by Chris Walley
“The encouragement is that the day you were shot, the Assembly passed a test.”
“So why have we lost so many worlds?”
“Passing such a test and being spared from hurt are two different things. And there are further tests ahead.”
“But I’m out of them, right?”
“No. You have a part left to play.”
“I’m prepared to. But I’m not fit.”
“Humans are so frail.” Although Merral could not see the face, he sensed something that seemed to be a frown or a look of puzzlement. “So many tubes, tissues, nerves. So much fluid. So vulnerable. I never cease to wonder why the Most High has done so much for you.”
The tone of voice was strange, almost as if it held a sense of grievance. Can angels feel aggrieved? or jealous?
The dark figure seemed to shudder, and Merral was uncomfortably reminded of someone shaking off some emotion or mood. “I will obey. I will make you fit enough to lead.”
He reached out a gloved hand and touched Merral’s chest. A strange glow of warmth spread outwards.
“Remember, you do not deserve this healing.” The hand was taken away.
“I deserve nothing.” He felt a tingling in his chest. “Never did.”
“How true. You are given this as a sign to encourage the Assembly.” The envoy seemed to step back with a smooth, almost gliding motion. “If I am not mistaken, we will meet again very soon. But for now, Commander, farewell.” Then a gloved hand tapped the side of the hat in salute, and he vanished.
After the envoy had gone Merral moved slowly around in the bed, trying not to dislodge the various tubes and wires, and decided that he really didn’t hurt as much as he had. Or at least not very much.
He summoned the doctor on night duty, who, watched by a sleepy but rapidly awakening Anya, was gently soothing. “You’re on some potent drugs. It might be a hallucination.” But what he saw was enough to get the team who had worked on Merral out of their beds and down to the ward.
An hour later, Merral, still somewhat stiff, was walking slowly but unaided down to the canteen for breakfast. In his wake, wide-eyed with wonder, followed Anya and an ever-growing crowd of doctors and nurses.
By early afternoon, Merral had been released from the hospital with a list of warnings. He felt tired, walked awkwardly, and was hesitant when it came to anything that required bending, but he was delighted to get out.
Vero took him to visit the ADF headquarters. As they drove up, it registered with Merral that it had been some sort of residential center but was now heavily modified with a hastily thrown-up high perimeter wall and ugly-looking guard towers. Once inside the perimeter, he saw that blast defenses had been placed around windows and doors.
“Like Ynysmant,” he muttered.
“There will be no last stand here,” Vero said with an odd confidence and led him into the building. What he saw inside reminded him of the war room at Isterrane; it was bigger and better equipped, but there were the same chaotic arrays of screens and maps and the same earnest, intense, and worried people.
As he entered the main room, they rose and applauded him. As he walked around and asked questions and listened, he was aware of them staring at him, and as he moved on, he always heard whispers behind him.
After an hour, he found he could take it no more. With Vero, he climbed slowly up several flights of stairs onto a flat roof. For some moments, they gazed about at the gentle skyline of red-tiled roofs, golden spires, and silvery domes, with the low, yellow sun causing deep canals of shadow where the streets ran. From somewhere, he could hear the faint sound of a choir singing mournfully.
Here we are at the very center of the central world—the heart of the entire Assembly. I can almost feel the immense gravitational pull of history, faith, and tradition that focuses on this place.
“They’re talking about me,” Merral said eventually. “What are they saying?”
Vero gave a dismissive shrug. “Nothing much. That you are a miracle, you are the great adversary, you talk with angels. That you stole Nezhuala’s finest ship and walked into the lord-emperor’s chamber and asked for the captives back. That you wear Ringell’s ID. That you drink molten iron. The usual sort of thing.”
“Molten iron?”
“No, I made that up.”
“I see. But it’s the old story, eh? They need a hero.”
Another shrug. “Yes. Drowning men clutch at straws.”
“Do they?”
