Timediver's Dawn

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “There they are! Hiding behind their walls and guns!” The one-armed man’s voice carried to the stockade.

  One trooper lifted a projectile rifle. Before he could bring it to bear, a subforcer knocked it down and hissed something at the man.

  “There they are! Protecting the rich hoarders and taking their cut while you go hungry! Look at them! They won’t always have guns!”

  The crowd milled around, listening to the high-pitched voice of the agitator.

  The sweat rolled down my face, turning dust on my skin into mud.

  Buzzzzz . . . buzzzzz . . . The black flies kept trying to land on my neck and bite, but I used a free hand to wave them away.

  “See how they hide behind their guns! Do they look hungry? They aren’t hungry. They don’t have children who cry themselves to sleep.”

  “No, they don’t have families any more. They already lost them!” That same stupid screaming voice again—mine. “At least you still have your children. At least we’re trying to keep you from being killed in your sleep!”

  “He’s lying! Don’t listen. He’s lying!”

  That was the wrong thing for the one-armed man to say. The crowd muttered, mumbled, and stopped.

  “Why’d you say that?” demanded the subforcer who appeared at my elbow.

  “Talk is cheaper than guns or bullets. And my family is dead.” I turned to look at him.

  “You . . .” he snorted. “I might have known.”

  At that moment, I nearly saw red. Bright red. But I just looked.

  Finally, he looked to the side and walked away.

  “Verlyt . . .” the oath was soft.

  I glanced at the trooper beside me.

  “Swashte will hate you for that.”

  “Probably.” I didn’t really care. Wryan had been absolutely right. Odin Thor would lose the entire province without a shot if he didn’t get some food to those children. And soon.

  As it became clear that the crowd had no intention of even halfheartedly storming the station, the senior forcer stood. “Stand down. First squad, hold the stockade. Purtell, deploy your men.”

  I ambled over to the station to turn in the projectile rifle.

  Jerlyk grinned as he followed me. “Big mouth.”

  “Better than bullets,” I repeated.

  Swashte, the subforcer I had glared down, was talking to the senior forcer, Gleddell, and gesturing in my direction. Gleddell looked bored and shrugged. Swashte headed toward me.

  “Trooper, I don’t like your attitude. The senior forcer feels that you and I could use a little extra workout. Just to loosen up the muscles.”

  I shrugged. “If you think so.”

  “We could have a good match if you’re not afraid of getting messed up.

  “You sure that Gleddell doesn’t want a disabled subforcer?”

  “Verlyt, you really do have a mouth, Trooper. You really do.”

  I was tired of games. “What rules, Subforcer Swashte?”

  “Just a friendly match, Trooper. Don’t need rules for that, do we?”

  “Not for a friendly match, I suppose. But if you should trip and break anything, I certainly wouldn’t continue. What you do is up to you, of course.” I stepped back and stripped off my tunic and equipment belt.

  Swashte did the same and thrust his tunic and belt at a youngster right out of training.

  “Ready, Trooper?”

  I nodded, slipping into a balanced posture, half-looking into the undertime to anticipate his attack.

  Quicker than he looked, Swashte feinted with a straightened left arm, then threw a half-kick at my back knee.

  I could have played with him. Instead, I broke his planted leg and snapped his arm. Henriod had taught me well, and I cheated.

  “Verlyt!”

  “Did you see that?”

  “Hell-fired killer . . .”

  Gleddell had turned white, as he saw Swashte writhing on the ground.

  I half-bowed to the grimacing subforcer. “I regret our friendly match was so short. Any time you want a rematch, I’d be pleased to oblige you.”

  Then I walked over to Gleddell. “I strongly suggest that Trooper Jerlyk’s and my mission here is complete.”

  Gleddell shook his lank black hair off his forehead, ran his eyes over me as if he could not quite believe what he saw.

  “Who are you?”

  “Trooper Sammis, sir.”

