Dark Foundations (34 page)

The advisor's attempt to create an effective police force, however, met a check. Although small in number—there were barely a thousand across the entire planet—the police proved to be singularly disliked. The reason was simple: both the regular and irregular wings of the FDF were accepted as being a necessary defense to counter a mysterious and dangerous threat from outside. But the police, especially once they were equipped with powers of arrest, were seen as having no such justification and the assumption grew that their sole purpose was to make the lives of ordinary citizens hard. Farholme being the world it was, the protests were muted and, in general, expressed in nothing more than restrained grumbles and dark looks. But the police got the message and took to staying inside their new offices and memorizing the new Farholme Penal Code. And Merral noticed that every time the word
police
was mentioned in his hearing, Clemant seemed to scowl.

Very soon, Clemant suggested that, far from hiding what was going on, Merral ought to allow at least some publicity for the FDF. Merral resisted; he had, by now, seen many old films of parades and displays and had found almost all of them objectionable in their celebration of military force. Clemant, though, was persistent.

“Commander,” he said in his deep voice as he leaned forward over his desk, “the people need reassuring. We need to make some broadcasts. We can film some training exercises, show them the transports, the new guns. And you, of course. You should be seen there personally—the man in charge.”

“Isn't that Representative Corradon?”

Clemant gave him a sharp but inscrutable look. “Oh, of course. But it doesn't hurt to have two such public leaders. After all, you never know. . . .” And his voice tailed away into an expressive silence.

So, reluctantly, Merral became used to being filmed standing among the troops, surveying freshly reconditioned vessels, and examining new weapons. He hated it, but he played the part and even took some pleasure in the messages of appreciation that came in. “It's necessary,” he told himself but that gave him little reassurance.

On most matters Merral found the advisor helpful. Yet the irregulars caused frequent problems. Although he had approved their formation, Clemant was obviously suspicious of them. Merral felt certain these suspicions centered on the fact that the irregulars were outside the advisor's control. With that suspicion of the irregulars came disquiet and even suspicion about Vero, something that the sentinel's increasingly elusive habits only served to worsen.

At one private meeting with Clemant, a matter to do with the irregulars emerged. The advisor leaned back in his chair, his eyes on Merral. “Commander,” he said, “do
you
know where Sentinel Enand is right now?”

“Well, no. Not at this exact moment.”

A look of irritation crossed Clemant's smooth face. “No one ever does. What's going on with these irregulars, Commander? Do
you
really know?”

“I have a fairly good idea.”

“‘A fairly good idea'? Is that all? Where is Vero based?”

Trying to conceal his unease, Merral gestured with a thumb. “He has a room next to mine.”

“Technically. But he's never there.”

“He has an office in Petersen Square.”

“He is rarely there either.”

“There are other places he could be.”

“I have tried them. But he isn't there. We are pouring resources into his organization, but see little of him. He's a rather shadowy figure.” He gazed sternly at Merral. “It's not satisfactory, not at all.”

If Clemant felt uneasy about Vero, Merral felt much the same about Prebendant Delastro. When he went out among regulars he did much that was good and Merral felt that his talks on the importance of prayer, sacrifice, and resisting evil were a useful counterbalance to the rather mechanical and unspiritual business of soldiering.

However there were some emphases that troubled Merral. Delastro would often talk to the troops about a “holy war” and his preaching often seemed to draw its inspiration from the bloodier passages of the Old Covenant wars. He also seemed obsessed with the envoy. Vero (who seemed to know these things) mentioned that the prebendant was researching the matter of angels in the Library. Also, like Clemant, the prebendant seemed increasingly dubious about Vero.

About a month after the memorial service Merral and Delastro met by accident in a corridor of the Planetary Administration building, just outside of Delastro's office.

His assistants quietly moved out of earshot.

“Your sentinel friend seems to go out of his way to avoid me,” the prebendant complained.

“Well, I don't see much of him either.”

“Let me ask you a question,” the prebendant said, his green eyes narrowing and his voice dropping to a whisper. “How much do we know about this Vero—this mysterious Mr. V.?”

“What do you mean?”

Delastro's long fingers tapped his staff. “We must consider all possibilities. We must be as ‘wise as serpents.' When did he first arrive on Farholme?”

“Two, three days before I met him on Nativity's Eve.”

“Hmm. Had you heard of him before?”

“No. Of course not. But Brenito had.”

“Brenito is dead. Rather convenient that. And remind me, Commander, when did this intruder ship land?”

“Two days before Nativity.”

