The Shadow and Night (63 page)

“You've got the picture of what people are feeling then?”

“I was quite impressed. The crowds I met seemed to be taking a positive attitude to it all, really. Is that what you found?”

“Pretty much,” Vero said, “but it's early days. I'm not sure how deep or long-lasting the resilience will be.”

“Isabella was saying that there's got to be a massive psychological adjustment.”

“Indeed,” Vero said, midmouthful. “And that makes our dealing with the intruder situation even harder. We must tread warily.”

“Yes. And how was your meeting with Brenito?”

Vero swallowed and frowned. “He sends his greetings. He is more shaken by the loss of the Gate than I expected. He feels—as I do—responsible for not sending the warning while we had a chance. But we had—I suppose—a profitable meeting. . . .” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and seemed to stare at the wall.

“You don't seem very convinced.”

“Hmm. Oh, I suppose I had my hopes too high. He wants me to set up a meeting with Jorgio. Fine, we will travel out to meet him at Ynysmant. But otherwise—”

“He wasn't much help?”

Vero frowned. “Exactly. . . . In the end he said, ‘Well, I shall be interested to see how you handle
this,
' and just looked at me.”

“I thought
he
was the official sentinel for Farholme? The point that Dr. Clemant was making this morning.”

“I know. But Brenito is a hundred and five and ailing. He also talked about you. ‘You know,' he said to me, ‘I sensed that Merral would be a warrior; I was puzzled when I saw him head to Earth.' ”

“I don't much care for that.”

“Didn't think you would. ‘That forester and this Jorgio are your assets,' he said.”

“Jorgio, maybe. I'm less sure I fit in the asset category. But did he have any solid ideas?”

Vero's face creased into a deeper frown. “Sadly, no. I tentatively outlined some possible actions, and he thought that they were reasonable under the circumstances.”

“What possible actions?”

Vero looked away briefly. “I'd rather not say now, Merral. Not just yet. I need to think and pray over them before we see Corradon and Clemant again. At the moment, I'm not even sure that I agree with them.” His face became overcast with uncertainty, and for some time he poked at the pasta. Then he looked at Merral. “Do you know what I obtained this afternoon?”

“I have no idea.”

Vero pulled the paper bag over and, with an ironic flourish, pulled out two small, yellow, hard-backed notebooks. “It was hard to get them. I am just so unsure about how much our diaries can be explored without our knowledge. But I suspect even the intruders will not be able to spy on pen-and-ink notes. One is for you.”

Merral gazed at it wordlessly for a moment before he could bring himself to take it.

“Thank you.”

“You see,” Vero added, “I have decided that when we next meet with Corradon, he will ask us what we want. That will be the point to make specific requests. I am now going to spend some time making a list so that when they ask, I can say exactly what we need. But exactly what? . . . What dare I ask? What should I ask?”

Then, after helping himself to more pasta, he went and sat down on the sofa, leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, and began to stare up at the ceiling. Eventually he found a pen and set to writing in the book in a tiny, neat script.

Stimulated by Vero's action, Merral spent some time thinking about what his own role might be in trying to deal with the intruder threat. Not long after nine, both of them acknowledged tiredness and, after washing up the supper things, retired to their rooms.

Merral had held high hopes that the Solemn Day of Prayer and Fasting would shed some revelation on the questions he had, give some comfort, and grant guidance for the future. But none of these happened. And when, at last, Merral slept on the night of that Solemn Day, his slumber was a turbulent one, interrupted by strange, eerie dreams of a curious intensity. In the last of these, and the only one about which he could remember anything, he became aware that he was standing on a high, bare hill in a vast, arid landscape of browns and grays under a sky as white as bone. As he looked down the slope below him, he could see, working their way up toward him in slow, steady strides that never faltered, two figures in the gray, plated space suits of the early Assembly. Finally, they stood just before him on the summit, and as he peered into the reflective metal visors, he saw that he could see nothing, not even a reflection of himself. Then one visor slid away downward and Merral found himself gazing into the dark, hairy face of an ape-creature with snarling yellow-white teeth. As he leapt back in horror and fear, the visor on the other slid away sideways to reveal the shiny brown, woodlike plates and dark, gleaming eyes of a cockroach-beast. As the creatures raised their arms and closed on him, Merral woke and sat bolt upright, clutching his heaving chest.

Unable—and unwilling—to return to sleep, and with dawn less than an hour away, he rose and quietly showered. Then he sat and watched as the rays of the rising sun shining through torn clouds struck first the highest buildings and masts of Isterrane and then slid lower until the houses, trees, and finally the grass were baptized with a fresh, golden light. And as Merral watched, the horror of his dream seemed to fade into oblivion.

At half past seven he and Vero went up to Perena's apartment to find Anya there, sorting out the breakfast.

