by Jim Grimsley
Preread news, if it was encoded properly, required only a moment of realization to be understood; the encapsulated information was presented to Figg’s awareness, realized, and then captured into short-term memory by a specialized set of cells implanted in his prefrontal cortex. There was a kind of balance necessary to the process, as taking in too much at once could bring on nausea, even convulsions. He took in a burst, considered it, took another, and so on.
During an idle day, such as today, he could draw on the prereadings and savor them more completely, as he wished, while placidly awaiting the transition through the Anilyn Gate.
Much of the news originated in Grand Wheel, the station toward which he sailed, which was shaped like a wheel with many spokes and rims. At the center of Grand Wheel was the Anilyn Gate, through which ships sailed to Aramen—it was the twin, in many respects, of the Twil Gate on Senal, through which ocean-borne ships sailed to Iraen. Here on Grand Wheel lived the Mage and much of her court, including the central nodes of Hanson, the ghost in the great machine. In this solar system the gate orbited high above Senal, and in the other high above Aramen; the Mage and Hanson, by living near the gate, had the most efficient information access to both worlds.
All the power in the world—in two worlds, rather—and now all the money in two worlds were concentrated here.
1 The first bubble of news he burst was about the Mage, or at least about the Consort, Lady Jedda, who had recently celebrated her 390th birthday on Grand Wheel. Lady Jedda was now officially the oldest Hormling who had ever lived in a single body; only Hansonian multiples could live longer. The Lady Jedda had been Mage Malin’s consort since the days of the Conquest, when Figg, who was now a spry 303, was a mere child.
The Mage’s celebration in honor of the Consort was notable for the personal appearance of Pods Poxley, sensation of the moment, a new stipple-ball player for a team favored by the Consort. Pods’s name, like Figg’s, was a pseudonym; most people used registered proxy names in place of their real ones, especially for the purposes of maintaining a public persona.
2 Fineas Figg remained infamous on Senal as the heir of the oldest of Orminy Houses, brought low by the Mage’s reform of the laws of commerce known as the Common Fund Reforms; his departure from Senal to live in seclusion on Aramen was noted in several tidbits of information gathered by Figg’s publicity staff. He spent a moment contemplating each of these. One of the reports was notable in that it claimed he was having the Marmigon reconstructed on the north continent of Aramen to escape from the Mage and her secret service agents. None of the rest had the facts any nearer the mark.
3 Great Irion closed the Twil Gate due to a storm in the Inokit Ocean the day before; his decision to allow the storm to flourish rather than to quell it was debated by nearly anyone with a commercial interest in keeping the gate open. Trade with Iraen remained at its highest levels in decades as more Hormling colonists were allowed into the country. Figg’s interest in this subject was unending; he had heard stories of Great Irion since he was a boy and had dreamed of living in Iraen himself one day, though all his applications to emigrate had been denied and he’d been allowed to visit only once. The Mage came from there; the Prin came from there; magic came from there. Skeptical, decadent as Figg had become at times in his long life, he had never lost his childish glee at the thought of magicians. Odd that he felt such innate, childish affection for Great Irion and such suspicion of the Mage, Irion’s niece, who ruled the Hormling in his name.
4 The Marmigon Tenants Council meeting of the day before erupted into near violence over the scheduling of the Autumn Viewing of the Maples and the rival Night of Dead Souls; now that Figg was no longer available as owner of the complex to adjudicate disputes, more and more such altercations could be expected as factions vied for control of Senal’s most exclusive address.
His family had owned the place since it was built; it gave him satisfaction to see how quickly the place was going to hell without him. He would miss mornings in the penthouse looking out over the clouds.
5 Hanson continued to move forward with construction projects designed to bring better living conditions to those in the Reeks, the lower levels of public cubicles and shelters for the billions of Hormling who lived on the minimum. The Common Fund appears healthy and will finance anything we need, says Hanson. Poor people must have decent housing, no matter how far down they live.
There certainly ought to be enough money in that fund, Figg thought. My money and my family’s money, every Orminy family I know, every merchant, every corporation, my god.
By now the shuttle was nearing the check station, a robot craft under propulsion that sniffed all sides of the transport as it accelerated just enough to glide through the dark ring at the center of Grand Wheel. The Common Fund lived here on Grand Wheel, if it lived anywhere; and Hanson owned it all, if anybody did. Had there ever been such wealthy tyrants in the world as these two, Hanson and the Mage?
6 A minor matter, the claim of Celeb Iniman, underdweller, against Fineas Figg, legal proxy for an unnamed party, in the matter of the allegedly illegal adoption of Keely File, underdweller; aforementioned Celeb Iniman claimed to be the paternal uncle of Keely and entitled to a claim in his custody as sole living relative following the untimely death of Sherry File, Keely’s sister. Case dismissed by reason of incompatible DNA as regards to ancestry; Keely File no relation to the complaining party, who therefore had no standing as regards custody of the minor child.
