Dark Foundations (61 page)

For long minutes, it seemed unclear to Vero whether or not the Krallen would be caught. It was only after ten minutes that he realized that they would indeed all be caught or disabled.

But it would be at a cost.

It took thirty minutes before the battle was over and the last Krallen, its claws stained with blood, was toppled from the ceiling by the fourth round from a sniper and wrapped in nets.

Slowly, painfully, Vero walked down to the floor of the hall and stood by the door, his hand braced against the wall for support.

On the far side, the last wounded man was taken away. Already some members of his team were starting to clear up the mess of intermingled blood and silvery Krallen fluid on the floor.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Perena. “P., what are you doing here?” he said.

“I heard from my sister that you had a bad night.” She looked around, her face pale. “It's no Fallambet, but I gather it was pretty nasty.”

Her hand was still on his shoulder. Vero put his own hand over hers and returned to staring at the bloodied streaks on the floor.

“Two dead, six with major injuries. A dozen with cuts. And the sentry on the Walderand Bridge is missing, presumed dead.” He heard his voice sound muffled, as if it came through cloth. “I could have saved him.”

“What can I say? Would he blame you?” she asked. “Hardly. If he was a family man, and this does help save this world, then he might thank you.” He heard the strain in her voice.

“That sounds very rational—even cold.” He turned to see her face pinched and drawn. She caught his look and he saw an intense sorrow in her eyes.

“Vero, this is war. There are things that we must do, even though they break our hearts.”

“P-perhaps.”

She squeezed his hand, then let it go. “Now tell me about Krallen.”

“Ah. Well, we netted five fully functional ones. We have another five badly damaged ones. Two are crushed beyond repair.”

“Enough for Anya's research. It paid off, Vero.”

“Did it?” Doubt laced his voice.
I feel empty
.

“It
will
pay off and you know it will.”

“P., I'm worried. We had casualties. And, as Merral might say, this one was a home match. Our men were armored.”

“And the armor worked?”

“Yes. Azeras's guidance helped. And that's a relief. We needed to test that, badly. But it needs improving. In the next few days we will refine it and lighten it. We may be able to use spun silica. Then we'll start mass production.”

“So another plus point,” Perena said firmly. “And I'm pleased for you. I have sometimes worried about your ingenuity, but tonight it paid off. I think Merral will be pleased when—in due course—he learns about it.”

“Thanks, P. Thanks, more than I can say.” He paused. “But in this full-suppression complex there maybe another hundred thousand Krallen. We fought just eight in here tonight.”

There was a long pause. “Yes. We need to deal with that. And that won't be easy.” She frowned and shook her head. “Not at all.” She gave him a thin, distant, little-girl smile. “But you need some sleep. It's nearly three. We all have work to do.”

“Yes, Captain,” he said. “Thanks for coming.” Vero rubbed his tired eyes and, with weary steps, walked back to his chamber and fell instantly asleep.

The following afternoon, the dozen men and women who visited the
Dove of Dawn
returned to Isterrane. Shortly after landing they met with the contact team where they recounted their experiences and showed imagery of the parent ship. As Merral expected, they had found nothing untoward. They were shown whatever they wanted to see and, apparently, had been given honest answers to their questions. They had found nothing suspicious about either the parent ship or the shuttle. Neither showed signs of military hardware or any hint of concealed weapons.

As the meeting progressed Merral saw Perena had arrived and was standing at the back of the room. Afterward, Merral met with her in his office.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“It's civilian.”

“You are sure?”

“Pretty much. I've been looking at all the old ship architecture files and I have a good idea of what a military ship should look like. But this has a thin hull with no trace of armor, no evidence of long-range missile sensors, and no high-maneuver seating.”

“No possibility of anything hidden?”

“No. From what they report, there can't be much room to hide anything.”

“Krallen?”

There was an odd flicker of a smile as if Perena knew something he didn't. “Barely room for a pack I'd say according to the reports.”

“Just as well. And no steersman compartment?”

“No. They were vague on how they did Below-Space navigation though.”

“The propulsion system? Were they much help?”

Perena stroked a cheek thoughtfully. “What they apparently said made sense. But they avoided giving any detail that would allow us to make one.”

