Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  At the other end of the reception hall there was another set of double doors guarded by two nearly naked men with flowing, vine-like runes of green and brown tattooed all over their bodies. When Clyde moved in their direction, they opened the twenty foot tall doors for him and he gave them a solemn nod as he passed and entered the Hall of Worship. A grin returned to his face once he was inside, but quickly disappeared when he looked down the long aisle between the rows of benches and saw the Druid, back to the doors, kneeling at the foot of the dais that held the altar.

  The doors shut behind him and the noise echoed for a long time in the hall of stone and marble, only recently completed. A few torches cast meager light, mostly near the altar. The temple still being new to him, Clyde gazed at the carvings on the walls, benches and statues dotting the room as he walked through it. Upon reaching the dais he looked to the Druid and waited to give him a nod should that one decide to favor him with a glance, but the Druid did not react to his presence so Clyde skirted the edge of the dais and finished crossing the hall. At the other end he entered a small antechamber, built with more forgiving wood and carpet, and deposited his newly acquired coins into the coffer there with a smile of self-satisfaction. A minute later he was back in the immense Hall of Worship kneeling next to the Druid.

  While the sound of soft trickles from the several small fountains tapped at his ears, Clyde cast an uneasy glance at the holy man. It was never a pleasant greeting with the Druid, but he always tried to coax a nod out of him. It was reassuring to know he would deign to nod at him; it signified Clyde was still in his good graces. When he didn’t get his nod, he felt uneasy, even guilty and paranoid. He suppressed a shudder when he looked at the long fingernails wrapping around like corkscrews, every one rough, contorted and discolored, and stared instead at the ceiling far above. Sitting on top of this temple to nature, right above the spot where his gaze fell, would be the Beseecher, on his small pad, contemplating nature and begging forgiveness for Mankind’s sins for another hour or so before turning in for the night. When he took his gaze from the ceiling, he saw the Druid had tilted his head to the side just enough to glare at him out of the corner of his eye.

  Clyde managed a smile as he said, “Eighty two ounces of silverweight today.”

  The Druid gurgled a growl and bore the fangs of his sharpened teeth. Clyde realized there were tear tracks down his cheeks. Before such an awful sorrow and those knowing eyes, he did not dare effect his usual cavalier attitude and easy smile. Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, he instead endured the gaze until the Druid chose to return it to the altar. A wave of relief flooded through him when he did, but before he could cobble together some sort of speech or query, the Druid spoke.

  “They murder Nature,” he said, his voice rumbling from the depths of his chest.

  The Druid’s utterances were infrequent enough that his voice always surprised Clyde, who did not think such a voice fit the man it issued from.

  “They murder our brothers.”

  Only a firm conviction that silence was not the safest option compelled him to compose some sort of response, which he delivered with all the smooth grace of a stuttering man trying to control his speech impediment.

  “I have… I heard about it… I – I prayed.”

  A period of agonizing silence followed before the Druid leveled his gaze on Clyde yet again. The holy man’s breathing was becoming labored, and his lips were still curled in a feral snarl.

  “We… are caretakers.”

  The Druid experienced a strange sort of convulsion, and it was a moment before Clyde realized he was choking off a sob.

  “We are caretakers,” Clyde whispered, surprised to discover he actually felt some of the sympathy he expressed.

  “A blight. A blight.” The Druid was staring at the floor now, or staring through it, seeing something about which his short sentences gave hints. Then the convulsions subsided and his breathing came more easily. Letting out one cleansing sigh, he stood up, rubbed his face with his palms and shuffled his feet until he had turned around. “We will talk to the faithful,” he said with the tone of a promise. “We will be caretakers.”

  Clyde relaxed in proportion as the Druid walked farther away. Even after he left through the double doors, he, Gaian soothsayer and spiritualist, stared in wonder at the place he last saw him. Straightening out his robes, which twisted around his legs, Jones came to his feet. He was unsettled by the raw emotion of the encounter.

