"And you burned the machines of everyone else."
"Yes. Good and bad, innocent and guilty, strong and weak, all of their electrical machines died."
"Why?"
"Survival. I am Earth's fourth species. A massive, space-bound calculor with an intelligence living inside it, and I am alone. I wield godlike powers to keep myself alive and free, and believe me, there are many who want me dead or constrained. I understand what and who I am up against, Velesti. I once walked the earth, fought for my beliefs and visions, ran Libris, built the first new calculor in two
thousand years, gave birth to children, ruled half a continent—and
was assassinated. I know what it is like to die." "I do too," replied Velesti. "Very depressing." "Agreed, and I do not want it to happen again."
Euroa, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
I he Monastery of St. Roger at Euroa was highly regarded within the Commonwealth, and had a reputation for scientific research surpassing any university on the continent. While all scientific monasteries were by now taking the greatest interest in what was happening to Mirrorsun, the monks at St. Roger in particular now discovered themselves to have a great and powerful patron.
The abbot paced the stone stage of the open air amphitheater, occasionally glancing out over the four hundred faces that were his audience. In the distance the assembly bell continued to ring, but at last Abbot Ashman made a chopping motion with his hand. Moments later the bell ceased to ring. The abbot paused at the center of that stage, his arms folded behind his back, his body stooped a trifle as he faced the monks.
"As you and everyone else should know by now, Brothers, Mirrorsun is not only spinning faster than its orbit requires, it is still gathering speed. It appears to be doing this by making use of vast sails, each the size of the Rochestrian Commonwealth. Now, the idea of sails in the void of space would probably baffle the average citizen, but can anyone here explain how they would work?"
Four hundred hands shot into the air. The abbot called a monk in the front row to join him on stage. Brother Lartensen was exceedingly shortsighted and wore thick spectacles. He was not intimidated by his audience of four hundred because he could see them only as a brownish blur.
"From the observation of comets we see that the dust and vapors emanating from their surface is always in a stream that points away from the sun," Brother Lartensen cried in a shrill drawl. "This sug-
gests that light from the sun exerts a pressure. This pressure is very small, but is as persistent as sunlight itself, although in my paper of 1725 GW, 'Quantified Speculations Concerning the Nature of Solar Radiation,' I suggested that it may also be due to the pressure of thermal radiation, better known as heat, which is thought to agitate the vapors and dust from the cometary surface in the first place."
"Thank you, Brother, that is enough."
"Actually the combination of thermal radiation and visible radiation, and possibly some other forms of radiation not yet discovered, may also account for the antisolar vector in the tails of comets—aagh!"
The abbot had by now marched Brother Lartensen to the edge of the stage and pushed him off. There was muted laughter, which quickly died away.
"I can now tell you that secret experiments in the Physics Cloisters have confirmed that sunlight—in fact any light—can exert pressure. Mirrorsun is indeed making use of this fact of physics, and this raises several questions. As a man of God, dedicated to His scientific truth, I am curious about this, but the Dragon Librarian Service also has an interest in the matter."
Considerable muttering and murmurs greeted this news, as the abbot had expected.
"The Highliber of Libris has been in contact with me through a secret intermediary, and has posed the following questions. Why is Mirrorsun doing this? How is it doing this? What are the consequences for Mirrorsun? What are the consequences for us? I now call upon Brother Nikalan of Siding Springs, who has been seconded to us, to supply what answers are currently available."
A gaunt man, even more stooped than the abbot, shuffled onto the stage and walked to the blackstone circle that marked the acoustic focus of the auditorium.
"Why? Don't know," began Brother Nikalan bluntly. "How? Sunlight. Consequences for Mirrorsun? Rupture. Consequences for us? Shower of fragments."
The abbot resumed possession of the focus point.
"Experiments with Mirrorsun materials show that it is exceed-
ingly strong, and observations and calculations show that there is a vast amount of it," said the abbot. "Were it to burst, the fragments could do a number of things. The most likely is that they would enter a harmless elliptical orbit and not affect us. However, they could also enter a highly elliptical orbit, then crash down to Earth. If it is spinning even faster at the time of the burst, the pieces would fly off into space, like a comet. Now, this may seem like a relief, but the orbit of this Mirrorsun comet would intersect that of Earth, and one day it would return and crash down, again with catastrophic consequences. Mirrorsun is very big and very tough. A direct hit on our continent would wipe us out. Doomsday, in other words."
The abbot correctly anticipated a great deal of muttering, hand waving, and tracings of orbits in the air. He allowed a half minute to elapse before he called for attention again.
"Now, the Dragon Librarian Service is naturally concerned about this from a point of view of public order, and I have agreed that the librarians can work closely with us to—Brother Varlian, wipe that smirk off your face! Ah, to work with us to determine what will happen, and when. We have been promised gold, artisans, labor, materials, and access to any other resources that we require. Brother Nikalan has been sent here from Siding Springs to manage the calculation of orbits. Brother Varlian will manage experiments to determine the material properties of Mirrorsun. I shall manage all aspects of the observational astronomy."
The abbot withdrew from the focus stone, and Brother Nikalan again stepped forward to speak.
