by Chris Walley
Shortly afterward there was a meeting with Azeras in the long conference room behind the bridge.
Azeras began. “Let me start with some warnings. Some of you have heard these, but they bear repeating. The secret to surviving this trip is going to be discipline.”
Merral felt that Luke wanted to say something, but the chaplain kept quiet and Azeras continued. “There must be rules. One: no one should be on his own for more than a few minutes; we work in pairs. It’s not just the manifestations—appearances—call them what you want; it’s that Below-Space can affect people in odd ways. Doctor, I’ll share what I know and there are case studies on file here.”
Abilana nodded.
“Two: we take care with the manifestations. The smaller forms, such as the ghost slugs—that’s what we call them—and the things like them, will not normally do harm, but it is best if you do not meet them alone. They shouldn’t be touched with bare flesh. Handle them swiftly with gloves or boots, and bin them if you can. They will eventually go away.”
Merral saw incomprehension and fear on the gray faces.
“Three: we will sleep in specified rooms with no fewer than two or three people. Each sleeping space has an electronic monitor for the manifestations. If the alarm sounds, get up, stay away from the thing, and get it out into the corridor or bin it. Is that clear?”
His words were greeted by muted, numbed nods.
“Wh-what do they do to you?” Vero asked.
“At lower levels, not a lot. Stinging, numbness. But you wouldn’t want to wake up with one on your face, would you?” The shaking of heads was universal. “And at deeper levels . . .” Azeras shrugged.
Merral felt that Anya looked particularly unhappy and his unease about her was renewed.
Azeras continued. “Anyway, four: we keep a watch. Two people on the bridge, with cameras scanning all the main corridors. The watch must not slip. We are going so deep that no one knows what we will meet.”
Vero shook his head in apparent dismay.
“Five—it is five, isn’t it? Yes. The doctor here needs to check on everyone once every day or so. For psychological effects.”
Abilana stared at her gray fingers and shook her head. “We are going to get those. Oh yes!”
“Six, and lastly: we need to keep everyone busy. One way of minimizing the negative effects of the Nether-Realms is to keep active. Don’t allow the chance for things to get on your mind. You—rather than I—need to create a program that will give a framework for the team. Merral—mission commander—over to you.”
Although Merral found the whole idea of such a rigorously disciplined timetable unpalatable, he sensed the wisdom in it, and within half an hour he had arranged a framework of duties, drills, exercise, and recreation.
“Five weeks sounds like a long time,” Merral said as the meeting drew to a close. “But we also have to come up with a strategy—or better still, a series of strategies—for what happens at Sarata. We have only one strength: surprise.”
Vero nodded. “Surprise is a card that can only be played once,” he pronounced, and people looked at him, then at each other, before finally nodding agreement.
Merral spoke. “And when we have our strategy, we need to practice until we are perfect. We all must be able to work as a team and use weapons, even if we are suited up.”
After the meeting, Merral caught Luke in the compartment that had become his office. As he settled down in a chair, Merral saw that the chaplain had decorated the compartment with a number of posters and images, mostly of landscapes and people.
“Luke, I felt you wanted to say something,” Merral said.
The chaplain stared thoughtfully at the ground for some time before he answered. “Yes, but I felt it wasn’t appropriate just then. There are some spiritual issues here. I am unclear whether these manifestations we are warned against are the embodiments of spiritual powers. But I am sure that we tread on dangerous ground. I think that while the discipline promoted by Azeras will help, we will need more.” He fell silent. “I think, too, we need to beware of the danger of the subtle evil.”
“Better explain.”
“I will. But I suggest you call everyone together here tonight, and there I will say more.”
“You can tell me now.”
There was a private smile and the eyes flicked to the wall. Merral followed his gaze to a sign that read simply, “God’s time is the best time.”
Luke nodded at it. “Merral, my besetting fault is impatience. I want things my way and at my time. So I remind myself that God knows best. In timing; in everything.”
