‘Morning, Commander,’ she greeted.
‘A good morning for this service. I’m sure Old Dan would be surprised at the turnout,’ said Johnson. ‘It seemed sudden to me,’ he continued sombrely. ‘I’d hoped Dan would have more time.’ He motioned to their surroundings. ‘This was such a rewarding endeavour and it made a difference out here on the plain. He did appear worn out of late though.’
‘Do you know what will happen to this place now?’ asked Celene.
‘It’s not occurred before, but I expect Quartermaine will leave the decisions up to his cadre. Nowra, also of the Rangers, is settling alongside so perhaps he will look after it. We,’ he tilted his head to indicate the members of Supply around them, ‘will assist in any way we can.’
Oulte and Quartermaine passed by heading in the direction of the house, the latter caught her eye briefly, to pass an unspoken command to meet later. She watched as the two commanders stopped with Trahern and Tollen. Trahern nodded in agreement to something Oulte said and then they went on. She turned to survey the rest of the crowd and caught Gati observing her. At least I won’t need to find someone to watch Trahern’s back, she thought.
‘We came out every few days to see Old Dan and take in whatever vegetables he had ready before, so maybe we can do something, maybe more often,’ offered one of the nearby supplymen.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Johnson, ‘as long as it is cleared with the Rangers.’ This started off an excited discussion of watering and weeding and whatnot.
Their talk quieted as the group approached the grave. Stooping to collect a handful of the stony soil, it all became suddenly real to Celene. The smell of the moist open ground, the feel of the grit in her hand. Dan’s remains were down there. The end of life was so final. Quartermaine’s words did not seem so dramatic now.
She shook herself but couldn’t quite come free of the mood. This is real campfire ‘dawn of time’ stuff, she thought. Did they bury them then to hide the smell of decomposition or to hold down the remains so they could not rise again? A bit of both, she decided, but mostly a wish to somehow protect the lost one. I wish I could do something for you, Dan. Celene let her handful of dirt fall through her fingers and moved on.
One of the Rangers waiting patiently with their shovels called to her. ‘Specialist, the Commander asked for us to keep an eye out for you and ask you to go up to the house.’ The commander would be Quartermaine, she knew, his own people never used the title for Oulte. Celene did not go up straight away, the pull of the ritual still held her. It kept her focused on the grave.
Tollen and Trahern were with the last group filing past. The old marine did not bend for a handful of dirt like the others. Instead, he took a fist-sized angular rock from his pocket and tossed it down. The action caused Gati to lean over curiously from the head of the grave. Trahern was the last to contribute. Finally, at a signal from Gati, the Rangers moved in with their shovels to fill the grave in.
The men soon settled into a rhythm. The sound and motion mesmerised Celene. The sharp chunk of the shovels biting in, the graceful swing of their shoulders, the muted thump of the dirt in the grave. A voice at her side disconcerted her.
‘Something is wrong here,’ said Tollen.
Celene couldn’t understand what he meant. This was so perfect.
‘Not this,’ he said, seeing her confusion and reading it correctly. ‘Tracka-dan dying. It wasn’t his time yet.’
A normal response, she thought, recovering, especially for him. Tollen retained his strength and vitality, but there was more grey than brown in his hair and the lines in his face mapped a long history. He is old, himself, she rationalised, in his resistance there would never be a ‘right time’.
The sergeant continued. ‘There was something he wanted to tell me, something important that I should know. But I didn’t get it.’
Another normal response. Celene didn’t offer advice. Tollen was not one who would be consoled with words. He would find his own peace in time. Instead, she moved on to a different subject. ‘I saw Commander Trahern with you today. He seems to be settling back in well.’
Tollen fixed her with a hard stare. ‘No he isn’t. He’s worse now than his first day back. You lot keep testing him. Put him to work or put him out. Do your job, Psych, don’t just go through the motions.’
He walked off to join the departing marines, leaving her standing there. Dressed down like a new recruit, she thought. The anger had surprised her. Maybe he plans to go through all the classic stages of grief in one day.
