‘First conclusion, certainly.’
‘Is it communicating?’
‘Not yet. Or at least, not with us. If it is of Commonwealth origin, then it is reasonable to assume it can talk to the Eliters.’
‘Have the radio operators picked up a signal?’
‘Not now, but it’s been here a while. Who knows what it was doing last night? Captain, I need this area fully secured, and that’s where you come in. There aren’t many people living around here, but I need them checked out. The brigadier has assigned us – well, you – a squad of seasoned troopers. Visit the nearby crofts and farms, find out if they know anything. Some are Eliters. Did they receive a signal? Did it talk to them? That kind of thing.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There’s also a Vatni village down at the end of the valley. Possibly coincidence, but make certain. They can be quite obscure and evasive when they want to be.’
‘I understand.’
So five minutes later he was in the cab of a Terrain Truck, driving fast along the larch avenue out of the valley, a map on his knee and a list in his good hand. The foothills weren’t quite as empty as they’d seemed when he flew in. Several crofts were scattered about on the lower slopes, their occupants all surly types, struggling to make a living by themselves in the harsh landscape. They weren’t welcoming, or particularly talkative. However, his own badge, backed up with armed troopers, enabled him to elicit answers quickly enough. Everyone had heard the long thunder last night, but that was all they knew. Chaing was familiar enough with people who had something to hide to spot any subterfuge.
Then there was the Vatni village. Two of the squad assigned to him knew how to use the flute and maracas that enabled them to talk to the Vatni in their own language. The Vatni always cooperated with the regiments conducting a sweep; they hated Fallers just as much as humans did. So through the interpreters, they told Chaing that they’d all heard the strange thunder last night, but nothing else.
After that, the Terrain Trucks drove up into Albina valley as the clouds sank lower and the rain grew heavier. They pulled up outside the forest warden’s lodge and Chaing shook his head, not understanding how anybody could live out here by themselves, cut off from the rest of the world. The front door opened, and the forest warden waited for them just inside. Chaing and a couple of troopers hurried over the short distance. His clothes were already damp from the earlier drizzle; by the time he reached the lodge he was completely soaked, his nice black leather shoes ruined by mud. A dog growled at him, to be swiftly shushed by the waiting man.
Chaing flashed his badge as he checked the soggy list on his clipboard; the warden’s name had a star pencilled beside it: Eliter. ‘You’re warden Florian?’
‘Yeah. What is this? I didn’t know there’d been a Fall. The radio never said anything.’
‘There may have been. Did you hear a noise last night?’
Florian tipped his head to one side, as if consulting something. Presumably his memory files, Chaing decided.
‘There was a lot of thunder. It was strange. Like they all merged together into one big blast.’
‘So I understand.’ He gave Florian a closer look. The list said he was twenty-eight, which given his appearance was hard to believe. Sure enough, he had the lean, well-muscled frame of someone in their twenties, but his face was so haggard under several days’ stubble he could have been fifty. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Didn’t sleep much. I think I’m coming down with Cham flu.’
‘Who’ve you seen recently?’
‘What?’
‘You can only catch Cham flu from other people. So who have you seen?’
‘No one. Well . . . The storekeeper. I go down to Wymondon every couple of weeks to stock up. But that’s all.’
‘Right.’ Chaing studied the living room. The kitchen end with the range was slightly surprising – it had a lot of pots and implements; he hadn’t been expecting that. However, the rest of the living room was a bit of a shambles. Still, Florian was a bachelor living all by himself, and had been for years. In truth the state of the lodge wasn’t much worse than Chaing’s own apartment. There was the heavy scent of wood smoke in the air from the logs burning away in the range stove. But that couldn’t disguise another, quite unpleasant, smell. Even the troopers were wrinkling up their noses. Privy not working properly, probably overflowing in the rain, Chaing thought, and suddenly didn’t want to look at his shoes to make sure it was mud . . . ‘So is that the store in Wymondon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are any of your friends around here?’
