The Shadow and Night

by Chris Walley

  “An understatement,” Vero commented in pained tones, gently shaking off dust.

  Anya looked them over again and shook her head. “Well, if you think I’m going to hug and kiss either of you—especially you, Merral D’Avanos, when you look like an accident in a blood bank—not a hope. As for you, Sentinel Enand, you look like you failed to get out of a quarry before blasting.”

  Merral looked at Vero and then down at his bloodied clothes and decided he didn’t know whether to smile or shudder.

  Perena’s slim figure slipped in through a doorway. As she embraced her sister, she gestured to Merral and Vero. “Have you ever seen anything more disgusting?”

  Anya shook her head as Perena continued urgently. “My poor ship needs a trip to Bay One for full damage assessment and repair. I’ve arranged for these guys to clean up at the medical center. Take them over, let them shower off, fix them clean clothes. Issue them some standard Space Affairs suits. I’ve asked for Doc Larchent to see them. He’s under instructions not to ask questions.” She gave a grimace. “Excuse me, all, I’ve got some weird holes to look at. See you later.”

  She turned to make her way down the ramp onto the runway.

  Anya hooked a thumb downward. “Out, you guys, follow me. We’ve an ambulance here and we’ll go in by the back way. And Merral,” she said, giving him a crooked grin, “if that is your blood, you ought to be dead and I want you for science. And if it isn’t, well, then I want your clothes for science.”

  Merral clapped Anya on the back. “Only the ankle blood is mine.”

  She looked hard at his clothes, her eyes widening. “I’m glad of that. The rest is the blood of one of these insect-creatures?”

  “There wasn’t just one creature, Anya. There were many of them. And two different kinds; there was an ape-creature as well.”

  She stared wide-eyed at the garments for a moment before looking up at him with a colder, businesslike look. “You have both kinds of blood on you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Merral smiled. “I went to some trouble to get good samples for you. The left ankle and trouser leg is from the cockroach thing; the jacket and shirt blood is from an ape-creature. My contribution is the right lower leg and the sock.”

  “Excellent.” She shook her head in mock reproof. “But next time, Tree Man, you might remember that a drop is adequate.”

  “Enough of the repartee, you guys,” Vero said. “We need to meet together as soon as we have cleaned up. There is a long, long chat we have to have, and some hard decisions to make.”

  As Merral and Vero walked unsteadily and stiffly out from under the general survey craft to where the ambulance hovered gently on the strip, they could see a cluster of people looking up and shaking their heads at the underside of the stubby wings. Above them, beams from handheld lights were picking out a cluster of a dozen or so fist-sized holes with blackened edges.

  Vero tapped Merral gently on the shoulder and bent his face toward him. “My friend,” he said, and Merral heard the anxiety in his voice, “I ask you to pray for me. I need to make decisions now. They are hard decisions, because a wrong move now could be disastrous. If, on the summit, the weight of the struggle fell on you, it now falls on me. We will meet and discuss after you have been fixed up, but already I have to decide.” He sighed. “It is not easy.”

  As he spoke, Merral realized that this was something he had overlooked. Vero was right; action had to be taken, but choosing the right action would be far from easy.

  The ambulance whispered through the back of the medical center. There Merral was divested of his clothes, allowed a hasty but wonderful shower, and then taken in a bathrobe to a room where he had a brief medical examination by a doctor and a nurse. His ankle was examined and the wound opened, cleansed thoroughly, and then microsutured. A bruised shoulder was treated, the small burn to the hand covered, and his eardrums examined.

  As the doctor gave Merral a third different anti-infection agent, he stared at him with puzzled eyes. “I’ve been told not to ask questions, Forester D’Avanos, but that is an interesting wound on your foot. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  Their eyes met.

  “Yes, it is interesting.”

  Realizing that he was not going to learn anything more, the doctor just shrugged. “It should give no more trouble. Call me if it shows any inflammation.”

