A Night Without Stars (17 page)

“Crudding right,” Chaing agreed; he didn't have to fake sincerity for that sentiment. Eliter whispers of impending glories and wonders when Bienvenido regained contact with the Commonwealth had always sounded fanciful, the envy-promise of a desperate politician.

Stonal rapped his knuckles on the door, which opened almost immediately. “Good night, Captain Chaing. I expect my trust in you to be rewarded.”

Chaing raised his damaged hand to his forehead in a salute, gritting his teeth against the pain. “It will be, sir.”

It was Jenifa who was waiting for him on the ground floor when he finally made it up the stairs, weary from lack of sleep and the constant pain inflicted by his wrist. Disillusioned by the subterfuge the PSR practiced to suppress knowledge of the breeder Fallers. Mourning Lurvri more than he ever expected to.
There simply isn't a worse way to die.

She got up from the bench in the entrance hall and put her arms around him. “I know about Lurvri. Everybody does. I'm sorry. He was one of us, and nobody deserves that.”

“Thanks.”

She gave him a searching gaze. “You okay?”

“I think I might be.”

“Good, come on. I'm driving you to the hospital.” A quick idiosyncratic smile. “I volunteered for that duty. Well, insisted, actually.”

Ry Evine hadn't known the PSR office even existed. It was a nondescript concrete block in among Cape Ingmar's scattered collection of administration and engineering buildings, not half a kilometer from the grand white-marble control center.

He found out about it three hours after splashdown. Ninety minutes after the recovery ships had picked him up, a dinghy had transferred him to a seaplane, which flew him back to Cape Ingmar. That was when he realized something was badly wrong. The seaplane taxied into a hangar, and there was no reception committee, no cheering crowd of astronaut corps and Cape workers, no reporters; even General Delores was nowhere to be seen. Instead three armed PSR officers in smart khaki fatigues escorted him to a car that drove him to the PSR office.

The quarters he was shown to were comfortable enough, like a hotel room, with a lounge and bathroom. But no windows. And the door had no handle on the inside. It was a cell.

He stripped out of his flight suit and went into the shower. There were clean clothes (his own) laid out on the bed when he finished. His flight suit was gone, and with it his platinum mission badge.

“Hey!” Ry banged on the door. “Hey, there's no crudding authority on this planet that lets you take my badge. Give that back!”

No response.

He smashed his fist on the door again. “You pissy little bastards!”

Then all he could do was wait. There were no books. No radio.

He grew angry. He grew impatient. He grew tired. The flight had been exhausting. He was running on adrenaline alone now, and that was never going to last.

The door opened, and Ry lifted his head from the table. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep. His body was telling him: not nearly long enough.

A man came in. Ry guessed his age somewhere between 100 and 130. Old—the heavy eyes behind small steel-rimmed spectacles gave that away—but sprightly with it, a man who clearly kept active and busy. He wore a dark-gray suit, even in the tropical heat of the Cape, with a white shirt. A slim burgundy tie, for Giu's sake. Then Ry caught the discreet lapel pin, a pale-blue rectangle with a gold stripe down the center.

PSR political division.

The man pulled a chair over to the table and sat opposite him. “You recognized my insignia, Pilot Major Evine?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are an intelligent man. That will make this easier.”

“Make what easier? Who are you?”

“Do you think you need to know my name?”

“Looks like I don't.”

“And why am I here?”

Ry tried to keep his voice level. Losing his temper now wasn't going to help. In fact it might be dangerous. “Because of what I saw.”

“Precisely. So let us examine that, shall we? Liberty mission two-six-seven-three encountered some anomalies. The first was you entering an unauthorized course alteration into your nuclear carrier missile.”

“I did not! Something changed the missile guidance data.”

“As I understand it, once the missile has detached from the command module, a course correction can only be entered by a radio signal. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And that signal is coded?”

“Yes.”

“The encryption is changed for every mission. So to change the guidance data you have to know the code. There are only two sources that can transmit a coded signal: the Liberty spaceship and the flight control center here at Cape Ingmar. Did you accidentally strike a button, Major Evine? Was an erroneous signal transmitted to the missile?”

“No!”

“To pilot a Liberty mission is an incredible achievement. You are the very pinnacle of mental and physical excellence, but even astronauts are subject to human error. It is a cramped capsule; movement in free fall is tricky. A careless wave of a hand, perhaps? A simple cough that knocked you against the console?”

