by Julian May
"We are trying to change the old pitiless ways!" Dionket cried. "You could help us in our struggle against the Host!"
"My mind-set is wholly nonaggressive. As you know. Bring about your great changes first and then ask me to help."
"As Tana wills," he said, resigned. "When do you depart from us?"
"Soon," she said, looking down again at the sleeping child. "I'll take care of all the rest of these black-torc children for you while you and your best people observe. You may be able to learn the program."
"We will be deeply grateful for your guidance ... And now, if you will agree, we will leave this chamber of mind-hurt for a time. Even though you screen it away, I know that you are diminished by contact with the black-torcs. We will go to the terrace, beyond reach of their pathetic aura."
The towering form in red and white walked from the ward into cool stone corridors, past screens of marble filigree and onto a great garden balcony. There was a stupendous view of Muriah from up here on the Mount of Heroes, and they could see a long stretch of the Aven Peninsula, the saltflats, and the lagoons all spread below in the clean loud scorch of the noon sun. The crying of the pain-filled young minds was blotted out in the solar emanation. The light so dazzled Elizabeth that she faltered, momentarily blinded—
—and perceived the call.
Elizabeth Orme Farspeaker respond.
Dionket said something solicitous. Taking her arm, he guided her into a shaded corner where there were wicker chairs.
Elizabeth! Elizabeth!
So faint, so garbled, so human, but who?
"Your experience with our poor little ones has affected you, my dear. It's no wonder. Sit here and I'll fetch a restorative."
Could Dionket have heard? But no. It was on the uniquely human mode and almost beyond her own perception, much less his.
"Just—something to drink," she said. "Anything cold."
"Of course. I'll return immediately."
Elizabeth!
Whoyou whereyou I Elizabeth respond.
Me/us! Felice/AngéliqueGuderian! ThankGoditworked O damn quick losing mindmeld tune nar row An gèl i...
I have you Madame Guderian.
Gràceàdieu we were soafraid we called solong noresponse listen we are someofus coming to you sabotage torcworks require help AikenDrum if trustworthy do you think can you vouch?
Aiken?
Yesyes himalone le petit farceur! Ifonly wecantrustOlisten this how thisway it is...
Elizabeth listened in astonishment to the faint babbling thoughts inexpertly squirting data, smearing a crazy quilt of mind-pictures and clumsy subvocalizations, the whole so clogged with anxiety, so wavering and distant that only a Master could have made sense out of it. What an incredibly bold plan! But these human rebels had already accomplished the incredible at Finiah, hadn't they? This scheme, too, might succeed. But—Aiken Drum? What could she tell them about him, his mind now impervious even to her, doubtless of masterclass potential, perhaps even gone fully operant by now. What could she tell them about the laughing little nonborn chosen of Mayvar Kingmaker?
Brede?
Elizabeth I hear.
Prognosticate. (DATA)
Do it.
Harmless?
Never that nohuman is.
Harmless forbest myfriends humanity atlarge?
(Irony.) Longview affirm falsealoof Elizabeth.
Damn you...
Madame Guderian?
Yes Elizabeth.
I will relay your request to Aiken Drum without telling him more than he needs to know about your plan of action. I believe it to be in humanity's longterm best interest to include him in your scheme. But there may be shortterm danger. Be wary. I will continue to do what I can for you for as long as I can.
Othankyoumerci butit will be dangerous pourl'amour dedieu be withus Elizabeth we cannot/mustnot fail (fear guilt hope). Elizabeth?
Be at peace Angélique Guderian. And all of you my friends...
"Here now!" Dionket proffered a tray. "Cold orange juice should be the very thing to restore you. Vitamin C, potassium, and many other good things in this splendid Earth fruit."
Elizabeth smiled and accepted the crystal tumbler. The faraway mental voice had disappeared amid the bedlam of other thought waves.
***
Seized by uncontrollable laughter, Stein fetched his companion a herculean whack on the back. The small figure dressed in gold stood as firmly as a metal statue.
