Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  The castle's bombards were quickly silenced; then troops withdrew, leaving only a token squad to cover the gate. The battle calculor calculated the movement times for the troops on both sides. It was already an hour and a half from the first alert, and the cavalry from the capital were visible to the lookout on the field mast. Galley trains with foot soldiers were following.

  Lookouts and scouts soon reported that eighteen hundred heavy lancers were riding hard down the highway from the north. They dispersed into two broad blocks to pincer the Northern line. Scout lancers with hand heliostats warned the battle calculor's lookouts that two thousand musketeers were marching up the road from galley trains halted by the shattered rails to the south. The Tandarans had timed them to arrive with the lancers but now they would be rather late.

  Glasken scanned the colored blocks being moved about on the cloth map and wondered if any of the enemy blocks would ever materialize into real soldiers. Inglewood's musketeers were outnumbered five to one. The components calculated odds, times, numbers, and possible tactics based on which commanders' pennons had been reported by the scouts. The battle calculor ordered six hundred musketeers into the southern trenches, while only bombard crews, lancers, and peasants armed with pikes faced the horde to the north.

  Glasken contemplated life as a Tandaran prisoner of war as the blocks representing the groups of lancers formed up. There were weak points in the stake wall, even he could see that. The lancers charged in a line, ignoring the obvious traps at the weak points. The moment that they charged, the battle calculor ordered fire pots to be cast into the grass before the southern trenches, then sent its musketeers running north. The bombards poured grapeshot north at the lancers, cutting down those who broke through the defenses and ignoring those floundering against the more heavily fortified stretches.

  Soon the main body of lancers broke through, but instead of ordering the bombardiers to stand and fight the battle calculor ordered them into full retreat. They ran before the lancers, met with the musketeers from the south, then turned to present a triple line of eight hundred muskets to the lancers. Orderly volleys slashed through the lancers as they reached the bombards and tried to move them--but they were chained to rocks, and the battle calculor had ordered the excess powder drenched so that they could not be spiked. The lancers faltered ....... unable to do anything with the bombards that they had just taken. Musket fire still tore through their ranks.

  On the ground sheet map Glasken could see the Tandaran musketeers charging through the fires at the now empty southern trenches, but the lancers could see nothing but smoke. With perhaps five hundred dead or disabled littering the field, they broke and retreated. Now the musketeers broke through the flames and dropped into the shallow Inglewood trenches, but discovered that they were dug sheer on one side and sloping on the other. The triple line of Inglewood musketeers turned, and had a clear line of fire at an enemy backed against the trench walls and outlined by flames. Not a single Inglewood death was yet registered on the score slate

  For twenty minutes the withering volleys went on, with one Inglewood musketeer dropping for every ten of the Tandarans. The bombard crews had been ordered back, carrying dry powder, and as the lancers tried to rally they were fired on again. The battle calculor ordered the irregulars out to strip weapons from the dead as the Tandaran musketeers retreated over the smoking grass stubble.

  At last someone on the castle's walls thought of coordinating their two groups using handheld heliostats, and at this the battle calculor ordered the remaining musketeers into a triangle, with one side formed by the line of bombards. It need not have bothered: the signals were ignored by the confused Tandaran commanders on the battlefield.

  The most desperate part of the battle came when those left in the castle charged out, adding another five hundred to the odds against Inglewood. The battle calculor ordered its own guard of two hundred men into the fighting. Suddenly there were a hundred components guarded by only ten regulators, yet they did not rebel. They were in charge and they were proud of it. The Inglewood troops out on the battlefield were their men fighting impossible odds.

  The calculor guard caught the garrison troops between the gate and one side of the triangle. Fired on from both sides and unable to retreat they broke and ran south, only to be fired upon by their own people. The battle calculor made its assessment from the reports of the lookouts and heliostat signals from the field, then calculated from the disposition of troops that the enemy would not be able to rally within at least an hour. Secure with these parameters, it ordered its bombards unchained and brought to bear on the caste. A dozen shots had the main gate reduced to splinters and the few Tandarans left inside surrendered. Until now Glasken had seen no action directly, apart from the shot that disabled the beam flash tower. It was a strange, detached way to fight a war.

