Cadmian's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Was the lifeforce issue that critical? Basically, the marshal—and the Duarches—were sacrificing landers and indigens to conserve the world’s lifeforce, and they were counting on the higher birth rates and the greater promiscuity of the indigens to compensate for the troopers lost dealing with problems handled previously by Myrmidons. In turn, that implied an almost desperate need for more lifeforce, more quickly than originally planned.

  In addition, despite his apparent indifference, Shastylt had been worried by the “new” predator. The crystal fangs suggested at least a partial reliance on lifeforce for sustenance. To Dainyl, that translated not into a new predator, but an old one, perhaps one dating back to the time of the ancients. Were the predators making a comeback because Acorus was returning to a warmer climate? Or was something else at work?

  Slowly, he took out several sheets of paper He’d need to be careful—very careful—in the way he phrased the notification to Asulet because it was also clear that Shastlyt had not wanted to be the one telling the elder alector.

  30

  Beware of the alector, or especially of the steer, who declares that, because ethical standards, or values, or morals are expressed and codified by the Archon, they are merely the product of our society and, furthermore, that each region of a world, if left to itself, would have expressed its own standards and values, and such values and standards would have validity equal to those set forth in the Code. This argument contains within it two assumptions. One is correct, but the second is false.

  The first underlying assumption is that the environment in which individuals are raised affects their beliefs and values. This is true, and that truth forms the rationale and necessity for a uniform system of education and understanding for all alectors so that regional influences can be recognized and balanced.

  The second assumption is that, since differing geographies and other regional factors give rise to differences in beliefs and practices, each region’s standards can only be judged in the context in which they arose. By extension, logic then requires the presumption that value systems arising out of differences in climate and locale are equal in their validity, and that no value system is intrinsically superior or inferior to another. Early history has shown, all too clearly, that this assumption is demonstrably and egregiously false. When two sets of values conflict, or are compared, one set will prove superior….

  Unfortunately, often which set of values is “superior” has been determined by which possessor of values had the greater might and power, rather than upon the ethical considerations of each. To avoid this, the early Archons investigated the structural basis of laws and values…

  The bases of any ethical or administrative standard must rest in fact upon three determinations. The first determination is whether such a standard is correct. Such correctness must be determined by asking whether the standard provides the greatest good for the greatest number in all conceivable circumstances at all times, and conversely, and of equal importance, that it provides the least harm in all times and circumstances, even unto those who are powerless.

  The second determination is whether the standard can be implemented both so that it applies practically and yet falls with equal force upon all, regardless of their beliefs, their wealth or lack thereof, or their physical characteristics.

  The third determination is that the total number of standards shall be the absolute minimum necessary for the maintenance of order.

  In oversimplistic terms, a law must be fair; it must be practical; and it must be able to be implemented. The same is true of values. They must be fair; they must be practical; they must be limited in scope to what is necessary for consensus; and they must be understood and accepted by the vast majority of individuals.

  While these principles are indeed the basis for sensible governing, they are far from accepted as widely as they should be. As noted earlier, there is a desire, particularly by steers, to insist that the world or the universe in which a world exists must have been created, and that such creation requires a supra-intelligent creator, a deity, if you will. From this flows the assumption that the wisdom of such a deity, as revealed by a prophet, is the basis of the standards and values of the believers in that deity, and that any belief system revealed by a deity is superior to any codified by mere mortals. Yet such believers continue to ignore the fact that the prophet who revealed the wishes or commandments of the deity has always been in fact a mortal…

  Views of the Highest

  Illustra

  W.T. 1513

  31

  More than a week had passed since Dainyl had sent off his inquiry to Asulet. He had not received a response, and so far as he knew, neither had Shastylt. Little else of note had occurred. The past twenty-five days had been as uneventful as any he could recall in his years at Myrmidon headquarters. Even the weather in Elcien had been warm and mild, and on the previous Decdi, he and Lystrana had spent the afternoon in the Duarch’s Park, just strolling along the stone walks, talking, and enjoying the spring flowers, the sunlight, and each other.

  As he sat in his Myrmidon study right after morning muster on Tridi, he could not but feel that, behind all the quiet, something was building. Yet he could find absolutely no concrete evidence of any sort that would support his feeling.

  “Sir?”

  Dainyl looked up. Hasekyt—the duty orderly—stood in his doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “The marshal would like to see you, sir.”

  Dainyl rose immediately. When Shastylt summoned anyone through an intermediary, trouble followed. Tyanylt’s untimely death was a perfect example.

  Stopping short of the half-open doorway to Shastylt’s study, Dainyl reinforced his shields, then entered.

  Before Dainyl had taken two steps into the study, Shastylt burst out laughing. “You’re the most observant submarshal in decades, but I’m not angry with you. Close the door and sit down.”

  Dainyl did, but only relaxed his shields marginally.

  “Asulet sent a response to your inquiry about the new predator. It’s singularly unhelpful. He states that it’s a matter that needs to be discussed in Lyterna—at our convenience—and that he’d be happy to see either of us.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” Dainyl had the feeling he was understating matters, but wanted to hear what the marshal felt.

