Dark Foundations

by Chris Walley

  He tapped a digital pad at his desk. The maps and charts vanished and were replaced by a single large map of Farholme showing all the main cities and larger settlements.

  “Something very unpleasant has come into our world, Commander. Let me show you what I have found. Remember, if you please, that my expertise is in social matters. I now have a team of people compiling and categorizing all reports of social, psychological, or spiritual anomalies. Now, although we know that oddities occurred as early as Nativity at Herrandown, our earliest significant data is from about ten weeks ago. Watch.”

  A cluster of tiny red lights flickered on the map. Merral recognized Herrandown, Ynysmant, and Larrenport.

  “This is ten weeks ago. Now watch as we jump week by week.” He tapped the button again.

  The lights grew and spread as if they were red ants moving out from a nest. Lights spread all along the southern coast of Menaya from Isterrane to Lariston, around the mouth of the rift, and then round the edge of the Varrend Tablelands.

  “Last week.” More points of light appeared in new locations.

  “This week, compiled this morning.” New lights glowed almost everywhere. It seemed as if there were new cases across the planet.

  “How many cases have you reported in total?”

  “There have been 8,731 definite and 15,232 probables. And as one of the tasks of the police force is to record these things, we can soon expect an increase. But that data is yet to come in. Are you surprised at this map?”

  Merral again noted Clemant’s probing gaze. “I’d need to look a lot more closely at the data. I suppose I’m not surprised, but I am alarmed. What sort of things are you recording as events?”

  “Now? All sort of things. Fights, negligence, a school protest, graffiti—”

  “What’s that?”

  “You may well ask. Graffiti is writing or painting slogans on walls, defacing property. What else? Petty theft—someone stole someone else’s garden plants in Ganarat. Increasing sexual incidents. We had a rape the other day.”

  “Are you serious? Here?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “It’s appalling!”

  “I agree.”

  Merral stared at the map again. “Wait. Can you go back a bit, please?” he asked. “A few weeks. There, the cluster on the Anuzabar Chain. That’s Ilakuma, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “The legal disputes?”

  “It’s now worse. There was a brawl there the other day. Windows smashed, an arm broken.”

  “It’s odd. The other cases seem to spread out from points of contact with the intruders: Herrandown, Larrenport, Ynysmant, and so on. But what’s the link with Ilakuma?”

  “We have no idea.” Clemant paused. “My theory is that in the early days there needed to be some contact for this contagion to spread.” His face showed perplexity. “But now it seems different. Even the remotest places—isolated survey bases, remote mountain communities—are affected. And despite the destruction of the intruder ship a week ago, it is continuing to spread.”

  “So it seems.”

  “In light of this data and despite deep reservations, I have also backed our sentinel’s suggestion that we create an irregular defense force. Your news just reinforces my belief.”

  “Can you explain your reasoning?”

  “Very well. As Sentinel Enand points out, creating a large armed force would take years to put into action. But based on the trends that this map shows, we don’t have that time. Our social fabric is beginning to disintegrate, Commander.” His eyes were intense, troubled pools of darkness. “I foresee anarchy.” Beneath any pretense at detachment, the advisor seemed afraid.

  “I see.”

  “We have no option; we never did. And certainly not after yesterday’s warning. But I have some conditions on defending the towns.”

  “Which are?”

  “However you—we—prepare our defenses we must tread carefully. Very carefully. Can you imagine what will happen if people start building—I don’t know—forts and walls? In this state, they will panic.” There was a heavy stress on the word panic.

  “So what do we do?”

  “I don’t know, but you need to find a way to do it without causing a fuss. And I want what the envoy said—and what you saw—to be kept totally secret. This world is too volatile for any rumors of doom to be allowed to circulate.” He shuddered.

  “Very well.”

  “Now let me say some things about the defense strategy. First, these irregulars are part of the Farholme Defense Force. I want you to be in ultimate charge of them.”

