“God,” hissed Crawford. “That’s where Citrone was holed up. She must have rigged something.”
“But what?” asked Regina Nassau.
“I imagine we’ll find out shortly.”
Shiffeld managed to get the group under control and rather unnecessarily confirmed that he had summoned the prisoner to the conference room to get some answers. Several minutes dragged by while they waited.
“Regina?” said Crawford. “It might be better if our guests didn’t see this. Why don’t you take them somewhere else?” He pointed to where the two guests were standing to one side in the enormous room. They looked puzzled and more than a little apprehensive.
Nassau agreed, walked over to the pair, and began talking and gesturing. They nodded and started to move off. But before they were out of the room, four newly-minted Colonial Police officers hauled in Carlina Citrone. She was wearing a prison jumpsuit and her hands were cuffed together in front of her. Crawford looked closely at his former nemesis. She looked tired and worn and very thin, but still more alive than the last time he had seen her. In fact, she was smiling with a look of triumph on her face. She was dragged over to where Shiffeld was standing, but she did not even wait for him to say anything.
“Well, Your Excellency, I imagine you are wanting to ask me about the drone that Exeter just launched,” she stated calmly.
To Shiffeld’s credit, he did not betray any surprise at all. “Yes, that’s exactly why you are here. Are you going to tell us, or shall I turn you over to Captain Garrit’s people again?”
“No thank you, that won’t be necessary. It is far too late to stop it, so there is no harm in my telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
“That drone is accelerating away from the Rift Fleet and will continue to do so until its fuel is exhausted. It will be going at quite a clip by then. Once its drive cuts out it will be almost impossible to detect. And just to make sure, it has a cold-gas thruster which will make a random vector change of a few hundred meters per second. By the time you could get anything out there after it, you would never have a hope of finding it.”
“I see. And just what is this drone going to do?”
Citrone’s smile grew broader and her eyes flicked to Crawford. “When I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to hold out, it also occurred to me that you might be able to bluff my comrades when they arrive by cruising the warships around under manual control and looking threatening. They’d probably believe that my mission had failed. I have no clue of the size of the relief squadron—as you’ve found out—but if it is smaller than your force, then a bluff like that might work. So, I decided to warn them. At the proper time, that drone will start broadcasting a message telling the squadron that I did succeed in my mission and that all of your naval personnel are…dead.” Citrone’s smile faltered a bit, but she pushed on. “The drone will be so far away by then you won’t have a hope of silencing it, but the signal will be all through this region of space. My allies will be sure to get it and then they will know the truth.”
“You damned traitor!” spat Shiffeld.
“Perhaps you see me that way,” said Citrone proudly. “But I am true to my own.” After a moment her smile returned.
“You can’t win, Governor. But there’s no need for further bloodshed.” She held out her cuffed hands. “Just take these off and I can accept your surrender right now.”
Chapter Nine
Brannon Gillard, archpriest of the Lifegiver and Crèchemaster of the Clorinda Clan, slowly walked down the row of gestators, carefully noting the readouts with the easy assurance of long familiarity. His practiced eye checked each of a dozen different indicators and verified them satisfactory, as much by instinct as by actually reading the numerical data. Most of the indicators were configured as bar graphs and his synapses knew exactly how long each of the colored bars was supposed to be. His eyes would tell him, long before the computer controls, if any of them were out of the optimal range.
Like that one there.
Brannon stopped and stared more closely. Gestator 131 was showing a slightly elevated pH reading. That, in itself, was no cause for great concern, but the fetus inside was at the most crucial and delicate stage of development, and if trouble was going to occur it would most likely happen now. He pressed a button on the control panel and leaned forward to carefully study the more detailed display that now appeared. The frown that creased his brow grew deeper and deeper as he paged through the readings. He checked them twice and then a third time. He straightened up with a sigh. “The Lifegiver’s will be done,” he whispered. He stood there for a moment more and then beckoned to one of the underpriestesses. The woman scurried over to him, her robes billowing out in the low spin-gravity.
“Yes, Father?” she said, a worried expression on her face, her eyes flicking between him and the gestator.
“Attend. The life within has failed to meet the challenge set for it by the Lifegiver. It will not survive the environment that awaits it. We must give its essence back for the use of future generations.”
The woman bowed her head sadly. “As you command, Father. May I ask where the failure occurred? Was it the cloreas?”
“Yes, it is only twelve percent developed and it should be nearly full-grown by this stage. The babe would never survive.”
“Lifegiver’s will,” sighed the woman.
“Who are the parents? I will send my condolences personally.”
“I will have their names and codes sent to your desk at once, Father.”
“Thank you.” He stood aside as the woman and several assistants disconnected the gestator from its power and nutrient supply and wheeled it away to the reclamation center. He stared sadly at the empty space left behind. Another one lost. It was like a stone chained to his soul, the extra mass tugging at him with every move. Still, it was to be expected. The Clorindans were the most complicated and sophisticated of the Lifegiver’s many children. There was more to go wrong than with the other clans and he should be thankful that the numbers who failed were as low as they were. Indeed, he was thankful and he spent a moment giving his thanks and praying for the spirit of this life which might have been. Then he shook himself and continued his inspection. An hour later he reached the last of the gestators in this section and had reason for more thanks: there had been no more failures—today.
