The Moons of Barsk

by Lawrence M. Schoen

  “What is it, Regina? Why are you here?”

  Her second assistant pointed at the band Klarce wore on her wrist. She followed the younger woman’s gaze, saw the blinking light and muttered a curse.

  “Damn. Low enough to trigger the monitor, eh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Regina offered her a pair of tablets and a cup of water.

  She took her meds, waving off the water and swallowing them dry, noting the larger than normal dose. It would help her return to baseline in the short run but cause her to sleep more than she’d like later on. Perhaps that was just as well. She let her eyes close and waited for the first trickle of the drug into her system, counting off the seconds. She hadn’t yet reached a hundred when some of the fog cleared from her mind. Good. There was work to do. She opened her eyes to find her assistant still standing there.

  “What?”

  “There’s a call for you from above.”

  “Regarding?”

  “A ship. ‘Nestwhistle’ summoned the duty officer on Ulmazh with the news. A ship is headed to the portal. She estimates it’s still five days out.”

  Klarce frowned. Nestwhistle was the code name of one of the agents currently floating adrift in little more than a cargo container retrofitted with pressure and atmosphere, limited hydroponics and waste recycling. Ethernauts called them luxury pods, and this one hung on the other side of the Alliance’s portal in Barsk’s star system. Nestwhistle’s monitoring assignment gave them advance notice of anything coming their way.

  “What of it? The Alliance sends its ships through to rendezvous with the station every season. Has it deviated from routine procedures for passage into the system?”

  “No, ma’am, but it’s not a materials transport ship, which is what prompted the agent to contact Ulmazh, and why they in turn sent word down to you. She says the ship’s call signal identifies it as the same senatorial craft as has visited regularly for seven years. Passive imaging from Nestwhistle’s sensory arrays scattered throughout that system confirms this.”

  Yes, and that was another problem that would be resolved with the passing of the senator Jorl. No senator, no need for a private yacht dropping in twice a year, piloted by who knew what race. She’d seen the images. The luxury vessel never landed, oh no. Instead it flouted the spirit of the Compact while observing the letter of the treaty. Its occupants never stepped off onto Barsk soil, preferring to float like a boat just offshore.

  Klarce felt in possession of most of her faculties once more. She waved Regina away with her trunk. “There’s nothing unusual about that. It visits twice a year, late every dark and early in wind. Dependable as the seasons themselves.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Only … we’ve just started flood.”

  And so it was. Damn. She brought the nubs of her trunk up and pinched at the spot between her eyes. Meds or not, she needed to think.

  “Is it following its usual heading and speed?”

  Regina nodded.

  “So, not in a hurry, not drawing any extra attention to itself other than coming in off schedule. Not that there’s any reason it should suspect its being tracked. Assuming nothing changes, once it’s through the portal how long until it’s due to break atmosphere here?”

  Her assistant consulted a handscreen. “An additional four days. A total of nine days from now.”

  “All right. Well, don’t just stand there, get me some koph, girl.”

  “Koph? Ma’am, you shouldn’t ingest that so soon after your other meds. It’s contraindicated—”

  “So is killing an Alliance senator when his ship is paying a surprise visit, but there’s nothing else for it. I have to Speak to our field agent on Keslo and rescind my previous instructions. What was her name?”

  Regina consulted her device again, tapping at it with her nubs. “Dabni. Her cover has her as a clerk in a bookshop.”

  Klarce waved the specifics away with her trunk. “I don’t care what her damn job is. I just need her name so I can pull a signature from the index.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I just thought … well, some details would facilitate the summoning—”

  “I spoke with her earlier today. There are enough of her nefshons still lingering near me to pull her in quickly, if you would stop dawdling and fetch me the koph!”

  “But, ma’am, the meds. Surely another member of the Quick Council can contact her if the need is so pressing.”

  “I told you, damn the meds! She won’t accept the change in orders from anyone else, and I can’t allow myself the luxury of waiting for my body to metabolize my medication. But … fetch me a snack from the kitchen. Some food in my system will help a bit, albeit after the fact. But the koph first. And hurry, girl. It may be too late as it is.”

