The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“Daryn?” Mother’s voice came from between the faultlessly trimmed gap in the hedges that led both to the front of the house and the glider park — or to the hedge maze that Grandfather had created years ago.

  “I’m here.”

  Haywar grinned. “I’ll bet she has a young lady with her.”

  “I’m not about to bet on that.”

  “I’ll see you later,” he said, still grinning, stepping back and bowing.

  As he walked toward the faux French doors, following Denyse, Mother walked through the hedge followed by a tall brunette.

  I smothered a smile.

  “Daryn,” Mother began as she stepped forward. “This is Majora Hyriss. You know, of the Helnya Hyrisses.”

  Majora laughed, self-deprecatingly. “I do hope you won’t hold that against me.”

  “I certainly won’t, not if you don’t hold my being of the Yunvil Alwyns against me.”

  “Now, Daryn,” Mother said. “She’s very nice, but remember that there are others inside who would like to see you as well. I’ll tell them you’ll be in in a few moments.”

  “If you would …” I inclined my head and smiled until Mother left. What else could I do?

  Then, for a long moment, Majora and I just studied each other. She was nearly as tall as I was, thin-faced, with dark brown eyes and a wide mouth.

  “What was it like, being a pilot? I’ve never met anyone I knew who was.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I still have this tendency to blurt out things.”

  “That’s all right.” I grinned. “People can say what they want about being a pilot, but ninety-nine percent of the time you’re a glorified public glider driver. The other one percent, you’re a tyrant, fighting terror, and hoping no one else recalls either.”

  “That scarcely fits the heroic image conveyed by the FS,” Majora said.

  “It’s in everyone’s interest not to show that image,” I said with a laugh. “And what do you do these days?”

  “Me? I’m a systems expediter for GTrans. Very glamorous. You know, analyzing nanite assembly routines and then reverse engineering to determine if systems can be improved or simplified.”

  “At least it’s not in communications,” I replied.

  “I’d be a disaster there — if I had to appear in public, that is, or in meetings. I have this problem with saying what I feel before I think.” A lopsided smile followed the words. “Your mother didn’t mention it, but I will. She tried to get your brother interested in me before Rhedya. We went out once, and he brought me home after an hour, saying he wasn’t feeling well.”

  I laughed … and kept laughing.

  Soon she was laughing almost as loudly as I was.

  Finally, I just shook my head. “So … she’s pairing lost causes, now.”

  “No … your mother is very perceptive. She knows you won’t like anyone Gerrat does.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The party’s for you, and you’re out on the veranda. Your brother’s the one inside greeting everyone, as if it were his party.”

  “I suppose I should go in.” I offered her my arm. She took it, and we crossed the stones of the veranda, walking toward the open French door, and the sound of voices that drifted out into the twilight.

  * * *

  Chapter 42

  Raven: Vallura, 459 N.E.

  * * *

  I got back to my dwelling early … very early, before sunrise. Majora had been right. There were no signs of any tampering with the house, the commsystems, or the security codes and keys — and no trace of intruders.

  As Majora had reminded me, before I could leave, there was yet another detail to take care of — making contact with the Director of the EDA Trust, one Lyenne DeVor. I was lucky, and the time differential helped.

  The image on the screen was of a square-faced woman with equally square cut brown hair.

  “I’m Daryn Alwyn.…”

  “I was expecting your call. I recognize you from the pictures your sister left. We received all the authentications from Solicitor Bergamo.” Her voice carried a faint accent, but not one with which I was familiar.

  “I’m assuming that you’re the one in charge of day-to-day operations of the trust.”

  She laughed. “I’m the one who’s in charge of everything from opening the office to managing portfolio operations. As trusts go, we are very modest.”

  “The holdings’ list was not modest,” I suggested.

  “Not for an individual, but for a trust, we are on the small side.”

  “This is new to me. The only thing I know is that I’ll need voting control of …” I paused, not really wanting to say more.

  “I thought so. You are already listed as the authority to vote all our holdings, but I did not forward that authorization to any of the organizations.”

  “Is there a deadline for that?”

  “It can get rather tight if they don’t get authorization at least a week before a meeting.”

  “I see. How about two weeks?”

  “I would suggest timing it to arrive two weeks before.… I assume this is the meeting the previous trustee requested.”

  I nodded. “I’m not trying to change that. That’s fine with me. What else should I know?”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of assembling some background materials on the trust and our holdings, and I thought I’d send them out under a code set provided by your sister.”

  “I’d ask you to wait three or four days, if you would. I’ll be traveling.”

  “I can do that.…” She went on to tell me where in Mancha her office was physically located and a few other details, which I committed to memory before I begged off.

  After that, I was hurrying so much to pack and take care of the details that I didn’t even scan the news … which I usually did while I ate in the morning, but there were no alerts on the gatekeeper, and that was good.

  Once packed, I debated whether to call a public glider, but decided instead to take my own down to the induction tube station. It was old enough not to be too obvious, and the station parking area was enclosed and covered and monitored.

