Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  The swift retribution caught both the Kalgoorlie citizens and the Gentheist extremists by surprise. Seven men were wrestled to the gibbets and into their nooses. One by one the platforms beneath their feet fell away, leaving them spinning and dangling. The single latecomer stood wide-eyed and horrified as the Mayor turned to him.

  "For incitement to riot within a public gathering I find you guilty, and sentence you to three hundred strokes of the sunrise and fifteen years in the Bonelake Penal Garrison. Carry out the first part of the sentence at once."

  The Gentheist died after two hundred strokes, and was left bound to the triangle set up beside the scaffold wagon and its grisly display. The City Constable's report showed that two-thirds of the rioters had been from outside the may orate and deportation proceedings for the remaining Gentheist militants were begun.

  It was not until late afternoon that Mayor Bouros and his two guests finally reached the University and entered the walled research park. Wind rotors and windmills spun in the dry, warm breeze, and there was the steady rush of water being pumped into reserve tanks to provide back-up power. The smell of burning alcohol and vegetable oil was on the air, mixed with more exotic chemical scents.

  "This is our power field," said the Mayor as they walked between the pumps and rotors. "It drives the cable trams in the city, the water pumps and lifts in the underground shafts, and the bellows in some of the smelters."

  "It smells like a brewery," said Denkar. "Close. It's a distillery. We make alcohol here for fuel export. The Gentheists maintain that we also have steam engines hidden down in the shafts and burning alcohol, but that's all nonsense, isn't it?" The Mayor arched an eyebrow and-unnervingly--smiled on only one side of his face. "Alcohol burners are main rained at the bottom of the shafts, and they circulate air from the surface by convection. Some of the rising hot air also turns turbines that power small generators in Faraday cages half a mile down."

  "Convection engines, Denkar," Zarvora said. "They are weak, but have been accepted by all the major religions as not coming under the steam and explosive gas proscribium."

  "Not quite, Frelle," said Bouros. "The Gentheists are still arguing among themselves about convection engines."

  "They seemed united when they attacked us," Denkar pointed out. "Ah no, Fras, that was nothing to do with convection engines. Their spies have gleaned word of two beautiful triple-expansion, high-pressure steam engines that also burn alcohol and vegetable oil and reside at the bottom of my deepest shafts. After all, I have to have a reliable source of power, don't I?"

  The Edutor-General of Physistry met them as they stepped out of a lift that dropped so far that Denkar's ears popped constantly with the pressure difference during the descent. Vegetable-oil lamps gave the shafts the scent of an enormous kitchen, and Denkar was reminded of Libris. They toured several workshops first. These were filled with artisans at benches and desks, which were piled with wire, glassware, and vats of beeswax.

  Warm, rushing air was everywhere, laden with the scent of alcohol and sun flower oil. Faraday cages were built into several tunnels, so that no electromagnetic signals leaked out to attract the attention of the orbiting Wanderers--and conversely, so that any electromagnetic thunderbolt from the ancient military satellites would be absorbed.

  "Mayor Bouros has been experimenting with ancient electro force devices of the old civilization," Zarvora explained. "When I came over two years ago on a... diplomatic visit I discovered that he was very advanced in his work. Much of what I thought I would have to pioneer myself in electro force studies was already done. He has a spark-gap or spark flash transceiver that can send an in visible signal across empty space."

  "I have a two-hundred-yard length of tunnel fully shielded for my electro force experiments," Bouros said proudly. "There's nothing else like it in the known world."

  "Well in Oldenburg we had the Loyal Company of Electroforce Studies," began Denkar. "Pah! Faraday cages the size of broom closets and pedal-powered generators no bigger than a tinderbox. This is real electro force just like the ancients had it."

  His steam engines were nothing like the soot-belching, wheeled juggernauts of admonitory religious texts. They chuffed and hissed busily and steadily, and their brass work was polished so that it gleamed with dozens of highlights in the glow of the lamps. There was a dull roar from the burner in the alcohol and oil mix boiler, and an insect like whirr from the generators spinning beside both engines Denkar noted two cables in varnished wooden trays, both insulated with poor paper soaked in beeswax and bound down by woven mesh.

