Soarer's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Could he do something about the failing crystal—before the refugees noted it and replaced it? He couldn’t count on there only being one crystal. Surely, they had at least one spare and were trying to make each crystal last as long as possible.

  After several more deep breaths, he used his Talent to chart a path back to the right toward the larger of two boulders fifty yards away.

  Then he began another dash. He managed to make it almost to the boulder before the light-rifle slammed into his shields, and he staggered behind cover. This time, he had to wait longer, and he took a long swallow from his depleted water bottle.

  The lightcannon hummed overhead again, only briefly.

  Dainyl winced, but relaxed when he realized that it had missed whatever had been its target. He forced himself to wait as he used Talent to chart his next dash—this time to the pile of rubble that had been the eastern building.

  Two light-rifle shots went past him but barely grazed his shields on the dash to the fallen structure. Once there, Dainyl was happy to be able to stand, rather than having to squeeze into the most compact form he could imagine to avoid getting hit. Slowly, he worked his way northward and then to the west, easing around the mass of fallen stone and masonry, which was still close to three yards in height in places.

  He could also sense that there had been more than a few alectors in the structure, and he could see treated shimmersilk uniforms protruding from the heaped stones in places. There were also other garments as well, all remnants of alectors who had died, far more than he would have guessed—and the eastern structure was the smallest of the three. How many alectors had used the Table in an effort to escape Ifryn—only to die under his bombardment?

  Dainyl had to force those thoughts out of his mind, as he looked westward. With less than a hundred yards between the fallen building and the central structure, its walls battered, but still holding together, there was more than a little cover in the field of stones and boulders between the two buildings.

  He had worked his way halfway across the field when he realized that the light-rifle was no longer firing at him. He knew he was close enough to the central building that the heavy lightcutter could not be depressed enough to aim at him without hitting the building itself. But now, even the light-rifles could not be used unless those firing them wanted to chance the weakened outer walls of the structure.

  A lightcutter beam flared over his head, reminding him that there were weapons that could be used against him. He peered around the side of the boulder and caught a glimpse of a gray and green uniform behind an embrasure on the second level. Lifting his own lightcutter, he fired, adding a touch of Talent-direction. Then he sprinted for the next boulder, one a few yards short of the eastern wall of the building.

  Crouching there, he caught his breath, still holding his shields, and began to extend a Talent probe into the building.

  There had to be some sort of Talent link between the lightcannon and the Table. Otherwise, the lifeforce demands would have killed everyone in the buildings. He probed farther, almost at the limit of his Talent, before he discovered a node, or something like a lifeforce reservoir. There was a Talent “valve” between it and the lightcannon.

  Dainyl nodded. Now…if he could use his Talent to “open” that valve full and let all that force out at once, it should overload the control systems of the lightcannon. Without the lightcannon operating, even if Dainyl had to accompany every pass, the Myrmidons could come close enough to destroy the building at will, and in less than a day.

  He fumbled, seeking the tiny Talent links that had to hold the “valve” together.

  Another lightcutter beam splashed against the stone above him.

  His forehead and neck felt damp, and he realized he was sweating. Alectors seldom did. Dainyl couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  Then, he discovered the key link, and Talent-twisted. The lifeforce reservoir collapsed, and all the compressed and stored lifeforce flooded through the link to the lightcannon.

  Dainyl could feel the explosive force building and wedged himself between the foundation and two large boulders.

  The entire structure shuddered, and stones and rocks began to rain down everywhere around the building. Even more ominous, Dainyl could sense a void, a deep pinkish purpleness that began to suck lifeforce. He reinforced his own Talent shields, hoping they would hold against the void.

  The ground trembled, then shuddered with the impact of more stone and sections of the building cascading down. Dainyl huddled under stone and his own shields, hoping both held against the explosions and the seeking hunger of the lifeforce void.

  Struggling to hold his shields and his mind, he closed his eyes, but his Talent told him of each alector who died, one after the other, scores of them, if not more, as the void he had inadvertently released sucked the very life out of all those in the structure beside him. The sucking dark pinkness pressed against his shields, gnawing, trying to erode his defenses.

  Abruptly, another, far larger explosion shook the ground, and more stones cascaded everywhere. Dainyl felt his whole body being bruised from the impacts on his shields, but the life-seeking void was gone. Dainyl had no idea what it had been, except that it had been some sort of feedback from or reaction to the destruction of the lifeforce reservoir.

  He wanted to shake his head. If such weapons had been used on Ifryn, no wonder people were trying to escape. No wonder the world had exhausted its lifeforce far earlier than projected. And the Archon had allowed—or not halted—such weapons?

  After several moments, slowly, he began to climb out of his protected position, careful not to touch or dislodge any stones that might fall. His shields were shredded, and his entire body was trembling. When he stood clear of the enormous rubble pile, he sat down on one of the smaller boulders and forced himself to use what Talent remained to him.

