by Chris Walley
“It’s the best the scope can get, but the nearest world is nearly four hundred light-years away.”
“Remind me,” Eliza said as she stared at the images, “how far away is Bannermene?”
“About three hundred light-years. So, of course, these images are snapshots of how these worlds were at least four hundred years ago. The spectroscopic data apparently suggests advanced industry and that is backed by the detection of some faint but clearly artificial electromagnetic signals.”
He watched them examine the images.
“We have compared the new data from ancient and much poorer data files that go back to the Seeding preparation surveys of the region in the third millennium. Over the last ten thousand years, there have been major changes on these worlds. Changes that also imply human activity.”
Andreas gestured to one. “They don’t look like Assembly worlds. They’re brown. They look like those images of pre-Seeding Mars that you see. Where’s the water? Are there no brimful seas? No vast briny oceans? How tragic.”
So speaks the poet. “Good point. That’s one of a number of oddities that the research people are working on. Three things seem to be striking. One, which you have noted, is that none of the worlds are very wet. They don’t seem to have oceans; there may be lakes, but that’s all. That suggests they don’t do Seeding as well as we do.”
Eliza gave a low grunt that seemed to convey that she found the news significant.
“Another thing is that some of the intruder worlds have odd orbits. See those diagrams? That suggests they don’t have gravity modification—at least not on the scale we have. That’s to be kept quiet, because it suggests an area where we may be militarily superior.”
Eliza pointed to a diagram of orbits. “I’m no planetary scientist, but a world that orbits like that is going to have either a pretty ghastly winter or one appalling summer.”
“Or both,” Andreas added.
“So we believe. And that has implications. I’m told that when we seed worlds we aim to create planets where, from fairly early on, you can live out in the open most of the year.”
Andreas frowned. “Not here you can’t,” he said, holding up a sheet so he could look at it better. “Do they live underground? Do they only stay indoors? Do they never walk among trees? never see birds fly across the sky?” His tone was pensive. “That would be sad. They would have become different than us.”
“Yes. And there is a final thing,” Ethan said, “a sobering thing. Analysis has shown that many of the worlds have high levels of atmospheric pollutants, and in two cases, large amounts of carbon in the atmosphere.”
“Carbon dioxide?”
“No, carbon particles. The best interpretation is that these are the results of warfare, using massive weapons that burn up everything living.”
“God help us,” Eliza said quietly.
Andreas shook his head and put down the sheet, his face expressing pain. “So they fail to make proper worlds and then destroy them? That is an abomination. You should announce that. It will crush dissent.”
Ethan sighed. “It’s an interpretation, Andreas. And it might cause panic.”
Eliza handed back her sheet. “I find it tragic and scary. And it gives me nightmares. But it confirms the threat. They look to be a tough and nasty people.”
“Exactly. We only had the final report two weeks ago. Since then, whatever caution we had on military matters has been cast away.”
Andreas stared into the distance. “By their worlds you shall know them. How very remarkable that the very character of our enemies should be so apparent from so far away. But I echo Eliza; these look to be a hard people. I trust we will not be too soft.” He seemed to shudder before turning to Ethan. “Thank you for this. I will keep it to myself. But I really must get back. We are trying to define what’s happening to the Assembly in theological terms. It is producing, well . . . heated dialogue. . . . Was there anything else you wanted to say?”
“Andreas, I just wanted to ask if you had any insights, or advice for me about what’s happening here.”
“Here?” Andreas paused for several moments before continuing. “I just think that what I warned you about when we last met together applies even more so. We’re seeing a loss of unity, a failure of agreement, a growth of divergence. An ancient poet said something; let me translate it into Communal: ‘Things fall apart, the center cannot hold.’ And he went on to write: ‘The best lack all convictions, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.’ And it’s happening.” He gave Eliza a strange and stern glance. “I’m going to be honest with my old friend.”
Ethan braced himself.
“I hate to say this, but our worlds do need direction.”
“I told you I am a chairman, a consensus leader.” Is that irritation I hear in my voice?
“And you do a great job at that. But the world has changed. It is as if the bonds that united us have loosed. There is growing divergence and disagreement everywhere.” Andreas’s green eyes flashed. “Look, when this started people were stunned. But that phase is over. That’s why you now have the pressure groups. They all have their agenda. And the only answer is a positive leadership that acts to hold people together. Ethan, you must lead.”
“No. And I remind you of the constitution. I can’t.”
“You can. And anyway you can always alter the constitution. We need unity for the coming struggle. And a strong leader will turn attention away from these pressure groups. Then you just ban them for six months in the public interest.”
“But I can’t do that.”
Andreas tugged his beard in evident frustration. “In a time of war, you can. Declare a state of emergency. The custodians would support you. But you must lead.” There was clear annoyance in his voice.
“Andreas, I repeat, I am not that sort of a man.” He instantly regretted his sharp tone.
“And I respect you for that, but think of the Assembly. Lead!”
“So are you saying I am too weak?” I should stop. I’m getting too angry.
