by Paul Anlee
“Uh-huh. Yeah,” Darian replied.
The monk shot him an accusatory look. “You’re not even listening.”
“Hmm? Yes, of course, I am. Mostly,” Darian admitted.
“And what exactly is it captivating your attention?” Stralasi asked. “It’s not like there’s much to do until tomorrow morning.”
“On the contrary, Brother,” Darian replied. “I’ve been exceedingly busy. First, some good news. Last night, I was able to penetrate security in the Registrar’s Office. Our course is now showing on the official schedule.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Fortunately the rooms at the Inn have InterLat interfaces. It took most of the night and some careful investigation, but I found a pathway into the Registrar’s system.”
“You weren’t worried about tripping any alarms?”
“Sure, I was,” Darian answered. “For some reason, the security was extraordinarily tight for an institute of religious learning.”
He chuckled. “You know, in my youth, it wasn’t uncommon for students to bypass class and exam requirements and hack into the computers that assigned grades. I have to say, though, I really didn’t expect that to be the case here in the Alumit.”
“Being in the Brotherhood brings prestige as well as responsibility,” Stralasi said. “Sometimes that can distort one’s moral compass.”
“I guess,” Darian replied. “Anyway, the tight security is why it took so long.”
“I can see how your whole not-sleeping thing comes in handy.”
“Your Familiar part doesn’t need sleep either,” Darian pointed out.
“Well, I’m not quite used to that yet.”
“You mean you really haven’t tried to get used to it.”
Instead of answering, Stralasi took a sip of his latte.
I’ve had better coffee on the Frontier—he thought. You’d think the center of the Alumit could get a simple cup of coffee nearly perfect.
He felt a twinge of guilt for criticizing the organization in which he’d spent most of his life. He caught himself and then felt guilty for feeling guilty.
My allegiances are no longer here—he reminded himself.
Stralasi hated to admit that Darian had been right. He was having trouble adjusting to splitting his consciousness between two beings. Two worlds. Two galaxies.
“It’s hard, coordinating thoughts and bodies,” he confessed to his traveling companion.
“It can be, at first. Think of it like…coordinating your hands when playing the piano,” Darian suggested. “With a little practice, it can be learned.”
“I hope I learn this faster than the piano!” Stralasi joked. “That took forever.”
Darian peered at him without comment for uncomfortable seconds. “When we have a moment, I’ll help you,” he offered.
Stralasi’s eyes squinted suspiciously.
“What do you mean, help? Help me what?”
“I won’t risk it here and now,” Darian replied. “But we can work on adjusting the troublesome bits of your concepta directly. It’s a simple fine-tuning problem, really. We have hundreds of billions of Esu conceptas as successful examples. It shouldn’t be hard to adapt the correct structures.
“I wonder whether the Familiar part also finds it difficult to adjust to split consciousness?” His gaze drifted to the cottony clouds banking to the south, and he was uncharacteristically silent for a good while.
Stralasi coughed and Darian’s attention snapped back to ground level.
“So, our course is now official?” the Good Brother prompted.
“Huh? Oh, yes, right. It’s officially on the books. And the Registrar’s Office no longer needs to see us in the morning. We have a free hour.”
“How is that good?” Stralasi asked. “How are we going to get inside the Alumitum Administration if we have nothing to straighten out with Admin?”
“The Registrar’s Office no longer needs to see us,” Darian repeated, “but somehow our appointment did not get cancelled with Reception.” He flashed a most unconvincing look of innocence at the monk.
“Hurray for bureaucratic inefficiency?” the monk asked.
“Don’t worry. No one who works in the Alumit Administration will be blamed. It’s just a minor system glitch that left a little packet of information wandering in a loop.”
Stralasi’s raised eyebrow drew a guilty grin out of his companion.
“Okay, I may have rewritten the packet header,” Darian confessed, “but I promise I’ll restore it once we’re done and the request to cancel the appointment will eventually reach the Front Desk.”
Stralasi shook his head. “It’s good they no longer teach such things in school.”
“It’s an old skill and not particularly useful for legal activities,” Darian agreed. “So, yeah, it’s probably just as well that it’s not widely distributed in this kind of society.”
Stralasi raised a toast to him with his coffee cup, and drained the now cold latte in one gulp.
* * *
Fortified by a good night’s rest, Darian and Stralasi strolled toward the Alumit Administration building. The Good Brother clutched his tablet holding the letter confirming their morning appointment as tightly to his chest as if it were the Holy Wooden Staff itself.
Darian kept up a steady patter as they crossed the cheerful, welcoming plaza leading to the imposing main entrance and the pair of three-meter tall Angels that kept guard.
“There’s no good reason Angels are needed for security. Alum Himself could dedicate a tiny portion of His own resources to His own protection. But, I have to say, they do make an impressive reminder of Alum’s might. These two alone could destroy this entire asteroid with barely a thought. Do you realize that the concentrated might of ten of them could make the local sun go nova?”
He paused and placed a hand lightly on the monk’s sleeve. A boyish twinkle lit up his eyes.
