The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Whoever it happened to be knew me well … far too well, yet paradoxically not well enough … or so it seemed. They knew my likes, knew I would be intrigued by Elysa, knew I often guided a glider with the canopy open. They knew my fondness for children, and my impulsiveness.

  But pushing a wall over on me? That wasn’t anything that could be identified as a murder, not really, and neither was an anaphylactic reaction. Only the laser attack fit that definition. What bothered me was the means — or the combination of means, really. If I were a threat to vested interests in society — those with the means to get me murdered — the anaphylactic attack and the wall were perfect, because I would have died from seminatural causes, with no great publicity, and the like, associated with my death.

  Contrary to popular wisdom, death itself does not automatically create well-known martyrs. The death must be highly visible, and martyrs have usually been created by the living to further various ends of those still alive. I had no desire either to die unknown or to find what I espoused being twisted for other purposes — say by the Dynae, who could use me as a martyr by claiming that the pre-selects had tried to eliminate me because I was beginning to espouse their cause, or by the naturists, who would be even more extreme … or conceivably by my own family, who, while mourning my demise, would have little difficulty in using me or my death to bolster UniComm and their way of life.

  Yet I knew Gerrat well enough to know that he didn’t have the guts or the coldness to mastermind my death. He’d be happy to use it, if it suited his purpose, but not create it.

  Was the laser attack meant to fail, unlike the other two? Was it a warning? And if it happened to be, why? And by whom had it been set up?

  How had I gotten into such a mess? What in my life had led to all this?

  That question reverberated through my mind as I slipped back into darkness.…

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  Fledgling: Kuritim, 425 N.E.

  * * *

  The black and silver uniform looked good in the quarters’ mirror, especially with the short dress jacket, and I did spend a moment looking at my image. After more than three calendar years, and two years personal objective time, I was actually going to get my wings.

  I laughed softly. The symbol of wings remained, even though wings were of no use beyond an atmosphere, although I had already received, the afternoon before, just left in my lockerbox, a small certificate with the Federal Union logo which proclaimed that I was a licensed orbital shuttle operator [second], and a licensed commercial flitter pilot [unrestricted]. There had also been two certs added to my quals on the Federal Union roster.

  I straightened and adjusted the black beret, permacotton soft to the touch, then stepped out onto the walkway outside the door of my quarters. The breeze off the lagoon was just enough to keep the heat from being overpowering. For the moment, the rooms beside mine were quiet, since the candidate trainees in the group behind ours were off-planet. I caught a glimpse of brown hair and another new FS uniform singlesuit ahead of me, and walked quickly to catch up with Wyendra.

  “Congratulations,” I offered with a smile.

  She stopped and smiled back, somewhat shyly. “Thank you.”

  “It’s been a long time since the first day we walked here.”

  “In some ways,” she agreed.

  We turned and walked toward the same hall where we had begun three years earlier, almost lagging, as if … I wasn’t quite sure why.

  “Life will change, Daryn. More for you than anyone.”

  “You think I’m that different from when I came?”

  Her fine eyebrows lifted. “What do you think?”

  I shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. I haven’t seen anyone that’s not in the Federal Service for what … a good year now, since our last holiday leave.”

  “And how was that leave?”

  I nodded, then grinned. “You’re right. Again.” I paused. “What about yours?”

  “Better than yours, I would guess.” Her generous mouth offered a smile. “My family sees it as an honor.”

  “My parents are proud. Mother even VRed this morning — or last night, really.”

  “Proud … but your wanting to do it bewilders them.”

  I shrugged. “I think everything I do has bewildered them.”

  “Good!” Wyendra laughed.

  So did I, even as I wondered why, but for the moment her smile and laughter and the coming ceremony were more than enough.

  We turned down the walkway to the hall, followed by Sylvie Garcya and Lara Cliena. Cyerla Arisel was already waiting at the back of the dimmed dome, talking quietly with Takeo Kurami.

  The sunshine boys — Mikhail Petrus and Ibrahim Halevi — strolled up shortly — all smiles.

  “Lieutenants …” The quiet voice came from Major Ngara. “If you would fall into ranks …”

  I held back a smile. It was the first time I could recall that the major had made a request, rather than given a order. We all lined up. Then a tall commander in the black and silver singlesuit and a formal jacket with a lot of silver on the sleeves stepped forward at the front of the hall. My eyes raked the seats. There were perhaps two dozen people there, most of them FS officers who had trained us in one way or another. The scene was being relayed via the net to our families, but it was clearly a Federal Service ceremony.

  We marched forward, then redeployed into a line abreast. I was at the far left, Cyerla at the far right, with Wyendra roughly in the middle. We stood there in silence for a moment.

  “In a modern technological society, ceremonies might appear anachronistic,” began the slender commander. “They are not. Ceremonies at their best should mark outstanding effort and achievement. They should signify passages of import and commemorate the outstanding. These become more important in a world where anyone can achieve some measure of notoriety through mere persistence and outrageousness.

