The Dome in the Forest

by Paul O. Williams

  When silence had been restored, he turned, and said, “Good evening, Protector,” and walked to the door behind her. The guardsmen stood aside, after hesitating just a moment. Tor didn’t even glance at them.

  “Well, you certainly have covered yourselves with honor tonight,” said the Protector. “This meeting stands adjourned from business. We will convene again in the morning at the end of the first quarter. I will give my decision at that time. I will not put it to a vote. We are divided enough.”

  “I warn you,” said the Dahmena, “we will withdraw. We will start our own community free of this sinful revision.”

  The Protector sighed. “Were you addressing me?”

  “Yes. You and all the other degradations of this place.”

  “Yes, what?”

  The Dahmena dropped her eyes. “Yes, Protector,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes, Protector.”

  “You begin to overreach yourself, Dahmena. It perhaps would be best for Pelbarigan if you and your type did withdraw. However, we will not exclude you at this time. Now, under the circumstances, I feel it is necessary for us to end with a prayer, so we may all go with the peace of the Protector. Uld, set the sand timer.”

  The Protector set her palms over her eyes again and sat in perfect stillness. Again, the others followed suit, the north quadrant the last. The sand slowly filtered down from the upper glass, and at last Uld touched the triangle signal. After its light ring, the assembly rose and filed out in silence. The Protector remained, staring at the empty room, scarcely moving, her two guardsmen remaining behind her.

  After a time, a guardcaptain entered and said, “Protector, Jestak is here to see you.”

  “Jestak? How fortuitous. Send him in, please.”

  “Yes, Protector.”

  Jestak slipped in, saw his mother’s concern, and drew a chair near hers. “Hello, Protector. I brought a new pair of horses. And I came to inquire of this new person, Celeste. Stantu is failing. Is it possible that she might know how to nullify the poisons of the empty place and save him?”

  Adai turned and put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “I don’t know. You have come at a strange time. We have just had the most tumultuous council meeting I can remember. We insulted a guest, the Shumai Tor. The Protector was treated with discourtesy, and yet I practically let it pass. Perhaps it is near time I retired. Come. Come to my chambers so Uld can put out the lamps. I need some tea.” She looked more closely at him. “The gray hair is moving up your temples,” she said, reaching out to touch it. They stood and embraced, then she preceded him from the chamber.

  Outside the cottage of Stel and Ahroe, shadows moved. Two guardsmen stood by the door, and the old Shumai, Hagen, sat outside, leaning on the wall.

  “Guardsmen, are the windows barred?” the old man asked.

  “Yes, we have checked them. Why do you ask?”

  “Here come some skulking river rats after the child.”

  One guardsman lifted his horn to blow it, but a shrouded figure rushed from the corner of the house and took him off his feet. Another tied him, as three more took down the other guard. Hagen rose and shouted, rushing toward them. A sword flashed, striking him down. Torches flared up on the wall, and shouts called across. The shrouded figures returned the yells with guardsmen’s answers, and three more ducked into the cottage. It was empty. They flung through the rooms, turning over furniture, looking in clothes alcoves, then, as torches approached from the city, ran out the door and away, leaving the guards struggling, gagged and bound, on the ground.

  The lead guardsmen, short-swords drawn, panted up the slope. Reaching the guards on the ground, they drew off the gags and sliced the cords, as the two said, “They went inside. Look inside. Take care of the old Shumai.” Turning, they found Hagen face down, bleeding profusely from the neck.

  Soon a guardsman emerged from the house. “No one is in there,” he said. “Did they get them all?”

  “No. I think not. I saw them leave alone, six I think. They went up the slope. Call to the city. Have them shut the entrances. We must check the northern quadrant and guard the walls.”

  A light flared in the house, and Stel emerged. “You,” said a guardsman. “I don’t understand.”

  “We provided a hiding place. Hagen. Good Aven, Hagen.”

  Ahroe came out behind him and, with a light cry, ran to the old man. He was conscious and tried to smile up at her, though his face winced and twisted.

