A Night Without Stars (47 page)

“I remember,” he said.

The maser projector—derived from one of the exopod's sensor instruments—had been impressive, but he and the security cabinet had vetoed making it available to the regiments. It required too much power to be truly portable, and the Gatling guns could smash a Faller egg apart for a fraction of the cost. There was also the problem of what else masers could be adapted to once factories became accustomed to producing them.
Spin-offs,
Faustina called such unpredictable consequences.

“I can probably get you permission to use the maser again,” Stonal told her.

“Thank you, Director,” she said. “I'll need to modify the weapon when we remove it from storage. We did some theoretical work on increasing its power rating.”

“I'm sure you did. I will speak to the prime minister about it right away.”

“In the meantime, we'll see what we can do with passive scans,” Faustina said. “Now we know how to activate most of the exopod's sensors, it might be able to reveal some of the space machine's secrets to us. How's that for irony?”

“Ironic indeed,” Stonal agreed. Again he had that little feeling of unease. She was talking about machines they knew practically nothing about other than how to switch them on. “I don't need to tell you to be careful, I'm sure.”

“Hmmm?” Faustina was staring at the smooth surface of the Commonwealth machine, practically oblivious to him. “No, no, we'll be very careful,” she said absently.

Stonal made his way back upstairs through the maze of service corridors and grand cloisters until he reached the third floor of the palace's state wing. After the revolution, there had been a big debate among Democratic Unity over razing the whole place to the ground. Practicality won out, pitched as sentiment.
Tens of thousands of workers have spent three millennia crafting the most impressive building on Bienvenido; smashing it down would be insulting their memory and achievement
.

A senior aide ushered him directly into the prime minister's study, walking him through the antechamber full of officials and politicians who started to glare at his privileged progress until they recognized the slightly stooped figure in the gray suit. The study was always too bright for Stonal's taste, with tall arched windows letting in a flood of sunlight that glared off the white marble floor and walls. He had to squint as he walked the length of the ballroom-sized chamber. Overhead, big eight-blade fans turned slowly as their electrical motors whirred, stirring the warm air.

All the glitz and finery of the Captains' era had been stripped out of the palace during the revolution, with every one of the family's possessions redistributed to Varlan's poorer citizens in an inspired public relations exercise. So the plinths in the alcoves where the busts of past Captains used to sit now held Faller skulls aloft, and the paintings on the wall depicted crowd scenes from the revolution itself, along with squadrons of airplanes shooting at Falling eggs, and hydroelectric dams in various stages of construction.

Prime Minister Adolphus sat at a broad desk at the far end, surrounded by a cluttered nest of bookcases and cheap metal filing cabinets. It always made Stonal think of a boy living in an adult room, trying to comfort himself with familiar furniture from his own bedroom.

Adolphus pushed aside the pile of files he was reading and stood up. At seventy-nine he already had the posture of a 150-year-old, and he'd only held the office of prime minister for seven years. When the People's Congress voted his affirmation, he'd clawed his way up from the local Adice party to county senator and then into the cabinet itself at sixty-two—quite an achievement, given that the average age of the cabinet was ninety-eight. But he was a good public speaker, popular with the party's grass roots, had a strong regional power base in the north, and knew how to make deals and alliances, abandoning old allies with a ruthlessness that impressed even Stonal.

A glad-handed voter being given his smile would be inspired, confident he was the right man to lead their world. Whereas Stonal could see the deep worry it shielded. Even the prime minister's rich ebony color had shaded paler over the last couple of years. His aides whispered to the right ears that the stress of his high workload, tirelessly advocating for the people, was affecting his health; they begged him to slow down, of course, but he selflessly refused to reduce the burden he was humbled by. Stonal, who had read his private medical reports, knew what a load of crud that was.

Terese, the deputy prime minister, was sitting patiently in front of the desk, wrapped in a colorful toga-like robe edged in gold thread. At 112, she was a more experienced politician than Adolphus, but hadn't quite gotten the votes necessary to claim the prize when the last prime minister stepped down. The deal for supporting Adolphus gave her the chairmanship of the Joint Regimental Council as well as being the Treasury's chief officer.

