Raising the Stones

by Sheri S. Tepper

  The entire Arm had been found out, the name of one leading to the name of another, as such conspiracies do. Baidee were not accustomed to actually telling lies, that is, saying things they knew to be untrue. Most of them had simply swallowed their pride, admitted their guilt, and asked how long it would take to expiate.

  Since Shan Damzel, while admitting to having provoked the entire incident and having had guilty knowledge of it, had not done any killing or raiding or taken part in the plans, he was sentenced to the same duty, but to a shorter term. Shan’s siblings were swift to declare their own judgment before Shan was taken away.

  “People dead because of you,” said Bombi, sounding more annoyed than grieved. “Children dead because of you, shot down in their innocent blood. The whole family is whispering to one another, wondering if you have gone beyond the bounds.”

  “Churry never said anything about killing anybody,” said Shan for the twentieth time. “He was going to go in and kill the things, and then we were going to see what happened.”

  “Let us suppose the same thing happened here,” snarled Bombi. “Suppose the prophetess came back to Thyker, and suppose someone from Hobbs Land just happened by and shot her head off, what do you think would happen?”

  “The prophetess is … was a human being.”

  “So were those hundreds of people you killed.”

  “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Just as good as.”

  Mixed with his dreams of the Porsa, Shan began to have dreams of mutilated bodies, broken faces, shattered children running from him, screaming. He thought he might rather be dead.

  Phansure agreed to complete a Door in record time. The parts, including extras to allow for possible transport losses, were to be transshipped via Thyker to Hobbs Land, where Theor Close and Betrun Jun would set it up and put it to work. By that time, people would be notably thinner on Thyker, and the convict crew could look forward to little sympathy upon their return. If they ever returned. Except for Shan Damzel, the Baidee had been sentenced to a very long stay on Hobbs Land, where they were to load the Door by physical labor, using no machines, until everyone on Hobbs Land agreed that reparations were complete.

  Jebedo Quillow, uncle to Willum R., said it would be a cold day on Collus before he would consider reparations complete. Dern Blass, still grieving over Tandle, thought the same. They were not alone among those who were determined that The Arm of the Prophetess would wither with age down to its last finger before it left Hobbs Land again.

  The prisoners came through the Combat Door just eight days, Thyker, after the raid. What passed for justice on Thyker had always been admirably swift. All but three of them arrived quite safely. One of the three arrived inside out, and the other two did not arrive. This upsetting occurrence led to the disclosures that the Combat Door was not totally reliable and that Howdabeen Churry had known it all along.

  Howdabeen Churry wondered then, and later, whether a death sentence would not, in the last analysis, have been more merciful.

  • The same day the prisoners arrived, Emun Theckles came hesitantly into Sam Girat’s office at Settlement One to remind Sam of what he had said about the Door.

  “Which Door?” asked Sam, who was thinking joylessly about other things.

  “The one the Voorstoders have. You and Dern Blass were going to let somebody know about it, before the Baidee raided us. Then I suppose you forgot. At least, I haven’t heard any more about it.”

  “I forgot,” Sam admitted, counting up the days that had passed. Six or seven. Everyone had been very busy.

  “Who needs to know?” asked Emun.

  Sam rubbed his head wearily. “Actually, Queen Wilhulmia should probably be informed first. Though I suppose Authority should be told, as well.”

  “I’m going to worry about that until it’s done,” said Emun in his quavery, slightly fussy manner. “From what you said, up there on the escarpment, those prophets were dead set against you. You and Jep and Saturday. If I were you, I wouldn’t like the idea of somebody who hated me having a Door that could set him down on my front porch.”

  Sam thought this was hyperbole. “Theor Close did say something about that, didn’t he.”

  “That Door’s probably one of the real old ones, the kind people used to use to go Out. The kind the army still uses.”

  Sam stared at the old man, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “The kind the army uses?”

