Masters of Flux & Anchor

by Jack L. Chalker

  It was cooler here, too, than in the constant warmth of Flux or Anchor Logh, and there was a slight breeze, but she decided against a coat or wrap. After her Flux appearances she fully understood her purpose here, and she was determined to carry it out if lives could be saved.

  Large tents had been set up in a park-like area just outside the town, and they headed there. Various flags flew from the tents, although she recognized none of them. They could have represented leaders of various boroughs of the Anchor, or quite a bit more than that. She quickly learned, though, that the hammer and tongs symbol represented Nantzee itself, and she knew that the starburst represented the Church.

  “Be honest, tell only the truth, conceal nothing,” Tilghman instructed her. “Don’t think or mull over any answers, just say what you feel.” Those, she decided, were the easiest instructions ever given to her.

  Mervyn moved through the small crowd of people feeling more like he was at a social function than at a conference of war. He nibbled idly on a sandwich and looked over the crowd, then frowned and spotted someone whose face he simply never thought he’d see in person—particularly not in a situation like this. He blinked and stared hard, then realized that the prim, aristocratic fellow with the goatee had to be who he’d first thought he was. Nobody else would look like that on purpose. Slowly, he made his way closer.

  Zelligman Ivan looked over and spotted the figure of the old man in flowing satin robes coming towards him, and he stood up and smiled as the other reached his lone table. “Please! Have a seat and welcome!” Ivan said warmly. “The wine is not the best, but one takes what one can get under the circumstances.”

  Mervyn pulled over a folding chair and sat down, putting his sandwich on the table. Ivan poured a drink from a wine bottle and handed it to him.

  “So we meet at last,” the old wizard said. “I must admit, Zelligman, that you are the last person I would have expected to see here.”

  The other nodded. “I know. Not really my territory, but, damn it, it’s where the action is. Those psychotic thugs have the whole file, the top ancient technology along with the instructions. No matter what our differences, Mervyn, we have that in common. That’s our common heritage over there being perverted and used like a bludgeon by reactionary idiots.”

  The old man nodded. “I agree, although you certainly have been a busy little bee with them. I owe you more than one for that, Zelligman.”

  Ivan shrugged. “It was truly nothing personal. What are a few lives compared to what might be gained? No, don’t go moralizing on me, old man! You’ve been responsible for more than your share of innocents yourself, and you still sleep well at night. They were paranoid about her being so close, and they were paranoid about what they perceived as your base so close to their front door. I made an offer to ease their paranoia, and they took it.”

  “And the price? Some advanced communications equipment, perhaps?”

  Zelligman Ivan sighed. “You should know that they are even less enamored of that idea than you are. I hardly expect that from them—they are primitive, animalistic thugs, but their leaders are not that stupid. No, we expect that such a device will be naturally available when they secure this cluster, as they almost certainly will. They will need a method of communications to keep their little empire secure. No, the price was supposed to be a copy of Toby Haller’s journal.”

  Mervyn looked suddenly ashen, as if having a seizure, and it took him a moment to recover his composure. “But that’s a myth! Your father and mine both would have sold their souls for it, but after all this time it simply cannot exist!”

  “I am certain it does. Coydt found it—or, rather, a copy of it on one of the small storage modules—quite by accident, in the midst of a mass of mostly junk that was also on the module. He would never allow anyone else to read it, or know much of its contents, but he definitely did have it, and he definitely did read it. Indeed, it was after that that he began to act very oddly and very much on his own. He began to question our very goals, and, in fact, began sounding more like you than one of us, but he was very strong and he knew too much and he had too much. We didn’t dare touch him until we knew where his library was and how to secure it intact, and by the time we knew—it was too late.”

  “But the journal! You’re suggesting New Eden has it?”

  “I know they have it, and I know, too, that the Chief Judges have all read it and quite a bit more of the ancient nontechnical writings. Much of their odd theology comes from those writings, but it’s the journal that has fed their moral self-righteous mission. You know its reputation—that it would shatter World to its foundations and drive the strong mad.”