“I was in the acceleration couch, looking at the console. The numbers started to change without warning.”

“Very well, I accept that.”

“You do?”

“Indeed. Do you accept that this rogue signal could not have been transmitted from the ground without someone in flight control or the communications crew knowing?”

Ry couldn't answer honestly; he didn't know the entire system of the communications division, just the basic layout. But it wouldn't be easy, that was for sure. “Unlikely,” he admitted.

“Good. So, logically, that leaves us with a third source. And yet the missile still hit Tree thirty-seven-eighty-eight-D. Therefore it wasn't sabotage, was it? The course change was too minute.”

“Well…yes.”

“Is it possible solar activity caused a small disruption to the missile guidance circuits?”

“Theoretically, I suppose.”

“So if you didn't change the course, and the Astronaut Regiment communications division hasn't been infiltrated by Fallers—which it assuredly has
not
—is that not the most likely cause of the minute anomaly?”

Ry leaned back in his chair and fixed the man with a resigned stare. “Yes. It's possible.”

“Do you enjoy being an astronaut, Major Evine? Of course you do; nobody would put themselves through that grueling training process without being utterly committed. A successful first flight opens the door for further flights, does it not?”

“Is that a threat?”

“Certainly not. If I considered you a genuine danger to the state, we would not be sitting here talking.”

The hairs along Ry's spine reacted as if they'd been stroked by an ice spike. “Astronaut is not a job, it's a calling. It's what I am.”

“And you are prepared to sacrifice anything to achieve it, I see that. Then answer me this, why did you argue?”

“Argue what?”

“You were told by flight control, with all their considerable resources, that your third stage was following you on the same orbital track. Yet you chose to disagree with them.”

“I said it was possible. I agreed with them.”

“To quote you:
The intruder is definitely darker now. Liberty is moving away from it.
The intruder, Major Evine? That doesn't sound like an agreement to me.”

“There was something out there,” Ry growled in exasperation, and Uracus take the risk. “Why don't you take a look at the photographs I took?”

“I have.”

Ry sat up fast. “And?”

“Empty space, Major Evine. Empty space.”

“Really?”

“You sound dubious. Do you have a problem with authority?”

“No. Do you have a problem with facts?”

“I have issues with interpretation. That, Major, is my calling. We are fighting a war. It is long and brutal, and phenomenally expensive. We cannot afford anything that will undermine public support.”

“You think I don't know that? I've visited the factories building the Silver Swords; I know how much they cost. I've also killed a Tree, so I know better than you how vital it is that we continue this struggle until the very last one of those bastards is nuked out of existence. Then we can finish them on this planet and finally be free. No matter how much your kind twist the truth, I will fight that fight. I will play the biggest part I can to destroy the Fallers.”

The man seemed almost surprised. “And how do you think Bienvenido would react to news of another possible alien enemy? Would resolve fail or strengthen? We nearly fell once before, when the Prime came. It took everything we had, including Mother Laura's life, to survive them. A repeat of that would be catastrophic. I've seen the reports of dissent from across Lamaran. I've interviewed reactionary leaders, I've interviewed rebels. They have support; we are grown up enough to admit that. What we cannot do is give them credibility. If our vigilance falters, we die—all of us. So I will not allow our fragile society to be distracted, or demoralized to the point of submission. That is the part I play in all this. Do you understand that, Major?”

Ry nodded roughly. “What do you want me to say? I know what I saw. And you know what I saw. There's something else out there.”

“An enigma. A glitch. One we will investigate to our full ability. But not in public, and not in panic. Someone of your unique status should be aware of that.”

“Status, comrade? This is an equal society for all.”

“Is it? Did you really qualify for the Astronaut Regiment without political support?”

“You know how keen Democratic Unity was for me to join the astronaut corps. I am Slvasta's half brother's great-great-great-grandson. That earns everyone publicity and support, which can only help the Liberty program. So yes, me qualifying for the astronaut corps was a political decision. But don't you ever imply I'm not qualified.”

“I wouldn't do that. I know how hard you worked to earn your flight. And ultimately, General Delores would never let you launch if she believed you weren't capable of carrying out the mission.”

“Good, then you can return my badge.”