“So is that a message for me, too?”
“You have your own issues. But isn’t faith about waiting?”
“Then I too will wait.”
After an evening meal in which everyone commented that the loss of color somehow drained food of its taste, the entire crew of the ship assembled in the gathering hall. Merral, who stood at the side for much of the time, saw how Azeras and Betafor stood at the rear corners, as far apart as could be. Out of the corner of his vision, he watched them both. He saw how the sarudar, constantly shifting his weight from foot to foot, seemed to observe matters with discomfort, while the Allenix unit maintained a rigid immobility that suggested a total isolation. How odd; they hate each other but are united by the fact that they are both outsiders to the Assembly.
Luke then spoke. With a mixture of solemnity and humility, lightened by flashes of humor, he gently warned of the dangers he foresaw ahead.
“The ancient saints of the church saw themselves as living at the very front line of the great and agelong war between good and evil. We now live in just such a setting.” Merral felt the hush that greeted Luke’s words was extraordinary. “Here the enemy lies very close indeed, perhaps only a whisper away. We must take the greatest of care over what we do and say and above all what we think. The most deadly thing we meet down here may not be the monstrous apparition in the corridor; it may be the tiny thought of lust or hate or despair.” The chaplain sipped some water before continuing. “I think, too, that temptations you and I might shrug off in the light of day are here more potent than they have ever been.” Another long and charged pause filled the hall.
“By all accounts, we will soon see things that will scare and appall us. We must beware of such astonishing things and should treat them with care. But in the midst of such spectacular perils, we must fear more what I call the ‘danger of the subtle evil.’ By their spectacular monstrosity, such things may blind us to more concealed, but no less deadly, perils. A bacterium may kill as surely as a bomb, and we must beware both. And for a man to run from a lion only to trip over a molehill and break his neck is hardly progress.” There was gentle, brittle laughter, and in the nervousness Merral was troubled by the number of those who looked at him as if for reassurance.
“Above all we must pray for ourselves and each other. To use a rich image from the Word, we travel in the wilderness . . . the wilderness between the worlds.” He paused as if struck by his own illustration and then went on. “And may I add a final counsel? We traverse gray, silent realms. We may not be able to bring color to them, but we can bring laughter, joy, and hope.”
Then with prayer he ended.
Later, a thoughtful Merral made his way over to Betafor. “I am interested in your comments,” he said, aware that Anya had joined them.
Lead gray eyes stared at him. “I need to process this further. I have seen a lot of the human race. This is . . . different. I had expected more on surviving. Instead there was more on doing what is right.”
“Do you understand the idea of temptation?”
“It is . . . a peculiarly human issue.”
“How so?”
“If I may put it in computer language, humans seem to have conflicting programs. This makes decision making complex and plainly agonizing. You are pulled two ways—toward what is best for you and toward what you think is right.”
“And you have only
a single pull?” Anya asked.
After a discernable hesitation Betafor answered. “That is a hard question. If I answer . . . that I only consider matters on the basis of what is good for me, then you will consider me to be without morality. That gives rise to fear and suspicion in humans.”
“But is it true?”
Betafor hesitated. “I can only say that I cannot foresee a situation in which I would have the sort of . . . moral dilemma that you have.”
Merral looked at her. “And that makes you superior?”
“It makes action easier. And that is superior.”
Later, after Betafor had left, Merral and Anya separated themselves from the others and moved into a corner of the hall.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Depressed,” she said, pulling a strand of her hair in front of her face and staring at it with close-focused eyes. “I always loved having red hair. I have become gray. Ghastly!” She flicked the strand away and gave a forced smile. “But I accept my lot.”
“We’re all gray. But beyond the loss of hair color?”
She looked away for a moment and then gave him a worried look. “I’m okay. I’m just trying to learn to be a hero. Everyone thinks I am. They think that I, too, want martyrdom. My sister casts a long shadow.”
Merral decided to change the subject. “What did you make of the conversation with Betafor?”
