Alector's Choice

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  He stepped through the entry into the warmer air, and the stone closed behind him. For all his height and heavy muscle, his boots barely whispered on the stone steps. At the bottom of the long staircase, he turned right along a stonewalled corridor until he reached the next to last doorway on the north side. There he stopped. He had only gone any farther a handful of times, and only with the marshal.

  “You may enter, Colonel.” The alector who stood in the chamber was a tall figure with flawless alabaster skin, even paler than that of the colonel, with the same shimmering black hair, and deep violet eyes, unlike the deep blue of the colonel’s. The older alector did not wear a uniform, or the garb used for administration of justice, but a tunic of brilliant green, trimmed in a deep purple, with matching trousers.

  Dainyl inclined his head, murmuring politely, “Highest, I am here to serve.”

  “As are we all.” After a moment, the High Alector of Justice continued. “How long has it been since the first translations to Acorus?”

  “The very first? Slightly more than five hundred years.” Dainyl contained his puzzlement at the question, one he had certainly not expected.

  The High Alector shook his head. “That is what we have said, although nowhere is that written. The first fieldmaster struggled onto this soil more than twice that long ago…”

  Dainyl kept a pleasant smile on his face, although he could sense that there was something wrong with what the High Alector said.

  “… Where we stand was covered with snow for half the year, and the Bay of Ludel was frozen over for most of that time. He was a lifemaster as well, and made changes to some of the animals who lived here.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “You do not need to know all the details now. Suffice it to say that we have labored long and hard to bring warmth and prosperity and the benefits of Ifryn to this chill world.”

  “As we are doing on Efra, are we not?”

  “That is true, although the task is easier there, because it is naturally warmer.” The High Alector lifted his hand in a gesture that froze Dainyl’s words. “That is not for us to discuss now. Your Talents do not lie in translation or life-forming, but in ensuring the peace here on Acorus.”

  “There is a particular problem, Highest?”

  “All problems are particular, Dainyl. Those who talk of problems in general either fail to understand or wish to avoid or obscure the issues at hand.”

  Dainyl tried not to stiffen. His words had been spoken as courtesy, not in condescension or in arrogance. He waited for the High Alector to continue.

  “Some of the steers have grown restless. With all the libraries and schools, some of them have learned nothing. Left to themselves, they would squabble like spoiled children. All around them are marvels, and yet they do not see.”

  Where? What do you wish of the Myrmidons or the Cad-mians? Those were the questions Dainyl wanted to ask. Instead, he inclined his head politely. The High Alector would say what he wanted in his own time and in great detail.

  “A group of steers, and perhaps even some from the older lander lines, are plotting a revolt in Dramuria. Marshal Shastylt has indicated such to you.” The older ifrit looked to the younger officer.

  “He left a brief message, sir. I have not seen any reports.”

  “The report from Majer Herryf went to the marshal and the Submarshal. This majer would have two companies of Myrmidons patrolling the skies of Dramur. The marshal and I decided that you should evaluate the situation without reference to the report. That way you can confirm or modify the majer’s views independently. It seems unlikely that a few unhappy steers could suddenly generate a revolt with any local support. What do you think of that possibility?”

  “I would share that feeling, but if there is to be an insurrection, Dramur would seem a likely locale. The city garrison is small, and the harbor more easily defended. They are isolated from the high roads and Tables and thus cannot see all the benefits that accrue to them. There’s been no recent history of hardship there, and they do not know how well off they are. Also, if the uprising fails, the rebels could flee to the Murian Mountains. The cliffs there would be difficult for the Cadmians to attack without taking significant casualties. The canyons are narrow enough that we could not use the pteridons to the fullest advantage.”

  “You speak as though you knew about this.”

  Dainyl felt the lifeforce pressure of the High Alector, but his own shields were more than adequate. “I have heard nothing. I’m not a liaison to the recorders of deeds, High-est, and neither the marshal nor Alector Zestafyn has passed any intelligence to me. I merely speculate on the basis of what I know about Dramur.” He’d certainly flown over it enough in years past, and it could not have changed that much in the five or so years since he had last been there.

