The Moons of Barsk

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  Klarce relished her turn to be smug. “For you, perhaps. For those trained only in the knowledge that the Matriarch passed along. But here we studied not just those teachings but many different things as well. We learned to control and influence and disrupt the formation of memories. Every Speaker in this city who ever summoned Margda stripped her of the experience as the final part of the event. She recalled no summoning, nor any word shared with her, and thus each time one of our Speakers drew her here it was the first time all over again for her.”

  He took a moment, absorbing what she’d shared. “You left her only quiet,” said Jorl.

  “A colorful description, but apt.”

  “She had to have known though. Given how much of the future she saw in her visions, how could she not have seen that others would summon her?”

  “You’re probably right at that, scholar. Careful notes were taken every time we spoke with her. Invariably, once the Speaker had established her construct, her expression would begin with something I thought bordered on amusement and then change at once to disappointment and disregard. As if she knew she’d be summoned, but that none of us were the one she expected.”

  “That … that makes sense to me,” he said, but didn’t expand on how or why he thought so.

  “Does it? A pity then that we cannot ask her to elaborate. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it, Jorl?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “No? Because as I’ve noted, the Speakers of this island have been conversing with Margda regularly since the time of her death. That tradition ended unexpectedly just a few years ago. Specifically, seven years. Does anything stand out for you from that time? Because we’ve had reason to examine it carefully, trying to tease out possible explanations. A time that is marked by you, her designated aleph, causing some kind of ruckus in the station that is the Alliance’s sole link to our world. A time that also corresponds with an unexplainable appointment of a Fant to the Alliance senate. Never mind that no Fant has ever enjoyed such an office, yours included permanent standing among that body’s most important committee.”

  She stopped speaking and glanced up at Adolo, sweet Adolo, who had never had an interest in politics or science but was ever content to teach children their numbers and letters and ensure that life had some semblance of normalcy for those growing up in this strange place. Adolo stared back at her, the back of one hand raised to her mouth, her eyes wide but not really seeing. She turned and hurried from the parlor. It was just as well.

  Klarce returned her attention to her “guest.” “Tell me, Jorl, you’re the historian here. Surely you don’t believe in coincidence. Not one of such magnitude. Surely you have some inkling of why, despite the efforts of the most powerful Speakers on this island, none of us have succeeded in summoning Margda since that day.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “You caused this, didn’t you.”

  Again the nod. “I did.”

  “What did you do? What could you possibly do to prevent so many talented people from doing what we have done for centuries?”

  “I … I removed her from the range of your talent.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s clear you have studied the science of summoning in ways unknown to Margda’s students and their successors, just as it’s apparent that you’ve also schooled yourself in the things she taught. But it hasn’t occurred to you that someone might be able to do something you can’t. Even if I told you how it happened, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Klarce spread her hands in front of her and gestured an invitation with her trunk. “We’re nearly all scholars and scientists on this island. Try me.”

  He sat silent a moment, glancing into his empty cup before setting it aside again. His gaze traveled to the dish that had held the berries and found it empty as well. His head came up and he locked his eyes with hers. “Fine. Her nefshons. I dispersed them. That simply.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, what doesn’t make sense to you is that it could be something so simple. You know the process. At the end of any summoning, the Speaker releases the control that has brought the conversant’s nefshons together and gives them a push, sending them back on their way, spreading out through space as everything does.”

  “Yes, yes, but then the next Speaker pulls them together again, or gathers other particles from that conversant until enough are present to allow a summoning. What did you do differently? Something else is in play here. I’ve attempted it myself. Her nefshons no longer come when called.”

  “Oh, that’s not true. I’m sure they still come. But as I said, they’re beyond your range. Summoning someone is all about pulling particles to you. But I didn’t want to Speak with her, not ever again. So I pushed them instead. When I sent Margda’s nefshons away, I spread them far. Unimaginably so. A single Speaker doesn’t have sufficient time, not on the duration of a single use of koph, not in the span of a lifetime of such attempts, to bring them back far enough. It won’t happen.”

  Klarce frowned. “Manipulation of nefshons, whether pulling them towards the Speaker or as you suggest pushing them away, works at the same rate. To move them too far to be retrieved would require a comparable amount of time. But physics aside, even if such a thing were possible, what would be the point?”

  “For the reasons you said at the beginning of this conversation. Calling Margda single-minded and disagreeable doesn’t begin to describe her. She played with the lives of generations of Fant in pursuit of her own agenda. I wasn’t going to risk her ever being able to do that again.”

  “So you dispersed her? Beyond all recall? No, I don’t believe that could be done.”

  He just shrugged. “And yet, you haven’t been able to summon her since. If you have a better explanation, I’d welcome the telling of it.” He sighed, as if he’d relived something that had cost him dear, something Klarce wished she understood if only to use it against him. Again he picked up his empty mug. His trunk quested across the dish Adolo had made for her.

  “Could I get something more to drink? And do you have any more of those berries?”

  She ignored him, his outlandish claims somehow relieving her of the responsibility of hospitality.