“She more or less told us what we already know. She operates on one principle only: personal survival.”
“I have had so many warnings about her. And Luke’s talk?”
She looked over to where Luke was sitting talking with someone. “A remarkable man. I feel better about being here with him around.”
“Good. So do I.”
“But the emphasis on the danger of the subtle evil was striking.”
“I know something of that,” Merral said. And that, Anya, is why we must keep a distance between us.
He made his way to the bridge, where Azeras and Laura were studying readouts. Azeras professed himself pleased with progress.
“So when do we see these manifestations?” Merral asked.
“We’re still descending. I can only guess. Tomorrow morning, I’d say. And another few days before we get the worst sort.”
Eventually Merral went to the room he shared with Vero and Lloyd. There, belatedly, he unpacked his things. In a cupboard by his bed he put the egg that was his castle tree simulation and, next to it in a small tray, the cedar cone he had been given by Jorgio. Then he slipped into bed and fell asleep and dreamed.
Since the arrival of evil on Farholme, Merral had come to accept dreams, whether they were good, bad, or just confusing. But this was very different. Although he knew he was asleep, there was a solidity that he had never experienced before. He was in a great garden in high summer with a golden sun hanging in a cloudless sky of immaculate blue and shining across beds of roses and peonies. There was color and light and the air was full of birds that sang. And Merral realized that it was no place he had ever been to or imagined but a distillation of all that he knew was good and right. When he woke to a world that was all gray, his dream lingered in his mind.
The first manifestation of an extra-physical phenomenon occurred midmorning on the second day. A faint snakelike form the consistency of smoke and the length of a table appeared in a lower room, wriggled about silently, and then, after a score of minutes, vanished.
Twenty minutes later, in the middle of a coffee break, particles of dust, like specks of soot, appeared and began to coalesce just above a table. With murmurs of unease, everyone stood up and rapidly stepped away to form a wary circle around the table. The specks slowly fused until a shapeless mass the size and form of a small bundle of clothes hung slowly wriggling just above the table.
Vero went over and peered at it closely. “How strange. It’s not really solid. It doesn’t cast a shadow.” He picked up a spoon and pushed tentatively at the form with the handle. The spoon slid into the form without resistance. “Weird.”
Merral saw Azeras make the strange circling motion with his fingers that he knew to be the gesture to ward off evil. He realized that in this eerie grayness he had more sympathy with the superstition than he had under Farholme’s sunlight.
Azeras pushed his way forward. “It’s what we call a ghost slug. Let me show you how to deal with it.” Azeras picked up another spoon. “It’s not really solid. Whatever it’s made of allows it to flow slowly around objects. But if you hit it fast . . .” He flicked the spoon at the form and it spun away off the table and hung quivering in the air. People stepped back.
“Or, alternatively, you can bundle it into a bag and drag it away.” He pulled a bag out of his pocket, opened it, and carefully but firmly scooped up the slug with it. Then he sealed the container and put it down on the floor. “Eventually it will fade away.”
Keeping mistrustful eyes on the bag, everyone returned to the table. Azeras looked around. “But leave the bigger forms alone.”
Just after lunch Merral convened a meeting with Vero, Azeras, and Lloyd to start considering how, when they arrived in the Sarata system, they might seize the Comet. Merral had rejected the idea of bringing in Ilyas and Helena; he wanted to have some sort of a basic plan before he met with them.
As they sat around a table with databoards and notepads, Merral had Azeras call up a 3-D model of the Saratan system; it hung above them as a series of points of gray light around a paler sphere.
“Talk us through it, Sarudar,” Merral said.
