A Night Without Stars (16 page)

“Ry, we're not getting any reports of anything near you from SVO.”

“Roger that; it's immune to radar.” Ry pushed himself back to the port.
Far away and big, or close and small?
He brought the camera back up and took more shots. The rangefinder wasn't helping. He pulled the sextant out of its recess and lined up the crosshairs, read the figures. Checked the guidance computator display.

“Can you describe it?” Anala asked. “Is it a Faller egg?”

“Negative. It's a solid material that's reflecting sunlight. I'm assuming that means it's relatively small and close by. If it was big, the SVO observatories would spot it. Giu, they can see a Faller egg, and they're dark.”

“Is it accelerating?”

“Taking a reading now.” He lined up the sextant crosshairs again and read the figures, compared them with the glowing numbers of the guidance computator. “I think it might be. A very small acceleration. This is right on the error margin.” Even with his eyes, he couldn't see any kind of exhaust plume.
Trees don't have rocket exhausts.

“Roger. We'll ask SVO to attempt visual observation of the anomaly.”

“Thank you, flight com.” Another sextant reading, and the figures were slightly different again.
It is under power. Which means something is controlling it.

He took a deep breath, considering his options if it moved closer.
What if it attacks me?
Now that he had fired the nuclear missile, Liberty boasted a single pistol, and that was in the emergency landing survival pack. His gaze darted to the base of the console where it was stowed, and he grunted in exasperation at how desperate that was. A Liberty spacecraft was expendable, he'd always known that; he just hadn't faced up to that situation ever becoming real.

He stayed by the viewport, determined not to let the enigmatic glint of light out of his sight. It was drifting slowly toward the base of the port. Ry checked it through the sextant again. Difficult now; it was definitely dimmer.

“Ry, the Prerov Observatory has visual acquisition of the Liberty,” Anala said. “They're using their main telescope.”

Ry knew from her tone it wasn't good news. “Glad to hear that, flight com.”

“They report empty skies. There are no Faller eggs around you.”

“It is not a Faller egg,” he said firmly. “It is a vehicle, under acceleration.”

“Stand by, Liberty two-six-seven-three.”

He knew what that meant. Flight control had become worried he was cracking up. Medical “incidents” were another rumor spoken about in hushed tones around the astronaut quarters; the unique stress of spaceflight with its cabin claustrophobia and simultaneous exposure to the infinite nothing of intergalactic space. It didn't happen often, but even the best pilots had been known to get
quirky
out here, all alone.

“Ry, engineering believes the object you're seeing may be a part of your third stage,” Anala was saying. “Possibly a section of the interstage fairing. That would account for the similar orbit.”

“Roger that, flight com. Could be.” He almost laughed with contempt at the amount of crud they were expecting him to swallow. After separation, the third stage would carry on along a similar elliptical orbit, true. But the third stage automatically vented the gas left in all its tanks, to avoid any later rupture producing a fragment cascade that might endanger a Liberty mission, and that venting alone would diverge from their orbital tracks. His continuing correction burns would add further distance and velocity difference. It would be impossible for any part of the third stage to run parallel with his own course by this time in the mission.

Ry grimaced and turned his attention back outside. The alien was still there, but very faint. “Flight com, the intruder is definitely darker now. Liberty is moving away from it.” He swung the sextant around, centered the crosshairs, and took another reading. It turned out to be the last. Less than a minute later, the speck had vanished.

Routine and training reclaimed him for the rest of the flight.

There was the seventeen-second mid-course correction burn. He needed to eat. He needed to sleep; flight com said the doctors were insisting on that.

For fifteen uneventful hours the Liberty spaceship glided along its elliptical orbit, back down toward perigee, 215 kilometers above Bienvenido.

After he woke from a troubled three-hour doze, Ry started working through the atmosphere reentry checklist. Now that he was approaching the planet, SVO's radars were tracking him with greater precision. It was a critical time. The command module had to hit the ionosphere at the perfect angle. Too steep and it would burn up, too shallow and it would skip across the tenuous gas and pick up an unstoppable tumble.

Ry laboriously entered new data into the guidance computator. Everything checked out for his final course-correction burn. It lasted nine seconds, and flight com confirmed its accuracy.

“We need to start the checklist for command module separation,” Anala said.

Ry was staring out the viewport, half expecting to see the alien ship out there, a black splinter silhouetted by Bienvenido's glaring blue-and-white panorama. “Roger that, flight com. I'm opening the manual now.”

He had to switch the command module power over to its own internal batteries. They could keep the spacecraft's instruments and life support running for ninety minutes. Ry was back in the pressure suit for the descent.