  The High Alector nodded brusquely, his deep set purple eyes remaining cold. “As you know, lifeforce conditions upon Ifryn will reach the point of accelerated diminishing returns within the next thirty years.” He snorted once. “That may be too optimistic, but the High Fieldmaster would prefer not to risk a full body translation anytime soon. Any resistance by the local steers must be quelled, and with as little knowledge passing among the steers as possible, particularly among the more educated and trained landers.”

  “I understand.” Dainyl comprehended all too well. Both worlds—Acorus and Efra—were competing to see which would hold the Master Scepter of Life, and thus succeed Ifryn as the Ifrit capital under the Archon who ruled all alectors. Whichever did would receive the more Talented alectors from Ifryn and would become the better world upon which to live. By their nature, the more intelligent steers had always caused trouble. There was no help for it, not when intelligence was linked to strength of lifeforce. The High Fieldmasters would excuse minor uprisings and incidents as to be expected, but a large organized revolt in Dramuria could easily prejudice him against making Acorus the successor to Ifryn. “The High Fieldmasters…”

  The ifrit in green laughed, long, melodiously. “Drecorat wants matters as uneventful as possible. All high fieldmasters have felt the same way. They care little about what is right or just. He once told me that there is no such thing as inherent ‘right’ or justice among all the worlds of the universe. The universe does not care. Its rules reward survival—and power. If you would have what you call justice, you must have the strength and the will to create it and to enforce it.” The High Alector looked hard at Dainyl. “We must show that strength and will.”

  “As always.” Dainyl would have liked a hint of what the Highest wanted in more concrete terms.

  The older alector smiled, a hard and condescending expression. “We have already established grandeur and beauty and grace here. We have created peerless art, where there was none before. Out of mud and squalor we have built such, and it must not be undermined.”

  Left unspoken was the understanding of the price a world paid for such grandeur and beauty. “What would you have the Myrmidons do, Highest?”

  “The Myrmidons? Nothing. I would have sent Submar-shal Tyanylt, but… he felt otherwise. You are the acting Submarshal, and the task falls to you. This appears to be a matter involving steers, and it should be handled by steers—except for you and two Myrmidons of your choice. They will take you to Dramuria. You will be there as my representative and to observe how the Cadmian battalion handles the situation.”

  “And the two pteridons at my disposal?”

  “You may use them for dispatches and for reconnaissance. I would prefer that, unless matters take an unforeseen turn, the Cadmians deal with the matter.”

  Dainyl was getting a very chill feeling about his assignment.

  “You may well understand what is not said, Colonel. I would appreciate that understanding remaining unspoken, even to your wife.”

  “Yes, Highest.”

  “Good. As Marshal Shastylt may have told you, the Cadmians will be traveling on the Duarches’ Valor. They will leave Elcien on Septi and arrive in Dramuria no later than t
he following Tridi. You will leave on Septi. That should give you enough time to meet with the local Cadmian majer in Dramuria, the guild heads, and the council chief in Dramuria—and the director of the mining operation.”

  Dainyl nodded.

  “If there is anything else, you’ll know. As always, you must behave and act as if the highest of all alectors are the Duarches.”

  Why was the Highest mentioning that now? It was an unspoken code, and breaking that code had led to more than a few alectors’ deaths in the early years. Had someone let the secret slip? Was that the source of the revolt?

  “Enjoy your time away from Elcien.” The Highest nodded to dismiss Dainyl.

  The colonel half bowed, took a pace backward, and gave a last bow before turning and making his way back to the stairs.

