The Shadow and Night

by Chris Walley

  Then he sat on the bed and called Isabella on his diary. She seemed to stare at him for a few moments before answering. Slowly and painfully, Merral made an apology for what had happened when they last met. Isabella seemed only reluctantly to accept his apologies. “The trouble is,” she said rather sourly, “you’re never around for long enough to talk to properly. And when are you back next?”

  “I really can’t say, Isabella, I’m afraid, but that is the way it is. I may be out of touch for a few days.”

  “There we are again,” came the sharp response, accompanied by an exasperated shake of her head. “As I said, you’re never around. Look, I have to go. Good-bye.”

  Then, before he could say anything more, the screen went blank. He stared at it for a moment or two, then, in exasperation, slammed his fist onto the bed.

  35

  Early the following morning Merral and Vero drove to the airport but went on past the main terminal to the western extremity of the complex. Merral soon spotted the Emilia Kay. She was a large vessel, the gray of a winter’s sky, hanging low to the ground, with a swollen belly and stubby wings. The ship reminded him of some animal—perhaps a whale—but it lacked any sense of the harmonious unity of an organism. It was too easy to see that it was made of individual components: wings, fin, four engines, fuselage, and load module. As they approached, Merral decided that the intention had been to conceal the ship by parking it at the extreme end of the western runway system. But to him, particularly in the absence of the regular Gate shuttle traffic, it still seemed glaringly prominent, and the dozen or so vehicles in attendance around it seemed to highlight the fact that something unusual was going on.

  Vero drove onto the service track outside the earth ramparts that marked the runway edges. As they turned a corner and went out of sight of the terminal, he slowed the vehicle and brought it to a stop in front of what was clearly a brand-new barrier of sand-filled containers and wire mesh.

  Two men in matching blue overalls stood by a gate in the barrier. They nodded in recognition at Vero and walked round to Merral.

  Vero leaned over. “Show them your letter,” he whispered.

  Merral pulled it out and let the men examine it. They glanced at each other, stared at Merral again, and then turned quizzical looks to Vero before raising their hands in tentative salutes.

  “Welcome, sir,” the taller said. He glanced at Merral’s belt.

  “Oh yes,” Vero said, “can you let him have your diary?”

  “What is this?”

  “A new program that restricts use of the diary. No location of position, no signals out except emergency ones or ones on a coded FDU band. You’d best get it done. A temporary measure.”

  Noting that Vero had taken action on a problem that had emerged in their last dealings with the intruders, Merral handed his diary over. The man slid it into a downloading interface slot, pressed a button, and passed it back.

  “Thank you, Captain D’Avanos,” he said with a salute. He lifted the barrier and Vero accelerated through toward the Emilia Kay.

  “So this is how it is to be,” Merral said, as much to himself as to Vero as he put the diary back on his belt. “Sir this, sir that, Captain D’Avanos, sir . . . And the salutes.”

  Vero looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Merral, in the past no one invented a better way, and there’s no time to try and find it now.” He seemed to consider something. “My friend, if I may suggest something?” Vero’s tone seemed guarded. “You have to play the part whether you like it or not. Among the men and the few women you will command, everyone is confused, and some are scared. All will be both at some point. They will look to you to hold them firm. I know it’s hard because you have no models to base yourself on. But then neither have they. In Tanaris you will have to work hard. But I think you will do it.”

  “And supposing I can’t?”

  Vero slowed the vehicle to a crawl and looked sternly across at him. “Don’t ever even think that!” There was rebuke in his voice. “I believe—we believe—that God has called you to lead us. If he has called you to play the part, then he will equip you for that. You mustn’t doubt that!”

  Then, as if to soften the rebuke, he punched Merral on the arm. “Come on Captain D’Avanos,” he said as the vehicle sped up toward the confusion of activity around the ship. “You’ll do it.”

