Battleground (37 page)

WEKTT

T
HERE IS RAIN ALL THE TIME.
When it is not snow. When it is not snow mixing with rain.

Sometimes what falls is slush before it reaches the ground. And sometimes it freezes there and sometimes it does not.

I am told the weather is very good. For this time of year, before the summer, before the thaw. They say this is the thaw before the thaw, and after that it rains. When it does not snow.

I always thought, when I looked at the maps, that Wektt was at the end of the world. That was correct.

I have Quokatk's robes to put on, but I delay. I will go while there are still things to be learned from Quokatk I said, but Tlorr delayed and she delayed, I should have come last summer, no, many summers sooner than that, before Quokatk began to rave, and now he raves, like Kwler. Like Kwler, he requires Soldiers to bathe him, requires Soldiers to feed him. Except when he eats everything they bring to him in an instant, cramming it into his mouth, and screaming until more is brought. And then he has to be bathed again, and he does not always want to be bathed. It is that way with Kwler. It is not that way with Tlorr, but it will become that way. It will become that way with me.

I do not like the robes. They are the same as the ones worn by Tlorr, but they are also the same as the ones worn by Kwler. I looked at Tlorr with my past-eyes and thought that to become Tlorr would not be so bad, to become Tlorr as she is now. She is more careless now, it is true. But in most things she still listens to Abundant God. Holds to her duty, maintains the balance: Some crèches to move aboveground, to be destroyed at the proper times, and the disarming of Tvakst is projected so that it may be attacked from the ground, likewise the disarming of Prokskt. I, here, will order the attacks. The High Commander here is named Kakrekt. She is supposed to see that the orders are carried out, as I did for Tlorr and before that Tlorr for Kwler. But Kakrekt does not want to obey all my orders. Quokatk has been insane too long, Kakrekt has been more than Commander but refused to become Holy Man, what shall I do about Kakrekt?

I am remembering well today. I remember where I hid some more pages but now it is too late, I cannot return to get them, I have only the ones I carried with me when I left. I must start all over and try to remember what I wrote, and remember to keep with me what I write because if I hide the new pages and write down the place where I hide them, I will forget where I have written down the hiding place, because I will have to hide that too.

•   •   •

Absolutely not
, she had said, but she wasn't going to get away with it.

The conference, almost as soon as she returned, was well attended: Metra and Cochran and Corcoran, who seemed permanently attached to her, never to be unglued, and another
Endeavor
officer besides; Hanna and Gabriel sat as far away from them as possible. Arch and Bella, Kit Mortan and Cinnamon Padrick, Joseph and Dema and Benj Parker. Pirin Zey was there, and Communications staff, and two of the political science team, and even the climatologist. Adair Evanomen and Zanté were there as images from Earth. Hanna recognized the room behin
d Evanomen, part of the suite Jameson had used as director of Contact. Zanté was at Admin too, already in the commissioner's suite, reclaiming Jameson's old territory for him. The transition was moving fast.

And Jameson was there, of course, in all three large dimensions. Hanna had not seen his face since she told him she meant to leave him. He did not look at her at first, which left her free to look at him, which she kept deciding not to do, but she kept doing it anyway, her eyes on him again and again. He was at a desk somewhere in Arrenswood, contriving to appear both relaxed and alert. Hanna knew the look. Holo made him look real enough to touch.

It was a good thing he was not real. Touching him would be a bad idea. Thinking about him would be just as bad, so she tried hard not to think, and voices went by her in disjointed scraps.

“...a simple, peaceful contact with Wektt's Holy Man or his designee.” That was Evanomen. “That was what we meant to do with Rowtt, of course. Kwoort shot that all to hell. And here's Kwoort again. How the
hell
did he get there?”

Into a brief silence, he added, “I mean that literally.”

“The flight we observed, presumably,” Metra said shortly.

“Well, whatever the mechanism, there's no explanation of why he's there. The other Outsiders—” it was the generic term for sentient aliens “—are peaceful, overall, but they know who an enemy is. How does Rowtt's top Commander end up being Wektt's Holy Man overnight?”

“Rowtt's Demon,” said Jameson. “Wektt's Holy Man is Rowtt's Demon. Are such exchanges customary? It does not seem to be treason. It's inexplicable by our standards. We still have not taken this society's measure.”

Hanna decided to ignore the deep, familiar voice. Too easy to remember how it sounded in the dark, in the night. She tuned out again.

“...capability for interstellar travel, for interstellar war,” Metra said, and Jameson said, “Absolutely.”

“And of course maybe the most valuable commodity we've ever run across,” Evanomen said, which Hanna half-heard. She had only begun to wonder what he meant when he said, “The potential for increasing human life spans even further—and A.S. doesn't work equally well for everybody, you know. Some research here—who knows? Might be nothing there humans can use, but we've got to find out.”

Hanna lifted her head at that. Jameson looked directly into her eyes.

“Find out once and for all whether their star-going poses a threat, or if they can even still do it,” he said. “Hanna, that's first. And talk to Kwoort about possible trade. We might give quite a lot for research subjects. Preferably alive and willing.”

She felt the ghost at her shoulder. But the ghost said nothing. Even the ghost was stunned.

She had not even imagined, how could she not have thought of it?—that whatever allowed Soldiers to live for a millennium might be studied and adapted to humans. This was why the contact with Battleground could not be terminated and dropped forever. So simple; so enormous.

Hanna did not say anything and did not move. She could not. People expected her to nod, at least. She did not nod. She was caught up in Jameson's eyes, green today, sometimes gray as a clouded sea. But she felt a wisp of greedy curiosity from Metra. The breach between Hanna and Jameson was open knowledge here as well as on Heartworld, a consequence of the Parting Observance. Silence would be read as insult. She would not do that to Jameson.

