by Doris Egan
I was in the cellar. I looked around at the jagged stone walls, the floor with its carefully fitted blocks, the ceiling.
I almost expected to see two couches there, but there were none. Nevertheless I was nervous simply being in the room and I wanted to get out. I reopened the closet, just to check my potential exit, and saw that there was no door visible at this end. I put my hand against the far wall—it felt like wall.
Still, I wasn't worried. I'd taken too much anarine for that. I headed for the cellar steps, walking as quietly as I could. The stairs came out in the kitchen; huge, deserted, and dark. It was another country entirely with the lights out, a different place from the friendly pocket of food and conversation I'd found when Herel the Cook was holding court. I tried not to knock anything over.
Nobody in the passageway, nobody on the main stairs. My heart was beating faster, I noticed. Given my present rate of pulse, who knew what state of nerves I'd be in if I hadn't gotten blessedly tranked up ahead of time. Eln's Net link was on the second floor; I'd never been in the room, but Ran had drawn a map… here we were. There was just a curtain in the doorway, and no sounds coming from inside. Of course, some people can be awfully quiet when they use a terminal. There's no law that says you have to use the audio switch; if you're doing math, it's easier not to. Would Eln be doing math? I dithered in the doorway for a couple of minutes, getting up the nerve to look inside. It was the idea that someone could come along the second-floor passage at any time that finally pushed me to stick my head in and take the risk.
Empty. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I walked in and steadied the curtains behind me.
Now, let's see. His keyboard was covered with dust. Evidently he did use the audio switch, or else the screen pad and pencil. Not surprising—this was another heirloom terminal, first-generation import, and the keys were Standard letters. Tellys had gone to a lot of trouble to get the Net to accept phonetic renderings of Ivoran words in Standard letters. Ivoran just had too many damn characters, it drove the Tellys technicians crazy. As a result hardly anybody on Ivory used the actual keyboard, they preferred to talk or write on the screen pad. Ran was one of the few people I knew who punched the keys. Probably something to do with his aggressive instinct.
I needed the keyboard. I would leave dust tracks if I hit the keys, and Eln would know someone had been there. I actually stood there for a moment wondering if there was any way I could put the dust back on the keyboard after I was finished, before I realized I was being an idiot. It was the anarine, I would like to think. I activated the terminal, sound off.
-CAN I HELP YOU? the screen said. At least, I assume that's what it said. I typed, in Standard, PLEASE USE STANDARD.
-CAN I HELP YOU? it said, obligingly, in readable letters.
-YES, I said.
-PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF.
I typed, ELN CORMALLON, 53462.
-ELN CORMALLON, YOUR NET MATERIAL IS ALL PASSWORD-PROTECTED. TO ACCESS ANY SPECIFIC INFORMATION, YOU WILL HAVE TO PROVIDE SPECIFIC CODES. WHAT AREA DO YOU WISH TO GO TO?
-ACCESS BY SUBJECT.
-VERY WELL.
-SUBJECT IS SORCERY-TRANSFER.
-VERY WELL. PLEASE GIVE ME A SPECIFIC CODE.
-HOW MANY INCORRECT CODES CAN I TRY BEFORE THE SIRENS GO OFF?
-I BEG YOUR PARDON?
-HOW MANY TRIES FOR SPECIFIC CODE DO I HAVE BEFORE SECURITY PROGRAM KICKS IN?
-THREE. BUT YOU CAN TERMINATE YOUR SESSION AND TRY AGAIN AS OFTEN AS YOU LIKE, SO WHY BE COY ABOUT IT.
-I LIKE YOUR SECURITY INFORMATION PROGRAM.
-THANK YOU. FOR AN ADDITIONAL 86,000 TA-BALS IVORAN A TIGHTER SECURITY PROGRAM MAY BE PURCHASED FROM SOFTSTAR OF TEL-
LYS, AND INSTALLED FOR YOU AT NO EXTRA COST.
-SUBJECT IS SORCERY-TRANSFER.
-VERY WELL. PLEASE GIVE ME A SPECIFIC CODE.
I typed, STEPAN.
-INCORRECT. PLEASE GIVE ME A SPECIFIC CODE.
-I typed, BLUESTONE.
-INCORRECT. PLEASE GIVE ME A SPECIFIC CODE.
-I typed, RAN.
