Mirror of Stone

by Corie J. Weaver

  “Who are you? Where are you?” Eleanor’s voice rose, became screechy. “Where am I?”

  “Please be calm. You are safe. Your injuries have been attended to while you slept, but we are concerned about the blow you took to the head.” The voice sounded like the wind rustling leaves high overhead.

  Eleanor traced the sound. There. She spied a darker area behind the rose hanging, as if someone stood between a window and the farthest layer of fabric.

  “Why don’t you come in?”

  “You should rest a little more.” The voice drifted away. “I do have one question for you. I would rather wait, but it is important.”

  During the long pause Eleanor wondered what she could possibly have to tell this stranger.

  “Where is the man Joel Zachs?”

  “Joel?” Her mind wheeled, unprepared. “I’m sorry if he was a friend of yours. Joel died a few months ago. I’m sorry. He seemed like a nice man.”

  A long silence passed.

  “What a pity for us all.”

  And then faint sounds and rustles. And then silence and no more questions.

  Eleanor sat ramrod straight and gripped the embroidered comforter until little veins bulged over her knuckles.

  Joel? Why were they asking about Joel? No one had cared much when he died. No one even knew about him, no one had asked about him, except for Frank. But Frank would have told Joel’s other friends in the prospector’s camp about his death. They wouldn’t keep her here to ask questions like this.

  She lay back and eased into the softness of the pillows. She traced the pattern on the vidplayer with her fingers as her eyes followed the lines on the table. T

  She remembered the odd figures in the vid, and swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

  She again heard the rustle of fabric. “Why don’t you come in? It would be easier to talk that way.” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

  The sounds stopped, then the odd voice resumed. “I do not wish to disturb you.”

  “Talking to you doesn’t disturb me. You hiding back behind the curtains disturbs me. There’s a difference. Please.”

  “It is my appearance that I am concerned about. You have had many shocks lately and-”

  “You’re one of the people in the vid, aren’t you.” She waved the vidplayer. “This thing, I mean. Right?”

  No answer.

  “Come on in,” she repeated. “I’m pretty well prepared, since I’ve been watching the recordings of the city for weeks and weeks.”

  A silence again. “You could not see us clearly, not from that.”

  “I could see a little. Enough.”

  “Very well.”

  The rustling sounds came closer. Even though she expected the tall, elegant figures from the vidplayer to appear before her, Eleanor flinched.

  A thin arm of palest celadon pushed aside one of the silk draperies. Eleanor’s eyes were riveted to the hand. Three fingers, long and slender, with a thumb that grew from the base of the darker green wrist, rather than the side of the hand.

  Three fingers, like the openings in the vidplayer.

  The drapery continued to fall to the side and her caretaker appeared in full. It was clear now why the figures in the vids, even from a distance, had looked so wrong. The player had not prepared her, not for this. As if the tallest man in the world had been drawn up, stretched out, made out of angles. The people had not worn masks, instead faceted eyes marked the smooth face. The hairless skull swept back to a point and on either side of the ragged mouth curved spikes protruded. Sharp lines in darker purples and greens painted in an intricate pattern over a face colored the same delicate green as the arm.

  Flowing robes draped her caretaker. Embroidered edges shimmered as the wearer approached her bed.

  Eleanor took a deep, steadying breath. If he? She? It? had wanted to hurt her, he could have done before this.

  “Hello, I’m Eleanor Weber.” She extended her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  A slow clicking sound and a pause.

  “Well. You took that better than the man Joel Zachs.”

  A long slender arm reached for Eleanor’s hand.

  “I am Bunyir, Lord of the House Chibrimo. I am also pleased to meet you.”

  When Eleanor grasped his hand, the cool hardness of his skin startled her.

  Bunyir made the clicking sound again. He took his hand back and tapped his arm with his finger. It made a dull clacking sound.

  “You are hard on the inside. We are hard on the outside. This distresses you?”

  Eleanor stopped to think about it. She’d never been one of those girls who kicked up a fuss about bugs in the house.

  “No, it’s just different. I can handle that.” She took a deep breath, then another, then gasped out altogether. “But what I’m wondering is, can you tell me how I got here? And where here is? And, I’m sorry if this is rude, but I haven’t had to do this before and I’m not sure the polite way to ask. . . Who and what are you?”

  At her outburst the alien stilled and cocked his head to the side. No motion came for a long, tense moment, then with a decisive flip of the edge of his robe, the alien left the room.

  Bunyir’s return interrupted Eleanor’s musings on the possible repercussions of her words, none of them pleasant. He carried a large bulky object.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I- ” She broke off as he laid the mysterious bundle on the floor, unfolded it and then drew poles and fabric up toward the ceiling. Within moments a rather comfortable looking chair formed.

  Bunyir seated himself, arranged his robe around him to drape just so.

  “My apologies for the interruption. You asked many questions and it will be a long time answering. I felt I would be more comfortable thus.” He gestured toward the chair.

