Starrise at Corrivale h-1

by Diane Duane

  "For the one who does such an act," Ondway said, "it never does." He got up. "Come back again after your travels, and see your people. They are making staves about you." "Oh please," Gabriel said.

  "You will see eventually," said Ondway, "and then you will not blush, for the staves have a peculiarly . . . human taste to them." He made a face, one that crinkled his face under the goggles. It was a smile, Gabriel thought. "But come back. And you, honored, see that he does." "I will see to that," said Enda. "Under the trees go well, Wanderer: beware what rises from below, and drops from above."

  Ondway dropped that huge jaw in a grin and walked off across the field again to the large hangar that had been converted to office space and support quarters for some of the relocated sesheyans. "Will we come back here any time soon?" Enda asked.

  "I think it might be smart if we took a little vacation from this part of space," Gabriel replied. "Algemron is supposed to be nice this time of year."

  "A possibility," Enda said. "Well, Sunshine will be ready to lift tonight, and after that-the choices are ours."

  Gabriel nodded. "I may have a few loose ends to tidy up," he said, "but tomorrow I'll be ready to go." That night, late, they sat in the darkened cockpit, just resting and listening to another of Enda's fraal recordings while they looked up at Hydrocus. The great ruddy light of Grith's primary was reduced to a crescent at the moment, and small spicules of gas-burst light erupted here and there from the turbulent atmosphere, backlit by the yellow fire of Corrivale.

  "At the end of this long day,' " Enda said, "we are left with one question whose answers are still lacking." She looked at Gabriel, dark-eyed. "Why did they send you to kill the ambassador and the others? Who sent you? For what purpose?"

  Gabriel shook his head. "Until I find out more about Jacob Ricel-"

  "But he is dead," Enda said.

  "I wonder," Gabriel said. "Is he?"

  Enda looked at him as if he might have taken leave of his senses.

  "I don't mean the man who died in some kind of e-suit accident on Falada," Gabriel said. "I mean the real identity behind that name. Are we sure whoever 'ran' him doesn't know more about this than Jake himself did? Can we be sure whoever 'ran' Jake didn't also run me?"

  "There may not be as much hidden below this matter as you think, Gabriel," Enda said.

  "There may be more," said Gabriel. "The past few weeks have, well, sidetracked me somewhat, but it's time to get back on track. I have to find out more about the people who got me into the situation aboard Falada, Ricel in particular-if that was his name-or whoever was behind him. Once I've found that out, I can begin assembling the evidence that will clear my name."

  "Trying to assemble it," Enda corrected.

  Gabriel looked at her and frowned, then finally nodded.

  "This is going to take a while," he agreed, "but not forever."

  "May it be so," Enda said.

  Some light-years away, in a white-and-steel office, a conversation was taking place between two men.

  One was tall, the other was short, and their suits were of the kind approved by their employer. Beyond that, there was not much to choose between them, for both had spent years cultivating the kind of faces that did not stand out in a crowd and that is quickly forgotten even once it has been described. They spoke in near whispers, uncertain whether, even at their level, their offices were quite secure.

  "The Concord tame bloodhounds can sniff around all they like," the tall one said. "There's no material evidence. They won't ever be able to prove anything. Life on Grith will go on as always."

  "That's the problem," his superior muttered. "It's such a shame. We were so close."

  Both of them sighed. "Never mind," said the tall man. "We've got plenty of time yet. Who knows? Their star might even flare. F2's like that are so unstable."

  He smiled a long, slow smile. "Now, about those third quarter figures..."

  The next morning, at last, came the call for which Gabriel had been waiting. He was only surprised that it had taken this long, since they had been on Grith for three days, but Concord Administrators were busy people.

  The marines who came to pick Gabriel up from the field at Redknife treated him with surprising respect, though they did not speak to him more than necessary. That was in line with their duty. You did not chatter to people on transport even if they invited it, and Gabriel did not invite it.

