by Chris Walley
“I agree, but I wish he’d been more explicit,” Merral replied. “We always consider summer at an end when the schools restart. Say twelve weeks away. By any standards we don’t have much time.”
“Very little. And the envoy just vanished?”
“Not a trace. No one else in the house heard anything.”
“Hmm.”
“In hindsight there’s a lot I wish I’d asked him. But I was stunned—no, appalled—by the vision he showed me. Anyway, what I saw and heard confirmed your decision about the irregular forces. You have my full support.”
“Good. But the time scale is now desperately short. I had hoped for at least a year.”
“Can the work on the defenses be speeded up?”
Vero frowned. “We’ll do what we can. But your account of what the envoy said has a detail that alarms me. ‘Be careful who you trust.’ I don’t like that at all.”
“Me neither. How do we guard against that?”
“A good question. We can start by being careful of what we say and who we say it to. We must always ask now, ‘Do they need to know this?’”
“But, Vero, every principle of the Assembly centers on openness.”
“Ah.” The word was drawn out. “But that was the past.”
There was another long and absorbed silence. A glance out of the window showed the Gardens of Querantal. Merral breathed in to catch the famous scent of the orange blossoms. The fragrance reminded him painfully of the innocent and tranquil world he had once known that now seemed to be lost forever.
“Incidentally, my friend,” Vero commented, “the presentation of that medal to you was seen everywhere.”
“You’re joking! That was a local affair.”
“Perhaps, but you are a global personality now. Everyone saw it. There is an extraordinary interest in you. Your final comments have been much praised.”
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I said too much. They were a mistake. I was rebuked.”
Vero stared at him, his eyes gleaming faintly. “Ah. I felt there was more to the envoy’s appearing than you said. And how did Isabella take it?”
“Very badly. We were at a meeting this morning. Every time our eyes met I saw she was glaring at me.”
“‘Looking daggers’ I believe they once called it.”
“A phrase I now understand. Anyway, I have written her an apology, but I fear the damage is done.”
“Ah.” Vero gave a sigh of unhappy resignation.
“Yes. Lloyd did a good job of protecting me from others. I should have warned him that I needed protecting from myself.”
Not long after, they entered what Merral considered the educational area of Isterrane. Vero pulled off onto a gravel driveway and stopped the vehicle before a single-floor structure tucked between two taller administrative buildings.
Lloyd pulled alongside and together they walked to the door.
“This,” Vero said, as he tucked his dark glasses in his shirt pocket, “is where you’re going to be living. Narreza Tower is too public.” There was a pause, and Merral wondered if it was too close to Anya.
“This is the Kolbjorn Suite—an apartment unit for visiting off-world scholars.” After finding a key Vero opened the door. “Sorry about the lock. Security is now important.”
As they walked in, Merral glanced around. The suite was a large, four-bedroom apartment recently refurbished. There was a smell of new paint.
Vero pointed to a front room. “I suggest that Lloyd take this room by the door and you take an inner bedroom. It’s more secure.”
Lloyd nodded.
Again we use the words secure and security. Am I irritated or alarmed?
He trailed behind as Vero strode through the apartment and threw open the rear door. Lights came on to reveal a small, enclosed courtyard with a single palm tree, a few seats, and a small ornamental pond stocked with goldfish.
Vero stood beside Merral. “One of the big attractions is that it’s not overlooked. You can sit here and no one will know whether you’re here or not.”
“Does that matter?”
Vero’s smile seemed pained. “My friend, the days when you could sit on an open balcony in full view of everybody are gone. At best, you are going to have a lot of unwelcome attention and at worst . . .” Vero shrugged and motioned Merral back inside. “You can look around here later. It’s late, and I’m afraid I have a lot to do. Your encounter with the envoy only adds more urgency to my tasks. But I have one more thing to show you.”
Vero led them down a side corridor, stopping in front of a full-length mirror.
“Watch,” he said, pressing two tiny silver buttons at the side of the frame.
