The Return of the Grey

by Robert Lee Henry

  CHAPTER 82: INSIGHTS

  This is going to take forever, thought La Mar. Yesterday she had made it to command and back with no problems. But this was a longer trip and in her early confidence she had gone up and down levels. To stop and have a word with people, supplymen in stores, servicemen on the job, Thomas in the Armoury. She was lonely without her cadre around her.

  The stairs must have taken it out of her. Slow now, one foot at a time. Lucky she was in one of the rarely used corridors close to the small hangars and no one was likely to see her. Aesca would ground her if she heard about this. The single hangar was close. She would go there and rest. I should have time.

  It would all be for nothing if she wasn’t down on the floor of the main bay when they rolled in. Back from Arborne with Celene and Nata. She meant for the marines to find her there waiting, on her feet, when they got off the transport. So that they would know they weren’t the only ones with spirit. Foolish pride was one thing Amazons and marines had in common.

  Pride. Visco hadn’t looked too good yesterday. With Quartermaine in his second childhood, it was well that Visco had picked everything up. Probably wanted to show everyone what he could do after all these years as sub. But it was too much for him. It was burning him up. She could see it in his eyes.

  The light in the small hangar made her squint. She didn’t like it. She was used to this room being dark. They are probably gone, the ghost lights. She hadn’t though to bring her flute. It was up in her quarters anyway. The only personal item she had at Med was her weaving, the one Trahern had made on the way back from the Ag planet. Bethane and Gati had brought that to her, when they said their farewells. She had the odd thought now that she should have brought it with her, stars know why. It was too damn big to be worn and no damn use for anything except to spin a few minutes.

  La Mar made her way across to the scoutcraft and eased down onto the lip of the open hatch, fitting herself into the curve of the frame. ‘Ahh.’ After a few relaxing breaths she turned her head to glance inside. Wow! She had heard about the modifications but had not seen them. Looks good. Could go a long way on your own in this. She rolled her head to look out the hatch and along the sculpted side to the open air beyond. If I was fit I could take this all the way to the Ag Sector. Just slip out, be away before it was missed. Once past the satellites, no one could catch me. She rolled her head back. Brave thoughts, for someone who is having trouble walking. She rested.

  The dimness inside the ship soothed her, until through her eyelids she thought she caught the flicker of tiny lights. Maybe they are still here! Curiosity got her to her feet and down to the pilot’s chair. But it was only the Weave gear. Diodes in the wires.

  She laughed. ‘So this is where Trahern gets his inspiration,’ she said aloud. The flow of wires was not unlike his creations, a little looser and with less complexity, but it still caught your eye, made you want to follow it. Down to the centre, to the empty seat, framed by intricate whorls of crystals. Trahern wouldn’t have left that bare. That’s the heart of the whole matter. The gap pulled at her. Maybe it is art, sub-conscious art. It says it all. The yearning she felt would be nothing compared to that of the pilot of this craft. That is the scout’s place. Flying would be his nature now, sailing out among the stars. Lying in a bed wouldn’t do, even if he could feel the heavens. Too long in port. Time to shed that old body and fly. Quartermaine should let him go.

  Shadow slowly moved across her as the sun went over the wall. Time to move my own old body, she thought. ‘Shit, La Mar,’ Rhone would be saying now. ‘They’ll be welcoming us back if you stay here any longer.’

  CHAPTER 83: FEAR IN THE NIGHT

  The shouts brought Celene out of her room on the fly. There had been fear in the first cries. Jared One-eye fell in beside her, from his post by her door. Her marines had continued their service, unwilling to end a mission that would return them to the no-man’s-land of limited duties, possibly back into beds here at Med for some. She had allowed it, grown used to their presence. These shouts were not from her men, they were from the wards, from marines fresh from the Rim. She and Jared hurried, one of his large steps equal to her two.

  Aesca was there before them, along with two aides and one of her security men. They formed an arc around a patient standing by the foot of an empty bed. Bloody bandages lay on the floor near his feet and more blood dripped from a wide shallow wound on his side. One arm was down over the wound but the other was out, sweeping back and forth. Not just a warding motion, the fist was flattened, knuckles tight, ready to strike.