“Never mind. But remember, Merral, we want the lord-emperor to feel afraid. F-fear causes a person to make mistakes. Maybe he’ll hold off. Almost the best thing that could happen is that he does nothing for the next two years. While we rearm.”
“He won’t. And you know that. I heard them talk down there; they are ready to be moved out and dispersed. They are expecting an attack.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“I know that too. But from what you say, you were healed for our benefit, not yours. And all the other news is grim.” Vero dropped his voice. “I fear it will get worse. And you’re right; he won’t wait. They’ll be on us soon. Looking at the reports from yesterday, none of the weapons we used had any real effect.”
“I wish we had the Sacrifice. Oddly enough, Betafor as well.”
“Assuming she could be trusted.”
Somewhere a bell tolled with slow solemnity.
“That’s the catch.”
Just then the door to the roof opened and Ethan emerged with two guards just behind him. He was clearly out of breath, but when he saw Merral, he smiled, shook his head, and raised his hands in wonder.
“Excuse me! . . . Shouldn’t have walked up those . . . stairs.” He grasped Merral by the elbow. “It’s great to see you up. Tell me . . . about it.”
“Are you well, sir?”
“Not really. And it’s not sir, Merral. At least not privately. It’s Ethan.”
As the chairman got his breath back, Merral told him about the visit he had had from the envoy.
“So we passed a test,” Ethan said with a nod of satisfaction. “That’s good news for dark days. Very dark.”
“How dark?”
Ethan glanced around, evidently to reassure himself his guards were out of earshot. “The feeling is that if Earth falls, the Assembly will fall.”
“But they’d have only twenty-seven worlds. Out of a thousand.”
“It’s the way the Gate system is structured. We are desperately trying to reroute some of the Gate links on the coreward worlds to allow them to keep going in a worst-case situation, but it’s not going to be easy. Originally—remember the Rebellion was still a recent memory when the first Gate network was set up—they were concerned that a world might cut itself off from the Assembly. So it was centralized and, as is the Assembly way of things, that’s the way it stayed. Earth is the central node.”
“All roads lead to Rome,” Vero suggested.
Ethan looked baffled for a moment and then gestured out to the city. “Were they to seize the Gate control here, the Assembly would fragment and the worlds would fall. And there’s something else.”
“What?” Merral asked.
“The last data from Padona before the Gate was locked down showed two attack vessels of a type we have never seen before. Long and very narrow. Intelligence has code-named them Silverfish. We can guess their role.”
A bitter look appeared on Vero’s face. “Attack vessels thin enough to go through our G-Gates. A logical development. If those appear in any number we are in trouble.”
“Can’t we just lock down all the Gates?” Merral asked. “Like we’ve done on the captured worlds?”
“Yes. And we may have to do that. But if we did it for all the Gates, for anything longer than, say, a month, it would paralyze the Assembly. We have set up enough linked quantum particle relays for short messages. But they will run out in time.”
Ethan leaned his elbows on the w
all. “Let me tell you something that only three people here know. I have ordered a crisis program on a number of worlds at the inward edge of the Assembly. We are considering the possibility of exile.”
“Exile?”
“Yes. I’ve asked a team to consider the idea that we might be evicted from the Assembly. How far could we flee? How many people could we take? I don’t want you to even think about it; it raises too many issues. But I want you to know that an exile scenario is being considered.”
“It happened to the people of God once,” Merral said, struck that he was staring over the very site whose fall long millennia ago had caused that exile. A Made-Worlder could indeed be overwhelmed by history here.
“It would be unwise to rule out that it might happen again. Now, Merral, may I give you some orders?”
“You may. I am at your service.”
The response was a tired smile. “And I am glad of it. I would like you to be based here, with Vero. We have some spare rooms. Dr. Lewitz as well. We want her to continue working on the Krallen.”
“And Lloyd. Please.”
“I was wondering . . . if he needed a break.”
“I’ll ask him, but that might make it look as if he had failed.”