  Trader Dawn seemed even more gigantic from the inside than from the outside, if that was possible. The walk to the office where his questioner awaited seemed to go on for about a week, and numerous people in Star Force uniform stood around to watch him pass by. A few of them saluted him. Gabriel did not return salute, since he was not in uniform, but he bowed his head a little to them as he passed and tried to keep hold of his composure afterward. It was difficult.

  The room into which he was shown was almost a twin to the last one. Small and plain with a table across which all kinds of writing implements and notes were scattered, the room would not have been below the station of a mid-level bureaucrat. On the other side of the table, in a chair that seemed marginally too low for him, sat Lorand Kharls. As Gabriel came in, he rose.

  "Mr. Connor," he said. "Will you sit?"

  Gabriel pulled out a chair and sat.

  "I want to thank you for what you did," Kharls said.

  "I didn't do it for you," Gabriel said. "Those people down there were reason enough."

  "You're right," Kharls said. "That is the just man's response. Nonetheless, you deserve thanks. There are few enough people who would do what you did because it needed doing."

  Gabriel accepted that and sat quiet. He had at least learned something from Enda while they had been together.

  "How did you bug my ship?" Gabriel asked after a moment. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I am convinced that you knew where I was most of the time," Gabriel said. "Someone else may have had us bugged as well, but I am uncertain as to who the guilty party might be. You, though-of your responsibility for having us bugged or traced, I'm certain."

  Kharls looked at him thoughtfully. "You're suggesting," he said, "that I thought you might lead me to something?"

  "Proof of guilt, perhaps," Gabriel said, frowning. "Are you guilty?" asked Kharls. "We've been through this," said Gabriel. "No." "But I take it you're not yet ready for that trial."

  "I tell you, Administrator," Gabriel answered, "as I told you before: the moment I have the evidence I need, I'll be on the comm to you. Meanwhile, and until then, I view you with the greatest suspicion." "You view me-!" Kharls chuckled.

  "It's probably not an isolated sentiment," Gabriel said. "I bet there are people all over this system who'll be delighted to see the back of you. Even when you are doing good, you make them nervous. And me. Where's the bug in my ship?"

  Kharls sat back then and sighed. "In the one place where it was felt certain you would neither suspect a device or try to get rid of it even if you did find it-in your registry documents. No ship owner, no matter how mad, would ever try to lose or damage those. The enabling part of the bug was installed in the verification seals of the document. The enabler in turn spoke to your comms system and its Grid link, as well as to your ship's housekeeping computer. We knew where you were at any moment, we knew who you'd been talking to, how much food you had in the cupboards, and who'd been playing which games." "You knew too damned much," Gabriel said, furious.

  Kharls was unconcerned. "You of all people," he said, "should be in a position to agree with me that not knowing enough can be fatal. If you had known anything at all about your 'intelligence contact' back on Falada, a lot of people, including friends of yours, would not be dead. Yet if that had happened and had not led to the ensuing causes and effects, a lot more people would be dead, and a war would probably have broken out here. If not by now, then very soon. Ripples from that war would have spread right back to the Stellar Ring in time, and to all kinds of people in the other stellar nations who, whatever else they might
need or deserve, do not need a war right now, not another one. My job is to keep the peace. It is not easy, and I will use my tools as I find them."

  "Yes," Gabriel said, "you will, but sometimes the tools may have ideas of their own." Gabriel stood up. Kharls stood up too. "Where will you go now?" he asked. "To Hell in my own good tune," Gabriel replied, "and without consulting you." "Have you reconsidered my offer?" Kharls asked.

  "What?" Gabriel retorted. "To do some unspecified job for some unspecified reward that may or may not involve the establishment of my innocence? Do I look stupider than I did last time we spoke, Administrator? I suppose I must. Maybe saving people's lives does that to you. If so, I'll take my chances. Meanwhile, I will get on with what life has been left to me."

  "That was not the offer I meant," Kharls said. "I spoke of serving the Concord with something besides a gun."