  The aide on the end moved around to the right, a tranque gun in his hand behind his back. The marine’s eyes swung to the aide and Aesca eased forward, her arm coming up.

  ‘Stop,’ commanded Celene. ‘Step back.’

  Everyone but Aesca did. Even the wounded marine shuffled back against the bed end.

  Celene moved up beside Aesca, ignoring the doctor’s glare. Her eyes were for the marine only. He lifted his head enough to meet them. Fear, embarrassment, determination, confusion. ‘Let’s talk,’ she said.

  ‘He has torn off his bandages and reopened his wound,’ said Aesca. ‘We need him down and back in bed.’

  ‘In time, but there is more here than that,’ Celene said softly. ‘How long can you keep on your feet with that rate of blood loss?’ she asked the marine.

  He blinked his eyes in confusion.

  Celene stepped to the side and motioned Jared up beside her, between her and Aesca. Soon she will realise that she has been overruled in her own ward. ‘Jared. How long do you think he can stand?’

  ‘That’s not so bad. Amo could stand for hours. Longer if he holds a bandage on it.’

  ‘There, Amo. We have hours. Doctor, could you leave us a bandage.’ Celene kept her eyes locked on the injured man’s. I hope she allows this. ‘Amo is my concern.’

  ‘Spence is my squadleader,’ said Amo with a nod.

  ‘There you see, Doctor. We will be fine. Amo, you must put pressure on that wound and stop the bleeding. We will not be able to talk otherwise. The Doctor can not leave a wound unattended. That is her nature. All you marines should know that by now.’

  One of the aides laid a thick wide dressing and a roll of tape on the end of the bed. Celene released Amo’s eyes, turning her own to Aesca. Amo picked up the dressing and slid it up under his arm.

  Arched eyebrows said that this wouldn’t be forgotten, but Aesca nodded and motioned for her people to follow her out.

  ‘Amo. That is an odd name,’ said Celene. ‘I have never met anyone before with that name.’

  ‘It is short for Leguizamo. My family name.’

  ‘I see. Too long for the marines, I am sure. I could not imagine Sergeant Tollen using it. In that many syllables he is usually finished.’ They shared a smile. ‘You have been injured before. I see other scars.’

  ‘Sure. It happens.’ His head went down.

  ‘Why is this one different?’

  He shrugged but his head stayed down. She stepped forward and leaned in toward him. He darted low glances around the room. To the beds, not the marines on them. She was short enough to duck into his sight. The eyes were so important.

  ‘Are you afraid to talk, here among your friends? Don’t worry, we are all the same. Besides, we have just seen you stand up to the Doctor in her own section. Who in here could doubt your courage?’ That brought a weak smile. ‘So, tell me.’

  ‘I can’t sleep. When I do, I think that they are at me.’ His free hand went to his side, onto his other arm, over the wound. ‘I can feel them, M’am, I do.’ His face scrunched up.

  Oh no! I should have known. I should have recognised the wound. Behind her back, her hand caught Jared’s sleeve and twisted into the cloth. ‘You are not the only one, Amo. The Rim is cruel.’ Some of Aesca’s anger flowed into her. Why do we do this to them? And why do they bear it?

  ‘I don’t have words to fix it’, said Celene. ‘Once you are healed and rested, it will
trouble you less often. Time will ease it.’ She released Jared’s sleeve. ‘But you will never be the same.’ She moved further to the side and motioned Jared forward, pointing to the tape. She met his one-eyed gaze. ‘There is something we can do. A trick a friend told me of. To fool your mind when it is half asleep. To allow you to rest so that you can recover.’ Her tone became business-like. ‘Tape that bandage on properly and get back on the bed.’ Amo let Jared move to his side. ‘I have to go to the Armoury. I will be right back.’

  ‘You’re not to go alone,’ said Jared over his shoulder.

  ‘Finish the bandaging then follow. Your long legs should catch you up.’