  Aware of the doctor and nurse watching him curiously, Merral headed to an adjoining room where he took a new set of clothing, including a shirt and overalls in the dark blue colors of Space Affairs. Then, feeling more human, he was shown to an empty refectory where he helped himself to fruit juice and sandwiches from a fridge. A few minutes later Vero joined him, and together, with the minimum of conversation, they ate and drank gratefully. As they were finishing, Anya came in, and this time there were embraces all round.

  Then, with the gentle night air with its hint of impending summer drifting through the cab, Anya drove them across the runway in a small Space Affairs transport. Merral realized he had conflicting urges within him. His body simply wished to go to bed and sleep off recent events, while in his mind there burned the stronger longing to take action, to warn Farholme and the Assembly.

  “Where are we going?” he asked Anya as they overtook the Nesta Lamaine being towed slowly across the runway.

  “My sister asked me to take you to the Engineering and Maintenance Complex.”

  Vero leaned over to Merral. “While you were being patched up, I went and sorted some things out with Perena. We have set some things in motion. We need to talk in a place where we can be sure of not being overheard or having equipment intercepted. She suggested one of the engineering rooms. They are all underground.”

  They stopped at the end of one of the runways where a series of wide entrances and narrow doors was cut into a low hill. Perena was waiting for them and led them to a closed door.

  “Captain Perena Lewitz and three colleagues,” she announced to a panel at the side, and the doorway slid open.

  “You have security?” Vero asked her in surprise as Perena led them through.

  “Security?” The door slid closed behind them. “It’s safety. That alone. There are vacuum chambers, laser cutters—any number of radiation-emitting processes. You can’t have just anybody walking around here. Otherwise we would have space-besotted children being fried accidentally every week.”

  She gestured to a weighty array of warning notices on the walls and then stared at a screen. “But it’s almost empty. A few engineers checking some circuits for motors in Bay Three. Six technicians preparing Bay One for Nesta. That’s about it. Eleven o’clock in the evening is not the time for routine work.”

  They walked down two flights of stairs and along a lengthy corridor. At a heavy glass window at the end she stopped and peered in at a large, well-lit chamber with a vacant center space and an array of machinery around the perimeter. “Bay One,” Perena observed. “Home for Nesta for the next few days at least. We’ll have to replace a dozen undersurface plates and make sure there are no leaks. Put her in vacuum for a day or two.” She stroked her chin gently. “Extraordinary,” she whispered in wonderment. “Battle damage.”

  Then they moved on into another corridor. At the end of this was a heavy door marked Communications Isolation Room, and a notice warned that no diary communication was possible within the room. A datascreen by the side proclaimed that the room was unoccupied.

  Perena opened the door and gestured them in as the lights automatically flickered on. “Make yourselves as comfortable as you can. I need to make sure we are left alone and that any com-links to this room are switched off.” She gave Vero a meaningful look. “And, check on some other matters. There’ll be water, coffee—everything—in the office next door.” Then she left.

  The laboratory was small, with a low ceiling, and empty apart from banks of equipment and testing racks. They found a table in a corner, cleared it of testing units, and pulled up chairs. Anya and Vero made coff
ee while Merral put his ankle upon a box.

  They had barely sat down with the cups when Perena came in and closed the door behind her. She nodded at Vero. “Maybe,” she said, “in an hour we will know. Just after midnight.”

  Then she pulled a chair up and sat with them. Merral realized that she was looking expectantly at him. He glanced around and saw that everyone else was as well.

  Vero nodded at him. “I think, Merral, that you’d best start things off. It seems to be the general feeling.”

  “Very well. But I don’t know where to begin. I am certain, though, that we should seek the blessing of the Lord first. We have been spared so far in an extraordinary way. Yet we are up against something so enormous . . .” He paused, his thoughts almost overwhelming him. “So enormous, that what we decide here tonight may have unimaginable consequences.”

  They bowed their heads and Merral prayed. He gave thanks for deliverance, made a fervent plea for future protection, and then petitioned for clarity and guidance in their discussion. After the resounding “Amens” he looked around and saw, as he had expected, that they were all still looking at him.