  “Enforcement wouldn’t be much good if it was limited to going through existing Doors, would it? Sure, the public Doors always have a Door at the other end. Either fixed-destination or varying-destination Doors always use a Door at the other end because that’s the safest way, the way least likely to disrupt. That’s the way the Baidee Door was, too. But military style Doors, Enforcement Doors, you can tune them. You know the settings for the nearest Doors, if any, to where you want to go, and you can tune the military Door to be so far north or south, or east or west, or up or down of one that’s already there. If you know the planetary diameter, that is, and have the right tables for that planet, showing the curvature at the proper longitude.

  “Or, if the planetary body is listed, you look up the approximate settings in the Galactic Ephemera and have a computer figure the absolute time and send a three-dimensional beacon array through and see which ones send a signal back. Or you send a soldier scouting array through, and any soldier coming out on a surface sends a back pulse describing where he is and what he can see, and you tune from there. There’s five whole aisles of scouts on Enforcement, just waiting to be sent somewhere and then figure out where they are.”

  “So you meant it! If the Voorstoders have a Door, they could come through anywhere!”

  “It wouldn’t be what we’d call safe. They’d have to expect some losses. Without a Door at the other end making constant feedback corrections, as things shift, you end up out in space or inside rock or at the bottom of a sea. But, yes, with a good technician they could come through anywhere. I thought that’s why you were worried, because you knew that.”

  Sam allowed that he would have been a good deal more worried if he had realized what it meant. He also asked Emun to excuse him, because he needed to get to CM and see that the proper warnings were sent.

  He and Dern spent the afternoon directing warnings to various individuals and offices: Queen Wilhulmia; the Bureau of Doors at Authority; Authority itself; the planetary governments of Thyker and Phansure; the supervisory bodies of other Belt worlds.

  “Ninfadel!” Sam shouted, mostly at himself. “I’m not thinking, Dern. That’s the first place we should have informed! Ninfadel!”

  The message was accordingly sent. There was no response, but they expected none. Response would be relayed through Ahabar and might not arrive for some time.

  Queen Wilhulmia’s aides received the warning and passed it on to her and to Commander Karth, who attempted to reach Ninfadel and was unable to do so. He attempted to rouse the guard post by all available means and received no answer. The Door on Ninfadel was not available to Ahabar.

  After a day of this, a ship was readied, one which would carry a company of Royal Marines, all of whom had seen duty as guardsmen upon Ninfadel. Ships were so seldom used that preparations took some time. Queen Wilhulmia and those of her advisors who knew what was happening were considerably worried by the time the ship lifted.

  The news was received on Thyker and was generally dismissed.

  “I can’t imagine that a thousand or so Voorstoders and their families, without arms, can do much damage to Thyker,” said Reticingh.

  “Isn’t it Ninfadel where the Porsa are?” asked Merthal. “I wonder if they could come through the Door as well. That’s all we need, a plague of Porsa.”

  Reticingh changed his mind about the damage that might be done and set a planetary watch into effect, along with a message to biological research.

  The same thought occurred to people on Phansure. Patrols of sparsely settled areas were increa
sed. Satellite surveillance systems were programmed to report the telltale sparkle of Door usage in non-Door areas.

  No one on Hobbs Land, no one on Thyker or Phansure or even Ahabar itself considered another place the Voorstoders might go—or might already have gone—which was where they actually were. Eight Thykerian days after the raid on Hobbs Land, five hundred prophets and an equal number of the Faithful went through their archaic Door into the large reception bay on Enforcement. They had not needed to tune their Door on Ninfadel. They had needed only to set it as instructed by Ornil and Faros and come through en masse at a prearranged time. Ornil and Faros had previously killed the watch officers and disconnected the alarms. Except for a few men locked in their quarters, the moon and the army of Enforcement were entirely in the hands of Voorstod.

  “Awateh,” murmured Altabon Faros from his knees, his head bowed, thinking of Silene.

