He thought of Spinard. "They can do it without clocks."
"What?"
"Nothing. Well, how are we going to find him? Does the GFL have any contacts in Blake?" Maid Kris looked at Masters as if to say of course no one had agents planted in Word of Blake or ComStar. "Sorry," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"We'll find him somehow. You'll contact Thomas. We'll see what happens." She said the last with a kind of sarcasm.
"You still don't believe me."
"No. Of course not."
"Fair enough."
"Do you really want Gibson to go back to Regulus?" he asked after a short pause. He still didn't know how all the players fit together, and wanted more information.
"No," she said softly. Then, her voice cut with an edge, "But we had to do something. Countess Dystar ignored all our pleas after Hsiang came to power. We now know why, of course. It took us months after Hsiang took office to realize what was happening."
Masters shook his head. "I can't believe we didn't know."
They traveled on in silence for a long while, being bustled along by the many people on their way to work. The streets had quickly filled with traffic, and a tremendous cacophony built up as the city came awake.
"How did you get the Regulans to back you?"
"They're not here in any official capacity. Only MechWarriors sponsored by 'private backers' out of the Principality of Regulus."
"After all the bad blood between your people and Regulus, that was your only option?"
She sighed. "Some of us hate the idea. But many of our people at the top were courted by the Regulans. And they've been made promises of power." She bit her lip.
"So there's dissent within the ranks of the GFL, too."
"Why is it that everyone accepts a complicated spectrum of political views in their own government, but are surprised when other people aren't uniform and single-minded?" she said angrily. "Of course there's dissent!"
"I don't know why people do that," he said calmly. "But let me point out that you have based all your assumptions about Thomas Marik and me on Countess Dystar because she swore fealty to him, assuming we were all playing the same game. Now, I take it you want peace. What I want to do is break down the walls and find the compromise we need—"
"No compromises. Word of Blake leaves."
He shook his head. "That's impossible. First, because my liege has promised Word of Blake a home here, and he cannot renege. And that is that. Second, though Blake has provided a focus for the conflict, a flag for the GFL to rally around, your people's real problems are the countess and Hsiang. Correct? So even if Blake goes, nothing has changed. The war will settle down most likely, but you'll still be ruled by greedy, unjust people who manipulate the truth. Right?"
"Yes."
"So we've got to deal with that as well."
"Why do you care about that? It has no effect on you."
"You're wrong, though I can understand why you might think that. This world is owned by Thomas Marik. I am sworn to protect all the property of my liege. I serve Thomas Marik's vision, and his vision does not allow for the kind of duplicity that your people have suffered."
"This sounds too easy."
"The words are easy because we know how we should behave. It's doing that is difficult. But I'll give it a try."
"And how do you propose to make all this happen?"
"You forget—I am a Knight of the Inner Sphere. I have dozens of friends with very big BattleMechs."
20
Portent, Gibson
Principality of Gibson, Free Worlds League
27 February 3055
By the time Masters and Maid Kris reached the Old Wall that night, his legs ached. "This way," she said, leading him to a rusted door at the base of the Old Wall. A dark passage waited beyond.
"The lights don't work anymore, but it runs straight through." She stepped into the darkness, running her hand lightly against the wall as she began to walk forward. Masters followed. Rust caked the wall, flaking off as he ran his fingertips along the old metal.
After a long time in darkness they stepped out of the tunnel into the Old City, its high walls illuminated by the bright lights of the city. Weeks ago the Old Walls seemed to huddle around the buildings like a mother's protective arms making it a safe place. Now Masters thought those same walls looked cold and heavy and stifling.
"Come," Maid Kris said. "Weil go see a friend of mine. He might have an idea of where they've taken Precentor Blane."
"GFL?"
"Yes."
"I'll just wait here, if you don't mind. Or better, in the park, the north park in front of the palace."
"You don't trust me?"
He smiled, repeating her words. "Of course not." Then he said seriously, "Right now we don't trust each other, but it seems we're both willing to play out the plot to see if the other's going to betray us. I'll wait for you in the park. When you get there, just wander around a bit. I'll find you."
"All right." She looked at him curiously. "You're rather cagey for a noble knight."
"I'm learning."
* * *
Masters walked to the park, where he decided to hide in a tree until Maid Kris' return. He wandered through the area, which was lit with glowing white spheres mounted on posts, until he came to a tree that seemed suitable. He jumped up to the lowest branch and swung his legs up around it. Though his arm still ached, it was nothing compared to the pain of nearly three weeks ago. He pulled himself up onto the branch, then stood, reaching for the next one overhead. This maneuver was easier than the last, for there were many branches available at this height. Soon he was ten meters in the air, looking down at the benches and lamps of the park and out across to the towers of the Old City.
