A Night Without Stars (25 page)

“I know it's difficult,” he told them, “but you have to try. See if the dogs can pick up anything.”

The handlers set off in pairs, with a large squad of troopers following each one. Chaing watched them go, slipping and sliding down the wet lingrass, knowing it was all useless. The rain would've obliterated any spoor hours ago. Consequently, he'd had a difficult conversation with Hokianga about mounting a proper sweep. The colonel had been against it, but Chaing insisted. Once he'd written off the bloodhounds, a visual sighting was all he was left with. And besides, a full-on sweep covered his arse with Stonal.

Hokianga reluctantly agreed, and called his officers together. Despite their disproval, they carried out the operation professionally. Troopers were sent out along the length of Naxian Valley, where they formed up into two lines. When the order was given, those lines would separate and walk up into the foothills on both sides. A classic, simple sweep, although the regiment didn't usually conduct it on such a scale. Nor in such poor conditions—at day's end and in the rain, moving through trees. But then again, someone might spot something.

This event was too momentous for timidity and caution.
A Commonwealth spacecraft!

All the time he'd spent driving about in the Terrain Truck that morning, he'd tried to understand what it would mean for Bienvenido if the Commonwealth did make contact. Eliter propaganda—handed down from Nigel and doubtless encouraged by the Warrior Angel—claimed contact would bring about the end of all struggle: a profound liberation not just from the Fallers, but for society as a whole. Like going to live in Giu's glory. Which made Chaing certain of one thing—that kind of deliverance did not start with a small cylinder dropping into a remote valley.

But then, that was how Nigel arrived
.

He went into the mobile command post, where almost all conversation stopped as the officers glanced at him. They resented him being placed in charge, he knew that, but no one argued with a section seven officer. He almost laughed at the bitter irony—that the one person whom he wanted to be here right now, the one person who might actually know what to do, was the Warrior Angel.

She must know something had happened. The regimental deployment wasn't a secret. And the space machine's sonic boom had been heard across a thousand kilometers. She'd be on her way, if she wasn't already lurking close by. And he had no idea what to do if he encountered her again.

Chaing looked at the large-scale map spread out over the command post's table. Hokianga's people had put together a decent ground plan. Colored lines and pins showed deployment patterns, stretching the regiment out across the Naxian Valley. The communications staff were chattering away constantly, keeping the map updated. The lines were almost complete.

“We'll be lucky if we get another three hours of daylight,” Colonel Hokianga said.

“Conditions are as bad for him as they are for us.”

“Very well. But I am officially on record as advising against this.”

“Understood.”

“The squads are all in position. I'll give the order for them to start.”

“Thank you.” Chaing looked at the map again, but couldn't really focus. Inside the cast, his wrist was throbbing badly, as if it were attempting to break through the thick plaster. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken his painkillers. Holding the little bottle in his bad hand, he managed to unscrew the top; no way was he going to ask the regiment officers for help.

He swallowed a couple of the pills, then went outside where he could actually see the operation. The gloomy light and thick rain closed visibility down to little more than a couple of kilometers, but he could make out the line of troopers beyond the sprawling farmhouse, stretching off into the dreary gray haze that clotted the far end of the valley. Forlorn figures huddled in long brown oilskin ponchos, their bulky packs making them all look like hunchbacks. As he watched they began to move, splitting into two lines that slowly moved apart as they trudged across the wet fields toward the slopes beyond.

The sight wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd hoped.

In front of him, two headquarters troopers carried a dead sheep across the farmyard to the mess tent that had been set up in the corner.

Chaing watched them for a moment, slightly baffled, before asking: “What are you doing with that?”

“It's for the cook, sir,” one of them replied. “He's going to use it for the headquarters staff meal tonight.”

“Did the Ealton family say you could kill one of their sheep?”

“No, sir. It was dead anyway. Garrel's squad found it down by the stream this morning.”

“That's even worse. You don't know what it died from. It could be diseased.”

“It wasn't ill. Someone shot it with a crossbow.”

Despite the cold rain, Chaing felt the skin along his spine chill down. “What?”

“Somebody shot it. It's only been dead a few hours. Chef said it'll be fine to eat.”

Chaing ran across the yard to examine the sheep. Sure enough, the quarrel was still sticking out of its skull. And he'd seen that type of quarrel once already today. “Oh, crudding Uracus.”

Five Terrain Trucks and two troop carriers roared back along the rough track up Albina Valley. The front wheels in the lead Terrain Truck weren't getting much traction at the speed the driver was going. Chaing winced as the bulky vehicle slewed about, snapping off browfrey saplings that lined the track. They came to a halt outside the warden's lodge, spraying up fantails of mud. The other vehicles carried on past them, surrounding the low building. Troops leapt out, forming up in a tight ring. Over thirty carbines were leveled at the lodge, safeties off.

