Chapter IV

A GRAHN SOLUTION

When Adilar arrived at the base, the third detachment of
Emergency Rescue Operation Spitsoars had maneuvered into
lift-off positions. Roar upon roar, streak upon streak, the
spitsoars took off one after the other like sabres riddling
the sky. The surge of adrenaline was infectious. Tingling
with electric excitement, Adilar hurried to his unit
station.

Here a surprising turn of events awaited him: he was to
remain on the ground and another senior officer had been
assigned to take over command of his crew. The pressing
urgency of the situation had offered few opportunities to
ask for explanations; there was little that he could do than
hand over his portfolio of instructions to his successor.

His EROS craft was the last to depart, and Adilar after
watching it soar like a silver flame into the upper
atmosphere, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked up the
stair of the observation tower. An eerie quiet had settled
on the rescue base. A larger than usual number of Calidan
rescuers roamed about. Although the tidal wave that
flattened Vriavyn occurred far from their homelands, the
latest Phylee-Patrean catastrophe had struck very close to
home. a shuttleload of Calidan traders perished in the
disaster.

Jefroy Lauren, the Commanding Marshall of the First
Planetary Division, stood before a graph monitor, solemnly
studying a geographic composition of the Inner Odur Sea
Peninsula. No other person was present. Adilar, unwilling to
show that he was burning to know the reason for the change
in instructions, approached at an easy stroll. Without so
much as deviating a fraction of his attention from his
study, Jefroy slapped a crypto-tab against Adilar's chest.

"That's your portfolio of instructions," he said. "You are
to remain here and in my place take over control of the base
indefinitely."

The crypto-tab hung loosely in Adilar's hand as if he was
unsure whether to drop it on the floor or hand it back. He
echoed: "Indefinitely? Is it too much to ask where you are
heading?"

Jefroy pointed with his pulser pen to a blinker panel on the
northern tip of the graphic composition. "To the
Principality of Myaron. I have been given orders to set a
command post there for the Rescue Force."

"Myaron? It is hardly an area of instability."

"In fact it is one the most breathtaking spots of the
region. Green, pastoral lands, villas, and hills overgrown
with miniature trees as far as the eye could see. And to
refresh your knowledge of Phylee-Patrean society, Myaron is
part of the protectorate of Lar Wryn."

"Aha."

"Aha indeed. You are thick buddies with his grandson, aren't
you?"

"A grandson disowned," Adilar replied carefully.

"I am not concerned with noble family squabbles," said the
Marshall, "I am only concerned with setting up a base
there."

"And what has it to do with me being disowned from my crew?"

"Because," said Jefroy, turning and tapping on Adilar's
shoulder with his pen, "after our base is up and running,
you will follow me there and do a bit of snooping using your
good relations with Rylan Wryn."

"Intelligence work for a rescuer!"

"Very interesting intelligence work." Jefroy motioned to
Adilar to stand closer to the graph monitor. In an instant
the composition of the Inner Odur Sea dissolved and the
screen re-imaged into the last recorded moments of Vriavyn's
Stewardship headquarters. They watched silently the panic in
the dome, the flashing consoles, a blur of images, the final
scream

Jefroy summed up: "The tidal wave was caused by a powerful
vibration travelling along the riverbed of the Nheim that
subsequently flared into a violent upheaval of the seabed of
the Inner Odur Sea. The mystery flooring the great minds of
the Stewardship is that it was caused by neither volcanic,
nor tectonic activity but by an eddy of energy like a White
Radiation eruption, under the ground.

"What I have to say to you shall stay only between the two
of us. My instructions have come from the highest authority
of the Interplanetary Spacio Command but we cannot make it
public that the ISC is involved, not just yet, because it
has become a case of interplanetary security rather than
ecological imbalance. Without the knowledge or sanction of
the Tres-Tiorem, someone in Myaron is experimenting with
dangerous forces that may eventually destroy the whole
Equation."

"But the people living in Myaron, aren't they aware that
something is seriously amiss!"

"That's the other enigma. On the surface nothing is
happening in Myaron except the usual rustic scenery. People
go happily about their daily chores, not knowing or not
wanting to know what is happening right under their noses?
This is the reason why the Rescue Force is called in to
investigate under the disguise of setting up a new operation
station in Myaron. The public will easily accept the
necessity of such a situation because of the disaster in
Vriavyn. The current crisis has also prompted the
Stewardship to put all science stewards on active duty." He
paused and asked: "Speaking of enigmas, have you noticed
anything peculiar with the vid recording."

"Between the time the steward said 'It is distorting' and
the time he finished the sentence—half a minute passed by."

Jefroy nodded gravely. "It took him half a minute to say
'time'"

Adilar gave a wry grin. "Not very timely."

"Fatally untimely. A computer glitch maybe? We don't know
yet. The Stewardship is reopening the archives of the White
Radiation disaster in Aberon. The instruction is to await
their report before taking further action. That is the long
and the short of it. It may be dangerous for the Spacio
Command to liaise with me in Myaron. Apart from taking over
command at the control centre here. You will also be the
intermediary between me and the ISC."