  “Aven, Hagen,” she said. “Why did you insist on staying outside?” Turning to the guardsmen, she added, “Help me bring him inside.” They expertly lifted him and carried him on a rough litter into the front room. One guardsman ran for the Haframa.

  “Celeste. They were after Celeste. Where is she?”

  “Is she not here?” Ahroe asked, looking around. “Then she must be gone.”

  “Where were you hidden?”

  “Hidden? They must have missed us.”

  “Come now, Ahroe. You must cooperate. We are trying to help.”

  “You must know,” said Stel, “that there are all quadrants in the guard.”

  “You don’t trust us, then?”

  “You have been a great help, surely,” said Ahroe. “You know we appreciate that. You also know that if Celeste had been here, she would be dead now. We thank you for all your help, and for saving Hagen.”

  “Come now, we couldn’t help—”

  “Shut up. Look at him bleeding. Who is following the intruders?”

  “No one. It is pitch night. We would have no chance. We have set a watch around the city.”

  On the high bluff south of the city, far beyond the cottage, a figure running slowly in the dark stopped to catch his breath. He heard a sound, slight but close. “What? Who is there? Is it you, Begge?” Suddenly he was lifted, spun, and flung out and down, beyond the outcrop, turning in the black air, shrieking, striking the rough talus slope, sliding and bouncing down it until a small tree caught and stopped him. He moved a little, then lay still.

  At the cottage, a guardsman caught the shriek. “Captain,” he said, entering the house, “a scream from the south bluffs.”

  “A scream?”

  “Yes. Far away.”

  “Sound for a triple squad, with torches. We will have to search the whole area.”

  The Protector and Jestak had no more than reached the Jestana’s chambers when a guardcaptain came running, her boots clicking down the hallway.

  She entered, breathless. “Protector, forgive me. There has been some sort of attack on the cottage of Stel and Ahroe. They hid. Celeste had already vanished. The two guards were tied and gagged, and the old Shumai, Hagen, took a deep sword cut on the neck.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, but in poor shape, we fear. We have thrown a guard around the city. We are checking the northern quadrant as much as is lawful.”

  “Is anyone in pursuit?”

  “Not at this time, Protector, in the night.”

  “Yes,” said Jestak from the far room with the high window. “I see torches moving on the slope now.”

  “Then they have changed their minds for some reason,” said the Protector.

  “Protector, what of Celeste? Where has she gone?”

  “Sit down,” said the Protector. “Catch your breath.” The guardcaptain complied, looking at the Protector, who rubbed her chin in silence. “I don’t know. But I strongly suspect that Tor found a way to get her away secretly. He left the council meeting abruptly. He knew there would be trouble. I should have, too. But aside from Hagen, we have not done badly. And yet. . .”

  “Yes, Protector?”

  “This is the first such crime of Pelbar against Pelbar I can recall—discounting family troubles. This dome has certainly brought us trouble. How nice not to have any politics. To live alone in a walled city, the only people in a world without tensions. But that isn’t the way the world is, is it?”

  “No, Protect
or.”

  “Well, at least it isn’t dull. Thank you for your report. If there are any more developments, come, or tell the next duty captain—at any time of the night, please.”

  “Yes, Protector.” The guardcaptain bowed and withdrew.

  Adai turned and faced her son. “You see how it is,” she said.

  “Yes. Good old Pelbarigan. Would you like me to go see Hagen, the old one? What if he dies? That will be very bad.”

  “No. You came with horses, and to find out if Celeste could help Stantu. Remember? And because I wish to talk to you about all this. What do you think?”

  The two talked into the night. Jestak was far more willing to seize the saving of the dome people as a new opportunity, but his mother perceived that Pelbarigan, with its conservative strain, would not simply open its hearts to the new. Pelbarigan had to be cherished and gently led. And yet the city was tearing apart. She had to find a compromise answer. Northwall could not take this over. Nor could Threerivers, which was even more conservative than Pelbarigan.

  Meanwhile, to the south and away from the bluffs, Celeste said, “Tor, how much farther?” She sat on his shoulders as he walked quietly.

  “Less than two ayas. Not far.”

