“Us?” they chorused, their eyes bulging.
“You will be announced as the two Mars cosmonauts, testing basic systems on an easy jaunt to the moon. You were first to the moon, and now you are going to Mars. The Americans will have nothing to match that, and the world will be at your feet. It will also be a triumph for socialism, of course. You have two minutes to make your decision, comrades, and may I remind you of the importance of that decision? I shall be waiting at the helicopter.”
They were left alone, standing in full view of the recovery team but out of earshot. They said nothing for the first thirty seconds of their allocated time.
“Mars,” said Ilya.
“Suicide,” sighed Nikolai quietly.
“We don’t really have a choice, do we?”
“They can hardly shoot us if we refuse.”
“But could you refuse? I could not. Remember, this time you would land as well. We could let you make the first footprint.”
Nikolai stared had at the ground that he had returned to by little more than sheer luck.
“Comrade Ilya, how long can we go on, expanding into the universe on bluff, lies and untested, unreliable equipment? Hanging on by our fingernails?”
“I am willing to find out,” said Ilya firmly. “What is your decision?
Nikolai looked at his bare hands for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.
“You will need someone with strong fingernails,” he said slowly, as if forcing the words out, “and my fingernails have already been tested.”
Even as they stood smiling and shaking hands, Malyshev was on the radio to Moscow, confirming that they had agreed to the scheme. Nearby, the descent module was being lifted into the air by a helicopter.
“Svyatagor’s last journey will be but a short one,” said Ilya as the cosmonauts stood watching.
“Lucky Svyatagor,” muttered Nikolai.
9. DRAGON BLACK
It is the Year of Greatwinter 1696, which is about two thousand years in a very retro future Australia. The young Dragon Librarian Zarvora has an idea for a 2 Kilo-Slave computer. She is willing to shoot her way to the top to get funding for it.
Librarians around the world loved SOULS IN THE GREAT MACHINE because in this novel they run the country, dress in really stylish uniforms, and settle disputes by duels with flintlock pistols. It probably also reminded them of the problems with their library computer systems and staff. In SOULS IN THE GREAT MACHINE, I introduced a large, human-powered computer called the Calculor. The Calculor is largely complete and almost operational at the beginning of the novel, but how was it developed? More to the point, how did the head of the huge library, Libris, get the resources and authority to build it? No dream becomes real without hard work, and some dreams also require blood on the floor.
~~~
It was the year of Greatwinter 1696, and for those who worked in the huge and rambling library, Libris, the universe had changed. Highliber Chartos was dead at the age of a hundred and six, after forty one years in charge of the largest library in the known world. His successor was a mere twenty-six years of age. That was unusual, because Charltos had been a mere Dragon Orange at the age of twenty-six. His successor was female, but that was not unusual. Throughout the centuries slightly under a third of all highlibers had been female, even allowing for five women masquerading as men, three men masquerading as women, and Highliber Bertrould who took to wearing women's clothing after a freakish accident in the duelling gallery in 1473 GW. True, there was no precedent for a Dragon Silver librarian being appointed Highliber over those with the rank of Dragon Gold, but this did not breach any rules. Indeed, there was only a single objection to the fact that a Dragon Silver was to be promoted to Dragon Black, and would this very day attempt to be enrobed. Zarvora Francelle Cybeline was to be appointed on merit alone.
Two elderly attendants were sweeping the floor of the library's duelling gallery, even though it was quite clean. At either end of the gallery were teams of attendants hanging banners in front of the sandbags that were meant to catch any balls that did not strike those who were duelling. The slabs of bluestone paving extended one hundred yards to either side of a thin strip of white marble inlay that marked the centre. The bluestone had been touched by the blood of many thousands of librarians who had fought there throughout many centuries.
“That new Highliber's to fight again,” said Closter as he swept dust that did not exist into a grating pan.
“She's killed five since she was appointed last week,” replied Lermai.
“This will be different. It's rapiers. She's a deadly shot, but rapiers is different. You need skill, but also endurance, strength, reflexes and experience.”
