Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  To say that Glasken was apprehensive as a palace lackey showed him into Zarvora's meeting parlor would be like saying par aline rails are parallel.

  "Fras Glasken, the very man I wanted to see," she said genially, "but I am sure all the girls say that to you." A joke! Coming from Zarvora it seemed almost a contradiction in terms. Glasken tried to force a grin, but the contortion looked more like he was trying to swallow a hot pepper.

  "A graduate in chemist dc with experience in the Libris Calculor. Fras Glasken, you are a rare combination and I need that exact combination just now. How would you like some months of contract work translating experiments with explosives into calculor input? I might offer, say, twenty gold royals per month." "Twenty-five," croaked Glasken in a desultory attempt to seem awkward. "Done! Oh, and here's a pardon for hitting the Rector of your old university college with that bag of coins. There are still fifty-six years of your sentence outstanding on that conviction. So, you own a tavern and have an importing business. You can change it to Glasken Enterprises now."

  "I want to settle down and become established, Frelle. There's been too much running in my life. I need to feel wanted." "Wanted. Well as of now you are no longer wanted in every Constable's Watchhouse in the Southern Alliance, but doubtless you can live with that. I was impressed with that trick you used to escape my battle calculor. Persuading the Libris calculor to release you by tampering with the transmission codes was very clever. You will not try to feed any more creative data strings to the new calculor at the University, will you?"

  "I am your loyal, obedient, and dedicated employee," declared Glasken with a bow.

  "What of Lemorel?"

  "I escaped her during a Neverlander attack. She probably died."

  "Pity. She was brilliant, if twisted. And then?"

  "I lived with the Kooree nomads for some months, then left them when I saw Baelsha. Big mistake."

  "Where did you get the Alspring gold?"

  "A chance find in the desert. I used it to buy my tavern."

  "I'm surprised. I would have expected you to have spent it all on the greatest revel of the century." "I was tempted, Overmayor, but revels have gotten me into any amount of trouble in the past. Besides, I fell in love--sort of---by accident."

  "Fras Glasken, I know the feeling." Denkar did not journey all the way from Kalgoorlie to Rochester, but left his galley train at the Bendigo Abandon. Disguising himself as a Gentheist pilgrim, he began a journey south, on foot. The Calldeath lands south of Rochester had been colonized by refugee avia ds for a century, although less formal groups had lived there for much longer. Macedon was a town of about two thousand avia ds and had been built behind abandon stone walls on the slope of a lopsided mountain. It was surrounded by farmlands, and its principal buildings were the university and technologium, although the artisan quarter was growing rapidly.

  Denkar noted everything with voracious fascination as the Deputy Mayor, Guidolov, took him on a tour.

  "Our numbers are small here, Fras Denkar, so we use machines wherever,

  we can. In this building here, for example, we have a steam engine fired by

  'i alcohol and crop tailings to mill grain for bread."

  Denkar looked the building over, approving the clean, compact efficiency the mill compared to the inefficiency of humans. "Have you any problems with the religious aversion to steam power?" "Fras, every aviad here would be killed by the humans for merely being immune to the Call, so we have no respect for their laws. We are a pious and religious community, however, and we follow the Gentheist principle that we should use no more than we can grow and that all should be in balance. Within that context, steam machines are allowed."

  "What else is run by steam?" "Water is pumped for irrigation, wood is cut in the sawmill, and there are two small mobile engines driven by steam traction that pull carts along the roads of the farm grid."

  "Amazing. And you say there are other towns like this?" The Deputy Mayor beamed with pride. "There are five more over a thousand, and another twenty settlements bigger than a hundred. We estimate twelve thou sand avia ds live in the Calldeath lands fringing the Southeast Alliance, and we have explorers extending our influence to the settlements in the north. You know about the exploration and colonies in the far west, I presume."

  "Yes. The Overmayor transported two hundred of your people to the west in return for two steam engines and the labor to get her rockets out of that museum in the Perth Abandon."