“The Openland has gone,” Chaing observed through the windscreen. “The little tit's on the run.”

“He won't get far,” Hokianga said. He turned to the radio operator in the back of the cab. “Signal to all our units. The target is running. Vehicle type confirmed as an Openland. Harden all roadblocks. Pursuit vehicles continue on assigned patrol routes.”

“Yes, sir,” the radio operator confirmed.

“This whole region is covered,” the colonel assured Chaing. “That Eliter's not going anywhere. I know Openlands. Top speed eighty klicks, and that's when they're factory-fresh. These brutes”—he banged the Terrain Truck's door—“can make a hundred and ten, no trouble.”

In these conditions?
Chaing held his tongue and climbed out of the cab, walking toward the lodge with his pistol held ready in his good hand. Five troopers crashed through the door ahead of him, immediately spreading out through the rooms inside.

“Empty” came the cry.

Chaing went into the living room, with Colonel Hokianga right behind him. He went straight over to the wall where the crossbow was still hanging and held up the quarrel he'd removed from the sheep. It was identical to the others clipped to the crossbow's stock.

“So he was in Naxian Valley last night, then,” Hokianga said.

“Yeah.” Chaing glanced over at the kitchen with its big collection of pots and pans. The biggest pot of all held the remnants of a stew. “Stealing a sheep. Probably does it every week. So my real question is: Why leave the sheep?”

“Because he wanted to get out of there fast? If there was a Fall next to me, it's what I'd do.”

“But it wasn't a Fall, and if he saw it land he'd know that. So maybe he needed space in his Openland.”

“Crud!” the colonel exclaimed. “Is Stonal right? Did that thing bring someone here?”

Chaing stared around the cluttered, disorganized living room again, trying to understand what had happened.
If Florian had met the space machine's pilot, would he have brought them back here?
But there was only the same old mess, and the smell. No sign of anyone from the Commonwealth being there—not that he had a clue how he'd know that. He started a proper search, opening drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He went into the bedroom, and the smell of feces was stronger in there. He sniffed, trying to determine where it was coming from.

A wicker basket next to the bed. There were a lot of scrunched-up tissues in there, smeared with feces, along with a mound of odd podgy triangles of a sponge-like cloth. Grimacing he picked one up, surprised by how heavy it was.

“What is that?” Hokianga asked.

“Oh, great Giu,” an aghast Chaing whispered. “It's a diaper.”

As soon as the scary PSR captain and his thug troopers left, Florian pushed all the Commonwealth stuff into his backpack and picked up the baby, who had been sleeping on his bed. It was impossible, but she seemed to have grown again. The cloth he'd wrapped around her was already starting to constrict her limbs. So he loosened it, and of course she needed changing.

It was pouring outside, but he knew he couldn't wait. He'd been lucky this time, but Chaing would be back. He settled the baby in the Openland's passenger seat and set off up the valley to firebreak FB39. Of all the waltan fungi hanging up in the shed, there were maybe a dozen that were completely dry and good enough for Joffler, the buyer he supplied. He unhooked the biggest six and shoved them down into an old duffel bag. It was heavy, but he stowed it in the back of the Openland, then drove back down the valley past the lodge.

The whole way he was expecting to see the regiment vehicles coming for him, but the track was clear. He turned off half a kilometer from the lake and headed up into firebreak CR42. It was getting badly overgrown, top of his list to clear, thus ideal to hide the Openland in. They'd find it easily enough if they searched the valley, but until they did they'd assume he was fleeing along the roads. That was where they'd devote their resources to finding him.

With the backpack on, and the duffel bag slung over one shoulder, he picked up the baby. She grizzled a bit. “You'll just have to wait,” he told her sternly. He'd got an old cloak to wrap her in, which should keep the worst of the rain off her.

He had to walk carefully. The lingrass was dangerously slippy, and the weight of everything was a strain. His new exovision displays showed him his blood sugar energy reserves being eaten up at an alarming rate by the relatively short walk back down to the Vatni village.

Most of the Vatni were out in the lake when he arrived. He didn't waste any time on politeness, just walked along the jetty to the boat that he'd used last night and put the baby down on the decking boards. Teal jumped in beside her and barked at the splash he made. The amount of water sloshing around in the bottom of the boat made Florian pause for a moment, but he didn't have any options. He dropped the duffel bag and dumped the backpack, pressing his fists into the base of his spine as he straightened and winced at the ache that had spread into every muscle. Unencumbered by the weight he felt he could fly, or at least float.

The baby started to get more agitated as he used the bucket to bail rainwater out, reducing it to a level that wasn't quite so worrying. She was crying when he finally pushed off. For once he ignored her and started rowing, hoping that would be enough to draw Mooray's attention. Sure enough, he saw the Vatni's distortion ripple surging across the dark water toward the boat, and Mooray's snout broke the surface ten meters away.

