“If I shared your faith, I would counsel that you trust in the Almighty’s plan. But since I don’t, would asking for your trust in the republic’s resilience assuage your worries?”
“No.”
— 32 —
––––––––
“Sister!” Morane stood to greet Gwenneth as she swept into a mostly empty Lannion Base Officer’s Mess. “We’re the first arrivals. Brigid, Adrienne, and the service chiefs will probably travel together from HQ. Can I offer you a drink while we wait for them?”
“Thank you, but no.” The elderly abbess settled into a chair across from Morane. “I’ll save myself for a glass of that marvelous red Adrienne serves in the private dining room.”
Morane raised a half-empty beer mug.
“As you can see, I’m long past saving. How are things at the abbey these days? You haven’t visited Vanquish Bay in weeks, though I hear you attended the quarterly Estates-General session late last month.”
“Things are quiet. As the old trope goes, they’re almost too quiet. Loxias was in his glory at the Estates-General, sitting behind me as an observer along with his closest acolytes, Keleos and Sandor. They behaved perfectly and even complimented me afterward on the few interventions I made when we discussed matters touching on the abbey’s services within the community. Vice President Sandino was quite effusive in welcoming me, as were those who I suspect influenced her into pushing for the invitation. Loxias seemed rather chummy with them, more than warranted by his interactions as our chief administrator.”
“You recall not wanting to know who was behind it?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“You do now, trust me. The Estates-General members who welcomed you so enthusiastically, including the trade unionists, lobbied Sandino. It wasn’t just the Hechts and Downes who saw an advantage in the Order taking on a higher profile.”
A wry smile twisted her lips. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m the only one who thinks greater involvement in secular matters isn’t a good idea?”
“Because you survived Pendrick Zahar’s pogroms. I’m sure other Coalsack Sector survivors share your opinion.”
“You may recall Friar Sandor, one of Loxias’ closest confidants, barely escaped the Mykonos Abbey massacre, so it’s hardly the lot of them.”
Morane picked up his mug.
“Time has a habit of changing one’s perspective. Besides, something good might come out of the Order sitting with the republic’s leading citizens four times a year.” He took a sip. “So long as it doesn’t indulge in the petty politicking that goes on behind the scenes.”
“Oh, I assure you, we will stay aloof and keep our own counsel on matters that don’t touch the Order’s work.”
A mischievous expression lit up Morane’s face. “Does Loxias know about that?”
“Why? What’s he been doing behind my back?”
“So far? Nothing that I heard of. You’re right, it is too quiet.” He saw five figures come through the front door, one in a business suit, the other four in uniform. “Our dinner companions are here.”
Morane drained his mug, then stood, imitated by Gwenneth.
“Good evening, Mister President, Abbess,” Defense Secretary DeCarde raised a hand in greeting. “I thought we’d go right through.”
“Whatever you say, Brigid. We’re the guests here. And how are the republic’s top military leaders today?” Morane bestowed a fatherly smile on Lieutenant General Barca and the service chiefs.
“In fine fettle, sir,” Barca replied. “As always. Thank you for coming.”
“Gwenneth and I aren’t known for refusing a free meal. Nor is my close protection detail.” He nodded at a pair of tough-looking men in civilian clothes a few tables over.
“It’s hardly free if we’re asking for your opinion and help on the sly,” DeCarde said over her shoulder as she led the way out of the main room and into the corridor beyond. “You’re our wise oracles.”
Morane and Gwenneth exchanged amused glances.
“Only because we survived this long without scandals.”
“Then either you’re saints or experts at making the past vanish. I don’t really want to know which it is.”
Once they were seated around the table with the wine served and a simple cold meal in front of them — Barca didn’t want interruptions from the mess staff while they spoke — DeCarde raised her glass.
“Here’s to our continued good health in every sense.”
After they took a sip, Morane asked, “Another plague ship incursion?”
“Yes.” Nate Sirak nodded, a grim expression on his face. “Three hours ago. I found out just before leaving the office. Four ships. They bypassed Corbenic by crossing through interstellar space, just like the earlier attempts. Not unexpectedly, 2nd Squadron’s picket at the Broceliande end of the Lyonesse wormhole destroyed them. The mobile lab will go through the debris tomorrow, but there’s no doubt in my mind they enlarged their antimatter containment units, and we’ll find the people aboard were infected. But in keeping with the previous bypasses, those ships were low on fuel, judging by the anemic explosions when containment failed, so they’re not yet at a point where they can bypass Broceliande as well.”
“But eventually, they’ll make it here.” DeCarde carefully set her glass on the table. “At this point, I recommend you announce that the Navy will withdraw from Corbenic, Mister President, making the inner picket in the Broceliande system our new Outer Picket, albeit reinforced now that Prevail has completed her shakeout cruise. We will, however, leave the traffic control buoys where they are. Whether we’ll replace them if they fail or are destroyed by reivers is still up for discussion.”