  Merral turned to Vero. “You asked me to start, but if I am not mistaken, Vero, this is your hour. I know you do not understand everything, but I believe you’ve thought these things through more than I have. Also your background has better prepared you.”

  Vero looked around with a troubled face and gestured his reluctant agreement with the least of nods. “Very well. Although I must say Merral has shown a remarkable practical ability. He seems to be a born soldier.”

  Merral made a murmur of protest but Vero continued. “He is unhappy with that word, I know. Indeed, if he were happy with it I would worry. Anyway, let me begin, because I think there are things that I need to say. Then I will let Merral tell you what we have seen. But we must be urgent; we have decisions to make, and I think we must make them within the hour.”

  He paused and seemed to stare ahead solemnly into the distance for a long, heavy moment. “We have a problem. I wish I could tell you all about what that problem is—where it comes from, what it means, and how it might be countered. Description, analysis, prescription. But I cannot. I am not even sure whether there is one problem or many. To some extent it is not our task to solve it. That can be done by others. But we do need to make urgent decisions, and make them now.”

  There were nods of assent and Vero continued. “Let me state the problem. Something is in the north—something evil, something unknown, since at least the beginning of the Assembly. And maybe not even then.”

  As he spoke the words, Merral’s memories of grappling in the darkness with the ape-creatures and the dreadful encounter with the cockroach-beast were stirred again. He grabbed the table’s edge.

  Vero stopped, creased his forehead in thought, and then went on. “There are, I think, three distinct aspects: First, there are now on Farholme two sorts of new creatures, both unknown to the Assembly. Merral will describe them. Both are intelligent and very hostile.”

  Merral saw the sisters share glances with each other.

  “Second,” Vero continued, “these creatures are connected—in some way—with a technology that is beyond ours in the area of weapons and communications.” He leaned forward, his thin figure tense. “And third—and worst of all—there is an evil influence loose. A spiritual influence that corrupts. . . .”

  As the words sank in, Merral stared around. In the whole history of the Assembly, he wondered whether there had ever been such a meeting as this.

  Anya and Perena shared looks of silent astonishment. Then Anya turned to Vero and shook her head in such a firm gesture of denial that her long red hair flew over her shoulders. “All of this seems too much to believe. I know this world.”

  Vero tapped the table thoughtfully with his fingers for a moment. “I sympathize, Anya, and your skepticism is valuable. But, partly to help you to believe and partly to explain why we meet here, can you call up the conversation you had, what—six hours ago? When you called to make contact with us? Remember, it was just voices.”

  “Sure. I was impressed, Vero,” she replied with a look of amusement as she pulled off her diary and put it on the table. “I’ve never heard of anybody managing to wipe out the main functions of two separate diaries. I was very surprised when I heard it.”

  A strange, ironic smile crept across Vero’s face. “Your surprise, Anya, was—I’m certain—exceeded by mine. But then it has been a day of surprises. And more. But play the conversation. Please.”

  Evidently mystified, Anya searched for the file on her diary, and then the room was filled with the sound of her call to Merral and Vero while the sentinel stared at his fingernails. When the transmission ended, she turned to Vero. “So? Why that?”

  There was a delay, then Vero lifted up his large brown eyes and stared at her. “Because, in fact, neither Merral nor I spoke.” The words were hushed.

  Perplexed, Anya looked at her sister, then back at Vero. “Yes, you did. We all heard you.”

  Catching a minute gesture from Vero, Merral turned to her. “Anya, that was not us. I testify to it. Our own diaries had been blocked for the best part of a day. Whatever it is . . . no, whoever they are, they duplicated our voices.”

  Anya’s face paled. “But that was you. . . . I don’t believe it. I can’t believe . . .”

  The troubled silence was broken by Perena’s gentle and thoughtful voice. “Sister, it might help to remember that something burned holes right through five centimeters-thick thermoceramic plates on my ship. At a guess, by generating a local temperature of at least twelve hundred degrees C. And something cut off these guys’ diary signals within seconds.”

