by M. K. Wren
“Mm. And the Thousand Loyal Houses are actually 1,006 at this time, but simplification often makes for more dramatic syntax. How long did the Mankeen Revolt last?”
Alexand seemed to be losing interest, and again Rich took the question. “Sixteen years: 3104 to 3120.”
“And what happened in 3105? That should be easy, considering what day this is.”
“The founding of the Concord by the remaining Houses of the old Confederation: the Loyal Houses. Of course, the Concord is really the Confederation under another name. Sometimes I wonder why everyone gets so excited about Concord Day.”
Rovere laughed. “Well, Rich, there are some differences in structure. Minor, I’ll admit. It was a unifying ploy, primarily, and it came at a crucial time. Who is credited with paternity of the Concord?”
“Arman Daro Galinin. He was Chairman of the Directorate then.”
And Rich’s great-great-great-grandfather; he didn’t seem to find it necessary or relevant to mention that.
“The Concord defeated Lionar Mankeen . . . when, Alex?”
“What? Oh. In 3120. The Battle of the Urals.”
“Correct. Now, the—”
“And the first Purge followed,” Alexand went on dully. “Ten million Mankeen sympathizers were killed.”
Rovere frowned at that uninvited piece of information; the Purges weren’t the Concord’s proudest moments. But it was the bitterness in Alexand’s tone that brought the frown.
In the last year he’d become aware of something underlying Alexand’s cognizant cynicism; something related to the capacity for empathy that made him so unusual as a student of history. It was also undoubtedly related to his age. Adolescence is a process of disillusionment always, but especially so for the first born of DeKoven Woolf. The heir to the First Lordship couldn’t afford the luxury of comfortable delusions.
Rovere concentrated on the scriber a moment, then, “Yes, Alex, the Mankeen Purge was ghastly in its casualties. So was the entire Mankeen Revolt. Nearly a billion lives were lost in those sixteen years, and all the extraterrestrial colonies were abandoned. Humankind retreated to Terra, and almost into a third dark age. The only colonies that weren’t entirely abandoned were on Pollux, which didn’t require habitat systems, but even Pollux—and Centauri—was abandoned in a sense; there was no communication between the Two Systems for half a century. The Concord was a long time recovering from Mankeen.” He paused, then, “Who can tell me when the first extraterrestrial colony was reestablished?”
“3170,” Rich answered absently; his brother’s distraction hadn’t escaped him. “That was the Ivanoi mine complex in Tycho on Luna.”
“And when was the last of the Solar System colonies reestablished?”
“The last was Pluto. House of Shang. About 3200.”
Rovere marked the points. The wind had died, and the spring sun was hot on his shoulders; the sound of the city seemed more distant.
“Let’s backtrack a little. Another date: 3135.”
Rich again took the question by virtual default.
“The founding of the Peladeen Republic in Centauri.”
“Correct. Which of the Peladeen Lords was in power when the Republic was founded?”
“Let’s see, that would be Quintin Ussher Peladeen.”
“Why was the Republic named after the Peladeen?”
Rich glanced at his brother, but for the moment Alexand was apparently intent on the view of Concordia.
“Well, because the Peladeen were titular heads of the Republic. It was a sort of monarchal republic, really.”
“Was Peladeen the only Lord in Centauri at the time?”
“No. There were a lot of VisLords from Terran Houses and one other resident House and First Lord—Drakonis. I think it was Konrad Drakonis. But I guess Quintin Peladeen was the strongest, the one who really ran things. Until the Republic, I mean.”
“Anything to add, Alex?”
He looked around at Rovere, then shrugged. “The Peladeen were little more than figureheads in the Republic. Quintin was probably lucky the Republicans left him and the Lords any power at all. He didn’t have Confleet to back him up, so he was in no position to argue with them.”
“And Elor Peladeen, his great-grandson?”
“His argument was with the Concord. He did believe in the Republic, but he grew up with it—fourth generation. It was a long time before the Concord recovered enough from the Mankeen Revolt to take over the Centauri System again.”