The mirror swung noiselessly and smoothly outward to reveal a narrow, poorly illuminated vertical shaft with a metal ladder at the rear.
“What is this?” Merral asked, suddenly aware of the smell of fresh dust and powdered stone.
“The Kolbjorn Suite is close to the center of the city and lies above one of the main utility passageways. I had a link put in last week.”
“Fascinating,” Merral said, beginning to uneasily formulate a guess at why the link had been made.
Vero pointed down. “It seemed too good an opportunity to miss. This is a way of entering and leaving the building without being seen. Twenty meters down is a passageway that leads to the Planetary Administration building. That’s about a ten-minute walk away. I’ll teach Lloyd the route soon. It may be useful as an emergency escape. And it allows me to visit you.”
“Aha,” said Lloyd, with a knowing glance at Merral. “Nice one, Mr. V.”
“I’m glad someone appreciates its value,” Vero said with a hint of frustration. He raised a finger in caution. “And don’t reveal the existence of the route to anyone.”
“Why not? What else is down there?”
Vero’s smile was pinched. “Oh, just the foundations. That’s all.” He looked at his watch. “Now, I’m afraid I have work to do.” He raised his hand in a half-jesting salute. “Welcome back, Commander. Remember, you’re down to see Corradon tomorrow at eight, and I expect you’ll see Clemant afterward. So, when you are free, I will take you to your office.”
With a surprisingly nimble motion Vero grasped the ladder and lowered himself into the gloomy depths.
“Where are you off to?”
“Ah, it’s a secret. We now live in a world of secrets. Good night to you both.”
And with that Vero disappeared from sight.
The next morning, Lloyd and Merral drove to the Planetary Administration building. As he entered, Merral was again made painfully conscious of curious faces turning toward him. Can I ever be anonymous again?
After sending Lloyd to look for the new FDF offices, Merral made his way to Corradon’s office and was shown in immediately.
He found the representative jacketless and with an open-necked shirt, stooping over a pot of yellow anemones on a corner table. As Corradon looked up and smiled, Merral wondered whether the smile revealed welcome or relief.
“Ah, Merral,” he said, walking over to shake hands. “Good to see you. You are recovered?”
“Largely, sir.” Merral couldn’t bring himself to call the representative by his first name. “I should have the chest cast off this week. Then I can start gentle exercise. But I’m to avoid too much stressful physical activity for a bit.”
As Corradon slowly nodded, Merral looked at the representative carefully, trying to read his mood. He seems dignified and unruffled, but I must remember that with this man, surface appearances cannot be relied on. Here, in this public office, he wears his public face.
“First time you’ve been here?” Corradon asked, waving a big hand around.
Merral nodded, looking about. The room was fuller and much less formal than he had imagined it would be. There were numerous books, statuettes, and plants on the shelves and the walls bore a series of maps, paintings, and family images. On the desk was an untidy pile of paper and datapaks and a sm
all painting of a woman whom Merral recognized as Corradon’s wife, Victoria. The single large window looked south to the sunlit sea, and on the floor were a number of large potted plants.
“I like the plants,” the representative observed in a melancholy voice, evidently catching Merral’s gaze. “Increasingly, in fact. They are much less trouble to manage than people.” He gestured for Merral to sit on one of the two easy chairs in front of the desk.
“I saw your speech,” Corradon said, sitting heavily in the other chair. “Well done. Fine words.”
Merral considered confessing that it had been a bad mistake, but refrained. I like Corradon, but I feel reluctant to trust a man who seems to be two separate people. “Sir,” he said, “if I’d known it was to go out globally, I would have thought more about what I said. But I gather you have been giving a lot of speeches too.”
In an instant Corradon’s look of dignified control dissolved into one of sad weariness. “Ah. Too many. A dozen speeches in five days. I have traveled a long way.” Corradon stared stiffly out of the window, then turned with a forlorn look on his face. His large frame seemed to sag. “And, of course, I had to see the bereaved. Widows, orphans, mothers, fathers. That’s my job too.”
