The Green And The Gray

by Timothy Zahn

  "Why can't we just give Torvald—I mean—just half the story?" Melantha asked hesitantly, her hands clutching Jordan's on one side of her and her mother's on the other.

  "Are you suggesting we deliberately send our people into a trap?" Stephanie asked, a sudden edge to her voice.

  "I'm sure she didn't mean it that way," Laurel countered, a similar edge to her voice as she came to her daughter's defense.

  "I don't know what she meant," Stephanie shot back. "But what she said was—"

  "That's enough," Fierenzo cut her off. "Everyone just calm down."

  "Easy for you to say," Stephanie bit out, turning glowering eyes on him. "They're not out to destroy your people."

  "Melantha's not out to destroy your people, either," Fierenzo reminded her tartly. "Or had you forgotten that?" He pointed to the Greens. "Or would you rather just give up on this pesky peace thing and start the war right here? Go on—you've all got hammerguns. Go ahead and use them."

  There was an awkward silence. "Don't be silly," Stephanie said, her voice still strained but under control again. "I'm sorry, Melantha."

  "That's okay," Melantha said in a small voice. "I didn't mean—"

  "It's all right, sweetheart," Laurel soothed her. "We're all new to this." She looked at Fierenzo. "None of us are Warriors, Detective," she added. "We don't know the first thing about how to think and plan this way."

  "I realize that," Fierenzo said. "Of all of us, I've probably had the most tactical training; and I'm nowhere near an expert at it. But like it or not, the nine of us in this room are the best chance we've got for heading off this thing." He looked at Roger. "The ten of us, including Caroline," he added.

  For a moment he looked around the room, as if waiting for argument. But none came. "All right, then," he went on. "In actual fact, Melantha was on her way to what I was thinking of proposing myself. We obviously can't give Torvald and Halfdan just half the story and let them walk into a trap; but we could give them all of it and ask them to behave as if they only had the part Nikolos wanted them to hear."

  He looked at Ron and Stephanie. "The question is, would they be willing to play along? Or would they instead try to turn the situation around and crush the Greens?"

  "The deeper question is, isn't that exactly what we want?" Jonah put in before his parents could answer. "Not to crush the Greens themselves, but to whittle the Warriors down to a manageable size?"

  "The Warriors are Greens, Jonah," Zenas said warningly. "We can't let them get slaughtered any more than we can let that happen to you Grays."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure we have a choice in the matter," Jonah countered. "Those extra Warriors are what's causing this whole problem. They have to be neutralized somehow, or we're dead."

  "But you can't just kill them," Laurel protested. "They're not doing anything except following the requirements of their Gift."

  "And following Nikolos," Jonah pointed out.

  "All of which is part of the Gift," Laurel said.

  "I think that's Jonah's point, actually," Ron murmured. "Cyril is supposed to be your leader right now, and Cyril is proposing peace. In spite of that, Nikolos is preparing for war."

  "That's only because there hasn't yet been any peace established," Laurel insisted. "Once the leaders formally make that decision, Nikolos will fall into line like the rest of us."

  "But how do you know that?" Jonah pressed. "It's a nice theory, but you can't take it to the bank."

  "You can with Greens," Zenas said firmly. "The Gifts define our thinking and our behavior. And part of the Command-Tactician's Gift is to subordinate himself to the Leader."

  "Except that you haven't got a Leader," Jonah muttered. He waved a hand vaguely through the air.

  "Never mind. I don't know what to think anymore."

  "Then start by thinking about the fact that we're all friends here," Ron told him quietly. "Nothing that happens between our peoples can be allowed to change that."

  Jonah lowered his eyes. "I suppose," he said.

  "It's ironic, isn't it?" Laurel said meditatively. "Ironic and sad both. Once all of us were friends, before the disaster in the Great Valley. Now, just when it looks as if we're going to lose everything, our two families have finally found that capability again."

  "Thanks to Melantha," Stephanie said.

  "And Jordan," Laurel added, reaching over her daughter's shoulder to ruffle Jordan's hair.

  " 'The wolf shall lie down with the lamb,' " Roger murmured." 'And a little child shall lead them.' "

  "What?" Zenas asked, frowning.

