Restoration

by Peter David

  “Well said, Maester, well said,” Milos beamed. “I think a simple show of hands will do. All those in favor of Maester Tapinza being appointed to the town council …”

  Rheela saw hands all around her going into the air. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to sit on her own hands and send a statement—however futile it might be—that she still did not approve of the man. But then, much to her own annoyance, she raised her hand, falling into line with everyone else.

  “There, then!” Milos said cheerfully, not even bothering to ask for “no” votes, since the show of hands had been overwhelmingly supportive of the question before them. “That’s settled. Welcome to the council, Maester,” and he shook hands warmly with Tapinza while another polite round of applause rippled through the meeting hall.

  “Now, then,” continued Milos, “is there any new business?”

  And he looked straight at the Maestress.

  This alone was enough to set off an alarm in Rheela’s head. She had no idea why, but, nevertheless, she sensed that what was about to happen—whatever that might be—wasn’t going to be good. Clearly, the Maestress had something very specific in mind, because the Praestor was apparently expecting it. She was getting the distinct impression that there was going to be some sort of ambush … and that there wasn’t a thing she was going to be able to do about it.

  Sure enough, the Maestress rose from behind the table. It seemed as if the others in the room visibly shrank when she did so. It was hard for Rheela to understand, even after all this time, the hold that Maestress Cawfiel seemed to have over so many of them. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t that difficult to understand. Cawfiel had been part of the town for longer than anyone could remember. The general sentiment seemed to be that she had been there, literally, forever. She predated everyone, including Praestor Milos, who was one of the oldest men in the city. Virtually everyone in the meeting hall, when they had been children, had quaked in fear of the Maestress. One would have thought that, once they grew up, adulthood would have attended to childhood fears. But time had not lessened the strength of the influence she had upon them. If anything, it had graven it in stone.

  When she spoke, it was with a low voice that was just above a whisper, so that everyone was forced to strain in order to hear her. From a psychological point of view, that was very clever on her part. In effect, it brought them to her. “As many of you know,” she said, “I am very concerned over the behavior I saw in this city not all that long ago. The gallivanting, the mindless celebration. It does not bode well for the long-term health of our city. You do all see that, I hope.”

  Rheela didn’t know firsthand what she was talking about, but she could certainly take a guess. The rain she had brought to the people a few days ago had been desperately needed, and there had probably been “gallivanting” in the streets when the skies had unleashed their liquid sustenance. She wished she could have been there, as it must have been quite a sight to see.

  There was visible tension throughout the room. And then the Maestress … smiled. Rheela couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not, although, if she had to guess, she would have opted for “not.”

  “But I have been giving the matter some thought … and I want you to know that I am not angry. I hold no grudges. I simply want what’s best for you. As the spiritual mother of this community, I embrace each and every one of you,” and she held her arms wide symbolically.

  Immediately, relief swept through the crowd. The residents of Narrin reciprocated, likewise holding open their arms and symbolically welcoming her gesture. For her part, Rheela found herself looking toward Calhoun to see what his reaction was. His face remained inscrutable. There did seem to be, though, a hint of cold amusement in his eyes. Then again, Rheela couldn’t be sure; she might have been imagining it.

  The Maestress lowered her arms, and the others followed suit. Rheela saw, though, that the Praestor was making no effort to step in or act as if that was all the Maestress had to say on the matter. That being the case, the odds were that the Maestress was, in fact, going to say more. Rheela still felt uneasy.

  “I think,” the Maestress, predictably, continued, “that part of the problem is that I have not presented you with sufficient guidelines. As a result, I’ve constantly been in the position of having to scold you after the fact. But that is inefficient and—worse—unfair to you. So I think it would be much better for all concerned if the rules were made clear. Made clear … and accepted by all of you. A sort of contract, if you will, between us.”

  “ ‘Us’ being what?” It was Ronk, once again, who had asked. He added, “And what kind of ‘contract’ are you talking about?”

