L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 35

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “All right. One more chance,” Nasheed said. “The simpath pulse was erratic. Perhaps it was circumstantial. Perhaps room security will solve it. I’m not comfortable, but I hate delays even more. I’ll risk a little for the chance to be done with this.”

  After a pause, Rinwahl grunted agreement.

  Mag set up private conference times as the delegates prepared to leave. As they exited, storm dust swirled into the conference room. Mag stood in the empty room while her heart pounded manically.

  Boiling coffee on a stove without matches, an overheated engine with an excited young rider, her own uncharacteristic fear after the close-call railroad crossing.

  The instances hit in a stinging stream.

  Tea that went from lukewarm to chilled, the strange discount at the Ellawi gate, and—of course!—the religiously worn sleeves that concealed the forearms. She really should have known.

  Mag pressed her palms to her cheeks.

  Secure the room first. Obscure all line-of-sight options.

  There were no windows. The walls had no doors or alcoves. This left the ceiling air vents as the only place a simpath could feasibly maintain visual contact and stay hidden.

  Mag enlisted two boys from grounds keeping to fasten dark sheets over all air vents, then headed straight for her hotel room, heart in her throat.

  Do you have any idea what you almost did in there?”

  Lio sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes innocent and wide. He hadn’t even bothered to replace the air vent screws; they lay loose on the bedside table.

  “Lio,” she grabbed his shoulders. “I know it was you. I know you’re a simpath.”

  He twisted away. “You needed me,” he said. “I saved you. Weapons were too dangerous. My lucky bracelet not enough.”

  He’d interfered while she stood in harm’s way, revealed himself as a simpath in order to protect her, and at great personal risk. Warmth bloomed in Mag’s chest, but she resisted it, holding tightly to her rage.

  The kid must be ignorant of the horrors that greedy bastards inflicted on child simpaths. Or was he? Had Lio’s mother been killed for birthing a child with simpathic abilities? Keshian law now forbade the union of a simmer and an empath.

  Her words trembled. “If you meddle again, it’ll be worse for me than if I were shot.”

  Lio twisted his mouth in disbelief and Mag seized his collar. He whimpered.

  “Stay out of this,” she hissed. “That’s an order, not a request.”

  He seemed to shrink as he nodded, face pale, shoulders drooping. Mag found a maid and paid her generously from her dwindling purse to watch and stay with Lio. Of course, if Lio wanted to use his gift to dismiss the maid, he could. But Mag judged by the stark fear in his face that he’d respect her wishes.

  She crammed a handful of nuts into her mouth on the way out the door. From there, she had five minutes before her first client conference.

  I’ll speak frankly,” Nasheed said as Mag joined him and his advisers at their courtyard table. Machinery groaned above them as the Alikesh unrolled its roofcap to prepare for the storm. Dust thickened the air and purple streaks were darkening overhead.

  Mag coughed to clear her lungs and accepted Nasheed’s offered bread and dipping spices.

  Nasheed said, “Rinwahl is a bully with no creativity who can’t even control his own sons.”

  She smiled crisply. “Mudslinging only hampers resolution. Contrary to logic as this may seem, now’s your time to make Mr. Rinwahl a unilateral offer.”

  Nasheed snorted. “And why would I want to do that?”

  “It’s your best chance of getting an offer from him.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then straightened. Counselor Dijab readied her writing pad.

  “Your vendors and product sales are his main point of contention,” Mag said. “You might focus there.”

  As she stood to leave, Nasheed said. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I strive to guide and facilitate, Mr. Nasheed. You have some very intelligent aides to advise you.”

  As she turned to go, Counselor Greensword flashed her an approving smile.

  Mag had purposefully given Rinwahl the later time slot. Despite Nasheed’s turbulent emotions during the negotiation, she judged Rinwahl as the man who needed more time to cool off. He was on the rooftop veranda, smoking a cigar over the remains of his lunch while his sons sat in tense silence. The roofcap above bore an artful projection of a clear blue sky over far mountains.