  Shastylt snorted. “The last time he sent a message like that was years back, just before the Vedra flooded and wiped out good portions of Dekhron and Salaan.”

  “When do you want me to leave?”

  “Half a glass ago. Matters are quiet here, but they won’t stay that way, and I’d like you to find out what he’ll tell you and get back as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Less than a quarter of a glass later, Dainyl was in the duty coach headed for the Hall of Justice. He had grabbed his flying jacket, although the day was warm enough that he would not be needing it, except for the Table translation. Once at the Hall, largely deserted so early in the morning, he made his way into the underground warren beneath the public spaces.

  One of Zelyert’s assistants peered at him quickly, then nodded and returned to her small study as Dainyl removed the Talent-lock on the outer foyer door. The inner chamber was empty when he entered it and stepped onto the square blackish silver surface of the Table.

  He concentrated……letting the blackness rise around him, trying to center his attention on the pink locator wedge that was Lyterna.

  Yet almost immediately, he could sense the heavy pinkish purpleness—and then the purpled arms reaching for him. There was not a single set of arms, but two; they seemed to block the translation tube in all directions.

  Dainyl reinforced his shields, feeling the heat build within his body, even as the chill from outside tried to leach away strength and volition.

  He began to search…what about the amber green lines? Dainyl had sensed them before, if briefly. As the purple arms drew nearer, he cast out a Talent-probe, t
rying to visualize it as amber-green, rather than purple. He stretched, seeking the amber-green somewhere beyond the translation tube, a tube that felt endless in all directions, for all that he knew and sensed that it was not.

  The purpled arms drew closer, forming a web contracting around him.

  A hint of that amber-green he sought appeared somewhere above, and he grasped for it with all the Talent-strength he possessed. His body convulsed, as if dozens of bullets had struck him simultaneously. Then all his being felt as though he were being twisted into convoluted segments, then stretched the entire length of the translation tube

  For a moment, the briefest of instants…he was surrounded by golden green…and a single winged ancient, even more hazily present than when he had last beheld one of them, studied him with fine greenish Talent-probes.

  He thought he sensed a thought….

  You have not changed enough….

  Dainyl debated not answering, then forced a thought at the ancient. How should I change?

  You must become of the world, not separate from it.

  How did one become of the world, besides living and working—and loving—in it?

  Before Dainyl could formulate another thought, he was back in the darkness and chill of the translation tube…hurtling toward the pink locator wedge of Lyterna. All too soon the silvered pink barrier appeared and he found himself flung through it. Silver shattered, and lines of pain ripped down his arms.

  He rolled across the table as though he’d been pitched like a ball through the tube, barely getting his arms out in time to stop himself from falling off the Table.

  The man who stood and gaped at him openmouthed was clearly not the recorder, but one of his assistants. Dainyl could sense the residue of purpleness, suggesting that the younger alector had been at least partly involved in trying to trap Dainyl in the translation tube.

  Dainyl quickly regained his feet and strengthened his shields. “Which of Myenfel’s assistants are you?” After he spoke, he realized he did not feel quite so cold as usual. Bruised, but not cold.

  “Ah…” There was a pause, then a reluctant admission. “Choranyt, sir.”

  “Choranyt.” Dainyl nodded. “I’m here to see Asulet, at his request. Do you know where he might be at the moment?”

  “No, sir. I really don’t. He might be…where he usually is?”

  “The museum…or his…?” Dainyl realized he’d never know what to call the area where Asulet worked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll find him.” The submarshal left the Table chamber, trying to recall the directions back to the museum.

  In time, a good quarter of a glass, he found himself standing before the recessed niche that held a pteridon, its lifeforce held in abeyance.

  Then he heard steps coming from his left, and he turned, his shields at full strength.

  “I must admit I did not expect so prompt a response to my dispatch,” offered the silver-haired Asulet.

  “We thought it best to come immediately.”

  “We? Or you?”

  “The marshal did not dispute my suggestion.”

  “If he’s wise, he won’t,” replied Asulet. “How was your journey? Sulerya said that you’ve had some difficulties.”

  “I had a rather undignified arrival,” admitted Dainyl. “I rolled out of the translation tube.”

  The silver-haired alector raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, waiting.

  “Someone tried to trap me when I translated from Elcien here. There were two sets of those purple arms, one in front of me, and one behind. When I arrived on the Table here, one of Myenfel’s assistants was in the Table chamber. He’d been using the Table for something.”

  “Which assistant?”

  “Choranyt.”

  “I’d expect something like that from him. How did you manage to evade the trap?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” replied Dainyl. “Except I dodged the arms by slipping outside the tube.”

  “That can be extraordinarily dangerous. Most alectors who try that end up as wild translations.”

  “I had the feeling that, if I didn’t do something, I’d end up dead.”

  “That was their intent.”

  “Whose intent?”

