The Shadow and Night (52 page)

Then he switched off.

“Sorry, Merral.” Vero's tone was flustered and apologetic. “I mean . . . well . . . I wouldn't ordinarily intrude, but I thought you were just going to leave a message. I was worried you might give too much away.”

“No, my apologies,” Merral sighed. “Of all the times! She was still awake. I only told her I was going to be traveling for a bit.”

“Did you mention how long?” There was alarm in Vero's voice.

“I suppose that I implied a couple of days. They could hardly . . . could they?”

“Oh, they could. You can get anywhere in Farholme in less than that. And why from here, Isterrane Strip, an hour before the Gate shuttle goes? If they were listening . . .”

“Sorry,” Merral sighed. “I'm tired, Vero. I hope that wasn't too much.”

“Well, maybe there's nothing they can do. We may have damaged them badly. Let us hope so.”

Merral slid his diary back on his belt and sat down on the seat.

“How are you feeling?” Vero asked.

“The ankle aches but it's okay. I'm just tired. And numbed, I guess. The idea that next time I sit out under stars they will be those of Ancient Earth. It's all too much.”

“I know. You'll find it a shock. But I think you will manage it better than me.”

Then they fell into a long silence. Merral found that his mind was still racing. For some time, he sat there watching the activity around the shuttle as hatches were closed and the control surfaces on the flaring wings and twin tail were flexed. As Merral stared at it, the thought struck him that he now knew that this was not the only type of vessel to have transited Farholme's atmosphere over the last months.

New questions flooded his mind. What did this other ship look like? Did it have the same age-old lines as this? Was there just one? Did it, too, refuel in space from cometary ice, or did it have some novel energy to fuel its awesome speeds? If so, then why had it come in so fast, when it might have done so in near silence? As he stared at the vast white vessel, he was suddenly struck by the notion that the biggest issue centered on the fact that, whatever adorned the sides of its hull, it was not the emblem of the Lamb and the Stars.

He decided that he had thought long enough about the intruders and tried instead to comfort his mind with thoughts of Ancient Earth. He pictured its clouded pearl blue surface, its history, its knowledge, and its peace. He imagined the Council of Stewards: wise, concerned, and helpful. He allowed himself to picture the inevitable and solemn commissioning of the Defense Force and their proceeding at maximum speed to Farholme to render assistance.

Then realism took over, and he decided that his time would be more sensibly spent in prayer. He committed himself, his journey, and those he would leave behind into the hands of the almighty Father.

A few minutes later Perena and Anya came back. After sharing out the packages between them, they walked into the Embarkation Terminal. Merral found that there were fewer families waiting to see loved ones off than he had expected. But then, most farewells would have been said earlier in homes or at formal or informal parties.
How strange to have missed all that.

Through the high windows, Merral could see what he assumed were the final checks being completed on the shuttle. Through its small round windows, they could see passengers taking their places silhouetted against the cabin lights. Merral noticed the name
Shih Li-Chen
inscribed beneath the cockpit in Communal and what he took to be the Old Mandarin script. Shih Li-Chen, he recollected: poet, church leader, and—unsurprisingly for early twenty-first-century China—martyr.

Perena, standing next to Vero, gestured at the ship. “Normally, I would have shown you around and introduced you to the crew.”

“Next time, Perena,” Vero replied. “For now, the fewer who know who we are, the better.”

Perena turned to Anya, who had been standing quietly by, staring out of the window, her usual ebullience apparently subdued by the impact of the night's news.

“Sister, you want to say good-bye before I see these guys into their seats?”

Anya smiled at Vero and Merral. “Safe traveling, guys. I really wish I was going for the ride.”

“Personally,” Vero muttered in an aside, “I wish I could miss out on the ride.”

“It's a pity we can't all go,” Merral said.

Anya wrinkled her nose. “Your plants will wait, Tree Man, but my animals won't. But I'll pray that you get some good counsel on Ancient Earth, and I look forward to seeing you come back with the Defense Force. Both of you.”

Then Anya hugged them both in turn, and Merral fancied that her hold on him was longer and firmer than he might have expected. And was it too, he wondered briefly, more appreciated by him than it should have been? Merral was aware that, behind all the awesome news they had to take with them, there lay other personal issues that had to be resolved. His thoughts were interrupted by Perena gesturing them toward a service tunnel.

Carrying their baggage, Merral and Vero followed her along the tunnel. An approaching luggage hexapod moved to one side as they approached it, raising a forelimb in a mechanical gesture of acknowledgement. They passed it and walked through a complex hatch system that led to the rear crew compartment of the shuttle. The compartment was compact, low-roofed, and rather basic, and Merral felt that, with the six or more people in uniform in it busily packing equipment, it seemed almost cramped.

Perena smiled at someone by the door who Merral took to be a steward. “The two seats for Sabourin and Diekens, please,” she said, while Merral looked around, taking in the soft cream and yellow seating, the small portholes, and the neatly labeled hatches, ducts, and containers extending around and along the curved walls and between the seats. It occurred to Merral that if he had taken after his father and had had a greater affection for mechanical means of transport, he would have known far more about the shuttle and had some idea of the function that everything served.

The steward checked a listing and pointed to a pair of couches in a corner by the rear wall. Perena came over with them.

“I must go,” she said, almost under her breath, “but my prayers go with you.”

She hugged Merral and turned to Vero.