  Mervyn did know. Quite a number of legends were associated with the journal, that one paramount among them. The journal, it was said, was the only true record surviving from the ancient days that held the true answers to World. Written in longhand by one of the first of the truly powerful wizards of Flux, it was said to reveal all the basic secrets of the universe, written as it was by one driven from Anchor but still of the old civilization. The original had been reported almost everywhere on World, including the Cold Wastes of the void, two thousand kilometers from Anchors and Hellgates, where magic was weak or nonexistent and no known creatures could live for long. Most now considered it merely a fable, a nonexistent book created by some imaginative or insane mind in ages long gone.

  “If such a book really exists,” Mervyn said, “surely you have agents within New Eden capable of securing at least a copy of it.”

  “It exists. Ask old man Tilghman when you meet him. He’s read it. But it’s not in the temple, I’ll tell you that, and its audience is very limited. I suspect the old man himself has it somewhere, but where is a different story. I can hardly risk my people on such a blind chase.”

  “Well, they promised it to you, and you delivered. What happened?”

  “They backed off. This general of theirs, Gunderson Champion, promised it to me. He’s never read it, but it doesn’t interest him much. You can’t conquer masses of territory or kill thousands with it, so it’s irrelevant to him. He simply couldn’t deliver, though. The judges pulled a switch and I got mostly theological garbage. Gave me the thing at Tilghman’s wedding and I rushed off with it. Sat through ten days of crap before I realized they’d given me a ringer. I wish I knew when. To think it might actually have been right there, and I didn’t know it!”

  Mervyn had regained complete control. “Tilghman’s wedding? To Cass? You were there?”

  “I was. A most interesting and unexpected experience. I half expected to lose the book right then, as soon as I realized that she could have broken off and escaped. But she didn’t, to my great relief. She was almost enough for Coydt, who was as far ahead of me as I am of the worm in Flux power. I’ll never understand it. I could read her protective spells. I was already looking for an exit and fast.”

  “You of all people should know that the human mind is the most complex of all things. I think Iunderstand, but I’m not really certain.”

  “Well, perhaps you can ask her. I understand the old man’s brought her with him, and her ready to drop his child any time now.”

  “I’ve heard so. It will be interesting to see.” He sighed. “But you still haven’t explained what you are doing here.”

  “Gathering information, the same as you are. Tilghman’s up to something more than just taking over Nantzee. Something big. I want to know what before it can possibly hurt me.”

  Mervyn nodded. He, too. had heard rumors to that effect, but had not been able to track anything down. The deployment of so many Flux power amplifiers—for an attack on an Anchor—was curious. The vanishing of a large number of Fluxgirls from Anchor Logh in the past month and a half or so was equally curious. One or two amplifiers would be sufficient to protect the troops and equipment in Flux; the Fluxgirls chosen were all former wizards with plenty of power but they could no longer use it. He had to admit that he, too, was both curious and nervous.


  “So, Zelligman, since we’re being so civil, will you answer me a simple question I have been wondering about for centuries?”

  “Of course, if I can.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to open those Gates? What is the percentage?”

  Zelligman Ivan sat back and lit a thin cigar. “You know the answer. You’ve stood at least once at the Gate lock of one or another Hellgate and heard the message.”

  “An inhuman, horrible voice from the prehistoric past recorded there promising that if we don’t resist it will make us gods.”

  “I grant the inhuman, but question the horrible. It’s no monster—it’s a mechanical voice, a synthesized voice, that’s all. It was that which panicked our ancestors into sealing those Gates, except for the power we need. And so for twenty-six hundred years we’ve been sitting here, in a stagnant, brutal, primitive society, quaking at the sound of the boogey man’s voice. For what? Five percent of us live for centuries as tinpot godlings, while ninety-five percent toil and live short, miserable lives of poverty under the control of a reactionary Church and state. Ancient knowledge is suppressed or destroyed, and we are mired in social, technological, and spiritual mud forever. So you spend your life saving this system, only to find that its heirs are the New Eden Brotherhood. Have you considered the implications of a World entirely under the New Eden Brotherhood? Their system is only the tip of the depravity that exists.”

