Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  Today the storms were very distant, he could hear only the faintest of lightning bursts. Faint but regular. Very regular. His hands rose to press the coil muffs hard against his ears. This was no thunderstorm, he realized.

  "Electroforce signaling," he whispered. "Dear God in Heaven, an electro force machine!"

  In all of Mounthaven's wardenates there was not another working on tuned circuits, while those in the Callhavens to the south could not even build aircraft. That meant somewhere farther away. Perhaps from the legendary continents of Asiaire or Australica. But surely the moving Sentinel stars would burn any electro force device .... Brother Alex suddenly recalled the strange events in the sky of some days past when Mirrorsun assumed strange, portentous shapes and the Sentinels moved through the skies surrounded by the most exquisite haloed clouds of sparkle. Everyone had assumed it to be some message of great astrological import, but now Brother Alex had his doubts. Suppose it had not been a glorious cosmic fiesta. Suppose it had been a war. Suppose the Sentinels had been vanquished.

  For the next two hours the monk copied down the faint, coded transmissions from beyond the oceans, then reluctantly decided that he needed to spend time with the ancient textbooks in the library. As he walked through the cloisters clutching his sheaf of papers, a flock of gun wings from the nearby wing field droned through the clear spring sky in formation, their compression engines straining as they gained height.

  "The universe has changed on this day in May, Anno Domini 3939," Brother Alex said to the wardens high above in their tiny fighting machines.

  The seven transceivers took nearly a month to be made operational, but Zarvora knew that she had to accept the delay. The stalemate in the east was starting to work against her now, as the Southmoors had adapted better to trench warfare. Winter mist interfered with beam flash links, while the thick cloud often hindered the use of heliostats on the battlefield. Finally the Black Runners brought an unconfirmed report that the Ghans and Southmoors were to merge several divisions for a thrust from Deniliquin down to the Calldeath lands. Rochester was to be split in two.

  Five of the seven spark flash tranceivers were deployed in the west, northwest and northeast. One was even smuggled across Southmoor Territory into the Central Confederation. Troops freed from defending the beam flash towers were moved by par aline to Robinvale, where they were assembled into a new army. Dolorian was assigned to this force, with the seventh spark flash squad. The objective was to fortify a strip of land that Alliance forces had captured, a strip that reached all the way to the Central Confederation's border.

  It never happened, for a horde of Ghan lancers and mounted musketeers appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Zarvora later estimated that some of the Ghan units had been brought from seven hundred miles away in no more than a week. The exhausted but well coordinated Ghans prevailed over the unprepared Alliance musketeers in a battle halfway between Robinvale and Balranaid, yet Overhand Gratian somehow gathered the remains of his divisions into an orderly retreat. At Balranald they crossed the flooded river and destroyed the bridges.

  "The Ghans were warned," Zarvora announced at the new Sparkflash Command Center in Oldenberg. "Someone who knew about the par aline movements deduced that troops were to be concentrated at Robinvale."

  "That spy could be one of thousands," Vardel Griss replied. "The par aline system is vast." "In three months it will be more secure. We shall have a spark flash unit on every galley train and in every fort, but until then we have to use the beam flash system, and that system is not secure. The codes were good, yet they were broken and used against us."

  "Another calculor, Frelle?" "Even the Kalgoorlie machine would take two years to break our new codes. No, we were betrayed, as were the fifteen thousand dead musketeers at the Battle of Robinvale. Damn. Still no report of Dolorian and Sparkflash Seven."

  Griss looked at the wall map, and its seven green pins. The pin marked with a 7 was just north of Balranald. Zarvora returned to where the spark flash operator sat.

  "She may not be captured, and if she is moving she cannot transmit. The spark flash gear takes five hours to set up and tune."

  "Let us hope so--uh! That's odd."

  Zarvora began to copy out characters from a spark flash signal. Griss looked over her shoulder, shaking her head.

  "Very, very faint," said Griss. "I've never seen anything like it." "It's familiar, I saw something similar in the fragments of texts in Kalgoorlie. It could be an ancient system of letters and numerals known as Morse Code, which depicts them in two types of strokes, short and long."