  "Come this way," said the Mayor, putting a thick arm about Denkar's shoulders and gesturing along the mesh-shielded tunnel. "Along here we have the greatest triumphs of my sixteen-year role and patronage of this laboratory. I have prepared demonstrations of an arc lamp and a type of beam flash signaler called a click wire that uses shielded copper wire and electromagnets that produce clicks. It can replace beam flash mechanisms, it is not affected by fog or smoke, and wires can travel over the horizon and beyond the line of sight."

  "The Loyal Company tried that back in 168 I," said Denkar. "Shielded wires were slung between two houses containing Faraday cages, but a currawong landed on one of the wires and disturbed the foil and pitch shielding with its claws. A Wanderer passed overhead as they were testing it, and flash! It became all smoke, flames, melted wire, and beeswax."

  "Hah! Foil and pitch shielding indeed. We use woven mesh over poor paper and beeswax. Still, that was a noble effort, and one day we may make such things operational. It's only a matter of engineering of course."

  "Of course." ' "Now then, I also have a spark flash radio to demonstrate, an electro force engine that drives a water pump, and best of all, a model electro force tramway. First, however, I have been working with your good wife on a tiny but clever device that she calls a dual-state, electromagnetic relay. It can store the status of something like an abacus bead--"

  "Why yes! An electro force abacus frame, and you could have dozens of relays for each component to use," Denkar exclaimed, suddenly catching on. "Each frame could be connected to the central correlators by a bundle of wires. Why, with a few hundred component people you could outperform the entire Libris Calculor."

  "Well... that is possible, but it was not our approach," said Bouros. "Be hold this device here." To Denkar it looked like nothing at all. Layers of polished wooden racks and metal struts were draped with wires and springs, and made a sound like the Calculor of Libris in miniature.

  "This is a calculor," said Zarvora. "Although less versatile than my first Libris Calculor, it is faster and more accurate in tasks of pure calculation."

  "It's the Highliber's design," the Edutor-General added. "She calls it an Induction-Switch Relay Calculor. It's powered by electro force from one of the generators you saw earlier. This one has the equivalent of two hundred fifty-six component-step per timed cycle. Originally there were four cycles per second, but that has been speeded up somewhat."

  "In terms; of raw calculating power it is roughly the same as the Islamic Calculor in Libris," said Zarvora.

  "The, calculating power of over two hundred and fifty-six people in a machine the" size of a hay wagon "Ah, but this is a tiny device, Fras Denkar," said Bouros grandly. "Frelle Zarvora has designed a machine of over four thousand ninety-six component steps in capacity. That's more than the great Calculor of Libris itself can boast. All that slows us down is the lack of sufficient artisans to build switches as fast as we can install them, but we are recruiting clock makers from wherever we can."

  "Unbelievable," Denkar said in awe, running his hand along the frame of the electro force calculor. "When does work start on the big machine?"

  "We still have two thousand relay units to make," began Zarvora, but Bouros waved her silent with a flourish that ended with a finger on his lips.

  Taking Denkar by the ann, he led him to tall double doors in the rock wall, which the Edutor-General hurried ahead to open. Beyond it they pas
sed along a short archway cut in the rock, then into a hall-sized cavern as alive with clattering and clicking as the insistent pounding of hail on a metal roof. The thing itself was a metal lattice of scaffolding draped with wires and cables, and the warm air reeked of beeswax and ozone. The roof gleamed with metal mesh, and a halfdozen people were tending a complex bank of instruments on a raised platform surrounded by a railing.

  "Here now is my little wedding present for you two dearest of my dear friends," said Bouros, coming up behind them and putting his arms around their shoulders. "It's a little late--when did you say you were married, Zarvora?" "I... two years--no! Three years ago."

  "We forgot to date--that is, we keep forgetting the date," added Denkar. "Lucky man," said Bouros, grinning broadly and wagging a finger, "having a wife who doesn't bother about silly things like wedding anniversaries. We decided that this calculor can be made partly operational with a mere two thou sand forty-eight units, so here it is, all ready at half-power."

