‘The sound! We have not heard that before. And it was heard through all of Base,’ continued Arren unabashed. ‘Maybe it all doesn’t happen at once. Maybe they will come to us slowly. Maybe he must teach them and that is why he went with them.’
Slowly. The word grated on Serin’s mind. He could see them meeting secretly in the night to the end of their days, anointing and polishing, accomplishing nothing more than the preparation of a shiny sepulchre for their own bones. We must act!
‘Doubt and confusion,’ said Clairvaus, staring at each in turn. ‘Our devotions are not pure. Clarity will be withheld until our lapses cease.’
You are the craziest of us all, would-be priest. At least we still remember we are men, thought Serin. ‘Examine our actions. Where is the fault?’ he demanded.
Forn spoke but added nothing, revisiting the arguments of the morning. ‘We should have taken Trahern as we planned. Exposed to the patterns our way, we would know what he saw and whether he was greater than us or not.’
Strapped to a post on a grav work platform, restrained from harm, that is how they ascended the levels. Serin had pioneered it, answering the demand of the patterns to be viewed, yet preserving his life from the myriad urges that assailed him. It had been easy for the others, under his control. Yes, Trahern should have been under my control. I would know his measure and it wouldn't exceed mine.
‘We could not overcome the big marine and that new Grey, not once they’d seen us. And there were more marines on the plain,’ said Crell. ‘What would we do with the bodies anyway, bury them here?’
That fancy played attractively in Serin's mind. Not complete corpses but maybe the bones, mixed in with the gravel of the floor. The vault was floored with cement chips from the Box. Rise above the failings of others. Stand on the proof of their failure. These were pronouncements from the patterns. Revelations which were also compulsions. The cement chips were proof of falling beams. The caretakers had to cut their vault deeper into harder rock to fit the strange gravel in, but it gave them peace, release from the burning imperative, content when they heard the crunch beneath their feet. The scrape of bone would go well with that.
Construction of the vault and shrine had been similar, the labour damping the anguish that nearly consumed them. Serin remembered the near ecstasy when their frenzied placing of candles had finally come right. Clairvaus had later devised the water quenching. Otherwise, they would stand entranced for hours, wracked by visions until the candles burned out. It was primitive but effective. Suited to their souls and their shrine. Burning and quenching.
The quiet one spoke for the first time. ‘I believe Serin is right. I do not believe Trahern is the one. The winds that scour men’s souls found his long ago. Our fire would have found no fuel there. Watch him if you will, even preserve him, for he may have been imparted with a task, but do not expect him to lead. The weight of our enterprise would crush him.’
Yes! thought Serin. Trahern did not succeed, did not conquer. He was passed through. Unsuitable. My judgment was correct. He thought of pointing out to Clairvaus that here was the clarity of thought the priest claimed they lacked. More evidence of the quality of my judgment, my leadership. The quiet one had been the first outsider added to their ranks. The others had resisted the inclusion, fearful of the risk. He had compelled them to assist, by force of will alone.
‘Our quest goes on. We will persevere,’ concluded the quiet one.
With those words, Serin felt the return of burning zeal. The anticipation of a great event had engaged all his energies but now that it was past, the torment of unfocused compulsion arose anew. We must act. I must lead. His leg pained him. He had worn the steel all day, to be ready if events arose. The others had done the same. They must remove the blades soon and refit their prosthetics. Too great a risk of discovery. But he was reluctant to end the sweet pain and the sense of completeness the deadly limb provided. Almost sub-consciously, he cast about for some reason to continue. Discovery. To persevere we must remain hidden. ‘The old man, his spying must end,’ said Serin.
CHAPTER 11: GHOST HANGAR
‘Here, wait until your eyes adjust,’ said La Mar.
Rhone snorted and shook her head, raising her eyebrows to the third woman present. In the dim light of the closed hangar, they could barely see each other.
‘Quiet,’ demanded La Mar. ‘It won’t work if there is other noise.’
