“I do.”
“Excellent.” Spinner poured two glasses of grain spirits and handed one over. Raising the other, he said, “To a game well played.”
“To our next Lancer,” Challenger said.
CHAPTER 58
Whitemoon Q&A
“Betrayer” was in many headlines the next day, but to Micah’s surprise, the general tone of coverage was sympathetic to Tal. Her refusal to press charges had redounded to her benefit, especially after she gave an interview in which she admitted how much that suicide had shaken her and how sorry she was that the price for saving their planet had been so high. Tal didn’t often let the mask of her office slip, but doing so now was an excellent public relations choice. Her slide in the polls had stopped and seemed to be reversing.
Of course, it had been Miltorin’s idea. That man would probably sacrifice his own bondmate to the Voloth if it would improve his polling, but his instincts were almost invariably right. And in this instance, his instincts had agreed with what Tal wanted. She needed to reach out to that mother in some way, and this was the only way she could do it.
That evening in Whitemoon, Micah and the Guards were on high alert. In twenty hanticks, general opinion seemed to have shifted in Tal’s favor, but they’d already had one incident and were very nervous about another. Micah spent the entirety of Tal’s speech scanning the crowd, looking at one face after another for any signs of too much interest, too much intensity, too much emotion. Finding nothing didn’t make him feel better. It just made him think he hadn’t been looking hard enough.
When Tal ended her speech and invited questions, his stress level went even higher. As far as he was concerned, this was the most dangerous part of the evening.
Each seat in the auditorium had a small button beneath it, allowing its occupant to request an opportunity to speak. In order to control the chaos of multiple people attempting to speak at the same time, a computer recorded all requests and made random selections, then routed the information to the mobile microphone, a central control panel, and the seat holder. The latter received notification of selection by a five-piptick vibration of their seat, and a second one just before it was their turn to stand.
Micah’s reader card was tapped into the control panel, giving him a map of who was authorized to speak. Too bad it couldn’t give him a map of anyone planning to use the Q&A as an opportunity to launch some sort of protest or attack.
An older Alsean stood up, the mobile microphone immediately flying to him and hovering as he spoke. “Gilmorian Stander, merchant caste. I’m able to support my family and the families of my children because I believe in selling only quality products, and my customers seek me out for that quality. If the matter printers can produce anything, will all products be of the same quality? And if not, how will the distinctions be preserved?”
“An excellent question,” Tal said. “All matter printer products will not be of the same quality for the same reason that products are not of the same quality right now: cost of energy and raw materials. In this case, the raw materials are a bit different, but the principle is the same. Some products require more energy and more raw materials to create. It may be that the more expensive products will not be the same ones that cost more to us now, but…” she paused for emphasis, “…the pricing structure has been built around our current energy and raw material costs, not the new ones. Over time that will change, but it’s far too radical an adjustment to impose now. We’ve planned a gradual phase-in of the new pricing structure over a period of ten cycles; more than enough time for all of us to adapt. Your cost of doing business will be relatively unchanged, and your customers will still seek you out for the quality you provide.”
Amid applause, the merchant nodded and took his seat.
A woman stood up across the auditorium as the mobile microphone zipped over to her. “Venuzandra Mil, crafter caste. I have no question, Lancer Tal. I simply wished to express my gratitude, and that of my friends and family, for your care in seeing this change through with minimal disruption to the people. Our history tells us that we’re fortunate to have you as Lancer right now. Past Lancers would not have been so careful. I know you’ve been vilified for your attempts to do the right thing, and I wish to say that not all of us share the opinions of those who speak against you.”
She sat down abruptly, her seat mates on either side patting her on the back as the crowd burst into applause. Micah guessed that she was not accustomed to public speaking and had just scared herself halfway to her Return by standing up.
Tal had either seen the same thing he had, or she could sense the woman’s nervousness. “I’m grateful for your words and admire your courage in speaking up in such a venue. Your support means a great deal to me, especially now.”
The crafter nodded shyly as two people stood up, one in the second row and one several rows back. Micah’s heart rate increased as he checked his reader card. The authorized questioner was the man in the second row.
He focused his scanning glasses on the other figure and groaned. Tal had expected her in Whitesun yesterday, not here tonight. Damn her for coming to Whitemoon! And how had he not seen her when he was scanning the crowd? She was already drawing attention and no doubt planned to stand until Tal was obligated to call on her. Well, she would have to wait until the end.
“Toller Jansom, builder caste,” said the man near the front. “I repair transport engines. It’s not a job many want, and a lot of people think I do it because I’m not smart enough to find anything better. But I take pride in my work, and it helps to support my family. My question is, how am I supposed to keep my living when a customer can simply print a new engine if the old one breaks?”
“I’ve also worked on transport engines. And it’s quite true that anyone can take one apart.” Tal smiled. “But it takes a smart Alsean to put it back together.”
The builder grinned toothily as a murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd.