  They parked a hundred meters from the ship. Given that so much was going on around, in, and on top of the vessel, Merral decided any closer would have been risky. A quick glance suggested that there must be at least a hundred people and fifteen vehicles clustered about the ship. He counted six LP4 transporters alone, each in various stages of being unloaded, their contents of boxes, bags, and drums lying next to them and being checked off. There were other vehicles too: a hydrogen tanker parked at a safe distance, numerous smaller four-seater vehicles, and even the odd bike. Everywhere there were businesslike noises—hammering, the whine of lifters, the hum of motors, the shouting out of requests—all merging into a continuous hectic buzz of activity.

  While Vero was detained by a man with an inquiry, Merral walked on, a robotic lifter pausing to let him pass with a bow of its head, and threaded his way past two men earnestly comparing databoard lists. Near a wingtip, he stopped and stared at the ship. The vessel was larger than Merral had imagined; he could easily believe that it would swallow the sleds, the hoverer, and a hundred or more men with room to spare. Merral cautiously identified it, from a memory of a model he had once made as a child, as a Series D Freighter. The phrase the flexible workhorse of the Assembly came to mind but, he decided, if it was after all to be compared with an animal, it was not a horse. Particularly not in this mode, where the massive landing legs were bowed so that the flat bottom of the cargo module that made up half the fuselage was now within centimeters of the ground, making the whole ship look squat and low-slung. It was as if someone had started by modeling the ship on a toad and then, at the last minute, had decided that it had to fly.

  As he approached he saw that the long, curved, slablike doors that ran along most of the length of the cargo module were open, allowing him to see inside. On the floor of the module, the two sleds were already in and the hoverer was being winched aboard. Trying not to trip over piles of equipment or get in the way of the numerous workers, Merral walked into the shadow of the wings of the Emilia Kay and looked up at the gray bulk hanging above him. There were scratches and dents on the body, and the paintwork was dulled and locally peeling. Two high gantries had been erected under each rear engine, and on them people were standing, peering into panels, and inserting cables and tubes.

  “Awesome, isn’t it?” Vero’s voice sang out behind him.

  Merral glanced at him, then looked around at all the activity. On the high single tail fin with the faded Lamb and Stars emblem, the rudder was swinging backward and forward in some mysterious test procedure.

  “Yes, it is. How did you get all this organized?”

  “I just set it in motion, my friend.”

  “What am I supposed to do here?”

  “Nothing much. Most of the men are already at Tanaris; there was another flight this morning. But you may want to familiarize yourself with the ship. I suggest you go and see Perena. Here, as captain of the Emilia Kay, she is almost more important than you.”

  Careful to avoid getting in the way of either people or machinery, Merral made his way into the ship and, after asking directions, found Perena in the spacious three-seat cockpit high at the front end of the ship. At least, Merral concluded, it would have been spacious had it not been filled with six people wrestling with cabling in access panels, squinting at flashing screens, and calling out incomprehensible codes to each other.

  Perena, in T-shirt, baggy jeans, and worn running shoes, was leaning with apparent nonchalance by the cockpit door, looking at a databoard in her hands and ticking off lists on it. It occurred to Merral that with her relaxed air, casual clothes, and slight build she looked insig
nificant—the very last person in the room who one would expect was the captain.

  Perena glanced up and winked at Merral. “So, Captain, stealing aboard without ceremony?”

  “I’m afraid so, Captain Lewitz. I’m enjoying the anonymity while it lasts. How’s it going?”

  “Not bad; I think it will be late afternoon before we take off. Come back here; there’s more room and it’s quieter.”

  She led him to the bare and shabby passenger compartment just behind the cockpit that had twenty or so rather austere seats. There was no one else there. Merral noticed the faintest remains of a spider’s web in a corner.

  Perena looked around and nodded. “Scruffy, eh? For an Assembly ship. But it will do.”

  “Are we on schedule?”

