children, of nurturing them to adulthood, she knew that for the first time, she and Gallen would bring their own child into the universe. Flesh of their flesh, bone of their bones. A new beginning.

Maggie yearned for this child. Inadvertently, the dronon had given her a great gift: the memories of rearing hundreds of children. Because she’d been infected by the Inhuman, she’d be a better mother than someone who came to the task as a novice.

Maggie said, “All right. I’d drop the babe under a bush if you wanted. But after it’s born, we go back to civilization. I just spoke to the perfumer. On most worlds, scent therapists could change my aroma completely. We can have a new life. Four months, till the baby is born-that’s all we need.”

Gallen beamed at the news. “Great. I’ll look forward to it. But I don’t think you’ll bear our son while squatting under a bush. Wherever we land, this ship will serve as a better home than a lean-to.”

Maggie studied the ship’s ivory walls. Clean, smooth. Her home in Tihrglas had been more cramped. The couches and beds served well. If a world were nearly-terraformed with birds and beasts intact-Gallen could forage for food. It seemed an ideal dream-a cozy place without anyone to bother them.