15

As Merral approached him, Vero looked up, his face inscrutable in the gloom. “Nearly there,” he said, his voice an urgent whisper. “It’s at 37.5 degrees Celsius and lots of warnings.” Vivid red letters were scrolling across Vero’s diary screen. “Ten minutes before it is at the right temperature. Perhaps . . .” Merral noted the uncertainty. Then Vero spoke again. “Can you prepare a message for transmission the moment this goes off? Continuously repeating. Every emergency frequency.”

Merral slid the diary off his belt and chose his words. “Diary! Prepare for a transmission on the maximum emergency frequencies and with maximum output and repetition of the following message: ‘Emergency. Under attack from non-Assembly forces. Request immediate pickup from transmission location. Landing zone 100 by 160 meters and flat.’ ”

When, he wondered, was the last time—other than in some play or reenactment of the Rebellion—that anyone had uttered anything like those words under attack from non-Assembly forces?

He paused the diary and looked at Vero. “And how do I warn about the possibility that they will use weapons? My military terminology is minimal.”

“Ah. How about adding, ‘Attackers have beam weapons capable of damage to ships’?”

“Thanks,” replied Merral as he laid the message out and checked it. Then he looked around. Night was falling quickly and it was already too dark to distinguish colors. A strange, unwelcome thought came to him. For the first time in his life, night was no longer a welcome, restful darkness in which the stars and the Gate shone, but a time when things moved, when evil stirred. What did one of the Psalms say? “You will not fear the terror of the night.” With a barely restrained shiver, he realized that he now understood it.

Vero interrupted his reflections. “Up to 38.5 degrees and more warnings.”

“What happens then?” Merral asked as he scanned the gloomy edge of the plateau, his mind already halfway to investing shadows with motion.

“We walk over to the ledge there.” Vero gestured south. “You drop over, get under the ledge, and sit ready to hit the transmit button. I pull out the safety fuse—tricky in the dark—give a final code word, and the thing goes into a chain reaction. I put it down and run and join you. We put our fingers in our ears and close our eyes tight. And pray.”

“How long after the last code before we get the bang?”

“Not long.”

“How long?”

“Er, ten seconds. Perhaps twenty.”

“You’ve forgotten?”

“Yes.”

After a moment, Merral laughed. “Oh the Glory! What a useless pair we are! I’m glad I believe that the Most High graciously governs our affairs. That the fate of the Assembly might hinge on us alone would fill me with extreme terror!”

Vero echoed the laughter. “An amusing thought. I must—” He stiffened. “Wait! I hear something. It’s too soon. We aren’t ready.”

From the western edge of the summit, where the top of the plateau was a black silhouette against the glowing and simmering purple sky, there came a faint scrabbling noise. The thought came to Merral that only brief hours ago he would have interpreted such a sound as that of a fox or badger. Now, and here, it could only be one thing.

On instinct, Merral thrust his diary to Vero. “You send the signal. I may be busy.”

Then, cautiously in the dark, he ran toward the edge. Well to the left of where he had been before, he dropped down onto his knees and slid warily to the edge. He peered over carefully, half expecting to feel the hot and fatal blast of the beam weapon.

The sheer flank of the cliff was now in deep gloom, illuminated only by the waning sunset, and for a moment Merral could see nothing. He was about to run back and get the fieldscope when, with a quiver of alarm, he suddenly saw that, down to his right at the base of the slope, there was movement.

Within moments, he knew that there were at least three ape-creatures moving up the cliff. Their movements were measured and unhurried, and there was a confidence that suggested the darkness did not bother them.

Merral slid back away from the edge and turned toward Vero. “They’re on their way up,” he called. His mouth was now appallingly dry and he was aware of his hands shaking.

“Try to give me another five minutes.”

“I’ll try.”

Merral slid back to the cliff margin, lay down on the rough rock surface, and prayed for help and protection. Within moments there was a further noise from the cliff below.

Suddenly, Merral felt a strange calm descend upon him. He knew what he had to do. Making sure there were some stones within reach, he coolly pulled out one of the flares and, acting from memory, rotated the settings onto short range and long duration. He primed the tranquilizer gun, flicked the safety catch off, and put it down on the ground with a surprisingly steady hand. Then he picked up the flare and waited until the first of the ape-creatures was within a few moments of reaching the top. He aimed and fired, raising a hand immediately to protect his sight.