“I wonder what they think about all day, standing there like that. It reminds me of a time when men stood guard for hours in front of palace entrances. They weren’t quite as beautifully terrifying as Angels. In fact, they were fairly normal members of the military, specially selected and trained to endure the long hours and curious gawking by tourists without moving a muscle. An amazing feat for a human. Next to nothing for a construct like an Angel.”
The two visitors continued their approach with an air of casual but respectful formality.
“Interesting,” Darian remarked.
“What’s interesting?” Stralasi whispered. He daubed a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Well, you can’t sense it, of course. When Darak elevated us to Gods, he installed RAF sensors and generators equal to his own.”
“Are you insane, man? I told you, we can’t talk about those things here!” Stralasi warned.
“Oh. Right. Anyway, the sensors allow us to directly taste—no, it’s more like…see? No, that’s not right, either. I’m not sure what the nearest analogous sense would be—detect, in any case. The sensors allow us to detect quantum fields directly.”
He pointed at one of the Angels.
Stralasi slapped Darian’s hand downward, not at all gently, and pinned it to the man’s side. The bug-eyed glare accompanying the slap was redundant.
Darian ignored the reprimand and continued, “Look at that fluid motion of their mercurial skin. As well as being visually striking, the effect has defensive benefits. Achieving such an effect would have to involve a fascinating, continuous alteration of underlying local physics. What do you want to bet they have no idea of the subcutaneous generators responsible for the motion?”
“Seriously, Darian, are you trying to give me a stroke?” the monk hissed.
Darian continued to stare at the Angels as they drew closer to the door. “These creatures are a marvel of real and non-real engineering,” he said. “I need to do a deeper analysis as soon as our business here is over.”
“Shush!” Stralasi whispere
d. “They’ll hear you. Eyes ahead. Straighten up.”
But Darian’s rapt gaze kept drifting back to the Angels. He couldn’t look away from their spellbinding skin, their wings, their swords, their faces.
“Can I help you, Brother?”
The voice floated like resplendent music from the Angel on the right, who smiled down on the two men passing between him and his companion.
The second Angel turned his head to assess the object of attention.
“Kneel,” Stralasi instructed Darian, barely audibly. He prayed the man heard and complied. Without waiting to confirm, the monk dropped to his knees before the beauty and horror of the Angel’s curious eyes.
Darian followed suit, and the Angel’s hands relaxed at his side.
Thank Goodness! They’re not going for their swords. Yet.
Stralasi forced himself to relax. He was well aware that if the guards sensed any threat, as unthinkable as that would be here in the heart of the Alumit, the perceived source of consternation—in this case, himself and Darian—would be promptly dispatched with Angelic speed, grace, and no warning.
“A million pardons, my Lord!” Stralasi crooned. “My friend has been too long on the Frontier, I fear. His manners need refreshing in the glorious arms of Alum’s Grace that permeates the holy Alumitum.”
“State your business here,” the voice responded. It was filled with such mellifluous tones it caused one to forget that sudden death potentially lurked not far behind.
Stralasi kept his head bowed and awkwardly held up the tablet.
“An appointment to clear up a small scheduling matter, my Lord,” he said. He didn’t bother turning the tablet so the Angel could see. Surely, beings that represented Alum’s fearful power could scan tablets like his directly. Realm technology held no secrets from any who served Alum.
The Angel scanned the tablet and cross-referenced with Reception.
“You are late,” he said.
Stralasi scrambled for a response to mollify the Angels’ displeasure.
“My friend is easily distracted by the wonders of the city, my Lord,” he offered.
It’s a good story—he thought. I might as well stick to it.
His companion kept quiet, letting Stralasi’s experience guide them and keep them safe.
“Be on your way, then,” the Angel commanded and resumed his impassive guard pose. As the two monks got back on their feet, he made a point of catching Stralasi’s eye.
“You would do well to remember your manners. The Frontier may be far away, but we are all part of the Realm. We should be no less civilized out there than here on Home World.”
Darian bowed his head. “I will try, my Lord,” he said.
Stralasi caught the impudent smirk on Darian’s lips. Without daring a look to see if the Angel had caught it as well, the Good Brother tightly gripped his companion’s arm and pulled him into the lobby.
“You almost got us killed,” Stralasi reprimanded his partner as they stumbled toward the reception counter.
“I was in their heads,” Darian said out the side of his mouth. “I could have made them turn back and forget all about us.”
“Not without alerting Alum,” Stralasi replied, his harsh whisper verging on panic.
“Calm yourself, Brother,” Darian replied softly, imitating Darak’s voice and intonation.
Too incensed to form a coherent reply, Stralasi could only gawp.
Darian returned the Good Brother’s stare kindly, defusing the ire with a patient smile.
Stralasi blinked slowly and shifted his attention back to his Familiar self in Crissea’s garden on Eso-La. He felt the cool flood of machine logic wash over his mind. Settled and refreshed, he took a deep breath and returned his mind to the lobby and to Darian.
“Better?” Darian asked.
Stralasi set his lips firmly and nodded once.
“Very well. Let’s see about our appointment.”