-INCORRECT. CODE "RAN" IS NOT A SORCERY-TRANSFER SUBJECT. THIS INFORMATION RESIDES IN ANOTHER BRANCH.
END, I typed. Then I logged on again. We went through the routine, I asked it to speak Standard, gave Eln's name and ID number, and tried three of the passwords Ran suggested. None of them worked. I tried the whole thing again, with three more passwords. Nothing. I did it all again, still no result. Within half an hour I had gone through Ran's entire list of forty-eight passwords. Many of them were genuine Cormallon codes—Eln had apparently wiped them all when Ran was disowned.
I logged on again, and thought about it. I typed, KYLLA.
-INCORRECT. PLEASE GIVE ME A SPECIFIC CODE.
I typed, THEO.
-INCORRECT. CODE "THEO" IS NOT A SORCERY-TRANSFER SUBJECT. THIS INFORMATION RESIDES IN ANOTHER BRANCH.
-WHICH BRANCH?
-PERSONAL RECORDS.
It was very tempting, but I was pressed for time. SUBJECT IS SORCERY-TRANSFER, I typed.
-VERY WELL. YOU HAVE ONE REMAINING TRY FOR CORRECT CODE.
This session, anyway. But I was running out of guesses.
I thought of the shopkeeper in the jewelry store on Marsh Street. Kylla had told me his name, what was it? While I was trying to remember I decided to do one more code and log off and on again. I typed, MARSH. -VERY WELL.
I was about to type END, when I froze. -VERY WELL? AM I IN SUBJECT SORCERY-TRANSFER?
-YOU ARE IN SUBJECT SORCERY-TRANSFER. -THANK YOU.
-YOU'RE WELCOME. DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE WORKING ON THE TIME/INTENSITY GRAPH?
-NO THANK YOU. I WANT TO COPY ALL INFORMATION ON THIS SUBJECT TO PORTABLE MEDIUM.
-WHICH MEDIUM? PLEASE NOTE THAT YOUR PRINTER DOES NOT POSSESS STANDARD CHARACTERS. -PELLET.
-PLEASE NOTE THAT PELLET GENERATOR HAS NOT BEEN USED SINCE ITS INSTALLATION 53 YEARS AGO. WITHOUT MORE CURRENT TESTING, IT IS POSSIBLE THERE WILL BE DIFFICULTY IN GENERATION OR DISRUPTION OF DATA.
-GO AHEAD ANYWAY. -VERY WELL.
I looked at the pellet generator beside the terminal, a small glass case with a spindle inside. Real glass, not plastic; that's Cormallon style—it could just as easily have been cut crystal. Sometimes this family got on my nerves. While I watched the spindle started to turn. It revolved faster and faster, accumulating soft gray material at its base. The gray material grew. When it was about a centimeter wide and three centimeters high, the spindle stopped. I waited another moment for the pellet to harden, then I opened the glass and took it out. I placed it in one of the pellet-holes inside my data-case.
I typed, THANK YOU, I'VE GOT IT.
-DO YOU WISH MATERIAL ON RELATED SUBJECTS ALSO?
-WHAT RELATED SUBJECTS? I asked.
-SORCERY, THEORETICAL
SORCERY, HISTORY
SORCERY, PRACTICAL
SORCERY, CORMALLON
SORC-
I hit the "cut" button. -NO THANK YOU. Then I got a bright idea. I typed, ACCESS BY SUBJECT.
-VERY WELL.
-HOUSEHOLD SECURITY.
-THREE SPECIFIC CODES ARE NECESSARY TO ACCESS INFORMATION. YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES TO ENTER THE FIRST. IF THIS CODE IS INCORRECTLY ENTERED, OR THE TWO MINUTE MARK IS REACHED, THE HOUSEHOLD ALARMS WILL GO OFF. TIME BEGINS NOW.
Great gods of scholars! I leaped out of the chair. Then I stopped, leaned over, and typed END.
-THIS DEFENSE PROGRAM CANNOT BE INTERRUPTED.
I started to sweat.
