Harmony

by C. F. Bentley

  “Send Laudae Penelope to the dressmakers to supervise the new formal robes for Miss Sissy’s ordination. That ought to keep her busy for a few hours. Then bring Laudae Shanet to me.”

  “I’ll send word . . .”

  “No. Fetch her yourself. I don’t want anyone else privy to our conversation.”

  “Yes, sir.” Guilliam heaved himself out of the chair. “You can sign the rotation roster while I’m gone.”

  “I think not, Guilliam. I find you too useful. Perhaps I’ll ordain you. Then you can have seven acolytes of your own to help you.”

  “Harmony forbid. I have too much work to do as it is. Supervising seven brats, taking my turn conducting services, and administering your office. No, thank you, My Laud. I’d rather be chaplain at an asylum.”

  Jake yawned and stretched. The bed in the apartment adjacent to Pammy’s office was more than big enough for two. He grinned at the thought of Pammy indulging in an orgy in here.

  Last night hadn’t been an orgy, but it had been well worth the wait. She’d dallied in her office until he’d crawled into the huge bed. He’d taken his time cleaning up and eating. He had to make up for a bunch of missed meals during his long and lonely flight back from Prometheus XII. Eventually he’d given up waiting for Pammy, hoping she’d finish and join him. Then she’d appeared in the doorway, stark naked, with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “I think I’ll give up on skinny young things. They got nothing on you, Pammy,” he said to himself as he grinned all over again.

  The lights came on. Probably Pammy telling him it was time to get up and go to work. She’d left him sometime in the middle of the night while he slept.

  A quick check showed his skin back to his normal fairness. Really fair. More than just a lack of sunlight from too many hours in ship suits. The hairs on his arms and chest had bleached blond, nearly white. He bounded out of bed and into the bathroom.

  “I look like some kind of Viking God!” He marveled at the heavy muscles in his arms and shoulders, the tightness of his butt, and rippled abs.

  “Wow! Pammy’s nanos really did a number on me.”

  “They certainly did,” Pammy said from right behind him. Her eyes looked heavy with languor and pleasure even though she’d dressed in her usual stiff suit.

  He rubbed a red splotch on his left cheek. Those microscopic robots hadn’t quite finished there, he guessed.

  “Now get dressed. I’ve ordered breakfast in my office.” She slapped his butt as she retreated. But she didn’t take her eyes off him. A hint of a smile suggested they linger a bit longer in the intimacy of her apartment.

  He reached to pull her against his chest.

  She backed away. “Work first. I’ve also scheduled you into the heavy grav gym in . . .” She checked her chrono. “Less than an hour. You’re going to have to work to keep those muscles. Nanos can’t do everything.”

  “So what’s my cover?” Jake asked ten minutes later, ravenous and eager to face the day.

  “We’ve had a family in deep cover on Harmony VI, the outermost planet of the Harmonic Empire, for almost two generations. I contacted them last night. Military caste. They are going to slip you into their son’s place when his unit transfers to the capital two weeks from now.”

  “What about the son?”

  “He wants out. Got a wife with a child on the way. The same ship that takes you in will bring them out.”

  “Military units are tight. His men will know something strange is going on. They won’t recognize me.”

  “That’s the beauty of nanos. Yours were programmed to make you look like the man you are replacing. He’ll give you a REM implant the moment you make the transfer. Filled with memories and data. That’s tech the Harmonites don’t have. By the time you join the unit, you’ll know enough to fake your way through. Incidentally, the son’s name is Sergeant Jacob da Jacob pa Law Enforcement H6. Easy enough for you to remain Jake. A way of separating you from your father who is also a sergeant. Less likely to forget your new identity that way.”

  “That implant won’t involve another one of your syringes, will it?” Jake shuffled away from her desk.

  “No. Their implant will be administered while you sleep. But your new caste mark isn’t up to snuff. I think I need to give you a booster.” She pulled another syringe from behind the tray of eggs, toast, bacon, and coffee on two plates that sat between them. “And by the way. We think Harmony has a listening post hidden somewhere that monitors all our communications. Once you are in, you are on your own. For your own protection, no signals to me or anyone else in the CSS until you need extraction. I’ll try to get a coded message to you if situations change on this end.”