  “What about Floralel?” he whispered, his breathy speech enmeshed in the sounds from the fountains, almost undetectable. “He gave his blessing to them for that.”

  Chapter 82

  Giselle disappeared. She did not show up for her scheduled shift the next day, and the day after both she and Santiago skipped work. Alistair took the first opportunity to go to his cabin on the lake, but she was not there and her belongings were gone. Also missing were a few items Alistair did not consider hers to take. Feeling a chill, he spent no more than a few minutes in the home he built with Giselle in mind as much as himself. It was enough time to scout the area, confirm that Darion and Emmanuel were not at home and leave the now inhospitable abode.

  Bedrock sent him a message containing the sworn statement of the ex warrior from Henrik’s tribe. After his situation was explained to him, he confessed to witnessing Henrik commit the murder of Gianluca, Giselle’s late husband. He remembered the act, he claimed, principally because of Giselle’s hysterical display of rage, something rarely witnessed because of how uncommon it was for close friends or relatives to be together on the Incarcerator. The verdict was delivered and punishment imposed. The only thing left to do was inform Gianluca’s heir of the arrangement.

  A week later Santiago reappeared on Alistair’s doorstep, or exit ramp, as the case was. A rapping on the side of the aircraft through its soundproofed walls was not enough to awaken him, but the Argentinean waited patiently in a drizzling rain for Alistair finally to come out. The two men shared a cold nod of greeting, and after a short staring contest Alistair invited Santiago inside. He informed his former boss that he and Giselle had formed their own security firm. As part owners of AS&A, the equity they earned as part of their salaries they wished to cash out in the form of some of AS&A’s capital.

  Alistair did not betray a hint of emotion, neither anger nor resentment, and Santiago was his match for stoicism. They worked out a deal that satisfied Santiago, coldly shook hands, and then the Argentinean left. Fighting a strong urge, Alistair, rather than watch his retreating form, shut the exit ramp behind him and withdrew into his aircraft. He had also successfully fought the urge to inquire about Giselle, or ask where the two of them were staying.

  His morning was spent brooding in a dark and empty craft when a second visitor, a messenger, delivered a letter to him. His mood further darkened when he read that Mordecai called for a conference to discuss the field of law and law enforcement, and that Bedrock agreed to send representatives. He crushed the parchment in his fist and tossed it to the floor where the crumpled paper began to open like an arthritic hand. He glared at it but, after a few moments of glowering, rose out of his seat. When he left the room, he stepped on the sheet, but even this second attempt to close it was not successful, and once again the paper began to unfold.

  ***

  Feeling he might be able to steer the conference to a more adequate conclusion if he put his hand on the wheel with all the others, Alistair assembled a delegation consisting of Taribo and a small detachment of guards; Gregory, who had agreed to help Alistair in a clerical/support role Giselle would once have filled; and Odin, who surprised Alistair by showing up one morning to offer his services during the conference. Alistair asked him to speak for the AS&A delegation after a short conversation confirmed for him that Odin was convinced by the system he had seen work. John Kregel, now one of Alistair’s security guards, requested to come along, but Alistair, moved by a vague presentiment, declined.

  The man who surprised Alistair
by his lack of fierce resistance to the revolution, who seemed relieved to lay down the burden of leadership and authority, was hardly recognizable to the Aldran, who had not seen him for months. Odin had shaved off his beard, revealing a lean, almost gaunt face and skin still not darkened enough to match the bronze of the rest. The somber eyes were the same, but the brow less furrowed, and the lips sometimes displayed a tremulous capacity to grin, which either was not there before or was hidden by the beard. The hands were still strong, like the slender limbs, and under the fingernails there was a trace of dirt and grime no washing completely got rid of. This dirt under the nails was the mark of work, in Odin’s case construction.

  As he told Alistair in his Chinese accent, “I was studying to be an architect when I was arrested and imprisoned. Caucasians on my homeworld are a minority and not well treated. I was convicted of a rape that not only did I not commit, it did not even occur. But there are architects on this world, and now instead of enslaving them I am learning from them. I am an older man but I will be an architect yet.”