There was a loud whoosh, and as a dazzling silver light flooded the rock surface, he glimpsed the creature turn toward him, the white teeth of its open mouth gleaming in the brilliant metallic light. As the flare struck the rock above its head, the creature instinctively lifted an arm to protect itself. Then, as the incandescent flame slithered down onto it, it gave a wailing scream and fell backward with arms flailing. It plummeted downward; the screaming ended with the sound of something smacking in a ghastly, sodden way against rock.

“Forgive me, Lord,” Merral muttered, appalled at both the act and his own coolness.

Down at the base of the cliff, the flickering, sinking flare illuminated two more climbing ape-creatures. In a curiously detached way, Merral seemed to watch himself as he coldly picked up the tranquilizer gun and sighted on the next creature. As its big hands reached for a rock ledge, he pulled the trigger. There was a hiss as the dart fired. Merral ducked his head down low and flicked the last cartridge into the chamber.

He looked up, only to see that his target continuing its upward climb.

I must have missed, he realized dully, and sighted again, anxious to make the most of the fading light of the flare. As he squinted through the eyepiece he saw the thing suddenly twist its body. Then it leaned backward, flung out a desperate arm to steady itself, missed, and toppled down the cliff. This time there was a heavy thud, a slithering sound, and a succession of softer thuds. Simultaneously heartened and sickened, Merral risked a longer glance below. In the ebbing light of the flare, he could make out two other huge forms moving to the base of the cliff below and starting the climb upward.

He was reaching for the rocks, intending to throw them, when he suddenly became aware of a sizzling sound, as if he had his ear next to a frying pan. Immediately to his right the line of the cliff edge began to hiss and glow in an intense cherry red color. Merral jerked himself backward. A whiff of scalding, dusty air enveloped him and he saw that where he had been lying was now a mass of bubbling molten rock. He crawled away from the edge carefully. He had one flare left, and after that, only rocks and the blade. But if he couldn’t get near the edge, even rocks would be little use.

How was Vero doing? Merral looked backward. In the darkness, he could just make him out bending over the diary’s illuminated screen, his face lit by a furious red glow. Hurry up, he mouthed, oh hurry.

Beyond Vero something moved.

His heart thudding, Merral strained his eyes, scanning the starlit blackness of the surface. Along the northern edge of the summit the brilliance of the five bright stars of Reitel’s Crown caught his eye. I imagined it. There could be no threat there: it was too steep.

The stars were blotted out.

“Vero, behind you!” Merral shouted, realizing that, once again, they had underestimated their opponents.

He began to run forward, aware that he had to put himself between Vero and the attackers. Still moving, he reached for the last flare and fired it. As he pressed the button he regretted it; the flare hit the ground and screeched along the rock surface before bursting into a blinding silvery flame. Beyond its blaze, two dark gigantic figures—each like some animated caricature of a man—were fiercely illuminated. Vero turned, realized his peril, and began to run to the south end of the cliff.

As Vero ran past him, Merral dropped to one knee, braced himself, and fired the remaining cartridge in the tranquilizer gun at the front creature. Seeing them for the first time at eye level, he now realized how big the ape-creatures were. It was a good shot and Merral saw it hit home in the chest. But his satisfaction was short-lived as the creature ripped out the cylinder, gave a horrid yell, and threw it away.

Suddenly he was conscious that behind him, Vero was shouting. “Now, Merral! Now!”

Merral began to run unsteadily over the rough surface after him. As he ran, he was aware that the creatures were following him, skirting round the flare. Ahead of him, he saw that Vero, illuminated only by the fading glow of the western sky and the light of the sputtering flare, was now standing at the very end of the cliff. Merral came to a stop next to him, aware of the drop down to the ledge just beyond and sensing more than seeing, far below that, the darkness of the plains and the feeble glint of the Lannar River.

“N–nearly!” Vero gasped. “It’s almost on overload. When I shout, jump. Not too far. Hold them off until then.”

