Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  "Justice is like having big muscles," Glasken said without rancor. "Some people just have more than others and it can't be helped. I work as a swag german so I get into a lot of fights. Because I get into a lot of fights, I see a lot of the magistrate."

  "But soon you will have a degree, Johnny, and will be working in safer places," Lemorel said hopefully.

  "I majored in explosives, Lem. Does that sound safer than rioting drunkards?"

  "Well, whatever you do, I'll do what I can to make your life easier." By now they had reached Villiers College in the University grounds. It was an old, solid, and comforting building of ochre wash abandon stone The main doorway was shrouded with vines, and their footsteps echoed on the boards of the hallway as those of students had for centuries.

  Glasken had a room upstairs. Lemorel glanced around approvingly as she entered. The place was orderly and well swept, with the books in a straight row on the shelf and the bunk made neatly.

  "Not very inviting, I'm afraid," he apologized.

  "It's wonderful," she responded. "I expected you to have the squalid habits of most young men living away from home."

  "So, you have had occasion to see their bedrooms?" he asked at once, although playfully.

  "Only late at night."

  "Oh so, pray continue."

  "And only after the Tiger Dragons had broken down their doors and taken them away for questioning."

  Glasken gave a slight choking sound before realizing that it was probably a joke.

  "There are better ways to get questions answered," he suggested, sitting on the edge of his bunk.

  "Those being?" "Tap lightly on the door, then enter the room with the top button or two of your tunic undone. You should also be sure to have a jar of plumb brandy with

  YOU." "Why plum brandy?"

  "Because it is upon you before you know it," he said, raising his hands like claws. "It slips the knots on lacings just as surely as it loosens tongues."

  Lemorel turned away, a little unnerved at the wordplay. She examined the books on his shelf, then noticed a small lemon wood box with a deacon's pledge stamp bearing the date 14th April 1696. She lifted it with two fingers. There was a tracery of hearts and arrows all around it in poker work

  "And what is in here that has been sealed away for a year and a half?." she asked, frowning slightly. "Love letters, perhaps?" Inwardly she prayed that it was not so. "The armor of lovers," Glasken replied.

  Lemorel dropped the box with a gasp. The seal broke as it hit the floorboards.

  "Fras Glasken, I didn't think you--that is, I thought you too much of a gentleman..."

  "And so I am, lovely Frelle. Take note of the date."

  "But--" "Lemorel, sweet Frelle, just think of what would happen should I find myself with some lovely young girl and both of our passions running amok. The deed would soon be done, yet what is in that box could make the difference between a harmless frolic and a pregnancy that would be anything but harmless."

  He reached down and picked up the box.

  "Hmm, the seal pledged before the deacon is broken," he observed.

  Lemorel considered this, then flicked the top button of her tunic. It popped undone.

  "How many buttons did you mention earlier, Fras Glasken?" she asked. He stretched out on the bunk, like a big, languid cat. "To win my heart, Frelle, none at all. To win my body.." as many as feels comfortable."

  Glasken lived up to his promise as a lover, in spite of the narrowness of the bunk and the fact that he had been clouted over the head the night before. This is the way that virginity really should be lost, Lemorel thought as a clock tower nearby clanged the hour past noon. Down below on the lawns she could hear students chattering as they went from their lectures and tutorials to the college refectories. Lemorel had missed a lecture on applied calculus to be where she was, but was feeling smugly superior about it.

  Her new lover was lying with his head on her shoulder and a leg sprawled across her thighs. She caressed the hair above his bandage, suddenly troubled by something about him. He was good-looking, considerate, intelligent, strong, and sensible.." but slightly dull. It seemed a terrible thing to admit, yet the man did everything right: nothing was colored by foolishness or mistakes. How tolerant would he be? Lemorel shivered to think of dead lovers, cold in their graves. How would John Glasken react to her past, were it ever revealed to him? She could be open to blackmail unless their liaison remained a secret. Now she realized why such a prize as he was un partnered when you are too good to be true, very few others can come up to your standards. She gently shook him awake. "Johnny, I must go now," "Umm? So soon?"