The command module separated from the service module while the Liberty was three hundred kilometers above Nilsson Sound. Seven minutes later, Ry experienced the first effects of gravity reclaiming the spaceship when crumbs and scraps of food packets, a lost pen, all drifted gently down out of the air to settle on the rear bulkhead around him. Static built up in his headphones.

“See you on the other side of the sky,” Anala said encouragingly just before contact was lost.

Gravity was increasing now. The sky outside the ports began to glow a faint orange, swiftly rising to a brighter cherry red. Then the sound started—a low moan building fast to a full hurricane roar. Ry could see solar-bright streamers flaring for kilometers along the plummeting command module's wake, clogging the air with the dazzling embers burning off its blunt heat shield base. Inside a minute, gravity reached one gee, then continued to climb. The whole command module started shaking, far worse than it had during launch. In front of him, the console was a blue-gray blur as he fought to inhale, gulping down air in short frantic bursts. After forty hours in free fall, the six-gee force that reentry exerted on his body was excruciating.

Finally the deceleration force began to ease off, and the brilliance of the tormented air died away. Blue sky was visible above as the command module sank through the lower atmosphere at terminal velocity. There was a terrific bang, and a yellow flash streaked across the port.

“Drogue chute deployed,” Ry managed to croak, not even knowing if he had regained radio communication.

Another giant impulse crushed him painfully down into the acceleration couch. He saw the three bright-orange main chutes opening across the sky, clumped together like a bunch of flowers.

“Welcome home, Liberty two-six-seven-three,” Anala said solemnly. “Recovery fleet reports they have a visual on your chutes.”

Ry scanned the console. His altitude was five hundred meters. Gravity was back to normal. He braced himself as the altimeter wound down to zero. The command module thudded down into the water—which, after the trauma of reentry, seemed quite mild. Spray sloshed over the viewports, and the flotation ring inflated out from the top of the command module. He began to bob about in the ocean swell. In his earphones, he could hear the flight control staff cheering.

“Great Giu,” he groaned, and started to laugh. “I made it. I actually crudding made it!”

The small, well-equipped clinic was on the second floor of the Opole PSR office. As well as the five treatment bays, it had a bathroom with a shower. Chaing stood under the thick stream of hot water for a long time, despite the acute pain from his damaged wrist, washing the carnage off his skin. Soap took care of the physical contamination. As for the mental pollution—well, that was a whole different thing.

The trauma of losing Lurvri, the butchery, those were events he could come to terms with eventually. That was an honorable part of the fight against the Fallers. But the Warrior Angel…

I am completely compromised. Everything she told me, my heritage, it leaves me exposed. She did that deliberately.

The nurse bandaged his discolored, swelling wrist, and told him he would have to get an X-ray. It was probably broken. He would need a cast for a couple of months.

She offered him some painkillers. Chaing almost refused, but that would be churlish.
And possibly out of character. I can't risk that.

He swallowed the pills and dressed in a set of spare clothes someone had brought from his locker. That was when he realized his PSR badge was missing, removed along with his ruined clothes.

Two mildly embarrassed guards were waiting for him, as he knew they would be. He knew them—he knew everybody in the office—but said nothing as they led him down into the basement. It was indignation he felt, rather than anger or fear, when they put him in one of the interrogation cells. Humiliatingly, a cell for interrogating renegades and reactionaries: three meters by three, the universal bricks painted a dull gray-green. Table in the middle, and a plain wooden chair on each side, facing each other.

At least it wasn't one of the cells down on level five. The ones with benches where the suspect was strapped down. Where instruments and injections were used to extract truths.

Not yet, anyway.

He'd completely lost track of time when the door finally swung open again. The man who came in was well over a century old, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, and a slim dark-red tie. Chaing didn't know him; he wasn't from the Opole office. But he was definitely PSR. He possessed the air of cold authority Chaing always strove to project.

He settled himself in the chair opposite Chaing and adjusted his steel-rimmed spectacles. A thick cardboard folder was placed on the table.

Chaing looked at the label. His name was printed on it.
If there is any hint of an Eliter ancestor in there, I'm dead.

“Captain Chaing.”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Stonal. I am the director of section seven. And I've flown in from Varlan specifically to talk to you.”

Chaing nodded. “Of course you have.” Everyone knew about section seven, the PSR's internal security office. But…
the director himself
?

“Given you are a fellow PSR officer, you understand how this interview will proceed? I don't have to go through the whole threats and promises routine, do I?”

“No. You don't have to do that.”

“Good. I'm not interested in the nest, nor their plans to sabotage the Rocketry Plant. I don't care about Lurvri, though I'm saddened that the regiment lost a good officer. Nor am I bothered by comrade Deneriov.”

“So what does interest you?”