“Okay. Tell me when.”

Marveling again at his steady tone, Merral turned to face his enemies. The two pursuing him had come to a halt next to each other. They stood, just a few meters away, silhouetted against the dying glow of the flare like an enormous matching pair of bizarre statues. To his left the sky bore the last faint purple glow of the sunset. The creatures began slowly edging toward him, their steps almost matching, as if in some crazy dance. Over to the left and behind them, Merral could suddenly make out more movement. At least five of the ape creatures had now made that ascent. A cold dread seemed to grab hold of him.

The left-hand creature facing him made another move. Merral, still waiting for Vero’s word, hurled the empty tranquilizer gun as hard as he could at it. The creature ducked and the gun went over its head and rattled to the ground beyond. Merral pulled out the bush knife, clicked it open, and held it out in front of him. Suddenly, on a wild impulse, he decided he should not fight these beings in silence. Their very monstrosity aroused his wrath and indignation.

“Creatures!” he yelled as loud as he could, his dry voice somehow echoing on the open summit. The shadowy forms seemed to freeze. “This is not your world! It belongs to the Lord Messiah, the Slain Lamb, the One who holds the stars of the Assembly in his right hand! In his Name I defy you! Go, or I will slay you!”

There was a cracked but enthusiastic “Amen!” from behind him. Then, as the words died away in the darkness, the light of the flare sank until it was little more than a glow.

Was there a hesitation among the creatures? Merral wasn’t sure, but they made no move forward. Did the value of such challenges come in improving the morale of the defender or in intimidating that of the attacker? Or was it just something that had to be done? After all, had not David so challenged Goliath? Merral marveled at the irrelevancy of his questions and pushed them away. How do I fight these things? Positively, unlike the cockroach-beasts, they were unarmored. Negatively, their long limbs meant that they could grab his throat while all he could contact would be their hands and arms. And, if he did get close in, he knew he ran the risk of being crushed. My only assets are speed and a sharp blade.

Abruptly, the two creatures ahead separated and began to swing round at Merral from both sides. A simultaneous attack, he thought bleakly. He was aware of an urgent muttering from Vero behind him, as if his words could encourage the diary into self-destruction. The two were now barely an arm’s length away. He could smell them now—an unnatural decaying smell, as if something within them wasn’t working properly.

I must protect Vero. “Vero, stay where you are!” he shouted. “I have to know where you are!”

Merral took two steps to the right, aware that his ankle hurt him, and was gratified to see that the two ape-creatures followed him with a perfect symmetry. Good, they want me. He was relieved that he could treat it like a Team-Ball game. That’s right, don’t think of what is involved.

“Right!” shouted Vero. “Nearly there! Very nearly! Oh, come on!”

The flare was out now and the only light was the dull waning glow from the western skies. Merral stretched out his right hand and swung the blade in as broad an arc as he could. He felt a strange certainty that Vero had failed, but it almost seemed irrelevant. His one task now was to grapple with these things. With a low throbbing grunt, the creature on the left lunged forward.

Merral leapt backward and sideways to the right, sweeping hard with his blade at the same time. As the creature lurched past him, his blade connected with a forelimb, biting deep into soft, sinewy tissue, clinking on—and through—bone and out through flesh. There was a high-pitched scream and something struck the ground at Merral’s feet with a sickening thud. He jerked the blade back, but before he had recovered his balance he saw, outlined against the stars, the second creature charging at him with its arms flailing wide.

Merral threw himself to the left, ducking low as he did, and the outstretched arm swung over him, foul rough fingers glancing over his back. He slashed at the creature, but the knife arced only through air and struck nothing. He staggered to his feet, aware of his first attacker writhing amid screams on the ground. The second ape-creature lurched to a halt, wheeled round clumsily, and came back toward him, its head low and its arms wide as if to claw him. Merral dodged again as a long arm swung out widely at him in the blackness. Despite his efforts to dodge it, the flat of the great hand connected with his shoulder. The force of the blow sent him reeling onto the hard, uneven rock.