  “Oh, Pammy. You’ve got to find a better way to do this.” Jake eyed the size of the syringe and cringed.

  “Would you rather have a tattoo? They hurt more and getting rid of them is even more painful. It’s also more detectable under medical exam. They take caste marks very seriously on Harmony.”

  Jake sighed and took a fortifying sip of coffee. “I hate that I’m leaving you with the memory of that syringe more powerful than my memory of last night.”

  “Oh, I’ll make sure you have more pleasant memories of me before you leave. Now sit still, this has to go dead center on the caste mark.”

  “My sister Sissy should be here. Why isn’t she here?” Stevie asked.

  Guilliam had to step back from the force of the young man’s insistence. He’d been listening to the music that played from a radio in the background, so the young man had startled him. No one listened to music at Temple—they spent so much time yapping at each other they didn’t have time to listen to anything else. He enjoyed the sense of quiet that filled him when music played. Until Stevie had interrupted it.

  “Missy Sissy is immersed in her studies. Laud Gregor deemed it imprudentto disrupt her just yet,” Guilliam hedged. Better to quote the HP than voice his own opinions just yet.

  “My girl needs to come home for a bit. Jes so’s she knows where home is,” Maigrie added. She noisily stacked pots and pans in a box.

  “You’re only moving two floors up and three landings to the east. Missy Sissy will be able to find you.” If Laud Gregor ever released her from the prison of her office and classroom.

  “Don’t like it. Not one little bit. She’s been gone three weeks now. Three whole weeks without my girl. I miss her.” Maigrie sniffed. A little tear leaked from her eye. She didn’t dash it away.

  Guilliam patted her shoulder in sympathy. He’d missed working with people who weren’t afraid to show honest emotions. He’d missed the sense of belonging together and burdens shared that happened only in a tight family.

  He tried to re-create this feeling with his children and the woman he loved. But they had to keep that closeness a secret under Gregor’s rule, had to avoid touching each other in public, had to pretend they didn’t live together. Guilliam had gone so far as to maintain sparse quarters next to Laud Gregor, retiring there every night. Then he slipped out by back passages and hidden doorways to where he truly slept and lived.

  “I understand your distress, Maigrie, Stevie. I’m doing the best I can to find a way for you to visit Sissy . . .”

  “Laud Gregor promised, every Holy Day and holiday.” Stevie stood firm, arms crossed before his chest.

  “Once Sissy is ordained . . .”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I can’t . . .”

  “Then I can talk to Little Johnny outside and tell him why two innocent families are moving to Lady Marissa’s factory in the desert. Why two families, twelve people, eight of them children, with two more on the way, will die in those barren holes in the desert Lady Marissa calls factories. We don’t want comfort at that cost, Mr. Guilliam.”

  “Now, Stevie—you are right of course. I have no more excuses, no explanations, except that I will do my best to find them new quarters here in the city. Tomorrow is the state funeral for Laudae Marilee. Missy Sissy must be
present. Afterward, I will send a car for you and your parents. I don’t know that I can authorize more than you three. You will visit your sister tomorrow afternoon.”

  Guilliam just hoped Laud Gregor wouldn’t find out and cancel the plans. Or the redeployment of the displaced Workers.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GREGOR STARED AT SISSY’S LIMP form huddled on the floor of her bedroom. A dry cough racked the body of his new High Priestess in training. It went on and on. She jerked and spasmed. The sound grated on his nerves, making his own lungs itch in Empathy.

  Not a single acolyte or priestess lingered in the room to help her or even lend her comfort. Instead, they cowered in fear in the outer chambers. And Sissy was only half dressed in a black slip and stockings for the state funeral due to commence in an hour.