Azeras stood up and stabbed at the model with a finger. “Here’s what I know. The onboard files will fill in the details. An odd—maybe unique—system. Four—actually five—earth-type worlds: the ‘Worlds of the Living.’ Khalamaja—here—is the closest to Sarata, only really habitable near the poles. The center of the lord-emperor’s power. And this is the accursed Blade of Night. Near it are the two Worlds of the Dead—worlds with tomb cities.” He made the circling gesture with his fingers; then he gestured to a pale point of light. “Then, going outward, there is Buza-Mernaq, mostly hot sand and rock but some cities and military bases. And this is Farzircol; the rotation is too fast—ten-hour days—but again some cities and military bases exist. Most underground. Then further out still, Yeggarant-Mal; the axis is tilted. Result: long glacial winters and then a brief baking summer. Settlements underground. Of course.”
What a depressing list! Not a single world that you could love. “And Gerazon-Far?” Merral asked.
“Out here.” Azeras pointed out a small flashing point next to another planet.
“What’s the world next to it?”
“That is the fifth earth-type planet, Nithloss, the scarred world.”
“Is it habitable?”
“It is not considered one of the Worlds of the Living. Some O2 but too slow a rotation—I think it’s a ten-year-long day—so one hemisphere faces Sarata while the other freezes. The high CO2 levels don’t help.”
“You said it was scarred?” Vero’s voice was soft.
“That’s the term. It’s been mined extensively. A lot of the material for the Blade came from it. Last I heard, it was being used for weapons testing.”
“Let’s get back to Gerazon-Far. So we emerge near it?”
“Yes. The lord-emperor banned all flights in Below-Space any nearer the Blade of Night. That monstrosity distorts the boundaries between the Nether-Realms and Standard-Space so much that it caused accidents.”
Vero raised a finger. “And on F-Farholme you said Gerazon-Far is a military station. Aren’t we going to be in big trouble?”
Azeras sat back in his chair and stared at Vero. “Trouble?” The smile was bemused and cold. “You—we—can’t avoid that. But let’s try to minimize it. First, Gerazon-Far: it’s a largely automated station. And in reality all Dominion spaceflight is military. It served as a central point for the war against the True Freeborn. But now . . .” He gave a scowl and scratched the scar on his cheek.
Azeras spoke again. “But now . . . it may be less used. Anyway, we don’t emerge in a hurry. We stay in shallow Below-Space and launch a surveillance probe on a super-fine cable a hundred kilometers long. The probe is fist-sized and effectively invisible; we watch from that, maneuver ourselves to within a hundred thousand kilometers of Gerazon-Far, and wait.” He gestured to the model. “As it happens, at the moment, three of the four Worlds of the Living are currently on the far side of Sarata. That’s good news. The bad news is that Khalamaja and the Blade of Night will be facing us on the Assembly side, as are the main factory and industrial complexes and the Worlds of the Dead; but they won’t be a threat.” He shook his head, and gazed around with significance. “Whatever happens, we mustn’t go beyond Gerazon-Far. To venture near the Blade or Khalamaja is to ask for death. Or worse.”
“Point taken. Which is why this seizure has to be fast. And smooth,” Merral answered and received supportive nods. “So, Sarudar, let’s assume we do get there first and hang around hidden, waiting for them to surface. On my limited experience of spaceflight we can hardly sweep in, dock with the Comet, and seize it. You stole this ship we’re in. How did you do it?”
Azeras grunted in amusement. “Commander, we bribed the captain. Not an option for this voyage.”
“True.” Merral pressed a button on the pad and the planetary model was replaced by a floating 3-D image of the Rahllman’s Star.
“The Star and Comet are sister ships. So how would a ship normally be seized? by the military?”
“By the military? It’s a specialized task, especially if you want the passengers alive. Normally you’d match orbits and use tethercraft—small ships with strong filament cables and anchors—to catch the ship. Then you’d land a special assault craft with a flexible air lock, cut a hole about a meter across somewhere on the hull, and send in packs of Krallen until you have the ship.”
“That’s also not an option,” Merral said. “Even if we had the equipment, it would take so much time that Lezaroth would be able to call for help. Give us an alternative, Azeras or Vero. Or you, Sergeant.”
