by Mike Sheriff
Daoren held little concern for opulence. They could have held the ceremony in a waste chamber for all he cared, but he accepted the Cognos Populi’s recommendation. Enough changes would soon be coming their way; let them enjoy the tradition one last time. It also let him visit the Eastern Mound and see the inside of the palace at least once. He had no plans to occupy the palace during his reign, whatever its duration might be.
The delay in finding a venue had also given him the opportunity to fulfill an important promise. Laoshi’s funeral had taken place yesterday morning. Every aerostat in the city-state participated, ferrying tens of thousands of mourners over the Sea of Storms. In testament to the old Librarian’s character, tens of thousands more couldn’t be accommodated. Daoren, Heqet, and Cordelia accompanied his body in a funeral aerostat otherwise filled with Libraria. Heqet had delivered a touching eulogy that left the assembled rasplaughing and weeping in equal measure.
Daoren expected neither response from the audience before him today—not rasplaughter at least—and certainly not from the majority who belonged to the Cognos Populi. He rose from the chair and discovered his right foot was asleep. The ceremony had taken an appallingly long time.
“Members and colleagues,” he said, addressing the assembled with a grimace borne from his foot’s reviving circulation, “I realize this succession is unlike any in Daqin Guojin’s past. Former Unums have used this occasion to pronounce a host of edicts that set forth their vision for the future—edicts that overwhelmingly favored the ruling caste. I have only one edict to announce to you today, and it favors the masses.”
Hundreds of faces stared back at him, some curious, some guarded, most blank. The most curious expressions belonged to Su al Xing and other denizens Daoren had invited. Su’s purple shenyi gleamed in the hall’s amplified light. Its left sleeve hung loose and hollow at his side—a reminder of the price he’d paid for his admission. To his left and right, free denizens and other former dissenters sat with straight backs, eyes glimmering with pride.
Many other pairs of eyes glimmered with a less-elevating emotion. He’d anticipated as much. The Cognos Populi knew little about him, except for his writing a perfect S.A.T. and leading the action that removed the Unum from power. Older members—those from wealthy families who’d bought their way into the Assembly for generations—wore the gravest expressions and fidgeted in their seats.
“For too long,” Daoren continued, “the people have had no voice in selecting those who represent their interests. For too long, wealth and privilege have determined who dons the purple shenyi.”
He paused to let the words settle. “My first edict gives that voice to the people and makes merit the true measure of fitness to rule. I decree that within one year, a system for selecting members of the Cognos Populi through popular voting shall be established throughout all fifty Chengs.”
The statement met with rousing cheers for Su and his fellow denizens. The rest of the audience greeted it with stoney silence.
“The system will also include a popular vote to select the position of Unum,” Daoren added. “No member of the Cognos Populi shall be above it.”
Scattered members surrendered halting claps. Others joined in, lending their strength and shrinking the aural gaps. Soon, unbroken applause filled the hall. Even the older members clapped—though their hearts probably didn’t share the same enthusiasm as their hands.
Daoren acknowledged the applause. “My thanks for your support. More edicts will follow in the days and weeks to come. They may seem just as radical, but I assure you they’ll be for the greater good of our city-state and its people.”
He stamped his foot, testing its level of alertness. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another ceremony to attend.”
An elder on the succession committee raised his sputtering voice. “It’s traditional for the new Unum to meet every member of the Assembly before departing.”
“My sorrow for flouting tradition, but the other ceremony must take precedence.”
“What ceremony might that be, Unum?” another member of the committee asked.
Daoren smiled. “My union.”
DAOREN HELD HEQET’S hand in the rear courtyard of his abode.
They faced an officiate from Nansilafu Cheng, a fiftyish Slavv with a flinty voice and hands as small and delicate as a child’s. The Slavv had welcomed the chance to come to Meiguo Cheng to perform the union; the district’s own officiates had disappeared during the Unum’s culling.