  “I gather that’s what’s planned.”

  “Good. Second, I don’t want them interfering with the police. We’ll draw up some protocols as to who does what. Liaison officers for each district—that sort of thing.”

  “Seems reasonable. I agree, again.”

  “And third, I’d like to look at the possibility of putting some defenses up in space. Once these enemy forces are on the ground, it may be too late. Can you talk to Professor Habbentz about that?”

  “Gerry?” Merral thought for a moment. “Very well. I will set up a meeting with her.”

  “Thank you. And finally, do you know Prebendant Balthazar Delastro?”

  “Only by name.”

  “The prebendant is a remarkable man. His expertise is not mine, but I believe he will strengthen our hand. I would think he would make an excellent chaplain-in-chief. Of course, it is your decision.”

  “Thank you.” Merral rose to his feet. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “As do we all. But let me summon Sentinel Enand. I gather that he wants to take you to your office.”

  Clemant spoke into a desk phone briefly and then walked to the front of his desk.

  “I gather Captain Larraine has done a good job in your absence. What will you do with him?”

  “I haven’t decided where to put Zak. Training, perhaps?”

  “A good choice. I have been impressed by his attitude.” Clemant paused. “I look forward to working with you, Commander. These are challenging times.” He paused again, his pale face grave.

  There was a knock at the door. “Ah, here is our sentinel and chief of intelligence. Come up and see me if you have any problems. Our offices are very close.”

  Merral hadn’t gone far down the corridor with Vero before his friend stopped him. “A moment,” he said with a quiet urgency. “Let’s talk.”

  “Very well. It seems like the irregulars have universal support. Clemant is backing them, but has conditions.”

  Vero closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m very glad to hear of his support. What conditions though?”

  Merral explained.

  “Delastro as chaplain-in-chief?” Vero asked.

  “He will be under my command. But it was an interesting conversation with Clemant. There was a lot that was unsaid.”

  Vero nodded in agreement. “We are seeing conversations drift back to a pre-Intervention style—less trusting, less open, and more ambiguous. It would be fascinating were it not so frightening. But I’m not surprised that your meeting with Clemant was interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “My friend, let me tell you something that I suspect has not occurred to you.”

  “Go on.”

  “You and Clemant are now the two most powerful men on this planet.”

  “Oh, Vero, come on!” Merral laughed. “What about Corradon, the other representatives, or the president of the congregations, Octavio Jenat? I could name many others. And when has power ever been an issue?”

  “True. The representatives have delegated responsibility to Corradon. But he is weak and increasingly a figurehead who is reliant on Clemant. And there lies the real power. With his creation of a police force—I do wish he had consulted us—our advisor is now very important.”

  “Yes. But is it wise that Clemant has so much power? Shouldn’t the representatives be in charge?”

  �
�Maybe, but I think we can work with him.”

  “I hope so. But this police business. I’m half-minded to challenge him on that.”

  Vero shook his head urgently. “Don’t! Please.”

  “Why not? I think these police of his need to be accountable to someone else.”

  “Look, he has his police; we have the irregulars. If they keep him happy and don’t get in our way, then fine. Please leave him, Merral . . . for now.”

  Merral sighed heavily. “Very well. But these are scary days.”

  “I’m glad you noticed. We talk of the Assembly being tested but we are the Assembly; we are being tested. Now as for these urban defenses, I have a new suggestion: we set up a central team here—an architect, a planner, a historian—immediately, to advise on what is needed. They can tell us about siege warfare. They put together guidelines in a few days and then we get them sent to every town to be implemented by a small team.”

  “Agreed. Can you find me such people?”

  “Yes. I’ll make it a priority. Can you meet with them this afternoon?”

  “That soon? Of course.”

  “Good. Anyway, your office awaits.”

  9

  Vero led Merral down a flight of stairs and along a corridor to a set of doors above which a maintenance worker fixed a sign with the words Farholme Defense Force.