Stonal approved of that. Their power split in the cabinet was almost equal, meaning their continual battle for supremacy limited both of them.

“So?” Adolphus asked as Stonal settled in one of the plain chairs beside Terese.

“The machine isn't doing anything. I've turned it over to the advanced science division to see what they can find out. But we do know it had a Commonwealth citizen on board.”

“Giufucking bastards! Are they coming for us?”

“No. Not directly, anyhow. It was a girl, a child.”

“What?” a startled Terese asked. “What's the point in sending a child?”

“One of my officers is pursuing her. He's just reported from Letroy where an Eliter radical had taken her for safety. She might be young, but she is growing at an unnatural rate. Apparently she will be an adult within a month.”

“Crud! Then what?”

Stonal took off his glasses and pinched the top of his nose as he looked at her. “Best-case scenario, it's Laura Brandt all over again. She's all alone and has Commonwealth knowledge, but has to work through us.”

“And the worst case?” Adolphus demanded.

“She's some kind of scout, a prelude to their true arrival. The end of our entire society, a culture over three thousand years in the making.”

“After so long, though! Why now?”

“I don't believe she came from the Commonwealth. Not directly anyway.”

“How do you conclude that?”

“Liberty flight 2,673. Something strange happened up there at the moment of Treefall; we still don't understand what. But that's when the Commonwealth machine appeared. It was photographed by the astronaut, Ry Evine.”

Terese frowned. “He's from Slvasta's family, I remember. One of your relatives?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Interestingly, he's also gone missing. Our last verified sighting is at a bank in Gifhorn. He may be trying to contact the machine.”

“So he was in on this? He's a Commonwealth agent?”

Stonal sighed as he put his glasses back on; politicians did see conspiracy everywhere. “No, I believe the machine has been there all along.”

“You mean since the
Vermillion
?”

“Unlikely, but certainly since the Great Transition. Perhaps the Liberty missile's atomic explosion knocked it out of orbit.”

“I don't get it,” Adolphus said. “If this girl is still a child, how could it have been there for two hundred and fifty years?”

“The
Vermillion
had some kind of suspended animation chambers for its passengers. Laura Brandt was sleeping for most of the voyage, she told us. My theory is that this is some kind of lifeboat.”

“And now the crudding Eliters have her,” Terese snapped. “How could this happen?”

“To be fair, this isn't something we were expecting,” Stonal said patiently.

“She can't tell them what she knows. Great Giu, they'd wind up with technology more advanced than us. They'd take over.”

“I have authorized my officer to use whatever resources he needs.”

“And he's good?” Adolphus pressed. “Your best?”

“Very good. He fought breeder Fallers and survived. And he's actually met the Warrior Angel.”

“Crudding Uracus!” Terese sat up straight. “Is he loyal?”

“Without section seven support he is nothing. He knows that.”

“You have to find this child. She has to be brought here so we can decide what to do with her.” Terese and Adolphus exchanged a glance. “Some of the knowledge she has might be valuable.”

“Indeed.” Stonal marveled at the way they saw everything in terms of political advantage alone.

“How long until you have her in custody?” Adolphus asked.

“Soon. We know she is on her way to Opole. There's a large Eliter population there who will doubtless shelter her. I suspect the Warrior Angel will soon be showing an interest.”

“That can never happen,” Terese said firmly.

“Whatever you need to apprehend her,” Adolphus said flatly. “Whatever needs to be done. You have my complete support on this.”

“I understand.”

The ellipsoid-shaped submarine surfaced in a small cave lit by bright spotlights. It nosed forward onto a cradle. Plyplastic arms curved around the hull, securing it, and the cradle's tank treads trundled their way up a slipway.

Kysandra climbed out of the upper deck hatch and took a deep breath. As always, the humid cave air smelled of slightly rancid seaweed, but right now that was pretty good after three days in a submarine cabin designed for three, sharing it with Florian, Ry, and Paula. Life support had always provided enough oxygen. The filters, on the other hand, had struggled.

