The Shadow and Night (49 page)

Merral looked at Brenito for a moment before answering. “I see. You have heard of the dream or vision that Jorgio Aneld Serter had?”

Brenito gave a slow nod and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “The testing of the Assembly. The candles shaken by a gust of wind, a storm unleashed on Farholme. The command to watch, stand firm, and to hope. The similarities are marked, are they not? A threat to the Assembly, beginning at Farholme. But Jorgio's vision is more explicit and, I think, on Earth they will be very concerned about what it means.”

Then he fixed his eyes on Merral. “Now, please, would you tell me your account of matters? If you could begin at Nativity?”

Merral began to summarize what had happened to him since Nativity. He was prompted every so often by Vero, who seemed otherwise anxious to retire into the background.

As he spoke, Brenito sipped his tea in an oddly delicate manner and listened, nodded, and frowned. Other than to dryly murmur things like “fascinating,” “how curious,” and “most alarming,” he made little comment. Finally, when Merral had finished, he put his cup down shakily on the table.

“Quite remarkable,” he pronounced. “Hearing it the first time from Verofaza was remarkable, and this second time from you is no less so.”

Merral looked at the big man. “Sir, what is going on?”

Brenito made no answer but slowly rocked backward and forward. The creaking of the chair seemed to mingle with the sound of seagulls mewing outside. Then suddenly, Brenito lifted his head and stared at Merral with a strange, troubled smile.

“Ah,” Brenito said slowly. “I researched the early history of the Assembly, years ago. Strictly, my period was 2120–2510, and the Rebellion was not in my scope. But you had to understand it; it cast a shadow over those years. For sentinels, as you know, it still casts a shadow. Now, I found much in your accounts that reminded me of the Rebellion, and I know that Verofaza has felt the same. When Verofaza and I discussed these matters earlier, the subject of the Rebellion kept coming up. It is almost as if Jannafy's ‘Free Peoples' have crept back. But, as my young colleague here can tell you, they cannot.”

Vero stared at the floor for a moment as if making a final deliberation and then looked hard at Brenito. “Sir, two points: First, the Rebellion was ended in a manner that would ensure its total termination. And all the accounts suggest a total annihilation of everything that Jannafy had set up. To use a horrid word, there was
sterilization.
” Vero hesitated. “And second, the sentinels were set up shortly afterward to guard against any resurgence of what Jannafy had proposed.”

Brenito nodded. “Oh, I agree. And across the length, breadth, and depth of the Assembly there has not been the slightest hint of anything surviving these last eleven thousand-odd years. Until . . .”

“Until now?” Merral said, feeling almost surprised at the sound of his own voice.

“Indeed,” Brenito said and looked at Vero. “Briefly, for my benefit and for the benefit of Merral here, rehearse again the tale of the ending of the Rebellion.”

Vero glanced at Merral. “I believe he knows it well, sir.”

“That is as may be, but tell it again.” Brenito sat back in his rocking chair, closed his eyes, and folded his hands over the expanse of his stomach.

Vero cleared his throat and began to speak. “Very well. With the rebels in command of the Centauri Colony and the Centauri Gate, the decision was taken, very reluctantly, to end the Rebellion militarily. The assault fleet was assembled and sent in late 2104; it arrived, apparently unsuspected, after an unparalleled six-year journey in 2110. Surveillance indicated that the colony had indeed been destroyed with massive loss of life and a new orbiting laboratory station made. Preparations were plainly advanced for colonizing missions elsewhere. The decision was made by Fleet-General Denion to attack, try to release any prisoners, and then destroy the complex. A previously untested poly-element fusion explosive device was armed and fitted to the frigate
Clearstar
under Captain Lucas Ringell.”

Merral noticed that at this name Brenito opened one eye and looked across at him. Vero continued, his voice dry and factual. “Ringell and his men forced an entry into the station and established from the computer that there were no surviving prisoners. There was heavy fighting, with Lucas Ringell in the forefront and many casualties made worse by the loss of air pressure as the hull was blasted open. Finally, in an end chamber they faced William Jannafy himself. In the resulting fight, Ringell shot Jannafy and killed him. In the meantime, General Denion had retaken the Gate. The assault fleet regrouped and exited through the Gate an hour before the device exploded.”

