by Chris Walley
“Well, Jorgio,” Merral said after they had embraced, “I’m back.”
“You had a tough trip, Mister Merral,” Jorgio said, and his breath hung in the cold air.
“You watched the interview I gave?”
“Tut, I knew it before then.” A diagonal smile split the face. “I reckon as I wore out the knees of a pair of trousers praying for you. And finally the Lord said to me, ‘Jorgio Aneld Serter, have no fear; that man will return.’”
“But not all of us did, Jorgio. Some of us were killed, and many of us were hurt.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Merral. About Isabella, especially. But you can’t uproot an evil like that without some blood and tears.” Merral made no answer.
“Tea?” Jorgio asked eventually.
“No, my old friend, I have come for you. It’s time for your journey.”
Jorgio grimaced and stuffed hands in his coat pockets, and Merral sensed fear in his eyes. “Can’t say as I am happy about it. Not at all.” He stared away, his odd eyes seemingly tracing some crows as they flapped across the whitened fields. “But I’ll do it. Obedience, Mister Merral—that’s the thing. Obedience; the King values that.” He shook his head clumsily. “Tut. Anyways, I have my bag packed.” He looked at the ground. “Would it be all right if I just walked around and said good-bye to the plants and the horse?”
“Of course. I’ll be at the vehicle,” Merral answered.
Merral stood waiting by the four-seater, taking in the view and reveling in being somewhere where the world stretched on and on. Ten minutes later, Jorgio, carrying a large, battered holdall, walked over slowly to him. The old man’s face was very solemn.
“I won’t be coming back,” he said in a barely audible whisper out of the corner of his twisted mouth. “I have been told that. And more.”
Then he got into the car and, with his face staring ahead in a look of fixed determination, said nothing as they drove to the airport.
Ludovica was at the airport, huddled deep in a long jacket and giving orders. Casting a curious glance at Jorgio, she took Merral aside and handed him a folder.
“What’s this?”
“Two things. One is a full account—as accurate as we can make it—of events here over the last year. Images, video clips, statements, sworn transcripts—that sort of thing.”
“That may be very useful. We fear Delastro and Clemant may have distorted many things.”
“You’re right to fear that. In fact, the second thing here is a lot of information on the prebendant. His background, his speeches, and a personality analysis. We think he could be a problem. He has determination, boundless belief in himself, and an unshakable view that destiny centers on him.” She shook her head. “You’d do us all a favor by watching that man.”
“He’s one of the reasons we need to get to Earth soon. My private hope, Ludovica—I hadn’t mentioned this before—is that Luke will challenge Delastro.”
“One cleric against another? Maybe.”
She pulled an envelope from inside her jacket and gave a little shiver. “There’s snow on the way, they say. Now, that man . . . in the black coat?”
Merral looked up to see Jorgio staring up at the wings of the shuttle with an expression of mingled awe and dread.
“Is that the mathematician?”
“A mathematician is what he isn’t. But what about him?”
“Remember you asked me to ask about those formulae?”
“Those? I’d almost forgotten them!”
“Well, the thing is, I did send them to a mathematician. He passed them on to a colleague. Take a look.”
Merral glanced at the single sheet.
Madam Bortellat,
Thank you for these fragmentary equations passed on to me by Doctor Kazatow. He correctly surmised that they were topological in nature; in other words, they describe the status of boundary surfaces. I should say these equations resemble no part of any known body of work and the notation is oddly nonstandard. The form of expressing such concepts is rather archaic and most closely resembles the manner in which such things were done in the dawn of the Assembly. Even here the likeness is not perfect, and there are some modifications and two symbols that can only be guessed at. Nevertheless, I hazard a guess that these are references to loop quantum gravity and what was once called Hilbert Space. There may also be some Eigen values.
As to what is being described, frankly, I have no idea. Solar boundary surfaces? Atmospheric systems? The nature of the universe itself? I would love to meet the man who wrote them.
Yours truly,
Abraham Martinoval (Professor)
Merral tucked it away in his pocket. “There must be some mistake. This means nothing to me, and I did some math at college. I will ask Jorgio about it. But he’s an odd man. In the best sense of the word.”
“There’s a lot going on here we don’t understand. Incidentally, we loaded one of our ferry craft into your hold. It will make life a little easier in any dealings with Assembly vessels.”
“Hadn’t thought of that, but a good idea.”
“I must go,” Ludovica said with a wry but fatigued smile. “I have a world to run. But our prayers go with you. It will be good to see you back. It gets lonely out here.”
Then she was gone.
Merral was in no hurry to board the shuttle and stood by the stairs as the last loads were taken on board. As he did, a four-seater drew up hastily, and Vero tumbled out with his big brown bag. He looked troubled.
“We nearly went without you,” Merral said.
“Sorry, my friend, I have just been to collect something.”
“What have you got?”
“More data. Some missing files from the Library.”
“I should have guessed.”
Vero glanced around and drew Merral aside in a confiding huddle. “I also have a copy of most of what Gerry was working on.”
“Ah that! Tell me about it.”
