by John Barnes
As suddenly as it had stopped, it rose from the track and proceeded on. As I approached the government buildings, there was yet one more strange thing—a double row of what looked like short black posts surrounded the building. I thought at first it was some new system of traffic bumpers— but they couldn't have put them up overnight? Or did they grow them in situ? Then I thought they might be utility fixtures, for some unknown purpose, and then I saw one move and realized it was two rows of people, facing each other, a few meters apart, dressed in heavy black cold-weather gear. That anyone would stand out in the morning storm, more than anything else, at last made it clear that something was really wrong.
So I was a bit less surprised than I might have been to realize that both rows of men were armed with riot weapons. I passed through the lines silently, and into the parking area. Right now I'd rather have gone anywhere else, but I went into the building.
Aimeric and Bieris were already there, obviously nervous. Shan was sitting behind them, not speaking, but two Embassy guards flanked him. No one else was in the Council's chamber, but you could hear occasional angry shouting, faintly, from elsewhere in the building, echoing through the undecorated concrete corridors like an aggressive street lunatic in a bad dream.
We didn't say anything to each other. It was hard to tell what might or might not be trouble to have said, in the next few minutes.
When the Council came in, they came in a group. The biggest surprises were two: Clarity Peterborough was not with them, and Saltini was. I felt Aimeric start beside me, and on his other side, Bieris emitted an odd, strangled noise. I suppose it was partly what it portended, and partly that none of us was used to thinking of Saltini as physically real.
Aimeric's father, at the podium, looked gray and old, as if he had been up all night without food or rest. When he began the prayer, he seemed to be summoning himself for an effort, and now that I had begun to understand a little of the structure of Reason, and understood that the prayer was translated directly from it, I could tell that the parts where his voice rose and he looked up—on one occasion, his hands even shook before he grabbed the side of the podium—were the passages about understanding and mutual agreement, about reason and compromise precluding violence. As bad as that made it seem, it comforted me to have him thundering away like that—if only because nothing could happen until he was done, and at least there was clearly still some kind of contest.
When he finished, I noticed that one half of the room "Amen"-ed a lot louder than the other half. I had thought we were first on the agenda, but instead old Carruthers turned directly to Saltini. "Now that we are in session, as Chief Rationalizer I exercise the Absolute Right of Inquiry. Why are PPP guards still holding riot lines across the city when there has been no civil disturbance anywhere, and by what authority do they prevent the advance of the regular city police into those areas? Let me point out in this context that the set of demands you made last night have been entirely met."
Saltini spread his hands; if anything, that little half-smile was warmer, happier this morning than when I had seen it before. "It was not a set of demands; it was a perfectly constitutional request for authorization for certain emergency measures by the Pastorate of Public Projects, and as you may recall one provision was for whatever ancillary powers might be needed. We have reason to believe that the outbreak of irrationality—which we are specifically charged to guard government, church, and society against—has spread into police ranks, and since we cannot identify which members are at risk at this point, it is necessary to exclude them from—"
"Never mind that. Your answer is not satisfactory. Let the record show that I believe it to be false. Next question: You have been granted a Pastorate Without Congregation so that you may vote on the Council of Rationalizers; your first demand of last night. Since that time you Have arrested four pastors, leading to the accession of assistant pastors favorable to your position—"
"Naturally," Saltini said, "since as I stipulated, this conspiracy for irrationality extended into the highest reaches of society—"
"Specifically including the Highly Reverend Clarity Peterborough, who we agreed would remain inviolate—"
"For any crimes committed prior to the time of the agreement. Since that time—"
"What do you expect us to believe she did during the middle of the night?" Carruthers roared the question at him, no longer hiding his fury.
There was a long, cold silence, as everyone seemed to wait; then Saltini simply said, "There are six offworlders present in this room, and the matter concerns the most urgent matters of—"
"Shit." The disgust in the old Chairman's voice was as thick and heavy as a wad of the substance itself, flung into Saltini's face.
The Reverend Saltini actually rose from his seat a bit, and said, "Perhaps the simplest way of settling all of this might be some sort of vote? Say, one of confidence, or perhaps a ratification—"
Carruthers sighed. "We have other business as well. We will proceed with it first."
"That's it. We're in real trouble now," Aimeric said, under his breath.
Bieris and I stared at him.
"The only thing that can mean is that Dad isn't sure he has the votes." He slumped down lower and stared at the floor, not looking at either of us. Bieris and I had a second to exchange glances; I hoped I did not look as frightened as she did.
Carruthers and Saltini were still staring at each other, then, slowly, they both nodded. We went back to the original agenda.
When Aimeric got up to speak, he seemed surprisingly calm to me. I had no idea where he found the strength, but he managed to go through it without any stumbles at all, just as we had rehearsed it. This time it was my turn to run the graphics board, and Bieris's turn to stand beside the screen and point at things as they came up.
Aimeric had laid out the standard plan for handling the Connect Depression in elaborate detail, being extremely careful to phrase everything in ways he hoped would be acceptable to the Council. The problem with that, of course, was that there wasn't that much that was acceptable about the standard way of doing things, which essentially was to pump money into the economy at the bottom by heavy government borrowing for massive public works projects. The resulting debt was then to be inflated out of existence by the soon-to-follow Connect Boom, especially since taxes were to be raised sharply as the Boom began.
