The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I scanned the titles, not recognizing many, but finding some most familiar, although I’d never seen some of the work in actual printed form — The Search for Genetic Perfection, Medical Desk Reference, The Waste Land and Other Poems, Drowning Ophelia, The Lost Poems of W. B. Yeats, Dreams of Gravity, Federal Union History Desk Reference, The Suppressed Smith Doctrines, The Brigham Papers, Nano-Pharmaceuticals and How to Use Them, The Collected Plays of W. Shakespeare. The variety was amazing, and I certainly didn’t understand the cataloguing or shelving procedure used.

  “Looking for something?” asked a heavyset gray-haired man — one of the few I’d ever seen. He smiled politely. Instead of the sin-glesuit that was the usual garb in most of the FU, he wore old-style black trousers with a white silk blouse, and a black vest hand-embroidered with green and red thread in designs I didn’t recognize.

  “More like … just looking,” I confessed. “I’ve seldom seen so many actual physical books in one place. It’s impressive.”

  “Syd’s got a better selection, but she’s the only one, and it’s a good thirty kilometers out there.”

  “Out there?” I asked reflexively.

  “Cotwood — it’s not that far, not for a glider. You are the one who just parked across the way, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any particular reason you came to see us netless wonders?” His eyes twinkled, and the corners of his lips turned up.

  “Just traveling.”

  “Must be pretty well off — doing it by glider.”

  I shrugged. “I saved for twenty years. Interstellar pilot. Retired, and decided I wanted to see some things.”

  “Sem Thorgel. Pleased to meet you.”

  From Thorgel’s statement and muscularly relaxation, while he might not have a net system, he clearly had nanites and internal augmentation to read my reactions so quickly.

  “Daryn … Alwyn” My answer was slightly hesitant.

  “We’re not against technology. We just take the best. No reason to accept the worst.”

  I nodded, gesturing to the books. “How did you get them printed?”

  “Outfit up north, near Cherkrik, called Netless Binders, they do a good business running off small print runs. Even do a single copy. Course … that costs more.” He gestured toward the shelves. “These are the ones I sell a few of every year. Some … I sell a couple of copies every month.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought …”

  “They say the netless community in Durngo buys more, but not many, and they’re twice our size.”

  I hadn’t been sure what a netless community would be like. Under the privacy laws of the Federal Union, if more than ninety-five percent of the residents of an area petitioned to have the area removed from the universal surveillance provided by the skytors, and the FU determined that all the petitioners had affirmed it from their own free will, then all skytors, net repeaters, GPS, and safety surveillance systems were removed. Biennial secret ballots with a ninety percent majority of adults were required to maintain that status.

  Anyone could visit a netless community, but the only VRs permitted were those taken at a distance, or those taken with the permission of all those individuals who appeared in the VR. I understood the penalty for violation involved community service on behalf of those violated, some time in an FU public works project, and up to a twenty percent asset forfeiture. The work requirements kept individuals from violating the requirements and the asset forfeiture kept the nets and system providers like UniComm from intruding.

  He smiled. “We’re not uneducated, friend. We just prefer to be informed and educated on our terms. About half our kids come back, and that’s just fine.”

  I nodded again, not quite sure of what to say.

  He gestured toward the rows of shelves. “You can find all these titles in any net library. Heck … you could have any of them printed if you wanted. But most people outside the netless areas don’t even read them on the net. Know why?”

  “Most people don’t read — bound books or off the net.” That, I did know.

  “How would those who wanted to read even find them?” Thorgel asked. “With millions of volumes at one’s beck and call, how do most people decide what to read? Who do you trust to recommend a good book? Have you ever seen a VR or netsys recommending a book?”

  I smiled wryly. “I haven’t been around any commercial nets for a long time.”

  “And when you were?”

  With a shrug, I admitted, “I never did see a book recommended.”

  “And if they did find them, how would they find time to do read them? With someone’s image appearing in your home every few minutes? With an employer’s projects? Or,” Thorgel pushed on, “how long would they stick to reading anything? For most folk outside of the netless, reading’s work.” He paused. “Do you read?”

  “I’ve read a lot, especially in the last few years.”

  “Any of these?” He gestured toward the shelf.

  “Some of them.”

  “How many?”

  “I haven’t looked at all of them, but maybe fifty in this section.”

  Thorgel laughed. “You ought to stay in Cydonya. You won’t, but you should.”

  “I probably won’t.” I admitted.

  “You’ll miss it, and you won’t ever know why.” He shook his head. “You can always come back. You won’t, but you could.”

  He was probably right about that, too, I thought as I walked back outside, and then across the stone lane to the glider park where a youngster, perhaps twelve, was looking at the glider.

  He stepped back, looking at me solemnly, before asking, “That’s a Tija fifteen, isn’t it, ser?”

  “Yes.”

  “With complete solar links?” I nodded, holding back a grin.

  “Told Dad they were the best. I’m going to get one someday.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Silvered silver gives the best energy return.”

  “It probably does,” I said, “but I always liked the green tint to the silver.”

