by Steve Perry
"Not the most legal of maneuvers, was it?"
"The Confed seldom worries itself over niceties such as law when it wants something, Pen. You should have learned that by now."
"Maybe so. I expect I’ve learned something else from this conversation, too. I take it that you are one of Babaji's more militant followers?"
Vaughn smiled. "I confess that I am."
"Great. I go looking for a holy teacher and wind up with a revolutionary. I don't much like it, Vaughn."
"You are not required to like it. Merely understand it."
"Yeah, well, I appreciate your position, but I have better things to do than fight the Confed."
"I doubt it. I don't think there is anything more important for men of conscience to be doing these days."
" 'The morality of opposing evil?' "
"Just so."
"It won't buy me a ticket back to Moon." He had told Vaughn all about Moon, of course.
"It might. It might take you to a place where you can find out what you need to know."
Pen shook his head. " You don't understand, about Moon, about me and the Siblings. You couldn't."
Vaughn smiled, and stood.
"You okay? You ought not to be moving around."
Vaughn's smile faded slightly, then held. "I am sore, stiff and more than a little tired, but these will all pass.
I'm going to my room, to change clothes. When I come back, I think I can convince you I know what I'm talking about."
"Good luck," Pen said, his voice sarcastic.
Vaughn left him alone in the central room, and Pen fought the urge to pace as he waited. Another twist in his convoluted life—Jesu, couldn't things stay simple, just for a little while? For just a little fucking while, couldn't it all slow down? He couldn't think of anything more surprising than to find out his teacher, supposedly a holy man, was some kind of insurgent. Nothing could have rocked him any harder, he thought.
He was wrong. He found that out when he looked and saw Vaughn standing in the doorway. He knew it was Vaughn, from the eyes and hands, all that, he could see of his teacher. The reason he couldn't see any more was simple:
Vaughn stood wrapped in the full costume of the Siblings of the-Shroud.
Thirty-Two
PEN STARED, UNABLE to speak. At first, he thought it might be some kind of joke, but even from here, he could see that the cloth of the shroud was the unique shimmery-gray found only in true kawa.
The only way to get that material was from the Siblings. It was sent to members of the order on request, but to no one else. Even if a clever thief could steal a shroud, unlikely he would be able to wear it with the sense of tightness that Vaughn had. One had to grow into the costume over time. On the man Pen faced, the drape of the cloak was perfect.
Finally, Pen found his voice. "Vaughn…?"
"Close," the man said.
That was the final clue. The rest of it came to Pen, all in a rush. The use of "we" when talking about his potential. That early sense of having seen or known Vaughn before. And the name—of course—how could he have missed it? Armahno Vaughn. Armahno—hermano—brother.
Brother Vaughn.
No, not quite.
Brother Von.
Oh, shit!
"It is you, isn't it? Von?"
"Yes. I hope you will pardon the masquerade. I'll explain as best I can."
Pen shook his head. He had the feeling this was going to be one hell of an explanation.
It was.
Von said, "Sometimes the best disguise is no disguise at all. I have been a sibling for nearly twenty years.
The shroud is almost like a second skin to me. Siblings do not remove their garb in public, the Confed knows that."
Pen said, "So the best way to hide a sibling is to shed the identifiable clothing."
"Just so. Early on. Diamond's decision to enshroud the order was debated rather hotly. Someone wearing full sibling costume is altogether too obvious, and there are some drawbacks to being so ostentatious. Sometimes, it is easier to hide a thing in plain view. Sometimes the best disguise is an obvious disguise."
"All right. I can see that."
"You have been taught much about the Confed and our general attitude of passive opposition to its policies."
"Yes. I used to wonder about that. What happened to those who washed out—about how they'd be dangerous to the order. A word in the right ear and all."
"But you don't wonder anymore?"
"In the four years I was there, nobody ever washed out."
"That's because we choose our trainees carefully. It has happened, no system is perfect, but when it has, certain memories of their experiences have been… deleted."
Pen thought about that. Brain scrambling. That was bad enough, to have some simadam rummaging around in your mind, erasing chunks of it. But he also remembered the Confed rep and his quad, who had smashed into the ocean like a big rock. Moon had caused that—
Moon. God, Von and Moon had been lovers before he had arrived. Even afterward. And here he had been for the last few months filling Von's ears with stories of Moon, how much he loved her, and how he would do anything to get back to her. Jesu damn! How must that have made Von feel? He might still have longings for Moon himself. Knowing Moon, how could he not?
"But we are not passive," Von continued. "When a brother or sister is at a stage where we feel they can know the truth, they are told. We actively oppose the Confed. We know it cannot endure, and by opposing it, we seek to hasten its downfall. Out integratic projections are less than perfect at this point; but we know it will happen relatively soon. Within the next fifty to seventy-five years."
"Pinpoint accuracy isn't one of our strong points, is it?" Pen said.
Von grinned under the shroud. Easy enough to see.
"We'll get better."
There was a short pause, and the question welling inside Pen since he had first seen Vaughn-as-Von finally surfaced.
"My being here is no accident, is it? Not coincidence."
Von moved to the window, and looked out at the snow. "Perhaps we should go for a walk," he said.
