A Night Without Stars

  ‘So you’re saying she’s not a danger?’

  ‘Not a physical one,’ Stonal contended. ‘But potentially a political one, yes. The Warrior Angel has never released any of the Commonwealth’s technological knowledge, despite an infinite number of opportunities to do so. We know why; she was in agreement with Mother Laura on this. They both believed that, after the Trees were destroyed, our government would have to be – as she put it – less authoritarian, and society would change because of that.’

  ‘Crudding insulting,’ Terese muttered.

  ‘Yes, but it has been a principle the Warrior Angel has thankfully stuck to. Consequently, we have maintained order for two hundred and fifty very difficult years.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Adolphus said. ‘And now this wretched girl has arrived to upset everything. Suppose she doesn’t agree with the Warrior Angel?’

  ‘She is very limited in her options. If she wants to build any advanced machinery, or even a starship to take her home, she will need resources. Vigilance will uncover that; my father knew what he was doing when he introduced the joint-enterprise law. The state has a stake in every commercial venture on the planet no matter what size; the movement of raw materials and finished products cannot be hidden from us in the same fashion Nigel did before. If she wants to achieve anything, she has to negotiate with us.’

  Adolphus and Terese exchanged one of their knowing looks.

  ‘So you’re saying we’re safe?’

  ‘Not at all. Change is coming; it is inevitable. But if the girl comes forwards, we can cooperate with her and manage the situation. That’s the good news.’

  ‘But you just said she has limited options,’ Terese said.

  ‘She is no longer my primary concern.’

  ‘Who is then?’

  ‘The Fallers. They took a big risk appearing openly in Opole and trying to take out the Warrior Angel. It was a suicide mission and they knew it. That it failed is even more cause for alarm. They will be extremely worried, which in turn worries me. The nests know that Commonwealth technology poses the greatest threat to them and their ambition to conquer Bienvenido. This might be the event which forces them into desperate measures.’

  ‘The apocalypse?’ Adolphus asked anxiously, glancing round the vast study as if fearing being overheard. ‘You think they can launch it?’

  ‘We have not attempted to send any exploration parties out to other islands since the disastrous Marine scout trip to Fanrith eighteen years ago,’ Stonal reminded him. ‘There is an increase in the disappearance of coastal ships, small but significant, despite the Vatni’s vigilance. We do not know their strength beyond our shores.’

  ‘We know Byarn is clear of the bastards,’ Terese said.

  ‘We certainly do, yes.’

  ‘What the crud do you expect us to do, then?’

  ‘If this Commonwealth girl comes to us, we have to find a solution that will satisfy not just ourselves, but also the Fallers.’

  ‘Operation Overload is Giudamned satisfactory,’ Adolphus said. ‘I am not going to have my premiership remembered for appeasing the crudding Fallers.’

  ‘And if she physically comes to Varlan, do we still use Operation Overload?’ Stonal asked contemptuously. ‘But consider this: for all she was difficult with Slvasta, Mother Laura had a basic level of integrity. We can only assume this girl will have a similar outlook. Even if she doesn’t, I cannot believe she will want to endanger an entire planet of humans.’

  ‘All right,’ Adolphus said angrily. ‘If she contacts us, we’ll consider offering her a deal. In the meantime—’

  ‘My people will continue looking for her. Of course.’

  ‘I was going to say: we should move Byarn’s status up to level four. Purely as a precaution. Terese?’

  ‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘We’ll both sign the order tonight.’

  ‘That needs to be kept very quiet,’ Stonal said, trying not to show how perturbed he was by the extremes Adolphus was thinking in. ‘If any hint of that leaks out, it might just push the Fallers into irreversible action.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the chief of the Joint Regimental Council,’ Terese said. ‘As far as anyone will know it’s going to be just another irritating logistics exercise.’

  2

  The tailor on JermanGate had taken an impressive eighteen hours to produce the new uniform. Jenifa had picked it up the morning Chaing was released from hospital. The jacket sleeve folded neatly to be pinned at the side, while the front could be buttoned over the sling which held his arm. Instead of a seam on his left trouser leg, there were buttons he could do up after he’d slipped them on, covering the bandages and splints. Even the shirts were customized, with the right sleeve missing, and a larger than usual shoulder hole.