  “Best I be going, ser.” He inclined his head and walked back toward the General Store.

  As I link-unlocked the glider and slid inside, I wondered if he were related to Sem Thorgel.

  Later, after securing a place in the only hotel in Cydonya, I took the glider back to the hill on the west side of town, and in the silvered light of a near full moon, took out the scancam and panned the town below once more.

  Then I took out the recording pen and clipped it to the front of my dark green singlesuit and began to speak, hoping the words would come, but knowing I could always edit them later, if I could but capture the feelings that Cydonya raised in me.

  When people think of the netless, they think of towns and enclaves like Cydonya, places where there are blank spaces on the netmaps, places where a newsie must obtain written permission to VR any person, individual dwelling, or place of business. Yet, as you can see, in daylight, in moonlight, from just outside the town, Cydonya looks almost like any other town, except for a few more eccentric looking structures.

  It is not like other towns. There is a general store, as in many smaller towns. It uses nanite replication equipment, just as in other places. But there is a long shelf of books, almost a small library — and these books are purchased. They are kept and read, and re-read. If the people in Cydonya wish to learn the news, they must have it hard-printed from terminals elsewhere and have the reports physically shipped into the town.…

  I paused. What else could I say?

  After a time, I put away the recording pen, and re-entered the glider to head back to my rented room … to think, perhaps to sleep.

  * * *

  Chapter 44

  Raven: Tyanjin, Central Sinoplex, 459 N.E.

  * * *

  Getting to Tyanjin required a transfer to a local at Byjin, and I was glad for the translation nanites. Although the station announcements were in standard, the words swirling arou
nd me once I left the transcontinental platform were definitely not. Beyond the outbound barrier, the platform was more crowded than any in Noram, yet no one actually touched anyone, although with the bustle and scurry, I wasn’t quite sure how there were no collisions. The arched ceilings were just as high as in Westi, but the arches seemed somehow … more Sinoptic.

  Since I was well underground, I found a pubcomm, where I could link with my belt gatekeeper and tried Majora. Her sim came on — just my luck — and began to speak. “Since I’m not here …”

  “Majora … this is Daryn.” I paused.

  The sim’s voice damped out. “I’m here,” her voice came across clearly. “Your timing is not wonderful. I was in the shower.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “You had a chance .…”

  I had, years before, when Mother had first introduced us, but I couldn’t change what had been. “I was stupid.”

  There was a brief silence, before she said quickly. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “All right. I have to catch a local. Please be careful.”

  “I will, but you’re the one who needs to be careful.”

  I just stood there in the link booth for a moment after I broke the connection, then hurried to the local platform.

  Once in Tyanjin, I did find a glidertaxi, and the driver — or his dashplot — knew the address. I watched carefully as he slid through traffic that was mostly magscooters leavened with a handful of electrobuses. We only passed two or three private gliders before he came to a stop beside an open gate.

  “Ser … you must walk … that way. Eleven credits, if you please.” His standard was heavily accented, but clear enough.

  “Thank you.” I left him with fifteen and got out, still carrying the small bag.

  Through the arched and open gate was a semi-restricted community, one where outsiders had to walk from the front gate to the dwellings within, although the residents probably had hidden underground access from the tubes.

  The day was cold, and misty rain sifted from the gray clouds overhead. I hadn’t even brought an overjacket, but the nanite body screen kept the moisture off me, and helped with the warmth. I walked along the common path, then turned, coming to a stone stoop and a door with the number five and a symbol. The dwelling was a very small cottage, with a second wall extending from the sides, presumably surrounding a courtyard or garden. I couldn’t help licking my lips as I walked up to the door. I did remember to check the body-screen once more before I touched the greeting bell stud.

  The outer door was clear armaglass. The inner door was black as ebony. It opened, and a woman stood there. Not Elysa, not as I had known her, but the woman whose holo image had appeared at Majora’s cottage. She wore a brownish smock over dark gray trousers.

  Was she Elysa? Or had she been Elysa? Her profile was similar, if not identical, but her skin was several shades darker, and her hair was black and held back in combs, over which flowed curly ringlets. Yet … there was something.… Elysa had worn combs, if not so elaborate as the silvered ones that this woman wore.

  She said something, in Sinese, I guessed, and after a moment, I got the translation. “Yes?” Her voice was closer to what I recalled, if slightly huskier.

  I bowed and spoke, hoping I was right — or that at least she either understood standard or had a translation protocol. “My name is Daryn Alwyn. I’m looking for an Elysa Al-Nafir.” I smiled faintly. “I think that might be you.”

  “I am Elysa Al-Nafir.” This time the words were in standard, if muffled by the armaglass between us. She frowned, as if puzzled. “Should I know you?”

  “You should.”

  “I cannot say that I do.”

  “I’m sure you can’t.” I laughed. “It took a while to find you, and I’d like to know why. That and a few other things.”

  “You must be mistaken, ser.”

  I could sense both the unease and the lie, even through the armaglass barrier between us.

  “I’m not.” I tried to smile gently. “There have been four attempts of some sort on my life, and I still don’t know why. You should be able to give me some insight, since yours was the first.”

