Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  "Libris is nearly two miles away, and my college is only a few hundred yards." "No, wait, we'll go with you, then return under your cloak to Libris." "Dragon Librarians visiting the room of a common student? There would be talk about town, and we must protect your reputations from that." He dashed out into the rain and took several loping strides into the storm before turning back i for a moment. "Return the cloak to Villiers College when you will, Frelle Le morel," he called, then he was gone. Darien laughed soundlessly. "What's so funny?"

  "You like him, but deny it," her fingers fluttered.

  "Like him? Absurd. Why he's ..."

  She could not think of any reasons. Darien's fingers moved again.

  "He's big, handsome, well educated, and gentlemanly. If he is poor, then so what?"

  Lemorel touched a carefully mended saber cut in Glasken's cloak. "This has seen action," she said.

  Darien held her fingers high, where Lemorel could not miss what they were saying. "He combines the best of Semidon and Brunthorp, does he not? Big and handsome, yet a scholar. He seems a true gentleman as well, braving discomfort for our welfare."

  Lemorel looked into the lamplit rain, but sighed through clenched teeth. "He was brave enough to confront an armed Southmoor and skilled enough to drop him. That's all." She turned back to Darien.

  "The nightmares are a long way behind you, Lem. There will be reasons to see him again. Return his cloak yourself."

  "Why do you have such an interest?" asked Lemorel impatiently as she held up the cloak and spread it to cover Darien and herself.

  "I can see the way you reacted to him. I am only telling you what you will not admit to yourself." By the morning of the indignation meeting Tarrin was well enough to attend, but his arm was still in a sling and his head was bandaged. He walked with a limp from twisting his ankle when he fell, and his Dragon Gold arm band was still smeared with dirt from the cobblestones.

  The cataloguers gathered in the Millennium Auditorium, which had been used for Dragon Color presentations and other Libris ceremonies since the Calculor had been installed in the only larger hall. The clock behind the lectern clacked as the arms of its reciprocator swung back and forth. 9 A.M. came and went, yet numbers were slow to build. By 9:30 Peribridge checked the rows of faces and frowned. The senior cataloguers were still not there, and many of the others who had pledged their support were absent. The clock clacked with relentless regularity. Finally at 9:40 Tarrin entered, with Lemorel behind him wearing his champion's colors. He stood at the door without calling for attention, but by now the cataloguers were so uneasy that the buzzing conversation quickly died away. He shambled to the lectern, his hair tousled and dark circles under his eyes.

  "Now, who is in charge of this meeting?" he asked in a soft, hoarse voice, seeming a little puzzled.

  Peribridge stood up as if jerked by invisible puppeteer strings. "Deputy Overliber Wissant, Senior Classifications Cataloguer Cobbaray, and Senior Liaison Cataloguer Nugen-Katr were to be the meeting coordinators, Fras Overliber."

  "Fras Wissant, Frelle Cobbaray, and Fras NugenoKatr will not be available to address any more meetings henceforth."

  Tarrin seemed almost apologetic with the news. Peribridge sat down. Tarrin cleared his throat before continuing. "I'm pleased that you are all together here, as I have an announcement from the Highliber. Due to pressures on the staff of Libris caused by her special project, certain cataloguing staff have been, well, redirected to other work." He allowed a lengthy pause before adding "Any questions?"

  Feet shuffled. A Dragon Yellow raised her hand.

  "Please, Fras Controller, but how many cataloguers have been redirected?" "One hundred and twenty-six." There was complete, breathless silence. Tarrin waited. By now even the least perceptive in his audience had realized that his facade of weariness and defeat concealed a very dangerous loss of patience. At last someone at the far corner of the auditorium stood up.

  "Ah yes, you have a question?" Tarrin asked gently, as one might encourage a nervous candidate in an exam. "Please, Fras Controller, but I was just leaving to attend some urgent work," the Dragon Orange replied. At this another dozen stood up, and more joined them as they made for the doors. The doors were locked.