  Despite the ease of wearing it, Chaing was sweating when he got to the top of the third-floor stairs. He had to use a crutch on his left side and it was exhausting work; he often found his left arm shaking from the strain. But he’d flat-out refused to accept the wheelchair the hospital offered. It would make him look too much like a failure.

  In his mind, he’d prepared the scene that would greet him in the operations room. A week from the firefight outside Cameron’s would see several of the metal desks sitting empty, their investigators either killed or still in hospital. But there’d be a full complement of secretaries, typewriters clattering away, gossipy voices talking down the telephones. Clerks would be moving silently among them like swans across a lake, gathering and distributing files. The pinboards would have new photos, and ribbons stretching between them forming a thick unsymmetrical web.

  He stood in front of the door and used the crutch to push it open, a smile lifting his face, ready to greet his team. Instead, there were two janitors inside, stacking chairs on a trolley. Half of the desks had already been taken away, the remainder were empty. All the boards were clear.

  ‘Where’s it gone?’ he asked numbly.

  ‘Oh, hello, captain,’ one of the janitors said. ‘Welcome back, sir. Nice to see you on your feet.’

  ‘Where’s the operation gone?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘My crudding operation! Where’s it gone?’

  ‘Chaing.’

  He turned to find Gorlan standing behind him. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Director Yaki would like a word.’

  Chaing wasn’t sure he could make it up to the seventh floor. He had to stop a couple of times on the stairs to take a breath. Gorlan didn’t say anything, just waited patiently for him to recover. He could feel how damp his shirt was from perspiration when he finally arrived at Yaki’s office.

  She looked up from behind her antique miroak desk, and frowned when she saw the state he was in. ‘For Giu’s sake,’ she muttered.

  Chaing sank down onto one of the chairs, ashamed to find his vision tunnelling. A glass of water and crushed ice was put into his hand. He drank it gratefully.

  Gorlan gave him a disdainful look as she left.

  ‘So I don’t need to ask if you’re fit for duty,’ Yaki grumbled.

  ‘I wasn’t going to do any field work,’ he countered. ‘I was going to sit behind my desk. In my operations room!’

  ‘Great Giu, Chaing. It’s over. You were there, for crud’s sake. You saw the Warrior Angel take the pair of them.’

  ‘Someone alerted her. The Eliter radicals. Castillito’s associates. They might not know where she’s taken them, but it’s a start.’

  ‘They vanished,’ Yaki said. ‘Thirty-seven sheriffs and Corporal Jenifa searched wharf three within seconds of the bazooka explosion. There was nothing, no sign of them. This is beyond us.’

  ‘It can’t be,’ he implored, fearful he would lose it in front of her. ‘Florian was there in front of me, and so was the girl. I had them!’

  ‘And she took them from you.’

  ‘Uracus be damned!’

  ‘There were Fallers there, Chaing. Masquerading as sheriffs – the balls of it! Another nest in Opole that we
knew nothing about. Some of Roxwolf’s gangsters were Fallers. How did that ever happen? And how did Roxwolf know so much about what was going on? I need answers to all of this, because Varlan is asking me some very pointed questions. You can get those answers for me. Finding that new nest is my top priority now; in fact, it’s my only priority.’

  He almost nodded, almost gave in to her. ‘I want to talk to Stonal.’

  ‘I see.’ Her eyebrows rose up at his insubordination. She pulled the black phone across her desk and dialled. Once the connection was made, she dialled the scrambler code and the blue light came on. She flicked the toggle switch for the speakerphone.

  ‘Director Yaki,’ Stonal’s voice crackled out of the speaker.

  ‘I have Captain Chaing with me,’ Yaki said. ‘He insisted on talking to you.’

  ‘Really? Hello, captain.’

  Chaing wasn’t sure, but there may have been a hint of amusement in Stonal’s tone. ‘Sir, I’d like your permission to carry on hunting Florian and the girl.’