Demitri and Marek were standing on the top of the stone slipway, grinning up at her. Kysandra hurried down the ladder that was welded to one of the cradle's support girders.

“Welcome back,” Marek said, and gave her a quick hug.

“Any problem?” Demitri asked.

“Not for me,” she admitted. “But poor old Captain Chaing has got another round of explaining to do.”

“Well, I never did thunk—thunk—
think
he'd be our new Slvasta,” Marek said.

Kysandra kept her smile in place. The poor old ANAdroid's bioware brain was becoming more glitch-prone these days. The semi-organic synthesizers Nigel had left behind for her could produce spares for most ANAdroid body parts, but a duplicate brain was a hugely complex component. Back in the Commonwealth, they were extruded by specialist synthesizers. Because the glitches were only affecting his vocal routines so far, she was content to keep him running.

Both ANAdroids looked back at the submarine. Kysandra saw Paula carefully climbing down the ladder. Her body was now aged about twelve or thirteen. The fast growth process had been very weird to watch during the voyage. Fortunately, the pain in her limbs seemed to be reducing as she drew closer to maturity. Her biononics were also coming close to full integration, which helped.

“Hello, Paula,” Demitri said with a lopsided smile. “Long time.”

Paula flinched as her bare feet touched the rock floor. “You're the Sheldon ANAdroids.” She glanced up at Demitri. “Interesting features you morphed for yourselves.”

“Thank you.”

“Asian traits, very sweet.” She turned to Marek. “And North Mediterranean ethnic, by the looks of it, though I don't understand why you went for old age on top of that.”

“Italian,” Marek said. “My great-great-grandmother came from Naples.”

“You believe you have an ancestor?” Paula queried.

“Nigel and I infiltrated the ANAdroids into various parts of society,” Kysandra said. “They needed to look different, obviously. I helped them put together their appearance.”

“I understand,” Paula said.

Kysandra pressed her lips together in mild disapproval. The dismissive tone Paula was using with the ANAdroids was verging on disrespectful. And then there had been all the questions during the voyage as she familiarized herself with Bienvenido's basic history—especially the revolution and the Great Transition. It wasn't Paula's fault, of course, but those questions had brought out Kysandra's defensive side. Nor did it help that she constantly felt as though she had to explain herself to a twelve-year-old. The whole accelerated-growth thing was troubling at some deep instinctive level. No one liked a kid smarter than them; it triggered all sorts of insecurities.
And I had quite enough of that with Nigel, thank you.

“We're glad you're here,” Demitri said.

“Better late than never,” Paula said.

Ry climbed down the ladder. He was looking around the cave with a great deal of interest, particularly at the small engineering section at the top of the slipway where the sub was serviced.

“Uh, I think Florian's going to need some help down,” he said. “He's not going to manage the ladder with that ankle of his.”

“We have a mobile access platform,” Demitri said. “I'll call it over.”

“Thanks, that—” Ry broke off and stared at the ANAdroid. “You? But you can't be here. You're dead!”

Kysandra grinned mischievously. “Major Ry Evine, this is Demitri.”

“No, that's not right!” Ry grunted. “You died. The fuel dump explosion.”

“A convenience,” Demitri said. “The Liberty program was up and running. There was nothing more I could add.”

“It was two hundred years ago. You can't possibly still be alive.”

“I am an ANAdroid,” Demitri said. “A biological machine in human form. I came with Nigel Sheldon from the Commonwealth.”

“Oh, great Giu,” Ry said. “But you were the one who made it all possible. You designed the Liberty and Silver Sword. I've been in space because of you. I flew in the spaceship you designed.”

“The Liberty is not original,” Demitri told him. “Although we are human in many respects, ANAdroids do not have a creative ability. We cannot innovate. I simply modified the existing blueprints for the Russian Soyuz launcher system, and showed Bienvenido's managers and engineers how to put together the requisite factory production lines. Soyuz was the most successful rocket-launched, human-operated vehicle ever built, and also the most reliable of its type.”