The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Heziran food?”

  “That and Sinese.”

  I sipped the Grey tea. “Why did you ask about the news?”

  “I’ll let you watch while I dress. Then we can talk about it while I show you the answers you thought you came for.”

  “Can’t you just tell me?”

  “They’re not that kind of answers.” She flicked something from her pocket, and an image formed on the holoscreen that appeared before me. “I won’t be long.” She slipped into the adjoining room, and the door closed.

  I scanned the room, tried to boost my hearing, but could sense and hear nothing from her room. My attention alternated between the UniComm AllNews and the room around me.

  The holo image was that of a low white building with rugged mountains behind it. I recognized neither the building nor the mountains.

  … mortality is well over thirty percent, according to medical specialists at the Mycauplex Medical Center, although in certain classes of pre-selects it appears to approach ninety … where the first cases have appeared. Federal Union health officials have offered no comment on the situation … except to stress that only a handful of cases have appeared to date, and none have so far infected norms.…

  The holo field shifted to a medcradle, with the shimmering effect of a positive pressure quarantine field blurring the image.

  … informed medical sources have also indicated that no treatment tried so far has shown any impact on the progress of the infection.…

  I blinked — another and more virulent pre-select plague?

  … student disturbances in Ankorplex turned violent today when regional educational commissioners denied petitions to preclude the use of perceptual testing … the decision resulted from an earlier determination by the Federal Union secretary director that the so-called PIAT-issue was a matter better determined by regional authorities.…

  Regional commissioners in Kievplex have not yet announced their decision.…

  … In defending his decision to delegate the issue, the secretary director had stated that a decision had to be made on a regional basis under the Federal Union. He also noted that the petitioners had failed to show defects in the test. The section of his determination that has aroused discontent worldwide was his observation that, while no test is absolutely accurate, perceptual integrative testing represents progress toward more accurate determination of student skills The secretary director …

  The screen showed a smiling blond man waving to someone.

  … has refused to make any further statements on the issue …

  The next image was that of a heavy-lidded, dark-haired norm woman, and her words accompanied her image.

  … so-called measures of intelligence which in fact are not the basis of intelligence or ability, but the result of socioeconomic bias should not be even a minor factor in allocating positions in selective institutions of higher learning Have we learned nothing from the history of the Collapse and the anarchy of the Chaos Years? Can the secretaries of the Federal Union not see that perceptual testing is merely an avenue for the pre-selects to ensure their continued affluence? …

  I couldn’t help but wince. Why wasn’t someone addressing the real issue? The whole perceptual testing question was a fool’s orbit.

  The noted academician, Suel Tomas, speaking on behalf of the Dynae Institute …

  The image flipped to a dark-skinned man whose voice was deep and resonated.

  “… this issue is not about accuracy in testing. It is not about fairness in education. It is about power. It is about how places are allocated in select academic institutions, and it is based on the assumption that those who graduate from those institutions will have a better chance of attaining affluence and power. The Dynae Institute has opposed the PIAT because we believe it reinforces an effort toward developing an intelligence of a sort too narrow to benefit humanity. But those who argue over its use are not concerned about humanity or its future, but about socioeconomic gain, and in the end those who would use education purely as the basis of economic or political gain will doom the rest of us — once more — to chaos and disaster. Let some regions adopt this misguided testing. Let others abstain, and let the results speak for themselves .…”

  The image vanished, replaced with the UniComm news symbol, an arc, with a light beam streaking toward the viewer.

  And that’s the debate on perceptual testing

  The entire screen vanished, and I lurched to my feet, realizing I hadn’t been exactly the most alert of would-be investigators. Then, I wasn’t an action type. I was an edartist and a methodizer.

  Elysa looked at me from the foyer arch. She wore a dark maroon singlesuit with a black jacket trimmed in maroon, and carried a heavier overcoat. “I assume you saw the stories on perceptual testing and the new epidemic?”

  “Yes. What’s your connection, and what’s mine?” I stood slowly, picked up my bag, and walked toward her.

  Elysa waited until I stopped less than a meter from her. She studied my face slowly. “Actually, Daryn, your connection is because your sister is dead. Let’s leave it at that for the moment. Are you ready to go?”

  “Leave it at that? Leave it at that?” I found my voice rising. “‘You’re in this because your sister is dead. Please be a good boy and cooperate.’” I snorted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Elysa shrugged. “That’s your choice. How do you propose to find out the answers to your questions?”

  Again … I could sense both the truth and the tension of her response. But I didn’t answer the question.

  “Let’s just say that it wouldn’t have to be this way if your sister had survived. She would have come to you and explained it.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  She sighed. “That’s what I’m about to do, but it’s something you have to see as well as hear.”

  “But I’m the second choice.” Again. Second choice behind Gerrat. Second choice behind Elora. Then, if I’d been the first choice, instead of Elora, I’d probably be dead. I still might end up that way.

