Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

Dainyl wouldn’t have minded Zestafyn or the Duarch knowing some of the details of what had happened, but not his involuntary involvement. “Kylana bothers me. She’s like all the others who’ve translated here recently. If it’s not from Ifryn or if it hasn’t been praised as the best in Illustra, then it must not be very good. Against that,, how can we compare?”

  “We can’t, but there aren’t more than a few translations every year.”

  “No. Ifryn’s comfortable, and no one wants to take the risks—not until they don’t have any choices.”

  “Of course. That’s why the fieldmasters developed shadow matches. So they could imprint knowledge without the risks of leaving Ifryn and its comforts.”

  “They don’t always take. Even when they do… I don’t think I’d want to be either of the Duarchs,” mused Dainyl. “Why would anyone want to have to have a partial shadow match?”

  “You don’t want power enough, dearest. They are those with great Talent who wish to be duarch, and who aspire to being Archon one day if the master scepter comes to Acorus, and they must have some check imposed on them to ensure their loyalty.”

  Dainyl snorted. “Shadow matches, loyalty imprints… all that misses the point.”

  Lystrana laughed. “What point? I don’t think you made it.”

  “My point was going to be”—Dainyl paused and raised his eyebrows dramatically—“comparisons are dangerous. We know that translation changes appearance. Does it affect taste? Smell? How would we know? If things smell the same, is that because they do, or because a translated body senses smells relative to the new world?”

  Lystrana held her glass, sniffing the brandy. “There isn’t a good answer to that. It’s subjective, and I’d subjectively say that this brandy is better than any we’ve had before. That shows improvement. Besides, we’re still Ifryn, even if we’re here. Until we have the master scepter here, we’re still linked to Ifryn and the Tables.”

  Dainyl stretched again, stifling a yawn. “I suppose we’d better get some sleep…”

  Lystrana straightened in her chair, but made no move to rise. “You’re leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t said much about your assignment. Are you fretting about it? It’s not like you to be so quiet.” Her eyes did not leave Dainyl’s.

  “There isn’t much to say. I’ve told you what I know.” He shrugged. ‘The Cadmian Third Battalion is being posted to Dramur. I’m being assigned to observe and report. That’s one of the occasional assignments that fall to colonels, especially those acting as Submarshals.“

  Lystrana laughed. “And the marshal wants to see just what you can do without him or me looking over your shoulder.”

  Dainyl grinned. “Marshal Shastylt never said anything like that.” The Highest had, but he didn’t have to tell Lystrana that. “What I don’t understand is why, if they want to observe what I do, they’re sending me to Dramur. The Highest can use a Table to look anywhere, but the Tables don’t show alectors or anyone using Talent. So how can they observe what I’m doing, unless they have another alec-tor there?”

  “You’re not known to have much Talent, not beyond strong shields and flying,” Lystrana said. “Usually, when alectors are given observation assignments, they choose those known to be Talented.”

  Dainyl had thought about that. “That suggests that they don’t think I could detect another observer? Or does the marshal wish to see if common sense can replace Talent?”

  Lystrana raised a single eyebrow, and Dainyl raised both. He couldn’t do just one, the way she could. They understood each other perfectly.

  After a moment of silence, Lystrana asked, “Did you know that payments for the guano have dropped off in the last weeks, but those for the purple dyes haven’t?”

  “No, I didn’t.” He could have guessed about the guano, with what he did know, but he hadn’t thought about the comparison between guano and dyestuffs. “Who pays for the guano?”

  “Generally, the agricultural factors in Southgate, Tem-pre, and Borlan. They resell it to the lander growers. By using mals to mine it, the Duarches are effectively subsidizing the final prices.” Lystrana did not quite look at her husband. “That’s another way of subsidizing the growth of lifeforce mass. The more crops that are grown, the more they warm the world. It’s not that simple, but it does work that way.”

