by Wren, M. K.
Perhaps what most concerns me is motivation.
Selasis I can understand. His compounds are dismal sinks of cruelty and deprivation because he considers it unprofitable to make them anything else, and because he is too lacking in empathy to care how his guards and overseers maintain discipline and efficiency as long as they do it. The processes of dehumanization in Selasid compounds are cruel, but oddly inadvertent.
But the processes of dehumanization in Cameroodo compounds are purposeful and systematic.
Perhaps I can understand that, too, even if I haven’t succeeded in quantifying it, and there’s the source of my fear.
Cameroodo considers himself a religious man and he accepts, as fatalistically as any Bond, the divinity of the status quo. He never questions it, and he will maintain it with his dying breath. He sees the status quo as a morally sanctioned and defensible premise. He might disapprove of Orin’s moral excesses, but will remain loyal to him and his passionate defense of the status quo without, I’m convinced, recognizing his real motives. Selasis defends what is precious to him; Cameroodo defends what he regards as divinely sanctioned.
That includes his ascendancy over his Bonds, and he considers the possessive pronoun equally sanctioned. They are objects entrusted to his possession by divine right, and it is vital to the rationale for him to maintain them in the status of objects. He cannot see them, in any sense, as comparable to him as human beings. If he were to recognize them as such it would destroy the rationale, and his psychic foundations are built, and solely dependent, upon it. In order to maintain the rationale, he makes objects of his Bonds through those systematic dehumanizing processes.
I must somehow—and soon—put Cameroodo in a more objective framework; he must be entered as a prime factor in our equations. If we do succeed at some future date in negating Selasis, then Cameroodo will become an independent factor, one that I’m afraid has thus far been underestimated as a negative—and threatening—quantity.
Chapter XVII
Septem 3258
1.
Jael left Erica in a medical head session with Carl Roi and Dr. Eliot; they didn’t seem to miss his going. Outside the cubicle, he stopped for a word with the blade on guard.
“Corb, I’ll be back in an hour. If anything comes down ’com me.”
“I got your seq set on my ’com, Jael,” he answered, eyeing his Drakonis Bond garb curiously.
Jael’s costume attracted more looks as he rode the pedway down the hall, and the same kind of curiosity. What sort of gim was Jael running in Bond weave?
They’d never believe him if he told them. Jael the son of Amik nobbing with Shepherds, laying his life for stakes and coming away with both hands empty.
Alex had said the Bonds must be warned. So Jael was making a run at it. This was his first pass today, and it wasn’t as difficult as he expected. The medallion and the words opened the doors, even if the one was a fake. But the words were true weight. He had been to the underground city of Semele on Dionysus to see the Elder Shepherd Mahmed. The old man treated him like he came in the wake of saints, and perhaps he did.
When Jael reached his apartment, he set the sec-systems and went over all three rooms with a montector. He hadn’t set foot here for two weeks, since before Alex Ransom moved into that ticking cubicle in the infirmary.
No change. Erica said it with a shake of her head. Twelve days, and no change, and maybe that was something to be grateful for. Jael had seen enough death; something happened around the eyes when it was close. It was in Alex’s eyes now.
Jael went to the comconsole in the salon and called the COS HQ frequency. Telstoi was waiting.
“Tel, I’m staying over at the old Ser’s until Erica’s ready for an escort. Val should be calling in the next half hour. Give me an interconn here when she does. You have the ’com seq? My apartment.”
“Yes, sir, I have it.”
“Thanks, Tel.”
Jael cleared the frequency settings, then went into the bath, stripping off his Bondman’s clothes as he went. He only had time for ten minutes of Gam Chi calisthenics and a shower before a buzz recalled him to the comconsole. The exercises were a well entrenched habit he’d let slip lately, and that was asking fate. He needed to be on top, physically and mentally, more than ever now. He wrapped a towel around his still wet body and reached for a headset.
“Yes, Tel.”
“Your call from Val, sir. Go ahead.”
“Jael?”
He took a quick breath, wondering, as he always did, at the sudden tightness in his throat. He’d been right all those years ago. A green-eyed Fesh sweet, and a heart-holder; that more than anything.
“Are you well, sister?” Then, with a short laugh, “Sorry. That name probably rubs wrong.”
He was relieved to hear her laugh; it sounded easy and without too much of an edge.
“Brother, from you it sounds good, and I’m well, other than being in my usual state of near frenzy. You’d better talk to Erica about transing another medical package.”
“Val, you haven’t tossed down all those pills already?”
“Not quite; don’t worry. How’s Alex?”
He braced himself to answer the question. “No change. But he’s no worse.”
There was a brief pause; he could almost see her nodding acceptance of all the implications in that.
“Well, I’ve finally got something to report from here, Jael. At least that’s a change.”
“Thank the God. What is it?”
“All those hours of eavesdropping on the Sisters’s gossip paid off finally. I have something more on Sister Betha. Jael, she was a Bond.”
He stared at the lights on the console, wondering why those words seemed so incomprehensible. If Betha was—
“You better lay it out for me, Val.”
