“Well, it’s possible to run thousands of messages—even voice messages—over the strings at the same time. I’ll tell you that much. But in all those years they’ve never built a bigger and better amplifier, and the signals you send tend to fade out as they go. They have to be received by another amplifier and returned to full strength and then transmitted again down the line. Of course, it’s done at the speed of light, but so long as they can’t get more power they can’t use fewer amplifiers than they do now. My best guess is they don’t know how those amplifiers work any more than you or I do. They don’t understand half of what they’re using now. They just find the instructions, build ‘em, and use ‘em. The machines they use aren’t any different than the ones Coydt used almost thirty years ago. If they don’t understand how they work, they can’t build ‘em better.”
Mervyn sighed. “I wish I could be optimistic even about that. If what you say is true, and remains true, it becomes something of an advantage for us. It reduces the problem to purely military terms—disrupt only one transmitter and you destroy their whole plan, and the locations of those transmitters would have to be known and tested. Considering what Coydt alone was able to accomplish, and given the principles of it, they may find a way.”
“Well, I don’t want to panic you, but there’s always been communication through Flux, you know.”
“What?”
Matson shrugged. “It’s like a web, sort of. Every single temple is in contact with every other temple through that top center spire of theirs, sending out a continuous signal. The four Anchors in a cluster intersect through the Gates, and there’s an identical signal running from Gate to Gate through the whole thing. We’ve always known there’s something funny about those temples. You know that.”
“Soul Riders,” Mervyn mumbled.
“Huh? What?”
“Soul Riders. That’s where they get their orders from. That temple network or grid. You know, a very long time ago, when you infiltrated Coydt’s takeover of Anchor Logh, Suzl met up with the Guardian. The way she told it was too confusing to make any sense, but you remember, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Sure. It actually turned Temple Square into Flux for a very short time to get us out of there. But that was the Guardian of the Gate.”
“I wonder. Do we really know just what the Guardian is? Or even if it’s anything like what it calls itself? Suzl said that the power coming into the temples went not only to the power transformers but down, down into the ground below the temple. We tried and tried to repeat that sense she had, but to no avail, and, of course, she was no longer available for it. But what if she was right? What if the temple is only a building over what’s really there? I’ve occasionally intercepted signals coming from some source to the Soul Rider within Spirit. I got an undefined sense of it, once or twice, as the sort of speech machines might use to talk to one another. I don’t know why—it was far too fast and too complex for any human mind to more than sense. Still, I’ve always wondered. Under each temple, say, a machine. A great amplifier, as it were, setting up the rules for World, keeping Anchors stable. A great machine beyond our imagining that not only governs, it thinks.”
Matson chuckled. “A thinking machine? Thinking like a man?”
“No, not like a man, I’d wager, but thinking all the same. You’ve seen Spirit?”
“Yeah.”
“You wouldn’t notice as much of a change in her as I would. I’d almost swear, though, that she and the Soul Rider had somehow come together as one individual. You know it all fits. If I were a big machine that thought, but was stuck far underground in one location, I’d have a way to find out what’s going on beyond my own immediate area. The Soul Rider would be its eyes and ears.”
The stringer thought it over. “Well, maybe, but if so why would Spirit still have that damned spell? Seems to me that any machine that smart could break it. Even Suzl managed to do it, if I recall.”
Mervyn sighed. “That’s true, but how would we know how a machine thought, or what its motives and purposes might be? Still, it’s a fascinating idea.”
“And another thing—why would it use so few eyes and ears? I mean, the Soul Riders can only see and hear so much. Most of what’s going on would pass ‘em by.”
“One piece of the puzzle at a time,” Mervyn told him. “Every answer gives a hundred questions, but that’s still a step forward. If I only had Toby Haller’s journal, that might supply the missing pieces.”
“Sondra told me about that. We always put that down to a fairy tale.”
“So did—I but I know where a copy is now. It’s exactly where I thought it was all along, but I could never be sure. I think I’d die happy if I could but read it.”
“Huh. So why haven’t you gotten it by now?”
“Because it’s in Adam Tilghman’s personal library in his house just off Temple Square in New Eden. That’s pretty damned hard to break into, for one thing. Oh, I have agents in New Eden—lots of Fluxgirls there since the start whom I was able to cover with dual personalities—but they’re all under a lot of restrictions and spells. None of ‘em could read and tell which one it was, and it’s not in printed form but contained in a module with a lot of other junk, probably not labeled as such but prominent enough to be missed. The fact that it’s known and yet unattainable has come close to driving me mad for years now!”
Matson put out the stub of his cigar and scratched his chin a moment. “You think it’s that important?”
“I don’t know, but I know it must have something. Tilghman captured the High Priestess of Mareh, you know. He knew he couldn’t break her spells, but he brought her, stripped naked, back to New Eden just two weeks ago and displayed her in Temple Square. When they were through torturing and debasing her and realized they could never get her to recant, he had her brought to the house in chains and forced to read the journal. My associates and I use the Holy Mother Church, but we are not compelled to actually believe in it like she was. She was faced with truths she couldn’t deny yet the spells would not allow her to accept. It drove her completely stark raving mad. She’s a lunatic with no reason at all now, held like an animal in a cage on public display in their zoo.”