  He glanced at my unmarked uniform, then at the ground. “Two nice bits of work today, Trooper, three if I understand what Nylen told me. I don’t like any of them.” He paused. “I hope I never see you again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s all.”

  I saluted him. It made him feel happier.

  Everyone besides Jerlyk backed away as I walked back toward the barracks.

  XXXIX

  THE TRIP BACK from Llordian was long and boring. But the new diet must have helped. Neither one of us felt sick when we arrived back at base. Jerlyk hurried off, presumably to find Mellorie.

  Somehow, despite that, I hoped Mellorie—or someone—would be waiting. No one was, and the room smelled musty. I opened the windows and let the wind in. The unseasonal warmth of Llordian was fading into normal early winter—wet, cold, and raw—still preferable to the mustiness.

  Turning on the single lamp improved the gloomy late afternoon, and, after I had unpacked my few items, closing the window reduced the chill.

  After taking care of my laundry, I braved the grimy shower and changed into a clean undress uniform, then headed for dinner—early.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one anxious for company. Gerloc was pacing, and Jerlyk had pulled out a chair from one of the unused tables.

  Amenda walked in within minutes of me.

  “Sammis, you’re back.” She was wearing a clean, if rumpled, blue tunic and trousers.

  “So is Jerlyk. The ConFeds only like us in small doses. You’re looking nice tonight.”

  She made a face. “How could you say that? The maids all left, and took all the small irons. I’m a rumpled mess.”

  “Advantage of ConFed uniforms, I guess. What else had been going on here?” I kept my tone light.

  “Besides boring meals, a new diving schedule for everyone, and the disappearance of most of the support staff?”

  “Greffin?” I hoped the chef at least would stay.

  “He was still here at mid-day, but he was complaining to the doctor.”

  “Things are getting tough all over.”

  For some reason, Amenda nodded.

  Then Mellorie walked in. Unlike Amenda or me, she had on another tailored coverall and a matching jacket which was definitely unrumpled. The scrape of Jerlyk’s chair told me he had seen her as well. She looked past the rest of us and favoured him with a smile that would have melted ice.

  As I shook my head, Amenda cleared her throat. “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing . . . well . . . not nothing . . .”

  “Are you jealous?” She seemed disinterested in the question, looking absently at Gerloc.

  I had to laugh. “It was nice while it lasted.”

  “What did you mean about things being tough all over?” She acted as if her mind were in Eastron, or farther away.

  Like me, I guess, making small talk. So I told her a bit about the problems at Llordian, just how the farmers didn’t care if the townies starved, and how the ConFeds just wanted the supply levies.

  “Sammis, don’t you see?” Her eyes focused on me.

  “See what? The farmers and the townies are going to be at each other’s necks. Odin Thor doesn’t have enough troops to police every area. Be-sides, if we take sides . . .”

  Amenda nodded. “What will happen if we don’t?”

  I thought about that. “The townies will attack the farmers, and only the strong ones will survive.”

  “Will they?”

  Amenda’s question jolted me.

  “Why wouldn’t they?”
>
  “The farmers are spread out. If they get together, that leaves their stores unprotected. Aren’t there a lot more townspeople than farmers?”

  Most of the successful farmers were the larger ones, who had their own equipment shops, even draft animals, and plenty of seed reserves. Some had enough hired hands to use as guards. Against petty bandits, at least. Their success against an enraged mob was another question.

  “We’re trading etheline for food, though.”

  “For how long, Sammis?”

  I had to shrug. I didn’t know.

  “That brings up another question.” Amenda pursed her lips, then tried to pat down her wrinkled tunic as Arlean walked through the doorway.

  Arlean’s tunic looked wrinkled, too, if not quite so rumpled as Amenda’s.

  “How long can the steamers run without parts?” pursued Amenda. “Even if the etheline-food trades and food taxes get us through this winter, what happens next year, or when we run out of etheline to trade?”

