Dark Foundations (57 page)

Later that evening, Luke came round. After helping himself to a drink he followed Merral into the still darkness of the courtyard and sat down.

“What did you make of Khalamaja?” Merral asked as the chaplain stretched out his long legs.

“I was awed.”

“But?”

Luke sipped his drink. “Yes, I'm afraid there is a
but
with the Dominion. Let me ask you what you thought.”

“Me? It was
too
grand. The human scale was missing. And I'd like to have seen more trees.”

Merral thought he saw a look of relief in Luke's face. “I'm very glad to hear that. I felt the same. It was overpowering. And far too neat.”

“So you think that it's a—what's the word?—
fake
?”

Luke shrugged. “We have to consider it possible. And what about the ambassadors or Nezhuala? How do you find them?”

“To be honest, likable. They seem very ordinary—nothing alien or remarkable. I have been trying to sense if there is any hint of the evil I felt on that intruder ship.”

“And?” Luke's stare was keen.

“Not a trace. What do you think?”

“What I'm struck with is their perfection—the absence of blemishes.”

“You don't like that?”

“It troubles me. Can a thing be too perfect to be true?”

“Perhaps.”

“Another question. Do they criticize the Assembly?”

Merral thought about that. “There has been no direct criticism.”

“But?”

“Ah, the
but
. Well, although there has been no criticism, I somehow feel that our achievements are diminished. Their worlds are rich and exciting; ours—especially Farholme—seem mean and dull.”

“How very interesting,” Luke replied. “I've picked up a bit about their theology. This great openness of theirs is very striking. And it worries me. They deny nothing—there's nothing to engage with. Their beliefs are just a great bottomless swamp with no rock to put your feet on. There is the One, but how you conceive of him—or it—doesn't matter.”

He leaned back and stared up, whether at the fronds of the palm tree or a scene of his imagination, Merral wasn't sure. After a few moments, he said in a slow, reflective voice, “The other thing—and this troubles me a lot—is that they fear death. All of them—death haunts their worlds.”

“So, is it all a deception?”

The chaplain took another slow sip of his drink. There was something comfortingly deliberate in his actions. “A very strong chance, I'd say.”

“But why can't we see it?”

“Because we are fallible human beings. The Word talks about the devil masquerading as an angel of light. This may—only may—be the same thing.”

“Yes, perhaps that's it. Will Jenat see that?”

“I think so. He may appear frail, but I think he's still very sharp. But a last question, Merral: what do they want?”

“I don't know. That's what we are all waiting for.”

In fact, on the following day, during the contact team's third meeting with the ambassadors, Hazderzal outlined exactly what they wanted.

“These True Freeborn are not eliminated. They may attack here anytime. And frankly—don't take this as an insult, Commander—if they do, you are in serious trouble. They may decide to destroy you all or they may choose to take you as captives. Your chance of resistance against a military vessel with troops and armor would be zero.”

There was an uncomfortable, fidgety silence before Ambassador Hazderzal spoke again. “The lord-emperor is, however, prepared to extend his protection over you. That is an act of grace; to extend our forces this far out would weaken our defenses around the Home Worlds. But we will do it. We will send five frigates to be stationed in your system.”

Corradon frowned. “Actually, what we really want is to be reunited with the Assembly.”

“We understand,” Hazderzal said. “We can give you a single interworld transit vessel—a five-hundred seater. It would do the trip to Bannermene in three weeks. You'd have your misplaced people sorted out in three months.”

“Exactly what we want!”

Tinternli shook her head. “But, my friends, it isn't that simple. You see, we have an appalling fear that when we encounter the Assembly, they will attack us again. We were once crushed by them and do not wish that to happen again. So we want to learn how we may best approach them.
We
did not destroy your Gate, but your isolation has given us the chance to deal, not with the overwhelming might of the whole Assembly, but with a small part of it. It is a chance—a chance that will not come again—that we do not wish to throw away. With you as our friends, we may gain acceptance with the Assembly.”

“So what do you want?” Merral asked, trying to keep the unease out of his voice.

“Lord Nezhuala offers you a treaty,” Hazderzal said, his voice a gentle murmur.

“A treaty?” Corradon looked around with evident unease. “Can you elaborate?”

Tinternli gave him a warm smile. “Please don't be alarmed. It would be a very simple agreement. We would offer protection and transport facilities. You in return would promise not to take up arms against us. You would keep your own customs, laws, and beliefs.”

“And that is all you would want?”

“Yes. Of course, as a token of your good faith toward us you would grant us access to your Library and your Admin-Net.”

