*
Autumn took over the place, restrained at first but stubbornly changing everything into a Tuscan landscape, with the palace garden a dream about to come true. My mind was wandering in no real direction, like a somnolent bee, amid one daydream or another. There was a magnificent idleness in the air, mimicked by all life. It was too beautiful to take notice of anything else; it was too much even to think. I was alone, expecting Altamira for one of our walks in the park.
Silence had fallen between us, only our feet rustling in the leaves interrupting the indolent hum of nature, and it was neither uncomfortable nor distancing. A kind of timid intimacy had slowly developed over time as we walked together, an almost unconscious manner tacitly accepted by us both. So I kept the words that I knew I would never use buried deep inside. The heat of the sun melted whatever remaining will we had to walk further, that and a gardenia bush, offering her cool shadowy mercy as a place to halt. “The Queen of all flowers,” she started to sing softly.
Slowly my hand reached out unintentionally for the pure cream-yellow beauty. “Your hair will offer...” Her song stopped, as though torn from her lips. A fugitive smile, the blush on her cheek, everything was telling me I had somehow overstepped my role as walking companion.
“Do you know this flower, Deceneus?”
When on a tightrope, always choose the short answer. “Gardenia.”
“There is no story behind the gardenia in the south?”
“No.”
“What a pity. Here it is the engagement flower, it is offered as a token of pure love and a request for marriage.” It was my turn to feel my face changing color. “Don’t worry,” she laughed, “the offering has value only when done consciously.” I felt my face turn even redder. I squeezed an already tormented mind for an intelligent answer; that ‘pity’ was growing and growing; why pity? That I did not know? That the south was poorer for not having such a beautiful allegory? Men are always helpless in such delicate situations and I was no exception. I closed my eyes for a last intellectual effort and I was saved – by my hand. With a mind of its own, it reached up, slowly took another flower and had the courage to close her small palm over it while mine covered both. Afraid, I kept my eyes wide open, my mouth closed.
“There is more to this tradition”, she whispered gently, without taking her hand from mine: “when the flower is received the girl has a choice to make. If she places the flower in her hair, she is willing to marry. The hardest answer is refusing the flower. And there is another answer: when she accepts the flower and sniffs its perfume; that is a maybe. I will keep the flower, Deceneus.”
“There is always a maybe on women’s lips,” I muttered.
“That is the beauty of life,” and her crystalline laugh began again.
In the silence of the night, I murmured to the stars, I’ve got a problem, but there was no unhappiness in those words. Both happiness and unhappiness lay in a parallel universe, far away from the political world, yet they intervened sometimes. There were no walks for the rest of the autumn, and then winter came. The paradox of having our closest moment ever separated us. I will probably never know what was behind the now fallen curtain – political calculation? Had she recognized the momentary impetus in my reaction? Or maybe it was only a polite way to let things pass into the folder of time. She had allowed me to hold her hand. The discreet moon’s eye, wide open upon her night stalkers, did not help the avalanche of my thoughts to stop. I was not sure, not about her, not about me.
*
The Queen’s terrace started to look more and more like a conspirators’ club. “We need to send Scharon’s company away from the border; the book recovery expedition would be a good pretext for this,” I suggested.
“Yes, we will tell the Assembly that the books are the real perpetrators and everybody will vote for this. This company is considered the best we have and they would never agree to take it away from the border.” Arun immediately jumped on me.
“Let this be my responsibility.”
“Oh, the warrior suddenly transformed into a political maverick.” He continued his chicaneries, which I hated, despite knowing that he was a completely different man.
“I think we can suggest that the expedition would be our best chance to confront the Munti by discovering new technologies and weapons.”
The proposal made him scratch his head, and we had a short break, very short. “Yeah ... this time you make sense. Everybody is afraid ... we are inferior warriors when compared to the Munti ... without this irrational situation no one would think to make war. I agree ... let’s make the promise of wonderful new weapons... And who knows, maybe it will come true.” It was funny for so many hiccups to be heard in his speech. We looked at the Queen, as always waiting for her final stamp on the plan.
The Assembly was silent. I was on the podium to make my first political speech ever and I could feel my heart beating hard.
“I hope you will be a little more talkative than a gardenia,” Altamira had joked with me that morning, stirring all kinds of hopes and emotions. Was this intentional? Of course it was, but why? I felt all the eyes in the hall on me and came back to earth.
They are silent … silence seems to be a good omen … a sign of respect. “In our long journey toward Dava, Batranu and I discovered one of our ancestors' marvels, the great Library of Sarmis. It was buried deep and therefore had not been touched for centuries. We brought some of the lost jewels of Baragan history, literature and science to you from there, including the Baragan Compendium of History.” With a sudden movement, I took out the first volume from my pack. The excitement and applause stopped my discourse, but this was all planned. In his corner, the Magister frowned and expressed deep displeasure; he was not aware that I had borrowed the book, nor why.