  Tarrin held his hand up for silence. "Regrettably I must concede that Frelle Costerliber, Deputy Ovefliber of Accessions, has been declared not acceptable in a petition signed by two hundred and ninety-seven of the Cataloguing Department. That's very impressive: everyone from Fras Wissant the Deputy Chief, to Fras O'Donlan the assistant cleaner. In view of such opposition, and seeing there is nobody else suitable to run Cataloguing, I have secured the Highliber's approval to abolish Cataloguing as a department. Cataloguing is to be made a section of Acquisitions--as of this morning."

  There was a collective gasp of shock. "But Cataloguing's been a separate unit since 1192," someone called. "Five hundred and five years without a reorganization is far too long. Are there any more questions? No questions?" There was silence. "Very good, very good. Now, Frelle Vardel Griss, Chief of the Tiger Dragons, wants to have a few words with you as well."

  Lemorel tapped the door in a prearranged code. There was a loud clack from 82

  SEAN McMULLEN outside as a bolt was drawn back, then Griss swaggered in a few paces and faced the audience with her hands clasped behind her back. She had the alert yet relaxed stance of an experienced dueler, and just the faintest hint of a frown on her face.

  A squad of twelve Tiger Dragons filed in and lined up behind her, muskets shouldered and matchlock fuses smoking. Lemorel drew her Morelac and stood beside Tarrin.

  "Stand to Alert!" snapped Griss, and the Tiger Dragons brought their weapons to point just a little above the heads of the cataloguers. "I shall be quite clear about it," said Griss in a tone as hard as gunbarrel steel. "Cataloguing as a department has ceased to exist. What is more, you have no rights! None! Understand? Work well and you will not be harmed. Try to resign, run away, or shoot at the senior staff and you will be redirected instantly. I am not above punishing ten innocent cataloguers to catch one who is guilty. If you hear anyone plotting, remember that your own freedom is at stake if you remain silent. Report every suspicious word to my Tiger Dragons at once."

  She went across to where Tarrin was leaning against the lectern. "Any more names for me?" she asked quietly, but not inaudibly. Tarrin unbuckled the lid of a hide pouch at his belt and took out a list. "Twenty-five more for indolence," he said as he handed the folded square of poor paper to Griss. "Oh, and add Peribridge as a special. She was showing a suspicious degree of leadership earlier."

  Peribridge was well skilled at listening in to conversations at a distance. She sat calm and serene as Griss ordered the cataloguers to file out one by one past her guards at the door. Lemorel stood with Tarrin beside the lectern.

  "This will mean open warfare," she whispered amid the echoing clatter of feet on the ash gum floorboards. "So? I stopped the first blow," he said, rubbing his bandaged arm with his ' free hand. "In time the worst of those remaining can be weeded out."

  Peribridge comprehended what was happening all too well. Even the facade of the rules had been abolished. The battle had been fought before she realized it had begun, and now prisoners were being taken. She was among those marked down to vanish into the out-of-bounds area of Libris, the black pit from which nobody returned. She let her hand rest against the butt of her Toufel flintlock. Tarrin was five rows of seats plus fifteen paces away. Too far. It had been three years since she had been to the target gallery, and that had done no more than prove that her stubby Toufel was badly aligned and woefully inaccurate over more than a few yards. Lemorel was beside Tarrin, her gun in her hand, as wary and deadly as a bush cat. Peribridge knew that she would have to shoot at the scrawny Dragon Gold without even taking a bead on him. That was hopeless. Lemorel would kill her and get the credit, and Tarrin would live. Do nothing and the Highliber has me as slave labor, Peribridge grimly reasoned. Nobody will profit by my fall
. She reached down and scratched her leg. As she brought her hand up again she cocked the striker of her Toufel.

  "You shouldn't be too strict," said Lemorel, scanning the auditorium but expecting no trouble. "Who will do the cataloguing?"

  "A mere fifth of those left could catalogue all the books that come into

  Libris, provided they work diligently."

  "So the rest go to the Calculor?"

  "If any are truly un trainable they can be sent to lay par aline rails on the new Loxton bypass."

  "They say war is--" Peribridge stood up to leave, drawing her gun in the same movement. Lemorel raised her Morelac and shouldered Tarrin off-balance with the sinuous grace of a Genthic temple dancer just as Peribridge raised her Toufel flintlock and pressed it against the side of her own head. The cataloguer's gun blew the top of her head off just as Lemorel's shot hit her squarely in the throat. Peribridge crashed to the floor amid overturned chairs and fellow cataloguers diving for cover. Slowly the smoke cleared to reveal Lemorel, Griss, and the Tiger Dragons at the door with their guns aimed into the auditorium.

