* * *
The voices and the sunlight slammed into his senses at the same moment, and he rolled over quickly, startled, fearing danger.
Looking up he saw an oriental man and a young girl of about twelve, perhaps his daughter, staring down at him. The girl jumped behind her father, but her father's gaze, curious and concerned, did not waver. Masters realized that he had fallen asleep on a patch of grass running between two fields. In the distance he saw a large wooden farm house with smoke rising from a stack. He thought of Padang, of the blood, and closed his eyes.
"Are you all right?" the man asked.
"No. My shoulder." He raised his fingers to the wound and touched it. It stung terribly, and the flesh felt soft and ruined.
"All right. All right. Don't worry. Relax. Lin, go tell mama to get the emergency supplies together."
"But . . ."
"Go tell mama you found a wounded soldier who needs some help."
Masters remembered he was wearing his uniform, and felt a shudder of fear. The girl ran off.
The man leaned down to help Masters up, but stopped when Masters asked him, "Which side are you on?"
The man's smile spoke eloquently of ease and serenity. "I'm not on any side. I'm not a soldier." He leaned down further and helped Masters up by his good shoulder, while Masters reached for the Imperator machine gun he had grabbed from the last guerrilla he'd shot.
"No. But who do you want to win?"
"I want the war to end. That is all. Word of Blake is bad. Very bad. Arrogant. And they support Hsiang, a corrupt, fetid lizard." The man took in a breath after virtually lifting Masters to his feet, and the two of them walked toward the house. "And the GFL are bastards who would sell us back to the Principality of Regulus. I don't want a winner. I want peace. Winners breed losers. And losers breed the next war." The old man walked Masters carefully to the house, taking care none of his neighbors could see him taking in a Word of Blake warrior. "The GFL's in the village," he explained. "What?"
"Don't worry. I won't tell them you're here."
Inside the house the old man cleaned out the infections already beginning in Master's flesh, dressed his wounds, fed him, and gave him a mat on the floor. Masters wanted to leave before the day ended, but the farmer insisted he stay. He was in no shape, the man said, to set out alone. He must wait until he was stronger.
"Why are you doing this?" Masters asked, sincerely confused.
"Wouldn't you do the same for me?"
"I suppose. . . ."
"Well, even if you wouldn't. No matter. I'm doing it for you."
"What about the GFL in the village?"
"Oh, they'd kill you."
"No. I mean, why are you doing this with GFL in village? Are you GFL?"
"No. Father, farmer. Sleep now. You need rest." He slept.
* * *
Masters stayed with the family for twelve days. Lee, the farmer, insisted he stay inside, for fear the GFL would spot him. "Can you give me their names?" Masters asked.
"No, no. I don't tell them about you, I don't tell you about them."
Masters did find out that he was about a week's walk from Portent. And during long talks with the farmer that went late into the night, he learned even more.
"What's this about Hsiang being corrupt?"
"He is. He cancelled the limit on his term of office."
"I thought that was by a public vote."
"No, he fixed it. He fixes everything," Lee said. The image of the pimp with his wife-whore came back to Masters from the night of the party. He also remembered Maid Kris' insistence that he couldn't understand what the fighting was about. "Lee, the GFL is fighting against Word of Blake, right?"
"Now it is."
"What do you mean?"
"Word of Blake's arrival was a stroke of luck for the GFL. It gave them an enemy from offworld against whom they could unite everyone on Gibson."
"The GFL was fighting a war before Word of Blake arrived?"
The farmer cocked his head to one side. "I thought you said you were from Atreus. That you were from the Marik Commonwealth."
"Yes."
"For years now, we have been sending messages asking for help from Atreus. The GFL was founded to get rid of Hsiang. We weren't at war then. We wanted to avoid a war. But the Countess wouldn't listen. So we tried to get . . ." His shoulders slumped. "Are you telling me the Marik Commonwealth didn't know?"
"Certainly Thomas didn't."
"But how could he not?" For the first time Lee's calm demeanor abandoned him. "We paid for messengers to travel to Atreus. My own nephew waited outside the palace for two weeks for an appointment with an official."
"The Free Worlds League is made up of hundreds of worlds. There are many functionaries, many bureaucrats."
"Ah." The farmer sat down, a weariness passing over his shoulders and spine. For a moment he reminded Masters of Thomas. "Well, now we have a war, which is what the leaders of the GFL wanted so badly. But the people, you know, the people don't want war. We don't want to fight. We want peace. It was impossible for the people to go to war against their own government. People won't normally do that. But then Word of Blake arrived. Then we had a war. We were invaded."
"They didn't come to invade."
"Have you ever spoken to any of them?"
"Point taken. But not all of them are . . ."
"So now we have a war."
"And people will keep fighting until Word of Blake leaves?"
"Of course. We will drain them of money, and sooner or later they'll have to give up. That's the way a guerrilla war works. Grind your enemy down, wear them out, make him use up everything he's got."
"But this is their home now. The Captain-General has given them permission to live here."
