Brannon shook his head. So, an unpopular religious sect attacked by others? Somehow this Protector was behind it? Carlina’s thoughts were in no logical order and explanations were usually lacking. Still, there could not be much doubt of this, as bizarre as it seemed. There was no conflict between the churches of the Lifegiver, but somehow it did not truly surprise him that these violent Newcomers would have such things.
More of her memories fell into order. A succession of places and people taking care of her, hiding her, too, apparently, all draped with an overwhelming mantle of loss, grief, and loneliness. Brannon looked over at the woman and he was filled with pity for her. He gently reached out and stroked her arm. She moaned and moved slightly, but she did not wake up. Asleep, she looked more peaceful and far healthier. She was really quite beautiful in her sad, strange way.
So, she had suffered a terrible personal loss because of this Protector, but it seemed strange to him that she would still be so consumed with hatred over something which had happened so long ago. Was there more to this? As if in response to his question, more memories surfaced and aligned themselves. Several temporary foster homes and then a permanent one with a strangely intense couple who showed little love for the troubled girl. Images of secret meetings where adults railed against the Protector, her foster parents telling her again and again that the Protector was the enemy who murdered her parents. And then… what was this? A small group of buildings surrounded by trees, far, far from any habitation. A camp of instruction for warriors? So it seemed, and Carlina was taken there a half-dozen times during her teenage years. She was trained to kill with weapons and to kill without them. Trained to use all manner of devices and trained to follow orders. Through it all, she was told again and again about the evil of the Protector and how the Venanci were the friends of this Church of the Creator. The indoctrination was so intense, Brannon suddenly found himself clenching his fists and cursing the Protector under his breath.
With a jerk of his head, he wrenched himself away from the woman’s memories. He sat there gasping. Too much, he had absorbed too much from Carlina. He had to be careful, or her memories would become indistinguishable from his own, a self-induced schizophrenia. He sat there for several minutes, pushing away the woman’s memories and thinking about his own. Yes, that was better. His breathing eased and the bizarre feeling of murderous rage slowly dissolved.
He regarded the sleeping Carlina and a bit of anger flared up in him again. But this anger wasn’t turned against the Protector, no it was directed against the people who had trained Carlina. They had taken a young girl and turned her into a weapon. Instead of soothing her hurts, they had deliberately inflamed them to insure her cooperation and obedience. What they had done to her was as great a crime as what had been done to her parents. If these Venanci were behind it, then they were no better than the Anderans.
But what had they done with this weapon they had created? What was the sabotage of which she had spoken? He needed to know if he was to have a grasp on the Newcomers’ real military strength. Reluctantly, he began to probe his stolen memories again. Strangely, at first he found nothing. Something so important and so recent should have been fresh and prominent, but there was little except memories of sitting in her cell after her capture, mixed with unpleasant images of being questioned. He pushed deeper, following a disjointed trail of linked memories that led toward a… what? It was like some dark, cancerous cyst on a medical scan, some region of her past she wanted to wall-off and forget. He came to the edge of it and then hesitated, teetering between the need to know and some instinctive fear of what he might find.
He steeled himself and pushed ahead. The dark knot unraveled and a wave of images, sensations, and emotions washed over him like a splash of acid on bare flesh. Anger, fear, pain, and exhaustion, combined with guilt and sorrow and a seemingly endless stream of dead faces to stun Brannon like a physical blow. A dead man in a bed, a woman she counted as a friend sprawled on the deck, a shower stall crimson with blood, people killed unawares with clubs and knives and her hands. And row after row of plastic cylinders spewing vapor and fluid… As the truth of what Carlina had done became clear, it was more than he could bear, he desperately tried to push the memories back into that dark place they had been in. He tore off the strap holding him and shoved himself into the small washroom. Cold water on his face could not quell the nausea that surged up in him. He choked and gasped as he tried to keep from vomiting in his breathing mask. He succeeded, but just barely. He was a long time cleaning up.
When he opened the hatch and returned to the main compartment, he was still shaking badly. He started when he saw that Carlina was awake. She stared at him and he could not meet her eyes. She had the translating computer in her hands and she gave it to him immediately.
“What did you do? I had the strangest dreams about you.”
He regained his spot and looked at her. Before, she had seemed weak and sick and very helpless. He had pitied her. Now he realized, just as the Anderans had apparently found out too late, that she was the most dangerous creature imaginable. The clan’s warriors, the two expert mercenaries piloting this ship, were as babes when it came to dealing death. He shivered in her presence.
But he still pitied her.
“It is a method for exchanging some thoughts,” he told her eventually. He did not add that, like he had done with the boy, the device was adjusted to give him far more from her than she received from him. “I have seen… I have seen what you did aboard the Anderan vessels, Carlina.”