The man smiled without humor. Then the door opened, and he gave the PSR officer who came in a disapproving look. Both of them retreated into the corridor.

Ry wondered just how much of this was theatrics. Some new piece of evidence of his complicity uncovered with miraculous good timing—so please confess, comrade, and it will go easy on you.

The PSR man returned and gave Ry a long appraisal.

“What?” Ry asked belligerently. He didn't care about caution anymore. This was too much of a farce.

“I have to leave now, so this will be short. You have just completed a successful Liberty flight, Major Evine. Did you see an alien spaceship in the Ring?”

Ry took a moment. “No.”
Uracus, I'm pathetic.

“Will you mention your suspicions to anyone?”

“No.”

“Will you dismiss any questions that your astronaut corps friends will ask you? And ask they certainly will.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. You are a good comrade, Major. Your esteemed ancestor would be proud. I am glad this time in the hospital has enabled you to recover from reentry sickness so you can resume your duties. I wish you many more successful flights.”

The man dropped Ry's platinum flight badge on the table before leaving the room.

Ry picked up the badge and pinned it on his fatigues. It shone in the room's electric light.
So why does it seem so tarnished?

Chaing woke up in his own bed. That was comforting. He hadn't been able to quash the nagging worry that somehow he'd failed Stonal's requirements, or that the director of section seven had seen right through him.
Uracus, I'm paranoid. If he ever suspected I had some kind of broken Eliter cells, I would never have left detention.

As if to confirm he was above suspicion, Jenifa was on the bed beside him. She was still fully clothed, and lying above the blankets. But still…She was sleeping with her knees up against her chest, which was endearingly girlish. His movement woke her, and she gave him a bleary gaze.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, I think,” he said. Bright daylight was pouring through the bedroom's thin red-and-blue curtains.

“How's the wrist?”

He lifted his arm, staring at the white plaster cast encasing his forearm and hand. His memory of the hospital was vague, he'd been so exhausted. “It aches,” he admitted.

“You can take some more painkillers. It's been six hours.”

“I have painkillers?”

Her grin faded. “I drove out to Xander Manor with the assault squad; you were only fifteen minutes ahead of us. We found the egg first. Then we went into the manor. Crudding Uracus! That room. I'm never going to forget that room! It was a slaughterhouse. Even the assault squad was puking their guts up. What happened, Chaing?”

“I used grenades on them.”

“Grenades? Come on!”

He reached out with his good arm and grasped the hair on the back of her head, making her look at him. “Grenades.”

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “I thought that creature had come back. It nearly got us in the alley. I was so scared—”

“The Fallers are dead, the whole nest of them. I saw them die. You're safe.”

“We're never going to be safe. Not with those things Falling on us…”

He kissed her. It wasn't gentle. He wanted her, and she responded with the same hot urgency. When they broke off, they were both breathing harshly. Getting their clothes off became a frantic scramble. She had to help him with his shirtsleeve, tugging it over the cast.

“Ow!”

They both paused, then laughed before embracing eagerly. He was intrigued by the physique he exposed as he pulled her clothes off. It was as if she were compensating for her short stature by building muscle mass. He couldn't even guess what her daily workout must be like to leave her so brawny. Her strength was tremendously exciting. Their unrestrained rutting tangled up the blankets and sent the headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall, making the eventual release all the sweeter.

Jenifa finally rolled off him to smirk up at the ceiling as if she'd just heard a wicked secret. “I needed that,” she confessed. “Undercover work is constant crudding stress. And then last night hit us.”

“Like an egg on the head,” he agreed. His good hand carefully stroked strands of sweat-damped hair from her face. Looking at those hazel eyes, he felt absurdly content.

“It's been a strange week,” she said. “I mean, this is what we're trained for, yes? But when it actually happens and we discover a nest, it seems…wrong. I guess, deep down, I wanted an operation that was all paperwork and bitching about my boss. Not this.”

“It was real. And I'm your boss.”

“Yeah. And quite a good one, too.” Her hand gripped his as he was tracing curving lines of muscle down her arm. “So what was this?”

“This was…good.”

“Don't deflect, Captain.”

“All right. We've just been through Uracus together, so this was kind of inevitable. But I don't want to throw it away in a counter-reaction.”

“Fair enough. We'll see where we go.” She kissed him.

