by Chris Walley
Not a good start.
“V-very well. Ludovica, let me say I think we need to boost Merral’s public profile.”
“Why?”
“F-Farholme needs a hero. All being well, we are leaving. Even if we do come back, we will be going straight on to Earth. You will, no doubt, have an acting head of the FDF, but I think you need more than that. I think the public needs a hero.”
A wary frown appeared. “But Merral is already well known.”
“The accounts of the battles at Tezekal and Ynysmant have not been fully given. Clemant’s versions deliberately downplayed his role.”
“Indeed.” Vero felt her eyes stare through him.
“And let me guess—they are what this is all about?”
She’s sharp. “Yes. I am th-thinking further ahead. I’m w-worried about what Clemant and Delastro are going to say when they get to Earth.”
“That had crossed my mind.”
“I think they will present a version of events in which Merral’s role is reduced. That could make our position very difficult if we get there. We will need to take incontrovertible imagery that he fought, and he won, and that he has the right to speak of what happened. To the whole Assembly.”
There was a slow nod. “So you want him . . . what? publicly affirmed?”
“Yes. And I have some ideas on how it can be done.”
Ludovica shook her head and ran fingers through her hair. “How terribly reminiscent this all is of early twenty-first-century politics.” Her voice bore a pained sadness. “Images. The creation of a persona. The cult of the personality. It borders on propaganda.”
“No! It will be done in the name of truth.”
A flicker of cynicism crossed the weary face. “Of course, Sentinel.” She sighed deeply. “Vero, when I took on this post, I resolved on a strategy of firmness. I also promised that I would be totally transparent. There were to be no more private deals. No special understandings.” She bore a sharp, almost antagonistic look. “And no more secret armies in cellars.”
Aah. Do I defend myself? No, there are more important matters to deal with. “Excellent goals, Ludovica, but there is military necessity.”
“Yes, of course. ‘Military necessity.’ I am unconvinced.”
Vero, momentarily defeated, hesitated before he spoke again. “L-Ludovica, there is something else.”
“Yes?”
“Let me say to you something that few people know, and fewer still understand. The Dominion is frightened of someone they call the great adversary, a legendary hero who will frustrate their plans. Lezaroth, at least, believes Merral is this figure. That’s why he set the trap at Ynysmant.”
“Ah, so that’s why he picked there.”
“Indeed. And, having been with Merral from the start, I believe . . . that it may be true. I think he is called by the Most High to be the warrior of our age. I think it is his destiny, and I think he has the gifting for it.”
A long silence elapsed before she spoke.
“And you feel I—we—need to affirm that?”
“Yes. I think it is right.”
“Maybe. How?”
“One, call a full-scale press conference here, where he can answer questions. Worldwide coverage. Two, if you can get one quickly, give him a medal. At the conference. Three, I also think it’s a good idea to get what they used to call an official war artist. For portraits, posters, that sort of thing.”
An eyebrow rose. “My, you have thought this through, haven’t you?”
She’s on my side now. “It’s my job, madam. Oh, and then one more thing: persuade him to give a speech to the volunteers. Make sure it’s broadcast worldwide too. He does a good speech. And put all this together in a file with a full and accurate record of the war on Farholme, so that, if we are able eventually to proceed to Earth, we can take it with us.”
There was a slow nodding of the head.
“I see. I can do that. But the press conference. How do we know he’ll get the right questions?”
“Leave that to me, Ludovica.”
“‘Leave that to me’?” The eyes tightened. “Vero, you are very devious. It worries me.”
“It worries everyone.” Me especially.
Merral ignored the strange, deserted smell that pervaded the Kolbjorn Suite. He found a backpack and rummaged through his cupboards, throwing in the things he felt were necessary. Then he looked around and, in a moment of inspiration, opened the top drawer and pulled out the glass egg that was his castle tree simulation. Over the next month or so, I will have some spare time. What better way of spending it than developing my simulation? He put it in his pocket next to the cedar cone. An artificial tree and the seeding body of a real tree. Together they will remind me of who I really am—Merral D’Avanos, Forester. He smiled. And, just maybe, they will point to who I will be again.
Then, locking the door behind him, Merral set off with Lloyd for the airport.
They entered the hangar by a back door and were greeted by a weary-looking Vero, who outlined what sounded to be satisfactory progress.
“Where is Ludovica?” Merral asked, staring at an apparently interminable number of requisition forms awaiting his signature.
Vero looked uneasy. “She’s gone to talk to Azeras and Betafor. But Luke is here somewhere.”
“That’s one piece of good news. Look, I shall be up in the office, and when you can separate Betafor from her admirers, can you send her up? We need to talk.”
“Will do. Merral, the pilot is here. Laura Bezemov. You’d better like her.”
“Why?”
“No other candidates have suitable experience.”
In other words, we are running out of pilots. “I want to meet her. Send her up too.”
Twenty minutes later, as Merral was checking long lists with a team, he heard a familiar booming voice call out his name.
Making apologies, Merral made his way to the door where Luke Tenerelt stood. The thinness of the man’s face seemed accentuated by a small, neat bandage on his right cheek.
