A Night Without Stars (24 page)

It was midday already (how did that happen?), and Florian hadn't eaten anything but three slices of bread. Three weeks ago, on his trip to the general store in Wymondon, he'd bought a cured ham. There was still some left, which was a relief. He had to eat something before he set off to visit Aunt Terannia. Exactly when he was going to pack for his forthcoming trip, he didn't know—nor what to take. The baby would need feeding again soon. And—

Teal raised his head, ears twitching. Then the dog was on its feet, nose close to the door, barking. The baby started whimpering.

“Quiet, boy,” Florian told the dog; the last thing he wanted right now was the baby waking up again.

He looked out the window. Three black-painted regiment Terrain Trucks—bigger versions of his Openland—were driving up the track to his lodge.

The Albina Valley forest warden's lodge was Chaing's seventh visit of the day. A helicopter had brought him out to the big farmhouse in Naxian Valley an hour after leaving the Opole aerodrome. Chaing had never flown in one of the contraptions before. The lack of wings was profoundly disturbing, though the pilot's cheery attitude went some way to building up his confidence as they took off. Then they flew into the dismal low clouds that plagued the foothills of the Sansone Mountains and he gripped the seat hard, relieved that the painkillers for his wrist were keeping a lid on his anxiety.

For over twenty minutes they flew on in rain, the big inflated rubber landing skis just skimming the treetops. Naxian Valley was easy enough to distinguish; it seemed as if half of the county regiment's vehicles were parked along the larch avenue, spilling out into the expansive fields on either side. Twenty troop carriers were parked in the various farmyards along with a mobile Fall command post, while a knot of big trucks and tracked vehicles were clustered together beside a spinney of silver birch.

As soon as they landed, a flustered lieutenant escorted him to the command post. Stonal was inside, talking to the regiment's brigadier. They stood beside a table that was covered with maps of the surrounding area, where pins representing deployment were already stuck in. One wall of the command post was taken up with a bank of radio equipment, staffed by seven operators.

“Good to see you again so soon,” Stonal said without any noticeable insincerity.

The brigadier gave Chaing a moderately disapproving glance before leaving to talk to a group of officers at the other end of the table.

“Has there been a Fall?” Chaing asked.

“Yes and no. The latest Liberty mission might have caused more than the usual Treefall.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pilot Major Evine claimed to have seen some kind of alien spaceship directly after the warhead detonated. Naturally, we discourage such flights of fancy; it could as easily have been a chunk of Tree debris. But it seems he may have been right. Ironically, while I was interviewing him last night, something flew into the atmosphere over the Gulf of Meor at very high speed. A lot of people heard it.”

“I see.”

“No, no one did. There was no radar trace. Just noise.”

“Noise?”

“Air Force boffins describe it as a sonic boom. Apparently if you fly faster than the speed of sound, it makes a terrific noise, like a thunderclap, but continuous. They put the reports together and found a trail heading in from the coast, traveling just south of Opole and ending here.”

Chaing frowned. “That's unusual for an egg.”

“It wasn't an egg. The Ealton family who live in this valley reported finding the ‘object' at first light this morning. It crashed to the ground a few kilometers from where we're standing.”

“What is it?”

“Good question. We have no idea. It's a manufactured artifact. Cylindrical, not particularly large, but potentially revolutionary in impact.”

A giddy combination of fear and fascination created a tingling along Chaing's spine. “The Prime?”

“No. It appears to be protected by a force field, just like Mother Laura could create around herself.”

“You mean—” Chaing gave the huddled officers a guilty glance before lowering his voice—“it's from the Commonwealth?”

“First conclusion, certainly.”

“Is it communicating?”

“Not yet. Or at least, not with us. If it is of Commonwealth origin, then it's reasonable to assume it can talk to the Eliters.”

“Have the radio operators picked up a signal?”

“Not now, but it's been here a while. Who knows what it was doing last night? Captain, I need this area fully secured, and that's where you come in. There aren't many people living around here, but I need them checked out. The brigadier has assigned us—well, you—a squad of seasoned troopers. Visit the nearby crofts and farms, find out if they know anything. Some are Eliters. Did they receive a signal? Did it talk to them? That kind of thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There's also a Vatni village down at the end of the valley. Possibly coincidence, but make certain. They can be quite obscure and evasive when they want to be.”

