The Last Silver

Chapter 55: What We Could Build

Rain woke Dinraal.

For several seconds, he did not recognize it.

The soft tapping above him became a steady patter, then a rush of water against the roof. His eyes opened. Silver stirred along his wrist.

Beside him, Isolde lifted her head.

“What is it?”

He listened.

No alarms.

No shouted orders.

Only rain.

“I think,” he said, slowly relaxing, “the weather.”

Isolde watched him for a moment.

Then she settled back against his chest.

“How inconsiderate of it.”

A drop struck the floor.

They both looked toward the table.

Another followed.

Dinraal sighed.

“The roof.”

“We should tell the foreman.”

“I could fix it.”

“You said that about the chair.”

“The chair is fixed.”

“It’s attached to the floor.”

“It no longer rocks.”

Isolde’s laughter warmed the little room.

Then another drop landed beside the first, and Dinraal reluctantly left the bed.

By breakfast, the settlement had discovered several things about its new home.

The rain arrived quickly.

The cleared soil turned slippery when wet.

And Gilgamesh could carry an entire wall section across the construction yard without difficulty, but remained perfectly capable of falling over a coil of cable.

Dinraal reached him as he stood.

“Are you hurt?”

“My dignity.”

“That may be beyond Johanna.”

Gilgamesh looked at the mud covering his sleeve.

“I dislike this weather.”

“You were complaining about the dust yesterday.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Across the yard, Isolde held a roof panel steady while two workers secured it above the communal kitchen. Water ran from her silver armor in narrow streams.

Rhiannon stood beneath the unfinished awning with a pot in her hands.

“If anyone drops dirt in this,” she announced, “they will be eating outside.”

Alexander glanced toward the rain.

“We’re already outside.”

“Farther outside.”

He returned to work.

Dinraal lifted the cable out of the walkway and fastened it along a support post.

The construction foreman approached with a tablet protected beneath his coat.

“Good. When you’ve finished that, we need help with drainage along the western shelters.”

Dinraal looked toward the shallow channels filling beside the buildings.

“Wasn’t that finished?”

“For ordinary rainfall.”

“This isn’t ordinary?”

“It may be perfectly ordinary here.”

Dinraal looked up.

Water struck his face.

“That seems like something we should know.”

The foreman gave him a tired smile.

“We’re learning.”

The rain lasted most of the morning.

By the time it passed, they had deepened three drains, moved two storage containers, and discovered that the medical shelter occupied the driest patch of ground in the camp.

Johanna accepted this vindication without excessive modesty.

Asha appeared at the kitchen carrying a sample jar.

Rhiannon immediately pointed toward the door.

“No.”

“It’s water.”

“Then it can remain water elsewhere.”

“I came for breakfast.”

“You’ve missed breakfast.”

Asha looked at the clock.

Then at the food.

Rhiannon sighed and filled a bowl.

“Sit.”

Eve entered behind her, visibly pleased that someone else had attracted attention first.

Dinraal moved along the bench to make room.

“How bad?” he asked.

“The rain?” Eve said. “Useful. The drainage survey was largely correct, but the cleared surface behaves differently from the undisturbed ground. We’re updating the construction maps.”

“And the biological results?”

“Still encouraging. We’ve identified a local airborne irritant that may trouble some people seasonally. The filters we brought can handle it.”

Asha accepted her bowl with both hands.

“The agricultural teams have started growing trials in sealed beds. We’ll be using imported nutrients until we understand the soil well enough to do otherwise.”

Gilgamesh looked down at his meal.

“How long until fresh food?”

Rhiannon watched him.

“Is there something wrong with this food?”

“No.”

His answer came with admirable speed.

Isolde sat beside Dinraal, her hair still damp.

Eve checked her tablet.

“If the remaining exposure studies stay clear, I’ll approve a larger surface rotation within a few days.”

Dinraal stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“How many?”

“Within the capacity of the shelters and medical team. Julius is working on it.”

People.

More people than the small crews already walking between the buildings.

Isolde’s knee pressed against his under the table.

She had heard it too.