  I stood and waited to see what Elysa would do, but she just looked at me, as if waiting for me to decide. Finally, I shrugged. I knew I was reacting again, but there didn’t seem to be that many options.

  “Lead on.” I stepped forward to help her with her coat, trying to swallow my anger and frustration.

  * * *

  Chapter 45

  Fledgling: Kewood, 446 N.E.

  * * *

  The glider dropped down coming off the last dip before leaving the redwoods, and the mulched bark of the lane crackled under the momentarily higher air pressure. The effect of the standard ground limiters bothered me, and I had an idea that, as time and finances permitted, I would be making more than a few modifications to the glider.

  The air around me mixed the scent of firs with that of sun-warmed and dried grass. Then I was bringing the glider to a halt in the tree-shaded glider park that served UniComm. The midsummer sky was hazy as I walked up the polished gray stone steps to the black marble archway set into the hillside, beyond which lay the hidden spaces of UniComm, the largest communications organization anywhere in the human galaxy.

  The guard in the green-trimmed gray singlesuit of UniComm security looked up politely. “Might I ask your business, ser?”

  “I’m Daryn Alwyn, to see my father.”

  “Yes, ser. Is your profile on the system?” His voice was slow and even, a sign of a brain-damped norm.

  “I would guess so, but I honestly don’t know.”

  He frowned, then touched the console. After a moment, he gestured toward the security gate. I stepped through, and the door beyond opened. After striding along the left-hand corridor, I marched up the inclined ramp past the museum cases displaying the history of communications equipment, beginning with drums and flags, and then models of messengers, first on foot, then on horseback, with dispatch cases. The replica of the ancient telegraph always amused me, as did the small circular CRT scree
n that had led the way to VR technology.

  “You can go in, ser,” said the guard by Father’s open door. “The director general is expecting you.”

  Father’s office desk was merely a larger version of the antique cherry businessman’s desk at home — and neither had changed in all the years I could remember. The office had the same green leather chairs, and even the same setup as his home study with the concealed vyrtor, but the office had three of the large cherry wood bookcases. Of course, there were no window hangings.

  The door closed behind me, even before I’d taken two steps into the office that looked out over the inside courtyard.

  “Sit down, Daryn. Sit down. You look fit and rested.” Father smiled. “We could have talked at home, but … I’m old-fashioned. Business should be discussed in the workplace. Otherwise, everything becomes business.”

  That was one of the few maxims of Father’s that I had little trouble accepting. I nodded as I sat down in the green leather armchair directly across the polished cherry desk from him.

  “There’s a great future for you — almost anywhere you want to go, Daryn.” My father smiled broadly. “With the years as an FS officer, and your educational background, you could start in almost any section of UniComm.…”

  “Did you see the rough cut of the piece on Cydonya?” I asked.

  “It’s very good. As a stand-alone, it will bring you a few credits, and you can use it to show the talent in UniComm that you understand them.”

  “I’m not joining UniComm.”

  “You can’t live the way you’re accustomed to on occasional net royalties from a few edart pieces.” Father’s voice was reasonable, as it always was when he was convinced that he was right beyond doubt or question.

  “I don’t intend to. I’ve got the FS retirement, plus a fair amount that I saved while I was in the FS. It brings in almost as much as my retirement stipend.” I didn’t mention the shares in UniComm I’d received in trust from Grandfather’s estate. The trust had expired when I’d turned thirty-five, but the only thing I’d done was ensure the dividends were reinvested into a diversified portfolio. “And … I’ve already reached an arrangement with a methodizing firm in Vallura.” I shrugged. “I was trained as a methodizer, and they need someone who understands the FS.”

  “Procurement weasels.” Father snorted.

  “I have to start somewhere.” I smiled. “I guess I’m sort of like Elora. I wouldn’t feel comfortable joining UniComm unless I could prove my abilities elsewhere.”

  Father frowned, but the frown vanished with a rueful smile. “You’re more like her than I’d have ever guessed. Well … if that’s what you want to do You have to live your own life, son, but I can’t see as this freelancing methodizing and edart work will lead anywhere.”

  “It may not,” I admitted. “That’s why I also worked out a retainer arrangement as a freelance methodizer for EcLong.”

  “Freelance?”

  “I’ve already gotten my first assignment.”

  “That won’t pay the bills for long.”

  I smiled. “You may be right, and if you are, I’ll have to figure out something else.” I knew that my being reasonable would be far more effective than disputing him. “And … well … if that’s the case, we’ll probably talk again.”

  “I’ll leave the offer open for now.” He fingered his chin. “You understand that I can’t promise how long that will be.”

  “Yes, sir.” I understood. At some point, Gerrat would be the one to control UniComm, unless Elora relented, but I had my doubts about that. She’d never forgotten Father’s offhand comment about wanting to see his sons continue the family tradition.

  “Well.” Father smiled again. “I suppose that’s it. I’ll see you at dinner, won’t I?”

  “For a few days. I’m getting my own place.”

  “That would be best, I think.”