  Messages poured in about casualties, approaching Tandaran reinforcements, and exhaustion quotients for both sides. The battle calculor ordered itself moved into the castle along with all the Inglewood bombards and musketeers; then the gate was blocked solid with stone rubble. Ten of its most expendable FUNCTIONS, including Glasken, were ordered into the decapitated beam flash tower to rig up a communications link with Inglewood--and hence to the Libris Calculor. More trains began arriving from Tandara at the par aline breach, and this time the enemy really meant business. Lookouts estimated eleven thousand enemy troops outside by late evening.

  During all this Glasken labored among the flies, dust, and occasional musket balls to nail a wooden beam flash gallery together at the top of the tower while three Dragon Red Librarians set up a mobile beam flash machine and telescope. With a link established to the Derby tower, and hence the rest of the beam flash network, tactical data poured in. Rochestrian troops had attacked over the border and taken Elmore, then gone on special galley trains to secure the main line all the way to the Bendigo Abandon and the junction rail side at Eaglehawk. They might have been stopped by Tandaran reinforcements from the north, except that these were not able to pass the broken track and hostile bombards at Caste Woodvale. All the while, there was no Call. Lemorel's work on Call vectors and times had been used to schedule the battle for a window of days when there was unlikely to be a Call. By the next day the fighting had died down, so much so that the battle calculor was running at half strength as a local decoder. The spare FUNCTIONS were resting and taking turns working in the beam flash tower. The heavy strategic processing was being done on the Libris Calculor now, and orders were beam flashed to individual over hands Nikalan and Glasken were assigned to the early afternoon shift. Glasken stared through the telescope at the distant tower, copying out the messages in the distant flashes of light.

  "They'll never let us go now," Glasken complained as he mechanically scribbled on a slate. "The Highliber's machine worked, she's tripled her territory, and she will probably demand client status from Tandara's mayor. Tandara's allies will be too frightened of the battle calculor to squawk."

  "An elegant contest," Nikalan replied as he worked the beam flash key to send a separate message outward. "Did you know the battle calculor was used to only sixty-five percent of its capacity yesterday? We could have won against even greater odds."

  Glasken shuddered. "So, what will the Highliber have us doing next, I wonder? Fighting the Southmoors? I hate being a component, I hate being a part of a machine's brain, and I hate not even knowing what's in these coded messages that we're handling."

  "Oh, but I know all the codes," said Nikalan vaguely. "These are but simple messages. This one I'm sending mentions that no battle caiculor components died."

  "Change it," Glasken said listlessly. "Tell 'em I'm dead."

  "But I would be disciplined--"

  "So tell 'em you're dead too. Ah, the Derby relay is closing down for lunch. Wake me when they start again." Glasken dozed. He dreamed of the heady pressure of Dolorian's big, firm breasts pressing against his bare chest instead of being at arm's length: Nikalan shook him awake just
as Dolorian had opened the cell door. "Wake up, Johnny, you're dead." "Piss off."

  "No, it's true and so am I. Libris has replied to our message. NEW

  COMPONENTS

  BEING SENT TO REPLACE GLASKEN AND VITTASNER. THE

  BODIES TO BE RELEASED FOR BURIAL."

  Glasken sat up, horrified. "What?" he cried, seizing Nikalan by the tunic.

  "You really did change the message?"

  "Yes."

  "And Libris accepted it?" "Well, yes. The code was simple, and I only had to adjust the wording so that the checksums matched."

  Glasken released him and leaned back. "Don't you know a joke when you hear one? We really are dead now. The Highliber will spit hellfire when she finds out and.." did you say released for burial?"

  "Yes."

  Mountain ranges of breasts trembled within Glasken' sgrasp, forests of thighs bid him come exploring.

