A. Warren Merkey

by Far Freedom

  “Are you not here to plan some action against the Black Fleet?” Percival asked. “I know you’re a Navy admiral.”

  “We came for the friends I left here and to find our son.”

  “You have a son here? May I help you?”

  “That’s the impasse at which we find ourselves. Carmen’s people also wish to help us. I don’t want any more people to die. We’re not here to fight the Black Fleet, only for personal reasons.”

  “Why is your son here?”

  “I can’t say anything more. Percival, thank you for your offer of help but I can’t accept it. Thank you for risking your life to come here. Carmen, thank you for your hospitality, thank you for bringing Percival to me. Please ask your people to disperse.”

  “You won’t even let them see you?”

  “No.”

  Section 012 Casablanca

  Dear Sunny,

  Your mother got her wish to look more human. Don’t you laugh when I describe what she did. I know it’s sometimes uncomfortable to wear human clothing over that golden feather-fur, but how else can a Servant show modesty?

  Jessie lost her feathers, a lot of them. It took Zakiya most of a day to help her do the evil deed. Jessie’s bare skin was an odd shade of orange, still inflamed from the abuse of feather removal. I tried very hard to react with good humor. I could only hope the change was not permanent. We later found sunglasses to hide her eyes that were too large and too inhumanly blue. That patterns for sunglasses were available this far into the future and halfway across the galaxy, so that a constructor machine could build them, was a minor miracle. A wig hid her scalp feathers. She would need some further skin treatment to match a human color. I never thought I would hate to see a woman shave her legs.

  That meant we were still accompanying Alex and Zakiya. I should explain that we were never in any great danger. We had Khalanov to yank us out of a tight spot by transmat. If that happened, however, it might give away the location of our jumpship, causing us to depart before we reached Etrhnk - Petros.

  White Bridge found jobs for Alex and me in the vicinity of the games stadium. Both jobs had a connection to the games. Alex was hired to train Black Fleet applicants to fight. I was hired to clean the showers and the blood spatter in the practice gym. It was somewhat better than our old job of making corpses into compost.

  I was often able to watch Alex at work. Even to my inexpert eye, he was a killing machine, barely restrained from delivering death to his pupils. You could see the fear in their eyes as they attacked him and he mercifully allowed them to escape serious injury. You should pause to consider that all of his pupils were predisposed to enjoy killing, were quick to become angry, and would have felt murderous toward Alex; yet, he scared them. Even the other instructors seemed intimidated when they would pair with him to demonstrate technique. Consider further that there was no law or other custom to prevent the practice from becoming lethal. Alex flunked a number of students, sending them home with broken bones when he probably should have killed them.

  Alex didn’t enjoy his work, either because he didn’t like killing, or because he didn’t like to refrain from killing these would-be barbarians. He never volunteered his feelings on the matter. I never inquired. But I could imagine he was not happy about what he did, no matter what he did. I found it impossible to believe Koji was better than Alex, but it was true. Wingren had hinted once to Jessie that Zakiya was more lethal than either man. I could only wonder.

  You could start a conversation with anyone in the gym if you brought up the subject of Etrhnk. He was the deadliest admiral ever to be retired to die in the games. He’d already survived four games and thirty-two opponents. If he couldn’t be defeated soon, many speculated, the Lady in the Mirror would simply execute him. It was a mystery that she had not done so already. I could almost imagine that she wanted her Black Fleet troops to be killed. There was always more to take their places.

  The five of us shared an apartment close to our jobs. In the few days leading up to the games, we lived a peaceful life in our home. The evenings were filled with good conversation. There were so many other things to talk about, it was almost painful to talk about why we were here.

  Jessie and I hadn’t learned of Alex and Zakiya’s son until very recently. I can’t say we were enthusiastic about him, after learning what he did to Aylis. Zakiya offered no apology for him. I know she felt responsible, simply because she chose to give him life. Although Alex only participated through frozen sperm, I think he wanted to save Etrhnk more than Zakiya did. It was only a guess. Alex listened more than he spoke.