  “Your ship is here out of season.”

  He held the mug up, a prop to hide behind. “That’s not the sort of thing I would think you’d know. That it’s here, certainly, you’d have detected it at your shore. But that it has a regular schedule.…”

  “The Caudex pays attention to a great many things, Senator.”

  “Ah, that’s the name I was waiting to hear. The one Fisco mentioned. That’s what you call yourselves? All of this?” He waved his trunk in a circle as if encompassing the island.

  “And more,” Klarce said. She frowned. How was it he kept gaining more from all this than her?

  “Hmm. Well, as to my ship, yes, it came early. A … special circumstance. Senatorial business, I can’t elaborate.”

  “Bringing a Procy to Barsk seems beyond the purview of your office, and a violation of the spirit—if not quite the letter—of the Compact.”

  Ah, she’d scored another point. She saw it in his eyes, a widening of surprise followed by a narrowing as his mind raced to fabricate something vaguely convincing and wholly false. It was time to switch tactics and keep him off balance.

  “Would it amaze you to learn that I know a great deal more about your situation than just the comings and goings of your yacht? I have personally read every book you’ve written, reviewed every journal article you’ve published. I know you’ve maintained the same abode longer than any other male on Keslo. I’m aware that, perhaps out of a misguided sense of loyalty to a dead friend, you have acknowledged the existence of an abomination—”

  “His name is Pizlo.”

  She lashed from right to left with her trunk, symbolically and mentally waving away the name.

  “I know your daily routine, Jo
rl. I can access your tenday grocery list, the people you correspond with on other islands, the names and details of the last play you attended. Shall I tell you the title of every book you’ve ordered from your wife’s bookshop?”

  Through most of her recitation he had sat still, showing no emotion. At this last piece his ears flapped back and up and he leaned forward in his seat. When he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave.

  “I came here seeking an understanding to a puzzle, and you tell me that you’ve been treating me as such for some time. That’s fine, and if you have specific questions I’ll do my best to provide you with answers. But your curiosity stops at me. I will not have you scrutinize my family. That ends now. My wife and daughter are no part of anything that should interest you.”

  Klarce kept the reaction from her face. Daughter? How had she missed something as significant as the historian having a daughter? What else had Dabni left out of her reports? She raised her trunk in a halting gesture and extended an open hand as if revealing a peace offering.

  “Be at ease, please. Your daughter has never been of interest. Believe me when I tell you she isn’t mentioned in any of the reports I receive on you. Your wife, however, is another matter.”

  “She shouldn’t be of interest to you either.”

  “You give her far too little credit, Jorl. After all, who do you think has been filing all those reports?”

  And just that easily she saw she’d defeated him. The self-assured smirk, the smug confidence, fell away. He slumped back in his chair, arms limp at his side, trunk flat across his chest. His ears hung back. He seemed to age a decade in that instant and Klarce could almost believe the faint glow of the aleph on his forehead dimmed just a fraction.

  “Dabni…”

  “She’s a Caudex field agent. One of thousands. We sent her to Keslo specifically to keep watch on you. You said you came here to unravel a puzzle; I share this with you so you can ponder a new one of which you were unaware. Doubtless you and your spouse will have much to discuss when you return. But frankly, I don’t care. Your personal life doesn’t concern me. It’s your professional life as a member of the Alliance senate that worries me.”

  He shook his head, following the direction of the conversation like a man dragging himself through the mud of the Shadow Dwell. “There’s nothing to worry over. I’m not here to play power games with you and your Caudex, regardless of what you believe of my situation with the Alliance senate.”

  She’d broken him. It was only a matter of changing tacks again and she would own him.

  “We’ve been quite frank with one another thus far, and whether you believe me or not, I am with all sincerity the closest thing you have to a friend on this island. You say there’s no cause for worry, and yet my people are concerned. Tell me why a Raccoon has come to see you, tell me so I can alleviate panic before it runs away and cannot be stopped.”

  “She … she has a proposal.”

  “For?”

  “For immigration.”

  “She’s seeking Eleph or Lox to immigrate elsewhere in the Alliance? That hardly seems likely given the lengths they went to to put us all here.”

  “No, not Fant. She wants to have other races emigrate to Barsk. To share this world with us.”

  In a million years Klarce would never have imagined someone would sit in her parlor and speak those words. Adolo might as well have come back into the room and slapped her full in the face with a sack of barley.

  “That’s … impossible!”

  Jorl nodded. “At the moment it’s merely a thought experiment.”

  “A dangerous one. And what is your position?”

  “Although I feel the only way our people are to survive in the galaxy is for us to once again live among other races, whether here on Barsk or out there on other worlds, I’ve yet to come up with a scenario that gets past the pragmatic without ending in disaster.”

  Klarce composed herself. “The Full Council will be relieved to learn that.”

  “Full Council?”

  She inclined her head. “The governing body of the Caudex. I wonder, would you be inclined to meet with them?”

  “That depends,” he said, drawing out his response, regaining some of his composure before her eyes. “Will they answer my questions, or just ask more of their own?”