They spent the following days making room.

Habitat rows extended northward. The communications mast reached its full height, and its first successful exchange with the orbiting fleet earned an exhausted cheer from the installation crew.

A second water unit came online.

Alexander supervised a sheltered route between the landing field and the medical facilities. Cleopatra found enough spare flooring to keep the busiest paths from turning into mud.

Tiamat and Aramaeis helped position the first permanent supports for an orbital platform.

When they returned, Tiamat’s hair was windblown from her descent and her expression was brighter than Dinraal had seen since the Questioner.

“The docking clamps are in place,” she told him.

“All of them?”

“Your uncle insisted on checking each one.”

Aramaeis removed his gloves.

“They hold ships.”

“Yes,” Tiamat said. “He pointed that out several times.”

Dinraal looked toward the pale afternoon sky.

He could not see the platform from here.

He pictured it anyway.

Something else that would still exist tomorrow.

“Thank you.”

Aramaeis nodded.

Tiamat looked past him toward the rows of shelters.

“Which one is ours?”

He turned back.

She seemed almost embarrassed by the question.

“I mean, if we’re remaining down here for a while.”

Dinraal pointed.

“Third row. Near Aurelius.”

Tiamat studied the building.

Then she walked toward it.

Aramaeis watched her go before resting a hand briefly on Dinraal’s shoulder.

Neither spoke.

The first larger landing brought eighty-three people.

They came from the ships already in orbit: technicians, cooks, builders, medical staff, and family members who had volunteered for the early settlement.

Dinraal knew the number because Julius had made him review the list twice.

“We have beds for eighty-three,” Julius had said. “We have food for eighty-three. If you invite everyone on the transport down because they look hopeful, I will make you explain the shortage to Cleopatra.”

Dinraal had decided to respect the list.

Now he stood beside Isolde near the landing field as the transport ramp lowered.

The first arrivals came slowly.

Some looked at the buildings.

Others looked upward.

A woman carrying a rolled blanket stopped so abruptly that the man behind her nearly collided with her shoulder.

She was staring at the sky.

Dinraal followed her gaze.

Clouds drifted above the ridge.

Nothing remarkable.

He looked back at her and understood that he had begun to take them for granted already.

A little girl descended with both hands wrapped around her father’s wrist.

She looked at the grass beyond the marked path.

Then at the buildings.

“Do we have to get back on?”

Her father bent toward her.

“Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

Dinraal felt the answer settle unpleasantly in his chest.

He knew why the man had chosen it.

Promises had become difficult things.

Isolde stepped forward.

“Your room is ready,” she said. “Johanna will check everyone in, and then someone will show you where it is.”

The girl looked at her ring.

“Are you married?”

Isolde blinked.

“Yes.”

“To him?”

Dinraal smiled.

“Apparently.”

The girl considered him with grave suspicion.

Isolde leaned closer.

“He’s better once you get to know him.”

“Sometimes,” Dinraal added.

The girl’s father laughed, and some of the strain left his face.

The First Weapon became popular almost immediately.

Dinraal discovered this when three children appeared outside the supply shelter asking whether they were allowed to touch him.

He looked down.

The First Weapon was already leaning into the nearest small hand.

“I think he’s answered.”

One of the children looked up.

“What’s his name?”

Dinraal hesitated.

“The First Weapon.”

There was a pause.

The smallest child frowned.

“That’s a strange name.”

“Yes,” Dinraal admitted. “It is.”

“He doesn’t look like a weapon.”

The First Weapon licked the child’s fingers.

Dinraal crouched beside them.

“He’s a friend.”

That explanation was accepted without difficulty.

A few minutes later, Isolde found him sitting on an equipment crate while the children supervised the First Weapon’s examination of a fallen leaf.

“You’ve acquired a gathering.”

“It formed around me.”

“Did it?”

“I was helpless.”

She sat beside him.

Across the yard, newly arrived workers were introducing themselves to the construction crews. Someone had begun hanging wet clothes on a line between two shelters.

Isolde watched a woman carefully spread a small shirt.

“I want a garden,” she said.