La Mar rarely looks foolish, but she looks foolish now, thought Rhone. How is this supposed to impress the newcomer?
The Amazon Commander put a flute-like thing to her lips then took it away to warn them one more time to pay attention. Rhone almost sighed in her impatience. She had seen this display many times before. La Mar was fascinated with this ghost hangar and its trace of the Ships. The latter was the Commander’s own discovery and something she only shared with the Amazons. For her, this was some sort of rite of passage, to be experienced anew with each recruit. Rhone couldn’t care less. She had tagged along because of her own fascination. The new recruit was a dead set beauty. Slender, with incredible grace. Rhone couldn’t keep her eyes off her when she moved. Some Tir blood in her, a few of the more widely travelled Amazons had suggested. Tir were a warrior breed developed in the Inner Belt during the Gene Wars. The only breed to break free. They had worlds of their own now, somewhere out in the Fringe.
La Mar played three descending notes, holding each for several moments. The new recruit found it first, the turn of her head alerting Rhone and La Mar. Minute flares of light, many colours close together, sparkled close to the ceiling near the far wall. As the first glints winked out, others lit, a rolling glittering display that played along the wall until the last note faded away.
‘It’s like that when a Ship destructs,’ said La Mar, ‘but bigger and more intense. It spreads from wherever the hull is breached, or from a single point if the Ship self-destructs. The Ship dissolves, everything that was solid a moment before changing to light and dispersing. Crew and all. In atmosphere or out it is the same. It is a marvel we still don’t understand,’ she concluded.
The new recruit said nothing, her eyes wide.
So, maybe it is impressive the first time, conceded Rhone.
‘This,’ said La Mar, indicating far side of the hangar, ‘is from a Ship we brought in nine years ago, after the battle at Triamo. It is the only one that has ever been held. They fight to the death, destroying themselves if there is no hope of escape.
‘We didn’t capture it. After the battle, it was found jammed between the decks of a workship. Quartermaine had taken the giant craft up with a half repaired satellite in the cradle. Ungainly as it was, the combination had tremendous firepower.’ She turned to the new recruit. ‘Only Quartermaine would have thought of such a thing. He is a worthy Commander. The raiders call him the Dread of the Passages. No one knows what the beings of the Ships think, but it must be the same.’
Rhone moved to the door, not bothering to hide her impatience anymore. ‘Pat Quartermaine on the back some other time. I’m hungry.’ It wasn’t only hunger driving her. Trahern would be at the mess unless they left it too late. Since his passage through the Box the whole of the Guard seemed in awe of him. Time to put a stop to that.
La Mar gave her a stern look and continued. ‘This hangar was prepared ahead of us, strengthened and shielded, while we brought the Ship in. The workship was ideal for the transport, able to carry the Ship through the atmosphere and land alongside the wall. Once here, it plucked out the craft with its crane arms and placed it in the hangar.’ She sighed. ‘That was the last that went well. We assumed that the crew of the Ship were incapacitated or dead, unable to activate the self-destruct, or that the mechanism itself had been damaged in the crash. Either way, we hoped that it would allow us to study a Ship in detail, and to finally sight our foe.
‘Not long after the hangar doors were sealed the Ship razed itself, unravelling before our eyes. Perhaps the pilot had recovered; maybe we set off some prese
t sensor when we shut the hangar.’ She paused. ‘This is all that is left now. We still know nothing of the beings of the Ships.’
‘You speak of this enemy with a sense of pride,’ said the recruit.
Ha, she speaks, thought Rhone. Maybe now we can finish this and go.
‘I do,’ said La Mar, ‘and so do many others on Base. But it will not hinder us from stopping them the next time they come. That will happen in our time, maybe soon.’
Rhone interrupted. ‘It will be the only thing that happens in our time if you keep talking. The evening meal period is almost over.’