The problem was that it was pretty hard to come up with any phrasings that would make a Caledon favor deliberate government debt, arbitrarily increasing the ratio of reward to work, or planning to devalue the currency.
The room got quieter and quieter as Aimeric went on, and by the end it was only his father who appeared to be listening at all.
As Aimeric said "I'm prepared to answer any questions you may have—thank you," I could see muscles standing out like ropes in old Carruther's neck, and in Saltini's, and they were looking at each other.
As the old man opened his mouth to speak, Saltini said, "As we can all see now, this conspiracy to destroy our faith and way of life extends to the very highest levels. I place you under arrest—"
Carruthers growled at him. "As you surely are aware, a legal tradition more than fifteen hundred years old prohibits police of any sort from legislative chambers—"
Saltini shrugged. "Shall we take a vote?"
From outside, there was gunfire. It was a few scattered shots, low thudding sounds, meaning probably that they were—so far—using Suspend cartridges to knock each other unconscious. Then there was a long silence, while no one breathed, a couple more shots, and the sound of feet running in the corridors.
Carruthers pushed his chair away from the table and got up. "Let me remind you that if nine of us leave, there is no quorum."
"The absence of members overcome by irrationality seems a strange basis for us not to act."
Two PPP men entered from one door; no one moved. There was a booming shot in the corridor, and everyone jumped. Then PPP men entered from the other door
.
They led away Aimeric's father and four more pastors; Anna Diligence, Prescott's mother, was one of them. It took about three minutes for them to ratify everything Saltini had done, declare a state of emergency, and vote down Aimeric's proposals. Two minutes later, after another prayer, they were out the door.
A thought crossed my mind, something my father had said once when he sat in the legislature back home. "The way you can tell there's democracy going on is that nothing gets done."
We were left alone in the room, the three of us and the Ambassador, surrounded by PPP cops and not sure whether we could move or not. A long minute went by; from the uncomfortable way the cops kept shifting their balance, I realized they had no idea either. I was just contemplating getting up, walking casually toward the door, and seeing what happened, when Saltini came in. He still had that same smile, but it was taut and small.
He went straight to Ambassador Shan, ignoring us. "The remaining business is quite simple. You have your grants for the Embassy, and, frankly, I don't think we have the force to throw you out, since you could bring in an army through that springer on the Embassy grounds. Outside Embassy grounds, however, and along the line of demarcation, Caledon law is going to prevail."
"These matters can be discussed as they come up," Shan said quietly.
"And, as you might expect, we are immediately ceasing to pay for these so-called 'advisors' of yours—'agitators,' I think, might have been a better word. I truly believe that had you not forced them on us, none of this would have been necessary." Saltini seemed to be allowing himself a little anger, now that he was on top.
"You realize, of course," Shan said, "that this means they cannot return home. And I'm afraid I have no berths for them in the Embassy."
I truly enjoyed seeing Saltini shocked—so much that for a moment I didn't realize what Shan had said.
Saltini almost seemed to whine. "They are your people."
"They're salaried employees of your government. If you want them to go home, you are responsible for their fares. A springer trip of six and a half light-years for three, in any case, is no more than two days of your government's operating budget at the rate we'll charge you for it. I don't see what the difficulty can be. Of course, if they should wish to remain as resident aliens, I would assume you would have to accommodate them, as well, under their existing employment contracts with your government. Indeed, molestation of resident aliens, or denial to them of rights they possess on their homeworlds—such as full enforcement of labor contracts—is one of several possible grounds for the Council of Humanity's terminating the Charter of your culture."
"As a matter of fact," Aimeric said, "I've been rather homesick, and I hate to leave at midterm."
Bieris's face was unreadable; she did not pause at all before saying, "I want to stay."
I saw now what Shan's game was. He would gain three people, free to travel in Utilitopia, whom the PPP could not touch. In the maneuvering sure to follow on the heels of this coup, those might be invaluable...
Or not. There was really no telling. Shan might have no real use for us, other than as an issue to harass Saltini with.
And god, there was a mess at home, in clearing my reputation, winning back my position—and last night I had actually prayed, seriously, for the first time since I was a child—to go home.
Besides, Aimeric and Bieris were staying. They would be enough, and Bieris at least liked it here better than I did, and Aimeric's knowledge would make him valuable to Shan. What did I know? Music, poetry, and dueling—and even that, only with bare hands and neuroducers, not with any real weapons...
Moreover, there was an economic shitstorm coming, and probably Saltini would find a way to take the Center away from me, and I'd end up as a stablehand.
I became aware that Saltini was watching me intently, as if somehow fascinated with me. I realized that he had to know everything I had been thinking of, since no doubt he had been reading my mail, and probably could see more of Shan's scheme than I could.
To him, it must surely seem that I would have to be totally irrational.
"The Center is where my real work is," I said. "I can't leave when things are just getting established."
