by Chris Walley
Merral looked at him. “So, what do we do?”
Vero smiled. “Ah, ever the man of action. In fact, I have made a decision for myself.” He looked at Perena. “Can you check for me now?”
She rose gracefully. “There’s a diary link point outside. Excuse me.” She left the room.
Vero walked forward and leaned on his chair back. “I need to talk with Brenito as soon as I can. Then we need to meet with the representatives here, but that would take a few days to organize. And, in the meantime, Earth must know. This matter is quite beyond us here and it raises issues that affect the entire Assembly. This matter must go straight to an emergency session of the Council of High Stewards. They will doubtless summon the whole Congregation of all the Stewards, the Farholme Delegate, and the Science Panel. I have no doubt, too, that the Custodians of the Faith would be consulted about the spiritual aspects.”
“And the sentinels?” Merral asked, awed at the realization that this matter would have to go so high and so quickly.
“If asked.” Vero looked thoughtful. “But, oddly enough, we have served our purpose in this matter. Or very nearly. We only ever existed to watch and alert. This we have done. It could be, perhaps, that in this case we might have done better, but that is for discussion at another time.”
Merral could faintly hear Perena outside talking on her diary.
“Do you think you can safely call Earth?” Anya asked.
Vero shook his head. “How? We cannot trust Gate communications. Your attempt to contact Maya Knella has taught us that. The files must be hand carried to Ancient Earth as secretly and fast as we can manage.”
Anya nodded. “Yes, I can see that. But the council and everybody—what do you think they will do?”
“I think I can safely say they will rapidly muster the entire Defense Force and bring them in. There are only two ships, and even by Assembly standards they are elderly, but they—and their men—will be enough to search the north. Beyond that, I do not know.”
The door opened and Perena came in and smiled at Vero. “Done. Two.”
Vero seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “So, I propose to leave for Earth on the next ship. The Heinrich Schütz. It departs the Gate Station at 10 a.m. Central Menaya Time the day after tomorrow—no, tomorrow now. In just thirty-four hours time. We will take tonight’s in-system shuttle.”
“We?” Merral asked, a bizarre speculation suddenly forming in his mind.
Vero walked round from his chair and grasped Merral gently on the shoulder.
“Yes, soldier,” he said, “we. I want to take you too.”
“Are you serious?” Merral gasped, his mind reeling. To Ancient Earth! He had hoped to go someday, but today? In barely hours?
Vero’s smile seemed weary. “Yes, for one thing, they—whoever they are—probably expect us to stay here and meet up with the representatives. But the four other representatives need to fly in, so we can hardly summon a meeting today and, as tomorrow is the Lord’s Day, they ought to know that we will not have any real meetings for two days. They may also be in disarray after their losses.”
“But why me? To Earth?” Merral asked. “All that way?”
He was suddenly aware that he must sound stupid, and he realized that Anya was staring at him, her face a mixture of amusement and envy.
“Merral,” Vero commented, “I need you. I cannot answer all the questions that will be asked. And the testimony of two is stronger than one. You have also seen and grappled with these things. If I went alone there might be a concern that it was my allegedly fertile imagination. Besides, this way, we take duplicate data. But don’t you want to go?”
“Yes. . . . No.” He gulped. “I mean, I haven’t really thought it through yet. And my family and Isabella. And Henri at work. I need to talk to them.”
Vero looked at him, his brown eyes showing concern. “I understand exactly. But just think what has happened to us today. And think what is at stake. It is beyond computation.”
Merral thought for a moment and swallowed. The words Ancient Earth seemed to thud in his mind. “No, you are right. We need to go.”
Vero raised a finger in warning. “Oh, and Anya and Perena can give farewells and apologies once you are gone. But, in the meantime, no diary calls.”
“Okay,” Merral answered. “But I need things. I mean, I’m not prepared. Anyway, there’s a waiting list for places.”
Vero looked at him. “You need little. Perena has sorted the places out. I wasn’t sure she could do it for both of us so I delayed telling you. It would hardly have been fair to disappoint you.”
Merral turned to Perena. “So that is what you were up to! But how have you done it? It must have taken one of the representatives to get you on with an urgent priority status. There’s always a waiting list for spare seats.”
Perena grinned. “There’s one power equivalent to the representatives in such matters and that’s Space Affairs. For whom I work. And you are traveling on an urgent mission.”
“But you didn’t tell them? Surely not?”
Vero was smiling now. “No,” he said, “but while you were getting your wound dressed, Perena and I talked about this. She suggested that, in view of the curious and alarming problem occurring to General Survey Craft Nesta Lamaine today, it was appropriate—even a necessity—to send the plate samples to Earth. On urgent-priority status. You and I will hand carry them for her.”
Perena interrupted with a gesture. “But you will be taking plate samples and I would like an assessment—fast. Please.”
“I see,” Merral replied, his brain still spiraling furiously around the concept, “but won’t they know if they control the information networks?”
Vero looked at Perena.