  Deep in the pile of stone beside him, he could still sense the Table. He sensed no other lifeforce at all. None. In places, amid the stone, the afternoon light glinted on shimmersilk tunics of green and gray, empty shimmersilk tunics.

  He rose to his feet, stiffly, and began to move away from the ruined structures.

  He had walked a quarter of a vingt before a pteridon appeared and flared to a landing before him. From her harness on the pteridon’s neck, Lyzetta looked down at him. “Marshal, sir? Are you all right?”

  Was he all right?

  What an inane question, although she could not have known that. All right, when what he had done had just extinguished the lives and hopes of hundreds of alectors, people who had been caught in forces beyond their control and who had merely wanted to survive? He couldn’t even claim that he was like them, not after what he had done.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m in one piece, Captain. Thank you.” He cleared his throat of some of the sand and dust that he had not realized coated it. “All the refugees are dead. All those who were in the complex anyway. Some might have escaped during all the attacks, but there won’t be many, and there’s little point in trying to find them.”

  “They’re…all dead?”

  “That lightcannon was a lifeforce weapon. When it exploded, the backlash sucked the life out of everyone in the building. I barely escaped, and that was because I was outside, and it didn’t last any longer.”

  “That’s…a lifeforce weapon?”

  Dainyl nodded slowly. “That’s where it got its power. That’s why we had to destroy it. If they’d kept using it…”

  This time Lyzetta nodded. “You’d better climb up, Marshal. You look like you might fall over.”

  Dainyl wasn’t that exhausted…except inside.

  57

  Dainyl and First Company were up before dawn on Tridi, preparing for the long return flight to Elcien. Dainyl would have preferred to have given the company a day of rest, but he’d been out of touch too long. Had any true disaster occurred, Zernylta would have dispatched one of the Myrmidons from Seventh Company, but that
didn’t mean that one wasn’t about to occur. If it hadn’t, First Company could have at least Quattri off.

  Dainyl stood in the dimness outside the patroller barracks, facing Alcyna. “You should be able to finish up here today. You know what to do.”

  “Use Seventh Company to pile enough rocks on everything that even if anyone could use the Table—assuming it’s still in operation—there’s no way for them to get out.”

  “The Table’s still in operation. With the number of long translations it’s accepted recently, if it had failed, there would have been a much, much larger explosion.”

  “How will you explain closing off use of a Table to the High Alector and the Duarches?”

  “As the only alternative when the Archon is allowing lifeforce-destroying lightcannon to be translated here. Do you see any way we could have taken the Table without even greater losses?”

  Alcyna met his eyes. “Sir, I still don’t see any other way that anyone could have taken the Table against those weapons without destroying most of the lifeforce balance on Acorus, if not even more.”

  “If we’d fought them with the same kind of weapons, the result would have been disaster,” agreed Dainyl.

  “Neither Zelyert nor the Duarches will wish to hear that.”

  Dainyl didn’t want to dwell on that. “Tomorrow morning, fly back to Tempre with Seventh Company and use the Table there to translate back to Elcien as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.” She paused. “What do you think will happen now?”

  “Brekylt will find some reason to provoke a break with the Duarches. Khelaryt won’t wish to accept it. I have no idea what Samist will do.”

  “If he can’t bring down Khelaryt, he’ll ally himself with Brekylt and try to take over all Corus from the east.”

  That sounded all too likely, but Dainyl didn’t say so. “I’d better get moving. It’s a long flight.”

  “I’d suggest giving Ludar a wide berth, sir.”

  “We definitely will.” With a nod to Alcyna, Dainyl turned and hurried across the sandy space that held six fewer pteridons than it had three days earlier. Six irreplaceable pteridons, more than twenty percent of the force he had brought to Soupat. He climbed into the harness behind Halya.

  “Ready, sir?” she asked after he finished strapping himself in place.

  “Anytime.”

  “First Company! Lift off! By squads!” ordered Ghasylt.

  The pteridon eased off the ground, rather than exploding into the air, another sign that the Talent creatures were as weary as the Myrmidons who flew them.

  As they flew past the ruins of the regional alector’s complex, Dainyl took in the destruction, the three piles of rubble in which more than a hundred alectors had died, possibly nearer two hundred, all of whom had died either at his hand or through his orders.

  Yet…with their use of a weapon like the heavy lightcannon, and their willingness to flood Acorus with more alectors than it could support…what else could he have done?

  The fact that he could find no answer did not help the way he felt.

  58

  All too often, both less perceptive alectors and the vast majority of steers consider the ideal ruler or administrator to be a paternal figure, one steeped in care and love, and one who shows benevolence toward all under his administration. Such an idealization of a ruler is mere wish-fulfillment, for a “good” father is one who will do all that he can to ensure the survival of all of his offspring. A good father has sufficient offspring to assure his heritage is carried on unto the generations. And a good father will place his offspring above the needs of the offspring of others and of a society as a whole. Thus, a society comprised of “good” fathers will in fact populate itself into a crisis of insufficient resources and a shortage of lifeforce.