  Dainyl knew he had to be careful, but he didn’t see that talking about lifeforce mass would violate the Highest’s orders. “Is there any relation between the amount of guano used and the increase in higher lifeforce generated?”

  “There has to be, but I don’t know what it is. Those at Lyterna would know. That’s what they study, or part of it. Everything ties together. That’s why we’ve pushed things like coal mining. Burning the coal helps warm the air, and in time those vapors and particulates help stimulate plant growth. Using coal also means that fewer trees are cut, and the older growth trees also boost lifemass more than newer growth. The landers still don’t understand that replanting isn’t the same, not for centuries. The same is true for iron and steel, and stone and brick. The more structures that are built of those, the less wood that is used, and that is more important over time, because stone structures last longer.” She laughed apologetically. “I wouldn’t even try to estimate how guano production and lifeforce mass growth might relate, except that lifeforce is like a pyramid. It takes a broad base of lower lifeforce to support a narrower base of a higher level, and that supports a narrower base above that…”

  “And we’re at the top of the pyramid, siphoning off the lifeforce that helps support us.”

  “So far as we know,” Lystrana replied. “How would we recognize something higher?”

  That was a good question, one for which Dainyl didn’t have an answer. “Would we want to recognize something superior? Or would we be like Kylana, always insisting that whatever it was that was labeled good in Illustra was the best?”

  “Be careful. Her husband does have the Duarch’s ear.”

  “And I have yours, which is even better.” Dainyl rose from the chair, smiling and moving toward his wife, then extending a hand.

  Lystrana took it, although she did not need it.

  14

  The greatest struggle that faces any people, especially a people who would be great and leave an imprint upon a universe that offers neither reward nor punishment, is to see the universe as it is, not as they would have it be. Because all life begins with the irrational and evolves away from it, all beings capable of even the most basic of thoughts begin with an attachment to the irrational. Feelings precede thought, and all who have borne and loved an offspring understand the strength of such emotion. Yet that strength of feeling should serve a true perception of what is, and that perception must be grounded in what is observed, what can be proved, and what can be replicated, without fault, without deviation, time after time.

  In any society, even in a higher civilization such as ours, only a comparative handful of individuals ever escape from the tyranny of the irrational. Nor should it be expected that any greater number should so advance themselves in that manner of thought and outlook. That is so because true per-

  . I ception requires one to turn his or her back upon the comfortable and the familiar and to question not only what others see as the acceptable and proper way of life, but one’s own predilections and observations. Few have the strength and insight to do so; fewer still the will.

  Of the insects, there are millions upon millions upon millions. Of the rodents and lizards and the fish in the streams and the oceans, there are millions upon millions. Of the cattle in the fields and the sheep in the meadows, there are many millions. Of those of our shape who toil in the fields and in the manufactories, there are millions. Yet, of those who lead and guide them, who see each world as it is, there are but scant thousands. That is the way of life and the universe. To see it otherwise is but an illusion of the irrational.

  Views of the Highest

  Illustra

  W.T. 1513

>   15

  As Dainyl had known from his own past experience, the flight to Dramur was long. While Quelyt and Falyna were more than courteous, Dainyl would rather not have ridden a pteridon as a passenger, in the second silvery saddle behind Quelyt, when he had once been a command flier. There was no help for that. Still, once he was airborne, with the wind in his face, and the land—or water—spread out below him, he felt much of the same marveling pleasure that he had in years past.

  Pteridons were too rare to be spared for officers who did not fly regularly, not when the creatures were linked to one Myrmidon and could not be flown by anyone else. For all that, no pteridon had a name. None was necessary, because no pteridon answered except to his rider—or one of the highests who used special crystals in the rare cases when a rider could no longer ride—or was promoted out of that status, as Dainyl had been. Neither event happened often. Dainyl had been a rider for nearly eighty years, but then, so had many of the Myrmidons. Some had been riding for close to a hundred, but the average was closer to sixty. His time as a Myrmidon didn’t count the more than ten years he’d toiled as a sandoxes second driver on the transport run from Hafin to Krost. Most younger alectors spent some time as drivers; it was both necessary and expected. Dainyl’s term as a driver had been longer than most.