  When Mag suggested Rinwahl make Nasheed an offer, he balked in similar fashion.

  “He’s not getting any more land.”

  “Territory isn’t his objective,” she reminded. “He takes issue with your new weapons and the increased violence.”

  “Removing my people’s protection would only invite more problems.”

  Both Isma and Ush seemed ready with comments, but Rinwahl only glanced at Ush and shook his head. He ignored Isma completely.

  “If I may have a word,” Mag said suddenly.

  It was an impulse, but she felt confident as she led Rinwahl to the balcony railing. He dangled his cigar over the open air and watched the hazy trail. The wind had dropped to dead calm. The storm was poised and ready.

  She shivered, pushed the thought away, and lit her own cig in the silence. She said, “This is the truth: you’ll poison your future more quickly by choosing favorites between your sons than you’ll ever lose to granting Nasheed a few concessions.”

  Rinwahl pulled his cigar from his mouth, wordless. She left him still frowning.

  Unbiased empathy was the mediator’s best and most delicate tool. Mag took a minute to refresh herself in one of the Alikesh’s powder rooms, prayed for the eighth time that Lio would stay put, then strode into the conference room with a show of confident optimism.

  Nasheed seemed relaxed. He was smiling his trademark grin again. Rinwahl sat with a son on each side, all three men had their heads held high. He nodded to Mag and she knew he’d spoken to Ush and Isma.

  This was the moment in the endgame when Mag compelled herself to truly love her clients, to feel Rinwahl’s anger at Nasheed’s affront, to grieve with Nasheed for lives needlessly lost. She became a genuine advocate for both men, esteeming them as people with histories and souls. Mag summoned her own grief for Nika’s death as she met Nasheed’s eye. “You lost a good friend to an early death, and yet you’re here for peace. This takes courage.”

  He nodded and looked down quickly.

  Next, Mag summoned the gnawing betrayal of the day Nika announced she didn’t need Mag in her life anymore. She met Rinwahl’s gaze and said, “You’ve endured a broken contract and the shame of family disloyalty, yet you’ve chosen to hear out your opponent. This reveals honor.”

  Rinwahl frowned and rubbed his knuckles, but Mag knew she’d hit her mark.

  The therma-pin remained blessedly silent as she continued. “A successful negotiation is a dance of give and take. You’ll likely compromise more than you planned. Now is the time to make a request and, perhaps, an offer.”

  The chandeliers flickered.

  “Consider that a warning to work quickly,” she added dryly.

  Nasheed began immediately. “My northern sales are a point of contention. Some instances of resale will remain beyond my full control; however, I’m offering today to relocate my three main duja distribution centers an additional ten miles south of the Hebra, which will decrease the proximity issue. In addition, I’ll impose a fine of five hundred crescents for vendors I catch selling product across the river. I ask that you replace the scatterblitzes with something less destructive which will still give your people the protection they deserve.” After a pause, Nasheed added, “I can’t stop the migration of customers coming south, but I can offer you my consultation services for improving your product’s marketability.�
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  That last bit was a cheeky move, but Rinwahl didn’t seem to mind.

  Rinwahl said, “I can’t confiscate the scatterblitzes. It would make my people feel vulnerable. I can, however, mandate training and make a selective protocol for who is permitted to carry such arms with severe consequences for breaking the protocol. I will set strict terms of engagement for weapons. In addition, I request a cessation of all marketing campaigns aimed at customers in the North.” He leveled a glare at Nasheed. “You know the ones I mean.”

  Nasheed grinned.

  Rinwahl added, “I’m pleased to hear you’ve already considered stricter guidelines for your vendors’ sales. I wouldn’t want more accidents to befall those who venture beyond our defined trade zones.”

  Without skipping a beat, Nasheed returned, “And I’d hate for another bad batch of duja to destroy your customers’ trust in you. I doubt you could afford that right now.”

  There. Both men had made their thinly veiled threats as means of insurance. Not the brightest outlook, but they had an understanding.

