Forsaken Skies (19 page)

The interceptor, on the other hand, started to turn. Brought its nose around to face him. He saw its weapon spikes start to glow.

Well. Finally something that made sense.

The ceremony went on for what felt like hours. Lanoe spent most of it picking at a dish of noodles and thin, gray vegetables that tasted like nothing at all. He didn't care much about the food. He was just glad that everyone seemed to be ignoring him. The locals were much more interested in talking to Maggs and Zhang.

The swindler was in his element. He grasped hands and smiled when appropriate, or turned his face grim and respectful when some religious nutcase whispered conspiracies at him over a glass of watery fruit juice. Maggs never seemed to get tired of the attention.

Just watching him go tired Lanoe out. So he turned to watch Zhang instead. She might not have Maggs's effortless grasp of social niceties, but she had always been better at this sort of thing than Lanoe was. She seemed to be following Maggs's lead, playing the slightly more sober counterpoint to his charismatic presence. Those few people who looked as if they'd seen through Maggs's manufactured cheer would turn to her looking for more serious answers, and she was always there, ready to provide.

He had no idea what to think about Zhang. He had a very hard time remembering it was even her. The new body she wore was not exactly difficult to look at, but it still made his head hurt. He remembered every inch of Zhang's old one, every scar, every freckle, every—

Better not to start thinking like that. The new Zhang was a fifteenth his age. If he started wondering what remained between them, it could get very weird, very fast.

He made a point of not watching her too closely. Of not thinking those thoughts. Anyway, it wasn't like there was a point to them. The last time he'd seen Zhang she'd been in a hospital bed, wired up to a dozen machines. She'd screamed at him to leave, to just leave her alone. And he had.

For seventeen years. Even for someone as old as Lanoe, that was a long time to let things fester.

Which just left him with Thom to watch. He'd worried that as soon as the kid was back in human society again he would start blabbing about what he'd done, about how he was responsible for his father's death. That wasn't going to help anybody.

But instead Thom just lingered in the back seats, far from anyone else. Looking glum and angry. Well, that was better than the alternative. Lanoe joined him as soon as he could—at least it was peaceful back there.

“Staying out of trouble?” he asked.

Thom gave him a look that was less angry than resigned. “I can't ever go back, can I? I'm going to spend the rest of my life here. On a planet with basically no atmosphere.”

Lanoe sat down next to him. “We'll figure something out,” he said.

Meaning yes. Thom was going to have to stay here—the last place the authorities would look for him. He would spend the rest of his life on Niraya.

But Lanoe knew that wasn't what the kid wanted to hear, just then.

Thom tilted his head back to look up at the painted triangular panels of the dome. “Okay. I mean, I know you know best. I'll do what you say. So give me my orders.”

“Huh?”

Thom looked at him and his face was set in an expression of grim intent. “If I want a life, any kind of life, I need to do what you say. I understand that. So just tell me what to do.”

“I already did. Keep your head down. Don't talk to anyone.”

“Maybe I can help out, here,” Thom said. “Help…you know. Defend this planet, I guess. I mean, I can do something.”

“I'm not sure what,” Lanoe said. Thom didn't exactly have a lot of useful skills. He'd spent most of his youth learning how to fly yachts and which set of clothes were appropriate for which sort of party. “But okay. That's a good attitude.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Thom said. With just a little sarcasm.

“We'll find you something to do. Maybe you can be our goodwill ambassador.”

Lanoe knew he deserved the nasty look that earned him.

“It's a serious job,” Lanoe told him. “You see how few people there are here? You know why that is?”

Thom shook his head.

“It took me a while to find out. The elder and her church, whatever, back when the lander attacked, gathered up the most important people on this planet—the head of Centrocor's mining operations, the leaders of the other churches like those guys in the big hats. They briefed them on what was happening, that the planet was being invaded. Then they all agreed not to tell anybody else.”

“What?”

Lanoe nodded. “The people in this room are the only people on Niraya who know they're being attacked. The vast majority of the population has no idea. Does that sit well with you?” Lanoe didn't wait for an answer. “I don't like it at all.”

“So you want me to…what? Tell the rest of them?” Thom asked, looking terrified.

Lanoe shrugged. “No. Not yet, anyway. For now—we play it their way. It's their planet, right? They get to decide, I guess.”

“But the people—they have rights,” Thom insisted.

Lanoe shrugged. “I'm no politician. Nor an ethicist. Not my job. For now, just get to know the people here. Get them on our side. This planet was settled by people who wanted to get away from things like the polys and the Navy. They're not going to be thrilled we're here, even if they need us. Maybe having a civilian to represent us is a good idea.”

“You want me to be a politician for you,” Thom said.

Lanoe considered that. Well, if Thom got to know Niraya better, maybe it would go easier for him, since he would probably never leave it. Maybe he'd even get to like the place. “I guess so.”

“Okay. How do I do that?”

Lanoe had to admit to himself he hadn't the faintest idea. “We'll figure that out as we go along. For now, if you really want something to do, head back to the spaceport,” Lanoe said. “Help out Ehta, if you can.”

Thom just nodded.

Lanoe would have said more but just then Elder McRae gave him a little wave. Time to talk about important things. “We'll keep you busy,” he said.

Thom just nodded, his eyes on the floor.

