The Shadow and Night (99 page)

In the end, after two days of hectic busyness, Merral decided that he had to make time to think. Noting that he was exactly forty-eight hours away from the planned contact, he set his alarm for just before dawn and, after a quarter of an hour in prayer and Bible reading, put on running gear. He briefed a bleary-eyed Frankie, yawning apologetically over his cup of coffee, and then, as the first rays of the sun struck the craggy rocks, set off jogging up to the rocky crest of the ridge that dominated Tanaris. He ran slowly, aware that, even by Farholme's low standards, the island's bare and rocky landscape was unforgiving.

Twenty minutes later, Merral gasped his way past a sentry onto the summit ridge.

Regaining his breath, he slowed to a labored walk and strolled out onto an overhanging rock slab that formed a viewing point. Here, with the emphasis granted by the low-angle sun, he could see the
Emilia Kay
at the southern end of the runway, the tents where lines of people were assembling for breakfast, and the lagoon where they practiced to the north.
So, tomorrow evening we fly, and this make-believe practice world of Tanaris gets replaced by the reality of Fallambet Lake Five. Are we prepared?

It was, he realized, an unanswerable question. Prepared for what? How could anyone make any prediction when faced with something as totally unknown as this? Warfare, he knew, had always been a reckless and uncertain business. Yet even in the endless wars of the far past, men had always known that they faced other men or the machines of men.
Now, though, we do not even know what we face.

Merral sighed. Realistically, he knew, all they could aim to do was the best possible. With regard to the men of the assault teams, he sensed everywhere a rising confidence coupled with a growing discipline and skill. But were any—or all of them together—enough to outweigh the total lack of experience?

As Merral thought about the probable conflict, he was aware of something that tugged at a corner of his mind, something outstanding that he had to do. While he was attempting to pursue the thought, he heard a call of “Sir!”

The sentry approached, clutching a low-power short-range communicator.

“Yes, Lennis. What is it?”

“A message, sir. The freighter
Henrietta Pollard
is coming in to land. In fact, I reckon you can see it.” He pointed at a small black dot low above the western skyline.

In addition to bearing the remaining supplies, the flight carried the dozen replacement men as well as the pair who were to try diplomacy with the intruders. Was there to be no chance of escaping his responsibilities?

“Thanks, Lennis,” he sighed. “I'd better go on down.”

Merral had barely had time to shower and change before two visitors were shown into his office and the fabric flap lowered behind them. They were a man and woman, both of late middle age, and the first thing that struck Merral was how elegant they looked. Perhaps, he thought as they shook hands, the smartness was especially marked because of the new world of sweating, uniformed men that he seemed to now dwell in.

“I'm Erika Nateen,” the lady said with a polite, tired smile. Her accent was not quite that of Farholme.

“Van Denern. Louis Van Denern,” the man added in a rather precise way as he looked around the tent with cool, evaluative gray eyes. He had a rather pale complexion, and Merral wondered if, like Vero, he was a bad flyer.

“Welcome,” Merral answered, uncomfortably aware that, despite the shower, he was still sweating from his run. “Merral D'Avanos, recently forester, now—by an act of Providence—captain. And yet hoping to be forester again very shortly. Please take a seat. You had a good flight?”

As they sat on the chairs, they looked at each other as if for reassurance. “Yes,” Erika answered. “An early start but otherwise fine. Representative Corradon—who sends you his greetings—was anxious not to obviously disrupt the flying schedule. The best way of doing that was to squeeze in the early morning flight for us on the—whatever it was called.”

“Henrietta Pollard,
” Louis added in a tone that suggested he liked accuracy.

Merral realized he was overlooking hospitality. “Can I order you a drink? or breakfast?”

“Just a coffee, please,” Erika said with a formal smile that reminded Merral of one of the teachers at his junior school.

“Water,” Louis said firmly. “Just water. I presume it is sterile?”

“Oh yes.”

Merral gave an order to one of the guards and then sat back down in his chair. “So,” he said, looking at his guests, “you are our diplomatic team?”

The visitors looked at each other and Erika seemed to sigh slightly.

“Yes,” she answered with what Merral felt was a lack of enthusiasm. He stared at both of the newcomers again, feeling slightly puzzled. Somehow, they were not what he had expected.

“Can I ask something?” Merral said. “Why did you volunteer for this? You do realize that this is likely to be risky?”

Again, he caught a shared, confiding look passing between them. It was almost as if they were married to each other, something that he knew wasn't the case. Erika gestured for Louis to speak.

“I am a language teacher,” he replied in his rather stiff way. “Isterrane University. Grammar is my specialty. I have five historic languages, plus Communal and Farholmen, of course. And I am an old friend of Anwar Corradon.”

“I see,” answered Merral, wondering whether he would answer the second question.

Louis put his head slightly on one side for a moment. “Now, as for the risk . . . I am sixty-five, a widower, and I am—I suppose—one of the few medical casualties of the loss of the Gate. Other than those on the
Schütz.
”

“I was not aware there were any.”

