by Chris Walley
“You were planning to merge?” Vero’s voice was filled with incredulity.
Azeras seemed embarrassed. “It was an idea, that was all. We would have turned up in different communities over time with memory loss. In a world of thirty million people and no suspicions, it wouldn’t be hard to lose a dozen men. You don’t even have identity chips.”
“Is that why you learned our language so well?”
“Yeah.”
Vero, who had been staring into the distance, turned to look at the man in the bed. “With a green, four-legged talking machine?”
Azeras shrugged. “The Allenix units were superfluous. We would have got rid of them.”
Perena shook her head in a manner that suggested utter disbelief. “So, Sarudar, in order to merge into Ilakuma you would have ‘got rid of’ Betafor?”
“Yeah.”
She expelled a long, slow breath. “I really don’t know whether to find this funny, tragic, or utterly incomprehensible. She planned to get rid of you; you planned to get rid of her.”
“Lady Captain, that’s a fair insight into how things work.”
Perena swallowed. “How they worked, Sarudar. Past tense. Things here are different.”
“All right.” Azeras tried craning his head to see her, but gave up the effort. “Have it your way—”
“It’s not my way. It’s the way things are done here. The Assembly belongs to the Lamb.” Perena’s face was stern.
Azeras waved a dismissive hand. “Right. Apologies. Sorry. Anyway, I was dropped off on Ilakuma with that thing to survey a new site. I had been there a few days and had found a place. Betafor was to help on that. We were on the lookout in case the area was visited by hunting parties.”
Merral was suddenly struck by how the small details of the conversations highlighted the gulf between the cultures. The phrase hunting parties—presumably men pursuing animals to kill them for fun or food—was a case in point.
“Then the news came from the Slave that they were being watched and were preparing to leave urgently. The next morning we got the message that they were under attack. Then there was silence.”
Azeras fingered his bracelet.
“The Krallen on the ship. Whose were they?” Vero asked in a sharp tone.
“The Dominion’s.”
“The Freeborn don’t use them?”
“Well, only when we acquire them and reprogram them.”
“Are you sure? We want the truth.”
“Oh, well,” Azeras said with a shrug. “Both sides use them. And if any are captured, their loyalties are realigned.”
Merral saw Perena whisper something to Vero.
“One issue,” Vero asked. “A fundamental one. You talk of fate, destiny, and the powers: what do your worlds believe?”
“In the Freeborn Worlds there are—or were —no fixed beliefs. We are free, right? Some of us believe in a god or gods, others believe in Fate. Some believe that our destiny can be changed; others that we must play the parts that are written for us.”
He frowned and fell silent. “We also believe in the powers. Communal does not have an exact word for them. Dark spirits? Demons? Perhaps. Things like the steersmen and the—” He stopped himself. “A man will do well to keep them away from him and his family. There are rituals—ways of keeping them away.” He made again the odd circular gesture with his forefinger and then sighed. “Or of trying to keep them away. But they are never fully defeated. The powers always win in the end.”
“They don’t!” The sharp defiance in Perena’s voice made everyone turn toward her.
“Fine words, Lady Captain, but you asked me for my beliefs. And when you have seen what I have seen, you may think otherwise.”
“And the Dominion?” Vero asked.
Azeras scowled. “The Dominion? They increasingly treat Nezhuala as a god. And they know no boundaries.” He looked around. “I swear on the powers: the Freeborn have always held to limits in their dealings with the powers, but not the Dominion. Nezhuala has gone furthest of all. He has summoned the most potent forces to aid him. His victories are not achieved just by his men or machines. He fights with things that cannot be resisted. Of—” Suddenly he broke off. “What Nezhuala is doing is not something I wish to talk about. Not now. Perhaps later.”
“Indeed,” Merral said. “We have spoken of that enough. But you know we have no such dealings? That we serve only the one God: Father, Son, and Spirit?”
Vero and Perena nodded.
“That I know.”
There was a silence in which Merral could hear the whisper of the air- conditioning and the muted sound of the sea.
“Does this help your verdict?” Azeras asked.
“Perhaps,” Merral said.
Vero leaned forward. “Let me ask you a question: what would you like to do?”
“Me? Using standard years, I am thirty-five. I have been a fighter for half that time. I did not choose to be one. There are many other careers I would have preferred—a scholar perhaps. No doubt you see us as monsters or barbarians—”
“No!” interrupted Perena. “We see you as . . .” She faltered. “A tragedy. I wish we had known about you generations ago. Then we might have helped.”
Azeras seemed to ponder her words. “Thank you, Lady Captain. But we are human like you. We love, we care, and we weep.” He stared out of the window. “I have known suffering. All who have been close to me—lovers, children, colleagues, comrades—all now are lost beyond recall in death’s gray lands. The powers always win.”
He fell silent, his eyes evidently tracing the path of a flock of white-winged terns as they skimmed over the waters. “This is a beautiful world. We appreciate beauty, you know. We have little of it and little time for it. What would I like? I would like peace. . . . A hut at the water’s edge.”