There was a look of frustration. “It’s all heavily encrypted, which is very significant. But the file is entitled Revenge. I don’t like that.”
“Revenge? Neither do I. Can you break the code?”
“No. I’m hoping either Betafor or the Sacrifice’s computer can.”
Someone was urging them on board, and Merral gestured his friend forward.
“God willing, Vero, we will be at Earth in just over a fortnight. But increasingly, I am fearful of what we will find there.”
25
On the flight up to Near Station, Merral found himself seated next to Anya.
“How was your break?” he asked.
“Good.” Her tone was dull.
“That sounds qualified.”
“Sorry.” She closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “Merral, even total strangers recognized me. Everyone I met wanted to talk about the things I didn’t want to talk about.”
Her sister and the events at Sarata.
She sighed. “So I found another reason for going to Earth.” There was a strained, mirthless smile. “I can’t stay here. I need to be somewhere where I can be anonymous.”
“Are you sure you want to come?”
She gave him a look of defiant indignation.
“Yes. There are things I . . . I still have to resolve. We all have battles to fight, Merral.” And with that she turned away to look out the viewport.
It didn’t take Merral long to find out that the Sacrifice was now a changed ship. There was white paint everywhere—he hoped they hadn’t covered over some vital switch—and he saw many new, eager faces around. When he arrived on the bridge he found the lower weapons section packed with an excited and noisy throng of men and women consulting databoards, peering at screens, and comparing readouts.
“Welcome back, Commander,” said a cheerful voice.
Merral turned to see Laura, and they exchanged greetings. Merral pointed to the weapons section. “Are you happy with all this?”
“Helga and I are worried they are
going to fire something by mistake,” she said, but the lightness in her tone suggested her fears were few.
“Better not. We have the people we need?”
“Yes. We’ll need to run the training programs and simulations continuously.”
“Can we be brought up to speed as a fighting ship?”
“Helga reckons so. And I’d agree. Dominion vessels are designed to be used by poorly trained crews. We have brought our best people on board. With training, they should be able to do a good job.”
“But we have to remember that the Dominion may be sending ships run by elite crews.”
The smile slipped away. “Men like Lezaroth.”
“Exactly.”
Merral turned to see Abilana. “How’s the sick bay?”
“We have a new aid to recovery; it’ll get the sickest out and back on duty in minutes.”
“What’s that?”
“The smell of paint.”
Before main engine ignition, Merral briefly addressed a full hall of crew, passengers, and soldiers and had Luke lead them in prayer. Then he ordered everyone to their posts.
An hour after they had descended into the grayness of Below-Space, Merral went and found Jorgio, who had been allocated a compartment with an engineer. He found the old man sitting on the bed, staring mournfully at the floor, where a half-opened bag lay.
“Like this all the way, is it?” Jorgio looked up at Merral with sad gray eyes.
“I’m afraid so.”
The man opened his hand and stared at his stubby fingers. “Gray! Gray as dust. Tut! Nothing would grow here.”
“I don’t suppose it will.”
The twisted shoulders gave a shake of displeasure.
What is this man going to do for the next ten days? A sudden idea came to Merral. “I have a job for you.”
“A job?”
“Yes. The canteen. There will be people popping in for tea or coffee. The ship is running all hours. The machines can make it, but it would be nicer if you were there. You can work there whenever you feel like it. Give it the human touch.”
There was a ponderous nod. “Not much human here. Very well. I’ll do it.” He stared at Merral. “But I don’t like this ship. Or this way of traveling.”
“No one does, Jorgio. That’s why the Assembly uses Gates. We just abide it. It’s a necessary evil.”
A few hours later Merral found himself alone with Luke in his study. He saw that the chaplain had added some new images to his wall: a farm, a seascape, a congregation hall.
“How is Jorgio?” Luke asked, leaning back in his chair.
Merral sighed. “Not enjoying the flight. I’m hoping that working in the canteen may help. But it would be hard to think of a man who would less like this world of gray machinery. And he certainly won’t be happy when the manifestations begin.”
“No. I’ll pass by and see him later. I’ve heard a lot about him.”
“An odd and good man. I would be glad of your insight.” Merral was struck by something. “Luke, can I be honest with you?”
“Never a bad idea with anyone.”
“Look, frankly, I have no idea why we’re taking Jorgio. I like him—no, I love him—and he prays fervently and effectively, but . . . Well, I have no idea what he is going to do when we reach Earth.”
“We’re taking him because you were asked to by the Most High. Isn’t that enough?”
“I suppose so.”
Luke had a hard look in his dark eyes. “Does that worry you? That you don’t know why?”
“I suppose so. A little.”
He received a look of warning. “Beware of that. Merral, you are a commander. You give orders, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you explain everything to those under you?”
“I try to.”
“Always?”
“No. Sometimes . . . well, it isn’t possible.”
“But you do expect obedience? Even without explanations?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Luke gestured with his hands. “Isn’t that it? We need to obey, whether we understand or not.”
“Point taken, but I find it very unsatisfactory. Don’t we need to know?”