“Why are so many senior dragons challenging her? She's nice enough, she even gave day's compliments to me yesterday. Like, I'm a Library Attendant, Class Orange, Subdivision 5. Old Charltos never even noticed we existed.”
“Old Charltos never noticed anyone existed for his last fifteen years. He had dotard's disease.”
Somewhere nearby a handbell was rung, and the Moderator of Librarians appeared. He asked the rangemaster to declare the gallery ready, and Rangemaster Mallin quickly ordered everyone clear of the blackstone flooring. Closter and Lermai stood ready beside a trolley, then there was a fanfare that echoed through the stone gallery for a disconcertingly long time. The judges paraded in, then came the seconds, each carrying a duelling rapier in a scabbard. Next came twelve tiger dragons, the constables of the corridors of Libris. They were armed with half-long muskets, the type used when accurate shooting was required indoors.
“That dragon blue leadin' the muskets, she's Vardel Griss,” hissed Closter.
“Nice set o' tankards on her,” observed Lermai.
“No, no, I mean she's a Tiger Dragon what's been made a dragon blue! They're only ever Dragon Red. It's this new Highliber, no respect for tradition.”
The duellists now appeared, approaching from opposite ends of the long gallery. Cassin was tall, lean, fit and generally athletic, but had a certain edge about him that came from killing people for a living. Zarvora had long, black unbound hair, and was almost as tall as Cassin. While also fit and lean, there was something different about the beautiful librarian's bearing: she already had the relaxed swagger of a victor. They stopped a yard apart, separated by the thin line of marble in the floor.
“Dragon Red Cassin, champion of Dragon Gold Landarker of Acquisitions, and Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybleine, for yourself, you are here because all attempts at conciliation have failed,” declared the moderator, with a foot on either side of the white marble line. “In accordance with the letter of law, I declare you to be under the command of the Rangermaster.”
The moderator stepped back, turned, and walked from the duelling chambers. Because he had failed to avert the conflict, he was required to leave for the actual fighting. The rangemaster stepped forward to straddle the white marble line.
“Medicars, check for armour!” he ordered.
Two medicars felt the torsos of the duellists, then declared that neither was wearing any more than cloth.
“Disputants, take your weapons and make ready,” he ordered, his voice clear, steady, and devoid of emotion.
The duellists turned to their seconds, who presented them with their rapiers. The Tiger Dragons cocked their muskets and took up positions to cover both of them, ensuring that neither would live long if they attempted to cheat. The five judges now took up their positions.
“Disputants, salute the Overjudge!” the rangemaster ordered, and the two duellists brought the hilts of their rapiers up to their faces, then swept the blades down in the direction of the overjudge, acknowledging his authority. “Disputants, salute the hand that opposes you.” The duellists saluted each other. “Make ready your guard.”
Closter leaned over to Lermai as they two duellists brought their blades up to the guard position.
“That Cassin, watch his parry, riposte and continuation. He's the devil
's own mother with parry, riposte, continuation.”
“Highliber in two, five coppers,” said Lermai.
“Done,” replied Closter.
“Bladework!” barked the rangemaster.
Zarvora immediately stepped into a lunge-feint, Cassin responded with a parry-riposte-continuation... then Zarvora withdrew her blade from Cassin's eye. Cassin fell dead.
“How'd she do that?” muttered Closter, slipping five coppers to Lermai as they pushed their trolley forward.
“She parried his riposte, but kept her quillons up on deflection and dropped point. Because Cassin was committed to continuation, he stepped into her straight-arm.”
“But she didn't have right of way.”
“Straight-arm doesn't require right of way.”
“It's not traditional.”
“It's legal.”
Closter and Lermai loaded the body onto the trolley, then pushed it back to the wall of the gallery.
“Disputant Dragon Gold Biallenter of Mobile Collections, attend the rangemaster!” called the herald.
