Haze and the Hammer of Darkness (39 page)

Slowly, he turned his head.

He lay on a bed in a small room. Beside the bed he could see a bedside table and a chair. The room had no windows, and the door was the translucent green type he'd seen only on Dubiety. An acrid smell hovered around him. It took him a moment to realize that he—his sweat—was the source of the odor.

Since he doubted that the scene he beheld was any form of an afterlife, someone had rescued him, and his rescuers were presumably the Dubietans. He could only hope that he didn't end up in some place like Manor Farms, although that would be better than what had awaited him with the Federation. About that he had absolutely no doubts, not with the way the colonel had treated him at the end.

But why did everything hurt?

The door split, and the two translucent green sides slid back. Selyni Hillis stepped through it. Roget struggled into a sitting position in the bed, trying not to wince as he did, and trying to ignore the intensification of the headache. He closed his eyes again. That didn't help any more than it had the first time, and he forced himself to look at the director.

Hillis dropped into the chair. “Pardon me, but it's been a very long several days.”

Roget managed the slightest nod. More than that and he had the feeling his head would fall off. He knew it wouldn't, but it felt that way.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice raspy.

“In the med-center of the translation complex.”

“Translation complex?” blurted Roget.

“What you thought was a launch complex, where we sent you and the other dropboat back to the
WuDing.
”

“Oh … thank you for rescuing me.”

“You're welcome.” She offered a wry smile. “It took a while to get to you, and the recovery was rough on you. We will extract some payment for that.”

Roget waited. He didn't want to ask. But Hillis didn't volunteer more. He finally asked, “What did you have in mind? For repayment?”

“Nothing physically that onerous. We'd just like your detailed memoirs and observations about the Federation. You can write or record them over several years, but it would be best to start while your memories are fresh.”

“And?”

“That's just for the rescue. You'll still have to find an occupation. We'll talk about that later.”

“What happened?”

“You must have seen, didn't you? The dropboat was functioning enough to split from the
WuDing.
I'm surprised that they let you depart.”

“They didn't have that in mind,” Roget admitted. “It took a little effort, and some luck.”

“That part of your memoirs will be very popular, I'm certain.”

“You'd … make them public?”

“That's the general idea. Anything the government says, even on Dubiety, especially on Dubiety, is regarded with a certain skepticism. You might even get a bit of continuing income from them.”

“You didn't tell me what happened,” Roget reminded her.

“What did you observe?” she countered.

“The Federation ships vanished. The huge dreadnought—it was your ship, wasn't it?—it destroyed them one by one.”

Hillis shook her head. “We didn't destroy any of them.”

“Then what did you do? I saw them vanish. It was your ship, wasn't it?” Roget asked again.

“One of ours.”

“It wrapped energy around the Federation ships, and they disappeared.”

“They did. We didn't destroy them. We translated them to the far side of the Galaxy. They might end up close to each other. They might not. Some might end up in a solar corona somewhere, or in the gravitational hold of a gas giant, although the odds are very much against that. We don't have that fine a control over those kind of distances. They'll just have to do what they can wherever they end up. Some of them might survive to build colonies … if they decide to create instead of trying to dominate.”

Hillis could have been lying to him, but Roget didn't think so. There was a factual weariness behind her words.

“Won't the Federation just send another fleet?”

“They could. It wouldn't be very bright. This is the third one in two centuries. You should have gathered that from what we told you.”

“But … why do they keep doing it?”

“Conditioned reflex. They've absorbed everything—they think—by waiting and patiently trying again. It will be another century, assuming the Federation lasts that long, before they can amass enough resources to replace the ships they lost.”

Roget understood that. The Federation Mandarins couldn't afford to let it be known that a mere Thomist colony had wiped out an entire fleet in moments without suffering any losses. That would have undermined the Federation far too much because its order was supported by the illusion of absolute knowledge, power, and control.

“You don't think the Federation will last that long?”

Hillis shrugged. “It's hard to say. They lost a tremendous resource investment when they lost those thirty-three ships, and that's a significant drain that will fall mostly on earth. Sooner or later, some seemingly smaller event like that will trigger its fall.” She paused, then added, “On the other hand, we did them a favor because they generally place potential troublemakers in the exploratory fleets, carefully spread around, or in fleets like the one that tried to attack. Some of the junior officers are those who think too deeply. That's how dynasties and empires survive, by keeping the able, the discontented, and the ambitious at a distance. The problem on old earth has always been that those on the frontiers turned back on the center.”

Roget thought about his own earlier “squirrel run.” “They don't allow rebels and troublemakers on earth or anywhere in the solar system.”

“The Federation will take longer to fall, and it will fall farther,” predicted Hillis. “Civilization as such might not even survive.”

“But you send your own troublemakers out.”

“We don't try to destroy them. We give them ships and resources. It solves their problems, and it solves ours. It's also a very good way of ensuring the survival of the human race, although there are some philosophers who question the ethicality of such survival, and of foisting off such aggressiveness on the rest of the galaxy.”

“Has anyone found other intelligence?”

“We've found ruins and data, nothing more. It's a very big galaxy, and civilizations don't last all that long in the galactic perspective.”

“That dreadnought … did that come…?”

“Some of the ideas behind it, but the Ryleni never left their home system.” Hillis paused, then said, “Now … I have a question for you. Why did you cast yourself into space? Couldn't you see that we were removing the Federation ships one at a time? You didn't need to do that.” A smile hovered in Director Selyni Hillis's eyes, but not on her lips.

