She concentrated on finding her own seven acolytes in the sea of small gray-robed figures at the rear. Too much alike. Too many of them.
One woman stood out. She wore a long flowing gown of black and silver, to match her hair drawn back into a tight bun. A nearly transparent black cloth draped over her head and shoulders. The cameras drew close to her, singling her out.
“Lady Marissa, twin sister to our dear departed Laudae Marilee,” a man’s voice said softly through the television.
Then the camera zipped over to the first rank of observers and pointed out Lady Marissa’s twin sons and other high-ranking Nobles. Including Lord Chauncey, a frail old man in a wheeled chair. His black suit and crisp white shirt looked like they cost Sissy’s entire yearly salary.
She’d never before seen the man who controlled so much of his Workers’ lives in Harmony City, had controlled so much of Sissy’s life.
Then Laud Gregor tapped out the first resonant chimes on a huge black crystal at the center of the altar. The crystal picked up the tones from the pipe organ and the plucked strings from the orchestra to harmonize in a chord that twisted Sissy’s heart and reminded her of the grief felt by the entire empire at the loss of their High Priestess; of all the deaths that had happened during the quake.
Sissy wondered if she could have brought forth the same tone if she had been the one to tap that crystal.
A clap of thunder added a note of discord. A gust of wind rattled the trees outside her window.
Sissy jumped and gasped. She held her hand to her throat, thrilled at the energy and majesty of a storm. She wanted to rush to the window and watch the panoply across the skies. That was a new word she’d learned. Laud Gregor had used it to describe the full ritual of a state funeral. It seemed to fit the storm that turned the clouds blacker and sent flickers of strange light across her senses.
Something strange and wonderful hovered just beyond the edges of her vision. What? Was Harmony speaking to her again?
“Oh, dear. I do hope the power holds,” the nurse said. She bustled over to the window to look out upon the city. “So far no black sections.”
The strange flickers inside Sissy’s head vanished.
“Laud Gregor told me that Laudae Marilee hated thunderstorms. I wonder why Harmony sent this one to her funeral. Seems kind of a dishonor.” Sissy wouldn’t allow herself to believe the storm honored her, Laudae Marilee’s replacement. Sissy loved storms as much as she relished bright blue skies and lush grass beneath her feet. Whatever weather Harmony threw at them had a purpose. She reveled in it all.
“I wonder why the Temple scheduled the funeral for today. The weather satellites should have predicted this a week in advance,” the nurse grumbled. “Surely they could have waited a day for better weather.”
A flash of blue-white light out the windows made the interior yellow toned lights flicker. More thunder rolled around and around the heavens in accompaniment. Shouts of distress erupted in the corridor.
On the television screen the throng of funeral attendees pressed back to the scant cover offered by the overhang behind the seven crystal columns—two of them only recently repaired and held together with miracle compounds that hardly showed the cracks at all.
The shouts in the hospital corridor became desperate. Slamming doors and running feet accompanied the sounds of distress.
Another flicker of lights and more thunder. Sissy began to tremble with excitement she didn’t understand, could hardly contain.
A ball of golden fur shot into Sissy’s room. It levitated to her bed and tried to crawl beneath her light sheet and blanket.
“What have we here?” She climbed back onto the bed and tried to soothe the very wet and frightened cat that pressed itself as close to her as possible.
“Oh, my. Don’t touch it, Miss Sissy. It’s dirty. The fur will upset your breathing.”
“How’d you get in here?” Sissy asked the cat, letting it find warmth and comfort beside her. “You’re so skinny, hasn’t anyone fed you lately?”
Two orderlies slid to a halt outside her door and bolted in. “We’ll take the animal now,” one of them said, reaching for the cat.
“Why?” Sissy asked. She kept a protective hand on the critter.
The two orderlies and the nurse stared at her aghast. “A hospital is no place for a cat, Miss. It’s dirty, full of contaminants and allergens.”