"Aiken ... kid! Isn't that the damnedest absofuckinlutely greatest news you ever heard in your life? They're coming! Our good ole Group Green pals are coming with their pockets full of iron and a friggerty big zapper that we can blast the chickenshit Tanu into orbit with! And they can cut off our torcs! Sukey and me can be free! All of the humans who don't want to wear these things can be free! Would you believe it?"
Aiken Drum smiled his golliwog smile. "That's what Elizabeth says."
The two of them were on a balcony of Mayvar's apartment in the Hall of Farsensors. Their interrupted lunch lay uneaten on the table before them. The high hot sun shone upon the holiday-decked capital city, aswarm with Tanu and human visitors. Out on the shimmering White Silver Plain to the south, thousands of small black Firvulag tents spread in serried ranks, together with larger pavilions of ochre and rusty red and other earthen hues that sheltered the nobility of the Little People. Great bleachers with awnings colored scarlet and blue and purple and rosy gold were being completed on both sides of the great Field of Lists where the sporting contests were to be held prior to the blood events of the Combat proper.
Stein, bareheaded and wearing only a lightweight tunic, clutched his cup of iced mead so firmly that the silver threatened to buckle. "How about it, kid? Do you really think you can recharge that photon cannon thing they're bringing?"
"Can't say for sure until I eyeball her, Steinie. But if it's just a matter of figuring how to open a fewkin' powerpack like Madame said, it should be el cincho to a genius like Me."
"Hot damn!" The giant tossed his drink off and slammed the goblet onto the table. "I'm sure as hell gettin' in on the blanket party for the torc works! Think they might let me do the zapping? There's nobody can teach this boy any tricks in how to handle light-blasters ... or were you figuring to join the zorch yourself?"
Aiken's grin became bemused. He took a daisylike flower from the table centerpiece and started to pick off the petals. "Who, me? Strike a blow for human freedom and the destruction of the Tanu kingdom? Me use the Spear of Lugonn? Pissy patoot, my man! I probably couldn't even lift the fewkin' thing." He dropped petals into the congealed gravy on his plate. "You know, Steinie, that Spear—the zapper, I mean—is really a sacred thing to these exotic folks. Humans using it in war has caused the biggest stink since the Tanu first came to Earth a thousand years ago. The Spear was one of two photon weapons the exotics brought here from their home galaxy for ceremonial fights between great heroes. The second one is smaller, called the Sword of Sharn. Used to belong to an old Firvulag warlord. Now it's only used as a championship trophy in their Grand Combat. Nodonn's got it."
Stein smote the table. "We'll show that bastard! We'll show the whole bunch of 'em! No more human slaves. No more filthy breeding schemes. Without a steady supply of torcs, this whole goddam Tanu setup is gonna fall apart!"
Aiken inspected the shredded blossom with comic dismay. "Sure seems like that's what would happen ... Poor li'l flower. All ruined."
Stein shoved back his chair. "Let's go tell Sukey! She's been worrying her heart out, hiding away there in Redact House."
"Maybe we better hold off on that," Aiken said casually. "You know. The fewer who know a secret..."
"She'd never tell."
"Not willingly." Aiken did not look at Stein. "She's safe where Dionket and Creyn put her. But there are other redactors—unfriendly ones—floating around that place, too. If Sukey's thoughts just happened to drift a little one day, a really top digger like Culluket Prettyface might get wind of o
ur little conspiracy. All Sukey would have to do is imagine the Spear. Conjure up an image of you shooting it, for instance."
Stein was stricken. "Sweet Jesus, Aiken! Can't we bring her over here with us?"
"I couldn't cover her the way the friendly redactors can. She'll have to stay there until the northerners get here with their iron chisel. Then I can cut off her torc, and yours, too, and you can sail away into the sunrise just like I promised. I gotta confess, kiddo—until we got this crazy flash from Elizabeth and Madame, I didn't have the least fewkin' idea how I was gonna carry out my promise to you two. But with your torcs off so you guys are out of the Tanu mind-net, so to speak, it won't be that hard."