  Eleanor felt her face flush. “Yes, of course.” She felt like a perfect idiot.

  “Now, where to start? I suppose we should start with a basic. You are in Aliet, the capital city of Tamker. You would know the name of my world as Ladril.”

  Her vision blurred and her lungs couldn’t get quite enough air. Of all the times she had gazed at the cloud-covered planet in the sky, she had never dreamed it held people or cities.

  But she couldn’t argue the existence of the alien standing in front of her, like nothing she had ever seen, except...

  Bunyir tapped the vidplayer laying on the bed. “Yes, the same city. You have been watching a compilation of a number of life recordings, as well as some popular historical dramas.”

  He sat back in the chair, turned his head away from her towards the gently swaying hangings.

  “So many things in history can be attributed to accidents of timing. The Great Storm that rides our sky ebbs and flows, gathering strength and ferocity each time, until it vents its rage, rests and begins again. At one such time, over three hundred orbits ago, our scientists feared the wrath of the storm would be colossal. Panic ensued. In the past we had retreated deep inside the womb of Tamker, sleeping out the storm years. But never so long.

  “When our preparations were disturbed by the news a ship of alien creatures had crashed on the second world of our system, we did nothing. It looked as if they would not survive a single orbit. Worried about our own survival, we turned our backs, hoped for your extinction and set alarms to wake us in case of a threat to our security.

  “The alarms were silent as you expanded from that world to the next, and the next. But the alarms sounded when you moved to our moon and ignored the warnings.”

  Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. “Your warnings? You mean you’ve already contacted my people? When?”

  Bunyir’s long fingers twitched the edge of his robes. “When you first sent probes to our
moon, of course. Our defenses were set to broadcast messages upon any breach of our perimeter.”

  “As a final attempt at communication a group of our four best linguists learnt your speech from intercepted communications. They traveled to the planet your people have named Claro in a small craft, with no armor, a gesture towards peace. We have not heard from them. I do not think we will.

  “After their disappearance none were surprised when the House of Caprat carried the argument. That House has always provided leaders in times of war, when others from beyond the blackness threatened us. They lead us now.”

  Throughout Bunyir’s speech, Eleanor felt a lump of ice grew in her stomach. She clutched at the blanket over her lap, and twisted the fabric into knots with her fingers. Overheard comments from the mining camp replayed in Eleanor’s mind. The rumors of missing ships now had resolved into an unbelievable certainty.

  “You’re attacking our ships? But, if my government knows you’re here, why haven’t they attacked you and your world yet? Why haven’t other teams reported life on your planet?” She stopped, as a final question struck her. “And what does all of this have to do with Joel?”

  “Though the Caprat hold power and lead the House of Assembly, their rule over the Tamkeri is not absolute. Many of us would prefer negotiations to war. We have kept the attacks down to minor raids against your transports.”

  “You sound like you’re keeping us trapped, like insects in a jar!”

  “A reasonable compromise, we felt. While the Caprat seek to consolidate the vote for war, some of us decided perhaps there would be better luck if we could convince one of your people to speak to your government for us. The discovery that you had changed the atmosphere of our moon to something similar to our own shaped our plan. We scattered several of the record viewers near transport gates. We hoped that at least one of the finders would be curious enough to follow the trail. In time we received Joel.

  “He was not everything we had hoped for at first. Joel was excited to find us, very excitable in general. I believe he was motivated by the scandal this would cause your government rather than a peaceful understanding between our peoples. But a good man and he studied well our message to his kind. And you tell me he is dead. How?”

  Eleanor stumbled through the same, bare recitation of facts she had given Frank. A lifetime ago. Frank’s lifetime ago.

  “And . . he died in the night. Old age, his heart gave out.” She cocked her head at Bunyir, still sitting, expressionless. “Do your people do that? Do you know what I mean?”

  The clicking sound again. It came from his left hand, where he flicked one finger over the tips of the other two. Amusement. He’s laughing at me.

  “Yes, child. We age, we die. I believe you. So, you found the recording, then came to us.” Bunyir nodded. “You will be our new ambassador.”

  She blinked, knowing it must make her look slow-minded and not caring at the moment. “Me? Your ambassador? The humans aren’t going to listen to me. You need someone else, someone older, with more experience.”

  Bunyir clicked laughter again. “If you speak to them, we will find a way to ensure their attention. We are awake now.”

  “And. . .” Eleanor’s voice dropped and she lowered her eyes to the comforter wrapped about her knees. “I’ve been cold and scared and chased and thought I was going to die and I’ve seen someone killed. I’m worried about my home, my friends, and my father. I ran out on my responsibilities to him. I should go home.”

  Bunyir regarded Eleanor for long minutes. “Let us speak of responsibility, then. A war has started. One I do not believe your government can win. What will happen to your friends, your father, if your planet is cut off completely?”

