Harmony

by C. F. Bentley

  “What you trying to prove, da Jacob?” Lieutenant da Martin asked belligerently. He stood with hands on hips and a scowl on his face.

  “Ease up on him, sir,” Sergeant Camden da Yehan growled. “He’s seen a lot of action, solved some serious crimes of late with bad results. Let him run and fight hard if it makes him easier to live with.” A pregnant pause that suggested Jake’s hurt went deeper, more personal.

  The unmentionable out-of-caste love affair.

  “Barely nicked him,” the medic called. “Some light pressure bandages and he’ll be back on duty tomorrow.”

  Charl Da Martin grumbled something about emotions having no place within the ranks, then turned to address the gathered platoon.

  “Listen up, men. The ordination of the new HPS takes place two weeks from today. Every Noble in the empire will be present, along with their entourages. Every priest and priestess in the empire will be present, along with their entourages. That’s a lot of people who control a lot of power. We cannot allow the dissent among the desert Worker caste to spread to the capital.”

  Dissent? That surprised Jake. That suggested large numbers and organization. More than just a single disgruntled Worker causing trouble.

  What was so bad in the desert that spawned a Worker revolt?

  “Deployment?” Jake asked. A major riot in the capital might prove enough of a diversion to let him break into a Badger Metal factory.

  “Patience,” he almost heard Pammy counseling him.

  He wanted off this rock and back in the civilized space of the CSS. The best way to ensure that was to stay cool and in control of his cover.

  “Since you seem intent on proving yourself better than the rest of us, da Jacob, you lead the detachment covering the Crystal Temple forecourt. No one gets into Temple grounds without an invitation, a pass, and ID. Not press—they can use remote hover cams. Not your mother. Not even someone with a sparkling Temple caste mark. They all have to have an invite, a pass, and ID,” Lieutenant da Martin said.

  “As a side note,” he continued with barely a pause for breath. “The media have offered us copies of all of their recordings should there be trouble. We’ll have evidence to convict.”

  “Why do they want to cooperate with us? They never have in the past,” Jake said. That bit of info came direct from his implant.

  “Cooperation is just part of their bid to become a separate caste.”

  They didn’t want to be responsible to, or censored by, anyone but themselves. Just like the press in the rest of the galaxy.

  Lieutenant Charl went on to give details of how many men at each gate, how many patrolling the perimeter, what weapons to carry in addition to their swords and which of them to display.

  Jake chilled. From the rain, he told himself. Too much rain out of season.

  Standard security procedures. If they knew how to do this right, they must have done it before. A lot of times. All was not as peaceful and harmonious on Harmony as the government pretended.

  Very interesting. Pammy needed to know about this just as soon as Jake got back to civilization. Maybe before, if he could figure out how to send a secure signal.

  Time to start prowling around the comm center.

  Sissy stared at the thick sheaf of papers long and hard. Night had fallen hours ago. The Temple slept, including Cat and Dog. Godfrey prowled his glass cage, kept warm by artificial lights. She had privacy and time to think after a long, long day of study and ritual practice. She could do without the study. History and government bored her. Practicing with the crystals and the prayers and the patterns of movement enthralled her. She’d gladly do that all day long. If Laudae Shanet and Laud Gregor would let her.

  Sadly, they wouldn’t. She had to learn so much before she could complete her training as High Priestess.

  Carefully she sounded out each letter of the string of long words. “Whereas the Gov-er-n-men-tal hi-er-ar-chy needs to network . . .” she knew that word well. She’d used it often enough in building nav systems. “Needs to network within a pat-ern-al-is-tic attitude . . . What in the name of the Seven does that mean?” She sighed.

  She wished now that she had taken the opportunity for additional education when it was offered to her. But at twelve, when she had passed her mechanical aptitude tests with superior marks, the chance to work in the electronics factory seemed much more interesting and advantageous. Her family needed the money offered for her fine dexterity more than they needed her to continue on with her schooling for another four years. Leave that to Stevie who wanted to do more at work than just build nav units. He wanted to manage the entire factory some day.

  “I wish you were here with me now, Stevie,” she whispered. “You could help me understand this gibberish.”

  “I am here. What do you need help with?” Stevie said quietly from her doorway.

  “Stevie!” She flung herself across the big room into his arms, the text forgotten in her joy.

  He held her tightly with strong hands. She clung to his neck for long moments, cherishing his warmth and the press of his hands on her back. She’d almost forgotten how good it felt to hug someone. All Temple caste seemed capable of was a placating pat on the shoulder.

  “Oh, Stevie, I am so tired and confused and lonely. I want to go home. But I can’t.”

  “I know, Sissy. I know. We miss you at home, too. The new quarters are big. Almost too big. We don’t trip over each other anymore,” he half laughed. A sob choked off his mirth.

  “How did you get in here?” Sissy asked. She looked around for signs of the grim-faced Military who prowled the perimeter of the Temple, keeping out lower castes who might taint the Temple with their presence. Or were they keeping the Temple caste in so they wouldn’t taint themselves by mixing with outsiders?