Before he could regain his footing, he was aware that that creature was standing astride him, its feet almost touching his face, the stink of its fur enveloping him. Amid an awful bellowing, the creature raised a shadowy foot high, and Merral had a sudden terrible remembrance of the crushed remains of Spotback. As the foot hung there above him, Merral unhesitatingly put both hands on the knife handle. With every bit of energy he possessed, he lunged upward with the blade to where the great torso blocked out the stars.

“The Lamb!” he cried, amid a chill anger. The blade plunged deep and the creature’s bellowing flowed into a hideous scream. It toppled over and the momentum tore the blade out of Merral’s hands. As he tried to roll clear, a hot fluid pumped out all over him and a rough, stinking fur thrashed against his face. Everything went black. Then Merral was aware that he was free of the writhing hulk and Vero was tugging at him and yelling to make himself heard over the screaming.

“It’s fused! It’s fused!”

Wiping blood out of his eyes, Merral staggered onto all fours. He was aware of Vero throwing the diary and he saw it spin over his head as a pulsing, angry red block. As he moved toward the edge, Merral glimpsed in the red beating glow other figures now on the plateau. Large and small.

An army.

There was the ledge. He half jumped and half fell down onto it. Vero was pushing him down under the lip and he rolled in. Gasping for breath, aware of blood in his mouth, Merral dully remembered what was supposed to happen and turned facedown against the rough rock. Then he closed his eyes and put his fingers in his wet ears. This was the end.

“Lord, I commit myself to you,” Merral said quietly. He realized he had never properly said farewell to Isabella or his—

The world stopped.

Sense, feeling, thought, time, life. All ended.

At first there was only light. Brilliant light, the light of creation, a light that seemed to penetrate through rock and bone and eyelids. There was nothing else, and it seemed to Merral inconceivable that there ever had been anything else or could be anything else. Then there was the noise. A deafening noise on every frequency from the lowest vibration to the highest screech. A noise that bypassed the eardrums to pummel every bone, muscle, and organ in his body. Then there was the wind: a wind as solid as flesh that tore at his clothes and whipped at his hair. A wind that seemed to want to blow him off the ledge to Herrandown.

Gradually, the light, noise, and wind ebbed away.

Merral opened his eyes slowly and rubbed them to see around him a bizarre winter landscape of snowlike ash lit by a diffuse and flickering red light. A pale figure coated in a fine gray debris coat was squatting beside him stabbing at the diary.

Over the ringing in his ears Merral could—somehow—make out Vero yelling, “Transmit! Transmit!”

He looked up to see a billowing column of dust high above them, glowing in lurid oranges and yellows and casting strange, pulsating shadows over the landscape. In the background, he could hear the diary echoing the message. “Emergency! Under attack from non-Assembly forces. . . .” It was getting through! “ . . . have beam weapons capable of damage to ships. Emergency message ends!”

Vero turned an ash-plastered face toward him. “It’s gone successfully!” he shouted with a sort of manic triumph. In the background Merral could hear the message being repeated. Vero was speaking again now, his voice seeming distant and distorted. “You look awful, Merral. Truly awful.” He reached out and carefully touched Merral’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Merral answered slowly, shaking his head to try and clear the noise out of his ears. “I think so. But you look like a corpse.” Suddenly he heard a voice, crackling and varying in volume, coming out of the diary.

“Merral D’Avanos, Assembly ship Nesta Lamaine has received your message. Fireball seen. Captain is evaluating your situation now. Are you okay?”

Vero handed him the diary. Merral wiped the dust off the screen and spat to clear his mouth.

“Yes. Yes. Just about. We are on the south end of the cliff—Uh-oh!”

The screen was flashing the “Unable to transmit message” sign. He showed it to Vero who merely shook his head. “As I expected. A temporary overload. Well, we got our message out.”

The diary crackled to life. “We have lost your signal. Captain advises we are coming down to you. Standard Operating Procedure is to do a Farholme orbit first. This will give two hours—”

“Two hours!” Vero shouted.

“—before we can get to you. Just hang on. Out.” The signal light faded.

Merral tabbed the transmit button and shouted at the slab, “Two hours is too long! Forget Standard Operating Procedure! Make it faster!”

But the diary refused to transmit.