“Friend Florian of the land, you are honoring us with another visit. I am joyful.”

Florian pulled the oars back into the boat. “You are honoring me with your kindness, friend Mooray of the water. I know I am a burden to you.”

“Not at all. I was waiting for you. Your land regiment people came to us today. They asked many questions of many of us. They did not want to be friends.”

“I'm sorry you have been caught up in this.”

“I was with you by my own choice. We have a fruitful friendship.”

“It makes me happy to hear you say that, friend Mooray. It is with sadness that all I can offer you this day is to leave, but that will mean you and your village will be left in peace. The regiment people are only interested in me and the baby. When I am gone, so will they be.”

“In a great swarm across the land hunting you, friend Florian.”

“They haven't gotten me yet. I'm going to go downstream. I know some people who might be able to help me.”

“This gladdens me. Can I help?”

“I will tell you truth, friend Mooray, I was hoping you would ask. It is difficult to look after the baby and row at the same time.”

“I hear her. Does she ever stop?”

Florian was tempted, but Vatni never quite got irony. “She cries when she is in discomfort. All human young do this.”

“I am glad I am not human, friend Florian. Where do you wish to go?”

“Down the river Kellehar, please.”

Mooray ducked around to the back of the boat, and once again Florian found himself moving along far faster than he could ever row. He started dealing with the baby who wanted feeding and changing. She didn't like the cloak being opened and the raindrops splashing her skin. She was reluctant to take the bladder teat. Didn't burp well. Wouldn't go to sleep afterward. So he hunched over her, protecting her from the worst of the rain as the boat slid swiftly across the lake to the start of the river Kellehar.

The Kellehar was one of a multitude of tributaries winding sinuously out of the Sansone Mountains before merging into the river Crisp to flow in a potent surge eastward to the distant coast. Wide and shallow as it emptied out of the boggy floodland at the end of the lake, it soon narrowed down to a fast-flowing channel that carried the boat rapidly northward. Beyond the valley, the landscape flattened out into larger, more leisurely folds. Florian had driven along the adjacent lanes enough times to know farms were prevalent here—an irregular checkerboard of arable fields and grazing meadows that extended over all but the roughest elevations and ravines. Today the dull clouds and persistent rain kept most of the countryside veiled from him, even with his Eliter sight and new vision enhancement routines.

The current became strong enough that Mooray hardly bothered pushing the boat at all, but simply steered them past snags and kept away from the banks. They passed under several stone bridges, which made Florian nervous. He was expecting regiment patrols to be watching the river, but every time they were deserted. A river from the west ran into the Kellehar, then two large streams from the east added their power to the flow.

After a couple of hours he leaned over the stern and put the flute to his lips. “I can manage from here. You should go home, my friend. Return upriver to be with your pack family, be happy.”

“Do you believe you are safe now, friend Florian?”

“As much as I can be. You can help no further. To expose you to any more danger would sadden me greatly.”

“I believe you, friend. I would wish you return soon.”

“I should be safe to return in a month. Goodbye, friend Mooray of the water.”

The Vatni let go of the boat and slipped easily below the surface. A V-shaped ripple swelled against the current for a few seconds before being washed out.

Florian settled the oars again and began to scan the water ahead. He dipped the oars in and out slowly and carefully, using them primarily to steer with, keeping the boat centered in the current. His exovision threw up a map of the area—as best remembered from studying an atlas several years ago. The new management code, which called itself a u-shadow, was reformatting all his old memory files. Half of his time on the boat had been spent talking to the u-shadow, which responded in a way that reminded himself of his own questions and eagerness when he'd been about five. Having a semi-sentient—its nomenclature—resident in his head was something that took some getting used to.

The map showed him the Kellehar would curve sharply to the west in a few kilometers, taking him away from Opole where Aunt Terannia lived. But the land it curved around was where he wanted to be tonight—an odd rocky highland where Joffler lived in a place called Letroy. If anywhere was safe from Captain Chaing and the regiment, it was there.

As the dour light faded from the sky Florian checked the baby again. She was bigger still. Her growth was no longer something he could just gloss over as his own ignorance of babies. It was real and worrying. He reckoned she'd grown nearly eight centimeters since he'd lifted her out of the space machine, and she certainly weighed a lot more.
It must be the richmilk.
But why Commonwealth babies grew like that was still beyond him. He determined to try to find a file on it that night, when he had a moment.

As the daylight faded, his concern about being spotted withered in tandem. He'd already passed a couple of small villages sitting on the side of the river. No one had seen him sail by, as the rain was keeping a lot of people indoors. But thankfully, it was starting to lift. He was soaked, even wearing his oilskin coat. He just hoped the duffel bag had kept the fungi dry.