  "I have been doing that," Gabriel said, "since we parted company, for reasons that have nothing to do with you. Another matter that you won't believe, but it's my business. Now if you'll excuse me, my partner and I have to get our ship ready to lift."

  He turned toward the door. "I'll be in touch," Gabriel said, "eventually, despite your best attempts otherwise. There is more to life than being a marine, and I intend to find out how much more. But I will also clear my name, and then all of you will..." He trailed off. "Never mind. Good day, Administrator." Gabriel went out.

  Lorand Kharls stood and watched him go.

  That was the last piece of business that Lorand Kharls had to handle while remaining on board Trader Dawn. He took a gig over to Schmetterling as soon as one became available. Soon after that, he was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, turning over pages on his writing pad and looking through other paperwork that had been printed out for him. So it was not his doing after all.

  The debriefing-if that was the word for it-of the VoidCorp agent "running" Gabriel Connor, had been very thorough. The accident had been very expertly staged. Not even the people who brought him to the ship's sickbay, not even the people who bagged him up for cryo and return to relatives, had suspected what was happening. The medical practitioner who had attended the "death" and signed the certificate was one of the Concord's own and would not be discussing matters with anyone. Afterwards, when the experts had restarted his brain and put in the necessary hardware, the answers had come tumbling out. Chief among them was that Connor had been an innocent dupe, a genuine intelligence asset sold off as "stale" or otherwise unsuitable, then finally designated as expendable by some means that would incriminate him past any thought of other use or further service.

  That by itself had been interesting enough, but that interview had also revealed information linking, if distantly, to more urgent issues. The "living dead," as a few upper-ups in the Concord had called them, had surfaced in the Thalaassa system now in greater numbers than anyone had seen before-well, no one had seen more than two examples in any one system, certainly not from two species. But the one specimen that Connor had first found, the man who had been Oleg Darsall-that one had raised a terrible question to which no one had answers. Silver Bell, Kharls thought. How long have I been looking for an answer to that? I thought that any answer would have been good enough. Now this comes, and it terrifies me. Have we truly been looking in the wrong direction these past three years? I could almost wish not to have found it at all.

  There had been rumors for a long time of strange forms and forces walking the outer reaches of various star systems. Never coming close to the light, never showing themselves except obscurely, shadows trailing across space, here and gone again into the cold and dark. Now the rumors were coming true, finally betraying the concrete nature of their terrors. But there were no further indications of exactly what it was that had been done to these men and sesheyans and fraal who were taken, and no indications at all of who had done it to them or why.

  What might their designs be for the Verge and the inner worlds beyond? Designs there were. Whatever else Kharls knew about this business, it was that there was nothing random about it. The "changed" bodies had appeared in concert with attacks by the strange little ships they piloted, all along a curvature of space that more or less defined the outer reaches of the Verge. Idly he sketched that curve on the pad, marking the star systems on it: Algemron, Hammer's Star, Tychus, Oberon, and now Corrivale. The first two had been bad enough, but Corrivale, deep in the midst of the Verge, was increasingly becoming a crossroads for trade in this part of the Verge, despite its tensions. In the vibrancy of the place over the last few years, the rumors of dark things moving out at the edges of the system had mostly been swallowed up, drowned out. When word about this started to get out, though, that would not last. The peace of these parts, won with such difficulty, would once again start to erode, and this time more dangerously. Although people might hate and fear the enemies they knew-VoidCorp, the corsairs-they hated and feared the unknown far more.

  His duty was maintaining peace. For the time being this information would have to be kept out of the public eye. Soon enough something would happen that would make that impossible. In the meantime, they would use what little time they were granted for frantic analysis. Meanwhile, he would not throw away useful assets while they remained so.

  Kharls looked up from the pad and found Captain Dareyev looking in the door at him. "Lorand," she said, "is there a problem?" He considered her for a long moment. "No, Captain," he said, "nothing-nothing at all."