  "I have work to do in Libris. There's always too much work in Libris."

  He admired her from the bed as she pulled on her trousers then sat lacing her boots on his guest chair. "Fras Johnny, it's not that I don't feel proud of you..." she began, but the rest of her words did not line up properly in her mind. She looked down at the floor, pressing her lips together.

  "A Dragon Green Librarian should not be seen to be liaising with a student,"

  Glasken said in a kind, level voice.

  "No, it's not like that--"

  "Ah, but it is, Frelle. Think of your reputation, it's quite reasonable." "You don't mind?" "If Libris knew, Libris would send people to spy upon every move that I make. Those in the taverns where I keep order would soon think that the spies were really working with me. I would not live long."

  Lemorel was still sensitive on the subject of dead lovers. Still naked from the waist up, she flung herself over him, imploring Glasken to give up his work in the taverns, even offering to pay his expenses herself.

  "Generous Frelle, I cannot accept money for nothing," he said as he held her against him, "but I am quite safe if our love remains a secret. It's in both our interests to be discreet."

  "So you understand that I'm not ashamed of you?" "Of course. Now off with you, to Libris and the service of the Mayor." Lemorel got up and buckled on her gunbelt and dagger. Glasken clapped in appreciation as she struck poses with her breasts thrust out; then he got out of bed and shouldered his swagger stick like a musket.

  "Were you to dress like that for duels, men would challenge you just for a dying glance at such breasts," he said as he dropped his swagger stick and fell to his knees, clutching his heart.

  "Come on now, Johnny, back into bed--no, stop that." But Glasken did not stop, and Lemorel did not emerge from his bed again until five in the evening. This time she put the tunic on before buckling on her gunbelt.

  "What will you tell them at Libris?" asked Glasken as he stifled a yawn. "That I fell asleep while studying at the University." "That will be enough?"

  "I have a good record, they owe me a few lapses."

  "And ex-lovers in high places?" Lemorel shook her head. "I've had only one affair since joining Libris, and it was nothing special. I prefer affection, so I stay out of the political dalliances on offer there. And what of your ex-lovers? Don't try to tell me that this afternoon was your first time."

  Glasken lay back in the bunk and clasped his hands over his chest. "Lovers, yes I've had several. Silly, frilly wenches who saw only a body of passable allure. Lust without affection is like taste without food: you feel good while gradually starving. One of them hurt me deliberately, just before an important exam. That's when I saw the deacon and sealed that box."

  "Lucky me," said Lemorel as she kissed him goodbye. Rochester was suddenly wonderful as Lemorel returned to Libris through lamplit streets crowded with evening traffic. Perhaps Glasken was still a little more staid than she would have liked, but she would quickly bring him out of himself. The criers were going about, some with their tools and wares, others with dash papers

  "Auction of fine horses. Auction of fine horses." "Flour, fine ground flour by the bag." "Clayware, buy a fine mug or lamp."

  She stopped and glanced at the stall. The symbolism of her buying a lamp to light up Glasken's hard life appealed to her.

 
"War with Billiatt. Fighting on Loxton par aline Lemorel crashed down out of her reverie and ran over to the young crier girl. The dash paper that she bought told of actions that had taken place that afternoon and been reported by beam flash It was a series of headline phrases, no more. "Beamflash link saved from attack due to bravery of Dragon Green Justin Morkundar." He had been the Tiger Dragon in charge of Darien's escort, one of several koorees working for Libris. So what of her friend? While she had been in Glasken's arms Darien might have been dying on a battlefield. "Whatever I do, there's always guilt to dog me," she muttered as she scanned the rest of the dash paper "Brookfield enters war on Alliance side. Brookfield envoy saved during wind train ambush by Dragon Blue Darien vis Babessa."

  Lemorel gave a cry of delight, then seized the girl selling the dash papers and whirled her around, sending papers fluttering in all directions. She gave the star fled girl three silver nobles and kissed her, then ran all the way back to Libris.

