Faded Sun Trilogy Omnibus

by C. J. Cherryh

  Stavros angled his sled to look up at him, a sidewise motion of the eyes. “Yes, you do. I want you to apply your talents and prepare me a full report on the mri. Use any authority you want that doesn’t involve actually touching the mri themselves.”

  “What value is that?” Duncan asked. “I’m so scientist.”

  “Your practical experience,” Stavros said, “makes such a report valuable: not for the researchers, but for me.”

  “I’ll need clearance over there.”

  Stavros scowled. “I’ll tell you something, Duncan, and you listen to me. I don’t share your enthusiasm for preserving the mri. They were a plague in the universe, a blight, at best an anachronism among species that have learned their lessons of civilization to better advantage. They are probably the most efficient killers in all creation; but we didn’t bring them to extinction, nor did the regul—nor did you. They are dying because they have no interest in comprehending any other way of life. No quarter, no prisoners, no negotiation or compromise: everything is black and white in their eyes, nothing gray. I don’t blame them for it; but their way of life was destruction, and they’re dying now by the same standard they applied to others: nature’s bias, if you like, not mine. Convince me otherwise if you can. And be careful with them. If you don’t respect them for what they are, instead of what your delirium remembers, then those two mri will end up killing someone: themselves certainly; you, likely; others, very possibly.”

  “Then I will be allowed access to them.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Give me that now, and I can talk with them as the staff can’t. Keep the medics and their drugs away from them while they have minds left.”

  “Duncan—” Stavros started moving again, slowly, turning the corner at the top of the ramp. “You were the one exception to their no-prisoner rule, the one exception in forty years. You are aware, of course, that there may have been a certain irrational sense of dependency generated there, in the desert, in their environment in your unexpected survival. They gave you food and water, kept you alive, contrary to your own natural expectations; you received every necessity of life from their hands. When you expect ill and receive good instead, it has certain emotional effects, even when you really know nothing about the motives of the people involved. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m aware of that possibility. It may be valid.”

  “And that’s what you want to find out, is it?”

  “That, among other things.”

  They reached the door of Stavros’ apartments. Stavros opened it by remote, slipped in and whipped the sled about, facing him in the doorway. Evans stood across the room, seeming surprised at them: a young man, Evans—Duncan looked at him, who had been the focus of his bitter jealousy, and found a quiet, not particularly personable youth.

  “Take the afternoon off,” Stavros said to Duncan. “Stay in the Nom. I’ll prepare an order transferring you to Flower and salving feelings among the civs over there. I’ll send you a copy of it. And I expect you realize I don’t want any feelings ruffled over there among the scientific staff; they don’t like the military much. Use tact. You’ll get more out of them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Duncan was almost trembling with anxiety, for almost all that he wanted was in his hands, everything. “And access to their mri themselves—”

  “No. Not yet. Not yet. Go on. Give me time.”

  Duncan tried to make a gesture of some sort, a courtesy; it was never easy at the best of times between himself and Stavros. In the end he murmured something inarticulate and left, awkward in the leaving.

  “Sir?”

  Stavros turned the sled about, remembered that he had ordered lunch when he returned. He accepted the offered mug of soup and scowled at Evans’ attempt to help him with it, took it into his own hands. Returning function in his afflicted limbs made him arrogant in his regained independence. He analyzed his irritation as impatience with his own unresponding muscles and Evans merely as a convenient focus. He murmured a surly thanks.

  “Files on the mri,” he ordered Evans. “And on Sten Duncan.”

  Evans moved to obey. Stavros settled and drank the soup, savoring something prepared entirely by humans, seasoned with human understanding of spices. It was too new a luxury after the long stay in regul care to take entirely for granted; but after a moment the cup rested neglected in his hand.

  The fact was that he missed Duncan.

