Dark Foundations (55 page)

He paused and as he gazed around, Merral had a sense of a man whose very presence was a blessing. “Here and now, we apologize unreservedly for what happened. We must take some of the blame. Had we watched over our ships more closely, had we guarded the borders of the Assembly better, then these losses might not have happened.” He shook his head ruefully. “But, alas, they did. And it is our task to remedy as much as we can of that sad episode. We will speak more of that later.”

He turned to his colleague with a grave, formal gesture.

“We have come a long way,” Tinternli said, her voice a gentle but clear murmur that reminded Merral of a summer's wind among trees. “Our voyage has taken two months and it is gratifying to have firm ground under our feet once more. First of all, I reecho my colleague's apology.”

As her soft, full smile appeared, Merral noticed that Corradon beamed at her with undisguised pleasure.

“Secondly, I bring you greetings from Lord-Emperor Nezhuala himself. He considered coming, but the great task of managing the affairs of the Dominion does not permit long absences. In his grace, he has bestowed on us the honor of making the first contact with you. You may be confident that we bring you his best, and his highest concern. His thoughts daily turn toward our separated brothers and sisters in the Assembly and you may be assured that, in his prayers, he mentions you.”

Corradon gave a stately bow of acknowledgment. “We are greatly honored by your presence. But may I introduce the members of the contact team?”

As the ambassadors moved down the line toward him, Merral suddenly found himself preoccupied with the idea that they might be able to read his mind. He tried to concentrate on other things, but found it impossible. He then remembered that he bore Lucas Ringell's identity disk. And the more he tried to forget that, the more it filled his mind.

Suddenly Corradon was in front of him. “And this,” he said, “is Commander Merral D'Avanos. Of our rather, well,
embryonic,
Defense Force.”

As Hazderzal's extraordinarily smooth fingers shook his, Merral noted his look of detached interest.

“Nice to meet you,” the ambassador said and then, without so much as a pause, moved on to the next person.

Tinternli took Merral's hand next—her fingers seemed even softer—and gave him a smile of innocent enjoyment. To his surprise, Merral found himself smiling back.

“A commander, eh?” she said, tilting her head back with a wry laugh. “Oh, we have plenty of those.” She bent forward so she could speak quietly in his ear. “In truth, far too many.”

Merral felt the pleasure of being inside a shared joke, almost as if she were saying to him, “I sense that you hate your hot and itchy uniform and that you are uneasy with military matters. You and I are one on this.”

As she moved on, Merral realized that neither with her nor with Hazderzal had he felt any sense of his brain being tapped. And there had been not the slightest hint of a spiritual evil. Indeed, if anything, he seemed to sense that these were
good
people.
It makes no sense
.

They walked through to the adjacent tent where tables—one with an array of foods—and chairs were set and a small string orchestra played quietly in the background.

Six crewmen of the
Dove
shuttle entered—tall men with short hair in a variety of colors, but all with a similar air of quiet, polished reserve.

Slowly, people mingled and Merral was intrigued to see that any tension soon thawed into humor and cautious, polite laughter.

At one point, Merral found himself standing on the edge of things and looked around. Tinternli and Jenat were deep in discussion. The elderly man's face showed a cautious admiration. Hazderzal and Corradon drifted past and he overheard the ambassador praising the musicians.

“You know, if things go the way we hope, we should have some of your players visit our worlds. A mixed orchestra? Or do I dream a dream too far?”

“We must dream, Ambassador,” Corradon replied, with a sympathetic nod. “But what better way of bridging divisions?”

As they moved on Merral felt utterly perplexed. He had been prepared for either a thuggish show of violence or a blatantly spurious attempt at being nice, but this was neither. What he was faced with was one of two things: either a deception of stunning effectiveness or a display of genuine grace and gentleness.

After an hour the captain and crew returned to the shuttle. The contact team and the ambassadors adjourned to the pavilion and sat around a large table.