“Any other comments?”

“Our folk noted something that you reported about the vessel at Fallambet—it's not as well made as our ships. Engineering tolerances aren't as good. It's a fascinating difference between us in almost everything. They seek to impose their will on a thing, while we work with it.” She tapped a finger on the desk. “We work with the grain; they go against it. Our materials science is very much better.”

“A fascinating insight, but is it helpful?”

There was a strange, half-amused glint in her eyes. “Oh, it may be.” But her tone dissuaded him from pursuing the matter.

“So what do you feel?” Merral asked. “About the ship and the ambassadors?”

She shook her head. “It's poison, Merral. Sugarcoated poison. I pray the treaty will be rejected. But . . .” She frowned. “I think that the whole thing is subtler and deeper than we think.” She glanced away from him. “And maybe more dangerous.”

“There's something else, isn't there?”

“Yes.” Perena leaned back in her chair, put her hands behind her head, and looked at the ceiling. “Yes. Over the last week I've faced a crisis. It was . . . as if I was made an offer.”

“Go on.”

Perena stayed silent for many seconds, then spoke with a wistful intensity. “I felt I was offered the ability to travel between the stars, to go wherever in the cosmos I wanted, to be like an eagle—proud, free to soar wherever I chose.” She turned her gray-blue eyes on Merral, but they seemed to focus far beyond him. “You are an earthbound man, Forester, so forgive me. Perhaps what I describe is not a temptation for you.”

“No. But I sense its attraction. And I may have experienced something similar.”

“It
was
a temptation. As Jorgio foresaw, we're all being tested. I rejected it, but it was not easy. I yielded my wings, Merral.” She gave a sad, nostalgic smile. “I said to the one who offered it me that I would rather be the Lord's hen than his eagle.”

“So you passed the test.”

“I have passed
a
test,” she murmured and stared ahead with a look of foreboding. “But I sense another lies ahead.” She looked at her watch, then rose. Merral walked with her to the door.

“I may be out of touch from now on,” she said quietly and turned toward him. Suddenly Merral saw her as a slight, almost elfin figure, a delicate creature walking in the midst of terrible forces.

As if moved by some sudden impulse, she hugged Merral. “Take care,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

“You are the best, Perena,” Merral replied, responding to something that he did not understand. “Promise me you'll keep safe.”

“I'll try.” Her smile was sorrowful. “But I have to do what's right.” She raised a fine eyebrow. “And in the end, that's safe.”

Later that day, the ambassadors announced without warning that there would be no further formal meetings until after a decision on a treaty had been made. The liaison program at Langerstrand base would continue, however, and the reports that filtered out spoke of lively debates and discussions between the parties.

Merral wondered what Isabella would think of it all and hoped that she might see through what was offered her.
She's no fool
;
she'll recognize what's going on.
But a second thought came on its heels:
Will she?

Merral was glad that the meetings with the ambassadors were over. It removed the risk of them accusing him of honoring Lucas Ringell. It also gave him more time to deal with the appalling volume of work that the defense force now generated. Much of the new equipment and weaponry that had been ordered was starting to come into service and with it came issues of deployment and training. As discreetly as he could, Merral made decisions that would put the forces into the best possible positions should there be trouble immediately after the vote. Troops were dispersed, vessels fueled and made ready, all troops' leave was canceled, and regiments were edged toward combat readiness.

Over the next few days, the tension slowly rose. Merral noticed a look of permanent and gloomy preoccupation on Corradon, who seemed to go out of his way to avoid him. Clemant was rarely seen and apparently spent much of his time in his office monitoring the changes in Farholme through his wall of images and data. Delastro stalked the corridors with a fixed scowl and solemnly counseled Merral to “beware the trickery of the devil.”

Merral felt strangely and unnervingly isolated. He saw very little of Vero, who made only the most fleeting appearances in the Planetary Administration building. When he did appear, he always seemed to be darting from one meeting to another.

In one of these encounters he passes on some news.

“We're making armor suits,” he said in a low voice when they met in the foyer of the building. “Spun silica—light, flexible joints. They may resist Krallen claws.”

“How quickly can we get them out to the troops? We should get them out now.”