by Jane Baskin
Nayan, watching her, fascinated. How excited she became when explaining things! Seemed … almost happy.
“And here.” Showed him a place where they made the long barrels that would shoot the cartridges. “It’s all in the molds. See this mold, not only shapes the barrel but puts grooves on the inside that make the cartridge spin and go straight. These rifles are more accurate than anything else yet invented.”
He, just staring. Generally speaking, northerners were thought to be the more inventive of the planet’s denizens. But in this case …
Maybe, made sense. While southerners had yet to invent fireboxes or running water or or central heating or toilets (bought them from the North), they loved war. Anything that made the battlefield more lethal … yes.
“Who thought all this stuff up?”
Zoren: “I did; a lot of it, anyway. I thought up the cartridges, and putting grooves in the barrel. An uncle of mine figured out the triggering and firing mechanism, but I did the rest. He thought the trigger was a useless curiosity, until I came up with the cartridge.”
Zoren-te, Sauran’s inventor of the repeating rifle.
Interesting.
Are you surprised?
Perhaps … a little. It’s not logical.
Humanoids are not logical.
We are.
(smile) So we think.
So. The girl works for her enemies.
(smile) Perhaps, she has no idea who are her enemies and who are her friends.
The young still need to be loved, you know.
Of course. And as we hope, her lineage will clarify the subject for her.
9.The Devil By The Front Door
Soon: the North, building up a substantial supply of deadly weapons. The joint effort, the shared labor: efficient. More weapons produced in a month, than in triple that time in the South. Most stashed in dungeon areas of old castles throughout the North. Some in sea caves, a network of which laced the limestone cliffs that met the northern sea. Others in village keeps. Many spread around in individual homes.
Dar-agan: “I’m only a little surprised to say this, but thank all the gods for the girl. For once, Noar’s foolishness may pay off.”
Ilia-te: “Maybe. I still say it’s peculiar. A princess of Vel, building weapons for the enemy.”
Nodding his head slowly. “I agree. But … I was talking with Augan’s daughter Aterya and her friend, Kyrugan; I don’t know, at some party or another. You know, they were on holiday from the medical school. They were talking about a new science being touted down there, a mind science of some kind. The study of human nature, I suppose.”
A laugh. “Is that so? And what have they discovered?”
“Not much our grandmothers didn’t know. But you know scientists, they like to quantify and classify things. Put them in neat order.”
A louder trill from Ilia-te. “I wish them luck in their efforts to order the human mind.” Especially mine. And Nayan’s. Gods alive, I wonder what they’d say about … the things we do. But just forget it. Forget forget
“Still, they had some insights that might explain why Zoren-te is doing what she’s doing.”
“Really. What did they say?”
“They said it was some kind of – ‘syndrome,’ they called it – where a prisoner takes on the nature of the group keeping him prisoner. In other words, the captive starts thinking of himself – or herself – as a member of the group who captured her.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Maybe not. They said this tendency is particularly strong in the young. And when you think about it, consider how often young people try to imitate each other.”
“Hmmn.”
“I tell you, there’s all kinds of things going on there, in Sauran City. We should make another visit, when spring comes. This world is changing.”
“Are you saying we’re country bumpkins?” Wink.
“I’m saying there’s a lot we don’t know.”
“Well, whether you’re right on that point or not, we should go to Sauran City. You’ve neglected your political duties two years in a row.”
A groan from Dar-agan. “All gods, you know how the Assembly bores me. I’m just an advisor. Let the People run the province.”
“I agree, love. But … it is your duty.”
“To serve in the Provincial Assembly, to vote on what the People propose, to try to stay awake … I can do my advising from here.”
“Yes. But you should make an appearance. If only to set an example for Nayan, when his turn comes.”
Another groan.
She knows. She senses that everything’s changing.
Of course she knows. But she’s very frightened.
Terrified might be a better way to put it.
(head shake) So sad. She’s one of the strongest we’ve ever bred.
Yes. And she breeds true herself. But. As I keep saying, we’re here too soon. It would be better to observe the line … after about ten more generations.
But. We were called. We could wait no longer.
Called. (sniff) By an ancient AI that no longer exists.
(smile) But it does. You know that.
So we were called by a planet? Ridiculous.
Not so ridiculous. Especially when you think … maybe the planet knows – better than we do – the timing. Maybe we’re supposed to be here when the seed is still regarded as impossible, as witchcraft.
Why would that be? What sense could that possibly make?
(shrug) Maybe we’re supposed to watch how the seed handles opposition. How it develops … its own civilization.
You actually think that will happen. (sniff) It could just as easily destroy its own civilization.
I don’t think it can. That’s not how such a seed works.
(sigh)
Ilia-te, her mind stepping lightly onto another path. If she thinks herself one of us … maybe there’s a chance for Nayan. Well … for us. Maybe there’s a chance we can wriggle out of Vel’s vengeance.
Truth: the munitions factory, throwing the two – enemies? – closer together. Nayan, working side by side with Zoren-te, on many projects. Going over her designs, getting into her rhythm, now and then coming up with modifications of his own.