Florian yawned; his eyes blinked slowly as if he could barely stay awake. ‘I don’t have friends.’
‘You know who I mean,’ Chaing said, letting some displeasure show. There was something not quite right about this. Everything looked as it should do. The warden was a recluse – a little wild, nervous and uncertain around other people. Again perfectly acceptable, and yet— Could he be sick with some disease from space? Uracus, I’m paranoid, but he does look like crud.
‘I know who you mean,’ Florian said belligerently, ‘and I don’t have any friends. I’m here to get away from everybody. Them. You . . .’
‘Very well. Your thumb, please.’
The troopers put their hands on their carbines as Florian extended his hand. Chaing took out the slim box all PSR personnel carried, took out a needle, and pricked Florian’s skin. A drop of red blood welled up.
The troopers visibly relaxed.
‘Happy now?’ Florian asked.
‘Happy you’re not a Faller. You’re sure you didn’t see anything last night?’
‘What are you people looking for?’
‘Hey! I ask the questions. Did you see anything?’
Florian bowed his head, unable to meet Chaing’s stare. ‘There wasn’t anything happening last night,’ he mumbled sourly.
Chaing’s problem was the man’s reserve. Florian was clearly a natural introvert, which wasn’t quite a crime, but PSR technique was to encourage suspects to talk. The more they talked, the more inconsistencies would inevitably build up, condemning them. Florian clearly wasn’t going to utter a single word more than he had to.
Chaing glanced down at the dog, who was standing at Florian’s side, tail wagging. He carried on looking round the living room, but there really was nothing out of place. ‘All right. We’re going now. But if you hear anything, or pick up a link signal – anything – you report it, okay?’
‘Yeah,’ Florian grunted, still not looking directly at Chaing.
Chaing dashed back to the Terrain Truck, getting even wetter. It was only mud on the ground outside the lodge.
‘Where now?’ the driver asked.
Chaing consulted the list. ‘The Mellhoff farm. That’s at the far end of the lake.’
*
Three hours later they were driving back up the larch avenue into Naxian valley. The driver had to brake and pull off the side of the track to make room for a convoy heading the other way. Three tracked troop carriers trundled past in the rain, followed by two big covered lorries, then another three troop carriers made up the rear.
Chaing saw the brigadier sitting in the cab of the first troop carrier. Then he watched the two lorries carefully, wondering which one was carrying the alien cylinder. His driver so clearly wanted to ask What is going on? but managed to stay quiet.
‘Just take us up to the farm,’ Chaing said, not without sympathy.
When they arrived, the helicopter’s blades were starting to turn. Stonal walked down out of the command post, holding up an umbrella to ward off the persistent rain. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Chaing reported, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘They all heard the thunder it made, but that’s all.’ He waited while Stonal considered this. The Section Seven director made no attempt to include him under the umbrella’s cover.
‘Very well,’ Stonal said eventually. ‘I’m taking the Commonwealth device back to
Varlan for proper examination.’
‘Is that wise, sir? Suppose it’s a bomb?’
‘The evidence is against it being a weapon, captain. For a start, it’s too big. The quantumbuster that knocked us out of the Void wasn’t even a quarter of its size.’
Chaing thought that was a nonsense, but held his tongue.
‘Captain Philious described the quantumbusters to my father,’ Stonal said in mild censure. ‘Who went on to describe them to me in great detail.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Chaing began to wonder if the telepathic ability that everyone had in the Void had somehow stayed with Stonal.
‘Indeed, it is that very size which does concern me. In volume, the object is actually close to the space pod which Mother Laura arrived in.’
‘Yes,’ Chaing said, not really knowing what he was agreeing with.
‘Therefore, the object is quite large enough to contain a human.’
‘Ah.’
