by Chris Walley
Andreas stood. His face was blanched. “Friend Ethan, this has been a great help. There is a problem with language. We glibly use words without seeing their real meaning. We talk about war and we think about deaths and maybe injuries. But it’s more than just death. If it were that, it would be bad, but it would be manageable. After all, we all will die. But it isn’t just simply death, it is all the other bits—the blood, the torn flesh, and all the hatred and fear that goes with it.”
Has he changed his mind? “So, Andreas, you are advising me not to put the Assembly on a war footing?”
The answer was slow in coming. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Ethan, war is like a very hot object—if you handle it for more than the briefest time, you will be burned. It corrupts. So, if we have to have a war, let’s do it as quickly as we can. We should make it our goal to win and end any conflict as fast as possible. War is so horrid a business that we must do all we can to cut it short.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said.
Silence fell.
They’re waiting for me.
“I too have learned more here than I thought.”
He caught Eliza staring at him, dark eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Yes. Professor Andreas’s ghosts have been helpful. They’ve solved my third issue.”
“How so, Eeth?”
Ethan gestured at the eroded trench. “I can hardly ask for a sacrifice from others if I am not prepared for it myself. It would be selfish. No, I will stay in office as long as it is helpful. Whatever it costs.”
“Well said, Eeth.”
“Good point.”
“Friends,” Ethan said. “I think it’s time to walk back.”
He looked at his diary adjunct. “Nearly four. By this time tomorrow, our world will have changed.”
He sighed and turned his back on the valley, the mountain, and the trees. “And I must be a part of it.”
3
Verofaza Enand bounded down the sunlit steps of Western Isterrane Main Hospital. He tried to ignore the stares of the people clustered at the entrance as he ran over to the small two-seater transport parked by the gate.
A woman with short, auburn hair sitting in the driver’s seat looked up, her gray-blue eyes registering alarmed inquiry.
“M-Merral’s in q-quarantine, P-P-Perena! For a w-week!” Vero blurted out. He hated the stammer in his voice. It’s the stress.
“But is he okay?” Perena Lewitz asked.
“Yes. I talked to him through a comms link.”
He suddenly noted the direction of Perena’s eyes, and turned to see that people continued to stare at him.
“Get in,” she said, sliding the door open.
Vero sat in the passenger seat and closed the door. “They’re watching me.” And I don’t like it.
“Your skin marks you out as an offworlder.” Her voice was calm, analytical even. “And now that Farholme has been turned upside down, people are suddenly sensitive to anything different. Don’t forget many of those people are waiting for news of casualties.”
Yes, it’s just curiosity, driven by anxiety. But I don’t like being the center of attention.
Perena pressed the motor switch. The transporter glided away. “So what happened?” she asked. “Merral was okay yesterday. You talked to him. And Anya . . .” Her words hinted at awkwardness as she mentioned her sister. I must try and find out what has happened between Merral and Anya.
“It was Corradon’s speech yesterday and his mention of Merral ‘heroically entering the intruder ship.’ The medical authorities suddenly realized they had broken every guideline on biohazard containment and that Merral could be incubating all sorts of plagues and diseases. So they rushed him into a sterile isolation unit. A classic case of locking the stable door after the horse has bolted.”
“The horse has what?” She smiled suddenly. “Oh. I get it.”
“He’ll be there for forty-eight hours while they investigate him in detail and then, all being well, they plan to move him to a disease isolation unit for five days—no guests.”
“Best thing for him.” Now her smile seemed tired. “Look, where do you want to go? I’m just driving around at the moment.”
“Perena, I need time to think. Badly. I was hoping to sound some ideas off Merral, but I can’t do it with a ward of technicians listening in. Somewhere quiet, please.”
“I know a quiet park. I often run there.”
She turned off along an avenue lined by high trees.
Almost Earthlike. He regretted the thought, because it made him homesick.
“The thing is, P.—” Vero paused, wondering if she would object to the contraction but she didn’t—“I looked no further than the encounter with the ship. I rather hoped, I suppose, that whatever happened there would sort things out.”
Perena shrugged. “What else could you have done? No one knew what we would find.”
“Thanks for that reassurance. But now there’s a new threat. And we have to produce an expanded Defense Force f-for an attack that might come any day. I don’t know where to begin. Well, I do, but it’s s-staggering.”
Perena nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving the road.
Funny to be driven around town at forty kilometers an hour by a spaceship pilot more used to speeds a thousand times that.
“I face a similar problem,” Perena said, in her quiet, understated way.
Does she ever lose her temper? ever panic? She must be very soothing to live with. “How so?” he asked.
“Corradon promised a defense capacity with a ‘range out to the system’s edge.’ It was a great line. Very reassuring. But I don’t think the representative had thought it through. A planetary system is 3-D, not flat like the maps on walls. And the volumes get horrendous when you have what is effectively a sphere with a radius of six billion kilometers.”
“Ah. You mean we’re wide open to attack?”
“Near enough. We can’t defend Farholme with the dozen deep-space vessels we have.”