Before the ceremony, the Slavv had been joking and cajoling with them. As soon as it commenced, however, the man’s demeanor adopted a morose dignity more befitting the proceedings. For reasons that escaped Daoren, the union ceremony was more depressing than a funeral.
He found it impossible to maintain the same decorum. He was, after all, taking Heqet alum Fengsei in union. For years it had been a dream, albeit one so remote it didn’t warrant serious attention. Imagining their union had functioned more as a palliative—an ethereal drug he could inject into his mind whenever hopelessness set in.
Now they were seconds away from speaking the words that would forever bind them. How could he contain his joy in the face of such a miraculous turn of events and such beauty?
The micro-cuts that once lined Heqet’s face had healed and faded. Strands of blue micro-studs interlaced her hair, complementing the trim of her gleaming white shenyi to perfection. The shenyi was Cordelia’s, the same one she’d worn at her own union. Daoren had changed into a simple but supple pienfu for the ceremony. It had belonged to his father. It felt liberating to shed the stiff, regal garments of Unum. He found they chaffed his skin—and his personality.
Heqet glanced at him, then gigglesnicked into her hand. He bit his lip to keep from smiling, but couldn’t prevent the rasplaughter from jetting out his nose.
Behind them, Cordelia and Commander Cang cleared their throats, no doubt to admonish the indecorous behavior. Cordelia stood as witness for Heqet, and Cang for Daoren. It had taken some effort to convince Cang to do so. She was busy overseeing the recovery and cataloging of seeds from the vault, along with countless other tasks. With Pyros out of the medical facility and insisting on resuming his duties, however, her excuses had evaporated.
Daoren reigned in his mirth, but lost grip of it again when he glanced at Heqet. She looked away, shoulders bucking in time with her snorts.
“Shall I give you two time to compose yourselves?” the officiate asked.
“No,” Daoren said. “My sorrow for the interruption. Please continue.”
The officiate winked, breaking his solemn façade, then reverted to his dour intonations. “Heqet alum Fengsei, will you take Daoren al Lucien in union and affirm your vow to love him until the sands of time run no more?”
Heqet beamed. “I will.”
“And Daoren al Lucien, will you take Heqet alum Fengsei in union and affirm your vow to love her until the sands of time run no more?”
Daoren puffed his chest. “I will.”
“Then you may now bind your union.”
Cang handed Daoren a black burrglass sash. Cordelia gave Heqet a white gleamglass sash. Slowly and methodically, Daoren and Heqet braided the sashes together. Each could use only one hand. Each had to rely on the other to function as a pair. It took two minutes to finish the task. They gave the completed braid to the officiate.
The officiate wrapped the braid around their wrists, joining their hands palm to palm. “This braid symbolizes life’s grit and glitter. It embodies the great sorrows and tremendous joys you will experience on your journey together. What proportion of each will be visited upon you cannot be foretold, such are the mysteries of life. But so long as you love and respect one another, neither unrelenting sorrow nor fleeting joy will sever your connection. By the mercy of Sha—the Sapient, Heuristic, and Adaptive—may your union long endure.”
Daoren gazed into Heqet’s pooling eyes, drinking in the love they reflected.
“You may kiss her if y
ou wish, Unum,” the officiant said, inflection light once again. “But do it quickly or I’ll be forced to on your behalf.”
Daoren chucklebucked and followed his advice.
THREE MONTHS LATER, Daoren stood before the northeastern archway at the Center. Heqet, Cordelia, Pyros, and Commander Cang flanked him.
Below them, tens of thousands of bright-eyed denizens and prospects congregated on the terraced stairway. Its flights harbored no signs of the previous battle thanks to the work of fifty artisans. Today marked a special day.
It was the day of the September S.A.T.
Daoren couldn’t believe it was September. The past three months had been a swirling sandstorm filled with edicts and activities to repair the damage wrought by the Unum.