"Have you spoken to Trajan, Jefroy?"

"No, I haven't, he is still patrolling near the vicinity of
asteroid One Root-16 but I have spoken to Commander-in-Chief
Berin Guillen with whom you will be liaising, by the way."
Jefroy paused, pocketed his pen. "You miss Trajan, don't
you, Adilar. He has never been away for so long." With a
twinkle in his eyes Jefroy continued: "You can always
suggest to Chief Guillen to be less hard on his scapegrace
of a commander and send him home so that Captain Schurell
can turn his brother's life upside down again with his
pranks."

Adilar was not amused. "I've had my bellyful of pranks
lately, thank you very much! Let's turn now to more serious
matters. Will you be entirely on your own over there?"

"Not exactly. A science steward on health leave from Evening
Star will be there supposedly to recuperate in the Myar
Sanatorium but in reality to snoop around also. You know him
already, his name is Fredric Lamidor. He has been chosen
because he is a far relation of the head of the sanatorium,
Director Milraus. Small world in the big Equation, huh?"

* * *

Josrin Grahn bent over to his handtop and peered closely at
the split-windowed screen. On the left window, entrenched
among a list of other nondescript names entitled Department
of Spatial Rescue and Welfare Services he saw the name he
wanted to see: Adilar Schurell, Senior Lieutenant, First
Planetary Division, Air Rescue Force. On the right window,
the computer datalog of Verimur Birth Certification listed
Cycle 150 of Fourth Radix as the lieutenant's time of birth,
and manifested a second name: Trajan Schurell, Captain of
the Third Patrol Squadron of the Interplanetary Spacio
Command, born in Cycle 151 of Fourth Radix.

Were he younger, Grahn would have whooped at the top of his
lungs and stamped his feet, now he only punished his hair:
Two brothers! One a Rescuer, the other a Commander!

Although commanders rarely performed great deeds in the
public eye, rescuers were prominently in the spotlight. The
sight of Air Rescue squadrons cleaving through the sky to
aid people in distress often tugged at the heart and
wrenched tears from the eyes. The dark mauve uniform and the
orange Insignia breathed fame and prestige. Dama Clarya
could with pride embrace to her bosom an heir, who was a
commanding officer of the Air Rescue Force.

Grahn started up from his chair. He could not wait a moment
longer to see his discovery in the flesh and the mainframe
had readily given away the location of the base where the
young Schurell was stationed. It meant flying across several
time zones southwards but Grahn was not easily daunted and
the day was bright.

The warmth of the season encouraged Grahn to slide open the
roof of his Affra. Reaching the northern shores of the
Southern Hem that girt the Inner Odur Sea, he experienced a
sudden chill as a shadow passed above him, eclipsing the
day. Startled Grahn lifted his eyes; his mouth fell slightly
open. Fleets of birds winged north westwards. Dense like an
unbroken cloud they cast a long shadow over the sea. HeliĆ
blinked and seemed diminished when the huge umbrella of
fleeing birds had passed and the chill lingered in the air.

Darkness had fallen upon the rescue base when Grahn arrived,
hungry and tired.

An adjutant rescuer helpfully pointed out to him the control
tower where Lieutenant Schurell stood watch.

When Grahn made his entrance into the tower, he observed
thankfully that the lieutenant was by himself, nibbling on a
shortbread while going round the monitors coordinating the
inflow of data. The lieutenant's mouth hung open and his
eyes widened when he caught sight of Grahn.

Grahn saw himself reflected in the fibreglass walls as a
most dignified civilian in a superbly tailored light evening
coat and a mop of white hair blown askew by the wind. He
appreciatively observed the astonished lieutenant and his
voice held a tremulous note, the only indication of his
emotion when he ventured: "Lieutenant Adilar Schurell?"

Straightening himself Adilar said: "Yes, what can I do for
you, sir?"

"My name is Josrin Grahn, Advocate Notary."

A pause fell, heavy with expectation. "Advocate Grahn," said
Adilar at length, "what brings you here at the Rescue Force
spitsoar base so late in the evening?"

Grahn looked straight at Adilar's measuring blue eyes and
said: "It is more a social visit on my part, Lieutenant
Schurell. By chance I happened to be in the neighbourhood
and since I have been looking forward to meeting you for
some time, I thought I'd drop in and present myself."

Munching and swallowing the rest of his shortbread Adilar
gestured to a swivel chair. "Please take a seat, Advocate
Grahn." He invited Grahn to take a shortbread out of a
container but Grahn declined, his hunger having been stilled
by an overwhelming sense of victory.

Grahn seated himself and smoothed out his jacket, every
movement closely scrutinized by the Lieutenant. "Forgive me,
advocate, for being blunt," said Adilar, "but I don't
believe that your dropping in on me is something quite by
chance."

"You are right, Adilar," said Grahn, "if I may call you so.
I have come here to see you, to make your acquaintance, to
satisfy my curiosity if you choose to say so, and I think I
am more than satisfied: it is a success!"