  *

  It was late. The corridors were empty. Celene hurried. Once, she heard steps coming fast and stopped by the lights of a comm panel to wait. But the sound died. She ran the rest of the way to the Armoury, on her toes, like a dancer, quiet yet quick. She was rewarded with bright lights and the curve of Thomas’s back over one of the long benches.

  ‘You are working late, Thomas,’ she said by way of greeting.

  ‘I am old. I don’t sleep much anymore.’ He straightened up, working his shoulders. ‘Anyway, I get more done at night when it is quiet. I am not used to the rush up this end of the wall.’ He pointed to the end of the large room. ‘There is coffee, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you, Thomas, but I am still in the rush. Do you have any of the small sensors that the marines have been recovering from the enemy? The blue light ones.’

  ‘Yah. I think so. In the workroom. Not so many as you would think. The marines like to keep them. Why do you want one?’

  ‘To use in Med. Some of the marines are suffering from their fear of the Rim creatures. It won’t leave them, especially when their guard slips.’

  ‘Yah. I know similar,’ said Thomas with a nod of his head. ‘Your mind goes backwards when you are hurt. Childlike. Little things become great. Small fears can become terrors.’

  ‘The glow should help,’ said Celene. ‘They know it works on the Rim. The enemy set them out to sleep. It may be enough to damp this fear. Give them sufficient reassurance to rest.’

  ‘How did you hear about that?’ Thomas asked.

  She stopped and leant one arm on to the bench top. ‘Jared One-eye told me, on our flight to Arborne. The light was all that kept him sane, he said. Until they got him off the Rim.’ Her fingers tapped the hard surface of the bench. ‘He lost half his face, and his eye, while he lay unconscious.’

  ‘Doesn’t make this seem so bad,’ said Thomas pulling at his collar. ‘Shows that there is always something worse out there.’

  ‘We should have been aware of it,’ said Celene. The marines had a healthy fear of injury but this is something different, ‘something worse’ as Thomas so aptly put it. To fall wounded was always a concern. Life depended on the severity of the wound and how quickly aid arrived. The marines were trained for this and accepted it. However, the Rim added a new factor. Death could come from the ground you lay on, drawn by your blood. Unconscious or incapacitated, you were easy prey. It created a new fear, a lurking fear that beat sense. ‘I have sent one of my people to the Rim. It is a terrible place. As you say, there will be more to be learned.’

  ‘If he or she stays alive,’ added Thomas. ‘Word’s in that they are building to a big battle. Maybe the last one. Settle it one way or the other. With the lag time for the message, they are probably in it right now.’

  Quieted by that last comment, they made their way to the workroom. Thomas turned on bright lights. Celene stepped in. More of a bay or alcove than a room, with no door or partitions to separate it from the main area. Full shelves above a wide bench strewn with delicate tools and dismantled weapons gave it a cramped look.

  ‘Up the far end, I think,’ said Thomas.

  Celene saw her vest, opened up on the bench.

  ‘Not much I can do with that, I am afraid,’ said Thomas noting her glance. ‘The fine circuits and boards are beyond me. Couldn’t find any loose wires or scorch marks. That one will have to wait for Lammas. He is the only one that can fix it with the Armourer gone.’ The old man picked up a small hammer and shook it. ‘That’s something you could tell the old bastard. We are way down on our technical intake. He better find some brains in the next couple of batches.’

  A call and the sound of steps drew Thomas back into the main room, hammer in hand. Celene moved along the bench. There was something else that had caught her eye, further down, something reflecting light from the bright overhead fixtures.

  ‘Yo, Thomas. You fixing shoes or something?’ Jared’s deep voice continued but Celene hardly heard it. ‘The Specialist here? I’m meant to meet her.’ Something from Thomas that she didn’t catch. ‘Good. For empty corridors it is bit noisy out there.’

  A cross, cut into the hard surface of the bench. Not cleanly by a single tool. Gouged by repeated scrapes. So repeatedly that it had become polished. Six rays. The Empty Cross of the Ardent. This must be from Lammas. The same mark that Briodi’s body wore. She ran her hand over it, remembering each wound.

  ‘I’ve seen that before,’ said Thomas beside her. She hadn’t noticed him and Jared approach.

