34

Vero drove Merral to Corradon’s residence, an unremarkable single-story building at the edge of the lake that lay at the heart of Isterrane. As they walked through the garden toward the house, a man standing by the door came over as if to ask a question. Seeing Vero, he nodded respectfully and stepped back. “Who was that?” Merral whispered as Vero knocked on the door.

“A guard. One of Clemant’s ideas. Justified, I suppose.”

The representative, dressed casually in an open-necked shirt, answered the door himself. The sounds of family chatter and music drifted past him. “Welcome both,” he said, looking unsurprised at their arrival. “Do come in.”

Merral was briefly introduced to those members of Corradon’s family who were present: his wife, Victoria; one of their three sons; a daughter-in-law; and two grandchildren. They were curiously formal introductions, and any anticipation Merral had had that here, at his home, he might meet a private Anwar Corradon evaporated. Merral had a brief conversation with Victoria, a graceful lady with short white hair, who made some warm comments about Ynysmant, recalling a happy visit there some years earlier. But as she spoke, Merral noticed that her eyes were constantly glancing toward her husband as if she had some deep worry for him.

Within a few minutes, Merral was shown to the representative’s study. It was full of books of poetry and theology, family images, and statues, with one wall being devoted to a large map of Menaya, drawn and painted by hand with exquisite engraved scenes scattered across it. Beyond it was another glass door that led to a small conservatory full of plants.

“So, my dear Forester?” the representative said as he sat down behind his desk, his eyes staring at Merral with undisguised anticipation.

“Sir,” Merral said, and he found himself swallowing hard, “I am now, very reluctantly, ready to lead the FDU contact party.”

Corradon closed his eyes for a moment before looking at Merral. “Thank you. It is about the best news I have heard today. Daily, things get worse. Since I saw you, Lucian and I had a private visit from a senior member of the Farholme Congregations Committee; they are noticing it now. Other events have been reported. There are three focal points: Ynysmant, Larrenport, and Ilakuma.”

“Ilakuma? In the Anuzabar Chain? It’s at least five thousand kilometers away. Are they sure?”

“It seems the same sort of thing,” said Corradon. “A lot of bitterness, but here it’s centering on property disputes. They are talking about . . .” He paused. “What was the word? I had to look it up to be sure what they meant. . . . Yes, lawyers.”

“Lawyers?”

“Anyway,” Corradon continued with a shrug, “it’s getting messy. They blame the Gate going and I wasn’t going to argue otherwise.”

“I’m not surprised, sir.”

Corradon opened a drawer, pulled out an envelope, and handed it over.

“On the assumption that you would take on the task, I had a formal letter of commissioning drafted for you. Lucian is, as ever, anxious that we do things right.”

The envelope was marked “Confidential” and bore the seal of the Council of Representatives. Inside there were three sheets of paper. Merral took the top sheet and, aware that his hand was shaking slightly, began to read it.

Forester Merral Stefan D’Avanos is hereby authorized to take charge of the Farholme Defense Unit as of the above date until such time as he is relieved of his office. He is to take the rank of captain and, under God, is to be answerable only to the Council of Farholme Representatives. His general duties are to carry out, to the best of his ability, the task of countering the intruders. His specific and immediate duties are detailed on the separate sheet. Captain D’Avanos is authorized to use such Farholme facilities and resources as may be required.

At the bottom was a signature and beneath it, Anwar Corradon, Representative for northeastern Menaya; Chair, Council of Farholme Representatives A.D. 13852.

Merral flicked to the next sheet, which was headed by “Confrontation Plans: Top Secret.” Underneath were four short, numbered paragraphs:

1. A body of approximately one hundred and forty soldiers is to be assembled by Sentinel Enand. These are to be divided into four units as follows: a) One six-man squad to accompany the two-person diplomatic team. b) Two thirty-man teams for the possible assault. c) The remaining personnel to be kept in reserve on the Emilia Kay. Each unit is to be under a lieutenant and a sergeant.

2. The diplomatic party will be unarmed and will advance openly without show of force. If, in your judgment, their approaches are rejected by the intruders, you are authorized to attack with all possible speed.

3. If such an attack becomes necessary, your goal—to be achieved at all costs—is to disable the ship. If at all possible, the ship is to be taken intact by the FDU.