"Can't get this thing off fast enough for me." Stein gave a futile tug at his own gray collar. "Lately, just in the last week, like, I been getting these screwy feelings. And it's this torc, kid! I know it is. I'll be doing nothin' special and all of a sudden an ordinary thing like a shadow makes me jump like a goosed moose. Or I'll feel like the worst goddam monster in the world is right behind me, reachin' out. And I dassn't turn around and look, because that's all that keeps it from jumpin' me..."
"Don't sweat it," the trickster said. "Four, five days, you'll be bareneck and free as a bird and on your way to the Spaghetti Islands with your lady."
Stein gripped the arms of the little man in gold. "And you, too, right, Aiken?"
"Aw." The mischief-maker's eyes slid away. "I was having fun here in King Arthur's Court. And the Combat's nearly here. I think I might just be able to take some of these turdlings. Win myself a fair lady or a spare kingdom or something."
Stein roared with laughter. "And end up with stir-fried brains! You can have your kingdom, sweetheart. What's left of it when me and Madame's gang get finished!" He started for the balcony doors. "I'm going to Sukey. I won't say a word about the zapper. Just tell her things are looking up. Okay?"
Aiken held up the mangled stem of the daisy. Slowly, it straightened. The bruised disc plumped and restored itself. Lavender ray-florets sprang out anew, crisp and perfect.
"And we thought you were a goner, li'l flower!" Aiken chortled. "It just goes to show—don't jump to conclusions!"
Rising off the ground, he tucked the flower behind Stein's ear. Then he returned to the normal mode of human locomotion and strutted away, whistling "Over the Sea to Skye."
***
They did it around the campfire at nightfall, since it had been decided that the two old people would have to leave Roniah and go into hiding that night, with the rest of the party embarking for the south at dawn on the morrow.
"It's appropriate," Amerie said when they were all together, "that the traditional Introit for this service should be King David's prayer for victory. It can serve for all of us as well as for Claude and Angélique:
May the Lord send you help from his holy place
and defend you from Mount Zion!
May he grant you your heart's desire
and make all your plans succeed!
Now repeat after me: T, Angélique, take thee, Claude.. "
9
LORD GREG-DONNET came scampering into the computer room of Creation House as Bryan and Ogmol were feeding in the very last of the data. His turquoise tailcoat was fresh and clean and he had a huge white rose in his buttonhole.
"I've been looking all over for you to tell you the news! And then Katlinel said you were in here, so I hurried as fast as—" He broke off as he caught sight of the dog-eared notebooks and storage-plaques that Bryan was packing away into his wicker portfolio. "The survey? Don't tell me you're ready to finalize it!"
"Why, yes, Greggy." Bryan smiled. "We could have spent months more on it, but King Thagdal was explicit about having some sort of results before Combat time, so we're doing the final digest today. The King will have two weeks to study it and confer with us before he presents it to the High Table, or whatever."
"How exciting!" crowed the Genetics Master. "Will you let me order the printout, Bryan? Will you?"
"Why, certainly. Just give Ogmol another minute or two."
Greg-Donnet began to jump up and down, hugging himself. "I love it when the plaques come pouring out! Can we print scads and scads?"
"Only three for now, I'm afraid," the anthropologist said. "The survey must be confidential until King Thagdal approves it for general circulation. His Majesty was very firm about that."
Greg-Donnet's lower lip thrust out pettishly. "Spoilsport! There's no fun when the computer prints only three."
"Greggy published five thousand copies of his new plot of the metapsychic latency coefficients," Ogmol remarked, looking up from the input mouthpiece. "Better hurry up and reserve yours, Bry. There are only about four thousand nine hundred and ninety-one left ... That's the last of our stuff. We're ready to go."
Bryan gestured to the control console. "Be our guest, Greggy. But only three: one for the King, one for Ogmol, and one for me."