Merral was suddenly overwhelmed by sympathy for this man and his sorrows and longings. He heard Perena sniff and saw her rub her eyes.
Azeras looked at Merral and Vero, his gray eyes now almost defiant again. “But why tease me with my wishes? I am your prisoner, at your disposal. Whatever I now face, I trust I will face with honor and courage.”
How strange. I had expected to fear this man, loathe him perhaps. But instead I find that, like Perena, my emotion is pity. Merral glanced at Vero and then turned to the thin man on the bed. “We’ll consider your situation this evening and talk to you tomorrow. Do you have anything else to say?”
“Yes. I ask for mercy.”
18
Outside the ward, Merral, Perena, and Vero walked to the end of the corridor.
“Are you all right, Perena?” Vero asked.
“No. The whole thing . . .” Perena stared down the corridor, her face pale. “The history of the Freeborn makes me want to cry. I’d assumed—we all had—that for the last twelve thousand years ours was the only story. I now find that while we have had our prosperity and peace, far beneath us this other tale of endless, awful misery has been unfolding. We have had sunlight; they have been in utter darkness. Cities, countries—even whole planets—laid waste. It’s horrid beyond words.”
There was a long and sympathetic silence.
Finally Merral said, “Perena, at the start something passed between you and Azeras. I was wondering what.”
She blushed. “I was just stunned by the way he looked at me with . . . a fire of lust. His eyes were almost stripping me bare. I’ve never felt that before. . . .”
Vero’s face tightened.
Merral found himself staring at the floor. “We all need time to think,” he said, deciding that a change of subject was appropriate. “But over supper, we need to decide what we do with this man. Do we treat him as an enemy? Do we try and get him on our side? Do we even believe him?”
Vero stared at the ground. “Yes, those are some of the many questions. I need to think more. Look, I’ll be inside. I need to make some calls about the irregulars. It needs to be business as usual or people will suspect.”
>
Without a word he put his dark glasses on and walked down the corridor.
Perena watched him go and then, with a troubled face, turned to Merral. “It’s all too much. I’m going for a run. Maybe some exercise will clear my mind.”
Merral toyed with going for a run too, but decided on a short walk instead. He found a path that led to a small raised ridge of debris from the reefs covered in palms and vegetation.
Since being abandoned after the Gate’s destruction, vegetation had started to reclaim the island; creepers, vines, and wiry grasses had begun to cover the path. On an impulse, Merral went back inside and found a bush knife and then cleared the path, finding the exercise soothing. On top of the ridge, he found a dusty table and some chairs set out under a crude and sagging shade of thatched palm fronds. He tidied up the place a little and then sat down and stared at the pristine green-blue of the sunlit sea, listening to the rumble of the waves on the beach as he pondered all he had heard and the many issues the information raised.
Finally, Merral contacted Isterrane on the secure line and, careful not to give away his location, answered various urgent calls that had been sent to him. One was oddly troubling. The guards at Brenito’s house were worried about Jorgio. Over the last few days he had become distressed and complained of having had terrible dreams. Merral made a mental note to visit him and then, still preoccupied by Azeras’s words, attempted to get through his correspondence.
Some time later, as the shadows lengthened, Perena joined him. She still seemed troubled.
“How was the run?” he asked.
“It helped me deal with things, especially that awful revelation of a dark underside to our existence that we had never suspected.”
“I know. Perena, the only consolation I can find—and it is a small one—is the scale of it all. The Freeborn have never been more than a small fraction of the Assembly’s numbers. At times it seems, they were barely a millionth of our size.”
“But, Merral, think . . . we’re still talking about hundreds of thousands, even millions, of individuals.”
“I know.”
Her face cleared. “And yet there is a brighter side. For the first time, I see the value of the Assembly—of all we’ve stood for. Without God’s grace, we would have been like them.”
“A good point.”
“And it emphasizes the value of what we must fight for.”
Minutes later, Merral looked up to see Vero slowly walking toward them. Without a word, he sat down and stared out to sea.
“The test results are in,” he suddenly announced in a perplexed tone. “Betafor’s patch was a toxin. One of a family of drugs that can give sudden nervous system failure. We would never have suspected it. So we have a legal novelty: Farholme’s first attempted murder. And, just to make life more fun, committed by a sentient machine.”
The debate on the weighty matters raised by Betafor and Azeras lasted all evening. Merral, Vero, and Perena sat outside on the ridge and, as the light faded, Lloyd, who had volunteered to cook, joined them with supper. As they discussed the issues raised, the evening darkened into night and the stars in all their glory came out above them.
They all agreed that matters were complex. Were they passing a legal judgment? Had they any right to do so? Vero suggested that, as commander in time of war, Merral had the authority to pass military judgments. The others agreed and despite a profound unease, Merral found himself accepting that view. It simplified matters and indeed there was no other option. It was another military necessity.
Afterward they discussed whether they could trust anything that either Betafor or Azeras said. It had been proved that one was a liar and that the other didn’t tell the whole truth. All agreed that both had to be treated with caution.
