A stretch but it feels right, thought Quartermaine. ‘What else have I missed?’ he asked.
‘The path in, the central zone, curves,’ said Trahern. ‘A straight line would be quickest for the enemy’s craft. Yet the path we see here has meaning. It follows the balance point between the spirals of the Arm, where the gravitational forces meet and are minimised.’
Steamsetter tapped the keyboard and another line appeared. White, this time. It ran down through the centre of the hole in the red form and continued all the way to the Outer Passages.
‘Approximated. As best our data allows,’ said Elsewise. ‘It implies that the creatures of the Ships are bringing something heavy with them, possibly of lunar mass.’
‘We thought that you should hear this first, Commander,’ said Steamsetter. ‘It would be nice if we are wrong but it all fits together.’
Quartermaine sat down. Think. The others would soon arrive to prepare for Colda’s debriefing. Now or later. Do I tell them? No. Let Colda enjoy his glory. By the time his basking ends and he thinks to renew his challenge we will be out to meet the Ships, all of us. The reality of all they faced sobered him. I may lead them out but I won’t lead them back. I am too old. My deeds lie in the past. He shook himself. If we get back.
‘Send this,’ he said indicating the screen, ‘to the Inner Belt and to all Passage commands, multiple copies, numerous routes. The data and your interpretation.’ He turned to Elsewise. ‘You concur, Scholar Elsewise?’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘What about the Planetary Council?’ asked Steamsetter.
‘No. We’ll advise them when we lift off Base. Nothing they could do now but panic. This is our job. If it is too big for us it goes to the Inner Belt. The Ships are aiming for the Passages. I doubt that they will move into this sector in mass. Base would be the only target here.’ Maybe the satellites could save it if we fail.
A knock sounded on the door. Quartermaine rose. ‘Secure that data. We’ll keep this debrief minimal. I want to let everyone rest and refit. I will send the Rangers out to confirm the Ships’ movements. At their word I will announce your conclusion and our action.’ If anyone can get out there and back, it will be the Rangers. ‘Word or not, we will lift in seven days, to meet the Ships at the Outer Passages.’ To deny them or die, maybe both. That is what we are here for.
CHAPTER 100: DIFFERENT WAYS TO SEE THINGS
‘He killed near as many of his own as he lost to the Ships! Look at the discipline records. Summary execution! On a sweep? Come on!’
Johnson could hear the anger and emotion in the voice. Thorsen of the Far Rangers. Some of the others speakers’ identities eluded him. And I know them all well, strange how much depends on sight.
‘In an action against the Ships,’ countered a thin high voice.
Zinni? wondered Johnson.
‘The Ships do not give you time to define states of readiness. Look at the engagements. They speak for themselves.’
Yes, Zinni.
‘What they speak of is disregard for his own people,’ said Thorsen. ‘Some he threw away. Bait. He used them as bait.’
‘The actions were successful,’ said Zinni. ‘Loss minimal. Those that met their deaths did so under orders but in combat utilising all of their skills, their own skills. What more could any of us ask?’
That gibe is aimed at Trahern, maybe meant to include Quartermaine. For Weaving. A comparison also, if anyone wants to take this further.
‘Leaving the engagements aside, Colda’s interpretation of battle status does seem excessive.’ A rattle of paper accompanied these words.
Who is this? One of the younger commanders, maybe Cazaly of the Clowns?
‘By my analysis, more than half the disciplinary incidents were unconnected to enemy action.’
‘All or none, when you deal with the Ships,’ interrupted Zinni. ‘We are in a review here, now. Who knows what the Ships are doing at this moment? Yet what we decide here will surely have some affect on our next interaction. This is part of the battle.’
‘Yes, I see your point, Commander, but the interpretations behind the disciplinary actions carried out rendered Commander Colda’s command absolute, at all times. A discussion as we are having now would not have been possible.’
Good point. Keep going young man. Surely some sense must enter. We can not treat ourselves the way Colda has.
‘Absolute? As absolute as a Weave?’
Zinni was not going to let the discussion continue reasonably. Why? He can not approve. He has never commanded the Seventh in that manner. Why does he support Colda? Can’t he see that unchecked it will not stop. Where is Quartermaine? Why doesn’t he stop this?
‘A Weave is a tactic, not a command style.’ Trahern’s words brought quiet to the room. The Grey continued. ‘Commander Colda was tasked with sweeping the Gap Quadrant to gauge Ship activity and intent. This has been done, superbly. Inherent in the mission was the necessity of forging an effective force out of an unusually large, raw command. That has also been achieved.’
Is that all he sees? Does he condone it? Like all the rest that had fought on the Rim, Johnson would follow the Grey anywhere. What Trahern had done, to come back in for them and fly the valley … why, that was the stuff of legend. Surely he can not let such abuse of power pass?
Johnson waited for more. The cost, Trahern? Tell them the cost. They will accept it from you.
Nothing.
He did not follow the rest of the discussion. The effort of identifying speakers became greater than his care for their comments; rationalisations echoing the Grey’s words, praise for the mission that gradually shifted to Colda. When Quartermaine finally spoke it was only for Colda to be admitted.