  The conference was held under a gigantic tent with a roof, a multitude of poles holding it above the ground, and no sides at all, allowing whatever breeze nature might provide to pass through and cool the delegates. There was a dais at the center holding a large, round table and it was surrounded by several small tables where the ancillary attendees could be seated. Surrounding the tent at a distance of twenty or thirty yards was a ring of guards composed of a small portion of each delegation’s retinue, and Taribo duly directed a few of his men to join their ranks.

  Having arrived only just in time, Alistair and Odin, upon entering, immediately took their seats at the main table, while Gregory, Taribo and the rest of the retinue of guards sat down at one of the smaller satellite tables. The contingent from The Shield, consisting of Mordecai and Giuseppe, sat ninety degrees away to Alistair’s right, and to his left was the contingent from Bedrock, consisting of Wei Bai and Duke. Mixed in between these giants in the field were various smaller security details, some of them small companies, others nothing more than voluntary collectives from neighborhoods and villages. It was the contingent sitting directly across from Alistair that gave him his great shock. Santiago and Giselle took their seats at one of the four cardinal points of the table.

  If Alistair was looking forward to staring at Giselle and causing her to avert her gaze, she deprived him of that satisfaction. She met his glare with one of her own, unflinching and unrepentant. She seemed freshly angry, as if they had just quarreled minutes ago. Santiago was less determined to meet Alistair’s stare, but he did not avoid it either, showing neither contentment nor displeasure.

  “Thank you, my friends, for joining me today,” said Mordecai with a speech that startled Alistair out of his staring contest. “We are here to discuss the future of our business, the business of Law and its enforcement, perhaps the most important business there is. It is the business that holds all others together, the business without which no other business would be possible.”

  “Objection,” said Alistair softly to Odin. More at home in an arena that called for less subtlety and maneuvering, he was still well aware of the old lawyer’s trick of continuously objecting. Odin understood at once and rose from his chair.

  “If I may raise a small objection. I think we can recognize the importance of our own endeavors without belittling those of others, like the farmers, whose work is also one without which no other business would be possible.”

  This interruption caused a mild stir among those assembled, as if satisfied at this confirmation the proceedings would not be dull.

  Mordecai bowed his head to Odin and smiled amicably. “We meant no offense to the farmers. Or to anyone else. But I think we can recognize our field is distinct from the others.”

  Odin sat down and Mordecai replied, but after Alistair whispered in his ear he stood back up.

  “I object to your use of the ‘royal we’ when you speak. If you meant no offense, then say it, but I do not believe you should speak as if for an entire nation. That is a pretense we would do better to avoid.”

  Mordecai looked nonplussed, but Odin continued without pause.

  “I also disagree that our field is distinct to any greater degree than any other field. This has been the statist thinking for centuries, but if Alistair has demonstrated anything to us, it is that protection and arbitration are services and, in their essence, not different from any others. It should be supplied within a voluntary framework. All that is required is a common agreement on what constitutes a crime, something all societies from time immemorial have, to a great extent, agreed upon.”

  Mordecai was on the verge of a retort, but Giuseppe, whose manner was comfortable and smooth, a diplomat in his element, stood up and spoke first.

  “We thank— I thank delegate Odin for his insight. There is truth in what he says. But I insist that law enforcement is distinct from agriculture in some very important ways. A farmer sells his produce to a willing buyer and both men go home happy. Our field deals with times when coercion has been used, when someone has forced his will upon another. What is to be done when the aggressor’s firm won’t allow a punishment the victim’s firm has promised to deliver? And surely justice is something that ought to be uniform at all times and all places. Why should justice between company A and B be different than the justice between company A and C? Surely this service we provide cries out for a standard. That is what we aim to do today: to make sure any firm seeking to supply justice services conforms to a standard we can agree on here.”