Louis nodded in a slight but precise way. “Oh yes. I have a degenerative liver disease coupled with an oversensitive immune system. A tailored prosthetic liver was on order. My hepatic specialist assures me that if we have a new Gate in fifty years, it will be around forty-eight too late. More or less.”

That,
thought Merral,
is as elegant a circumlocution as I have ever heard for saying “I have two years to live.”

“We are honored to have you with us,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain,” responded Louis with a little bow of the head.

“And, Erika, what about you?”

She gave him a pained look. “I'm not from Farholme; I'm from Bannermene.”

“Our next-door neighbor. We say here that it's the next best thing.”

“And we say the same about you. Well, I work on Assembly government protocols for our sector. I was caught here by the Gate's loss—
destruction.
Call it what you will.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yes, all my family are—” she glanced skyward—“over there. I too know Anwar Corradon, of course. He asked if I would volunteer for something difficult. If these intruders do have the technology to go through Below-Space, then I would certainly like us to get it.”

“So you can go home?”

“Of course. But equally, if they are evil, which I gather we suspect, then I don't want them going on to the next system and wiping out their Gate. I don't want what happened here to happen there.”

“A fair point.”

Merral was thinking what to say next when the drinks arrived.

As Erika drank her coffee and Louis cautiously sipped his water, Merral outlined the plan for them to approach openly. He watched them carefully for their response.

Louis just shrugged in a polite way. “What you've said is about what we were told. How many people are there with us on this hoverer?”

“Fred Huang—your lieutenant—suggested four. The only arms I can offer are bush knives, which are now slightly modified and probably more effective.”

“Do they work?” asked Erika.

“Oh yes,” Merral replied, rather reluctantly. “They work. At close range.” He tried not to think about his own experiences. “And we are also giving you smoke canisters. If there is trouble, Fred will tip them overboard. They float, and they may give you a screen to escape behind.” The smoke canisters had been Vero's idea.

Erika bent over to whisper something in Louis's ear. Whatever it was, Merral decided it was well received, because he nodded agreement.

“Captain,” Louis said, leaning forward, “Erika is suggesting that we reduce the crew going with us. To the minimum. Two, I would think. A pilot and this Lieutenant Huang. As you gather, we are not particularly concerned about our own lives. But I am—no,
we
are—about those of others.”

Merral evaluated the request for a moment before answering. “Very well, I accept that suggestion. I will talk to Lieutenant Huang about that. So you are not very optimistic about a negotiated settlement?”

“No,” Louis said firmly, and he put down his glass with a look of slight distaste. “I've talked with Anwar, and I can make my own deductions. If they wanted to talk they would have done so earlier.”

He peered into the empty glass and then looked up with sad eyes. “If I were you, Captain, I would prepare for the worst.”

After Erika and Louis had gone to the tents assigned to them, Merral sat down to check the manifest from the
Henrietta Pollard
and was encouraged to see that it had brought the dozen men needed and the outstanding equipment. As he put the manifest down on the table, he heard the sound of the freighter taking off on its way back to Isterrane.
The next time engines like that roar over this island, it will be us on our way north.

A few minutes later, his guard admitted Perena, accompanied by a pale-faced young man in civilian clothes whom he did not recognize.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Captain,” she said as she saluted, her face stiff.

“You are always welcome, Per—Captain Lewitz,” Merral said, rising and saluting back. He was wondering at her formality when he noticed the worried look of her companion.

“Have we met before?” he asked, extending his hand.

There was a look of hesitation in the man's face as he shook hands. “No . . . sir. Not so as you'd remember. I was loading the
Emilia Kay
the other day when you came through. I'm Leonas Vorranet.”

“Loading, eh, Leonas?” There was something about both his and Perena's manner that allowed Merral to guess at what was to come. “Take a seat, both of you.”

The young man sat down and stared at the floor as Perena began to speak. “After our problems with the barrel I made inquiries. Leonas very kindly volunteered to come over from Isterrane in the
Henrietta Pollard
and tell us what happened. Exactly.”

Leonas tilted his head up enough that Merral could see his eyes, deep blue and tinged by guilt.

“Sir, I've come to apologize,” he said, his voice faint and strained. “It's my fault. Somehow, I used old strapping. Stuff that was already on the ship. Not the new stuff.”

Perena looked hard at Merral. “That's what tests confirm,” she said. “The strapping was decades old and decaying inside. We thought we had removed it all, but there must have been bits lying around.”

“I see, Leonas,” Merral said, already wondering whether he was supposed to discipline this man and, if so, how. “But wasn't it obvious that it was outdated? It's color coded.”

There was a long pause and the blue eyes looked down at the floor. “Well, it was really, sir. But I was . . . careless, I suppose. I didn't think it mattered. There was the hurry. I suppose I thought that Assembly standards are always overcautious.” There was a pitiable tone in his voice. “I'm sorry.”

Merral walked round to the front of his desk and sat on it.
What do I do with this fellow?
He saw that Perena was frowning.

“And, Leonas,” Merral asked, “I take it Captain Lewitz has told you how she nearly had to eject the cargo module because of your stupidity?”