Faded Sun Trilogy Omnibus

by C. J. Cherryh

  It had its origin here—here, cradled in that rest, perhaps, that now was stripped and vacant. Duncan lifted the camera, completed his work among the dead, burned banks, explored recesses where the light pierced deep shadows, where yet the wind had not swept away the ash. Boaz’ people would come here next; some of the computer specialists would try the wreckage of the banks, with little hope. Melein had been thorough, protecting this place from humanity, whatever it once might have been.

  He had all he needed, all he could obtain. He returned to the entry, and delayed yet again, taking in the place with a last glance, as if that could fix it all in his mind and pierce through the heart of what was mri.

  “Sir?” Galey said from the well.

  Duncan turned abruptly, joined Galey in the daylight, moved aside the breathing mask that suddenly seemed to restrict his oxygen—glad to draw a breath of acrid, daylit air, wind-clean. Galey’s broad, anxious face seemed suddenly of another, a more welcome world. “Let’s go,” he said then to Galey.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  The lower canyon was already deep in shadow when they reached the edge of the plateau, that path among the rocks that led down into Sil’athen. It was late afternoon where they stood, and twilight down in the canyon beneath them.

  “Dark’s going to be on us again before we reach the ship,” Duncan said.

  “We going to go all the way anyway?” Galey asked.

  Duncan shook his head. “No. At dusk we sit down wherever we are.”

  Galey did not look pleased. Likely whoever had given him his orders had not well prepared him for the possibilities of nights spent in the open. Duncan’s nose had started bleeding again on the return walk, irritated by the thin, dry air; Galey’s cough had worsened, and if they must spend another night in the open, Galey would be suffering the like.

  The regular attacked the descent first, scattering pebbles, sipping somewhat in his determination to make haste. And suddenly he stopped.

  Duncan heard the aircraft at the same instant, a distant hum that grew louder, passed overhead and circled off again. He looked at Galey, and Galey likewise looked disturbed.

  “Maybe it’s weather moving in on us,” Galey said, “or maybe it’s something urgent at the port.”

  Duncan had the communicator; he fingered it nervously, reckoning that if either had been the case, then there should have been a call from the aircraft. There was silence.

  “Move,” he said to Galey.

  There was no sign of the aircraft while they worked their way down the dangerous descent. They rested hardly at all; Duncan found blood choking him, stripped off the mask and wiped his face, smearing a red streak across his hand—dizziness blurred the rocks. He felt his way after Galey, stumbled to the valley floor, the soft and difficult sand.

  “You’re just out of sickbay,” Galey said, offering with a touch on the straps to take the load that he carried. “Trust me with the gear at least. You’ll be done up again.”

  “No,” he answered, blindly stubborn. He gathered his feet under him and started walking, overwhelmed with anxiety, Galey straggling to stay with him.

  Another kilometer up the canyon: this much ground Duncan made before he found his limit with the load he carried, coughing painfully; he surrendered the gear to Galey, who labored along with him, himself suffering from the cold air, rawly gasping after each breath. It was a naked, terribly isolated feeling, walking these shadowed depths among the tombs, carrying a record that did not belong to humanity, that others desired.

  And there came a regul vehicle lumbering down the canyon, slow and ponderous. Galey swore. Duncan simply watched it come.

  There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, no longer even any place to conceal the equipment. They were far from the rocks, in the center of the sandy expanse and under observation from the regul.

  The sled rumbled up to them and stopped. The windscreen rolled back. A regul youngling smiled a regul smile at them both, a mere opening of the mouth that showed the ridge of dentition within.

  “Kose Sten Duncan,” said the regul. “We grew concerned. All right? All right?”

  “Entirely,” he said. “Go away. We do not need help.”

  The smile stayed. The round brown eyes flicked over his face, his hand, the equipage they carried. “Thin air. Heavy to carry, perhaps? Sit on the back, favor. I will carry you. Many bad things are here, evening coming. I am koi Suth Horag-gi. Bai Hulagh sent me. The reverence has profound concern—would not wish, kose Sten Duncan, accident to a human party here in the desert. We will take you back.”