“There are thousands of books there, waiting to find a new life. And where better to begin this life than here at Dava?” I begin to understand politicians, I mumbled after a new round of applause filled the air. “Their place is here and we have to do everything to regain knowledge of our lost history. Knowing what our ancestors accomplished in equally distressed times will surely help us to make the right decisions in the future.” Who told me this? The Magister… Thank you. “We are living in dangerous times, our country is being attacked, we must use the best weapon we have against them: knowledge. That library is our best hope for winning, finding new weapons to turn the tide of war in our favor and against our enemies.” Applause started again. Phew ... easy to be a good orator here. “We have to be sure that our enemies cannot take that treasure of wisdom from us. If they do, we are doomed. You already know we plan to send an expedition there; we must protect this expedition.” I glanced around: Garon was frowning, unsure about our stratagem. “My companion, Batranu, will go with them, and I think that I have everybody’s agreement that the best choice for protecting the mission is our good warrior, Scharon, and his well-trained company.” Garon jumped to protest, but the noise of the crowd drowned him out completely. Arun’s voice thundered over us, asking for a vote on the issue and with 99 per cent of the votes, the motion was sustained. I was the man of the day.
*
“Houston! I am glad that you are back, do you have some time to spare for a lost soul?”
“Lost soul? Did you lose your soul in that pathetic discourse?”
“Come on, you should be proud of me.”
“If you continue to use Earth’s political strategies the Baragans will lose more than they will gain. Are you learning nothing from their way of life? You would have won the vote anyway; there was no need for that useless show. You just craved applause; you were drunk with it. If you become dependent on this drug, I will have to declare the mission a failure. But the idea of taking Scharon and his company out of the game was the best outcome possible. You derailed the other Faction's plans, whatever they are. Now, should I understand your soul being lost is because of a sudden effort of conscience?”
“You know what I mean.” My
words were wrenched out in slow motion.
“Yeah, I never guessed there was a poetic part to you; not bad for a prosaic IT consultant. So what do you want? My blessing? I am not your mother.”
“Don’t be a bitch, and don’t give me a speech about my mission.”
“How much time do you want to spend on this planet?”
“I am not sure.”
“Don’t touch a gardenia again if you are not sure.” Next moment I was alone in the cave, its shadows matched only by the fog in my mind. I started a slow march toward the light and in a moment of revelation, I whispered to myself, you are right Houston, but you will not know that I know until our next encounter. With my head filled by revelations and joy, I kicked a small rock and fell. I instinctively pushed my hand out to protect my body. The light was suddenly on and I opened my eyes in the bedroom. Instead of the cave floor, I was lying next to my bed.
“The scolding sounds like Houston one hundred percent,” Batranu was carefully weighing his words, “but I have no hope. It’s your own desire for an illusory connection with her. Anyway, you should be more careful with your social life here. For many we are still those southerners.” The end of our walk in the garden had proved him right, at least with the social part. But deep inside, I still hoped the dream was more than a simple delusion; a communication channel with some benevolent external powers. And there was another hidden hope of a totally different nature.
*
“Borrowing money from your bank and paying interest is not going to help the Kingdom’s finances,” I said to Sarul. “In fact, there is a conflict of interest between your position as Treasurer and the head of the Shield Bank.” Their faces stiffened, the King and the Magister, even Altamira, mute voices telling me that this had been a mistake. Wake up! This is not an ordinary council. It’s a trap. The Baragans did not have cheating in their genes, as we have on Earth thanks to that Saurian misguided interference, so it was easy for Garon to side-line me with two short questions, even after the hypnosis business: “Do you really think that our esteemed Treasurer is the kind of person to take advantage of his two positions? Do you think that my positions as Chancellor and a member of the bank’s board cannot guarantee a fair collaboration?” Fair? What does fair mean to you? I complained inside, yet my mind was blocked from his questions and he pushed further: “It's even more fortunate that such a professional banker as Sarul is also the Kingdom's treasurer; his vast experience will help solve the financial problem we have now.”
I know how those ‘esteemed’ professionals are solving other planets’ financial issues, I wanted to shout, but I couldn’t. “The personal qualities of respected members of our Council were never under discussion. I am only considering the possibility of having, in the future, contradictory interests between the Kingdom as a subject of the bank, related to the financial supply chain and the bank itself. The Kingdom should not be the subject of any other internal or external entity or it would lose its independent capacity to react to various issues. From Sarul’s projections the King has to borrow the equivalent of two years’ revenue from the Shield Bank for the next five years, in order to finance the presumed war against the Munti people, and pay back almost double that amount in twenty years.”
“We are at war; their troops are terrorizing our countrymen; they want our riches; they hate us for being rich and free.” Garon stood up to give more influence to his words.
“No, Garon, we are not at war yet. There are some border struggles, but no one can tell for sure if they were started by the Munti.”
