The Return of the Grey

by Robert Lee Henry

  He waved it away. ‘They would have gone through anyway. No way that we could hold those numbers.’

  ‘A passage won at great cost of life and with animosity engendered on both sides,’ said Elsewise. ‘It is immeasurably better that the first communication was followed by cooperation. It will go some way to reduce the fear between the races.’

  ‘Races, you say. But they are more like made things, are they not?’ said Thomas.

  ‘Energy converted to matter, or more accurately, energy bound to act like matter, that is the hypothesis at this point, based on the tapes and the scout’s advice,’ answered Elsewise. ‘It has parallels to our own making. We are only recombinations of matter bound by energy.’

  ‘Why ships then?’ asked Gati. ‘They could be anything.’

  ‘There my hypothesis devolves into speculation,’ said the Scholar.

  ‘I would hear it, if you would oblige,’ said Quartermaine. ‘When you are gone we will be short on long thinkers.’ Nata, the Armourer and now Celene. Gone. La Mar was like him. It was hard to look further when Base filled your heart. He’d have to search for someone. Should be someone in the Guard with a scholarly bent. Keep a little history if nothing else.

  CHAPTER 116: REMEMBRANCES

  Tollen slipped through the door and along the wall to the servery.

  ‘Hi, Sarge,’ said Fosci. ‘We’ll have some rolls in a bit.’

  ‘Nah, that’s okay. This will do fine.’ Busy surveying the rest of the mess he wasn’t sure what he pointed at. Didn’t matter. Food was fuel to him at the moment, that’s all. No marines yet. Good. Aesca was unlikely to send anyone else after him. Maybe Amazons, he thought suddenly. There was a table of them but they seemed busy with their food and talk.

  ‘Didn’t know that you liked pizza, Sarge,’ said Fosci.

  Tollen turned to him and looked down to the counter, at the strange flat bread with stuff on it. ‘What?’

  ‘Barry made it. You remember, at the fort on the Rim, when the marines marched by. Some of them got a taste for it so we make it now. Especially Mad Mike. He likes it.’

  Mad Mike. He hadn’t seen Mike for a few days. Been avoiding him actually. Too close to Aesca.

  ‘You okay Sarge?’ asked Fosci holding out the tray. ‘I can get you something else. Won’t take a tick. You sit and I’ll bring it out.’

  ‘No, no. This will do fine.’ He took the tray. ‘Barry you say. There you go, it must be good.’ He nodded his thanks and stepped off through the tables.

  It was early and there were not many people in yet. Better to be able to see who was there than to try and get lost in a crowd. That is what had decided him to come early. Since the Ag planet everyone seemed to notice him. Just when he wanted a low profile.

  He wasn’t okay. He was injured and he knew it. The shaking on the end of the light cannon had hurt him. Funny as it had been at the time, he regretted it now. Even the back slapping that had gone on since hurt. Hard to hide the pain. He would have to get treatment soon. But not now. If Aesca got hold of him he wouldn’t get out of Med for weeks. And he had to be out tomorrow.

  Barry’s foodstuff was good. He could hold it in his hand, take bites, chew and keep his eyes on the entrances. Tasty too.

  He was almost done when a group of marines piled in. Laughing, they had more attention for something they carried than for the room and he pushed forward until the branches from the planters hid him. Once they get to the servery I will slip out, he planned.

  The group stopped along the wall below Tommo’s suit arms and Seca’s legs. What are they up to? His curiosity brought him out from behind his screen. One marine hopped on another’s shoulders and a sledge was passed up. Hanging something. Something small. He couldn’t quite see.

  Everyone looked up when the banging started. Now’s the time to go, he told himself. He glanced around. Some of the Amazons were up and stretching to see. Fosci and another cook were leaning out over their counter. He rose carefully and took a few steps back around the plants. When he made it out the other side, he was surprised to find some of their eyes on him. Oh oh. Smiling at him then back to the wall then to him again. What’s going on?

  Then he saw. Ahh nah! He went forward without thinking.

  ‘Come on now. Take that down. That don’t deserve to be up there.’ A gauntlet, his gauntlet, hung on a spike just above and between the proud markers for Tommo and Seca.