Adilar grimaced. "You didn't believe Cestor Laengx was
really me?"

Grahn said with a smile: "No, my dear boy, I suspected Lar
Glynmoran from the start: he was too readily forthcoming in
producing you and the manner in which he did it had all the
hallmarks of a Glynmoran game. But although he did not bring
forward the right person, he did mention a name, your name,
and using my sources, it has ultimately brought me the real
you."

Grahn folded his hands on his stomach. "You have a younger
brother, I believe."

Immediately suspicion settled in and wiped away Adilar's
amiableness from his face. "Advocate Grahn, why all of a
sudden has my family become so important to you? Does it
have anything to do with Lar Glynmoran's latest trickery?"

"No Adilar," said Grahn in a conciliatory voice. "It has
nothing to do with Lar Glynmoran, and everything to do with
you, and with the whole family. Your great-grandaunt Clarya,
the Dowager Dama of Ayrie, will soon be reaching her ninth
Maturity and she would very much like, at such a ripe age,
to see her family whole and together again."

"A family reunion!"

Grahn bent over, seeing in the reflection of the tower walls
how the silver sheen of his hair glowed like a nimbus above
his eager face, "Because it is time to bury the past. My
Dama the Dowager is not getting any younger and neither is
your grandfather. Wouldn't he wish to come together again?
After so many years holding himself back in seclusion isn't
there a moment that he wants to talk again, with family?"

Adilar looked nettled but was unable to argue to the
contrary.

"I am right," said Grahn. "It is also Lar Alden's wish to be
reunited again, so that he can show to the mainstream of the
Trevarthen House that he has not been inferior to any of
them in keeping a family: a fine daughter and two fine
grandsons!"

"Advocate Grahn," Adilar cut in, "I presume that nearly
everyone in the world knows about me, thanks to the efforts
of my playful cousin, but how many of you know about
Trajan?"

"For the present moment only me."

Adilar took a deep breath. "Advocate, I am generally very
protective towards my younger brother although I must
confess it is usually he who rules the roost at home. I must
entreat you to promise me that you will talk to no one about
Trajan until he comes home from patrol. He has to be
consulted first before we present him to the family.
Advocate Grahn, is that agreed?"

"Certainly," said Grahn although he felt none too certain
about the wisdom of such a precaution. But, he decided,
Adilar was the elder and the younger could wait.

"I can agree to your proposal, if you promise that you
rejoin the Trevarthens from now on and take your proper
place in their ranks."

"Yes," Adilar said with a twitch of the mouth, "I will be
around if they want me."

Grahn jumped to his feet. The lights in the tower flickered,
went black for a moment, the only illumination coming from
the bluishly sheening computer monitors and starlight
winking through the transparent dome. At the next moment the
lights flicked on again.

"Don't let it alarm you, Advocate," said Adilar with a
roguish grin. "It happens sometimes. We are only half a time
zone away from Vriavyn and the region's energy net has not
yet been fully restored."

The thought of being so close to a disaster zone did alarm
Grahn somewhat and he decided it was high time to start on
the return float back to Frairimont. As he took his leave
one of the monitors squealed, reporting that an EROS craft,
damaged in a magnetic storm, was approaching the base.
Adilar's attention was immediately drawn away to the
emergency. Voicing hasty words of farewell and promises of
keeping in touch Adilar stroked a panel and the quiet port
was plunged once again into hyperactivity.

Grahn's Affra zipped upwards into the nightsky as the base
beneath him filled with the whine of emergency vehicles and
the roar of landing spitsoars.

Grahn regained his composure when he had crossed the shores
and even chuckled to himself as his limousine glided over
the brightly lit oversea trajectory. He had never felt such
a sense of fulfilment in a long time. Calling into mind once
again his first sight of Senior Lieutenant Schurell brought
a fresh exhilaration to his weary spirits; it was a fruitful
outcome that had so well rewarded the strains of the
journey.

It was almost dawn when Grahn maneuvered into the deserted
main trajectory of Frairimont, and thence into the side
avenue of his suite. By that time physical fatigue had taken
hold and he was functioning only out of mechanical habit. In
the front lobby he thrust his thumbprint on the security
screen and after the access doors opened he keyed in the
secret digits allowing the elevator to zoom directly into
the chambers of his private domain.

Grahn made it to the nearest armchair and stretched out his
stiff limbs. He would spend the remainder of the early
morning here, taking two hours of sleep, or three at the
most and after ironing out his daily affairs he would
present Dama Clarya with his tale of a noble heir wanted,
and such an heir found through the workings of the famed
Grahn Solution!

However he needed a few hours of rest first of all and
perfunctorily he checked his recorder before lying down on
the sofa. The last message on the recorder pricked his mind
to immediate alertness. It had come from Lukus. Lukus who
had returned earlier than expected from Calitre.

A dark frown clouded Joseph Grahn's high brow as he listened
to the exuberant voice of Lukus Stratken whose findings had
meted out a challenge to the Grahn Solution. Getting sleep
was now absolutely out of the question.