Mirror of Stone

by Corie J. Weaver

  Adam leaned back in his chair, lost as he processed the story. The tiny room felt smaller, oppressive.

  “After a while the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the original settlers had enough. We took over ships one by one. Not as hard as you’d think. Navy pushed hard for recruits, I don’t think anyone back on Claro realized how many of their ships were crewed by colonists holding a grudge. Hard things happened.” Jake fixed his eyes on the wall of boxes and Adam wondered what scene from the past played out in his mind.

  “The war went on for almost ten years. Battles in space drag on; there’s so much area to cover, it’s hard to end anything unless you can wipe out a world and none of us wanted to destroy Claro. We needed them and their manufacturing too much.

  “But then an announcement came, broadcast on all channels, impossible to ignore.” For the first time Jake looked at Adam. “Claro conceded to all demands made by the colonies. Those who had taken up arms against Claro would be integrated into the Navy proper. If they stayed, they’d be given commissions, every last one. When they mustered out, they’d get grants of land on new worlds. The war was over. I served a few more years then, when I mustered out, took my land, came here.

  “You know what happened next.”

  Adam knew his grandfather remembered a young woman courted and wed, of the son they had raised who became a keeper of orchards, of the girl their son had loved since school and married as soon as they graduated.

  Adam had no memories of his grandmother or his parents. Stills and videos showed a smiling, laughing family. Hints of his father in his blonde hair, of his mother in his own green eyes. Maybe something of his grandmother in the shape of his nose, but he could be imagining it. Storybook people, characters from tales his grandfather kept alive through the years.

  Jake broke the silence. “A lot of us, veterans on both sides, didn’t trust the new peace. Even soldiers who had stayed loyal knew the Council was rotten, slippery. The sudden peace came with rumors, stories that the government had found something, or done something, or something had happened to scare the Council witless. But we needed a way to keep in touch. Can’t use the regular lines, the council has them all tapped.”

  “What?”

  “Learning a few things they didn’t tell you about when you signed up for the Guards?” Jake laughed. “The Council gave the colonies the right to trade for themselves, but they never trusted us. All activity, conversations, searches and files are monitored and indexed. The system flags anything that looks of interest and sends an alert right quick.

  “Which is why you and I are down here.” Jake stood and took the two steps to get to the communications panel against the wall. “Not as fancy as what you’re used to, but she’s served me well. One of the sergeants in our little group installed it when he came out for my wedding. Told his company commander he lost a bet against me ever settling down, had to be here to see the service. This unit is unregistered, untraceable. And boy, if you’re sending flags up because of what happened in the mountains, you better do your searching from here.”

  The stairs to and from the hidden room became Adam’s personal nightmare. The narrow stairwell would transform into a rocky path, the edge of the wall brushed his shoulders and he jumped, sure fingers of stone reached for him.

  “Grandfather, I think I’m going mad.”

  “Nonsense.” Jake sat down behind Adam. “Back in the war, back in my war, I saw plenty head trauma, who knows what. Your mind is trying to piece things back together. Don’t push it, just let it roll over you.”

  Adam tried. He stared out the window at night, full knowing when he closed his eyes the fragmented vid of his thoughts would play and play again, all night. Running, always running, stone everywhere, a man’s face he didn’t recognize flashing, then gone, the girl, staring at him.

  He dragged himself out of bed. Is it true? Did I kill her? Or that man? Or are they lost in the mountains, or hiding from the Guards? From his pocket he drew a necklace with a broken chain, silver pendant of wings outstretched. When the rescue team had recovered him, it had been in his personal effects, but he didn’t know why. He had decided to keep it, a reminder of things lost.

  After another round of reports Adam signed out. He rose from the kitchen table he had commandeered as a makeshift workspace and made his way downstairs.

  Adam stood on the last step. For the first time since his injury the trip hadn’t exhausted him. He straightened up and took in a deep breath.

  A hacking cough, no blood, not as much pain.

  He stepped into the secret room for another night of searching for the unnamed old woman with optimism for the first time since he woke up at home.

  Four days later, that hope faded under the sheer weight of the task. He had found no traceable records that might lead him back to the woman described in the case file.

  He had expanded his net, increased the dates searched for and opened up the parameters as wide as he could. His notes described a woman with official bearing, but even the unregistered comm system couldn’t search through the military and government records.

  In desperation he had the system running checks of all women in the news, comparing their images to the general parameters. Each evening after work he would start checking what the system had found, eliminating each one as unlikely. The slim stack of possible leads dwindled, and the unanswered questions threatened to haunt him.

  Another long night, followed by a morning of working for a job he no longer trusted. And now the comm system had flagged only one new record. Adam flung himself into the chair and called up the lone result.

  The image hit him like a slap. He knew her, he was sure. The steel grey hair, razor cut to an angle from the nape of her neck down to the point of her chin, the cold eyes peering out from wrinkled cheeks.

  When Jake wandered into the room a moment later, Adam still stared at the image in front of him. Adam tried to gather his thoughts.