  "An old saying about better times to come," Fierenzo told him, looking at Roger. "Misquoted a bit, but the right sentiment."

  "Unfortunately, sentiments aren't going to do us any good here," Jonah said.

  " 'And a little child shall lead them,' " Ron said thoughtfully. "Interesting that it seems to be the older Grays who are the keenest on restarting the war where it left off. The younger ones, like Jonah and Jordan, seem much more willing to accept the Greens."

  "I think it's the same with the Greens," Zenas told him. "Unfortunately, it's those same elders—

  among both our peoples—who are in charge."

  "But that's not necessarily a permanent situation," Ron pointed out. "If Melantha happened to have been born a Leader instead of a Groundshaker, she'd have automatic authority over Cyril and Aleksander, wouldn't she?"

  "At her age, possibly not," Zenas said slowly. "In a couple of years, though, absolutely."

  "So what we need is for a Leader to arise among the children," Stephanie said. "I don't suppose there's a chance there might be one lurking out there somewhere?"

  "There's always a chance," Zenas said. "By all the usual genetic probabilities, Melantha shouldn't have been born a Groundshaker, either. There could easily be some eleven-year-old future Leader climbing trees right now in Central Park."

  "Unfortunately, he's not going to do us any good unless he can grow three years in the next six hours," Fierenzo pointed out. "Let's get back to the problem at hand, shall we? Can we or can we not persuade Torvald or Halfdan to play along with the first part of Nikolos's game long enough for us to figure out the rest of it?"

  Ron and Stephanie looked at each other. "I don't know either of them very well," Ron said, a little doubtfully. "But Halfdan's the one who was pushing the hardest for peace. I vote we approach him first."

  "Sounds reasonable to me," Stephanie seconded.

  "Okay," Fierenzo said, looking around the room. "If there are no objections...?"

  Roger took a careful breath. "I have one," he spoke up. "I don't think we should trust Halfdan."

  All eyes turned to him. "But he's the one who was working with Cyril toward a peace agreement,"

  Laurel pointed out.

  "At the cost of your daughter's life," Roger reminded her. "If we're going to take this to anyone, I say we go to Torvald."

  "You must be joking," Zenas said with a snort. "Torvald was the one who kidnapped Melantha."

  "He told me he did that for her own protection," Roger said, looking at Melantha. "He told me he tried to tell you that, too, Melantha."

  Laurel craned her head to look into her daughter's face. "Melantha?"

  "He did say that," the girl agreed hesitantly. "But I thought he was just lying to keep me from making trouble."

  "You did look more or less comfortable when we found you," Roger pointed out. "You weren't tied up or gagged."

  "You're not seriously taking Torvald's side in this, are you?" Zenas demanded. "He's the one who moved into the middle of the Green homestead in MacDougal Alley, forcing out people who'd been there for decades."

  "Did he force them out?" Roger asked. "Or did they leave on their own?"

  "With a Gray in the neighborhood?" Zenas countered. "None of those people were Warriors. What else could they do?"

  "He also grabbed you off the street, remember?" Jonah added.

  "So did Nikolos," Roger countered. "So did Halfd
an, or at least he tried. Look, I'm not saying Torvald's not a little ham-handed in how he deals with people. But I don't think he necessarily wants to wipe out the Greens, either."

  "There's a ringing endorsement," Jonah muttered.

  "I think he's an honorable man," Roger said doggedly. "And frankly, I don't know what else to do. I just can't agree with trying to work a deal with someone who was willing to watch Melantha get murdered in cold blood."

  "Then you can't trust any of the Greens, either," Laurel said.

  "I certainly don't trust them," Fierenzo agreed. "Present company excepted, of course. For all this talk about leadership and Gifts and cooperation, there seems to be a lot of finagling beneath the surface of Green society."

  "Because we don't have a Leader," Laurel said tiredly.

  "Now we're just going in circles," Ron said. "What exactly—?"

  "Hold it," Fierenzo said, lifting a hand for silence as he pulled out his phone and punched it on.

  "Yes?... Great." He pulled out his notebook and a pen. "Go."