  “All right,” Mag said. “I’ve written the offers and demands on the board. We’ll finesse the wording until we reach something acceptable to everyone.”

  As she lifted her pen, distant thunder rumbled. The negotiation’s worst might have passed, but not the storm’s. Her mind returned to its rattling question.

  What am I going to do with you, Lio?

  Less than an hour later, the agreement was being sent to print. Mag watched Nasheed cross to Rinwahl’s table to shake hands with him and his sons.

  It wasn’t warmth that passed between the two factions; it was a fragile bridge. But it was enough.

  Rinwahl had offered to personally make restitution to Brussin Seff’s family and this small gesture had sped the negotiation’s completion.

  Once the document was officially signed on both paper and dig-sig pads, Mag set the therma-pin on the tabletop and addressed the room.

  “Congratulations. You have managed to stop tearing down and to start building up. This is how great nations are built. You should feel very proud.”

  A murmur of assent swept the tables. Then the moment broke and Rinwahl approached Mag. “You’ve addressed not just the problems at hand but given me a new mirror to examine myself as both leader and father.” He smiled, and Mag sensed the rarity of it. “Wisdom has bloomed today. May the Eye show mercy and success on your future work.”

  She bowed.

  Nasheed caught her in a firm handshake as she turned. “You’re at the top of my list now, though let’s hope I don’t have to hire you again anytime soon!” He laughed loudly.

  After one more round of gracious farewells, she ducked out and headed for the elevator, forcing herself not to run.

  Mag needed no warning against forming an emotional attachment to a simpath; the foreboding pulsed like poison in her blood. The kid might well have used his sway on her during the entire trip to Ellawi, but in this hallway he couldn’t see and therefore couldn’t sway her, yet Mag’s determination to shelter him remained.

  To her surprise, she found Lio sitting on the hotel room floor playing a game of tallit with the maid. She rushed to hug him wordlessly, then paid the maid and locked the door.

  “Pack your things,” she whispered. “The storm’s almost here.”

  Lio’s stare indicated his need for explanation.

  His words echoed in her mind. Help me to learn who I do …

  She said, “Thank you for trying to protect me. I realize now that when you asked to ‘learn’ you meant simpath training. I don’t know where to start, but I’ll try to help you. For now, I have to get us someplace safe.”

  He nodded.

  Thunder clapped overhead, and the clouds burst. Too late for safe.

  Mag hastily double-checked the new numbers in her account, then pulled up the address of the bunker she’d researched the day before. Though she might have squatted for a time in the Alikesh foyer, she knew the hotel would have found a way to charge her beyond her means, and Lio wasn’t safe in a crowd. They needed a bunker’s isolation.

  As they left the lobby, Mag grabbed a gilded mirror off a wall and hoisted it above her head, muttering to Lio, “The things I do for you already.”

  The bunker was two blocks away. The acid rain wasn’t pounding yet, but slanting lines in the purple haze were racing toward them.

  Lio pushed the Firebrand and Mag shielded them with the mirror. Lio froze the first time she screamed. The acid was eating her hands.

  She cursed at him. “Don’t stop till you reach that blue door!”

  She wasn’t sure she had more than bones left on her fingers, and her shoulder blades flamed where her jacket had melted away, but they made it.

  The place smelled of bleach and scrubbed steel. She wrapped her bleeding hands in bandages given to her by the bunker’s proprietor, parked the Firebrand along the back wall of their private room, wiped the bike down, checked the fluids, then arranged echo tin, snoop, gun, some ration food packs, and Lio’s bracelet on a wall-ledge. She eyed the window. She’d paid extra for the slit of green glass, but now she wished she hadn’t.

  Lio strained on tiptoe, trying to improve his view of the outside. He must have never seen the stormwall, but surely he’d heard the stories? Mag had spoken to a few storm survivors. Sometimes the rain melted flesh, sometimes it melted the mind. The Alikesh had its retractable roofcap, but most Ellawi citizens couldn’t afford such things.

