by Chris Walley
“Yes, I could see that,” Corradon said slowly, “but, Vero, should we not circulate a general warning for people to be on their guard?”
“I have agonized over this and I think not. I think, for myself, there might be a risk of panic.”
Merral saw Clemant shift uneasily in his seat, and the representative looked at him. “Lucian?”
“Panic,” Clemant said, with a deeply troubled tone of voice, “is the worst of all possible responses.” He stared at his hands, neatly extended on the table, for a moment and then looked up with what Merral thought was a barely suppressed expression of alarm. “With widespread panic, Farholme could become ungovernable.”
“Sorry, Vero,” Corradon said, “what you want really is, I believe, secrecy. Secrecy.” The representative pronounced the word emphatically and slowly, as if testing an unfamiliar sound. “A term I do not like. Any more than I like a world without a Gate. But I sense its logic. I take it you agree, Merral?”
“Sir, I agree, most reluctantly, with Vero’s suggestion of keeping this private. For the moment.”
“Very well. Lucian?”
“Reluctantly.” Clemant tapped a finger nervously on the table. “Most reluctantly.”
“I see.” Corradon’s dislike of the situation was plain from his expression. “Very well. We will tell the other representatives that we have a problem. And that they must keep quiet. But, Forester, what do we actually do?”
Merral recognized that the time they had expected had come. “I—we—feel that above all, we need more information. The conclusion we have come to is that we all want to work on this. In different ways.” He waited to be sure that his words and tone registered. “I would suggest that you authorize the four of us to investigate various aspects of the problem. We would, of course, report to you.”
“I see,” Corradon said with a pause. “A sort of research group. And you, Forester, would personally do . . . what?”
“Sir, we have agreed that I should look at the satellite imagery to see if I can find out where the intruders are based. To find the ship they came in. That seems a priority.”
“It’s an incredibly large area,” Corradon said, staring at the map on the wall.
“Around three million square kilometers,” Clemant said, with the air of someone who had calculated it.
“That’s a maximum. But it is big and rough.”
“But you know the area as well as anybody does, I suppose,” Corradon said. “And the others? Dr. Lewitz, for instance; what about you?”
“Me?” Anya said, fixing the representative with her lively blue eyes. “I want to rerun those DNA tests. And I want to model and compile everything we know about the two creature types.”
Corradon gave a grunt of approval. “Captain Lewitz?”
Perena hesitated a moment and then spoke in her low and intense voice. “Sir, I would like to look at any reports produced by the team investigating the destruction of the Gate.”
Corradon stared at her. “We are putting our best people on that. Will you be able to add anything to what they can do? I have no doubt about your piloting abilities, Captain. But this is, surely, Below-Space and gravitational physics?”
Perena’s face expressed the gentlest disagreement. “Sir, I know things that they do not. They, I presume, are looking for a mechanical failure. I will be looking for a destructive act from the outset. I also know that Gate calls were being intercepted and modified at least a week ago. I know that there was an incursion into Farholme space as long ago as just before Nativity. In fact, I want to look at the astronomical data for that time to see if we can work out where the ship came from. And, sir,” she said, and paused briefly, “I also want to set up a watch.”
“A watch?”
“We know one intruder ship entered the Alahir System. But are there other ships there too? We need to scan the skies.”
“So we are not caught out again?” said Clemant.
“Exactly.”
“Hmm,” Corradon said, sharing a knowing look with his advisor. “I can see this has been thought out carefully.” He turned to Vero. “And so, what does our sentinel want?”
A good question, Merral thought.
“Sir,” Vero said in a cautious voice, “my request is one that I alone am responsible for. It is somewhat radical, and I would be grateful if you and Advisor Clemant would not reject it out of hand.”
“You will have our most careful consideration of it.”
“Thank you.” Vero looked grave. “S-sir, I would like to put together and train a team.”
Puzzlement swept across the representative’s face. “A team of what?” he asked. “I thought the four of you were a team?”