  “Paeylt’s and Brekylt’s. I assume that Sulerya told you about Paeylt.”

  “Not much, except that he opposes you and has his own supporters here in Lyterna and elsewhere, and seems to be allied with Brekylt and Alcyna.”

  “That’s all you need to know at the moment.” Asulet turned. “If you would come this way?”

  Dainyl followed the elder alector through several narrow redstone-walled corridors and through two more concealed stone doorways until they stood in another open space, this one also with niches in the walls.

  Asulet gestured to the blue-tinted niche. “Observe.”

  Dainyl stepped forward and studied the creature frozen in life and time. For just an instant, he thought it might be a huge black-coated shaggy dog, with a body three yards in length. But the creature’s entire posture screamed that it was a hunter. The smaller teeth in the large jaw were razor-sharp, and the long crystal fangs exuded menace. So did the greenish yellow eyes. The long legs and large paws suggested a creature at home in winter chill.

  “That’s your predator.”

  “You captured this one?”

  Asulet shook his head. “Majer Hersiod had a carcass sent to us as soon as they felled one. It arrived in rather poor condition, but the identification was easy enough to make. It’s an ice-wolf. This one has been here since…for a very long time.”

  “Then they’re native? From the time of the ancients?”

  “No. Not exactly. Several of them appeared in the early years, but they died off from starvation. None has been seen in more than a thousand years.”

  “Maybe there were just too few to be noticed,” suggested Dainyl.

  “They’re not normal predators. They prey on lifeforce.”

  “You’re suggesting that the ancients created or bred them?”

  “Or preserved them until they could survive,” added Asulet.

  “We’re seeing more ancients. We’ve lost pteridons for the first time, and now these…creatures.” Dainyl didn’t like the implications, not at all. “What can we do, besides kill them?”

  “For the moment, that seems the best course. But I thought you—and Shastylt and Zelyert—should know. Especially Zelyert.”

  “Do Brekylt and Alcyna know?”

  “They will. There’s really no way to keep it quiet for long. Sooner or later one of the creatures will be observed in the colder and higher reaches of the east.”

  “You think it came from the Aerlal Plateau?”

  “Where else is high and cold near Iron Stem?”

  “Why now?”

  “I do not know. I could speculate, but speculating where the ancients are concerned has always been fraught with danger and inaccuracy. So I will not.”

  “Is there anything else you would suggest?”

  “Don’t get close to one.”

  “Are they as dangerous as an ancient?”

  “Oh, no. They can be killed by standard weapons. They’re a far greater danger to livestock and herders…or landers or indigens traveling isolated areas alone.”

  Dainyl almost repeated a variation of his question about why the creatures had reappeared after such a long absence, but another look at Asulet convinced him that the elder alector would only say what he had said, and would not take well to repeated questioning, especially from someone junior to him.

  “Is there any other information I should know…or that you would care to pass on, sir?” Dainyl finally asked.

  “Not at the moment, Submarshal. I will escort you back to the Table.” Asulet smiled. “It will save both of us time.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Dainyl offered a sheepish grin. “But I wasn’t about to trust Choranyt.”

  “A wise decision.”

  Da
inyl lost track of the passages and concealed doors that Asulet took before they reached the main corridor outside the Table chamber.

  There, the elder alector opened the door, releasing the Talent-locks, and led Dainyl inside. Dainyl strengthened his shield.

  “Excellent,” murmured Asulet.

  Choranyt looked at the two. His face paled.

  “Have a good trip, Submarshal.” Asulet’s tone was formal.

  Dainyl stepped onto the Table, focusing on the darkness beneath.

  He dropped swiftly into the chill blackness, immediately seeking the brilliant white locator that was Elcien, and extending a Talent-probe.

  No purple arms appeared, but for a moment, somewhere “behind” him, he sensed a momentary black and purple flash.

  Then he was sliding though the silvered white barrier at Elcien.

  He stood alone in the Table chamber, and only the briefest hint of frost-fog lifted off his flying jacket. As he stepped off the Table, his Talent indicated that no one else was around.

  Still he made his way to the private study of the High Alector immediately, recalling Asulet’s slight emphasis on the High Alector’s name, but the study was empty. When he turned to leave, one of the younger assistants stood in the anteroom doorway.

  “I was looking for the Highest.”

  “He left earlier, Submarshal. He will be in Soupat until early this afternoon.”

  “Soupat?”

  “Yes, sir. He didn’t say why.”

  “Thank you.”

  With that, Dainyl left the Hall of Justice and finally managed to hail a hacker to take him to Myrmidon headquarters.

  He had barely turned down the corridor to his own study when Undercaptain Yuasylt—the duty officer—called to him.

  “Submarshal, sir. The marshal was looking for you.”

  “Thank you.” Dainyl walked past his own study to the marshal’s. “I just got back.”

  Shastylt nodded, saying nothing. He did not rise.

  Dainyl walked into the study and closed the door. He remained standing.

  “Well…did he have anything useful to tell us?”