  “Unfortunately,” I said one evening, “there’s no way we can locate Petros until we see him fight. It appears the stadium is shielded from transmat probe, perhaps as a safeguard against some form of cheating.”

  “There is a way to get to him,” Alex said. “We may be able to extract him, but one of us should be there - in the games.”

  “Alex, do you mean fight in the games?”

  “Yes.”

  “You?”

  “I was invited.”

  “I don’t want you to.” I think she said that as an opinion, not as an order.

  “I know,” Alex replied. He waited while she thought more about the idea. Finally she asked him to explain what he wanted to do. I liked the plan. Except for Alex’s role, it seemed reasonably safe. Zakiya put her arms around Alex and closed her eyes. “He’s my son,” Alex said, rubbing her back. “Regardless of all that he was and did, my life would still sum to zero if I did nothing to save my son.”

  “You don’t need to be the hero again,” Zakiya said. “You were always my hero. The thought of you exposing yourself to such an unpredictable situation scares me.”

  “The augmentations Aylis gave me are excellent. Koji has trained me well over the years. I’m fighting for the life of my son.”

  “I can’t bear for you to kill anyone, Alex.”

  “All of the matches are to the death, unless they pass a time limit. They may disqualify me if I don’t kill my opponents.”

  “These are all very young men. It’s convenient to think of them as evil but you know they can’t help being what they are. Someday we may be able to help them.”

  “I’ll obey your wishes, but they may need to be severely injured to incapacitate them. Many of them resort to drugs to enhance their performance. Even with life-threatening injuries they can hardly stop themselves. I doubt there’s any provision for medical attention.”

  “There must be. Olivier survived the loss of his arm from an injury suffered in the Games. I just don’t want to see you kill any of them.”

  “I’ll consider it a challenge.”

  You should keep in mind that my description of Oz and its inhabitants is sanitized. Because I was born in the 20th century, I have the perspective to be charitable to Oz. But words fail me in describing the range of conditions and activities in a place that’s a step or two beyond comprehending. Just try to imagine the unpleasant things that can happen when millions of humans are forced to live under tyranny without even the traditional social institutions of human culture to put order into their lives.

  Being close to the upper half of Oz where the Black Fleet lived, we began to get glimpses into their culture. It was difficult to think of the Black Fleet having families, neighborhoods, homes, businesses. That was civilized social behavior. How could they have any kind of stable home life? How could people who were psychotic relate peacefully to each other in a family setting? Being the anthropologist, Zakiya brought these and many other questions to our attention. She wanted to do research but couldn’t risk many forays from the apartment.

  Every evening when Alex and I returned home, Zakiya would debrief us and give us more questions for which she wanted answers. It usually fell to me to engage someone in conversation who might have the information Zakiya wanted. Alex spent lifetimes trying to extract information directly from barbarians and was not interested in learning anything more about the
m.

  The family unit was probably not common among the Black Fleet. The barbarians had no religious or civil means - or the will - to formalize marriage, as the sups did. Fleet officers lived too briefly to make stable unions. Still, there were a few Black Fleet families.

  There were no laws and thus no lawyers and no jails. Why were there no gangs running wild, no rampant theft and assault and murder? Probably because the standard punishment was death and the standard judge and jury was a junior officer of the Black Fleet. Sups also formed clans and guilds that could protect members and mete out justice and enforce order when necessary. Life was cheap, the birthrate was high, and replacement slaves were readily available in barbarian space. Who would have the desire - or the courage - to collect statistics to prove my impressions of life in the Big Ball? I assumed people learned in childhood to take care of business and stay safe. History was little more than an oral tradition here, but there were stories of civil unrest that were dealt with harshly in the past. Only the Black Fleet remained stable as a cultural institution. Probably the Lady in the Mirror kept it that way. She also apparently denied them the services of Mnro Clinics. The technology must have been available to steal. I tried to work out the social and psychological reasoning for the lack of life extension in barbarian society but couldn’t. I could only feel that immortality and barbarians didn’t fit together.

