Dark Foundations (7 page)

“And so far?” Andreas asked, although his attention seemed to be elsewhere, his eyes apparently following a large butterfly.

“Too early to say. The science team has only just started and all we can say is that there are possibilities. They may just be slime worlds: worlds with no more than bacteria or algae. But what we can say—I think—is that if there are any civilizations around, they are at least as far away from Farholme as we are. Say, three hundred light-years. But, Eliza, any other thoughts from your people?”

“Only one more. And it's an odd one. We are wondering if anything survived the Rebellion.”

“Surely not,” Andreas said, turning his eyes quickly to her. “Evil was purged then. Nothing could have survived. Could it, Ethan?”

“Andreas, we have also considered it as a possibility. But a massive weapon was used then. Even today, the debris at Centauri is highly radioactive. Nothing could have survived.”

Andreas grunted softly. “It was spiritual surgery of the toughest sort.”

Eliza frowned. “Andreas, it was all done very quickly.” She exhaled heavily. “In hindsight, possibly too quickly. Anyway, we are looking at it again—reading all the old data, searching files that have not been opened for centuries. It's ongoing.” She looked away, as if staring at something beyond the trees.

“How interesting,” Andreas replied.

“Now, Professor Andreas, can you add anything from the Custodians of the Faith? I read your report, of course.”

Andreas shifted on his chair and toyed with his glass. “We theologians are perplexed. The references in the message to a range of evils are chilling. But they are consistent; in the old books evils rarely came singly.”

“What about this idea of a corrupting spiritual evil?”

“I have a team of research theologians working on it. The early suggestions are worrying. The Assembly is like a house built on pillars. Two of those pillars are trust and honesty. For instance, the three of us trust each other so much that we can be honest with each other. We take that for granted. But imagine if we weren't either trusting or honest here today?”

“Exactly,” Eliza muttered, with a frown.

Ethan struggled with the idea of having conversations with people he couldn't trust and found the idea just too perplexing.

“Friend Ethan the engineer,” said Andreas, “think of it like this. Consider Assembly society as being like a high tower. Strong winds from outside may bring it down—that's your direct enemy attack. But so may corrosion from within.”

Ethan nodded. “And the quickest way to destruction may be both at once.”

A silence fell. The air was now chillier.

Andreas was evidently listening to something. At length he spoke. “The noises here are wonderful. It's as if there are layers of sound: there are birds singing, insects buzzing, and wind in the needles of the trees. And beneath that there is a deep and total silence.” A look of regret crossed his face. “Another time, maybe.”

“ 'Fraid so,” Eliza said softly. “Eeth is seeking reassurance that he is doing the right thing. As I would if I had to do what he's got to do tomorrow.”

“True,” Andreas answered. “Very well, what else can I add? Only this: we have had a number of reports of dreams and visions of a growing evil.”

“Since when?” Ethan asked.

“In most cases, after this message became public knowledge—” Andreas gestured at the sheet of paper—“but in some cases, before. And, in one or two cases, even before the Farholme Gate went. We are looking into all of them, but some seem credible.” He looked at Eliza. “Have your people heard anything like this?”

“Yes. The sentinels have always been alert for such things. After all, we were set up to watch for any evidence for the return of evil. We have tended to be skeptical, but in the last few weeks we have found these dreams and visions convincing and alarming.”

Ethan sensed a hint of defensiveness in Eliza's answer, as if she felt that the sentinels should have more clearly foreseen the crisis coming. He caught her eye. “What do you take them to mean?”

“It's hard to pin down. But we feel there is . . . how can I put it? A sense of a shadow falling.”

Andreas looked upward as if searching the sky for something. “A shadow falling? Do I agree? Yes and no. A shadow is neutral; a mere passive absence of light.” He shook his head. “I think, Eliza, among some of the custodians, there is a growing mood—a feeling—that what we face is an active force: a moving, living darkness up there, a darkness that hates us all.”

