by Chris Walley
“No! Put like that, you make me sound utterly immoral!”
Vero winced. “S-sorry. Look, you tell it your way.”
“Oh, the apology is mine. I didn’t mean to snap. To be honest, I feel terrible about the whole business. But it’s weird. I was happy with Isabella. I really didn’t mind the idea of commitment and marriage to her. Yet I started having these feelings for Anya.”
“Ah. But why didn’t you just tell Anya that you were already, well . . .” Vero paused. “At least, in some sense, committed?”
“There’s the heart of the matter.” Merral turned back to the passing landscape, seeing the bladelike structure of the Planetary Administration building rising above the Isterrane skyline.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “I felt that it wasn’t a real commitment. And it all happened so suddenly. It’s no excuse, I know.”
“So, what do you propose to do?”
“Well, I have to see Isabella and call it all off. After all, not even engagements are unbreakable.”
“True. But it’s rare and by mutual consent. Or at least I should say, hitherto it has been rare. But everything is changing.” Vero shook his head mournfully. “Everything.” A moment later he spoke again. “Incidentally, you may not be surprised to know that you’re not alone. Other similar problems have been reported. Clemant, that careful observer of social detail, is most concerned. Delastro made a big thing of it in his speech the other night.”
“Delastro?”
“Of course, you have been out of it. Balthazar Delastro has been designated prebendant by the Farholme congregations three . . . no . . . four days ago.”
“What’s a prebendant?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a role dug out for the crisis. But he has authority. Technically, the rather frail Octavio Jenat is still the president of the congregations. But Delastro is making the speeches.” Vero looked pensive. “You—we—may need to watch this man. So far the congregations have not been an issue. After all, when the loss of the Gate was presumed to be a technical failure, it wasn’t their business. But now that they all know there are intruders and that evil is spreading, the crisis is very much their business. Anyway, there is a new factor: Prebendant Balthazar Delastro. But you were saying? About your . . . well . . . relational difficulties.”
“Yes. Well, I need to see Anya too . . . to apologize again and ask that our relationship go back to being just friends. So the aim with both is the same: to put the clock back. For the duration.”
“The duration?” Vero’s expression seemed almost agonized. “I wonder what that means. Part of me wonders if it will be forever.” Vero gestured at the vehicle’s rear mirror. “The past, the Assembly, all our old values: all seem to be like what I see here—an image rapidly receding. Some nights I wake up and wonder if it was all a dream.”
Merral turned away, embarrassed by the intensity of the sadness that had been revealed. “I can understand that,” he answered. “But, Vero, do you think I can do it—turn everything back?”
“Ah, my friend, I have read much more pre-Intervention literature than you. I now read almost nothing else. You’ll find your situation described there. Look up love triangle in the Library. As for your chances . . . well, I wish I was more confident. But in his wisdom the Lord of All didn’t make us like machines. It’s not easy to turn things back—there are no cogs we can turn, no buttons to press to reset the mechanisms of the heart. But I wish you well, and I’ll pray you can do it. I’ll also do what I can do to explain things to Anya.”
“Thanks.”
Emboldened and feeling almost a sense of release, Merral said, “While we are on the topic can I ask about you and Perena?”
“You can ask, but there is nothing to say. That’s all ‘on hold’ as they say.” Vero shrugged. “I hope you notice the perverse symmetry to our lives, my friend. You have two relationships where you should have one. I have none where perhaps I should have one.” He sighed. “Welcome to the new world.”
Silence returned as they curved round the center of Isterrane on the airport road. Vero spoke at last. “Oh, one last thing, Merral. We decided that you needed some s-support. So I have taken the liberty to recruit Lloyd Enomoto as your aide.”
“Enomoto? Do I know him?”
“Maybe not. Lloyd used to be an agricultural student. He came late into the FDU reserves but he arrived at Fallambet in time to kill a cockroach-beast at the ship. Zak promoted him to sergeant in the FDF. He’s a big guy, nearly too big to fit in a ship.”
“But an aide? How does that work?”