“It sneaked in right after the rain started. We chased it all over,” an orderly explained. “The thunder must have frightened it. Wonder why it was out on the streets. Laws against letting pets run free.”
“It’s frightened and lonely,” Sissy said. Just like she was. “He doesn’t have a home.”
Did Sissy?
The cat butted its head against her side.
She pulled it closer yet. A deep rumbling purr grew from a faint wheeze to a loud roar beneath her hand. The vibrations melded with the pageantry and music on the television screen and filled her with a sense of Unity.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the tendrils of power that bound all life together in Harmony with the mother planet.
Once again, words formed in the back of her throat and tumbled out beyond her will to control them. Her voice rolled, deeper, more majestic than her own. It echoed through the room on a sympathetic note to the chiming crystals on the television.
“I claim this cat as a symbolic refugee, as the Temple is required to remain open to all those lost and alone, living without Harmony. We must use Empathy and Nurture to help them find Unity and Harmony.”
The hospital professionals bowed to her, mouths agape in wonder.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JAKE CHECKED THE AIR IN his emergency reserve for the seventh time in as many minutes. He hated running solo with a dead ship. No air, no lights, no engines, no sensors. And no gravity. Only his own eyes constantly scanning for signs of another ship, also running dead. Momentum kept him going in the vacuum of space on a planned trajectory.
He’d drifted inside the borders of the Harmonite Empire two hours ago.
If worse came to worse, and the authorities found him, he had the excuse of major ship malfunction and loss of control. The tiny explorer scout certainly looked as if it had sustained a collision with an asteroid or space junk. Pammy had made certain of that.
She built layer upon layer of cover story into his documents. Three different sets of them to cover any contingency. If they all got questioned, Jake had to wing it on his own and hope for a prison cell on Harmony Prime—which he intended to break out of as soon as possible.
If all went right, he’d exchange identities with another man of similar age and build. A quick shot of more nanos should complete the identity exchange.
But where was the guy he was supposed to replace? They should have rendezvoused five minutes ago.
Out here, running dead, a tiny fraction of a degree off the planned path and they’d miss by a parsec.
The ship jolted slightly.
Startled, Jake nearly panicked and hit the sequence to bring the ship back to life.
A tiny buzz inside his helmet. Pilot to pilot, private conversation, limited range and subject to interference and override.
They had to keep each burst of words short and simple. Long-range sensors could pick up the signal if not the actual words.
“We have tethered to you,” a man said quietly in his ear over the static of space radiation. His accent sounded strange, slow and clipped at the same time. Final syllables drifted off into nothingness.
“Acknowledged. Sending my own tether over.”
“No time. Open hatch.” Anxiety clipped the man’s words further.
Jake obeyed.
In moments two suited figures drifted from the small storage area behind the cockpit into the copilot and navigator’s jump seats.
“Two?”
“My spouse.” The taller of the two figures handed Jake a data flimsy. “Illegal marriage out of caste. Baby coming. We
had to get out fast. My colonel is suspicious.”
“Briefing?”
“No time. Take my ship back. Dream drugs tell you much.”
Another buzz in Jake’s other ear. Someone was trying to listen.
Hastily, he vacated his seat and propelled himself from one handhold to another until he stood in the hatch. “Luck!” he told the fugitives, grabbed the tether, and slid twenty meters across to another hatch. Not much more than a black outline inside a black blob against a black backdrop. Only his helmet lights showed him anything.
He’d no sooner retracted the tether and closed the hatch than his counterpart risked a quick firing of engines to turn back toward the CSS and safety. Then he killed the engines and drifted away.
Jake allowed himself a moment while his heart thundered in his ears to orient himself to the new ship. Everything seemed reversed, right to left, front to back. Ancient in configuration and yet . . . the specs in the data flimsy suggested this little ship could outfly anything Pammy could drag out of R&D.
