Sword of the Lamb

by M. K. Wren

  She knew some of the memories this sun-gleamed scene would call up for him. He would watch the people lounging on this beach, especially the children, and remember another beach on another planet; remember childhood days at the Woolf beach estate learning the water and sand secrets of the sea with Rich.

  Erica always enjoyed introducing new members to the Society’s private spa, and inevitably she found herself seeing it through their eyes, and through the eye of memory, remembering her first taste of the alien, yet paradoxically familiar beauties of the Selamin Sea and Pollux’s surface. The light wind carried scents that were almost familiar, but still strange; the cloud-studded sky seemed a spring Terran sky, except for the pinkish cast and for the pale crescent of Castor in its “new moon” phase—too eerily large a moon for the Terran eye accustomed to Luna—and except for the beacon of Alpha Centauri B bright on the horizon. The flora of the island had a tropical look, but the wind was cool, although Fina was in its summer; a mild summer by Terran standards at this latitude, and Pollux’s twelve-degree axis tilt made seasonal changes almost imperceptible. She closed her eyes, listening. There were plants in the dense foliage behind them that sang in the wind, falling into delightful accidental harmonies, but that song wasn’t meant for human ears; it was a siren song to entice small, flying, insect-like creatures to their deaths.

  She heard the distant shouts of children dancing with the waves and smiled. This area of the island was veined with paths and sprinkled with picnic areas, and it always seemed perilously foolhardy to new members. Fina was assumed to be uninhabited by the Concord, and these obvious signs of human existence would be dangerous except for the infrared and visual frequency camouflage screens. But, like all new members, Alex would come to understand that this apparent extravagance was a psychological necessity for human beings confined indefinitely to underground life.

  Now he looked up at Castor’s crescent, then back to the sea.

  “Do you ever get used to it? Everything seems so familiar until you take a close look or a deep breath.”

  She laughed. “The oxygen ratio is lower than you’re accustomed to, and so is the gravity level, of course. No, you never get used to it. I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to adjust to a really alien environment.”

  He turned, surveying the exotically forested slopes of Fina’s Mount Torbrek.

  “How large is the island?”

  “About ten kilometers long and five across. It’s a remnant of an old marine uplift, but most of the islands to the southwest are volcanic. There—” She pointed to her right. “See that plume of smoke on the horizon? That’s Orifel. It’s part of an archipelago stringing off the Comarg Peninsula. Pollux as a whole has more volcanism in progress than Terra. Makes for colorful sunsets.”

  He smiled at that. “And earthquakes?”

  “Yes, and tidal waves. But Fina—our community, I mean—was built to withstand disasters of that kind. At least as far as is humanly possible.” She pulled in a deep breath as the wind gusted off the breakers carrying a faint salt scent with it; that more than any other was closest to a Terran scent. Then she started down the bank to the beach. “Come, we may as well get some sand in our shoes.”

  They began walking along the bank, Alex letting her determine their course. She chose to avoid the concentration of people near the water, preferring to maintain their privacy.

  “We’re at midtide now,” she noted. “At high tide the beach is virtually nonexistent, and at low tide it’s a kilometer’s walk to the water.” Then she stopped, distracted by a movement in the surf off the farthest point of land. “Look, Alex—see those long-necked things out in the water?”

  He followed the direction of her pointing finger toward a cluster of slender, weaving objects that with their bulbous ends always reminded her of small-headed, long-necked beasts. He frowned slightly, apparently impressed with the size of the organisms, if nothing else.

  “What are they?”

  “Now, here’s a bit of Terracentrism. They’re called kelp, and in fact they are closer to plants than animals. But they’re carnivorous. When I first saw them, I was convinced it was a herd of plesiosaurs, but in that I betray my own Terracentricity.”

  She resumed her slow pace, and he walked along beside her, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

  “Erica, how long are you going to put me off with Polluxian natural history?”

  She sent him an oblique glance. “Aren’t you interested in your fellow inhabitants on the island?”

  “Intrigued, but at the moment I’m more interested in what brought me within sight of them.”

  They reached a pile of sea-worn boulders and she sat down on one, waiting for him to seat himself on another.

  “The matter transmitter is a reality, Alex, and it will be our strongest lever on the Concord, as a weapon, a threat, and once we force the Directors to the bargaining table, as an offering.”

  He was silent for a while, apparently fascinated with a spring-ball game going on near the water’s edge.

  “I suppose information on the matter transmitter is restricted to full-fledged members.”

  “Yes, but you are a full-fledged member now.”

  He glanced at her, then shrugged. “Perhaps I need some sort of initiation rite to convince me of that.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have a proper initiation rite. As for the MT, I’ll tell you what I can, but Andreas is the only one qualified to explain it fully.”

  “I’m not interested in how it works. Physics isn’t my forte. I want to know its capabilities in practical terms—and its limitations.”

  “Its capabilities are potentially enormous, but you’re right, there are limitations. We’re limited now in terms of equipment and energy. Still, we’ve had MTs in operation for fifteen years and can trans up to a ton, but we use it primarily for moving people. We have stationary terminals scattered around both Systems, and a return terminal can be established almost anywhere by carrying or leaving a homing device or ‘fix.’ ”

  Alex smiled faintly. “That explains those stories about Phoenix agents vanishing into nothing.”