  “Two what? Oh, yes. Ayas. Each one is about one-point-three-five kilometers, I believe. But I don’t know what that really is, either. We seldom traveled. I am afraid. But not with you.”

  “I have prepared a place for you, little one. I feared this day might come. After this, who knows? Your proper place is with the Pelbar, though. Perhaps we can go to Northwall.”

  The triple squad of guardsmen moved along the bluff edge slowly with their line of torches flaring the late spring woods, startling the roosting and nesting birds. Finally one guardsman sounded a horn. They had found a figure near the base of the bluff, dressed in black. The torches converged on the long, dark body splayed out on the lower slope.

  “Is he alive?”

  “There is a pulse. He is a mess, I fear.”

  “Turn him over very carefully.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. It is Cyklo. He is a blacksmith. Cyklo Dahmen, a Dahmen by birth. He is unmarried.”

  “Make a litter. We will have to get flat boards and bind him to it. We need straps and about three blankets.”

  At the dome, Eolyn was eating bean soup, a new recipe devised by Ruthan, or so Dexter had told her. This was the second time he had brought it. So unlike the standard food cubes, it was very tasty, but somewhat lumpy. Dexter had called it “unblended bean,” left that way to bring out the texture, and to try the teeth a bit. She was alone in her room, studying a field diagram on her lightboard. She had been disappointed not to have caught the pair together. Her tracing transmitters had never yet sounded to indicate a proximity of under twenty centimeters. Perhaps she had made an error. She drank in the last of the soup. There! It sounded, and the winking light went on. She moved quickly over and fine-tuned it. That close? Amazing. Now she had them.

  Commanding the panel, she slid out into the hall and jogged down it and around the corner to Dexter’s room, quickly giving the override command on his door panel. It slid back. In a flash the hall was alive with running rats, white bodies skidding, sliding on the smooth surface. Eolyn screamed. Dexter put his head out the panel.

  “Good galloping algae, Eo, what are you doing? Now I have to catch them all. I am training them, you know. Come. You must help.”

  Eolyn thrust her head into the room and looked around. The sounder continued its laconic beeping.

  “What are you looking for? Come on and help.” Dexter handed her a net and started off after the rats, commanding the far doors to close. Rodents scuttled around, squealing, as he deftly scooped them up, filling his net as Eolyn managed to snare only two. At last they had them all. Eolyn’s sounder still sent out its thin notes.

  “What’s that I hear?” Dexter asked. “One of your electronic devices? That’s unpleasant—like a mechanical rat. Shut it off.”

  Eolyn shut off the monitor. “What are you doing with all these rats anyhow?”

  “Training them. I told you. I hope to get them to perform useful tasks someday. So far they are capable only of a few tricks. There. That’s all of them safe.” He hefted the bulging netful of startled rats. “Thank you. Now I have duties below at the rodentry, so excuse me. My class probably would like a rest after this chase. Shut the panel when you leave, please.”

  Dexter strode down the hallway with his rats, slid down the steel bannisters, and gleefully trotted along the lower hall. Entering the rodentry, he raised the light on the glow panels and returned all the rats to their cages. Then he commanded all the rats in the upper row to clap, as he himself walked back and forth on his hands in front of them, laughing. Then he sat on the floor. Tears streamed down his face as he continued to laugh. All the rats stood silent, watching him with round, black eyes. He lay full length on the floor, grinning up at them. “My friends,” he said, “alas, how I wish you could have enjoyed that.”

  Eolyn returned to her room. What was wrong? She flicked on the monitor again. The sound began once more, high and annoying. Eolyn frowned. She pondered, then attached a directional indicator to the monitor. With her modules, that was the work of only a few moments. The needle pointed at her. She moved. It followed her. She moved again, and again the needle pointed its arrow directly at her. She turned it vertically. The needle indicated her midsection. She moved it close, raising and lowering it. So. It indicated her stomach. She felt through the waist section of her suit, removing the belt. That didn’t affect the indication. Eolyn sat down. What could it mean? Oh, no. She had ingested the tracers—surely it was that soup. Dexter’s lumpy bean soup. Damn him. Damn, damn, damn him. Dexter had outsmarted himself. Eolyn would set another trap.