“I understand.”

So five minutes later he was in the cab of a Terrain Truck, driving fast along the larch avenue out of the valley, a map on his knee and a list in his good hand. The foothills weren't quite as empty as they'd seemed when he flew in. Several crofts were scattered about on the lower slopes, their occupants all surly types, struggling to make a living by themselves in the harsh landscape. They weren't welcoming, or particularly talkative. However, his own badge, backed up with armed troopers, enabled him to elicit answers quickly enough. Everyone had heard the long thunder last night, but that was all they knew. Chaing was familiar enough with people who had something to hide to spot any subterfuge.

Then there was the Vatni village. Two of the squad assigned to him knew how to use the flute and maracas that enabled them to talk to the Vatni in their own language. The Vatni always cooperated with the regiments conducting a sweep; they hated Fallers just as much as humans did. So through the interpreters, they told Chaing that they'd all heard the strange thunder last night, but nothing else.

After that, the Terrain Trucks drove up into Albina Valley as the clouds sank lower and the rain grew heavier. They pulled up outside the forest warden's lodge and Chaing shook his head, not understanding how anybody could live out here by themselves, cut off from the rest of the world. The front door opened, and the forest warden waited for them just inside. Chaing and a couple of troopers hurried over the short distance. His clothes were already damp from the earlier drizzle; by the time he reached the lodge he was completely soaked, his nice black leather shoes ruined by mud. A dog growled at him, to be swiftly shushed by the waiting man.

Chaing checked his soggy list; the name had a star penciled beside it: Eliter. “You're Warden Florian?”

“Yeah. What is this? I didn't know there'd been a Fall. The radio never said anything.”

“There may have been. Did you hear a noise last night?”

Florian tipped his head to one side, as if consulting something.
Presumably his memory files,
Chaing decided.

“There was a lot of thunder. It was strange. Like they all merged together into one big blast.”

“So I understand.” He gave Florian a closer look. The list said he was twenty-eight, which given his appearance was hard to believe. Sure enough, he had the lean, well-muscled frame of someone in their twenties, but his face was so haggard under several days' stubble he could have been fifty. “Are you all right?”

“Didn't sleep much. I think I'm coming down with Cham flu.”

“Who've you seen recently?”

“What?”

“You can only catch Cham flu from other people. So who have you seen?”

“No one. Well…the storekeeper. I go down to Wymondon every couple of weeks to stock up. But that's all.”

“Right.” Chaing studied the living room. The kitchen end with the range was slightly surprising—it had a lot of pots and implements; he hadn't been expecting that. However, the rest of the living room was a bit of a shambles. Still, Florian was a bachelor living all by himself, and had been for years. In truth the state of the lodge wasn't much worse than Chaing's own apartment. There was the heavy scent of wood smoke in the air from the logs burning away in the range stove. But that couldn't disguise another, quite unpleasant, smell. Even the troopers were wrinkling up their noses.
Privy not working properly, probably overflowing in the rain,
Chaing thought, and suddenly didn't want to look at his shoes to make sure it was mud…“So is that the store in Wymondon?”

“Yes.”

“Are any of your friends around here?”

Florian yawned; his eyes blinked slowly as if he could barely stay awake. “I don't have friends.”

“You know who I mean,” Chaing said, letting some displeasure show. There was something not quite right about this. Everything looked as it should be. The warden was a recluse—a little wild, nervous and uncertain around other people. Again perfectly acceptable, and yet—
Could he be sick with some disease from space? Uracus, I'm paranoid, but he does look like crud.

“I know who you mean,” Florian said belligerently, “and I don't have any friends. I'm here to get away from everybody. Them. You…”

“Very well. Your thumb, please.”

The troopers put their hands on their carbines as Florian extended his hand. Chaing took out the slim box all PSR personnel carried, took out a needle, and pricked Florian's skin. A drop of red blood welled up.

The troopers visibly relaxed.

“Happy now?” Florian asked.

“Happy you're not a Faller. You're sure you didn't see anything last night?”

“What are you people looking for?”

“Hey! I ask the questions. Did you see anything?”