  Mervyn nodded. “I very much agree with that last. In fact, I more or less grant your points. The problem is, your alternative is to abandon all hope in favor of instant suicide. Let’s not forget, Zelligman, that our ancestors, who had all that rich knowledge and technology, knew who or what was on the other end of that voice, and they chose to build the barricades, cut down the power, and reduce us to this state rather than greet that voice with open arms.”

  “I doubt if it was that clear-cut, my old enemy. I have lived for almost six hundred years, and I think you are even older than I. In all that time, I’ve never seen any evidence that humanity would find unanimity on any weighty issue without totalitarian control, nor severe variations in human nature. We do not know that they chose to build the barricades. We only know that the winners chose to do so, and that they then chased all of our forefathers—yours and mine, certainly—into Flux and built their walls against them as well. Tell me how does Anchor Nantzee decide in their crisis?”

  “You know as well as I. The Church and many major groups want a fight to the death, even if it means a repeat of Bakha. The government and many of the guild and commune leaders want an accommodation.”

  Zelligman Ivan grinned. “See?”

  The conference was to meet in a small, secure tent set up for the purpose. Mervyn had arranged to be present, although he was aware that he represented the losing side in all this. Ivan was not invited, but the old wizard knew that his counterpart would have no difficulty in learning exactly what went on. In spite of Ivan’s “doublecross” by New Eden, Mervyn was well aware that they owed the prime sorcerer for services rendered and that Ivan was, therefore, in far less danger than he was.

  There were formalities, of course, even in a situation like this. In fact, it seemed that the greater the crisis the more emphasis people placed on ceremony and correctness. When one’s world was falling apart, such things were needed to keep some level of sanity.

  And so Mervyn stood there with High Priestess Gowann, Coordinator Dixon, who represented the government, Haagen Sertz, head of the trade unions guild, and General Yakota, head of the Anchor militia, and watched the luxurious wagon pull in and up. The driver was a top sergeant in the New Eden forces, but he concerned himself mostly with handling the team and, from his lofty perch, surveying what he saw for security. In back were two black-uniformed footmen, heavily armed and suspicious of everyone and everything. Steps were removed from an undercarriage and then the passengers, Adam Tilghman and his wife, made their appearance.

  Cassie’s appearance was still a shock to Mervyn, although he knew just what she would look like. What startled him was not the golden garb with all the jewels, nor her smaller size or her obviously advanced pregnancy, but her manner and demeanor. There was a softness and delicacy to her that was most strange, and yet she radiated the same professionalism she always had. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she understood exactly what was going on, and that, far from being brainwashed, she had indeed committed herself to the other side. It was just such a demoralizing effect that Adam Tilghman had counted on.

  The man himself exuded confidence; his tall, muscular figure, gray hair, and face appearing carved from stone and hard experience, made him all the more fearsome. He wore only a plain black uniform and boots, with no insignia of any kind, no medals, no badges of office. Such a one was powerful enough not to need such things.

  The Chief Judge and his wife greeted everyone formally and in turn, and when Cassie reached Mervyn there was a look of recognition in her eyes but nothing in her manner to indicate that it was anything special. Tilghman had wanted a period of informality before they sat down, however, and they found themselves the center of attention. Mervyn ignored Tilghman and concentrated on remaining close to Cassie.

  “Hello, Cassie,” he said hesitantly.

  She nodded. “Mervyn.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “If you wish, sir.”

  He felt instantly uncomfortable, and the chill was noticeable to all. “We are just trying to understand.”

  Cassie replied, “This girl might humbly suggest, sir, that you are shocked but not surprised. You invented Cassie, and used her, and you don’t like the fact that she has become someone else of her own choice.”