  Since I’d never really had one, it was definitely for the best. I stood, then bowed. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I can’t say as I do, Daryn, but I understand you well enough to know you’ll do things your way and on your schedule.”

  That was what I hoped, all I could have hoped for.

  * * *

  Chapter 46

  Raven: Tyanjin, 459 N.E.

  * * *

  The light rain that had been falling earlier had become more mist-like, and despite the cool air, with the combination of the swift pace Elysa set, the nanite body shield, and the humidity, I could feel myself heating up after we had walked the first hundred meters past the untended gatehouse — strangely occidental in Sinese Tyanjin.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, drawing up beside Elysa.

  “To show you your answers and then send you to make a choice.”

  “Are you always this obscure?”

  “When the future is at stake, it’s necessary.” She didn’t look at me, but kept walking. “Look around. Look at the people — those that are out.”

  Despite the gloomy weather, handfuls of people walked the street, and almost all looked to be norms, fairly well attired, healthy-looking people. Unlike in Noram, there were far more wearing multipiece outfits, with trousers and collarless jackets, or even flowing robes in several cases. I didn’t see any smiles, but that didn’t seem surprising in the rain. I certainly wasn’t smiling.

  A younger man who was approaching, talking to a dark-haired woman, glanced up, and his eyes met mine, if momentarily, and he abruptly eased his companion into what appeared to be a confectionery shop.

  An older woman wearing an elaborate ankle-length robe-gown of some sort, but carrying a rain-parasol, stood by another door, her eyes meeting mine, gray eyes as cold and impassive as the clouds above. Her gaze did not flinch as we passed her and turned the corner onto a fractionally wider street, one with the same low permastone buildings that seemed to dominate Tyanjin, or what of the city that I had seen.

  We walked less than eight hundred meters more before Elysa led me down a ramp and onto an induction tube platform, except it wasn’t an induction tube, but an older-style subsurface magfield transit system. I hadn’t realized that there were any left.

  “It shouldn’t be long,” she said in a low voice.

  I nodded, and slowly surveyed the platform. It was filled with people, and we towered above almost all of them … standing alone with a circle of space around us. I strained to catch the strange words, but even with the nanites and the translation protocols, my understanding was limited, to say the least, since all I heard was a standard word, often meaningless, in place of whatever the locals were speaking.

  “… outsider … his whore …”

  “…barbarian boars … rut …”

  I glanced at Elysa and could see the flush beneath her skin, but she said nothing.

  “… time will come …”

  “… none too soon …”

  The train that appeared at one end of the platform rumbled, rather than glided, and it lurched to a halt, a sign of equipment not in the best of repair. Elysa gestured, and we made for the front compartment, stepping inside only moments before the doors hissed shut.

  Even in the close confines of the compartment, a compartment where I had to slouch to avoid banging my skull on the overhead, there was a zone of space around us, and the odors were remarkably like an aged space vessel, and totally unlike the scented sanitary air of an induction tube.

  Although I felt like a curiosity, the remarkable thing was that no one looked at us — more as though we were an embarrassment to be suffered or endured without being acknowledged.

  I leaned toward Elysa and whispered, “Does everyone avoid looking at me because I’m a Noraman? Or because I’m a pre-select?”

  “What do you think?”

  Another question. “Both.”

  “You’re right.”

  I stood, hanging onto a polished tubular steel pole, as the old magtrain hissed and lurched through three more stops. At each stop people dis
embarked, but fewer got on, and those that did tended to be taller, better dressed, although I didn’t see any that could have been overtly identified as pre-selects.

  As the train slowed for the fourth stop, Elysa glanced at me. “We’ll get off here.”

  I followed her out and onto a platform that was nearly empty, then up another ramp, and back into the open. Elysa took a deep breath, as if of relief, then promptly turned left and began to walk swiftly. Caught off guard, I had to take two quick steps to catch up with her.

  The open air felt good — less confining — although the misty rain brought out a pervasive odor of age as we headed along the damp permacrete of the walk that flanked a gentle inclined street. Each step took us past buildings with signs I could not read, and I had to wonder if standard was as universal as I had thought … or as the net systems of the world would have had me and others believe.

  Only a handful of gliders — mainly taxis — slipped down the street, deftly avoiding the ubiquitous composite magscooters that seemed to comprise most of the vehicular traffic, as well as the silent but awkwardly blocky electrobuses. In Noram, scooters were used seldom, and then by youths, or norms, while in the Sinoplex it seemed as though everyone used them — except for pre-selects.

  Elysa caught one of my glances at another unreadable sign. “How does it feel?”

  “What? To be illiterate in a culture?” I smiled ruefully. “If I lived here, I’d spend the time and effort to make sure I wouldn’t be.”

  “Most pre-selects wouldn’t.”

  I had never been one of “most” pre-selects, but there wasn’t any point in saying that, especially since that wasn’t her point. She was trying to tell me that the pre-selects had created a culture foreign to norms, as if most elites in history hadn’t. But then, most elites in history had eventually failed. “Where are we headed?”