The Shadow and Night (91 page)

“Makes sense. You
have
been busy.”

Vero sighed. “Yes. Everyone has; that's another reason why we are going to take tomorrow off. Anyway, this is the plan. We have three full days of training at Tanaris. Then the
Emilia Kay
flies due north on the evening of the fourth day, drops the teams off, and lands at the southern edge of the crater overnight. So, all being well, six days from now at dawn, we make contact.”

“That's soon.”

“I know.”

“But what do I need to start work on?”

“I have a folder ready for you.”

“Good.”

Vero parked at the base of Narreza Tower.

“And, Vero, I also need to talk with Perena urgently. There's a problem with the sleds.”

“A serious one?”

“Probably. I was thinking about it as I flew over. It took my mind off things.”

In the apartment, Vero took a thick box file off the shelf. “In this you have three things. We recovered a number of texts from the Library and had them printed out. Some of them are for soldiers and that is a help, as we are using them to start getting the men trained. So you have a military leadership handbook from the 2020s, and it may be a help to you. Mind you, it is in a very peculiar form of Ancient English. There are whole sentences of abbreviations whose meanings are hard to uncover. There is another file of the technical details of the weapons and the
Emilia Kay.
Finally, you have a folder of the men you will give orders to.”

“ ‘Give orders to?' That has a strange sound to it.”

“Well, the ancient wisdom was—and they had lots of battles—”

“In that context it is questionable how much wisdom the ancients did have.”

“Point taken. But their maxim was that if you want to win a battle, you don't stop to take a vote.”

“Oh, Vero!” Merral sighed as he accepted the folder. “Are you trying to make me change my mind already?”

“Sorry,” Vero said, “but it's the way it must be.” He hesitated. “There is one other thing for you. Brenito left you a package.”

“For me?”

“Yes. I know a bit about what's in it. And I didn't feel it was right to give it to you before you made your mind up.”

Vero went into his bedroom and returned with a small package wrapped in blue paper with an envelope attached.

Merral opened the envelope.

My dear Forester,

If you are reading this then I have indeed—at long last—been called Home. Although I shall appreciate getting a new body, I feel it is rather a shame leaving things just as they get exciting.

I said most of what I want to say to you at Ynysmant. Basically, guard Jorgio and watch yourself. However, in thinking of you as I arranged to dispose of my considerable effects, a certain something came to mind which you will find in the attached box.

It seems all too likely that it will come to a fight. If, as I expect, you are summoned to lead the attack, I would like you to wear this in my memory. I could wish that it had some magic power, but, of course, it hasn't. But do consider it as an encouragement and a reminder, something like that. If you are tempted to flee, it may encourage you to stand firm.

With every best wish,

In the service of the Lamb,

Brenito Camsar, Sentinel

Merral opened the wrapping paper to find a small, dark wooden box. He looked at it. It was plainly very old; the wood was fine-grained, polished smooth, and blackened with age.

“Can I open it?” he asked.

“Of course. The box is recent. Relatively speaking.”

Merral opened the lid carefully, wondering how ancient the contents were if a box so old was “recent.” Inside, nestled on a soft black fabric, was a dull gray-brown titanium disk just big enough to sit in the curve between joined forefinger and thumb, attached to a fine but plain neck chain of identical metal.
It is jewelry,
he thought, then realized there was a functional air about the chain that proclaimed that it was never meant for display.

Merral lifted the chain and, as the disk spun before him, saw there was writing on it. He stopped it spinning and peered at the words. The script was Early Assembly Communal, slightly scratched and hard to make out. He read some words, then, as they made sense, found his hand shaking so much he could not read the remainder.

“Is it . . . is it the real thing?” he asked, finding himself almost overwhelmed at what he apparently held.

“Oh yes. May I see it?”

Vero came over, took the disk, and read aloud, “‘Lucas Hannun Ringell, Space Frigate
Clearstar,
Assembly Assault Fleet. Date of Birth: 3-3-2082.'”

“His identification disk. Really?”

Very gently, Vero lowered the disk back into Merral's hand.

“He told me it had been kept in the family. Ultimately given to some distant ancestor by Moshe Adlen, to whom General Ringell gave it in his old age.”

“But,” Merral protested, “we must be talking, what—five hundred generations? This is older than almost anything else on this planet.”

“Probably, but put it on.”

Merral lowered the chain over his head and let the disk, oddly cool, slip down inside his shirt.
I could not feel stranger if they had put some crown on me.
“If I understand this correctly, I am now wearing the identification disk that was hanging around the neck of the man who, in killing William Jannafy, ended the Rebellion and the Last War.”

Vero nodded. “He thought it would be appropriate. A symbol of our last war goes into the next. A continuity.”

“Yes . . . ,” Merral sighed. “And by giving it to me, he also placed a high burden on me: the burden of history.”

Vero gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, he did. And that was doubtless what he meant to do.”

“Ah,” Merral said, feeling unable to say anything more profound.

“Anyway,” Vero said, “let me go and get Perena.”