“Perena's gone to collect some images,” Anya explained. As they helped to make breakfast, Merral found himself intrigued by how different Perena's apartment was from that of her sister. Where Anya's had been crowded to the point of clutter and covered with green and brown wall hangings, Perena's flat was bare and neat with cream walls. Aside from some small abstract sculptures on glass shelves and a large glass chess set, the only decoration in the main room was a large watercolor of a night scene on one of the ice moons of Fenniran, with what Merral took to be Farholme glinting in an upper corner.

As they were about to eat, Perena arrived.

“So,” Vero asked as they greeted her, “have you found something new?”

“No,” she said, and her face showed unconcealed disappointment. “They have vanished. We have a program for finding a lost ship or its wreckage. I had put all the most recent images of all of northern Menaya through it just after we met the other day, and the machines spent all yesterday scanning them. Nothing. I have that single thermal image of the shuttle taken the morning after your attack and that is all.”

Vero grimaced. “I was hoping we would have something concrete for today's meeting.”

“I too.” She looked at her chess set. “It's hard to make a strategy when you don't know what pieces are in play.”

“Agreed. And no idea where they have gone?”

“None, Vero. They could easily be in an area the size of your Northern America.”

“But it can be found? by a manual search?”

She stared at him. “Perhaps. You'd look for thermal, magnetic, gravitational anomalies. Get imagery and scan every square kilometer visually. You'd have to know the area and the terrain. It could take weeks.”

“But it could be done?”

“Unless they make themselves invisible.”

Merral realized that everyone had turned to look at him. “Are you suggesting I do it?”

“Perhaps,” Vero said, waving a hand dismissively. “But we will see what the meeting brings.”

Over breakfast, Anya asked Vero whether he had had any new thoughts. He paused for a moment before answering. “Only this: I am puzzled about these intruders. They seem both powerful and weak; confident and hesitant at the same time.”

“Explain that,” said Anya. “They scare me; I'll be honest. To destroy the Gate . . .” She shuddered.

“Yes,” said Vero thoughtfully, “they can destroy a Gate and they can modify and fake our communications. We mustn't forget that. Yet—” he tapped the table with a finger—“yet, their dealings with us have badly failed so far. Merral and I are alive and well. Their losses were heavy.”

“God was good,” said Perena.

“Amen and amen,” Vero agreed. “But you see what I mean. It's all very odd. It suggests that they may have only a limited power. They may not even know as much as we imagine they know. But what do you think, Merral?”

“Me? I am as puzzled as you are,” Merral replied. “But I take your point, Vero. I know nothing of warfare, but I know something of sport. I have a feeling—no, more than that—that what happened was not the carrying out of carefully planned tactics, but rather a desperate response to something going wrong.”

“Fair point,” muttered Anya, and no one seemed inclined to disagree.

A few minutes later, Vero pulled his yellow notebook out of his pocket. “Now,” he announced, “we need to decide what we want from our meeting. I think it would be helpful for you, Merral, to lead again, and I think it would also be very helpful if we agreed what we wanted beforehand.”

Merral saw nods of accord from Perena and Anya and gestured his assent.

“Thanks,” Vero said. “Now, in the few minutes left before we must leave for the meeting, let us decide what it is we wish to ask. I should say that I have my own requests, but for the moment I would prefer to keep them quiet.”

“Any reason?” Merral asked.

“They will be controversial.” He gave a deep sigh. “So controversial I think it is only fair that I alone bear any blame.”

23

T
he Planetary Affairs building gleamed like a great white sail in the fresh sunlight. A clerk, who was expecting them, led them down a series of stairs and corridors, ushered them into a small, windowless, white-walled room and closed the door on them. Merral looked around. Crates and boxes had been neatly piled at the back of the room to make space for a single, long, lightweight table and six white folding chairs, and along one bare wall was hung a huge administrative map of eastern Menaya with towns, roads, and airstrips overlain on the topography.

Merral disliked the room; it was small and seemed to hem him in. His mind slipped away to the open woods and forests depicted on the map, and he found himself heartily wishing that he was back at his old job, with the sound of the wind in the trees and the dappled light breaking through fluttering leaves.

His daydreams were no sooner begun than ended, as the door opened and Representative Corradon and Advisor Clemant joined them and took seats round the table.

Merral found himself looking at Corradon. There was a hint of tiredness in the blue eyes, and the representative's bearing did not seem quite as erect as it had been.

Clemant's face was inscrutable, yet his tense posture and his sharp gaze hinted at a deep concern.

After the briefest of greetings, Corradon stared hard at Merral. “So,” he said, “I have had some time to think about matters. First though, have you anything new for us?” His words were slow and seemed to hang in the room.