The Libraria had been granted full writ to teach all truths, not just those convenient for the ruling caste. The locks on tens of millions of scrolls had been lifted. The Librarium’s curriculum, so long designed to allow prospects to pass the S.A.T., was undergoing massive revisions.
Cordelia had volunteered to oversee the changes, throwing herself into the monumental task. Daoren and Heqet had visited her nightly at the abode. Gathered around the parlor’s table, they’d chatterwailed at length about her assuming the vocation of Librarian. She wanted to teach Daqin Guojin’s youngest denizens. Daoren thought it was an excellent idea—she’d taught him how to trust his heart. Seeing his mother free of grief and reengaged in life was both a comfort and a delight.
Last month, he and Heqet had joined Cordelia at the Librarium for a poignant ceremony; the unveiling of Laoshi’s bas-relief likeness. Daoren had commissioned the Africoid sculptor from the glass market to perform the work. Despite losing three fingers to the sonic blast that obliterated the market, he’d produced a masterpiece, forever enshrining the old Librarian’s boundless curiosity on the Spire’s double-doors.
Pyros had proven as good as the word he’d given on the steps of the Center three months earlier. He was leading a major reformation of the Jireni. He’d already presided over the closing of the Rig and the freeing of its prisoners. On his recommendation, denizens were using material salvaged from thousands of rigs to rebuild the abodes destroyed during the Unum’s culling.
The Jireni had helped the rebuilding process in other ways. They’d located four billion pounds of the Unum’s grooll in secret vaults throughout Zhongguo Cheng and Nansilafu Cheng. The staggering find served as a sobering reminder of the man’s excess. Commander Hyro led the operation to transfer the grooll to distribution centers throughout Daqin Guojin. Once the scourge of the city-state, malnourishment was now a memory. The Jireni’s role in ending it went a long way toward restoring the people’s trust in the security force.
Now it was Daoren’s turn to restore the people’s trust in the Cognos Populi.
“My fellow denizens,” he said, voice amplified via air-link through the Center’s speakers. “We stand today on the cusp of a new order, one that will cleanse Daqin Guojin of its past sins. For centuries, we’ve lived in a two-tier society. For centuries, one tier has lived in a perpetual state of terror.”
Murmurs of agreement drifted up the stairway.
“As you know,” he continued, “we’ve located new food stocks that will soon meet our nutritional needs. I invite you to join us inside the Center to witness the birth of this new life-sustaining force and celebrate the death of the old order.”
A buzz of excitement issued from below.
“Today is the day of the September S.A.T.,” Daoren said. “Normally, it would be marked by tens of thousands of prospects entering the Center and half reemerging as denizens. But on this day, every man, woman, and child who enters does so as a full denizen of Daqin Guojin.”
The buzz intensified.
“It gives me great pleasure to announce the following edict,” he said. “From this day forth, the Survival Aptitude Test shall be outlawed.”
Momentous cheers swelled up the stairway, none louder nor more sustained than those of the prospects in attendance. Mothers and fathers embraced their children, delirious with joy.
Daoren raised his hands, acknowledging the fervor. “It’s an edict that’s long overdue.” A thought brought a wistful smile to his lips. “A wise man once said that every life is precious. In our new order that simple truth will be our guiding principle.”
The crowd roared and surged up the stairway. Daoren clasped Heqet’s hand and led her toward the archway. Cordelia, Pyros, Cang, and the throng of denizens followed.
Moments later, they emerged from the darkened archway inside the Center. They stepped into a space whose transformation was nothing short of breathculling.
The glass seats and integrated touch-screens were gone. Glass troughs filled with mulched grooll and sand replaced them, arrayed in rows that spanned the length and width of the floor.
Denizens of all castes and all ages strolled among the troughs. They crouched and gazed in wonder at the new life forms sprouting from the mulch.
Green shoots.