“Now,” Corradon said, “let us begin our discussions. Ambassador Hazderzal, please.”

Hazderzal rose. “I know you have many questions and we want to try and answer them all. And I have to say that we do not intend staying more than a month. The journey is long and the lord-emperor is anxious to hear about you. We have a message from him for you and we will show it to you soon. But I think we ought to begin with who we are and where the Dominion has come from.” He paused, as if suddenly struck by an idea. “Incidentally, I fear that for some, the word
Dominion
may have overtones of tyranny and repression in your language. That is an unfortunate accident of history and a quirk of translation. Relax, friends; the reality is different. Now to our history. That history goes back to what we call the Great Separation, the tragic events of what we gather you call the Rebellion.”

And for the next ten minutes, Hazderzal—aided by Tinternli—recounted the history of their worlds to a captivated audience. As he listened, Merral recognized the tale that he had heard from Azeras: the loss of the seventh ship, the descent of the Freeborn worlds into anarchy, and the endless cycles of troubled tension that boiled into bitter strife before, in bloodied exhaustion, collapsing back into a new, uneasy peace.

Yet there were differences in both fact and interpretation and, as the account came closer to the present, those divergences became plainer. The rise of the Dominion was portrayed as a blessed and gratefully received event that had brought badly needed stability and peace to increasingly greater numbers of people. The opposition to the Dominion was painted in the most negative of lights. The True Freeborn—the weary irony in Hazderzal's voice as he said the name was striking—were, at worst, bandits and at best, tragic fools who did not see where their best interests lay. It was they who had stolen a transport vessel, the
Rahllman's Star
, and fled to Farholme.

Merral was soon asked to speak by Corradon and, choosing his words carefully, gave a brief account of the battle at Fallambet Lake Five in which he omitted all reference to entering the ship.

“So providence punished them with a harsh—but just—fate,” Hazderzal observed with a grim look. “You are to be congratulated, Commander.”

“I take no credit,” Merral said quietly, as he sat down. “That belongs elsewhere.”

“The True Freeborn,” Hazderzal said with a solemn air, “are on the run and their forces in disarray. Yet, they are not completely eliminated and are still capable of doing much harm.”

“Let me be honest.” As he paused he seemed somewhat embarrassed at what he had to say. “Matters are untidy. We did not destroy all the True Freeborn ships. Indeed, we believe that they may have some considerable forces left. They still possess ships and powerful weapons and now that they have realized that the Assembly is open to them, they may well do you great harm. They are vindictive. At the start of our dealings together, we want to warn you that another attack on your world by them is probable. They know that there is now no home for them in the Dominion worlds. The fact that, however inadvertently, you destroyed their forces makes you at war with them. They will seek revenge and we have found them merciless enemies.” He paused again. As he did Merral glanced at the others, seeing concern on every face. “Our borders are long and our resources are stretched. The dimension you call Below-Space cannot be policed. In the discussions that follow you may need to bear that in mind.”

Now there was a time for questions. Merral stayed silent, concerned lest something he say betray the fact that he knew more than he was supposed to know.

“How do you view General Jannafy?” asked the representative for Western Menaya.

“A name from a very distant—and different—past,” Hazderzal answered, without any hesitation. “William Jannafy is an almost forgotten figure. We recognize our mistakes—we have paid a high price. We have turned our back on the distant past. You would hardly celebrate Lucas Ringell, would you, Commander?”

“His name is known, but that is all,” Merral said quickly. The disk hanging from his neck seemed to mock him.

The representative for Central Menaya spoke next. “Why didn't you reveal your existence earlier?”

“To be honest,” Tinternli answered, “we never felt strong enough. All we gleaned from the stray electromagnetic signals we picked up told us that you were now vastly greater than we were. We understood that you were now peaceful but . . .” Her look was one of delicate embarrassment and her voice tapered off. “We fled once from the Assembly; we did not want to again. We kept to ourselves.”

