"You have the flesh of Frelle Lemorel," said Baragania. "Why are you here? To restore our ways to the Deity's path, to preserve the protection!"
Lemorel unbuttoned her coat, then started on her blouse. She pulled it open to reveal a modest amount of cleavage.
"Does my nakedness offend you?" she asked.
The elder's nerve wavered. Not only did she look like Lemorel, but she had a strangely similar charisma.
"No, Frelle Lemorel."
She backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling, spitting teeth.
"Then why impose your religious cloistering and bondage, which the protection is, on your family's women?" she demanded.
She strode around him, slowly doing up her buttons again.
"You disgust me, following that clown Jemli after the lesson of my death. If you want to learn from me, come to Rochester. Come with your women. One female pilgrim with every male. Come and learn from the diversity there."
She swept her eyes across them all.
"I did not appreciate being brought back from the dark, cold serenity of death to undo what Jemli is doing in the Deity's name. Stupidity makes me very angry."
"Frelle Lemorel, we are afraid," began Gen'gi.
"Of what? Of me? Of Mirrorsun? You follow a clown with a loud voice and long hair because you are afraid?"
She turned back to Gen'gi.
"My half sister has just reloaded her gun, and she is on her way here. Disarm her."
Gen'gi hurried out, followed by most of the guards who were present. There was a gunshot. Gen'gi returned, bleeding from his right shoulder. He was followed by the guards who held Jemli. Her arms were pinned behind her back and she was missing a shoe. Her calf-length hair was in much need of grooming by now.
"Hold her here," Lemorel's reincarnation told the guards. "The rest of you come with me."
They walked out onto a balcony, below which the citizens of Peterborough had gathered in their thousands. Many were holding lanterns, and the city authority had rigged many more lanterns to hang from buildings that ringed Oration Square. So far so good,
and I have never even had an acting lesson, thought Velesti as she looked out over the crowd. But can I feign LemoreVs charisma as well?
"Citizens of Peterborough, some of you may remember me," she began in a voice that was not unnaturally loud so much as exceedingly penetrating. "Rumors have been spreading that I am again alive, and that I have been haunting my half sister. Well, they are both true. I am Lemorel Milderellen."
Thousands of mutters and murmurs rustled through the gathering. What she said was fantastic, yet their leaders were standing with her. / don't have them yet, thought Velesti.
"The Southmoors are coming. They have taken Wentworth. The Rochestrians are coming. They have destroyed your river galleys. The Avianese are coming. They have already struck your beamflash tower with their canvas birds and reaction guns. Do you want to be saved?"
The muttering from the crowd was generally along the lines of "Yes."
"Make a grant of Wentworth to the Southmoors, in exchange for a truce. Your Prophet has killed the Overmayor of Rochester's beloved, so while she lives here you will never have peace. Expel her to Kalgoorlie."
There was something reassuringly sensible about her words, and the listeners wanted reassurance.
"Tonight my sister, Jemli, killed the Ghan holy man, Ilyire of Glenellen, who has been preaching in your city."
Again she paused. The news shocked some, but Ilyire was not yet highly regarded except among the Alspring Ghans.
"I restored him to life."
This time there was immense shock evident in the immense groundswell of noise. / think I have them, I think I have become Lemorel, thought Velesti in triumph.
"Jemli will not get rid of Ilyire's teachings so easily, either. I could kill Jemli now, but her teachings would remain and strengthen. You must reject her. You, her followers."
Now Velesti pointed to the sky.
"You fear Mirrorsun. Part of it spins, part of it does not. My half sister preaches that the Deity will shatter it and scatter the fragments. I say to you, look up at the sky. The part of Mirrorsun that spins will burst and sail harmlessly away across the void to become Mirrorsun in the skies of Venus. Remember too, that your false prophet Jemli never predicted this."