“Your decision. Now, you must keep your title as Commander—you have as much a right to it as any man. But I think it would be wise if it were . . . just a title at the moment.” His words had a meaningful edge.
“I understand. Commander Seymour is in charge.”
“Yes. He’s out of town right now.”
A large transport flew low overhead with a whispering growl of the engines. Ethan stared at it as it descended toward the airport. “It’ll be coming to help evacuate nonessentials. Look, I want you to boost the morale. Talk to people; encourage them. Make them realize that there is still hope. You’re the one man who can do it.”
“That’s a hard task. But as you wish.”
“And one other thing. In the event of a threatened attack here, Gate control goes to a place called Tahuma. Vero knows about it and will brief you. But I want you to be ready to take a role there.”
Merral, watching Ethan’s face, saw a flicker of some extreme emotion. He’s in pain. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked.
Ethan gave a shrug as if it were a trivial matter. “If I wasn’t so busy, I’d retire.” He gave a sigh. “Merral, I can’t help but think that this won’t go on much longer. In some shape or form, the end must be near. And I’m running to the end. Now, I must go.” He turned to Merral. “But at a dark hour, your presence is a blessing.”
After he left, Merral decided that they ought to go to Adeeb’s house to get their things.
“Besides, I want to see Jorgio. Let’s get Lloyd and Anya.”
Adeeb’s stone house was built on several levels on a south-facing slope. Adeeb was out, and it was Jorgio who welcomed them. His happiness was evident, and when he threw big arms around Merral, there were tears in his eyes.
Merral didn’t feel he could skip the inevitable tea, and then, while the others collected their things, he walked slowly with his friend out into the long, descending garden deeply inset between enclosing stone walls and planted with a selection of trees and shrubs. By now, the sun was low in the sky and the air was cool.
Merral caught Jorgio looking hard at him. “Mister Merral, it is good to see you. You’ve done a lot of good here.”
“I suspect that your prayers had a lot to do with any good I did.”
“Tut. It’s not prayers as makes the difference; it’s the One as you pray to. What good has been done, has been done by the Lord.”
“True.”
They walked on, and Merral admired the vines that ran up to bare wires that stretched overhead.
“These will give shade in summer. And grapes.”
The idea was dismissed with an almost savage shake of the head.
Merral looked at the old man, trying to gauge what lay behind his gesture. “You are . . . concerned about the future?”
“I don’t care for the way things are.”
“None of us does.”
Then he stopped and gave Merral a puzzled look. “Mister Merral, I really don’t know why I’m here. I can’t do anything.”
“I’m sure you are here for a purpose.” But I don’t know what. “Perhaps to pray for us.”
“Well, I do that. But other than that—” the puzzlement remained—“I don’t know.”
“I was ordered to bring you.”
“And I felt it right to come. But what lies ahead . . .” There was an awkward, lopsided shrug. “It’s a mystery.”
“But then if the paths of life were clearly marked, we wouldn’t walk by faith,” Merral said.
“Well said, Mister Merral. You’re teaching me.”
From somewhere beyond the walls came a somber peal of bells. They walked slowly down the garden to a tree on which a great mass of white blossoms was emerging.
“An almond tree,” Merral commented. “Spring is on the way.”
At the far end of the garden was a rockery, and on it were clusters of red cyclamen. Merral bent down to look at them. Like spilled blood. “What do you feel, my old friend?”
The mismatched eyes turned to him, full of alarm. “You remember how—at Farholme—I felt there was that ship. Before it surfaced.”
“And you feel the same now?”
“Well . . . it’s similar. Only it’s not just a ship; something bigger and badder.”
“A fleet, perhaps.”
“Perhaps so, Mister Merral.”
Behind them, they heard the others emerge from the house. As they joined them and Vero and Anya began talking to Jorgio, Merral took Lloyd to one side.
“Lloyd, it occurs to me that you are due some leave. You’ve had a rough few days. I could find you a training post. We could get rid of that increasingly inappropriate ‘Sergeant’ title, too. How does Captain Enomoto sound? Or Master-at-Arms Enomoto?”