"He should have dealt with Hsiang before doing that."
"He didn't know."
"There it is."
"What if the GFL takes power?"
"That would be bad too. So many of them are thieves and sadists, as cruel as the True Believers."
"They torture True Believers?"
"They torture everybody. Why do you think I hide you? Because I'm not allowed to feed who I want to feed, help who I want to help. The GFL has seized this village's crop production. I have no voice. They would kill me if they found out what I was doing. They paint themselves as peasant saviors. Bah! They've been courting the Principality of Regulus, the very people we broke away from two hundred and fifty years ago. Regulus has one goal—to claim our planet once more. And the GFL will surrender us in return for rulership power of Gibson."
"So you aren't concerned about Word of Blake?"
The farmer laughed. "Concerned. I'm terrified. You really heard nothing about this on Atreus?" He sighed. "Sir Masters, factions of Word of Blake have paid Principal Hsiang a great deal of money to get exactly what they want. They overtax us, they've taken over key offices in the Gibson government, and we are afraid, perhaps without reason, that they want to impose their religion on us. These two issues, taxes and religion, were the very reasons we broke away from Regulus two hundred and fifty years ago. We will not sit still for this."
"But if Word of Blake were here on Gibson, but not a threat. . . ."
"If such a thing were possible. But it seems that the Countess is happy with the way things are."
Masters thought he'd known what was going on when he arrived on Gibson, and now he realized he had been completely in the dark. Was the farmer telling the truth? Or perhaps it was only the truth as far as Lee knew it, and there was something more going on. Ideals meant nothing in the face of ignorance.
"I'm leaving tonight."
"You're not well enough."
"I thank you for your concern, but I can't wait."
"Very well. But you will let me give you food."
The offer moved Masters. "How can you be so generous to me, someone who until recently worked with your oppressors?"
"Well, you have not shot me, have you?"
&n
bsp; "Excuse me?"
"You have a machine gun with you, Sir Masters. You have not used it. During wartime there is a surfeit of cruelty. I have had enough. I treat you well because you treat me well. I pray that you will get Word of Blake and the GFL to agree to behave in a similar way."
"I don't have the power to do that."
"But I can see that you will try. And for that I help you and I wish you luck."
19
Nam, Gibson
Principality of Gibson, Free Worlds League
20 February 3055
Masters left late that night. He made his way through the forest under a moonless sky, armed only with food and a compass. He had left the machine gun behind, burying it in a field. Only a few rounds remained and it would only call more attention to him. As a disguise, he wore a cotton tunic and a wide-brimmed straw hat that the farmer had given him.
Masters walked for hours at a brisk pace, but when the sun began to lighten the sky he took shelter in a hole under the roots of a large tree. He slept through the day, then was on his way again at nightfall.
That was how he journeyed, sleeping by day, traveling by night, for seven days. On the third night Masters heard gunfire—artillery and lasers—in the distance. He paid it no heed, but continued steadily on his course toward the city.
* * *
On the seventh night he topped a ridge and saw the brightly lit city of Portent. Moonlight reflected off the Old Walls. He made his way across a plain and into the city.
* * *
The sun had already risen, and the citizens of Portent's shantytown were already up and about. For the most part they resembled the farmer who had helped him—shoulders ready for work, hands worn from labor—but their faces, etched with fear and sadness, betrayed the changes in their life. He also noticed swaggering young men, thugs of some kind, wandering the streets, mocking the inhabitants of the shantytown with taunts and condescending laughter.
Hungry and out of food, Masters stopped at a small vegetable stand. After picking out two of the best-looking apples, he paid the vendor with currency the farmer had given him. He was about to continue on his way when he felt the stiff end of a gun touch the small of his back.
"Sir Masters," a woman's voice said softly. He recognized it, but could not place it. "Please be calm. Please do not make any sudden moves. Thirty meters from here is a shack made of riveted sheets of metal. Do you see it?"
He nodded, then realized suddenly who was speaking to him. It was Maid Kris.
"You will walk toward it, slowly. If you move at any speed greater than a casual walk, or if you do not move directly toward the shack, I will shoot you."
Could he take her? Masters couldn't be sure. For now he'd go along.
"All right," he said.
Walking down the street, he eyed the people he passed to see if they were abetting Maid Kris, knew what she was up to. But no one caught his eye.
When they came to the door of the shack, he turned the knob and it opened easily. They stepped inside. For a moment he thought of slamming the door shut behind him, but before he could act, a foot shoved him in the back and knocked him to the dirt floor.
As Masters rolled over on the ground, the door shut, plunging the small shack into darkness. The sun had baked the metal roof and walls, and sweat had immediately begun to bead all over his body. The only light came through the thin gaps between the metal plates. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"You are a most wanted man, Sir Masters."
"Yes?" When he looked up at her, the first thing he noticed was the Sternsacht heavy pistol in her hand. Then he smiled to see that she was also wearing a cloth tunic and straw hat. "Are you disguised too?"
"Better than you."
"Undoubtedly."