As he opened the pressure door to the next section, his spirits, which were already on the rise, rebounded completely. No one could be depressed in here! A score of crying voices, only slightly muffled by the incubators, welcomed him like music. Life! The sound of life. It was a sound which had echoed in his soul for nearly forty standards. His very first assignment in the crèche had been in this very chamber and the wails, coos, and gurgles of the infants had been his constant companion. A companion he never tired of.
The lay-nurses and acolytes greeted him warmly as he made his rounds. He returned their greetings just as warmly. There were good people here. The best. He stopped first by the dozen infants who had been removed from their gestators only this morning. They had that unnaturally pink color of newborns and their eyes were startlingly white. Still, that was perfectly normal at this stage. They all seemed healthy in their incubators. Long habit made him check the pressure seals, even though a nurse was on hand to do that. They were all in good order, of course, and the air-mix was exactly right. He nodded to the nurse who smiled and nodded in return. He paused for a moment to exchange words with Father Durienne. This was a trifle awkward because the visiting priest was in a full protective suit to protect him from an environment which would have been quickly fatal to him. Even so, Brannon was happy to have the man here. There was far too little close contact between the clans and, aside from business meetings, it seemed like only the clergy made the effort anymore to maintain the ancient ties and exchange ideas as friends.
He finished his conversation and moved along the other rows of incubators. These were filled with babes of progressively g
reater age and their colors were far healthier, a good solid gray on the skin and eyes, nearly like any adult. Row by row the air-mix neared normal as the infants’ metabolisms made the final adjustment to their proper environment. The last row contained babies who were fully adapted. The incubators were mostly open and a gaggle of nurses stood around, preparing them for the ceremony this evening when they would be presented to their proud parents. Brannon stood aside as a very junior acolyte wheeled past a bin filled with green-stained diapers. There was nothing wrong with the cloreases of these babies!
Brannon sighed and this time it was in satisfaction. This evening, eleven new members would be added to the clan and he would have done his duty, both to the Clorindans and to the Lifegiver. His conscience suddenly reminded him of another duty, a far less pleasant duty, that he still had to perform. The names of the couple who would not be parents after all were probably waiting in his office by now and he had a letter to write. He turned and left the compartment, some of his good mood gone again.
The passage on the other side of the pressure door was mostly the bare rock of the asteroid in which Telendia Base resided. The walls had been carefully carved and polished into a frieze giving praise to the Lifegiver and the miracle of birth, as was only appropriate for the birthing crèche of an entire clan. The long-dead sculptor had been whimsical as well as skilled. This particular section showed laughing babes sliding along a DNA strand like it was a piece of playground equipment. He moved past some of the fertilization labs and into the administrative section where his office was located.
He noticed that a number of his staff were clustered around the refreshment station, talking enthusiastically about something. He was tempted to find out what, but he knew that as soon as he approached, everyone would scurry back to their work, thinking he was upset about them apparently goofing off. He was not, of course; his people worked hard and well, and he had no problem with them taking a break now and then. Oh well, he would probably hear whatever the news was eventually.
As it happened, he heard about it only a moment later when his secretary sprang up on seeing him. “Father, have you heard the news?”
“No, I can’t say that I have, Kananna, although everyone else seems to.”
“A starship has entered the system.”
“Indeed? And why is that something to send everyone running in circles? It’s hardly that rare an event. Don’t several arrive every month on average?”
“Not a starship like this one, Father! No one’s ever seen anything like it.”
“Really? What’s so different about it?” Brannon had little interest in starships, but an uneasiness he did not understand coursed through him.
“It’s enormous! People are saying that it’s ten kilometers across!”
Brannon snorted. “That’s absurd. Someone’s pulling your leg, Kananna. Where is this behemoth supposed to be, anyway?”
“The inner cloud, I think. Some of the Seyotahs are talking with the newcomers and we’ve intercepted their messages back to their base. And it might not be ten kilometers across, but everyone says that it’s huge!”
“Do they say where they’ve come from?” His uneasiness was growing and he told himself he was being foolish.
“No one seems to know yet. Apparently they are from so far they can’t even speak our language.”
He stiffened as his uneasiness became fear. He did everything in his power to keep that fear off his face. His secretary did not seem to notice his internal struggle and she kept babbling away. “That’s all very interesting, Kananna,” he said slowly and carefully. “If you get any more news I’d be interested in hearing it. I’ll be in my office.”
