The Worshippers and the Way coaaod-9

by Hugh Cook

  Asodo Hatch was by no means the only person in Dalar ken Halvar to have been severely vexed by the follies of Evolutionary Theory, and by the rapacity of the Perfect Master who preached that Theory; and there had been no shortage of willing volunteers ready to suppress the Evolutionary Heresy in the name of Nu-chala-nuth.

  It was there on the river bank that Hatch said goodbye to his brother Oboro Bakendra, for Oboro chose to take a punt-ferry across the river, in the hope of being able to personally supervise the dead of Edgerley Eden, the centaur who had for so long preached the ludicrous and vexatious doctrines of evolution.

  Hatch chose to remain alone at the site of his father's funeral pyre, and to settle himself in meditation.

  But he was not to be allowed to so settle himself, for his meditations were scarcely begun when he was accosted by Shona.

  "Ho, Hatch!" said Shona.

  Hatch thought this scarcely an appropriate way for an emperor to be addressed. Still, he was new to the job, and maybe some of the fine detail would prove not to be in accordance with his expectations. So Hatch responded:

  "Ho, Shona! A great day!"

  "Great for whom?" said Shona, with surprising bitterness.

  "That dogs should share their death with men, and men with dogs.

  Is this greatness?"

  Hatch found this challenge slightly incoherent, but there was no mistaking the emotional force behind it.

  "I did what I had to," said Hatch, feeling slightly defensive.

  "And what will you have to do in the future?" said Shona.

  "All Parengarenga will be in outright revolution before the year is done."

  "I don't think so," said Hatch.

  "What can you offer them?" said Shona.

  "The Combat College," said Hatch. "It has a cure-all clinic.

  The treatment of syphilis, the quenching of cancer, the reconstruction of noses. The upgrading of faces and the suctioning of fat. Through such promise I can control the rulers of every region of the empire, and they in turn will control their people for me."

  "I have not heard that the Combat College is yours to command," said Shona.

  "Yet it will be," said Hatch. "It will open to me and mine, admit those I chose and deny its breach to all others. With the Combat College, I can safeguard the rule of the empire."

  "For the moment," said Shona.

  "Forever," said Hatch. "I have unleashed a religion militant.

  I have set loose the Nu-chala-nuth. My people have consecrated themselves by blooding their swords in the service of faith. I am acclaimed as a saint already."

  Unconsciously, Hatch let declamatory passion seep into his voice as he delivered himself of this speech. He spoke as if he addressed an audience of seventy thousands. Rhetoric was ever a Frangoni vice, and Hatch was true to the ways of his people: there was nothing he liked better than to unleash a speech.

  "So," said Shona softly. "It can trick, cheat and kill. Oh, and make speeches! Great speeches, Hatch, are you proud of your speech, are you proud of… aagh! What's the use? You've decided, haven't you?"

  "I did what I had to," said Hatch defensively.

  Yet he was uncomfortably conscious of his guilt burden. He had brought the Free Corps to destruction, yet many of those people… well… Hatch had trained with them, had known them as companions and colleagues… and… he had feared for the future, hence had arranged murder. But was it not perhaps better to risk the future than do something which was… was what?

  Unpardonable?

  Suddenly, very sharply, Hatch remembered Lupus Lon Oliver.

  Lupus had said that a man who kills himself hands to his son a sharp sword.

  "I will not do it," muttered Hatch.

  But…

  "I have heard that the Nu-chala-nuth is no Way for women," said Shona suddenly.

  "It is true," admitted Hatch.

  "Then what future for women?" said Shona.

  Hatch was about to say that the women must suffer what they must. Then caught himself. Because – of course! – Shona herself was a woman.

  This came as something of a revelation to Hatch. For Asodo Hatch had never thought of the burly Shona as a woman, just as he had never thought of her as being one of the Pang, or one of the Yara, the Unreal – though she was all of those. He had always thought of Shona as being, well, Shona. His ally. His friend.

  "The men must have something," said Hatch lamely.

  Yes.