“How was that?”
“It was . . .” For a moment, Corradon seemed unable to speak, seemingly wrestling with his emotions. “Somber? Moving? Inspiring? All of these; there was courage also.” The words rang with affirmation, but the tired blue eyes told another story.
“I ought to meet them.”
“They will be here for the memorial service in ten days’ time.” Corradon shook his head gloomily. “But there were too many, Merral. Too many.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you misunderstand me.” He leaned forward and brushed the leaf of an aspidistra by his feet. “I wasn’t blaming you. I just found the losses . . . well, let’s say I felt them—every single one of them.” He shook himself as if trying to free himself from something, and then turned to Merral. “Now, I suppose we’d better turn to business. You are happy with Sentinel Enand’s irregulars?”
“Yes. I had more or less made up my mind on that when I had an unexpected visitor in Ynysmant who confirmed my decision.”
“Who?”
“The envoy.”
“Ah.” Corradon closed his eyes for a moment as if in pain. “Our angelic visitant. Who said . . . ?”
In as few words as possible, Merral told Corradon those things the envoy had said that he considered relevant. He omitted the specific warnings, considering them of relevance only to himself. As he spoke, he noticed how the representative’s face lost its color.
When Merral finished, Corradon rubbed his face wearily and frowned. “You are making a habit of this. Just when I begin to hope, you present me with new bad news. ‘War will come to Farholme.’” He sighed heavily. “War. Casualties. More bereavements.”
He paused as if considering the matter and then shook his head. “Yet perhaps, just perhaps, it may not be so. Perhaps the danger may pass.” He paused again and his next words were little more than a whispered prayer. “Please, God, may it be so.”
“Amen.”
Tapping a finger nervously on his knee, Corradon stared at Merral. “So, given that we have so little time, you think Sentinel Enand’s approach is wise?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I was uneasy about it, but I felt there was no option.”
“What did Dr. Clemant say?”
“Lucian approved. Although I prefer not to go against his advice, I would have done on this.” Corradon stared out of the window. “It is strange, Merral, how this crisis has affected us differently. I always used to find him easy to work with. . . .” His voice was distant and distracted. Then, as if awakening from a daydream, he turned to Merral. “Yes, he approved. But you’d better go and see him.”
He rose stiffly from his chair.
“One other thing,” Corradon added, his face suggesting a vague unease. “Prebendant Balthazar Delastro. Dr. Clemant wants to him to be chaplain-in-chief of the Farholme Defense Force. On consideration, I approve. But it’s your decision.”
“But I don’t know him,” Merral answered. “And it was a post that I had assumed Luke Tenerelt would fill.”
“No. Luke is too young. Delastro is a senior figure and Lucian makes the valid point that to have Delastro on board might help us get support from the local congregations. Frankly, I am reluctant to cross Lucian on this. I think you’d better meet with the prebendant.”
“Very well.”
“I think that’s all for the moment. You will just be downstairs. So, if you need anything . . .” Corradon’s voice trailed off as he bent over a dwarf orange bush.
Merral realized the meeting was over. As he left the office, he glanced back to catch a glimpse of Corradon peering at the leaves and shaking his head sadly.
“Commander,” Clemant said, rising stiffly from behind his large, bare desk as Merral was shown in. “Thank you for coming. It is splendid to see you up and about.”
They shook hands.
“Please, take a seat,” Clemant said with a gentle formality as he lowered himself back onto his high-backed chair.
The advisor looked tired, Merral decided. There were bags under his eyes and he seemed to have put on weight.
Merral sat down and looked around, realizing that he could have predicted that Clemant’s office would look like this. The room was no bigger than Corradon’s, but the far fewer furnishings made it seem larger. There was a polished black desk, some cabinets and shelves, and the only painting in the room was a large abstract made up of neat geometrical slivers of grays and whites.
