Hivelord Rhizome is already one of my favorite characters. Check him out in this excerpt from chapter 2. This is his first scene. Also in this scene, you’re introduced to Spore Cedarson, the main character Root’s older brother.
Hivelord Rhizome had no chairs in his office. He never sat. He stood to work and reclined to sleep. These were his postures.
He stood now, pacing in the dimness of the room. A single solar battery coughed out lumens. Only the elevated interior of the room had any light at all. There were no windows; everything was matte white metal. The depressed foyer was black and silent, and the door was always closed.
A voice spoke from within his ears: “Your party is ready.”
“Begin audio conference,” the Hivelord said. He resumed pacing and dragged fingers through the tangles of his brown and gray beard.
“Hivelord Rhizome, the Archon greets you.”
“It is a pleasure to speak with the Interface.”
“The Archon wishes to engage in pleasantries: how are things in Midian?”
“The theria are tranquil. The people as well.”
“As the Archon expects. The Archon believes you know the reason for this meeting.”
“I assume it’s about the item I recovered?”
“Precisely. The Archon is pleased. The Archon imagines that you do not comprehend the intensity of his pleasure.”
“I am humbled.”
“The Archon,” the Interface continued, “desires to reward you. You will receive a reward of type extravagant.”
“Sir—”
“The Archon knows you will protest. He knows that your only pleasure is service to the Collective. Nevertheless, he insists. The Archon informed me that he will suffer displeasure should you not redeem the reward within six days.”
“Very well.”
“Furthermore, the Archon desired me to stress a matter: these items, these constructors, make the Archon suffer concern. He desires them all destroyed as quickly as possible. There is, to our knowledge, no record of their total number; and their current locations are unknown. However, the Archon desires me to relay this message: recover additional constructors, and your reward will more closely align with your tastes. The Archon is prepared to expand your privileges within the Collective. The Archon refuses specificity on this matter, but, for a sufficient number of constructors recovered, the Archon has said that he will not deny any position to you.”
Hivelord Rhizome stopped pacing. “Any position?”
“Those were the Archon’s words.”
“Even the—”
“Those were the Archon’s words.”
Hivelord Rhizome controlled his breathing. He clenched his fists.
“Tell the Archon that he will have his constructors.”
“Acknowledged. This session is terminated. The Archon wishes you good evening.”
A knock on the door. Rhizome’s visual display activated. He saw in front of his eyes the image of a young man’s face: early twenties, dark brown hair, strong jaw, shaved. Rhizome frowned. The display vanished.
“Come in.”
The young man entered the darkness of the foyer and stood at attention. He wore the scarlet uniform of a rekter. Bars and pins hung from his chest; symbols were strapped around his arm. He waited for his superior to speak.
“Rekter Cedarson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your marks are very good. I saw the most recent test results.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“They’re the best.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I prefer the best.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Women prefer the best.”
“I take your word for it, sir.”
“And that, rekter, is the only similarity between myself and a woman.”
“Sir.”
“Now then!” Rhizome paced and kept the rekter in the dark. “Now we can talk. Would you like to have a seat?”
Rekter Cedarson looked around. “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t see any chairs.”
“That’s because there aren’t any.”
“Yes, sir.”
But, if there were, say, a chair in here, or perhaps a couch—or, you’ll forgive me, a divan—would you then like to sit down?”
Rekter Cedarson’s eyes shifted. “I don’t suppose so, sir.”
“There’s a man! It’s a sign of weakness, you know—sitting down. Look at my desk here.” The Hivelord gestured to a plane of polished metal jutting from the wall just below his chest. “The perfect height. I had this made especially for myself. I can work on it, you see, standing up. A man sitting is a man not living. What is it when you sit? It’s inactivity. And what’s inactivity? Death. No, you’ll not see me sitting down on the job—or off it, for that matter. When I sleep, it is purely a concession to the exigencies of nature. I encourage you, Rekter Cedarson, to adopt my attitude on this matter. Also, stop that infernal and unnatural shaving of your face. Don’t you feel, with every follicle plucked from the subcutaneous, an equal sliver of your virility vanish? I’ve shaved once, Rekter Cedarson, and that is a mistake I shall never repeat. Maintain a beard, Rekter Cedarson, maintain a beard. Now, then, what is it you wanted to see me about?”