Suddenly, Perena's reserved and cool expression slipped, and Merral caught an emotion of fear and strain on her face that he had never seen.

“Vero,” she whispered as she clutched him tightly, and Merral could only just make out her words. “We need help.”

“I think help will be here soon,” Vero replied in a near whisper.

“Please,” she begged, her subdued voice suddenly thickened in urgency. “I can feel it. It's a spiritual concern. I feel—somehow—that there is something hateful here. Make sure help arrives.”

Then she released Vero and her face seemed to regain a look of calm nonchalance. A crewman settled down into an adjacent couch and a female voice warbled from a loudspeaker somewhere. “Captain here. Five minutes before takeoff is initiated. All ground crew, please leave now.”

“Vanessa Lebotin,” Perena said, apparently forcing her mouth into a smile. “She nearly beat me at old-time chess only the other month.”

“Perena,” Vero said softly, “I note your concern. I agree. I will do all I can. See you soon.”

Perena closed her eyes briefly, nodded, and then suddenly—as if to avoid revealing any emotion—turned, wove her way through the other dark-blue-uniformed personnel, and left by the hatchway.

Vero looked at Merral and sighed. Then he sat down and began to adjust his couch and, amid the sound of hatch doors closing and pumps whirring, Merral followed suit.

As Merral lay there, he decided that he should have said farewell to his family better.
My father, with that love for transport machinery that I do not share, would doubtless have endlessly briefed me about the types of shuttles and their engines and what to look out for. My mother would have worried and flustered and forced me to take spare clothes. Instead, here I am, knowing almost nothing about where I am going and what I am doing when I get there.

He turned to Vero who was reading the instructions on a small packet marked “For Travel Nausea. Adult Strength.”

“A stupid question, Vero. Where exactly on Ancient Earth are we going?”

“Incidentally, when we get there you just call it Earth. It's not pride; it's just that there isn't any chance of confusion. Anyway, where we land depends on which of the five Terran Gates we come out of. That depends on getting the best connection, just as in Cross the Assembly. From what Perena said, Beijing III is the most probable. If so, we take the long-haul passenger flier to Jerusalem. It is late spring there, too, so the weather should be fine.” He paused and gave a little dry laugh. “Just as well; I've left that coat behind. Do you remember it?”

At the memory of Vero's ridiculous coat and their first meeting, Merral felt an amusement stained only by a fierce longing to be back in his own bed in his own house.

Then the takeoff launch instructions began. There was the hymn of the Assembly and the appeal to the Lord of the heavens for mercy and protection. After taxiing to the longest runway, there were the final commands, the rising vibrating roar of the engines just behind his head, the brief race down the runway, and the little skyward bound. Amid a rumbling vibration the ship flew upward and southward. Within minutes, though, they were in level flight, and with Merral watching their journey on the wallscreen, they crossed Hassanet's Sea at ten kilometers altitude.

Just as Merral felt himself sliding into a doze, Vero nudged him. “Hold on. We are over the equator now. Serious acceleration is about to begin any minute now.”

The ship swung round to face eastward and tilted upward, with his seat rotating under him in response. Seconds later, there was a double warble from the speakers and a booming roar engulfed the cabin, making the storage cabinets rattle and the roof fixtures sway. Merral, forced down into his couch under the acceleration, closed his eyes and tried to think of something more pleasant.

Within a dozen minutes, the force and the vibration had waned, and out of the window, Merral was able to see sunlight glinting on the wingtips.

Dawn in space.
It gave him an odd feeling.

He watched as Vero slowly took hold of his sleeve, lifted it, and let it drop.

But it didn't drop. It floated there, devoid of weight.

Extraordinary. Zero g.

And he fell asleep.

When Merral woke up later, it took him a long time to come to terms with where he was. Only when he stared out of the porthole to see the blackness of space and the sharp pinpricks of stars and felt his limbs float up against the restraining straps was he sure that it really was not just a dream. For a moment, he thought they had stopped because of the silence; then he heard the distant hum of the engine pumps.

Aware of a full bladder, he unstrapped himself and, mindful of the fact the only experience he had of zero g was ten minutes in a traveling simulator as a student, made his way carefully to the lavatory cubicles. Then, grateful for the fact that, despite the costs of the technology, created gravity existed in shuttle washrooms, he drifted back over to the window. Everybody else in the compartment seemed to be busy, either working on their couches or, like Vero, asleep.
At least,
Merral reflected,
traveling among people who do this on a weekly basis, I don't have to queue to look out of the window.

As he stared through the gold-tinted glass, at first all he could see was the stars, perfect and clear against the flawless blackness.
The night sky,
he told himself, before remembering that this was the permanent reality of space. By tilting his head he could just make out the blue and brown curve of Farholme below, its edges blurred by the atmosphere.

A few minutes later the starscape rotated slowly, and Merral reached out for the wall for some sort of stability. Now, hanging above the eternal black backdrop, the sprawling silver tubes, spheres, and cylinders of the Gate Station came into view. Merral stared at it, blinking at the brilliant glitter of the silver foil-coated block of captured comet at the edge of the fuel processing section and tentatively identifying the central station complex. There, protruding delicately from the middle of the cylinders, like a mast on a homemade raft, was the matte, titanium gray, stub-ended long column of the inter-system liner. With its hexagonal cross-section, Merral realized that it looked like an enormous pencil.