Her face went very white and for a moment he thought she might faint. Tears began to leak out of her eyes and fog her mask. But after a moment she took the translator. “I did not want to kill all of them, but I had no choice. And now you see how helpless they are with their warriors dead. Will you help me?”
“It is not my decision. I will have to discuss all of this with my leaders.”
“When will that be?”
“Perhaps a week. We are heading for my home.”
She seemed to accept that and shortly excused herself and went into the washroom.
The following week seemed interminable. He would talk with Carlina for hours, and after a few days, the translator was hardly needed. They talked about their respective backgrounds and Carlina seemed especially fascinated with his description of the birthing crèche. She said that she wanted children of her own someday and they compared how differently their two peoples achieved that goal. She frequently pressed him for help in her cause and he repeatedly deflected her requests. Neither mentioned what she had done again, but Brannon could not stop thinking about it. Bit by bit, he either ‘remembered’ or got from Carlina details of the history of Andera and Venance. What he learned frightened him.
They were two of a group of competing empires, warring with each other on and off for centuries. They slew each other by the millions to grab pieces of the rubble left from an even more horrific conflict. Their actions almost made the legendary World Stealers look like saints.
And now their contest was spilling across the Rift.
Despite Carlina’s assurances that the Venanci would look upon the clan as brethren and kin, Brannon knew it was not true. The Refuge system would just be another battlefield in an endless contest, and the clans would be little more than pawns. No, there was no hope or help to be had from either side. The only hope he could see was to let the two enemies fight and then perhaps the united clans could drive off the survivors. At the very least, they must destroy this gate they were constructing. Now if he could only convince his people!
The dreary journey at last came to an end and the mercenaries deposited him and Carlina in the docking bay of Telendia Base. He had worried that he would be accosted by warriors and others before he could contact Herren Caspari, but the bay seemed strangely deserted. He entered with only a glance given to him by the single very young warrior on guard. His initial plan had been to go directly to Caspari’s headquarters, but instead, he decided to
go to his office first.
His staff greeted him excitedly and his secretary, Kananna, hugged him and cried a bit. “The Newcomers are looking for you, Father!” she exclaimed. “They say you took…” she trailed off when she saw Carlina.
“This is Carlina. She’s a… a friend. I’d be grateful if you could find her some guest quarters, I’ll give you her environmental requirements. And she’ll need food and some fresh clothing. But first I need to talk with Herren Caspari. Get through to him and I’ll take it in my office.”
Kananna looked uneasy. “But, Father, K’ser Caspari isn’t here on Telendia.”
“Oh, well get me his second, then.”
“He’s gone, too, nearly all of the clan leaders are gone, Father.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“We don’t know. About a week ago most of the leaders and nearly all the warriors took their ships and left.”
A chill went through Brannon. This couldn’t be, surely Herren wouldn’t…
Yes he would.
“Who is left in charge?” he demanded.
“Uh, Administrator Jaroo is…”
“Get him for me at once!” he snapped in a tone that made poor Kananna jump.
“Yes, F-father, right away,” she stuttered. Brannon took Carlina’s arm and nearly dragged her into his office.
“What is happening?” she asked after the door was closed.
“I don’t know,” he said, collapsing into his chair. “But I fear the worst.” Carlina didn’t ask what the worst was, and for that he was grateful. They sat in silence, Brannon wringing his hands, until the communicator chimed. He snapped on the screen and was relieved to see Jaroo’s face.
“Father Brannon!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you had returned. Where have you been? We thought the Newcomers had arrested you.”
“There is no time for stories right now. Where is Caspari? Where has he taken the warriors?”
Jaroo looked very uneasy. “I-I’m not really at liberty to say…”
“Where are they, Jaroo!?!” roared Brannon, fear snapping his patience. Jaroo’s eyes were very wide. Brannon never yelled at people. He forced himself to calm down. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, old friend,” he said quietly. “I’ve gotten some very critical information and I need to talk to Caspari. Please, Jaroo, on the Lifegiver’s oath, I need to know.”
Jaroo stared at him for a moment and then slowly nodded. “He’s gone, Brannon. He’s taken all the warriors he could gather and he’s gone.”
“Life! He’s gone to attack the Newcomers?”
“No, no, he seemed like a man possessed, but he hasn’t fully lost his reason. He knows the Newcomers are too strong to attack directly. So, he goes to attack their allies.”
“The Seyotah?”
“Yes. You weren’t here to see it Brannon, but after you had left, Caspari spent weeks whipping up the warriors—and a good many of the other people—into a frenzy of anger over the slaughter of our people and his sons. I’d never seen him like this, but you know how persuasive he can be when he speaks in front of a crowd.”
“Yes.”
“Well, anyway, he got them to agree and they left a week ago.”
Brannon sighed. This was bad, but not as bad as he’d feared. A direct attack on the Newcomers right now would have been catastrophic. They needed time, time to present what he had discovered and rally more clans to their side. An attack on the Seyotah still wasn’t good, but at least it wasn’t the disaster he’d feared. But what did Caspari hope to…?