  Stratification of Black Fleet society was limited by the short life expectancy. Military rank was the only social hierarchy. It was not clear how Navy admirals fit into the non-naval organization of the Black Fleet. There were only three officer ranks: lieutenant, captain, and major. There were also non-commissioned ranks of private and sergeant for maintenance personnel. The short chain of command seemed to preclude any strategic organization of the Fleet, keeping it as roving bands of pirates. Many details of Fleet life remained secret but its rigor of command and its bloodthirsty competition for rank were reflected in its total domination of its non-Fleet population. It was not a coincidence that the Union Navy was similarly in control of the Union.

  Barbarian common society was currently remarkably free of politics and governmental structure. I think a large fraction of the non-Fleet population never came into direct contact with the Fleet. Housing and clean water were plentiful, leaving only a few things - like food and clothing - as necessities to require work to purchase. Local entertainment was plentiful and cheap, and broadcast entertainment from the Union was also available.

  The slave sups could utilize whatever social structures they wished, as long as they did their jobs. As far as we could tell, their lives were chaotic and difficult, with only a few effective institutions and almost no extended families. Jobs and survival were their lives, and children were an unfortunate result of desperate attempts to find joy.

  Barbarians suffered a short life expectancy not only because of violence but because of a genetic mutation that Aylis thought occurred about thirty generations in the past. The Big Ball represented a lot of future field work for Aylis. The Mnro Clinic was always looking for genetic mutations, disease vectors, and any other factors that might affect the survival of the species.

  White Bridge was a good source of information on the barbarians, but Zakiya was obviously extremely interested in the Fesn race. She did a lot of research, staying at home with two genuine aliens. I admired Zakiya’s insatiable curiosity and rigorous research discipline.

  Zakiya was so interested in the anthropology of this strange little world, it led to an expedition into Upper Oz. Despite his assurances that we would not be in much danger in the public areas, White Bridge declined to accompany us. He took my place and went with Alex to the gym. Zakiya disguised herself, Jessie put on her shades, and we took a stroll.

  Once you became accustomed to the splendor that was Upper Oz, it was easy to feel that things were almost normal. We traveled far down many walkways, looking for scenes of family functions. We saw a few families in the beautiful parks, mostly mothers with children. We sat on park benches and enjoyed the flowering plants, while Zakiya hoped a child or two would approach us and want to talk. It didn’t happen. After four different parks and no contact, we started to look for other possibilities while moving back in the general direction of our temporary home.

  Almost anything is suitable for an anthropologist to study. The architecture was built by some long-departed humanoid race, but the use of it was a proper cultural subject. The Black Fleet liked to live in the plain modern structures and they all had to be oriented in the same “north” direction. On the other hand, places of entertainment were always of the opposite polarity and varied wildly in architecture.

  The grid of major powered walkways crisscrossed the Big Ball in regularly parallel and perpendicular geometry, but between them there was very little repetition of theme or pattern in the structures of neighborhoods. Once you stepped off a concourse you could easily get lost in some of the neighborhoods. It helped that we had in-body augmentations to aid our navigation. In one such gravity-twisted enclave of strange buildings we encountered several older men sweeping, mopping, and removing trash from in front of what was an entertainment establishment, judging from the moving holograms in the opaqued windows. Singers sang, dancers danced, even small orchestras performed, all silently, as the often-present background music filled the outdoor areas. Despite its modest facade, I guessed this was a high-class joint.

  The group of sups looked at us to judge our importance to their health and seemed uncertain of us. They decided to act subservient, just to be safe. The one closest to us stepped aside to give us direct access to the doorway of the establishment.

  “What’s your name?” Zakiya asked the man.

