Restoration

by Peter David

  “Hauman …”

  “Please … Captain …” and he looked at her with an air of infinite tragedy. “Do not make this … any more difficult for us than it already is. Wish us well … and pray for us, to whatever gods you worship, that we shall come through this waking nightmare. For we must kill our neighbors now … and there are a great deal of preparations to be made for doing so.”

  Hauman stood alone for some time after that, the sound of the Exeter’s transporters still ringing in his ears. He felt the weight of the eyes of his ancestors still upon him.

  “The big picture,” he said again, with a certain degree of reverence. It was his new philosophy.

  He missed the old one sorely. But every child, he reasoned, has to come of age sooner or later.

  CALHOUN

  HE LIKED THE MOTHER. And the boy. Except he couldn’t shake himself from thinking of them as “the mother” and “the boy,” rather than by their names. He also knew precisely why he was having that difficulty; the reason he knew why was because Mackenzie Calhoun was forever cursed with the annoying ability to always know his own mind under any circumstance. Even when he had gone to Rheela after the fact and told her he’d been “thinking about” what she’d said, he really knew what his thought process had been. In fact, there had never been a time when he didn’t know precisely why he did what he did. All the reasons, good or bad, moral or immoral. Every decision he made was pure and clear and made perfect sense.

  At least, that was what he liked to tell himself. There were certainly others who would have debated that notion, but they weren’t around.

  Weren’t around.

  The days were turning into weeks on Yakaba, and Mackenzie Calhoun was slowly coming to the realization that his constant refrain of “passing through” might be serving as a nice, comforting personal mantra with very little relation to the reality of his situation. The truth was that he had absolutely no clue how long he was going to be marooned. That was really the word that summed up his present situation: He was marooned. For all the ability that he had to get off the damned planet, he might as well have landed on a desert island, with his only company being a couple of rocks and a palm tree.

  Still …

  … it wasn’t so bad here. Really wasn’t so bad.

  In some ways, the frontier aspect of Yakaba reminded him more of his native Xenex than any place he had ever been. There was a distinct lack of sophistication among the populace, and there was something to be said for that. In some ways, Calhoun occasionally felt as if having too much knowledge was disastrous in the long term. This fairly simple life that had been presented him might wind up being a very unexpected gift.

  The people of Narrin took to him as quickly and as easily as he in turn took to the job of Majister. Calhoun found the job had a certain amount of charm to it. The townspeople treated him with deference, bobbing their heads politely or, in other ways, making it clear that they had nothing but respect for his authority. It was both like and unlike being the captain of a starship—like, in that he was considered a central authority, unlike, in that these people weren’t officially under his command.

  Kusack, for his part, was not a happy individual. His leg had healed, and the door and lock had been repaired so that he was unable to go anywhere. He continued to make loud and threatening noises about what his brothers were going to do when they mustered the nerve to come back and face Calhoun once more. This didn’t worry Calhoun himself especially, but he was concerned about others who might run into trouble as a result of the brothers’ ire. Calhoun, after all, was not at the gaol all the time. The perpetually cranky Ronk was his main substitute when Calhoun was off duty. As near as Calhoun could determine, Ronk had taken on the job primarily so that he would have something to complain about. He complained when he arrived for his shift, he complained when he switched back off with Calhoun. But when Calhoun asked him why he was offering his services if he found it so personally inconvenient, Ronk would just give Calhoun a pitying look, as if he were the dumbest thing ever to set foot on Yakaba, and then go about his business.

  Still, Kusack’s continued imprisonment while the Circuit Judiciary was making his rounds was of concern to Calhoun, primarily because he didn’t know what Kusack’s still-at-liberty brothers were up to. So, at one point, Calhoun took it upon himself to organize a small group of men and head out to the last-known residence of Kusack’s still-living brothers, Temo and Qinos. The problem was that he arrived there to find it deserted. Not only was it deserted, but he also discovered that certain key things were missing, such as toothbrushes and other scrubbing and bodily amenities.

  “You don’t possibly think,” Howzer said, with obvious disdain and even a small bit of disbelief, “that creatures such as they care about such esoteric, social niceties as cleanliness.” He stood in the middle of their ramshackle home, exuding obvious disgust.

  “I wouldn’t know about the one named Qinos,” Calhoun said calmly, “but I was pretty up close to Temo. His clothes may have been shabby, but they were clean. His mouth, likewise, did not seem to emit any particular odor, and his teeth did not appear to be rotting. Instead, they seemed well cared for. His hair was washed and devoid of any insects. In short, he seemed to have quite a thorough grasp of personal hygiene. Based on that, I’d say that he cleared out of here and decided to take his implements for that with him.”

  There was active discussion then about the prospect of chasing them down. They were, after all, responsible for the death of the Majister. Calhoun was more than ready to attend to it, but the consensus of the council was that, since they had apparently departed Narrin Province, they were no longer of any concern. This did not sit well with Calhoun at all, for the thought of murderers running around unpunished was not a comfortable one for him. However, a point was made that he really couldn’t refute: What if Temo and Qinos eventually doubled back to Narrin to cause trouble while Calhoun was out looking for them? Calhoun was, after all, just one man, and his primary function was to protect and serve the people of Narrin. He couldn’t very well do that if he were chasing a couple of outlaws all over the place. Calhoun really had no response to that, and so he decided to stay put.