  * * *

  BY the time Temmel arrived for his morning shift the deed was done. Klarce didn’t believe in luck, but she nonetheless felt grateful for whatever random factor had stayed the agent’s hand from delivering the meme that would trigger a physicality cascade in this senator Jorl. Doubtless an explanation for the delay would be included in Dabni’s report but that didn’t matter now. Not for the first time, Klarce wondered if his involvement with the Alliance government was why Margda had chosen him so long ago, but nothing he’d done while in office was especially unusual, not for a senator nor an academician. There had to be something else.

  Meanwhile, Regina had placed a bowl of her favorite mixed fruit near to hand, cleaned up the broken crockery, brewed a new pot of tea, and placed the sole surviving mate out of the set of six cups on the desk within easy reach. Head pounding as the koph warred with the meds that kept her alive, Klarce had rested her head on the desk, closed her eyes, and sampled tea and fruit with her trunk. At some point in the process she passed into sleep.

  “Ma’am?” Temmel’s voice had acquired the timidity that defined Regina. Not a good sign. She opened one eye and found her primary assistant standing over her.

  “What?”

  “Sind has convened the Full Council. Your presence is required.”

  “Damn. Do I have time to bathe first?”

  “No, ma’am. Regina and I conferred and determined it was better to let you use that time sleeping. Your pardon if we erred in our concern.”

  “No, it’s fine. The dead won’t be aware of how I smell and won’t care, and if Sind doesn’t like it he has only himself to blame.” She lifted her head from the desk. The room swam only a bit. “I don’t suppose this is a session I can attend remotely?”

  Temmel’s ears dropped back aghast. “Ma’am! This is the Full Council.”

  She pushed away from the desk and rose to her feet. “Oh please, it’s not like I’d be the only one there who wasn’t corporeal. But never mind. Just wishful thinking. Very well, let’s go see what Sind thinks is so important.”

  For the second time in less than two days she made her way to the council chamber. Temmel hurried after her, juggling an assortment of data records, recording equipment, and packets of koph. This time, Sind wasn’t waiting for her outside the door. She entered to find him oblivious to her arrival, his head down on the table much as hers had recently rested on her desk. Melko, the Lox who was the third of the four members of the Quick Council occupied a chair on the other end of the room from Sind and was similarly at rest. She stepped to him first and placed a hand on his shoulder. With no transition he opened his eyes and gave her a smile that spoke of relief mixed with fear. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, offering reassurance for a concern she hadn’t learned of yet. But Melko was a kindly soul. He had the talent and the intellect for the position, but his passion was research not governance; making policy invariably left him aquiver.

  Klarce moved around the room, passing a quartet of Speakers arrayed in hammocks strung along the back wall. She knew them all. Each possessed the high clearance levels necessary to do the work of the Full Council. Each lay in a state like deep sleep. Her ears twitched. This was not the way things were done. She continued her circuit, passing an e
mpty chair that should have held Kissel, the final member of the Quick Council. Klarce nodded to Temmel who had begun setting up further down the table from Sind. When she reached the senior member of the Quick Council she employed a kick to his shin rather than a gentle touch to gain his attention. His eyes jerked open more violently than Melko’s. Perhaps she’d kicked the old man too hard.

  “You started without me?” She frowned at Sind. Hadn’t she taken a problem off his hands less than a day ago? Why was he pulling this nonsense now.

  “The dead needed to be briefed.”

  “Then why isn’t Kissel here? It’s not a ‘Full’ Council without him.”

  “He’s in surgery. He’ll join us when he can.”

  “And you couldn’t wait? I would have happily slept a while longer.”

  “This isn’t the time to be petulant, Klarce. This may be a critical juncture.”

  “This is about the ship?”

  “It is.”

  “Then why the rush? It’s days out by all accounts.”

  “I’ll explain in council. Sit. Your assistant has your koph ready.”