“He helps you, gets whatever you need.” Vero seemed cautious. “Carries your bags, goes places with you—that sort of thing. Anyway, I figured that Lloyd would go with you to Ynysmant.”
“Vero, I hardly think I need an aide in my hometown.”
“Well, Lloyd would manage communications too. So, if I need you, I’ll call him.”
“Hmm. So Lloyd goes around with me? Everywhere?”
“Not absolutely everywhere, of course.”
“So, what about when I talk with Isabella?”
“He’d sit outside the door, out of earshot. We’ve discussed all this. And he’s sworn to secrecy, of course.”
“Sworn?”
“I mean he’ll be totally confidential.”
“I’m uneasy about it—very.”
“We think it’s useful. We’d feel happier if he went with you.”
Merral wondered who “we” were, but didn’t ask. “I’m not sure about this.”
“He’s at the airport. We’ll decide there.”
Vero switched off the autosteer circuit and drove the vehicle to the main terminal building, stopping in the parking area marked Airport Staff Only, Please.
“But we aren’t—,” Merral began.
Vero wagged a slender finger. “Three letters, my friend: F-D-F. We take priority.” He put his dark glasses on.
Merral was still pondering the issues that “priority” raised as they walked to the entrance. Suddenly, he looked up to see dozens of faces at the windows staring intently at him. He turned, expecting to see someone behind him. There was no one.
“Vero, why is everyone looking at us?”
Vero’s mouth twitched as if he was trying to stifle his amusement. “Because, Commander, one of us is a very famous person. And it isn’t me.”
“You mean—”
“Welcome, Commander!” came a shout from a window. Merral looked up to see people waving at him.
“Vero,” Merral said, his voice bristling with agitation, “this is appalling!”
“Relax!” Vero hissed with a firm intensity. “It goes with the job.”
“But what do I do?”
“I suggest, Commander D’Avanos, that as ever, you play the part. Just raise your right hand as a relaxed and informal acknowledgment.”
Merral hesitated.
“Go on!”
Merral lifted his right hand rather stiffly.
“Not bad. . . . No, not too high. You don’t want to encourage them. Now give them a little smile, please.”
“It’s a farce,” Merral whispered between clenched teeth. “An utter farce. I’m encouraging the creation of some sort of celebrity culture. It’s unethical.”
“Perhaps,” Vero murmured. “But remember, these are scared people. They need all the reassurance you can give them. And not to give it definitely would be unethical.”
Upon entering the building, Merral found himself nodding and giving more waves of acknowledgment.
As they passed the ticketing booth, Vero nodded toward it. “Remember too, that from now on, you have priority here as well. If you want a seat on a flight and it’s full, you have the authority to throw someone off.”
“Throw them off?”
“Not, of course, literally. Uh, take their seat . . . have them take a later flight.”
“That doesn’t sound very polite.”
Vero took off his glasses, folded them into his shirt pocket,
and then glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot before giving Merral a severe look. “Commander,” he said in a low and impassioned voice, “I see our job as saving Farholme and, maybe, the Assembly. On that basis, courtesy and politeness are now, sadly, optional extras. So let’s go and meet Sergeant Enomoto.”
They found Lloyd Enomoto sitting alone in a small room off the main lounge, reading something on his diary with a look of determined intensity. He was indeed a big man. Even wearing a casual, loose-fitting, gray suit, you could sense his muscles. In fact, Merral decided that Lloyd didn’t so much sit on the chair, as sit over it. His face was tanned and rugged, his eyes small and blue, and his eyebrows and close-cropped hair were so blond as to be almost white.
Lloyd rose, gave them a warm lazy smile, and saluted.
Merral stared up him, realizing that his eyes only came to Lloyd’s chin. He decided to ignore the salute and shook hands instead.
“Good to see you, sir,” Lloyd said in a leisurely voice that was almost a drawl, and Merral noted the twang of the southern islands. “Last time I saw you, you were hanging on to that undercarriage and heading off over the lake. I was really pleased to hear you made it. Glad you’re well.”