  "The Overmayor has been of great use to us. We modified our town charter to base the Council on a library structure, and are planning a beam flash network. Our weakness is that aviad children are affected by the Call from about two until they reach puberty. That means we can either keep them here as vegetables for their first twelve years, or we have to live in human lands in secret to bring up our children."

  Later that day they took a ride on a steam tractor to the edge of an abandon that was being mined for building materials. There was a crew of ten using a steam crane and a steam crusher, and their output was that of a crew of hundreds of humans. They are building a whole new world, reflected Denkar proudly, and I am one of them.

  "And farther down that path?" he asked, pointing south along a partly re stored road. "It leads to the salt water, the ocean, the sea, whatever name you like to use. That particular road leads to Phillip Bay, and beyond that is the limitless ocean."

  The idea of virtually unlimited water both perplexed and allured Denkar. "Have you ever seen the Call creatures?" he asked. The Deputy Mayor shook his head casually, and did not seem interested. "There is no clear and close vantage to watch from. We have seen animals and humans walk into the water and vanish. Sometimes their bodies are washed back ashore, dead. Occasionally we have seen dark fins and a splash."

  "Do you ever follow them out with boats?" "Not anymore. It was tried at the Gambier Abandon in 1617, and the two boats used just disappeared in a swirl of spray. Smashed planks bearing the marks of huge teeth were later washed ashore. Fifteen of our best edutors and warriors died that day, and we have always been too few in number to waste lives like that. One aviad is living on the shores of the Phillip Bay at present, though."

  "Would she be a rather strange woman named Theresla? My invel-spouse?"

  "Yes, and she had your genototem release signed by Pandoral the Gentheist Bishop, and the Highliber herself, of course."

  "Genototem release? What--oh never mind. When can I be taken to her?"

  "Your pardon, Fras, but I have nobody to spare at present. You must wait a week."

  "A week! I'll find my own way." "That is not possible, Fras. There are too few of us avia ds We cannot allow a single life to be risked in traveling the Calldeath lands alone."

  "But Theresla--"

  "Theresla is different. You are a gifted mathematician, you must be protected." They returned to the town, where the sentries were told that Denkar was not permitted beyond the wails. Other than that, he was free. He explored the town. The architecture was not on a grand scale, except for one auditorium in the university that could accommodate a thousand people. The houses were a mixture of terraces with wood lace trim, decorator-art line bungalows, and functionalist revivai cottages. At the center of the town, beside the university, was a little square shaded by gum trees. There was a scatter of cafes under canvas awnings in the dappled light. The incongruity of a cobbled square with outdoor cafes serving coffee and seed cakes in the middle of the Caildeath lands was not lost on Denkar. Student couples strolled hand in hand in the weak winter sunshine, or sat at tables gazing into each others' eyes, their cups and plates forgotten. Three youths sat at another table, gesturing first at the faint band of Mirrorsun in the blue sky, and then at a diagram that one of them had chalked on the wooden tabletop. It easily have been Rochester or Oldenberg.

  Denkar ordered a jar of beer beneath the awning of a small tavern, that the currency was Rochestrian royais, nobles, and coppers. Very soon he was surrounded by curious edutors and
students. He had worked in the Caiculor Libris, after all. They were operating a primitive caiculor in the university, but had only sixty components and only ran twice a week in five-hour sessions. He did not have the heart to tell them about the new machine in Kalgoorlie. The senior edutor of Physistry took him to the university and showed him a Faraday cage whose floor was ten yards square, and which housed an electro force laboratory. Denkar quickly recognized the equipment for a spark flash transceiver, simplified version of the Kalgoorlie design.

  After an afternoon of being quizzed and questioned on caiculor theory and architecture, Denkar made his way to the modest abandon stone cloister-plan house! where Guidolov, his wife, Nayene, and their family lived. For all his frustration at being held there, Denkar certainly felt better for a meal--of roast emu steaks in orange sauce on a bed of rice and nuts, with a large bowl of Rochester the center of the table. Their two teenage daughters were well-educated and friendly, having been brought up at a villa near Oldenberg. Their other three daughters were still at the same villa. The two teenagers had some odd conspiracy nudges, giggles, and snickers that their parents either frowned at or tried to ignore. Nayene had the figure of comfortably approaching middle age, and was wearing a low-cut Northmoor print in a style that was currently all the rage in Kalgoorlie.