He was breathing fast, for the climb had tired him out completely after the day's walk. But Masters was also exhilarated. How long had it been since he'd climbed a tree? The last time had to be at least twenty-five years ago when he was still in his teens. Maybe longer, for the last memory of climbing a tree was when he was no more than eight or nine. Climbing a 'Mech ladder, an activity so common in his life, did not count; the feel of it was simply not the same. Rungs made the whole effort manageable, while a tree was a bit of puzzle. The path up had to be discovered anew for every tree, and perhaps for each climb. As a child got older, as his limbs and strength grew, the same tree would yield different possibilities, as branches once out of reach now became accessible.
It was easy, he realized, to forget about all that when climbing up a 'Mech. The ease, the repetition—one could get lazy. One could become . . . what? A machine?
Like Spinard?
Yes. Both a person and a machine, doing the same thing over and over again without thought.
The bark, rough and irregular, felt wonderful against his hands. It reminded him of diagrams he'd seen of the human brain, a gray mass with folded layers.
The brain. A secret had just revealed itself, but like the knots back at the GFL base, he could only touch it, not see it whole. It had something to do with what he sought for himself and other MechWarriors. It wasn't a matter of simply saying technology was bad. Society now rested upon technology. Starflight, shelter, BattleMechs themselves all depended upon science and machinery, and Masters would give up none of them. Humanity was a tool-user. Nature wanted men and women to build, and build humanity would.
No, there was something else. What was it he and Thomas wanted to hang on to?
The idea of humanity as the tool-user stuck in his mind. It was incomplete, didn't take into account the complexity of people. Chimpanzees used sticks to dig ants out of the ground. He'd also heard of animals, perhaps extinct now, that actually gathered small pieces of wood to damn up streams, altering the environment to their needs. Many animals used tools. So what was it about people . . .?
He thought of Le Morte d'Arthur. That was it. People made up words and strung them together to discuss things that sometimes did not exist. He could r
ead a story about an England that had vanished two thousand years ago, an England that had never actually existed, for Malory's tales were not truth. They were ideals.
A chimpanzee could only work with what existed, but humans could strive to shape reality itself.
Humanity wasn't a tool-user, but a symbolmonger. King Arthur. Merlin. Lancelot. All of them ideals for people to hold in mind, to help stave off the despair technology could bring, but didn't have to. What Thomas wanted to save was nothing less than humanity's humanity.
Movement on a path below caught his attention, and he saw Maid Kris, now changed into a rather chic jumpsuit. He looked around to see if anyone was following her. Seeing that apparently no one had, Masters made his way down the branches of the tree to the ground.
* * *
While he was working his way down, Maid Kris spotted him. "Having fun?" she said, as he touched the ground.
"I was thinking."
"Do all your thoughts require such a lofty perch?"
"I was thinking about words and stories." He felt like he'd been handed the key to something, but he had no idea what it unlocked. Stories, stories, stories. Thomas had said, back in his study, something about stories. "I don't think you understand yet," Thomas had told him, "but you will."
"You all right?"
"Yes." He looked at her, used her presence to focus on the moment at hand. She had not only changed, but cleaned up. Her dark, smooth skin made his own flesh become warm. "You look beautiful."
"Often. But I believe there's an imprisoned Precentor at hand."
"Did you find out where he is?"
"He's supposed to be in a cell in the Word of Blake building at the edge of the city. Their offices are apparently as heavily guarded as the hyperpulse generator station."
"So there's no way ..."
"The two of us? No. Even if we got him out, we'd still have to get to the station, defeat that security nightmare. ... I don't see how to do it."
"In this case fighting may not be the best means."
"What do you suggest?"
"Guns would be rather repetitious at this point anyway," he said, thinking out loud. "A straight-out fight, at least."
"What?"
He looked back at her. "What would make the better story?"
"Excuse me?" Concern filled her face, and she looked around, as if he were toying with her now, had led her into an ambush about to be sprung.
Masters stepped away from her, a delighted grin spreading across his face. He raised his arms high, and turned about once, a showman about to introduce a lion tamer. "What would make the best story? What would be something for us to tell our children?"
"I don't have children."
"You might someday."
"What in the name of Allah are you talking about?" Masters laughed. "If we try to shoot our way through the mess, we'll die. Correct?"
"Most likely."
"All right then. Bad story. So we need something better, right?"
"I'm sorry. . . ."
"There are many greedy, selfish people in this city,
Maid Kris, bound together by their hunger for power. But are they a unit? Are Hsiang, Starling, and the countess whole?"
"No."
"You," he said, and pointed at her, a magician picking someone from the audience. "As a native of this world, who do you think is the strongest of the three?"
"Each one is as worthless as the last."
"Please try to answer the question. Who is the strongest."
"What are you talking about?"
"For the children, the children we might all have. Specifics."
"It's a toss-up," she said quickly,"Three factions, none of them complete. They've worked together so far. . . ."
"So their strength comes from cooperation?"
"Of course their strength comes from cooperation. Have you seen nothing since you got here?" She threw up her hands, about to storm off, when her eyes widened with understanding.
Masters smiled. "But what if we forced them against one another?"
"Yes," she said softly. "Yes. This has never come up before."