  For a minute the only sound was the scratching of Fierenzo's pen as he scribbled notes. Then, to Roger's amazement, a taut smile began to spread slowly across his face. "Two lanterns, huh?" he said. "How nice. Yeah, I've got it. Thanks."

  He punched off and lowered the phone. "Two lanterns?" Roger repeated, frowning.

  "That's right," Fierenzo said, continuing to write in his notebook.

  "So what does it mean?" Roger persisted, not in the mood for word games.

  "It means, my friends," Fierenzo said, an edge of grim satisfaction in his voice, "that we may just have them."

  When he got right down to it, Smith had to admit, he really didn't know very much about what was going on. Still, it was more than Chief Fishburn did. "I'll be damned," he said as Smith finished his recitation and bit into a cheeseburger just slightly smaller than his mouth. "So you think these are the guys who kidnapped Detective Fierenzo?"

  "Kidnapped or killed," Smith said grimly. "The longer we go without hearing anything, the less likely he's still alive. If he was nosing too close, they wouldn't gain much by keeping him alive."

  "Except you get the needle in this state for killing a cop," Fishburn said. "But then, maybe they don't give a damn."

  "Maybe not," Smith said, taking another bite of his burger. Suddenly, the food didn't taste as good as it had a minute ago.

  "But you do think they still have the Whittier woman?"

  "As of the moment they drove me off the road they did," Smith told him. "I suppose they could have dumped her somewhere after that—"

  "Chief?" a voice came from the radio at Fishburn's waist.

  Fishburn unhooked it and lifted it to his cheek. "Yeah, Adam, what have you got?"

  "Nothing on the canvass," Adam reported. "But I pulled a bunch of the charge slips from this morning, and I found a customer who remembers seeing two women leaving that truck: one old, probably sixty or better, the other much younger, probably mid-twenties."

  Fishburn lifted his eyebrows at Smith. "He happen to notice which direction they went?"

  "Nope," Adam said. "But from the time-stamp on the charge slip, we know it was just after ninethirty this morning."

  "Five hours ago," Fishburn commented, glancing at his watch.

  "Yeah," Adam said. "Oh, and we did check the VIN against the plate Smith gave us. This is definitely the right truck."

  "After all this, it sure as hell better be," Fishburn said. "You call it in?"

  "As soon as we got the confirmation," Adam said. "There's a bunch of State cops on the way to give us a hand."

  "Good," Fishburn said. "Try a few more of those charge slips and see if you can find someone who saw what direction they took when they left the parking lot. What's happening with the car-rental places?"

  "Kate's on that," Adam said. "I haven't heard anything from her since she started."

  "Check on her progress," Fishburn ordered. "And have someone run through the blotter for stolenvehicle reports. They may have taken the plates off the pickup to use on something else."

  "Got it."

  Fishburn returned the radio to his belt. "Well, she was alive as of nine-thirty this morning," he commented.

  "That's something, anyway," Smith agreed, taking another bite of his burger and dropping the rest back onto his plate. "But they've already got a five-hour head start," he added, wiping his hands on his napkin. "No point in letting them get any more."

  For a second Fishburn seemed inclined to argue the point. But a look at Smith's face, and he simply nodded. "Okay," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll take you to the station where you can get a better idea of what we're doing and what still needs to be done." He looked around and caught the waitress's eye. "Marge, put this on my bill, will you?" he called.

  "That's all right," Smith said, shaking his head as he reached for his wallet. "I can cover it."

  "You're in my town, Officer," Fishburn said firmly, reaching over the table to put a restraining hand on his arm. "Your money's no good here. Come on."

  They stepped back out into the afternoon sunlight. "I'm sorry you couldn't have seen our town under better circumstances," the chief commented as they headed for the car. "It really is a nice place."

  "I don't doubt it," Smith assured him. "What is this Historical Rondout Section I see on all the signs, anyway?"

  "It's the old riverfront area," Fishburn said. "The docks and museum and lighthouse and all. We had a pretty thriving waterway business along the Hudson a century or so ago."

  Smith froze. "You have working docks?" he asked carefully.