  There was a lot of truth in that.

  The recent unrest in Dalar ken Halvar had been sparked by the discontent of the lower orders, the slaves and the Yara, the slaves and the Unreal. They had hoped to win a better life for themselves, and they construed a better life in terms of material reward.

  This was only natural.

  A beggar in his rags, a beggar beset by fleas, a beggar with nothing but a dog-corpse for company, knows full well the importance of the material world. Others in like condition can be tempted to revolution in the hope of improving their material conditions. And why not? What have they got to lose? Hatch knew this of the poor: those who have been reduced to nothing will ultimately count their lives as nothing, and hence will risk all for next-to-nothing.

  So the objective conditions of Dalar ken Halvar's poor had encouraged them to revolution, albeit to an unsuccessful and chaotically disorganized revolution which had stood no chance whatsoever of success until Asodo Hatch took charge of it.

  But with the revolution now won – and won in the name of Nuchala-nuth, a religion which preached the equality of all men – what would be the results of a division of the spoils? As Hatch knew full well, an equal division of the wealth of Dalar ken Halvar would by no means glut the appetites of the many, for Dalar ken Halvar was poor. Parengarenga as a whole was poor. The entire continent had been wrecked and wasted by millennial mismanagement, by erosions and depletions, extinctions and eradications.

  So since wealth was limited, and since its equal division would not secure the glut of dreams, what then could be offered to the men who had so suddenly been made equal members of a just society? Why, the rule of women, of course!

  And Hatch, from his long study of politics, knew that the rule of women is a prize often offered to men. He knew Shona to be independent: a free-striding Startrooper who was the cash-manager of her household and mistress of her own destiny. He did not think she would like the future which was being offered to her under the rule of the Nu-chala-nuth.

  And now she was standing in silence, her silence an accusation.

  "What am I to do?" said Hatch. "I mean, I can kill myself, but… is that what you want?"

  He was not speaking in jest.

  And Shona knew it.

  "Hatch," said Shona, "I… I don't have anything to say."

  And with that she turned, and left him.

  Shona was entirely without gratitude, and Hatch allowed himself to be hurt by that. After all, he had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure that Shona and other Startroopers and Combat College were delayed or waylaid, being either prevented from entering the Combat College in response to its summons, or else being separated out from the Free Corps ranks as the Free Corps marched toward the Grand Arena.

  Through such exertions, Hatch had saved those he thought of his closest friends, thinking that they would serve as a closeknit group of confidantes and advisers. He had thought to keep his friends during the loneliness of the long years of power which faced him.

  But now…

  It seemed that was not to be.

  At least not as far as Shona was concerned.

  With that thought in his mind, Hatch turned away from the Yamoda River. Evening gathered about him as he made his way back to the kinema. It was dark by the time he stood in front of the Eye of Delusions, his limbs heavy with fatigue, his skin tainted with the sweat of his long marches through Dalar ken Halvar, the taste of the red dust of the Plain of Jars upon his lips.

  Paraban Senk had given up bluffing.

  No
insect-mandible human showed any more upon the Eye of Delusions. Instead, the Eye was a blank gray, and from it came a hissing like the falling of distant rain. Hatch had never seen the Eye fall blank before, and the sight of it affected him oddly.

  He ventured to the lockway. The outermost door, of course, had failed entirely, but two doors of rock-hard kaleidoscope still stood between him and the Combat College. Would the doors acknowledge him?

  The first of the remaining doors dissolved away to nothing.

  Hatch stepped into the airlock. The kaleidoscope of the door reformed. No voice spoke to Hatch within the airlock. There was only the hiss of air, supplemented by another hiss – dull, dry, dead. The hiss of ancient vacuum.

  The interior door dissolved away to nothing.

  Hatch stepped into the cream-colored corridors of the Combat College. Stepped into the mountain of Cap Foz Para Lash. The corridor was littered with trash. Here the Free Corps membership had waited while the lockway airlock cycled them into the outside world a few at a time, and here were their combast ration tubes, their banana skins, their apple cores, their bits of fried whale blubber – the casual litter of their last taste of life.

