Serpent's Reach by C. J. Cherryh Read Free Book Online Page B

some little damage, Pol Hald and Morn: Pol whose jokes were infamous, and Morn who never laughed—they were both quite apt to treacheries.
    Eron thought this, and smiled his engaging smile, among others who held their drinks and smiled most earnestly…anxious folk, appropriately grateful to be invited here, admitted to the society of power.
    With the Halds and the Meth-marens, the Ren-barants and other key elders here, with Thon and Yalt decimated, and their bloc decimated…this gathering and the blocs they represented constituted the majority, not only of raw power on Cerdin, but of votes to sway all the Reach.
vi
    “Night,” said a Worker.
    Raen had sensed it. She had learned the movements and rhythms of the hive which said that this was so: the increase of the traffic coming in, the subtle shifts of air-currents, the different songs. Inside the hive, the blackness was always the same. She had wished a piece of the fungus to provide light, and Workers had brought it, establishing it on the wall of the chamber that was hers. By this she proved to herself that her eyes still functioned, and gave them limits against which to work. But that was only for comfort. She had learned to see with touch, with the variations of the constant song of the hive; and to understand majat vision. Beautiful, beautiful , they called her, entranced with the colours of her warmth. You are the colours of all the hives , the attendants told her, blue and green and gold and red, ever-changing; but your limb is always blue-hive .
    Her hand, covered with blue-hive chitin: they were endlessly fascinated by that, which was a secret toward which majat had contributed. Kontrin genetic science and majat biochemistry…the two in complement had spawned all the life of the Reach. Majat were capable of analyses and syntheses of enormous range and sensitivity, capable of sampling and altering substances as naturally as humans flexed limbs, a partnership invaluable to Kontrin labs. But the hive, she realised, the hive had never directly participated. The majat Workers who came into the labs to stay were always isolated from Workers of the hive, lest their chemical muddle impress the hive and disturb it. They never returned, but clung forlornly to human company and direction, dependent on it, patterned to the few humans who dared touch them: seldom resting, sleepless, they would work until their energy burned them out. Afterward, humans must dispose of the corpses: no majat would.
    My being here is a danger to the Mind , she thought suddenly, with a deep pang of conscience. Maybe my coming here has done what they’ve always feared, shifted their chemistry and affected them. Perhaps I’ve trapped them .
    There were azi, human Workers…the majat lived closely with those, unaffected by chemical disturbance.
    Are they? she wondered; and then, more terrifyingly: Am I?
    The song deafened, quivered in the marrow of the bones. Mother began it, and the Workers carried it, and the Warriors added their own baritone counterpoint, alien to their own species, the killer portion of the partitioned hive-mind Drones sang but rarely…or perhaps, like much of majat language, the Drone songs were seldom in human range.
    Raen rose, walked, tested the strength of her limbs. They had given her cloth of majat spinning, gossamer, the pale web of egg-sheaths. She did not wear it, for it disturbed them that she muted her colours, and nakedness no longer disturbed her. But she considered it now.
    “I am ready,” she decided. Workers touched her and scurried off, bearing that message.
    A Warrior arrived. She informed it directly of her plans, and it hurried off.
    Soon came the azi…humans, marginally so, though majat did not reckon them as such. Lab-bred, sterile, though with the outward attributes of gender, they served the hives as the Workers did, with hands more agile and wits more suited to dealing with humans, the new appurtenances the hives had taken on when they began to