“Agreed. I’ll issue the order in the morning,” Morane said. “I chose Lyonesse for the Knowledge Vault based on threats using the wormhole network. If they’re returning to interstellar FTL travel, time and distance be damned, then this system is no safer than any other.”
“And we’re still no closer to a vaccine, nor do we know how long the plague takes to kill a person or anything about the survival rate. Lab-grown tissue only gets us so far.” DeCarde gestured at her plate. “Why don’t we dig in.”
After her first few bites, she took a sip of wine and sat back.
“The reason we’re here tonight is that I figure it’s time we discussed the unthinkable — plague ships reaching Lyonesse despite the Navy’s best efforts. We can’t watch this system’s entire heliopause, not even if the entire Imperial 16th Fleet was at our disposal.”
“We’re concentrating our efforts on the area where ships inbound from Arietis are most likely to cross it,” Sirak said. “But that’s still a vast arc of space. It’s more than likely the first warning we’ll get is a reiver wolf pack appearing at Lyonesse’s hyperlimit, which gives us only a few hours to intercept and destroy them. The terrifying scenario is if they come close enough that wreckage covered with the virus enters our atmosphere and doesn’t fully burn up. True, seventy-five percent of the planet’s surface is ocean and icecaps, but that still leaves plenty of real estate.”
Barca picked up the thread when Sirak paused for a bite of cold chicken.
“The most frightening scenario, a chunk of a ship’s contaminated environmental system surviving re-entry and crashing in downtown Lannion has next to no chance of occurring. But the possibility is not nil. We know the virus can survive for days, if not weeks, on various surfaces under the right conditions, which means any wreckage crashing near settlements are potential sources of infection. Sure, we can warn people away from any impact area, then use our energy weapons and burn the debris, but if it’s airborne, a gust of wind in the right direction and suddenly we face an outbreak. Yes, again, very unlikely but not nil.”
“Which means,” DeCarde said when Barca popped a chunk of pickled squash into her mouth, “we must plan for quarantines, mass evacuations, and poten
tially widespread deaths. It might overwhelm our medical system, citizens will panic, and we could see a breakdown of law and order. Many people, even in the government, are not yet ready for a discussion on what we do if our worst fears come true, but we can’t wait until they’re ready because by then, it might be too late.”
Morane gave her a knowing look. “So, that’s why Gwenneth and I are here.”
“Yes. We wanted to make sure beforehand that the plan we’ll present to you and the cabinet meets your approval. You know the most about running the republic. It’s your brainchild. And Gwenneth is not only a medical professional in her own right, but her Brethren form the backbone of our medical system.”
“Then let me give you a straightforward answer.” He sat back and took a sip of wine. “If wreckage contaminated with the virus enters the atmosphere, Lyonesse must already be under a curfew with everyone sheltering in place while the Defense Force finds the impact site. That means I’ll use my emergency powers and declare martial law the moment reivers are inbound from our hyperlimit. The constitution allows for it in the face of a clear and present danger to the republic’s survival. No one can argue the Barbarian Plague’s arrival on Lyonesse is anything less. Once the Defense Force finds the impact site and isolates it, the curfew can be lifted everywhere except within the immediate vicinity.”
“What about lifting martial law? With elections later this year, the senators will be twitchy and when they get that way...”
“Too bad. We’ll keep martial law in effect until the danger is over, meaning the wreckage has been turned into its constituent atoms, and any trace of the virus erased. If that means scouring a square kilometer of the planet’s surface, even if that square kilometer is downtown Lannion, then so be it. Figure out how far dust from the impact would travel, then double that distance.”
“Triple,” Gwenneth said in a soft tone. “Or even quadruple.”
Morane inclined his head by way of acknowledgment.
“Quadruple, then. If any humans are within that radius, they’ll be quarantined at once and transported to an offshore location they can’t escape. Shoot anyone who evades the quarantine.”
“Hence the need to keep martial law.”
“If, and that’s a big if, the Navy can track wreckage and determine the probable impact site, you can try to evacuate anyone near ground zero beforehand.”
“Your plan will horrify most of the career civilians in the administration, sir.”
“Perhaps not as many as you think. Fear has a way of concentrating the mind on simple solutions.”
“True.” DeCarde turned to Gwenneth. “What about an offshore quarantine location for those who could be exposed?”
“I’d suggest the Windy Isles, but considering it might involve hundreds, if not thousands of people, something closer would be more appropriate, somewhere you could easily resupply internees without exposing crews and aircraft.”
Major General Hamm raised a hand.
“There’s a Ground Forces jungle training camp on Kodo Island. The installation is only occupied when a unit rotates through and shuttered the rest of the time. It’s pretty basic, but there’s room for several hundred, and if need be, we can throw up shelters and double the capacity.”
“Where is it?”
Hamm pulled a flat device from his tunic pocket and placed it on the table. A holographic projection of Tristan’s southern coast appeared along with a small red dot approximately five hundred kilometers southwest of Lannion.
“While escape is not impossible, the distance from the mainland is more than a human can swim by several orders of magnitude, never mind the predatory marine life. We can put eyes on the island and know immediately if someone attempts the swim or launches a raft.”
