Harmony

by C. F. Bentley

  “Why aren’t Temple hospitals overwhelmed?” Johnny asked, his sly smirk hidden from the hover cam. “And why do you take in only one Worker caste instead of the thousands that need care?”

  Time to end this before Guilliam told the reporter what he really wanted him to know, instead of what he should know.

  “I am not in charge of sorting who goes where. As divinely ordained, we must keep the castes separate as much as possible. The young woman we transported was clearly identified as in need of specialized care. We were afraid she might be shuffled into a back corner and forgotten. She is in line for having her caste mark Lauded. Any taint from the mingling of castes will be kept to a minimum.”

  “Why’s she in line for being Lauded? She’s just a Worker making Spacer components.”

  Guilliam took a deep breath. “We search constantly for the one prophesiedlong ago who will renew our Covenant with Harmony and restore balance.”

  “Shouldn’t the Chosen One of legend come from Temple caste,” Little Johnny spat. Clearly, he had no belief in Prophecy. A sad condition all over Harmony.

  “We do not presume to choose for Harmony. Our Goddess will reveal her Chosen One when and where She chooses. We can only be alert and help those we guess might become special.” Guilliam turned abruptly and headed in the direction of Crystal Temple Hospital. He’d have to walk. Laud Gregor had ridden in the ambulance, the only vehicle working in the immediate vicinity.

  “Mister Guilliam,” Little Johnny said quietly.

  Guilliam paused, not willing to turn and face the man and his hover cam again.

  “I’ve turned the hover cam off. What is really going on here?”

  Guilliam smiled to himself. “Something of great import. I can’t say what yet, because I am not certain myself. You’ll be the first to know when I have more facts.”

  “Promise?”

  “My word of honor.”

  “You’re the only Temple caste who has any honor left,” Johnny muttered.

  “In the meantime find a copy of the Prophecies and read them. All of them.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” Little Johnny turned his cam back on and wandered off to the next knot of activity among the ruins.

  Guilliam began the long walk across the city, hoping he arrived before things got out of hand again.

  Jake skimmed through six different technical manuals. If he narrowed his focus to one word at a time, he could almost forget the pain pounding in his head.

  The constant thrum of the station’s power plant, out of sync with his headache and pulse, intensified his hangover. But Pammy had chosen these secret alcoves for her offices and quarters. No one came down here unless they had to. Her payroll extended to every maintenance tech who serviced the heart of SB3. She paid them extra for discretion and loyalty, almost double the going rate.

  Jake sipped at a cup of coffee. Only lukewarm and it still burned his tongue.

  None of his standard hangover remedies had worked. He’d drunk liters of water, downed anti-inflamatories, even a precious raw egg in a glass of synthesized tomato juice with a dash of Worcestershire sauce hadn’t eased the fire singeing every nerve in his body.

  His reader flashed page after page of details about Badger Metal, its properties, its peculiarities, and weaknesses. Lots and lots of pages about the consequences should hull plating fail.

  Lots and lots of flashes of light that made him dizzy.

  Concentrate, he admonished himself. Just read the words and forget the rest.

  He scratched where the rough cloth of his anonymous station overalls rasped against his skin. That just turned the itch to flames darting about from one patch of flesh to the next. Pammy had taken away all his comfortable uniforms. He’d have new clothes just before he took off on his mission to Prometheus XII, a boil on the backside of the universe. That planet couldn’t hurt him any more than his own stupidity and a bottle of scotch with beer chasers. Far too many beer chasers.

  Then he hit the section on theories and forgot the scratchy weave of his loose clothing. Forgot the sledgehammer trying to get out of his skull through his eyes. “Why can’t scientists just admit they don’t know what the hell Badger Metal is or how to make it?” he grumbled, running his hands along his scalp. Damn, even his hair hurt.

  “Because if scientists admit they don’t have the answers, then the masses lose their faith in science and revert to superstition and religion,” Pamela Marella said from the opposite side of her office where she prepared documentation for Jake’s upcoming mission.