“Yes. A fair—if terse—account of humanity's last battle. And the results were what?” Brenito's eyes remained closed.

“The ship
Nighthawk—
incidentally, Merral, with Moshe Adlen on board—returned through the Gate a week after the explosion when the worst of the radiation had faded. They found that the devastation was even greater than predicted and that nothing but fine dust remained of the complex.” Brenito opened both eyes and nodded at Vero to continue.

“And just over four years later, when the light reached Earth, the flash of the explosion was detected by even modest ground-based telescopes. The Rebellion ended with a bang. Nothing survived. The end of the story.”

Brenito leaned forward to the teapot and carefully poured himself another cup. Then, sitting back in the chair, he looked hard at Vero. “Perhaps.” His voice rang out in the room.

“I'm sorry?”

“You said, Verofaza, that it was ‘the end of the story' and I said ‘perhaps.' ”

Vero stared at him. “Could you elaborate, sir?”

He sipped again at his tea. “Let me go back. There were many causes of the Rebellion, although only a few are now spoken of. Jannafy, for all the evil he produced, was a clear thinker. At least, at the start. He looked at the earliest versions of such things as the Technology Protocols and foresaw—perhaps better than his contemporaries—the society that they would produce. He saw that the Assembly would be stable but that the cost of that stability would be a restriction on what could be done. To him that was an unacceptable cost; he demanded total freedom. The name of ‘The Free Peoples,' chosen by him for his followers, reflected that demand. That much, Forester, you know?”

Merral nodded.

“It is the part of the story that is generally told. Yet beneath Jannafy's general request for freedom, there were, if I remember rightly, two specific issues. The first issue, about which I know little, and which may—only
may—
not concern us, was to do with Below-Space exploration. You need to talk to your pilot
—
what was her name?—about that. She may know more.”

“Perena Lewitz,” Vero said. “But—if I may, sir—we don't explore Below-Space. We never have. The Gate system is a linkage of Normal-Space tubes carved through the upper levels of Below-Space. We travel through Below-Space, not in it.”

“Oh, I know that, Verofaza,” Brenito said. “But it was an issue. You talk to Perena Lewitz. And when, on Earth, you have found out what the issue was, come back and tell me. And bring this young lady with you.”

Merral caught the hint of a faint flush of embarrassment on Vero's face. “Er, thank you, sir. She would, no doubt, be fascinated by much that is here. You have so many old things.”

“Ah, at times I feel like an exhibit myself,” Brenito said, and in his slow, heavy words Merral detected a great weariness. “Now the second specific grievance of William Jannafy—‘that restless mind' as he was called—was what became called ‘The Alternative Proposal.' Have either of you heard of it?”

Vero and Merral shook their heads.

“Briefly, it was this: At the end of the twenty-first century, as the Assembly was forming, the whole process of making worlds fit for humanity was in doubt. They knew we could reach them—if slowly—they knew we could alter their orbits and do all sorts of things, but with the atmosphere-modifying organisms then available it looked as if it would take forever—well, many tens of thousands of years—to produce worlds where men and women could live under an open sky. So some people, including Jannafy and those associated with him, came up with what he labeled ‘The Alternative Proposal.' The phrase that came to be linked with it was ‘to fit humanity to the worlds, not the worlds to humanity.' In short, they proposed major modifications of our species to produce new forms. These forms included—if I remember—beings modified to handle higher radiation exposures, heavier gravities, or even low oxygen levels. The modifications were to be genetic or mechanical.”

Vero furrowed his brow. “I've never heard of this. Not in as many words. It sounds appalling.”