Steering in the dark was unnerving, even though his night vision gave him a decent view of the river ahead. Land on both sides began to rise. Before long he saw what had to be Letroy.

Florian had never visited before, but Joffler had described it enough times when they met up in Wymondon to pass on the waltans. There was a long cliff a couple of kilometers beyond the crumbling riverbank, with a swath of weather-worn stone outcrops descending from it all the way to the water. From a distance you could mistake Letroy for some weird alien village, with fat tower buildings standing atop flinty mounds. Back in the Void, the settlers to this region had used their telekinesis and servant animals to expand and smooth the existing caves in the outcrops, creating homes in the living rock. In its heyday it had a population of nearly six thousand—a quirky artists' community that attracted painters, writers, and musicians from all over Bienvenido. It flourished for centuries.

After the Great Transition, the arts suffered a general malaise. In this new harsher existence, there was less leisure time, not so much money, and fewer patrons. But Letroy's traditions persisted, though its reputation for quality gently declined. Despite this, the majority of residents still followed some kind of artistic vocation. Several of the most popular new-style music bands with their electrically amplified instruments had emerged from Letroy, playing to growing crowds in the cities.

Wide ovals pocking the strange pinnacles glowed with a yellow-shaded light that Florian found incredibly welcoming while sitting in a boat with a cold drizzle swirling around him. There were two substantial wooden jetties protruding from the bank, with several boats moored to them. He rowed his boat into the lee of the first and secured it.

The baby was crying yet again as Florian put his backpack on and hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder. He just hoped that Joffler lived somewhere close.

Once he was on the jetty he cut the painter and watched the boat drift away. The current caught it soon enough, propelling it downriver. It was carried out of sight within two minutes.

“No going back now,” he told Teal. The dog wagged his tail.

It was five minutes before he met anyone. Five minutes wandering rather aimlessly along the crushed-stone paths that twined around the outcrops, looking for anyone who might be about this wretched night. They were an old couple who were curious about the wailing baby, and they clearly didn't approve of Joffler; he could tell that from the way their attitude became stiffer at the mention of the buyer's name. But they pointed at the outcrop Joffler had claimed for himself and gave instructions which paths to follow.

Ten minutes later, with aching legs and a sore shoulder, Florian trudged up a curving incline that was set with steps too far apart to use comfortably. The mound skirting the outcrop was planted with fig trees that were getting choked by vines. He had to stop halfway up, it was such an effort, even though he was barely fifteen meters above the ground.

The path completed a full circuit of the outcrop, ending at a broad entrance chamber that had iron railings stretched across it. Joffler was standing behind the gate, staring out suspiciously. The only light was from a bulb hanging from the apex, just behind the railings.

“I heard the noise,” he said, peering at the baby. “Who are you?”

“It's me, Florian. I'm knackered, Joffler; I need to come in. I brought you some waltans.” He dropped the duffel bag beside the gate.

“Crud!” Joffler exclaimed. He unlocked the gate and swung it open. “Come on in. You shocked the piss out of me, turning up like this!”

Florian staggered through the gate, noting the way Joffler looked around carefully to see if anyone else was on the path before picking up the duffel bag.

The entrance cavern had three openings at the back, each one covered by a thick curtain. Joffler pushed one aside and led Florian into the stone house's main chamber. It was roughly circular, twenty meters across, with an irregular ceiling. A big oval opening, looking out over Letroy, was covered by a white woolen sheet that swayed about in the damp breeze. Opposite that, lumps of peat burned in a raised hearth, with a curving cowl above it, blackened by centuries of smoke. There was a spicy aroma pervading the air that Florian didn't recognize, but it certainly wasn't coming from the peat. The low settees were ancient, even older than the pieces in Florian's living room back in the lodge. He suspected the furnishings had all been made long ago by some Letroy artisan with a zeal for chunky carvings.

He sat close to the fire and pulled a bladder out of the backpack. The baby started guzzling the richmilk straightaway.

Joffler stood looking down at him. He was a lanky man in his forties, with alarmingly thin limbs that poked out of his grubby fur-lined kaftan. His skin, which five years ago when they first met had been a silky dark olive, now had an unsavory pallor, as if he'd devoted those years to a bad diet and avoiding sunlight. Long black hair was tied back with a rainbow band, which only emphasized how much his hairline had receded.

“Why didn't you tell me you were coming, fella?” he asked. “Gave me quite a shock there, turning up like this.”

“I didn't know until a couple of days ago,” Florian said. He hadn't actually thought much about how he was going to explain things to Joffler; he just knew Letroy was the best place to lay low for a few days. And Joffler should know how to arrange transport to Aunt Terannia.