Wish You Were Here (Instead of Me), page 12
“It’s all go over there,” Serene said. “The most exciting thing that happened in my morning was when the New Zealand representative sneezed so hard, she fell off her chair. Will these murders affect us?”
“I can’t see how,” Tempest said. “Even if it did, the delegation must still be selected.”
“What questions have we been asked today?”
“More of the same,” Tempest said. “How faster than light travel works, what kind of weapons the ships have, that kind of thing.”
“So nothing to do with the delegation?”
“Of course not,” Tempest said.
“I better check in with Dorn-Tru,” she said.
“And I’ll start with the questions from Father Maguire,” Tempest said. “At least those are about religion.”
Originally, the Valley delegation had been much larger, with fifty experts ready to brief the actual delegates on the social norms and customs they would find on Towan III. As the conference stuttered and stalled, those experts were reassigned to assist with the clean-up in Oxfordshire and the rescue efforts following the autumn’s annual catastrophic natural disasters. One towani had remained behind, Dorn-Tru, personal assistant to Johann tol Davir. At only three hundred years old, she was young to have attained such a high rank in the faith.
Serene followed the sound of hammering to a freshly built pentagonal wooden cabin hidden among the trees behind the hotel.
To the faithful, Earth was a sacred place. The planet had changed, and the stars had moved since the ancestral towani had been enslaved, but the same types of insects buzzed between the same varieties of towering trees. Simply to be outside was to experience an echo of the ancestors’ life. Since Dorn-Tru, like many towani, had only lived in cities, spaceships, and then in the bunker beneath the Neander Valley, she had eschewed a room indoors in favour of a partially enclosed wooden cabin with a dirt floor. First, of course, she’d had to build it.
The cleric’s shaved head bore the swirling red tattoos of the most devout, though she had currently swapped her vestments for overalls, and the ceremonial boots for sandals. In one hand was a hammer, in the other was a chisel with which she was carving the pattern of her tattoos into the walls.
“From your scowl, I sense this morning’s meeting was no more productive than yesterday’s,” she said.
“No, Your Grace,” Serene said, being formal and polite as Greta reminded her at least once a day. Dorn-Tru wasn’t a relative, after all. “I think they’re deliberately trying to tank the talks.”
“And who are they?”
“All of them. I bet they each think whoever remains stubborn to the end can ask for a bribe to say yes.”
“Patience is the fuel which helps us find peace,” the cleric said. “The empire wasn’t overthrown in a day.”
“Oh, don’t say there’ll be seven years of this,” Serene said.
“Tasks which appear simple are often a mask for complexity,” Dorn-Tru said. “And sometimes the most complex decisions have a straightforward solution. But the solution to this decision is not ours to find, so we will continue to answer their questions, offering what guidance we can. Perhaps I shall make that the centrepiece of today’s sermon.”
“We got a message from Harold, our friend in England. There have been two murders.”
“The Holy Johann informed me an hour ago,” she said.
“Oh. Do you think it will change anything?”
“Everything changes everything, but by how much is difficult to predict.”
“Then I better get the room set up for this afternoon.”
Where the mornings were allocated to arguing, the afternoons contained a lecture. At first, these had been pre-prepared holographic spectaculars covering the varied cultures and different species in the Valley. In what Serene considered an unforgivable oversight for a prophet, Johann had only prepared ten. They’d run them twice. Now, Dorn-Tru spent the afternoons giving a sermon. It was due to begin at two. By ten past, there were only twelve attendees, including three hotel employees who evidently didn’t plan to be changing sheets for the rest of their lives.
At a quarter past, and having run out of polite chitchat, Tadgh O’Connell announced, “Let’s begin. It might teach the latecomers a lesson in punctuality.”
One consequence of there being so few attendees was that Serene couldn’t sneak out. She sat near the front and tried to appear attentive as Dorn-Tru launched into a sermon on how the 19th Precept could be applied to simplify decision-making. For two hours.