For the first time Johnson was glad that he had lost his sight. Hearing Colda was bad enough. He let the sounds around him die and listened for the roar of the Rim’s wild sky. It came easily, waiting as it always did now on the edge of his awareness. This time he welcomed it. Terrible. Yet there had been honour there, courage, personal sacrifice with meaning. That is our redemption, to find some honour in this, our choice. Not simply to die at Colda’s whim or through Trahern’s callousness. He let the winds howl. The Rim no longer terrified him.
*
‘Commander. It’s time to go.’
Johnson blinked and the greys and browns of the Rim were replaced with the red black wash that was all he saw now.
‘Trahern said to get you and get some food.’
Peg’s hand on his arm helped him to his feet. He swung his head to pick up the sounds of the room.
‘They are all gone,’ said Peg. ‘Talk’s done.’
They walked from the room.
‘Some food would be good,’ said Peg.
There is care here, for both of us, thought Johnson, maybe I am wrong about Trahern. Peg hadn’t settled back in. He spent time with the marines but was just as often found elsewhere, wandering. Day and night seemed to mean nothing to him, as did schedules. He often missed meals. And I would have trouble finding my way, my pride not allowing assistance. This way I am his excuse and he is mine. He caught Peg’s sleeve.
They walked on in companionable silence for a while.
‘What do you see?’ asked Peg.
‘What? Hmm. Why, Peg, I don’t see anything anymore,’ he answered. ‘The lasers damaged my eyes, permanently.’
‘When you listen to the wind?’
Johnson stopped. His grip tugged Peg to a halt.
‘I hear it too,’ said Peg.
‘I imagine the sky close overhead and the ruck of the land, heaved ridges, the dim light and the dust.’ He tried to give his thoughts true to the strange marine. Who knows what Peg thinks, or even how he thinks now?
‘Not imagine, see,’ Peg corrected patiently.
Well, I will try, thought Johnson. For a minute he listened and looked, really looked. It was hard. Most of the time now, he filled his mind with imaginings, pictures of what he thought was around
him. He didn’t try to see. ‘Not much, Peg. Almost nothing. Brighter patches, maybe. Grey, red, floating sort of, moving across a dark they blend in with.’
Peg tapped his arm, then shook it and started them on their way again.
Happy? wondered Johnson. I ‘see’ him smiling, how is that?
CHAPTER 101: THE SCOUTSHIP
La Mar was confused. Coming into the hangar she thought that she had heard the low hum of a small motor. Someone working … stripping the Weave gear out maybe? But no one answered her hoy and when she got to the scoutship it was quiet. Oddly, the hatch was closed. Maybe someone working inside? She walked forward to peer in, but stranger still, the port shields were down. No need for that. She looked under and around the craft. The docking connections were in place. No motors in there, only cables and hoses. The hum she thought she had heard still troubled her. She stepped away. Something else was different. She pictured the ship with the hatch open and lights on. The cable from Med is missing. That had been run through the hatch, in the haste to hook up. Okay, that’s part of the clean up, nothing strange. First thing you would do, would be to get that out of the way. Just neatening up. She returned to the hatch and rapped with her knuckles. The sound echoed through the hangar but drew no response. Who could have done this? she wondered. Not Burnt Thomas. He shies from the high tech stuff. Lammas is still in Med. That doesn’t leave too many people handy with this kind of gear.
‘Shit, La Mar. You going to stand here all day?’ she asked herself. She slapped down the entry panel cover and punched the hatch release. Nothing. No power you idiot. It’s isolated from the Base supply and that battery you left would have long since run out, probably been taken out. The manual lever wouldn’t move when she tried it one-handed. Damn. A two-handed heave with legs braced against the rim snapped it and deposited her on the hangar floor. This ship doesn’t want me inside.
La Mar tossed the lever aside and smiled as its clang echoed off the walls. Rhone would have loved to see that, me, arse about tit. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin. Well, that’s one good thing about today. With PlanCon back we can get ready to go after the Ships, and after that we get you. Hang on, Rhone. The Ships were close. She knew that from the reports. Well, felt it more than knew it. Colda had avoided contact unless he had the ships outnumbered, big time too, a hundred or more of his to one of theirs, yet the contacts had been plentiful. That meant there were a lot more Ships out there. A mass of them headed this way.
She rolled to the side to push herself up and caught a glint off something on the floor below the hatch. She crawled to it. A twist of wire, delicate, swept and braided into something like a figure eight. So. Trahern has been here. One of his works. Her weaving was inside the craft, caught up in the crystals of the Weave band on the pilot’s chair, unless it had all been ripped apart. That was one of the things that had brought her up here. That and a sense of something left unfinished. She turned the twisted wire in her hand. Pretty. And small enough to fit in my hair. With a pin through the loops it would actually be functional. I’ll trade. Mine inside for this one. A second good thing out of this day.
She walked to the door without a backward glance. Coming from this side she saw a coil of cable, neatly bound, resting against the wall. The connection that she had undone the night that Quartermaine had melted the Box hung at the end. The night that the scout passed on. That is all over now. Everything is as it should be. The last thought was strangely satisfying, clunking home like a beam falling into place.