  “Some of them, at least. Some SI agents can achieve nearly the same effect with disguise, but the MT has been quite useful in escape and rescue operations. Another limitation is the necessity of the fix. We can’t transmit to an ‘unfixed’ point; at least, not people. The coordinates could be off a fraction, and we’d trans someone into a wall or piece of furniture, which is highly fatal.”

  He nodded. “But in transing something like explosives you wouldn’t have to be so concerned with exactness. How unwieldy is this homing device?”

  “It’s very compact. Usually, two are embedded in the soles of the shoes. They’re shielded on the bottom and set up a conical field extending upward about two and a half meters. There’s some leeway within the field, but it’s a good idea to have your feet firmly under you when you trans.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “With more powerful energy sources, would there be any practical limit to what you could . . . trans?”

  “No. Of course, no matter how you move an object, it takes a specified amount of energy to move it across a specified distance. The MT doesn’t reduce the basic energy requirement, but the movement is instantaneous, which saves the time spent on acceleration and deceleration for SynchShift. But more important, it means you don’t have to package the object to protect it from space vacuum, radiation, etc. A Selasid First Line freighter—empty—weighs about a thousand kilotons. Think how much energy you’d save if you didn’t have to move a package weighing that much with the goods.”

  He smiled, and there was an introspective cast to it. “What about . . . moving objects beyond Centauri?”

  “That’s Andreas’s real hope for the MT. The stars. He’s thinking in terms of exploration primarily, but the MT co
uld also make colonization more feasible.” Then she sighed. “It’s one of those inventions that will change the course of history, Alex, and the face of civilization. I’m not really sure I’ll like all the changes. Of course, I won’t live to see all of them, and maybe it’s a sign of old age, but I’m rather glad of that.”

  “Erica, old age is something you don’t have to worry about yet. But what about the MT for commercial transport?”

  She smiled at that compliment and at the impatience that impelled the question so quickly on its heels.

  “With more efficient energy sources—beamed solar power, for instance—the MT would be much cheaper than present modes of commercial transport. At least for distances over ten thousand kilometers. Under that, it’s either a luxury or an unavoidable necessity. That’s really something of a relief for us; it will have no appreciable effect on Robek’s Planetary Transystem franchises, and Robek is one of the liberal Houses we try to protect.”

  “What do you mean by its having no appreciable effect?”

  “I mean it won’t offer Robek any real competition. You see, we intend to offer the MT to the Concord in the bargaining process, but we’ll put a precondition on it. The MT will be controlled exclusively by an agency of the Concord; we won’t let it fall into the hands of any single House.”

  A speculative pause, then, “That would put Orin Selasis in a very uncomfortable position. The MT will offer him real competition.”

  “That’s been an important factor in our calculations.” She gave a short laugh. “And the MT won’t just make Selasis uncomfortable, it will bankrupt him.”

  “But not yet. You aren’t ready to take this to the bargaining table yet.”

  “No. We aren’t ready for the military confrontation that must preface negotiations, and beyond that, the MT has . . . other limitations.”

  “What are they?”

  “Well, we haven’t found a way of negating high-energy field interference. We can’t risk transing people within five meters of a shock screen, for instance. That’s a minor drawback, though; we usually manage to work around it.”

  “And the major drawbacks?”

  “There’s only one. The MT presently functions only within Einsteinian spatial limits. Andreas hasn’t worked out a way of tying it into Drakonian equations. I can’t explain the mathematics of it, but at this point transmissions fall under Einsteinian limits. A trans to Terra now would take four and a half years. That’s not only impractical, but the transing limit for organic life is a maximum of sixty seconds before cellular damage can occur. The negative effects aren’t cumulative, by the way, but when we trans people, we play it safe with a ten-second limit.”

  Erica saw the slight sag of his shoulders.

  “That does constitute a major problem.”

  “It isn’t hopeless. Andreas Riis is a Drakonian physicist—the best since Orabu Drakon himself—and he has two more on his staff who may not be his equals, but they aren’t numbskulls: James Lyden and Caris Bruce. Andreas could get a breakthrough any day, or any year; these things can’t be scheduled. We can only push the program to the full extent of our resources. And hope.”

  A sigh escaped him. “Hope. My alpha and omega. Have you any more surprises like the MT hidden away?”

  “It’s the main attraction. We have a number of minor attractions—inventions and improvements on existing devices or processes. Enough for each of the Houses in the Court to be benefited by at least one. They’ll be part of the package we’ll offer if we can bring the Concord to the bargaining table. It’s quite an impressive list.”

  “I’m sure it is, but you’d be hard pressed to equal the MT, both as a threat and an offering—if you can make it function within Drakonian spatial limits.”

  “We have nothing else comparable, and we’ve calculated the odds on bargaining successfully without the long-range MT. They’re not even worth considering. But we will have it. It’s only a matter of time.”