“There are fewer each day,” Dorn-Tru said after she and Serene had returned to the office.
“You had two hotel employees listening yesterday. Today there were three. They’re clearly smart enough to realise the value in new information.”
“This is not something I am suited to. I am used to addressing the faithful who know the precepts, the prophecies, and our faith’s history. I am failing.”
“If you’re failing, then so are we,” Serene said. “So how do we un-fail?”
“I think you mean succeed,” Tempest said.
“After eight weeks, I’m not setting my sights that high.”
“First, success must be defined,” Dorn-Tru said. “In this case, success would be the selection of a delegation. Let us not forget that this is only the first step on a long journey towards Earth becoming a full member of the Valley.”
“Maybe we should tell them that the membership requirements include ending war and tyranny,” Tempest said.
“The Holy Johann tol Davir has said we should not. He feared that would lead to the inaction we have sadly seen.”
“They liked the 3D shows,” Tempest said. “We could make some more.”
“That would take months,” Serene said. “Since the diplomats are skipping these afternoon sessions, why don’t we do the same?”
“I would prefer not,” Dorn-Tru said. “The afternoon talks are supposed to enthral the audience, to bring them together and make them see the value in compromise.”
“What if we put on a towani documentary?” Serene asked.
“They don’t have an English narration,” Tempest said. “I suppose we could use auto-translate, but that’s always a bit dry.”
“We’ll use auto-translate to create a script, edit it, and get an actor to record a new narration. The question is, which movie megastar do I most want to meet?”
“It is a good idea, but it will take days of work for one afternoon’s instruction,” Dorn-Tru said. “In the meantime, the conference is beginning to drift. We need to focus their minds, and force them to make a decision.”
“You’d think a crashed battle-station would do that,” Tempest said.
“Maybe we just need a bit of variety,” Serene said. “Let’s find some other speakers to take over a session or two.”
“Gramps would be the obvious choice,” Tempest said.
“If the Holy Johann arrives, the presidents and prime ministers will follow, and we will get even less done,” the cleric said.
“We’ve tried explaining the benefits of joining the Valley,” Serene said. “Maybe what we need is someone who can scare them. If Gunther wasn’t out-of-system, he could tell them some war stories. Greta’s busy with the investigation. Who else speaks English?”
“What about Dr Griffin?” Tempest asked.
“We don’t want to scare them that much,” Serene said.
“Those who can speak English are busy in Oxfordshire,” Dorn-Tru said. “There are some at the embassy who can speak German, of course, but how many diplomats know that language? However, yes, I think you are correct, Serene. We have been trying to win hearts and minds with good deeds. Perhaps it is time they learned who the Voytay really are. It had been intended to end this conference with a lecture from Clee. We could bring it forward.”
“The hermit?” Tempest asked.
“The spy?” Serene said.
“She is both and has been living in exile on Earth since the end of her sentence. Her first-hand experience of the Voytay would surely convince them there truly is no time for delay.”
“Perfect,” Serene said. “Where is she?”
“Only your father knows,” Dorn-Tru said. “I will consult with him and see if he agrees to this change.”
“I’ll do it. He always answers when I call,” Serene said.
This time, Sean didn’t, sending a brief text-only message that he was currently being questioned by the home secretary, and would call soon.
“Okay, so while we wait, back to the important question, which actor should we get to narrate some of the documentaries?”
They’d drawn up a shortlist of over a hundred names before Sean called.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“There were only twelve attendees at this afternoon’s talk,” Dorn-Tru said. “We need to change our approach. I understand Clee has requested to give a talk at the end of the conference. I thought we could invite her to give the speech now.”
“She’s prepared a speech, yes,” Sean said. “Have you seen any of her speeches from the speaking tour she went on after the war?”
“Only the highlights,” Serene admitted.
“I have,” Tempest said. “They’re quite something.”