“I see,” Ethan said slowly. He was almost getting used to the idea that he was quite out of his depth
.
“So what are you doing about it?”

“We are looking into how a return of evil might occur and how it might manifest itself.” Andreas tapped the table. When he turned back to Ethan, his eyes seemed perturbed. “And how it might best be countered and contained before it spreads.” Then, as if embarrassed, he looked away. “The theology of evil and sin is a neglected one these days.”

There was a new silence. In it, Ethan suddenly had all the reassurance he needed.

“Thank you. So, neither the sentinels nor the Custodians of the Faith feel that they want to change their advice? Very well. Tomorrow I will do all I can to persuade the entire Congregation of Stewards to accept the proposals.”

“They will vote in favor,” Eliza said, her voice full of certainty.

“Yes. Technically, the Congregation could reject a recommendation of the Council of High Stewards, but in reality, it is unlikely. In fact, I have already booked studio time for three-thirty to record a message for the worlds. I have been preparing that here.”

“An unenviable task,” Andreas said in a thoughtful tone. “What note to strike? Elegiac? Comforting? A stirring call to arms perhaps? You have my prayers.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said. “First issue resolved, then. Now my second issue is less clear. The way beyond the vote is dark; it is an uncharted path. I feel sure it is full of pitfalls. What can your eyes see on it that mine cannot?”

Andreas seemed to stare at the trees again. “Tomorrow, as you say, everything changes. The Assembly will turn on its axis. It will be a date in the history books.” He turned back to Ethan. “You will call a day of prayer and fasting?”

“Of course,” Ethan replied. “That was an easy decision. But the practical steps have preoccupied me. The first decisions are sketched out. Any further expansion of the Assembly will be frozen. All existing Seeding projects will be put on minimum or maintenance mode. All our energies will be devoted to the creation of a fleet, weapons, and defenses.” His voice conveyed sadness. “We need to revisit research programs that were frozen a dozen millennia ago. We have to create a fighting force out of people who know war only from images or museums.”

He soon saw sympathy in Eliza's eyes. “You scared, Eeth?” she asked.

“Yes, Eliza. But oddly enough, I am more scared of taking a wrong step than of the enemy—whoever they are.”

“Best way to be. The Lord can take care of our enemies. But we've got to take care of ourselves.”

“I hang on to that.”

Ethan caught a sharp glance from Andreas. “Let me offer you this half-digested thought. I think there is a danger that you—we—may falter. If we agree that this threat is genuine, then we have no option but to respond to it with all we have. I do not see how we can go at this in a halfhearted manner.”

“Agreed. We cannot delay,” Eliza said. “We've lost weeks debating the matter and making plans. But we had no option. It would've been folly to rush in without checking everything. But we've got to make up for lost time.” She shivered. “Say, Eeth, is there any chance of a walk? I guess my blood is thin. I'm getting cold sitting down. There must be forest tracks here. We can talk as we go.”

Andreas agreed and they were soon walking up a pathway toward the crest of the ridge. Ethan led and Eliza walked beside him while Andreas followed close behind.

“Have you any specific plans for the defense?” Eliza asked.

“Teams are already working on it,” Ethan answered. “But the best ideas so far are to create more fighting ships and make polyvalent fusion weapons.”

To their right, something—a deer of some sort, he thought—bounded away through the undergrowth. After a pause, he continued. “It's a tactical guess that any enemy will attack in a straight line toward us here on Earth. So, we will try and clear those worlds that are in the way. There are about a dozen.”

“Is evacuating entire worlds really feasible?”

“Hardly. Even with say three or four thousand-seater ships landing and leaving every day you'd barely clear a million people in a year. But we can get off the vulnerable.”

“How soon can we make warcraft?” Andreas asked.

“It will take time. But within a few months, we will produce some military vessels. And given our resources, the engineers think we will soon double our fighting capacity every two months. But that's just engineering.”

“‘Just engineering,' Eeth?”