The gloom was descending again as above them the eerie light was fading. Merral was aware of Vero waving his hands in protest. “Can’t they get in faster?”

“I know! The only ship around, this Nesta Lamaine, must be in high orbit or something. But I’m surprised. . . . Can we survive?”

Vero blew his nose. “Maybe, but only if there are no more attacks. You’re sure you are all right, Merral? There’s blood on you.”

In response, Merral tried sitting up. He ran his hands over his chest and felt them come away in a disgusting mixture of dust and blood. “Praises, I think it’s not mine.”

“Let’s get back on the main ledge then,” Vero said. “We need to see if our attackers have gone.”

They scrambled slowly back onto the main rock ledge of the plateau. The light from the dust cloud had almost dissipated now, but they could see that the once flat surface now bore a gentle circular depression a half a dozen meters across that was glowing a dull crimson color. They were alone on the summit.

In the growing darkness, Vero’s voice was quieter now. “Those ape-creatures are very agile. To get up the northern face that we thought was impossible was an extraordinary feat.”

“Yes,” answered Merral slowly, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. His throat was dry, his ankle hurt, and he felt unspeakably sickened by what had happened.

As the night seemed to slip back around them, Vero coughed and spat. “Ugh! Dust! Incidentally, Merral, do you realize that you may have done what Thomas wanted you to do?”

“Sorry? Oh, you mean kill whatever had taken Spotback? Well, if it was one of those—and I hope there aren’t many more—then maybe I did just that.” In fact, he found the idea of little comfort.

For a few minutes they were silent. Some of the dust slowly settled around them, but much remained in the air, dulling and diffusing the light from the stars. Eventually, Vero spoke slowly. “Assuming—just assuming—they can rescue us, we must do some urgent thinking.”

“You mean what happens next?”

“Yes. What we do. Earth must be told: told fast and told securely.” But he said no more and fell silent.

A few minutes later, Merral’s eye was caught by a moving beam of light cutting up through the dusty air from the ground just to the west of them. Carefully, a new dread rising in his exhausted mind, he and Vero picked their way slowly over the ash-draped rocks to the western edge of the hill. Not far away under the trees, a light was drifting leisurely toward them, swinging from side to side as if searching out a pathway for feet between the rocks and tree roots. Behind it, Merral could just make out dark figures, and from their height and gait he knew they were not human.

Vero sighed. “More trouble. Not our rescuers.”

“Yes,” Merral answered, surprised how drained of emotion he felt. “They will be here in a few minutes. Watch, stand firm, and hope.”

“The hope bit is getting harder to do. And nearly two hours before the ship arrives. . . . I wish now we had got a full message out.” Vero gave a little grunt. “Huh, I really thought we were going to make it.”

Then he reached out and patted Merral affectionately on the back. “But let me say—while I have the chance—that you did wonders here tonight. Remarkable. That challenge. Epic stuff. Worthy of a painting in the style of the Thirteenth Millennium romantics: ‘Forester D’Avanos Faces the Ape-Creatures Alone.”

For a brief moment, Merral felt like pointing out that a really authentic picture would have to be done in shades of blacks and dark grays. But he hurt too much.

Vero seemed to drift away into silence, and Merral, torn by his own memories of the day, tried to put his thoughts in order. They had a few minutes yet; the moving light had yet to approach the edge of the trees. Merral prepared himself to crawl to the edge and hurl rocks down until—inevitably—he was overwhelmed.

Then, abruptly, the light went off. In the distance below, near where the beam had been, Merral could hear voices, but what they said, and even whether or not they were human, he found impossible to tell. He began to crawl toward the cliff edge, wondering if he could find any rocks in the darkness to throw.

“Listen!” whispered Vero.

At first Merral could hear only the ringing in his ears.

Then he was able to make out a faint whistling noise in the air coming from the south. He stared into the darkness. Whatever it was could not be the rescue ship; that had to be ninety minutes or more away on the other side of Farholme. For a moment, he saw nothing.

Low in the southern sky the hazily twinkling stars were obscured by a shape that was growing larger every second. Merral, seized by a feeling of stark horror, stared at the blackness as the expanding silhouette rose above the cliff.