Soon discovered his talent would be for using the new weapons.
Zoren-te, taking him out to a clearing inside the wood. Where she set up small objects on tree stumps and fired upon them. In her first pass, missed only one.
Nayan: missed none of them.
Zoren-te, setting the targets further and further away. Nayan, again: missing none.
“You’re pretty handy with that rifle.” A rare smile.
Had never seen her smile. Never so normally, anyway. Stopped, stared. Then: “Uh, thanks. It’s … uh … comfortable.”
“You mean it’s easy.” Laughed.
“Uh … ”
“For you, it’s easy. But it won’t be for most people. You’re going to have to teach them.”
How will I do that? Nayan, understanding that his mind was doing the shooting. That he was able to focus his eye on the target – somehow knowing where it was even if far away – and then guide the bullet.
Guide it. With his mind.
I’m getting weirder and weirder by the day. I wonder when it’ll end. Mother tells me not to be like this. Aterya tells me there’s thousands of others just like me. What to believe?
Then he and Zoren-te: together rarely, as Nayan began practice for all residents; soldiers and civilians alike. Wouldn’t hurt to have everyone skilled in the use of rifles. Zoren-te, busy with a new design for something or other.
Teaching Che … or not. Nayan, watching with shock? Amazement? Relief? As Che – like him – never missed a shot.
Che, what are you doing?
Huh? What do you mean?
You never miss.
Grin. Some of us are just talented.
Not a joke, Che.
You worry too much. If we have this ability
, we should use it.
So you’re … guiding the bullet.
What difference does it make if I’m using my eye, or my mind?
All gods Che. It’s a huge difference; don’t you see?
You should worry less about our gifts, and more about how to use them against our enemies.
Nayan, like Che just shot him in the gut.
One evening Che, coming into the encampment shaking his head, rubbing his ears. “I guess these things are useful, but God Itself, the noise! I hear the lions are moving to the South. They say the neighborhood’s gone to all hells.”
A couple of mugs of warm ale later, Nayan:“I asked Zoren-te if there was anything she could do about that.”
“What did she say? Please tell me she said yes.”
“She said she’s working on it.” Remembering the conversation. All gods. Zoren-te, telling him: I have to dream on it.
Huh?
That’s when I get my best ideas. When I’m asleep.
You’re joking.
Not at all. Don’t be silly. We’re much more attuned to things when we’re sleeping.
What things?
Laughed at him. A trill like his mother’s. Not as annoying as the first time, could not help noticing. Listen, Nayan. There’s nothing new under the moons. Everything we do, everything we think we came up with, was already there.
And there, look. A miracle: not four days later, Zoren-te, appearing on the practice field, carrying a cylindrical object that looked heavy. Taking a rifle from the stack, turning the cylinder into the barrel grooves, as a sort of extension. When she was sure the cylinder was fixed tightly, loaded the rifle. Then aimed at a target and fired.
Barely a pop. A dull thump of a sound.
Zoren-te, Sauran’s inventor of the first suppressor.
Back at Cha-Ning, for a welcome break. A new shift of workers taking over, allowing the original crews to go home for a few days.
In the great hall, late. The four brothers, sipping warm ale before the giant fire, relishing full stomachs, warmth. Starting to fall asleep in their big chairs. Barely noticed when two women entered the hall, went to the ale table.
Zoren-te and Luisa-te. Sat at a small table, deep in conversation. Only the high pitch of their voices, even when subdued, attracted Nayan’s attention. Looked up, saw them, watched.
They: poring over some papers. A design, most likely. Nayan, unable to hear the words, but watching the body language. Deep concentration, both young women. Heads close together, pointing out different elements of the drawings at different times, each marked by a rise in the level of excitement. At one point, sitting up. Not looking at the papers, but at each other. Grinning like little girls in a play yard. Nodding. Then laughing.
Nayan, nudging the brother nearest him. Noar, looking up. Smiling at once, of course. Nayan, remembering Noar could sniff out a female halfway across the planet. Noar, calling out to the young women. “Say ladies, don’t sit in the cold side of the room. Come over by the fire.”
The young women: looking over. Taken aback. Four men. Too many.
Noar, crossing over to them. “Gods alive, it’s cold over here! Come over to the warm side. I promise we don’t bite. Maybe each other, but not you.”
A shy laugh from Luisa-te. She: fed and filled out, now. Despite her long hours at the munitions factory, radiant. Liking her work, no doubt. Glanced nervously at Zoren-te.
Who was glaring at Noar.
Who noticed, of course. Responded with his most engaging way. His grin, every bit as charming as Che’s … if a bit more calculated. “Lady Zoren-te, I hope you’re considering letting bygones be bygones.”
Maybe not. The glaring, intensified.
“I tell you what, I’ll sit at the edge of the circle, in the chair farthest from you. I promise to not so much as look at you. You can hate me as much as you like, I won’t try to stop you.” Extended his hand gallantly, to Luisa-te.
Really was pretty cold on that side of the huge room.
Luisa-te: another nervous glance at Zoren. Finally, a nod. The two young women, rising to follow Noar over to the fire.