  “No. We will be two hours later than planned, but as the camp is already set up for us at Tanaris, arriving in the dark isn’t a problem. We still have to repaint the ship’s exterior. That’s the last task. That and fueling.”

  “A nice color scheme?”

  She grinned. “I’ve ordered a nice, pale, eggshell blue.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Yes. But only for the underside—matches the sky. On a good day. The top is a disrupted green-and-brown camouflage.”

  “Camouflage! No, I suppose it makes sense. I hope they can’t see us now.”

  “We don’t think so. We have monitored Farholme local space for satellites and found none. And just in case they are planning to use our own, one of Vero’s people arranged a widespread satellite communications malfunction for today. All signals are being lost.”

  Merral found himself marveling again at his friend’s inventiveness. “Smart move. I’m glad he’s on our side.”

  “He is very ingenious. I have played him at chess.”

  “Is he any good?”

  A smile with a hint of disquiet crossed her face. “Ingenuity, Merral, is fine, but it has its limits. Vero’s strategies are cunning, but they can be overambitious.”

  “Ah,” Merral said, suddenly alarmed at the thought that such a weakness might extend beyond the chessboard.

  As he saw the expression of tender unease cross Perena’s face, Merral realized something.

  “You care for him, don’t you?” he said, wondering if he was intruding into private matters.

  Perena seemed to think hard. “Yes. But is there anything more? Any possibility of a deeper relationship?” She gave a slight shrug. “There could be, perhaps. But, for the moment, I have put it to one side.” She stared into an infinite distance and her voice became even quieter. “By temperament, Merral, I am a dreamer. And for someone who plays chess—and flies ships—that can be dangerous. I handle it by being focused, by pushing everything to one side. So might there be anything with Vero? Maybe, when this is all over. ‘For everything there is a season,’ and I’m afraid our season is war. Or at least we must be prepared for that.” Perena’s eyes seemed to stare at Merral with a new intensity. “So ‘anything more’ assumes a lot.”

  “That we survive, for a start.”

  “There is more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A strange tautness seemed to come over Perena’s face. “You have recognized that our world is changing, Merral?” At his nod, she said, “Where there was sunlight, there are now shadows. Where our paths were once straight and smooth, they are now winding and rough. And as our world changes, so do we.”

  Perena’s voice had become hushed and distant, and Merral felt he was being given access to her most private thoughts. He said nothing as she continued. “Some people are adapting to the new world. Clemant, for instance, has realized the way the wind is blowing and, although he hates it, is trimming his sails to suit. Corradon? I think he senses the changes but can only hope and pray that they will go away. But we are all reacting to it.” She gave Merral a smile whose meaning he found impossible to fathom. “But will any of us be the same when the storm passes?”

  “A good question,” Merral replied, feeling troubled.

  Perena fell silent.

  A heavy knocking reverberated through the hull. Perena winced.

  “And are you happy with this ship?” asked Merral, feeling a pressing need to talk about practical matters. “I mean, I gather it’s not been used for years.”

  Perena looked around as if anxious not to be overheard. “Only partially,” she said in a confidential tone, “but I’m not shouting about it. It’s not the age either—that can be fixed. And the test flights showed she was fine. No, I’ve read up on ships of war, and this is a long way away from being one.”

  “I can imagine. What’s the problem?”

  She smiled, but it was a severe and joyless smile. “Problems, plural. Too slow, too unmaneuverable. There is no armor whatsoever; the hydrogen tanks in the hull are very vulnerable. Ironically, my general survey craft is better equipped: that at least has thermal plates and an ability to take some impacts. But Emilia was designed as an atmosphere-only ship, so the hull is barely two mills thick. There is little that counts as defensive sensors, nothing that acts as electronic countermeasures. The ability to accept different modules in the load bay is a great feature for a freighter but it weakens the structure; it can’t take severe stresses. And the doors cannot be opened quickly. Do you want me to go on?”

  “Definitely not. But practically, what does it mean?”