The madman seized the mouthpiece. His little old baby face regained its usual good-humored expression. "Stand back, everyone! ...Begin sysprint plaque opren-three-shutpren sem end. Wheee!"
The machine, stoically ignoring the last indigestible byte, labored for six seconds and brought forth a trio of ten-by-sixteen-cent rectangles of pale-green plass, entitled:
SOCIOECONOMIC STRESS PATTERNS
DEMONSTRATED IN TANU-HUMAN
CULTURAL INTERACTION
—A Preliminary Survey—
BRYAN D. GRENFELL OGMOL urJOHANNA-BURNS vulTHAGDAL
Centre for Anthropological Studies Guild of Creators
London 51:30N, 00:10W Sol-3 Muriah 39:54N, 04.15E Sol-3
"Doesn't that look authoritative?" Greggy squeaked, snatching one of the plaques from the hopper. "Just like back home! Let me read just the abstract, Bry. Pretty please!"
Bryan lifted the book out of the Genetics Master's hand before he could press the contents activator and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his own jacket. "I promise you'll be the first to read it after the King gives his approval. You'll just have to be patient, Greggy."
Ogmol took his own copy of the book and the one intended for his royal father. "This is sensitive material, Greggy. Not to be bandied about lightly."
"Oh, cockypop!" the adult infant cried. "I've a good mind now not to tell you my news! That's why I was looking for you two. So you wouldn't miss the fun. But if you're going to be such meanies—"
"When the King gives his consent," Bryan soothed, "I'll see to it that you get your very own copy in a fine red leather case. Stamped in gold. With your name on it."
Greggy beamed. "Oh, very well. I was only joking. I wouldn't want you to miss Lady Mercy-Rosmar's formal challenge to the Craftsmaster!"
"Omnipotent Tana!" Ogmol exclaimed. "So she's really going through with it? Going up against Aluteyn at the Combat in the manifestation of powers?"
"You bet!" said Greg-Donnet. "The King and Queen are here to watch the challenge, and ever so many others."
Bryan could only stand stunned into silence. But Ogmol was saying, "Does the grapevine give her a chance for the presidency, Greggy? I've been so out of it working on this survey that I can hardly separate one intrigue from another any more. I suppose Nodonn's behind the challenge. Mark my words—he and the rest of the Host won't rest until they've taken over all the Guilds! Just look how Riganone keeps crowding Mayvar over at Farsense. And Culluket would challenge Dionket as Lord Healer if his psychopotential only measured up to his power-itch."
"Mercy's brought the cauldron and all," Greg-Donnet said. "She'll give us some kind of demonstration, bet on that, Creative Brother. It should be quite a giggle! I feel sorry for poor old Aluteyn, though. It's tough to do your best for years and years in a hard job when people aren't all that fond of you—and then have some charismatic young charmer come along."
Ogmol laughed. "Bryan knows all about the lady's charm! Secure the data, Bry, and let's go."
The anthropologist seemed to snap out of his preocc
upation. He spoke his private locking-encodement into the computer's input, shut the machine down, took his portfolio, and started to follow his exotic coworker.
Greg-Donnet was rummaging in a cabinet. "You go on ahead, colleagues. I want to bring some of my reports down to the rotunda. Everybody's there! It's a wonderful chance to corner people, ha-ha!"
After the two had gone, Greg-Donnet let his own plaque-books fall to the floor in a heedless clatter. He darted to the rear of the computer and slid open a small door in the opaque glass of the data storage module. Inside was a miniaturized manual terminal, part of the maintenance system of the ancient machine, which had been transported piecemeal to the Pliocene by a notably persuasive technician during the earliest days of the auberge. The stylus for the tiny stallboard had disappeared years ago; but Greggy, who had been a great and good friend of the long-dead computer technician, had tucked an old gnawed pencil stub inside the redundant terminal as a substitute. It was quite adequate for tapping out any number of outré and useful instructions, including overrides of lock-codes.
Greg-Donnet pecked:
EXEC 'ALGOVERIDE' LLLL