“Well, weak isn’t the best word but . . .”
“So you are.”
“Look, this is doing no good.” Andreas rose, his face agitated. “I must be off anyway. Eliza, my apologies.”
He turned to Ethan, an intense passion in his eyes. “Ethan, some parting advice. You say you are not the man. Then beware, because there is, among our scared worlds, a hunger for a strong leadership. And if you do not fill that hunger, then don’t blame me if it gets filled in a way that you do not like.”
He left the garden with brisk steps.
His heart beating rapidly, Ethan turned to Eliza who seemed close to tears, then quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I really am. I value Andreas, but he has the ability to touch raw nerves.”
“But, Eeth, you did overreact. You put words in his mouth. ‘Am I too weak?’”
“Sorry. That was unwise.” Ethan stared at her. “What’s happening to us, Eliza? What’s wrong?”
She heaved a sigh. “Sin. That’s what’s wrong.” She rose. “Look, I’d better go. This has been upsetting. I’ll be in touch another day.” She patted Ethan on the back and then left the garden.
Ethan sat for some time with his head in his hands. With a sigh he then placed the sheets back in the folder, pausing at the last picture of the far-off world.
Our enemies lie there, so far away that if they sent a ray of light it would take over seven hundred years to reach us.
But in one sense, they are already here.
32
Within a few hours of being flown to Camp Kunagat, Merral decided that, under ordinary circumstances—and when had they last prevailed?—he could have indeed enjoyed the place.
Camp Kunagat lay in the foothills of the Kenadreno Range, four hundred kilometers to the north of Isterrane, amid lakes, rocks, and green forests that seemed to go on forever. Merral was allocated a small whitewashed wooden hut with a jetty out into the clear waters of a lake. He w
as well fed and the police kept their distance.
Over the next few days Merral slept, walked among the trees, and swam. Above all, he thought and prayed. And as he prayed, it came to him that he badly needed this time to recover. Clemant’s actions were, no doubt unintentionally, a great blessing. As each day passed, Merral felt increasingly certain that a storm was gathering for which he would need all his energies and faculties.
But he was told nothing of what was going on in the outside world and he tried to stop himself worrying about what was happening there. He decided that his heavenly Father had placed him outside events for the time being, in order to recover and prepare; worry played no part in either process. Nevertheless, as the days passed he was heartened that neither Vero, Lloyd, nor Frankie joined him.
The days passed.
On the evening of the fifth day, Merral was sitting on the wooden platform that fringed the hut eating his evening meal, when the silence of the woods was broken by the squeal of a fast scout vessel landing at the nearby strip.
A few minutes later, Merral overheard the noise of a shouted argument through the trees and shortly afterward, he saw two soldiers wearing the green armor jackets of the regular forces walking up to the hut with XQ rifles at the ready. Behind them, with a determined step, strode a small woman with dark hair wearing a cream jacket and skirt.
My holiday is over. The storm is about to break.
As if they were some sort of regimental guard, the soldiers positioned themselves on either side of the porch steps, while the woman walked briskly up the steps.
“Commander D’Avanos,” she said with a bow. Merral noticed a tanned face, a deeply furrowed brow, and a preoccupied look. He decided she looked to be in her sixties.
“Last I heard, I was a forester,” Merral said, rising from his chair and extending a hand. “I think we have met somewhere; your face is familiar.”
“Ludovica Bortellat,” the woman said as she shook hands. “I was secretary of the Council of Representatives.”
“Ah. I remember.”
“May I?” the visitor asked, pulling a spare chair over.
“Please,” Merral replied and sat down himself.
They stared at each other. Merral sensed that his visitor bore responsibilities that she perhaps thought were too big for her.
“May I call you Ludovica?” he asked.
“By all means. First, an apology. There have been some astonishing meetings this week.” She frowned as she poured a glass of water. “There was one meeting today.” She stared at the water and then sipped it slowly. “There has been a restructuring; the Council of Representatives is no more. Farholme is now governed by a committee of a dozen men and women—I chair it. In the heat of the crisis too much power was allowed into the hands of one person. It was a mistake. . . .”
As she gazed around, evidently appreciating the lake and the trees, Merral found himself warming to the woman.
“I agree. Would you like some food? There is always too much here for one.”
“No, thank you. Another time perhaps. Urgent decisions must be made. Anyway, I was sent by the new committee to talk to you.” Ludovica reached inside her jacket and took out an envelope. “You’d better see my letter of authorization. Trust is no longer enough.”
Merral took the letter, glanced at its contents, and handed it back carefully.
“I have to tell you,” the visitor said, with slow deliberation, “that the powers of the police have been reduced. You are free to go. Furthermore, some decisions of former advisor Clemant are being revoked. You are restored to the rank of Commander in Chief of the Farholme Defense Force with full powers as of this moment, and with apologies. Is that acceptable?”
“Is a parallel restoration being offered to Colonel Thuron?”
“Yes.”
“And all charges against those who fought with me are dropped?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is acceptable.”