Then from his belt his diary bleeped and a dry male voice echoed around. “This is Assembly ship Nesta Lamaine! Prepare to board immediately! Beware hot external surfaces!”

As the shadow eclipsed more stars, four columns of white flame burst out like waterfalls of light, throwing up dust into the air. Blinking, his ears adjusting to the newly unleashed storm of sound, Merral could now make out the stained white-plated hull of a general survey craft. He wanted to cry for joy.

The ship tilted and lowered itself down vertically, thin legs extruding through the pulses of shimmering heat. A smell of steam and fumes and waves of warm air rolled over them. Above the glare of the engines Merral could make out the green light of the cockpit and the dull orange glow of heat around the stubby wings. A line of cold blue light opened in the underside of the ship and grew as the hatchway ramp lowered to within a handbreadth of the surface. Stumbling, trying to shield their eyes from the dazzling intensity of the thrusters, Merral and Vero clambered up the ramp.

“Go! Go!” shouted a voice, and a firm hand grabbed Merral’s arm and hauled him into the hold. The craft swayed and bobbed like a boat on rough sea, the ramp closed, and Merral felt vibrations under his feet. Then he heard a succession of noises: the hissing of pistons closing the hatch, the tolling of a warning bell, the clamor of a siren, and then the thudding bellow of sound as the thrusters kicked in.

A big man in the deep blue Space Affairs uniform pushed Merral into a seat and strapped a belt around him. Then he was pressed first down and then sideways into the bucket seat as the ship began a series of violent motions, tilting sharply, first one way and then the other.

“Emergency maneuvers,” grunted a low voice behind Merral but he was too deep into his seat to see who it was.

Without warning, a brutal rattling noise sounded underneath them. The ship wobbled briefly and, for a second, the lights dimmed. A new set of alarms sounded. With renewed force, the ship seemed to be thrown across the sky, until at one point Merral was on his side and all round him he could hear creaks and the sound of equipment sliding about in lockers. As the wild lurching motion continued, Merral twisted his head and caught a glimpse of Vero slumped in an adjacent seat, covered from head to toe in pale dust, a dirty hand over his mouth and a look of utter misery on his face.

Then it was over.

The ship stabilized, the sirens faded out, and the background creaks died away.

“I feel sick,” mumbled Vero.

“Not surprised! That was rough.” The cheerful voice came from behind Merral. “But can you hang on while I check out your friend? He looks bad.”

Whom is he referring to? Merral looked at his jacket where the crimson blood was now brown. The crew member, a stocky, bearded man with green eyes, took his wrist and applied a diagnostic unit to it.

“It’s not my blood,” Merral protested, as he felt the DU’s probe gently penetrate his skin. “Except for around my right ankle,” he added.

“Good. Good, you can talk, and better, it’s largely not yours. Otherwise I’d have to start putting some replacement in.” He glanced at the readout. “Your vital signs are good. But you’re dehydrated.”

A door slid open and a slender figure with short auburn hair in a night blue uniform slid in, one hand cupped around an earpiece.

“Welcome aboard the Nesta Lamaine,” Perena said in a quiet voice. “Oh, are you all right, Merral?”

“Well, Perena Lewitz!” Vero said, a smile cracking the dust on his face. “We are greatly obliged.”

“Perena! I should have guessed it was you,” Merral added. “And yes, I’m fine. I think.”

Perena glanced at the crewman. “Matthew, is he really all right?”

“Yes, Captain. Pretty much so. It’s largely surface blood. But he’s dehydrated.”

She smiled with frank relief. “Then I should have made you wash first. And do excuse me if I don’t even shake hands.” Then she frowned. “But then whose blood is it, if it isn’t yours?”

“Ah. I think—” Merral caught Vero’s gesture and fell silent.

“Perena,” Vero interjected, “we need to see your sister about that. I think she knows something. But it’s an odd story. And a worrying one.”

Perena wrinkled her nose. “You don’t look much better, Vero. Matthew,” she ordered, “get some water for these guys to drink and perhaps a damp cloth to wash with.” She looked at them again. “I guess a hot shower with disinfectant is what’s really needed.”

The crewman nodded assent and left the hold.