“It’s true that a customer may simply print a new engine,” Tal continued, “if that customer is willing to pay the cost. Printing an entire engine will be prohibitively expensive, due to the raw material, the energy costs, and the complexity of the programming. It will be far less expensive to print the part or parts that are broken. Tell me, how will your customers know which part to print?”
The man’s face lit up. “I’ll still have to diagnose the problem.”
“Yes, you will. Anyone not intimately familiar with transport engines will still require your expertise. Not only that, but once they’ve printed the part, they’ll almost certainly need you to install it. And it’s quite likely that they will also ask you to print the part for them, both as a means of avoiding potential mistakes and to keep them from making multiple trips to your shop. Since you will be charged a lower cost for your printing, due to your registered status as a transport repair shop, that will also represent a profit for you. Your future is not in jeopardy.”
“Thank you, Lancer Tal.” The builder dipped his head and sat down.
Micah watched the microphone move off and followed its trajectory, raising his eyebrows as he spotted the small girl standing on her seat. Well, this was a first! Judging by the expressions of what must have been her parents, they were startled as well.
“I’m Falerna Nael,” the girl said in a high but determined voice. “My parents are scholar and builder caste, and I haven’t chosen mine yet.”
“It’s a difficult decision, isn’t it?” Tal asked.
“Uh-huh. I’ve been thinking about becoming scholar, but in school yesterday we learned that you came to Whitemoon because you disagree with a whole group of scholars who say the matter printers are a bad idea. So I want to know why you aren’t listening to the scholars.”
“I do listen to scholars, every day. Nearly all of my advisors are scholar caste. But I think you’re really asking why I’m not listening to these few sc
holars who don’t agree with me. Is that correct?”
The girl nodded and was poked by one of her fathers, who leaned over and whispered to her.
“Yes,” she said to the microphone.
“Falerna, what’s your favorite subject in school?”
“Geography.”
Micah chuckled at the instant answer, as did many in the audience.
“So if your instructor divided your class into teams for a geography contest, I’m betting that everyone would want you on their team because you’re very good at it, right?”
“Yes,” Falerna said proudly.
“I pick teams, too. They’re called advisors. I want the people who are very good at what they do, because the decisions I make with their help are important. I picked a team of economic advisors, Falerna. Of the scholars your teacher mentioned, can you guess how many are on my team?”
Falerna shook her head and was again poked by a parent. “No,” she said.
“Exactly none. Why do you think I wouldn’t pick any of them?”
“Because they weren’t good enough?”
The audience roared with laughter, and the girl looked embarrassed.
“They’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing because you got the answer right, and it really is kind of funny. Yes, I’m here because I didn’t listen to a group of scholars. But why would I, if they weren’t good enough to be on my team? I do listen to my advisors, very carefully. They helped me create the plan for the matter printers, and we did our best to think of everything. What those other scholars are saying is nothing my advisors didn’t consider an entire cycle ago. But their conclusions were different. If I have to choose between believing my best advisors and believing others who aren’t on my team, who should I believe?”
“Your best advisors,” Falerna said, confident once again.
“You’d make an excellent Lancer. That’s the most important part of the job. Pick the best people and listen to them. Thank you, Falerna. Your question was a good one.”
As the girl sat back down, a huge swell of applause rocked the auditorium.
Micah grinned. Tal couldn’t have done better with that if she’d had it scripted. This exchange would surely make all the news outlets by the morning, and the economist coalition would have a time of it trying to combat their new image as “not good enough.”
He glanced back to his right, but the standing figure was gone and the seat was empty. He scanned the aisle and found her making her way toward the exit.
“Keep walking,” he muttered.
CHAPTER 59
Backstage
“What did you think, Micah?” Tal was gulping down an enormous flask of water. Between the speech and the question-and-answer session, she had been talking for nearly two hanticks and her throat was beyond dry. But this was it; she was done. Now all they had to do was wait for the crowd to disperse before making their own departure. In the meantime, she and Micah were resting in a small prep room behind the auditorium’s stage.
“I think you should send that little girl a token of your appreciation. Maybe a new transport.”
“Wasn’t she something? She reminded me of Jaros with all that attitude. And then she gave me the perfect opening. Damn, I enjoyed that.”
“And I enjoyed seeing Darzen Fosta slink out of the auditorium with her battle flag dragging behind her.”
Tal abruptly set down her water. “So that was her. I thought it might be when I saw two people stand up at once, but I couldn’t see with the lights in my eyes. When did she leave?”
“Right after you publicly humiliated her.”
“Oh, Fahla.” Tal laughed. “She must really hate me now. She probably knew we were ready for her in Whitesun and chose Whitemoon for a sneak attack. Well, I’m sorry I have to fight this dirty, but she’s dragged me through the dirt already.”
“I don’t see any need for apology. There were demonstrators in Blacksun and Redmoon. That’s well beyond dirt. Whether Darzen envisioned this or not, she set off a chain reaction.”