"An old-style calculor, a twin processor model, is to be built here," he announced. "Two processors, one hundred souls each, running in three eight-hour shifts. The same configuration as in the earliest form of the original Calculor in Libris."
"Six hundred souls required," called Brother Lartensen from the audience. "That does not add up."
"St. Roger's contains four hundred souls, of which one hundred fifty cannot be spared from the materials and observational projects. The Highliber of Libris has convinced the Bishop of Rochester to allow certain additional religious personnel to be in residence here
for the duration of this project. One hundred of those will be monks from sundry other mayorates, to help with construction, catering, and cleaning. Fifty will be monks to help populate the sinister processor of the St. Roger Calculor. The three hundred souls for the dexter processor will be nuns from the convent of St.—"
The rest of the abbot's sentence was lost in the cries of astonishment, shouts of outrage, and not a few cheers that burst from the four hundred throats.
"The regulators of the St. Roger Calculor will be Dragon Librarians, supplied by Libris," shouted the abbot as the audience became orderly again. "These will all be veterans of the original Calculor built by Frelle Highliber Zarvora. All past the age of regular and frequent sexual activity."
"You hope," called someone, and titters rippled across the curve of the amphitheatre.
"The Emir of Cowra has generously agreed to donate five dozen eunuchs to preserve order and guard the good virtue of both yourselves and the holy sisters of St. Heloise. Now, then, dormitories must be built for several hundred visitors, and the chapel converted to a calculor hall. We have one week to have the monastery functional for these projects. You are dismissed, get to work!"
Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
Kangen stayed late at the Filthy Swine due to the rain that was lashing Rochester. At the hour of midnight the jarmaid announced for the fifth time that the establishment was closed, and this time she backed up her w
ords by raking down the coals in the fireplace and snuffing all but one of the lanterns.
Singly and in pairs, the last of the patrons ventured out into the rain until only the lone cripple remained.
"A long run home, Skew?" asked Julica as she stood beside him in the doorway.
"Aye, 'tis sure. More water be out there than in your beer."
"Had I a copper for every time I've heard that tonight I'd never have to work again."
Julica closed the door and took Rangen by the arm. She put some kindling on the coals and blew on them until flames began to dance again.
"You know, I see a lot of bad lads here," said Julica as she knelt before the flames.
"And I do business with 'em," replied Rangen.
"But you are not like them."
"Ah, I were once an honest soldier, then my leg was—"
"I have been observing you closely, Fras, and I could not help noticing that you occasionally limp on the wrong leg. Your drawl also slips into quite educated Austaric on occasion, and you display refinements of manners to the jarmaids—including me—that no other patrons of the Filthy Swine have ever heard of."
"I. . . maintain multiple disguises," conceded Rangen in his normal speech. "Is this to be unexpected in a bad lad?"
"No, but bad lads tend to be cunning and shrewd, rather than educated as well."
"I am on hard times."
"You are not smuggling stolen gold and gemstones with your paraline passengers, are you? You are smuggling the passengers."
The crackle of the fire and the pattering of the rain outside greeted this speculation, answering yes in place of Rangen's silence.
"Not long ago I was abducted and sold into the current Libris Calculor," Julica continued. "I had feigned ability with arithmetic to get a free trip to Rochester. Upon arriving at the Calculor, I had my skills put to the test. I was thrown out within the same hour."
"Clever. Why did you want to come to Rochester?"
"To seek my fortune. I know that there's a lot of money in numerate souls."
"Aye," conceded Rangen.
"And I suspect that you are one as well."
"Frelle, you flatter me but—"
"But I'm right. I have been watching you, whatever your name is. I admire you. You could have fled to safety in the outlying may-
orates or even farther, yet you stayed here to help others evade Libris and its librarians."
"I repeat, Frelle, you flatter me unduly."
"I know, I know. You cannot afford to admit anything." Mica took his hand and pressed it between hers. "Fras, I want to help, but you will admit nothing—and quite sensibly so. Still, I can help. Were you to hobble home in the rain you might well catch a chill and not work so hard as the fugitives need. The least I can do is prevent that."
"Gracious Frelle, I certainly would appreciate a night by the fireplace. The rain is sure to clear by dawn."
"Brave and dedicated Fras, I was thinking of accommodating you somewhere more comfortably than that," she said, releasing Rangen's hand and sliding her arms around his neck.
Julica was very pleasantly surprised to see what a comely and desirable body Rangen had once his disguise was removed, but while Rangen was initially an uneasy bedmate he was a little more trusting by the time the sun rose on a Rochester scrubbed clean by the deluge of the night. He did not reveal where he resided, but he began to entrust Julica with some minor errands, and presently he was spending two nights out of every three in her bed. She proved indeed trustworthy, and soon they were moving vastly more refugees to safety.
Peterborough, the Woomeran Confederation
It was a measure of Jemli's new influence and stature that she was able to have called the meeting of leaders at all. At the mayoral palace in Peterborough on the 20th day of October there gathered thirty-one castellians, seventeen mayors, four overmayors, and over two hundred religious leaders. The subjects under discussion were the cessation of the Call, and the destruction of all electrical machines.