They presented their credentials and orders to Reception and were directed to an office on the twentieth floor. They made their way to the elevators and joined a half-dozen robed monks gathered there ahead of them.
The elevator doors opened and four monks entered. Stralasi moved forward but Darian held him back and indicated to the monks that they’d catch the next one.
As they waited with the other two Brothers, Darian turned to Stralasi and spoke in a loud and overly animated voice.
“Oh, Brother,” he gushed, “I do hope the Proctor approves this new course. I’ve always wanted to apply a little creative writing to the Standard prayers. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the comfort of something tried and true. Don’t you? And the current guidebook is filled with wonderful devotions.”
The elevator doors whisked open, and the two monks ahead of them stepped forward. Darian followed them onto the elevator and maneuvered Stralasi into the corner farthest from the panel of buttons.
When the Good Brother reached out to push the button for their floor, Darian deftly blocked his arm. The doors whisked shut.
Darian shook his head once; the motion was hardly detectable, more of a twitch, really, but Stralasi caught it and relaxed back into the corner.
The newly-minted man-God renewed his patter.
“But, you know, the Brothers no longer seem to be pouring all of their hearts and souls into the Standard litany. Sometimes they flag a little, and the starstep wavers with Alum’s displeasure. This can’t be good. I truly believe a little variety will help everyone put a bit more zest into their voices.”
The elevator zoomed past the twentieth floor without slowing and continued toward the top floor, the only light active on the panel. One of the other two monks looked at Darian and they exchanged polite nods.
“It’s not an easy thing, to construct a novel prayer that would be pleasing to the Living God. We’ll have to study the structure of the great prayers, of course. There’s opening, middle, and closing invocations. There’s cadence, tone, pacing, rhythm—all must be taken into account. And, we’ll certainly need some classes on improvisation.”
The elevator bell announced their arrival at the top floor, the one wholly taken up by the Proctor’s Office and his support staff. All four of the monks, including Darian and Stralasi, disembarked. The other two turned left, presumably toward their work areas.
Darian pulled Stralasi to the right, in the direction of the Proctors’ reception desk. He locked arms with the Good Brother and pretended to be in deep, hushed conversation as he steered him right past the desk. The receptionist never looked up from his work.
The pair continued slowly down the long corridor.
“What are you doing?” Stralasi demanded, with as much indignation as his whisper allowed. “I thought you said not the Proctor’s Office!”
“Change of plans, Brother,” Darian replied. “Let’s stop here a moment.”
Stralasi leaned against the wall and pretended to be deep in thought at something Darian had said.
“No one expects us in the Registrar’s Office, remember?” Darian said. “And we have no legitimate business whatsoever on this floor.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“I’m listening.”
“Pardon me?”
“My RAF sensors are at maximum sensitivity,” Darian replied. “I’m trying to get the layout of the floor and scan for access to the upper level. I’ll only need a few minutes, so play along. Maybe this’ll be more worthwhile than I thought.”
Stralasi could feel his heart racing.
If Alum senses us here, we’ll be dead in an instant. At least, I hope we’ll only be dead. He could choose to torture us forever or throw us in our own prison universe.
His eyes wandered to Darian, whose lips were moving without a sound as if the two were engaged in an intense discussion.
Maybe he can protect us or get us out of here if we’re discovered. He wished Darak were here with him instead of Darian.
“Okay, let’s go,” Darian ann
ounced and guided Brother Stralasi back to the elevator, taking care to keep their heads huddled close together as if still caught up in their intense conversation.
“Excuse me, Brothers,” the receptionist called out to them as they passed by, “Can I help you?”
“Wrong floor, sorry,” Darian mumbled as he pushed the call button.
“Who were you looking for?” the receptionist called out as the elevator door opened.
Darian waved off the man’s question and the two slipped into the elevator.
As the doors closed, Stralasi saw the receptionist shake his head, scratch it as if confused, and return to his work.
“You hacked into his lattice, didn’t you?” the Good Brother asked.
The elevator began its descent.
“No choice,” Darian replied. “He was about to alert security. That would mean one of the Angels would have greeted us in the lobby. Shush, now. I thought we were not to speak of such things here,” he teased the monk.
“But Alum might have detected you!”
“He’d be less likely to detect a little unexplained EM activity than an RAF field,” Darian replied with a shrug. “I don’t hear any alarms. I think we’re okay.”
The doors whooshed open, startling Stralasi.
Everything in the lobby looked the same as it had when they’d arrived. Peaceful. Serious. Glorious.
The same two Angels stood at their same stations at either side of the same grand entrance.
Darian straightened his posture, held his head high, and made Stralasi do the same. They walked out of the Alumit Administration building with fake confidence and genuine relief.
“Finished so soon, Brothers?”
Stralasi’s heart stopped.
Darian halted mid-stride, turned, and knelt.
The terrified Stralasi managed the presence of mind to follow suit, half a beat behind.
“It was a trivial matter, my Lord,” Darian answered calmly while the Good Brother trembled imperceptibly beside him. “As usual, the Alumitum Administration handled it with great efficiency.”