  “And anyone who puts faith above science has to be as crazy as the Harmonites,” Jake added. “They’re religious and they have Badger Metal. That does not compute.”

  “You got that right.”

  “So how do I figure out if this new product on Prometheus XII works?” He swiveled his chair around so he faced Pammy. And wished he hadn’t. His head took several seconds to catch up with the rest of him.

  Pammy worked efficiently, not an errant keystroke or mistake. He took a few moments to appreciate her finer points. If only she weren’t so bossy, he’d like to get to know her a lot better.

  But then, Pammy’s bossiness made her the best spymaster in the entire CSS. When she growled, strong alpha males jumped and did her bidding. Like himself.

  “You know it works if you shoot it with a full blaster on max setting and it doesn’t dissolve into a puddle of space goo,” Pammy said, never looking up from her work. “And while you’re at it, see if the matrix bath is compatible with crystals.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “I’m a pilot. And a damned good one. Not an R&D robot. What do you need crystals for?”

  “Another theory in the works. Last report out of Harmony, fifty years ago, said they were working on a crystallized form of Badger Metal that would provide instant communication through hyperspace and act as a homing beacon to get a ship safely out of hyperspace.”

  Jake whistled softly. “Now that is something worth stealing.”

  “Worth more than your next three promotions. In fact, if you can bring me a working crystal and the recipe, I’ll promote you to admiral, grant you an estate overlooking the ocean on New Earth, and give birth to your sons.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.” But Jake figured that a crystal with those magical properties was just theory. Even the best scientists in the CSS couldn’t come up with one of those. Hell, they couldn’t come up with real Badger Metal.

  “There’s an image of what a BM crystal should look like on page nine hundred fifty-six, manual three. Take a good long look at it. Study every facet, and memorize the color variations.” Pammy fiddled with something behind her desk.

  “Sure,” Jake said dubiously, pulling up the specified page. Before he could do more than blink at the blinding facets, Pammy jammed a long syringe into his thigh, through his station overalls.

  “Yeooow!” Jake screeched followed by a lengthy string of curses.

  “This is really a painless procedure,” Pammy said, holding the syringe firmly in his thigh. She barely blinked at his profanity. Doubtless she’d heard worse. “Painless but necessary. And it will cure your hangover.”

  Sissy roused from her light doze, aware of people crowding around her. The nasty sharp odor of disinfectant and fear belonged only in hospital.

  She identified her mother, Maigrie, by the scent of hot cinnamon, fresh from her baking. Her father, Jaimey, smelled of sawdust. Stevie smelled of . . . Stevie. He needed a shower.

  Then she realized he hadn’t left her side since the beginning of the quake.

  How long ago?

  How long had she slept?

  She needed to finish that nav unit and get it out to the Spacers. With a tremendous effort she heaved herself to her side so she could get out of the bed. Sharp pains ran from her hands up to her shoulders. Her lungs burned. She flopped back against the pillows. Tears pricked her eyes.

  She had failed in her duty to complete the nav unit. Another ship might be doomed t
o drift endlessly, lost in hyperspace.

  “Easy.” An unknown masculine voice. A strange hand gentled her shoulders.

  Then she opened her eyes, expecting to find a nurse or med tech at her left.

  Her gaze lighted upon a middle-aged man, older than her father, with wisps of gray at his temples and not much other hair on his head. His soft blue eyes looked troubled. A bright purple circle on his left cheek, and his funereal black shirt and trousers identified him as Temple caste. He should wear green. Temple always wore green unless . . .

  The quake. He wore black for the many funerals and grief blessings to come.

  She didn’t recognize him from the local temple. But then the priests, male and female, changed about every half year. The Crystal Temple didn’t like their caste becoming too attached to any neighborhood. Their allegiance belonged to Harmony first and the Temple second. Any other bond was frowned upon. Even marriage, she’d heard whispered.

  She held up her hands, both bandaged heavily. Last she remembered she couldn’t pull them away from the Badger Metal pillar outside the central tower at the factory.

  “Who?” she croaked out. Her throat felt raw. She needed a drink. She needed to get back to work.