  ‘No, Sarge,’ they argued. ‘She’s a beauty.’ ‘Only a marine could have thought of that.’

  A new ache passed through him, nothing to do with his body, and he shook his head. ‘It’s not the same,’ he said.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and a deep voice said, ‘It was when you stuck your arm down the barrel of that cannon.’

  Tollen turned his head to find himself staring at a broad chest. He tilted up to look into Mike’s eyes. Damn! Angry at being caught so foolishly he turned back and swung his hand at the wall. ‘This is too much. Tommo and Seca … I was just doing my job.’

  ‘They would say the same if they were here,’ said Mike.

  ‘Well they’re not are they? The least you could do would be to have the good grace to wait until a body is dead.’ He was ruining their fun but he did not care. ‘Come on, get it down. I’m going to need it.’

  Mike still had a hand on his shoulder. ‘You need more than that, Sarge,’ the big man said quietly. ‘Aesca wants you in Med. Everyone knows that you are walking wounded. Damn it Tollen, you winced when I laid my hand on and that was a light touch.’

  ‘One more day, Mike,’ he asked. ‘After that I will get treatment. I promise.’

  ‘If I don’t bring you back, I’m the one that is going to need treatment.’

  ‘One more thing to do, Mike. For Spence. For all of us.’

  Mike let go of his shoulder and stretched his long frame up along the wall to pluck the gauntlet off its spike. He tapped it against the fused chain on the suit arms then on the welds on the suit legs. ‘Good company there, Sarge. Tommo and Seca. Nothing wrong with her legs, you know. Stronger than before, Aesca told me. She just didn’t want to leave Penter alone.’ Mike tossed the gauntlet over.

  The quick move to catch it hurt. He couldn’t help showing the pain and the big marine winced along with him.

  ‘Don’t do any more damage to yourself,’ ordered Mike. ‘No matter what. She’d never forgive herself.’

  CHAPTER 117: LEAVETAKING

  Celene slipped the dress over her head. A dress. She had not worn a dress in over seven years. Her shoulders felt bare and the inconsistent touch of the fine cloth on her legs as she walked disturbed her. Impractical, it made her feel weak. This is not about how you feel, she told herself. At the mirror she arranged her hair with pins that she had Supply prepare only the day before, so long since she had last done this that she had none of her own. Hair up, she went on to her face. The powders and paints were hers, one vanity that she had continued, although only in a very minor way. She opened tubes and containers that had lain shut for years, lifted the fine brushes. In all the years she had not lost her touch. She stepped back and surveyed the image in the mirror. Celestene D’Auvinery Celerion looked back. Familiar but not yet right. Sadness lay on this woman’s face. The Celerion had never showed that emotion. Celene searched for a more appropriate cast. Formal, reserved, possibly imperious, if she could strip the nuances of disdain and scorn from it. She could not treat them to that regard. Save it for the Inner Belt. Coldly imperious though? Maybe, yet she would have to maintain the pose as she passed in front of them all. A slip or a trip or a tear would ruin it. She knew that if she had any anger left she could have managed it but she had none. She settled for adamantine. The Grey’s look. Distant, far focused, unfeeling.

  She leaned forward to test it and Spence’s medallion slipped from her bodice to turn and flash in the mirror. She slammed her eyes shut and straightened. No tears. She had promised herself no tears. She held tight until the emotion passed.

&
nbsp; The medallion had been waiting for her in Med, draped on her pillow when she returned for the night. She had removed the ribbon and replaced it with a fine chain of her own that would not be recognised but she had forgotten how low the front of the dress would be.

  There was a discreet tap at the door. Her escort. Requested from the Inner Belt fleet. To increase the distance between her and the Guard. She slipped the medallion back under the dress, pulled a pin from her hair and used it to fix the chain to the cloth. Then she returned her gaze to the mirror and waited until her eyes were void of all feeling. Finally satisfied that she had captured the Grey’s detachment, she called for them to enter.

  *

  Trahern was up on the balls of his feet, eyes darting, measuring, assessing. Quartermaine didn’t like it. ‘Trahern. You stand by me, got it. Here by my side.’ No loose cannons today. At least this once they would follow his order, bitter as it was.