  ‘Do you have any reason to think they’re still in Opole?’

  ‘No, sir. They’ll be in Port Chana.’

  ‘What in Giu’s name makes you say that?’

  ‘Major Evine said Florian and the girl had been forced into Roxwolf’s headquarters. Forced. That implies they’d been kidnapped. Then they escaped Roxwolf, and the Warrior Angel was there to snatch them to safety. The fact that she was in Opole implies they were about to be moved, presumably along the underground railway. That always takes wanted Eliters to Port Chana.’

  ‘Well, it certainly takes a lot of them there. But you can’t know for certain that’s where Florian and the girl are.’

  ‘It’s our best lead.’

  ‘Florian’s brother left Opole ten years ago. He’s never been found, and he’s only one of hundreds.’

  ‘You have to let me try, sir.’

  ‘The Port Chana office is already looking for him.’

  ‘She nearly talked to me,’ Chaing said in desperation.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Warrior Angel. On Hawley Docks. I asked her what was happening. She was going to answer me, I swear she was, then the crudding Fallers fired their bazooka.’

  ‘So you think she’ll . . . what? Take pity on you if you show up, and surrender?’

  ‘Not surrender, no. But . . . I’ve faced her twice now, and I’m still alive.’

  ‘Pick up the handset.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Pick up the handset. I want to talk to you in private.’

  Chaing gave Yaki a guilty look and lumbered up out of his chair. She watched him with an impassive expression, but her scar was a hot red jag against her cheek.

  ‘Here, sir,’ he said with the handset pressed to his face.

  ‘We’re in a difficult situation politically. This Commonwealth girl, we don’t know what she’s capable of. Unofficially, the government is willing to negotiate with her. That’s why I’m going to let you go to Port Chana. You’re bait. That is your only value.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ He smiled like a buffoon.

  ‘Make yourself known down there, see if the Warrior Angel gets in touch with you. If she does, the message you will deliver is very simple: we want to talk. That is all you will do.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘There’s another thing. I don’t trust the Port Chana PSR office.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Port Chana is the last stop on the underground railway; you’re quite right about that. But the office there is singularly useless in apprehending radical Eliters, and has been for some time. I have to ask why.’

  ‘Oh.’ He glanced at Yaki, wanting to ask a whole load of questions about that. ‘Got it.’

  ‘I’ll clear it for you to run an independent operation there; the local director will provide all the services you require. But take some of your own people, keep them inconspicuous, and run the real search in parallel from our safe house.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good luck, captain.’

  *

  It was two fifteen in the morning. The phone rang.

  Anala sat upright in bed, focusing hard. All astronauts got used to interrupted sleep; it was part of the training. Glitches can happen at any time.

  She picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Sergeant Rebara.’

  ‘Uh, yes?’ She clearly wasn’t as alert as she thought; the only Sergeant Rebara she could think of was the drill master at the Air Defence Force flight officer school, who specialized in making cadets’ lives a total misery.

  ‘I have the results of your last training exercise in teaching room 3-B.’

  Now Anala was very awake. The voice . . . It was him. She came so close to yelling: Ry? Instead she got a grip like a good astronaut.

  ‘Yes?’ she said cautiously. ‘What was the result?’

  ‘The landing coordinates you worked out were correct, and a full recovery was enacted. Well done.’

  ‘Great Giu,’ she whispered. Her gaze went directly to the three-day-old Varlan Times newspaper on the table, with its headline: Opole Nest Destroyed.

  ‘I’ll call you when your next training session is allocated.’ The phone went dead in her hand.

  *

  Paula’s last memory was of the elegant lake house on the Sheldon estate on Augusta. She’d been staying there with Nigel and Vallar, a Raiel; the three of them were preparing Nigel’s covert mission into the Void. The plan was a simple one. Humans in the Void had found Makkathran, an ancient Raiel warship that had somehow survived their vanquished invasion a million years earlier. Now the Raiel were desperate for the knowledge Makkathran had acquired during its million-year purgatory. Nigel had agreed to go inside the Void and attempt contact with Makkathran. Paula had been concerned he wasn’t right for the mission. There were humans living in Makkathran, a primitive society with a very rigid class structure, where people possessed strong mental powers and weren’t afraid to use them. An interloper would need to be subtle, infiltrating them slowly and quietly.