Rich asked, “Lector Theron, why did the Concord have to take over Centauri again? I mean, we had access to the resources; we were trading with them before the War.”
Rovere paused. “Perhaps you’d like to answer that, Alex.”
Alexand shifted restlessly, and Rovere almost expected him to rise and begin pacing; in that he was also much like his father. But he remained seated.
“I suppose the Concord was forced to tolerate the Republic at first until we recovered from Mankeen. But after that . . .” He frowned down at the ground. “The Republic was a bad example. Too many Fesh and Bonds were escaping allegiance and going to Centauri. And perhaps getting at the resources by trade wasn’t good enough.”
“Possibly, but I think the resources were less important than, as you put it, the bad example the Republic set. It was a constant threat to the Concord’s stability. But bear in mind that the Twin Planets were colonies; the original population was seventy-five percent Fesh and only twenty-five percent Bond. What was possible there—a monarchal republic—was not possible in the Solar System with seventy percent of the population illiterate Bonds.” Rovere paused, studying Alexand’s precociously wary features. “And remember, at the time of the War of the Twin Planets, the Lords of the Concord were very conscious of the chaos Mankeen unleashed and they saw in the Republic the threat of a new revolution.”
“Do you remember the War of the Twin Planets?”
Rovere laughed. Alexand made it sound like ancient history.
“Yes, Alex. It was less than forty years ago.”
Rich put in, “3208 to 3210.”
“Correct,” Rovere said, “and a point for you.”
“You didn’t ask a question,” Alexand objected.
“I got an answer. That should be worth something.”
“And the date of the Peladeen Purge?” Alexand asked, that bitter edge in his voice. “3210. Three million killed.”
Rovere hesitated, then marked a point under his initial. “True, Alex.”
There was a brief silence, which Rich broke with an adroit shift of subject that seemed unintentional.
“Lector Theron, the Bonds call Lionar Mankeen Saint Lionar.”
“Do they?”
“Yes. Alda—she’s one of the hall maids—told me. She had leave to go to her compound chapel one day, and she said it was Saint Lionar’s day. When I asked her who he was, she said ‘Lionar Mankeen.’ The Bonds have a lot of saints, don’t they?”
“They do, indeed, and they take them more seriously than does the Orthodox Church. Their religious practices differ in many ways from Orthodox Mezionism. They’re quite fascinating, actually, although very few sociotheologists have investigated them. What did Alda tell you about Saint Lionar?” Rich shrugged irritably. “Nothing. When I asked her why he was called a saint, she got scared. I didn’t care if she called him a saint; I just wanted to know why.”
“Well, the Bonds are allowed religious freedom, if nothing else. That’s Benedic Galinin—your grandfather Galinin’s great-grandfather’s—famous rule: the Galinin Rule. But I suspect Alda realized that the Elite refer to Lionar Mankeen as the Heretic Lord.” He gave a short laugh. “It’s a matter of point of view. One of Mankeen’s avowed purposes was to free the Bonds, yet he nearly precipitated another dark age in the process, and only
succeeded in leaving them in a worse state of subjugation than before, but to the Bonds he’s a hero, a saint.”
Alexand asked, “Did he really intend to free them?”
That cynicism. Rovere paused. It was of Lionar Mankeen that he particularly wanted to speak in this last lesson.
“Yes, I think he did. It’s more acceptable now to assume he was only using them for his own ends, but I’m inclined to think he was sincere; he wanted to free them.”
“I suppose the Concord couldn’t tolerate that any more than it could the Republic.”
“It wasn’t a question of toleration, but of survival. Alex, consider a hypothetical question: What would have happened if Lionar Mankeen hadn’t been defeated, if he had defeated the Concord?”
He thought a moment, dark brows drawn. “I think all the Loyal Houses would have been destroyed. I suppose that would leave the League Houses to govern the Two Systems.”
“Do you think those 302 Houses could have kept the machinery of civilization running?”
“Possibly. It would depend on how many Fesh survived and how quickly the Lords of the League could take over the functions of the other Houses and of the Concord.”
