We are the Angry Ones.
—Aeschylus, The Eumenides, 499
Chapter 10
Trey Maturin
We kept the newscasts on all the calendar-day, listening for any hint of trouble. To me, the droning voices of the announcers, with their monotonous appeals for calm and their continuous reports of quiet throughout the Halex Mandate, conveyed nothing of any use. Guil, with long experience of the Destiny newssystems, translated freely, but her interpretation wasn't particularly encouraging. The Branch-lands offered no resistance to the continuing Brandr presence. After everything Herself had done to help them, I had expected better—but then, there was no genarch available to lead them, and the Holders refused to act. It was hard to do anything, yet, without leaders. Only in Destiny and a few of the Prosperities mining towns were there any reports of unrest. None of it was serious, just shouting and rock-throwing, but nonetheless, I was somewhat encouraged by the reports. Guil shook her head.
"They wouldn't report trouble if it wasn't under control."
"Where the hell are they getting enough men to do all this?" Leith muttered.
Guil shrugged. "Every adult's under arms-obligation, remember. And they've got the Fyfe to help."
"And our Branch Holders aren't doing anything." Alkres, who had spent most of the day sitting on Guil's couch playing with an electronic strat-game, looked up for the first time in hours. "Trey, do you think telling them I'm alive will make them fight?"
"I hope so," I said. I hoped, too, that Rehur would contact me soon, let me know if we had another refuge. It was looking as though it would be a while before we found a Holder we could trust—and I was not going to take Alkres into any of the Holds until the Holders committed themselves.
A little after the fifteenth hour, the newscast reported that Yslin Rhawn had asked for an emergency meeting of the Ship's Council. We all froze, even Alkres, and the strat-game fell silent at last. Cautiously, Guil reached to increase the volume.
"If they broadcast the tape," she whispered, "we're in trouble."
For a moment, I didn't understand what she meant, but then the tape clicked on. Shorn of the measured rhetoric, Yslin Rhawn's speech asked only for the Ship's Council to consider the Brandr Patriarch's accusations. He said nothing of their attack or the destruction of the Tower. Clearly, he was leaving his way clear to accept the Brandr offer of the genarchy, and I waited for the other Holders to register a protest. One by one, the answers trickled in: Fyfe and Axtell agreed at once to the meeting, neither genarch mentioning the attack; the Ansson Holder also consented, stiffly, but without filing a protest. Asbera Ingvarr made a veiled reference to "present difficulties," but agreed. Brandr sent a curt acknowledgement. That left only the Orillon, and given the communications lag, we couldn't expect their answer for another half hour at the earliest. The newscast burbled on, talking about issues and precedents. With a violent movement, Guil cut the volume.
"Excuse me." Alkres stood, and very carefully placed the strat-game on the table. His face was set and white, lips pinched together to hold in tears. Without waiting for any answer, he disappeared into Guil's spare bedroom. I started after him, not quite knowing what I'd do, and Leith shook her head at me.
"Let him be a little."
I hesitated, but as an adolescent, Leith had commanded other adolescents, and ought to know what she was doing. I sat down again, hoping she was right.
The Orillon answer came promptly—the first good news we'd had all day. The Orillon Patriarch agreed to the meeting, and announced his intention of filing a formal protest against the Brandr for their questionable behavior in pursuing their feud. It was the first sign of support from any quarter, and Leith sighed explosively.
"Thank God there's somebody honest in this system!"
Guil gave a curious shrug, and looked away. She was part of the Orillon Kinship, after all, and I wondered just what she meant by that gesture. Before I could ask, however, Leith pointed toward the spare bedroom.
"You might want to tell him, now."
I nodded, a little reluctantly, but had to bow to her superior knowledge. I tapped on the doorframe, and opened the door a little way without waiting for an answer. Alkres was lying face down on the narrow pallet that served both as spare bed and as a couch. He didn't move until I said, "May I come in?"
He sat up then, drawing the back of one hand angrily across his face. "All right." It wasn't a very gracious answer, but it was permission.