Stonal pursed his lips in a grudging approval. “Right now? Only one thing. So tell me…What was
she
like?”

Chaing didn't hesitate. “Very frightening. Her weapons were powerful. Those Fallers, she just…shredded them.”

“Did you see her weapons?”

Chaing cocked his head to one side, trying to recall the slaughter. Not easy even for his recall; he'd spent the last couple of hours suppressing the horror. “Actually, no, now I think about it. The air wobbled, like a heat shimmer, and there was a flash. But her hands were empty; there was no hardware.”

“Her timing was perfect, from your point of view. Did she say how she knew about the nest?”

“She said the Eliters had intercepted some encrypted signals, so they knew there was a nest in Opole. They'd been watching for it.”

“They? She said
they
? Plural?”

“
We kept a close watch.
That's what she actually said.”

“But she didn't allude to who that
we
was?”

“No.”

“What else did she say?”

“One thing I found interesting: that she'd promised Mother Laura she would protect Bienvenido.”

“I'm told that's true.”

Which almost threw Chaing. He shot Stonal a suspicious glare. “How could it be true? She looks about twenty. The legends say she was alive back then, so she must be the last person alive to see Bienvenido undergo the Great Transition.”

“Kysandra was born in the Void. Nigel gave her some form of Commonwealth medicine that allows her to stay young. Apparently.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. And she chooses to keep that medicine for herself, as she does a lot of things. Uniqueness helps consolidate her quasi-mythical status among the Eliters and other reactionaries.”

“But she is helping us.”

“When it suits her, yes.”

“Then why the secrecy? If she has Commonwealth technology, why not let her aid us openly?”

“That's simple: Nigel Sheldon. Kysandra was his…companion. Prime Minister Slvasta, quite rightly, did not trust her. She had assisted the revolution not to right injustice, but purely as a subterfuge enabling Nigel to steal the Captain's old quantumbuster. Then she collaborated with Slvasta's own wife to secretly influence the new People's Congress. She cannot be trusted. We still do not understand what Nigel's ultimate aim was. In the Void, we were at least the equals of the Fallers. Looking back, we may even have had a slight advantage due to the mental powers the Void gave us. Here, in the infinite dark, we are barely holding our own. In the Void, our souls were taken into the loving embrace of the Heart: We had immortality. Out here, when we die, it is forever. This is not liberation, as Nigel and the Warrior Angel claim. This is one short step from damnation.”

“She killed those Fallers. She saved me.”

“If we Fall, she Falls with us. For all her weapons and her technology, she is alone. She cannot hold off an entire planet of Fallers.”

Chaing let out a long breath. “All right. We can't eliminate her, and she won't cooperate with us. So, now what?”

“Now that you know about her, you have a choice. Or rather, I do.”

Exactly as she said, Uracus damn her.
“And that is?”

“I understand you saw breeder Fallers at Xander Manor?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Awareness of their existence would be extremely detrimental to the morale of Bienvenido's citizens. Do you agree?”

“They scared the crud out of me.”

“Contrary to rumor, section seven isn't concerned with internal security matters. My cadre of officers are fully informed about breeder Fallers and work to eliminate not just them, but any public knowledge of their existence. You know firsthand how deadly they are, so you have passed the first entry requirement of that cadre. But I only accept officers with an excellent record.” Stonal patted the file. “Which you have had, except for one regrettable lapse.”

Chaing frowned. “What lapse?”

“Earlier this evening, you brought Corilla to this very PSR office.”

“Yes. We rescued her from a breeder Faller. We needed to get out of that situation fast and bring her in for debriefing.”

“There are perfectly clear standing orders governing Eliters—the first of which is that they cannot be brought into PSR offices; they may be broadcasting what they find to their own kind. It is a massive security breach. She should have been taken to the specialist holding cells. That's why we have them.”

“There was an active nest that I knew was targeting the Rocketry Plant. That was my priority. I didn't have time for anything else.”

“Cutting corners, Captain?”

Chaing knew the man was trying to provoke him, testing his temperament. “I acted to save the factory,” he replied levelly. “It might not be your priority, but it is, and remains, mine.”

Stonal took his glasses off and placed them on top of the file. His sunken eyes regarded Chaing thoughtfully. “I like your dedication, Captain Chaing, and I appreciate the difficulty of active operations, which is why I'm inclined to elevate you to section seven.”

“There is no going back, is there, not now?” Chaing said, trying not to tense up.

“No. None.”

“Then I'd better re-read the rule book.”

Stonal chuckled. “I don't think that's necessary. Welcome to section seven, Captain Chaing.”

“Thank you, sir. I won't let you down.”

“No, you won't. Nobody does.”

“So what now?”