As if on cue, there was a bright flash in the sky, just to the side of the solar reflection that gave Mirrorsun its name. There were screams from the crowd as part of the huge celestial band began to peel away, catching the sun's rays from a thousand highlights as its rotational energy gave it the speed of escape velocity from Earth. The pressure of sunlight caught by immense, lightweight paddles for nine months and stored as rotational speed now began to propel the flaccid band into a transfer orbit that would take it to Venus in four months. The band slowly peeled open across the sky like a fast-moving comet, its twisting, rippling surface undulating and catching light. A small Mirrorsun band remained, however.
The broken band's two arms eventually set slowly on either side of the sky, then were gone without any afterglow or twilight. Only the much reduced inner Mirrorsun band remained. Velesti had slipped away during the celestial show and was riding hard for the border by the time anyone thought to look back to her, but people just assumed that the reincarnated Lemorel had probably vanished back into the spirit world. Jemli was allowed to go free by the guards, now that Lemorel was gone. As charismatic as ever, Jemli now led a large and faithful part of the crowd in prayers of thanks to the Deity for sparing them from Mirrorsun.
Some people may be fooled all of the time, but not all people. Within the palace behind her, the Alspring Ghan elders and Woom-eran mayors were deciding to break away from Jemli's influence.
In North America it had been daylight when the wide, outer band of Mirrorsun had burst. The sight had thus been far less spectacular, just a peeling off and receding of Earth's outer cosmic girdle, which
EYES OF THE CALCULOR 563
gradually faded until it was lost in the blueness of the sky. Throughout Australica the scenes were very different indeed because the night view was truly spectacular. A great deal of prayer was sent skyward by both aviads and humans, yet people also crowded about the beamflash towers in search of a scientific opinion, even while seeking divine intercession. There was always a chance that the researchers at one of the monasteries would explain why the band had ruptured so very early. Most expected that the monks at Siding Springs would have the most plausible answer, but it turned out to be the Monastery of St. Roger that provided the answer.
"Look at the point of the break!" exclaimed Brother Nikalan as several hundred monks and nuns from the night shift in the monastery calculor stood staring up at the night sky where the outer band of Mirrorsun was writhing and scintillating as it slowly peeled back and receded into space.
"Very significant," declared Rangen.
"You should have guessed," admonished Nikalan.
"And so should you," retorted Rangen.
"This day is perfect for a transfer orbit, just perfect."
"And I could not think of a better host world than Venus."
"Just perfect for a mirrorsun."
"Very significant."
"Brilliantly conceived."
"Thank you."
"Mirrorsun, not you."
"Will someone tell me what is going on!" demanded the abbot, stepping between them and thrusting them apart to arm's length.
"Mirrorsun was pregnant," said Nikalan.
"It took nine months," continued Rangan.
"It built up its speed using solar paddles, yet stayed in the same place, where the sunlight remained at a constant strength. Very efficient. Even the ancients never thought of that."
"Then it burst at the perfect day for a transfer orbit to Venus."
"Today."
"So it's going to Venus," said the abbot.
"Venus was said by the ancients to be very hot," said Nikalan.
"J
ust the place for another mirrorsun," added Rangan. "It will cool the place down."
"Humans may even live there one day."
"And aviads."
"See, our Mirrorsun is a lot narrower now," said Nikalan pointing to the sky.
"It eclipses fewer stars."
"We need less cooling."
"Mirrorsun Child will slow itself down by dipping into the air of Venus."
"The ancients used that method to slow their spacewings."
"Mirrorsun is a mother?" asked the abbot.
"Yes," answered Nikalan and Rangen together.
By now the abbot had come to a most important realization. The two madmen whose cassocks he was grasping were quite possibly the only mortals in the entire world who had the true explanation for Mirrorsun's fantastic behavior. Right across the continent the news would be more welcome than cartloads of free gold. The Reformed Gentheists would be dealt a body blow, their Prophet would be made to look a complete fool.