Guil used the room for storage and as a workroom, as well as a spare bedroom, and the shortest wall was filled with closed and open storage boxes. There were a couple of other boxes scattered across the floor, and a comfortable working chair stood in one corner beneath a powerful standing lamp. I seated myself on one of the boxes that had a padded top, and said, "We've heard from the Orillon Patriarch. He's said he's going to protest to the Council."
"Wonderful," Alkres said sarcastically. "Why aren't my people doing that?"
I wished I knew the answer to that myself. "I don't know. They've been hard hit, remember—"
"Not as hard hit as we have," Alkres said.
"Not in the same way," I said, groping for the right words, "but pretty hard, all the same. They've lost their leaders, either killed or driven underground like you, and the person who ought to step in is looking out for his own advantage. It's no wonder they don't know what to do. You can't blame them for being cautious."
"I can," Alkres said fiercely. "And after all Herself did for them, too. They're breaking the code, and I'll get them for it. Especially Yslin Rhawn."
"Alkres," I said, and put every gram of conviction I could muster into my voice. "You're the Patriarch now, you can't afford that kind of talk. You have to lead them, not blame them—not now."
"You're a mediator, you have to talk that way." Alkres glared at me, unreconciled. "They've broken the code, and they have to pay for it."
"The code was never meant to deal with anything like this. There's no precedent, is there, for a whole Branch being destroyed? Especially not the mainline Family." I took a deep breath, and finally said what had been on my mind since we left Federston. "I think this is going to have to be settled outside the code."
"The code's the law!" Alkres's voice was outraged. "How can you settle anything without law?"
"There's law," I said, slowly, "and there's justice, and then there're the human beings who have to manipulate those abstractions. Sometimes you have to compromise—and improvise—to hold things together. And that's what's really important, holding things together. Yes, I'm a mediator, yes it's my job to say that, but I mean it."
Alkres stared at me, silenced but not convinced. After a moment, he said, "I want a cup of tea."
He was the genarch, I reminded myself—in fact, as well as name, head of a substantial local-planetary government. And I was his employee. I had done what I could, for now. I nodded, and we went back into the main room.
Guil brewed tea for all of us, and brought out a tray of the salty snacks called sannin. I wasn't precisely hungry, but I chewed on a few of the tough strips anyway, knowing I might need the calories. Leith paced back and forth, stopping periodically to listen to the newscast. Alkres played with his strat-game until I thought the beeps and clicks would drive me crazy. I stood it for as long as I could, but after two hours I was ready to smash the stupid thing. I was about to say so when Leith said, "Listen!"
There was a note in her voice that stopped us all. She adjusted the volume, and the newscaster's voice poured into the room. "—stadtholder has agreed to the Demi-heir's request that the Necropolis be closed until the present uncertainties are resolved. She has also agreed to consider the further requests for a clock-curfew, and that the Demi-heir's men be allowed to supplement the regular police forces in the city."
There was more, but it was drowned by Guil's feral yelp. "If that doesn't get through to them, nothing will."
Leith said " 'Supplement the regular police,' huh? Sounds to me lik
e they're gearing up for a search."
"To me, too," I said, and wished we would hear from Rehur. "We'd better be prepared to move fast."
"There's always the port," Leith said again. "You'd be safe there."
"I'm not running away," Alkres said.
"We don't have to go anywhere," Guil snapped. She looked at me. "The port complex will be safer than the city, though, if it comes to a search. They won't want to offend off-worlders."
"We'll wait and see what happens," I said firmly. "Keep the volume up, will you, Leith?"
Rehur arrived on the heels of the first newscasts that reported trouble in the Necropolis. He leaned against the wall as Guil closed the door behind him, breathing heavily, his eyes as huge and mad as they had been when he played Belos. There was a bloody tear in the sleeve of his tunic.
"I did what you asked, Trey," he said, between gasps, "but it won't do any good."
"What do you mean?" I said. "What's happened?"