  A lot of his time as Majister was spent attending to small squabbles and such in the city itself. He quickly discovered that his position was more than just strong-arming outlaws and such. Mostly, he served as an arbiter of assorted small disputes that he would either encounter in his rounds of the city, or people would come directly to him and ask him to settle. In such instances, Calhoun endeavored to settle the problems with as much fairness and evenhandedness as he could muster. He liked to think that, for the most part, he was successful. Certainly people weren’t killing each other over minor arguments, which was a distinct plus.

  He spent the rest of the time helping Rheela around the farm. She seemed appreciative of the help and, of course, Moke loved having him around.

  He had one other endeavor that he embarked upon in his spare moments … and that was searching for the crash site. His personal shuttle had exploded on impact, the nature of his injuries made him reasonably sure of that. The problem was that he had been so dazed and confused during the crash that he had no clear idea of where he had actually come down. He hadn’t calculated any landing coordinates; instead, he had ridden the equivalent of a falling rock down from the sky and just held on as best he could. Furthermore, he had no clue which direction he had gone once he had managed his “landing.” North, south, east, west, and anything in between were all possibilities, and he couldn’t even begin to guess which way to go first.

  Nevertheless, “guess” he did. The fortunate thing was that he knew that he’d gone on foot. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but he surmised that it couldn’t have been for all that long. Hours, maybe a day or two at most. If he’d had some sort of air vehicle that would allow him to get an aerial view of the area, he would have been able to locate it in no time. As it was, he had to depend on his o
wn two feet or, at best, the luukab to bring him around. He kept meticulous record of the areas he’d searched in, so as not to repeat himself. He also kept fighting the worry that someone had already located the crash site and had stripped it for whatever useful items might still be there. He especially didn’t like the notion that Tapinza might have done so. He didn’t want to think about what that bully and schemer might do with such objects if he got his hands on them.

  At least Tapinza seemed to know enough to stay out of Calhoun’s way. On those occasions when he would encounter him in town, Tapinza would nod and greet him, and even smile as if he was pleased to see him. No comment was ever made over the fact that Calhoun had knocked him cold with one punch that night. Perhaps the fact that it had, indeed, required only one punch was the reason for the unspoken agreement to say nothing about it. Still, Calhoun was not about to be foolish enough to let his guard down. He knew that Tapinza was bad news, and intended to keep a wary eye on him.

  The problem was that Tapinza remained the only shot Calhoun had at getting off Yakaba. He had made a few inquiries of his own, subtly of course, and discovered that basically Tapinza had not been lying when he spoke of the stunted technological condition of this world. Not only was there almost no advancement in that realm, but there were still many who were suspicious of such things. Apparently it stemmed from a fundamental religious or social credo that went back many decades, perhaps even centuries. The philosophy was simple: That which their main god, Kolk’r, had intended them to have, he had put there for them. They had made some advancement, obviously; otherwise they’d all be naked (which certainly would have solved Calhoun’s problems with concealed weapons). But there was still tremendous resistance to anything manufactured, as if it was … inappropriate somehow.

  It was the origins of the plasers that Calhoun found the most disturbing. They had only started coming into use about ten years earlier, and no one had any real clue who had developed them. They became so popular, so quickly, that the homicide rate had skyrocketed. Indeed, it was because of the development of plasers, and their ready availability, that the position of “Majister” had come into being. Not only that, but the advent of plasers put a further crimp in the philosophies of the “techies,” who still advocated that technology was the wave of the future for Yakaba. For the opponents of such thoughts—and there were many—were able to point to plasers as an example of how unfettered technology could lead a world down a path of total destruction.

  Calhoun had his own suspicions about the origins of plasers, and all of them led him straight to Tapinza. But he couldn’t prove it. Tapinza had interests throughout the continent, and if he was manufacturing weaponry and such, Calhoun had no way of pinning it down or researching it. The problem was that the various cities of Yakaba were relatively isolated. Transportation was limited to animals, and the distances between the cities made any crossing a challenge, at best. Calhoun made some subtle inquiries as to Tapinza’s holdings, but the information he received was contradictory. He was certain that, if he devoted all his energy to it, somehow he could find a way to bring Tapinza down, in the long term.

  The problem was that he lacked the facilities to do so. He never thought he would consider his battle to free Xenex, back in his teens, as something that was easy. But, comparatively speaking, it was. In that case, he was able to unite all his people, through his fire and passion, into a group with a single purpose in mind: Freedom from an oppressor. But Tapinza, damn him, was popular. It was impossible for Calhoun, the outsider, to foment rebellion among a populace against an individual they knew and trusted. Oh, sure, he could kill Tapinza. That was a nice, simple way to attend to the matter. But simply killing the man in cold blood didn’t sit well with Calhoun. In self-defense, in battle, yes—then it was justifiable. That wasn’t the case here, though. Tapinza was subtler than that, which meant that Calhoun had to be that way as well.

