No one had approached them while they walked through the camp. No one talked to them. No one, not even parents holding delirious, moaning children, approached them for help. Bain had seen people point at them. He had heard children ask their parents who the strangers were, after they had walked past. But no one talked to them.
It was like an invisible wall stood between the four from Sunsinger and the suffering people in the camp. Bain didn't think it was Jax's tall, imposing presence. He thought maybe it was formed by their good, nearly new, bright clothes and their visible good health and the way all four walked down the center path between the huts without faltering or stumbling or showing any signs of weakness. They were strangers. They had no common bond with the people in their suffering.
Bain didn't like that feeling. He felt that the invisible wall locked him away more than it protected him. Sunsinger and Sister Marnya were here to help, weren't they?
Back on Sunsinger, they went to their cubicles to change their clothes and wash, to avoid picking up any airborne diseases that might have clung to them. Ganfer did a sensor scan of each one in turn, to make sure they weren't becoming ill or carrying something to their next stop. Lin made tea. The four sat in the galley in silence, their tea untouched until it cooled.
“Somewhere in the Commonwealth, there are storehouses of medicine and clothes and materials to build decent houses and build sanitation systems and water purification plants. The problem is getting them from the storehouses to the people who need them,” Sister Marnya said, breaking the silence.
“That's always been the problem, down through the ages,” Jax said with a tired sigh and a sad smile.
“The problem down through the ages,” Lin said, “is finding the people to take the supplies to where they're needed."
“Willing people,” Sister Marnya added.
“We have plenty of willing people in the Order,” Jax said. “How do we get from Vidan and all our little outposts and training enclaves, to where we're needed?"
“We need ships. Lots of big ships. It takes a long time to build ships, even with all the resources the Order has at hand. For every ship we build, it takes five months, and uses debits we could better spend on dozens of families—and during those five months, thousands die of disease and hunger and exposure.” She thumped the table hard enough to make their cups jump. “The Mashrami don't have to attack us, they just have to keep the Fleet too busy to help."
“Does it have to be military ships?” Bain asked.
“They're the biggest and fastest available,” Jax said. “Little patches won't take care of big holes."
“What about a lot of little patches, though?” Lin said slowly. “Why can't you use a lot of little ships carrying everything they can cram into their holds?"
“Spacers?” Bain felt a thrill run through him at the idea.
“Why not? We're much better pilots than the Fleet can ever get. We're small and we can go places those big military ships can't go because they're so big and visible. We don't need a lot of crew, so we have more room for cargo space. I know a lot of Spacers who would love to help, if they could just find something to do."
“Would they? Would you ask them?” Sister Marnya suddenly had tears in her eyes. She hadn't cried all during that long, cold, sick-smelling, dirty walk through the camp.
“Let me get close enough to the next planet and I'll spread the word and the Spacers there will spread to other planets and the whole Commonwealth and half the Conclave will know about the need within two months.” Lin raised her cup in pledge. “Spacers owe the Order. The Commonwealth itself owes the Order more than can ever be repaid. For the sake of the Commonwealth and for Fi'in, we'll do it."
Solemnly, Sister Marnya and Jax and Bain raised their cups and touched them to Lin's. They drank the cold tea and smiled through eyes suddenly gone misty.
* * * *
The next morning before Sunsinger left, Lin unloaded all her medical supplies and extra blankets and even the mattress from the unused cubicle, and gave them to the supply officer stationed at the spaceport. Bain took all his outgrown clothes from storage, even his favorite red vest, which he kept just for the memories of working with the Rangers and Captain Gilmore. He gave them to the supply officer as well.
* * * *
“When this war is over,” Marnya said, “it will be easier to help people. The Fleet won't be spending its energy and time and resources fighting to protect planets."
All four were in the observation dome. It was late in the ship's day but no one wanted to go to bed yet. Lin had asked Ganfer to unfold the protective shields on the dome all the way, so the stars in all their colors and varying brilliance were displayed to their fullest.
“Right,” Jax half-growled. “They'll be back to exploring and finding new worlds to colonize. They won't have the time or the interest in cleaning up the problems left behind by the war."
“No, we can't let that happen.” She stayed lying on her back, gazing up at a swirl of blue-white energy trails directly overhead. “That's what happened before the Downfall. Their policy was to destroy the weak and those who didn't fit their rigid guidelines. If even one child goes to bed hungry or is orphaned tomorrow because the current policy ignores little needs for the big picture—the current policy is wrong.” She turned her head to smile sadly at Bain through the shadows of the dome. “Kilvordi told me that, a very long time ago."
“You aren't going to convince the Commonwealth Council of that, even if they let you stand up and speak for hours in a General Session,” Lin said with a tired laugh. She lay on her back, arms stretched over her head, her knees up and her heels resting halfway up from the foot of the acceleration couch.
“That's not the way to do it, even if I wanted to. Which I don't.” Marnya chuckled. “The way to change the universe is one person at a time. Convince them that people are more important than profit, that giving is better than taking, that serving is more important than ruling. Give whatever help we can, wherever we can, and move on. You can't make laws to force people to be kind and considerate and responsible—but you can teach them to be that way."