  They were out on the plain. The craft from their Group still clogged the hangars so the Inner Belt lander had come down on one of the outside pads. Almost all of Base had come to observe. Usually when he said that he meant the Guard but this time it was almost all of Base. The commercials and workers from the port had been allowed in. Why not? She’s saving them too. The Inner Belt wouldn’t have drawn a fine line with their retaliation.

  Too big a gathering not to be organised, he had demanded that all units stay together and ordered Security to bunch up the civilians.

  The marines had come out early and taken pride of place, formed up along one side of the path she would have to take to board the lander. Servicemen and supplymen bracketed them. Quartermaine put the cadres on the opposite side. That spilled them into their parked craft and many had climbed up for a better view. Not everyone was on the plain. The wall was close and offered good vantage. The white of Med was in many of the windows. Not just the staff, the bloody patients also. Aesca must be getting soft.

  He stood on a raised platform that the servicemen had thrown up overnight. Not for ceremony, more to keep his eye on things. Celene had already said her goodbyes. He had nothing to add.

  He flexed shoulders sore from the previous day’s hammer work. They had stayed at it until all the windows were clear, he and Thomas taking turns with the sledge, the others removing the shutters, frames and debris. In the breaks, the Scholar patiently explained his ideas. We’re all in a fairy tale now. From man to AI to the Ships. Humankind begot AI, AI begot the Ships, that was the Scholar’s theory. Maybe not all AI was up to but what would you want for your ‘children’, endless calculation or the joy of the universe? A dream of humankind passed on. A dream that wasn’t spoiled by its origins. AI had left humanity out of the history, out of the Ships’ knowledge. That was the Scholar’s theory. The universe was great and the Ships’ numbers small. Vectored away from the Belt, the likelihood of contact was miniscule. But AI had prepared for even that improbable an event.

  Some of the steps made sense, others were too abstract for him to grasp. Or too fantastic. A blueprint built into the Box, waiting for a man like Trahern, on a Passage world where Weave gear and deep flying craft were employed. Too far a stretch for coincidence. Billion to one chance. Acceptable to AI, according to the Scholar. Probabilities were what the machine minds dealt in. Odds could be reduced by repetition of circumstances and settled with time. A billion to one done a billion times. Gives you the one you want. All it meant to Quartermaine was that the Inner Belt would want Trahern. That he could Weave three thousand craft at a time was enough. To have made the circuit crucial for the transformation of mind to machine, despite the fact that he didn’t know what he was doing, was too much. Lose another to the Inner Belt. I don’t know.

  The crowd parted in front of the hangars and a small party made their way forward, the Scholar, recognisable from his height, and several Inner Belt techs carrying boxes and records. Elsewise’s long stride carried him clear. He nodded to many of the people in the crowd, stopped for a quick word with one or two and was handed a bottle by a civilian that looked a bit like the tavern keeper Armitage but couldn’t have been because that old pirate never gave anything away. The Scholar passed the platform with a wave and ran the gauntlet of the marines joshing.

  ‘Come back anytime you need to learn more.’

  ‘Say hello to your cousin for us.’ Rumour was that the Bisegna had scholar blood in their line, a mathematician as the story went.

  ‘Might need another lander for that stick.’

  ‘Don’t forget to duck your head.’

  And duck he did to pass out of sight at the top of the lander’s ramp. The techs went up after him. Hope that data helps you as much as you have helped us.

  Movement at the hangars quieted the crowd. The escort marched out proudly. Peacocks, thought Quartermaine but couldn’t help admiring their display. Shiny plastron and brass, well cut uniforms, sashes, badges and epaulets, more colour than the cadres combined. Moving in perfect unison at the slow march. A good show for the crowd. And there in the middle, a woman in a long flowing dress, appearing to glide along, delicate, exquisite. Quiet changed to silence, a silence drawn out and partitioned by the regular stamp of the escorts’ boots. No nods or greetings from this party to the crowd, no acknowledgement at all as they proceeded. The majesty and indifference of the Inner Belt.