  "Could you change that to just "RELEASE THEM'?"

  "Well... no. The reply code is different, based on a checksum total requiring the same number of letters."

  Glasken thought frantically for a moment. "How about GLASKEN AND vITrASNER TO BE RELEASED?" "But I don't want to be released. I like working in calculors." "But I need your name to make up the wordage!" "I'd really rather stay."

  The urge to fling him over the edge of the tower was almost beyond Glasken's control. In hindsight Glasken realized that Nikalan could probably have had them both released from the Libris Calculor months ago.

  "Well, nice thought while it lasted, good Fras," he said as he stretched then adjusted a screw on the telescope. "One favor, though: could you show me what the message might have looked like in code?"

  Glasken struck him over the head the moment he had finished, then cried out that Nikalan had fainted and called for a relief team. Before Nikalan had revived the Overhand's lackey came to see them with releases so fresh that the ink was not dry. Glasken poured a phial of salts of night wing down Nikalan's throat to keep him quiet.

  War is a great time for opportunists, and in spite of the watchful eyes of the calculor regulators, Glasken managed to loot two gold royals, sixteen silver nobles, and two border passes in the confusion. He paid five silver nobles for a captured Tandaran horse and they set off for Eaglehawk.

  The Eaglehawk rail side was only five miles south, and aided by the chaos caused by the war, Glasken's stolen papers, ten silver nobles for two fares, and one gold royal for a bribe, the escapees managed to board a freight wind train by nightfall.

  Glasken had planned to ride the Nullarbor par aline to the Western Castellanies, but his train turned due north to Robinvale while he slept. The ensuing months were not kind to the escapees, but they survived.

  Glasken sprawled in the desert sand, very drunk and nearly asleep. The campfire had burned down to glowing coals, yet the captain of the Alspring camel train called encouragement, urging Glasken to finish his tale of beam flash towers, wind trains, and calculors.

  "Good sir, pray finish your wonderful story. I'll not sleep at all if I do not hear the outcome."

  Glasken looked up at the sky, where the stars were shining brightly, then lifted a jar of date-mash brandy to his lips to inoculate himself against the cold of the desert night.

  "Ah, not much to tell after.." wind train.." got diverted to Robinvale. Things got really bad. I shot the Robinvale Inspector of Customs when he refused a bribe, then fled with Nikalan into the Southmoor Emirate. He had some idea of traveling to the Central Confederation, but alas, the fool got us auctioned in the slave market at Balranald while trying to buy a camel. Our owner was a caravan master going north. Oh how we suffered.." attacked by freebooters... stole camels, fled into the desert. Nearly died.." wandered into this oasis..." Glasken drifted off to sleep. The Captain gestured to his scribe. "Did you get the whole of his story?" "Yes Captain."

  "Then append this before it."

  He cleared his throat and thought for a moment.

  "To His Serene and Merciful Eminence, Ziran Hoantar: "Whenever I lead a camel train to the edges of the known world, master, I take particular care to work closely with my drivers and strappers. Knowing their moods, fears, and needs can be the difference between hamony and mutiny. We were encamped at the Fostoria Oasis after crossing the great desert of pebbles when I came upon a strange character called John Glasken. This man was nineteen metric tall, with a thick black beard and uncommon broad shoulders. He spoke the Macadalian tongue clumsily, and hung about the campsite selling proscribed spirits and herbs.

  "On the second night of our stay Glasken became most disgustingly drunk with some of my infidel drivers. As I sat at their campfire carousings to insure that none of the talk became mutinous, Glasken began to relate such a strange tale that I soon sent for a clerk to copy it down in dash script The tale ended when Glasken fell asleep and began to snore swinishly, but the essence is there. You must agree that his story is far too consistent and detailed for such a wastrel to have dreamed up, so that there must indeed be barbarian nations with very advanced sciences beyond the red deserts. If so, dare we ignore their works?