  "Yes, but you can forget what you're thinking," Fishburn said with a faint smile. "We've got a dock manager who keeps an eye on things down there. I phoned him as soon as I got the alert and told him to call me right away if anything docked here. Every cop along the Hudson will have done the same thing."

  "What time exactly did this alert come in?"

  "About nine," Fishburn said, frowning. "I called Tompkins as soon as I'd alerted my own force."

  "About nine," Smith said, the back of his neck starting to tingle. "Has anyone seen or talked with Tompkins since then?"

  Fishburn's face went rigid. "Oh, my God," he breathed as he yanked open his door. "Get in."

  They reached the dock and the Port Authority building in two minutes flat. With Smith right behind him, Fishburn strode down the walk and threw open the office door.

  And came to an abrupt halt as the room's lone occupant jerked in surprise. "Wha—? Oh, it's you," he said. "Hello, Chief."

  "You all right, Mr. Tompkins?" Fishburn demanded, sounding both relieved and a little deflated.

  Tompkins's face gave an odd sort of twitch. "Yes, I'm fine," he said quickly, his eyes behind their thick glasses flicking to Smith and then back to the police chief. "Is there a problem?"

  Fishburn threw a look at Smith. "No, we were just worried about you, that's all," he said. "Carry on."

  "Just a second," Smith said as the chief started to brush past him. There had been something strangely familiar about that twitch. "Are you sure you're all right, Mr. Tompkins?"

  "Yes, I'm fine," the other said, his face twitching again.

  Only this time, Smith remembered where he'd seen it before. "Glad to hear it," he said carefully.

  "Tell me: have any ships or boats docked here since nine o'clock this morning?"

  For a second, Tompkins's body seemed to go rigid. He looked at Fishburn, back at Smith, turned to look out his window at the docks, then finally turned back to Smith again. "Just one," he said, sounding as if he was surprised at the sound of his voice. "A yacht, really. It docked a little after ten."

  Smith looked at Fishburn in time to see his mouth drop open. "A what?" the chief demanded, his voice clearly on its way to a bellow. "Tompkins, what the hell—!"

  "Easy, Chief," Smith cut him off. "I saw this same thing back in the city. Mr. Tompkins, why didn't you inform Chief Fishburn like he'd ordered you
to do?"

  Tompkins shrugged, a confused hunching of his shoulders. "Because... he told me not to."

  "He told you not to?" Fishburn looked at Smith. "What is this, some sort of game?"

  "More like some sort of hypnotic," Smith told him. "A good one, too; except that it doesn't work if you ask a direct question."

  "Really," Fishburn said, reaching to one of the chairs and pulling it over to him. "Good. Because there are several very direct questions I want to ask."

  45

  "Two lanterns," Jordan said, clearly delighted that he was the first to catch onto Fierenzo's little joke.

  "I get it. 'One if by land, two if by sea.' "

  "Very good," Fierenzo said, scribbling one last note on his pad. "Okay, here's the deal. A yacht named Galen's Tenth picked up two women from the docks at Kingston, about seventy miles up the Hudson from New York. The dock manager identified Caroline from her photo; we assume the other was Sylvia."

  Roger felt his chest tighten. "Did she seem okay?" he asked.

  "He never saw her up close," Fierenzo said. "But she definitely got onto the yacht under her own steam, so my guess is she's fine."

  "Did he see the Warriors?" Zenas asked.

  "No, but we know there was at least one other passenger aboard," Fierenzo said. "An older gentleman who came to his office as the women were getting on and instructed him not to tell anyone about the docking and pickup. And he didn't, either, until Smith asked him a direct question about it."

  He looked at Roger. "Just like the super in your building," he added. "Seems to be the trademark pattern of a Green Persuader, at least one working with humans."

  "Aleksander," Jonah muttered.

  "Or else Cyril's joined the party, too," Ron said. "If his support for peace this whole time was really only a matter of pragmatism, the sudden revelation that Nikolos had an unbeatable force might have been all it took for him to change sides."

  "I think Cyril's more sincere than that," Laurel objected.

  "We'll find out soon enough," Fierenzo said. "The key point is that the yacht was moving downriver at the time they picked up Sylvia and Caroline, so my guess is that the Warriors were already aboard.