He waited another twenty minutes before engaging his own engines and setting the coordinates in the flimsy. Harmony VI, no—wait—they called it H6, lay two days dead ahead of him if he continued to drift.
A suspicious colonel meant he needed to report for duty in twelve hours. Supposedly the wife would just disappear, as must happen if she bore an out-of-caste child.
An hour after that, when Jake knew as much as he could learn while awake, he brought the ship back to life, set the autopilot to wake him an hour from sensor range on H6 and injected a round of sleepy drugs that carried memories and data carefully recorded over weeks, maybe months by Sergeant Jacob da Jacob pa Law Enforcement H6.
“Is she gone for good?” Laudae Penelope whispered as she nudged Gil’s arm. They stood in a damp huddled mass beneath the overhang waiting for Laud Gregor to sound the final chime of Funeral Ritual. All of the black-clad priests, priestesses, and their acolytes fought to maintain any dignity they could in the midst of the totally unexpected storm. Torrents of rain drenched the High Priest. Still, he persevered and finished the state funeral with aplomb and proper pacing.
“I doubt it,” Gil whispered back. He hoped not. In just a few weeks Sissy had brought a sense of lightness and enthusiasm to the Crystal Temple he hadn’t seen since he and Penelope had first worked together reorganizing and implementing a new curriculum for Holy Day classes among the other castes. The woman standing beside him had been full of bright laughter and . . . joy then.
When had she become so bitter and shallow? Fashion and protocol dominated her conversations now. Not their lessons and how she wanted to upgrade the educational system throughout the empire.
Blame Marilee for that.
Gil suspected the High Priestess they mourned today had so little intelligence and ambition that she spent all of her time and energy on pageantry with nothing left over for actual work. Lady Marissa had more than enough intelligence and ambition for both of them.
“Bethy reports that the Lood learns quickly but has less formal education than her acolytes,” Penelope sneered. She leaned close so that only he could hear her words.
A rare chance for him to hold her hand in public. He took it firmly.
“Expected. In her prior life she didn’t need more than a basic education.”
“She makes each lesson a rhyming game and plays with her girls as if she were no older than they.” This time her voice showed more amazement than contempt. She returned the squeeze of his hand.
“An interesting teaching technique. I presume that both Miss Sissy and her girls find the lessons more memorable.” Harmony forbid that Penelope might actually learn something from Sissy.
“Bethy agrees. She suggested we adopt it in the religious curriculum for the very young and the lesser castes.”
Gil cringed at her tone. Was he the only person at Crystal Temple who saw an equality in all the castes? Certainly some carried more responsibility, but each filled a necessary niche in civilization. Without any one caste, the rest would collapse. Except maybe the Poor. But there were always those who could not work because of illness, disability, or extreme age. And they gave the other castes a chance to learn charity. Teens of all castes spent many hours volunteering to help among the Poor, burning off excess energy and eating up free time when they would probably think of ways to get into trouble.
Yes, even the Poor filled a place in society. How to convince Laudae Penelope of this, and open her heart to charity and acceptance of others?
An interesting problem.
“Bethy smiles more now,” he whispered to Penelope.
Beneath her heavy crystal veil Penelope made an ugly face.
The rain let up a little, and the thunder seemed more distant. The storm passed just as Laud Gregor brought his last prayer to conclusion. He sounded the final note of the closing ritual and bowed to the High Altar. With dignity and grace he backed up and retreated.
Penelope withdrew her hand from Gil’s grasp and followed Gregor close on his heels, eager for all to see her position as next in line.
Gil waited for all the Lauds and Laudaes to retreat from the open forecourt around the altar through a tunnel into the privacy of the Temple buildings. Then he took his place as most senior acolyte.
Penelope needed to have her world shaken, he decided. He couldn’t think of a safe way to do it, though. Yet.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JAKE LET THE AUTOPILOT LAND the little scout. He didn’t know how good a pilot Jacob da Jacob pa Law Enforcement H6 was and didn’t want to show off too much. He glided it into the bay directed by control, deliberately making his touchdown rough. He could almost hear the guys in the comm tower wince.