4. In the event an attack is undertaken, all reasonable opportunity for the surrender of the intruder forces is to be given. Should there be a failure to surrender, then you are authorized to use whatever force is necessary to ensure the completion of the mission.

At the bottom was Corradon’s signature.

The third sheet was simply an acknowledgement form stating I have read the above two sheets and agree to them.

Merral paused. “Sir, what’s a lieutenant and a sergeant?”

A sad smile crossed Corradon’s face. “They are, I’m told, military ranks. The ever-knowledgeable Sentinel Enand will explain.”

“I have no doubt.”

Merral stared at the paper, struggled with a sea of emotions, took the pen off the desk, and with a silent prayer for help, signed his name.

Corradon took the sheet from him. “I’m sorry. I truly am. You and I are in the same unhappy position of having been given a task that neither of us wants.” He rubbed his face before staring at Merral. “A task without precedent, a task that may not even be achievable. To lead a world without a Gate . . .” He stared darkly into the distance. “To lead a world without a Gate that is being infiltrated by evil?”

Merral felt that he had never heard such gloom in the representative’s voice.

Corradon put his elbows on the desk, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward so his chin rested on his fingers. It was, Merral thought (and immediately felt ashamed for thinking it), a terribly statuesque pose that made him look rather noble. Yet there was something brooding about the way Corradon appeared that reminded Merral of some troubled king or president from before the Intervention, faced with leading his people through a time of strife or disaster. And then Merral realized such a parallel was all too apt.

“I know you are busy,” Corradon said in a quiet voice, “but come through to the conservatory. There are things that need to be said and here is perhaps rather formal. But can I get you a drink?”

“A fruit juice, sir, please.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Go through.”

The conservatory was full of anemones of many colors, most with their petals closed for the night. Merral was looking around, trying to identify the species when Corradon returned with two glasses of juice.

“Shall we?” he said, pointing to a pair of chairs in a corner.

“A fine collection of plants, sir,” Merral said as he sat down and took the juice from the tray.

“Thank you. I have concentrated on the anemones of Menaya.” Suddenly the representative’s tone of voice changed, and Merral was all too aware of tiredness and strain in it. “But, Merral, let’s drop the formality. Here, at least, please call me Anwar.”

Merral was surprised to see that any trace of confidence had left the representative’s face. The man who sat in front of him now seemed older and troubled.

“As you wish, Anwar,” Merral said, feeling both sympathy and alarm.

His host sipped his drink and frowned. “Merral,” Anwar said slowly, “I want to explain something. So you understand. Now that you have agreed to help, I can tell you.”

He hesitated. “The post of representative—and even more so, that of chairman of the Farholme representatives—is not just functional, it is also public. Indeed, it is perhaps primarily a public role. You know: the opening of schools, the visits to processing plants, the endless speeches and dinners; that sort of thing.” Corradon gave a pained smile and stared into the darkness of one corner of the conservatory. “It is harmless enough. A sort of perpetual theatrical performance. You understand?”

“Yes. But I had never thought of it that way.”

“No, why should you? But since the loss of the Gate, my role has changed. People now look to me for help, for guidance, for encouragement. I sense them hanging on my every word. They are hungry for me to reassure them that it’s all going to be all right. It is almost idolatrous. But do you see the problem?”

“I’m not sure I do, sir—Anwar, I mean—you’d better spell it out.”

“It quite simple. I can’t show any doubt or concern. I have to deliver what they want.”

“I see.”

“And increasingly, Merral, I find that my private views are so much at variance with what I have to say in public that I feel a fraud.” His face seemed to sag, and Merral felt the blue eyes were close to tears. “I think we are in trouble. I’m worried. But I can’t say it. I have to pretend.”

“Ah,” Merral said, reeling at the situation that the representative had exposed. “I see. I’m sorry; I hadn’t realized.”

“You weren’t meant to. That’s the problem. I’m caught every way; I can’t even resign. That would be bad for morale. At times, I feel I am putting on an act. As if I am a circus clown, with a fixed smile.”

“That must be hard.”

“It is.” Corradon shook his head bitterly.

“Who else knows?”