“We will be told one day.” Luke gestured to the sign on his wall. God’s time is the best time. “That applies to this. There is a time for knowing and a time for not knowing. A lot of the time we are in the ‘not knowing’ mode. One day we will be told.”
“I look forward to it,” Merral said and pulled some folded paper out of his jacket pocket. “Luke, I was given a review on your old lecturer by Ludovica. This is a copy of the summary.”
Luke frowned. “Delastro. Hmm.”
Luke took the pages, shaking his head as he read them. Then he handed them back. “Yes. I agree with the analysis. Sadly. It fits with what I remember of him. These events have turned him. As they may turn us unless we are watchful.” His eyes acquired a sharp look. “But why did you give it to me?”
“Because I wanted to hear your analysis.”
“And?”
“Because I think it may fall to you to deal with him.”
“Do you?”
Merral waved the papers. “The issues are what it calls a ‘deviant theology.’ I’m out of my depth.”
“I doubt it. It’s just a fancy phrase for sin. But, Merral, I have to ask you, is this another battle you want me to fight for you?”
“It’s in your area.”
“Maybe. But I think it’s your responsibility.”
Within two days of the Sacrifice beginning its new voyage, Vero, once more settled into almost full-time seclusion in his compartment, found himself struggling to hide his concerns. One minor setback had been that Gerry’s data was proving impossible to decrypt. Betafor couldn’t do it, and the Sacrifice’s main computer was devoting all its spare processing time to try to crack the code. It might take weeks—if it could be done at all. Far more troubling than this was the fact that he had now completed a full review of all he knew. The results were not at all encouraging.
Vero sat back and stared at the screen. A single phrase thudded out a deadly, frightening beat in his brain. We can’t win. We can’t win. We can’t win.
He let his head sink into his hands. Oh, there are weaknesses. Their ships are crudely finished. The lord-emperor rules by fear rather than respect. The skills of some of the men, especially the slaves and the low-born, are poor. There is corruption, mutual antagonism, and internal weaknesses. He sighed and he heard fear in his sigh. Yet taken together, these weaknesses amount to very little. In all the weeks I have spent researching, the flaws I have discovered in the might of the Dominion are miniscule. They are still overwhelmingly powerful. They are small enough that, given time, we can defeat them. But we may not have that time. And at the moment, they’ve assembled a force of men, machines, and powers that will be impossible to defeat.
Vero struck his hands together in frustration. Even if the Assembly has been alerted—please, God, let it be so—we will be crushed soon. We need something else. He got up and paced around the room. Remember the old sentinels’ rule: put yourself in your opponent’s shoes.
He sat down again. Very well, if I were the lord-emperor, what would I fear?
In a few moments, the answer came to him, as clear as if it had been stamped on his brain. I would fear a rival.
He felt himself frown. What do I mean by that?
The answer was not slow in coming.
I mean another summoner of the powers, another wielder of the extra-physical world. A new, strange thought struck him. Perhaps that is why he is afraid of Merral. It is not what he has done but what he may become. Does he see my friend as a rival?
Vero felt himself smile at the thought of Merral the magician. Can I use the lord-emperor’s fear to destroy him? Hardly.
Another thought struck him. No, but such a fear might distract him. And, at a crucial moment, a distraction might be useful.
Vero consi
dered how he might create such a fear. The answer was plain. By pretending to be a rival magician.
His thoughts turned to the file that held copies of everything in the priest’s books.
“I will not do magic,” he said in a low whisper. “But I will study the principles. Just enough so that, if needed, I may be able to distract the lord-emperor.”
Vero made sure his door was locked and then opened the file.
As it happened, when the first manifestation appeared Merral was with Jorgio in the canteen. As he had expected, the old man was very unhappy. The thing was a writhing cloud the height of a human being and the shape of a giant fist. Jorgio saw it and started, spilling coffee everywhere, and then backed away, shaking his head and muttering prayers.
Merral took him aside and tried to allay his fears.
To his surprise, it turned out that Jorgio’s reaction was not fear but outrage and disgust. “That thing had no right here,” he said, almost spitting in indignation. “Not among the Lord’s people. Not at all!”
After five days of traveling without incident, apart from an outbreak of shadowy forms that were unnervingly like human silhouettes, Merral found himself with a spare hour due to a canceled meeting. His thoughts turned to the castle tree simulation. He had not visited it since the dreadful day of Isabella’s death, and on the tree’s timescale, over a decade would have passed. He felt anxious about the progress of the simulation, but the guilt he felt over his last visit was such that it was only very reluctantly that he even picked up the crystal egg. He sat on his bed for some time, holding it in his hand, as he ran over every possibility that he might be leaving some other duty neglected. Finally he put on the glasses and entered the simulation.
It was summer in his world, and soaring, turbulent clouds were building up over the leaden plain. Even seen only in monochrome, the sense of an impending storm was tangible. Merral began his scrutiny with some concern; the tree had survived storms before, but they were always a threat. He decided to spiral up round the outside first. As he swung up under the lowest of the great branches, he caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar shape but flew on. Then as its significance registered in his mind, he spun around and returned.
