Eyes of the Calculor

by Sean McMullen

  "Because you are brilliant, fair, frightening, vindictive, merciless, brave, cunning, devious, unpredictable, and as pure as wind-driven snow in the eastern highlands."

  Velesti read the paper's words again.

  "I have a very, very high price to demand before I agree," she announced.

  "Well, then, let us discuss it," responded Lengina, taking her by the arm and guiding her in the direction of the waterfall courtyard.

  IVIanuel had seen thousands of couples pass through Cafe Marellia's doors, but on this particular night he had a pair of patrons that nothing could have prepared him for. One was Velesti, which was bad enough in itself. The other looked a lot like Zarvora, except that Zarvora was dead. On the other hand, the one who looked like Zarvora was also semitransparent. Manuel set the tray down on their table, gave them a forced grin, then left hurriedly.

  "You are not drinking your coffee," said Velesti, after taking a long sip from her own mug.

  "I am trying to cut back," said Zarvora, waving her hand through the mug. "Have you an answer to my proposal?"

  "I do, and it is no."

  "What?" exclaimed the hologram.

  "I said no, I can't put it more simply than that."

  "But you are female."

  "So? I have always enjoyed the company of women, and being one myself removes a lot of social barriers."

  "But I have just offered to restore you to being Glasken—or at least male."

  "No thank you."

  "Velesti, this is no trick. There is a youth, a sailor, who was aboard a river galley during the recent battles. He was trapped when the galley sank, and was only rescued after a quarter hour underwater. His body lives, but his mind does not. We can obtain Theresla's interface collar from Ilyire, we could install it on the sailor's neck."

  "But I like this body. Being female liberates me."

  "I cannot believe what I am hearing!" snapped the hologram. "I know you too well. You're never going to let any man have any sort of access to what you have to offer."

  "True, but there is more to life than sex."

  "Fras Glasken, has living as Velesti driven you mad? Don't you remember? You hated being female."

  "Only at first, but then I began to grow. Now I am more than Glasken could ever have been, and I could never go back. Could you give up being Mirrorsun?"

  "No, but a body would have its uses. I had planned to take over Velesti, but not to imprint on her brain as you have. I need access to eyes and hands, your services have become too unreliable."

  "Besides, your experiment with me proved it could be done in safety," Velesti pointed out.

  "Well, yes," Zarvora admitted sheepishly.

  "So? Why not make the sailor with the dead mind your hands and eyes, but without giving up Mirrorsun?"

  "But he is male" said the hologram, distaste on its face.

  "Indeed he is, Frelle Zarvora."

  "But I want to be Velesti! She is highly placed in Libris and the Commonwealth."

  "But I say no. Er, could I have your shortbread, seeing as you can't eat?"

  "No!" Zarvora snarled, putting a semitransparent hand over the plate. "Glasken, I'll wipe your mind archives from Mirrorsun, you will be stuck as a girl until the day you die."

  "Do it," said Velesti, taking the shortbread through her hand. "I'm fully imprinted on this brain by now, and quite independent. Besides, we agreed that you would wipe the archives anyway. When this body's life is over I'd like to die, thank you."

  "This is just bare-arsed revenge, Frelle Velesti."

  "Oh, yes, Frelle Zarvora."

  It was only to be expected that Alaxis Sandar's mother seriously contemplated slamming the door and running to an upstairs window to scream for the Constable's Runners after opening it to find Velesti on the doorstep. Before she had been able to make the decision, however, Velesti had stepped inside the doorway, where she now stood with her arms folded behind her back. Behind her, still in the street, were several Tiger Dragons.

  "I am the Overmayor's representative," Velesti explained without a great deal of interest in the woman, her husband, their three younger children, or the family medician—who happened to be paying a visit. "I am here to visit Fras Alaxis."

  "Ah, of course, Frelle. His galley captain said that he might be granted a medal," responded the youth's father.

  "Medician, I want ajar of medicinal spirits," said Velesti. "Frelle Sandar, I want a piece of clean cotton cloth and a half hour alone with your son."