I ran down the main stairs, skidded to a stop in the passageway and wondered if I should make for the front door; it might not open easily and would start the alarms that much sooner. I wasted half a second thinking about it and then, for no really good reason, kept running through the kitchen and down the cellar stairs. But the emergency exit just wasn't there. I pounded on the closet wall in desperation, and as I did the alarms began to sound. I took the cellar steps upward, two at a time, and headed for the front door. Then I skid
ded to a stop again—there were people starting down the main stairs. I reversed direction and headed back toward the kitchen. I would have to use the back entrance, although it would mean yet more alarms going off, and then a long sprint around the east wing of the house to get to the front and try to reach the aircar before everybody else did; a hopeless task, but this was no time to think about it. I hit the kitchen running flat out. As I rounded the table, the door to the other passage opened.
It was Kylla. She was wearing a nightrobe and holding a pistol. She stared at me.
Under the circumstances, I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, paused, and she said, "Come on."
"What?" I said.
"Follow me," she ordered, with intensity in her voice, and turned away. Having no other alternatives, I did.
She took me down the hall to a door I'd never paid much attention to; it led up some stairs to a garage. There were two aircars there, both four-seaters. She said, "Get in that one. The other one needs repairs." Then she hit i switch and opened the roof doors. "C27 activates it," she yelled to me through the car window. I punched it in and watched the board light up. Then I took off.
There was no time to ask questions, no time to say ihanks, no time to look back and wave. I had my hands full just maneuvering.
This model was different from the ones I'd been taught in The altitude control was foot-operated; what could :he manufacturers have been thinking of? I kept dipping »roundward as I flew. And while I tried to make sense 3f the controls I kept thinking, what if they've done something to the barrier? I increased speed with one hand md adjusted the altitude yet again. And where were those lamned hills I was supposed to steer by? And why did I lave to get stuck in a clumsy four-seater obviously designed by the Marquis de Sade Research and Development Corporation? And where were those hills?
I crashed through the barrier. It felt like that, but all hat really happened was the familiar tingle as I passed larmlessly through. Just in time—let them do what they wanted to it, now. I scanned right and left, looking for any landmarks, and as I did I must have lost control of he altitude. Suddenly I was a lot lower than I thought I vas, and a hillside was rushing up to meet me.
In rapid, useless succession, I jerked up the altitude, I veered sharply left, I saw that neither of these were going to be enough to help; I froze for perhaps one very lengthy millisecond; and I felt a burning sensation in my chest. Then I hit the brakes.
Maybe it would be obvious to people who know what they're doing that the brakes were the first thing I should have gone for. But ever since I'd tripped the Cormallon alarms I
It worked. I still came down rough, there was no avoiding it. My teeth jarred in my head. I pulled off the safety web (the de Sade people had gotten one emergency measure right) and rolled my neck tentatively. Everything still seemed to be there, albeit in somewhat bruised condition. At this moment, though, it was perhaps more important that the car be all right. I switched on the control-check and thought, as I waited for the green light, well, it's lucky that in a crisis like this you held together long enough to hit the brakes. Pat on the back for you, Theodora, and we'll overlook the fact you lost control of the thing to begin with. But the pain in my chest continued, and I opened my tunic to see what was wrong.
I was still wearing the Old Man's bluestone pendant. It felt warm. But the back of the silk cover had burnt through, where it touched my chest, and the patch of skin underneath it was blistered, as though from a bad sunburn. I wondered if Annurian knew anything about driving an aircar; maybe I didn't deserve as much credit for hitting the brakes as I thought. I didn't want to speculate about it now, there were too many things to deal with in my immediate future; but I also didn't want the pendant in physical contact, so I pulled it off and stored it in the data-case.
The control-check came up green. I thought I could make out the hills in question farther over to my left, which would make the rendezvous just a few kilometers east. As I was looking out the window, I saw something move in the bushes, like a person's head ducking. At once I snapped my attention to the spot, although it really wasn't fair, I thought; I'd been through enough just now. Nothing else happened, but I was sure that I'd seen it, it hadn't been nerves. I got out of the car, pistol in hand.
"Come out," I yelled.
Nothing. Another bush rattled.
"You'd better come out, or I'll start shooting at random."
Slowly a man's form straightened up from the bushes. He walked out. He was the thinnest person I'd seen in a long time, and his clothes were obviously makeshift. His hair was gray, but he didn't look more than forty-five. "Who are you?" I said.
"Arno Serren, noble lady," he said. "Please don't hurt me."
His accent was very thick, and I didn't recognize it.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "And you'd better talk quickly."