  "My need for calculating power has exceeded even what the Libris machine can offer," said Zarvora. "Unfortunately it has also exceeded my ability to do the development and research to improve it all by myself. I have decided to begin to bring the cream of the FUNCTIONS of the Libris Calculor across to help with the work, starting with you. Would you like to take charge of this machine's development while I continue with other researches?"

  Denkar had been following the signs and wires festooned from the steel racks, trying to make some sense of the architecture.

  "Where are the correlator registers?" he asked. "Why it's that board stretching along the wall there. A dozen regulators plug and unplug the wires according to instructions that arrive from above via that paper tape punch."

  "I designed a harpsichord keyboard in a Faraday cage that sends impulses down a half mile of shielded wire," added Zarvora.

  "Why not replace all those plugs on the board with a bank of relay connections?" asked Denkar. "Why, because ..." The Mayor scratched his head, then turned to Zarvora. She shrugged. "Look, there is a coffee room with a chalkboard just past that rack to the right. Would you like to repeat what you just said while I scribe up a diagram?"

  As they were leaving Zarvora whispered in Denkar's ear. "We had better think up a plausible date in 1703 for our marriage. I can beam flash a message to my lackey in secured code and he can enter some forged records in the Libris data store."

  "Don't bother him," Denkar whispered back. "All I have to do is prepare a numeric string to go down the beam flash and straight into the Libris Calculor." "You do not understand, Den. We need someone with a password to--"

  "No, no, I broke your Calculor's transmission conduit codes back in 1697. I've been able to do whatever I wanted to in your data store for eight years."

  Zarvora stopped dead in her tracks. "You what?" she shrieked. SOULS IN THE GREAT MACHINE Bouros and the Edutor-General stopped and turned. Zarvora waved them on. "I can write a numeric string to go down the beam flash network and take over the transmission conduits so that the data following is automatically acted upon by the Calculor."

  Horror stabbed through Zarvora, horror that was real, physical pain. "You-you were able to control the Libris Calculor for eight years?"

  "I confined myself to a few experiments. I was afraid to tell, ah, Black Alpha." "You could have started wars, ruined the economy, destroyed my power and credibility completely, yet, yet.." you did nothing?" "You almost sound disappointed, Zar." "But..."

  "I'm not a vandal." Zarvora's shock sublimed into warmth and adoration, and she suddenly realized that she could unreservedly trust someone for the first time in her life. So this is what it is like to be rescued from a dragon by a handsome kavelar, she thought as she flung her arms around Denkar's neck.

  Bouros and the Edutor-General again looked back to where Zarvora and Denkar were standing in the golden lamplight of the tunnel.

  "Just look at them, kissing and embracing," said Bouros. "It must be a very exciting day for them," agreed the Edutor-General. "Why, getting such a magnificent wedding present as this must melt away the years and make it seem as if they have only just been married."

  "Aye, true. Now what could I fashion for my own wife so that our romance would blaze up as fiercely as with those two?" Glasken bought another roll pack and swagger stick at the rail side market at Coonana, along with a cap that sported a wicker frame eye shade and goose feather painted with one of Mirrorsun's many shapes. He also bought a reel of white ribbon and a handful of lead shot. The wind had begun to pick up by then, and the train made 120 miles per day thereafter. Just beyond Naretha Railside he dropped a padded bottle of ale through his window into the darkness. It was unlikely that any other refugee from Baelsha would find it before some par aline ganger came by, but Glasken was happier for the gesture.

  As the train rolled through Cook Railside on the fourth day, Glasken was reclining in drink-shrouded contentment, sipping delicately at macadamia-mash brandy and watching the treeless expanse of the Nullarbor Plain passing the window. Sensibly, he was chained to the shackle rail on the wall. He had by now checked the passenger register for unattached women, and there was one, in a private compartment at the back of the train. He thought through various pretexts to meet with her, then decided that lethargy was his wisest option.

  Glasken was roused as someone walking past stumbled at the open door to his tiny compartment. He caught a flash of green and red needlework woven with gold thread into black fabric very like fine cheesecloth. A woman's robes! She wore a veil of blue gauze that hung from just below her eyes but only reached down to her chin.