Florian bowed his head, unable to meet Chaing's stare. “There wasn't anything happening last night,” he mumbled sourly.

Chaing's problem was the man's reserve. Florian was clearly a natural introvert, which wasn't quite a crime, but PSR technique was to encourage suspects to talk. The more they talked, the more inconsistencies would inevitably build up, condemning them. Florian clearly wasn't going to utter a single word more than he had to.

Chaing glanced down at the dog, who was standing at Florian's side, tail wagging. He carried on looking around the living room, but there really was nothing out of place. “All right. We're going now. But if you hear anything, or pick up a link signal—anything—you report it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Florian grunted, still not looking directly at Chaing.

Chaing dashed back to the Terrain Truck, getting even wetter. It was only mud on the ground outside the lodge.

“Where now?” the driver asked.

Chaing consulted the list. “The Mellhoff farm. That's at the far end of the lake.”

Three hours later they were driving back up the larch avenue into Naxian Valley. The driver had to brake and pull off the side of the track to make room for a convoy heading the other way. Three tracked troop carriers trundled past in the rain, followed by two big covered trucks; another three troop carriers made up the rear.

Chaing saw the brigadier sitting in the cab of the first troop carrier. Then he watched the two trucks carefully, wondering which one was carrying the alien cylinder. His driver so clearly wanted to ask
What is going on,
but managed to stay quiet.

“Just take us up to the farm,” Chaing said, not without sympathy.

When they arrived, the helicopter's blades were starting to turn. Stonal walked down out of the command post, holding up an umbrella to ward off the persistent rain. “Anything?” he asked.

“No,” Chaing reported, trying to hide his disappointment. “They all heard the thunder it made, but that's all.” He waited while Stonal considered this. The section seven director made no attempt to include him under the umbrella's cover.

“Very well,” Stonal said eventually. “I'm taking the Commonwealth device back to Varlan for proper examination.”

“Is that wise, sir? Suppose it's a bomb?”

“The evidence is against it being a weapon, Captain. For a start, it's too big. The quantumbuster that knocked us out of the Void wasn't even a quarter of its size.”

Chaing thought that was nonsense, but held his tongue.

“Captain Philious described the quantumbusters to my father,” Stonal said in mild censure. “Who went on to describe it to me in great detail.”

“I understand, sir.” Chaing began to wonder if the telepathic ability that everyone had in the Void had somehow stayed with Stonal.

“Indeed, it is that very size that does concern me. In volume, the object is actually close to the space pod Mother Laura arrived in.”

“Yes,” Chaing said, not really knowing what he was agreeing with.

“Therefore, the object is quite large enough to contain a human.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed, Captain Chaing. So if it has brought a Commonwealth citizen to Bienvenido, they will either still be inside it, or…” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Chaing turned to gaze across at the slopes of the valley, the big square fields and scattered clumps of trees, the oppressive cloud obscuring the tops of the mountains beyond. “Oh, crud. He could be out there, hiding in the trees.”

“It is a possibility we have to consider until such time as we can disprove it. There are bloodhounds on their way from the regiment headquarters. If someone did get out of the object, the dogs should pick up his trace.”

“In this rain?” Chaing said dubiously. “I'm not sure…”

“You have my full support to begin a search.”

“Sir?”

Stonal pointed to the helicopter. “I am accompanying the space object back to Varlan. You are now in charge here. Colonel Hokianga has been informed of that.”

“But—”

Stonal raised an eyebrow and Chaing sighed. Senior officers didn't change no matter what branch of government they served in. To qualify, you simply had to be able to dump a pile of steaming turds on your juniors from a great height without warning. “If he's here, I'll find him.”

“Excellent. You know how to contact me if you do,” Stonal said, and he walked over to the helicopter. The blades began to spin faster. Chaing hurriedly backed away as the machine took off amid a hurricane spray of rain.

It was still raining when the bloodhounds arrived an hour later—ten of the big animals, barking and howling inside the back of a converted troop carrier. Chaing met their handlers and took them up the small hillock to the silver birch spinney where the space object had come down. There were still some of the big vehicles parked there, including a mobile crane that had gotten stuck in the mud. He stood in the middle of a small quagmire that feet and tires had churned up and explained what he wanted, ignoring the glances the handlers exchanged.