Zarvora was calm, composed, and entirely without perspiration as Biallenter entered the duelling gallery. He was wearing green tights and a white shirt of Northmoor silk, with his golden sash of office across his chest. The dismay was clear on his face as a medicar checked him for hidden armour. He had obviously been counting on Zarvora having had to endure a lengthy bout of bladework if she survived to confront him. The sight of Cassin's body on the trolley did nothing to improve Biallenter's confidence, but to order Closter and Lermai to take it away would have meant loss of face. The duellists took their weapons from their seconds.
“Make clear the gallery!” shouted the rangemaster, and everyone moved well clear of the blackstone pavings.
“Salute the Overjudge.”
The duellists both put their left hand over their heart and bowed, their guns pointing to the floor.
“Face the banners, heels to line.”
Zarvora and Baillenter stood back to back at the line of white marble, flintlocks now pointing to the roof.
“There will be a count of twenty paces, and at the word twenty you may turn and fire at will. Turn and fire before the first syllable of the word twenty, and you will be shot by the range constables. At my count, one, two, three...”
At the word twenty Zarvora turned just her head and extended her arm, then fired as Biallenter was turning his body and sweeping his weapon around. A small, neat hole appeared in his gold sash of office, then blood began gushing out over it as he fell. The rangemaster walked to the body through the dispersing gunpowder smoke, nudged the dragon gold with his foot, then looked to Zarvora.
“Frelle Dragon Silver Cybeline, the order was to turn and fire at the word twenty,” he called, his words echoing along the gallery. “You did not turn. You will account for this or face the muskets of the range constables.”
“Your order was that the duellists may turn and fire at twenty,” replied Zarvora. “I thus had the option of turning or not turning. I chose to turn my head, but not my body.”
The rangemaster blinked, then turned to the overjudge and gestured to the live and dead duellists.
“Based on your choice of words, she could have pointed the gun back and fired without even turning her head,” declared the overjudge.
This was a clear decision, so the matter was now out of the rangemaster's hands.
“Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline, you are declared victorious,” he announced. “Leave this place with me and report to the moderator.”
Zarvora removed Biallenter's gold sash, then left with the rangemaster. Closter and Lermai pushed their trolley forward to collect the second body. A Library Attendant, Class Yellow, Subdivision 2 followed with a bucket and mop.
“Funny, don't you think?” asked Closter.
“Not very funny for Dragon Gold Biallenter,” replied Lermai.
“No, no, I mean that now's the only time that a Library Attendant, Class Orange gets to go near a Dragon Gold. I mean if either of us even touched Biallenter's cloak while he was alive, he'd have it away to the laundry.”
“Aye, and make us pay the bill. That Highliber, Frelle Zarvora, she's not like that, though.”
“True, she'd probably just kill us.”
Investiture Hall was nestled in the shadow of the six hundred foot beamflash signal tower that linked Libris with the other mayorates of the Southeast Alliance. The hall had seen more than highlibers and centuries come and go, it had seen the previous millennium on its way as well. Every dragon librarian in Libris had been enrobed with their new colours in the hall. A single, very bored Dragon Gold sufficed for conferring the lowest colours. The entire department's staff, foreign envoys, plus everyone ranking above dragon green would attend when a Dragon Gold was enrobed. The enrobing of a Dragon Black was more significant than a coronation, however.
The position of Highliber had been conferred on Zarvora a week earlier, by the Councillium of the Mayorates of the Southeast Alliance, meeting a few hundred yards away in the mayoral palace. This was because the Highliber was considered to be a head of state, being in charge of the vast network of libraries and beamflash towers that unified the mayorates of the continent's southeast.
The Peerage of Dragon Golds had taken exception to being subordinate to a Highliber who was of lesser rank than them, and they had voted by a two thirds majority to deny Zarvora's petition for the rank of Dragon Black. What the Peerage was saying, in effect, was that while Zarvora ruled the library system, the Dragon Golds ruled Libris. Zarvora had challenged the vote, and had not accepted conciliation. In Libris, there was only one way to break a deadlock, and that was in the duelling gallery.