  “Faithful son,” murmured the Awateh in return. He had not liked the wrenching, inside-out feeling of the Door. He did not anticipate the next, similar event. To postpone it, he looked about the cavernous reception bay, large enough to handle the largest Doors ever made, large enough to transmit the largest soldiers ever constructed. The Doors themselves were like the piers of giant bridges. “Can you leave that one open to Ninfadel?” he asked Faros.

  It was Halibar Ornil who answered. “We can, Awateh, if there is good reason to do so.”

  The Awateh had had a vague idea of retreat or escape. He had no intention of mentioning this, certainly not of explaining it. He drew himself up to his full height and glared at Ornil.

  “You have my command! Is that good reason?”

  Ornil prostrated himself. It was not good reason. Leaving unattended Doors on continuous two-way feed was dangerous. Unquestioning obedience, however, was the measure of the Faithful. “Certainly, Awateh,” he murmured.

  “Get up,” the Awateh prodded him with a toe. “Where does that other Door go?” He indicated the second of the enormous reception bay Doors.

  “It is set for Authority, Holy One. The soldiers have been prepared and are waiting to go through. We will send them immediately, when you command it.”

  One of the prophet’s sons spoke up. “How do we get to Hobbs Land. The Awateh wants to go first to Hobbs Land.”

  Faros pointed behind them, some distance from the two permanently installed Doors, where another huge Door stood amid scaffolding and braces. “An army Door, Holy One. As soon as you are ready, we will begin tuning it.”

  “Tuning it?”

  “To find Hobbs Land, Holy One.”

  “One would think it would have been done,” snarled a son. “Since the prophet commanded it long since.”

  “Forgive us,” said Faros. “But the Doors on Hobbs Land were destroyed when the Baidee invaded. This is the only one we can use, and if one wishes to make a surprise attack, it cannot be set until the time it is to be used. We regret the inconvenience this causes, but it is the nature of the device …”

  “No matter,” murmured the Awateh, smiling horribly. “While they do that, we can watch the soldiers go to Authority. I want to see them go.”

  • Sam Girat woke in the night, suddenly, as from a prophetic dream. He rose, dressed, and left the brotherhouse to find Theor Close and Betrun Jun just coming from the direction of the guest quarters, where they’d been staying for the last few days. Since the Combat Door was still the only access to Hobbs Land, and since the failure rate of that Door was currently exceeding nineteen percent, the two engineers had wisely decided not to return to Phansure through it. Instead, they had stayed upon Hobbs Land, exploring its wonders and boning up on Door installation. Better use two engineers already on site than transport others through a Door which might spit them into the heart of Collus, or simply abandon them in space, so they said. The Door engineers on Phansure rather reluctantly agreed. Door techs were jealous of their knowledge and their skills, but they took no great pleasure in thoughts of annihilation either. Instead of themselves, they sent information.

  As the three men were standing in the street, looking about themselves curiously, in the manner of those who have heard a summons but are unable to locate the caller, Emun and Mard Theckles also came out into the street.

  “Trouble,” said Emun, simply. “I can smell it. It used to smell like this on Enforcement, when one of the things went rogue. Can’t you smell the hate?”

  “Enforcement?” breathed Sam, remembering his breakfast with the old man, long ago. Ages ago. Earlier this year.

  Theor Close nodded, quickly agreeing, his mind leaping over possibilities, like a rider going around a series of jumps. “Could be that,” he said. “It has that feel to it.”

  “Where?” Betrun Jun asked Emun. “What direction? Can you tell?”

  “That way,” said Emun, pointing off to the northwest. “Toward the escarpment, I think.”

  Sam’s mind, so long functioning at about one-tenth of its capabilities, came suddenly and shudderingly alert, startled into full consciousness. He had been swamped in matters unresolved, stuck in darkness, in a swamp of dissatisfaction, tangled in ancient memories, unable to forget the last sight he had had of Mam, the one he had had of his dad, the back of him, going away, scatheless. The two visions resonated against one another, making a subliminal vibration which damped his conscious thought, leaving only a shallow habit-self to deal with the business of daily living. Now his mind shuddered to its roots, quaking, erupting in agonized, panicky awareness.