  "What do you mean, esteemed Frelle?"

  "I may be able to revive him."

  "Revive—"

  "And in return he is to join the Dragon Librarian Service. Do you agree to that?"

  "But of course, Frelle. He can only breathe and swallow—we'll agree to anything that may improve his condition."

  Alaxis was lying on the lower level of a double bunk in a small room, which he was sharing with his younger brother. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing evenly. He gave no response at all when his mother squeezed his hand.

  "He joined the Rochestrian Mayoral River Navy to see the Commonwealth, and to help with the family debts," said Fras Sandar as Velesti drew back the youth's eyelids, then snapped her fingers before his face. "He was just seventeen."

  There was no response. The medician handed her ajar of spirits, then Frelle Sandar came in with a clean cloth.

  "I have a very advanced medician's device," Velesti explained. "I can bring him back, but he will have no memories, only skills. He will be able to walk, eat, speak, and write, but he will not remember any of you or any of his past life. Are you willing to accept that?"

  Alaxis Sandar's parents nodded.

  "Then get out and close the door after you."

  Once they were gone, Velesti peeled the band away from her neck but it remained attached at the back. She began to tug gently. Blood began to trickle down her skin. In the mirror she could see long, lank filaments coming out of her neck. The last of them came free and hung limp, then they began to slowly retract into the band.

  Velsti steadied herself with a hand on the frame of the bunk. The room was spinning and all of her movements seemed faster than her mind was used to. It was several minutes before she felt confident enough to let go of the frame, and several more before she was able to swab the inner lining of the band. She examined a little patch at the back. It seemed to be a collection of tiny needle points.

  Tearing a strip from the cotton cloth, she soaked it in spirits, and swabbed the back of her own neck. Wincing with the sting of spirits on the patch of broken skin, she wrapped the strip around her neck and buttoned her collar to hold it in place.

  "How are you feeling?" tinkled a tiny voice from the band on her lap.

  "Terrible," she admitted as she turned the sailor over and splashed spirits on the back of his neck.

  "The filaments of the collar are more efficient than the nerves of your body. Now that you are without them, you will take some days to get used to moving about. You body will not feel like your own."

  "I have had plenty of experience with my body not feeling like my own," replied Velesti. "What about my image in Mirrorsun?"

  "All sponged away, and the storage space prepared for better things. I have been short of space ever since I fissioned. All that remains of you is in your head."

  "I would have thought you had room for dozens of people's images in Mirrorsun's fabric."

  "Most of the human body is not brain, just as most of Mirrorsun is not what the ancients called neural transaction fabric. But even if space were plentiful, I would not want company. I learned that by trying to share Mirrorsun with you, when you were Glasken."

  Velesti lifted the band and applied it to the neck of the sailor. As she rolled him onto his back again she noticed that the band was growing hot. Almost at once Alaxis's eyelids fluttered, then opened.

  "Adequate," whispered Zarvora through the youth's lips.

  "Then I shall leave you to his family."
r />   "Appreciate . . . help."

  "But I want you to suffer."

  "Bastard."

  Velesti stood up too quickly, reeled, and nearly fell. For several minutes she paced the little room, getting used to walking while unaided by the neck band. Zarvora's voluntary control was improving quickly as well.

  "This penis, how does it work?" asked Zarvora as she explored beneath the blankets.

  "Really well, if you are that way inclined. Now, try to think male thoughts. Your new family awaits you, and remember, you are Fras Alaxis Sandar."

  Velesti helped the youth from the lower bunk, and he stood swaying in his nightshirt as she opened the door. His mother, who had been waiting outside, took one look at her revived son, shrieked, then fainted. His father rushed in and embraced him as the other children tried to revive their mother.

  "Have him report to Libris for induction as a Dragon White Librarian tomorrow," said Velesti as she stepped over Frelle Sandar's body.

  She walked quickly from the house and hurried off down the street with her squad of Tiger Dragons.

  "Did the procedure go badly?" asked the Dragon Blue in charge of the squad, noting that she was in haste to get away.