  He missed him sorely, and still reckoned him better spent as he had just disposed of him. The SurTac had entered service with him as a bodyguard disguised as a servant, drawn out of combat at war’s end to dance attendance on a diplomat. Duncan was a young man, if any man who had seen action at Elag/Haven could ever again be called young. He was remarkable in his intelligence, according to records which Duncan had probably never seen—another of the young men that the war had snatched up and swallowed whole before they had ever known what they might have been. Duncan had learned to take orders, but SurTac-style: loners, the men of his service, unaccustomed to close direction. They were usually given only an objective, limited in scope, and told to accomplish it: the rest was up to the SurTac, a specialist in alien environment, survival, and warfare behind the enemy’s lines.

  Stavros himself had sent the SurTac out to learn Kesrith.

  And Kesrith had nearly killed Duncan. Even the look of him was changed, reshaped by the forge of the Kesrithi desert. Something was gone, that had been there before Duncan had gone out into that wilderness—his youth, perhaps; his humanity, possibly. He bore scars of it, face half-tanned from wearing mri veils in the searing sunlight, frown lines burned into the edges of his eyes, making them hard and different. He had come back with lungs racked and his breathing impaired from the thin air and caustic dust, with his body weight down by a considerable measure, and a strange, fragile tread, as if he mistrusted the very flooring. Days in sickbay had taken care of the physical injuries, restored him with all the array of advanced equipment available on the probe ship; but there was damage that would never be reached, that had stamped the look of the fanatic on the young SurTac.

  The regul bai was correct when he perceived Sten Duncan as an enemy. The regul as a species had no more deadly enemy than this, save the mri themselves. Duncan hated, and Duncan knew the regul better than any human living save Stavros himself, for they two had come alone among regul, the first humans to breach the barriers to contact between regul and humanity, here on Kesrith.

  And most particularly Duncan hated bai Hulagh Alagn-ni: Hulagh, who had done precisely what Duncan accused him of doing, killing the mri who had served regulkind as mercenaries, obliterating a sapient species. Hulagh had done it for desperate fear, and for greed, which were intertwined. But bai Hulagh was moved now by fear of disgrace among his own kind and by dawning hope of gain from humans; he had become stranded on the world he had hoped to plunder, among humans whom he had hoped to cheat and disgrace. And bai Hulagh thus became vulnerable and valuable.

  The fact was that one could not, as Duncan tried to do, say regul, and comprehend in that word the reasons and actions of a given member of regulkind. A quasi-nation of merchants and scholars, the regul; but their docha, their associations of birth and trade, were each as independent as separate nations in most dealings. Hulagh was of doch Alagn, and Alagn, a new force in regul politics, had stopped the war. The employers of the mri mercenaries who had wrought such destruction in human space were doch Holn, the great rivals and enemies of Alagn.

  Doch Holn had ceded Kesrith at war’s end, compelled by the treaty; and in the passing of Kesrith to human control, Holn had fallen to Alagn. But Holn had had its revenge: it had cast Hulagh Alagn-ni into command of Kesrith ignorant of mri and of the nature of Kesrith. The weather had turned: Alagn had been faced with the collapse of their effort at evacuation and plunder of Kesrith; and confronted with incoming humans, Hulagh had panicked. In that panic, seeking to avert human wrath, Hulagh had done murder.

&n
bsp; It was possible that by that act of murder, that annihilation of the mri, bai Hulagh had saved the lives of those incoming humans, all the personnel of Saber and Flower, Fox and Hannibal. It was possible that humanity guiltily owed bai Hulagh a debt of gratitude, for a sweeping action that human policy could never have taken.

  Duncan, who believed in absolute justice, could not accept such a thought; but the truth was that doch Alagn and its ruler, Hulagh, were in every respect useful to Kesrith, most particularly in their reliance on humans and in their burning hatred for doch Holn, who had maneuvered them into this unhappy circumstance. For Duncan, as for the mri, there was only black and white, right and wrong. It was impossible to explain to Duncan that Alagn must be cultivated, strengthened, and aimed at Holn, a process too long-range and too little honest for the SurTac.