“Hmm. The
same
time.” Delastro stared at Merral as if inviting him to make a connection. He then turned on his heel, summoned his followers with an imperious gesture of the fingers, and walked rapidly on.

Two days later Vero delivered his proposal to lock down the Library and the Admin-Net in the event of the arrival of more intruders. Merral reviewed it, decided it made good sense, and summoned a meeting with Corradon and Clemant. There, Vero made his case, pointing out the need to shut down both systems instantly and demonstrating a model of the system that would be employed.

“W-we encrypt the data in the Library so it cannot be physically seized. So from now on anyone accessing the Library gets the data through an invisible decryption process. Once we detect an intrusion, the decryption system is switched off. If there is a serious attempt to get into the Library, we destroy the decryption unit and the Library data is locked.”

Vero pulled a matte gray wafer out of his pocket and held it up. “This key holds the decryption files so that the system will only be unlocked by its being physically inserted into the mechanism. And because the decryption is based on a code at the molecular level, it is utterly unique. There is no possibility of making a duplicate or of finding it by trial and error.”

Corradon frowned and looked at his advisor as if asking for guidance.

Clemant, who had been staring at the key, shifted his gaze to Vero. “And who, Sentinel, would hold this key?” There was an almost combative edge to his words. Merral was reminded that some expression of tension between them now occurred at almost every meeting.

For a few seconds, Vero returned Clemant's gaze, as if trying to prove he was not intimidated, then turned to Corradon. “W-why, the representative, of course.”

“And if, despite all that, they try to force their way into the system?”

“It wouldn't help them, even if they could. But I suggest, reluctantly, that we would destroy the Library files to be safe.”

“Destroy them? Are you serious?” There was incredulity in Clemant's voice.

“That does, well . . . seem rather severe,” Corradon added.

“I am utterly serious.”

Clemant shook his head. “Sentinel, that would be an act of madness. I refuse to consider it.”

Vero leaned back in his chair. “B-but look at it another way. If the enemy seizes the Library, they would know everything about the Assembly. They would have vital strategic information. In fact,
not
to destroy the Library would be to b-betray the Assembly.”

A long, heavy silence followed and as it continued, Merral knew that Vero had won his point. That was confirmed when, a week after the discussion, Corradon announced in one of his weekly talks that a temporary loss of the Library in the future could not be ruled out and that people might want to prepare for that eventuality.

Reflecting on it later, Merral decided that while Vero had won, it was apparently a painful victory. Afterward he avoided direct confrontation, seeming instead to work even more behind the scenes than he had hitherto. His appearances became increasingly rare and erratic and the watchwords of his lifestyle seemed to be secrecy and unpredictability.

During this time Merral saw very little of his other friends. Perena always seemed to be away flying and Anya was busy at the Ecology Center, still apparently hoping for a breakthrough on the Krallen.

But shortly after the decision about the Library, Merral attended a meeting where Anya was present. At a coffee break they drifted apart from the crowd and stared at each other.

“Any progress on Krallen behavior?” he asked, trying to find a safe topic.
We have so many issues—so much to fear, so much to hope for. But do I dare to hope?

“In theory.”

“I hear the word
theory
too much. But go on.”

“Your evidence, and that of the soldiers at Fallambet, is that there was a pack of twelve. If they operate in twelves as a rule, that's very suggestive.”

“It is?”

“Twelve gives them multiple attack options. They can split up into sixes and attack from two points of the compass, into fours and attack from three directions, or into threes and attack from all four sides.”

“Thanks,” Merral said, suppressing a shudder. “I hope that information stays theoretical. Anything else?”

“Yes. They are regimented. And while that is effective, there is a price to be paid.”

“Which is?”

“Initiative. They have no imagination; they operate on formulas. And the need to operate in groups probably slows them down. In a battle they may need to constantly regroup.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But that's theory too.”

There was an awkward pause between them.

“Have you seen your sister recently?” Merral asked, trying to start a new conversation.

“Last time I met her, she was in orbit.” She shook her head, looking puzzled.

“I hadn't heard that.”

“It's a joke, Commander Tree Man. I mean that she was in her own little world.”

“I see.” Merral paused. “Do you understand her?”

“Me?” Anya seemed to stare into the distance before focusing her sky blue eyes on him. “No. We are very different. And you know, what worries me is that I never used to find those differences an issue. But I do now. I get irritated with her, because I don't understand her.”

She sighed. “Everything's changing, Merral. You, me, our world. And I don't like it.”