“There were,” she said, “two Space Affairs engineers going—Sabourin and Diekens. They have been asked to stand down and go on the next flight.” She looked at the floor, as if embarrassed. “Unusually, their names have not been removed from the manifest. Even more unusually, they are keeping quiet about the fact that they are not going. You, er—just replace them. You are even dressed for the part.”
Vero gave her a look of amused respect. “Captain Lewitz turns out to have an aptitude for duplicity—I think that is the word—that worries me. It must be that chess.” He wagged his head. “Be careful, Perena, that it does not get you into trouble.”
“We are all in trouble now.” Perena’s face had acquired a wry expression. “If it is a gift, then I trust I may be careful how I use it. But the hour seems to require it. Oh, and Vero, I ought to warn you, it won’t be comfortable. Space Affairs are ruthless in making their own people take the roughest seats. And in an inter-system liner, the crew seats are down just above the engines.”
Vero winced. “Vibration as well. But at least only for forty-eight hours.” Then he sighed, and Merral was suddenly aware of how tired his friend was and how much he was forcing himself into the giving of these orders. Vero turned to the sisters. “Oh, Perena and Anya, you ought to try and get in touch with the representatives and ask for a meeting in two days’ time.”
Anya nodded. “Anwar Corradon is the current chair of the Farholme representatives; I vaguely know him. My perception is that he is an unusually intelligent and thoughtful man.”
Vero looked around. “That, then, is the proposed plan of action. Are all in agreement with it?”
Everyone looked at each other and nodded.
Vero looked around. “Fine. Then let me suggest the following. I think we all need at least some sleep.” He looked at Perena. “If you, Captain Lewitz, can get some of those damaged tiles cut off and packaged up. And check any satellite imagery when it comes in. Oh, and any chance of a new diary for me?”
“I can get you one,” Perena said.
“Thanks. Anya, if you could look at those DNA samples. Perhaps a preliminary analysis? And prepare some duplicates for Merral to take to Earth. And can I get copies of that Maya Knella data too?”
An
ya nodded.
“And finally, I need to talk to Brenito. I have many questions and some he may be able to answer.”
“What about me?” Merral asked.
“And you?” Vero smiled. “You rest that ankle. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Brenito might want to see you.”
“When do we meet again?” Perena asked.
“Here? Ten-thirty tonight? To give us all the maximum time to do what we have to do.”
As they left the room and began to walk up the corridor to the exit, Merral overheard Perena outline the journey to Vero, and suddenly he felt that he was in a dream. “You will be at Bannermene tomorrow noon. From there, you are booked on from Bannermene Inward Gate to Namidahl a couple of hours later. Namidahl is, of course, on the outer ring and you go one Gate clockwise to the Finent Node. From Finent there’s a lot of traffic and depending exactly when you arrive, you should be at one of the Terran Gates with no more than two Gate jumps. Stress the urgent-priority status. So, all being well, in just over forty-eight hours traveling, you will be on Ancient Earth.”
Merral felt his mind reel at the prospect. This was not a game of Cross the Assembly; this was the real thing. They were talking about his journey.
“Where are we sleeping?” he asked. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with tiredness, he had a desperate need to lie down.
Perena patted his shoulder. “There is a spare room in the pilots’ quarters for you and Vero. I’ll get you another set of spare clothes each too.”
Perena drove Merral and Vero to the quarters at the edge of the complex of landing strips and showed them to the spare room at the far end of the building. It was small and its basic furnishings gave it the air of a room that was only used as a place for people to sleep; yet it was, they agreed, quite adequate.
After Perena left, Vero sat on his bed and put his head in his hands.
“Are you all right?” Merral asked, conscious that his ankle was still hurting.
“That meeting . . . I wasn’t sure I could manage to lead it. I knew I had to, but it was not easy. Thanks for your support.” He rubbed his face. “I am out of my depth, Merral. Making decisions; giving orders. All that sort of thing. I am an ideas person.”
“You did well.”
“If I did, it was by the grace of God. But we will see what happens. You nearly threw me twice, you know.”
“How? I didn’t mean to.”
“You sprung two new surprises. That you had seen a man and that there was evidence of a ship.”
“I apologize.”
“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. In fact, I am sure that they will help to resolve things. But I need to think about them.” And with that he fell silent.
17
When Merral awoke after a troubled sleep, it was midmorning. Vero had gone and there was a handwritten message on the table. Gone to see Brenito. Back around midday. Suggest you stay out of sight and don’t make diary calls. Vero. Merral rose, showered, and dressed his ankle again. There was food on the table and he made himself some coffee. He looked out of the window, but the quarters were at the end of a side runway and there was little to see other than bare rock baking in the warm spring sunshine. In the end, Merral went and lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Just after midday, Vero returned with food, drink, some more clothes, and a replacement diary. After checking that Merral’s ankle was healing, he announced that if Merral felt he could manage it, Brenito would like to see him.
“I would be fascinated to meet him,” Merral said. “His summons for help set so much in motion. And if I don’t have to walk far, my ankle will be fine. How was your meeting with him?”