  The mri, moreover, were Holn-hired and Holn-managed throughout their history—and it was above all else necessary that what Hulagh had done on Kesrith be final: that the mri species be in fact obliterated, and that Holn not maintain in some secret place another force of the breed, those most efficient and skilled killers, for whom Duncan found such tender sympathy. The regul without the mri were incapable of war, constitutionally and physically incapable. With the mri, the regul were capable to any extent. If any mri survived, they could bear no love to doch Alagn for what Hulagh had done to their kind; and personal involvement of the mri in a war, for their own motives and not for hire, was a specter that hung over both Alagn and humanity.

  The soup turned sour in Stavros’ mouth while he contemplated what measures might eventually prove necessary with the remaining two mri: Duncan’s mri. Duncan was a man of single sight and direct action, innocent in his way; and it was something that Stavros had no wish to do—to destroy in the SurTac that which had made him at once a valued adviser and a reliable agent.

  He loved Duncan as a son.

  For one of his sons, he would have felt less remorse.

  Chapter Two

  The order went out in the evening. Duncan read and re-read the photocopy over a solitary supper in his quarters in the Nom, at a table littered with other notes, his handmade and carefully gathered materials.

  Special liaison: that was the title that Stavros had chosen to ease his transfer into Flower’s tight community. The order linked him to the governor’s essentially civilian wing, and not to the military presence that orbited in conjunction with the station, and Duncan appreciated that distinction, that would find more grace with Flower’s personnel. He was given certain authorities—to investigate, but not to dispose of artifacts or records or persons: he could actually direct what lines investigations of others were to take: fullest cooperation in pursuing his research . . . that portion of the order began. He read that final section again and again, finding no exception in it, and he was amazed that Stavros had said it.

  He began to wonder why, and found no answer.

  Within the hour arrived a packet of documents—not on film, and therefore not something meant to be fed into the Nom receptors, where regul might have access to it: it came hand-delivered. Duncan signed for it and settled with the several folders in his lap—extensive files that seemed to comprise everything known and done in regard to the mri prisoners. Duncan read them, again and again, absorbing everything he could remotely comprehend.

  Then followed messages, from one and another department within Flower—from security, from biology, from Dr. Luiz, the white-haired chief of surgery who had cared for him during his own stay aboard Flower. Luiz’ message was warm: it was Luiz who had tacitly given him leave to conduct his daily visits aboard Flower, when his own treatments could as easily have been given in the Nom, far from the mri. It was Luiz who had kept the treatment of the mri as decent as it was, who had kept them alive when it was reckoned impossible; and this man Duncan trusted. From others there were more formal acknowledgements, coldness couched in courtesies.

  The governor’s appointee, bringing power to alter things dear to certain hearts: he began to reckon how the scientists saw him, an intruder who knew nothing about the researches and operations for which these civs had come so far to a frontier world. He did not find it surprising that he was resented. He wished that he had been given authority to alter the condition of the mri, and less authority to threaten other projects. The one he earnestly desired; the other he distrusted because it was excessive and unreasonable; and he did not know Stavros for an excessive man, and certainly not as a man who acted without reasons.

  He was being aimed at someone or something: he began to fear that this was so. He had become convenient again for Stavros, a weapon to be used once more, in a new kind of warfare against some one of Stavros’ enemies—be it the regul, be it some contest of authority between civs and the governor’s office, or designs yet more complex, involving all of them.

  He was out of Stavros’ reach now, and able to think—outside that aura of confidentiality that so readily swept a man into Stavros’ hands—and still he found himself willing to suspend all his suspicions and take the lure, for it was all that he wanted, all that mattered to him.

  Obsession, Stavros had called it.

  He acknowledged that, and went.