  ‘In the Box,’ said Celene. She remembered it now herself. High. As high as she had allowed herself to go. It had pulled at her but she did not dare go higher. Not out of fear, out of sense. She had her identity to protect then and there was no stronger motivation possible at that time.

  Bright, that is how she saw it now and recognised it. The dark ink drawing in Nata’s notebook and the regular symbols on old printouts had not affected her. They do not have this light. The reflection from the overhead fixtures made it come alive as she moved her head from side to side. Thomas was talking but she was not taking it in.

  ‘Around it mostly. Scratched on tools and scrap. The caretakers do it. This lot that is out there now. It’s a nuisance. We used to issue replacements and put new housings on the ones we were fixing, so they could go out to the other shops, but it would happen again. Now we repair their tools and send the same ones back. Serve them right if they go short for a few days, treating good gear like that.’

  Something he said jarred her enough to break the spell but fled before she could grasp it. Her hand did manage to catch up a small tin full of parts soaking in oil and upend it over the bench, darkening the cross.

  It is in all of us.

  ‘Best get those sensors for you, M’am,’ said Thomas.

  CHAPTER 84: VISCO, THE HUNTER

  There! She moves again. Even sitting here in command, at his desk, the thrill of the chase sang in his blood. A marine accompanies her. A complication. He pulled up the feed from the monitors in adjacent corridors, spread the images on his screen. Arren and Forn are close. He would have to bring Crell in to take the marine. With the stunner it shouldn’t be a problem. He hesitated. Not Crell, not yet. He didn’t want Crell near the woman this soon. If there was a struggle he could not be trusted.

  The eliminations Crell had carried out for the Cross had not sated the man, they had made him worse. Deaths were no longer quick and clean. And they would get worse. Crell, with Forn’s help and Clairvaus’ approval, had gone so far as to bolt shackles into the wall of the vault. ‘Sacrifices of necessity’ had muttered the religious fool, but he was as keen as the other two. Serin did not care, caught up in his own quest. Only Arren remained reticent. But with blood in front of him he would join in. Too far from our purpose. Too risky. They must all go tonight.

  He had planned for that and the knowledge added to the thrill. All their lives in his hand. No one had ever planned so well, balanced so many schemes. He ran Base as well as the operation in the Arm. La Mar had seen and acknowledged that. But she did not know the rest, the House schemes, and over all, diminishing the others to insignificance, the resurgence of the Ardent. She would go down on her knees if she knew of all that he was doing.

  The figures on the centre of the screen were heading back to Med. Good. He
ordered Forn and Arren to follow in parallel corridors. Crell, Serin and Clairvaus were stationed outside on the plain at the foot of the wall close to the north end of the stores sector, where it abutted Med, a grav platform with them, to allow them to transport their catch quickly away from the wall and to the Box. That was the plan as they understood it. Only he knew otherwise.

  He sent Crell in. ‘Go to the entrance to Med. Forn and Arren will join you. She has a marine with her. If they separate, wait then take the Specialist. If they stay together take them both before they enter the main Med corridor. If you can not do this without discovery, drop back. I will find a way to call her out.’ They will separate. She will be given to us. He was sure. Fate would put her in the caretakers’ hands and with them she would die.

  CHAPTER 85: NATA, THE SCHOLAR

  Nata combined files. His screen skills were rudimentary but they sufficed. Checking of schedules had been his greatest use of this machine in the past. The details of those he trained he kept in his head, as a master should. This new vocation had forced him to admit his limitations, to swallow pride and use the artificial aid. A lesson there, and not only for an aspiring scholar. I am on the right path.

  He missed his tall friend. And worried about him. The Specialist had warned him, in a roundabout way, of the dangers Elsewise faced. This was a great ill, what the Inner Belt had done to his breed. An abrogation of their right to find themselves, to find the path. Of all the deeds he had seen or heard of humankind, the most wicked, for finding the one path was the purpose of an individual’s existence. To be denied this reduced a person to a thing. His friend was not a machine. He would persevere in his enlightenment, regardless of risk or damage. Nata’s fear was that he would not be there to help him when help was needed.