  “Maester!”

  Tapinza turned and was obviously startled as Calhoun approached him. The Majister did so with a ready smile and a calm, pleasant look in his eyes. People whom Calhoun passed on the street doffed their hats to him or greeted him by the title of his office, and he smiled in return and said hello even as he drew near Tapinza. “I have an offer to make you.”

  “Do you?”

  Calhoun draped an arm around his shoulders. “I was thinking that I might indeed be able to help your researchers with their work on communications devices.”

  “Really. I thought you felt yourself to be not particularly useful in that regard,” Tapinza said judiciously.

  “Well, I’ve been remembering a few things …”

  “Majister,” Tapinza said, sounding a bit scolding. “Have you been holding out on me?”

  “Perhaps. One has to be cautious in determining who one’s friends are.”

  “And you think me your friend?”

  “No,” Calhoun replied. “But I think you are a potential ally.”

  “Really.”

  They were standing in the main street of the city, and Calhoun glanced around with unconcealed annoyance. “To be honest, Maester, I’m not entirely certain how you manage it. Manage to tolerate people who are clearly so backward. I considered it a pleasant change of pace for a time, but frankly …” He shook his head. “Well, let us just say that what charm there is tends to wear thin after a while.”

  “I fully understand,” Tapinza said sympathetically. “However, I’ve been doing some thinking too, Majister. About you, about this ‘situation,’ as you would say.”

  “Oh, have you?”

  “Yes, and to be equally as candid with you as you have been with me … I think that your presence here can only be of benefit to this city.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “That is very much a fact. I think, truthfully, that you should remain here a long time. A long … long time.”

  “Really. And here I thought you would have been anxious to get rid of me,” Calhoun said.

  “Well,” laughed Tapinza heartily, patting Calhoun on the shoulder, “everyone’s entitled to change their mind. I like the notion of watching you stay here … day after scorching day, night after endless night … looking to the stars that you came from and knowing that they’re forever denied you. Yes, Calhoun … I like that notion quite a lot.”

  He chucked Calhoun under the chin.

  Tapinza didn’t remember much after that.

  And as Calhoun walked away, leaving Tapinza’s insensate body behind him, he chided himself that continuing to knock unconscious the one person who could be of benefit to him was, perhaps, not the smartest way to go.

  That evening, as he rode back to the homestead, he was starting to wonder if perhaps he wasn’t going about this the right way. Furthermore, he wondered about the reason that he might not be going about it the right way.

  He always knew his mind. He liked to believe that. He held to that belief very, very dearly. Because to know one’s mind means that one will not do anything for a harebrained reason, or trip oneself up because of uncertainty or second-guessing.

  Yet when Moke bolted out of the house upon hearing the approach of the luukab, and Rheela followed right behind him, and Moke kept shouting his name over and over, waving his arms, it made him wonder whether he had been kidding himself or not.

  Calhoun sat on the edge of the porch, staring up at the stars. He heard a soft footfall behind him, and didn’t have to turn to know that it was Rheela. She rested a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “Thinking about how dry it is?”

  “Yes,” he lied.

  “So was I. I’m sensing things as being … appropriate.”

  He craned his head and looked up at her. “Appropriate?”

  “Even I can’t fabricate something from nothing. Some elements have to be present for me to make it work.”

  He was struck, not for the first time, by the gentleness in her voice. The thought that he had tried to kill her at one time was repulsive to him, even though
he hadn’t been in his right mind when he had made the attempt. He felt as if that wasn’t much of an excuse for having tried to hurt her. “And they’re present now?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  He looked up at the cloudless night sky. “Doesn’t look that way from here. Looks pretty normal … which is to say, bone-dry.”

  “It has nothing to do with how things look. It’s how they feel,” and she tapped her breast, “here. And there.” She gestured around her. She removed her shoes and stepped down into the dirt, which was still warm after the long day of having the sun pound down upon it. She closed her eyes and began to rock gently, swaying to a breeze that only she could feel. Speaking so softly that he had to strain to hear her, she said, “Oh, yes. Yes … this is going to be a large one.”

  “Is it?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked skeptically.

  If she noticed the faint sarcasm in his voice, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she continued to sway back and forth, and suddenly Calhoun could feel the wind whipping up more fiercely than it had before. There was a repeated thumping, which he quickly realized was the front door of the house, and as he glanced at it, he saw Moke watching through one window with wide eyes and excited face.

  There had been no clouds before, Calhoun would have sworn to it. They were sweeping in now, though, thick and dark, and he could swear that he even saw hints of electricity jumping around in some of them, lightning playing hide-and-seek with the thunder.

  He had trouble believing what he was seeing. Granted, Calhoun was accustomed to seeing some very strange things, but even so, this was a new one on him. The wind whipped Rheela’s simple dress around, and he couldn’t help but notice that her legs were lean and muscular. As for Rheela, her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, her arms out to either side as if she was gathering in the random elements of the weather to herself. He tried to fathom how in the world she was doing it. There had to be some sort of scientific explanation. A person couldn’t just command the weather through sheer force of will. It was more magic than science ….