21
Countdown
SIX MONTHS LATER, Daoren lingered before the Hollows with Heqet at his side. A storm front had moved through Daqin Guojin over the last two days, bringing with it welcome rainfall and cool wind gusts. Today had dawned clear and bright, though the northerly gusts still persisted. The mid-day sun and the company helped to offset the chill.
So too did the progress they’d made since September. Reforms to the political and social structure of the city-state were progressing with little overt resistance. On a rational level, every social caste had understood the untenability of the old order, but hadn’t known how to fix it. Once handed the tools they needed, the people put them to good use.
He’d put the past six months to good use as well. The period ranked as the happiest of his life. Sha willing, the next few months with Heqet would be even happier. They’d been on their way to Zhongguo Cheng’s glass market for some special abodewares when the cloister’s aural mist pulled them in.
Before them, the gray-ceramic plinth glinted in the sunlight. Daoren ran his fingers over its inscription.
For Those Who Gave Their Lives That We Might Live.
A gust caressed the hollow tubes, summoning their collective om. Today it sounded more hopeful than mournful. Never again would the cloister’s field of tubes grow in size or density.
“I can’t believe it’s been a year since we were last here,” Heqet said.
Daoren put his arm around her waist. “Some year.”
She gasped. Her hands found her bulging belly. “There’s another kick!”
“He’s a feisty one.”
“Who does that remind you of?”
“You, of course.”
She stared at him, eyebrows arching. “Me? You’re the feisty one!”
Daoren chucklebucked. “I remember you driving a certain Jiren out of a certain aerostat with a grappling hook, then calling him a glasshole.”
“Well, he was a glasshole!” She held his gaze through a burst of rasplaughter. “Anyway, I think I’ve found a good name for this feisty one.”
“I’ve been thinking of a name as well.”
“Shall we say it together?”
“Okay,” he said. “On three. One . . . two . . .”
“Mako,” Heqet blurted, preempting the end of the countdown.
He grinned. “So we can agree on the name, if not the timing.”
“It’s a fine name for a boy.”
“And a man.”
The cloister’s wind-induced om faded, unmasking a faint, throbbing drone. The drone drew Daoren’s focus skyward.
To the west, three aeroshrikes sailed in close formation, heading north.
“That’ll be Pyros,” Daoren said, pointing.
“Where’s he going?”
“To survey the crops and conduct a reconnaissance of Havoc.”
Heqet’s eyes clouded. “Havoc. I’d forgotten the mongrels.”
“As had I, but I’
ll guarantee you they haven’t forgotten us.” He pushed the thought aside. The day and his company were too beautiful to spoil by fretting over the mongrel colonies. “We have more important tasks to occupy us.”
“Such as finding a crib.”
“Among a host of other wares, if your list is any indication.”
“It’s not that long!”
“It’s longer than most of my edicts!”
Heqet rasplaughed. “Is the great Daoren al Lucien scared of baby wares?”
Daoren feigned a shudder. “More than grooll mills and collapsing wind turbines combined.”
They turned from the cloister and headed for the glass market, hand-in-hand.
PYROS SURVEYED THE aeroshrike’s bridge from its aft bulkhead.
Tactical lighting spilled over the fifteen Jireni manning scattered consoles. The lower degree of readiness meant several consoles went unmanned; sonic weapons and damage control being the most prominent. That would change once they’d completed the first phase of the mission and headed north. For now, however, he’d enjoy the relative calm.
He paced to the bridge’s forward windows with Commander Cang’s aide at his side. It was the aide’s first exposure to an aeroshrike, and his first excursion beyond the borders of Daqin Guojin. Cang had recommended him for the mission. Apparently, the boy had been too timid to ask the Primae Jiren of his own accord.
He’s resourceful and quiet, Cang had said. You’ll hardly notice his presence.
The recollection conjured a smile. The aide’s chatterwailing hadn’t stopped since they took to the air. Nervous tension must be making him more talkative than normal—not that it bothered Pyros. The boy had acquitted himself well during the plot to overthrow the Unum.