  Jake gave him no chance. “Her? That’s who you’ve been looking for?” He put his head into his hands. “Boy, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  Adam glanced over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  Jake shook his head. “Her. If she’s the woman you are looking for, this little project of yours looks particularly black.” He leaned back. “Her name is Olympia Norris, and she’s got her fingers into just about every little operation the Council approves. She doesn’t lead, always has a title of Deputy Minister of something or other, but for years the alliance has kept an eye on her. She makes deals, advises the head of the Council, and keeps secrets.” Jake rubbed his eyes. “And best of all?”

  Adam threw his hands in the air. “What else could there be?”

  “She was on the team that analyzed the original survey reports for Travbon.”

  The confusion settled deep into Adam’s bones. “Why would that be a problem?”

  “I told you, we always wondered what caused the peace to happen so fast. The only event near the time of the ceasefire was almost a non-happening.

  “Not long before the fighting heated up, a survey ship had come home with lots of hoopla about a large moon with huge piles of thorium. But about a year after the initial reports, there was no mention of the new colony, no new updates. When folks asked around about it, they heard no such place existed. And for the most part, people forgot. Then the war ended and Claro opened that moon for settlement right away.”

  Adam whispered. “Travbon.”

  “Didn’t think you were stupid. Yup, right here. When my turn to muster out came, I took my land here. Haven’t discovered the secret yet, if there was one.”

  They both stared at the picture that hovered above the comm unit.

  “If Olympia Norris is involved, whatever happened to you in the mountains goes all the way back to Claro and the Counci
l.”

  Adam closed the image. “Let’s go outside. We could both use some fresh air.” They proceeded up the stairs in silence. Adam couldn’t help but notice how much firmer the older man’s steps sounded than his own.

  As they passed through the kitchen, Adam’s holodesk sounded. He glanced at the device. “It’s deBaca calling. I have to take this.” Adam gripped his forehead. “You said that comm system was secure. Damn.”

  Jake stepped to where he would be out of deBaca’s vision when she came online.

  Adam flipped the switch. “Officer Cole here. What’s up, Chief?”

  deBaca’s mouth was set into grim lines. For a long moment Adam panicked, wondered how much she knew about his activities.

  “Adam, I know you’ve been through a lot.”

  This didn’t sound promising. Not at all. He willed his face blank of all but the mildest curiosity.

  deBaca continued. “A court of inquiry has been called into the death of the girl and the doctor.”

  He flinched. “What doctor?” The face from his nightmares flitted before him.

  “The prospectors found the body of their camp doctor two weeks ago. Looks like he fell off a cliff. They didn’t find him until now because rocks had tumbled over him, covering most of the body. A rock slide further down the same slope dislodged enough of the stone for him to turn up when they went out to survey the damage.”

  Adam’s breathing sped up.

  “I’m sure the inquiry is a formality, but you’ll need to attend. Opening session is tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eleanor closed her eyes, trying to be as still as possible, ignoring the twigs of the bush she hid under sticking into her side. Here I am. Hiding again.

  It had been a week, maybe longer, since she first came through the gateway. The smell of the deep crimson flowers coated the air, stifling her. She smothered a cough, but the slight sound was enough.

  A green arm, smooth and hard as glass, shot though the branches and gripped her foot as she scrambled away.

  She went limp, and let herself be drawn out.

  “Why do you do this?” Mikka, the alien who had been assigned to watch over her, clicked in broken Standard.

  Eleanor planted her feet in the soft soil. “I want to go home.”

  “We will take you home, as soon as Lord Bunyir is ready. And you do not know where the gate is.”

  “Why can’t he take me now?”

  “There is a war. Lord Bunyir argues for your return now, but there are those who think you should be forced to work with us.”

  Mikka paused, craned her head down. “Is there something that requires your presence at your home?”

  Eleanor swallowed. “No. I guess not. I’m just worried. And scared.”

  “As you are not of assistance to us, we had hoped to learn from you.” The alien curved her neck to the other side. “Perhaps you need to learn from us instead.”

  The next morning Mikka woke her early.

  “What is it?”

  “You wanted to leave. Let me show you what is outside these walls.” Mikka handed her a hooded outer robe.

  “You will want it.”

  Mikka guided her through darkened hallways as the household slumbered on around them. She lifted Eleanor into the seat of a vehicle, dark grey and curved. “Do not say anything for a time. Just watch.”

  Eleanor nodded. It was far too late to stop trusting the Tamkeri beside her.

  The low sides of the power flitter glimmered in the pre-dawn light, the top open to the cool air. They left the courtyard and began a lazy spiral up to the top of the mountain. Eleanor’s eyes slid away, trapped by the riot of orange and red as the heavy clouds caught fire with dawn’s light.

  At the flattened peak, Mikka guided the flitter in a slow, tight circle. The city spilled away beneath them, down the mountain, out to the plain to the east, brushing the coast to the south. The ghost light of dawn outlined tall towers, drawing them out of the mist before Eleanor’s eyes.