“The reports, Io Deceneus, we have reports…” He played the pejorative ‘Io’ with my name. This was a mistake… I read it in the King’s eyes, yet he said nothing. “They killed our people. We mourn them in our hearts. What about your heart?” Heart... You bastard! You have no heart. “What kind of man are you? Are you saying we falsified the reports about these Munti terrorists attacking our villages?” Wrong question. I calmed down. My turn now. The black hats' ‘gifts’ came with a catch: Earth-like culture, spreading now to all players. They knew the reports were false, but they did not imagine that we also knew and kept our knowledge hidden. Their minds are subverted ... contradictions will occur. We only have to exploit them.
“Falsified reports... What makes you think about falsified reports?” Of course, you know they are false … but… The King tried to stop me. I ignored his gesture. “Are Munti really attacking us? What proof do we have? What proof do you have? Munti are peaceful people, like me, like you, like us. No one really wants a war. What if other external forces are in the game, trying to provoke a war between us and the Munti, only to weaken both sides and destroy them later?”
“What other groups?” he reluctantly asked; the discussion was going in a direction he did not like.
“I don't know: Erins, Nogi... You are a Munti in your heart. Would you kill women and children?” His face darkened, and I got no answer. I took a short break to emphasize. “Or maybe ... the black hats are the source of all this.” The King scolded me with a glance; I ignored him again. I am doing your job, so shut up! He said nothing.
“How dare you say this? Travelers are our friends. They come only to help us,” Sarul jumped into the debate. I dare. They help us with a war. Good help. His answer was fast, like reciting a mantra, not a thought arriving from logical analysis. Your minds wobble between your own logic and induced patterns. I have to use this; the switch slows their reactions.
“Would you fight your Munti fellows?” I glanced at Garon and heard his teeth grinding, his eyes were on fire, but no other sound came out from his mouth. And here I finally received some help, things had already gone too far.
“The Munti are superior to us in terms of fighting ability. If they want to invade us, they can do it at any time. Our best soldiers are the Baramunti but they number only five hundred, compared with many thousand on their side.” Altamira’s voice was very calm in describing the Baragan’s weakness.
“This is an even stronger argument for improving our army,” Garon said, but there was hesitancy in his voice. Yes Garon, you just saw the defeat.
“Improving our army is a good thing, doing it with borrowed money will be a bad one. The state can mint its own money, as before, but increase the amount.”
“That would be against the law,” said Sarul, swiftly, “we cannot create more money than we have economic assets in the Kingdom.”
“There is also no law to allow the state to borrow money from particular entities. What does the King do if money can’t be paid back due to economic issues? Knock on the bank’s door and beg while the interest rises? A bankrupt kingdom is a dead kingdom. Debt is a subtle way of leading people or a state into slavery if used in bad faith. Those who borrow money willingly become servants to the lender.” I gave the last words a high dramatic tone, while standing up as Garon had done before, and from the stunned look on the King's face, I was cheered inwardly that, at least for the moment, I had won the fight with the bankers’ gang.
“This is a council,” the King hesitantly stated, “not a battle field. We are partners here, not enemies. Please keep this in mind. For the moment, I see no urgent need to amend the state's laws in order to allow borrowing from banks.” The ‘battle field’ killed any other discussion; the King’s ruse was clever, the meeting ended there. For the moment... The King is borrowing time instead of money; he is afraid. He was reluctant to create a schism in the council and upset Garon again. Garon was a ... mutineer, but he was also afraid for his own future, and the possibility of having to go, cap in hand, to the bank. I have to use his fear.
Three months passed with no further attacks from the Munti, the frontier was quiet and the sense of immediate danger started to fade. After the effort to push the Kingdom into the arms of the bank, Garon was settling for planning his next move, or so it seemed.
*
The paper fell on the table with a bang. The bang came not from the paper itself but from Talian’s fist hit
ting the table over that paper. “Look at this! They want to patent an ‘explosive-propellant tube’.” Calm down man. His palm retreated, uncovering the paper. A long tube with an open mouth was staring at us.
“What the hell? Who designed this?” I lost my temper as fast as Talian. Calm down man, or you will have a stroke. Batranu took the paper.
“There is something wrong with this drawing.” He stroked his beard. When Batranu is stroking his beard, there is something wrong. No, this is not correct. There is something utterly wrong.
“I know what you mean, that is a cannon, a bloody deadly cannon.”
“What’s a cannon?” Talian asked.
“A cannon is something wrong meant to kill people … many people. This thing is a cannon.” I could not restrain my voice. Shit! My big mouth. They now know we had knowledge of it. He will tell the King…
“I was right.” His fury melted in a whisper. “I was right. I wish I wasn’t. Many people will die.”
“Can you stop the patent process?” I asked with a hint of hope. The knowledge is here to stay, knowledge is hard to erase. Maybe we can postpone things until … until a kind of settlement is possible.
“I can’t. Sorry, things are clear, this is absolutely new.”
“A delay at least?” My last hope.
“Two weeks for intradepartmental analysis. That’s all I can give you.”
“Does the King know?”
“He will know today; I have to tell him.” That was bad. That was what I feared, yet, the system worked in our favor: they could not present the new thing, to the King, without being approved by the Patent Office.
On the road back, I remembered Batranu’s reaction. “What did you see in that paper?”
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 27