  "It went perfectly, Fras."

  "But then why are you so anxious to leave?"

  "I cope very badly with gratitude. Next time I promote you, be sure not to thank me."

  "I'll be sure not to," replied the Dragon Blue diplomatically.

  Siding Springs, the Central Confederation

  I he monks at Siding Springs were very much aware that the world was watching over their shoulders as they in turn watched through

  the largest operational telescope in the world. It was the twenty-first of August, and Venus had been under observation for a full week. As it happened, Brother Tontare was at the eyepiece. The abbot was pacing the floor some distance below.

  "Any sign of a flash of fire yet?" called the abbot.

  "Nothing," Brother Tontare called back. "The Mirrorsun child might have arrived while Venus was beneath the horizon. It was due to arrive yesterday, after all."

  "Keep watching. I want a flash to be seen, I need a flash to be seen, I will have a flash seen. Anything else bar the Mirrorsun child arriving at Venus will be a victory for the Reformed Gentheists."

  "They will deny that any flash was seen by us, even if we saw one. You know what religious people are like."

  "That had better have been a joke, Brother Tontare," warned the abbot, ceasing his pacing and glaring up.

  "If you say so, Reverend Abbot. But why concentrate on a mere flash that is gone a moment after it happened? Why not the shadow of the Mirrorsun child on Venus, after it has formed up and unfurled? That would be there forever, for all to see. Well, those with a big enough telescope, anyway."

  "The theoretician from Euroa, Brother Rangen, has argued that it will not be visible from Earth."

  "Well, he is wrong, I can see it now, on the crescent of Venus."

  "You what? Why didn't you say so earlier, you wretch!"

  The abbot scrambled up the steps, and saw exactly what the monk had reported. The report of the discovery was quickly dispersed into the beamflash network, but other observatories in other monasteries had seen the shadow on the distant planet as well by now. Jemli denounced the observations as the work of devils in all telescopes. The monks had an exorcism performed on their largest telescope, but the mark on the face of Venus remained. The Mirrorsun child would not return to smash into Earth.

  Once more the world breathed easier, and those in search of any reasonable or unreasonable excuse for a revel opened their jars of beer and wine at venues across the continent. Reformed Gentheists held prayer vigils outside those venues against what they denounced

  as blasphemous acts of debauchery, while revelers bared their breasts, buttocks, and genitalia from the rooftops and windows, and flung down empty jars.

  Back in Siding Springs the abbot and monks in the observatory toasted Venus with jars of unconsecrated altar wine liberated from the cellar by the abbot himself. Venus dropped below the horizon. The monks had by now begun singing the more tuneful hymns in organum. By midnight they had added lewd words at strategic places, and by the time the bishop arrived in the morning to congratulate them, they were all so sick that they regretted ever having been born.

  Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth

  Although Velesti was still Overseer of the Rochester University Bal-eshanto Guild, a real monk from the Balesha order was now sensei. She and Martyne stood watching the monk take a training session on the university lawns, noting certain subtle refinements in style that had evolved since they had last trained in the monastery.

  "He is good, but he is not coping well," said Velesti.

  "I think he is training them extremely well," replied Martyne.

  "I mean with the girls. What are the odds that he will lose his virginity within a lunar month?"

  Martyne shook his head. "I know the man. He is pious, temperate, ascetic, dedicated, and has a very highly developed sense of self-discipline."

  "Truly?"

  "I'd give him two months."

  Velesti smirked, then turned to the youth at her side. "What do you think, Fras Alaxis? Would you like to learn Baleshanto?"

  The newly promoted Dragon Orange thought for a moment. "Might it improve my coordination?"

  "Sure to."

  "Then I shall join."

  "Sensei Ortano, another recruit for you," called Velesti as she took Alaxis over to be introduced.

  Presently she returned to Martyne, and they began to walk away across the lawns.

  "We should mark the half-year anniversary of Samondel leaving you," Velesti suggested, with no sense of tact whatever. "She has been gone six months today."

  Martyne had come to expect nothing less, and took no offense.