The ghost gave me a mirthless grin, but let Guil pull him toward a seat, wincing as she touched the injured arm. With an effort, Alkres remained in his seat, looking toward the comnet and the newscaster's voice, but I could see his shoulders twitch every time his cousin spoke.
"Off with it," the para 'an said, and touched the collar of the actor's tunic. Rehur complied, wincing, and I caught a glimpse of a nasty cut through the ripped and bloodied undershirt. Guil whistled softly to herself, and tore the sleeve away, exposing a painful-looking gash just below the tattooed band. "Crossbow?"
Rehur nodded, and she vanished into the bathroom, to emerge a moment later with a battered aidkit. As she went to work on the cut, Rehur said, "When they closed the theaters—no, I'd better start with Lulan." He caught his breath as Guil applied a disinfectant wand to the cut, and went on slowly, "I went to Lulan of the May-apple, Trey, like I told you I would. She said she'd help—I knew she would—but there were Brandr there when I got there, looking for him—" He jerked his head at Alkres, who was still struggling not to acknowledge the ghost's presence. "—and I guess they recognized me, figured out what I was there for. They came to my flat. . . ." His voice slowed then, in a way that had nothing to do with the para'an's deft touch with the aidkit.
I said, "They threatened you?"
Rehur nodded. There was more to it than that, I felt sure, but I would not press him. "Yeah. Belit, our synth-man, shot two of them —she keeps a hunting crossbow in her rooms—and I got away. They're fighting all over the Necropolis now."
"Can they win?" Leith said, quietly.
Rehur shrugged. "I don't know—I doubt it." He looked at me. "Trey, they'll use this as an excuse to crack down on the rest of the city, you know that."
"He's right," Guil said, adding a last piece of tape to the actor's bandage. "We can't stay here."
"We go to the port," Leith said. "And we get off-world." She met Alkres's eyes steadily, ignoring his cry of outrage. "It's your only chance, Patriarch."
"Go where, Leith?" I asked, hoping she wasn't playing the captain again.
Leith grinned suddenly, a reckless, fighting grin. "Electra. Who else has made a protest? The Orillon may not support you, but I bet they'll give you sanctuary."
She had a point, though I distrusted the expression on her face. Then I shook myself. She was right—there weren't any other alternatives any more, and the sooner we left, the better. I opened my mouth to say as much, and felt the floor quiver underfoot. The whole building seemed to stagger forward, then sway back into place, upper floors following reluctantly behind the lower.
"Hell's teeth!" Guil reached for the comnet controls, manipulating the service channels. "I forgot the damn warning."
Enlightened and appalled, I reached for the almanac discarded among a stack of reading tapes. I flipped through the crudely printed pages until I found the day's date, and fixed my eyes on the sketch, where the moons chased each other around a set of concentric rings. Sure enough, all three were moving into syzygy, and the date was highlighted in red, with the words "tremors and volcanic activity likely" printed to one side. It happened every twenty-four calendar days, of course, and the Geo/Met office issued regular bulletins and warnings—but surely Destiny wasn't a particularly active area? The building shook again, a violent, sideways hopping, and I heard something fall and break in the kitchen.
"What's broken?" Rehur asked. I glanced at him, surprised he should worry about the para'an's possessions, then realized he had meant something else entirely.
"The Seam's open," Guil answered, scanning the comnet's screen, "and the Heartlight. The Old Forge is quiet, and so's Big Bertha over in the Axtell Mandate. But I don't see any signs why we should be feeling it."
The Seam was the line of volcanic islands that marked a plate boundary in the middle of the Deeps, Orestes' larger ocean. It was regularly active during syzygy, I knew that much, as was the volcano known as the Heartlight. But Destiny was situated well away from all the known fault lines. . . .
Guil said, "Wait, here we go." She read from the words crawling across her screen. "The Lower Tolands fault is showing strain, and there have been several minor tremors with their epicenter in the Grand Shallows just south of the Toland Point. Inhabitants of the Jan and Brandr Holdings in the Brandr Mandate, the Charlot Holding in Fyfe Mandate, and Halex Holding in Halex Mandate, are advised to take yellow-warning precautions. Be sure to have drinking water on hand, et cetera, et cetera."