  Well, there was no hiding it from Lio. They’d be stuck watching this for two weeks.

  Bruise-purple clouds were throbbing above them. Mag put a bandaged hand on Lio’s shoulder and was surprised by the dullness of her pain. She’d savor the effects of shock and adrenaline while they lasted.

  First came the hissing acid pellets, sizzling semisolids at the storm’s head. Then the small fires as a few pellets found wood. A minute later, glass cracked somewhere beyond. With the glass broken, the storm whipped into homes. Then the screams.

  After an awful minute, Lio touched Mag’s arm.

  She said, “Want me to set up something on the echo tin?”

  He nodded.

  They retreated together into the Milyan courtyard. Lio curled around his helmet and shut his eyes while Mag thought of the storm she’d escaped only to hole up with a different kind of peril.

  Lio needed training. The kid created his own kind of luck, but untrained luck like his was a hazard to anyone near him and a magnet for power players. She couldn’t just turn him loose when the storm was over, could she?

  Mag forced herself into the present. At least this room kept Lio safe for now. Folk hatred for simpaths and the black-market value of young ones were bleak realities. Two weeks without a cig. Best not to think about that, either.

  She slipped out of the projection and stood again at the window. The bunker’s proprietor had warned her that the grid shut off for the first few hours of storm, and that after the stormwall passed, the first electric light outside became a sign of hope.

  Wails and roars thudded dully against the bunker walls.

  Even in this short string of days, Lio could betray her. He could twist her mind against itself and bolt, leaving her with nothing. Simpaths were famous for that. All her charity, all the risks she’d taken for him, could still end in curses and suffering. Yet the kid had tried to save her life when he’d thought it endangered.

  Mag leaned her forehead on the glass. She always took more chances than was wise. It was her nature. Some risks were worth it.

  Sometime later, Lio leaned against her side. He was cradling his helmet on his chest.

  “Look,” Mag whispered, pointing.

  High above, strung between two crumbling apartment towers, a single line of white lights glowed bravely, like stars.

  The First Warden

  wr
itten by

  Kai Wolden

  illustrated by

  ALEXANDER GUSTAFSON

  * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kai Wolden is a writer, editor, and fantasy fanatic from Northern Wisconsin. Home-schooled as a child, Kai started reading at an early age and writing not long afterward. Kai aspired to be an author at age ten and completed their first novel at age twenty-two.

  Kai has a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and writing from the University of Wisconsin-Superior, where they graduated cum laude in 2015. Kai has three short fiction publications in the literary journals Red Fez and The Nemadji Review, and is a two-time winner of the UWS Women’s and Gender Studies Essay Competition. Kai is also an alumnus of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society.

  Among Kai’s (many) inspirations are the works of Anne Rice, N. K. Jemisin, Garth Nix, and the great Ursula K. Le Guin. Kai’s other interests include cosplay, Dungeons & Dragons, and traveling everywhere possible. Kai lives in the Twin Cities, Minnesota, with their partner and spoiled cat, Clawdia. www.facebook.com/kaiwolden

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Alexander Gustafson is an illustrator, concept artist, and maquette sculptor. Growing up in the icy mountains of Vermont, he enjoyed drawing, telling stories, and playing Dungeons & Dragons to ward off the cold. He also spent hours in those formative years admiring the works of modern masters like Todd Lockwood, Chris Van Allsburg, James Gurney, and Brom. All of this eventually compelled him to seek out a career in fantasy illustration, where he has the freedom to create worlds and tell stories with pictures. He graduated from Savannah College of Art and Design in 2008 with a master’s degree in illustration, and continues to pursue his passion for fantasy, sci-fi, and steampunk art. www.illustratedpixels.com

  The First Warden

  When I was very young, a sickness struck—the sort that spreads like fire, consuming everyone it touches. I remember terrible heat, terrible cold, a drifting sensation, and something I can only describe as bliss. It would not have been a bad death. It would have been an ordinary one, and I have never felt the disdain some feel for the ordinary.