"Let me through!" he suddenly shouted, scrambling through the crowd toward the monastic beamflash tower. "I must contact the Overmayor."
Nikalan and Rangen stared after him.
"Did I ever tell you that your aviad medician friend is pregnant?" Rangen asked Nikalan.
"No, you did not. You should perform an experimental verification with some suitable partner."
"Not even in the name of science," replied Rangen. "I am disillusioned with women."
The western border of the Rochestrian Commonwealth
I he kitewing descended awkwardly in a gusty wind, coming down quite hard on the ascent strip and bouncing twice. The handlers were beside it within seconds, and even before Martyne had unstrapped they were wheeling it to its tent. Out here on the front there were no adjuncts, heralds, or other keepers of traditional flight ceremonies, and Martyne was not surprised to find the overhand of the Commonwealth's entire western army waiting for his report. This he delivered as they followed the kitewing into its tent.
Martyne always watched carefully whenever anything was being done to his kitewing, because he was by now acutely aware that one day he might be forced down somewhere with nobody to work on it but himself. His several patrol and strafing missions over Woom-eran territory had left a number of holes in the airframe, and even a streak of lead on the compression engine.
The wingfield was no more than a straight strip of road not far from the riverbank, with a large tent for the kitewing, tools, and compression spirit, yet this modest installation had a hundred lancers and twice as many musketeers assigned to guard it. Only a single kitewing was on loan to the Rochestrians from Avian, but the value of its flights over Woomeran territory was beyond calculation. To compound the little aircraft's value, the numbers on its wings were repainted every day, to maintain the illusion of a larger flock.
"That shot to the compression engine could have been a disaster," said the aviad engineer as they inspected the kitewing with the overhand.
"So might a shot to me," Martyne pointed out.
"Had it hit the atomizer, it might as well have been you. That is what is known as a single point of failure. You brought back eleven hits this time. What were you doing?"
"I attacked a wind train, and set it burning with trace bullets. There were, however, a lot of Woomeran musketeers aboard and they all fired their muskets together."
The overhand rubbed his chin as he stared intently at the holes.
"Fras, far be it for a human to tell you what to do, but as your client I can tell you that knowing where the Woomerans are moving is of far more use to us than one kitewing attacking an occasional train. Were you to fly at two or three thousand feet you would be a very poor target, yet bring back to me information about Woomeran troop movements that I value more than half a dozen extra divisions—as well as antagonizing the Woomerans, which is always a good idea."
Martyne reluctantly agreed after the engineer declared that the repairs would take two days. He left the tent with the overhand.
"We had two new arrivals from over the river last night," the overhand reported. "One was Ilyire."
"Ah, a great, wise, and holy man," responded Martyne.
"Indeed, and said to be invulnerable to the Prophet Jemli's gunshot. He has already left to preach to my troops. His friend said that he seems to have caused the beginnings of a schism in Prophet Jemli's ranks."
"So easily and quickly?"
"It's hard to say. The Ghans and Woomerans seem to think that Lemorel Milderellen has come back to life. Many have seen her, talked to her, and even touched her. She has given Ilyire great credibility. Some say she raised him from the dead. He has introduced doubt to the Reformed Gentheists, and people tend not to fight well when they have doubts. The other one, the Dragon Silver, says she knows you. She is waiting with my escort."
Velesti greeted Martyne with a nod, then got down from her horse.
"What news from Avian?" she asked as they walked alone down the center of the ascent strip.
"Well, the battle at Launceston—"
"I know about the battle, and the truce, and about how Samondel stole a sailwing and flew east alone. Did she not want you?"
"Ah, yes, she did, but she had duties. Now we are apart."
"As you may know, I have a secret link to Mirrorsun, and Mir-rorsun can see very clearly from the skies. She returned to America."
"So?"
"Why did she not take you with her?"
"America is a very dangerous place for aviads, and I am an aviad. She had to return home and expose the conspiracy, to tell the truth about us over here. She is going to try to get back, and I am going to wait."