“We have already learned much and, if we can handle these two in the right way, we will learn much more,” said Vero. “And this knowledge is made even more valuable by virtue of the fact that the Dominion will not know we have it. Ironically, we find ourselves in agreement with our guests—we must not reveal their existence. We must pretend that everything perished with the ship. Whatever we do, they must be our greatest secret.”
Eventually, late at night and after prayer, they reached their decisions. The judgment on Betafor was easy to agree on; that concerning Azeras was less easy. In the end, they decided to take a risk.
The next morning Merral, Vero, and Perena, accompanied by Lloyd and his double-barreled gun, went to see Betafor in the basement room where she had been placed.
To their surprise, they found her hanging upside down from the ceiling beams. As they entered she released her grip, spinning as she dropped, and landed softly on all four feet.
“Betafor,” Merral said, “we have considered your case. We find you guilty of attempted murder. Do you have anything to say?”
Betafor’s mouth moved into a tauter version of the pseudosmile. “Yes. You cannot blame me. Human beings made me. It is your fault. I am programmed for . . . survival.”
“An interesting defense,” Merral said, suddenly at a loss for an answer. He looked to the others for help.
“May I, Commander?” Perena said.
“By all means.”
“Betafor, are you a person or a machine?”
“A person.”
“Machines can’t choose; a person can. Can you make choices?”
Betafor said nothing.
Merral watched her closely. Check.
Perena waited for a moment. “If we accepted your defense, we would have to agree that you were a machine, not a person. We would therefore treat you as a thing and probably would dismantle you. Given that, do you still wish to offer that defense? Or do you wish to withdraw it?”
Checkmate.
Betafor’s tail whisked backward and forward across the floor.
A nervous twitch?
Finally she spoke. “I withdraw it.”
“Thank you, Perena,” Merral said. “Betafor, our sentence is this: First, you are to be kept under guard for the foreseeable future. Second, any further attempt to hurt anyone else will result in your instant termination. Do you understand these two rules?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now third, we are concerned about the Krallen and believe that you may hold the key to any defense against them. You are therefore offered a choice: either help us develop defenses against them voluntarily or we’ll use you without your permission. Do you want Lloyd to explain the last option?”
Betafor’s head swiveled toward Lloyd, and in the twist of the lips Merral sensed unmistakable hatred. “As you wish. I will help you.”
“Thank you. That’s all for the moment.”
Five minutes later, in room six, Merral, in the presence of Vero and Perena, delivered another judgment.
Is this going to work? Or have we made a mistake?
“Sarudar Azeras,” he said, “deciding on a verdict has been hard. We have no laws in such cases and I fear that even if we could bring you to the authorities in Isterrane it would be years before the suitable legislation could be formulated. However, there are many ancient precedents under military law for actions in time of war. So, as commander of the forces of Farholme, I pass judgment. I recognize that you and your colleagues fought against us and that your ship brought us great trouble. Yet you have pleaded for mercy and I choose to offer you mercy. If you promise, on solemn oath, not to harm us or the Assembly, I will set you free without any other conditions.”
“Free?” Azeras gave them a look of pure distrust.
“Yes. As free as we are. You may come to Isterrane and we will give you clothes, a diary, and everything else you need. Then you may go where you please. Your people style themselves the True Freeborn; we will grant you freedom.”
“Is this a genuine offer?” The tone was wary.
“Yes. The Assembly operates on the principle of grace. As the Most High has forgiven us, so we must forgive you.”
“So I would become a member of the
Assembly?”
“Yes. There is no other way of existence here.”
“Would I have to follow your way of life?”
“Yes. To do otherwise would be to work against us.”
Azeras evidently puzzled, rubbed his pale face with his hand. “And would I have to believe in the same things?”
“We cannot force your beliefs. But our actions flow from what we believe. You would find it easiest to work for the good of the Assembly—and be a member of the Assembly—if you sought to follow the Assembly’s King.”
“Yeah.” Azeras looked at the three of them with a tight-lipped expression. “You’ll excuse me if I am cautious, even suspicious.”
“It is a genuine offer. If you accept the conditions we have stated, we will declare what you did a past matter.”
“So, I could just walk away and do what I want?”
“As long as you didn’t seek to harm us.”
“Generous. Or foolish.”
“Grace can be seen as foolishness. But there is one thing.”
“Ah, the catch.”
Merral ignored his comment. “Farholme faces a war against an enemy. You know that enemy; we do not. We would prefer your assistance in our struggle. But we cannot demand it.”
Azeras slowly got to his feet, shuffled to the window, and stared out toward the sea. “So, on the one hand, I’m set free, but on the other, I’m given a request that I cannot easily refuse.”
He fell silent for several moments. Finally, he said, “You can’t imagine—none of you can—what it is like to spend all your adult life fighting. To lose everything you have cared for. I lost a lover and two children. And, where it counts, I lost my own life. I might have been something: a poet, a teacher of languages . . . I don’t know.” He leaned against the glass and then turned to them, his pale face defiant. “I do not want to assist you, to help you make weapons or teach you tactics. . . . No! I don’t want to see a uniform or a weapon ever again. I would give almost everything to find peace.” He gestured over his shoulder. “I want my beach.”