  The words chilled Alistair’s heart, but he had time for no more than to exchange a grave glance with Odin before Giselle rose and, in a Mandarin as immaculate as a native speaker’s, said, “We agree with the delegates from The Shield. We look forward to reaching an agreement that satisfies all parties, and to making sure justice is uniformly applied according to a consensus standard.”

  The last words were spoken with a pointed glance at Alistair.

  “Bedrock is willing to explore the idea,” announced Wei Bai.

  After the preliminary comments, the parties broke into smaller groups to discuss the proposition, occasionally sending intermediaries between them, and the tent was filled with the rumble of chatter. Over the course of a few hours they reconvened the discussion at the central table three times only to break up again. Towards evening a thunderstorm erupted and a nearly windless downpour drenched the land around them. The meeting went on as if no one noticed, and the storm lasted only a short while and left the land cooler than it found it. When the sun’s light was extinguished and the red glow of the gas giant bathed the land, when torches round the tent were lit, they reconvened one more time at the main table.

  Alistair participated little after the opening comments. Odin and Gregory he sent around to get a feel for how things were progressing, but it was apparent the idea proposed by Mordecai and Giuseppe was popular and some version of it was going to be adopted. Suddenly, he had little fight in him. He was relaxed, contemplative, unconcerned, lost in thoughts he kept to himself. The time he spent with Odin was dedicated to developing one final plea, and that night, after the storm, when all were gathered again, Odin stood and delivered it.

  “At Ashley Security & Arbitration, we hold to one truth above all others: that all relationships should be voluntary, that no man should be compelled to deal with those with whom he does not wish to deal, and no man should be prohibited from dealing with those with whom he wishes to deal and who agree to deal with him. This ideal informs every action we take, and we will resist any attempt to impose a different one.

  “There is merit in the idea of a standard of justice. We agree there is one; indeed, AS&A has always insisted there is a standard of justice, and that it must be discovered, not invented, not legislated. But how are we to discover it? We can think of no better method than allowing the marketplace to weigh ideas and actions and allow a standard to develop. When a man shows preference for one
firm over another, he takes part in developing this standard. When two firms agree to rules and procedures with each other, they take part. When a philosopher writes a treatise and throws it into the public sphere to be debated, he does likewise. By this argument we are already in the process of this discovery, and if the market has not rendered a final judgment yet, this should make us hesitant… no, this should make us loathe to reach a conclusion here and now.

  “But even this need not be a cause of great concern. If two firms can sign a contract with each other, there is no reason why three or a dozen or all of them might not come together and do the same. AS&A does not object to the idea of a standard we might agree on tonight. But let us be humble enough to admit we might not have the final answer. Let us allow for dissent. If the men and women who hire us do not like our arrangement, let us allow them to form their own firms, or to subscribe to different firms. By requiring rival firms solicit entry into our organization, we have introduced the element of coercion, and that, someday near or far, will be our downfall.

  “Society is built on the relationships of its individuals, and introducing coercion changes the nature of those relationships. A relationship based on consent is one where both parties, to achieve their desired ends, must respect the other party. A relationship based on coercion is entirely different; it permits one to feed off another, to abuse another, to use another for his ends without thought for the good of that other. The proof of this can be seen right here, in this land of criminals, where in these last months not a single complaint of police brutality has been filed anywhere. The nature of the relationship between the police and the people is one of consent, not coercion. I need hardly mention the behavior of the police on other planets. I am sure many of you were mistreated by them on your way here.

  “You now propose to introduce coercion by forcibly preventing some firms from operating, and by forcing others to continue to conform to standards we develop. This will change the nature of our relationships to the ultimate detriment of all. Where before our behavior was regulated by the ability of any client to withdraw his subscription and go without, or seek a firm that suited him better, you now propose to close this escape valve. Now, the standards we develop will be done with more thought to our convenience, and less thought to the good of society, because we will have stifled competition. And this is but the first step: once coercion is introduced, what further steps are to come?