  After some days of savage fighting, the war over the bypass developed into a standoff that dragged over weeks. As was usual in wars, the Call wreaked a heavy toll on the confusion of the battlefield, claiming more victims than disease or fighting. Billiatt was too small to right an extended war and because its first attack failed, the Alliance mayors had time to decide on a united response and fall in behind Renmark and Rochester. The par aline west was reopened within a fort night, and after his army suffered five thousand casualties in two battles attempting to sever it again, the Castellan of Billiatt sued for peace. The terms of the peace treaty were humiliating, but he signed nevertheless. Were his army to be further weakened, his own throne would not be long in falling. Buffer strips of territory were ceded to Renmark and Brookfield to insure the safety of the par aline bypass.

  For Rochester it was a narrow but important victory. The initial attack had been beaten back more by luck and bravery than sheer strength, so the other Alliance mayors still did not see Mayor Jefton as a serious new rival. Rochester was the keeper of Alliance accounts and that was that.

  Throughout the Southeast Alliance general prosperity followed the war. The citizens of Rochester were too busy making money to notice the minor changes to the may orate central library, and even within Libris itself a stability of sorts developed as the Calculor established itself as a strange but useful member of the staff. Only an elite few realized that its influence extended far beyond Rochester and over much of the known world.

  The Calculor's impact on the Central Confederation was subtle but profound. Gradually it worked its way into the running of the par aline network, coordinating rail traffic and optimizing carrying capacity with new timetables that were almost miraculous in efficiency. It also made itself indispensable to the beam flash net work, generating codes and translation tables faster and more reliably than the Griffith Beamflash Academy had ever managed, and optimizing beam flash traffic in parts of the network under Rochester's direct control.

  By the time the political implications of Rochester controlling such vital resources became clear to the other mayors it was economically impossible to return to the old ways. Everyone was making more money than before and the services were far more reliable. If it came to the worst and Mayor Jefton tried to hold the par aline and beam flash services to ransom, his may orate could easily be crushed by a combined army of the other may orates

  All librarians working on the Calculor were subject to random surveillance by the Black Runners, and once it became operational they were required to sleep in the Libris hostelry and nowhere else. This suited Lemorel very well. Libris protected her from outside inquiry, and her only contact with her past was the letters she exchanged with her father. His news was all good: business was booming and Jemli had married and left home. Lemorel spent long hours in the Calculor rooms, studied diligently at the University, and kept Glasken a secret.

  They saw each other so infrequently that the Black Runners had no mention of Glasken on Lemorel's personal file. Both worked for a living, Lemorel with the Calculor during the day and Glasken in the taverns at night. When they did meet it was between lectures. At the end of 1697 Glasken failed a subject and was faced with another year of study. Lemorel was relieved. The arrangement of their liaison suited her well. Having Darien away suited her too. She knew that it would be difficult to be quite such a close friend to her as before now that John Glasken had entered her life.

  As Libris took over more and more of the par aline scheduling, the Dragon Librarians became deeply involved with far-flung lines and nations. Although she had no voice, Darien was an accomplished linguist and as long as there was someone who could read her cards she could communicate in many languages.

  Two months after the defeat of Billiatt, Darien was brought back to Rochester and made a Deputy Overliber, and she and Morkundar were decorated by Mayor Jefton for bravery in his service. Being both a war hero and a Kooree, Morkundar was made Rochester's ambassador to the Woomera may orates where there happened to be a Kooree over mayor in office. Darien had dragged the Brookfield envoy to safety when he had been shot in the dash to the cover of the wind engine, and the Highliber was anxious to give the heroes on her staff as much public exposure as possible. Darien spent only weeks in Rochester before being sent west again as a fully commissioned Inspector. This time it was to work on an even bigger project to link the beam flash terminus at Peterborough to Woomera's beam flash network. Three immense stone-and-timber repeater towers were to be built, and her task was to reconcile the transmission protocols and linguistic differences between the beam flash networks of the two systems. At the opening of the link on the summer solstice of 1699, Darien stood beside the Highliber in the beam flash gallery of the Rochester tower while Mayor Jefton exchanged pleasantries with the Mayor of Woomera. The link between them was eleven repeater towers and 660 miles in length. Rochester was becoming the center of the world in a very real sense.