“So the legend of the thing is borne out. You sure you want to read this thing?”
“As I said, I don’t have the problem she was confronted with. But even if it had the same result, I would gladly do it. It won’t, though. Coydt read it, and he was just as insane before as after. Tilghman read it, and perhaps many others. If our enemies have read it, I think it is vital that we do as well. Now more than ever, with the real threat that this communication system presents. We’re pretty sure there’s something terrible beyond those Gates, but we don’t know what. We do know that our ancestors were so frightened of whatever it was that they sealed them off and then systematically reduced human civilization to a state of ignorance of its own technology, even its origins, just to keep those seals secure. They did a very thorough job, but not thorough enough. We’re now beginning to relearn vital parts of what was lost, destroyed, or suppressed. There is a very real danger of those Gates reopening, and we don’t have the skill to suppress civilization again, even if we wished to. It becomes vital, then, that we know what we might be facing.”
“I know enough,” Matson told him. “It could be nasty, but it sure isn’t hopeless.”
Mervyn stared at him. “What could we do. in our primitive ignorance, that our ancestors with all their machines and technology could not?”
“Seems to me it’s the old story of World and nothing more. Look at World. The stronger and more powerful a wizard is, the more he thinks he’s some kind of god and the less he thinks or knows about things that aren’t wizardly, you might say. When you can zap somebody with your little finger you never bother to learn how to shoot a rifle, or win a bareknuckle fight. They couldn’t milk a cow, or grow a flower in Anchor. Nope, it’s all magic, magic, magic but what do you really know about your magic? Can you actua
lly invent a spell, or do you just know the procedure to follow so that the spell flows into and out of your head? I don’t mean the simple stuff, I mean like Pericles. Could you write down the formula for it on paper? Sure, you know how to command a flower to grow or appear, but do you really think about how that flower’s made? All the biochemistry that goes into that flower? Do you understand it?”
“You know I don’t.” Mervyn replied. “No human mind is capable of such complexity.”
“So what you are, as a powerful wizard, is a guy who knows how to push just the right buttons—just like those guys in New Eden know how to read the manual on how to work their machines, and how to make ‘em, but they don’t really understand them. Same difference.”
“But if you can use that power, what’s the difference in practical terms’?”
“A big one. Like I said, you get to be a wizard, you forget or never learn the practical stuff. I think it’s the same with machines. In fact, I’m sure it is. You get born into a society that is completely run by machines. You take those machines for granted. You pick up some little communicator and you talk into it and the exact person you wanted to talk to picks up his and talks back. Neither of ‘em know how it works. It’s always been there, and if it breaks they get a new one. They don’t even think of how it works. They take it for granted, just like wizards take their powers for granted. Now let’s take those Gates. Whatever’s been kept out, if it’s still there and still alive after all these centuries, is from the same kind of machine culture as our ancestors. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made the Gates at all. They’d have used something else.”
“I’ll grant you a point for argument’s sake. That’s assuming they’re keeping out somebody rather than something a weapon, perhaps, or Flux flowing unrestrained or uncontrolled. It could be a natural calamity.”
“Not likely. If it was something like that, you might seal ‘em off, all right, but you wouldn’t keep what’s there a secret, and you sure wouldn’t go to all this trouble to keep humanity down. You’d want everbody to know just what the disaster was. Up north in Anchor Jamzh they got a big lake. You ever see it?”
The wizard nodded. “Long ago, but I remember. It’s quite impressive.”
“I learned to swim in that thing. But it’s not a natural thing, it’s something left over. There’s a real thick dam across the valley there made of the same stuff as the temples, although it’s layered over with rock and dirt. Everybody knows what would happen if that dam ever broke. All that water would tumble out at once, instead of over the falls, and take out half the Anchor. Not even the craziest nut has ever thought about blowing up that dam. Looking after it is a sacred duty. Same thing with the Gates. If it was some kind of natural thing, they’d have dammed it up for sure, but they’d take pains to make sure that everybody knew what it was from the moment they got out of diapers. Uh uh. Instead we get demons from Hell. So I figure that’s pretty much our way of looking at just what they were keeping out. The savages, the monsters, whatever were at the door and they knew they were outnumbered or outgunned or whatever. So they barred the doors, told us there were evil demons there, and took away all we knew to keep somebody from waving a white flag and surrendering or making a deal with the enemy.”
Mervyn was fascinated. “Go on.”
“Well, let’s assume that the enemy’s still there. Hard to believe after a few thousand years, but who knows? Maybe nobody’s home. Maybe they gave up and forgot us a long time ago. Maybe it was even us—some early New Eden revolution or something. With their machines and total control of Flux they could probably come up with a nightmare we couldn’t even have now. But maybe they’re so complete that they’ve been there for all these centuries and are just waiting for one of their machines on the other side to say the door’s unlocked. Well, if it is, I’d say we probably have a better crack at them than our ancestors did.”
“Indeed?”