  “It used to be the Office for Inter-World Exchange Visits,” Vero said as an aside. “As that is now a redundant body, we have been given it.”

  He weaved his way under the ladder, through the doors, and along a line of opened cartons and boxes. Merral followed him, seeing people filling shelves and moving furniture. He was increasingly aware of eyes following him.

  They entered a large room of tightly packed tables, desks, and deskscreens. More faces swiveled toward him. Some Merral recognized: Lucia Dmitri and Maria Dalphey were in a corner; Luke Tenerelt rose from behind a desk.

  “The commander is here!” hissed a voice from a nearby doorway.

  “Relax, everyone!” Merral called out, trying to inject some confidence and enthusiasm into his voice.

  The next few minutes were taken up with handshakes, hugs, and introductions. Eventually, Merral disentangled himself and was led by Vero toward a door at the end of the room.

  “Morning, sir,” said a cheery voice, and Merral looked round to see a big man sitting at a desk by the door, a brown bag on the floor at his feet.

  “Sorry, Lloyd, I didn’t notice you.” Indeed, Merral noted, for all of Lloyd’s bulk there was something oddly unobtrusive about him.

  Vero touched Merral’s elbow. “I’ll leave you here,” he said, gesturing to a nearby door. “My office is there—well, one of my offices. I have work. You may—or may not—be able to find me there. But you can always get me on the secure diary link anytime.” He quickly departed.

  At the desk in his office, Merral found a tall, muscular man with short, wavy blond hair wearing a green uniform. Zak Larraine.

  “Welcome, Commander, sir,” Zak said with genial enthusiasm as he leaped to his feet. Merral reached out to shake hands and then, as Zak gave him a sharp, precise salute, withdrew his hand and responded in a similar fashion.

  Zak was wearing a matching shirt and trousers in a dark olive green, like the combat uniform they had worn but smarter and better fitting.

  “What are you wearing, Zak?”

  “It’s the new uniform, sir. For the office. Once we get your measurements, we will get you one.”

  “But we aren’t fighting.”

  “Sir, we are soldiers, and we dress like soldiers.”

  Merral found the idea of wearing a uniform on a daily basis once more a troubling one.

  Zak grabbed a folder and his diary from the desk and snapped upright again. “Sir, your desk.” The words were crisp and formal. “I hereby relinquish it. You are now in charge of the Farholme Defense Force.”

  “Thank you,” Merral said, wondering if he ought to respond with a similar formality.

  “Sir, you’ll be wanting me to show you what I have done.” He gestured to a tall, neat, pile of folders.

  “Yes. Of course. Take a seat Zak, uh, Captain. Tell me everything.”

  With breaks for other tasks, Merral worked with Zak for the next few hours as Zak explained how the recruiting was going and introduced him to various new FDF members.

  Merral found Zak’s unremitting eagerness not only wearisome but also troubling. Despite having seen heavy fighting at Fallambet—a man either side of him had been killed—he had not lost any enthusiasm for warfare. In fact, the fighting seemed to have intensified his zeal. Merral also realized that Zak’s earnestness for the FDF challenged his own commitment. Although I will work as hard as I can at this awful business of warfare and weapons, I do it with reluctance. Not a minute passes without me wishing it was over. Yet for Zak there is no such lack of enthusiasm.

  Yet Merral could only approve of what Zak had done over the previous week. He had pushed the development of the FDF forward with energy and insight. But when Zak explained that he had invited those who had been in the old Farholme Defense Unit to join the new force, Merral asked whether that invitation had been universal.

  Zak hesitated, his keen blue eyes evasive. “In two cases, no.” He paused. “Elihami and Xu panicked at the lake. They’re a liability, sir. We could have had a court-martial, but it seemed best just to have them dropped from the force.”

  Court-martial? Merral tried to remember what the term meant. “Give me the details,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps we can use them somewhere else. Maybe in the irregulars.”