She said with an effort, “Sorry, I was thinking. We didn't take advantage of the time we had with Kwek. There were questions she could have answered that we just didn't ask.”

Jameson did nod. “Can you spare a few minutes when we're done here?” he said.

“Of course,” she said. Dreading a private conversation. Longing for it.

•   •   •

The others drifted out slowly. Hanna waited, looking absently at a reader that showed the anonymous healer's words. She had looked them up again after seeing Metra, and now carried them with her as if the being called to her across the years. The last person left and the door silently closed itself. She finally looked up.

Jameson came to the edge of the holo field and stood looking at her. He said, “You could come closer, you know.”

The holographic projections had been set up for one-way transmission. Hanna would only be an image to him, a small figure in a room that seemed large with everybody gone. She got up and
went closer, though.

“How is Mickey?” she said.

“He's in good health and very happy. I've been wanting to talk to you about him. About what will happen when you get back. What do you intend to do? Exactly, I mean? Where do you mean to live?”

“I don't know. Lady Koroth has some contacts on Earth besides me. If you would call her? She could get someone to help find a place near Admin for Mickey and me. And if Thera could stay with us for a while—?”

She did not like asking for the favors. But she did not have a choice.

“And I was thinking,” she said, not taking her eyes from his face, “that I wouldn't go very far away from your home. So that Mickey could see you sometimes. Would you do that?”

Because favors for Mickey's sake were different.

“With pleasure. He's a delight, Hanna. I'm sorry you've had to miss these months with him.”

“Me, too.” She had to look away then. What she had missed was irretrievable. She forced the tears back. Some things did not bear thinking of. And a new fear seized her, full-grown in an instant.

“Sit,” he said. “Try to be comfortable. Try to relax.”

She hardly heard him, but she tried. She sat in one of the comfortable chairs, as close as she could get to the holo field, but she was on the edge of the seat, every muscle tense.

“I can't just come and take him,” she said. “He doesn't even know me. He only knows you. It will take time. I want him to want to be with me—”

The new fear was unstoppable.

“And how can he?” she said. “He's happy where he is, you just said so. He won't want to leave you. He won't want to be with me.”

She clasped her hands to her mouth as if she could force the terrible words back into it. She was certain she had lost her son. The months apart had taken him away from her and she would never get him back.

Jameson reached a hand toward her, let it fall. He could not touch her. She saw her sadness mirrored in his face.

“Please,” he said, “don't think that. I've told him you'll be back and that I hope it will be soon. He has a calendar that he puts things in to tell you about. Images of the pets playing, words he's learned, stories about what he does, lists of things he loves. Yes, he tells stories, little ones; he's absorbing language fast. I hope to see him often. I'm glad you want that too.”

“Yes, I do,” said Hanna, and bent over with the effort not to cry.

When she looked up again, she saw the oddest expression on his face.

“What?” she said, faltering.

“You could always change your mind,” he said. “I'd like that.”

“About—what?”

“Leaving.”

“Oh—oh. I have to,” she said simply.

“Why? Can't we compromise?”

“No,” Hanna said. She got up slowly. The words that came out next came of their own accord and should have been said long ago, but something inside her tore apart with each one. “You're too strong. You
have
to be strong. You won't let yourself be anything else. I've leaned on your strength with such gratitude—it's so ungrateful even to say this! I'm still leaning, depending on you for amnesty someday, trusting you to care for Mickey, depending on you to protect me from Metra's mistakes. Am I so weak?—I
feel
weak, I've let myself feel that way because you're so strong. The kind of power you have now, the kind you had already and what you've gotten back again—how could anyone not feel weak beside you? I can't let you keep being my strength. I don't even know if I have any of my own, any more. I can't keep on like that.”

Then she stopped, because she had said everything important.

That strange expression was back. After a minute he said, “You're a difficult woman to love.”

Her breath stopped. It was anger that stopped it, a bright flare of outrage.

“You,”
she said. “You're the most manipulative human being I've ever known. I've never heard you say that word—except to disclaim it!
Love!
What are you doing? Raising the stakes? I'm not playing!”

She started away, then, almost running.

“Stop it!” he said, and almost roared: “Stop running away from me!”

She did stop, but at safe distance—as if they really were in the same room, as if the light-years did not separate them. She was still for a minute. Then she said, “You've got to try A.S. again soon, don't you. You don't dare wait for results from here, even if I can get you those volunteers. You won't do it immediately, not until your position on the Commission is unassailable. But soon.”

“I can't wait much longer,” he said. “It's been too long.”

“You always go to Heartworld for that. Take me with you.”

“I can't,” he said automatically. There was a hesitation first; but she only remembered that later.

She said,
“No.
Because you'll be weak. Physically weak, at the least, if you even survive. You might even be afraid, because this time might be the one that kills you. And you don't want anybody to see it. Let me be with you.”

He shook his head, a fractional movement, and said nothing. But there might have been speculation in his eyes.

“Think about it,” she said.

And then she did leave.

•   •   •

She walked out fast and nearly collided with Gabriel, who was hovering. He looked at her face and said, “What's wrong?”

Everything in her mind was a kaleidoscope and she could not focus on anything. “Were you listening?” she said, and he said, “Of course not!”

“Oh, sorry, no, I keep thinking—”

She kept perceiving him as if he were one of the D'neerans, any one of whom might have been “listening” whether they wanted to or not, unless they consciously blocked out the thoughts behind a conversation.

Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder. “You're upset,” he said. “Is it about the mission?”

“No!”

She took a few steps along the corridor but stopped because she really did not know where she wanted to go. Gabriel said something she didn't hear, because she was thinking that Jameson never lied to her when they were together—but then, when they were together, she might sense it if he tried, and he knew it.