  "I had the drunken infidel bound and taken to my tent, then sent armed strappers to fetch Nikalan from his tent near the counting house in the market place. I am now pleased to report that we are returning to Glenellen. This scroll will precede us with a courier squad.

  "Read Glasken's tale now, master, read to understand why I am returning to Glenellen with all possible haste. Master, were you to gather a hundred souls of moderate ability with the abacus in some place that cannot be spied upon, we could use these two components to build our own battle calculor, for the greater glory and prosperity of your royal house. Might I suggest the fortress at Mount Zeil as an admirable site?

  "I am your humble and devoted servant, Khal Azik Vildah." The Call was no respecter of life. Cluttered below cliffs throughout the land were the whitened bones of humans and animals that had followed its allure blindly. For those few who could resist the Call, however, it offered great advantages. To travel within its sweep was to be invisible, and to be immune to human attack.

  Theresla and Ilyire left the convent as soon as a Call swept over Glenellen, but they guided their camels along established roads rather than just allowing them to go south. They fled along the steep, narrow roads of the MacDonald Mountains, through palm-filled valleys and regular grids of date-palm plantations, then out into the flat, scrubby dry lands beyond. At the Henbury Gatefort they turned onto the ancient trail south after taking generous stocks of water and stores, and even fresh camels while guards and merchants strained mindlessly at their tethers to follow the Call.

  It was a day's journey farther south, near the Erldunda market town, that they encountered a large camel train. It was stopped on the road, anchors manually released by each rider. Theresla and Ilyire reined in their own Call-allured camels. "The caravan has stopped in a very orderly manner," Theresla observed.

  "They probably used a Call scout," Ilyire explained. "When a caravan travels north or south on straight stretches, a lone rider with a pilot flag is stationed ahead or behind to ride in view of a sentry. If a Call seizes the scout he lets the pilot flag fall. The caravan master immediately orders all sand anchors to be released and the caravan stops dead. When the Call has passed, the caravan continues on with minimal disruption. Only the scout and his camel wander south until the clockwork timer in the saddle releases the sand anchor. The greatest danger to the scout is from attacks by freebooter bands or Kooree nomads while riding to rejoin the caravan."

  The caravan was silent, except for the tinkle of the harness bells and the creaking of leather straps as the camels struggled against their Call anchors. The riders were buckled into their saddles, unable to think to release themselves.

  "They have prisoners," observed Theresla. "Those two there have their hands tied, and their camels are tethered to pack animals." She peered at the two men. "They're tall, as you describe the men of Maralinga to be."

  "I
ndeed they are," agreed Ilyire, struggling to keep his camel under control. "In fact I know them from Fostoria! The scrawny one worked in the market, calculating quantities and exchange rates for the merchants and caravan masters. His name is Ni-kalan. A little crazed in the head, but he taught me some basics of the Austaric speech while I regained my strength."

  "Could they be explorers from the southern Austaric nations? Might they have sent expeditions looking for us as a result of Kharec's raid?"

  "No. More likely they're outlaws or fugitives who wandered into the desert and were lucky enough to reach Fostoria." "Why are they prisoners, I wonder?" "Perhaps they attacked the caravan." "Two against sixty?"

  "They may be survivors from a bigger force of freebooters that was wiped out. The skinny one, Ni-kalan, looks unwell. He may have been wounded." "But the big, brutish one is very healthy." Theresla had unwittingly touched a nerve.

  "Him? Filthy, drunken, lecherous swine. He's tupped every whore in Fostoria, and any number of cloister-wives and their daughters besides. He's a ravening beast that devours women instead of protecting them. He has no morals, no honor, no discipline, and no shame! Jorn Gla-escen, yes, that was his name."

  She stared at the vacant face of the broad-shouldered prisoner for some moments while their camels strained and danced against their reins to follow the Call. He had a heavy black beard and was wearing soiled, greasy robes in the style of the Outland camel drivers. With a swift, supple movement Theresla drew her saberine and slashed his camel free of its tether. Ilyire laughed his approval.