“No,” Brenito said, “you wouldn't have. If you had done further studies, Verofaza, it would have come up; it is on the postgraduate syllabus. But it is in a class of knowledge that, while not hidden, is not broadcast. You could find out about it freely in the Library, but you would have to know it was there. Now, you may wish to debate the wisdom of that on Earth, but there it is. Anyway, after the Rebellion there was no desire to have the idea discussed again. And as for it being appalling, well it is, but Jannafy presented it with a great deal of skill. Anyway, the proposal was resoundingly defeated and so—at least, we have always assumed—it passed into history. But it was over these two matters in particular that Jannafy and his supporters decided to forcibly secede from the infant Assembly. And from that came the Rebellion and its suffering.”

There was an intense silence that was broken by a weary sigh from Brenito. “I am tired. But perhaps you now follow my train of thought. These creatures, as you describe them, seem to be exactly what Jannafy would have created. . . .” He stopped, staring into the distance. “And yet nothing survived. Nothing. Or so we have been told.”

Vero gazed at Brenito, a range of emotions—consternation, bewilderment, even anger—crossing his face. “Sir, you believe that—somehow—something of what Jannafy and the rebels created has, despite everything we have been taught—survived? For so long? But where? How?”

Brenito sighed again. “Verofaza, it is a hypothesis only. Whether it is true is for Earth to decide.”

“But, sir, isn't it obvious that the rebels were destroyed? We know that Jannafy was killed. I mean, I've seen the vid-clip from Lucas's shoulder cam. Once, out of curiosity. The helmet shatters, and blood droplets float everywhere in the vacuum. He was dead.”

“Just so.”

Vero continued. “And no one else could have escaped in the couple of hours before the blast. And they could hardly have outrun it.”

“Oh, Verofaza, I know the objections—all of them. But—and you can tell the Sentinel Council this—I do believe that, somehow, the ghosts of the Rebellion have come to back to haunt us. And if they ask whether I mean ghosts literally you can tell them that old Brenito isn't ruling that out either. Not after that awful dead bird thing.”

“I will, sir,” Vero said with a slight bow of his head.

“Good. And another thing. Don't let them focus totally on these beasts and creatures. It will be easy to do because you now have the DNA and the images. But it's the invisible things—the spiritual dimension—that may be the biggest threat. We can eliminate these monstrosities with swords or a vortex blaster. But spiritual evil is less obvious and far more contagious. And it is harder to remove.”

“I will remember that, too.”

“And finally, on Earth I want you to look at the records—the primary sources, mark you—on the Rebellion. They might give clues. What was in the laboratory? I assume no one knew, but is that true? If anyone looked at the lab it would have been the crew of the
Nighthawk,
so you might want to look at Moshe Adlen's records.”

“But they were published, weren't they? Aren't they in the Library?”

“Only an edited account was ever published. And, interestingly enough, the foreword to his
Accounts of the Centauri Military Expedition
says somewhere that this ‘is all the material that he felt appropriate to publish.' The central sentinel office holds all Moshe Adlen's records in their vaults, and my memory is that when I looked at them—oh, fifty years ago—I found more in them than I had expected.” Brenito rubbed his stubbly hair. “In fact, I made copies of parts, and probably still have them somewhere. If we had time—and if I could find them—I would show you the difference.”

“That I will certainly do.”

Brenito closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm rather tired.”

Vero rose to his feet. “I'm afraid I—we—have exhausted you, sir. We must go.”

“I am getting frail. I sent a message the other week, but, Verofaza, if you could—when you have a moment—pass on the fact that it is time to find a successor for me.”

The old man rose laboriously out of his rocking chair and stood upright, his big body gently swaying. “Of course, who they choose may well depend on how this matter turns out. But yes, I think I need to lie down. You can see yourselves out.”

He turned to Merral. “Forester D'Avanos, I presume you will be returning to Farholme. When you come back, I would hope to see you. I would love to hear your account of the deliberations. And as a warrior—oh yes, I know you refuse the title—there is much here that would interest you.”

“The Lord willing,” Merral replied as they shook hands, “I will return. But I am not sure that what you have in mind will interest me. My concern is to get back to forestry.”

There was a wry, slow nod. “May it be so. But don't go back until we let you go. Please! We may need you.”