The Shadow and Night (64 page)

Merral gestured at Perena. “Sir, Captain Lewitz has looked further for the ship.”

“And?”

“All I have,” Perena said apologetically, “is what I showed you before. There is no obvious trace of an intruder ship. It could have left Farholme, but I believe we would have spotted that.”

“I see,” the representative said. “I had hoped we would have a location. But finding it is something we badly need to do.” He glanced at Clemant, and Merral saw some look of concern pass between them.

Corradon looked around. “You may be surprised to learn that the information flow in this meeting may not be one way. I—
we—
want to reveal something to you.”

Merral saw Vero's face register surprise.

“Just after Easter this year we had a short-lived incident that we could only classify as an extraordinary sociological anomaly. I thought of mentioning it the other day, but Lucian and I needed to think more about it. I believe it is important.”

He turned to his advisor. “Lucian, please tell them about the
Miriama.
”

Clemant rose, walked to the map, and gestured at a coastal town on the southeastern corner of Menaya. “The
Miriama
is a physical oceanography vessel—Type Six. It operates out of the Oceanography Center at Larrenport.”

At the word
Larrenport,
Merral had a sudden image of the town as he remembered it: the serried rows of windswept white houses clinging to the cliffs on either side of the great semicircular scoop of the bay.

Clemant's factual and precise voice drew him back to the present. “It has a crew of ten. Normally it operates in the immediate offshore waters. About a month ago, immediately after Easter, its crew spent two weeks much farther north in the western part of the Mazurbine Ocean.” He stretched an arm out to encircle an area just offshore of where the Nannalt Delta system protruded into the sea. “Tarrent's Rise, I think, is the main feature there. It was, for the most part, a routine trip—surveying water temperatures. As most of you know—and certainly Forester D'Avanos—we have been concerned about the trend of falling average winter temperatures over the last five years. Although the weather was unseasonably bad and it was not a pleasant trip, they returned to port safely.”

He paused, and Merral sensed that he was watching Corradon carefully, as if taking his cue from him. “At least, physically. Then we had a private message passed to us from the director of the Oceanography Center. The crew had made a curious proposal. It was simply this: Because of hardship, for the duration of such trips, they wanted their allowance to be increased.” He paused again, looking around carefully for the reaction.

Vero sat upright with such speed that he nearly fell over. “Increased? Their allowance
increased?
” he said, in a voice whose pitch seemed to have risen several tones. “But the allowance is
fixed.
For everybody in the Assembly . . . For you, for me.” He stared around with astonished brown eyes and then, with an “Oh dear, oh dear,” fell into a troubled silence.

“Just so,” noted the representative, in a tone that conveyed that he too had been shocked.

Clemant nodded. “When we had established it was a serious proposal, I was sent over. I had an interview with the captain, a Daniel Sterknem. He—
they—
apologized and dropped the matter. In fact, he seemed a bit puzzled where the idea had come from. I felt there had been more to the trip than he wanted to mention. But he now no longer wanted to pursue the matter. It worried us for a time.”

“As well it might,” said Vero. “It could unravel the Assembly very quickly if we started recompensing people by financial means. We would be back in a pre-Intervention mess very fast. How do you decide who deserves what? Who is worth more? A Farholme representative or a park keeper on Ancient Earth?”

“Our thoughts too, of course,” Corradon replied. “But to me—to us—it sounded similar to some aspects of what you have described or hinted at.”

Merral, trying to come to terms with the unpleasantness of a situation in which everybody was demanding compensation for what they did, was aware of the others' nods of agreement.

As Clemant returned to his seat, Corradon glanced around with a solemn expression. “So, now we need to decide what to do.” Then his gaze fixed on Vero. “But before that, I want to ask our sentinel a question. From what I remember of the purpose of the Sentinel Order, you were set up to look for any new outbreak of evil. Correct?”