  Her ears flapped at his wryness. It would be easy to like this scholar, his sharp wit, his insight. But no, even if as he claimed he had banished the Matriarch from all reach, she had nonetheless chosen him. Whether he understood it or not, he would be forever at odds with the Caudex.

  “I think an accommodation can be made. Tomorrow, at midday?”

  “Thank you, I’d like that.” He stood and, damn him, despite the knowledge of his wife’s betrayal the fool was smiling. “Then, if it’s not too much trouble, I should get back to my ship.”

  “I’ll have one of my assistants escort you down to the beach.”

  He nodded, paused, and to Klarce’s surprise extended his hand to her. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to find here, but this…” his trunk swung round again, though something in the gesture this time limited the inclusion to just the room. “Not what I expected. Thank you. And if you would, pass along my appreciation to Adolo as well.”

  She escorted him to the door. Regina and Temmel waited outside, alert as it opened.

  “Regina, would you kindly escort the senator to the spot of beach where he came ashore?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Senator, if you’ll follow me please?”

  “Of course.” He paused and turned back to Klarce. “I’ll be back on that spot a bit before noon.”

  “And Regina will be waiting to escort you to our Full Council, Senator. Until then.”

  He nodded and followed Regina down the boardway and a moment later was gone to her view. She took a deep breath, made a mental note to take her meds early tonight, and focused her attention on Temmel.

  “Send word to Sind. Regina will escort the senator to the council room tomorrow for a midday session of the Full Council.”

  “Regina? Not you?”

  “No, you and I will be elsewhere, though naturally I’ll still attend the council.”

  “Where will we—”

  She cut him off. “Contact Bernath. Get an update on the physicist’s devices. If they’re ready, have them put aboard the shuttle. If not, bring what you have and him as well. Likewise the three flight school candidates. We’ll be leaving at dawn.”

  “Ma’am? The council countermanded the shuttle’s departure—”

  “Because of the presence of the senator’s ship. But we know where that ship is, and we know where it’s going to be, at least until he returns to our shore. I intend to use that window to get us to Ulmazh. If the Full Council judges him to be a problem, I’ll have far more resources available to me there than here. Now go, set it all in motion and then grab some sleep. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”

  Not waiting for a reply, she stepped back into Adolo’s family home. Somewhere in that vast collection of rooms and hallways she still had to find her lover, and apologize for her rudeness to their guest. As if that was the most important thing that had taken place there today.

  TWENTY-TWO

  CHOICES

  TOLTA was away when Dabni had returned home, a small grace. One of Tolta’s younger sisters had been due to deliver her first child a tenday ago and the delay had worn the mother-to-be to a frazzle. Dabni found a note pinned to a cupboard, a quick explanation that the sister had gone into labor at last and all signs pointed to a prolonged delivery. She wanted all of her siblings gathered around her when she gave birth—even the disowned one. Tolta might be gone for days.

  Rina had gone off with her father on an overnight field trip to meet his Sloth assistant, which meant Dabni had the house to herself. When she awoke the next morning, it occurred to her that instead of rising and beginning yet another day, she could just sleep in. Allowing the book shop to remain closed for a day or maybe
two struck her as a compelling idea. Jorl was beyond the range of her watch, and her index of the people of Keslo was up to date. She could just roll over and go back to sleep.

  A sudden tug on her consciousness wrenched the fantasy from her and left her fully alert, as if she’d been plunged into an icy rain. Her simple bedroom vanished, replaced by the imposition of Klarce’s office flooding her senses.

  “Your target will be on his way back to you soon,” said the councilor. “You’d indicated that the senator had gone off on an outing, transported by his assistant. Is it possible you didn’t know he was coming to the final island?”

  She fanned her ears frantically at the news. The frown on Klarce’s face reflected Dabni’s ignorance back at her. She was still processing the councilor’s words. Last island? How did Jorl even know the location of the last island? Centering herself and blushing as she struggled to regain control she asked, “Surely he did not allow the Sloth to land with him.”

  “No, though one might argue that as this island exists on no map of Barsk it cannot be considered a part of the Compact. In any case, neither of us pressed the point and the Brady remained aboard his yacht for the duration of the visit. I spoke with him at length and in a short while he’ll be interviewed by the Full Council. I’m sure he’ll brief you fully upon it when he returns to Keslo.”

  “Brief me? Why … why would he do such a thing?”

  “He has been informed that you are an operative of the Caudex and our agent on Keslo.”

  Dabni lost all composure again, gasping before she could stifle the reaction. “But … doesn’t that compromise my assignment? How am I to keep watch on him if he knows I’m doing so?”

  “You compromised it long since. Or did you imagine it an unimportant detail that he had given you a child?”

  Rina. Rina had been onboard the yacht. The “field trip” had been to the final island. Had Klarce met her daughter?

  “Councilor … I can explain. You see, I—”

  “Spare me. Consider yourself on probation until the Full Council can take the time to properly assess whether your action reflects a simple lie of omission or deliberate treason. Rest assured, a new agent will be assigned to your husband.”