Federations

Belatedly realizing the danger they were in, the bold Kolnari were, of course, turning their weapons on the demon flora that was smothering them. Perhaps someone on the space field had lasted long enough to send out a message. But on this field of battle the Kolnari weapons increased, rather than decreased, the foe. Blasting or flaming the vegetable matter only caused it to fragment, each part then expanding and multiplying into more attackers. Kolnari warriors in their heavy boots were being tripped up and, once down, became greeny yellow mounds of writhing shrubbery. Their power packs would have been infiltrated by vine tips, their equipment shorted out. Safe now from Kolnari weapons, Helva uncloaked and recorded the Kolnari defeat, focusing occasionally on what happened when flora was fragmented. She stayed high enough above the carnage . . . or did she mean “vernage” . . . to avoid any contact. She thought—only briefly—of trying to acquire a leaf or twig to preserve—at maximum botanical security—for later analysis in the High Risk laboratories at Central Worlds.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Niall said, shaking his head. “We do know that there are inimical planetary surfaces, but one which can be contained, tamed, and used in emergencies? One more for the files!” Then he leaned back in the chair, locking his fingers and rubbing his palms together with the great satisfaction he enjoyed at this totally unexpected Kolnari defeat. “Those lassies learned a thing or two, didn’t they, about passive resistance.”

“Passive wasn’t what we just witnessed,” Helva said drolly. “They simply let the nature of the planet take its course. Mind you, somewhere in the ethics of their Marian religiosity there must be a shibboleth about taking human lives . . . ”

“Ha! I never considered the Kolnari as humans,” was Niall’s response. “Besides which, the religious have as much right to protect themselves as any other life-form.”

“They aren’t doing anything. The planet is. That’s the beauty part.”

“Ah, yes.” And Niall’s tone turned sanctimonious. “Suffer the meek for they shall inherit the earth . . . of Ravel, in this case. Well-done, ladies, well-done.” He brought his hands together in a silent applause. “We should extend our felicities. Or you should.”

“I think the outcome was not only taken for granted but has been observed,” Helva said, and activated a long-range screen that showed little flocks of avians circling here and there, before darting off so quickly not even Helva could have plotted so many different course directions.

• • •

When Helva touched down again in the plaza, the Helvana and a group of about fourteen awaited her. They wore long black scarves and tight-fitting black caps.

“ ‘We come to mourn Caesar not to praise him,’ “ Niall quoted.

“Get thee hence, Marc Antony,” she replied warningly.

“I’m going. I’m going. I’ll not attend this wake in mournful array.”

“You’re already arrayed appropriately,” she called after his disappearing figure, then opened her airlock and extended the ramp.

The deputation entered, making obeisance to her until all had filed into the lounge, their expression somber if respectful, though some were red-eyed with weeping. There would be some tender hearts among such a group. Why they’d spend their tears on the Kolnari, when they knew what would have been their fate, defeated Helva’s understanding. But then, she was not religious. She spoke first, not wishing to be embroiled in specious gratitude for this second inadvertent “deliverance” in which she had been only a passive spectator, not the rescue vehicle.

“I apologize, Helvana, for doubting your efficiency and ingenuity. The meek have indeed inherited this earth.”

Helva devoutly hoped that no one else heard the scoffing snort from the passageway.

“We all deeply regret that we had to prove our invulnerability on Ravel,” the Helvana said in a slow, sad tone. “We shall pray for their departed souls.”

“I sincerely doubt they had any,” Helva said, an acid remark that occasioned gasps of surprise from some of the younger women. “Uncharitable of me, I know, but I have seen their form of conquest at firsthand. I do not regret their destruction. Nor should any here shed any more remorseful tears or rue the incident. The Universe is now considerably safer. After all, none of you . . . ” She paused briefly. “ . . . did anything. Your planet is well able to take care of unwanted visitors and has done so.”

There was a brief awkward pause, while the faithful dealt with the unexpected candor of their “savior.” To fill in the silence, Helva went on.

“How long will it take you to repair the damage to the space field and the tracks?”

“We may not,” the Helvana said after glancing at her companions. “We keep in touch with the other cloisters and there is really no need for all to assemble at the same time. Each community is self-sufficient and there is no longer any need for the space field.”

“But you’ll keep the walls functioning.”