After a moment in which Vero seemed to be summoning courage, he simply said, “Sir, I want a team of people who will work on the defense of Farholme.”
There was an interchange of surprised glances, and Corradon turned to Merral. “Do I gather that this is news to you?”
“Er, yes,” Merral answered, aware that Clemant was staring at Vero with an expression of open misgiving.
“Hmm, I see,” Corradon said. “Vero, defense? You’d better expand.”
Vero’s fingers twitched. “Well, for a start, investigate—and then make—anything that we think will protect us. Against the intruders. I’d like to look at ways of making secure communications.” There was uncertainty in his voice, and Merral realized for the first time that for all his cleverness and insight, Vero was not very good at verbal persuasion. “I b-believe, well—for instance—that if the intruders are looking into our diary system, it ought to be possible to detect how it’s done. And stop it.”
“I can see the value of that,” Corradon murmured. “What else?”
Vero looked uncomfortable and bit his lip. “And, sir, I want to research some, well . . . defensive equipment.”
“Defensive equipment?” The bushy eyebrows nearly met. “Can you elaborate?”
Vero’s dark face became strained. “Well—shall we say—er, military things.”
“Military?” Corradon repeated, leaning forward as if he had misheard something. Merral caught a low gasp from Clemant.
Vero hesitated and then, apparently aware that he had already committed himself, spoke again with more confidence. “Yes, I mean, can we produce weapons? Should we need them.”
“Weapons . . .” The chair creaked as Corradon sat back in it, looking thoroughly confounded. “I see . . . ,” he said, glancing at his advisor, who was staring intently at Vero.
“Well, I agree with Vero,” Anya said in a determined tone of voice. “Reluctantly. You can’t realistically keep tackling these things with bush knives and exploding diaries.”
“But, Anya—Dr. Lewitz,” the representative replied with an air of gentle and dignified exasperation, “we are Assembly. Or we were. I remind you what you all know: the time of peace we have had from Jannafy’s rebellion to now is over twice as long as that from the building of the Pyramids to the start of the Assembly. We have given up war.”
“But, sir, respectfully, our enemies haven’t,” Merral said and was surprised at the force of his words. “And while, sir, I share your unease, I too agree with Vero and Anya. We need at least the possibility of weapons. Last time we were blessed with an undeserved success. Next time we may not be able to rely so much on a kindly Providence.”
Perena’s voice, as quiet and undemonstrative as ever, broke the profound silence that followed Merral’s words. “And if I must declare my preference—and it seems I must—I also back Vero and Merral. We nearly lost a general survey craft and an inter-system liner the other day. We did lose a Gate.”
The advisor, who had been staring from one to the other with a look of careful and unhappy evaluation, turned to Vero.
“But, Sentinel,” he rumbled, “this issue of weapons. Surely, it does go against every principle of the Assembly?”
Vero shook his head. “No, sir, I would disagree. The Assembly has alway
s had a small defensive force at the insistence of the sentinels.”
“It took twenty years of debate for it to be approved,” Clemant grunted, “if I remember correctly. We could start that process here if you or Brenito wished.”
Vero’s dark skin seemed to pale. “No, on the contrary, sir,” he answered, his voice unsteady but defiant, “I-I would like it now. If you want me to justify it, I would say, if necessary, that Farholme now forms a little Assembly, an offspring of the greater Assembly. And what was decided for the parent applies to the child. And I don’t want two frigates in twenty years; I want twenty-four men and women tomorrow. Or the day after. Quietly. But I do want them.” Then, as if taken aback by his own boldness, he added, “P-please.”
The advisor, apparently surprised by the force of Vero’s words, blinked, shook his head sharply, and turned to Corradon, as if seeking his help.
“I note your disapproval, Lucian.”
“Sir,” he said slowly, “we know so little about these intruders. I mean, we may be misreading their intentions.”