"All right."
Outside, the cold tried and failed to chill Pen under his shroud. He and Von walked; their Boots made squeaky sounds on the dry snow, and their breaths fogged the crisp air.
They moved along mostly empty streets, occasionally passed by a fan car that blew white powder up in frozen clouds.
"Moon loves you, you know," Von said.
"How does that make you feel?" Pen asked.
"Privileged. She loves me, too. How can I begrudge her another, or a dozen others? Love isn't finite, you must understand. You don't run out of it. The more you give, the more you have."
"That's very idealistic."
"And you don't believe it. Well, you'll learn. True, one only has so much time, and that has to be apportioned, sometimes a difficult task. But I left and Moon stayed. What could it matter to me whether she slept with you or alone? It was all the same to me—I couldn't enjoy her favors."
"I still have trouble with that, Von."
Von shrugged.
"And what's Moon loving me got to do with being here with you?"
"We—she—knew you were coming to Koji."
"Don't try to tell me integratics gave her that."
"Not at all. Psychology. You were her student as well as lover, Pen. She knew. And she knew I was here—"
"And the two of you set me up for all this."
"In-a manner of speaking."
Another car slowly fanned past. Tiny crystals blew into his eyes. Pen blinked them away. "Why?"
"You needed more training, but not on Earth. Sort of postgraduate work."
"Why the disguise? I can't see any reason at all for that."
They reached a corner, and Von turned to the left. At the end of the narrow street was the Confed garrison. It contained only a token number of troops, but even on Koji the Confed had to be contended with, in essence if not
physical presence.
"Because," Von said, "she didn't want your brain scrambled."
"What!?"
"If my teaching as Vaughn didn't take, there would be no problem. I could be a revolutionary and if I failed to sway you, the Siblings lost nothing. As Von, it would be a different story."
"You would have had me mindwiped?"
"Certainly."
Pen walked silently, save for snow squeaks. Then, "How do you know you can trust me? I don't come from the most reliable of stock!" He was angry, at being fooled, at being so blind, for still not understanding.
"I know," Von said. "I can trust you with my life, and the lives of our entire order."
"How? How can you know?"
"Babaji told me."
"Babaji?" Pen stopped. They were only a few hundred meters from the garrison's entrance, staffed by a pair of cold-looking guards in overcoats and hats. "Babaji is a sweet old man, a mystic!"
"That's how he knows. He's connected to the cosmic in a way you and I aren't. I couldn't tell about you, Pen. I had a feeling you were ready, but the lessons were going slowly. You weren't getting what you wanted, and that clouded my vision. But not Babaji's. He knows."
"Shit."
"You don't believe, that's your problem. You've never believed in anything, not really. Without faith, you can do a lot, but with it, you can do miracles. Babaji can see the soul of a person in a way I can't. He knows what we've always suspected about you. Pen. You have much more to give than you know."
Pen saw the pair of gate guards look at them. How odd we must look, two figures wrapped in grays, arguing in the cold.
"I don't see how being a revolutionary enters into anything."
"The opposition of evil, remember?" Von said. "Spiritually, the Siblings make few claims. Pragmatics is another topic. What do you think all of your training has been for, save to put it to use? We concern ourselves with the evolution of man. Through our work, some of the brothers and sisters achieve a cosmic connection, but that is not our main intent. That kind of thing is up to the individual. Your path up the mountain personally is your problem. As a group, we must think of every human and mue's path. On the most basic of levels, we must first try to give everyone the chance to grow. Under the lash of the Confed, too many people never get that chance."
"And that's our job? Bootstrapping humanity?"
"Just so."
"We're supposed to wipe out the Confed." It was not a question.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. It might be by education and evolution, it might be by revolution. We aren't sure. What we are certain of is when there's a sword hanging low over your head, it is impossible to stand up and look around."
Pen thought about it. Certainly he had learned about the evil that the Confed did, directly and otherwise.
No argument that the Confederation as it stood was a bad thing. But it was huge! How did an order the size of the Siblings expect to do anything about it? A gnat against a dinosaur?
His anger, meanwhile, was unabated.
"You manipulated me. You, and… Moon."
"Indeed. When there is a job to be done, the proper tool must be utilized to do it correctly."
"So that's what I am. A tool."
"There is no need to be bitter, Pen. We are all tools. Each of us has a purpose. You did not know yours.
We strived to offer you one."
"So you twisted me, warped me, tricked me!"
"You tricked yourself, Pen. We only gave you the opportunity to learn how to be a part of something larger than yourself. You have wanted that since you left home. You have said as much."
"To Moon. Not to the Siblings, but to Moon! I loved her. I still love her."
"No. She loves you. That's why she has been helping you. You only think you love her."
Pen glared at Von, his anger riding high and hot in him. "What the fuck are you talking about? What do you know about it?!"
Von's answer was soft, almost too low to hear. "You can't love another unless you love yourself. And you can't love yourself until you know who you are. You haven't discovered that yet, Pen. Otherwise, why would you be here, with me? You are still looking for answers."
"Fuck the answers!" His voice must have carried to the sentries, for they both stared at him. With effort, Pen lowered his speaking volume. "How can you know that?"