  “I am Laud Gregor. You were injured in the quake, but we are taking care of you.” He held a water tube with a bent straw to her lips.

  Sissy sipped greedily, then turned her head to find her mother leaning on the bed railing, peering at her.

  “Mama? Why aren’t you and Pop and Stevie at work?” Mama could have had an exemption from work after her fourth child. Her services were more valuable caring for her family than taking so many children to care centers while she plied her talent as a baker. Sissy’s and Stevie’s salaries as skilled workers allowed them to bring grandparents back into the family fold, so the elders—long past working age—could care for the younglings while Mama worked.

  Better than shuffling family off to care facilities. Too many accidents happened there to those beyond usefulness.

  “I have given your entire family leave to visit you while you are in hospital,” Laud Gregor said quietly.

  Sissy looked at him sharply. No local priest had that kind of authority. She took in the careful tailoring of his black clothing and the pendant of Empathy, their sun and consort to Harmony, around his neck. Diamonds outlined the sunburst of real gold.

  “High Priest Gregor da Ivan pa Crystal Temple from the Crystal Temple?”

  He nodded in acknowledgment.

  “What’s wrong?” High Priests from the Crystal Temple didn’t come into Worker neighborhoods. Nor did they bother with simple working families.

  “Very soon the nurses will prepare you for surgery. The physicians need to implant an extra filter in your lungs to get rid of all the dust you breathed in. They will also try to remove some more layers of the Badger Metal bonded to your hands,” Gregor explained.

  A high-tech procedure reserved for the most wealthy and highest caste.

  That wasn’t what Sissy wanted to know.

  Behind her, Stevie chuckled a bit. “We had to use a laser saw and an electron microscope to cut you out of that pillar. Good thing I was there. All the others trained with those tools had gone.”

  Sissy smiled up at her brother, craning her neck to see him at the head of the bed. “You are the best, Stevie. Even if you did get educated to be a supervisor. Thank you for staying with me. I heard you talking to me the whole time. You kept me from giving up.”

  “What was you doin’ in there, gal? You should’a left with t’others.” Mama clucked her tongue in disapproval.

  The High Priest shook his head at Maigrie. A forbidden topic. The one Sissy needed to talk about most.

  “I had a chore to do, Mama. You always taught me to finish my chores. No matter what.”

  “You always was a good gal.” Pop patted her shoulder.

  “I have a special chore for you, Sissy,” Laud Gregor said quietly. “A chore that will require all of your skills.”

  Sissy tried to will her heart to stop pounding so hard. It didn’t obey her.

  Before she could ask what kind of chore, two nurses came to the door, hands full of gadgets Sissy could not identify. Both nurses bore a priestly purple circle around their green triangle caste marks.

  “We ain’t at the factory hospital, is we?” With all the death and injuries from the quake, why was she scheduled for minor surgery? Weren’t the hospitals overrun with more serious injuries?

  “No, my dear, you aren’t. We brought you to Crystal Temple Hospital,” Laud Gregor said quietly.

  “Why?” She did her best to capture his gaze, but he kept looking away from her.

  Laud Gregor waved the nurses away. “We’ll be ready in a few moments. But we need a bit of privacy first.”

  The nurses backed off and slid the bio-plastic door closed.

  Sissy continued to stare at the High Priest, willing him to speak. Her parents and brother fidgeted nervously.

  “I need you fixed properly so you can take special training for your chore.”

  “What chore?”

  “First off, Maigrie and Jaimey, I need to know why you did not report Sissy’s unusual caste marks at her birth.” Laud Gregor turned a hard gaze upon Mama and Pop. The blue in his eyes paled, looked like frost on a clear winter’s morning.

  “Didn’t know we was supposed to,” Mama whispered. She hung her head.

  “The physician should have.”

  “Sissy was birthed at home, just like my other six kids. Workers cain’t afford to go to hospital for a simple thing like givin’ birth.”

  “Surely her teachers would have made note.”