  A frown appeared on Zak’s smooth face. “Sir, these guys failed under pressure. That is not good. They froze.”

  “Did they run away?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Let me see the reports, Captain. I’m inclined to be merciful. Fallambet was a tough place.” At Zak’s silence, he asked, “You disagree?”

  “Sir . . .” Zak seemed to struggle for words. “I reckon mercy is God’s business. But in army affairs, I think it’s a dangerous policy.”

  “Perhaps. I’m less inclined to reject it. I have needed it a bit myself. And anyway Zak—Captain—someone who fails on a strange battlefield may be very different when he or she is defending their home. ”

  “Sir, it’s your decision.”

  “It is. Reinstate them with a warning.”

  By midafternoon, Merral had acquired an administrative assistant and a pair of researchers and had already started compiling memos, organizing meetings, and chasing up facts.

  His labors were interrupted by the arrival of Frankie Thuron, whom he had last seen at the Fallambet battle. Frankie looked pale. He also wore a large dressing where his left hand had been.

  They hugged each other.

  “Sorry to hear about your hand,” Merral said.

  “Yes, it was one of those Krallen things.” Frankie grimaced. “It was about to strike again—I thought I was dead, then suddenly it turned and ran back to the ship. But it was a clean cut—those claws are like razors. They’re fixing me with a prosthetic one. It’s not the same, but I reckon I got off lightly. Better than some.” He fell silent and his brown eyes seemed filled with sadness.

  He’s remembering Lorrin Venn, Merral decided. Neither of us will ever forget that death.

  “So you decided to stay on?” Merral asked quietly.

  “I hope that’s all right, sir. I was going to ask you.” Frankie looked hopeful.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Whatever I can. The dressings will be off soon; the prosthetic’s ready. Zak was suggesting a desk job.” The look on his face communicated undisguised disappointment.

  “Frankie, I’m looking for people to command these regiments. I’d prefer people who have fought. Would you like a command position? You don’t have to say yes.”

  Frankie’s smile slowly warmed. “You mean that? That’d suit me fine, sir. It really would. I mean, wou
ld that be okay?”

  “See me tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  By four, Merral had had enough. He had met with what was already being called the Urban Defense Planning Team and sent them away with a request for some feasible ways of defending towns and settlements. He had signed orders for more—and lighter—cutter guns and prototypes of more advanced guns. In addition to confirming Frankie Thuron as colonel and head of the Eastern Regiment, Merral also interviewed and appointed two other veterans of Fallambet—Leroy Makunga and Leopold Lanier—as the heads of the Western and the Central Regiments respectively. Zak Larraine was promoted to colonel as well and put in charge of training.

  His head reeling with names of people, administrative charts, and weapons specifications, Merral left his office to look for Vero. The office door—marked simply Chief, Intelligence—was closed. Finding the room unlocked, Merral entered. Apart from a desk, a chair, and a large cabinet stuck against the wall, the windowless room was bare.

  He walked outside to the nearest desk. “Anybody seen Vero?”

  A crop-haired woman setting up a deskscreen looked blank.

  “Thin, dark-skinned guy? Sunglasses in his breast pocket?” said Merral.

  “Oh Mr. V.? He comes and goes.”

  “Did you see him go?”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see him leave. But he’s very quiet.”

  Suddenly seized by an idea, Merral walked back into the room and went over to the cabinet. The doors didn’t open. An examination and a push revealed that it was not just flush to the wall, but also securely attached to it. Suspicion mounting, he looked around for a catch or a key slot, but found nothing.

  Merral left the room and went back to the woman at the desk outside.

  “Let me guess. Were there people working in this room last week? Drilling, banging?”

  She frowned. “Yes, sir. There was a lot of dust. Why do you ask?”

  “Just forget I asked the question.”

  Merral walked back to his office. He considered calling Vero, but instead, with a heady mixture of emotions, decided to call Anya instead.