They hugged each other, and leading Luke away to a quieter corner of the office, Merral began to apologize for not having seen him since the battle at Ynysmant.
The chaplain gave Merral a dismissive pat on the back. “Oh, I gather you did what you had to do. Anyway, I was busy.” His face clouded with sorrow. “Aah, there were a lot of needy folk there that night.”
“Yes. . . .” Silence hung between them. “What did you do to your cheek?”
“Oh, that? I rather stupidly got too close to a Krallen. I thought it was dead. It was, pretty soon afterward. But it could’ve been worse. In fact, I quite like it. It is going to make a slight but striking scar.”
“I’d never have thought of you as the sort of person to seek trophies!”
Merral saw a gentle look of reproof. “It’s not that, Merral. It allows me to look the men in the eye. I am now one of them.”
That’s Luke for you. Merral realized that the chaplain had a backpack at his feet. “You can come?”
“I would count it an honor, Merral.”
“Thank you. You know what happened with Lezaroth and the hostages?”
“I heard. So we are going after them?”
“It’s a rescue. But it’s going to be tricky. And there are no guarantees, Luke. None at all.”
The dark, deep eyes smiled back. “Oh, yes there are, but none from you.”
A thought came to Merral’s mind. “Luke . . . you’ve brothers and a mother and father, I know, but is there anybody else? some lady waiting for you?”
Luke looked away for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and reflective. “It’s that sort of a trip, isn’t it? We may not be back.”
“Yes. I won’t take any soldiers with dependents. Same goes for chaplains. So is there anyone?”
A slight, enigmatic smile crept across Luke’s mouth. “Merral, about five—no, six—years ago,— I knew someone who might have been . . .” His gaze s
hifted focus as though he were peering into the vanished years. “Might have been . . .” Luke shook his head as if trying to free himself from his memory. “Our parents were happy enough for it to proceed to commitment. But I prayed about it and it just didn’t seem right. She married someone else.” He looked thoughtful. “Funny . . . until today, I always wondered why it hadn’t been right. Now, I think I know. If I had married her, I wouldn’t have been able to come with you.”
“Sorry. About the past. But you are very welcome.”
“Thanks.” There was a hard look. “But, Merral, I want to be there on that ship very early on.”
“Good idea. I’ll get you on the first flight. We’re planning on it. Any particular reason?”
Luke frowned. “Merral, I’ve spent a little time talking to Azeras. I won’t say that we are the deepest of friends, only that I have penetrated some way into his psyche. I gather he admitted to you that he feels responsible for the deaths of thousands?”
Merral nodded.
“Well, I didn’t know that, but I had suspected something along those lines. Anyway, let’s just say . . . I have learned that there are things that need cleaning on that ship. Ejecting into space. Before we travel on it.”
“The body of the Great Prince Zhalatoc, for a start.”
“That. And other things.”
“Such as?”
Luke shook his head. “Pagan items, gods . . . and other things.”
“I’m mission commander. I need to know.”
“Oh, well. Let’s just say the Rahllman’s Star was a ship full of men, and they had a lot of time on their hands.”
“I see. I don’t want to know any more. You have permission to cleanse the ship.”
Luke twisted his long frame. “It’s always better to play it safe. Anyway, let me go and see if I can help out down below. Perhaps more as an engineer than a chaplain.”
“I suspect as both. And, Luke, I wonder if you could make a moment to see Anya?”
The chaplain frowned. “I thought she was better.”
“There is something else now, I think. And I’m pretty sure I’m the wrong person to try to deal with it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Luke stared at Merral. “You okay?”
Merral put his head in his hands. “Luke, last night I thought we were merely heading into problems. Instead, I now believe we are also taking them with us.”
Merral’s next visitor was a woman dressed in the uniform of Space Affairs. She was slim, of medium height, and had chestnut hair braided into such tight rows that her head reminded Merral of a plowed field. He guessed she was in her early forties, and the fine lines around the mouth and eyes somehow suggested a familiarity with both laughter and pain.
“Commander? I’m Captain Laura Bezemov. Do I gather you have a vacancy for a pilot?” Both the voice and the brown-gray eyes seemed full of delight. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she added with a tone that was both amused and embarrassed. “I just realized I didn’t salute you.”
Merral found himself warming to Laura; her very presence seemed to lighten the gloom. “Don’t worry. I’m not in uniform. And I’m still troubled by salutes. I live in constant hope of having my military career ended.”
“Sounds like we need you a bit longer yet.” He heard merriment in the words.
“Sadly.” They shook hands. Merral looked around at the crowded room. “Let’s go talk on the balcony.”
There they looked over the scene unfolding on the hangar floor below. Merral decided that with all the cries and yells and the constant movement of people and packages, it resembled some sort of street carnival. It was hard to remember the quiet emptiness of just a dozen hours earlier. Half of Isterrane seemed to have turned up to offer their services.
They drew up seats, and Merral glanced through the folder Laura had brought. She was forty-three, had an exemplary record in test flight, and with the reduction of space flight after the Gate loss, had become an atmosphere pilot and had flown in and out of the Tezekal strip. He noted that she had been married briefly, but her husband had been killed in a construction accident. They had had no children.