  Anya, a determined skepticism on her face, merely shook her head again in exasperation and said nothing. Merral caught a tremor in Vero’s fingers and knew that he was finding the meeting difficult. He prayed for him again.

  Vero sighed, then looked up at Anya, his dark face strained. “I understand your reluctance to believe something so disturbing, so almost impossible. But, Anya, you must. We must all understand what we face. Now, if you could play us another diary clip. I want you to show us the interview with Maya Knella about the samples.”

  Anya breathed out heavily, as if in exasperation, and then pointed her diary at the wallscreen. “Very well. . . . But, as I told you, it was a bad line.”

  A few moments later they were looking at a grainy image of a middle-aged woman with a heavy-boned oval face, her jet-black hair tinged with gray and held in place by a silver hair clasp, and wearing a long red dress with a green leaf pattern. The background was a laboratory. The image jumped and flickered, the sound bounced up and down in volume, and there was a marked time delay between question and answer. What the woman said was more or less as Anya had reported: a denial of anything peculiar in her sample data and a suggestion that the equipment might be failing.

  “F–freeze it, please,” Vero ordered. “Now window the previous conversation you had with her.”

  “But . . . that was about a technical aspect of gene transmission in mammals. It was about nothing relevant.”

  “Please,” Vero asked, casting a glance at his watch. “If I am right, it is an issue of greatest significance.” Moments later, Maya Knella appeared again below the first image.

  “Ah!” There was a note of relief in Vero’s voice. “Freeze that, too!”

  “I thought you wanted to hear it.”

  “It is not necessary. When was this?”

  “About ten days earlier.”

  “Yes,” Vero said quietly, as if to himself. “And what do you see, Merral?”

  “Same woman,” he answered, failing to see any cause for Vero’s excitement. “But in an office this time. She’s got a different dress.”

  Vero got up from his seat, walked over, and peered at the images, one inset inside the other.

  “No, she hasn’t,” he said, gesturing with an outstretched finger. “This is a gray dres
s with brown leaves. The pattern is identical. Only the color is changed.”

  His finger jumped from one image to another and back. Merral heard a gasp from Anya.

  Vero continued staring at the image. “See, too, that the hairstyle and combing is exactly the same. But the hair clip here is gold.”

  “But—,” Anya protested, looking at everyone in turn as if trying to elicit support. “But the background is different.”

  “Standard shots of a laboratory,” Vero added, his voice terse, as if he was anxious to move on. “Easy enough to provide. Careful analysis would probably show discrepancies in the angle of the shadows between her and the background.”

  Anya, now half standing, was leaning forward over the table, staring intently at the sentinel with an expression that seemed to fluctuate between confusion and dread.

  “So, Vero,” she said, her voice full of perplexity and fear, “you are saying that I never talked with her a second time. That it was made-up. That they just . . . Surely not?” She stared at the screen and Merral saw her swallow. “That they just took an old conversation we had . . . and modified it?”

  Vero pursed his mouth and nodded. “S–sorry,” he said.

  “No!” Anya snapped and, blank-faced, sat down suddenly in her chair. She put her face in her hands for a moment and then looked around, her expression one of shocked stupefaction. “I’m appalled . . . ,” she said slowly. “I mean, it smashes everything we stand for: ethics, Technology Protocols, decency—everything!”

  Anya’s misery was so evident that Merral was struck by a strangely potent—and perturbing—desire to comfort her by hugging her.

  Anya stared at Vero with resentment in her eyes. “But . . . how did they know to do it to me?”

  Vero wrinkled his nose. “I’d guess they knew because you had told us you were going to call her when we were in Ynysmant.”

  Anya gulped. “They listened in?”

  “At a guess.”

  Her face flushed. “No . . . ,” she continued, her face showing that she was fighting desperately not to believe what she was being told. “It can’t be! I mean, how did they get the old conversation with Maya?”