  They would have been happy. Well – disappointed to have realized that the Chasm Gates had not after all opened. But. Well, they had been promised a share of power, the chance to do something, to be something.

  And Hatch – Asodo Hatch shook himself free from the past, and strode on into the future, waiting for the dorgi to come lurching out to challenge him.

  The password!

  What was the password?

  Was there still a password? And had the old one changed? And what had the old password been in any case?

  He could not remember!

  Hatch hesitated.

  Maybe the dorgi was expecting a password, would kill him if he didn't have it, the lockway should have given it to him, he didn't have it, couldn't remember it.

  Then Hatch felt a dreadful temptation. He was tempted to go on, to challenge the dorgi. Password or no password. And if he died, well. He was ready for death. But. His wife. His child. His lover. All three were inside the Combat College. Hatch could not risk letting himself be killed by a homicidal machine simply for lack of a password.

  So what should he do?

  Well, Onica, Talanta, the Lady Iro Murasaki – they were all safe in the Combat College. That was no problem. Time was no problem. So Hatch should withdraw. He should at least get the old password. He would remember it himself, surely, if he was able to sit down in peace and think. Or someone else would know it, Shona would know it. And if there was a new password, why, the Eye of Delusions had a communications capability, Hatch could talk with Paraban Senk through the Eye, there was no reason to venture in any further, not now.

  With this thought through, Hatch beat his retreat. But the lockway's innermost door refused to recognize him. The faintest hint of warmth remained to its iridescence, but it was rapidly cooling to the chill which dominated the entire Combat College.

  "Senk!" said Hatch, raising his voice to a roar. "Let me out!"

  Then he hammered on the kaleidoscope.

  But there was no response, not from Senk, not from anyone.

  So Hatch turned.

  Slowly, slowly.

  And ventured down the corridor at a funeral pace.

  Ventured to its intersect with the dorgi's lair.

  Where – Hatch risked a glance into the dorgi's lair, and saw not the beast, but, rather, the slop-slurped hunk-gunk dissolution which marked its wreckage. Hatch knew immediately what had happened. To the uninitiated, it would have looked as if the dorgi had melted.

  But Hatch knew full well that the dorgi must have tried to use those of its weapons which were based upon the manipulation of probability. And those weapons had malfunctioned, thus destroying the dorgi.

  Hatch stepped into the dorgi's lair, wanting to be sure, wanting to have the physical satisfaction of knowing that his much-hated enemy was really dead.

  It was.

  Of course.

  And in its ruins there was something silver, something curiously winking-glinting. Cautiously, Hatch stooped. And picked it up. It was a small thing and a heavy thing, a thing heavier than lead, heavier than gold, heavier than depleted uranium. It was made of an intricate interweaving of shining wires, and it shimmered with its own unquenchable light.

  Hatch knew what it was.

  The thing which Asodo Hatch had found in the ruins of the dorgi was a mazadath, otherwise known as an Integrated Stabilizer.

  In the technical literature of the Nexus, a lot of bold and confident jargon surrounded the nature and use of such devices. A mazadath lay at the heart of every Nexus machine which manipulated probability. A mazadath protected such a machine from being digested by the hazardous forces it manipulated. That was the theory, in any case – thought this mazadath appeared to have failed this dorgi!

  The Nexus was a civilization based on the manipulation of probability, and a mazadath was an essential part of any machine designed to manipulate probability – but the uncomfortable truth was that humans could neither understand nor manufacture any such thing as a mazadath. The Nexus had purchased mazadaths in bulk from the Vangelis, a race of partially-disembodied alien creatures also known as the Shining Ones. Had it not been for the Vangelis, the entire transcosmic civilization of the Nexus would have been quite impossible.

  So now Hatch had in his possession one of the essential components required for the building of a machine which could manipulate probability; though he knew full well that the supporting technologies were so complex that no such task could possibly be brought to fruition within his own lifetime.