“You just hate having to wait until the war is over and you can travel further with fewer restrictions,” Jax said.
“That's one of many problems,” she admitted.
“If it's any comfort,” Lin said slowly, “the war will be over sooner than the Council has let anyone know."
“What?” Marnya sat up and turned to stare at her. “How do you know this?"
“We were there. We saw the Mashrami home world. It's dying and we're pretty sure the Mashrami are dying, too.” She glanced over at Bain and shared a sad smile with him. The memories of that terrifying chase through Knaught Points and orbiting the dying world were clear on her face.
“Why haven't we been told?” Jax asked.
“You know how the military mind works,” Marnya said. She stretched out on her back again and turned her face to the starry dome. “Never share good news until it's almost too late. Always make sure bad news, even if it's an unsubstantiated rumor, gets spread around at three times the speed of light.” She started laughing, low and soft, but soon the sound grew until it shook her body and bounced off the dome with little chiming echoes.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
On the colony world of Antebio, Marnya and Bain pretended to be mother and son. She put a dark rinse in her hair and painted reddish highlights in Bain's hair to bring the two closer together. Marnya wore contacts, turning her light eyes as dark brown as Bain's. They wore nearly new clothes, all dark colors and slightly rough cloth. The plan was for them to pretend to be middle-class people, with enough money to afford space travel but not enough for fancy clothes and expensive accommodations.
The hardest part, Bain realized after only an hour wandering through the city, was calling Marnya ‘Mother.’ Even after two years, the word brought up images of his own mother and he still felt the pain and loss. He silently scol
ded himself for that, but it didn't soften the pain or send it away.
Antebio was a clean city—maybe too clean, for Bain's tastes. The buildings were all three and four story high cubes of silver-gray or cool yellow stone, with flat roofs and precisely the same arrangements of windows and doors. The streets were all the same material used for the landing field. No mud covered the streets when it rained. No leaves or dust blew around in the wind. Short, brownish-gold bushes dotted the few places that hadn't been paved. People walked everywhere, or rode little three-wheeled electric carts that hummed softly as they sped by. The wheels made soft clicking noises when they went over the joints in the paving.
The sense of cleanliness and regimentation extended even to the marketplace, which was disappointingly small compared to other worlds. Bain didn't like it. The crowds could hardly be described as ‘crowds.’ People laughed and talked and shouted to each other across the aisles and between booths, just like on other worlds, but Bain didn't think they were quite as loud or moved quite as fast.
There was too much light. Bain couldn't take ten steps in any direction without nearly running into a light pole. At least he didn't have to dodge crowds to get around the poles. He wondered if the crowds were less because there were so many lighting poles in the way—or if there were so many lighting poles to make up for the lack of people.
Either way, Jax had a hard time following them while staying unseen. The big man dropped back further and further with every booth Marnya and Bain visited that morning, until soon the boy had to consciously turn around and look for the man. He didn't like the little chill that ran up and down his back when he considered Jax vanishing altogether. What would he and Sister Marnya do if someone attacked them and Jax was too far away to help?
He had progressed enough to earn praise from Jax in his self-defense lessons. Bain could fall and roll and leap to his feet without getting bruised. He could kick and twist himself around so an attacker couldn't get a good grip on him. He knew how to wriggle out of his shirt or jacket to get free of someone holding him. He knew how to use his elbows and knees for tight in-fighting.
Would that do any good if the Shadows found Sister Marnya and tried to kill her? Bain didn't think so.
All in all, he didn't enjoy his morning in the marketplace.
Sister Marnya found a stall selling gisreg. The fruit was too hard—she said it had been picked while it was still green and hadn't absorbed enough nutrients to ripen, no matter how long it sat on the shelf in the marketplace.
Bain felt a little brush of excitement when he heard harp music being played two aisles over. The music was easy to hear because of the skimpiness of the crowd.
“Please, Mother? Could we go look at the harps?” Bain asked as Marnya stepped away from the fruit stall. She had been trying unsuccessfully to return the unripe gisreg.
“Harps?” For a moment, Marnya frowned. Then she nodded and her eyes sparkled. “Branda?” she whispered. Bain nodded. She laughed and held out her hand for his and they ran together down the food vendors’ aisle and over to the musicians’ aisle.
The music stopped before they turned the corner. Bain skidded to a stop on the smooth pavement—he found he preferred cinders or gravel or sand under his boots. He felt a dropping sensation in his stomach when he looked down the aisle and found only four booths open. No one displayed the green banner with roses that Branda always put out.
No customers stood on the pavement or walked down the short aisle. Bain didn't like the feeling the emptiness gave him. Without thinking, he glanced over his shoulder to look for Jax.
“Careful,” Marnya whispered. She kept her hold on his hand. “I think it's time we asked some questions. Excuse me, sir?” she said, raising her voice. She stepped up to the first stall, which was on their right and displayed small keyboards with multi-colored keys and a long cord with multiple control dials. “We heard some harp music a moment ago. Do you know who was playing, and where?"