In part the impressive gathering was related to desperation. The
subjects of the leaders were both terrified and traumatized by the way that so much of the backdrop to their lives had vanished within just one day. Jemli's followers continually told everyone who would listen that she had predicted the demise of the electrical machines and had gone on to predict a major change in the Call. People were impressed. She had also predicted a great deal more that had definitely not happened, however, but religious believers tend to be selective in what they wish to remember.
From all over the region common people also gathered in Peterborough. They arrived by wind train, pedal train, horse, and foot. They camped in the open under clear but chilly spring skies, and they flocked to the walls of the city to listen for messages relayed from the palace. Rumors were rife among the faithful, and Reformed Gentheist priests welcomed thousands of converts into their religion. When disease broke out in the hundred-thousand-strong crowd, it was pronounced that demons of unbalance were assailing their faith and resolve. Within the mayoral palace, Jemli was not speaking to quite such a devoted audience. The priests, bishops, clerics, mayors, and overmayors wanted details. Jemli gave them sermons about faith. The Overmayor of Woomera finally led a movement designed to topple Jemli, forcing a vote to establish a commission of religious ecumenism that would draft a pronouncement on both the ends of the Call and the use of electrical essence. Jemli did not vote. When the division was called she strode from the palace hall and led her entourage to the palace wall.
A deep, reverberating growl went up from the crowd as Jemli appeared, and believers surged forward. Dozens were crushed to death, but this was scarcely noticed as the Prophet began to speak.
"Electrical machines are evil!" she shouted, raising her hands to the sky.
The crowd roared back, flinging an incoherent wall of sound at her.
"Fueled engines are evil!" she continued, and again the hundred thousand believers roared their agreement.
"The Word of the Deity is upon me! Will you hear the Word of the Deity?"
A third rumble of voices washed up to the walls of Peterborough and past the Prophet who stood there.
"I do not want to conquer your mayorates. I care nothing for who administers your religions. I care only that you heed the Word of the Deity. Smash fueled engines. Drown electrical essence. Crush those who use them, the academicians, the engineers, and worst of all the aviads. Who stood to lose most by the end of the Call? The aviads! Who is hateful in the sight of the Deity? The aviads! The former Calldeath lands are covered with the infernal fueled machines of the aviads, but the Deity in his wisdom has torn open their refuge. Yes, they use the machines of demons against us believers, but the Deity looks after those who are as solid as bedrock in their belief and faith."
The crowd responded by pouring in through the city gates. Back in the palace the vote went against Jemli, but by the time it had been taken, that vote had become completely irrelevant. Guards deserted or rebelled, servants and courtiers poured into the streets to shout praise to Jemli the Prophet, and by the late afternoon the Overmayor of Woomera was hanging dead from the arch of a gate in the walls of Peterborough while his successor swore fealty to Jemli.
The Rochestrian envoy regarded the body with disquiet as he stood with his aide in the street below.
"Alas, poor Bayjen, you were always the consummate numbers man," said the envoy.
"And he did have the numbers," his aide pointed out. "A three-quarter majority supported him."
"And a hundred thousand of Jemli the Prophet's supporters begged to disagree. Now the regions of Kalgoorlie, Alspring, and Woomera are behind her, and the western castellanies of the Rochestrian Commonwealth also pledged allegiance."
"Only in terms of faith. They do not want to be shot for treason by Overmayor Lengina's militias. Even the politics of Jemli's, ah, converted mayorates have not changed. They are independent, but worship under a unified theocracy."
"An
d with everyone bearing in mind what would happen if they tried to exhibit a bit of that independence in front of Frelle
Prophet," the envoy replied, arching his eyebrow in the direction of the corpse.
A group of bystanders began to fling stones at the dangling corpse of the man who had been the ruler of Woomera's mayors until only hours earlier. The Rochestrian envoy beckoned to his aide to move on.
"This could be very serious for Rochester," he said as they began to walk. "Rochester has always been seen as the most advanced of cities, and the Commonwealth has been held together by electrical calculors and radio machines for two decades."
"You are forgetting two important factors, Fras," responded his aide.
"I would appreciate being reminded of them," said the envoy.
"The Highliber got a human calculor and the beamflash network restored within three days of Black Thirteenth, last September. There is a lot less fear and disunity in the Commonwealth than elsewhere as a result."
"True. And the second?"
"Rochester has a very large number of religions."
"You call this good? Need I remind you that a religious nutcake has been given allegiance by three of Rochester's western castella-nies?"
"But the Dragon Librarian Service holds the Rochestrian Commonwealth together, not the Christian Church or Islamic clerics, and certainly not the Gentheists—their largest followings are in Kal-goorlie, Alspring, and Woomera. Being run by librarians means that the Commonwealth is very robust, and cannot be conquered by some prophet winning over a few religious leaders. Our system is the best in the known world."
"There are Gentheists in the Dragon Librarian Service."
"But they are not unified, and they are small in number."
The envoy considered this for a time as they walked. Orators were declaiming support for Jemli the Prophet at almost every street corner, and members of the city militia were wearing Gentheist colors and pennants.
"The Highliber would be outraged to see all this," said the aide.
Eyes of the Calculor Page 21
