The Shadow and Night (93 page)

Perena's voice had become hushed and distant, and Merral felt he was being given access to her most private thoughts. He said nothing as she continued. “Some people are adapting to the new world. Clemant, for instance, has realized the way the wind is blowing and, although he hates it, is trimming his sails to suit. Corradon? I think he senses the changes but can only hope and pray that they will go away. But we are all reacting to it.” She gave Merral a smile whose meaning he found impossible to fathom. “But will any of us be the same when the storm passes?”

“A good question,” Merral replied, feeling troubled.

Perena fell silent.

A heavy knocking reverberated through the hull. Perena winced.

“And are you happy with this ship?” asked Merral, feeling a pressing need to talk about practical matters. “I mean, I gather it's not been used for years.”

Perena looked around as if anxious not to be overheard. “Only partially,” she said in a confidential tone, “but I'm not shouting about it. It's not the age either—that can be fixed. And the test flights showed she was fine. No, I've read up on ships of war, and this is a long way away from being one.”

“I can imagine. What's the problem?”

She smiled, but it was a severe and joyless smile. “
Problems,
plural. Too slow, too unmaneuverable. There is no armor whatsoever; the hydrogen tanks in the hull are very vulnerable. Ironically, my general survey craft is better equipped: that at least has thermal plates and an ability to take some impacts. But
Emilia
was designed as an atmosphere-only ship, so the hull is barely two mills thick. There is little that counts as defensive sensors, nothing that acts as electronic countermeasures. The ability to accept different modules in the load bay is a great feature for a freighter but it weakens the structure; it can't take severe stresses. And the doors cannot be opened quickly. Do you want me to go on?”

“Definitely not. But practically, what does it mean?”

“Good question. What, as Vero would now say, is ‘the bottom line'? Well, it means I can't take risks. There will be no dramatic rescues for you under fire with this old lady.” She tapped a girder near her.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“But I like her all the same. The test flights yesterday were encouraging. Typical Series D. Slow, steady, stable.”

“Good. And this is all the equipment?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “There is much already at Tanaris, and there will be a series of supply flights almost every day. There's a lot of gear outstanding: uniforms, medical gear, that sort of thing. The booster jets for the sleds and their controllers. All being well.”

“I see.”

A figure appeared at the door and beckoned Perena. “Sorry,” she said. “Nathan, my chief electrics man. Have a look round but watch your step. To have your captain break a leg tripping over a wire might be seen as, well . . . inauspicious.”

Then, with a light pat on his arm, she was gone.

Merral wandered back along the upper hull of the
Emilia Kay,
in a corridor that he found hard not to think of as the spinal column of the great misshapen toad. He was trying to get a feeling for how the ship functioned, but not being an expert, found the various labels on the hatches and doors confusing and felt disinclined to ask explanations from the men and women who were preoccupied with cabling and circuits.

Halfway down the corridor, he heard footsteps behind him, and a familiar voice called out, “Tree Man! Or should I say
Captain
Tree Man?” Then an arm was linked playfully into his.

He turned. “Anya!” he said, pleased more than ever to see her freckled face. “I thought you would be elsewhere. . . .”

“No,” she said wrinkling her nose, “I played my part in this affair starting and I will see it through. But come and see what I've been working on.”

Anya led him down to the very end of the corridor, where there was a door with a small window in the middle. There were bolts at the top and bottom and a complex box with a keypad in the middle. All the features had the air of being recently fitted. Merral peered in through the thick glass to see a sizeable room with padding on every wall. Puzzled, he looked at Anya. “What's this for?”

“Prisoners,” she murmured, with a strange note in her voice. “I am preparing to be a zookeeper.”

“And if they aren't alive? What then?”

She gestured below. “We are fitting a freezer unit down there. And we have bags and disinfecting agents. We have to be prepared.”

“I'm glad
you
are! So you are coming?”

Her blue eyes seemed to flash. “Why not? You may need a biologist. And I'm hardly going to miss the biggest bug hunt in history, am I?”

“No,” Merral said.

Anya looked cautiously at him, as if concerned that he would veto her accompanying the ship. “Besides,” she declared firmly, “my first aid isn't bad, and I can act as a medical orderly if needed.”

“And we have those facilities?” Merral asked, suddenly realizing that this was yet another thing that he had overlooked. The gloomy thought struck him that there were probably many other oversights that he might make.

“Two doctors, six orderlies. A lot of equipment. Enough synplasma to replace everybody's blood. On our side anyway. The moment there is any contact, a hospital vessel will be mobilized. It will be there in an hour or less.”

“Let's hope it's not needed,” he said and then added, “But welcome on board, Doctor.” And as he said it, he realized he felt both pleased that she was coming with him and also slightly guilty that he felt so pleased.

They walked back down the corridor and into the cargo module, where at least a dozen people were either hoisting things on board or fastening them down with straps and cabling. Merral was conscious that a number of those in the hold were staring at him and that whispered comments were being passed around.
They know who I am.
He looked at the growing piles of equipment being assembled.

Outside the cargo unit he could see more activity. By a wing, the complex structure of a robot painter with its multiple tubular limbs, flexible pipes, and nozzles rose like some strange insect emerging from a chrysalis.

“You look worried,” Anya said to him.

“The scale and complexity of all this intimidates me. Vero has done a superb job. But I'm worried we will get there and find something missing.”

“That's why there is the time in Tanaris to—”

There was the clatter of footsteps on the metal floor behind him. A voice shouted, “Captain D'Avanos here?”