  “Damn it, Sind. I don’t need more koph in me just now. My body’s still unhappy with the dose from earlier this morning. You knew that. This could have waited.”

  “I felt otherwise. Please, you’ll understand soon.”

  Scowling, Klarce seated herself where Temmel had placed the ceremonial koph used for Full Council sessions, formulated to activate perceptions of nefshons more quickly while also containing a small enough dose that wouldn’t allow the user to control the particles for long. But that wasn’t needed. The foursome of Speakers lining the wall were doing the summoning. She and Sind and Melko—and presumably Kissel, if and when he staggered in from his operating theater—only needed enough of the drug to let them see the results. She popped it into her mouth, folded her arms on the table, and again lowered her head and closed her eyes.

  Quickly the nefshons showed themselves. She sat alert and upright in her seat in an imaginary scenario, an identical conference chamber that existed as shared illusion in a mindspace provided by someone else. Sind and Melko nodded in silent greeting as her personal construct took form. The quartet of junior Speakers existed as little more than shadows on the back wall. Their presence wasn’t important. Rather, each had summoned one of the other members of the Full Council. Everyone in the room was a Speaker; the ability to manipulate nefshons was a requirement of the job. But the other half of the council had all died long years past. Each had served on the Quick Council while alive, and these four had been among the best, invited back to share their wisdom even beyond death. The first time she’d participated in Full Council, Klarce had been intimidated to be in their presence. Now she knew them as colleagues. Brilliant, dead for centuries, but individuals like herself who served the Caudex and had the best interest of Barsk guiding them.

  “Bring me up to speed,” she said. “What have I missed?”

  “The Alliance ship associated with Margda’s chosen has arrived out of schedule.” This from Genz, speaking first as seniormost of the Full Council.

  The nefshon construct of Soosh, dead three hundred years, took up the narrative. “We have been informed that yesterday this Jorl ben Tral made contact with one of the island’s dead Speakers. Standard protocols were followed but proved ineffective.”

  “Which is why, after consultation with Sind, I instructed our agent on the scene to distribute a meme to initiate a physicality cascade. The timing of his ship’s appearance is disturbing but cannot be related to his discovery of a member of the Caudex. Nonetheless, prior to coming to this session I again contacted our agent and rescinded the order. No harm has been done.”

  “That’s not why we’re concerned,” said Nirl, the youngest but also the most brilliant of the other side of the council. “Sind has intercepted a transmission from the vessel, relayed through the portal and on to the Aleph.”

  “What kind of transmission?”

  “The Brady who serves this Jorl is not alone. Her cargo includes a Procy from Caluma. And that individual has a petition she intends to set before the senator. She wishes to present her case face to face.”

  Klarce shook her trunk from side to side. “What does that matter to us? Jorl is an academic and the least powerful member of the Committee of Information. What possible interest could a petition to him have for us?”

  Genz regarded her with tired eyes. “Indeed, a reasonable enough interpretation. However the society in question is our own. The Procy intends to petition the senator from Keslo to allow non-Fant to settle on Barsk.”

  “What? That makes no sense. Toward what end?”

  “That,” said Sind, “is the question we must address. It’s one thing to hide our operations from other Fant. We’ve had centuries to build the societal memes that allow us to proceed without detection and thus serve the best interests of our people. But the Caudex is still centuries from completing its work; we cannot yet commit to a final exodus.”

  “Outsiders will bring fresh eyes, newer and plentiful sensory technology, making it harder for us to hide. And hiding things in both plain sight and through illusion has been our way,” said Nirl.

  “And questions,” added Marsh, the last of the dead council members, an Eleph who in his day had been a persuasive politician second only to Margda. “They will gaze upon the commonplace and ask questions that no Fant would think to ask, because they have not had the discontinuities that spark such thoughts shunted aside by cultural memes. Questions that we are not yet ready to entertain, and never want to respond to if the Alliance might hear the answers.”

  “So what are you suggesting? That my decision to rescind the order to take the senator’s life was an error?”