  “Eddie,” he answered softly. He was dressed in a stained green jumpsuit, half-unzipped down the chest. He exuded odors of hard work and bad personal hygiene.

  “Are you married, Eddie?”

  “Was.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Widower.”

  “Do you see many Black Fleet?”

  “Try not to.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” He shrugged and nervously fingered his broom-mop. “I’m just curious. I mean you no harm.”

  “Had a son.”

  “Dead?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Black Fleet?” He nodded. He looked unhappy and kept his eyes averted, looking downward. “Are there any Black Fleet inside?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have you seen any?” He shook his head. “What does the name of this place mean?” He shrugged. It was a ten-letter word with not enough vowels. It looked like a mixture of Polish and Welsh. “What do they do here?”

  “The usual.”

  “Wine, women, song?”

  He nodded. Zakiya thanked Eddie for his time and headed for the entrance. I was surprised and slow to follow, but Jessie was right behind Zakiya. I didn’t know what they thought was so interesting about a saloon. I wanted to protest. I kept my mouth shut. We entered the place.

  It was late morning and the cleanup crew was finished washing everything down. Now they were setting candles and place mats on the round, pink tables. Barkeeps hung clean wine glasses in rows above the vast bar and restocked liquor bottles on the wall under the mirrors. There was a stage on the far side of the large room. I was right; it was a nice place, clean and well-maintained. It even had a certain charm to it, despite my prejudice against drinking establishments. The setting seemed familiar to me but I couldn’t remember why.

  “It’s like in an old monochrome movie,” Jessie commented.

  Zakiya stepped up to the bar and put one foot on the brass rail. The nearest person looked like a regular evening employee of the place, not a member of the cleaning crew. He saw Zakiya and Jessie. I could tell he liked what he saw.

  “What can I do for you, ladies, gent?”

  “I’m thirsty,” Zakiya said.

  “We’re not open, but
what’ll it be?”

  “Just water.”

  The barkeep pumped a tumbler full of water with a nozzle on a hose. He cast an inquiring look at Jessie, got a nod from her, and poured another. He seemed to have lost sight of me, and I was thirsty. Jessie gave me half of her glass of water.

  “What do they call you?” Zakiya asked the barkeep.

  “‘Hey-You.’ My friends call me Rick.”

  “Is this Casablanca?” Jessie asked.

  “I’d have to be the owner,” Rick replied, amazing me that he knew the old

  film, “which I’m not, and the sign out front wouldn’t make you sprain your tongue and spit consonants. You got names?” He spoke like an educated man.

  “Ruby, Jessie, Sam,” Zakiya answered for us.

  “Another familiar name,” the barkeep remarked. “Can you play it, Sam?”

  “Play what?” I asked. Rick pointed to the piano on the stage. “Sure. But it’s been awhile.”

  “I suppose the ladies sing?”

  “They’re the best I’ve ever heard.”

  “Oh, now I have to call the boss and put you on the spot.”

  “Not necessary, Rick. We were just passing through.”

  “Thought you were looking for a job. Don’t like the place?”

  “I think it’s neat,” Jessie said.

  “I never sang in any place this big,” Zakiya said.

  “I just wanted to use your restroom,” Jessie said.

  “So did I,” Zakiya said.

  A mystery solved. Rick pointed. The girls scooted.

  Rick didn’t seem interested in talking to me, so I walked over to the stage, climbed up, sat down at the piano. I looked at the keys, brushed my fingers over their shiny surfaces, saw one key that seemed to ask me to push it down. I pushed the key. The tone hit my ears. Hair stood up on the back of my neck.

  I tried to stop whatever it was that made my brain hurt and my fingers twitch. No luck. I started pressing keys and listening, perhaps trying to find a bad note on the keyboard or a defective hammer. I moved down the scale from middle C, then up the scale. I saw my fingers falling into familiar patterns of exercise, running the chromatic scale up and down, faster and faster, then the major scales, then the minor scales, then chords and arpeggios. It was an excellent piano.