  “ ‘Us’ refers to the people of this town … and the council, its appointed representatives and guides in all matters having to do with orderly life here in Narrin. And as for the contract, why … that’s a very good question, Ronk, and one that is easily answered.”

  She turned and nodded to Spangler. He got up from behind the table, carrying the stack of papers that had been on his lap. He went along the rows of people, handing out stacks and indicating that they should be passed down. As he did so, Maestress Cawfiel explained, “We call it the Standards and Decency Act. I, of course, dislike such words as ‘act.’ But that’s our way of letting you know that it is coming through the council, rather than at the whim or will of any one individual. Moreover, what makes it a contract is that it will be entered into willingly. Read it over. You will see that it is ultimately just and fair.”

  Rheela skimmed it over. She hated to admit it—it even frightened her slightly—but most of what she was reading didn’t seem all that bad. It preached moderation in all things, respect for authority, treating others in the same manner that you yourself wished to be treated.

  She was three-quarters of the way down the single page of the document when she stopped cold. The passage leaped out at her like a dagger.

  “No people of questionable moral virtue shall be tolerated on or about or anywhere within proximity of the city, as they set a poor example and will lead others down the road to depravity. These types of people shall include, but not be limited to, abusers of children … abusive partners …” The list went on, and most of them seemed reasonable, except her eye had skipped to the end. “… and parents of children with questionable or unknown background.”

  She heard muttering, rumbling that sounded like voices of discontent. But, for the most part, she also heard comments of approval. The vast majority of those surrounding her seemed to appreciate having everything spelled out for them.

  “You see?” the Maestress said. “It’s not unreasonable. Certainly nothing that anyone who wants the best for this town would have any objections t—”

  It took everything Rheela had to muster up her nerve, because she was quite certain of the response she was going to get. Nevertheless, she got to her feet and said, “Excuse me.”

  The Maestress hadn’t been looking in her direction, but she did so now. Very slowly, her gaze fastened on Rheela, and her thin lips stretched across her face. But it was a smile that displayed utter confidence in herself and in the moment. “Yes, Rheela?”

  “I have to believe, Maestress—with all respect—that one of the stipulations put forward here is aimed specifically at me.”

  “Not at all, Rheela,” the Maestress replied coolly. “The ‘stipulations,’ as you call them, are designed only to provid a life of purity of spirit for all concerned. That is not aimed at you. It’s aimed at providing what’s best for all.”

  The Praestor spoke up, sounding vaguely patronizing. “I assure you, Rheela, that when the rules of decency were being drawn up, your name was not mentioned. Nor was anyone’s. We took aim at no single lifestyle, but instead, what will simply be best for everyone.”

  Ronk reared to his feet. The fact that he was arguing came as no surprise; Ronk had a tendency to disagree with everyone about everything. It was what he enjoyed doing. Nevertheless, this time,
his stated concerns actually had relevance to Rheela. “I know ’zactly what Rheela’s referrin’ to. It’s this part here, about unknown children and such. How’s it gonna be best for everyone if she’s driven away because of that?”

  Moke was now looking around in confusion, and Rheela was cursing herself that she had brought him along at all. What spectacularly bad timing and judgment she had displayed. He clearly didn’t understand what was happening, but she wasn’t going to be able to shield him from the realization for much longer. He had come close to her when she had risen to speak, and now he was clutching apprehensively at her leg.

  “No one is driving her away,” the Maestress said calmly. “We are speaking of demanding a single standard for those who reside in and around Narrin. That does not seem unreasonable to me. But this is not a dictatorship. This is a place,” and she smiled ingratiatingly—or, at least, as close as she could come to being ingratiating—“where everyone has a say. I look to you for a vote on the Standards and Decency Act.”

  “Can we pick and choose?” Ronk asked. “Vote yes for some rules, no for others?”