“Victoria, of course. And Lucian. He misses very little. He is concerned about it. He wonders how long I can keep up the act. That’s another reason why he backs you. I—we—need you. And we need a victory. Of some sort. But he has been very helpful.”

Merral sipped his juice, aware that the burden on him had just been increased. “I understand. I will do what I can.”

The gaunt face that stared at him seemed to brighten slightly as if some burden had been lifted. “Thanks,” Corradon said with a long, weary sigh. “Anyway, I just thought you ought to know. I’m the wrong man for this job.”

“I think there’re at least two of us in that position,” Merral told him. “But thank you for your honesty. I will pray for you.”

As Merral watched, he felt that somehow Corradon’s face regained something of the smooth assurance that it had had before. He has put back on the public mask, Merral thought, and the idea appalled him.

“Thank you,” Corradon said and sipped his drink. “Incidentally, Merral, it has been agreed that, despite the rush, we and you would all take tomorrow off and keep the Lord’s Day.”

“Seems sensible.”

“Well, we thought not to do so would be a lack of faith. And besides, it would be rather noticeable.” The representative shrugged and took another sip. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. You’ll have a lot to do before you go south.”

“South?”

There was a pause. “Ah, hasn’t he told you? The ever-inventive Sentinel Enand? Well, he will.” Corradon rose. “And we’d better not keep him. But let me show you out. I may try and see you before you go, but Vero is anxious that I keep up a normal schedule. Not to alert anyone who is watching.”

He ushered Merral to the conservatory door. “Thank you again for listening.”

“It’s a privilege. I’ll keep it confidential. But I have a question. You see, Brenito told me—it was almost the last thing he said to me—that we must all play our parts.”

“True.”

“And surely to play a part, we have—at least sometimes—to act?”

There was a thin, tired smile. “Ah, how interesting. Yes, I think you are right. We may not like the parts that the Most High has written for us. And sometimes we may not even feel that we can do them. But we must do what we can.”

He patted Merral on the back. “Thanks. But do me a favor, Captain? If it comes to a fight, seize the ship! Please?”

As Vero drove him to Narreza Tower, Merral mentioned nothing of his conversation in the conservatory to Vero. But he did mention other things.

“And on Ilakuma,” Merral said, “there are disputes; they are talking about lawyers.”

“Lawyers!” The vehicle swerved and a red light flashed as the auto-steer circuitry took over and directed it away from the curb. “The people of Ilakuma want lawyers?”

“That’s what he said.”

“We are in big trouble.” Vero shook his head. “Bigger than I thought.”

“And he also talked about us going south. Where and why?”

Vero suddenly looked rather sheepish, “I meant to tell you. Do you know Tanaris Island?”

“Tanaris? In the Henelen Chain. A bit lonely, isn’t it? Five or six hundred kilometers southeast of Larrenport. There have been various plans for forestry work there, but they never got very far. Why do you mention it?”

“Because Tanaris is our forward base. Zak and many of the men are already there, building a camp, beginning to practice. The rest will be there soon. The day after tomorrow—all being well—you and I will take the Emilia Kay to Tanaris.”

“But why there?”

“Because the men need to practice and Isterrane is just too public. People will see and maybe talk. If they do that over diary links then the intruders may know. Besides, there are always ships landing, and they get in the way. So Tanaris has become the assembly point; it’s uninhabited, isolated, and has a good landing strip.”

“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.”

“Perhaps . . .”

“No, definitely. Now let’s get to work.”

The next day Merral rose early. Normally on a Lord’s Day he would have lain in bed until later. Now, though, he felt that he had no mandate for any such luxury. Instead, he spent time praying and reading his Bible.

Then he sat on the bed and called Isabella on his diary. She seemed to stare at him for a few moments before answering. Slowly and painfully, Merral made an apology for what had happened when they last met. Isabella seemed only reluctantly to accept his apologies. “The trouble is,” she said rather sourly, “you’re never around for long enough to talk to properly. And when are you back next?”

“I really can’t say, Isabella, I’m afraid, but that is the way it is. I may be out of touch for a few days.”

“There we are again,” came the sharp response, accompanied by an exasperated shake of her head. “As I said, you’re never around. Look, I have to go. Good-bye.”

Then, before he could say anything more, the screen went blank. He stared at it for a moment or two, then, in exasperation, slammed his fist onto the bed.