Merral looked up at her. “So you were at Tezekal?”
“Commander, I piloted the last flight out before the Krallen attacked.” He heard pride in her words.
“I remember wishing I was on it. And the test flying?”
“I take every machine after repairs or overhaul. It’s my job. It’s supposed to be the riskiest of the flying jobs.” She gave a weaker smile. “That was before we got enemies. I’d say risk has been redefined.”
“It has. And why do you want to come?”
She stared straight back at him with unflinching eyes. The smile was still there, but it was now a veneer.
“Probably, Commander, for the same reasons you want to go. Because it’s my duty. Because it’s a chance to do something for the Assembly. Because down here we get just one short life and we have to use it to do what is right.”
Merral found himself nodding. “A good answer. You think you can handle the ship?”
“No.” The disarming smile appeared again. “But I’m open and willing to learn. I looked at the specifications, and I have talked with Sarudar Azeras.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Hmm. Interesting. I mean he’s not the friendliest of characters. But I think we got on.”
“A key part of your job is going to be working with him. He isn’t the easiest person to work with, and frankly, Captain, his attitudes toward women are—how should we say?—different. We’ve tried to establish ground rules, but you may have to watch yourself. Do I have to spell it out in any more detail?”
“Vero warned me. He advised me to read some pre-Intervention stuff on—what was the term?—harassment.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. “If that happened, would I have permission to hit him?”
Merral tried to restrain a smile of his own. “Only as a last resort. And do him no lasting harm.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you think about traveling through Below-Space?”
“Interesting. We will have to see how it will work out. The records aren’t encouraging.” There was another smile.
“So you aren’t worried about traveling all those kilometers.”
She looked at him with a sort of awkward amusement. “Actually, Commander, the distance isn’t that enormous. The whole point of entering Below-Space is that we cut through Normal-Space rather than going across it. The distance is only going to be twenty million kilometers. It’s a long way, but it’s not light-years.”
“Of course, Captain; thank you. It’s just like going through the Gates, isn’t it? I hope you aren’t too alarmed by the idea of a mission commander who really only understands trees?”
“It’s a novelty. But I respect the way you admit your ignorance.”
“Do you have any questions? that I might be able to answer?”
“The obvious one: whom do I take my orders from, you or the sarudar?”
A good question. “I am ultimately the commander of the mission. The sarudar just makes sure you get from A to B.”
“So do I get the job?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Great! Sounds like a fun trip.”
“Fun? No. Memorable? Yes. But I look forward to working with you. Better go and pack. You and I are on the first flight this evening.” Merral glanced at the folder again. “By the way, it says here you have worked a lot with Serena Huang-Li. That’s a name I know; can’t think from what. Is she available as well? As a number two?”
“Serena’s a long way away. She’s the captain of the Dove.”
“Of course! I saw the crew list. I hope she can handle Delastro.”
“That’ll be a miracle. She was at Tezekal too. I think she knows what happened there. We all do.”
“Well, I hope we will see some justice done there; but that’s not our business. Not yet.”
“Okay, I’ll pack
.” Then, with a happy-go-lucky salute, she left.
As he watched Laura walk swiftly away, Merral uttered a silent prayer. Lord, may she, at least, come home safely.
Merral returned to the office, which seemed to have become even more crowded. He noticed again how everyone looked at him with respect or anticipation. They expect me to know all the answers. Over the next hour, as he was measured for a space suit, suffered a dozen inoculations, and snatched some lunch, he found that the thought troubled him. It’s an impossible expectation.
Just after two, Merral met Dr. Abilana Ghosn, the woman proposed as ship’s doctor. She was tall, tanned, and good-looking in a rather delicate way, and Merral’s first thought was that she would have trouble from Azeras. Then, as she described how she had worked with Space Affairs and had trained on Earth for vacuum injuries, he felt she could look after herself.
“So what problems do you foresee on the trip?” Merral asked.
“Problems? Let me see. Oh, thirty active people cooped up in an enclosed space for weeks, with no color vision, awaiting a battle, and afflicted by supernatural visitations?” Abilana adopted a blank face. “Nothing much comes to mind. Shipboard romances, perhaps?”
Merral found himself laughing. “Have you suffered from irony very long, Doctor?”
“Now that’s an interesting point. I always had irony—it’s congenital in our family—but it’s only really flared up in the last few months. I worry in case it develops into a full-blown case of sarcasm. Or even cynicism.”
“Could be awkward.”
“It’s a way of handling nastiness.”
The humor vanished. “I fear we shall have a lot of that. Look, Abilana, if I said you were going on this trip, what would you do?”
“I’ve done some preparations. I’ve got a ten-page shopping list. Ransack the shelves of the Isterrane psychological wards for every tranquilizer and antipsychotic known. Upload the latest training software on space injuries. Load up with enough syn-plasma to swim in. Get two of the robo-surgeons. Get the med and coroner reports on every wound and death from Tezekal and Ynysmant . . . How long have we got on the ship?”