“No better than Sergeant. But thank you, sir. The leave is a generous offer, and I can’t say that I don’t find it attractive. But not now.” Lloyd rubbed his chin and Merral saw sorrow in the blue eyes. “You don’t have to be gifted at seeing things—” he nodded at Jorgio—“to reckon things are coming to a head. I wouldn’t want to be on holiday when it happened. It wouldn’t be . . . professional.”
“I understand.” He looked at Lloyd and noticed something. “Sergeant, are you carrying a weapon?”
Lloyd flushed. “Er . . . no, sir. I will. I just . . .” He looked miserable.
How do I respond here? Lloyd is scarred by the shooting. “Sergeant, I’m truly sorry about what happened. . . .”
Lloyd hesitated. “Not your fault. I should have watched her.”
“Don’t blame yourself. But stay armed. That’s an order.”
“Thanks, sir.” There was a look of gratitude.
Merral looked down the garden to see that Vero had walked on some way alone and that Anya was talking with Jorgio. She looked up and saw him. He saw her make an excuse to Jorgio and walk over to him. As she did, a slight wind gusted and Merral found himself shivering.
Anya took his arm. “Time to get indoors, Tree Man. Think how morale would be damaged if you died of pneumonia.”
They drove back to the ADF building with the darkness falling quickly about them.
Vero spoke. “I had an interesting chat with Jorgio. I asked him about those formulae.”
“And?”
“He’s no clearer. But I was wondering if it was a sign. That there might be a way in which we could use . . . I don’t know . . . formulae or algebra. Something against the Dominion.”
“Well, if you can come up with a bright idea, let me know,” Merral replied. “My math isn’t up to recognizing that sort of thing.” He paused as they passed a towered building with an elegantly carved stone facade of evident antiquity. There is too much history here. “And did he say anything else?”
Vero shifted aw
kwardly. “He said . . . that he thought you had passed the most severe test. But he wasn’t sure about himself. Or anyone else.” The subsequent pause was lengthy. “He thought that both he and I had dark paths to walk.” Vero turned and stared out the window before he continued. “He wasn’t sure that either of us would come out at the other end.”
“Aah.”
Two hours later, as Merral was arranging things in the tiny cubicle that had been given him, he was given an urgent summons to the main event room.
The room was in a state of intense and nervous activity, with people hunched over desks, flicking urgently from screen to screen. He heard anxious and unhappy mutterings broken by groans.
By the door, Ethan was leaning on the back of a chair in a way that made it appear that he was being propped up.
“What is it?” Merral asked.
“Ah, Commander. Bad. Simultaneous attacks on Ramult and Harufcan, I’m afraid.” Ethan was handed a sheet of paper, glanced at it, shook his head, and handed it back. He turned to Merral with a solemn face. “And they aren’t going to hold.”
They fell within three hours.
Near midnight, Merral went to an emergency meeting with the ADF leadership. He was introduced to the newly returned Commander Seymour. There was a strange blankness to the face. “D’Avanos? Hmm. Good to have you with us.” The tone was cold. Seymour walked away, then a few paces away he turned on his heel.
“D’Avanos. Sorry. That was very rude.” The man rubbed his cheek. “Sorry. Daughter was piloting the frigate Eternal Hope above Ramult.” He bit his lip. “The last reports said it had exploded . . . under cannon fire.”
Then he shook himself, walked away, and with an almost mechanical motion sat down at the end of the table.
The discussions that followed were dark-hued with disappointment, grief, and foreboding. Three of the new silverfish ships had been seen just before the Gates were shut down and all signals lost. Seymour, seemingly trapped in his little bubble of grief, made little contribution to the planning, and Merral saw how once more eyes turned to him. The conclusions were to speed up the dispersal of the ADF, hasten the preparations at Tahuma, and to have every possible ship in the Solar system armed and ready.