“Here, Mistress,” the woman at the end of the aisle called. She picked up a data pad and tugged a disk from the feed slot on the side. “It's the closest thing anybody here will come to real harp music."
“Why?” Bain asked.
“No time for anyone to learn, so why bring real instruments here?"
“Be careful what you say and to who,” the man in the first booth called out.
“When my lease expires, I'm leaving anyway, so what does it matter?” She chuckled and finger-combed sweaty, dull white hair off her forehead. “This place is nice enough, I suppose. Nobody is hungry or lacks shelter. Everything is so clean ... maybe too clean.” She winked at Bain. “But I tell you something, this whole colony lacks soul. No time for beauty. No time to just sit still and appreciate the sunset or raindrops or write poetry or learn to play a harp. They're too busy building and growing and cleaning up everything. That's not good."
“You're wise to realize that,” Sister Marnya said. “Where will you go when you leave here?"
“I don't know. Some place with a little more dirt and a lot less regulations about what you can and can't do or say or even feel.” The merchant chuckled and leaned over the counter of her booth. She made a face at her neighbor, stuck out her tongue, put her thumbs in her ears and wiggled her other fingers.
Bain burst out laughing. He immediately clamped both hands over his mouth to hush the sound. It was too loud for this too-quiet, enclosed place.
“Thank you for your help. Come along, Son.” Sister Marnya rested a hand on his shoulder. “We have work to do before we go to our inn for the night."
“Yes, Mother.” Bain nodded thanks to the woman merchant and turned to follow.
They went back to the food aisle and bought bread, soft cheese, strawberries, peaches, and sealed containers of mixed beans in sour dressing, to eat for their dinner. They could have afforded to eat in a restaurant that night, or had food brought to their room in the inn. But, as Sister Marnya explained, it was more consistent with their appearance if they bought food to eat in their room. It was what people with limited funds would do. Bain liked the idea. It was like an indoor picnic.
After they left the marketplace, they went into the town proper and reserved their room at the inn. Their few pieces of luggage had been sent over from the spaceport and had been waiting for them at the inn. Lin had made arrangements with a friend who ran the carting service to ‘lose’ the paperwork that usually accompanied the transfer of luggage to the inns by the spaceport. Anybody asking wouldn't be able to find out what ship mother and son had come in on.
“Details,” Marnya said as soon as she and Bain had stepped into their room. “The smallest detail out of place can ruin the overall image you want to present. Remember that, Bain."
He nodded and put down the two net bags with their dinner in it. The harsh fiber of the rope handles bit into his hands.
Their room held two narrow beds sitting under the windows, a long table with four chairs, pushed up against the inside wall, and a tiny closet for the sanitary. The sanitary was only half the size of the one on Sunsinger, and Bain had always privately grumbled that it was too small. The walls were clean and painted a soft blue. The floor had a soft, dark blue, woven plastic covering. The blankets on the beds were white and blue stripes. All the furniture was made of a hard, dark brown plastic with a slightly rough finish.
“Very nice. Clean and neat and some attempt at style. You can tell a good deal about the owners of the inn by how their cheapest rooms are furnished,” Sister Marnya said. She bent over and picked up their bags and arranged them carefully down the length of the table. “There ought to be a cold box ... yes, over there.” She pointed at a silver panel in the wall, waist height, next to the door to the hall. “Let's put our groceries away, then we can head outside again."
Moments later, they were outside in the mid-afternoon warmth, walking toward the business district of the colony. Sister Marnya had to go into several offices and take care of paperwork; official reports and record
s required of people moving from planet to planet. Spacers and military were the only ones exempt from such regulations. Spacers, because they lived in their ships and their logs were automatically transmitted to the spaceport officials when they landed. Military, because of the same procedure and because all the paperwork and regulations and checking of records had a tendency to slow down their missions. Bain found the whole procedure interesting for the first half hour. Then it grew tedious and boring.
If he and Sister Marnya were only visiting the colony, there wouldn't be a tenth as much paperwork. But, the story that went along with their false identities this time was that mother and son had come to Antebio to settle. She was a new widow and had come here to start out new. Immigration questions and the process of transferring funds, property and schooling records from one colony to another took time and piles of paperwork.
Bain wondered why the son he pretended to be couldn't just study through a computer and lesson disks, like he actually did on Sunsinger. He almost opened his mouth to ask twice, but each time had to remind himself that a planet-bound boy wouldn't know about the lessons Spacers learned, taught by ship-brains, with the tests administered at the Scholastica of each planet they visited. Details, as Sister Marnya said, were important.
A few times he wondered what would happen to all the forms and permits and records-transfer requests they had filled out, when Sister Marnya accomplished her mission and they left again aboard Sunsinger. Bain made a note to ask her when they were safe inside their room at the inn.
The offices had long, narrow waiting rooms with nothing to do but sit on long, hard benches and stare at the opposite walls or look out the long, narrow windows at the people passing in the street. Bain sat and swung his legs when the benches were high enough, or walked around the room while he waited for Sister Marnya to finish talking with the latest in a long line of clerks and officials and computer terminal operators.
The Lady And the Order [Sunsinger Chronicles Book 4] Page 12