"Three weeks ago Word of Blake tried to arrest you, the GFL wants you back again, and, in recent days, the Principality of Regulus has redoubled their diplomatic efforts to seize you for attacking Colonel Roush on Atreus. Rumor in the Old City has it that a delegation is on its way from Regulus to Gibson to deal with the matter directly."
"No," he said with mock horror, and sat up against a wall.
"Yes. And, of course, your liege has been making inquiries about your health."
"It's good to have friends."
"Yes. Yes it is." She smiled and sat down on the floor. The gun, however, stayed trained on him.
"Who are your friends, Maid Kris? Whose possession am I in now?"
"Back with the GFL, I'm afraid."
He blinked. "I thought for sure you were some deep agent set up by Hsiang."
"Well, if it's any consolation, Hsiang does have a very, very nasty secret police." Her face betrayed dark memories, but she quickly shook them off. "But no. I'm GFL."
"Are there many GFL working in the Old City?"
"More than enough, actually."
"And you work for the countess. A ruse?"
"Yes."
"It seems that I'm pretty much in the dark about how politics actually work on Gibson, so can you tell me where the countess' loyalties lie? Who is she tied to?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean she's supposed to be a vassal of Thomas Marik, but as far as I can tell, she's kept secret from him much of the misery taking place on this world. Is she working with Hsiang? Word of Blake? Or is she really loyal, but simply not very observant?"
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. I ..." He faltered, embarrassed at the memory of how confident he'd been upon first arriving on Gibson. "I came here blind, and I'm trying to learn as much and as quickly as I can."
"You really don't know?"
"No."
"She's running with both Hsiang and Word of Blake. She made all the contacts, set up the deals. She's collecting most of the taxes and the profits from the war effort. Hsiang is a little puppet who could stand on his own feet without someone's help."
"She's a traitor?"
"To Gibson, yes."
"And to Thomas Marik. Her primary loyalty is supposed to be to the Captain-General."
Maid Kris was incredulous. "You're telling me he isn't getting a part of this?"
"I swear to you that he's as innocent as I am of these matters."
"How can that be?"
Masters sat silently for a moment, then said,"I've recently learned that the conflict with Hsiang started even before Word of Blake arrived."
She rolled her eyes and said,"Yes."
"So, I take it that the Countess was working with factions of ComStar here on Gibson even before the ComStar schism occurred."
"Yes."
"Well, we, like everyone, depend on ComStar to provide communications between the stars. Even if some bureaucrat received personal messages, such as those sent to Atreus by representatives of the GFL, perhaps they didn't carry the weight of communications received via HPG. Official messages must certainly have more impact. It's not right, but I'll wager that's what happened. And on top of that, Word of Blake could have been sending lies to Atreus specifically designed to counter the GFL's pleas."
She shook her head. "No, no. They . . . they're performing a religious act when they operate the hy-perpulse generator. Every activity they perform ... It isn't just a matter of money for them. It's a sacred trust. They're zealots. They wouldn't betray that trust."
"True. But what if the schism had actually begun years before Word of Blake actually split off from the ComStar organization, before the dissidents sought refuge in the Free Worlds League. Precentor Blane and I came here together from Atreus, and we spoke of the schism. He told me that there are other, smaller schisms even within the ranks of Word of Blake. The institution is still searching for its identity. Perhaps a group of people working at the hyperpulse generator station, a more militant group, perhaps one connected with ROM, thought that doctoring messages was the price to be paid to further the cause of Blake's vision." Excited, and without thinking about the gun trained on him, he stood.
"What are you d
oing?" Maid Kris said with surprise.
"I've got to get to Precentor Blane and speak with him. He's an old friend of the Captain-General's and I think I can trust him. Besides, I have no choice. I have to get word to Thomas, and I can only do that if I have a link with a True Believer who is on my side."
With her eyes still on him, Maid Kris ran her tongue along her teeth, as if thinking something through. "You are naive, Sir Masters," she said. "So much so that I might think you dissemble. Yet I believe your naivete" is sincere. I would never have thought that the Knights of the Inner Sphere were made up of such cherubs."
Her words both amused and embarrassed him. "It's one of our more endearing qualities," he said.
"Unfortunately, I have bad news for you, though it supports your theory. Precentor Blane has been arrested by Word of Blake security. His former assistant, Precentor Starling, has seized the reins of the True Believers on Gibson."
* * *
Maid Kris and Masters spent the better part of the day walking back to the Old City. "At this point, I don't want to risk a cab driver recognizing you," she said. "You're rather famous, you know." They walked close to each other, their heads bent forward under their hats, speaking softly.
"Where are they keeping him?"
"As if I know. It's ComStar. . . ."
"Word of Blake."
"Either way, they're an odd bunch, and I can't possibly guess their thinking. They might have him locked up in a clock for all I know, one of those ancient ticking things. Doesn't that seem like just the kind of thing Word of Blake might like for a torture device? A rhythmic knocking every second."
Ideal War Page 17