  The Widow Att now stood and spoke, voice dripping with disdain. “What a superb idea. By all means, let us accept without question those things that we find convenient and easy … and reject that which would challenge us.” She snorted even as she held the paper over her head. “I tell you that this document is a masterful expression of the Narrin mind, and that it would border on sacrilege to accept it in any way other than in its entirety.”

  There were many nods of approval, and Rheela noticed that almost all of them were coming from the older residents of the town … of which there were many. The younger were much fewer, and even many of them were nodding. A few of them were looking regretfully or nervously at Rheela, but didn’t have the fortitude to stand up in the face of such widespread disapproval.

  “She brings us the rain!” Ronk protested.

  “Rain came before Rheela arrived here,” replied Howzer. “And it will continue to come long after she is gone. This town didn’t spring up overnight, you know, or at Rheela’s whim.”

  “But shouldn’t we discuss—”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Praestor Milos said forcefully … a little too forcefully, in fact. Clearly, he did not wish to cross the Maestress, and was doing everything he could to stay in her good graces by helping to railroad the Act through. “Something is either right or it is not. Discussing it isn’t going to make it more or less right. I call for the vote.”

  For some reason, Rheela found herself looking over to Calhoun. He had not budged from the spot he had taken up before. He just stood there, arms folded, watching the proceedings with an unreadable expression. She looked over toward Tapinza … and saw that he was watching her with a certain degree of smugness on his face.

  Then the Maestress began to speak again, and her voice soared with the righteousness of her indignation. “Has it occurred to any of you,” she thundered, “that Kolk’r is testing us? That he withholds the rain because of what he sees as laxness in the way we live our lives? Notice that I say ‘we.’ I do not exempt myself. I have lived a life of purity and service, and yet not for a moment do I think that I don’t share your fate. What affects one of us, affects all of us. I have had a vision—a vision, I say—of an improved quality of life for everyone in this city. But that depends on our ability to realize the truth and the way of things, and to follow the right path! A path that is being given to us, here and now. You must not let foolish fears stop you from doing what is right! What is just! What is best for everyone! The council is already solidly behind this Act. It is now left to you to decide whether you’re going to follow our lead. This is one of those moments, my children, when one’s future is on the line, and one has to decide in what direction one is going to take that future. I’m asking you all to make that choice now.”

  Ultimately, it wasn’t even close. When Rheela watched the vast majority of hands accepting the Standards and Decency Act, she felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. As if she was seeing the entire thing happen from someplace very far away. The few people who didn’t vote in favor of it couldn’t even bring themselves to look her in the eye. And even in their cases, she wondered whether it was because of any genuine affection and sense of fair play … or whether they were just afraid of losing a natural resource.

  Even without looking, she felt Tapinza’s gaze upon her. Every bit of her skin crawled. It was becoming more clear to her by the minute that he had something very definite in mind. She brought her gaze up to look him in the eyes, and sure enough, he was watching her. He hadn’t looked away from her the entire time. It was becoming obvious: this was some sort of “punishment” that he had cooked up in conjunction with the Maestress. She had refused to cooperate with him, and, as a result, he was now going to drive her from her home.

  Her heart hardened. Fine. Fine, let it be that way. She had done everything she could, operated out of some sort of misbegotten belief that she could improve their lives. They hadn’t asked for her, but she had come just the same. But if that was how they were going to be, then she was more than happy to play it that way. She would just … just leave, that was all, exactly as the stupid Act required. She would leave it all behind—her farm, her dreams of stability—and she would just find somewhere else. And she wouldn’t even let anyone know about the Kolk’r-given abilities she wielded. She wouldn’t make the mistake of caring about what happened to people ever again.

  Or … or better yet … she would stay. How would they like that? She would just sit there, remain on her farm exactly the way she had been. What were they going to do? Force her to move? Let them try. Let them see how much success they would have if—

  She became aware that Moke was saying the same thing, over and over again. She looked down at him, and there were tears streaking down his face as he kept saying, clearly frightened, “I don’t want to go! This is my home! I don’t want to go!” He was looking fearfully at the people around him, trying to grasp why they would possibly despise him so.