  “Good question. What, as Vero would now say, is ‘the bottom line’? Well, it means I can’t take risks. There will be no dramatic rescues for you under fire with this old lady.” She tapped a girder near her.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “But I like her all the same. The test flights yesterday were encouraging. Typical Series D. Slow, steady, stable.”

  “Good. And this is all the equipment?”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head. “There is much already at Tanaris, and there will be a series of supply flights almost every day. There’s a lot of gear outstanding: uniforms, medical gear, that sort of thing. The booster jets for the sleds and their controllers. All being well.”

  “I see.”

  A figure appeared at the door and beckoned Perena. “Sorry,” she said. “Nathan, my chief electrics man. Have a look round but watch your step. To have your captain break a leg tripping over a wire might be seen as, well . . . inauspicious.”

  Then, with a light pat on his arm, she was gone.

  Merral wandered back along the upper hull of the Emilia Kay, in a corridor that he found hard not to think of as the spinal column of the great misshapen toad. He was trying to get a feeling for how the ship functioned, but not being an expert, found the various labels on the hatches and doors confusing and felt disinclined to ask explanations from the men and women who were preoccupied with cabling and circuits.

  Halfway down the corridor, he heard footsteps behind him, and a familiar voice called out, “Tree Man! Or should I say Captain Tree Man?” Then an arm was linked playfully into his.

  He turned. “Anya!” he said, pleased more than ever to see her freckled face. “I thought you would be elsewhere. . . .”

  “No,” she said wrinkling her nose, “I played my part in this affair starting and I will see it through. But come and see what I’ve been working on.”

  Anya led him down to the very end of the corridor, where there was a door with a small window in the middle. There were bolts at the top and bottom and a complex box with a keypad in the middle. All the features had the air of being recently fitted. Merral peered in through the thick glass to see a sizeable room with padding on every wall. Puzzled, he looked at Anya. “What’s this for?”

  “Prisoners,” she murmured, with a strange note in her voice. “I am preparing to be a zookeeper.”

  “And if they aren’t alive? What then?”

  She gestured below. “We are fitting a freezer unit down there. And we have bags and disinfecting agents. We have to be prepared.”

  “I’m glad you are! So yo
u are coming?”

  Her blue eyes seemed to flash. “Why not? You may need a biologist. And I’m hardly going to miss the biggest bug hunt in history, am I?”

  “No,” Merral said.

  Anya looked cautiously at him, as if concerned that he would veto her accompanying the ship. “Besides,” she declared firmly, “my first aid isn’t bad, and I can act as a medical orderly if needed.”

  “And we have those facilities?” Merral asked, suddenly realizing that this was yet another thing that he had overlooked. The gloomy thought struck him that there were probably many other oversights that he might make.

  “Two doctors, six orderlies. A lot of equipment. Enough synplasma to replace everybody’s blood. On our side anyway. The moment there is any contact, a hospital vessel will be mobilized. It will be there in an hour or less.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not needed,” he said and then added, “But welcome on board, Doctor.” And as he said it, he realized he felt both pleased that she was coming with him and also slightly guilty that he felt so pleased.

  They walked back down the corridor and into the cargo module, where at least a dozen people were either hoisting things on board or fastening them down with straps and cabling. Merral was conscious that a number of those in the hold were staring at him and that whispered comments were being passed around. They know who I am. He looked at the growing piles of equipment being assembled.

  Outside the cargo unit he could see more activity. By a wing, the complex structure of a robot painter with its multiple tubular limbs, flexible pipes, and nozzles rose like some strange insect emerging from a chrysalis.

  “You look worried,” Anya said to him.

  “The scale and complexity of all this intimidates me. Vero has done a superb job. But I’m worried we will get there and find something missing.”

  “That’s why there is the time in Tanaris to—”

  There was the clatter of footsteps on the metal floor behind him. A voice shouted, “Captain D’Avanos here?”