Battleground (28 page)

So this is real, she thought. At least, it would be advisable to proceed as if it is real, because it might be. And if it is real, maybe That Place is real too; these not-Soldiers claim to have proof that it is. I never truly thought it was.

•   •   •

I must have misunderstood. Forgive me, Lord. My mind and heart are troubled, give me peace. I've never even understood why Your human children act as they do. We have free will, to do good or do evil, that I know, and You don't will the evil we do. And the will to do good, to be good, until now seemed to exist among our alien brothers as it does in us, even if they don't name or worship You. I believe You did not make these thinking minds, minds that hold some image of You and the desire to bend to Your will, whose very name for you recognizes the abundance of your gifts, without giving them goodness to manifest. Help me to understand, and if my poor human mind cannot understand, at least grant me the peace to accept that I do not understand.

•   •   •

Hope Metra was—finally—beginning to feel like she was in charge of this mission. It gave her great pleasure to say: “These are your orders. You will lead a party of three—yourself, Gabriel Guyup, and the female Kwek, to the area of Battleground known as That Place. I have not decided when.”

Hanna Bassanio looked bewildered. She said, “Whose orders?”

“The Coordinating Commission's,” Metra said, forced to admit it. “Transmitted through Alien Relations and Contact. I'm working out a detailed plan.”

“Who did you talk to at Contact?”

“Adair Evanomen. You know him.”

“Deputy for trade. He's been at the conferences. Why was he giving the orders? Starr always tells me things like this himself—”
Make that past tense,
Metra thought. “Why Adair? I don't have anything to do with commerce.”

“Director Jameson is on the point of taking a seat on the Commission. Obviously the Commission will appoint another director, and Evanomen's the designee. Why?” said Metra, unable to help herself. “Did you expect to get the appointment?”

“What?” said Bassanio, looking more bewildered still. But she couldn't be that thoughtless of promotion, impossible though it would be for someone in her anomalous position.

Or could she?

•   •   •

“Tell me what you think, Adair.” Still on
Heartworld III
, but nearing Heartworld, the home Jameson did not think of as home. Almost summer at Admin. Winter waiting in Arrenswood; he would disembark in something not far short of a blizzard.

Adair Evanomen, the man Jameson was talking to by remote, felt like he'd been thrown into deep water and forgotten how to swim. Evanomen was confident in commerce; he had been involved in trade with F'thal and Girritt for years before the original
Endeavor
project started expanding human relations with nonhumans. He was about to take on direct oversight of the
Endeavor
s and whatever they came up with, and he was not ready—though Jameson apparently thought he was.

“I was hoping to hear what
you
think,” he said.

“I'd rather hear from you.”

It had to be an honest opinion; Jameson wouldn't accept less.

“I think continued contact is imperative. They might have only one fantastic intangible to offer us, but it's so big we've got to come up with something to give them in return. But conditions in Rowtt—specifically Kwoort's state of mind—aren't going to get us what we want.”

“I agree. Go on.”

“Why not wait until we can open channels with the other major power? I know the hierarchy in Wektt isn't as clear, but we'll identify their Holy Man eventually. I'm not as favorably disposed as you are about investigating what they call That Place. If you don't mind my asking, why are you so interested in it?”

“I'm curious. Aren't you? Better cultivate that curiosity. You'll need it, for the Contact part of the job.”

•   •   •

Hanna briefly tried maintaining a sort of low-grade awareness of Gabriel's whereabouts so that she could avoid him, but this only caused her to be aware of Gabriel, so she dropped it. The whole thing seemed vastly unfair, when all she wanted to do was enjoy being in his presence, because she found him restful. He had not even given her a chance to point out that she still felt herself bound by a temporary quasi-promise to maintain a status quo with Jameson. And he wouldn't care about that anyway, because he (she had looked it up) was wed with a permanent and absolute promise to his God. What he would care about was that she (according to the reading she managed before she got bored) was a proximate occasion of sin, although the proximity appeared to be permissible, even if it was continuous, as long as it was involuntary.

She didn't think she had ever been called an occasion of sin before. Presumably she could not help being one, but she was not sure, and she didn't know of any experts to ask. Except Gabriel. And she had no idea how to remove herself from that unfortunate category, and he probably wouldn't either, since the assessment appeared to be subjective on the part of the potential sinner, and it was evident that Gabriel already knew where he stood on
that
question: ready and able to sin with her; just not—volunteering.

•   •   •

Now
it does not matter now it is over now I go. Balances to be maintained. I will have no more to do with these not-Soldiers unless

Of course they might come. Would that not be the logical next step for them.

So it might happen and then I would still have to try to harness that strange power, how strange it felt, like a palpable touch. And I would have another chance to find out how they do the other thing we cannot do but even if I find out what reward could there be? What does knowing what I know, seeing what I have lived to see, living long enough for knowledge and surmise to come together, what reward has it brought?

None. Nothing. No thing.

I have lived too long, it seems I must live longer still. It does not seem too long on the days when I have forgotten much, but today it seems long. I even remember where I hid others of these pages. Not all, the most recent, only those. I will put them also in the sack and I will take them

•   •   •

“What are you doing?” said Kwek.

“It is prayer,” said Gergtk, lifting his head.

“But you use no prayer counter.”

“Sometimes.”

He seemed to be all right, considering he was a not-Soldier. All of them seemed to be, so far. Arkt had made sure she had Soldiers' food to eat; he said not-Soldiers who wanted to analyze it had brought it on board and he had had difficulty wresting it from them. He had come to see her several times and told her many interesting things about them, and so had this one. This time Gergtk had put his hand on hers where it lay on the table while he said quiet words that his translating device rendered mostly as signals without content. After the first short recitation he had said what might be the same syllables again, and this time he seemed to be listening to the pings, chimes, chirps, beeps and twitters for their own sake. He had just finished doing that when Kwek spoke and he answered.