  “Do you really wish to continue this fiction?” Her face was impassive, but her emotions were not.

  “I almost wish it were a fiction,” I admitted. “But you didn’t have to leave the hints.”

  “Hints?” She appeared puzzled. “You must have someone else in mind.”

  “Mujaz-Kitab … the medical references. You could have called yourself Meryl or Meryssa Gonsalves or Casteneda, or any one of a dozen different names. I couldn’t possibly have tracked you then. And I’m sure you have another name, the one you work under. So this one is for me.”

  Another silence ensued before she spoke.

  “You might as well come in, Daryn.” A slow smile crossed her face, almost regretful.

  The armaglass slid open. Elysa stepped back, and I slipped inside, senses and scanners alert for anything. But the foyer and the room beyond contained neither people nor scanners — and only minimal environmental management systems in place. To my right, as I stepped through the foyer, were a set of armaglass sliding doors — closed — looking out over a type of garden I had never seen before. Shimmering ebony rocks, waist-high and polished so that they would have looked like water flowed across their surface even without the mist, rose from a green substance that seemed neither grass nor moss, but holding characteristics of each. Two small cedars — bonzai — grew forward of the rocks.

  The double doors clunked shut behind me, and Elysa pointed toward the pair of chairs that flanked an ebony table. “Why don’t you sit down? It’s been a long trip, I’m sure.”

  “If you’ll join me.” I gestured to the other chair as I set down my bag. The room was furnished as sparely as the garden, and like my father’s office, was without wall hangings.

  She slipped into the other chair gracefully, and the brown eyes, the eyes that seemed to be the only coloration that was not somehow different from the woman I had met at Kharl’s, fixed on me. I swallowed as I smelled the scent, not quite like roses, that I also recalled.

  “I have some questions for you.” She tilted her head sideways, a gesture that somehow belonged to someone older. “Why did you come here? And why did you wait so long?”

  “I waited because I didn’t have any choice. When I went to the stonesmith to track you down …”

  That brought a frown, and a look of puzzlement, not counterfeited.

  “The combs,” I explained. “They were unique. They were the only things that seemed at all factual. I traced down the man who made them, but someone dropped a wall on me, and I spent two months in the medcenter getting rebuilt. Almost as soon as I could move around after getting released, I went back to the search. He only knew your first name, but that confirmed part of it, and then I tried to track down all the women with that name. There are over two thousand Elysas in the world.”

  “So much for uniqueness,” she murmured with a smile.

  “Then … after I found that out, someone sent a monoclone carrying a monofilament knife and primed with a cellular explosive after me.” I stared at her, although it was hard because she was as determined as I was, and didn’t even blink. “Why? Why did you dump those nanites on me, and who is trying to kill me? And why? You have to know some of the answers.”

  “You didn’t receive any messages from … shall we say … old acquaintances?” she asked.

  “Old acquaintances?” Was she referring to Eldyn? “Such as?”

  She smiled sadly. “I’m not surprised, the way matters have developed.”

  “What old acquaintances?” I decided to be persistent.

  “Such as a schoolmate … you saw him at the reception.”

  “I saw several.”

  “Eldyn.” The name was offered not quite reluctantly.

  “Eldyn? I can’t reach him. All my codes …” I stopped and watched her face.
r />   “That is not surprising. I think I can help there.” She paused, but not enough for me to ask how, not without running over her words. “You never answered why you came searching for me, since no one suggested it.”

  “You’re not exactly answering my questions,” I pointed out.

  “That is true. Answer my last question, and I’ll help you find your answers.”

  I wondered about her wording, but I couldn’t exactly force her to come up with answers when I didn’t know enough to ask intelligent questions. “To find answers.”

  She shook her head. “Are you sure?”

  I spread my hands. “I’m not sure of anything — except that I’m in the middle of something a great deal larger than I am, without the slightest idea why.”

  “Without the slightest idea why?” Elysa emphasized the word “slightest” with the gentlest of ironic twists.

  I laughed. “I have more than enough speculations. It’s becoming clear that I’m an obstacle in someone’s efforts to gain power, and possibly control of UniComm or more, but I don’t have the faintest idea why all this is happening.”

  “Why don’t you have a drink while I pull on some clothes more suited to a short trip. Would you prefer Grey tea or verdyn?”

  I nodded. She had definitely been briefed on my habits. “The Grey tea.” My body wasn’t even sure what time of day it was.

  She slipped out of the chair and headed toward the kitchen-like corner of the single large room. I had the feeling that her quarters were little more than two rooms and a bath/fresher, with the small courtyard garden to my left.

  “What matters?” I asked, picking up on her earlier observation. “What matters have developed?”

  “Have you watched the news in the last few hours?” she replied without turning.

  “No. Between catching one tube train and another, and then trying to find your house …”

  She slipped the tea and a steaming danish on a blue and white porcelain plate onto the woven blue mat on the table beside me. “The danish is just a standard replicator dish. I doubt you’d like most of what else is programmed there.”