“Yes, sir. That was Moshe Adlen's desire at the inception of the sentinels. Having served throughout the fighting that ended the Rebellion, his desire was to ensure that such events were avoided.”

“Yes. It is as I remember. And this is clearly an outbreak of evil. So, in the light of all the evidence, what do you think we are dealing with?”

Vero stared at his hands for a moment and then looked up at his questioner. “I should say, sir, that most of my guesses have been badly wrong. And some of my actions have, it seems, been unwise. But you are right that this is a sentinel matter. Indeed, I am convinced that it was precisely to look out for this sort of thing that we were set up. That I failed to spot it in time to prevent the Gate loss I think reflects badly on me. But it also reflects the fact that these events are not how we as an order had envisaged such a threat.”

“If it is in my power to do so, I excuse you.” Corradon's voice was little more than a murmur. “Anyway, any evaluation of your role and that of your order must await our reunification with the rest of the Assembly. But please, what do you think is going on?”

Vero opened his notebook, glanced at a page, and then leaned forward. When he spoke, the words seemed to be almost painfully drawn out of him. “I feel there are three elements here. The first is this: there is so much of this matter that suggests the work of our own troubled species.”

Corradon's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “With the breach of so many of the Technology Protocols? No one in the Assembly could do this.” There was a hint of outrage in his voice. “And there is no other humanity.”

“Indeed,” Vero agreed, without raising his eyes from his notebook. “That is what we have always known. But, even without Merral feeling that he glimpsed a man, I would still guess that there was something human here.”

“The use of human DNA suggests that too,” interjected Anya.

“Perhaps,” said Corradon as he sat back in his chair and stared at Vero. “So your first element is a human component. But, Sentinel, please continue.”

Vero gazed ahead. “Th-the human element is important. I think we can eliminate any idea that we are dealing with aliens here. The second element is also another puzzle. It is that, even before you told us about the request of the crew of the
Miriama,
I felt that there were just so many aspects of this that echoed the times before the Assembly. Or some of the proposals the Rebellion's instigator, William Jannafy, made long ago. It's almost as if something—or
someone—
is turning back the clock.”

Vero looked at his notes again. “So that is the second element. I feel that there is an air of lawlessness, of rebellion, about it. Of rebellion . . .” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself, and then went on. “And if it is to do with mankind, then they have pushed beyond all the boundaries we have defined, whether they be in genetics or robotics. . . .” He hesitated, his expression becoming still more solemn. “Or, I fear, in other areas.”

“I see,” Corradon noted in an unhappy tone. “A terrible thought. Your third strand?”

Vero grimaced and twisted awkwardly on his seat. “Ah. That, sir, is the easiest by far. There is something evil about this. You can see it in the spiritual contagion. At its heart, this is evil.”

“I see,” said Corradon after a long, drawn-out silence. “Yes, I will not argue with that at least. Human, rebellious, and evil—worrying verdict. Lucian, what do you say?”

The advisor stared at his fingernails for a moment as if thinking carefully. Then he looked up at Corradon with his unfathomable eyes and said in his low, dark voice, “Sir, I would not argue with that view. But I would say that—by themselves—the adjectives
human, rebellious,
and
evil
do not greatly help us. Not without defining exactly what the nature of the threat is.”

Merral was troubled by the brittle, almost antagonistic, edge to Clemant's words.

Vero looked hard at the advisor and then flung his hands wide. “D-Dr. Clemant, I do not dare be more precise. I was asked to comment and that I have done.”

“Please,” Corradon said, rubbing his forehead. “I take Sentinel Enand's comments in the spirit they were offered. But I have a more practical question for our forester here.” He sighed. “You see, we meet with the other representatives tonight and tomorrow. Do I pass on to them what you have told us over these meetings? What do you say?”

“I would think so,” Merral answered, “but I am open to other advice.”

“I would agree,” Vero said, “but it should be done privately and face-to-face. They must be told not to tell anything about this matter to anybody else. And not to use a diary to talk about it or to store anything about it.”