“They’re gonna have to come through the Gates. We know where they’re coming. They’ll be real confident, more than any Fluxlord you’ve ever met. They’ll have the power of gods, thanks to their machines. All their defenses, all their tactics, will be geared to fighting somebody just like them. They’ll face millions of flies who can sting and bite and the only thing they’ll have against those flies are twenty ton sledgehammers. Cannon don’t do much good against a mass attack by cockroaches.”
“I wish I had your confidence. More, I wish I had that journal. It would tell me what I had to know! I’m sure of it!”
Matson sat back and lit another cigar. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Mervyn suddenly felt excited again. “You mean that? You’re going there?”
“I have an audience with His Nibs the Judge himself. That’s why they sent me. I’m the only man who’s an outsider that they respect enough to talk with as an equal. The guy who killed Coydt van Haas and, of course, the guy who came up with the plan to let them live and keep their spoils of war. Give me the layout of the house, if you’ve got it, and anything else I’ll need. Maybe I can’t, but if the thing’s as important as you say I might be able to manage it.”
Mervyn felt real hope for the first time, but he managed to control himself as another thought came to him. “Uh—you know that Cassie and Suzl are his wives.”
“Yeah. I know. I hear tell they don’t remember anything about you or me or anything else, though.”
“That’s true. I suspect for their own sanity both took spells on themselves for transformation into what they appeared to be. The ones we knew have been erased. They think they were born and raised in that culture and for all intents and purposes they might as well have been. It’s sad.”
Matson shrugged. “Well, yeah, it’s a waste, but I got to thinking on it and, you know, under the same circumstances I might’ve done the same thing. They were stuck in their own way the same as Spirit’s stuck in hers. Don’t worry about me—I can handle it. If she don’t remember, it’ll be easier. I’ve had to live with the sight of her face when I walked out on her thirty years ago.”
The Central Committee of New Eden did not meet very often of late, and only when planning major moves or finding ways out of deep trouble. The Committee consisted of the nine Judges, the original leaders of the takeover of Anchor Logh and the administrators of its system, Champion representing the military staff, and Onregon Sligh representing Research and Development. Clearly the balance had been intended to keep both science and the military subordinate to the central government.
It met now in a period of near absolute triumph, not to consider what had to be done to make it complete—for that had long been determined—but to chart the next steps. Adam Tilghman, as Chief Judge and Chairman, presided, although it was he who’d called the meeting.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “I think it is time we considered again the final aims of this movement. We are a conquering army and victors with spoils, but in that we’re no better than the Empire that preceded us and which we all abhorred. In spite of our high-sounding principles and moral platitudes, nothing really has changed, which is why the rest of the world is essentially keeping its distance from us rather than making a concerted all-out attack. They know what we are. We are Fluxlords—yes, we are, you and I, no matter how you deny it. Oh, we are lords of Anchor, but we are absolute in four Anchors many times the size of the largest Fluxland—by our technology, and by that technology we hold or control the Flux between. We the leadership and those we hold dear are as powerful as any Fluxlord, and as immortal and unchanging. You have put me off for over eight years because of our failure to secure the cluster, but that is now done. It is time to decide what we are and what we wish to become.”
“Is it necessary to do that?” Champion asked. “We have a system of beliefs and a culture that works. We are strong enough to defend it if we have to, and to spread it when we feel able to do so. The Chairman calls us Fluxlords, as if the term itself were not simply a product of the inherent imperfect nature of mankind.
We are lords of Flux and Anchor, and we are right. Why is that such a dirty thing?”
There was numerous nods of agreement among the others listening, but Tilghman was unimpressed.
“The general asks why it’s a bad thing. I think I can explain it. I must, or from my standpoint this has all been for nothing. All of us—every one of us—came from Fluxlands. In point of fact, no matter how high our station in those Fluxlands, we were slaves. Some of us were slaves because our lords were simply too powerful for us to defy; others were enslaved by spells that made us satisfied to be slaves; but even the latter had the full force of hatred and contempt when taken from their Fluxlords and allowed perspective and alternatives with the spells removed. Beyond this, we have one more thing in common—all of our former Fluxlords were female.”
“This isn’t going to be another plea to ease up on the girls, is it, Adam?” Henri Rhoten, one of the younger Judges, interjected. “I think we’ve gone as far as we like in that direction.”
“No, it’s nothing in that direction, Henri,” Tilghman responded, “and I am deeply appreciative of the moves the Committee has made in the past few years.” Girls, in fact, were no longer subject to mind-killing drugs; they were allowed to make and wear any clothes that complimented the female form and did not resemble men’s clothing; and, thanks in part to the wars that made them outnumber men, they were allowed some basic employmen— under male supervision, of course, and in mostly menial and “girl’s areas” such as clothing, decorating, beauty, and children’s things. There were a few other liberalizations, but this was partly due to a program of applying Flux conversions on all the females not previously converted. “My only concern is our over-reliance on Flux even in that area. We are as dependent on it as any Fluxlord.”
“What’s the point?” growled Laroche impatiently.
Masters of Flux & Anchor Page 16