Dinraal turned toward her.

“A garden?”

“When we build something permanent.”

He looked toward the open ground beyond the habitats.

“All right.”

“Flowers. Somewhere to sit. Something that doesn’t need a status report.”

He smiled.

“That last requirement may upset Asha.”

“Asha can have her own garden.”

“Will you let me help?”

She glanced at the firmly anchored chair visible through their open doorway.

“With supervision.”

The courier returned two days later.

It brought more equipment, several messages from the Imperial colony, and enough archival storage to make Eve forget the meal she had been carrying.

Rhiannon caught the bowl before she abandoned it on an active power unit.

Dinraal was helping secure a greenhouse frame when the summons arrived.

Asha’s message was brief.

We found the rest of the station record. Bring Tiamat and Aramaeis.

He reread it.

Then he looked toward Isolde.

She had already lowered her end of the frame.

This time, the research room had enough chairs.

Nobody appreciated the improvement.

Eve waited until the door closed before starting the recording.

A damaged image appeared.

A control compartment. Two empty seats. A strip of warning lights above a forward display.

The audio crackled.

“…survey vessel has returned to the perimeter.”

A man’s voice.

Tired, but controlled.

Asha paused it.

“This is the listening station from the partial archive. The record was stored with maintenance telemetry rather than the incident report.”

“Why?” Aurelius asked.

“We don’t know.”

She resumed playback.

A second voice answered.

“Crew confirmation?”

A pause.

“They’re not responding to voice challenges.”

“Then maintain separation.”

Static crossed the image.

The first voice returned.

“They’ve provided the survey response.”

Dinraal leaned forward.

On the recording, someone moved close enough to cast a shadow across the display.

“That packet was transmitted before they arrived.”

“Yes.”

“How long before?”

Another pause.

“Eleven minutes.”

The recording broke into blocks of color.

Then the room reappeared.

An alarm sounded.

“Shut down the handshake.”

“I have.”

“Then why is it still—”

The image ended.

Nobody spoke.

Finally, Alexander asked, “What is a survey response?”

“A routine identity exchange,” Eve said. “A station sends a fresh challenge. The approaching vessel returns the corresponding response so the system can verify the connection.”

Isolde’s face tightened.

“But it answered before the challenge.”

“In this record, yes.”

Tiamat stared at the dark screen.

Aramaeis noticed first.

“What is it?”

She rubbed her hands slowly together.

“Orders,” she said.

Dinraal waited.

“When we were running. There were times we changed course and found them waiting.”

“The Ashen?” Arcturus asked.

Tiamat nodded.

“We thought our communications were compromised. Then we stopped transmitting.”

Her voice thinned.

“It still happened.”

Aramaeis leaned forward.

“How often?”

“Not every time. Enough.”

Asha sat down.

“Did anyone preserve the route logs?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then we’ll work with what you remember.”

Tiamat looked toward the screen again.

“You think it knows what we’re going to do.”

“I think we have a recording of an answer arriving before its question,” Asha said carefully. “And your experience may be relevant. I can’t tell you more yet.”

Dinraal looked at the interrupted image.

The Questioner’s name felt less abstract now.

That did not make it easier to bear.

“What about the signal from the Sovereign?”

Eve brought up two patterns.

One came from the old station.

The other from their battle.

“The beginning matches,” she said. “The rest differs. We still cannot read it.”

“Could it be the same kind of exchange?” Isolde asked.

“Yes.”

Arcturus folded his arms.

“Then we stop allowing unknown contacts to complete automatic connections.”

“We’ve already prepared the change,” Eve said. “It won’t make us invisible. It will prevent our systems from politely answering something before a person has reviewed it.”

Aurelius nodded.

“Implement it throughout the fleet.”

Dinraal looked at Tiamat.

Her eyes remained fixed on the display.

“Did you ever get past them?” he asked.

She turned.

“The times they were waiting.”

After a moment, she nodded.

“Yes.”

He held her gaze.

“Then whatever this is, it didn’t know everything.”

Tiamat drew a slow breath.