“What does the prayer say?” she said.

“It doesn't matter. It doesn't translate,” said the male. “Stalemate be with you, Kwek.”

“What?” said Kwek.

•   •   •

The
plan Hope Metra had come up with involved an uninhabited island, a boat, and a long walk through jungle. She put it forth in what was supposed to be a conference with Hanna and the ever-present Cork and Cock, except that “conferring” implied an exchange of ideas, and Metra entertained none but her own. The plan was so shockingly dangerous and impractical that Hanna spoke to Metra's mind directly for the first time:
You and I must talk, if you don't want Commissioner Jameson personally questioning my death!
–emphasis on the “Commissioner.” She threw in a judicious impression of her intimacy with him for good measure, but it was the anger, and the sense of threat, that made Metra blink.

“Dismissed,” she told the officers, and she and Hanna faced each other.

Hanna said, “Are you trying to get me killed? And Kwek and Gabriel too?”

“The idea is to minimize the probability of that by allowing you to make a surreptitious approach,” Metra said.

“It is not. I'm not good with boats, I have never been certified for boats of any kind, as you must know if you've seen my records. Does Gabriel know anything about boats? Does Kwek?”

“No one wants you to be killed,” Metra said. And Hanna saw that that was the truth, as Metra knew it. She got up and started pacing. She stopped and looked at Metra; looked a little deeper, making it deliberately obvious and rude.

“
This
is what you want. My refusal. Why?”

“Stop that!”

“
‘
That' seems to be my only defense. What is really going on here—?” Hanna said almost amiably. She dropped back into her chair and considered.

“You don't get any direct benefit from my refusing to do this. But it makes me look bad, doesn't it? And by extension, Starr? Who came up with this idea—Edward Vickery's people? I can believe Edward would like to embarrass Starr for the fun of it, but he's too cautious to set up something this dangerous just for fun. Is it some kind of last-minute effort to discredit Starr and keep him out of the appointment? You know, it just might be. So—”

Hanna smiled.

“I'll do it. I want it on record that I think it's a wonderful idea. I will take Gabriel and Kwek and the boat and stuff them all into a shuttle and go immediately. I understand storms are expected. High winds, high seas? Wonderful. Just what we need. How soon can a boat be ready—does
Endeavor
even carry a boat?—you're not recording.”

“Never mind,” Metra said.

•   •   •

“Di
d these plans of hers call for a boat?” Jameson said later.

“How did you know?”

“Adair told me. He didn't know about you and boats. I've told him you're not to be allowed near one. That you behave as if they're sure to fly if you only go fast enough.”

“Thank you—I think. She dropped the idea anyway. It was just supposed to maneuver me into refusing to follow orders—an order to do something stupid and dangerous. I think my refusal was supposed to damage you. Would it have?”

“It's too late for that, and Edward should have known it, if indeed he was behind it. Anyway, it's all over the council that you and I are separating. That helps.”

Hanna had answered his call with a light heart, pleased at her skirmish with Metra. It took a few seconds to absorb what he had just said, and as she did the heart slowly began turning to stone.

She said, “You didn't.”

“Didn't what?”

He looked at her with mild curiosity, but his face changed when he saw what had come into hers. She could not speak at all for a minute, and he said, “I told you the rumor would be helpful. Did you think I was joking?”

Hanna still could not speak. The video projection that took up so small a space in the wall seemed to expand. He had reached Heartworld and was at his own provincial capital. It was night in Arrenswood and he had called her just before going to bed. He wore a robe of rough brown fabric that she remembered; she remembered how it felt against her naked skin. He was at home in the city house his family had maintained in Arrenswood's capital for six hundred years, gilded and luxurious. Hanna had never visited it. She had never been invited.

remember what he has poured out at our feet

The ghost.

remember kindness generosity even love

I don't hear you. I won't

himself

I won't

Finally she spoke. Her voice was thick.

“So you told them I'm leaving you, a strategic lie that put words into my mouth. I'll make it true, then. I won't, I will
not
do this any more. Being afraid I'll be used as a weapon against you. Or used by you, for political expediency. And Mickey, too, how could you! I will not do it any more!”

“I'm sorry—”

“Don't say it won't happen again. It doesn't matter. And,” she almost whispered, “there are other reasons.”

“What reasons?” He looked bewildered now, completely unguarded. And afraid. Not another soul in human space could have put that look there. He knew Hanna did not make empty threats.

There were too many answers.
I out-manipulated Metra, and used you to do it. Used you as you have used me. A true-human thing to do, not D'neeran. I am losing myself.

Some part of her seemed to have been cut away, as if she had suffered a great injury, and she felt a need to hold her breath and wait to see how much it was going to hurt. She heard a voice, knowing it was hers although it did not seem to be, say: “You are contacting me about the mission? What did you want?”

“Hanna, listen to me.”

“No. We're done. Altogether done.”

He looked at her for a long moment. She looked back, holding on to resolution, dizzy with it. Finally he said, “I apologize from my heart. Please don't decide now.”

Too late,
Hanna thought. And,
What heart?
She was shaking. She tucked her hands under her arms so he would not see the tremor. He was saying, “Later, when you've thought some more—”

“Cooled off, you mean. All right. All right, we'll talk later—” But not now. She wanted these minutes to end, they had to end, she had to go away and be as quiet as she could while the vast change rolled through her and she tried to breathe. “Say what you have to say about the mission.” She tried to take a deep breath. There did not seem to be enough oxygen in it. “Metra implied that Adair was giving the orders now, that you're not directly involved any more.”