  As he climbed the steps and crossed the halls, more than a few thoughts swirled through Dainyl’s mind. From what had been said, and not said, conditions on Ifryn were becoming even less favorable far earlier than anticipated. Dainyl suspected that the lifeforce mass there was declining precipitously. That, in turn, meant that the Duarches of Acorus were being pressed to build lifeforce more quickly. More coal would have helped, as would more of the fertile bat dung from Dramur. Instead, there was less of each, and using the pteridons would only draw more heavily on the world’s reserves. The Highest was planning to use Cadmian lives, if necessary, to reduce such a drawdown.

  Dainyl would have preferred to talk over his suspicions with Lystrana, but the Highest might well learn if he did— and that was not something Dainyl was about to chance, not after all the tens of years it had taken him to become a colonel of Myrmidons on Corus—and certainly not after what had befallen the Submarshal.

  He was also aware that his assignment was a cross between a test and an opportunity and that the Highest did not wish him to have the advantage of Lystrana’s knowledge and wisdom.

  He walked down the stone steps from the Hall of Justice to the waiting duty coach.

  12

  After muster on Duadi, Mykel conducted a gear inspection before returning to his study in the headquarters building. There, he took out the folders he had found earlier—those of the two rankers in his company from Dramur—Polynt from third squad and Chelosyr from fifth squad. After taking a last look through the folders, he wrote up three more of the individual training reports as he waited for Bhoral and the two rankers.

  Then there was a knock on the door. “Sir?”

  “Come on in.” Mykel stacked his papers, stood, and watched as the senior squad leader ushered the two rankers into the study, closing the door after them.

  Polynt was tall, angular, blond—and looked even younger than Mykel’s brother Viencet. Chelosyr wasn’t that much shorter than Polynt, but he was brown-haired, square-faced, stocky, and muscular, and seemed almost squat in comparison.

  “You both know that we’re headed to Dramur.” Mykel studied the two.

  Polynt moistened his lips, while the slightest hint of a smile hid in Chelosyr’s eyes.

  “Your records show that you’re both from there. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.” The responses were almost simultaneous.

  ‘Tell me about the mines there.“

  Polynt looked at Chelosyr.

  The older and more muscular ranker shrugged, then looked at Mykel. “That’s one reason why I signed up with the Cadmians, sir. Maybe, it just mighta been me, but always seemed to me that when they got short of miners, lots of fellows all of a sudden got caught doing things they said they hadn’t and ended up serving terms in the mines. Fellows like me, younger sons of smallholders, folks who don’t have a craft or much coin. Figured that I’d get a better deal in the Cadmians, and couldn’t get much worse than staying in the shambles outside Dramuria. ‘Sides, don’t care what they say, that bat dung really stinks.”

  “How did they get short of miners?”

  “Miners die. Knew of a couple got buried. Others got sick. Some couldn’t take it and ran for the high mountains and the jungles. Guards got most of them—-killed ‘em—but some always got away. Not much of a life there, either, always looking over your shoulder.”

  “The ones who got away—did any of them get hold of rifles or weapons?”

  “Don’t know, sir. Never knew any, just heard stories.”

  Chelosyr knew more than that, but Mykel looked to Polynt. “What can you add?”

  Polynt glanced from Chelosyr to Bhoral, then to the captain. Finally, he began, his voice low. “Heard tell… just heard, sir… could be that there’s someplace worse than the mines. Couldn’t think what it’d be. Dust… there’s dust everywhere. Stinks, worse’n you can imagine. Takes years for the smell to leave anyone lucky enough to live through a term there. Guards there, they got whips with iron tips, leave a man’s back wide open with one lash. Then the nightwasps get in the wounds. Hurts and itches so bad men’ll throw themselves downshaft…”

  Mykel had suspected something of the sort, but suspecting and hearing were not the same. He waited until Polynt finished before asking, “What’s Dramuria like?”

  Again, Polynt deferred to Chelosyr.

  “Sort of like a cleaner version of Northa, except it’s got some big houses on the hills, and it’s a port… ships that carry out the bat dung, they bring back iron stuff, and tin and stuff that won’t hold the stink. Other ships, they bring in cloth and regular cheese, wines…”

  “Cheese?” asked Mykel.