  He turned away, looking seaward, but his eyes were unfocused. Erica watched him, listening to the rushing cataracts of the waves.

  “So,” he said at length, “you have a powerful tool, potentially, at least; a lethal strategic weapon even in the short-range form, and in the long range, an offering of inestimable value. If the Phoenix succeeds in forcing the Directors to the bargaining table, it could ask a great deal in return.”

  She smiled to herself; the unasked question. Then she leaned down to scoop up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers.

  “What we’ll ask in exchange will also be of inestimable value. We’ll ask for Phase I, for the foothold in the power structure we must have in order to initiate the reforms necessary to keep the Concord alive.”

  He waited for her to amplify that, and when she didn’t, he frowned with a hint of annoyance.

  “Erica, you and Rich both called me a key. The Phoenix has quite a lot of leverage to put behind that key, and it may open the door to Phase I for you. But I can’t believe the Phoenix has put all this effort into building levers while it waited for a disenchanted Lordling to drop from the heavens—literally, in this case. You must have other alternatives, other candidates for the role of key or foothold.”

  “That’s a logical assumption.” She paused, casting another handful of sand into the wind. “We do have another candidate, as you put it; someone who could reasonably be accepted by the Directors and could step into the Concord hierarchy at the level of the Court of Lords. We must begin at that level in order to build an effective power base.”

  “Will you tell me more about this candidate of yours, this potential Lord in your ranks?”

  “Not yet. Bear with me, please. In time nothing about the Society will be closed to you.”

  He hesitated, and she knew acceptance didn’t come easily, but finally he nodded.

  “I told you I’m capable of patience.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry to try it so.” Then she frowned at her watch as she came to her feet. “And I’m sorry to say our brief taste of untrammeled space and unfiltered air is at an end. I have an appointment with John M’Kim in a few minutes. I’ll try not to let him detain me too long. I’ve another outing planned for you today.”

  He fell into step with her as she started back along the bank.

  “What kind of outing?”

  “A tour of Fina. It’s time you learned your way around. By the way, you’re cleared on the MT memfiles, and you’re also free to enjoy our park at any time.”

  He looked out at the plunging breakers and pulled in a deep breath of salt-laden air.

  “That’s welcome news.”

  6.

  Valentin Severin smoothed her tawny hair, an unconscious mannerism indicative of preoccupation or uneasiness. She looked up when she reached HS 1 and touched the doorcon, then frowned absently at the spool case in her hand—the compiled test results on one Jael, an Outsider, and a candidate for membership in the Phoenix—and she was wondering at her own ambivalent reactions. The doubts derived from the fact that Jael was an Outsider, not from the test results, which were impressive, nor the man himself, who was also impressive in his own way. No doubt he’d be very useful to the Society. And she found herself personally impressed with him; she had to admit that.

  “Oh—hello.” She expected the work room to be empty, and she was surprised to see Alex Ransom at the holojector. At first, he seemed equally, and atypically, startled.

  “Hello, Val.” That reserved smile, the surprise entirely masked now.

  She glanced at the closed doorscreens on the office. “Is Erica in?”

  “No, she had an appointment with Fer M’Kim.”

  Val felt an unexpected tension in him as she walked over and looked curiously at the subject of his interest.

  “Boning up on the Council?” she asked. The hologr
am image was that of Predis Ussher.

  He shrugged. “I decided I might as well start at the top. Do you know the councilors, Val?”

  “Not really well, except for—what’s this?” She frowned at the reading screen beside the holojector, and her question stopped him from turning it off.

  The memfile heading was “History, Centauran: Peladeen Republic. Subfile: Lord Elor Ussher Peladeen.” Her eyes moved automatically across the section framed in the screen.

  “. . . Elor Ussher Peladeen and his wife, Lady Manir, had only one child, a son, Predis, who was two years old at the time of the Fall. After the Battle of Helen, Lord Elor was buried in an unsanctioned ceremony at the Leda estate, but the bodies of his wife and son were never . . .”

  Val looked up at Alex and knew she’d paled.

  “How much did Erica tell you about the Peladeen Alternative? That’s Pri-One information. In fact, I know very little about it, and I have access to nearly all the memfiles.”

  His laugh was as easy as that smile, reserved and impersonal. “Dr. Radek is very circumspect in what she tells me, Val. You know that. Actually, all I know about it is that Predis Ussher is the key to the Peladeen Alternative.”

  “Yes. The Concord assumed that Lord Elor’s son died—” She stopped, looking up at him. The words slipped out so easily, as they often did with him. She glanced down at the spool case. “Well, I . . . Erica wanted these tapes; I’ll leave them for her.” She crossed to the office door and inserted the case in the compartment beside it, opening it with her name spoken into the voice lock.

  Alex moved to one of the chairs, but didn’t sit down. He was waiting for her to leave. She smiled at that. An introvert, it would seem; totally goal-oriented, Erica called him, a man who wouldn’t permit himself to be distracted, or made vulnerable. Val would leave him to his studies and privacy, but she wouldn’t let him be entirely undistracted by the people around him. She walked toward him, smiling.

  “I understand you had your first taste of pure Polluxian air this morning.”