  The first night, Dainyl and his escorts stopped at the Cad-mian compound in Southgate, the usual resting point for Myrmidon couriers headed to Dramuria. While the tireless pteridons could have flown straight through, a full day of flying was more than enough even for seasoned Myrmidons. Dainyl was slightly sore on Octdi morning, although he would not have been stiff at all years before.

  They were airborne again just before dawn and followed the coastline southeast, passing above the Dry Coast, so named because there were almost no sources of water—not rain, not streams, and not even wells or springs. The Dry Coast ran from twenty vingts below Southgate all the way around the southwest coast of Coins to the Southern Cliffs—nearly eighteen hundred vingts in all, with but a single town. The section to the west of the Southern Cliffs was the Empty Quint, although where the Dry Coast ended and the Empty Quint began was far from clear. Not that it mattered, since little lived there, and the high alectors in Lyterna had determined early on that attempting to increase lifeforce mass in that area would have been futile.

  The one town along the Dry Coast was Ascar, some three hundred vingts from Southgate and slightly more than that from the northern cape of Dramur. A single small stream ran from the southern part of the Coast Range to Ascar, and there was a small natural harbor, used mainly because the fishing off the Dry Coast was among the best in the west of Corns.

  The second day’s journey consisted of several brief stops, a quick early midday meal at Ascar, a few more stops, then a longer leg over the channel and on to Dramuria.

  As they flew southward over the water, every so often Dainyl looked back, more up and to his right, to find Fa-lyna and the other pteridon. Because of the vortices created by the wings, all Myrmidon formations—or single trailing fliers like Falyna—always flew higher than those in front, a V formation that extended aft and upward as much as necessary.

  When they reached Dramuria, late in the afternoon on Octdi, the two Myrmidon riders circled their pteridons twice around the Cadmian compound on the bluff on the northeast edge of Dramuria, directly above the harbor and the main portion of the town—set north of the small river that drained out of the Murian Mountains to the west and north. The town itself was built of local graystone, and all the roofs appeared to be of a reddish tile. Dainyl could not see any marked changes in either the town or its environs since he had last been there. Slightly more ground might have been cleared in the lowlands west of Dramuria, and the road that arrowed northwest to the mountains—and to the mine—seemed to have little traffic upon it.

  The Cadmian compound was the same as any other in layout, except smaller, a stone-walled square half a vingt on a side, with the headquarters buildings directly behind the west-facing gates, and the barracks and officers’ quarters on the north side, the stables and shops on the south, all separated by the central courtyard.

  Falyna swept in first, the pteridon coming to a graceful flaring halt, wings wide, then settling onto the greenish gray stone of the central courtyard. Quelyt followed.

  After dismounting, Dainyl had to admit to himself that he was glad enough to put his legs on the ground and stretch. Then he turned to Quelyt. “Thank you. A very good flight. I know it’s not the same with a passenger, but I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Quelyt nodded. “That last leg always seems so long.” He grinned ruefully. “That’s because it is, and there’s no place to take a break.”

  They both turned at the approach of a Cadmian senior squad leader, who stepped up to them, stiffened to attention, and half bowed.

  “Sir?” The squad leader looked up at Dainyl.

  The Myrmidon colonel could sense the concern that bordered on fear.

  “Colonel Dainyl. I’m here to see Majer Herryf.”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send word to him.”

  The squad leader’s words told Dainyl that either Herryf had not been told of his imminent arrival or he was not expected as soon as he had arrived. Dainyl hoped it was the latter.

  “He’s not here, in the compound, at the moment?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then we’ll just get settled. Officers’ quarters for three Myrmidons, and”—Dainyl gestured toward the square stone buildings with massive perches above them—“the squares for the pteridons.”