“There's two things I need to deal with immediately.”

“What?”

“One: painkillers,” he said, letting the urgency filter into his voice. His wrist was throbbing badly inside the cast as a result of all their exertion.

“Oh, Chaing!” She was instantly all concern. “Stupid!” She scrambled off the bed and went over to her bag, which was lying beside the door.

He watched her keenly. Her sculpted frame made her seem like some idealized image of girlish vitality.
Does she have an Eliter heritage to look so perfect?

“Here.” She returned with a small bottle of pills.

Chaing swallowed a couple of them.

“What's the second thing?” she asked.

He sat up and patted the mattress. “Your report,” he said as she sat beside him.

“What about it?”

“It has to confirm my report. When we were in Frikal Alley, we were both on edge. We saw a stray cat and thought it was something else. That's all. There was no creature.”

She pulled away slightly as she turned to give him a concerned look. “Are you in trouble? That man who interviewed you last night, who was he?”

“Just a standard debrief. Nothing to worry about. I only want to make sure the paperwork is right, that's all.”

“He was from Varlan, wasn't he?”

“There was no creature.”

“Oh, great Giu, it's section seven!”

“A cat,” he said softly. “It was a black cat. Understand?”

Jenifa nodded reluctantly. But the happiness had drained from her spry face, to be replaced by real worry. “Yes. Yes, you're right. It probably was.”

Thank you,
he mouthed.

She started hunting around for her clothes. “I need something to eat.”

“There's some milk in the fridge. I think.” He was a bit hazy on details, like how long it'd been there.

“Ha! I saw your kitchen when we got back here. I'm not going anywhere near it.”

Chaing produced a mock-frown. The second-floor flat was a decent size, with two bedrooms and a bathroom. The kitchen appliances all worked; the block's manager had demonstrated them when he moved in. Admittedly, he ate most of his meals out. “There's a hot stall, at the end of the road. He doesn't have an enterprise license, but the food's decent.”

“Okay.”

“Don't get the rice, it sits there for days. Order the noodles.”

“You just said he was good.”

“Good apart from the rice.”

“Okay. No rice. Got it.”

“You're coming back?” He winced at how needy that sounded.

“Yes. I'm coming back. If nothing else, I need a shower before I go into the office. They're reassigning me.” She pursed her lips. “Hopefully not undercover work again. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting. I want to do something that'll get me noticed.”

“You did good work. That's what my report will say.”

She bent over and gave him a kiss. “Thanks.”

The front door closed behind her with a loud
thunk.
Now that he had a moment, he looked around the bedroom, not liking how messy it was. Unwashed clothes piled up against the full laundry basket. Chest with the drawers open and clothes hanging out as if burglars had rejected them. A narrow threadbare rug on worn floorboards. His three big suitcases standing by the door, as if he'd just arrived.

He sighed. When he'd moved in, he had solid plans to smarten the place up.
When did I stop caring about how I lived?

Although he knew that answer: the day he left Portlynn. It was a pleasant town, built on hundreds of silt islands in the Nilsson Sound, all of them linked by an eclectic array of footbridges. It was clean, with a leisurely pace and a fleet of boats coming and going all day long. It also had Sazkar, a deputy manager at the train station—though in the end, she was one of the main reasons he'd accepted the Opole posting. The rows over his job and PSR activities had just become too great.

At least that won't happen with Jenifa.

Who didn't have any of Sazkar's inhibitions, either. He was still smiling fondly at how good the sex had been when there was a knock at the door. He put on his bathrobe and tried to tie the belt as he hurried down the short, dark hallway. “What did you forget? I can give you a key,” he announced as he opened the door.

It wasn't Jenifa. The man standing there was wearing a dark suit, like one of the clerks from the records hall. He shoved a brown paper package at Chaing.

“You'll need to sign for this, sir.”

Chaing had to balance the package on his cast as he tried to sign the clipboard with his left hand. The signature was illegible. “What is it?”

“Restricted documents from your new section, sir. Don't allow anyone else to read them.”

Chaing made it to the living room before he realized the timing wasn't accidental.
They knew she was here
.
Uracus! They're watching me. How many of them are there that they can afford the manpower to do that? I can't be that important. Or…Oh, great Giu, is Jenifa one of them? Did she tell them she'd left?