  "Ta'aal back, Frelle," he said politely, assuming that she was Islamic, and that a husband, father, or other guardian would be close to hand.

  "But surely you are not a Southmoor," the woman replied. Glasken sat up at once.

  "No, I'm of the Southeast Alliance, Rochester actually, Jack Orion's the name, do come in--should you feel my hospitality is honorable." She stood regarding him for a moment, and he noted what beautiful eyes she had. With the expertise of a practiced lecher he also noted that the nipples of her breasts were beginning to stand up under the cloth. As if to confirm his observation she sinuously slid down into the seat across from him.

  "I am Wilpenellia Tienes, from the Carpentarian Mayorate of Buchanan." "I don't know it," he replied easily. "Is it west of Kalgoorlie?" "No, it's directly north."

  "Alspring?" exclaimed Glasken with surprise. "No, not those barbaric nomads!" she replied, throwing her hands up in mock horror. "Carpentaria's may orates are to the north of even Alspring. Have you not heard of the Northwest Paraline Authority, and the link through the Great Sandy Desert?"

  Glasken had not, but the idea seemed plausible.

  "So, what faith do you follow?" he asked.

  "Reformed Gentheist, not the Orthodox Gentheist of those Alspring Ghans. I am a scholar, on my way to work on some rare texts at the great library of Rochester, Libris. You look to be a man of learning, have you studied in Libris?"

  ' Libris, I know and love it well. Why, when I worked there I simply couldn't get out of the place. Lately I've been settling family matters to the west: an unfortunate death of a distant relative that involved a great deal of wealth."

  With these words Glasken stretched out along his seat like a large and languid cat.

  "Ah, a man of means," she said.

  "And do you like train travel?"

  "I hate it. I have a tent that my servants set up every two days or so. There

  I stay in comfort until the next wind train arrives."

  "An eminently civilized strategy, Frelle. And when is your next stop?"

  "Oh, I thought to disembark tonight, possibly at Maralinga Railside. Have you been there?"

  "Years ago. A boring place, you might say." "Boring? Ah, but, Fras Orion, what glorious peace there is in the desert. Not a sound but the wind, none of the bustle of towns and cities, nor the rumble and rattle of the trains. Have you ever slept
in the desert, Fras?"

  She drew breath rapidly, so that her veil outlined the pouting lips beneath. Glasken found the effect unsettlingly erotic.

  "I... have been known to. Would you drink to such a thing?" he asked boldly.

  She batted her eyelashes at him for a moment, let him dangle, then caught him.

  "Only from a glass tumbler, Fras. We must be civilized, whatever the beauty and tranquillity of the wilderness." Glasken jerked the service cord for a new jar of brandy and an extra tumbler. Once the conductor had gone they drank to the Nullarbor Plain and the tranquillity of the desert. Glasken was already ahead by an entire jar, but felt obliged to match her drink for drink. He did not notice her squeeze something into her mouth while feigning to politely stifle a belch.

  Wilpenellia slid over to his bench with a flowing rustle of cloth, and Glasken's ann snaked under hers to seize and fondle her left breast. She immediately lifted her veil a little and planted her lips against his, sliding her tongue into his mouth in a lingering, passionate kiss. The night wing solution in her mouth--that she was immune to--worked surprisingly quickly on even such a large and powerfully built man as Glasken.

  In an unexpected bonus for the aviad woman, a Call rolled over the train while it was still a mile from the Maralinga Railside. As the train thumped into the safety buffers she already had Glasken on a lead. She dragged him to the stables and appropriated two camels, which she loaded with packs from the train. Glasken was too large and heavy for her to strap into a saddle, so she let him walk south beside the camels on the end of a rope. When the Call stopped for the night she fed him, and the food was mixed with salts of night wing It took an hour to maneuver him into the saddle frame of a kneeling camel; then she led their camels out of the stationary Call zone and south, toward the Edge.

  Glasken awoke with dawn seeping through the fabric of an ochre-colored tent. His head was muddled with something that was neither sleep not drink. There was a sweet, pleasant scent on the air, and the ground was strewn with blankets and air cushions.