Ten minutes later, Merral's attempt to understand the manual's alien concepts of imposing discipline were interrupted by Vero's return with Perena.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said, amid a gentle hug. “I was showering. I've been busy all day supervising the work on the
Emilia Kay.
It's the only flying craft I have ever had where you've had to hose bat droppings out of the turbine scoops.”

“That bad? Is it going to work?” asked Merral, abruptly realizing that the whole strategy hung on an ancient ship.

“Yes, it will be fine.” She frowned slightly. “Probably. It's just that they never really expected to use it again, so for ten years or so the protective storage coat was breached on the port side. Anya reckons we could have done an ecological study on the wildlife inside. We have removed rats, mice, a dozen scorpions, and a couple of snakes. And the bats.” She ran a hand through her short hair.

“I thought it was an operating ship.”

“No, it had been put in mothballs,” Vero said, sitting down at the table.

“What?” Perena asked.

“Ignore him,” Merral said. “It will be some sort of Ancient English phrase.”

“Okay, but what does it mean?”

“Well,” Vero answered rather defensively, “it means . . .” He frowned. “Hmm. I don't actually know. A mothball was a small ball of naphthalene.” His frown deepened. “How could you put a ship in them? You'd need tons of the things. Very odd.”

Merral interrupted him by asking for the images of Fallambet Lake Five. The three of them gathered round the largest image. Silently, Merral measured distances on the sheets and then looked up at the others. “As I thought, we have a problem.”

A new frown crossed Vero's face. “You'd better explain.”

“It's the sleds. When you first envisaged using them, you were planning to do it over land. Right?”

“Pretty much so.”

“Sneak up close and then race in. Right?”

“Again. Yes.”

“But how fast are they?”

“Say, eighty kilometers an hour.”

Perena muttered something under her breath, but it was Merral who answered. “Vero, that's a maximum. Try sixty when laden. So how long to cover two kilometers?”

“Two minutes. Ah.”

“It's too long. There is no cover. They will have a clear shot in that time. The last kilometer is open water. And we know that they have beam weapons of some sort.”

Perena nodded. “I should have thought of that,” she said.

“No, it's my mistake,” Vero added. “You've been busy on the
Emilia Kay.
And this is new territory for us all. Merral, I hadn't realized that the lake position is far more open than I had hoped.”

Merral looked at Perena. “So, Captain, a technical question. How can we increase the speed of the sleds?”

She returned his gaze, and he felt he could almost hear her mind calculating. “How fast do you want them to go?”

“Oh, so fast they can't be hit. See this lake stretch? I would want them to cover that last kilometer in well under thirty seconds. So, say about one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour. Oh, and as close to the water as you can get. Under a meter?”

Perena shook her head. “Tricky. And you want it within two to three days, eh? Well, the simplest solution is the oldest: bolt a rocket booster propulsion unit onto the back and strap everybody in. Glide down the valley silently under normal GM power, then when you hit open ground, just fire the motors. A small motor will give you that acceleration. Of course, at that speed, handling will be a problem. And then you have to decelerate on the other side. Hmm.” She paused, evidently doing mental calculations, then looked hard at Merral. “And you want it close to the water too? Well, you'll have to have the controls automatic. Human reflexes can't handle those speeds. Still, you know where you are going, so it's a simple program. And the surface, apart from waves, is fairly flat. I'd say it's possible to modify the circuits that control the altitude and course.”

“So,” Merral asked, “it could be done?”

“Yes . . .” Perena dragged the word out slowly. “But you'd have to calculate how many g's you'd pull though.”

“Is a straight-line course the best thing?”

She thought for a moment. “Probably not. You could write some swerves into the control program. But then it could be a wild ride. Lots of strains.”

Perena looked at Merral, “So you want me to try and get it organized? I have enough work to do with the
Emilia Kay,
but I can find engineers who would like the challenge. They will have to work very hard, though. And there're no guarantees.”

Vero nodded assent.

“Okay, Perena,” Merral said, “can you try and see if you can get someone to do it? Please?”

Vero tapped him on the shoulder. “You could order it.”

“
Order
it?”

“You're the Captain of the FDU. You could say, ‘Captain Lewitz, I hereby order you to get it done.' Only snappier. And no tentative ‘please' is needed. It's the sort of thing you ought to practice.”

“Are you serious?” Merral asked, staring at Vero. “She's a friend. I can't order her.”

Perena gave him an intense look. “He's right, Merral. Sadly. You have to give orders. In this context, I'm your obedient pilot.”

“But this is horrible.”

“Oh, just do it!” Vero snapped.

“Now who's ordering who? Oh, very well . . . Perena . . . . No,
Captain Lewitz,
I hereby order you to get it done.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a nod, a smile, and she left.

After the door closed behind her, Merral turned to Vero. “This is hopeless,” he said. “I'm not up to it.”

Vero smiled and clapped him on the back. “The orders thing is—I think—easy enough to pick up. The more important thing is that you have identified a tactical problem that I had overlooked. You've just shown why we need you. You have a flair for this sort of thing.”