CHAPTER 12: ON THE ROOF
Commander Johnson found the cool night air refreshing. This rooftop walk was a pleasant end to an exciting day. Base Commander Quartermaine had called him to advise that the Grey had come through his ordeal in good physical condition, some dehydration as could be expected, but otherwise in good shape. The call was a welcome courtesy, typical of the commander. Young Barry had already passed on the news. He had been the driver on the mission, the closest member of Supply with transport when Johnson had called ahead for a vehicle to take the Commander and Aesca out to the Box. He seems bound to Trahern in some way, Johnson thought, always on hand at these critical moments. Barry had done the outfitting for Trahern on his arrival. Uniforms, gear, accommodation, schedules; he probably spent more time with Trahern in those first few days than anyone but Sergeant Tollen. As Johnson remembered it, the sergeant had stuck pretty close to the Grey. It gave most people a sense of comfort; to know that the tough marine was there if anything happened. Poor Barry, though, wouldn’t have known which one to fear most. A strange conjunction, those three together, thought Johnson. Maybe the universe was trying to even things out, Barry’s meekness a balance to the fierceness of the other two. Maybe that’s how the universe works; balance achieved for a short time in a small space. Johnson shook his head and returned to his task.
He was pleased to meet Quartermaine’s request to find some of Tracka-dan’s tomatoes and bring them up to the roof. To the tomatoes, he had added a few loaves of fresh baked bread; it had smelled so good. When the quartermasters had learned of his errand they had produced further delicacies, fine cheeses and smoked meats, a jar of pickled Peckett hot peppers, the last a rare find on Base. The basket was heavy under his arm. He was glad of the weight when he saw that Quartermaine had others with him.
In the dim light he was only able to make out their identities once up close. Specialist Celene and the Armourer. A meeting of strategies, perhaps, he thought. He knew these two to be deep thinkers. To their greeting he answered, ‘The quartermasters have sent some fine foods and, of course, some of Dan’s excellent tomatoes. I will leave you with their good wishes.’
‘Please stay,’ said Quartermaine. ‘The tomatoes, fine as I am sure they are, were only an excuse. I have something important to discuss with all of you. Nata too, but he may be delayed by his escort of the Scholar.’
‘Best start then,’ said Celene, ‘on the food anyway. That bread smells too appetising to wait on ceremony.’
Johnson laid out the contents of the basket on a cloth thoughtfully provided by one of the bakers to keep the bread warm. In the cool night air, the bread did smell delicious. The Armourer, however, reached for the peppers. ‘Regardless of the outcome, I have my reward here and I thank you for the call,’ he said. ‘Peckett peppers are not the hottest but they are the best.’ Turning to Johnson, he inquired, ‘How did you find these? They are rare in the Arm, never mind on Base.’
Quartermaine forestalled the need to answer. ‘The Houses are trying to take over,’ stated the Base Commander. ‘They scheme to place Colda in control and use the Guard for their own ends.’
‘Are you sure the Houses are not just looking after one of their own?’ asked Celene. ‘They have great pride. Perhaps it is only your position they seek. They would find one of their lineage as Base Commander very satisfying.’
‘That was my thought through the years,’ said Quartermaine. ‘My faith in the Guard kept me from interfering. Given the choice, the Guard will always choose correctly.’ Anger coloured his voice for the first time as he went on. ‘But this faction is attempting to remove that choice. The move on Trahern was murder. He should not have survived the Box a third time.’
‘Removal of a potential rival is a reasonable strategy on their part, in the way of the Houses,’ commented the Armourer.
‘But not in the Guard, and that is the difference,’ pointed out Quartermaine. ‘The Guard functions on trust. We are too small in numbers to do otherwise.’ He paused to tear a piece of bread from a loaf. ‘I do not expect Colda to see it, but those behind him would be aware. The Guard would be ruined if their methods were adopted.’
Johnson handed Quartermaine one of Tracka-dan’s tomatoes.
‘This move on Trahern is too strong to simply be jockeying for position,’ continued the commander. ‘They want control which implies some end outside our present role.’
Celene nodded toward the tomatoes. ‘Control of one set of Passages would not be lucrative enough to warrant this much effort and risk,’ she contributed. ‘And if they tried to make the Guard into a private army they would soon get a response from the Inner Belt.’