“To keep it private.” Corradon stared at him with a perturbed expression. “Yes, you think they can read our diaries.” He cast a brief, unhappy glance at his advisor. “This is very difficult, Vero. You think all our lines of communication are being intercepted?”

“No. But for the moment, I think it is wisest to assume so. I want to research how we may make them secure.”

Corradon made no reply, and instead Clemant spoke. “Forgive us, Vero,” he said, his voice so deep that it almost seemed to rumble, “but perhaps we find it harder to take such a view. To put ourselves in—what shall we say?—a
suspicious
frame of mind.”

Vero hesitated. “I can sympathize. If I had not seen what I have seen in the last few days, I would be of a similar mind.”

Clemant tilted his head slightly, stroked his chin with a finger, and frowned. “But we are an open society. The idea of not transmitting views is very odd. I mean, we have a policy of transparency here.” Merral felt certain that there was a slight, but unmistakable, emphasis on the word
here.

“As elsewhere in the Assembly,” replied Vero slowly, phrasing his words with an almost deliberate politeness. “But I have to say, from my studies of the ancient past, when faced with enemies, almost the most vital information we could give them is what we know about them.”

“Yes, I could see that,” Corradon said slowly, “but, Vero, should we not circulate a general warning for people to be on their guard?”

“I have agonized over this and I think not. I think, for myself, there might be a risk of panic.”

Merral saw Clemant shift uneasily in his seat, and the representative looked at him. “Lucian?”

“Panic,” Clemant said, with a deeply troubled tone of voice, “is the worst of all possible responses.” He stared at his hands, neatly extended on the table, for a moment and then looked up with what Merral thought was a barely suppressed expression of alarm. “With widespread panic, Farholme could become ungovernable.”

“Sorry, Vero,” Corradon said, “what you want really is, I believe, secrecy.
Secrecy.
” The representative pronounced the word emphatically and slowly, as if testing an unfamiliar sound. “A term I do not like. Any more than I like a world without a Gate. But I sense its logic. I take it you agree, Merral?”

“Sir, I agree, most reluctantly, with Vero's suggestion of keeping this private. For the moment.”

“Very well. Lucian?”

“Reluctantly.” Clemant tapped a finger nervously on the table. “
Most
reluctantly.”

“I see.” Corradon's dislike of the situation was plain from his expression. “Very well. We will tell the other representatives that we have a problem. And that they must keep quiet. But, Forester, what do we actually
do?
”

Merral recognized that the time they had expected had come. “I—we—feel that above all, we need more information. The conclusion we have come to is that we all want to work on this. In different ways.” He waited to be sure that his words and tone registered. “I would suggest that you authorize the four of us to investigate various aspects of the problem. We would, of course, report to you.”

“I see,” Corradon said with a pause. “A sort of research group. And you, Forester, would personally do . . . what?”

“Sir, we have agreed that I should look at the satellite imagery to see if I can find out where the intruders are based. To find the ship they came in. That seems a priority.”

“It's an incredibly large area,” Corradon said, staring at the map on the wall.

“Around three million square kilometers,” Clemant said, with the air of someone who had calculated it.

“That's a maximum. But it is big and rough.”

“But you know the area as well as anybody does, I suppose,” Corradon said. “And the others? Dr. Lewitz, for instance; what about you?”

“Me?” Anya said, fixing the representative with her lively blue eyes. “I want to rerun those DNA tests. And I want to model and compile everything we know about the two creature types.”

Corradon gave a grunt of approval. “Captain Lewitz?”

Perena hesitated a moment and then spoke in her low and intense voice. “Sir, I would like to look at any reports produced by the team investigating the destruction of the Gate.”

Corradon stared at her. “We are putting our best people on that. Will you be able to add anything to what they can do? I have no doubt about your piloting abilities, Captain. But this is, surely, Below-Space and gravitational physics?”