*
Not long after the vibrations from La Mars’ parting steps died, a small motor hummed to life, sending a miniscule welding robot up the inside of the hatch. It laid new material over a millimetre wide transverse crack in the metal rod that engaged the inner latch then hopped along the rod, tap welding it to the hatch itself. Once it had completed a circuit it settled to a slow advance, laying a perfect bead along the edge. Flashes from this welding joined others from the inside of the ports, to catch and run along the wires and crystals of the weave, adding their ephemera to the steady pulse of the diodes.
CHAPTER 102: THE ANTEROOM
Colda tried to sit still and luxuriate in the flow of the comments. It was difficult as his mind kept jumping back to the debriefing. Almost overwhelming, more so because it had not been what he had expected. Praise instead of the criticism he was prepared for. ‘The most effective sweep of the Gap Quadrant in living memory.’ ‘Possibly the best sweep ever carried out.’ ‘An exemplary effort.’ That last comment supported by a request from the Scholar for him to prepare a treatise to accompany the record to the Inner Belt. Perhaps, if time allows, thought Colda. Or perhaps I will teach them another way.
‘That young fool with his paper. Does he think that he is still in school?’ Zinni’s high voice broke into his thoughts.
‘Young, as you say,’ offered Colda charitably. ‘In time he will appreciate the tactics. If he is not capable of that he will be replaced. I will only have the most able near me.’ That brought a chorus of agreement from the hopeful ‘most able’ that surrounded him. We shall see. His pleasure at the outcome of the debriefing had been so great that he had invited all the commanders to his feast. Of course, all of them had accepted, except those Quartermaine had put to task - his detractors, considerately assigned chores to help with their enlightenment. The young Clown commander added to the Scholar’s group evaluating the data from the sweep; Thorsen, the Ranger, sent ashen faced from the room after a private word, banished with the remnants of his cadre to the Outer Passages, if the information gathered by his spies was correct.
No need to challenge for leadership, he decided. Quartermaine serves me already. Besides, this approbation, this praise, was enjoyable. It would be more fitting to have command thrust upon him than to seize it. His advisors thought too small. This was merely the start, here at Base. His reputation would precede him into the realms of the Inner Belt. That would be important. Colda, the Chosen … no, Colda, the Great Commander. No, something more for the masses, for the common man, with might but also with mystery. Colda, the Hero of the Deep. That was it! He would have them start on that. My legend will be the greatest to ever come from this corner of the universe. It will be told throughout the galaxies. The feats of the Grey that they babble about here will be forgotten or only remembered as a marker of my greatness. He bent his head to the others. ‘What was the Grey’s word?’ he asked.
His question broke the flow of the conversation around him. Several men tried to answer at once.
‘That you did what was necessary.’
‘The best sweep ever.’
‘Forged a fighting force with your iron will.’
‘No,’ corrected Colda. ‘His exact word. There was one word?’
‘Superbly’, said Zinni. ‘That was what Trahern said, his summation of your execution of the mission.’
Yes, that was it. ‘Superbly’. A perfect choice, carrying with it connotations of excellence, magnificence and superiority. The Grey admits that I am unrivalled. Colda nodded to Zinni then gently remonstrated the others. ‘What is said is important. Exactly as it is said.’
Their expressions told him that they did not know how to take his criticism. It is beyond them, they don’t understand what they are part of.
The entrance of an aide to advise that all was ready saved him the bother of an explanation. It had not been a long wait. The cooks and quartermasters had been sent ahead, granted leave from the procession. To prepare this welcoming feast. A good commander looks to all details, he told himself, but it was his father’s advice that he had followed. Do not depend upon the favour of others. Favour yourself. The triumphant procession and celebratory feast proclaimed the success of his command. Other judgments were immaterial, although in this case, pleasing.
He entered the great hall to a roar from the assembled crowd. Almost all he could ask for. Almost. Something was missing, some minutiae. The cheers echoed off the high bare
walls. Ahhh. Banners, I must remember banners next time.
CHAPTER 103: WALL DECORATIONS
Tollen found a table next to some marines and sat. At first he thought that he was late, the Mess nearly empty as it was. Then it came home to him. The Rim had taken a big bite out of the units that used this place. Marines halved, the Rangers worse.
Won’t be so bad once our wounded recover. A few more out of Med would help. He had bolted as soon as his legs were steady. To be honest he still had pain but Aesca had been talking about more tests, arteries and other bits he didn’t care to think about. He ran his hand through the stubble of his hair. Lot of people worse off than me. He straightened and turned both ways to scan the hall.
‘She’s still out on the plain, Sarge. Jared’s squad is with her,’ said a marine from the table beside him. Daniels, from the Good Squad. ‘We’ll go out and spell them if they aren’t back in the next half hour.’
At that damn vault again. This time with her people, the psychs that had been with Colda’s sweep. Vetting them and preparing them for their role in the rehab work. And more for one of them, Sussex, Colda’s mate. Wouldn’t want to be in his boots today. ‘I will find out all he knows, of this aberration and any other schemes. I will break him, if necessary.’ A few extra words in that last sentence, the way Tollen heard it.
The Return of the Grey Page 51