Merral saw the questions in the eyes of the contact team. But before anyone could say anything, Hazderzal continued. “There would be many other benefits: medical, engineering, and so on. But there is no need to make any decision here and now. We give you ten days from today to make a decision. That is ample time for you to decide and for those of you who are representatives to listen to those you represent.”

“And if we say no?” Merral asked.

“Then we will leave and you must fend for yourself. And remember, it is not just the True Freeborn you must face. We have looked at your world and we do not think your future in isolation is encouraging. Our surveys suggest that there is a high probability that the central rift volcanic system will erupt catastrophically unless the magma chambers are vented; that is outside your technology. Your climates are already precariously balanced and would not handle a massive dust injection into the atmosphere. The currents in the Southern Seas are heading into instability. The probability that your Guardian satellite system will still be operating after twenty years is effectively zero.” Hazderzal turned to Clemant. “Would you dissent, Doctor? I imagine you have the figures at hand for all these issues.”

Clemant looked up with troubled eyes. “I am aware of . . . most of these estimates.”

“But, please,” Tinternli suddenly spoke in her clear, bright voice, “in your discussions do not overlook our larger goal: the greater vision of our worlds and yours reunited. Farholme has a chance to lead the way for peace, to lead the way for healing.”

Merral wondered if her words were an attempt to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Corradon seemed to gulp, and gazed around. “These matters are things we must discuss.”

“We are glad.”

Then there were requests. The ambassadors wanted a chance to make live broadcasts to Farholme explaining who they were, where they came from, and what they wanted. After a long discussion, it was agreed that the ambassadors would be allowed a half-hour program each evening for five days with each broadcast approved beforehand.

After the ambassadors left for the center that was growing up around their end of the runway, there was a discussion of the treaty and its terms. Merral soon slipped away. It would take days for the implications to sink in and still longer for decisions to be made. He felt relieved that at last he knew what the Dominion wanted and that they had ten days before a decision had to be made.

Arriving back in Isterrane, Merral decided on impulse to make a brief visit to the Western Isterrane Main Hospital. A Dominion team had visited the previous day and he was anxious to know what had transpired. He went to see Barry Narandel whose legs had been mangled in the final stages of the battle at Fallambet. Despite attempts to save them, his legs had had to be amputated, and he was being fitted with artificial legs.

Barry, clumsily lurching around a ward with the aid of crutches, was glad to see Merral. Yes, he said, the Dominion team had talked to him.

“They offered to grow me new legs.” He stared down at his metal and synthetic limbs. “It will take a month in a tissue tank for them to form, then a long op to fasten them on. Then a lot of physiotherapy, but the end results will be as good as new.”

“Impressive.”

“That's not all. They offered me augmented legs, if I wanted.”

“Augmented?”

“Specially made—toughened bone, enhanced musculature. They reckon I could break the Farholme two hundred meters.”

“You refused?”

Barry frowned and moved his right leg. Merral heard the faintest hiss of a motor. “Yes. I just said normal legs would be fine. To restore what I lost is one thing. To go beyond it is quite another. It didn't seem right.”

“It isn't.”

Merral left Barry and talked to the doctors. He was struck by their almost total enthusiasm for Dominion science. They had, he was told, better diagnostic tools, better drugs, and better surgical equipment.

Merral left feeling troubled. In this hospital the battle for support had been won by the Dominion.

Later that day Vero welcomed Engineer Eric Weijmars into his cluttered room deep under Isterrane.

“You have news?” he asked, but the animated look on the man's face already told him the answer to his question.

“Yes.” Eric tapped the roll of paper under his arm. “And new plans.”

“Take a seat. Excuse the mess,” Vero said, clearing papers and an empty coffee cup from a chair. “Have they taken the bait?”

The engineer sat down. “Oh yes. Snapped it up.”

“What happened?”

“Drewkant left his diary around overnight as you suggested. He came looking for it the next day. It was where he had put it, but it had been read.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. That Dominion lot think we're stupid so they don't take precautions. Data had been downloaded. There were new fingerprints on the case.”

“Good. And Drewkant's diary was, of course, one of the ones we'd modified?”

“Of course.” There was a slightly offended tone to the voice.

“Sorry, just had to make sure.” Vero stared at the ceiling. “Are you going back to the base?”

“No. The work's tailing off.”

“Good, so I can talk to you without any risk. So now they know that there has been recent work done under Isterrane. They know that Drewkant is a chief water engineer for Isterrane. And now they have his plans for the city out of the diary. And they probably think the key to the Library is down here. So we shall see what happens.”