  Zarvora reached for a book of tables. "It spells DENVER YANG-KI over and over." '

  "That's not any place I know. It--it could be from beyond the Calldeath lands." "So it would seem, Frelle Griss. Ours may not be the only civilization." "Yang-Ki. It sounds like a name from old China. Will you reply?"

  "What can I say? Thanks awfully for calling, but we are very busy so please go away." "Something simpler, Frelle Overliber. It never hurts to be friendly. Give them a pre-Greatwinter place name, something big. What is the name of that huge abandon to the south of here?"

  "Melbourne. Well, why not?" Zarvora tapped: OVER MAYOR ZARVORA. MELBOURNE. HEARING DENVER YANG-KI. The ensuing exchange was less than productive, for American and Australian English had drifted apart during two thousand years of isolation. Zarvora keyed END OF TRANSMISSION several times, and presently the transmitter on the other side of the world signed off too.

  "WE something FOR PEACE was their last message," said Zarvora. "They won't find it here, there's a war going on," said Griss. Away to the north Dolorian and Major Haman, who was commanding the Sparkflash 7 unit, were hauling rafts carrying the spark flash wagons across the Murrumbidgee River in the driving rain while Alliance bombards on the south bank raked the attacking Ghans with grapeshot. The river was in flood and still rising and muddy water swirled about the wheels of the last of the wagons as it was hauled up the bank to safety.

  "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" the driver of the transceiver wagon called down to the mud-encrusted figure who was pushing against the transverse beam.

  "Only just," panted Dolorian, who was soaked, her long hair partly free of its bindings and plastered to her face by muddy water. "Hairpins at the bottom of the river. Nearly went with them. We're safe now, though."

  "Not so, Frelle Lieutenant," called a runner who was waiting. "New Southmoor advance, word just came by dispatch rider. It's going to be all running battles. The Major wants to know your needs. He's at the pennant pole."

  "Six silver hairpins and a Cargelligo or bile comb, dry clothes, hot chocolate, and a month's leave--oh, and a rich and handsome suitor who can play the lutina."

  "Can't help, Frelle," panted the runner, who looked to be all of a weedy and pockmarked eighteen. "He wants to know what you need to get Sparkflash Seven working."

  "Five hours in secure territory."

  "There's a fortified trench square guarding what's left of the bridge pillars at Ravensworth." "Ravensworth? That's liable to be the place of the next major attack as the Southmoors and Ghans try to link up. Better to destroy the wagons here, before they're captured. Riding hard we could reach to Central Confederation in a day, at most."

  "At Ravensworth they're dug in securely and they have bombards, Frelle Lieutenant. Their captain fought at Dareton when they broke that cavalry charge. Glasken, that's his name. John Glasken. They say he's a good 'un to be under. Brave, a great leader, and seen action."

  Dolorian sagged against the muddied wheel of the wagon. Unconsciously she flicked open the top button of her wet, filthy jacket, then walked two fingers slowly along a spoke as the rain pelted down on her. Bugles sounded assembly in the distance.

  "More action than you'd ever suspect, Fras Corporal," she said huskily, then pushed away from the wheel and tramped through the red mud toward the pennant pole.

  Captain John Glasken of the 105th Overmayor's Heavy Infantry was in his command tent when the wagons
of Sparkflash 7 and their escort arrived at Ravensworth. Major Haman supervised the selection of a site for the wagons, then set off for the command tent. He noted that there was no guard, then entered. There was a piercing scream and he backed out again.

  About a minute later Glasken emerged, buttoning his shirt and carrying his saber and scabbard under his arm. As he approached, a woman darted from the tent behind him with a coat over her head and vanished behind a pile of logs in the direction of the orderlies' area.

  "I was, ah, taken with a fever," Glasken explained. "A nurse was tending me." "A nurse wi' par aline conductor's coat over her head?" asked Major Haman.