“I picked up three of the senior Sisters talking in the pantry—that seems to be a favorite gossiping spot—and Sister Betha’s murder came up. They refer to it as her ‘passing.’ Anyway, one of them put forth the theory that the assassin, the ‘insane Bond,’ was someone out of Betha’s past. She said, ‘After all, Betha was a Bond. Perhaps he was the real reason she came to Saint Petra’s to begin with.’ Then she went on to say something about how everybody knows how uncontrollable Bonds are when it comes to ‘bodily desires.’ ”
Jael managed a laugh, but it was short-lived.
“But how did they know Betha was a Bond? You said every Sister’s past life is a closed chapter. No one but the Supra’s lined in on it.”
There was a hint of impatience in her tone. “Jael, I’m sure no one told them she was a Bond. They knew the same way you’d know. How long does it take you to read anyone’s class just from the way they act and talk?”
“Point, sister. Five minutes, usually, but I’ve never tried to read anyone in a nun’s suit.”
“Well, that might take you six minutes. The Sisters probably aren’t as quick, so give them a couple of days. But they had somewhere around four months. That’s something else that came out in this conversation. They were trying to remember exactly when Betha entered the cloister. The consensus was that it was just before Saint Budh’s day, and that was 10 Avril.”
“And Lady Adrien disappeared 3 Avril.” That was only thinking in words, and he didn’t expect a response. He went to a chair and sank into it, pushing a hand through his damp hair. “Oh, ’Zion, that’s the first ray of light we’ve had since . . . Val, the Master of Shadows made a slip. Betha had to be Mariet. He’d be going on height and weight, and Mariet was Adrien’s mannequin.” Then he stopped, frowning. “Unless Mariet wasn’t the only Bond novice at Saint P’s.”
“But she was. Jael, Saint P’s isn’t closed to Bonds, but the number who apply is infinitesimal. The odds are against there being two Bond novices here at the same time, and I know none of the r
est of the novices are Bonds. Well, there’s a couple I can’t vouch for personally, but I’ve asked around—subtly, of course—among the ones I’m on good terms with, and there aren’t any Bonds. Not now. That means Mariet isn’t here any more, and that means—”
“It’s a true-weight ray of light, and thank the God. Thanks to you, sister.”
She hesitated then, and he heard an uneasy laugh.
“Well, I wanted to give you that first, because I have more to report, and it’s not so encouraging. I told you I’d eliminated all but two of the novices for one reason or another—height, weight, VP ident. Well, today I . . . I got voice recordings from the last two.”
Jael pulled the towel up around his shoulders, feeling a chill in the air.
“And you eliminated them, too?”
“Yes. I’ve eliminated all the novices. But, Jael, I can’t believe Lady Adrien would be here as anything but a novice. Not unless Thea’s hiding her in a secret dungeon. It doesn’t make sense. Lectris is here, Mariet was here—I’m convinced she was Betha—so Lady Adrien must be here.”
“Val, I know.” He could understand her desperation, but the hint of panic in her tone cut to his heart. “Let’s look it over on a cool slant.”
“Maybe you should look it over. I think I’m past a cool slant.”
“All right, have you looked at this? Maybe after Bruno pinned Mariet, Adrien left Saint Petra’s.”
“No, not if she’s one of the novices. I run a head count every day at sunrise and sunset vespers. There were thirty-seven novices before Betha’s murder, and thirty-six afterward, and no new novices have come in. That would never be kept secret.”
“Then the gist must be in the elimination process.”
“Jael, I’ve gone over every piece of information I have, and every novice, time and time again.”
He said lightly, “And I thought you were gimming us all this time while you lounged off the days.”
That brought a laugh, even if it was brief.
“Of course I was. Saint Petra’s is just a resort spa in disguise. All right, Jael, I’ll start at the beginning again. I’ve missed something, but the God help me, I don’t know what it is. I’ll start on the tall ones. Maybe one of them is wearing padded shoes. Does SI have any detectors for that?”
“I’ll check with Ben.” He leaned back in the chair, his smile fading into an introspective frown. “Val, there’s more here that doesn’t make sense. Why is she still in hide? She must know Selasis already buried her.”
“Maybe she’s hoping for a contact with Alex—with the Phoenix—before she makes a move.”
“She isn’t making the contact easy.”
“Of course not. We can’t be sure how much she knows, and even if she’s sure Selasis is satisfied now that she’s dead, what if something turned up to make him realize Bruno made an error? I wouldn’t be breathing easy if I were her.”
“No, I suppose not. Well, at least you’re behind the walls, Val. You’ll line in on her sooner or later.”
“But how much time do I have? Later may be too late. Too late for . . . for Alex. Jael, I’ve been thinking about . . .” She hesitated, then went on firmly, “We’ve talked about it before, and I know you don’t agree with me, but I still think I should try to approach Sister Thea and show her the medallion.”
“Val, we have to assume Thea’s protecting Adrien with all she’s got. You go to her with that medal and tell her to show it to Adrien, what can she do? If she takes it, she’s admitting Adrien’s there, and your word that you’re friendly won’t carry any weight. In her place, I’d toss you and the medal out of Saint Petra’s on the minute. Remember, she’s already seen a murder in the cloister, and you can tally what that did for a peace-loving Sister-hermit with seventy-some years on her.”