  A panicked call from Laudae Shanet had interrupted his own preparations for the coming ordeal of Marilee’s funeral. The former HPS had already been buried deep in a cave, returned to Harmony’s womb, in a private ceremony. Today was ritual and pomp for the public. And a chance for them to glimpse Sissy, the new HPS.

  He stooped to wrap an arm around Sissy’s thin shoulders and help her up. She trembled in weakness and despair.

  “I’s sorry, Laud Gregor. I be better soon so’s I kin help out at the ritual.” She must be in bad shape if she reverted to the dialect of her childhood. He hadn’t heard a single grammatical mistake from her since two days after her arrival. Just one small indication of the intelligence beaten down by her upbringing.

  “Don’t worry about that, Miss Sissy,” he soothed, rubbing her back to ease some of the tenseness from her muscles. The sharp angles of her shoulder blades and spine bothered him. Hardly any extra flesh on her at all.

  He made a mental note to have Guilliam check into the living conditions in Lord Chauncey’s domain. If the Workers were as drastically underfed as this young woman, no wonder there was a constant shortage in the factories. He needed to build up support among the other castes to gain approval of his plans for Harmony, not watch them starve to death.

  Sissy leaned heavily against his arm. Gently he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Clumsily he tucked the covers around her and stuffed extra pillows behind her back and shoulders to prop her up and keep her lungs clear.

  Unfamiliar actions. For all the children he’d probably fathered, he’d never had the time, interest, or need to care for them. Nannies did that in the nursery, raising all of the Temple children equally. Any one of them might rise to the role of priest, or remain in the nursery as caregivers, or anything in between. Each took the training most suited to their personality and intelligence. Or even desire.

  He’d certainly never scored in the highest percentiles on his tests. But his need to play an active part in shaping Harmony had carried him forward into his current position of leadership.

  He had an entire empire to nurture, so why was he wasting so much time on one frail little girl?

  Because she held hope in her hands and her prophecies.

  “You there, Laudae Shanet!” he called into the outer room.

  “Y... yes, My Laud.” She remained firmly outside, not even showing her face in the doorway. Illness came rarely to the Temple. And when it did, an army of medicos descended to isolate it before it spread.

  Rarely encountering it, the Temple caste had grown to fear illness. Temple caste had to present a solid and healthy front for the people. Another reason for the anonymity and frequent rotation of the priests. If one developed a sign of weakness in body or mind, few noticed when they were whisked away and replaced by someone younger and more stable.

  Their hospital specialized in minor accidents, obstetrics, and geriatrics. Rarely any other condition. Sissy’s condition came under the category of accidents. He hoped. Maybe he should give orders that the physicians had permission to consult other Professionals with more expertise.

  “Laudae Shanet, send for a physician and transport to hospital. Miss Sissy needs a new filter in her lungs.”

  “Wh . . . what about the funeral?” Shanet still did not show her face.

  “We will carry on without Miss Sissy. Obey my orders, Laudae. Get help for our High Priestess. Now.”

  “Yes, My Laud.”

  He heard scurrying feet.

  “I can do this, Laud Gregor. I know the ritual,” Sissy said weakly. “It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just that you damaged your health saving this city from the worst of a devastating quake.” Gregor sat on the side of the bed and rested his hand on her shoulder, discouraging her from getting up.

  “If you’d just get me a new inhaler, I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Plenty of time to finish dressing.”

  She wore no makeup and her hair lay lank about her shoulders. Any woman he knew would need at least another two hours to finish dressing let alone work through the dozen prayers to set her mind properly for the long state funeral.

  “Where is your inhaler?” He scanned the neat nightstand and dressing table. No inhaler. And precious little else. Not even the clutter of discarded garments and personal hygiene articles. Unusual. Every woman in the Crystal Temple residence went to extreme effort to personalize her quarters within minutes of moving in.

  “I used it up,” Sissy said shamefacedly.

  Gregor fumed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you needed to use it so often that you used up four in less than a month?”

  “I . . . I didn’t want to bother you. You’re a busy man with lots of responsibility.”

  “You are my responsibility, Miss Sissy. Did no one else think to order you a new inhaler?”