  It was a small vehicle, a sled with a flatbed for cargo, where it was possible to sit without being confined: it was not imminently threatening, and it was pointless pride to refuse and keep walking, when the sled could easily match their best pace.

  But Duncan did not believe the words he had been told—mistrusted the regul presence entirely. Galey was not moving without him, stood waiting his cue; and with great misgivings Duncan climbed aboard the flatbed of the little vehicle. He made room for Galey, who joined him, holding the gear carefully on his lap. The vehicle jolted into a slow turn on the sand.

  “They must have landed down by our ship,” Galey shouted into his ear. Duncan understood his meaning: regul all over their ship, that they had not secured because there was no living enemy against whom they reasonably ought to have secured it. He cursed himself for that over confidence.

  They two were armed. The regul were insane if they hoped to outmatch human reflexes in a direct confrontation; but the fact was that regul could expend younglings such as these with little regret.

  And the reverence bai Hulagh had sent them—Hulagh, whose fear of the mri was obsessive and sufficient for murder.

  Duncan touched Galey’s arm, used the system of handsignals used in emergencies in space. Careful. Hostiles.

  Friendlies, Galey signed back, hopeful contradiction. There was, to be sure, a treaty in effect, the utmost in courteous cooperation all over Kesrith base. Galey was confused. Humans did not like the regul, but hostiles was not a term used any longer.

  Trouble, Duncan answered. Possible. Watch.

  Shoot? Galey queried.

  Possible, he replied.

  The landsled lumbered on at a fair clip, enough that keeping their place on the flatbed was not an easy matter. But what would have been a long and man-killing walk in Kesrith’s atmosphere—and likely an overnight camp—became a comparatively short and comfortable ride. Duncan tried inwardly to reason away his anxieties, trying to think it possible that in the intricacies of regul motives, these regul were trying to protect them, fearing Stavros’ displeasure if they were lost.

  He could not convince himself. They were alone with the regul, far from help.

  They rounded the bend, and saw indeed that there was a regul ship on the ground near their own. They were headed directly for it. Duncan tugged at the straps in Galey’s hands, took the equipment to himself, all of it, then with a nod to Galey rolled off and landed afoot on the sand, in a maneuver the heavy regul could not have performed.

  They had covered a considerable distance toward the safety of their own ship before the regul driver reacted, bringing the sled back about to block their path; and other younglings began to come down the ramp out of the regul ship.

  “Are you all right? You fell?” asked the regul driver.

  “No,” said Duncan. “No problem. We are going back to base now. Thank you.”

  It did not work. The other younglings walked heavily about them, surrounding them, smiling with gaping friendliness and at the same time blocking their way.

  “Ah,” said Suth Horag-gi, dismounting from the sled. “You take pictures. Mri treasures?”

  “Property of Stavros,” Duncan said in a clipped tone, and with the dispatch he had learned was humanity’s advantage over the slow-moving regul, he shouldered a youngling, broke the circle, and walked rapidly for the ramp of their own ship, disregard
ing a youngling that tried to head them off.

  “Good fortune,” said that one with the proper youngling obsequiousness. “Good fortune you are back safe, kose Sten Duncan.”

  “Yes, thank you for your concern. My regards to the reverence bai Hulagh.”

  He spoke in the regul tongue, as the regul had spoken in the human. He shouldered the heavy, awkward youngling with brutal force that to a regul was hardly painful. The push flung it slightly off balance, and he passed it. Galey overtook him on the ramp, almost running. They boarded, found another youngling in the aircraft.

  “Out,” Duncan ordered. “Please return to your own ship. We are about to go now.”

  It looked doubtful, and finally, easing past them, performed the suck of air considered polite among regul, smiled that gaping smile and waddled with stately lack of haste down the ramp.

  Duncan set the gear down on the flooring and hit the switch to lift the ramp the moment the youngling was clear, and Galey shut the door and spun the wheel to seal it.

  Duncan found himself shaking. He thought that Galey was too.

  “What did they want?” Galey asked, his voice a note too high.