The elder had gathered the other pilots. Maggs was still making apologies and shaking hands as the elder led them out of the dome and up three stories to her office. There was no elevator, of course. The three Navy officers were out of breath before they'd climbed a single flight of stairs, but the elder looked fresh and ready to talk when they arrived.

Graceful, thin columns rose to a vaulted ceiling in her office. A central area floored with perfectly fitted flagstones led to four arched alcoves, one of which was used for the door that opened onto the stairs. Of the other three, one had a broad window with a view of the crater and the town and one was stuffed full of bookshelves containing actual bound paper books—which would have been surprising except they looked so appropriate in this place. The last alcove contained a narrow camp bed made up with crisp white sheets. Evidently she slept here as well, at least part of the time.

The central space contained a desk with a display top and a couple of straight-backed wooden chairs. No art, no carpeting, nothing to distract or divert. It felt chilly, even though Lanoe's suit automatically compensated for the local air temperature.

The girl, Roan, came in behind them with a pot of hot water and some cups, in case anyone wanted tea. No one did. Roan set the pot down and went over to the bookshelves, then produced a brush and started dusting the old volumes.

At the desk the elder summoned a virtual keyboard to bring up the latest imagery from the space telescope.

“Not much change,” Lanoe said, nodding at the display. “They've advanced their fighter screen some more. Well, now that they know we're here, they would, wouldn't they?”

He glanced up at the elder as he said it, but she didn't react.

“Two weeks before that big ship arrives,” Lanoe said, pointing at the largest blob, the one they thought had to be a carrier. “We're going to have our work cut out for us. We'll need to run constant patrols to deal with their fighter screen. Meanwhile there'll be plenty of work to do on the ground. We'll need intelligence—imaging from the space telescope we've got, and Valk will put down a microdrone network, but we need more than that. We also need to get a supply train going—fuel dumps and ammo caches, repair facilities, food and consumables for five pilots. Zhang, you can handle the logistics, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said, a little too perkily. “Anything you need.”

“Maggs, you've already proven you're our best civilian liaison. We need every engineer on this planet working for us.”

The elder inhaled sharply. “I'm sorry, why is that?”

Lanoe stared at her. “There are five of us. There are hundreds of ships in this fleet. We need every bit of help we can get. I can put your people to work building static defenses—orbital guns, specifically—but there'll be lots of things we need built. Ground stations and more telescopes. We definitely need to improve your communications grid.”

“I don't know,” the elder said. She shook her head. “That sounds like it will cost a lot of money. We don't have any. Also, we'll have to work with the miners to organize such things, and relations between the Retreat and Centrocor have never been cordial. What you're asking—”

“You want your people happy, or alive?” Lanoe asked.

To the elder's credit, she didn't snarl or flinch or anything. She just stood there looking placid.

“I asked you a question,” Lanoe said.

If the room had felt psychologically chilly before, suddenly they were all at risk of emotional frostbite.

“I didn't feel it required an answer,” the elder replied.

Lanoe grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands. “Am I the only one here who understands how serious this is?”

“No,” Roan said, stepping forward. “You don't get to say that. This is our planet, not yours. You can't possibly understand—”

“Roan,” the elder said. There was steel in her voice.

The girl bowed her head and stepped back.

“You'll have the help you ask for,” the elder said. “It will, however, take a little time to organize our efforts. Civilian efforts.”

Lanoe nodded, his fingers beating on the desk like a drum. “Time,” he said. “Lady, you don't
have
any.”

His cryptab throbbed against his chest. He had a new message. He started to swipe it away angrily, then noticed it was from Zhang.

COMMS FAILURE IN REAR RECTENNA
.

Lanoe seethed but he understood what she meant. The two of them had set up a code, back when they were commander and second in command. The message she'd sent, properly decrypted, meant
you're talking out of your ass
.

He looked over at her and saw her nod at the door. “Excuse me,” he told the elder. “I need to confer with my second in command.”

The elder didn't seem too put out.

Out in the hallway Zhang waited for him. “Don't even start,” he told her.

She ignored his orders. “What's wrong with you? Why are you treating her like that? Just because she's about as emotive as a brick wall doesn't mean you can vent your frustrations on her.”

He glared for a while. He rubbed at his scalp.

“Civilians,” he said.

She nodded, as if she understood.

“That bunch who came to meet us—making demands, like we weren't here to save their stupid asses. And then she starts talking about time. You know how well I do with public relations.”

“Lanoe,” she said, very calmly, “I'm going to remind you of something now. It was your idea to come out here and help these people. Yours. You want to tell me why you wanted to do that, when you clearly don't even like them?”

He bit off what he wanted to say to that.

“Fine, don't tell me,” she said. “But look. You have
some
reason to want to help them. It seems counterproductive to me to tear their heads off, now.”

Damn it.

Hellfire.

She was right, of course.

Good old Zhang. Always watching out for him. The new body hadn't changed her that much, apparently.

“Okay,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You and I are going to have to have a long talk at some point,” he said, the same way he might tell his squad they were about to be inspected by a visiting admiral. An unpleasant chore nobody looked forward to.

It made her beam at him. Like that was all she ever wanted from him.

Seventeen years he'd stayed away, not even sending her a get-well message when she was stuck in the hospital. Now she was acting like no time had passed at all.

He didn't get it.

“Let's go back inside. Maybe apologize, or something,” she told him.

“Ha.” He started to say more but then his cryptab throbbed again. Another message. “I've got something coming in from Valk,” he told her.