Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  Torumasen raised his goblet of wine, then Zarvora clinked her goblet of spring water against it. In spite of the cold they remained standing beside the exquisite likeness of Dolorian.

  "Why did you contact me?" asked Zarvora. "I have a new love now, and we are soon to be married. I could not in fairness bring my bride home to, well, all this, so I wanted to ask you to move Dolorian's remains and memorial to the Shrine of Heroes at Rochester."

  Zarvora gave a rare laugh.

  "The

  Shrine's custodians will scream nine flavors of hellfire.." but why not? People need to know that soldiers who love life are no less brave than those who .... love killing. Perhaps, though, there should be a mosaic of Dolorian working the spark flash in the background. Yes?"

  "You have a deal, Overmayor," said Torumasen, taking a sip of his wine.

  He saw that she was looking up into the sky.

  "She charmed even Mirrorsun," Zarvora said wisfully. "The band in the sky remains very thin," said Torumasen, all the while wondering whether Dolorian might have been responsible for that as well. "Does that mean Greatwinter will not return?" "Yes." "Just yes?"

  "Greatwinter is a complex term, Fras Medician. The Anglaic civilization had accidentally changed the climate, and when the Call first appeared the seasons were already hotter. Mirrorsun was a vast enterprise to give the world a sun shield but we have grown used to a hotter climate. In the Sydney Abandon there is a ruin called the Miocene Institute. We have discovered that the ancients were experimenting with the genototems of sea creatures, just as they altered them selves to make us. Apparently they built a race of aquatic creatures with enhanced intelligence, so--"

  "To what end?" interjected Torumasen, who became philosophical after three drinks and was now up to his fifth. "Why breed more intelligence into a beast? Better wool or more milk, of course, but

  intelligence?"

  Zarvora sighed and shrugged. "We breed more intelligent emus and terriers so they can be better trained to restrain shepherds gripped by the Call. Perhaps these sea creatures were meant to herd and tend fish in the same way as our drover emus and terriers look after herds and flocks on land. The experiments probably got out of hand, the creatures developed the Call, and here we are."

  ' But what about the wars between humans?" whispered Torumasen. "The nuclear bombs that caused nuclear winters?" "I have commissioned detailed maps of our continent. At only two abandons are craters where the ground is turned to glass, as the bombs were reputed to do. Extend that to the rest of the world and you have a terrible war, but not a catastrophe. In the confusion and panic following the first Calls the humans must have blamed each other and sent their flying machines to attack in revenge."

  There was a chorus of yelping terriers in the distance. "Ah, my zealous Tiger Dragons and their tracker terriers are closing in," remarked Zarvora. "I should leave your house and return to them."

  "I am truly pleased to meet you, Overmayor Cybeline," said Torumasen as they bowed in the darkness. "I once thought you just another despot. Now I see that you have vision."

  "Although I remain a despot," concluded Zarvora.

  She drew a strange, soft band from her jacket's pocket.

  "Live well and long with your new love, Fras Medician, and take this as my wedding present." "It's... I don't appear to have one," he replied, holding up the flaccid band. "It is Mirrorsun material. If ever again someone is as precious to you as Dolorian is in the grip of death, put this around their neck. Mind, however, it can only be used once."

  Zarvora slowly walked away from the house along the dimly lit street. In the sky Mirrorsun was gleaming steadily, but the first traces of fog were gathering. From a balcony garden a marksman followed her head with the sights of his musket. He was breathing regularly, slowly. He exhaled, paused, and began to squeeze the trigger.

  Ilyire's knife plunged into his back and tore through his heart. As Zarvora walked on, oblivious, the Ghan pulled some strands of his victim's hair free and rubbed them between his fingers.

  "Aviad dummart," he whispered as he noted the texture, then he dropped to the street and caught up with Zarvora. As he fell in beside her he held up a bloodied hand.

  "All your own work?" asked Zarvora. "Another Aviad Radical," warned Ilyire. "They want to kill you and take over Mirrorsun's fabricators to fight the humans. One day my eyes will not be sharp enough, Overmayor. Then you will die. You must take more care and help me to protect you."

  "Ah, but you are wrong," replied Zarvora, draping an arm over his shoulder and gesturing up to Mirrorsun. "I am not only safe, I am immortal too." "Another of your visions, Overmayor?" he sighed glumly.

  "The creation of my vision, Fras Ilyire. For the second time I have become the first soul in a great machine."