Corradon raised an eyebrow. “But surely, Lucian, they don’t seem friendly. We have the holes in Perena’s general survey craft and our forester’s wounded ankle as very tangible evidence of that.”
Clemant looked around, his face troubled, and shrugged. “Perhaps, sir. But I maintain that we need to be cautious. By everybody’s admission—even that of our visiting sentinel—we do not know what is going on. At all. I agree that these things seem hostile. But so might our dogs. There may be other explanations. For us to act in a hostile manner . . . it might be a capital mistake; it could give a misleading impression of the Assembly. Possibly a fatal one. It is a heavy risk.”
Corradon put his large hands on either side of his nose and rocked his head backward and forward, clearly weighing up what he was hearing. “Perhaps, Lucian. Perhaps. But they did destroy the Gate. And as for risk? All our choices have a risk.”
There was an awkward silence, and everyone seemed to turn to Vero who, looking discomfited, blinked and then shrugged. “I simply believe,” he said, “that it would be wise to prepare for the worst. I am not asking to use weapons, only to have them made ready.”
Clemant shook his head. “But the very act of preparing weaponry could destabilize an already precarious situation.”
“Maybe,” Corradon said. “But only maybe. Anya, Perena, and Merral—do I take it that you are all in agreement that Vero’s proposal is the way forward?”
“Reluctantly, yes,” Merral said, and as he spoke, he heard agreement from the sisters.
“Very well,” Corradon replied. “Lucian, we must leave. We can talk about this later. I can make no decision now, anyway. I have a lot to think about.”
The representative rose to his feet stiffly and moved toward the door. Then, his hand on the door handle, he turned to face them. Merral was struck by how hidden any traces of alarm or disquiet had become.
“Thank you all for coming,” Corradon said, in such an untroubled tone of voice that Merral felt they might have been discussing nothing more serious than some plan for a forest extension.
Then he caught Vero’s eye. “Sentinel, if—and only if—I was to authorize this, how many people did you say you would want?”
Vero seemed to take a deep breath. “Twenty-four, sir. W-well, actually I’d prefer thirty-six. Of the best students you have in around twelve disciplines. I have details—”
The representative raised a hand to silence him. “Later, maybe. Well, I will give you my answer as soon as I can. The other representatives are on their way here, and there are many other issues for me to weigh in the balance. I imagine most of you are going to be staying in Isterrane. Merral, now, what are your plans?”
“I hope to take the two o’clock flight back to Ynysmant, sir. Unless I hear from you otherwise, I will return to work as a forester.”
“I see,” Corradon answered. “Well, whatever happens, I hope that your return to your vocation can be soon. But let me get someone from the office here to take you to the airport. Where are you staying?”
“Narreza Tower.”
“Very good. Say twelve-thirty?” He looked around and smiled. “Thank you all again. I would covet your prayers for the decisions I have to make.”
Then he and the advisor left, and as the door closed behind them, Merral could hear animated conversation starting up as they walked up the corridor.
There was a long silence in the room.
Finally Anya spoke. “Hey, Earther,” she said, looking at Vero with a grin, “next time you want us to agree with you about forming an army, can you give us some warning?”
24
At Narreza Tower, Merral and Vero parted from the sisters and returned to their apartment. With sunlight pouring in through the windows, the place seemed brighter and more welcoming. Merral persuaded a subdued Vero to sit outside on the balcony. “Do you think that we will get what we asked for?” Merral asked him. “Yes,” came the response, “I think we will. But I am worried about that discussion.”
“Yes. I felt the opposition from Clemant was striking. I put it down to the shock of the loss of the Gate and the seriousness of what we were discussing.”
Vero looked at Merral, his brow creased. “Yes. Perhaps that is it. ‘The Gate Loss Syndrome’—a state of mind which you have never heard of before because I have just invented it. I think you will soon. But what do you think lay behind Clemant’s attitude?”
“I felt he was afraid.”