So there is no real protection. That makes things a whole lot harder.
“Is that why you play chess the old way?” he asked.
“Rather than the 3-D versions? That’s a part of it. The mind can just about handle five moves ahead on a flat board. But if you add an extra dimension, it gets too overwhelming.”
Vero stared out of the window. “There’s so much to think about. Vehicles, accommodation, structure, communications, and a dozen other things. I have tons of ideas, but they all need to be thought through.”
“You can’t do it all on your own, you know.”
He smiled at the concern in her voice. “I know I can’t, P. I just have to try to set up a system that will enable us to get started on building Farholme’s defenses. Get the ball rolling. I am making a list of what I need. Of course, the basis will be the existing Farholme Defense Unit.”
Perena pulled through gates into broad rolling parkland studded with copses and avenues of trees. Despite the sunny afternoon, it appeared largely empty. There were small knots of people, some deep in conversation, and a few families, but otherwise the park had a deserted air.
“There is too much news to digest,” Perena said as they overtook a bus with just three passengers on board.
She stopped the vehicle under some large, spreading trees. Vero waited until she climbed out, then indicated a direction in which to walk.
“I find the sun bright these days, P. But this is fine.” He looked around. “Nice trees. Merral would know what these are.”
“You can always read the labels,” Perena said, pointing to one nearby with a slight smile.
“I’d be no wiser.” Vero sat down heavily under the tree and sighed. “So, the FDU becomes the FDF: the Farholme Defense Force. Where do we begin? Communications, I suppose.”
Perena sat silently next to him.
“Maria Dalphey was working on a secure system. I must contact her.”
“Yes. There wasn’t time to develop it before the battle
.”
“Was it really just the day before yesterday? It seems like months ago.”
“In a way, it was years ago,” she said softly. “It was another time, Vero. It occurred in another world.”
A couple with a young child between them walked past, wariness in their faces. Each parent had tight hold of a tiny hand.
“They watch their children now,” Vero said.
“This used to be a carefree world. It’s only hours since the speech. And it’s sinking in that we have been attacked and we could be attacked again. We have enemies.”
In the long silence that followed Vero thought about his father. I long to see him again. He sighed. There’s no time for such thoughts. I must think of the practicalities: There’s work to do here.
“I am going to live at Brenito Camsar’s cottage near Isterrane, P. You must come. There’s a lot of space artifacts.”
“But why there? Other than that nice setting on the headland.”
“Because it’s off the beaten track, and it will allow me the freedom to come and go at will. I want to stay out of the way. Keep a low profile. And if I have any spare time I also want to start something of a research project on all Brenito’s material. I live in hope that there might be something there that can help us.”
He leaned back, looking at the shafts of light coming through the leaves. “And Merral is going to write a detailed account of what happened on the ship. Everything—every last fragment may be of value to us.”
“Are you terribly upset that it was destroyed?”
He noted how delicately she asked the question. “Yes and no. The idea that we could have taken a working vessel and navigated it all those light-years back to the Assembly was always unrealistic. And who was to say that I might have been on it? The ship would have had limited space and there are lots of people with more pressing reasons to return to Earth than me. So, I suppose I was prepared for the worse.” Was I really?
“I like your attitude. I can sympathize with that.”
“Thanks, Perena. I really value your friendship.” I really do—more than I dare say. Yet the words came out. “I’m a long way from home. And, as of yesterday, it doesn’t look like I’m going back any day soon. It’s a pity . . . I’d have liked you to meet my family. I’m pretty certain my father isn’t going to be around in fifty years—or fifty months.”
“That sounds like an offer,” Perena said with such an out-of-the-ordinary tone of voice that Vero felt a pang of some deep and turbulent emotion. “Is it?”
Is it? “No—well, yes. I mean—no.”
A succession of thoughts tumbled through his mind. I admire Perena and respect her. I am fond of her . . . maybe more than fond. I would like to pursue that possibility.
“Is it or isn’t it, Verofaza?” Perena’s smile was inviting.
There’s nothing to be lost and everything to gain. Take the initiative! “Er, yes. I mean, definitely.”
Perena touched his hand, then sighed as she withdrew hers. “Normally, I would be delighted to explore that offer of a deeper friendship between us. But now?” She exhaled heavily and her face acquired an expression in which conern and hope seemed mixed. “Do you mind if I walk on my own? I want to think about what you just said.”
This is going wrong. Vero felt near despair. I shouldn’t have said it. Wrong place, wrong time. Probably wrong planet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say anything. I’m just overwhelmed by things. I know that’s not a very good reason for expressing an interest.” He stared at a tree trunk. “It’s probably the worst reason there can be.” I dug myself into a hole and I need to dig myself out.
“Don’t, Vero,” Perena said gently. “Don’t apologize. There are far worse reasons. But in the meantime, I need to think and pray.”
“You’re right. And I too.”