  “You’re saying Enforcement. No, more than that! We’re really saying Enforcement-Door-prophets. All three. That’s it, isn’t it. It’s that damned Door the prophets had, the one we warned people about. Somehow the prophets have gained access to the army?”

  “Unless we believe Authority has set Enforcement upon us without warning and for some unknown reason,” said Theor Close. “Assume your unlikely triplet, Sam Girat. Door. Prophets. Enforcement. If it’s true, who should be told?”

  Sam shuddered. “Everyone! God, Theor. Everyone! Mysore Hobbs, for a start. Authority, at once. Phansure, Thyker, and Ahabar, at once. Mard, can you take care of that. Get to CM, wake up Dern Blass and see that warnings go out at once. Remember, send multiple messages through that damned Door, to allow for some of them being destroyed. Dern Blass may want to use the Archives link as well, though it’ll take watches to get the information there. Alert our own people. Get them up and moving. They may need to run.”

  “And we?” asked Theor Close.

  “We have to find whatever it is. See what it is,” said Sam, knowing what it was. “We could be wrong.” He knew they were not wrong. “So far we’re only frightened of shadows. We have to be sure.” He was sure, yet prayed he was not. “We’ll take the little flier.” Inside him a volcano roared, splashing white-hot radiance in all directions, lighting deep crevasses of his mind, sending the dark things there scurrying away, though not before he had seen them and recognized them for what they were. He shuddered and ran for the flier.

  Sam piloted. Theor Close and Emun Theckles sat behind him on the double seat. As they flew toward the north, the lights of the other flier sped away toward the east. Betrun Jun and Mard Theckles, going to spread the word.

  “How much do you know about the army?” Theor asked Emun. “About the technology?”

  “I did maintenance and repairs,” said Emun. “I wasn’t taught a lot about the theory, but I picked up a good bit. You have to, you know. You have to understand why things work as they do. Especially when they go wrong.”

  “It’s my understanding the army was programmable,” Theor went on. “It could be given a set of attitudes and’ opinions, to agree with the attitudes and opinions of those mobilizing it.”

  “True,” said Emun. “And a set of passwords and command words and phrases. These could be changed from Authority, during an action. The big destroyers have a thing like a Door built into them, a command receiver unit about the size of my head. They can be reprogrammed almost
immediately, by anyone with the proper passwords. Smaller soldiers only have a command receiver like the Archives link between Hobbs Land and Phansure. It can take a lot of time and many repetitions to make changes in them, depending how far the action is from Authority itself. Most battle plans depended on the big destroyers reprogramming the little ones.”

  “If our warning reaches Authority …” Sam said if, knowing it would not. No. That wasn’t the way things were to be. Something else. Something dark and hidden that he couldn’t see at all. Fate. Destiny. Dark forces working against one another, like Titans wrestling far below the surface of this world. What was going on?

  The land ahead of them sloped up abruptly, and behind this slope the cliffs of the escarpment loomed black against the stars.

  “If our warning reaches Authority, it can override any commands the army has been given. If Authority has the passwords,” Emun finished the thought.

  “Which it will not have,” Theor Close remarked in a dead quiet voice. “The first thing a takeover force will do is substitute their own passwords for any currently in effect.”

  “Well, yes,” Emun agreed. “Except there’s a Final Command, which is known to every one of the twenty-one Members of Authority, and which can’t be replaced. It’s in a sealed unit on the soldiers, and if you try to fool with it, the thing destructs. It’s the fail-safe device.”

  “So, so,” mused Theor. “In that case, if you are stealing the army, the first thing you do is attack Authority, hoping you can wipe out all twenty-one of the Members before anyone can possibly use the Final Command.”

  “Oh God,” said Sam with horrified comprehension. “Are you saying Enforcement may be loose, and we can’t stop it? Nobody can?”