This was a minor news item hardly reported in any media outlet but easily the most important of all to Figg. He had grown far too fond of Keely to allow anyone to take the child away. In the three years since he adopted Keely, one supposed relative after another had crawled out of the Reeks to contest the adoption, in hope of some large financial settlement from Figg’s accountant, no doubt. Not one had ever proven any kinship to the child.
The sister, Sherry, had died as part of Figg’s three hundredth birthday party; legally licensed for public suicide, she had killed herself at the culmination of the party. The ensuing confusion and scandal was in large part responsible for the public outrage that led to the Common Fund Reforms and the Mage’s wholesale changes in Hormling material culture. The same scale of convulsion in Figg’s personal life had led him to retire from the public and adopt Keely, in order to rescue the boy from return to life in the Reeks. Figg had seen something in himself at that party, something he wanted to turn his back on…he had no words for it.
7 Marches for liberty and full independence in planetary government continued in the city of Jarutan on the north continent of Aramen; peaceful and orderly demonstrations bringing hundreds of thousands of Aramenians to the streets in support of the cause of freedom from the Hormling and the Prin. The movement was supported by the Dirijhi, the sentient trees who lived in the north of the continent and who considered themselves to be the owners of the planet Aramen since they were the original inhabitants of it.
Figg had been following this thread for some months as he contemplated emigrating to that very place—not to Jarutan but to the north continent, where the farm was.
It struck Figg as odd, this freedom movement, since the north continent of Aramen, called Ajhevan, was already the freest place in the Hormling universe. Under the terms of the treaty with the Dirijhi, the Prin were allowed no access to Ajhevan, and so, over the years, it had become a haven for people who wanted to do business away from the attention of the priests who served the Mage.
8 The Orminy clan Urtuthenel booked passage on Fartha Station en route to Glindy; the entire clan decided to leave Senal with what was left of its fortune in the wake of the disastrous Common Fund Reforms. The Urtuthenel, no longer wealthy, elected to ship out to the Glindy colony via station rather than ship, the cost of fast transport being prohibitive for such a large clan. Bitter statements issued from Skygard as the clan matron held her last press conference. About half the Orminy houses had defected to Aramen and about half to Glindy; those headed fo
r Glindy would take slow-side transport to the station and then ride serenely at half-light speed, a journey of something like twenty-five years. Had the clan possessed the resources for fast-side transport—transport traveling faster than the stations of the Conveyance—they could have made the journey in fourteen.
The richer houses were settling on Aramen, the poorer on Glindy. Exceptions were not so frequent as to distort the picture. This newsburst originated from a private data service to which Figg’s family subscribed; Figg made it his business, like any good Orminy son, to keep abreast of clan movements.
This era will be spoken of in shame, said the Urtuthenel matriarch; we have abandoned Home Star to the domination of a deceiver and a low witch.
9 Even harder to access was news from within the Prin, the priesthood who served the Mage, but Figg had sources. Today four high-ranking Prin chorists had been apprehended, along with a group of Hormling and Iraenian scientists; the group had been conducting illegal research into the nature of the Prin chant. The priestly members of the group were willing participants; two of them had been employed to keep the research hidden from their fellows, while the other two aided in research. The names in this case meant nothing to Figg, but the fact of the arrest intrigued him. One rarely heard of any sort of schism in the ranks of the Prin.
This or that member of the Prin inner circles denounced this scandalous breach of the respect due to Great Irion, this violation of the discipline of the Oregal. Figg had heard this word before, Oregal, transliterated from the Erejhen language, but he had no idea what it meant. The closest translation he had been able to find was “birdcage,” but that could scarcely be correct.
Describing the process of absorbing a newsburst requires a much longer time than undergoing it. Figg considered each of these moments of news, sighed in his seat on the shuttle, waited for transit.
He processed many more moments in those few seconds.
192 In Feidreh, the capital of southern Aramen, flowers of further new species had been identified, in some cases kin to nothing else ever found in native foliage. Botanists were at a loss to explain what could only be a severe increase in the level of mutations in certain plant families.
Items like this he passed over with a flickering; he vaguely considered what possible algorithm might have caused it to come to his attention. It was as if some hand were tapping him on the shoulder.
2.
Figg saw Keely properly unbelted from the seat on the lander and passed the boy over to Nerva; the older man was tired from the long transit, most of it spent waiting for the moment at which the shuttle would be given permission to accelerate to the appropriate path for passage through the Anilyn Gate to local space near Aramen.
No one knew exactly how much space the gate collapsed or how far its steady flow of traffic actually traveled during that quick, painless transit. Even the Mage, who helped to cause the transit, had no notion of the distance it crossed; such a consideration was irrelevant, or so it appeared. The particulars of local space around Aramen matched nothing in the sky registers of the Hormling taken from any of their worlds on the other side of the gate; one could presume from this that the gate connected two very distant regions.
On the other side of the gate, in local space around Red Star, the shuttle accelerated out of the path of oncoming traffic, then began decelerating in a long curve toward Skygard Aramen.