  I supposed there was some risk in making an advance reservation for a private compartment on the TransPac, but there wasn’t enough time for someone to bring in another set of the explosive monoclones — and if they were already in place … it didn’t matter.

  I made one last call to Majora, but she still hadn’t heard anything from Eldyn.

  The tube express to Westi left at ten minutes before the hour and twenty minutes past, for scheduling reasons I never quite understood, and that didn’t require anything but showing up, and getting a credlink.

  When I left my dwelling at quarter to eight, I carried a small bag that held two singlesuits, coordinated vests, undergarments and toiletries. I did keep the glider canopy closed as I eased down from the lower hill and into the center of the valley. I debated on whether to even take the belt remote, since it didn’t work well underground and since I could be tracked if I used it, but in the end, just double-checked to make sure it was off — not on standby, but with the power off.

  It could have been my imagination, but Vallura seemed quieter than usual on a threeday morning, and the covered glider parking area was more than two-thirds empty. That could have been because I seldom went anywhere that early. I hope I lasted what would be a very long day.

  My boots echoed dully on the hard composite as I walked into the station and down the ramps to the lower level, under the clean unadorned redstone arches, until I stopped by the shimmering barrier and offered my link code. The small sticker appeared on the shoulder tab of my singlesuit, and I walked through the barrier toward the southbound platform. Beyond the barrier, the air was drier, with a hint of metallic acridity.

  Unlike some of the older stations, the Vallura station had used local stone, appropriately reinforced and strengthened with binding nanites, with minimalist sculpting, and I’d always enjoyed the simple and uncluttered
sweep of the walls and arched ceilings.

  Several norms were already waiting on the platform. One of them — a curly-haired young woman in a blue singlesuit with a white vest trimmed in a brighter blue — edged away from me, never quite looking in my direction. An older man with a trimmed white beard nodded and smiled.

  A youth — wearing the typical wide-legged red leather singlesuit and a white vest that strobed — stared blankly at me. I stared back until he looked down. The youth in red joined two others clad similarly — wide-legged leather suits with deep vee-necks in single bright monocolors, one green, one blue — the colors accentuated with the strobing white vests.

  Another clump of young adults — norms and pre-selects wearing dark green jackets over various colored and patterned singlesuits — milled around at the far end of the platform, students from their matching jackets and probably headed to Westi for something.

  A heavyset norm puffed toward the platform as the three cars of the tube train whistled through the pressure barrier at the end of the tube and settled into the shaped platform. No one got off.

  I followed the noncon youths into the second car. All three slumped into the bench seats at the end of the car, and I took a seat in the middle at the side, facing away from them.

  This train is departing. This train is departing. The words were not only spoken, but echoed through my personal links, and the links of those who had them.

  I listened to the noncons, letting my systemics amplify their words.

  “… thinks he’s something … he does …”

  “… all do …”

  “… riding the tube … can’t be that much … real ups don’t mess with tubes …”

  I wanted to smile. I’d always spent time on the tubes. So had most of my family.

  “… bigger than most … big abs and pecs …”

  “… take him …”

  One of the youths snorted disagreement. “Be the type with defense mods …”

  He was right about that, although the incident with the monoclone had been the first time I’d used them since I’d been in FS training.

  “… say there’s another bug … hitting ’em …”

  “… sure …”

  “… Lynna better be waiting …”

  “… with her friends …”

  A raucous laugh filled the car.

  The slight change in car pressure indicated the tube train was gliding to a stop.

  Once we were past the pressure barrier, through the armaglass of the car doors came the bright lights of the local receiving platform — filled with men and women, mostly norms, hurrying across the spotless white-gray granite floor.

  I let the young men get off first. That way I could watch them.

  The one in blue glanced back, once, but they sauntered toward the ramp leading up to the exit area. I carried the small bag and strode toward the lower ramp, behind a norm couple — wearing large shimmering shoulder-packs.

  “Hiseo will be waiting. You’ll see,” the woman asserted.

  “… be a first, if he is …”

  I smiled. Hiseo was probably her brother.

  At the clearance barrier, I offered the link and reservation code, and received another shimmering sticker on my shouldertab. Then I stepped through the barrier … and shivered. The area was considerably colder, but I could sense my system beginning to adjust.

  The deep induction tubes were probably the greatest engineering achievement of the post-Collapse world, and were made possible only by the combination of nanitic infrastructure and the mastery of the principles behind the LDD-photon drive. Far faster than anything except a suborbital lifter, the deep induction tube trains linked continents in the ways in which cities had once been linked — and without the adverse impacts of energy and hydrocarbon discharges.

  After I used the public comm to make another check with Majora, who still hadn’t heard anything, I stood and walked around the waiting platform, thinking.

  Nyhal was a norm, a brilliant norm. One Cys had tried to destroy him. Elora had mentioned him. He was being isolated from me, and she was dead. Elora had arranged a stakeholder meeting, presumably to try to take over UniComm. Knowing her, she wouldn’t have tried that if she hadn’t been very worried.