  “Less drama, please,” said Marsh. “Killing is a last and extreme resort. We understand the urgency that drove the original decision, but if we can find another way, then the rest of the council would prefer not to take the life of another Fant.”

  Klarce nodded. “On that we are agreed. Then … what?”

  “We must know more,” said Sind. “Why did the Brady agree to bring this petitioner to Barsk? What are the particulars of her proposal? Is it even remotely possible for this historian-turned-senator to accomplish the thing, if he had the will?”

  “So you’re saying your intention is to ‘wait and see.’ How did this require an emergency session of the council?” Klarce didn’t pretend to hide her irritation, even as she considered the toll this second round of koph would take on her body given the other meds in her system.

  “No, there is another factor.” Soosh looked like she wanted to spit. “The boy.”

  Klarce turned to stare at the dead Lox. “What boy?”

  “I will not name him.”

  “The abomination?”

  Nirl flinched. “I will not discuss such a one.”

  “That is precisely why we must. He comes and goes in this senator’s home. They have been seen walking and talking together in public, numerous times.”

  “No one has seen any of this.” Nirl’s insistence bordered on strident.

  “No one admits to seeing. But they see. Would you have this council turn a blind eye as well?” Soosh appeared to be arguing directly with Nirl at this point, and Klarce wondered how long they’d been going round and round on the issue, just prior to her arrival today, or was this an old feud?

  “Would you have us turn away from tradition? From culture? This creature—do not call him a boy, it is no more a boy than this table is—does not intersect any aspect of Fant behavior. We do not apply the term abomination lightly, but we must respect it.”

  “I do respect it,” said Soosh, and she turned back to Klarce. “Which is why the need for this session.” She held up a hand and began ticking off her fingers. “A historian who has traveled beyond Barsk and lived among other races. An Aleph-Bearer who was foretold, some would say ‘chosen,’ by Margda herself, for purposes we cannot fathom. A senat
or with a seat on a critical committee, despite no formal election or history of any Eleph or Lox serving in the Alliance government. And finally, a Fant who sets aside our beliefs and traditions to not only consort with an abomination, but to educate it as well. There is too much here we cannot explain or account for. And the arrival of the Procy and her petition is one more anomaly too far.”

  “Which is why,” said Genz, “That ‘wait and see’ will no longer suffice. We must prepare. Imagine all possible contingencies and have a plan in place for each.”

  FIFTEEN

  FUTILITY ALL AROUND

  DESPITE the season, despite this being only one of the island’s ports, Fintz maintained a very active trade with dozens of surrounding islands, and as the morning brightened through the heavy rains, the pier where Pizlo knelt filled with people. No one spoke to him or sought to offer any assistance. Astonishing and unprecedented as the facts appeared, word that an abomination from another island had come to Fintz had spread far and wide. Eyes averted, they walked past him and went about their errands, each person wondering at the ill omen of two such creatures upon their shore.

  Pizlo rose, the dead infant cradled in his arms, letting the rain wash away his tears. He stood, surrounded by denial, and rushed back up the pier to the main boardwalk of the harbor. He strode into the mass of people, scattering them with his presence and shouted.

  “This is what you are. This is what you’ve done. I don’t care that you won’t answer me.” He said the words over and over, his voice soft and hoarse from crying. It didn’t matter that they refused to hear him. He accompanied the spoken message, pounding out an infrasonic beat that demanded attention like a lost child. They turned at that, driven by instinct hardwired into their cells, and then recoiled as conscious thought informed unconscious behavior. Abomination. Using their own humanity against them. If anything, they turned away from him even faster.

  “You can pretend not to see or hear, but you do.” Pizlo sobbed. “You know. This is part of your story, each and every one of you. You think yourselves the heroes of your tales, but explain that, tell me how that can be? What heroes embrace infanticide? What heroes laud neglect and suffering of a helpless newborn? Every last one of you is a baby killer by your inaction, your silent acquiescence.” His words reached more than a hundred Fant, but they were all too busy turning away and denying his existence to react to what they heard.