  A ruler who follows the tenets of such a “good” father will doom his people to destruction. Yet, any ruler who states that too many offspring are not in the interest of all or who acts directly to assure that there are not too many mouths to feed will find those under his rule becoming angry and rebellious. Any ruler who would openly choose who can breed and who cannot will find himself needing to muster and apply more and more force to his people with each passing year until his rule collapses from lack of advancement and investment or from outright rebellion.

  What is to be done, then?

  The wise ruler advises and admonishes quietly, but does not apply force directly in attempting to reduce the number of offspring, whether of alectors or steers. Because he controls privilege and position for alectors, he can limit their numbers to some degree, but that will prove insufficient over time, because few alectors perish from natural causes.

  Thus, he prepares his chosen cadre and sequesters resources for the time when all will collapse into anarchy, assuring each and every alector that each is indeed part of that cadre, but keeping the actual cadre far smaller and known only to himself until the proper time has come when he must allow to perish those who were so unwise as to breed themselves into death.

  Then, once more, he must begin anew, always preparing for the inevitable overbreeding and the collapse that will indeed follow….

  Views of the Highest

  Illustra

  W.T. 1513

  59

  The three squads of First Company with Dainyl had flown tiredly into Elcien just after sunset on Tridi, and Dainyl had dismissed them, putting them on flight rest for both Quattri and Quinti. He had spent three glasses drafting his report to Zelyert, and then retired to the house that felt so empty without Lystrana. He’d even been exhausted enough to sleep most of the night dreamlessly. Most of the night.

  He still woke before dawn.

  A half glass before morning muster at Myrmidon headquarters, he appeared at the Hall of Justice. Zelyert was not there, but at an early meeting with Duarch Khelaryt. Since the High Alector was expected within a glass, Dainyl sought out Chastyl, to see what the Recorder of Deeds might be able to tell him.

  He found Chastyl in the Table chamber.

  “Marshal! Can you tell me—”

  Dainyl gestured for Chastyl to join him outside.

  “I don’t know that I should leave the Table chamber, Marshal,” protested the recorder, glancing around the room at the five guards armed with lightcutters, all watching the Table.

  “A few moments won’t matter. If you like, we can retire to the foyer. It’s early enough that we’re unlikely to be disturbed.”

  “The foyer…ah, yes, that’s close enough.” Chastyl’s face was drawn, and the circles beneath his eyes were darker than ever.

  “Exactly what has been happening with the Tables?” asked Dainyl when the two were alone, at least for the moment, in the small foyer between the corridor and the Table chamber.

  “We’ve been getting more long translations. Too many, and most of them were in uniforms and armed. There have been fewer yesterday and today. I don’t know why. Perhaps you do.”

  “Can you tell which Tables were receiving them?”

  Chastyl shook his head. “We can tell which Tables are operating, and with their energy levels, we can guess.”

  “I’ll be reporting to the High Alector when he returns. Soupat Table is sealed off, but still operating.”

  “Sealed off?”

  “We brought the buildings down around it, and a weapon backlash wiped out the rebels holding it. There’s so much stone and rubble over the Table that I’d be surprised if anyone can even enter the Table chamber, by translation or otherwise. They certainly won’t be able to leave it.”

  Chastyl shook his head once more. “I had wondered…when the translations dropped off. There was also a huge surge of some sort of energy.”

  “That was the weapon’s backlash. I thought you’d like to know.” Dainyl offered a professional smile. “What about the Tables in the east?”

  “They’re reporting too many unauthorized translations, but they all have retained control of their Tables.”

&nbs
p; Or they’re reporting that way. Dainyl did not voice the thought. “What about Dereka and Lyterna?”

  “Jonyst is fine, and so is Myenfel.”

  That wasn’t quite what Dainyl wanted to know, but he let it pass. “Is there any word…any indication about future…Table instability?”

  “No…we’ve heard nothing about any decisions from Ifryn.”

  That was what Dainyl had feared. The Archon was going to bleed Ifryn to the last dram of lifeforce, or close to it, before transferring the Master Scepter. “Thank you. I’d best be leaving you to your duties.”

  “You will be reporting to the High Alector?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” With a smile he tried to keep from being too wry, Dainyl nodded and stepped back, opening the outer door to the foyer.

  Zelyert had still not returned.

  So Dainyl made his way to Adya’s chamber.

  She stood as she saw Dainyl in her doorway. “Marshal…what can I do for you?”

  Dainyl smiled and stepped into her tiny study, leaving the door ajar enough so that he could hear when Zelyert returned. He sat on the stool, the only furniture for visitors. “I’m waiting for the High Alector. I thought you might be able to tell me about anything I should know that happened while I was in Soupat.”

  The alectress frowned, momentarily. “I don’t know…”

  “No secrets,” Dainyl reassured her. “Do you know what’s happening in Alustre?”

  “We haven’t heard anything, except that there was some road damage along the Northern Pass, and the High Alector of the East was sending some of the road-building equipment to keep a cliff from collapsing and blocking the pass.”