  I didn’t have a good answer, but I didn’t have to come up with it right then.

  XL

  THE PORRIDGE WAS cold, and the brown bread was harder than ever. All the other divers had gone, late as I had staggered down.

  I ladled the remaining congealed cereal into a large bowl and sprinkled it with a double handful of raisins, covering both raisins and porridge with molasses. A mess, but one with enough calories.

  “Sammis?” I looked up from where I was shovelling the cereal in.

  Deric’s lips were tight, and he squinted, even though the morning skies were cloudy, and the lights in the dining area dim.

  “Yes, Deric?” I mumbled. The heavy porridge tasted like glue, even with the handful of dried raisins I had poured over the glop. I missed the buns and the fresh fruit. Funny, how little you need luxuries when you’re worrying about survival. Then, when you have them for a while, you miss them more than if you never had them.

  “The colonel-general has requested your presence in his office.”

  “Does the doctor know?”

  “She . . . asked me to convey the message.”

  I swallowed the last of the grey mess and followed it with a deep pull of water. “I’ll head right there.”

  Deric turned and left without a word.

  What did Odin Thor want?

  Another ConFed I didn’t know sat behind an empty desk outside the colonel-general’s office.

  “Sammis,” I announced. “The colonel-general requested my presence.”

  “I’ll tell him.” The trooper, an arrogant-looking tough nearly as tall as Odin Thor, remained seated.

  Because I was me, I looked undertime to see what the esteemed colonel-general was doing. He was doing nothing at all, and doing it alone.

  “The colonel-general is alone, and he’s not engaged. So I suggest you tell him I’m here.”

  “I’ll tell him when it’s time.”

  I walked past him and toward the door.

  His hand grabbed at my shoulder.

  Thud.

  The arrogant expression was replaced by a puzzled one as he looked up from the floor.

  “Don’t ever lay hands on me.”

  “The colonel-general . . .”

  “. . . will probably do absolutely nothing,” added a new voice.

  Henriod, the head of the scouts for Odin Thor, stood there. “It’s good to see you again, Sammis. You’ve improved some more.”

  I shrugged. “I try. Jerlyk and I work out almost every day.”

  By now, the ConFed orderly had scrambled to his feet.

  “Hasslek, this is former trooper Sammis.” Henriod grinned. “Possibly the most dangerous man in either the travellers or the ConFeds.” Then he looked at me. “Odin Thor was amused at what you did to Swashte. Told him that unless he got his act together, he’d set up a return match.”

  That didn’t sound like Odin Thor at all. Not at all, not when he had been so adamant about not revealing that some ConFeds were divers.

  Hasslek nodded and backed in through the door I had been about to open.

  “If he’s using me as a threat, things must really be getting tight.”

  Hasslek was standing in the door again, leaving it open. “The colonel-general will see you, gentlemen.”

  While I had been promoted a bit in Hasslek’s regard, why Odin Thor wanted to see both Henriod and me was another question.

  “Forcer Henriod, Trooper Sammis . . . if you would have a seat . . .” Odin Thor was all smiles.

  I trusted him even less than before, but I sat down in the battered wooden chair next to the old and expansive red oak desk. Henriod sat in the chair next to me, leaving a vacant chair beside the closed outside window, which rattled in the morning wind.

  “Sammis, how did you find Llordian?”

  I shrugged. “Townies are close to starving, with no way to get food. Don’t trust the farmers, but they trust us even less.”

  “Henriod, what is our current strength?”

  “All bodies, sir?”

  Odin Thor nodded.

  “The main maintenance facility in Esterly still has about three hundred. Perhaps almost that many here. Another two hundred or so in places like Halfprince and Llordian. Add to that maybe . . . what? Fifty travellers . . . ? I’d say nine hundred, counting those I don’t know.”

  “How many of the townspeople are able-bodied enough for even light ConFed duty?”

  Henriod looked at me. I looked at Henriod. We both looked at Odin Thor.