Johnson passed the slender woman a fine round fruit then glanced around the spread out cloth. Salt and pepper! sprung to his mind. I’ve forgotten the salt and pepper. He looked up to see Quartermaine smiling. The old man held out a small metal cylinder then tossed it over.
‘You must have issued a million of these. I never come up without it. Standard field condiments, in screw on sections,’ said Quartermaine.
‘One Passage node might not be a prize, but two could give one House trade ascendancy over the others. With more, in the right positions, they could defy the Inner Belt, take a sector for their own’ said the Armourer, plucking a yellow pepper from the jar in his lap. He washed it down with a swallow from a dark bottle. ‘We think of ourselves as being at the edge of the universe and that is so; as a photon flies we are about as far from the Inner Belt as is possible and there is nothing beyond us but the deep. But in another way, we are not so distant. Nodes in the Inner Passages connect to galaxies close to nodes that connect to other galaxies. Remember the Mad Command, the effect they had from here? I’m sure the Houses have not forgotten. Control of Base could be key. The temptation to challenge the Inner Belt would be great.’ He emphasised his last comment by tossing a whole pepper in his mouth.
Johnson looked on in amazement. Those little chillies were tremendously hot. His amazement changed to shame. They talk of murder, the future of the Guard and strategies of the galaxies, while I worry about condiments and chillies.
‘That, they may already have started,’ said Nata, slipping in beside Johnson. Examining the foodstuffs on the cloth, Nata continued as if he had been there the whole time. ‘The Scholar was stalked by two men at least, on his way from Eval to Communications. Their intent I judge to be serious, as my presence did not deter them.’
‘Who were they?’ asked Quartermaine.
‘Faces unknown to me, in the light brown of Services, but I doubt the colours were their own,’ answered Nata.
‘And their intent?’ Celene inquired.
‘To kill the Scholar before he could send any messages, removing the body and any witnesses. Elsewise says this is not an uncommon response to his arrival, to prevent ‘exposure of schemes to the Inner Belt’ as he puts it.’ Selecting a tomato, Nata searched for the salt. Celene handed him the tube as the others exchanged looks.
‘Murder in the Box and now in the very corridors of Base.’ The thought came unbidden from Johnson’s lips.
‘Who was killed in the Box?’ asked Nata. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘No, no one was killed, but an attempt was made on Trahern by forcing him in for a third time,’ explained Johnson.
‘The Grey was not at great risk. No one has ever been prepared as well for that trial,’ said Nat
a.
‘Why do you say that?’ questioned the Armourer.
‘Trahern has changed from before, and remember back then he excelled. Now his spatial abilities are near perfect. His besting of the Gold was no accident. When I tested him in combat I could not touch him. He reacts to motion as it is initiated, sees it complete; the changing relations of bodies and space are clear enough for him to flow with them. I have heard of this level of perception from the masters, but never did I think to meet one so enabled in my lifetime. The framework of the Box would have been a staircase to him.’
‘The framework is the lesser of the Box’s challenges,’ stated Celene.
‘He has endured the emptiness of the deep. He has seen the universe from the outside. The teachings say that is the highest state of contemplation,’ said Nata. ‘What would the patterned flashes of the Box be to one so enlightened?’
‘That deep contemplation is a journey for the mind not the body,’ said Celene. ‘The experience must have shattered him.’
‘The mind and body are one,’ returned Nata.
The Armourer cut in. ‘I noticed a similar advancement in his abilities when I tested him. Physical, that is,’ he added in response to Celene’s argumentative stare. ‘Levels of reaction never seen before,’ he paused, ‘but then I remembered I had seen them. The Ships, they move like that.’
The comment saddened Johnson. He’s just a man back where he belongs. Can’t we leave it at that? He looked to Quartermaine.
‘Whatever Trahern is, he is key to this scheme of the Houses. We must protect him,’ said the Base Commander, bringing them back to the matter in hand.
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