  “No one seemed to know how.”

  Another bustle of sound in the outer room. “Help is here, Sissy. Now you do as the physicians tell you and get better. We will carry on without you for a few more days. I’ll send you some reading material while in hospital. You can learn while overcoming the boredom of staying in bed.”

  “Yes, My Laud,” she said meekly. But she bit her lip and turned her face away from him.

  Did he sense distaste? He couldn’t imagine why. Reading history and political science had always fascinated him. Studying the mistakes of the past had taught him early on that he could find the best path for Harmony when no one else could.

  As the medical people slipped an oxygen mask over Sissy’s small face pinched with pain, Gregor was struck again by her fragility. He’d risked a lot bringing the girl into the Temple. He couldn’t afford to have her slip away again from ill health. The Temple and the High Council would see that as Harmony’s disapproval of Sissy and therefore of him.

  “Take very good care of her,” he ordered the men and women with purple encircling their Professional caste mark. “Make certain you get the filter right this time. I entrust the savior of Harmony into your hands.”

  They nodded and moved her gently onto a wheeled stretcher. Her skin looked as pale as the sheet that covered her.

  He bit his lip, pushing aside the panic that roiled in his gut. He couldn’t lose her now. Or ever. Harmony needed her.

  He needed her more.

  “It’s going to be a few minutes before we can prep you for surgery,” a nurse told Sissy, wheeling a cart with a television into Sissy’s hospital room. “We thought you might want to watch the funeral.”

  A real television. Her block of flats had one in the rec center. But it rarely worked, and when it did, the elders monopolized it, pushing the younger folk so far back they couldn’t see anything on it. She’d only ever watched a broadcast when a friend from the factory had invited her and Stevie to view a documentary re-creating Harmony’s mating with Empathy, bringing their offspring Nurture and Unity, into being. The entire gathering had cringed and cried out at the war between these gods and their rival family Anger, Greed, and Fear. In the end the seven gods had created the people and given them a home with the compromise that all seven entities belonged together in balance.

  Discord had been banished from the family and went
off to sulk in the desert and other remote locations, ready to stir up trouble at a moment’s notice. Waiting to send a chosen one to break the caste system. Sometime. Someday in the far future.

  Sissy had wept openly at the beauty of the drama. She had refused future invitations to watch news and other plays, afraid that nothing else could match the first presentation.

  But Mama avidly watched a continuing program every afternoon when she finished work at the bakery.

  The nurse turned on the power knob and perched on the visitor’s chair.

  Sissy didn’t dare protest and disappoint the nurse by refusing to watch the ritual she should have presided over.

  The black screen grayed, then sprang to life full of color and music. Mournful tones belled from a pipe organ. Lighter but equally sad notes from a full orchestra harmonized with the metallic notes. Figures in black and gold and crystal wended their way through the aisles of the Crystal Temple forecourt, each step matching the rhythm of the music.

  Gray skies, heavy with unshed rain, cast an appropriate gloom over the scene.

  Sissy sat up, enthralled with the sights and sounds. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered around the oxygen tube in her nose. “Why’d I dread being a part of it?”

  “New to you, love. We all fear new things. We don’t often have state funerals. I’ve never seen a black crystal on the High Altar before. Must be the biggest one ever made. This is a special treat for all of us. Hope you don’t mind that we postponed your surgery until afterward so we can all watch.”

  “Not at all. I want to see it, too.” Sissy counted the steps of the chains of priests and priestesses in their black or gray and gold. She thought she could pick out Laud Gregor at the head of the procession. His proud posture and graceful movements betrayed him to anyone who knew him. The elegant woman right behind him, with more crystals than anyone in her veil had to be Laudae Penelope.

  Sissy recognized that headdress and veil as the one Laudae Shanet had prepared for her. Envy prickled her shoulders. Penelope had taken the magnificent piece.

  “I guess she has more right to it than I do,” she grumbled. But Sissy did so want to hear how those crystals chimed when they clanked together at every movement.