  * * *

  At Flower’s duty desk in the morning, more messages waited, each from a department head waiting to see him. Duncan began to find himself uneasy. He postponed dealing with them, and descended first to the medical section, intent most of all on the mri, on assuring himself as he did daily, that they were well and as comfortable as possible under the circumstances—most of all now, that no over-eager investigator had decided to be beforehand with them, to finish or initiate some research before it could be forbidden.

  But before he had more than passed the door into that section, Dr. Luiz hailed him; and he found himself diverted from the mri and hastened into an assembling conference of the various departments of Flower.

  Being involved in the meeting irked him: he hated all such procedures. He was formally introduced to them, who had known him better as a specimen like the mri, himself the object of some of their researches when he had been dragged in off the desert half-alive, from where no human ought to have survived. He forced a smile to his face, and acknowledged introductions, then leaned back in his chair and prepared himself for the tedium to come, long exchanges of data and quibblings over objectives and items of supply. He thought it deliberate, a petty administrative revenge that he be drawn into such proceedings, in which he had no knowledge and less interest. He sat surreptitiously studying the manners and faces of the other participants, listening to the petty debates and mentally marking dew to be remembered the indications of jealousies and friendships that might be useful.

  But the central matter did suddenly touch his interest: the news from the military wing that there were arrivals at the station. It troubled him, this piece of news, increasingly so as he listened. Probe ship Fox, along with the warship Hannibal and the rider Santiago, had returned from Gurgain, a world of the star Lyltagh, neighboring Arain, a mining colony of airless moons and rich deposits, only scantly developed by regul. New information was coming in, particularly of interest to the geologists: Flower was sending a crew up to Fox. Personnel were being shifted about, re-allotted on new priorities; the mri project was losing some key personnel. Duncan, beginning to perceive the reorganization, felt uneasily that his authority might be sufficient to affect the transfers: he thought that he ought to say something, that he might be expected to do something, to be well-informed in questions of staff and policies and Stavros’ wishes. He was not.

  He sat frowning while matters were arranged to the satisfaction of the existing powers of Flower, realizing miserably that he was inadequate for the position he had been given: that at the least he should have been taking notes for Stavros’ benefit—and he had done nothing, not aware until late what had happened, that a major portion of the directorates had dissolved about him, ill-content, it might be, with the governor’s intervention in their
researches: forces wishing to assert their independence of Stavros were aiming this at him, while other departments looked in vain for his support.

  Academics and politics: he was not fit for either. He was conscious of the figure he cut among them, khaki amid their blue and white, a rough-handed soldier out of his element, a hated and ridiculous presence. They concluded their business in his angry silence and adjourned. A few lingered for perfunctory courtesies with him; those bound for Fox pointedly ignored such amenities and walked out without acknowledging his presence. He accepted what courtesies he was offered, still not knowing friend from enemy, bitter in his ignorance. He was pleasant, having learned from Stavros to smile without meaning it.

  But afterward, as he tried to leave, he found Luiz’ hand on his shoulder, and Dr. Boaz of xenology smiling up at him with more than casual interest, Boaz a portly woman with the accent of Haven in her speech, her head crowned with gray-blonde braids.

  “Stavros,” said Boaz, “recalled you mentioned a mri shrine.”

  He looked at them, this pair that already held the mri’s existence in their hands, the medical chief of staff and this smallish plump woman whose department held all the mri’s possessions. Boaz’ interest was naked in her eyes, scholarly lust. Her small department had survived the dissolution virtually intact and capable of function, while Luiz’ bio-medical staff had lost key personnel to the shift, angry medical personnel choosing the more comfortable existence of the station, under the guise of setting up systems for further probe missions.

  Boaz and Luiz remained with Flower, and had come into positions of seniority in Flower’s depleted staff.

  And Luiz approved her. Duncan searched the surgeon’s face, looked again at Boaz.

  “I was at such a place,” he admitted carefully. “I don’t know whether it would be possible to find it again.”

  “Let’s talk in my office,” said Boaz.