  "She adored me," he said, "and I adored her. I still adore her."

  "Once, long ago, someone adored me," said Velesti. "/ betrayed my adoring lover."

  "Congratulations."

  "Given my time over again . . ."

  "You would not have betrayed him?"

  "Her, and I would not have entered the liaison in the first place. Martyne, any reasonable person would say that Samondel is dead as far as you are concerned. Perhaps in fact, as well."

  "Are you telling me that it is time to stop waiting for her?"

  "Well, yes."

  She draped an arm over his shoulders, then drew him close and whispered something in his ear. The astonished Martyne pulled away, his eyes bulging.

  "You cannot possibly mean it!" he exclaimed.

  "Oh, yes, I do."

  "But how?"

  "Because I am on good terms with the Eyes of the Mirrorsun Calculor. Will you be my companion?"

  "How can I refuse?"

  Condelor, North America

  I he dray cart was towed by a team of thirty men and women, and was loaded with eleven rotary compression engines that had either been recovered from old gunwing and sailwing wrecks or had lain

  unused in the gunwing halls of now abandoned wingfields. All but one were rusted, and some even had grass growing from between their cooling vanes. The country was dangerous, yet what the draymen had for sale was heavy and not easily stolen. Only in Condelor would the engines command a price for being what they were. Everywhere else they were scrap metal, to be melted down into tools, nails, and guns.

  One welcome feature of the east road into Condelor was that it was downhill, and while the team pulling the dray had to remain at their push bars, much of the work was done by the two men working the brake blocks on the wheels. A sign appeared ahead, and a cheer went up from the team. Glory Bend was near the end of the journey, and as they rounded it they saw Condelor and its palace sprawled before them. The sight was truly glorious, all towers, spires, arched coronet fancies, and domed cathedrals. Flying low over the city was a merchant sailwing, clawing for height with four engines roaring, weighed
down with a rich cargo of bullets, hunting rifles, medicines, and tools.

  "Give a sixmonth, these engines will be ascending on a few o' those wings," said the draymaster to his two brakemen.

  The last fifteen miles tended to be where the drays lost most members of their teams. It was not due to accidents, outlaws, exhaustion, or disease but to the fact that Condelor was in sight. Those travelers pulling the heavy dray were mostly there for the security of numbers against the outlaws and petty warlords who were rapidly taking over the mountains between Highland Barto-lica and South Bartolica's capital. Those travelers who could not afford to ride the steam trams had to walk, and those who walked alone were always bailed up. If they were lucky, they would just be robbed, if they were less lucky they would be abducted and sold into slavery. If they were very unlucky or put up a fight, they would be shot. On this particular dray the packs of all those in the team were carried with the engines, and they were not to be returned until they had reached the walls of the city.

  Fifteen miles is seven hours if one is walking at the pace of a dray pulled by people, and although the sunrise was behind them

  when they rounded Glory Bend it was midafternoon before they dragged the dray through the gates and drew up beside a canal. Here there were barges and cranes, and the first of the engines was loaded onto a barge. The members of the team that had brought them from Montpellier and past Bear Lake claimed their packs and began to disperse. One woman, still shrouded against the dust of the mountain road, paused to put her hand out and touch a fire-blackened cylinder of one of the compression engines. When the draymaster barked a caution at her, she walked away without another glance.

  "Best of the batch," said the draymaster to the guildsman who was in charge of the barge. "A little singed, but when rebuilt it will sing like a guitar."

  "What happened to it?"

  "The airframe burned. Bought it from the former Airlord of Highland Bartolica."

  "Samondel?"

  "That's her."

  "I hear she vanished."

  "Aye, probably into a six-foot hole. Same Yarronese contractor that chopped her also torched her sailwing, I'd say."

  Once away from the dray, Samondel removed the gloves, hat, scarf, and dust cloak that had disguised and protected her for the trip's duration, found a stall in a gateside market, and sold them for a few coins. Walking through the streets with her carbine, she now looked like an artisan's daughter returning from a day's fruitless hunting in the nearby mountains.