An odd expression slid across Vero’s face. He frowned. “He listened. He was very disturbed about almost every aspect of our trip north. A number of things particularly alarmed him: Jorgio’s vision, the creatures—of course, the imitation buzzard, the manipulation of the Gate and diary transmissions. Especially the bird. When I told him it wasn’t a robot but was actually based on a dead bird, his eyebrows nearly flew off his head. And it was the first he had heard of Barrand’s alteration of a re-created voice too. So, there was plenty for him to think about.”
“Any answers?”
Vero seemed to stare at the wall.
“No, not really. He thought a lot, but he is a very cautious man. He said he was going to sleep on it when I left. He sleeps a lot. But no blinding answers. Maybe this afternoon will be better.”
“You seem disappointed.”
“Hmm. Oh, I suppose I had built my hopes up too much. Frankly, Brenito was far less help than I expected. I’m glad we will be at Earth in a few days; I need some answers and I think they may be able to give them to us. Incidentally, he took a special interest in my account of your exploits. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I’m glad you found yourself a warrior. That’s something, at least.’ ”
Merral shook his head. “I reject that title. I’m still very unhappy about what I did.”
“I—as you know—have a different opinion,” Vero answered, tilting his head. “As does Brenito.”
Merral shook his head. “Nothing pleases me more about this trip to Ancient Earth than the prospect of handing over responsibility for all this. Vero, I want to turn the clock back. I want to go back to my trees.”
“Indeed. I have decided I want to write and teach. May it be soon, for both of us. But in the meantime, let us eat.”
After they had eaten lunch and Vero had restored his data to his new diary, they drove over to Brenito’s cottage in a small four-seater that Vero had borrowed from Space Affairs. They had the windows open, and Merral, reveling in the smell of blossom and spring, found himself wondering whether Ancient Earth would smell the same. As they drove, Vero began to tell Merral more about Brenito.
“He was very distinguished in his day as an academic historian. On Ancient Earth he wrote several studies of early sentinel history under his full name of Brenito Camsar. He was a bit of a collector of things too, as you will see. Then in retirement, he felt he wanted to spend his last years doing something else. So he came out to replace Lars Mantell, who was sentinel here.”
“I see. I just call him ‘Brenito’? Not ‘Sentinel Camsar’ or something?”
“No, he’s informal enough. I call him ‘sir’ out of deference. You need not.”
They drove toward the headland on the southwestern side of Isterrane, and every so often there were glimpses of a cornflower blue sea down valleys or over fields. Then abruptly they turned off down a pale white track between silver-skinned poplars whose new leaves rustled in the breeze. At the end of the track, nestled between two low hills, was a wooden house painted white with faded yellow shutters.
After Vero parked, they walked through a neat vegetable garden set between trimmed hedges to a blue wooden door upon which Vero rapped his knuckles loudly.
There was the sound of movement in the house, and after a few moments, the door slowly opened to reveal a large, stooped man in an old gray suit with a faded sentinel badge on the left breast and a shirt that was open at the neck. Merral had seen images of Brenito before, but seeing him now in the flesh, nearly filling the doorway, he was surprised by how big a man Brenito actually was. Once, he must have been an imposing figure, but now any muscle had turned to fat. His face was a mass of creased flesh dominated by strangely pale gray eyes capped by faint white eyebrows, and his tightly cropped white hair was little more than a pale stubble.
Behind Brenito, Merral glimpsed a corridor filled almost up to the ceiling by glass cases, cabinets, framed images, and prints.
The old man looked from Merral to Vero, and then back again with hooded eyes. Then he leaned his jowled face toward Merral and smiled knowingly.
“Ah, welcome, Merral D’Avanos,” he said in a heavy, resonant voice with a hint of a non-Farholme accent and slowly extended a large, soft hand. Merral noticed that he wore open-toed sandals through which large toes protruded.
Merral bowed and took the hand. “Sentinel Brenito, it is my honor.”
A wry expression played across the heavy mouth. “Ah, come, let’s not worry about honor, Forester. If we ever get to that, the Assembly is in a real mess.”
Merral felt that if the voice was that of a man who had lived for a century, the sharpness of the riposte indicated a mind that had no weaknesses in it.
“Now, Verofaza,” he added, “you come on in too. You look tired.”
“I am slightly, sir, but it will pass.”
“As do all things under heaven. I’m making tea. Excuse my clothes. But do take our hero through and give him a seat.”
Merral felt that the dry, humorous tone went some way to easing the burden of his being termed “hero.”
Vero led Merral to a long side room. Sunlight streamed in through the large glass windows at the far end, and Merral caught a glimpse of the sea, dazzling in its blueness. But his eye was drawn away by the extraordinary collection of mementos and antiques that dominated the room. A hundred items clamored for his attention: an ancient space helmet, fragments of exotic machinery, maps of strange worlds, signed images of men and women, and piles of old paper books. On one wall behind glass was a worn blue flag with the gold-encircled stone tower of the sentinel insignia in the middle.
“Take a seat,” Vero said, motioning to an armchair of such an age that Merral wondered if it was another heirloom.
“Why, it’s almost like a museum,” Merral said, carefully moving his ankle past a plant pot mounted on a thruster nozzle and lowering himself gingerly onto the chair.