  Since that was partly true, he felt a bit embarrassed. “And you think your new life, your new system, is better for everyone?”

  “Better for me, sir. Few people get to choose their masters, or change them. I have rejected you and chose another.”

  She still had that knack for getting to the heart of things. What had Ivan said? Five percent versus ninety-five percent? And even among those five, there were few masters and many servants. At least he thought he understood now, better than he had before. He was a master, the top rank of World, and he would always be one. She had ruled half a world, but he, indirectly but firmly, had ruled her. One had the power one was born with, but how and how well that power was used depended on personality. Politics, too, depended on personality most of all. It was the old classic, the killer instinct. She had the power and the knowledge, but lacked the will. That instinct wasn’t in her, which was why she’d failed against Coydt. Mervyn had manipulated her into positions of power and had furnished that will, that killer instinct.

  Coydt had understood, which was why he’d removed from her those spells that supported Mervyn’s manipulation. So long as she was forced to live her life the way the old wizard had arranged, she was forced to act in the Nine’s best interest. Removing it removed her as a threat, and removed Mervyn’s leverage. With all the power, but with no killer instinct, all she had built for him had collapsed, and she, too, had collapsed. Without his will, his instinct, she had withdrawn from human society, feeling depressed and without purpose. And he had let her drift, because she was no longer useful or relevant to his broader purposes and goals.

  What she might have become if left alone would always haunt her. The Church had wrenched her at just eighteen from her home and family and cast her into slavery in Flux. She had survived, found some love and much comradeship, and developed a new direction as a chief dugger. Then that too was taken from her by Matson’s apparent death. Emotionally devastated, Mervyn had used her state to force her into the leadership of a reformed Church and used her as the nucleus for an expanding Empire, but in a position where even acknowledging her own daughter was forbidden. In the end, Matson had spurned her, Mervyn had lost his control over her, and she was left, bereft of purpose, left to wonder what mi
ght have been. Even the Soul Rider that had used her and influenced much of her life’s directions had cast her off when it, for its own mysterious purposes, found her less useful than someone else.

  Adam Tilghman had the killer instinct, all right. Just looking at the man was seeing power personified—a power not created by Flux, but one that was within him and was him. She had sensed it, then seized upon it as at least a tiny measure of purpose and salvation. No matter if New Eden was an unpleasant alternative it was the only alternative she’d ever really had offered, and she committed herself to it body and soul.

  “If I may ask—how is Spirit?”

  He was startled by the change in subject. “The same. Better, in fact. She’s with a stringer train.” He hesitated a moment. “She is with her half-sister. Jeff is working for me at the moment.”

  She nodded. “Better than I hoped.”

  “Cassie—are you happy?”

  She hesitated a moment. “I am not sure I know what ‘happy’ means. I am content, sir.”

  He sighed, and let her talk to others, where she gave all the right answers and was far more friendly. Yes, she knew the Church was a lie now. No, she didn’t go along with every single thing in New Eden’s system, but it would improve once it felt secure. Political and military matters she professed little interest in, and always deferred to Tilghman.

  Now they went in to start the conference. Cassie did not remain for it, but left for the wagon.

  Dixon got right to the point. He was a small, nervous man who was clearly uncomfortable. “Judge Tilghman, what are your intentions toward us? Are we to be wiped out?”

  Blunt enough. Tilghman liked that in a man. “I certainly hope not. If that were our intention, we would not be sitting here now. Let me make our position plain. We have access to many of the secrets of our ancient ancestors. We know how to revolutionize and raise ourselves up and, eventually, all of World. What we don’t have is the industrial capacity to produce what we need except in Flux, and we feel a dependency on Flux—and the release of our secrets there—would bring terror to World. As with any powerful knowledge, it can be used for good or evil. Our two Anchors give us plentiful food and raw materials, but we lack industrial capacity which you have in abundance. It’s as simple as that.”