  “No milk cows on Dramuria, sir. Nightwasps bite ‘em, and they waste away. That’s what they say. Some half tame aurochs for meat.”

  “… Won’t let folks burn out the nightwasps, either,” added Polynt. “That’s ‘cause they got a real sweet honey the factors make into a special drink, some kind of honey brandy.”

  Mykel kept asking questions. In the end, he didn’t learn that much more.

  Once the two rankers had left, Mykel turned to the senior squad leader. “Anything else I should know?”

  “I’m having Fessyt keep a close eye on Kalosyr until we’re embarked.”

  “Woman trouble?”

  “The idiot married a former pleasure girl from Northa. He says she’s a former pleasure girl. I think she still is. She’s betting he’ll get it in Dramuria, and she’ll get his back pay.”

  “How many others has she married?” asked Mykel dryly.

  “Who knows? If he comes back, she’ll have the marriage canceled on some pretext. If he doesn’t…” Bhoral shook his head. “At least, he’s not a squad leader with more than ten years in. This way, if it comes to that, there’s no widow’s settlement.”

  “What else?”

  “We’re short two mounts for replacements, but we should have them by Quinti…”

  After Bhoral left another half glass later, Mykel stood, then left his study. He walked down the corridor, pausing outside the last doorway on the north end. He pressed down on the lever, opened the door, and stepped inside. The head-quarters library wasn’t that large, a room three yards by five with shelves against all the walls and a set of back-to-back bookcases in the middle of the room.

  After searching through the shelves, he finally found a thin volume with a lacquered cover, entitled Geography of Acorus.

  It took him a quarter of a glass to find the section on Dramur, and less than half that to read through it. There were no maps of the isle, and only a paragraph or so describing it.

  … The isle runs close to five hundred vingts from the northern tip to the southern cape, but is no more than a hundred and fifty vingts at its widest. The Murian Mountains run down the center of the isle, extending from the northern headlands to Mount Dramanat, a volcano located some fifty vingts north of the southern cape. The mountains are rugged, their rock unstable, and have never been fully explored. The principal products of Dramur are guano and dyestuffs from shellfish, which come from the eastern side of the isle. Although the lands to the west of the mountains are fertile and suited to a number of crops, the mai
n product is shimmersilk, from the golden spinning spider. The only sizable town or city is Dramuria, located on a natural harbor on the southeast side of the isle some seventy vingts north of the southern cape… less than half a score of other towns and no more than a score of villages and hamlets…

  Mykel blinked. That was it. There was more about mere towns elsewhere, such as Hyalt in Lanachrona, than about an entire isle.

  He shook his head. As usual, the books hadn’t been much help.

  13

  In the dim light of the sitting room on the main floor of the house, Dainyl took a last sip of the brandy, then set the small goblet on the side table. “It’s not bad.” He stretched, lifting his long legs just off the green carpet, then let himself settle back into the armchair whose legs would have been too long for all but the tallest landers. “The landers do make good brandy.”

  “In addition to boosting the lifeforce of Acorus, you mean?” asked Lystrana.

  “Someone has to. Although we need it, we certainly can’t generate enough to sustain us.”

  “That’s what the landers and indigens are for.”

  “And for making Acorus a better place for us.” Dainyl picked up the goblet and took another sip. “It is good.”

  “Better than good, actually,” replied Lystrana, “although Kylana is always claiming that everything here is second-rate compared to Ifryn.”

  “She might know. We were born here. She’s one of the few recent translations who supposedly held a position of import in Illustra.”

  “Supposedly?” Lystrana laughed. “You mean that you have your doubts about Kylana?”

  “No more than about her husband. He knows far more than he ever lets on. I wish I dared ask him about Tyanylt, but that wouldn’t be wise.”

  “No, dearest, it would not be. Unlike the Duarchs, he does not have a loyalty imprint, but he would still report that.”