  “Yes, sir. The squares are always ready, and the senior officers’ quarters are always ready, sir, and there are others…”

  “Good. I think I can find my way to the quarters. If you would take care of the fliers and their pteridons.”

  “Ah, yes, sir.”

  While Dainyl had been talking to the squad leader, Quelyt had unfastened the colonel’s duffel. He handed it to Dainyl.

  “Thank you,” Dainyl said. “I’ll check with you both after

  I talk to the major. We’ll probably need to do some recon flights in the next few days.“

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dainyl turned, leaving the senior squad leader with the two Myrmidons and moving quickly toward the quarters on the north side of the compound. It felt good to stretch his legs. As he walked, he studied the almost-empty compound, far more vacant than it should have on an Octdi evening, even after duty hours. Did the Cadmians in Dramur take all of both end days off?

  Another squad leader hurried toward Dainyl as he walked across the courtyard. “Colonel, sir… if you would allow me to help you?”

  Dainyl smiled. “I can carry my gear, but guidance to my quarters might help.”

  “Yes, sir. This way, sir.”

  The officers’ quarters were in the most northwestern of the structures along the north wall, directly north of the headquarters building. The visiting senior officers’ quarters—effectively only for majers and above—were on the upper level of the two-story structure.

  Dainyl found himself escorted to the quarters on the northwest corner.

  There, the squad leader opened the door and gestured. “Sir, these are the best. Even the Myrmidon marshal found them most comfortable.”

  “Thank you. If someone would let me know when the majer arrives?”

  “Yes, sir, Colonel.”

  Dainyl closed the door and stepped farther into the quarters, effectively a large room with an attached second chamber holding a bath and facilities. The bed was long enough, a full three yards. The writing desk was wide enough and set before one of the windows, with a light-torch in a wall bracket directly above.

  He sniffed. The room smelled relatively clean, and he didn’t sense any obvious vermin. He decided against bathing, but used the facilities and washed up before unpacking his duffel and hanging up his second uniform. It didn’t need it, not when it never wrinkled. He left the light-cutter in it
s holster.

  After walking around the room for a time, stretching his legs more, Dainyl seated himself at the desk. The desk chair and desk were almost too low to use, but he angled his legs to the side, considering what he’d seen on the flight in, and jotted down his thoughts.

  He’d have to ask the council director about the mine and the dyeworks. Lystrana wouldn’t have mentioned them without a reason beyond the comparative note that the decline in guano receipts had not been accompanied by a corresponding decrease in other trade revenues.

  He wrote down ideas as they came to him, for more than half a glass.

  Thrap—the knock on the quarters’ door was almost tentative.

  Dainyl could sense that it was a Cadmian. “Yes?”

  “Colonel, sir, the majer is here, and awaits your instructions and orders. He would like to know if you would you like him to come to your quarters, or to meet in the headquarters?”

  “I’ll meet him in the headquarters immediately.” Dainyl stood.

  “Yes, sir.” The Cadmian turned and left.

  Even though he had not met the majer, the man’s attitude already bothered Dainyl. Dainyl was his superior officer, in more ways than one, and the man was sending a subordinate to inquire. When his own superiors wanted something, Dainyl didn’t send undercaptains or squad leaders to find out. He just went. Sending subordinates was the mark of someone officious and all too willing to spend others’ time.

  The Cadmian trooper was waiting in the courtyard below the steps from the upper level, and Dainyl followed him across a courtyard darkened by the long shadows of the compound’s western wall.

  They entered headquarters through the front arched entrance, past a duty squad leader, who straightened, and stated, “Colonel, sir, welcome to Dramuria, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  Dainyl continued toward the end of the corridor, but he could sense that, outside of his guide and the duty squad leader, and the majer, the headquarters building was deserted.

  “That’s the majer’s study, there, sir,” offered the guide.