The sashs of enrobement for all candidates for promotion were guarded by the Dragon Gold of their department from what was defined as 'The breaking of day until enrobement.' This was normally a few minutes after dawn, after which the Dragon Gold would return to bed. In the case of Dragon Black, there was no head of department, so the combined membership of the Peerage of Dragon Golds had to sit guard. It was turning out to be a very long vigil, but they were sitting on high-backed chairs piled deep with cushions. There were nine chairs, but only seven of them were occupied. The remaining Dragon Golds sat uneasily as they awaited news from the duelling gallery, two holding swords that gleamed with jewels, three with golden flintlock pistols, one with a musket inlaid with freshwater pearlshell, and the seventh with a battleaxe so finely wrought in gold filigree encasing fire opals that nobody would ever have risked damaging it in a fight. Between them, on a dias of blackwood and draped over a violet cushion of Northmoor silk, was the sash of Dragon Black.
The actual sash was of black silk, with an ornate rendering of the letter L with a dragon entwined around it, both picked out in electrum thread. This was the symbol of the dragon that guarded Libris. Its hoard was knowledge, and it prized knowledge above all else.
A Dragon Silver librarian hurried in through a side door, stopped to catch his breath and compose himself, then walked forward to address the Peerage.
“Moderator of Librarians, what news do you have from the chamber?” asked Dragon Gold Cotteram, nervously toying with the striker of her flintlock.
“Frelle Speaker, it has been reported to me that Fras Dragon Gold Biallenter has been shot dead by Highliber Zarvora Cybeline, and Dragon Red Cassin, champion for Dragon Gold Landarker, has keen killed by a rapier thrust to the right eye, also by Highliber Zarvora.”
In her agitation, Cotteram released the striker of her flintlock, but the weapon was equipped with a large garnet rather than a flint, so no discharge resulted. She rose slowly and imperiously to her feet.
“How dare you refer to Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline by anything other than her exact rank?” the large and imposing woman demanded.
The moderator dropped to one knee at once and bowed deeply, but “My deepest apologies,” were all that he managed to say before Zarvora walked up behind him.
; “Dragon Gold Landarker, put down your weapon and get out!” barked Zarvora sharply as she strode up to stand beside the moderator.
The Dragon Gold's champion had been defeated, so he automatically dropped to the rank of Dragon Silver and left the Peerage. Zarvora faced the remaining Dragon Golds.
“Moderator, Frelle Cotteram challenged the form of your declaration just now,” said Zarvora, staring down her rival. “Do you wish to accept her challenge? I offer my services as your champion, and I am very good at killing Dragon Golds.”
The moderator, while not ambitious, was nevertheless a good judge of the political landscape. He got to his feet and symbolically folded his arms. Cotteram looked away as her nerve broke, then she sat down.
“Challenge withdrawn,” she muttered with bad grace.
“Splendid, and now let us return to the business at hand,” said Zarvora. “Peerage of Dragon Golds, I again challenge your vote to deny me the rank as Dragon Black!”
As long as Zarvora continued challenge the vote, and as long as she continued to kill dragon golds or their champions, the Peerage of Dragon Golds was obliged to either put up a new champion or capitulate. The heads of Reference, Beamflash, and Research were in favour of Zarvora, and of those who had voted against her, only Cataloguing, Accessions, and Diplomacy were still in their seats. Frelle Juvelar of Research raised her flintlock.
“Frelle Speaker, I move that a vote be taken to revoke the denial of the petition of Dragon Silver, Highliber Cybeline to be made Dragon Black,” Juvelar declared.
A vote could be called at any time, but only on the day that the sash of office was first displayed. After that, the enrobement was considered null and void.
“Second?” Cotteram asked, and the head of Beamflash Networking raised his musket.
“This issue is about who is in charge of Libris,” warned Zarvora, “and I shall keep killing you one by one until it is established that I am in charge.”
Ghosts of Engines Past Page 24