“Jael, I know, but I—I’ve got to do something—”
“Oh, Val . . . little sister, I know you’re holding on with your fingernails, and there’s no one there to reach out a hand to you. Please . . . don’t let go. You may have to go to Thea before the last card’s down, but we won’t run that gant unless we’re pushed to it.”
He listened through a silence, then heard a resigned sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I must get to the day’s collection of tapes and hope I don’t fall asleep right when Sister Henna tells Sister Helen she’s decided that obnoxious new novice Alexandra simply will never become a proper nun. A disgrace to Saint P’s. Damn, this is ruining my knees, you know.”
He laughed at that. “Then behave yourself, sister, they’re your best feature. With the exception of that upper-caste nose, and certain other features . . . in between.”
“Oh, Jael, please—not while I’m locked in a nunnery.”
He took a long breath. “Yes. Well, it’s a little monkish around here. So, get to your gossip and stay off your knees if you can. And thanks for the word on Betha. That gives us all a new lease on hope.” He hesitated, feeling his throat tightening again. “Val, I’ll be here waiting for you. Always.”
Her voice was only a whisper. “I know. Fortune, brother.”
“Fortune . . .”
2.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember the security procedures. Today, Erica forgot to call ahead to Ben before she transed from the COS HQ. She’d been too preoccupied with medical indices, with the data that spelled out a medical paradox. The wound was healing—slowly, to be sure, but it was healing—yet the patient was on a long, inexorable downward slide; psychologically, totally unresponsive, physically, only weakly responsive.
Twelve days. The exiles at the Cave of Springs would have been totally demoralized except for two factors: Jael and the LR-MT.
Jael had assumed command of the COS HQ from the moment Alex surrendered it, and none of the exiles took exception to it; he made it seem both natural and inevitable. There was no breakdown in discipline, no changes in duties or schedules, and, above all, little free time for anyone. The COS HQ staff was, if anything, busier now than before Alex’s collapse, and Andreas had plunged with that intense concentration that always amazed her into the LR-MT. Two more Fina physicists had joined him and James Lyden and Caris Bruce, and together they retreated into another world whose language was numbers and equations. From that world, messages occasionally emerged to give hope to the exiles. Tentative plans for an experimental test were already being made.
But Alex lay in his guarded cubicle, drifting in and out of consciousness, always out of her reach, evidencing no awareness of her or anything around him, except the biomonitor screen. He seemed to understand its function, and she knew why he watched it; she knew it wasn’t in hope. Not hope in the usual sense.
Erica only realized she’d slipped up on the security procedures when she transed into the Fina MT room and found Ben waiting for her at the door. She looked over at the two techs manning the console. There were always two on every shift now, and both these men were loyals.
“Hello, Phil . . . Chan. Thanks for the ride.”
Chan Orley was hurriedly clearing the orientation board. “Any time, Dr. Radek. How was your trip?”
She knew the real meaning of that question and shrugged uncomfortably.
“Nothing’s changed. Hello, Ben.”
He only nodded, wearing that typical, faintly anxious frown as he walked with her into the corridor.
“Erica—”
“I know, I didn’t call you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, Mike Compton signaled me, and I happened to be close by; the Council meeting just adjourned.”
The corridor was busy for this late hour. Erica automatically noted postures, gestures, voice levels; the aura of urgency was all-pervading, but it didn’t surprise her. Predis Ussher was a master at mass manipulation. He engendered and sustained that urgency and used it to negate doubt.
“What about the Council meeting, Ben? Was anything said about yesterday’s convenient power failure?”
He laughed caustically. “Of course not, and I kept my mouth shut through the whole damn meeting. You’d have been proud of me.”
“Didn’t anyone mention the newscast? Predis may have cut Fina off, but not the outside chapters.”
“The rumors are floating around, but no one on the Council was going to put it up to him, and like I said, I was a good boy and didn’t say a word. Not even when he announced a change in the timetable for the offensive.”
Erica looked up at him. “What kind of change?”
“What do you think? He’s moving it up. This isn’t for general publication yet. He says it’s tentative.”
“That means he wants to make the announcement himself at the next rally.”
“Probably. That’s scheduled for tomorrow. Anyway, that should take everybody’s mind off the fact that the SSB finally admitted Andreas did escape.”
“Predis is adept at creating diversions. Did the newscast mention the names of Andreas’s rescuers?”
Ben’s frown at that was one of mild puzzlement.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, and we didn’t have a chance to add anything to that script; Woolf was sitting right on top of the whole broadcast.”
“As long as they mentioned ‘Major Ransom.’ What’s the new date for the offensive?”
“Concord Day: 14 Octov.”
She felt the chill of pallor in her cheeks, and knew she wasn’t successful at keeping her dismay hidden.
“Ben, that’s only a little more than a month.”
He nodded bleakly. “Thirty-seven days.”
3.