“They are sublime,” Dorn-Tru said.
“You’ve watched them?” Sean asked.
“Of course,” Dorn-Tru said. “They helped me truly understand my faith.”
“Tempi, what do you think?” Sean asked.
“I agree with Dorn-Tru. I think most nations are ready to reach an agreement, but no one is motivated to compromise first.”
“Let’s give it a try,” Sean said. “You’ll need to pick Clee up, but do it first thing in the morning. She won’t want to sleep in a hotel.”
“Where is she?” Serene asked.
“Clee lives on Church Island, in the middle of Lough Currane.”
“Where’s that?” Serene asked.
“Almost in the Atlantic. She has no communication system at all, not even a phone, so you’ll have to visit her in person. Don’t fly there. Drive. There’s a boatyard on the north of the lake. I’ll call ahead and book you my usual boat. After she finishes her speech, she’ll want to return there, so we don’t want anyone to know there’s a paxley hermit living on the lake. Clee requested that this speech be recorded for broadcast across Earth, throughout the Valley, and even to the Voytay. Dorn-Tru, you’ll need to organise a camera crew, and ask Mr O’Connell to arrange a local TV crew as well.”
“It sounds like she’s going to say something important,” Tempest said.
“She is. She’s planned this for years. When I took her supplies, she would often run through a draft.”
“What’s she going to say?” Serene asked.
“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Sean said.
“Okay, but why will it be broadcast across the galaxy? Who is she?”
“Maybe the best way to explain is to tell you about the first time I met her,” Sean said.
“I’m familiar with the story,” Dorn-Tru said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll arrange the camera crews.”
Part 3
The Turning Point in the Civil War
Deep Space
March 1893
Chapter 12 - Fishing for Mines
“It’s a pity there’s nothing you can fish for in space,” Sean said. Beyond the narrow window in the interstellar freighter’s control room, there was nothing to see except the swirling red patterns of subspace. Inside, there wasn’t much more except the blinking blue lights confirming that all was well in the cargo hold. There were only two people in the control room, himself and his beloved, Hakon, whom he had first met after she’d crashed into the freezing waters of the Atlantic, off the coast of Queenstown, four and a half years ago.
“Some animals can survive in the cold, airless vacuum of space, but they don’t live in it. What would they eat? Why is that thought bouncing around your brain?”
“I was thinking about my father,” Sean said. “He’d never agree to captain a ship if he couldn’t throw out a net.”
“Your father caught aquatic animals for food, yes?”
“Aye, until he sold the boat to open that bakery just before he and Mam died. He’d fish in a river, or a lake, but he had salt water in his veins.”
“You’ve been talking of your family a lot lately. Do you want to go home?”
“Of course, but it’s not an option.”
“For you, it could be. We promised Celeste you would be returned.”
“This is my war, too,” Sean said. “For better or worse, it’s Earth’s war as well. I’ll not let others do my fighting for me. It’s not that I miss my old life, but I regret how it ended so quickly.”
“What is that saying of your mother’s? Cherish the past, but don’t cling to it.”
It was over four years since Sean’s arrival on Towan III triggered the revolution. The rebels had fought street-by-street, ship-to-ship, and planet-by-planet. At first, the Valley’s victory had seemed assured, but the tide had turned after Regent Volmar had escaped, and taken nearly a quarter of the fleet with him. The planet Ellowin, home of the imperial shipyard and a hundred commercial starship factories, had become the regent’s new capital, and many of the rich and powerful had flocked to his banner.
While the Valley couldn’t produce enough starships to replace their losses, Volmar, and his new empire he called the Voytay, had built so many that he could sell the excess to the old empire’s former enemies. Now, the Towani Empire’s former territory was unequally divided between the Valley, the Voytay, and the non-aligned planets who were sick of them both.
The Valley was losing. Ships, equipment, and people were increasingly hard to replace. Where at first, Sean had toured different worlds as living proof that the towani’s ancestral home had been found, he was increasingly on the front line, or, as now, deep behind it.