“I know. I have to admit, I never thought it would go as far as people chanting in the streets. Aldirk was right.”
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“Are you joking?”
Micah snorted.
They passed some time in companionable silence, with Tal idly twirling her water flask and staring at nothing in particular.
“Do you think there’s any possibility she was here to talk to me?” she asked at last.
“Not a chance,” Micah said firmly. “If she wanted to talk to you she wouldn’t be trying to jack in on a question-and-answer session on a worldwide broadcast.”
Tal nodded. “Salomen was right, too. I really didn’t want her to be.”
“Right about what?”
“She said Darzen didn’t leave because I lied by omission. She left because she didn’t want the person I truly am—because I would have been too much of a challenge for her. She liked the idea of me as an ordinary warrior.”
“It’s possible. Not everyone is ready for a challenge like you. Salomen being a notable exception.” Micah reached out for his own water flask.
“Lancer Tal, we’re ready to depart when you are.”
Tal tapped her earcuff. “Thank you, Gehrain. We’re coming out now.” She stood up. “Ready for temple?”
“The question is, are you? Do you remember which door to enter?”
Tal pretended confusion. “Is there more than one?”
Micah opened the prep room door, checked the hallway, and turned back to Tal. “Just watch me and don’t do anything I don’t do.”
“If I restricted my activities to the things you do, Salomen would have a very boring future in front of her.” Tal walked out with a grin, waiting for his response.
“Someday Fahla is going to deliver a healthy dose of humility to your front door, and I’ll be there to see it,” he called after her. She raised her hand behind her in a rude gesture, and he chuckled as he followed her down the hall.
CHAPTER 60
Flames in the temple
Tal craned her neck to see the top of the temple dome, marveling at the beauty of its construction. The temples in Alsea’s greatest cities had been built long ago, before modern technology had made such things easier. She couldn’t imagine the builders hauling these stones in carts, cutting them by hand, and laying them in place with nothing more than their eyes and crude measuring tools to establish the angles. And yet these domes were so perfect, the stones matching with such precision, that a small machined sphere released near the top would roll straight down, neither bouncing nor deviating from its course.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Micah asked.
“It is. And a perfect evening to set it off, too.” She gazed beyond the dome to the spectacular sunset turning the clouds into crimson fire. To the east, the vast bay had already gone dark, its silver sheen vanishing when the sun dipped below the horizon. Blacksun Temple was impressive, but the temple at Whitemoon was widely revered as the most spectacular in the world. Standing on a hill at the center of the city, it commanded a view that left many visitors breathless. This was a location and a building to inspire wonder, and Tal was not immune.
“Now remember: enter the front archway and exit at the rear. To do otherwise is to insult Fahla.”
“Micah, I do know a little about temples. Are you going to be this annoying all evening?”
“Just trying to save you from embarrassing yourself.”
“More likely you’re trying to save yourself from being tainted by my lack of piety.”
“That too.”
They walked down the gravel path and up the steps to the high, arched entry. Tal stopped just inside, admiring the space and the fine carvings. The few Alseans in the temple glanced toward her and just as quickly looked away again. Her
e in Fahla’s sacred place, even the Lancer was just another worshipper.
An enormous glassed opening at the top of the dome lit the temple during the day, but at sunset a band of lights set at the junction of dome and wall were ceremonially lit. In the old days the lights had been torches, rendering the ceremony quite a bit more time-consuming, and the modern lights still mimicked the color and shape of a torch flame. They were lit now, a circle of fire ringing the temple and emphasizing its enormity. A temple had no divisions, seats, or other visual distractions to break up the interior. All of the soaring space was left open to the worshippers, who stood at small, transparent racks, which held clear bowls of oil in ten tiers. Lighting a bowl produced the effect of a flame floating in the air. The racks were scattered throughout the temple, allowing visitors to worship away from others if they wished, since there was no single location where Fahla was thought to receive the prayers of her people. But Tal had always felt that the true heart of a temple was at its center, where a molwyn tree grew beneath the skylight. The only tree on Alsea with a solid black trunk, molwyns were sacred to Fahla and grew in every temple of decent size. The tree in Whitemoon was massive, gnarled, and ancient.
Micah moved to a bowl rack some distance away and slipped his credit chip into the offering box. Silently, the rack retracted its covers. The larger the offering, the more bowls were released.
Tal watched curiously as he picked up the eternal flame at the center of the rack and began lighting bowls. When all ten in the top tier were flaming, he began on the second. Though she knew she should not be staring—an offering to Fahla was between the Goddess and her worshipper—she couldn’t turn away as he methodically lit one bowl after another, until the entire rack was alight and one hundred flames danced in the air. He had made a substantial offering indeed.
He replaced the eternal flame and stood still, his lips moving as he spoke a quiet prayer. Abashed at her own rudeness, Tal was about to step forward and leave him to his privacy when he looked up and caught her eye. With slow, deliberate movements, he turned to face her, placed his fists against his chest, and bowed his head.
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