I guess I should have been hurt that everyone except Shan seemed to be surprised.
Saltini looked from one to the other of us with a burning glare. "I am sure you must realize that there is about to be some budget cutting. I suspect the post of Professor of Occitan Literature will go by the wayside soon. I think that a farmhand who is absent from a farm too often might find that she is declared superfluous. And as for that Center—I suppose you are counting on its being technically an enterprise, not subject to our budget cuts. All I can say is that your students, and their families, are at this moment being looked at for serious irrationality, and that they will have this fact drawn strongly to their attention. And with no one enrolled—"
He left, not bothering to finish the threat. He hadn't had to.
On the way out the door, Shan said quietly to me, "Thank you."
I wished it had made me feel better.
The trakcars were running smoothly again, and I had no trouble getting one back to the Center. There were still some PPP guards standing around on corners, but in the bright sun, the dark of the morning storm gone, their parkas thrown open or draped over their arms, they looked more like embarrassed ushers than the menacing figures they had been. I turned on the news, realized it was all lies except, probably, for the statement that seven city policemen were dead—even there, they claimed it was rioters, as if anyone would have been out looting in that black storm. I suppose it mattered more to them to get something said than that it be believable, and no doubt the story could be changed or erased later.
The trakcar glided into the lot behind the Center, extended its wheels, and drove up to the steps. I grabbed my parka, not bothering to put it on, and walked up the steps.
Thorwald was waiting for me at the door.
"Something pretty urgent's come up," he said, without preface.
"Yap, I know," I said.
"They've threatened to permanently bar every student at the Center from any assignment except general physical labor. Because we're all too irrational to be trusted with anything else. It came over right after you left this morning."
Naturally. Saltini had been sure I would go, but he had wanted to make sure. He probably had already ordered the wrecker nanos to take the building down, too. Well, it would be the shovel for me, then, for sure. Maybe, on the rare occasions when it got warm enough, I could sing on street corners or something. There was probably a local ordinance against it.
"Uh, some of the students wanted to see you about it," he said.
"Sure. I suppose I shouldn't com them. Are they coming here?"
"They're here. Up in the Great Hall." His voice sounded funny—I pictured two or three students, maybe Margaret or Paul—or dared I hope for Valerie?—sitting in that big, empty place, hearing the echoes of the empty Center, feeling it all go away. If they had come to say good-bye, some of them must have felt it was worthwhile. And that was a special kind of courage, to show that kind of human feeling.
As we came up the steps to the second floor, where the Great Hall was, Thorwald asked, "Um, if you can keep the Center open—do I still have a job?"
"Always," I said, and threw an arm around him. He seemed startled—Caledons hardly ever touch each other—but after a moment, he hugged me back.
It was going to be a cold, lonely decade of shit-shoveling, but maybe Thorwald and I, and some of the others, could pal around together, and that might be all right...
We opened the door to the Great Hall. In a sense, I had been right, because Margaret and Valerie were there...
And Paul, and Prescott—and just about everyone. The room was packed.
"We just wanted to tell you," Margaret said, without preamble, "that we've taken a vote, and we're all willing to pay more per class to keep this place open and
get your loans paid off."
"After we all came here, and the PPP saw why, Saltini had his conversation with you and the others broadcast live to us here while he tried to scare you back into the Embassy," Paul added. "We say you stand him down."
So much turns on a tone of voice, on the attitude they have when they tell you to do something you don't want to. A minor coincidence the other way, and my friends might all have been quietly drifting away, knowing I had run out on them.
I wasn't quite what they thought I was, and the only decent thing I could see to do—the only thing that would clear that hidden stain from my enseingnamen—was to act as though I were. I couldn't let them be wrong.
If anyone had ever told me, back in the Quartier des Jovents, that I would burst into tears in front of a whole crowd of people, and cry like a donzelha, and not even decently cover my face—I'd have challenged him, fought him, probably insisted on a fight to first death.
Here, though, when I could breathe, I just stammered out, "It's good to be home." And because I knew my display of emotion would bother them, I added, "There's a lot of work to get done—come on, now, mes companhos, let's not waste the whole day."
PART THREE
THE LONG,
LONG ROAD
ONE
For a long time afterwards, my main memory of the next few days was of a desperate need to sleep. Within four hours, Saltini's coup was complete, and the last independent ministers in the city of Utilitopia were under arrest and held incommunicado. As he gained control of the hinterland—not difficult since most of the more conservative outlying settlements had been on his side to begin with—communication was gradually restored.
For about three hours that day Bruce was under arrest, and Bieris spent some very frightening time standing in front of the Pastorate of Public Projects offices in the storm of Second Morning, trying to get to talk to someone and arrange bail. There were hundreds of friends and relatives of those arrested, there in the street, with PPP cats zooming through the crowd regularly, autocameras scanning them from the Pastorate steps, and peeps carrying stun sticks standing all around them. We had to call each other every few minutes, because the peeps did not approve of my trying to use Center funds for Brace's bail and kept finding objections, which I would then answer, freeing the funds up again until the next objection, so Bieris had to be kept posted on whether or not she actually had any money to pay the bail with.