  As she turned, her door slid open and Dexter leaned in. He was serious. “Next time you want to know something, ask.”

  Eolyn trembled with anger and threw the monitor at him. He caught it and turned it up to full volume. Then he shut it off and entered the room, striding up to her and shoving her back on the sleep pad. She looked up, astonished. “You listen,” he began. “If you interfere with me, so much as a finger’s breadth, you’ll regret it. That is a promise. You may be a domeleader, but I do my duties well enough. I will not be traced. I am not an experiment.” His hand darted out and lifted her quickly to her feet by the hair. Then he slapped her face, fast, back and forth, twice, shoved her back, and left the room.

  Eolyn lay on the pad, sobbing, angry, and helpless. After a time the door opened again and Ruthan came in. Eolyn sat up, red-faced. “Eo, what’s the matter?” Ruthan asked, crossing to her and kneeling down.

  “Get out, get out, damn you.”

  Ruthan didn’t. She took Eolyn’s hands, then put her arms around her and held her. “I told you to get out,” Eolyn said against her shoulder.

  “Why? What have I done? Tell me. I’m sorry.” Ruthan leaned back, smoothed Eolyn’s hair away from her face, and looked at her. Eolyn could see that she clearly knew nothing of what happened.

  “I’m sorry. I was upset. Forgive me,” she said. “Please let me alone now.” Ruthan leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Please. Let’s leave off the archaic behavior. I am upset.”

  “Of course. If I can help you, please let me, though.” Ruthan commanded a wet washsquare from Eolyn’s supply and wiped the older woman’s cheeks and mouth, then handed it to her, patted her shoulders again, and left.

  Eolyn sat staring. What did it all mean? Ruthan had just showed her more affection than she had felt in a long time. Eolyn decided that she liked it. But that itself was another clue. Perhaps Dexter had managed the trick with the tracers alone, but Ruthan had just shown her awakened affections. She even kissed readily. Yes, clearly something was going on between the two. What would she do about it? Now she feared Dexter. Perhaps it was a good idea not to hurt Ruthan, who was a potential ally
. But the whole dome could not do what it pleased. Behavior must be planned. That was absolutely necessary.

  Below the dome, the oil continued to seep and pool. The subsoil resisted its penetration, and the oil tended to gather behind a clay dam that had been formed beneath the levels. The old timber continued to wick oil upward to the oxygen-storage room, and the dark soak moved slowly through the soil from the cracked tank, downhill at a glacial pace.

  VIII

  JESTAK and his mother were still talking when the guardcaptain again knocked and entered. “Forgive me again, Protector, but one of the people at Ahroe’s house tonight has been taken. It is Cyklo, a Dahmen. He was dressed all in black and had a sword. The sword had blood on it. He apparently fell from the bluff. He is still alive but in very poor shape.”

  “And the Shumai, Hagen?”

  “The Haframa says he will recover unless things take an unexpected turn.”

  “Has the Dahmena been informed?”

  “Yes. She is with Cyklo now. She openly condemns him for his actions in the most vituperative terms. She speaks of exclusion from Pelbarigan.”

  “Very clever.”

  “What?”

  “Bring her to me here, please. You must come with her, Ithring, and stay with us. I am not as agile as I used to be.”

  “There is Jestak, Protector.”

  “He will not be here.”

  “Yes, Protector.” The guardcaptain withdrew.

  “You see how it is, Jes.”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “It is serious.”

  “Perhaps. But perhaps the Dahmena suggested the solution today in council. She threatened to withdraw, either to a new city or to Threerivers.”

  “Threerivers is all Dahmen, for all purposes.”

  “Perhaps. But to be conservative is one thing. To be violent is another. They have reached the point of breaking law, if indeed they have not really been doing it for some time. Threerivers is perhaps a proper environment for them. I am quite sure that Ales, the Protector, will not permit their sort of tactics. Now you must go. Are you sleepy?”