They said nothing. They didn’t even pipe up when he delayed opening the hatch, though he knew maintenance people waited for him.
Slowly he gathered his thoughts and hoped the REM implant would guide him through the first awkward moments of the unknown.
“Thanks, Spacers,” he said quietly to Control.
“Return the favor sometime,” an anonymous voice replied. With respect.
Interesting cooperation between the castes.
“Did you get her out of your system?” a man in a black uniform with three stripes on the cuffs asked the moment Jake poked his head out of the hatch.
Jake grumbled something. Morrie da Hawk pa Law Enforcement H6. The name popped into Jake’s head from the REM implant. He knew the man preferred to be called da Hawk, Morrie having some bad family associations. The implant didn’t know why.
“Her father has disowned her. If she’s found, she’ll be cast down to the Poor caste, left to starve on the streets, no one allowed to do more than give her alms. Quite a comedown for the daughter of the Fire Marshal,” da Hawk said.
Jake kept his face down and eyes averted, not certain how much he actually looked like his counterpart. Hopefully Pammy had a recent image to program her nanobots.
Another flash of memory that wasn’t his own. The woman da Hawk referenced helped him/Jacob solve an arson case at Lord Daniel’s shoe factory. They’d tracked the arsonist to employment at Lord Nathaniel’s fine leatherworks factory. Seems the two lords were rivals for the same supplier of raw materials. Jacob had turned in his report.
The investigation stopped cold at the doorsteps of the lords. Only the arsonist saw Justice Hall and punishment—the death penalty for obeying his lord.
“Her name shall never cross my lips,” he said. Of course it wouldn’t. He didn’t even know the woman’s name and only had a brief memory of her face.
“Good. Colonel turned a blind eye to you going AWOL for a full day and night. Now he wants you back at work. There’s been a burglary at Lord Daniel’s bank. You’ve got the detail. I suggest you find the criminals and get them to Justice Hall quickly.”
Jake nodded. How the hell was he supposed to do that?
“Forensics come up with any data?” That question came straight from the implant. So ap
parently Jacob da Jacob knew how to investigate crimes.
“Nope. They wore gloves and masks. Muffled their voices and carried illegal firearms.”
Jake grumbled some more. “The weapons. We need to track the materials for making gunpowder. And the maker. Not a lot of places in the city capable of making a gun, fewer where someone could make them in secret. I’m betting the maker and the robbers are one and the same.” That’s what he’d do. Considering the death penalty for getting caught making, possessing, or using a firearm, he wouldn’t trust or risk anyone but himself in this escapade.
Da Hawk raised his eyebrows. “Good thinking. Collect your squad and get out there. Make it look like hard work. At this rate they’ll promote you to a desk, so you won’t think much. Thinking will get you into trouble. Maybe if they promote you, I’ll get some of these good cases so that I can earn favor with the officers.” He wandered off, apparently satisfied that Jake was ready to go back to work.
“I could really use some favors right now.” Da Hawk had sounded weary, as if all the troubles of their caste rested on his shoulders.
Jake was surprised that the Military was so forgiving of an out-of-caste love affair and so leery of independent thought.
Sissy took a deep breath, testing the new implant. If the blamed thing didn’t work right, she wanted to know now, before the physicians sent her back to Crystal Temple tonight.
They called it her home. They had it all wrong. Home was a couple of joined flats on the fifth floor of an apartment block filled with her family.
Even that was gone, taken from her. The family lived somewhere else now.
Her lungs worked. She coaxed her chest to expand just a little more, take in a bit more air. She felt a little constriction. Not enough to make her cough.
She buried her face in Cat’s fur—the animal never strayed more than a few inches from her, even choosing to use the box of sand in the necessary when she did. As she raised her head, she inhaled again. A little less constriction, a little more air.
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