  “Check out the ship before we lift,” Duncan said. “Check out everything that could be sabotaged.” And Galey stripped off the breathing mask and the visor and swore softly, staring at him, then flung them aside and set to work, began examining the panels and their inner workings with great care.

  There was nothing, in the most careful examination, wrong. “Wish we could find something,” Galey said, and Duncan agreed to that, fervently. The regul still waited outside.

  Galey started the engines and slowly, testing out controls, turned the aircraft and hovered a few feet off the ground, running a course that vengefully dusted the regul craft, passing close enough to send the regul who were outside scrambling and stumbling ponderously toward cover.

  Senior officer, Duncan should have rebuked that. He did not. He settled into the cushion while the aircraft lifted, his jaw clenched, his hand gripping the cushion with such force that when he realized it, long after they were at altitude enough that they had options if something went wrong, his fingers were numb and there were deep impression in the cushion.

  “Game of nerves,” he said to Galey. “Game of nerves—or whatever they were going to do, they didn’t have time.”

  Galey looked at him. There were the patches of half a dozen worlds on Galey’s sleeve, young as he was. But Galey was scared, and it was a tale that would make the rounds of the regular military of Saber, this encounter with regul.

  “This is Stavros’ business,” Duncan told him, for Galey’s sake, not for the regul, not even for Stavros. “The less noise made, the better. Take my example.”

  His reputation was, he knew, widespread among the regulars: the SurTac who had lost his head, who had gone hysterical and accused a high-ranking ally of murder. Doubtless it would stay on his record forever, barring Stavros’ intervention, barring a promotion on Kesrith so high that the record could no longer harm him—and that was at present unlikely.

  Galey seemed to understand him, and to be embarrassed by it. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “Yes, sir.”

  The lights of Kesrith base came finally into view. They circled the area for the landing nearest Flower, and settled, signaling security with the emergency code. Duncan unstrapped and gathered the photographic equipment from its cushioned ride in the floor locker. Galey opened the hatch and lowered the ramp, and Duncan walked down into the escort of armed human security with a relief so great his knees were weak.

  Across the field he saw another aircraft come in, close to the Nom side of the airfield, where the regul might be closest to their own authority.

  A security agent tried to take the equipment from Duncan’s hand. “No,” he said sharply, and for once security deferred.

  He lost Galey somewhere, missed him in the press and was sorry he had not given some courtesy to the regular who had done so competently; but Flower’s ramp was ahead, the open hatch aglow with lights in the surrounding night. He walked among the security men, into the ship, down the corridors, and to the science section.

  Boaz waited, white-smocked, anxious. He did not deliver the gear to her directly, for it was heavy, but laid it on a counter.

  There was nothing for him to do with it thereafter. He had completed his task for the human powers of Kesrith, and sold what the mri counted most valuable in all the world. The knowledge of it, like that of the ovoid that rested here behind voice-locked doors, was in human hands and not in those of regul, and that was, within the circumstances, the best that he could do.

  Chapter Three

  The majority of Flower personnel were in for the night after the initial excitement of receiving the records. The labs were shut down again, the skeleton night crew on duty. The ship had a different quality by night, a ghostly hush but for the whisper of machinery and ventilation, far different from the frenetic activity in its narrow corridors by day.

  Duncan found the prospect of a bed, a quiet night in his own safe quarters, a bath (even the chemical scrub allowable under rationing) utterly, utterly attractive, after a three-hour debriefing. It was 0100 by the local clock, which was the time on which he lived.

  The lateness of the hour did not stop him from descending to the medical section and pausing in Niun’s room. There was neither day nor night for the mri, who lay, slack and deteriorating despite the therapy applied to his limbs, in the influence of sedation. Luiz had promised to consider a lessening of sedation; Duncan had argued heatedly with Luiz on this point.

  There was no response now when he spoke to the mri. He touched Niun’s shoulder, shook at him gently, hating to feel how thin the mri was becoming.

  Tension returned to the muscles. The mri drew a deeper breath, moved against the restraints that stayed on him constantly, and his golden eyes opened, half-covered by the membrane. The membrane withdrew, but not entirely. The fixation of the eyes was wild and confused.