‘Ah, indeed, Captain Chaing. So if it has brought a Commonwealth citizen to Bienvenido, they will either still be inside it, or . . .’ He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
Chaing turned to gaze across at the slopes of the valley, the big square fields and scattered clumps of trees, the oppressive cloud obscuring the tops of the mountains beyond. ‘Oh crud. He could be out there, hiding in the trees.’
‘It is a possibility we have to consider until such time as we can disprove it. There are bloodhounds on their way from the regiment headquarters. If someone did get out of the object, the dogs should pick up his trace.’
‘In this rain?’ Chaing said dubiously. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘You have my full support to begin a search.’
‘Sir?’
Stonal pointed to the helicopter. ‘I am accompanying the space object back to Varlan. You are now in charge here. Colonel Hokianga has been informed of that.’
‘But—’
Stonal raised an eyebrow and Chaing sighed. Senior officers didn’t change no matter what branch of government they served in. To qualify, you simply had to be able to dump a pile of steaming turds on your juniors from a great height without warning. ‘If he’s here, I’ll find him.’
‘Excellent. You know how to contact me if you do,’ Stonal said, and walked over to the helicopter. The blades began to spin faster. Chaing hurriedly backed away as the machine took off amid a hurricane spray of rain.
*
It was still raining when the bloodhounds arrived an hour later – ten of the big animals, barking and howling inside the back of a converted troop carrier. Chaing met their handlers, and took them up the small hillock to the silver birch spinney where the space object had come down. There were still some of the big vehicles parked there, including a mobile crane which had got stuck in the mud. He stood in the middle of a small quagmire which feet and tyres had churned up and explained what he wanted, ignoring the glances the handlers exchanged.
‘I know it’s difficult,’ he told them, ‘but you have to try. See if the dogs can pick up anything.’
The handlers set off in pairs, with a large squad of troopers following each one. Chaing watched them go, slipping and sliding down the wet lingrass, knowing it was all useless. The rain would’ve obliterated any spoor hours ago. Consequently, he’d had a difficult conversation with Hokianga about mounting a proper sweep. The colonel had been against it, but Chaing insisted. Once he’d written off the bloodhounds, a visual sighting was all he was left with. And besides, a full-on sweep covered his arse with Stonal.
Hokianga reluctantly agreed, and called his officers together. Despite their disapproval, they carried out the operation professionally. Troopers were sent out along the length of the Naxian valley where they formed up into two lines. When the order was given, those lines would separate and walk up into the foothills on both sides. A classic, simple sweep, although the regiment didn’t usually conduct it on such a scale. Nor in such poor conditions – at night and in the rain, moving through trees. But then again, someone might spot something.
This event was too momentous for timidity and caution. A Commonwealth spacecraft!
All the time he’d spent driving about in the Terrain Truck that morning, he’d tried to understand what it would mean for Bienvenido if the Commonwealth did make contact. Eliter propaganda – handed down from Nigel and doubtless encouraged by the Warrior Angel – claimed contact would bring about the end of all struggle: a profound liberation not just from the Fallers, but for society as a whole. Like going to live in Giu’s glory. Which made Chaing certain of one thing – that kind of deliverance did not start with a small cylinder dropping into a remote valley.
But then, that was how Nigel arrived.
He went into the mobile command post, where almost all conversation stopped as the officers glanced at him. They resented him being placed in charge, he knew that, but no one argued with a Section Seven officer. He almost laughed at the bitter irony – that the one person who he wanted to be here right now, the one person who might actually know what to do, was the Warrior Angel.
She must know something had happened. The regimental deployment wasn’t a secret. And the space machine’s sonic boom had been heard across a thousand kilometres. She’d be on her way, if she wasn’t already lurking close by. And he had no idea what to do if he encountered her again.
Chaing looked at the large-scale map spread out over the command post’s table. Hokianga’s people had put together a decent ground plan. Coloured lines and pins showed deployment patterns, stretching the regiment out across the Naxian valley. The communication staff were chattering away constantly, keeping the map updated. The lines were almost complete.
‘We’ll be lucky if we get another three hours of daylight,’ Colonel Hokianga said.
