Randon cleared his throat. "Benedar... the original reason you took Paquin to Spall in the first place. Did you have any luck at all with that?"
Our search for a smuggler base. So much had happened since then I'd nearly forgotten. "No, sir," I had to admit. "If we'd had more time—" I shrugged helplessly.
"What about the Pravilo?" Randon persisted. "I'd think someone there would be interested in helping out."
I shook my head, Commodore Freitag's face at our last meeting floating up from my memory. His face, and his sense of unbreakable determination on the issue. "I talked to Commodore Freitag before we left Solitaire," I said. "He was uninterested in anything but a total solution to the problem."
"Uninterested?"
"Violently so." I hissed frustration between my teeth. "And I have to say that I agree with his reasons."
Randon grimaced, but I could see he was willing to trust my judgment. "I see. Well, you can tell me all about it some day when we have more time and a secure line. For the moment—" his eyes searched out Eisenstadt—"do you have any more ideas, Doctor?"
Eisenstadt shook his head. "Nothing except what we've already come up with. I'll get my counter-petition worked up and send word to Freitag about putting Pravilos on those HTI zombis. Aside from that, I can't think of anything."
Randon nodded. "I'll turn up what heat I can here and see what I can find out about unofficial HTI involvement. If I can catch an important hand in the cashbox, maybe I can force them to back down."
"Worth a try," Eisenstadt agreed. "Well... I appreciate your help on this, Mr. Kelsey-Ramos. Good luck, and keep me informed."
"Right. Good-bye, Doctor."
"Good-bye."
Eisenstadt waved his control stick and the display blanked, and for a moment we sat in silence. Then he stirred in his seat. "I just thought you'd want to know," he said, almost gruffly.
The gruffness was a shield; but it couldn't hide his genuine concern. "Thank you," I said, getting to my feet. "I'd better let you get on with your work."
He hesitated. "Paquin is out at the Butte City," he told me. "If you want to go and talk to her, I'll have one of the Pravilos escort you there."
In other words, would I like to accept the burden of telling her the bad news. It was the last thing in the universe I wanted to do... but I knew it would be better coming from a friend. "Yes, sir," I sighed. "I'll do it."
—
There were a set of lights strung along the fences that enclosed the two-hundred-meter-long corridor between the encampment and the Butte City, but with no one officially on duty there tonight the lights had been muted to firefly level. My Pravilo escort had planned to drive me across, but the night was cool and quiet, ideal for a short walk. Besides which, I needed the time to think.
It was the first time I'd been really outside after dark—away from the encampment's lights, anyway—since Calandra and I had first camped at the buttes, and as we walked I found myself gazing up at the starry sky, a sharp bitterness swirling within me. Practically singlehanded, she and I had opened up mankind's first contact with an alien race—found them, identified them, even discovered how to talk to them... and none of it seemed to make any difference whatsoever to the coldly impersonal web of laws which Aikman was manipulating in his obsession to destroy us.
Us; because once Calandra was dead, I would be his next target. Aboard the Bellwether I'd forced him to back down, and for a man like Aikman such a goring of his pride was as deadly an insult as I could have given him. Stranding Randon and the Bellwether in Solitaire system without an outzombi would be a nice start to his revenge; in the time that would buy him, I had no doubt he would find the right thread to pull to wrap the web around me, as well.
And there was nothing I could do to stop him.
Like the corridor, the Butte City was only dimly lit, but there was enough starlight filtering between the cliffs for me to pick out the three forms standing near one of the gaps. Calandra and her two Pravilo escorts. My own escort trailing along behind me, I headed over.
She saw us coming, of course, and identified me well before there was enough light for her to properly see my face. "Hello, Gilead," she called softly. "Come to look at the stars?"
"Not really," I said.
Her silhouette stiffened slightly as she heard the tightness in my voice. "What's the matter?"
I hesitated, suddenly very conscious of the strangers listening in. "Could Ms. Paquin and I have a minute alone?" I asked my escort.
"I guess that'd be okay," he said genially. Pulling out his phone, he keyed in a code, and the lights that had been strung around the Butte City brightened to the level of a fashionably dim room. "Take all the time you want," he added. Signing Calandra's escort to follow, he stepped back around the thunderheads.
"What's the matter?" Calandra repeated when they were out of earshot.
I related my conversation with Eisenstadt and Randon. The words felt like molten lead in my mouth. "I see," she said when I'd finished. Her eyes were focused somewhere past my face; her sense was dread combined with a strange calm. "Well... we knew it was just a matter of time."
I clenched my teeth hard enough to hurt. "I haven't given up," I told her. "Neither have the others."
She shook her head. "You might as well. It's over."
"Calandra—"
She silenced me with a look. "I never asked for this," she reminded me quietly. "Never asked you to get involved with this crusade—begged you, in fact, not to. Please, Gilead—just let it go."
They have filled this place with the blood of the innocent... "And let them trade an innocent life for money?" I demanded.
She sighed, and her eyes closed briefly. "The powerful have always built their wealth on the lives of other people," she said tiredly. "You of all people should know that—the Carillon Group has certainly done its share. Solitaire just happens to be a more blatant example than most."
"There ought to be room for both wealth and ethics in a civilized society," I ground out.
She shrugged. "The last person to try running a government that way was Aaron Balaam darMaupine. Want to trade?"
I glared at her. "I can't let this happen."
"You can't stop it." She took a deep breath. "But if it helps any... you've already done more for me than I could ever have hoped."
She turned slightly, her eyes turning upward to the stars. "You remember the parable of the talents?"
To one he gave five talents, to another two, to a third one, each in proportion to his ability... "How could I forget it?"
She nodded. "Me, too. The teachers at Bethel really drummed that one into us. You ever wonder—late at night—whether you were living up to their expectations?"
I swallowed. "No more than a hundred times a year."
"Same with me," she said. "I'd pretty much given up even trying; but it was always there anyway, somewhere way in the back of my mind. I guess I soothed it by assuming that when I was older I'd find something great to accomplish. Now, of course... I won't be getting much older."
I bit at the back of my lip, and wished I knew how to comfort her. "I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say.
She looked at me. "Don't be. Don't you see?—this crazy quixotic quest of yours has given me more of a memorial than I ever dreamed of having. You and I, Gilead, have literally changed mankind's history."
I looked at the sea of thunderheads, vague ghost-white shapes in the dim light. "I suppose so. Though whether we were here or not, it was only a matter of time before someone made contact with them."