He watched her slim, lithe frame walk away with a brisk and steady pace. Then he put his head in his hands and asked for wisdom, clarity, and courage for them both. But he knew that beneath his words, he really asked for what he desired to be granted. I’m giving God orders. He rebuked himself. But he kept praying and as he did, he slowly saw beyond his own wishes. Soon the answer was plain.
“I’d better get back to work,” he said aloud. Taking out his diary, he began making notes on matters to do with organization and structure for the FDF.
Twenty minutes later, he looked up and Perena was there. With a single fluid motion, she sat on the grass next to him.
“So, have you saved the world yet, Vero?” she asked. Her levity seemed artificial. Indeed, she looked as if she had been crying.
“Not yet, Miss P. I have other things on my mind.” Face-to-face with her, he felt his resolve slipping.
Perena gave a tiny nod. “Vero—,” she began.
“No, let me,” he interrupted, wanting to get the words out before he could think the better of them. “I’m not sure the time is right for . . . anything more between us.” There! I’ve said it!
He saw the relief on her face.
“Ah,” she said slowly. “My conclusion, most reluctantly, was the same—that we should just be good friends. The best of friends . . . but no more. For the moment.”
“This just isn’t my day, is it? Nor the last two days. First, I lose my lift home, and now I get my hopes dashed.” He knew his attempts at humor seemed artificial. The sadness was too near the surface. “But I’m not going to argue. It’s what I felt. I’m lonely and—to be honest—I’m scared and a relationship with you would brighten my life. But that’s not the right reason, is it?”
“No,” she said. “But a pity. I was hoping you would argue me into it.” But in her eyes he saw a warning: Don’t try!
Perena took a deep breath and leaned forward, hugging her knees. “I think we have to bear in mind that our world is now unstable. Sin has crept back and relationships are being distorted. I don’t really understand what happened with my sister and Merral. In some ways I don’t want to know. That’s their business. But it indicates the way things are going. If what happened can happen to them, then it can happen between us. We never used to worry about such things; we assumed it would all work out. We need to be careful. Do I make myself plain?”
“Yes.”
“There’s something else. The day before yesterday, perhaps twenty-five people died to seize that ship. We thought its destruction was the end; we now know it may be the beginning of problems to come.” She breathed deeply, as if in pain. “Vero, they made a sacrifice. I don’t know if I’m expressing this well, but . . . but we may have to do the same. We must be realistic. If there is an attack—a proper attack—then we pilots will bear the brunt of it. We can maybe muster a dozen ships that might be used in any space defense. And twenty, maybe thirty pilots.”
With no armor—and so far—no weapons.
“And if that is what lies ahead,” she went on, “then it’s going to be hard, because I love life. But if I was committed to someone, it might be almost impossible to do what I might have to do.”
Vero looked at the grass. It’s a good way of hiding your feelings.
“One of the things . . . ,” he began, then realized that the words he started to say bore little resemblance to the painful intensity of what he felt. “Let’s start again. One of the things that I really like about you, Perena, is your ability to see beyond surface things.”
“And I admire your ingenuity.”
“It’s a dangerous gift.” He paused. I have to respond to what she has said. “P., Perena, the only problem is . . . the way you’ve said it and the way that you’ve handled things has increased, rather than decreased, the attraction I feel for you.”
“Sorry.”
“But when it’s all over, can we reconsider?”
“When it’s all over?” She smiled. “Yes. But not until. . . . We might be old by then.”
Or dead. Vero sat back against the tree. Work is a good cure for a frustrated love affair, and I’ve
got plenty of work.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s put it behind us.”
“Agreed. But not without sadness.”
There was a protracted silence that seem filled with regret.
Finally, Perena shook herself. “To work. Do you have any bright ideas about saving us from further intruders?”
“I’m hoping for some clues from the various reports—Merral’s especially. But we need an army, P.” He hesitated. “It’s not easy to make one of those. So, you think more intruders will get through any defenses that we can come up with in space?”
“More than likely. We might take out 5 percent of an attack force if we’re lucky. But no more.”
“So they’ll end up in orbit around us. Is it possible that they’ll just blast us into dust using nuclear weapons or even a polyvalent fusion bomb?”
Perena gazed eastward across the greenery of the park before answering. “It’s possible. We know so little about them. And from the nastiness on the ship Merral hinted at, we can’t rule it out. But I don’t think it’s likely. It’s a hunch, that’s all.”
“Explain.”
“We’ve scanned the worlds beyond ours. There is no other star system that has any indication of anything other than a trace of water. Not for at least three hundred light-years. At that point we lose resolution. This place—” she gestured to the trees and the grass—“is valuable. Good planets are hard to find.”
“So they might try and occupy us?”
“The most likely scenario.”
Occupation. A word I have met in many documents having to do with war. Occupation, though, was sometimes defeated by resistance. I must do some studying fast.
Vero became aware that Perena was watching him. “Thanks, P. You’ve helped me.”
“I can’t see how.”
As he rose, she followed, carefully brushing a few strands of grass off her clothes.
“P., can you take me to Planetary Affairs? I need to start some things going. Gather my aides. But the first step is to see Corradon in his office. There is work to do.”