  "A Kalgoorlie import, Frelle?" asked Denkar.

  "Why thank you, Fras, but no, the pattern was sent along the beam flash in a numerical string. All that I did was select the cloth to suit it, and adjust some seams to my own figure."

  "Tailored to perfection, Frelle," replied the weary Denkar, his manner friendly and gracious, but automatic.

  "Now then, Fras, you have no silly qualms about genototem hospitality?" asked Guidolov genially. The two girls giggled.

  "Fras Deputy Mayor, your hospitality is my rule."

  "Splendid! Come now, young Frelles, off to your rooms and into your coding exercises--now! You will excuse us?" Nayene took Denkar by the arm and led him from the table to his own room. It was a generously large room, tastefully furnished with a double bed at the center. He turned to see that Nayene had dropped her robes to stand before him wearing only kid-leather lounge boots. Denkar nearly choked on his own gasp of shock, took a step back, and fell over onto the bed. Nayene followed eagerly, and climbed onto him at once, pinning him to the softness of the bedcover.

  "See there, your genototem release has been pinned above the bed and inspected by Bishop Pandoral herself," she said brightly. "We allow no lewdness in such intimate and sensitive matters, Fras Denkar, we are a very pious community."

  Suddenly the precise meaning of genototem hospitality dawned upon Denkar. He spread his arms in disbelief as he lay there. Nayene took it as a gesture of welcome. She slid her arms beneath him and squeezed, then began to unfasten the ties of his robes, trews, and codpiece.

  She sighed, her head against his chest. "Five daughters, Fras Denkar, but not a single son. I have great hopes for you, though. Your genototem trace is very promising."

  It was all very logical, he realized as they climbed between the cool and scented sheets of the wide bed. A small population trying hard to expand, yet constantly in danger of inbreeding. Hence this scheme of systematic mixing of bloodlines, "genototem hospitality." If only Glasken had been an aviad, he thought.

  Lemorel's strategy with the city of Alspring was tailored to suit the siege conditions that were being played out there. The city had sealed itself tightly, with stores laid in and well-trained warriors on guard, all armed with the finest weapons available. In one sense Lemorel was sweeping all before her, but in another she was very vulnerable. Time was not on her side, and she had little but conquest to offer her followers. If the conquests stopped, disillusion might set in.

  True to her style, she had thought strategically. A year earlier she had arranged the purchase of five bombards from Inglewood, a may orate so remote to her followers that none even knew that it existed. The barrels were shipped in cases marked as coffee to the par aline rail side of Maralinga, then trekked by eight-camel sling across the deserts to a stronghold where they were mounted on gun carriages. Using contract artisans in several cities, including Alspring itself, she had secured a large supply of precisely wrought bombard balls, but until now the bombards themselves had only been used in test firings. The other cities had sent their armies out to meet her, as her forces always seemed weaker than was the case. Thus the finely made bombards were of no special advantage. Until now.

  It was not enough to lay siege to Alspring, she had to break the defenses quickly. The walls were far thicker and better defended than those of any other Ghan city. They were encrusted with bombards, and these could belch copious grapeshot to shred all opposing infantry or cavalry. Against Alspring many other aspiring conquerors had been tested and found wanting. Lemorel had to defeat Alspring, or her aura with the Neverland nomads would begin to fade.

  The first volley of shots caught the Alspring defenders totally by surprise. They were fired from twice the range of the bombards on the walls, and they smashed among the red and gold domes and spires of the palace. After that a pattern set in, with a shot every two minutes that was sure to land with mathematical precision. Only the palace and one section of wall were being targeted, and the bombardment continued through the night. Presently the palace became a shambles, while the famous checkerboard-pattern city walls were ragged and crumbling along the southwest face.