  “Only the very best apply to become FS pilots, and only one in a thousand of those applicants, on average, completes the training successfully. That is a notable achievement. A most notable achievement based on ability, education, dedication, and skill.” The commander’s lips quirked into a rueful smile. “Having said that, I must also caution you that much of your real learning and achievement lies ahead, and that, again on average, only one in ten of you will ever command a starship. Part of that is because some of you will choose career paths that lead elsewhere, but even so, the journey ahead is not only brilliant with starlight, but difficult.…”

  She nodded briskly. “As your name is called, please step forward.”

  I didn’t have to know the first name. It was mine. As Wyendra had predicted, Cyerla was first in the class; Wyendra was fourth, and I was eighth — and last … and happy to have survived.

  The commander waited for me to approach and halt.

  “Lieutenant Alwyn, you and this group have perhaps the most unique distinction in many years. This class is the largest class ever to make it through training. As a matter of fact, the curricula and the training were reevaluated several times because of your efforts. We wished to ensure that standards were being maintained.” She looked beyond me. “Every one of you here might well have been first or second, certainly no lower than third, in any other group of candidate officers over the past decade. It is a distinction to recall with pride.” Her eyes went back to me as she slipped the wings into the holder on the black formal jacket, and her voice lowered into almost a murmur, one clearly not designed to be picked up by the VR system. “Your determination, Lieutenant, was particularly noteworthy.”

  “Thank you, ser.” I managed to keep the smile off my face, but probably not out of my eyes.

  “And I imagine the personal pressure was greater than anything FS could have applied. Just keep up that effort. It doesn’t stop with the wings.”

  “Yes, ser.” Her last sentence wasn’t quite a jolt, but it was a sobering reminder that the FS would always be looking over my shoulder
more than the shoulders of others, because the Federal Union and its administrators prided themselves on the Union’s objectivity.

  She nodded, and I turned.

  “Lieutenant Garcya.”

  I was glad Sylvie had made it. She’d worked harder than anyone.

  “Lieutenant Halevi …”

  “Lieutenant Shann …”

  I did smile when the commander slipped the wings on Wyendra.

  Then, after the commander finished winging us all, and we stood in line, she said. “Now … repeat after me.… ‘I … do affirm with all my spirit and ability that I will support and defend the peoples of all the Earth and the Federal Union which represents them, that I will never abuse the powers and authority that may be granted me, and that I will respect and obey the laws of the lands of the Federal Union.…’”

  There was a moment of silence after the affirmation.

  The commander looked at each of us in turn. “Your postings are awaiting you, and you each have two months home leave. Congratulations, Lieutenants.”

  She nodded once, and the short “Fanfare for Mortals” rang through the domed hall.

  At that, I turned and grinned at Sylvie. “You did it.”

  She smiled back. “So did you.”

  Wyendra joined us, and for a long moment we just exchanged glances under the raised dome of the hall.

  “It seems so strange,” Sylvie murmured.

  “You’ll get over it,” offered a new voice, that of Major Ngara. “After about three hours as junior pilot on a long run to Gamma Gate.” He laughed. “But enjoy it now. Congratulations to all of you.” He looked at me. “Just keep remembering that you do have a body, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  He was gone, and Wyendra raised her eyebrows.

  “Remember the first time I finished the run before Cyerla?”

  She frowned, then shook her head.

  “He does. He said something like that then.”

  “Daryn …” Sylvie said gently.

  I turned.

  “Everyone will always remember what you do.” Her words weren’t particularly loud or forceful, but I knew I would remember them. “Always.”

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  Raven: Kewood, 458 N.E.

  * * *

  Half-encased in regrowth and back-cloning/replacement apparatus, and not feeling terribly creative, there wasn’t much I could do except watch the nets and listen to whoever came into my room. Mostly, that was Kharl, although Mother used the VR nearly every day, as well as visiting several times, and so did Father and Gerrat. Kharl stopped by at least once a day, but he kept things to the medical side, even when I baited him, saying that we’d “talk about it later.”

  Then, finally, he came in with a serious expression on his face, and I knew he was sure I was fully back to normal, at least mentally.

  “I’ve been thinking, Daryn.”

  “So have I.” I gestured around at the equipment. “That’s one thing all this doesn’t limit. And you’ve decided we can finally talk?”

  He nodded. “How did you manage to have a wall topple onto you?” Kharl tilted his head slightly and quizzically. “And why in Helnya?”

  “Well …” I dragged out the word. “It’s like this. My cousin the doctor introduced me to this lovely woman. I immediately get a violent allergenic reaction and almost die. I start trying to find this woman, and someone else tries to fry me with a laser. When I discover another lead on her, someone else lures me out to rescue an illusory child and drops a wall on me.” I smiled brightly at Kharl. “And my cousin the doctor wants to tell me what? That my allergenic reaction was an accident, that a laser beam aimed at my glider was a malfunctioning comm laser, and that I just imagined that there were rocks falling on me?”

  “The report was that you were climbing a cemetery wall.”

  “I was. There was a little girl about to fall.” I shook my head. “Of course, she was a holo image, but by the time I realized that, it was a little late.”