Johnson gathered her up on his way past. He had been down past the fences arranging transport for those that did not want to undertake the long walk back to the walls.
‘I think they are waiting for us up at the house,’ he said. ‘He made it himself, you know. He allowed us to help him with the outbuildings, but the house was all his own work. It is a singular building.’
Celene could hear the pride in Johnson’s voice. Tracka-dan’s dwelling differed greatly from the prefab buildings which made up his work areas. The shade houses, glasshouse and sheds were constructed of materials familiar to her, the plastics and light metals common to the developed parts of Base. They looked to Celene as though they could be blown away by a strong wind. In contrast, the house sat solid on a central rise, like a part of Base Planet itself. Built of stones removed patiently from the surrounding flats to leave a poor but workable soil, Johnson was telling her. It had a sense of permanence. She began to appreciate the old cadreman’s work out here on the plain. What a bold venture.
The wide door was open but Johnson tapped on the frame to announce their arrival, a casual courtesy Celene was sure he had executed many times before. Oulte called them in. Johnson hesitated a moment as if he had expected to hear another voice. Now he knows Dan is gone, thought Celene. She stepped through in front of him. The room was cool and dark. There were more people inside than she had anticipated but it did not seem crowded. The single room occupied all of the dwelling. Old Dan would have cooked, washed, slept and sat in the one large space. It would have a sense of grandeur if the windows were larger. As it was, it felt closed in, confined.
Oulte must have asked Trahern to sit at the table. He would not have chosen that position on his own. Gati was behind him against a post. Oulte and an older man, also in the brown of the Rangers, stood across the table from Trahern. Quartermaine and the Armourer made up the compliment she had expected. The surprise was Visco of Command, sitting on a bench in the shadow near the door. She had not noted his presence earlier when she surveyed the crowd and was sure he had not approached the grave. Maybe he had been sitting quietly inside the whole time. There had been no PlanCon presence at the funeral. An old cadreman was of no consequence to them. However, Visco was often in Colda’s company of late.
Oulte started speaking. ‘Tracka-dan didn’t leave a will or a note on what he wanted done with this place. Like us, he probably thought he would live forever.’ The fair-haired man smiled to them all then continued. ‘We talked it through, in the Rangers, and all we could decide was that this place is not meant for any of us, not yet. It is for someone who has finished his time on the line. Nowra has his own ground to the west. All the rest of us are active. But we would like to see it kept up until the right person comes along. It may not even be a Ranger.’ He turned to Johnson. ‘I know your people have been giving Dan a hand, as much as he would allow anyway. If they could help Nowra it may be enough. He has to get his own place going but he will have some time.’
‘Sure Oulte, Nowra, they’d be glad to,’ said Johnson.
Oulte nodded. ‘That’s the main business done.’ He turned to Trahern. ‘Tracka-dan did leave something, though. It’s for you.’ This announcement sharpened the attention in the room. Visco leaned forward into the light. Gati slipped away from the pole and moved to the wall.
Oulte produced a small folder and laid it on the table in front of Trahern. ‘We found this when we checked for papers. It says ‘f
or the Grey’. That’s how we refer to you, most times. If I’m wrong there are only two of you and you can sort it out.’ He looked for Gati who was next to the door now, and shrugged his shoulders to him.
Trahern opened the folder. Celene’s quick check found all eyes on the folder except for Gati who was intently watching Visco. She returned her attention to the table. Trahern lifted out an old shoulder patch, a sigil that Celene was not familiar with, a three dimensional diamond in gold on a black background, with a tiny silver ship marking each of the diamond’s points. Trahern held it up to Quartermaine.
‘The diamond flight, Dan was the youngest and the last,’ confirmed Quartermaine. ‘He flew for ten years after but never found anyone to match him. He schooled formations which were the best in their time but they never came close to the old flight. He was too old when you and Sojean came along. His reactions were shot, by his standards. His best chance and he wasn’t up to it, he said. That is what prompted him to retire.’
‘I never knew,’ said Johnson.