  That so wasn’t Nigel – in her opinion.

  So, with acute reluctance, she’d suggested the backup. If Nigel failed, she would carry on with the mission. But it had to be an extreme last resort, she insisted . . . and Nigel and Vallar had agreed. Because Nigel considered it so unlikely he would fail, and she personally disapproved of going multiple, she wasn’t going to grow an adult clone of herself like he was doing. Instead, there would be an embryo and an external memory lacuna. So she’d gone into the estate’s clinic for a secure memory download—

  The growth phase from infant to child was a vague period of laughter and tears and deep affection for her father, the one person who was constantly there for her. And pain. Pain that plagued her relentlessly, integral to a body which was being forced to grow far too quickly. She knew frights, too, from some of the people who lurched into her life, only for Daddy to fend them off.

  Then finally she’d integrated her memory and become herself again – to find she wasn’t in Makkathran, that Nigel had never made it to Querencia. Her home galaxy was millions of lightyears away, and for some reason the package smartcore had taken two hundred and fifty years to activate her.

  So: she and Nigel drinking a pleasant vintage burgundy on the lake house terrace that evening just before she’d gone for the download, chatting away in such a civilized fashion about times past and possible options – cut to a nonhuman monster threatening to eat her before trying to blow her brains out in its underground lair. As disorientating events went, she was now the all-time universe champion.

  The semiorganic synthesizers in the extensive underground chambers (why were people on Bienvenido obsessed with putting their secret bases underground; didn’t they understand how that limited their escape routes?) carved into the rock below the farmhouse had produced a decent grey suit for her. The cut was weirdly old-fashioned, which Fergus (who names an ANAdroid Fergus?) assured her would go unremarked
in any of Bienvenido’s towns. She looked at herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. It had been a long time since she had rejuvenated herself all the way down to eighteen. Despite rejuve being commonplace, Commonwealth society still placed their trust in more distinguished elderly figures, so the most clinics had ever taken her back to was her mid-twenties. Then biononics had come along and she maintained her appearance at a constant thirty.

  Now that the forced maturation was complete, she wasn’t about to dive right in and use biononics to adjust and tweak her physiology. Nature could take its proper course for the next twenty-two years. If Bienvenido lasts that long.

  Her ebony hair had been cut by Fergus. He’d actually done a reasonable job. It was still too short for her usual style, so he’d trimmed where necessary, and crimped tightly. The result looked a bit shaggy-wild, but was perfectly in keeping with her teenage features. The suit, too, was reassuringly comfortable. She felt she was finally coming to terms with her new body and circumstances.

  It was seven o’clock in the evening when she made her way downstairs. She paused at the first-floor landing window. Kysandra was on the small lawn outside, looking through a long telescope. That starless night sky was something that Paula still wasn’t acclimatized to; it alarmed her at some instinctive animal level.

  The ANAdroids were all waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Now that is the Paula we remember,’ Valeri said.

  She raised an eyebrow at the artificial man. It was understandable that Kysandra had used the ANAdroids as a social support mechanism, accepting them as people, but there was no way she could ever think of them as human. However, she was the outsider here. As always. Her lips lifted in a tiny wry smile at the true familiar. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Would you like to call Kysandra in? We should get started.’

  ‘Give her this moment,’ Demitri said. ‘She’ll be in shortly.’

  ‘Of course.’ Paula went into the dining room.

  Ry Evine was already there, along with Florian. She hadn’t seen much of them in the four days they’d been at the farmhouse, preferring to stay quietly in her room with the occasional trips down to the medical capsule when her joints were at their worst. Most of that time she’d spent assimilating the memories which the ANAdroids had prepared for her, detailing a comprehensive breakdown of Bienvenido’s history, and information on the Fallers.