“Thanks, Sergeant. Remind me where you are from? Bailor?”
“Not quite, sir, Tralescant—next island west.”
Merral noticed that Lloyd had two bags, a backpack with shoulder straps and a small brown bag with an odd, elongated shape.
“Preparing for a trip, eh?”
“Yup. My own stuff and . . .” Lloyd gestured to the brown bag. “Well, my . . . gear.” His voice had a note of awkwardness that caught Merral’s attention.
“Gear? What sort of gear?”
A look passed between Vero and Lloyd.
“The usual stuff, sir,” Lloyd said, looking away.
“T-the Commander doesn’t really want—,” Vero began.
“Oh, I do. I really do. What’s in there?” Merral nodded to the brown bag.
Vero shrugged. “Better open it, Sergeant.”
As soon as Lloyd opened the bag, Merral peered in, seeing a diagnostic medical unit. He pushed the DMU aside and found a familiar object with a dull gray tube and a long grip.
“A cutter gun,” Merral said. He looked deeper. “And a bush knife. And some other things . . . explosives.” He paused. “Excuse me, Sergeant. Could you leave us alone for a few minutes?”
“Yes, sir,” Lloyd said and left the room.
“Okay, Vero. Explain. An aide—with weaponry?”
Vero cast the unhappiest of expressions at the bag. “W-well, it’s like this. I didn’t want to alarm you. B-but we have no idea whether we killed all the inhabitants of that ship. We have no inventory, no passenger list to check them off. We don’t know whether, somewhere out there, there are still cockroach-beasts, another Krallen pack, or another winged dragon thing.”
“I see. I had, well, assumed, that we had got them all.” Merral sighed. “No, you’re right. But surely Ynysmant is safe? There are places farther north. Herrandown, Wilamall’s Farm, other settlements.”
Vero shook his head wearily. “No longer. Last week the decision was made to close down Herrandown immediately. The inhabitants—your uncle and his family included—are now in Ynysmant. And Wilamall’s Farm is being wound down. And the others.”
“I didn’t know that.” Merral found himself oddly shaken by the news. Yet another pillar of his old familiar world had been brought down.
“The images of the dragon thing scared everyone. Clemant and Corradon decided to close down the settlements almost as soon as the battle was over. After all, with the ship destroyed, any surviving creatures have nowhere to go. And yes, there are teams out there scouring the countryside. So far they have found nothing. There is a ten-man rapid-response team armed and sitting in a hangar out there.” He gestured out of a small window. “They’re waiting to go at five minutes’ notice. But there is a risk. Anyway, the sad reality is that Wilamall’s Farm and Herrandown are just a burden to Farholme now.”
“No!” Merral said, defiance ringing in his voice. “They are a vital part of making this a habitable world—like all the Forestry projects, the land reclamation, the stabilization of the coasts. It is a continuation of the more than ten thousand years of work here since the Seeding.”
“My friend, it’s all been put on hold for a generation. You need to understand. The battle—and the news that there may be further ships on the way—has changed everything. Everything. It’s a whole new ball game. All the resources of this planet that can be spared are being redirected to defense. Expansion is over. When the Gate went, we went into maintenance mode. After Fallambet, we shifted into defense mode.”
“I see,” Merral said, feeling angry but not knowing whom, or what, he was angry with. He stabbed a finger toward the bag. “But I don’t need one of these men. He’s not just an aide. What is he in reality?”
“A bodyguard.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard in my hometown. I’ll go alone.”
Vero grimaced. “I’m not sure it’s wise.”
“I’ll risk it. It’s my life.”
A look of hard resolution suddenly crossed Vero’s face. “I-is it?” He clenched his fists. “I’m sorry to argue with you again, but I’m not sure it is. You now have a public duty. This is a shaken world. I’ve been out there. I know. The Gate explosion was bad enough, but people handled it. Now the news of the intruders has been too much. An isolated world facing unseen enemies? No one is prepared for that.”
“God should be their hope.”