The main feature of the room was a large floor-to-ceiling wallscreen, subdivided into a dozen smaller panels, each of which displayed some sort of map, chart, or image, on a sidewall. Merral glanced at it, feeling almost overwhelmed by the quantity of information it revealed. Clemant must feel that he can monitor all Farholme with this.
The view out of the window provided some compensation. It consisted of a mosaic of houses, fields, and orchards to the north.
“So,” Clemant asked, as Merral turned to face him, “how was Ynysmant?”
Merral sensed Clemant’s dark gray eyes scrutinizing him. “Interesting,” he answered, feeling oddly wary. “There are changes taking place.”
“I know. I gather you and Sergeant Enomoto made contact with some unruly elements?”
“Your information is accurate, Dr. Clemant,” Merral said, noting without surprise that his aide’s name had been discovered and forwarded. “Your police presumably told you.”
“Hardly my police, Commander.” Clemant’s lips moved in a feeble attempt at a smile. “Although they do report to me. Oh, and I saw the broadcast of the medal ceremony by the way. You made a good speech, but—if I may make a suggestion—you could have been longer.” There was an expressive pause. “Anwar—” he gestured with his head toward the representative’s office—“has done a good job on his tour, but people want to hear you. You reassure them.”
“I don’t like this public role.”
“I understand; you are a reluctant leader. It is commendable. But your reluctance is a luxury. Incidentally, I haven’t commended you for the battle at the lake. Well done.”
“We failed to take the ship and we lost a lot of men.”
Clemant’s round face showed a renewed attempt at a smile. “Oh, come, Commander. You destroyed the ship and the casualty figures—while unfortunate—were, by historical standards, not excessive. You lost barely 20 percent of your total attack force. Against overwhelming odds, that is a creditable performance.”
Merral shrugged. “Forgive me if I just don’t see it in those terms.”
“I understand, but in what lies ahead, we will need strong leadership.” Merral heard an odd but significant stress in the words. For a fraction of a second, Clemant’s eyes slid in the direction of Corradon’s office.
“I hardly see that as my task. I’m a man who has been entrusted with being in charge of a military force. I’m not a civil administrator.”
Clemant’s gaze seemed faintly appraising. “Ah, Commander, we’re entering uncharted waters. Who knows what any of us will be called on to do?”
“Indeed.”
The advisor steepled his hands and perched his chin on them. “So, you support Sentinel Enand’s most interesting proposal?”
“Yes.”
“Indeed?” Clemant’s tone and expression were scrupulously neutral.
“Yes, my decision was already made when we had a new piece of data.”
“Namely?”
Merral paused, suddenly remembering the skepticism that Clemant had shown when Perena reported the first appearance of the envoy and wondered how the report of the new appearance would be received. “The envoy has appeared again.”
Clemant’s dark eyes widened. “Aha. The envoy. And what did he say?”
Merral told him what he had told Corradon. As he did, Clemant listened carefully and said nothing, his face showing little expression. He rose and paced slowly to the window and back, tapping his chin with a finger.
“An extraordinary experience, Commander. When Captain Lewitz said she had such an encounter, I was, perhaps, a little skeptical. I am much less so now. The cumulative evidence of a sudden irruption into our world of the supernatural on scale unparalleled in Assembly history is now so extensive, that it seems hard to deny it. So, how long do we have?”
“A maximum of twelve weeks. Possibly less.”
“I see.” Clemant fell silent.
“I think we need to prepare to defend the towns as a matter of urgency. Where we can, with regular forces; where we can’t, with irregulars.”
Clemant nodded and then, apparently deep in thought, sat and stared abstractedly at the vast wallscreen. After several moments, he turned to Merral with a quite unreadable expression.
“Defend the towns, yes, but how? In what way? All of them? What about the smaller settlements?”
“We will come up with some ideas.”
“It will not be easy.” Clemant gestured at the screen. “Let me show you some disturbing data.”