"Your focus has always been elsewhere. You told Moon she was the most important thing in your life."
"She told you that?" Pen's anger was swallowed by a surge of weariness. His and Moon's intimate talk, words given while lying naked together, and Von knew them. He felt betrayed, felt suddenly as gray as his shroud. How could she?
"Before Moon, there was the dancer, and your partner in crime. You were happy when you were with them."
"Yes. I was."
"But Pen— have you ever been happy when you were alone?"
Pen stared at a snow drift, piled against a plastcrete wall. Sunlight sparkled from crystals, tiny bits of silver against the white. His anger steamed, but he listened.
"As a boy on Cibule?" Von continued, his voice still very quiet.
Pen's voice matched Von's. "No. Not then."
"As a lane runner?"
"Sometimes, when Gworn and I first got together—" He stopped, realizing what he was saying. With Gworn. Not alone.
"As a thief?"
He fought to remember. With Shar Li, with Shanti… Then, "Yes, I can recall a time when I was happy alone."
"Really?"
"I remember a moment on Vishnu, I was on the walkway, by myself. I had just left Shar Li, I was on my way to see Stoll."
"And what were you thinking about?"
"Paradise. I had a friend and a lover and such a beautiful world as Vishnu…" He trailed off again, realizing what Von meant. He had been alone, but his thoughts were of things outside himself. Jesu be damned.
"And at the island on Earth, I had Moon, the others, the ritual of work and learning," Pen said.
"You begin to understand."
Yes. He did. Always, his happiness rode on another's shoulders. If Moon was pleased with him, he was happy. When he did the Ninety-seven Steps, if she said his performance of the Braided Laser had been correct, or the transition from Neon Chain into Vacuum Cage had been smooth, he was secure—in pleasing her. And when he was working, intent on accomplishing a given task, he didn't think about it at all. Even the thrill and tightness of handling a gun required that external focus. He felt cold, suddenly, but not from the air around him. It came from within. So simple. How could he have missed it all this time?
"What difference would it make, opposing the Confed?" he asked. "I would still be doing someone else's task. Doing what I had been led to do."
"No. This time, you have a choice. We sharpened you and gave you a direction, but the choice must be yours, and it must be conscious. You can take another path, live any way that you choose. Your will is your own. While we hope you see the lightness of it, what we want—both Moon and I want—is for you to achieve your own goals, no matter what they turn out to be."
"Are you telling me Moon wouldn't be disappointed if I turned away from this?"
"If Moon thought that joining the Confed and opposing us was what you truly desired, she would be happy for you. You see, most of the time, Moon knows who she is. She can love another because she knows. She wants the best for you. Anyone who truly loves another wants the best for his or her beloved, even if it excludes the lover in the end."
"You really believe that?"
Von nodded. "I know that. That's why I could smile at the thought of Moon with another lover. It was making her happy, and that's what I want."
"No shit?"
Von paused for a moment before answering. "There are times when it's harder to maintain that purity than other times. I'm not a saint, only a man. But I try."
"It's still hard for me to believe."
"You might not be able to control what you think or feel," Von said, "but you
can control what you do. I'm not perfect, don't claim to be. When I'm centered, I'm fine. When I'm off, I'm off. That's the way the game is played. I keep trying, though, and that's the important part. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. That's the way of it."
Pen nodded, but did not speak to that. There was a lot here to think about. Things he hadn't ever wondered about before. He had no long-term goals, save to get back to Moon. Listening to Von, he understood that goal to be out of his reach. Moon would not accept him as an extension of herself. Until he learned about his own center, she would not have him. And after he learned…?
In a moment of clarity he knew. Were he centered, he would not need Moon. The choice to return would be no less important, but it would not be all-consuming.
What was it Von kept harping about in his teaching? To achieve a want, you had to give it up?
Intellectually, he understood that; emotionally and, he guessed, spiritually, it still didn't make sense; still, he had a stronger feel for it in this moment than ever before, that idea of nonattachment. As though the clouds had parted for a moment and allowed a single ray of sunlight into the darkness. He could almost see it. Almost.
But—what was to be done? Should he join with Von in his quiet war against the Confed? Rescuing holy teachers and passing on bits of wisdom to fools such as himself?
No, that wasn't his path. He was a loner, had always been so, despite his attachments to others. Fighting the Confed might be worthwhile, he knew that, but not Von's way. He would have to find out how to do that on his own.
Pen glanced up at the two soldiers, who had turned away from the shrouded priests. No problem there, they must have figured.
Maybe they were wrong, he thought.
Maybe they had turned their backs on the very man who could topple the Confed like a laser cutter slices through the thickest tree. For an ambition, he could do worse. To be the man who brought down a corrupt and repressive governing system. Maybe not the worst rule men had ever lived under, but certainly one that deserved to be changed.
Now there was a goal.
It felt right. No matter that Moon and Von had manipulated him into it. Hadn't he been thinking the same thing earlier, about getting to the top of the mountain? Trek or flitter, what did it matter if the end did justify the means? It did that sometimes. Not always, perhaps, but in this case, maybe, just maybe, it did.