  She was stricken with grief on his behalf. She had never seen the boy look so vulnerable, so hurt. She wanted to take him up in her arms, to tell him that somehow, some way, everything was going to be all right. That he shouldn’t let these peoples’ ignorance or judgment weigh upon his conscience. He was a good boy, she was a good woman, and sometimes in life things simply happened that were unfair. But how does one possibly explain that to a child who is hurting?

  And at that moment, Rheela—who had come to take her miraculous influence over the weather almost for granted—wished to Kolk’r for a small and simple miracle, any miracle, that would salvage the situation.

  “Excuse me.”

  Calhoun had spoken. All eyes immediately were upon him. It was as impossible to get any sort of read of him as ever. “I think … it’s time to be honest.”

  “Honest?” The Praestor looked somewhat confused. “About what, Majister?”

  “About Rheela. And our son … Moke.”

  SHELBY

  ELIZABETH SHELBY WAS BEGINNING to wonder if she was losing track of herself. If she was becoming unclear on just what she believed, on what her philosophy was. Was she endeavoring to live up to Mac, simply because he was dead? Did she feel she “owed” it to him for some reason?

  She had no idea … and was even less enthused when ship’s counselor Laura Ap’Boylan took it upon herself to discuss the matter with her.

  Ap’Boylan’s heart was in the right place, Shelby was reasonably sure of that. Still, the relatively correct placement of her heart did not remotely prompt Shelby to want to talk with her. But Ap’Boylan didn’t let such a trivial thing as reluctance on Shelby’s part deter her.

  “I admit to being a bit surprised that you’re down here, Captain,” she said, her dark eyes studying Shelby intently as she slid into the seat across from Shelby’s desk. “Considering that we’re in the process of ridding Makkus of its undesirab
le insect population, I’d think you’d want to be right in the middle of the bridge for it, rather than here in the ready room.”

  “I have every confidence in my people to handle this procedure,” Shelby said coolly.

  “That is good to hear,” said Ap’Boylan. But then, with the slightest flicker of hesitation, she added, “And do you believe … they have every confidence in you?”

  “Have I a reason to think otherwise?” she replied.

  “You answer a question with a question.”

  “Do I?”

  Ap’Boylan’s lips thinned, showing her lack of amusement at Shelby’s response. “I am only here to help, Captain.”

  “I was unaware I needed any help,” Shelby told her. She found, though, much to her annoyance, that she disliked taking a harsh tone with Ap’Boylan. The telepath really was harmless enough, and her face had such a look of innocence to it that being harsh with her was like clubbing a baby tribble. She laughed softly to herself over the image that prompted in her head, and then sighed. “Perhaps I do at that.”

  Ap’Boylan seemed positively buoyed by the admission. “Good. Good. Admitting one has a problem is the first step to solving it.”

  “I don’t know for sure that I have a problem. I am sensing, though, a sort of … resistance … from the crew. Doubt, perhaps. Then again, I’m not the telepath. What are you picking up?”

  “I’m not really here to discuss the crew, Captain, but you.”

  Shelby blinked at that. “I don’t know that I personally need discussion.”

  For a moment, Ap’Boylan appeared to be considering the matter. “Captain,” she said delicately, as if walking on very thin glass, “what is your philosophy of command?”

  It was a fair enough question. “Actually,” Shelby said, after a moment’s consideration, “I’d say my philosophy would be pretty much in accord with the credo of the medical profession.”

  “Which credo would that be?”

  “ ‘First … do no harm,’ ” Shelby quoted. She leaned forward on the desk, hands folded into each other; she displayed the determined jaw-outthrust attitude of someone who not only knew she was right, but dared someone to prove it otherwise. “I’ve been giving it a good deal of thought, and I think that’s what it boils down to. The first priority of this vessel is to try and leave things better than we found them.”