  Still – Hatch realized he was unconsciously engaging in an extended exercise in delay, for he was fearful of what lay ahead. Paraban Senk, the Teacher of Control who ruled the Combat College, was obviously not willing to let him leave. So he had to go onwards. A confrontation with Senk lay ahead of him, and Hatch was by no means sure that he would survive such a confrontation.

  After all, if Senk got really angry with Hatch, then Senk could cancel the manufacture of food in the Combat College cafeteria. That way, Hatch would ultimately starve to death, if Senk continued to refuse to allow him out through the lockway. Or maybe Senk could pump all the air out of the Combat College. Was that possible? Hatch didn't know. But he had an uneasy suspicion that he might get round to finding out. The hard way.

  Still.

  He had no choice.

  So, having pocketed the mazadath – it would make a nice souvenir, if he lived – Asodo Hatch strode on down the corridor.

  Making for Forum Three.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Paraban Senk: the Teacher of Control, the great Educator which dwells in the heart of Cap Foz Para Lash. This asma has long had one great priority: to train Startroopers for the Stormforce of the Nexus. And now it is outraged: because Asodo Hatch has taken the Free Corps in ambush, destroying almost all of the Combat Cadets and Startroopers in Dalar ken Halvar.

  I slept to know -

  And knowing nothing knew -

  And waking knew of nothing so

  Gave to my edge that speed:

  And drew.

  Forum Three was quiet. Silent. The empty banks of seats sloped steeply down to the stage on which Asodo Hatch and Lupus Lon Oliver had so recently dueled each other in debate. Above that stage was the big display screen which had shown to the world the battles in which Hatch and Lupus had dueled each other with singlefighters and MegaCommand Cruisers.

  The screen was blank.

  Silent.

  "Senk?" said Hatch.

  No answer.

  No response.

  Very well.

  Hatch could play this waiting game.

  Hatch sat himself down, folded his arms, and closed his eyes.

  Shortly, a brightening of the room made itself apparent through his eyelids. Hatch opened his eyes. The big screen above the lecture th
eater's stage was now dominated by the chosen face of Paraban Senk.

  "Welcome, Hatch," said Senk.

  "And to you, welcome," said Hatch.

  Which was a token of the stress he was under, for Hatch was guest rather than host, therefore it was not for him to extend hospitality to Senk.

  "Have you come for your daughter?" said Senk. "Or for your wife? Or is it perhaps the Lady Iro Murasaki whom you seek?"

  "I seek all of those," said Hatch.

  "Well I for my part," said Senk, "I seek Manfred Gan Oliver and his colleagues and companions."

  "They will be produced in due course," said Hatch.

  "Don't test my wits!" said Senk. "My spies have given me a full account."

  "Your spies?" said Hatch.

  "Call them what you will," said Senk. "But many have come to the kinema to witness the disaster. Messenger boys and others."

  "You trust to messenger boys for strategic information?" said Hatch, endeavoring to ape amazement.

  "Hatch," said Senk, "this is no time for jokes. I am grossly upset with you. Unless you have mastered the fine art of the resurrection of the dead, you are shortly going to find out just how upset I really am. You have slaughtered almost all those Startroopers I trained. Have you even the slightest excuse for your actions?"

  "I had to think of the political stability of Dalar ken Halvar and the fate of my people," said Hatch, as staunchly as he could.

  "That's not good enough," said Senk. "You'll have to do better than that, or I'll tear the hostages apart."

  "Tear apart?" said Hatch, struggling to stay calm.

  "You wife Talanta," said Senk. "Your daughter Onica. Your whore. Tear them apart, Hatch. That's what I'm going to do."

  "This is scarcely a constructive approach to the demands of the moment," said Hatch, with the calm that comes upon a man when he realizes the inevitability of his own death.

  "Constructive approach!" said Senk.

  Senk was positively apoplectic, enraged beyond belief by Hatch's sanguinity. But the more Senk's rage wrathed up, the calmer Hatch got – that very calm feeding Senk's fury all the more.