  As it became harder for the defenders to mount their own bombards on the southwest wall, the Neverlanders moved in conventional bombards and began pounding the wall at close range. Casualties were heavy among the bombard crews on both sides, but the wall slowly crumbled and fell under the sustained:. battering. Within the city the word was spreading: Commander Lemorel was only interested in their Grand Makulad, she always spared the common people when she conquered a city. This was the opposite of the message that her spies and agents had spread in Glenellen, but then this was a full siege. The evidence was the smashed towers and domes of the palace, and the untouched temples, houses, and shops of everyone else. Siege engines began to appear in the distance, but the ground before the walls was trenched, mined, and littered with obstacles. All defending forces were concentrated near the disintegrating part of the wall in preparation for the attack to come.

  "We shall lure them into our city like a mouse into the jaws of a cat!" the infuriated Grand Makulad of Alspfing ranted to his Elders, senior officers, and other advisers. "She shattered my palace, she smashed my treasures. I want her in the stocks, stripped naked with a waterfall of pig dung and offal pouring over her. We shall fight street by street, sponging up their lives in the ruins until her army is bled dry, then my elite Palace Lancers will ride out and crush those cowards that dared not venture inside."

  It was a fine, fighting speech, but the audience went its way in small groups, all animated with anxious discussion. Commander Lemorel showed mercy when a city surrendered in the face of overwhelming odds. Commander Lemorel was unspeakably cruel in the face of pointless resistance.

  A gunshot echoed through the rubble-strewn corridors and halls of the palace. Someone shrieked inarticulately; then another shot barked out.

  "Muskets!" exclaimed the Overhand of Artillery. He and his adjunct rushed back into the Grand Makulad's throne room to find the monarch shot dead before his throne. Nearby was the Overhand of the Palace Lancers, lying dead with two flintlocks beside him. A scroll was tucked into the sash around his waist. The Overhand of Artillery read the words aloud:

  "Commander Lemorel wants no life but that of the Grand Makulad. In the Name of the Deity I offer it to her, with mine, for the protection of the women and children of Alspring."

  By now other over hands Elders, and advisers had rushed in, along with the throne-room guards.

  "Where the hell were you and your men?" the Overhand of Artillery demanded of the guards' captain.

  "We were ordered from the room," he replied in a strong monotone. "Ordered? B
y whom?" "The Overhand of Lancers."

  "But you answer only to the Grand Makulad."

  "He gave his consent to it, sir."

  "His consent. I see. And you left the Grand Makulad with a man armed with two loaded pistols?" "The pistols are the symbols of his protection for the Grand Makulad, sir." "Once again, I see. As the senior overhand I am the Grand Interim for now. Sub-Overhand Dalin, you can command the Palace Lancers. Stay with me. The rest of you, out!"

  When they were gone the Overhand indicated the barrel of one of the flint locks on the floor with the toe of his boot.

  "What is that sticking to the barrel?" he asked.

  "A white down-feather, sir." "Yes. Do you think that he discharged that gun into the backside of a chicken and then forgot to clean it, or might someone else have fired it into a feather pillow to muffle the blast?"

  "Sir?" "Look there, a jagged, messy hole in his forehead and the back of his head blown out, yet there are no powder burns around his face. Could he have shot himself from a mere hand span away?"

  A Neverlander artillery shot whistled down in the distance, to land with muffled boom followed by a clatter of heavy masonry.

  "A conspiracy, sir?" "Very probably. My guess is that somewhere nearby a cushion is being burned, and that two guards are frantically reloading their muskets. There four shots, Dalin, but these two flintlocks were fired into a cushion after Overhand and Grand Makulad were already dead. I thought at the time that I' heard muskets, not pistols."

  The Overhand went to the fretwork shutters and pushed one open. the palace the city remained undamaged. Suddenly a bombard shot whistled and they both recoiled and threw themselves to the lavish carpet as it " close by.

  They picked themselves up and dusted plaster off their robes. "The conspirators were right, Dalin," said the Overhand, "whatever morality of what they did. Run up the orange and white pennants for a truce assemble a delegation to meet with Cormnander Lemorel. You will lead it, you will surrender the city on my behalf."