That was the thing with section seven; you never knew who was a part of it. They supposedly had members in every PSR office on Bienvenido, at every level.

But that's just rumor. Stonal said they're only interested in breeder Fallers.
Chaing laughed at himself.
Yeah, the planet's chief super spook told me that, so it must be true.

He looked down at the package and pulled the string off. There were three thick folders inside, along with a lapel pin—a pale-blue rectangle with a gold stripe down the center: the insignia of the political division. That pin gave its wearer the authority to question or give orders to anyone, even regional directors. He looked around the living room, almost guilty. Jenifa would be back soon, and she wasn't authorized to see the folders.
Is this a test?
Uracus, I'm getting paranoid.
He shoved the folders in his briefcase, locked it, and went to the bathroom for a wash.

“We missed a Treefall,” Jenifa announced as she arrived back, holding several brown paper bags full of food from the stall. “Ten o'clock this morning. Must've slept right through it. The stall owner said the bomb flash was visible, even against the sunlight. Loads of people saw it.”

Chaing poured some hot water from the kettle into a teapot and brought it over to the table. He wished he'd had more time to clear up; the living room was almost as disorganized as the bedroom. But it'd taken longer than he'd expected to wash, standing in the bath using a sponge; the doctor who'd put his cast on had warned him not to get it wet. At least he'd managed to find some clean plates. “I'd forgotten there's a Liberty mission flying,” he admitted.

“Yeah. To be fair, we've been kind of busy. The astronaut was one of Slvasta's relatives, apparently.”

Chaing couldn't help it; he started chuckling.

“What's funny?” she asked.

“Nothing. But I'm glad he's having a better time than I am.”

They doled out the food. She'd bought some deep-fried coi prawns with cashew nuts, he saw.
This could work out very well.

“No chopsticks?” she asked as she lifted a tangle of noodles with bean sprouts onto her plate.

“No. I'm a cutlery kind of man. Problem?”

She clicked her chopsticks together and grinned. “Dealbreaker.”

“Have you still got the car outside?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I'd like to drive out to Xander Manor when we're finished.”

“Urrgh. Really? Why?”

“It's still my case. Yaki should have sent a scene examination team out there to see what evidence they can find. I want to check they're doing it right, that's all.”

“You sure you're up to that?”

He held up his cast. “It's just a fracture. I'll come into the office with you after the manor.”

She chewed on some of the duck in ginger and gralula sauce, giving him a disapproving glance. “Okay. But don't overdo it.”

Jenifa turned off Plamondon Avenue and braked sharply. There was a sheriff standing outside the gateway to Xander Manor. A chain had been slung between the two old stone pillars, with a sign hanging in the middle:
CRIME SCENE. NO ENTRY BY UNAUTHORIZED PERSONS.

“Screw this,” Chaing grunted softly. He climbed out of the car, staring disbelievingly ahead.

“Hey, can't you idiots read—” the sheriff began. His voice died away as he saw Chaing's PSR uniform. “Uh, sorry, sir.”

“What happened?” Chaing asked.

The grand old manor had been reduced to a pile of rubble, with charred timbers sticking out at odd angles. Wisps of smoke continued to rise from the smoldering wood.

“It was a nest, sir,” the sheriff said. “Your people, they got 'em all. Filthy scum.”

“I know we got them. I was here last night. What happened afterward?”

The young man shrugged lamely. “The marines said this was a standard decontamination procedure.”

“Marines?” Jenifa asked as she joined Chaing.

“Yes, they were leaving when I started my shift. Aren't they great? Tough buggers. Nothing gets past them.”

Chaing blinked heavily as he gazed at the scorched debris. “Nothing at all, it would seem,” he murmured.

They hadn't announced they were coming in, yet word got out as soon as Jenifa drove into the office's underground car park. News of his arrival raced on ahead of him. It was a building full of spies, after all, Chaing reflected in amusement as people came hurrying out of their offices to line the brick corridors, applauding him approvingly. Colleagues he barely knew smiled wide in welcome, telling him
well done,
shaking his uninjured hand enthusiastically, offering a few words of sorrow and commiseration about Lurvri. PSR one; Fallers nil.
We showed the bastards.

Yaki was standing outside her office to give him an animated greeting for everyone watching. Jenifa mouthed
later
and disappeared back down the corridor as Yaki guided him inside.