“Can you tell us about your faster-than-light system?” asked Southern Menaya's representative.

Hazderzal replied, “It is a modification of Gate technology that allowed ships to travel Below-Space. As for the details, well,” he gave a little self- deprecating laugh, “I am not an engineer. You could discuss the mechanics later, especially if you visit our ship.”

Clemant, who had been silent so far, raised a hand. “The ape-creatures and these appalling insect-human hybrids we encountered—where are they from?”

Merral detected wariness in his voice.
He at least is not relaxing.

Hazderzal hesitated for a moment. “I could claim that these were products of these insurgents. But I don't. Let me be honest, Advisor; these creatures are some of a small number of life-forms that we have generated by genetic manipulation for menial tasks on our ships and worlds. They were being shipped on the freighter when it was stolen. They are made with only limited intelligence and awareness and, although we treat them well, I cannot speak for what these wretched thieves have done with them. And if you are shocked, then bear in mind that in many cultures, animals are used for a variety of purposes. You, I gather, still ride horses for work I believe, where the terrain requires them. We do not.”

The contact team shared uncomfortable looks.

Merral really wanted to ask about the steersman on the intruder ship, but had been unable to work out how to raise the matter. Few people knew what he had found on board and to mention that he had encountered such a being raised awkward questions as to how he had escaped. Nevertheless, he felt he could ask about the dreadful creature that Azeras called a slitherwing.

He called up the awful image from his diary and projected it on a wallscreen. “What is it?” he asked. “Where did it come from?”

The ambassadors shook their heads in frowning dismay. “We heard rumors of this,” Hazderzal said, with a look of revulsion at the screen. “In Communal, you might call these beings slitherwings. In their desperation these people—these so-called Freeborn—have conjured up all sorts of creatures from the depths. We have even heard that they try to steer their ships with monstrous beings. Such things are abhorrent to us. We must have you visit the
Dove of Dawn
to see that no such beasts are hiding on board.”

“Thank you,” Merral said quietly, aware that he could now guess the answer to any question about steersmen.

“But who do you worship?” Jenat's frail voice quavered. “You know our beliefs.”

“Ah, President Jenat, that is a question that I expected you to ask.” Hazderzal's smile was gentle. “Well, there is both familiarity and difference. We celebrate the one God: indeed our emblem is that very One—the great unity—the One who is beyond all understanding. That much you would find familiar. But I have to say you would find a breadth in our worlds: an openness, a freedom for all to pursue the great quest wherever it leads them.”

“I see,” Jenat answered with a look of perplexity. “You have a sort of . . . diversity of views?”

“Exactly,” Tinternli added, her soft smile one of reassurance. “It provides the perfect basis for discussion, for exploration.”

“Well, if you say so,” Jenat answered rather doubtfully, staring at the table. “It all sounds so, well, unclear. I really would like to discuss the matter with the Custodians of the Faith. But alas . . .” He looked at Tinternli and his expression of doubt was edged aside by a smile of appreciation.

“I expect,” said Hazderzal, “you have probably all had enough to digest for one day. May I suggest that the meeting be adjourned until tomorrow? I do have one request though. May we be allowed to set up a temporary liaison center at Langerstrand?”

And with that and courteous farewells, the ambassadors and their crew returned to the shuttle.

In the debate that followed the departure of the ambassadors, Corradon expressed his view that the day had been wholly positive; many old fears had been allayed and no new ones created. Clemant, though, was more cautious: “We have little experience of lies,” he rumbled. “We would be ill-equipped to recognize them.”

The general conclusion though was a tentative welcome, with the rider that big unanswered questions remained. It was agreed that the ambassadors should be allowed to build a liaison center.

Merral spent much of the short flight back to Isterrane staring out of the window with a puzzled concentration.
Someone is lying
.
But is it Azeras or the ambassadors? Could it even be that they are both lying? And if I don't know who is lying, how can any of the others be expected to know?