“Yes, Father.” She went back to her desk and he turned, went into his office, and closed the door. He stood, with his back to the door, for a full minute, locked in indecision and anxiety. This had to be some mistake. There had to be some other explanation than the one that was screaming in the back of his skull. He took several deep breaths and then went to his desk and sat down. He glanced at the picture of his wife, gone back to the Lifegiver these five standards, but could get no comfort from it. He shook himself. No, he was not going to let himself be panicked by rumor. He needed some facts. He turned on his communicator and punched in the code for Piernan Jaroo, the base controller. It took a few moments for him to be put through the several layers of underlings with which Jaroo surrounded himself, but he had sufficient status that he did not have to wait long.
“Father Brannon, what can I do for you?” came Jaroo’s voice through the speaker.
“Piernan, I’ve been hearing some odd rumors concerning an incoming starship. I was wondering if you could tell me the truth of it?”
“Ha, the news is spreading as fast as a change in pressure! Yes, there is a whopping big ship sitting out in the inner cloud, maybe two hundred million klicks from here.”
“How big? I’m hearing some very wild things.”
“We don’t have good figures, but it’s a lot bigger than anything I’ve ever heard of. A couple of kilometers across at least.”
“And we don’t know where it came from?”
“No. Our intercepts indicate that the Seyotahs who made first contact—the lucky scum!—were having trouble making out the language. That’s pretty damn odd. Must be from some group that went haring off from the original Long March crew and who have been out of contact ever since. If so, they’re certainly making a dramatic return! If they’re willing to trade—and the Seyotahs seem to think they are—this will be the biggest thing to hit here in decades.”
“Yes,” said Brannon, feeling worse than ever.
“If I find out anything more, I’ll let you know,” continued Jaroo, “although I never thought you were interested in this sort of thing.”
“I’ve developed an interest very recently. Thank you, Piernan, I shall see you tonight at the ceremony.” He cut the connection and sat there, staring at nothing, for a long time. His hands were pressed against the cold, hard ceramic of the desktop. Jaroo’s enthusiasm made the dread filling him seem all the worse. Didn’t the man realize what this was? No, he probably did not. Few people ever read the entire Book of Life anymore. Some of the newer versions had even been abridged…
He turned in his chair and reached over to his bookcase to pull out an old, old copy of the sacred texts. In spite of reverent care, the cover was worn and cracked, the pages yellowed and creased. It had been given to him by his grandmother when he became an acolyte and he knew it had been in the family for generations. With practiced fingers he quickly found the passages he wanted. They had frightened him as a child and angered him as an adult. He was breathing hard as he read them now.
But it came to pass that the Others grew greedy and impatient. They looked upon the worlds in the care of the Lifegiver’s Children with avarice. They would not wait as they had been commanded. They would not share the land with the Children as the Lifegiver had intended. The Others lied to the Children, misled them and tricked them. They stole the airs and the lands and the seas unborn, and the Children were consigned to the Void.
The Children sought new worlds to nurture, but the Others, now accursed and named World Stealers, pursued them from star to star and drove the Children out. Generations uncounted wept bitter tears and despaired of ever finding a home to call their own. Some fell into error and became the miserable slaves of the World Stealers. Those who remained true called to the Lifegiver for aid and their prayers were heard.
The Childrens’ eyes were turned. Turned away from the stars close at hand; stars which the World Stealers would soon covet. Their eyes looked across the Great Rift to stars yet untouched. The Children gathered themselves and began a mighty labor. They built a great ship and it was called Long March…
Brannon’s fingers flipped past the pages describing the epic journey across the Great Rift. It was a wonderful story, but he was in haste. He found the next passage he sought.
The Children rejoiced and gave
thanks and cried aloud that they had at last found a home. But Harnan, the Chosen Voice of the Lifegiver, stood forth and warned the Children: All these worlds are yours. Nurture them and love them as you have been taught. But beware! The Rift is not so wide as to daunt the greed of the World Stealers. The day may come, though it be a hundred generations hence, when they shall come again. Stand ready and do not sleep, for the World Stealers may come again!
Brannon shuddered and shut the book. His small office, which had always seemed so safe and secure, was no haven now. He felt utterly vulnerable. Was this star system, the one named Refuge, just as vulnerable?
Had the World Stealers come again?
* * * * *
“Okay, that’s done it,” said Charles Crawford, leaning back from his control board and rubbing his eyes. “Phase I is complete. Proceed with Phase II.” He was stiff after the long period of intense concentration, but this next phase could be handled by his other supervisors. He’d just spent the last six hours overseeing the first steps in dissassembling the enormous super-ship which had brought them across the Rift. It had been a very painstaking and nerve-wracking process.
The huge structure might appear immensely strong, and treated properly it was, but apply the wrong stress at the wrong point and it could come apart like a soap bubble. This was especially true when taking it apart. No matter how carefully it was done, as each piece was removed, it would impart a force vector to the remaining structure. Every action has a reaction. This would not have been a concern if the super-ship had really been a solid object, but it was not. It was made of nearly four hundred major elements and each had its own mass and moment of inertia. The structure would bend and flex and vibrate like a bell when subjected to forces like this. It had to be done very carefully, but the first batch of ships had been disconnected without a mishap and now he could relax for a while.
Across the Great Rift Page 14