Now came their processing through local intake, most of which was automated and passive; Figg and his party need merely negotiate the free-fall corridors and hand-over-hand pathways toward the lift platforms, followed by the long descent down the pulleypod into the deep atmosphere of Aramen. Their initial destination was Feidreh-Avatrayn, the twin city that served as colonial capital for what had become, under the rule of the Mage, the second-most important world in the Hormling sphere of influence. He had heard again in his newsbursts that the Prin were not allowed to venture into Ajhevan and, following his recent dealings with them, found the prospect pleasing. There was a strong independence movement in the north; at one point early in his planning he had considered throwing in his lot with theirs. Not that he could be of much financial use to them now that the bulk of his wealth had been stripped away. His family name had a certain level of prestige attached to it—not Figg, of course, but his full krys name, Bemona-Kakenet, the oldest and most senior of the Orminy houses.
He was emigrating to this world for Keely. So far the Mage had not extended the reach of the Common Fund Reforms beyond Senal; here, once Figg became a citizen, he could will his property to Keely. The child had brought immense freshness to Figg’s life. He meant for Keely to grow up where there was open land, running water, trees, green growing things, all of which Figg remembered from his own boyhood on his mother’s estate.
At the moment Keely was tired, head in Nerva’s lap, sleeping as the car slowly descended, their bodies gaining weight again, the car warming for a period during the early descent, then cooling as that system kicked in. He woke soon enough, though, when the car landed and passengers disembarked at the foot of Skygard into the Plaza of Two Worlds.
The first thing he noticed was that he felt heavier. Nerva was muttering about it as well; gravity on Aramen was a good ten percent stronger than on Senal. The difference was enough to notice, and Keely was taking slow giant steps as if his feet were made of lead.
To Figg’s surprise, Dekkar was waiting at the point of arrival, coat pressed against his body by the wind. He looked concerned and approached Figg right away. A woman was with him, medium height, indeterminate age; she had that look of being permanently in her thirties that most Hormling carry well into their second century.
“Are you listening to the news at all?” Dekkar drew Figg aside from the rest of his party, near a water fountain in the shape of a twist of stone, basin at the top.
“No, I haven’t linked in a while; I figured my stat was still searching through local protocols.”
“There’s a good bit of trouble here.”
“Trouble?” He felt Penelope stir in his scalp, stretching her long, thin legs; he reached to stroke her back. Keely pressed against his side, small head under Figg’s hand. “I assume you mean something out of the ordinary.”
“You’re aware of the freedom demonstrations in the north? Jarutan?”
“Yes. I was going over my news filters and had a newsburst about that.”
“The trouble’s spread here, too, it appears.”
“In Feidreh?”
“Yes. I think it’s something quite serious. My guide there,” Dekkar gestured to the woman, who was standing in the sun looking a bit out of place, her clothes of no style Figg could recognize, leather leggings and a close-fitting blouse, a utility vest over it—odd fashion, looking more like a work outfit. “Her name is Kitra Poth. She’s from Ajhevan, the northern continent. I believe you said you were headed there?”
“Yes.”
“Apparently so am I. She’s suggesting strongly that I leave with her immediately to get clear of whatever is coming this way.”
“Whatever is coming?”
“The military’s gone on alert. There are rumors of some kind of violence in the city.”
“You think we’d be safer if we came with you now?”
“I have a surface flitter with plenty of room,” said Dekkar. “But we need to leave this minute.”
He glanced upward, as if expecting to see something beyond the awful turquoise of the sky, a few clouds distant, purpling along the bottoms.
“All we have is our hand luggage,” Figg said.
“Can you leave your retainer here to try to gather the rest?”
“I won’t have a bodyguard if I do.”
“Except Penelope,” Dekkar said, being familiar with Figg’s partly mechanical pet, who was far more effective as a bodyguard than even so formidable a young woman as Zhengzhou.
Penelope, hearing her name, stretched and preened, arching her velvety back. Keely was watching, round-eyed; h
e had a great affection for Penelope, and no fear of her at all, or so it appeared.
“You think it’s that urgent?” Figg asked.
“Kitra does. She’s impatient that I’ve made her wait this long.”
“All right then,” Figg said, feeling his heart pick up a beat, looking around at the busy plaza, dotted with green islands, kiosks selling planet memorabilia to tourists arriving and departing; food stands, most serving various kinds of local sausages; street musicians and performers. “Sounds as if we should risk leaving the luggage if that’s necessary. Are you ready now?”
“We have a putter parked over here to take us to the flitter landing.”
Figg gathered his family hurriedly and gave instructions to Zhengzhou, who frowned and agreed. “Rent a flitter if you can,” Figg said. “You’ve already got the address of the farm, just take everything there as soon as possible; we’ll be there ahead of you.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I can’t stress to you enough how urgent it is that you get out of the city quickly,” Dekkar said to her.
Zhengzhou nodded, bundling her dark weather-coat around her, and hurried off into the crowd toward the baggage terminal.
On the top of Figg’s head, legs socketed in his scalp, Penelope stirred and went on a state of alert. She was edgy in big crowds, especially now that Figg could no longer afford his customary entourage of security.
Nerva said, “My goodness, what a rush. I was hoping to see a bit of the city before we left. I’ve heard there’s a grand museum of colonial history here. Keely ought to look at the exhibits.”