Vero nodded. “I agree. I have started doing a lot of reading in the pre-Intervention files. It is instructive, even if alarming. We tend to think of fear as an isolated evil. But when you go to the past, what is striking is how often it is fear that triggers other things. Anger and hatred, for instance, often come from fear. ‘When a man is terribly afraid he may do terrible things.’ It’s a quote.”
Then, after a few moments, Vero looked at Merral. “I was shaken by the news of that ship, though.”
“The Miriama?”
“Yes. I am wondering if the evil may not be spreading faster than we had feared. And even whether our conversation today may not have reflected something of the decline we are undergoing.”
“Maybe.”
“Merral, we must watch. Close at hand and far away.”
Then he pulled out his notebook and, with a plea that he wanted to think through what had been said at the meeting, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Half an hour later, there was a sharp knock at the apartment door. Merral got up from his seat on the balcony and walked to the door. “Come in,” he called out.
The door opened and a tall, large-framed woman in her early thirties came in. Merral stared at her, simultaneously struck by her height, the long, wavy mane of black hair that flowed over her shoulders, the bright but rather sad dark brown eyes, and an unusual sense of energy. He instantly decided that he had never met her; she was not a woman you would easily forget.
“Excuse me,” the visitor said, in a sharp, no-nonsense voice, “Representative Corradon said to call here. Are you—?”
“Forester Merral Stefan D’Avanos.” Merral turned. “And this is—”
But Vero had joined him. “Verofaza Laertes Enand, sentinel. Or Vero.”
The visitor’s smile was open and toothy. “And I’m Gerrana Anna Habbentz, Research Professor of Physics, Isterrane University. You can call me Gerry.”
Vero shook her hand and gestured to the balcony. “Welcome, Gerry. Come and join us; take a seat. I’m afraid my physics is rather decayed. What sort of physics, anyway?”
“Stellar physics,” she said, walking out onto the balcony with a grace that seemed surprising for such a large woman. Yet as he looked at her, Merral was aware that, for all her vigor, she was troubled.
“We have a good little department, really,” Gerry said, taking in the view. “Or had . . . before the Gate went. Fifty years of isolation isn’t going to help.” Suddenly she lo
oked glum.
“I’m sorry. Can we get you a drink?” Vero said.
“Thanks. Water’s fine,” Gerry said, lowering herself into a chair and stretching out long legs. “And we will lose lab access. Of course.”
“Lab access?” Merral asked.
“Far Station physics lab and solar observatory. Thank you,” she said, as Vero offered her a glass of water. “Yes, flight cutbacks.”
“Ah,” Merral said.
She shrugged wearily. “That’s the least of the issues.” She sipped the water. “Look, guys, sorry to come here without warning, but I have something that may be of value.”
Vero smiled—Merral decided that there was something about Gerry that invited smiles—and said, “Let me guess: you have a faster-than-light-speed ship all ready to launch?”
Gerry returned his smile, but Merral felt there was pain in it. “Now wouldn’t that be nice?” She sipped at the water again. “But you are pretty close. I may—mark the word may—have a way for you to contact the Assembly.”
“Surely not.” The smile left Vero’s face and his eyes widened. “You’d need a Gate link of some sort.”
“No. We may be able to send a message by quantum-linked photons.”
Vero looked at Merral with a baffled expression; Merral felt sure that he returned it.
“Gerry,” Vero said, “go slow here, please.”
She shrugged. “It’s been known since the dawn of physics—well, Einstein anyway—that you can link subatomic particles so that if you separate them, what happens to one happens to the other.” She looked inquiringly at them with her big dark eyes. “ ‘Quantum entanglement?’ No? ‘Spooky action-at-a-distance’?”
“Sorry.”
“Oh well . . . Anyway,” she said, “trust me. Einstein got a lot wrong, but not this. If you had some linked photons on Ancient Earth and brought some of them here, what you did to those here would instantly be duplicated on Earth. Okay? So, in theory, if you released them as flashes of light here, matching flashes of light would occur on Earth. Instantly. So you could send a message.”