  “Not many,” I volunteered. “Probably mostly women.”

  “The ConFeds don’t take women,” pointed out Henriod.

  “Then you’ve got damned few . . .”

  “So there are very few able-bodied townspeople left, but they threaten present food supplies and future crops. Is that a fair assessment?”

  “Not totally, Colonel-General.” Henriod had a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead as he went on. “The townspeople are the only remnant of crafting skills left. Over time, their absence would be felt.”

  Their absence? What was Odin Thor proposing? Murder? Genocide?

  “Anything else?”

  “What about the next generation?” I asked.

  Odin Thor almost smiled when he looked at me. “What about them, Sammis?”

  “Without the townies, you won’t have one,” I blurted.

  “There is that,” admitted Odin Thor. “But, based on your observations and those of Forcer Henriod, I do not feel that the ConFeds—or your travellers . . . or timedivers, if you prefer—should continue to impose discipline where we are not wanted.”

  Odin Thor couldn’t be serious.

  “It’s very simple, really,” the Colonel-General continued. “We will remain only where we are wanted. Since Llordian seems to have mixed feelings about our presence and services, we will hold a totally free election. We’ll even let them conduct it. If the townspeople and the farmers in the surrounding area want us to leave and vote for us to leave, we will.”

  “A truly honest election?” I asked.

  “Why not? You indicated that it would be difficult to hold the place against a really determined mob without killing a large number of townspeople. We don’t need to risk our limited manpower where we aren’t wanted.”

  “But what about supplies?” asked Henriod.

  “If we’re careful, we have enough to last until early summer without any more levies, but I anticipate that some areas will request our presence.”

  “If the Llordians get to vote, won’t you have to let others vote?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. Because this is a first case, I would appreciate it if we make no announcements except in Llordian until after the election is completed.” Odin Thor shook his head. “No. I’m not planning to use force if they vote us out. I expect the Llordians will. We can’t stage elections all over the place at once. They will have to be phased so that we can pull out of areas that don’t want us in an orderly fashion.”


  Henriod looked at me, and I looked at Henriod. Odin Thor was sincere in allowing the elections, but the whole thing still smelled.

  “Why are we here?” Henriod’s words reflected his puzzlement.

  “You, Forcer Henriod, need to develop a withdrawal plan that will ensure we leave Llordian in a way that does not invite any attack or violence against us. That is very important. We must be perceived as impartial and not imposing our will by force in any way. That image could be endangered if any riots or outbreaks occur. That means the instant the vote is in, we must be on the way out, before it becomes known that we are leaving. Likewise, we cannot make advance preparations that can be seen or interpreted as evidence that we have decided to leave before the vote.

  “Do you understand?”

  Henriod nodded. I could understand why I would be concerned about such a withdrawal, but I couldn’t see why Odin Thor would be.

  “What about me?”

  “Yes . . . Sammis. I have two reasons. First, you are in effect the ConFed’s liaison with the travellers. Second, I would like you to use your diving ability to monitor and record the process at Llordian. We need to document on viewtape that we allowed full and free elections, that we left the area immediately, and any later follow-up. For rather obvious reasons and for this to be objective, we cannot have our observer visible after the elections.”

  I nodded. If any observer remained after the ConFeds left, he or she would certainly be a clear target. “Do we have any recording equipment left?”

  Odin Thor smiled again. “We have some very good portable equipment which Eltar has restored. You can work with him, I trust.”

  Eltar? He still talked to me, unlike some of the others. “Yes, Colonel.”

  Odin Thor almost glared at me for using his real rank. “Will you make the arrangements for recording and let your fellow-travellers know that we will be holding free elections in Llordian, and, later, in other communities?”

  I nodded. “Is there anything else?”

  “For now that’s all. When you’re ready, get together with Eltar.”

  Odin Thor looked at Henriod. “Do you think you could have your plans ready by the day after tomorrow?”