  “Have you told the CAs?” he asked.

  I laughed, but only for a moment, because it hurt my ribs. “I’m not exactly in shape to run down there, and what would I say? I was chasing a holo illusion, and the illusion dumped rocks on me? I’m going to VR them from a medcenter and say that?”

  “They’ve been calling to see when you could talk to them. I finally said yes when they called a while ago. Someone will be here to talk to you shortly.”

  “Kharl … just what do you think? You tried awfully hard to get me to think I was just suffering from an allergenic reaction. Why? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Kharl shrugged. “I really don’t. I don’t know who Elysa is, but I couldn’t and I can’t believe she meant you harm.” He paused, almost as if to let me sort out his reaction.

  That bothered me, because my nanites and every feeling I had said he was telling the truth.

  “I didn’t know anything about the laser or this accident until after each happened.”

  He was telling the truth about both of those as well, and I began to get really concerned, because I’d been thinking he had something to do with it. But he looked as worried as I felt, and generally, I could read Kharl pretty well.

  “I just think you’d better be very careful,” he added.

  I’d already figured that out. I’d also realized that being careful might not help me get to the bottom of things, either.

  “What else should I know?” I asked.

  “I wish I knew.” He smiled sadly.

  That was all I really got out of him, and after he left, I decided to study the short message that Mertyn had left for me sometime while I’d been unconscious. As much as anything, I wanted to see it again to get my mind off the itching and the sweet-acrid odors of regrowth solutions that permeated the medcenter room.

  I called it up again, and got his image, half-cut off by the equipment surrounding me. But it was Mertyn — fine dark hair, elfin jaw, and the slightly ironic delivery.

  … whoever it may be that wishes you less than the best of health, I can assure you that those involved are not the ones you mentioned as first suspects. Those you mentioned would much prefer you and your sister enjoy a long and healthy life.…

  That brought a frown, especially the mention of Elora, but I kept watching and listening.

  … my suggestion is that you watch for less obvious sources, and consider that perceptive elites try to avoid discontent by whatever means possible. This is particularly true of those members of the elite whose positions are most vulnerable to change. Look at societal discontent, and then analyze who benefits from change and who will suffer.

  … I’m headed for a wilderness hike for the next few weeks … we should get together when you’re feeling better

  Mertyn had more to say, but he wasn’t about to say it except in person. He never had, and I couldn’t say I was surprised.

  I had barely blanked the image when the Civil Authority officer in his off-white and gray uniform appeared at the doorway to my room. He was tall and lanky, especially for a norm, and very young looking. He had big hazel eyes, and an apologetic manner, even before he spoke.

  “Daryn Alwyn?”

  “That’s me, or what’s left of me.”

  “The office asked me to talk to you.”

  “Yes … about the … accident?” I certainly wasn’t about to call it attempted murder, even though that was what it had been, because I was sure there would be no hard evidence, as I’d already told Kharl.

  He nodded as he pulled out a small VR recorder. “Would you mind if I VRed this? That way, no one will have to bother you again.”

  “VRed? Ah …” I didn’t know quite what to say. Was I in trouble? For getting hit with a wall? Yet my own internal nanites showed no tension in the CA, and usually someone about to give bad news showed tension.

  “There’s been talk about restitution from the Helnya Town Authority for neglect of the cemet
ery wall that collapsed on you, but that requires a CA report.”

  “Oh.” The way he talked made me very wary. I wasn’t wary about him. Even in my impaired state, I could tell he was telling what he thought was the truth, and that he was truly innocent and trying to do his duty. That worried me more than if he hadn’t been. I looked down at the tubing and pressure slings around my legs. “And you’d like my story.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You can tell that a lot of stones fell on me,” I inclined my head toward the consoles to the left of the bed. “I was headed westward toward the ocean, when I thought I heard someone crying for help, and I stopped the glider. I got out and hurried over to look — and then there were stones everywhere.” All that was the truth, not all of it, but certainly an accurate physical description of what had happened.

  “Did you ever see anyone, ser?”

  “I couldn’t be sure,” I said. “Then, I didn’t have time.” I looked at the young CA and asked, “Didn’t the skytors pick up anything?”

  “Yes, ser. They showed just what you said.”

  “I thought there were some men with a glider-van somewhat farther back toward the center of town. Perhaps they saw it, too.”

  He spread his hands helplessly. “If they were there, they were too far away. The monitor frames for the area around the old cemetery just show you and your glider.”

  I frowned. “I thought they were closer, but then, I might just have remembered them as closer than they were.”

  “That could be. The doctor said you were very fortunate to have survived.”

  In short, the young CA felt I was confused by my near-death experience. “What about the wall? Was it … I mean, how did it happen?”

  He shook his head. “It could have happened to anyone. The drainage system had a leak, and it had softened the ground under the wall, and loosened most of the old mortar, but the front of the wall had been sealed years ago, so there was nothing visible. And there was a sinkhole right under the front of the wall, that collapsed under your weight and all the stones. Probably, when you touched the wall, that was just enough.”