"I'm from Tamas District," he answered.
"So?"
"Tamas? Have you heard of it, noble lady? Things are bad there."
So they were, I'd forgotten. There'd been some kind of trouble in Tamas District and Imperial troops had been called in. It had nothing to do with me, I'd never given it much thought; nor had anybody else I'd known.
"You've come a long way, sir Serren." Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
He shifted feet nervously. "I have a long way to go, noble lady, I didn't mean to interrupt anything you might be doing—or to trespass—or to do anything to annoy you. I'd better be on my way."
"Where?"
"Uh, I was going to the Northwest Sector, nobfe lady."
Oh, gods, what an innocent. To leave Tamas District and go to the Northwest Sector. I couldn't shoot him, I just couldn't. "Sir Serren, I'm going to do you a favor."
"Oh?" The idea didn't seem to make him happy.
"You wouldn't last a week in the Northwest Sector.
And I can't leave you hanging around here to answer questions. So, I tell you what—I'll take you with me."
"You don't have to do that, noble lady. It's too great an honor, believe me. I'll just be going—"
"Get in the car."
"Really, noble lady—"
"Get in, now. I'm in a hurry." I gestured with the pistol. He began moving, very slowly, toward the car door. As he touched it, I heard a squeal from the bushes, and a short, brown human figure raced out and joined him. It was a woman. She was similarly dressed, and clearly very upset. They started talking very quickly, too quickly for me to follow their accents.
"This is my wife, Heida," said Arno Serren.
"Honored by this meeting," I said. "Get in the car, fast."
And so we all took off. It had been a very eventful six minutes.
Three minutes later I touched down at the correct spot. I got out of the car and Ran grabbed me by the shoulders. "We saw the car go down," he said. He looked sick. "Are you all right?"
"Just shaken."
He let out his breath, the same way I'd done when I found the Net link room empty.
I said, "We have to hurry, I tripped the alarms."
He cursed. I said, "It's not that bad, Kylla said the other aircar needed repairs—they'll have to use ground vehicles or horses, it will take longer."
"Kylla?" he asked. "Never mind, you can tell me later."
Meanwhile Arno Serren and Heida were getting out of the car, very uncertainly. They had the look of people who try to stay in the background, wherever they find themselves. Ran's eyes widened.
"Who are these people?" he said.
I told him. He said, "You brought strangers with you at a time like this?"
"You said no witnesses."
"I didn't mean for you to bring them along!"
I said, "I'm not going without them, Ran."
He stood there, breathing hard for a second. Then he said, "Karlas. Tyl. Get over here."
Karlas
got on one side of me and Tyl on the other. Karlas' hand touched my elbow, preparatory, I suppose, to picking me up and throwing me in the other aircar.
Ran said, "Get those two back in the car. Tyl, you can drive them to the city. Karlas, you ride with us."
Karlas looked confused. He went over to help Tyl get my two new responsibilities into the stolen vehicle.
Ran called, "Tyl, be sure and ditch the car somewhere far from our house. And don't lose track of our guests."
"Yes, sir," said Tyl. He held out a hand to help Heida Serren enter the car.
"Well," said Ran, "shall we go?"
I climbed in, followed by Karlas. Ran handled the controls. When we were a good twenty kilometers away, he said, quietly, "Kylla helped you get out?"
"Yes."
"Well," he said.
We were all silent for a few minutes. Then Ran said, "What went wrong?"
I told him about the closet door that wasn't there, and about setting off the household security alarm program.
He frowned. "I just don't believe it. How could you have done anything so stu—so risky, Theodora? You're usually so careful. Weren't you thinking? Didn't you realize that if there were anything in the household security program you should know, I would have told you? Of course it's tighter than the general security program, it was set up separately, as part of the package, when Grandfather got the Net links put in. I've been in it a hundred times. Theodora—"
"Look, I know I screwed up, but really, Ran. You fill me up with Ducort and anarine, and then ask me why I do something stupid?"
He bit his lip. Karlas said, "It doesn't affect intelligence."
"Much," I reminded him.
Ran looked over at him. Karlas said, defensively, "She's just a little tiny barbarian. Maybe her system didn't have the capacity to handle it."
A while later Ran said, "Still, bringing those two refugees along was not perhaps our wisest move. I respect your sentiment, Theodora, but we really ought to get rid of them."