Roget had asked himself that before he had stepped out of the dropboat's airlock. “Because I had faith that you could pick me up, and because I wanted you to know that I was choosing to leave the Federation behind. I wasn't certain that you'd know that without some sort of … grand gesture. I didn't know how else to make that clear, and I thought you were destroying the Federation ships. Call it a statement of intent, backed by skepticism and worry.”

“Skepticism and worry…” A soft laugh followed the words. “You're a Thomist at heart, I think.” She shook her head. “You did make your intent clear. So clear that you also caused some difficulty and consternation.” She paused for a moment. “That was quite literally a leap of faith.”

“I'm not that kind of Believer.”

“We knew that. Still … there is a time for proof and a time for belief—not in the supernatural, but in what one knows exists, even if he cannot fully explain it.” Hillis smiled. “Faith in accomplishments and faith in others is far more solid than faith in gods who have never passed the test of proof of their existence.”

“How could one ever really know?” Roget asked dryly, stifling a cough he knew would hurt.

“One cannot ever definitively prove that a god or a being does not exist. That is not possible, but time has proven that, if such a being exists, he or she or it does not interfere in our lives for either good or evil. That should be sufficient for any thinking being.”

“For some it is not.”

“I said ‘any thinking being.'”

Roget smiled wryly at the correction before asking, “Where's Lyvia?”

“In Skeptos.”

“Did she really dislike me that much?” He felt so tired, and all he'd done was to ask a few questions.

“No.”

“She just didn't like me that much. Is that it?”

“Let us just say that you impressed her enough that she did her duty.”

Roget nodded, holding back and swallowing a yawn. He had questions, so many questions, and he asked the next one that came to mind. “Some of that data in the information package … it might have gotten back to the Federation. Doesn't that worry you?”

“We hoped it would. That was one of the reasons for sending it back to the
WuDing
with you.”

“Was the information false?”

“Oh, no. It was all absolutely accurate and technically correct.”

“You wanted the Federation to have it? Why?”

“Think about it.” Hillis smiled. “If you can't figure it out by the time you leave Skeptos, I'll tell you. But I don't think I'll need to.”

Leave Skeptos? “I don't want to end up in something like the Manor Farm Cottages or whatever else…”

Hillis shook her head. “You're too well adjusted for that. If you want to, we can train you for a position as a balance coordinator. You have all the necessary background knowledge. Before all that long, there will be a vacancy in Andoya. That's in Thula, and it's a pleasant place. It's a bit cooler there than Skeptos, but I imagine you'd prefer it that way.”

Roget wasn't about to commit, not without knowing more. He stifled another yawn. “What's a balance coordinator?”

“The coordinators work to balance the environmental, energy, radiation, and other impacts in a region. By now, you should know how important that is for us.”

“Because the shields insulate both ways?”

“Exactly.” Director Hillis rose from the chair. “You need some more sleep. You're barely able to stay awake. It's not that often that someone recovers from near anoxia and close to terminal frostbite.”

Had he been that close to death?

“Not quite,” replied Hillis, clearly reading his face, “but it will make a great story when enough time has passed. We'll talk about what training you'll need when you feel better, assuming you're agreeable.”

Roget eased himself back down onto the bed, then turned toward Hillis, who had almost reached the door.

“Hildegarde … my flash … the image?”

“The extreme cold destroyed the storage in your belt flash monitor. But we saved all the images you called up at the guesthouse in Skeptos, and they're waiting for you.” Another smile crossed her face. “You won't need her for all that long, except as a reminder. Now … get some sleep.”

They did have the image of Hildegarde. They did.

He closed his eyes.

 

EPILOGUE

17 MAIA 1811
P. D.

Roget couldn't help but smile as he strode toward the nature walk on the west end of the hill beyond the conapt complex where he'd settled temporarily. He was learning the business of being a balance coordinator from the woman who had held the position for nearly two decades, a very hands-on proposition, and he found that he was enjoying it. He also enjoyed Andoya.

The worst of the frosts had lifted, as Lyvia had predicted months earlier, and the cool, but not-too-cool, spring in the highlands of Thula was definitely to his liking.

As he passed through the two stone pillars marking the beginning of the walk, he heard a sound he hadn't in years—a certain deep bark. Just one bark.

At that sound, Roget turned. He couldn't help but smile as he saw the black and tan dachshund leading her owner toward the pillars that marked the start of the nature walk circling through the low hills. Standing there, he waited until the dachshund and her owner neared before speaking.

“She's beautiful.” Roget thought he'd spoken correctly. He squatted to get a better look at the dachshund, then extended his hand, letting the dog sniff it. After a moment, he stroked her head gently. “You are special, aren't you?”

The dachshund wagged her tail, and the woman laughed.

Roget stroked the dachshund once more before straightening. The dog's owner was, he realized, most attractive with mahogany red hair cut longer than most Dubietan women. It even brushed the collar of her pale green blouse. She wore a darker green scarf as well, both shades of green set off by her piercing green eyes. Yet she was older, perhaps even close to his own age.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “It's just…”

“Do you have a dachsie?”

Roget shook his head. “Not now. I have…” He shook his head again. “It would be hard to explain.”

“You're that Federation agent, aren't you? Or you were.” Her voice was amused.

“I'm afraid I was. I didn't mean to bother you. It's just that…”

“Freya likes you. She's more careful with most strangers. She only barked once.”

“Oh … I should introduce myself, other than as a former Federation agent. I'm Keir Roget. I'm training as a balance coordinator here.” He wondered if her name might be Susannah, but that would have been too much of a coincidence.

“Emmelyn Shannon.” Her eyes met his.

Roget wondered what she saw.

“Emmelyn … I like that.” Abruptly, he laughed, embarrassed. “I'm sorry. It's not my place to approve or disapprove. I'm so sorry.”