For a fraction of a second, Merral thought that the reference was to someone else. Then he turned to see a young man dressed in blue.

“Yes, I'm Merral D'Avanos. Can I help?” As he said it, Merral realized that a decisive “What do you want?” would have been more in keeping with his rank. Oh well, he would learn.

“Sir!” The young man saluted again. “Sentinel Enand wants to see you, promptlike. There's a problem. This way.”

With a nod and a shrug to Anya, Merral followed.

An evidently agitated Vero was waiting by a four-seater. “We have a difficulty at the entrance. It can be handled, but I'll need your help. Get in. I'll explain as we go.”

Carefully, Vero turned the vehicle through the equipment and set off toward the line of wire they had come through earlier.

“The problem is,” Vero said, “that two people from the Menaya news team have turned up. They have seen the
Emilia Kay
and the activity and—quite naturally—want to see what is going on.”

“Vero, that could be disastrous! I mean, everybody on the planet will know.” Merral looked at the activity behind him. “We can't disguise this. What can we do? Can we make them promise not to tell?”

Vero frowned and shook his head, “They would still know and it might get out. We could get it banned temporarily through Corradon. But that raises monumental constitutional issues. There is another way.”

“How?”

A look of cunning flickered over Vero's face and then disappeared beneath a bland gaze of innocence. “Ah,
secret.
No, you introduce yourself as the ‘head of what is going on here'—now use that exact phrase—and then designate me as the person who will talk to them. With my accent they may be uneasy about me, but if you back me that will be acceptable. Then get back to the vehicle and stay out of earshot.”

“Why?”

Vero winked. “I just don't want you standing by when I talk. Trust me.”

Merral had seen enough reporters at sports matches, weddings, and festivals to recognize the type, especially when they carried the trademark recording gear on their belts as this young man and woman did. The way they were sitting cross-legged on the ground suggested the sort of dedication associated with reporters who refused to leave the stadium without interviewing the losing captain.

Merral walked over, shook hands, and introduced himself by name, but without mentioning his rank, and then introduced Vero to them. As he walked back to the four-seater, he saw that Vero had gotten the reporters into a huddle with him as if they were discussing something confidential. A few minutes later, the group broke up with the shaking of hands, and Vero walked back with an awkward smile on his face.

“Back to work,” Vero said and then, whistling tunelessly, lowered himself into the driving seat and switched on the engine.

“So what did you say?”

Still whistling, Vero set the vehicle rolling back toward the freighter where the painting machine had now risen above the wings. Only when the four-seater had sped up did he speak. “Promise you won't be angry?”

“No,” Merral replied suspiciously. “I will probably be furious. What did you say?”

“Ah . . . I told them the truth. In a, well . . . modified form. I told them that there was a group being set up to carry out rescue operations within Farholme, in the event of forest fires, earthquakes, volcanoes, and other perils. To do the sort of things that the Assembly would normally send ships for.”

“Good grief—”

Vero continued as if he hadn't heard Merral's expostulation. “But, I said, we were keeping it secret because we didn't want to alarm everybody. As everybody was already concerned about the Gate loss, we didn't want to make it worse. So I asked them not talk about it. Not yet. And they were persuaded.”

Merral could barely believe what he was hearing. “Vero! You
lied
to them!” he shouted. “Completely and utterly!”

The response, when it eventually came, was thoughtful and restrained. “Hmm, that's open to debate. You see my definition of ‘perils' was sufficiently broad that it would allow for the invasion of hostile aliens. Or similar. And my definition of ‘rescue' was, likewise, broad.”

“But, Vero, you fell well below the standards of openness and truth that we have always held to. Far below.”

“Yes, well, remember Rahab the whore in Joshua, chapter 2—one of those Old Covenant stories we pass over quickly with children?”

“That? . . . That was in the bad old days.”

“Merral,” Vero replied, with a tone of exaggerated weariness, “wake up! See those robot arms climbing over the top of the dear old
Emilia Kay?
It's painting her in camouflage. We are loading her now with explosive charges and guns. These are the preparations for war. As captain of operations it would be a help if you acknowledged this.” Vero threw Merral a look that was somehow both critical and sympathetic. “See, my friend, the bad old days are back.”

Back at the
Emilia Kay,
Merral decided the best thing he could do was stay out of the way and try and master what he was going to be responsible for. So he made himself comfortable in a patch of shade in the back of an empty LP4 and spent some hours alternatively reading the leader's handbook and then flicking through the folder with its details of the men he was commanding. Some things, he was glad to see, had already been done. The assignment of seven lieutenants and sergeants and the heads of medical, logistics, and communication teams had also been made. Vero, he saw, had even made a choice of someone as chaplain. As a starter, Merral decided to memorize those names, faces, and details.

So, as the afternoon passed, he tried to get his mind around the immensity of what he was shortly going to have to undertake. The only relief he took was that, every so often, he emerged from his shaded seat to walk up to the ship and see how progress was being made. On one visit, Vero came over to him accompanied by a man with a familiar open face, carrying a holdall.

“Lorrin Venn,” Merral said, extending his hand to the tall man with the pale brown hair and green eyes. “Nice to see you. Still working in support?”

Lorrin smiled, as if anxious to please. “Sir, that was what I've come about. I was wondering if I could be released from that, just for a week, and come and join a team. It was my first choice. I know it's late. But I have my gear with me.” He looked plaintively at Vero, as if for support.