  "The rest of you raise your hands and continue to file out," Griss ordered. "Walk slowly, no sudden movements." Tarrin got to his feet, clutching his bandage. Blood was seeping through his fingers. "Anyone else attempting suicide will also be shot," he muttered to him self.

  The stiches in Tarrin's gash had been tom open by his fall, but he stood beside the others with blood dripping from his arm while the last of the cataloguers left the auditorium. Many were splattered with brains and blood, and all were wide-eyed and ashen-faced. Tarrin collapsed into a chair as the last of them left. Griss left to find a medic ian as Lemorel used her gunbarrel and Tarrin's sling as a tourniquet for his arm.

  "What were you saying about war?" Tarrin asked, glancing across at the remains of Peribridge.

  Lemorel had to stop and think for a moment. "Lameroo and Billiatt are threatening war over the Loxton par aline bypass."

  "War at Loxton, ah yes. For a moment I thought you meant here." CAPTIVE Being a linguist, Darien found her career in Libris continually nudged toward the Inspectorate. With war threatening in the westernmost may orate of the Alliance she finally accepted a commission as a trainee Inspector. Her first assignment was to the assist with the opening ceremony of the bypass par aline between the towns of Morkalla and Maggea. The laying of this new track meant that the par aline west was now on the territory of the Southeast Alliance until it reached the Woomera border. The independent castellanies to the south were thus faced with a big loss of customs revenue, so there was large military buildup where the new par aline skirted the border.

  Darien's only warning that fighting had begun was a heavy lurch as the wind train that she was traveling in toppled from its tracks. The lightly built engine and carriages crashed down and split open beside the par aline Darien sat up on what had been the wall of her carriage, dazed and in pain. Her first thought was to crawl out of the wreckage, but Morkundar, one of her small escort squad of Tiger Dragons, barred her way. Bright red blood was oozing from above his hairline and trickling down the black skin of his face.

  "Stay down, Frelle Darien, this is no accident," he said urgently as he wiped blood from his eyes. "The train's been attacked." He led her to where the other Tiger Dragons were assembling and as they arrived a patter of shots began. Survivors who were already outside screamed as they were hit, and bullets tore through the flimsy woodwork of the wrecked coach. The Tiger Dragons lay low and checked their guns.

  "They'll charge at any moment," Morkundar's voice warned from some where beyond a pile of seats and luggage. "There's no cover east of the par aline so they must be all on the western side. All of. you line up along the breach in the roof."

  Even as he was speaking nine dozen regulars from the Billiatt Castellany charged from their cover waving sabers and cheering. Morkundar watched through a split board.

  "Steady, steady... Up, aim, fire! Second barrel.." fire!"

  Like Darien, every one of the Tiger Dragons had a double-barrel flintlock,

  so forty shots tore into the Billiattians as they reached the wreckage. Darien fired blindly the first time, but aimed for one of the officers with her second shot. He reeled, the saber fell from his hand, and he collapsed. She dropped the gun and drew her dagger, then stood petrified. Someone dragged her down under cover and she came to her senses with the envoy from the Brookfield Castellany to Renmark slapping her face and shouting at her to reload.

  The shock of sudden disciplined fire at the Billiattians was made worse by the loss of their five most senior officers among the seventeen killed. "A trick,

  an ambush, fall back!" someone shouted, and they broke ranks and fled for cover. One minute had passed since the derailment. "Synchronize Call anchors," Morkundar shouted as they began to reload. "A quarter hour drop, and reset on my command or timeout. Counting, three, two, one, reset!"

  It took some time for Billiatt's troops to regroup and organize return fire. The three trained snipers in the Tiger Dragons had meantime unpacked their long barreled muskets and were picking off any Billiattians who tried to get a closer look. Darien reloaded her flintlock and lay ready for the next order. Two more surviving passengers now joined them, but they were both wounded.