Nayan, amazed. Not only at his brother’s skill at manipulation, but at Zoren-te’s restraint at not having killed him yet. So many opportunities for fatal accidents, in a munitions factory …
Aside from Che’s fixation, the rest of the evening: uneventful. Another mug of ale, exhaustion taking over. All, heading for their rooms.
But just before that: Nayan, fascinated by Che’s fascination. Had seen his friend “in love” many times. Always partnered at harvest time, most winters as well. Aside from a broken heart in his teenage years, had never seen him so enchanted.
Luisa-te, stunning in the firelight. Her brown hair, swept back in a loose tie, silken strands falling about her face. Her skin, smooth and ruddy. And the blue eyes, like a southern sea.
Che, looking almost foolish in his staring. Trying to hide it, failing miserably. Luisa-te: each time she noticed, smiling shyly, looking down. Che, looking away, feeling idiotic. But unable to keep his gaze from her for more than a few moments.
Nayan, smiling to himself. You’re done for. You’re usually in control, but this time … This one’s got you by the –
Back off. She’s pretty, that’s all. I like looking at her.
Nayan, still smiling meanly. Sure, my good friend. Sure, I believe you.
What do you think?
Is it premature? We didn’t count on the young female. She may distract the other seed.
Hmmn. But … we knew it would be chaotic.
You knew it would be chaotic. The rest of us wanted to wait.
For what? If we wait much longer, the little sister may not develop at all.
There you go again. You’re so certain their development is entwined.
I am. This planet is tied to the other. The AI says so.
There is no AI.
The planet, then.
That’s just a theory. I have to tell you, it borders on the religious more than the scientific.
Whatever the case, I lead this group because of my documented sensitivity. And I sense – I know – that the planets, and their AI’s, are entwined. The ascendants here, were from there … as you know.
But they didn’t all ascend.
No, but most ascendances are never pure. Those that remained here interbred here, and deposited the seed. It’s come to fruition now, so we’re here … now. At this time, not a later time.
Fruition! Their science is so primitive!
Science is not the point. The social development is the point.
God Itself, I hope you’re right.
I’m right.
If you’re not, this will turn into a giant cock-up. And the little sister will be lost anyway.
You’re a dark thinker, you know that?
News from the South, arriving by line-message.
The message room at Cha-Ning: clattering away with missives. From southern provinces, from the North’s eager cities. These, listening in on events in the South.
Messages: cities receiving many refugees, somehow able to escape. Too many to go further north. Too cold anyway.
Messages: the entire South, swept up in peasant revolt. Revolt: having begun with attacks on weapons caches all over the area. This revolt, more serious (if possible) than that of two hundred years ago.
Messages: (perhaps most intriguing of all) peasants, now becoming organized. A leader, rising among them. Name: Gwildan. Bondage name: unknown. Known: a sly, wily opponent. Hard – impossible? – to capture. Absurd rewards offered for his head, even higher if delivered alive.
Nayan: “Delivered alive. So he can be tortured to death.”
Dar-agan: “I hear they’ve perfected some of their methods so the victim can be kept alive for weeks, before he dies.”
Sounds of disgust from listeners. Revolting. In the North, no such practice. Not above beating information out of a captive, but captives: always ransomed. Those wh
o could not be ransomed: killed quickly if purveyors of information. If judged relatively harmless, just let go when weather permitted travel.
This particular morning, a somber breakfast. Too much news from the South; all of it upsetting. Peasant raids: everywhere. Lords’ response: brutal. Crops in the field, left to rot. Or burned in terrible swaths by both sides.
Many People in the North, having relatives there. Peasants who could not escape their owners. Wondering if they still lived. Wondering if they had died badly. Were dying. Or worse.
A general air of anxiety, pervading the great hall.
But the munitions factory, still humming along. Mostly due to an order from Dar-agan and Scilla-ye, the village headwoman: “Don’t tell them.”
So. Would be weeks before the crew at the factory knew of the terrible situation in the South.
Weeks spent churning out weapons and ammunition. Designing never-before-seen weapons. Zoren-te, on fire with creativity. Assisted frequently by Luisa-te, not formally educated but a brilliant hands-on learner. Between them, coming up with a weapon that might change history on the planet.
An absurd looking firearm that rotated, spilling bullets at an amazing rate of speed. Multiple barrels, rotated by a hand crank. Bullets fed from a belt. This ugly little machine: capable of firing up to two hundred rounds in a minute.
Zoren-te and Luisa-te: inventors of the planet’s first semi-automatic weapon.
Then even more disturbing news. News of a great battle, where the lords of the major six southern provinces united forces to run down this local hero, Gwildan. Met on a blood-slicked battlefield in the province of Seith, which bordered the lava fields that had given Nayan his escape, months before.
The lords: better mounted, better armed. The peasants: more numerous.
A terrible fight, according to line-messages from someone in Sauran City who claimed to have been there. Gwildan, leading his desperate forces forward, mounted on Lord Darleigh’s huge gantha. Charging toward the bombing platforms with reckless, insane abandon. Or blood lust. Or both.