“Sir. I’ve come to ask something very—”
“And it’s fortunate that you’ve come at this hour, rekter, because it saves me the bother of scheduling an appointment with you. There is a matter about which I must speak to you. Not you in particular, you understand. But it happens to be you, you as the rekter with the highest marks.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“But, no, go on. We can discuss it later.”
“Very well, sir.” Rekter Cedarson coughed; he wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants legs. “It’s something very—”
“But don’t let me forget! I am, I’ll warn you, quite likely to forget this matter without a reminder, and I’ve not yet had time to schedule an appointment, and so I’d venture to estimate that, without a reminder from you, there is a fifty-eight percent chance I’ll forget to talk to you about this thing, and then I’ll have to go through the bother of scheduling an appointment with you, perhaps only five minutes from now. And you understand what a bother that would be. Let’s avoid it, shall we? And proceed.”
“Sir. It’s very important, what I’ve come to see you about. It’s a personal matter.”
“Gaia save me.”
“I beg your forgiveness in advance, sir. It is, as I said, a personal matter. But it concerns both of us—both of our families, rather. It’s—I don’t know how to say it, but—”
The Hivelord waved him off. “I know; I know. You want to marry my daughter. Fine.”
“Sir, I don’t—”
Rhizome paced. “And that reminds me, and just in time too, of the matter concerning which I almost had to go through the bother of making an appointment with you for. Pardon me for leaving my preposition dangling. It’s uncouth, but my mind is troubled. The thoughts run up against each other, you understand.” Rhizome inhaled.
“You do recall the little thing you recovered from the therion temple south of Lapis?”
“Yes, sir. It seemed to be a computer of some sort.”
“It was not just a computer, Rekter Cedarson. It was much, much, much more than that. Spore—if I can take the liberty of using your given name, which I can, but nevertheless I draw attention to it—Spore, you can marry my daughter. Absolutely you can. But I warn you that she won’t come cheap. Are you prepared to pay for her?”
Rekter Spore Cedarson paled. “Sir, I have not until now cared much for material—”
“I don’t mean credit. I mean service.”
Spore’s eyes flashed. “Service? Yes, sir. Anything, for as long as you require. I love your daughter so much; I know that, no matter how long it takes, the time will seem—”
The Hivelord sighed. “Yes, yes, of course, and so on, and so forth. I don’t know how long this will take. If you do well, your engagement will not be long. I need you to find more of those computers. They’re called constructors. I don’t know how many there are or where they are. I’m delegating that to you. That’s the mark of a true leader: delegation. The pure leader—remember this, Rekter-and-perhaps-future-son-in-law Cedarson, remember this: the pure leader does nothing.”
“Yes, sir. Where do I start?”
“I’ve received reports that a tribesman has been spotted near Alabaster.” Rhizome noticed a change in Spore: a wince, perhaps. “Is there a problem, Rekter Cedarson?”
“No, sir.”
“Does the idea of returning to your hometown unmoor you?”
“Sir, I’m not sure what that means. It’s just that I thought I’d never go back there.”
“Never say never, Rekter Cedarson! That’s what I always say. It’s an ancient contradiction, you see, and therefore brilliant. But put yourself at—never mind that: moor yourself, Rekter Cedarson. You won’t have to be there long. Find this tribesman. He’s referred to as a “salesman,” whatever that means. He goes around giving people things and getting other things in return for them. We are led to believe that he may be in possession of a constructor or know where one is located. Search the town. Interrogate the people. Follow this “salesman” and any other leads you may discover on the way. You will have complete discretion in this operation, which is itself discreet, you understand. I have already assigned an entire phalanx to your command. You will take my personal OPHIS mech. I’ve had the sarx modified so that one does not sit to pilot it. It’s a Repha model and indubitably will render into discrete particles anyone or anything that—”
“But, sir, it’s yours, and I wouldn’t—”
“Nonsense and shuttlecock! Consider it an early wedding present. And let it impress on you the gravity with which I view this task. Do not fail me. Do not leave me without results. If you do, I can assure you that my precious Vine will be engaged to someone else upon your return, and I’ll save you a seat at the wedding.”
Spore swallowed and saluted. “Yes sir. Nothing will stop me.”