“And what if the Fesh population had been reduced to the point where the wheels of production and government came to a halt? What would happen then?”
“The Bonds wouldn’t be able to keep the wheels turning, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I mean. The result would be anarchy—a third dark age. But why would the machinery of civilization stop if the Bonds were left to run it?”
“They aren’t educated or skilled enough. They wouldn’t know how.”
“True.” Rovere smiled, noting Rich’s attentive interest in this dialogue. “Alex, I’m following this line because one day you’ll have to deal with these problems. We live within the entrenched limitations of feudalism that grew out of the Second Dark Age. The class system, the subjugation of the Bonds, and the hereditary rule of the elite are our heritage from the Decades of Disaster. Mankeen tried to break the hold of feudalism. My next question is this: Grant that his motives were good, why was he doomed to fail, whether or not he defeated the Concord?”
Alexand met his gaze squarely and answered, “He was doomed to fail because he thought the Bonds could . . . take over. Perhaps he hoped to establish something like the old Pre-Disasters republics, but the Bonds aren’t capable of the responsibilities. They couldn’t keep the wheels of civilization turning for a single day without the Fesh and Elite to tell them what to do. But they can’t be blamed for that.”
“No,” Rovere replied softly. “Who must take that blame?”
“The Lords, I suppose, because they—we keep them illiterate and restricted. Or, rather, enslaved. Perhaps that’s a more accurate term.”
“Perhaps. But why do the Lords keep the Bonds illiterate and restricted—or enslaved, if you will?”
He replied dully, as if it were a rote lesson, “Because we depend on them for a labor pool, for one thing, and if we started educating them, it might foster dissatisfaction, and that could mean revolt.”
“Revolt. Considering that Bonds make up nearly three-quarters of the population, a Bond revolt is a frightening prospect; it could lead to total anarchy. Do you agree?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Then are the Lords to be blamed for maintaining stringent control over the Bonds?”
“No. I suppose not.” Alexand was silent for some time, then he looked directly at Rovere. “But there are always mutinies and uprisings among the Bonds, especially in the more conservative Houses. They get worse every year. Last year there were fifty-two Bond uprisings serious enough to require Conpol or even Confleet intervention. Has maintaining stringent control really helped? Is that the answer?”
It was revealing that he had the statistics on Bond uprisings so clearly in mind. Rovere’s gaze rested for a moment on Rich, who was still listening intently.
“Yes, Alex, there are always uprisings, and they’re increasing in frequency; they’re a symptom of instability within the system. Mankeen, however worthy his motives, didn’t have the answer. One cannot ‘free’ the Bonds overnight. On the other hand, from your study of history, you know feudalism can’t survive indefinitely against the tide of natural societal evolution. Feudalism is the first step out of anarchy. It provides a stable framework for civilization to develop within, but when anarchy is vanquished, feudalism becomes restrictive rather than stabilizing. Restriction is what breeds dissatisfaction and revolt.”
Alexand’s penetrating eyes were so much like his father’s, Rovere was thinking, except that they lacked Woolf’s coldness. He was already capable of that, but he would never turn it on his tutor.
“Lector Theron, what is the answer?”
“I don’t know, Alex. I wish I did. I only know that the Concord, like the proverbial tree in the storm, must learn to bend with the winds of change, and you may be in a position one day to help it bend, rather than standing rigidly against the storm to face the inevitable toppling. The Concord is all we have, the matrix of our civilization. When it falls, we’ll be plunged into another dark age.” He paused, then, “I can give you no answers, only some advice: Study the past to understand the future, and perhaps you can change the course of history to some degree for the better.”
A silence grew out of those words; they had a ring of finality, he knew, and both boys sensed it. Alexand seemed to withdraw, assuming a mask of detached containment; part of his training, Rovere thought regretfully. But Rich wasn’t capable of that, and his eyes darkened with uncertainty.
Rovere methodically put the scriber and lightpen away.