  Darien was only given a month to write her report on the project before she was assigned to something even more remote and ambitious: the linking of the rail side towers on the immense Nullarbor par aline to forge a beam flash link to the may orates of the distant west. Long sections of the line were already linked, but the number of towers had to be reduced to make high-speed traffic economically viable. A prime site for a massively upgraded tower was the Maralinga Railside, over 300 miles west of Woomera.

  The Call was intense at Maralinga Railside, and came as often as once in five days. Maralinga was the biggest, most remote and most beautiful of the outposts on the Nullarbor par aline It was a magnificent sight from the approaching wind trains, standing tall and bright, like a gleaming cluster of pinkish salt crystals on the flat, scrubby Nullarbor Plain. It was built from sawn limestone blocks, with one tower twice as high as the others to monitor the approach of distant wind trains.

  When Darien arrived it was by wind train. A legacy of Greatwinter was that the wind was almost continuous on the Nullarbor Plain, and the rotor engines hardly ever had to be augmented by expensive navvy power. The slatted rotors would turn no matter what direction the wind came from, and although the trains were sometimes slow, they were never becalmed. Balance booms extended to either side, and eight staggered rotors spun in the steady southwest wind.

  The driver's cabin was set back from the buffers, and he glanced over the readings on his dials as the approach stones passed on his right. He called readings to the engineer, who in turn shouted orders to the gear jacks at each of the rotors. The train lurched and shuddered as gears bathed in sunflower oil clanked into lower ratios and the speed diminished. A pinpoint of light flickered at the summit of the highest tower, and on top of the cabin the train's watchman began a heliostat exchange.

  / POINTS SWITCHED FOR DOCKING OF WESTWARD HI09 / the tower announced.

  / ACKNOWLEDGED--SWITCHING TO LOWER RATIOS FOR APPROACH / the watchman replied.

  / ARRIVAL OF DEPUTY OVER LIBER DA RIEN VIS BABESSA EXPECTED / the tower inquired.

  / CONFIRMED /
the watchman assured the Maralinga signalers. Deputy Overliber Darien was the lowest-ranking, most recently appointed Overliber in the known world, yet a woman of quite some importance nonetheless.

  None of the rail sides on the Nullarbor par aline were heavily fortified, despite evidence of a distant but warlike civilization beyond the northern desert. The Call reached as far as that, yet the desert robbed it of most of its victims and hardly a week passed without the watchman in the Maralinga tower sighting new corpses. There were dead camels with harnesses of woven green silk and gold thread, bearing dead riders buckled into saddles encrusted with lustrous black opal plates. Some dead warriors clutched saberines made of steel that even the advanced technology of Rochester's artisans could not duplicate, and their camels' sand anchors contained very fine clockwork. In the saddlebags were brass telescopes, silk veils woven with the images of fortified towns cut into cliffs of red rock, and books. A powerful, alien civilization, but too remote to be a threat, or to trade with.

  The train rattled over the points as it turned off into the Maralinga siding; then the gear jacks spun their crank handles to screw down the brake blocks against the wheels. The train came to a screeching but smooth stop with the buffers of the wind engine within inches of the emergency retainer. The rotors continued to free-spin in the steady wind, waiting for the gears to be engaged again. The guard blew his whistle, signaling that the doors could be opened in safety.

  Darien steplged onto the olatform first, sweatin in her lnnetnr' imf,I'm of black tunic and britches. The silver arm band of her Dragon Silver rank gleamed in the sun, and she carried her Overliber's commission to present to the Station master. She was greeted by six controllers, half of the Maralinga staff. They were honored to have such an important guest; in fact they were honored to have a guest at all. Because she had no voice they chattered nervously.

  "Here comes the shunting engine," the Railside Master said, and he pointed to a short red wind engine with two white rotor towers that was approaching from the staging yard. "It will take your personal coach from the back of the train and pull it to a siding."