"The situation was never so volatile. There must be True Believers still loyal to Precentor Blane who did not like sitting and watching his rival seize power. Meanwhile, I, a favorite of Thomas Marik, am being hunted by all three powers, each for their own reasons. And Blane is a friend of Thomas' as well. Meanwhile, Regulus has just shipped BattleMechs, probably at a high cost to the GFL leadership. Most people in the GFL probably don't want to trade one oppressor for another. The cracks in the alliance are getting deeper now. We might be able to use that to our advantage."
She took a step toward him, her voice warm and pleased. "Do you have a plan?"
"It's forming. Tell me, does the GFL have a plan for an uprising in Portent?"
"Yes, we prepared it—"
He raised his hand. "Don't use it. I will not allow it."
"But . . ."
"No buts. I'm perfectly willing to let the vultures on this planet chew on one another, but I will not allow the city to destroy itself in a guerrilla uprising. It's not only to bring about peace that I came here. I'm also here to bring Thomas's vision to light. Civilians blasting away at each other in the streets is anathema to everything Thomas Marik stands for. We'll come up with something, and it will make a lovely tale."
"Who do we go to first?"
"Whoever is most filled with fear."
* * *
"I have an urgent message from Countess Dystar," Maid Kris said to the guard at Principal Hsiang's palace gate.
"Who's this?" asked the guard.
"My escort, to keep me safe at this late hour."
"Well, I can let you in. But he stays here. You'll be safe in the grounds."
"Do you really think so? I'd much prefer to have him with me."
"Have you a pass for him?"
"Well, no."
"Then I'm afraid he cannot enter."
Masters eyed the guards at the gate, and saw more guards beyond. Storming Hsiang's palace was not an option. Maid Kris could deal with Hsiang alone if she had to. It would all work out.
"Very well," she said.
"I will see you later, mistress," he said.
She walked into the palace, escorted by a guard. She would tell Hsiang that she had overheard the countess making plans with Precentor Starling to overthrow his government. As a loyal Gibsonian, she thought it her duty, of course, to tell him.
Masters sat down on the ground and waited to see if the guards would take the bait. They did. He could put his time waiting with them to good use.
"Do you know what is so important that your mistress would travel this late at night?" one of the guards asked him.
"I know very little," Masters said, his head bowed humbly under his straw hat. "But I know my mistress is very afraid."
"Afraid?"
"Have you not heard? Countess Dystar's mercenaries and the Word of Blake MechWarriors have been speaking of late."
"Speaking of what?" asked another guard.
"Enough. I have said enough."
"You've said nothing."
"That is all I should say."
One of the guards slammed Masters in the shoulder with the butt of his gun. "Speak more or you'll leave here on a stretcher."
"Sir, please. Do not force me to talk of matters that are no more than rumors."
"What rumors?"
"Whose rumors?"
"Rumors of the villagers, sir. Out in the farmlands. But we speak nonsense. It is not worthy of your time."
"We'll decide that. Speak."
Masters paused dramatically, letting them see how difficult the decision was for him. Then he said, "We have heard that the Countess' mercenaries and the Word of Blake warriors are planning to join forces."
"They already work together. What's so special about that?"
"They plan, so I have heard, and this is nothing but rumor—"
"Just say it!"
> "They want to remove Principal Hsiang, to take over the government."
Both guards fell silent for a moment, then one of them said, "What?"
"That's nonsense," said another.
"Certainly it is," said Masters.
"Word of Blake would never allow such a thing."
"Not while Precentor Blane is in charge," Masters agreed.
The guards looked at him carefully. "What do you mean?" one asked.
"Precentor Blane is a friend of the people of Gibson," Masters said in a light tone. "He has always done well by us. As long as he is charge of the immigrants, nothing can go wrong. Precentor Blane is the keystone of our world's peace." A long silence followed. "What is it, good sirs. Have I said something to disturb you?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Precentor Blane has been arrested. His assistant, Starling, has taken his place."
Masters gave out an audible gasp.
"What is it?" The guard didn't wait for Masters to reply, but kicked him in the side.
"I cannot say. It is nothing."
The other guard kicked him, too. "Speak!"
"I had heard this might happen. We had heard rumor of his arrest. It signals the coup. This is the first step. But sirs, this is—"
"Shut up. Is this what Maid Kris is telling the Principal?"
"I would assume so. I don't know."
The guards called more guards over. There were six, then eight, then twelve. They discussed the matter among themselves, ignoring Masters. They added one bit of evidence after another, details Masters could never have known, the conspiracy growing in their minds from a possibility to a concrete force against which they must defend themselves.
They talked for more than twenty minutes, but ceased when Maid Kris reappeared. Only after she had left with Masters did they resume their rumormongering once more.
* * *
"How did it go?"
"The disgusting worm tried to put his hands all over me."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"So, how did it go?"
"He's frightened out of his mind. He's convinced that if he doesn't get Blane back in office he'll be standing in front of a firing squad within twenty-four hours." She grinned broadly. "You know, this might work."
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