“He is. But they look to a visible and human expression of that, and that person is you. You are the hero of two encounters with the intruders.” Vero’s voice was full of agitation. “Merral, you led the attack. You entered the ship and came out alive. You stopped the ship escaping. They need you and you can’t disappoint them. It’s not your life at all. Not any more. It’s theirs.” Vero paused, as if to draw breath. “And that applies to Ynysmant, most of all. Those people look north every evening and wonder what may be creeping or slithering through the forest toward them. Their town is at the very edge of inhabited Menaya and they know it. They are on the front line. Ynysmant is probably the most scared place on the planet. They need a hero. Your job, Commander, is to steady their nerves. You gotta play ball.”
“You want me to act? to play a part like Corradon?”
“And what if he does ‘play a part’? He’s no fool. My friend, the representative knows—as Clemant does—that we face two enemies: the intruders and ourselves. We have the potential for self-destruction. If our morale holds, Farholme may have a chance against an enemy. If we lose our nerve, we have had it. Maybe even before another vessel of this Dominion—if indeed that vessel belonged to them—is sighted. Merral, get real!”
Unable to respond Merral turned, took a few paces away. Realizing his position was indefensible, he turned back toward Vero. “I see,” he said softly, feeling chastened and humbled. “You’re right. But where does Lloyd fit in?”
“Lloyd is my attempt to help you. Lloyd’s job is to make your hard tasks a little easier; to assist you, free you up, keep the crowds at a distance, and—maybe—even defend you. We need you too.”
“Oh, dear. What a mess we are in.” Merral threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, very well. You leave me little option. I’ll take him. But I don’t have to like it.”
Two hours later, Merral and Lloyd were on the short-haul passenger flier heading west. From the moment he joined the queue for the flier, Merral had been aware of the stares, glances, and whispers focused on him. Trying to distract himself, he turned to Lloyd, who was sitting in the aisle seat, scrolling through something on his diary.
“What are you reading, Lloyd?”
“It’s something Mr. V. found me—”
“Mr. V.?”
“Mr. Vero, sir. It’s his nickname. Sorry.”
“I see. Go on.”
“It�
��s for my job. The Bodyguard’s Handbook, 2023 edition. There were later editions apparently, but this is the latest we have. Very interesting, sir. Hard to read though. You keep thinking they can’t really mean that. But they do.”
Suddenly a man in the aisle peered around Lloyd’s bulk to catch Merral’s eye.
“Excuse me, Commander,” he said apologetically. “We’ve never met, but I was wondering—we all were—what you could tell us . . . about the situation.”
Suddenly every head swiveled toward them.
Lloyd leaned over and whispered in Merral’s ear. “Sir, do you want me to move him on? Gently, of course. Mr. V. says it’s okay. Part of the job.”
“No. No, thanks,” Merral replied. “I have a public duty.” He squeezed past Lloyd and stood in the aisle. “Hands up anybody here who doesn’t know who I am.”
There was no movement.
“I was afraid of that,” Merral said, trying—and failing—to smile. “Well, I don’t want to talk about the battle. I heard the representative’s speech as you did and I don’t really want to add to what he said. We’ve had intruders. We stumbled upon them, and they destroyed the Gate. We then raised the first Assembly armed force for twelve thousand years. By the grace of God, we defeated the intruders. We had hoped to seize their ship, but failed. At least we destroyed it. As far as we know, they are now gone. I don’t want to say any more. It was very unpleasant. We lost some very good men—” he paused, remembering the loss of the diplomatic team—“and a fine woman. I can guess a bit about how you feel. All I can say at the moment is to reassure you that there is no existing threat to Farholme that we know about. But we are taking precautions. Just do your jobs, and pray for our world and us. Thank you.”
As he sat down, there was a round of applause.
Ten minutes later, a young woman in the seat in front of Merral’s leaned over the back of her seat.
“Commander, I’m from Ynysmant. Can I be naughty and ask you a personal question? It’s not about the fighting or anything like that.”
“Have we met?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just that I know Isabella Danol’s family.”
Merral suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling, rather as if a large insect were creeping down his spine.