  She looked at him a little curiously for a moment then walked away. Lorand Kharls looked after her, then folded that page of his pad over and looked at the next one, the clean one. He knew better than most that the image of a Concord Administrator who ran around meddling in people's affairs, doing things busily, was an illusion. The most effective Administrators knew when to sit still and let matters take their course. The information that had just come to him would be very, very useful indeed-in time. But just now there was no need to release it and make changes in the ongoing situation. Besides-he thought of young Connor as he had been when he left, rebellious, furious-and filled with an energy that would take him far. Why suddenly remove the cause of that energy, the force that drove him? There were more important causes than those of one mere man. By leaving him as he was, great good might yet be done in the Verge, and justice delayed was not always justice denied. It depended on how fast justice moved in your neighborhood, and how wise it was for it to move any faster.

  No, Kharls thought. Let him wait. Kharls turned over another sheet of the pad's writing plastic and began wondering where to turn this resource next.

  It was night on Sunshine. Enda was in her bed. Gabriel sat late in the pilot's seat, looking out at the stars that burned beyond Corrivale. They would be making starfall in the morning.

  They were victualled, fueled, and re-armed. All farewells, all blessings and curses, were said. One thing only remained to do before they left.

  Gabriel touched his combination into the safe-box set in the wall of the pilots' compartment, waited for the click, then opened the door. He reached in and came out with Sunshine's registry papers. He held them in his lap for nearly an hour, looking at the seals. Finally he glanced around him, looking for something heavy.

  There was nothing suitable in the cockpit. He got up, wandered back to the sitting room and glanced around, trying to be quiet. After a moment his eye fell on the hardstone pot in which Enda's bulb lived. Gabriel reached out to it, glancing at the surface of the fold-down table, a good enough spot. He stopped then. He looked at the pot and the seals on the registry document again, and then he looked at the door to Enda's quarters.

  He glanced again at the document in his hand, then walked back to the cockpit, put the registry document in the safe again, locked it, and took one last look at the stars. Then Gabriel Connor went to bed.

  Glossary

  Aegis - A G2 yellow star. The Metropolitan Center of the Verge.

  Ahhrihei - A fraal euphemism that literally means "a shift of wind," b
ut infers a wind of the mind, i.e., a person's decision to make a change.

  AI - Artificial Intelligence. Sentient computer programming whose sophistication varies from model to model.

  Aimara - A lake on Ino.

  Aleerin - see mechalus.

  Algemran - A G5 yellow star in the Verge. Also the name of the system.

  Altid - A model of driveship.

  Arends, Lieutenant Colonel - The marine senior commanding officer on board Falada.

  AU - Astronomical Unit. 150 million km.

  Austrin-Ontis Unlimited - A corporate stellar nation that is best known as the strongest arms dealer of the Stellar Ring, but whose citizens view themselves as strong individualists with a deep sense of altruism.

  Battle of Kendai (2375) - A battle of the Second Galactic War that effectively cut communications between the stellar nations and the Verge for 121 years.

  Baynes, Julius - The chief Concord Administrator for the Verge, bebe - A bird native to Grith.

  Bluefall - Capital planet of the Aegis system. Ruled by the Regency government.

  Bluff Heights - The cliff face at the edge of Diamond Point that protects it from the tides.

  Boreal Sea - The sea of the north pole on Grith.

  Bricht - A model of stardrive engine.

  Builder - That section of fraal society that believes in integration with other species and cultures.

  Callirhoe - A Concord Star Force Heavy Cruiser cerametal - An extremely strong alloy made from laminated ceramics and lightweight metals chai - tea charge pistol - A small firearm in which an electric firing pin ignites a chemical explosive into a white- hot plasma propellant, thus expelling a cerametallic slug at extremely high velocity clearfoam - A synthetic, transparent foam used to contain instruments in a sterile environment.

  CM armor - cerametal armor.

  Colonial Diocese - The Hatire government upon Grith.