“Our lesson is finished, and I have some . . . sad news. Sad for me, at least. This is our last lesson together—”
“Lector Theron!” Rich couldn’t restrain that exclamation.
“Now, Rich, don’t make it difficult for me. I promised your lady mother I’d spend ten years with her sons. You see, I had intended to retire before she asked me to tutor you, and now I . . . well, there’s quite a lot of writing I want to do, several theses I haven’t finished . . .”
Alexand didn’t believe a word of that; still, he didn’t challenge it.
But Rich asked, “You’re going to retire? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Well, I . . . I guess I’m a coward in some ways; I don’t like farewells. I almost didn’t come today, but at the last minute I changed my mind. For all the trouble you two have caused me—” He put on an expression of sternness that dissolved into gentle affection, “—I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“But where will you go?”
“Oh, I have a place . . . away from the city.”
“Where is it? Can we visit you?”
Rovere closed his eyes briefly. That Alexand asked no questions was revealing.
“It’s a . . . retirement compound. And perhaps—well, after I’m settled . . . He had never before lied to Rich and it rankled. “At any rate, you can correspond with me. Your father will know where to send your lettapes. That is, if you don’t forget me altogether in a week or so.”
“Oh, Lector Theron—never! I’ll ’tape you every week. Every day. We both will—Alex?”
Alexand’s smile was quite convincing. “You won’t be rid of us so easily. We’ll ’tape you until you’ll wish you’d never heard of us. All your writing will be to Rich and me.”
Rovere met Alexand’s gaze, and after a moment nodded.
“I’ll look forward to that.” Then he pulled himself to his feet, and Alexand rose with him. Rovere paused, feeling the incipient tears burning in his eyes. “Rich, the God bless you. And Alex . . .” Of the three of them only Alexand was entirely dry-eyed, and there was something symbolic in that. It was another luxury that would be denied
him along with comfortable delusions. Tears. The very human act of weeping.
And this boy would be envied when he became a man.
“Alexand, you have a high destiny. Peace be with you.” There was a flickering shadow in Alexand’s eyes, but his voice was still steady.
“And with you, Lector Theron.”
Rovere turned away, moving as quickly as his aged joints would take him down the path toward the eucalypt grove. Beyond it, he knew, two black-uniformed, face-screened SSB officers waited, shadows among the shadows.
Behind him, he heard Rich’s distant, “Goodbye . . .”
But Theron Rovere didn’t look back.
2.
It was called the residential wing, but Alexand had never been sure why. Of course, one subwing did serve as a residence for certain Fesh employees and House officials, another for pages currently attached to the House, and another as a sometime residence for the Lady Morna Woolf Gray, Phillip Woolf’s widowed sister, who divided her time between the Woolf Estate and the Manstine Gray Estate in Coben, depending on the season and her whim. And yet another subwing served as a residence for Woolf’s only brother, VisLord Ives, his wife, Rosann, and their son, Delman, and daughters, Rosel and Kira. Alexand wondered absently if Delman would be sporting his Confleet uniform tonight; he seemed so inordinately proud of it and the rank of leftant, although he had no choice about Confleet, and the rank was only standard for any Confleet Academy graduate. Alexand wasn’t even sure Delman was home on his holiday leave yet. The brothers Phillip and Ives Woolf might share the same roof but their relationship could not be called close, and the coolness extended to their families.
But this wing encompassed so much more than these residences. It also housed the Estate’s entertainment facilities, which was why it was so crowded and bustling with activity today. There were ten banquet halls, six covered courts, a small auditorium, seven salons, two small ballrooms, and the grand ballroom with its twin promenades and domed entry court, an airy, elegant feat of engineering and design that had made its architech, Hespay Alakine, famous, preserving his name in textapes for two centuries. Another subwing provided guest facilities that could easily accommodate up to 150 Lords, VisLords, their Ladies, offspring, and entourages. Beyond that, the residential wing also housed the gymnasium complex, the infirmary and medical center, the House museum, gallery, and historical library, and on the ground level, the aquarium, greenhouses, aviary, stables, and riding park.