  Eleanor felt her stomach flip. Travbon wouldn’t be truly self-sufficient for years, if ever. They would all starve, but hundreds would die first without medical supplies. None of the colony planets would last for long without the others. Claro manufactured the vita-water she had tried to feed her father, the parts all the farming machines needed. A million little things they all depended on.

  Bunyir’s voice continued on, implacable. “This is a greater responsibility. Joel is dead, and we have you. How many more will die if you refuse this task and we must find another ambassador?”

  Eleanor sank back into her pillows, willed herself not to hear any more. She put her hands over her ears, but the words continued, crashing over her.

  “The coalition of Houses willing to seek negotiations is fragile. More delay and it will fragment, crumble away. The attacks will start again, not only against your trading ships but also your cities and your homes. Then all hope for peace will be gone. Will you risk this? We need someone who will understand both your people and ours. Someone to be a bridge between us.”

  Bunyir stood.

  “An ambassador who does not serve with a free heart serves no one and may do great harm. But know this: Right now there is no other candidate. It is not a matter of experience.”

  He bent to disassemble his chair. “Please think on what I have said. I will return in the morning for your decision.”

  “What happens to me,” her voice broke and she swallowed. “What happens to me if I say no?”

  Bunyir did not pause in his task. “We will put you back through the passageway. It matters not to us if you tell your world about us. It is a desired result, though not as advantageous as your staying here.”

  Eleanor brought her hands down from her ears and stared at them. She didn’t want to be involved. She couldn’t be responsible for this. What if it all went wrong?

  Bunyir straightened with the bundle that was a chair in one hand and walked toward the inmost layer of drapes.

  Her voice was no more than a whisper. She forced the air out of her lungs and her fears rode with it. “No. I can’t do it. Find someone else.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jake dragged over a chair and pointed at it. “Have a seat.”

  Adam sat without looking at the chair, his eyes flitting from one wall to the next. Smaller than his bedroom, racks of metal boxes lined two of the dull metallic walls and a small communications panel formed the third. Besides the door behind him on the fourth wall, the rest of the space was devoted to more electronics and random-sized containers. A folding table and two chairs completed the scene. No decorations, nothing relieved the severity. Compared to the warmth of the rest of the house, the room felt cold, barren.

  “Not much, but hiding a room is a pain. Try for something too large and someone will find the space, sure enough.”

  Adam couldn’t stop craning his neck to peer about himself. “How long has this been here? Why did I never know about it?”

  Jake snorted and pulled out his pipe. “Since I built the house. One reason I built it myself. And you never knew because you never needed to. I hoped you never would. But we can talk here, it’s safe.”

  Jake faced Adam and leaned his chair back on its rear legs. “What did they tell you about the war?”

  “The missing ships? I don’t think anyone thinks it’s a war, just pirates from one of the colonies. At least that’s what they say when another ship never arrives. The Navy flies protection for the merchant ships now.” His grandfather frowned and Adam wondered what he had left out of the story. “Not doing much good, from what I hear, but it’s all rumor.”

  Jake shook his head and waved his hand at Adam. “Sorry, not what I meant. The civil war fifty years ago. I’m old, that’s the war I fought in. I guess that’s always what I’ll mean by the war.”

  Adam reached back in his mind to the narrating machine’s dry voice and endless afternoons spent staring out the window. “A few colonists from Danbro, or maybe Praxis, stole some ships and attacked Claro, I don’t remember why, not sure if the vid said. It took a long time but in the end the Navy beat back the rebel
s and everyone realized they’d be better off cooperating.”

  “And that’s it? That’s all you know?”

  “Um... sure. Was there more?”

  Jake’s chair smacked back on all four feet and he stomped away from the table, muttering. “Can’t believe this. Yes, I can. We knew it would be bad, but still.”

  Adam stayed quiet and tracked his grandfather with his eyes as the old man paced through the tiny room.

  “Boy!”

  Adam bolted ramrod straight. “Yes, Sir?” He’d never snapped to attention for deBaca like this. He’d never heard such steel in his grandfather’s voice before, either.

  “Do you know where I’m from?”

  Adam’s mind searched for the information, but nothing appeared. Didn’t he know this? “No, Sir. I always figured Claro, since you were in the Navy.”

  “Praxis, boy. I spent my first fifteen years in hell on Praxis. Never stepped foot on Claro in my life.”

  Adam slumped. His grandfather, a colonist? “So, when the war came you…” Adam trailed off, remembered faint pieces of conversations snipped short when small children entered the room. “You were a rebel?”

  “Stop. Just stop and listen, since you don’t know anything.”

  Adam held his breath and his questions.

  Jack faced the wall, as if he lectured to an invisible audience. “The colonies weren’t much more than forced labor camps. Incomplete terraforming. You worked for the government and they paid you in script, which you could only use in the government store. Most people went into debt and never had a chance to save up for their families to have a better life, much less a ticket home.

  “Every so often word went out that the colonies were doing so well they needed more settlers and more hopefuls would leave. They didn’t know they were just bodies replacing those the colony had already killed off.”