  Glasken watched the unpacking of the radio wagons with perplexity as the Major briefed him on the requirements of Sparkflash 7. "There are two mast wagons, a power wagon, and the transceiver wagon," he explained as Glasken struggled to understand what the thing was. "The mast wagons must be fifty yards apart, and they extends collapsible masts to a height of fifteen yards. Between them is strung a double wire called an antenna, after the ancient Anglaic word 'antenna." "

  "But they're the same word," said Glasken. "Fras Captain, manual says antenna is named after 'antenna," so antenna is what I says. I 'ad two days of training from Overmayor herself---"

  "Agreed, agreed. What's it to do?"

  "It replaces beam flash towers, that's what. You can call all the way to Roch ester direct for orders."

  "But the towers are far too short to be useful. A man on top of one of them might as well be up a tree."

  "They're not workin' on light flashes, Fras Captain. They pick waves out of the air itself by that wire."

  "Waves? Like on a river or lake?" "Aye, that's right. Now--" "But where's the water?" "See here, are you ignorant or something'? Once the waves are picked up the operator sees the message at the spark gap. The little flashes of light are like beam flash transmissions--"

  "But you just said it's waves and wires, and now it's back to light flashes and beam flash codes."

  "Fras Captain, this is a major scientific advance." "Well I have a scientific degree!" After a further ten minutes of argument and exposition the two officers parted on less than amicable terms. For the next hour Glasken stripped and cleaned his rifle and pistols while he watched the masts being erected and braced with guy ropes. The double wire between the mast-top insulators was almost too fine to see. The cover of the power wagon was removed to reveal ten sets of pedals from a galley train mechanism, with the gearing connected to a barrel-shaped thing with wires trailing off to the transceiver wagon.

  More hours passed, and the rain began again. After a tour of inspection Glasken returned to watch Sparkflash 7 working. There was an odd buzzing sound and the same smell of ozone that followed thunderstorms. Presently his curiosity got the better of him. He made his way over to the transceiver wagon, which was dark inside and filled with a buzzing, crackling sound. A Dragon Librarian sat in one corner; Glasken could see the blue arm band of rank above her military stripes. Her head was obscured by a baffle but her breasts were not. They were alluringly large. He cleared his throat.

  "Captain John Glasken of the 105th reporting," he declared. The woman beckoned him in without looking away from the spark gap. "You are just in time, Captain," she said in a husky voice. "I am in contact with the transmitter at Oldenberg, with the Overmayor herself."

  Glasken slid onto the bench beside her and peered past her head into the spark-gap box, where a violet light was flickering on and off. The space was confined and he draped his arm over the operator's shoulder to see past her head. The sparks had a familiar pattern about them.

  "I say, that's beam flash protocol, with standard code," he exclaimed with surprise. "CALIBRATION TEST 5 COMPLETING."

  "Good work, Captain, I see you are an experienced operator," his companion purred approvingly. Glasken realized that although his hand was resting on her left breast, his face had not been slapped. He gave an affectionate, experimental squeeze.

  "Just as I can tell distant operators by their keystrokes, I can recognize you by your touch, Johnny Glasken."

  "Frelle, I have never worked your switches before, enchanting thought though it be."

  "Ah but you have, Fras Johnny," she said as she turned away from the spark gap. "Dolorian!" cried Glasken, and he turned to stumble and crash his way out of the wagon at once. "Guards! Guards! Guards! An Alspring spy. Guards! Damn you, here! Quickly."

  The Major arrived to find Dolorian standing beside the wagon with her hands in the air and ringed by a dozen of Glasken's infantry. Glasken watched from

  SOULS IN THE GREAT MACHINE

  a distance, calling for them to be careful and to shoot to kill if she moved. "What in hell goes on?" demanded Major Haman.

  "Alspring spy," said Glasken, waving in Dolorian's direction with his saber. "A personal friend of Lemorel, their maniac leader."

  "She's also the most experienced spark flash operator besides Overmayor herself," the Major shouted back.

  "All the worse! A spy at the heart of our command."

  "I have the Overmayor's security clearance," began Dolorian.

  "That she does, Fras Captain."

  "But she knows Lemorel. Lemorel taught her to shoot, they went shopping together, they were friends, and well, who knows what else?" Dolorian raised her eyes to the sky for a moment. By now there was an audience of several dozen muddy musketeers gathered around them. "Well I never slept with her, Captain Glasken, which is more than you can say!" she said in a soft, clear voice.