  With all that, I definitely had the feeling that whatever was going on was far larger than a mere netsys battle, but I couldn’t quite figure how Elysa and Eldyn fit in — only that they did. And no matter how I arranged the pieces in my mind, something was missing. And that something was still missing a half hour later when the westbound TransPac slid into the loading zone. By then, there were fifty people waiting, perhaps seventy-five, mostly norms. They seemed to be giving me a wider berth than normal, unless I was being more sensitive.

  I waited for a moment, until I realized that no one was disembarking, before I stepped toward the open doors of the middle car, and then inside, into the off-blue shimmering walls and indirect light.

  Thank you. Your compartment is four right. Please proceed.

  I proceeded, past the chair car section. Even in the coach seating, passages weren’t that cheap, and the area was but half filled, and compared to the seating available, there hadn’t been more than a few handfuls of people waiting on the platform, far fewer than the few times I’d taken intercontinental or transcontinental before.

  I opened the compartment door, gingerly, but the space was vacant, as it should have been. After I stepped inside, I locked the compartment and slipped my bag into the small locker behind the door. Then, I sat down in the chair beside the wall that showed a holo screen scene of the Calfya coast perhaps two hundred klicks north of Westi.

  The train is departing. Please be seated. The train is departing. Please be seated.

  The motion was smooth, far smoother than with a maglifter or a glider, and as I sat there, hurling westward, I had to wonder at the expense and possible futility of my journey. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I’d never learn what I needed through the nets and com-systems. No matter what anyone said, not all communication was carried accurately or completely, even in full VR … and I knew I needed every scrap of information.

  I could still be on a fool’s errand. Or walking into a trap. Or both.

  But … since people were trying to kill me at home … and had killed Elora … I had to do … to try … something.

  That scarcely reassured me, as I sat back and tried to relax … to rest.

  * * *

  Chapter 43

  Fledgling: Cydonya, 446 N.E.

  * * *

  The map said I was nearing Cydonya, with the warning beeper that indicated I was leaving a controlled glider strip and entering an area where no net repeater would operate. Rather than just slip into town, I eased my glider onto the top of a hill on the west side of where the town was supposed to be. Supposed to be, because the area merely showed as a blank on the GPS system — as was the case in any of the enclaves of the faithies or the netless.

  I let the glider come to rest on the top of the hill, a surface of small stones, red soil, and boulders. The glider itself, like all those used privately, had the shimmering surface that looked dull from any distance, but glowed with the glitter and energy from thousands of tiny and flexible solar panels coated with polarized polymer when observed closely. Mine shimmered with a green-tinted silver dullness as I slid the canopy wide and then stepped out to survey my destination.

  The vegetation around me was mostly creosote bushes, broken by small patches of grass, and, occasionally, by widely scattered clumps of pin˜ on pines. For a time, with the late afternoon sun at my back, I just looked across the town, a town like any other, on first appearance. Then I took out the scancam and slowly panned across the town, bit by bit. After the long pan, I zoomed in on the more eclectic dwellings one by one, like the wooden dome comprised of interlocking alternating hexagons that were composed of either dark sunglass or handmade wooden shingles. And the dwelling-sized cube that appeared to be of highly polis
hed and featureless slate. Then I zoomed in more closely on the town square, or what passed for one, an expanse of winter-tan grass, surrounded by carefully tended trees with pale green leaves, except for a giant fir or pine that stood by itself.

  When I had all the background scenes I thought I’d ever need, I packed away the scancam and got back into the glider, easing it downhill and finally into the sole glider park off the town square, a glider park clearly not used that often, since the winter-browned wild grass was knee high in all but the dozen square meters directly across from the adobe building with the antique painted sign that read GENERAL STORE.

  The building was finished in a reddish-brown adobe. It might have been constructed entirely of adobe for all I knew. The entrance consisted of a narrow porch supported by a front wall with wide arches in it. Even in the late afternoon, the air was cooler once I was on the foot-polished stones of the portico-like entry. I tapped the hardened finish. The solidity suggested that the building was very solid — and possibly as old as it looked.

  Walking inside was like walking back into history. The only concession to modernity seemed to be indirect glowstrips set under the plaster crown moldings that ran around the entire ceiling, a ceiling comprised of tin tiles, each stamped with a pattern.

  Long wooden display cases — set parallel to the side walls — filled most of the floor space. At a glance, I could see that most of the “goods” were display items, set there so that would-be purchasers could see what they would get from the store’s nanite-scan-and-duplicate system. In most of the world, stores just showed VR images. The air smelled of the faint ozone of replicators, floral scents, and the underlying odors of leather and age.

  Along the left wall of the store were rows and rows of shelves, and they held nothing but printed and leatherbound books. I doubt I’d ever seen a third that many in one place, except perhaps in my father’s library. I stepped closer and studied the bindings and the titles. The volumes were not dusty antiques, but recently produced with leather bindings, doubtless nanite-formulated, but leather nonetheless.