Aramaeis’s hand settled beside hers on the table.

She covered it with her own.

The meeting continued until evening.

They arranged a search for surviving records from Tiamat’s escape. Arcturus revised the contact procedures and scheduled crews to rehearse them.

Asha and Eve prepared copies of the new findings for the Imperial researchers.

Dinraal stayed long enough to read the summary.

Then he left.

Outside, the settlement smelled of damp soil and cooking food.

Someone had placed a bench near the medical shelter.

A man sat there repairing the sole of a child’s shoe.

Dinraal stopped walking.

The man glanced up and nodded politely before returning to his work.

A needle passed through thick material.

Pulled tight.

Passed through again.

Dinraal watched for a moment longer than he intended.

Then he continued toward the habitats.

He found Tiamat outside her quarters.

She sat on the step, looking toward the ridge.

“May I?”

She moved aside.

He sat beside her.

For a while, they listened to the evening activity.

“I should have remembered sooner,” she said.

He shook his head.

“We didn’t have the recording sooner.”

“I knew something was wrong.”

“A great many things were wrong.”

She looked down at her hands.

Dinraal rested his elbows on his knees.

“Tell Asha what you can. Let her ask questions. You don’t have to pull it all out at once.”

Tiamat’s mouth tightened.

“When I close my eyes, I can still see places we didn’t get away from quickly enough.”

He waited.

“I keep thinking about the people walking around here.”

“So do I.”

“What if we’re building something it can take?”

Dinraal watched a pair of workers carry a table toward the communal kitchen.

One walked backward, offering directions that the other disputed at every step.

“I don’t know how to promise that won’t happen,” he said.

Tiamat closed her eyes briefly.

“But I saw people come off a ship today and start unpacking,” he continued. “They know we’re still learning. They chose to come down.”

She looked at him.

“We should let them help decide what this becomes.”

Tiamat followed his gaze toward the kitchen.

After a while, she stood.

“Rhiannon wanted help sorting the new supplies.”

Dinraal rose with her.

“Will she appreciate mine?”

“She’ll find something heavy.”

“That does seem to be my gift.”

Tiamat smiled.

It was small.

He was glad to see it.

Isolde was writing when he returned.

The flowers from their wedding stood beside her tablet. Their petals had begun to curl.

Dinraal shut the door.

It closed properly now.

She looked up.

“How is she?”

“Helping Rhiannon.”

“That sounds promising.”

He sat on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, the recording returned to him.

The empty seats.

The answer arriving too soon.

Isolde set the tablet aside.

“What are you thinking?”

He almost said nothing.

Then he remembered standing in front of her with a ring in his shaking hand.

“That I’m frightened.”

She crossed the room and sat beside him.

“Of the Questioner?”

“Yes. Of bringing everyone here. Of making a decision that looks sensible until someone dies because of it.”

She took his hand.

“I’m frightened too.”

He looked at her.

She did not try to soften it.

After a while, he leaned against her.

They sat quietly until the room stopped feeling quite so small.

Then Dinraal glanced toward the table.

“What were you writing?”

“The wedding.”

“Still?”

“There were a lot of details.”

“Did you include the collar?”

“Extensively.”

He laughed under his breath.

She rested her head against his shoulder.

“I also wrote about today.”

“The arrivals?”

She nodded.

“The little girl who asked whether we were married. The children with the First Weapon. You asking to help with my garden.”

“Our garden,” he said.

She smiled.

“Our garden.”

Outside, footsteps passed their door.

A voice called goodnight to someone farther down the row.

Dinraal turned his ring slowly with his thumb.

“Put the rain in,” he said.

Isolde looked up.

“And Gilgamesh falling over?”

“Especially that.”

She reached for the tablet and brought it back to the bed.

Dinraal read over her shoulder while she wrote.

When they finally put it away, the settlement had grown quiet.

Above the planet, the first observation platform began its watch.

On the table, Isolde’s account ended with a sentence she had added after asking whether he minded.

Tonight, we were both afraid, and we told each other.

Dinraal turned off the light.

Then he lay down beside his wife.

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