  As they passed by he gave up trying to hold her as one of his own. The escort was almost to the foot of the ramp when the dry breeze of Base blew a strand of hair free and he saw her reset her shoulders. In that moment he recognised her and what she was doing. No. I won’t let them take her from us! Damn the consequences!

  ‘STOP!’ he bellowed.

  She continued to float up the ramp. Quartermaine swung his head to Trahern. The Grey launched himself off the platform. Further on, Gati was already moving through the ranked marines.

  Quartermaine drew breath to call out commands. A hand caught his shoulder and squeezed. He knew that touch.

  ‘I’ll go with her. Then it is a mission and we will come back. Or you will come get us. Normal business.’

  The old marine hung onto his shoulder as he eased himself down off the platform. He let go with a nod and a smile and set off nonchalantly down the path. Everyone was watching.

  So simple, so right, thought Quartermaine. Only a marine could think of it. He lifted a palm to stop Trahern and Gati.

  A full pack came sliding out from the marine ranks, weapons clipped to the side and a suit strapped to the back.

  Ready for anything.

  Tollen bent to it but couldn’t lift it.

  Oh no! He’s hurt. This won’t work.

  A figure in blue stepped out from the mass of cadreman on the far side and leaned over the pack. It swung up easily to hang by one strap over garish gold and purple stripes.

  Another problem solved. Dead or off Base, that’s all that I had for him. I suppose that this can be considered banishment.

  Alizane turned to offer a casual salute then swung back beside Tollen. Both men walked on toward the lander.

  *

  Celene stood in the shadow just beyond the head of the ramp. A long breath lifted her chest then sighed out to join the fitful breeze. It would have been a sob if any sound had been allowed to accompany it but her arms were clasped too tightly for that, palms overlapped to press Spence’s medallion to her chest. If she released her hands the air would come easier but calculated thought had fled when she had turned to counter Quartermaine’s command and seen the old marine on his way. Not alone, was all she could achieve in her relief and joy.

  She managed to have her hands by her side by the time they reached the top of the ramp. Tollen and Alizane. A marine and a cadreman to accompany a specialist. I am still part of the Guard.

  ‘Specialist, or Milady, or whatever,’ said Tollen in greeting.

  ‘If I am so clever, or so exalted, or whatever, why didn’t I think of this?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s your problem, the ‘think’ part,’ said
Tollen. ‘Sometimes you just have to ‘do’. Isn’t that right, Gold?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Alizane.

  Celene lifted her arms slightly to graze theirs as they stepped in on either side.

  ‘Let’s let them see us together so they can set their minds at rest,’ said Tollen.

  Their reappearance in the light at the top of the ramp drew a cheer followed by a single clear shouted command. In response to that, the marines stomped forward seven paces, loud and harsh.

  ‘A general’s salute, from ancient times,’ said Elsewise from behind them.

  ‘Better do something or they will do it again,’ said Tollen. ‘Another round will have them in amongst the cadres.’

  Celene bowed low. As she lifted her head to straighten up, Spence’s medallion pulled free and spun into the light. The marines roared. Wild ululations ran high over the hoarse sound.

  Tollen stepped back out of the light and ran his hand through his short hair. ‘Better get this show on the road. I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a long mission.’

  EPILOGUE: THE SCHOLAR’S RETURN

  BASE PLANET

  Year 218 0f the Bisegna, 7228 post Expansion

  Elsewise returned to Base three years later and they were finally able to hang Tollen’s gauntlet on the mess wall. The old marine had died shielding the Specialist, protecting her during an assassination attempt at the Courts. She lived on and so did the Gold. Elsewise could only shake his head sadly when asked about their return.

  Base Commander La Mar dispatched a full marine squad to serve as Tollen’s replacement. Jared One-eye and his Rim veterans, including Joe Pack with his false arm, went out on the same craft that had delivered the Scholar.

  The intervening years had been kind to Base. The marine complement was full and cadre numbers had swelled, due in no small part to Colda’s fame. The saga of the Hero of the Deep had swept the known worlds, the tragic tale of one brave man who had sacrificed his life to stop war and the possible devastation of the universe. Base had become a destination of choice for those streamed into life service.