  As the sun climbed, Mikka started their descent. They did not return to Bunyir’s hall as she expected, but continued further into the city below. The faces of the buildings gleamed with slivery touches, their colors ranged from pale yellows to deepest purple. High narrow windows on one side gave way to broad arches on the next. The sun had not yet reached the shadowed valleys between buildings and Eleanor wrapped the heavy robe about her against the chill, grateful for Mikka’s insistence.

  Tamkeri set out flowers next to their doors, arranged tables of items for sale. Their robes were not of the fine silks Buynir or Mikka wore, but a coarser fabric; she saw several carefully patched. Two small shapes ran between the buildings, and Eleanor remembered Ruth and Jeremiah, and wondered if alien children also played hide and seek.

  “Remember this. These are the real people of Tamker.”

  Eleanor stared at Mikka.

  She continued. “The Great Houses may rule from the mountain, but here is where the real business of the city happens, where citizens work and live and struggle to feed their families.

  “And these are the people, like your people, who will suffer the most if our plan is not successful. You know the real people of your world. You have seen them your entire life, grown up with them, know them. It is important you understand what is at stake here as well.”

  Upon their return home, Eleanor huddled in the flitter, silent.

  “Are you well?” Mikka flicked concern. “Perhaps I should not have taken you out so soon.”

  Eleanor signaled reassurance. “I am well, thank you. Please let Lord Bunyir know that I would like to speak with him when possible.

  When he entered her room she sat gazing out the window perched on the sill, as she had so often in her room in Prime. The towers here were different from the rooftops of home. But the people, the people were the same.

  “Everyone will suffer if this goes on.” She didn’t turn to look at him. “I will speak for you.”

  To watch the sun glimmer on the graceful towers of the city felt like a dream. The heavy atmosphere filtered the light, colored the air around her. No matter how hard she strained, she couldn’t see through the clouds to see Travbon, as she’d once watched Ladril cross the sky. At least the cloud cover made it warm here, Eleanor thought, and fingered the light silk robe she wore.

  Weeks had passed as they waited for the Council to agree she could leave on her mission. Bunyir assigned as her companions others who had learned at least minimal Standard, but after the first week to try to keep from going mad of boredom, Eleanor had pestered her companions to begin instruction in Tamkeri.

  “You’ve been in this system for who knows how many years and all this time you’ve been alone?” Eleanor asked. Her impromptu tutor and everyone else she had seen wore the purple and green face paint of Bunyir’s House. The simple patterns decorating the attendant who brought her meals befitted his lower rank and emphasized the broad upward strokes Mikka wore as chardet, Bunyir’s lieutenant. Soft bodies, like Eleanor’s, showed emotion with facial expression. Hard shells did not have that option, so subtle nuances of humor, irritation, welcome or rage were expressed in an elaborate system of finger twitches and flicks of the robe trim.

  Eleanor wondered how much she had missed in her first conversations with Bunyir, simply by not knowing the code. And despaired of ever making her hands convey quite the right signals, hampered as she was by extra fingers and oddly placed thumb.

  Mikka flipped the pattern for annoyance and Eleanor dragged her attention back.

  “Do you not remember? Lord Bunyir told you of this.”

  Tamkeri children emerged partially grown, knowing much about their world and seldom forgot what they were once taught. Eleanor often wished for the same ability.

  She lean
ed forward, keeping her face as still as possible, and made the signal for regret. “I was injured when he spoke with me at that time. My memory is faulty. Please forgive my lapse and instruct me.”

  Appeased, Mikka settled back. “Twice in the past others have come to our system,” she began. “The first visitors came and continued on without incident. They required a sector of their own and this was but one of several they considered.

  “The second . . .”

  Eleanor remembered fragments of Bunyir’s words. Her voice now sounded small and unsure in her ears. “What happened? What did your people do?”

  “Unlike your people, they acknowledged our messengers. Like your people, they stayed. Our history tells us they were arrogant, aggressive. That it would have been a terrible risk to allow them to remain in our vicinity.” Even in the liquid tones of the Tamkeri language, Mikka’s words fell hard, flat. “We pushed them out of our sector. Then members of the council argued that they could still return at any time. So we traced them to their home sector, to every world they had colonized. And we destroyed them all. We erased their very name from our records and now it is lost to all.”

  Mikka rose and left the room without another word.

  Eleanor sat for a long time and the sun set behind the clouds before her unseeing eyes.

  A few days later Mikka strode into Eleanor’s room soon after the morning chimes and snapped a scroll onto the low desk. “This is a disaster.”

  Eleanor picked up the scroll and forced her eyes to focus on the spindly script that danced across the thin paper.

  “His Lordship, his Lordship. . . wait, I’ve got it. His Lordship Kalal, by the gracious whim of fate, head of the House of Caprat, requests the pleasure of the company of Lord Bunyir of the House of Chibrimo and the human known as Eleanor at the hour of the Eighth chime for a quiet evening of dinner and conversation between friends.”