“You carry on exactly as before, except you have an additional reporting channel, directly to my office in Varlan, and a little extra authority to invoke when you have to deal with your local superiors. You will receive a full briefing package.” He hesitated, putting his spectacles back on. “It makes uncomfortable reading. We have hunted down and killed an extraordinary variety of breeder Fallers over the years. They can make themselves take on practically any animal form they wish.”

“How? That's…incredible.”

“It's some innate ability to reshape their embryos, which naturally fascinates the Faller Research Institute. But I don't care about the science, only the end result.”

“Understood. And the Warrior Angel?”

“See that she remains legendary. Knowledge of any activity must be suppressed. That same information will be passed on to us.”

“So you are interested in her?”

“I'm extremely interested in everything Kysandra does. I have a whole team of section seven staff devoted to compiling her movements and abilities, drawing up lists of suspected sympathizers—mostly Eliters. One day we will know enough to track her down.”

“Then what? I've seen what she can do. I expect she could defeat an entire regiment.”

“Yes, but she has limits. We know that from Mother Laura, who had the same level of inbuilt Commonwealth technology. It is unlikely she could survive an atomic explosion.”

“Crud! Nuke her? On the planet's surface? You're kidding?”

“Our exact response will be determined at the appropriate time. For now I am content maintaining the status quo, for all our sakes.”

Chaing hoped no flicker of surprise escaped to mar his features.
Just like Corilla called it.
“It's how we've survived this long.”

Stonal reached into a pocket and took out Chaing's PSR badge. He examined it for a moment, then slid it over the table. “I'm glad you agree. Reducing our local exposure will be your first assignment for me.”

“Sir?” He didn't snatch the badge back; that would just be sad.

“Corporal Jenifa, the undercover officer—she saw the breeder Faller in Frikal Alley. Yes?”

“She did, yes,” Chaing said cautiously. “But only a glimpse. It was dark.”

“Then it won't be hard for you to convince her it was a wild dog, or something equally mundane.”

“I'll see to it. There will be no mention of it on her official report.”

“Good.”

“What about Corilla? Do I talk to her as well?”

“The Eliter? She's an irritation, not worth your time. Eliters are always droning on about their beloved Warrior Angel, and breeder Fallers, and the coming Apocalypse. I've withdrawn her university permit so she doesn't continue spreading that kind of sedition among impressionable young minds. She'll be assigned to a People's collective farm where she'll live a productive life for the state—better for everyone all around.”

Chaing put on a thoughtful expression, knowing Stonal would be searching for any hint of disapproval. But it was so monstrously unfair. Corilla had cooperated with the PSR, risked herself to warn them about the extent of the nest, and for that she had her dream of a real education taken from her.
No wonder Eliters all hate the PSR.
“Yes, that tidies it up neatly.” He used his good hand to pick up the badge and put it in his pocket.

Stonal stood and reclaimed the file. “It's nearly dawn. You'd better get that injury seen to.”

Chaing climbed to his feet and winced. The movement had triggered a hot throb of pain from his damaged wrist, despite the painkillers. “I will. Er, sir?”

Stonal was about to knock on the door. He turned with some surprise. “Yes?”

“How did you get recruited, sir? Did you see a breeder Faller?”

“No. This has been my function right from the start. Bienvenido needs people who will ensure that Slvasta's great work continues, that we don't turn aside from the goal he set us: to destroy the Fallers and make our liberation real. It is a difficult, wearying road we are on, and not everyone agrees with it. I have devoted my life to eradicating that domestic threat, and I will not fail. I promised him that. All of us did.”

“Promised who?”

“Why, Slvasta, of course. He couldn't have children of his own, you know. Quanda, the Faller he encountered when he lost his arm, she
damaged
him. Instead, in later life, he took in children who had lost their parents to Fallers. I was fortunate to be one of them. He treated me like a son, he put his faith in me, and I will not let him down.”

“You knew Slvasta himself?” Chaing asked in astonishment. The leader of the revolution had died more than eighty years ago.

“I did. He was a remarkable, inspiring man. His passion that the people of Bienvenido should ultimately triumph was breathtaking. Almost as great as his contempt for the treachery of Nigel and Kysandra. Once the Fallers are defeated, he was determined that we should be free to build our own destiny, free from the Commonwealth that Eliters claim is so wonderful. If it is wonderful, then why did they inflict Nigel upon us? He did not want us contaminated by them. Our battle against the Fallers has now been fought for over three thousand achingly long years. First on our planet and now, triumphantly, in space. We have never wavered in all that time. The people of Bienvenido are the most indomitable in the universe, making tremendous sacrifices for the sake of generations unborn. Our victory should belong to us alone, for we will have earned it as no humans before. Only we should have a say in our future thereafter.”