‘He didn’t like to say,’ said Oulte. ‘Being a Far Ranger was enough he said, what’s more to be proud of than that.’ Oulte looked about him at the house. ‘He did a good job out here too,’ he said quietly. He turned back to Trahern at the table. ‘But he left this for you, he must think you’re one hell of a flyer!’ he finished with enthusiasm.
Something more, thought Celene. From one cadreman who had lost all his companions to another. She’d seen them nod to each other on passing in Med, not more than that, Trahern to his tests, Dan to his appointed check-ups, but it must have been enough. There were strange bonds in this Guard. That was part of the appeal it held for her.
‘Well anyway, we are done here,’ said Oulte. ‘Nowra and I have to go help with the shovelling. Then all the Rangers are going in to Port to wet the old man’s head, so to speak. You are all welcome.’
‘Thanks Oulte,’ said Quartermaine. ‘We’ll close up when we leave.’
Johnson stepped across to Nowra. ‘Some of my people will come out later today and tomorrow morning to run the water. Give you some time with your cadre.’
‘Thanks,’ smiled the old Ranger. ‘It will be best for my head, I’m sure.’
With the departure of the two Rangers, Celene turned her attention back to the room. She should be organising her thoughts for a report to Quartermaine but there was something about the room that troubled her. She had time. Quartermaine would have to move the Greys along before they could start.
‘Visco,’ said Quartermaine. ‘Could you go with the Rangers and keep them out of trouble. I don’t want a repeat of our most recent problem in the Port.’ The last was said with a glance at the two Greys.
Celene had forgotten about Visco, he had been so quiet. A rowdy night with the Rangers will do him good, she thought. He’s become much too serious of late, withdrawn and sombre. It is time to bring him in for counselling.
She walked over to the window, absently lifting a hand in response to Visco’s polite farewell. A heavy metal shutter was propped up to let in light. It did not fit with the crafted stone and wood of the walls. She ran her hand over the rough lintel.
‘This new work is not as good as the other,’ said Gati joining her. ‘You can see where the original ended here. Plenty of light and air, and a beautiful view of his farm.’ With a frown he pulled his arms in across his chest, demonstrating. ‘Now it’s like this.’
Now that he had pointed it out she could see a change in the stonework, rougher with more cement showing. Celene turned to inspect the room. All the windows were the same. Now she understood. In his growing paranoia, Old Dan had closed it in, trying to lock out his fears. The building was a reflection of the old man’s mind. How quickly it had changed from strength to distress.
Trahern remained at the table, talking in low tones to Quartermaine and the Armourer. Something about formations and tactics. They did not appear to notice her as she approached so she crossed to Johnson. He, at least, was polite enough to give her his attention. ‘Tracka-dan was far gone in his paranoia,’ she said.
‘No he wasn’t,’ said the Armourer matter-of-factly from across the room.
That annoyed her. Another man telling me my business, she thought. I’ll show them. ‘Shut the windows,’ she commanded.
Johnson and Gati did her bidding while Quartermaine and the Armourer looked on curiously. ‘Humour me,’ she said. When the shutters were all down, she swung the wide door shut. There, feel that! The confinement was near absolute, a few bare pinpricks the only light from outside.
Tracka-dan had not left his internal lights on automatic but the glow from his power box was sufficient to illuminate their faces. Unease and apprehension. Her sense of satisfaction vanished when she saw Trahern’s panic. He grabbed the tabletop with both hands, shoulders straining to still his trembling. His eyes were wide. She could see the whites even in this dim light. As quick as it had come it passed. His body relaxed only to tense again, his head turning slightly, his eyes down to slits now, the white of his teeth showing in a snarl. She swung the door open behind her then rushed forward to confront him. Do your job, Tollen had charged. Well she would do that!
Gati was at Trahern’s side, Quartermaine blocking him from coming around the table. The Armourer had a hand out to wave her back. She ignored them to focus on Trahern. His calm face was back on.
‘Tell me what you felt!’ she demanded. ‘I saw it. Damn it! We are not testing you. This is real. We need to know. You need us to know!’ She was shouting at the end.