“I’m no warrior, Jaroo, but I’m puzzled over what this will accomplish. Yes, we can overcome the Seyotah warriors, seize some of their ships, gather some loot, and probably interrupt their trade with the Newcomers, but the other clans will just take up the slack. As maddened as you say Caspari was, this hardly seems like sufficient… revenge for him.”
Now Jaroo’s face became truly twisted with pain. “It’s not, old friend, it’s not. May the Lifegiver forgive all of us, but Caspari does not go to attack the Seyotah shipping, he goes to attack their home on Panmunaptra.”
“What? But how? He doesn’t have enough warriors to occupy a base that size!”
“H-he doesn’t plan to occupy it. It was all done in great secret, but I learned of what he plans to do.”
“What?”
Jaroo shook his head and looked down. “He’s redirected a small asteroid. It’s now on a collision course with Panmunaptra. His warriors will escort it all the way in so the Seyotahs cannot stop it. I’m sorry, Father, but he plans to kill them all!”
“Lifegiver the Merciful,” whispered Brannon.
Chapter Eighteen
Carlina Citrone sat and watched Brannon’s face grow grimmer and grimmer. Finally, he switched off the com screen and rested his head in his hands. He was clearly in pain and she was astounded to see tears on his cheeks.
“Brannon, what’s wrong?” She found that she was genuinely worried about him, even though she had only known the man for a little over a week. Somehow, that ‘thought transfer’ device he had used made it feel like she’d known him for years.
“Lifegiver forgive me, what have I done,” he moaned.
“What have you done? Brannon, talk to me!”
“This is all my fault. If I’d just left it alone, none of this would have happened!” He scrubbed the tears away and took a deep breath. “Caspari, the leader of my clan, is taking the warriors to attack the Seyotahs.”
“But I thought you said they were your enemy. Aren’t they the ones who have allied with the Anderans? I would think this is a good thing.”
“You don’t understand. He means to kill them! Kill them all!”
Carlina was about to say that no, she didn’t understand, when suddenly those strange, dreamlike impressions of Brannon which had been floating around in her mind for days seemed to snap into place and suddenly she did understand. “Oh, Maker,” she moaned. In a flash, she saw Brannon for what he really was: a gentle, gentle man, who helped make babies and loved life above all else. In spite of what he had told her on the trip here, she had been assuming that he was like the two warriors who had helped him rescue her, and now she saw that wasn’t true at all. And even the ‘warriors’ were not what she had assumed. They were gentle men from a gentle race which had almost forgotten how to kill.
Until her kind had reminded them how.
“Oh, Brannon, I’m sorry!” She came over and tried to put her arms around him, despite the clumsy suit which protected her from his lethal air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Suddenly she was crying. She felt one of his arms go around her and they clung to each other for quite some time. Eventually, he gently pushed her away and they looked at each other. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “What… what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. Caspari and the warriors will be making a silent approach to Panmunaptra, they would never respond to any message I sent them.”
“Surely some of the Seyotahs will escape?”
“Some, quite a few, I suppose. But their birthing crèche will be destroyed! With that gone, along with nearly all their industry, it will be the end of their clan. The Seyotahs will be finished as an independent people—at least here at Refuge.” He shook his head. “Some might see the destruction of a rival as a good thing, but I… I cannot.”
“C-could you warn them? Warn the Seyotahs, I mean. Maybe they could save something, the birthing crèche, perhaps.” She could scarcely believe she was suggesting this. These Seyotahs were allies of the Anderans which automatically made them her enemy. She should celebrate their destruction as a blow against the Protector.
But somehow she couldn’t.
Somehow the thought of so many deaths, the deaths of the babies, made her physically ill. She clutched Brannon’s arm hard enough to make him wince as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Could you warn them?” she said again.
“You want m
e to betray my own warriors?” He seemed dazed by the notion.
“From what I have learned of you and your people, isn’t this attack a betrayal of everything you believe in, Brannon?”
“Yes.”
“And warning them wouldn’t stop the attack, they would still be crippled as an ally of the Anderans, b-but maybe they could save the children if they had time.”
Brannon stared off into space for a long time before he finally nodded. “Perhaps. Perhaps it could be done. I’ve had some professional dealings with the priest in charge of their birthing crèche. I might be able to get through to him.”
“Then let’s try!”
He looked down to where she was still clutching his arm and gently patted her hand with his. He looked up and smiled at her.
“Yes. Let’s.”
* * * * *
As you can see from the main reports, the data collection and analysis is proceeding on schedule. The planet is a normal Type F-938-B to about three decimal places, no surprises at all so far. We could melt the ice caps using standard procedures with no problem and there are no native settlements within fifteen hundred clicks.
Across the Great Rift Page 31