"It's going to be a bad close-passage," Alkres said, sounding subdued.
"The port, Guil," Leith said. "Is it closed?"
The para'an had already cleared her screen, and was typing an inquiry into the 'net. "Damn it, yes." She swung around to face us. "There's no choice—no one will be able to get off if the tremors keep up."
"If you can't," Leith said, "I can." She turned her head slowly, including all of us in her challenging stare. Pretense or not, I was very glad of her confidence. "I've done it in worse conditions," she went on. "And I can get us a ship."
Guil stirred at that. "Not Pipe Major—she's too big and clumsy."
"One of the tugs," Leith said. "I can do it."
"One-armed?" Guil asked, very quietly.
"If you'll copilot." Leith waited, and slowly, the para'an nodded. Leith swung around again, catching us all in her glance. "Who's with me, then?"
I had a sudden feeling of being caught up, not in a holoplay, but in one of the military films that were so popular on the Urban Worlds. For the first time, I understood their popularity: it was so easy to give command to the person with the superior knowledge, so natural to answer with the proper line. I'm with you, Captain. I realized abruptly that someone had said it. Alkres was standing now, face flushed and eager, ready to follow Leith to the end of this world.
"Good boy," Leith said, and looked at Guil. The para'an nodded again.
"And me."
My answer was next, according to whatever crazy script we were following, and quite suddenly I knew I didn't want to break with it. Leith did know what she was doing, even if she'd chosen cheap films for her model. She was giving us our only real chance to buy time and maybe escape from the trap the Brandr had set for the Halex. I said, as I must, "We'll do it your way, Leith."
That left only Rehur. I glanced at him, and saw him staring at us, half incredulous, half hysterically amused, and knew he'd recognized the scene as well. He pushed himself up out of his chair, favoring his injured arm, and said, "Sorry, people, not me."
I recognized the part, and my own laughter died. He was playing the native leader, the resistance worker, the infiltrator, the one who stays behind to fight the good fight—the second lead, always, the one who dies. He glanced at me sidelong, slow and mocking, and I knew he'd chosen it deliberately.
"Oh?" That was Leith, preternaturally calm.
"That's right." The building trembled again, less violently than either of the other tremors, but Rebur steadied himself against the nearest chair. "I'd be endangering Alkres. Look, I'm
still dead, at least to him, and he can't risk breaking code. It's a thirty-six-hour flight to Electra, even at close approach, and if he's shut up all that time in a little tug with me and three other people who can see ghosts—well, how long will it be before he accidentally breaks code? We can't risk it."
He was right, and I paid him the compliment of feeding him his cue. "What will you do?"
"I'll go back to the Necropolis," he answered, steadily. "Ume-Kai'll take me in. Together we might be able to arrange some support for you, when you return." He crossed to the door, setting his hand on the controls, and his solemnity broke suddenly into an impish smile. "Thanks, Trey," he said, in an entirely new voice. "I never played second lead before." He put fingers to his lips, still smiling, and was gone.
The others were looking at me with varying degrees of confusion and annoyance. Before anyone could ask, I said, "We'd better get moving, Leith."
It didn't take long to gather our belongings: an extra tunic and undershirt for Alkres, borrowed from Guil, along with a cloth bag to put them in; a change of clothes for the tug pilot; Leith's campaign bag. I had my IDs and the clothes I stood up in, and was lucky to have that much; I would've been glad of a change of clothes, but Guil and I were not of a size.
The streets were unexpectedly crowded, the various squares in particular filled with people. In the rising light from Agamemnon, I could see that many of them carried chairs and folding lounges, or packed heated sleepsacks. Taking shelter from the earthquakes, I realized abruptly, watching a woman place a baby into a free-standing heated cradle. Despite Destiny's strict construction laws, people seemed to feel safer out from under the buildings. The tremors had brought us some good after all: it would be very hard to spot one more "family group" among the moving, nervous crowds.
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