  "You slept with the Alspring Horde's supreme commander?" asked the incredulous Major.

  "Ah, well, just a student dalliance," stammered Glasken. "And only once."

  "From July 1697 to September 1699," Dolorian corrected him, "when she discovered that you had been cheating."

  "You cheated on the enemy's supreme commander?" exclaimed the Major, scarcely believing what he had just heard.

  "Three cheers fer Captain Glasken!" called an onlooker, and the musketeers cheered loudly. Since taking Ravensworth, Glasken's force had demolished the bridge across the river right down to the stone foundations, then dug in at the edge of their own bombards' range. The bombards were finely made, the latest Inglewood type that shot calibrated lead balls with great accuracy, and thus outreached the enemy bombards across the river. The Alspring engineers tried to float their own bombards across on rafts, but the turbulent floodwaters and Alliance bombardment frustrated them. They gave up after the fifth bombard was lost.

  All the while the Southmoors had been pouring cavalry along the roads from Wanganella, and in spite of sabotage and cavalry raids across the border it was only a matter of time before the gun carriages arrived. With Balranald in Alliance control and Haytown supposedly neutral, the importance of the Ravensworth bridge grew by the hour. One hundred thousand Alspring lancers and their support forces were building up on the north side of the bridge. Major Haman ordered the eight female nurses of the 105th to be escorted north, to the neutral

  Confederation's border and internment for the rest of the war. The medic ian remained. Dolorian worked the spark flash radio constantly, sending estimates of enemy strength to Oldenberg and getting new intelligence through from the transmitters at Balranald and Robinvale, as well as the secret transmitter that had been smuggled into the Alliance embassy at Griffith. Using the Confederation's beam flash system, spies at Haytown alerted the embassy when a senior delegation of Alspring leaders arrived from the west. In particular, it was noted that the pennants of the Ghans' supreme commander were flying over the governor's mansion.

  "Lemorel's there to demand access to the Haytown bridges," Glasken concluded when a runner brought him the message.

  Haman was doubtful. "Why should she bother talking? She has a division besieging Balranald, and Haytown is not nearly as well fortified. Two days at a forced march and she could have Haytown in her purse."

  "Good tactics, bad strategy," replied Glasken. "To crush Haytown would get her the C
entral Confederation as an enemy. The Confederation has a lot more strength in its lancer divisions than the Alliance, and they're a match for the Ghans in dry land fighting. It also has a long border near the Alspring supply lines. No, she'll bluster and threaten, then offer them some compromise they couldn't refuse."

  Major Haman looked at the map on the folding table between them, then read through the radio transmissions again. "Over the river there are a hundred thousand Alspring Ghans, who are particularly anxious to rebuild that bridge. On this side there are eleven thousand Southmoors on the roads from the south, and already there's a buildup of five thousand surrounding us. We have nine hundred men and three pathetic bombards."

  "Those brass-alloy bombards are the finest that my taxes can buy," said Glasken indignantly.

  "But there's still only three of them--what's that?"

  A rattle of small arms fire broke the peace.

  "An attack!" said Glasken, seizing his musket and lance point helmet. The Southmoors had been expected to attack from the Ravensworth side of the Alliance trenches, and to pound the place with artillery first. Instead they had sent nearly the whole force of dismounted cavalry crawling through the open fields to the west and east until they were in a position to attack the Alliance bombard emplacements from two sides. The thin wedge of trenches held at first, then began to take breaches under the weight of suicidal attacks. In a half hour of fighting the bombards were cut off, and the Alliance troops retreated to a second line of trenches while their trapped comrades fought on in isolation.

  Dolorian had been following the developments from the shelter of the power wagon when a runner found her. He indicated a ragged rally pennant.

  "That's the forward command post," he panted. "You are to report there."

  Dolorian crawled miserably through the cold, red mud, trying to stay as low as possible and for once in her life wishing that her breasts were a little smaller. Ettenbar called to her from a foxhole, and she made her way across to him while shots flew waspishly overhead. He had been promoted to sergeant by now.