  “Niun,” Duncan whispered, then aloud: “Niun!”

  The struggle continued, and yet the mri seemed only slightly aware of his presence, despite the grip of his hand. It was another thing, something inward, that occupied Niun, and the wide, golden eyes were dilated, terrified.

  “Niun, stop it. It’s Duncan. It’s Duncan with you. Be still and look at me.”

  “Duncan?” The mri was suddenly without strength, chest heaving from exertion, as if he had run from some impossibly far place. “The dusei are lost.”

  Such raving was pitiable. Niun was a man of keen mind, of quick reflexes. He looked utterly confused now. Duncan held his arm, and knowing the mri’s pride, drew a corner of the sheet across the mri’s lower face, a concealment behind which the mri would feel more secure.

  Slowly, slowly, the sense came back to that alien gaze. “Let me go, Duncan.”

  “I can’t,” he said miserably. “I can’t, Niun.”

  The eyes began to lose their focus again, to slip aside. The muscles in the arm began to loosen. “Melein,” Niun said.

  “She is all right.” Duncan clenched his hand until surely it hurt, trying to hold him to hear that. But the mri was back in his own dream. His breathing was rapid. His head turned from side to side in delirium.

  And finally he grew quiet again.

  Duncan withdrew his hand from Niun’s arm and left, walking slowly at first, then more rapidly. The episode distressed him in the strangeness of it; but Niun was fighting the sedation, was coming out of it more and more strongly, had known him, spoken to him. Perhaps it was alien metabolism, perhaps, the thought occurred to him, Luiz had adjusted the level of sedation, more reasonable than he had shown himself in argument on the subject.

  He went to the main lock, to the guard post that watched the coming and going of all that entered and left the ship. He signed the log and handed the stylus back.

  “Hard session, sir?” the night guard asked, sympathy, not inquisitiveness. Terec
i knew him.

  “Somewhat, somewhat,” he said, blinked at Tereci from eyes he knew were red, felt of his chin, that was rough. “Message for Luiz when he wakes: I want to talk with him at the earliest.”

  “Recorded, sir,” said Tereci, scratching it into the message sheet.

  Duncan started through the lock, expecting it to open for him under Tereci’s hand. It did.

  “Sir,” Tereci said. “You’re not armed. Regulations.”

  Duncan swore, exhausted, remembering the standing order for personnel out at night. “Can you check me out sidearms?”

  “Sign again,” Tereci said, opened a locker and gave him a pistol, waiting while he put his name to another form. “I’m sorry,” Tereci said. “But we’ve had some action around here at night. Regulations aside, it’s better to carry something.”

  “Regul?” he asked, alarmed at that news, which he had not read in the reports. Regul was all that immediately occurred to him, and had he not been so tired, he would not have been so impolitic.

  “Animals. Prowling the limits of the guard beams. They never get inside them, but I wouldn’t go out there unarmed. You want an escort, sir? I could get one of the night security—”

  “No need,” he said wearily. “No need.” He had come in from the open, and though armed, he had never thought in terms of weapons. He had walked the land in company with mri. He regarded no warnings of these men that were bound to the safety of Flower and the Nom, who had never seen the land they had come to occupy.

  They could stand in the midst of Sil’athen and never see it, men of Galey’s breed—solid men, decent.

  Unwondering.

  He belted on the gun, a heavy weight, an offense to a weary back, and smiled a tired thanks at Tereci, went out into the chill, acrid air. A geyser had blown out irreverently close to Flower. The steam made the air moist and clouded. He inhaled it deeply not minding the flavor of it, found it grateful to walk the track by himself, in silence, without Galey. His head ached. He had not realized it before this. He took his time, and found nothing but pleasure in the night, under the larger of Kesrith’s moons, with the air chill and the stars glittering, and far, far across the flats, lights illumined the geysers that spouted almost constantly. The land had become a boiling and impassable barrier, guarding the approaches to the ruins of the mri towers, that only the most intrepid of Boaz’ researchers had scanned from the air.