Gwenneth nodded.
“It should do. You’ll also need a separate offshore decontamination facility for aircraft and the pressure suit of anyone who comes into contact with evacuees. I’d even include those employed in isolating a crash site. Fortunately, repeated tests by the mobile lab show a simple bleach solution is one hundred percent effective in destroying the virus. You’d merely need a way of dunking your soldiers in a vat filled with the solution, then move them to a sterile place before they strip off their suits. You could spray the aircraft inside and out, but it might be easier if you simply parked them away from the decontamination site and left them sitting for a few months. Getting bleach into every nook and cranny will probably be a lot harder than clearing the outside of a pressure suit.”
“Thank you, Sister. There’s another island we sometimes use for training, about a hundred kilometers closer. It has several large clearings at its center.”
“Set up the decontamination site as soon as possible and make practice runs,” Morane said. “You have presidential approval.”
A smile briefly relaxed Hamm’s solemn expression. “Great minds and all that, sir. I was about to ask General Barca for permission.”
“Granted, Devin.”
Sirak glanced at Morane. “In that case, perhaps I should put my aerospace defense crews through their paces.”
“Sure.”
Gwenneth raised a restraining finger.
“Whatever you do, don’t shoot at wreckage once it’s already in the atmosphere. We might end up with several contaminated impact sites.”
“No worries, Sister. I may be a simple Navy man, but I’m not that simple. Although training a few of my better shuttle crews in using tractor beams to divert wreckage if it seems headed for a settled area might be interesting. Send them aloft as soon as the alert sounds with the mission of diverting debris, so it splashes into the ocean far from human life.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Sister, there’s no chance of it infecting native Lyonesse life forms, is there?”
“No. The virus was specifically engineered for us, and while it might mutate enough to survive in other species that evolved on Earth, it would die shortly after entering a native animal. Dumping reiver ship bits and pieces into the sea far from land should be fine. But be cautious. Tractor beams can break up pre-stressed components if they’re not applied evenly.”
Barca cleared her throat gently.
“There’s one last thing, Sister. If we evacuate and quarantine civilians on Kodo Island, they’ll need medical and spiritual care.”
“I know.” A sad smile tugged at Gwenneth’s lips. “We who serve the Almighty in his Infinite Void will provide without complaint or holding back.”
“Thank you.”
— 33 —
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A soft grunt of surprise escaped Stearn’s lips, breaking the discipline he’d developed through hard work and repetition over the previous year. He and Marta sat face-to-face in the lotus position, eyes shut, on her training room’s floor mats. He couldn’t describe the sensation that threatened to overwhelm him at that instant. But it was as if the mythical third eye Marta kept mentioning fluttered open for a fraction of a second, and he touched her inner being with his mental fingertips for the first time. Was he reaching the crucial point after weeks of frustration and exhaustion?
He sensed an emotion best categorized as encouragement from Marta, whose mind had been his target for weeks, and reached out again. This time, the third eye remained open for a few seconds, and he marveled at the calm permeating his teacher’s hidden core, one which mirrored the unbreakable air of serenity she wore like a second skin. Then, unbearable fatigue overcame him, and the third eye snapped shut.
“We will end the exercise.”
Marta’s voice broke through his trance, pulling him to the surface after a dive into the darkest of waters. His physical eyes slowly opened, and he saw her watching him.
“It took longer than I expected, but you’ve made the desired breakthrough. You can reach out and touch other minds in a controlled manner.”
“I wasn’t able to do it for long.” Stearn�
�s voice sounded distant to his own ears as if part of him was still somewhere else.
“No one can focus on their first successful attempt. Building the ability so you can call on it whenever you want takes time and practice. A lot of it. What you experienced so far will seem like a mental vacation on a sunny beach down by the sea once we begin your training in earnest.” When he suppressed a yawn, she gave him a compassionate smile. “Once you become proficient, you won’t be exhausted every time. Tired, yes. It takes a lot of energy. But not to the extent you’re feeling right now.”
“Good, because I’d like nothing better than sleep for a week.”
“That’s natural. Because I saw your third eye open, you will take the oath before we continue, which means I will condition you against misusing the talent. It will take an incredible amount of energy from both of us, but we cannot continue training until that is done.”
Stearn bowed his head.
“I shall do as you say, Sister. But with your permission, I would return to my cell and sleep. Perhaps my mind will process what just happened, and I’ll wake with renewed determination.”
“Your mind will. Expect vivid dreams. Under the circumstances, you’re excused other duties for today, as well as attendance at services. I’ll inform Friar Loxias.”
“Thank you.”
“And do not try the exercise on your own. Until you’ve gained experience under my guidance, it would be a recipe for migraines, unbearable exhaustion, and sleepless nights. Did you ever see ancient maps of Earth with notations that say here be dragons?”
“No, Sister.”
“They marked dangerous or unexplored territory. You are now standing in front of such a notation. Do not take another step without my guidance.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“You may go.”
**
Imperial Night (Ashes of Empire, #3) Page 22