Ludovica nodded and pulled out a diary from her jacket pocket. Merral recognized it as his own. “We thought you’d like this.”
“Thank you,” Merral said as he took it. “But what does Clemant say?”
Ludovica’s bronzed face darkened. “Ah. He is not available for comment.” She paused to look around once more before turning back to Merral. “You haven’t heard any news.”
“No.” Now comes the first lash of the storm, so help me, God.
“We have had some bad news. Clemant has taken the Dove and left the system, heading for Earth.”
“But he can’t!” Merral interrupted angrily. “It’s monstrous! People died for that ship. He just went without consulting anybody?” Merral suddenly realized that he wasn’t just angry; he was also anxious.
It came to him that had he stayed in Isterrane as he had been commanded and not gone to Ynysmant, this would not have happened. This was surely what the envoy had meant by “the results of your actions remain.”
“It was done before we knew anything about it. And we think Colonel Larraine has gone with him.”
“Zak? That figures.” Yes. Had I been at Isterrane that would not have happened either. “But why take the ship?”
“He left a message for us. A copy is on your diary. Please listen to it.”
As Ludovica got up and walked down the jetty, Merral found the file.
Clemant, dark suited and pale faced, appeared on the screen. “Madam Secretary,” he said in his quiet, careful way. “I gather the council is trying to reassert its authority and that you wish to interview me. I am afraid I will have to deny you that pleasure. Before I lose my authority, I have decided to order the Dove to proceed to Bannermene and from there to Ancient Earth. I do not feel the need to justify my decision, but I feel I owe you a partial explanation.”
Clemant paused and his eyes seemed to gaze into an infinite distance. “The fact is that I believe that the Most High has committed to me a great task, one that I must fulfill. Let me explain. In the course of investigating this ship, I have become aware of just how terrible and imminent the threat to the Assembly is. This Lord-Emperor Nezhuala is a man whose ambition and hatred know no limits. He is utterly evil, a man whose energy and goals must come from the great enemy of the Assembly himself. We have recovered images from the files that show that he is preparing a vast fleet, at least a thousand ships strong and each vessel the size of the Triumph of Sarata.
“All the evidence we have is that the Dominion will unleash these forces soon. The Assembly must be warned with the utmost speed so that defenses and weapons may be prepared. I cannot wait for votes or decisions.” He paused. “There is another reason for me going. But it is a reason of which I can say nothing. It is just that if there is to be any sort of successful defense against this greatest of evils, then information we have must be given to the Assembly now.”
Merral sensed in his face and posture an attitude of total defiance.
“I must act in this fashion in order to save the Assembly. Great tasks demand courageous actions. I have been called; I must not falter or fail.”
The screen went blank.
Ludovica walked back to Merral. “There is a full meeting of the committee tomorrow at nine and we would like you to be there. We’d like your recommendations on this and other matters.” She nodded at the diary. “But any comments on that?”
Merral hesitated, trying to say something sensible. “I need to think about it. He hinted at this when I last saw him, but I didn’t understand what he was suggesting.”
“What do you think about this other reason he had? We drew a blank on it.”
“I think it is linked to Professor Gerry Habbentz.”
Ludovica’s face showed no recognition of the name.
“A physicist. She was working on weapons. Big weapons—very big. Yes, that would be it. Clemant thinks he has a weapon, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.” He realized he had to talk to Vero. “Can I make a call?”
“Of course.”
> “Vero,” he said as the dark-skinned face appeared on the screen. “Where are you?”
Vero’s expression was one of utter misery. “Brenito’s old house. You’ve heard the news?”
“About the Dove?”
“I’m so sor—”
“So am I. But we need to act. I’m on my way to talk to you. In the meantime, can you check on Gerry Habbentz? We need to find where she is.”
“Gerry?” Vero’s look was one of bemusement. “Of course, but is she important?”
“I think she’s on the ship. I think I saw her on the images from the Dove and Clemant mentioned that she was looking at the data and had found it alarming.”
Vero grimaced as if he had swallowed something bitter. “I’ll chase her up.”
“Do that. Look, I’ll see you soon.”
Merral put the diary back on his belt. He wondered about telling Ludovica that they might be able to access a second Below-Space ship, but decided against it. That could wait.
“What has happened at the peninsula?” he asked.
“Ah.” A look of discomfort crossed Ludovica’s face. “Zak disabled the ships. He was going to launch an attack, but two days ago, Clemant recalled him to Isterrane. Since then there has been a holding operation. The problem is that the forces there are still controlled by a small group of men loyal to Zak.”
Merral groaned. “Go on.”
Ludovica gave a little sigh. “They do not accept the authority of the new committee.”
“So you have a rebel unit.”
“Yes. You will be asked to try and negotiate.”
Merral said nothing. His mind was consumed by the appalling realization of the extent to which evil had invaded his world. All our unity has fled. We are now divided against each other. For some reason he thought of his parents.
“I will do what I can. You have my cooperation.”
“Thank you.”