‘Conditions are as bad for him as they are for us.’
‘Very well. But I am officially on record as advising against this.’
‘Understood.’
‘The squads are all in position. I’ll give the order for them to start.’
‘Thank you.’ Chaing looked at the map again, but couldn’t really focus. Inside the cast, his wrist was throbbing badly, as if it was attempting the break through the thick plaster. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his painkillers. Holding the little bottle in his bad hand, he managed to unscrew the top; no way was he going to ask the regiment officers for help.
He swallowed a couple of the pills, then went outside where he could actually see the operation. The gloomy light and thick rain closed visibility down to little more than a couple of kilometres, but he could make out the line of troopers beyond the sprawling farmhouse, stretching off into the dreary grey haze that clotted the far end of the valley. Forlorn figures huddled in long brown oilskin ponchos, their bulky packs making them all look like hunchbacks. As he watched they began to move, splitting into two lines that slowly moved apart as they trudged across the wet fields towards the slopes beyond.
The sight wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.
In front of him, two headquarters troopers carried a dead sheep across the farmyard to the mess tent that had been set up in the corner.
Chaing watched them for a moment, slightly baffled, before asking:
‘What are you doing with that?’
‘It’s for the cook, sir,’ one of them replied. ‘He’s going to use it for the headquarters staff meal tonight.’
‘Did the Ealton family say you could kill one of their sheep?’
‘No, sir. It was dead anyway. Garrel’s squad found it down by the stream this morning.’
‘That’s even worse. You don’t know what it died from. It could be diseased.’
‘It wasn’t ill. Someone shot it with a crossbow.’
Despite the cold rain, Chaing felt the skin along his spine chill down. ‘What?’
‘Somebody shot it. It’s only been dead a few hours. Chef said it’ll be fine to eat.’
Chaing ran across the yard
to examine the sheep. Sure enough, the quarrel was still sticking out of its skull. And he’d seen that type of quarrel once already today. ‘Oh crudding Uracus.’
*
Five Terrain Trucks and two troop carriers roared back along the rough track up Albina valley. The front wheels in the lead Terrain Truck weren’t getting much traction at the speed the driver was going. Chaing winced as the bulky vehicle slewed about, snapping off browfrey saplings that lined the track. They came to a halt outside the warden’s lodge, spraying up fantails of mud. The other vehicles carried on past them, surrounding the low building. Troops leapt out, forming a tight ring. Over thirty carbines were levelled at the lodge, safeties off.
‘The Openland has gone,’ Chaing observed through the windscreen. ‘The little tit’s on the run.’
‘He won’t get far,’ Hokianga said. He turned to the radio operator in the back of the cab. ‘Signal to all our units. The target is running. Vehicle type confirmed as an Openland. Harden all roadblocks. Pursuit vehicles continue on assigned patrol routes.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the radio operator confirmed.
‘This whole region is covered,’ the colonel assured Chaing. ‘That Eliter’s not going anywhere. I know Openlanders. Top speed eighty klicks, and that’s when they’re factory fresh. These brutes,’ he banged the Terrain Truck’s door, ‘can make a hundred and ten, no trouble.’
In these conditions? Chaing held his tongue and climbed out of the cab, walking towards the lodge with his pistol held ready in his good hand. Five troopers crashed through the door ahead of him, immediately spreading out through the rooms inside.
‘Empty,’ came the cry.
Chaing went into the living room, with Colonel Hokianga right behind him. He went straight over to the wall where the crossbow was still hanging and held up the quarrel he’d removed from the sheep. It was identical to the others clipped to the crossbow’s stock.
‘So he was in Naxian valley last night, then,’ Hokianga said.
‘Yeah.’ Chaing glanced over at the kitchen with its big collection of pots and pans. The biggest pot of all held the remnants of a stew. ‘Stealing a sheep. Probably does it every week. So my real question is: why leave the sheep?’
A Night Without Stars Page 22