“We’re almost there. Seal your suit,” Hakon said.
Sean pressed the button on the screen on his forearm. The seals on his helmet and gloves gently clicked into place. “Suit’s sealed. Our cargo has been informed. Internal comms are now disabled.”
“In three,” Hakon said.
The swirling red pattern was replaced by the blackness of infinity, dotted with a few faint stars and a distant gas giant, but immediately ahead was a small dark-grey planet.
“If you had that net, you could fish for mines,” Hakon said, as their sensors alerted them to the minefield surrounding the planet. Before she’d finished speaking, another alert flashed on his lenses, and the screen above his workstation. They were being hailed from the interstellar navigation beacon that was also host to a formidable missile battery.
“This is a restricted area. State your business, or you will be destroyed.”
“We’re transmitting the authorisation codes now,” Hakon replied.
Like many worlds on both sides of the conflict, Drameer was now ringed with an orbital minefield to prevent ships from jumping close to the planet, bombarding the surface, and escaping before defences could be mobilised. The missile batteries outside the minefield would obliterate any approaching ship without the correct codes.
“Now we’ll see if Clee can be trusted,” Sean said.
“She hasn’t let us down yet,” Hakon said.
“I’d feel more confident trusting her if someone knew who she was, or if she would communicate with someone other than your brother.”
“Secrecy is often the best protection,” Hakon said.
A message came from the missile platform. “Access granted. Welcome home, Starfinder. Prepare to hand over control of your systems to a remote pilot.”
“There, see? We can trust her,” Hakon said and surrendered control of the ship to the enemy.
“What’s our cargo supposed to be used for?” Sean asked.
“Two hundred thousand tons of beryllium? It’s essential for their missiles. This shipment is supposedly stolen from the Valley by their spies.”
Guided by a remote Voytay pilot, their ship moved through the minefield, following the only safe path. There was no point memorising the route since the mines would regularly be moved. Their destination was a small planet with an atmosphere too thin to support life. Beneath the surface was a research station where imperial scientists had been investigating how to increase the strength of the rock’s magnetic field so it was better able to hold onto an atmosphere. According to the Voytay’s official records, that was what it was still doing. According to their spy, beneath the surface was the Voytay’s newest munitions factory.
“I’m detecting over a hundred ships in orbit,” Sean said. “I can’t tell their type without turning on the scanners.”
“Don’t just yet. We’re just delivery agents. We’ve no reason to wonder how heavily armed they are.”
Slowly, the ships came within visual range. Sean relaxed. “Most of them look like freighters. I count only two warships.”
“They’ll have ground-based fighters, too,” Hakon said.
The remote pilot shut down their engines. “Starfinder, prepare to be boarded for inspection,” came the call from the enemy pilot.
“Clee was right about that, too,” Hakon said. “Honestly, it’s so transparent. What is there to inspect in here? Our bunks?”
“Ah, I don’t mind. Bribing a customs official reminds me of home,” Sean said. “When do we make our move?”
“We’ve still got forward momentum. We want to get as close as we can.”
On his screen, a small skiff was approaching from the planet. Sean watched the blip get nearer.
“Now?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
The skiff drew nearer still.
“It’s about to dock,” Sean said.
“I know, but the closer we are, the greater the chance of success,” Hakon said.
“Then let them dock, and let’s see if we can get ourselves a prisoner or two,” Sean said. He released his harness. The original designers of the ship cared more about the cargo than the pilots, and so hadn’t installed a costly artificial gravity system. With a push, Sean floated towards the airlock. The freighter juddered as the skiff made contact. The lights above the airlock flashed yellow to show it was in use. Yellow turned to a steady blue as the inner door opened, revealing three soldiers in armoured red space suits that still bore an old imperial sigil, the five-pointed star of a military prison detachment.