Johnson caught her arms and pulled her back. She hung for a moment then struggled free. She stepped back to the table, put her hands on the edge and leaned toward Trahern. She didn’t say a word, just kept her eyes on his. She could smell sweat in the room, not the clear salty smell of work, like on Oulte earlier, something more suited to this room with the shutters down. They waited.
‘Gati,’ said Trahern, breaking the silence. ‘Take that night light and go outside. When I call, hold it against your side and walk slowly around the house. Keep the beam on the walls, red filter.’
Quartermaine and the Armourer both let out an audible breath as the young Grey went out the door.
‘Specialist, close the door,’ directed Trahern. ‘Armourer, shut off the power box.’ When they complied, the darkness was complete. ‘Now, Gati,’ he called.
Celene didn’t understand what was going on. Was this some subterfuge, an attempt to divert their attention?
A thin red beam lanced out from the wall to hit Trahern’s chest then winked out. They could hear Gati’s steps on the veranda. Two more beams shot out briefly, one to Trahern’s stomach, the other over his shoulder to the bed against the wall. The Armourer groaned. More flashes came to mark Gati’s progress around the walls, criss-crossing to strike Trahern on the lower back, neck and head, some to the bed and to the other chairs in the room.
‘Oh no!’ moaned Quartermaine.
Celene still did not understand. Trahern rose and went to the door, opening it for Gati. The two Greys moved around the room lifting the shutters. In the clear light, Celene’s bafflement was apparent to the others.
‘He’s been needled,’ said Quartermaine.
Needle lasers were banned everywhere there was law. To be found with one was a death sentence. Celene knew them only from study. They could be set so fine that skin wouldn’t feel the penetration. Microscopic portions of vital organs could be destroyed, the cumulative effect leading to disability or death. Their use had once checked the development of the civilised universe, a thousand year wave of assassination and resulting isolationism. How could you sit and treat with another person if he or she could secretly be destroying your liver or spinal cord below the table? The thought that a needle laser was in use here made her sick.
‘We need to be sure,’ said Johnson.
No, don’t disturb Dan! her mind cried.
‘Aesca will have scans and tissue,’ said Quartermaine.
&n
bsp; ‘She will go nova at this,’ warned Gati.
‘She will have to control it,’ stated Quartermaine. Celene could hear the anger in his voice now. ‘Specialist Celene, counsel her as required. She will have a lot of work to do. All med records must be checked. You and the Armourer check your records also. Any reduction in ability is to be investigated. Nata will have to do the same.’ Quartermaine looked like he wanted to spit. ‘This news could paralyse the Guard. I will not have that if it can be avoided. For now, knowledge of what happened here must be limited.’ He walked to the far side of the room then turned to survey them all. ‘Who else needs to know?’ he asked.
‘Mike Mancine,’ said Gati. ‘Aesca and he are so close now, he will have to know. He is the best to help her deal with it also.’
‘Tollen,’ volunteered Celene. ‘He knew something was wrong this morning, only a feeling but it will work on him. He won’t let it go.’ She hesitated then continued. ‘I would like to tell him, if possible.’
‘No others?’ asked Quartermaine. ‘Then that’s it. Commander Trahern, you advise Mancine and Aesca. Do it today, as soon as possible. Any outburst can be attributed to the funeral. Luckily, people are used to anger from her.
‘Specialist, you deal with Tollen. He wears his feelings on his sleeve, so you prepare him well. I will talk to Oulte when the time is right.’
‘What about Nowra?’ interjected Johnson. ‘Sorry, but I only thought of him when you mentioned Oulte. We don’t know if it is safe out here for him.’
‘Let him go about his business but keep someone with him or near him. It will have to be your people from Supply. But I don’t want him or anyone else to spend the night on the plain. We don’t know the cause of this.’
Celene caught Quartermaine’s eye and inclined her head toward Trahern. Put him to work or put him out, Tollen had demanded. The old marine had been right so far today. Celene was prepared to follow him on this. She could see the consideration play in the Base Commander’s eyes.
The Return of the Grey Page 10