“Many thanks, Perena,” Merral gasped, realizing how glad he was to finally be off that besieged hill and in the ship. “That felt like an interesting bit of flying.”

“I agree,” Vero said, “even if, at the time, I may not have appreciated it. Where did you learn it?”

“It’s called the Yenerag Maneuver. It’s pretty specialized and normally envisaged as being for the evacuation of people from active volcanic sites—”

Perena raised a hand and seemed to listen to her earpiece. “Roger!” she snapped. “Continue on present course and speed, but watch those strain warnings. Maintain the self-sealant pressure.”

As she spoke, Matthew came in with water.

“Sorry, guys. It’s busy time here. Matthew, can you run up to the bridge as soon as you can? Amira may need help. I’ll be up in a moment.”

He gave Merral and Vero water and cloths and then left. As he did, Perena turned her cool slate blue eyes on them.

“Thank you for the appreciation. My computer is less amused and is telling me we have suffered major damage to the port lifting undersurface and minor to the starboard. From the nature of the damage and the speed of the impact, the computer has deduced that we were hit by multiple small meteoroids. It is clever enough to be puzzled as it realizes that we were flying in normal altitude near the ground and that meteoroids do not fall upward from a planetary surface. It is not clever enough to deduce the explanation. And, in truth, neither am I. It might be useful to know what hit us.”

Merral looked at her. “A beam weapon of some sort. High temperature, portable. Hot enough to melt rock.”

The eyes widened and she shook her head in incredulity. “Seriously? My ship really was fired on?”

“Yes. As we warned you.”

Her face acquired a look of astonishment mingled with unease. “And what does that mean?”

“Mean?” Vero shook his head. “I wish I knew. To start with, it means we need to have a meeting. You, us, and Anya. As soon as we land. Somewhere quiet.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Fine. The self-repair systems are in operation and we are heading at high subsonic speeds—which is as fast as I dare—to Isterrane. I can’t really spare you the time anyway now. In fact, I’d better get back to the bridge.”

Vero, rubbing dust off his face, spoke again. “What have you said to anybody so far?”

“Nothing much. I’ve been too busy. Wait. . . .” She raised a hand again, her absorbed face showing she was getting another message. “Okay, Amira, I’m coming up. We’ll get Matthew to check the R3 coolant levels manually. Initiate clearances for possible emergency glide landings at every strip between here and Isterrane.”

She looked back at Vero. “Well, I’ve said we’ve got you. I’ve been a bit busy to do anything else. I’m afraid your alert about non-Assembly forces is being treated as evidence of delirium. Like the Youraban shuttle pilot who—oh, a century ago—was adamant that he was being attacked by thirty kilometer-long space octopods.”

Vero nodded. “I remember that. May I suggest, Captain Lewitz, that you try to land as far out of sight as possible. Encourage the crew to keep silent. We don’t want a panic.”

“A panic?” Perena arched thin eyebrows. “No. I suppose you may have a point. I’ll call Anya and have her meet us.”

She turned to the door.

“Perena?” Merral asked. “Just one quick question. You said you would be two hours in arriving. You were a half an hour. I don’t understand.”

She reached for the guide rail and turned to him. “I didn’t think it was delirium. And the mention of ‘non-Assembly forces’ and ‘weapons’ alarmed me. So, at first I felt it best not to say when I would arrive, and then I thought harder and decided that it might be safer—and quite legitimate—to mislead.” She looked faintly amused. “I have, after all, played a lot of old-time chess.”

“So you lied?” Vero asked, raising a dusty eyebrow in alarm.

“Vero, please!” Perena winked at him. “If you remember my communication, I told you that the Standard Operating Procedure would take two hours. I ignored the SOP and just corkscrewed in. Not pleasant, I may say. And risky, and we probably lost a centimeter of ablatative material off all my underside plates. So, do thank my crew. At worst, I misled you and your . . . enemies.” She frowned at the last word.

Then a new message came on her earpiece and she winced. “And even then it was a near thing. But”—and she gave a heartfelt sigh—“by the King’s grace, we did it.”

An hour later, after a landing marked by a series of bounces and an odd slewing motion, they were on the ground at Isterrane.