"Ah. Good. Nobody is better qualified to fly the ocean than her." "Indeed. I also have some additional information about Avian. It was doomed anyway."
"Doomed?" responded Velesti, doubtful because she made it her business to hear significant things first, and she had not heard about this.
"Ever wonder why so many children are flown across there?" asked Martyne, looking appropriately smug.
"To keep them safe, is what I would have said." "And you would have been correct, however did you know that after four generations of aviads breeding with aviads the offspring are infertile? Even after three generations the couples have to hammer away at it daily for two or three years to conceive." Velesti shook her head. "I'm not sure I understand." "As Jemli keeps reminding people, we aviads were built by the old civilization. It seems that we were also designed not to become independent of humanity. Every two or three generations we must intermarry with humans again to produce offspring."
"Of which some are aviads and some are human, presumably?" "Exactly. From the point of view of breeding, it would have made great sense for me to marry Samondel."
Velesti was unaccustomed to hearing so much from Martyne, rather than telling him instead. It was as if he were growing up, and leaving an older sister behind.
"How have Avian's leaders taken to this news?" "Badly, but with resignation. There is considerable interest in the reforms of Overmayor Lengina and the fostering of tolerance in the Commonwealth. That is why I myself, my kitewing, and my ground crew are here on loan."
"In the long run it would make more sense for aviads to live in the Commonwealth than to go to all the trouble of keeping an air link with Tasmania Island open."
"That debate is currently raging, believe me."
"Ilyire would love to hear that. Just imagine, be tolerant or become extinct."
"I intend to tell him."
They reached the end of the ascent strip, turned, and started back. Velesti looked uncomfortable, and made several attempts to speak before finally succeeding.
"Martyne, I am truly sorry about Samondel. If I could do anything, you know I would."
He shook his head.
"Frelle Velesti, only the super-regals can rebuild the link to Moun-thaven, and the Avianese now seal a clockwork bomb aboard before each flight. It has to be disarmed by someone with the right key, on
the ground, before six hours have elapsed, or else there is one very large bang. To cross the Pacific I need four jumps of twenty hours, plus multiple flights to ferry huge stores of compression spirit, plus the problem of finding Samondel on a continent bigger than ours."
Velesti shook her head and folded her arms behind her back.
"The Avianese are liable to be less than sympathetic to a project like that. You certainly have a habit of getting yourself into impossible situations."
"True."
"Well, look on the bright side," she suggested.
"Is there one?"
"You still have me."
"There isn't one."
Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
Velesti stood at the leadlight windows of the Highliber's office, looking out over the roofs and towers of Libris. A leather folder was in her hand. Across Libris Plaza masons were already at work repairing the damage done to the palace by both the bombing and
the Libris bombards, and in the distance a dark speck that was a super-regal was moving slowly across the sky. Presently Lengina entered, a sheaf of papers in her hand. Velsti turned and gave a shallow bow.
"Pleased to report that Prophet Jemli has been expelled from the Woomeran Confederation, and has returned to Kalgoorlie," Velesti reported. "The new Woomeran overmayor wants to open peace talks with you."
"That is good news, Frelle Disore. Arrange a date and place."
"At once, Overmayor."
"Wait, I have good news too, Frelle Disore," the overmayor said brightly. "On my recommendation, and after reading the late High-liber's reports on you, the Libris Dragon Gold Council is to make you a Fellow."
"I'd like to see them try," mumbled Velesti.
"Sorry?" asked Lengina.
"Nothing, esteemed Frelle. But why should I sit on the Gold Council?"
"Because of what is in my latest declaration."
She handed a sheet of illuminated poorpaper to Velesti. Velesti scanned it and looked up almost at once. She considered feeling faint, but that was much too silly. She considered laughing, but it was no laughing matter.
"Why?" she eventually exclaimed, staring steadily at her over-mayor and tapping the paper.
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