  Darien touched the envoy's arm. As he turned to her she shrugged and bowed. "That's all right," he said. "First time under fire?" She nodded. He was a thickset, balding man of about fifty, a little like one of her uncles. "I'm afraid too," he said, turning back to peer through a hole in the smashed paneling of the carriage. His tone became mixed with anger. "They must have invaded across Brookfield territory, they couldn't have got here so fast otherwise--uh, here they come again."

  The sharpshooters dropped two officers just as the charge began. Darien stood and fired, once, felt the tug of a ball passing through the shoulder pad of her tunic, then fired again and dropped back under cover. She had no idea what she had shot at or whether she had hit anyone. Her right breast felt clammy. Blood from a gash in her shoulder was soaking her uniform.

  The volley from the train broke the wavering line before they had advanced more than a few yards, even though their own marksmen were laying down covering fire ahead of them. The enemy musketeers began to shoot blindly into the wreckage from cover. A Tiger Dragon was hit as he sat reloading his gun.

  Morkundar gave Darien a cloth soaked in eucalyptus oil and told her to stuff it under her tunic and against the wound. She winced with the sting of it.

  "The pain helps close your blood vessels and slows the bleeding," he said. "Stay low now, the train's too flimsy to give us cover."

  "Seats," said the envoy. "Use luggage and seats as a barricade." Fire from the Billiatt muskets continued to rake their overturned carriage. "Ready with anchors, three, two, one, reset!" Morkundar called.

  "I don't understand it," said the envoy. "Why attack this train, why violate Brookfield territory? Billiatt and Brookfield were at peace. My Castellan will be screaming for reparations when he hears of this."

  "The beam flash link," Morkundar replied. "My guess is that the Castellan of Billiatt has laid siege to the Maggea rail side also with troops sent across the Brookfield borders. This force here has been sent north to cut the beam flash link. They may have bombards to smash a tower, or they may just light grass fires to cloud the beam. By breaking both the beam flash and par aline the Castellan will show that he has a stranglehold on whatever the Alliance wants to do. The more timid mayors will want to pay him his customs money again."

  "But there's barely a hundred musketeers out there."

  "The main force will be up ahead, and probably visible from the par aline

  We were bombed to stop us overtaking them and raising an alarm." Morkundar spilled a little gunpowder on a scrap of poor paper and drew back the striker of an unloaded barrel. The shower of sparks ignited the powder and set the poor paper alight. Darien looked on in alarm, silently shaking her head at him.

  "Caref
ul, this carriage will burn like kindling," warned the envoy. "That's why I'm setting it alight." "What? But it's our only shelter."

  "The wind engine is lying close by, and is built more solidly. We must run for that and take shelter beneath it. The smoke from this carriage will alert look outs in the beam flash towers. Patrols will be sent to investigate and they will discover the main force of Billiatt raiders."

  "That main force could turn back to help that lot over there put out the fire." "So we must attack instead of just surviving." Darien wept with frustration. Her cards were gone and none of them knew sign language. There were probably flares somewhere in the wind engine, but-but Morkundar was a good leader and she had no voice.

  "If we just stay here those musketeers will leave to join the main force,"

  the envoy pleaded. "We can't attack. There's five of them for every one of us." "Then we'll die defending a burning carriage." Die. Darien felt herself convulse at the thought. The envoy turned to her. "Frelle, you're the most senior Dragon Librarian here, and the Fras Tiger Dragon must have your approval. What is your word?"

  Her word? Darien put a hand over her eyes and laughed her silent laugh, close to hysteria, nearly in tears. The envoy's balding head suddenly went crimson and he tried to splutter an apology. Morkundar's face remained grim.

  "Well, Frelle Darien?" he asked. She pointed to Morkundar and nodded. Lemorel had hired a good lawyer when she heard that Glasken was in trouble. It paid off. There had been a drunken brawl in the street outside a tavern, and when the Constable's Runners had arrived Glasken was one of those lying unconscious on the cobblestones. The city prosecutor cited Glasken's poor record, but the defense cited Glasken's role in saving Tarrin's life as proof of his good character. After his release Glasken returned to his college at the University with Lemorel beside him. His head was bandaged, and there was a red stain where the blood had seeped through.

  "I used to think that justice in my own yoick-town may orate was backward, but not anymore," fumed Lemorel. "That magistrate went out of his way to weight the evidence against you."