  “Temple schools may have enough teachers and textbooks for everyone. Factory schools don’t,” Stevie took over the conversation for their parents. He could speak better. “Factory teachers barely have time and energy to deal with the normal paperwork involving sixty or more students apiece. Do you know how much paperwork is involved in reporting an anomaly like Sissy’s extra caste marks, My Laud?”

  The High Priest opened his eyes wide and shook his head.

  “Enough to take a teacher out of the classroom for a month; with no one to replace them. Teachers don’t have time to deal with anything but day-to-day lessons.”

  They all stared at each other in silence for a long moment. For the first time, Sissy got scared. She’d heard stories of what happened to kids born out of caste. Mutants. Loods. If they let her live, they’d make her Poor caste. Lowest caste won out over higher. She’d have to live on the streets, probably starve to death. Or be thrown into an asylum, chained to her bed. They’d never let her finish the nav unit or speak to her family again.

  Cold sweat broke out all over her body. She began to shake.

  “And when you were tested at the age of twelve for your aptitude?” Gregor broke the silence. He looked long and hard directly into Sissy’s eyes.

  “Automated testing center for manual dexterity and ability to read and do maths,” Sissy said on a quiet breath. Where was all this leading? Why was she in a Temple hospital anyway?

  “So you have grown up with no one in authority taking note of your ah . . . unusual caste marks?”

  Sissy nodded, not daring to take her eyes off the High Priest. If she looked away, she might miss some clue as to what dire consequences she faced.

  “How did you hide it from the Workers?”

  “Cosmetics,” Mama said quietly. “I saved out extra to buy her makeup.”

  “And the way she wears her hair, cut straight at the jaw,” Stevie added. “She looks down a lot, shy-like, lets her hair flop forward to cover her face.”

  “And what about your prophecies?”

  “What?”

  “You know, them cute things you say to make people stop and think,” Mama said cheerfully.

  “That’s just Sissy, My Laud. She doesn’t mean anything by it,” Stevie said. He tried to edge between Gregor and Sissy. The High Priest held his
position. Stevie had to back off.

  “Doesn’t she?” He looked at Stevie squarely. “What about what she said to you earlier? Something about marrying early and being happy so you could earn your ambitions later.”

  Silence again.

  “What did I say?” Sissy tugged anxiously at her brother’s arm with her clumsy bandaged fingers.

  “Nothing, Sissy.” Stevie blushed.

  “You told him to marry the love of his life now, and not to wait and marry for advantage later,” Gregor intervened. “He needs to earn a better ambition.”

  “If I marry Anna now, I’ll not be considered for supervisor next term.” Stevie pounded one fist into the other.

  “If you don’t marry her now, boy, her dad’ll marry her off to Tyker, maintenance supervisor. You willing to watch that happen?” Pop said quietly. “Could be Sissy’s right. Maybe you aren’t really ready to be supervisor. If you wait, you could go all the way to manager.”

  Stevie looked at his shoes.

  “You told me that I would not find what I sought until I stopped looking.” Gregor smiled crookedly at Sissy. “What am I looking for?”

  Sissy’s insides went all quivery and her vision began closing in from the sides. She hated when that happened. People usually got angry when she said what needed saying.

  “Don’t fight it, Sissy,” Stevie whispered. “You hurt worse if you fight it.”

  She kept her breathing shallow so’s she wouldn’t cough.

  “Your gift of prophecy is important, Sissy. What am I looking for,” Gregor repeated.

  “You look for the truth, but you won’t find it till you admit your truth is not the truth.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  GREGOR LEFT SISSY’S ROOM quickly without explanation. He had to think, and think hard. What was he going to do with that girl?

  He found himself staring through the clear wall into the special room where his High Priestess struggled for life. A bland-faced physician joined his vigil.

  Laudae Marilee’s twin sister Marissa sat on a rolling stool, holding her hand and weeping.

  White-clad people bustled urgently about, making almost no noise. Every Professional caste mark in the place had a purple circle around it. They had all passed rigorous tests of intelligence, discretion, and loyalty for the right to serve in Crystal Temple Hospital. Only then had they had their DNA manipulated to “Laud” their Professional caste marks.