Ethan smiled. “Engineering is just making things. It's the social issues that are the real unknowns. For instance, we are going to have to move to production-line technology—endless lines of people and machines. It maximizes output, but at the expense of human satisfaction.”

“No one will like that.”

“No. There are other issues. Can you take a peaceful people and make them warriors?”

“Good question. I can see that.”

A few moments later Eliza spoke again. “I have a concern. Are we going to have conscription?”

Of course. She has two sons of a suitable age. And Andreas and I have grandchildren.

“No. Full-scale conscription is unlikely at this stage. We'll ask for volunteers. And there will be probably be some training for everyone on what will be called civil defense. But we'll see.”

“I asked you whether you were afraid earlier,” Eliza said, “because I am.”

“What of? Our unknown enemies somewhere beyond the stars?”

“No, of what will happen to us. I don't like the sound of a warrior Assembly.”

“Me neither,” Andreas said.

“I know.” Ethan paused for breath. “By the grace of God, the Assembly has worked well for over eleven thousand years. Now we have to change it. But can our systems and structures handle those changes?”

“Good point. But what I fear is more than that.” Eliza shook her head. There was frustration in the gesture. “But I can't express it. Not yet. Not in words. In one way we remain sinners, of course! But in another we have become, I suppose, innocent of evil. No, perhaps a better word is
naive
. We have forgotten the perils of evil.” Her eyes seemed to cloud with anxiety. “Eeth, I just feel we need to be very careful. Very careful indeed. As the Word says ‘watch and pray.'”

I must mark her words.

The path grew steeper. They fell silent, saving their breath.

As they climbed Ethan thought about history and how everything would change tomorrow with his words.
But that is the wrong way to think about it. I do not turn history: the Almighty God does that. He is the Lord of history. It is just that I happen to be at the place and time when it changes. I ought to think of it as a privilege.

Increasingly as they ascended, Ethan gasped for breath and soon asked that they stop.

“You okay, Eeth? I didn't really ask about you.” Eliza sounded concerned.

“I'm okay-ish. It's been a tough year with Anna's death.” He hung his head, letting the air get into his lungs. “Fifty odd years ago—I would have bounded up this path.”

“You've had a medical exam recently?” Andreas asked.

“Yes. My health is good, but not outstanding. No obvious risk of imminent death.” Ethan wiped sweat off his forehead and took more deep breaths. “This is the third of the issues I mentioned. I am seventy-five. Recently widowed.” He kept his sentences short to stabilize his breathing. “I've reached an age where custom decrees we ease off at work. I'm tempted to resign very soon. The day after tomorrow in fact. Lead the meeting, announce the verdict, and then slip away quietly.”

Eliza and Andreas exchanged glances.

Ethan took another deep breath. “You see, my job will change. As Chairman of the Council of High Stewards, my position will become effectively that of the leader of a trillion people at war, steering a vast wartime economy. The pressures will be enormous. So, I say to myself, ‘Would it not be better to let a younger man or woman take it?'”

As he could have predicted, there was no rush for words, no flurry of easy answers—just a long, sympathetic silence.

“Eeth, we understand.” Eliza's words were soft. “No one would blame you. It's going to be a tough job. It's bad enough doing such a thing for a world like Earth with a billion people to lead. But to do it for the whole Assembly is going to be . . . well, challenging.”

“I agree,” Andreas said. “Do you mind if I put my cold, analytical, theologian's hat on?”

“Please. Let's walk on though. The view is worth it. But be gentle.”

“Okay. Now, Ethan, aren't there two issues here? Isn't it a matter of—shall we say—professional competence and personal comfort?”

Eliza drew her breath in sharply.

“Go on,” Ethan said, feeling sure that Andreas was going to strike a nerve.

“Do you wish to resign because you feel that you will not be competent for the job? Or do you wish to resign because you feel the job will affect you personally in a way you don't like?”

“Hey, that hurt, Andreas,” Eliza protested.

Ethan shook his head. “That's a blunt way of expressing it, but I value it nonetheless. The answer, Andreas, is that I'm not sure.”