  “Mr. Guilliam gave me a pass. I can come and go anytime I want. This is the only time I could get free of work and the family.” Stevie grinned from ear to ear; just like he had when they were children plotting pranks against older cousins.

  “He did? Oh, I am so grateful to that man. He’s the one who truly runs things around here. Laud Gregor likes people to think he’s in charge, but Guilliam’s the one who actually gets things done and makes sure others do what they’s supposed to.”

  “ ‘They are supposed to’ not ‘they’s’. You’ve got to remember your grammar, Sissy.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “It’s just so hard to remember everything I’m supposed to do, and not supposed to do. Like cutting one piece of meat and eating it before cutting another. Why not cut all the pieces and then eat? That’s more efficient. But not as polite. And they know who to bow to and who to stand straight for. So much easier just to bow to everyone. Temple people think different than we do. And they expect me to know everything right off without telling me I’m supposed to know it, or how to learn it.”

  “Every caste is different, Sissy. Different and closed off from all the others. As dictated by the Gods. We each serve the whole in different ways. There’s no way you could know.”

  “They don’t understand that. They have all this history and literature and stuff bred into them. We don’t need to know that to work in the factories. We need to know how things work, how to make them, and how to fix ’em when people like Temple klutzes break ’em. They just expect all their gadgets and communications and stuff to work while they argue endlessly about the interpretation of events that took place hundreds of years ago. And they don’t understand why I don’t think that’s important.”

  “To a priestess that is important. Especially to the High Priestess, which is what you are. And you don’t bow to anyone. They all bow to you.”

  “Not yet the High Priestess, I ain’t. Not till next month when they perform this big ritual and then have a grand party afterward. A party don’t make me smart enough to be a priestess.”

  “The entire planet gets a day off work that day, Sissy. The ritual is important to all of us. We get to see you elevated to the highest rank in our
society. You, Sissy. My little sister will lead the High Council as well as the Temple. You will be able to make things better for people like us. And we get to party, too, in our way. Anna and I want you to marry us afterward. You’ll be a priestess and can do that. Imagine me and Anna married by the HPS of all Harmony.”

  Sissy had to sit down. Fast. “Stevie, I’m glad you and Anna are getting married. I really am. And I’ll gladly do the ritual. I know that one real well. I’ve been practicing that one just for you. But lead the High Council? How can I do that?”

  “It’s the law, Sissy. HPS presides over them. You have a vote and your vote weighs more than any one of the other Guardians. So you can keep the government on the path to Harmony.”

  “I can’t do that!” she wailed.

  “You have to. We’re counting on you.”

  “But I can’t even read all the stuff they send me!”

  “Then let me help you. What is it you don’t understand?”

  Together they pored over the first layer of documents. Stevie read them first, then broke them down into simple statements.

  “Why’d they have to take three paragraphs to say that trade between the North and South Continents is getting smaller?” Sissy rubbed her tired eyes in frustration. “Di-min-ish-ing. Is that the word you used?”

  “Diminishing, yes. Getting smaller. They do use a lot of extra words. Makes them sound more important, I guess. And here, these five pages say that ocean storms are sinking ships. Taking lives. Ocean levels rising on the coasts. Won’t be much land left if the seas take it all over. The weather satellites aren’t doing their jobs anymore. Aren’t telling us all that’s happening.”

  Could that be why the thunderstorm surprised everyone on the day of the funeral?

  “Why’s that?” Sissy bent closer, suddenly more interested. “And why haven’t we heard anything about this? This is important. People are dying out there.”

  “It doesn’t say why. It just says something must be done to correct the loss of revenue to the port owners. Lord Louis wants the government to compensate him for his losses in shipping and tariffs, and rebuilding further inland.”

  “Com-pen-sate?”

  “Pay him back.”

  “Oh. That don’t seem fair. Seems like we should find out why these things are happening and correct that. The families of the sailors should be compensated for their loss, not the lord.”

  “See what I mean, Sissy. You can change these things. No one else can.”

  “I don’t know . . . who’s gonna listen to me?”

  “All of Harmony.”

  “But not Laud Gregor or the High Council.”

  “You’ll have to find a way to make them listen. Like you made Harmony listen when you sang us out of the quake.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JAKE STUDIED THE SIGN-IN FORM at the Communications Tower in the dead center of Harmony City. He had duty at dawn, so this evening was his own time. No reason an off duty sergeant shouldn’t check out dispatches from his family back on H6.

  Technically this facility belonged to the Spacers. But Military shared it rather than waste energy duplicating functions. Spacer communications went off planet. Military monitored all planet-bound communications.

  At the last second he signed Sergeant Morrie da Hawk’s name instead of his own. Without a guard to check ID, no one questioned him as he took the elevator to the seventh floor. He wondered briefly how they got this building to stand far above its neighbors when none of them stood higher than seven stories.

  Since the big quake, anything left standing higher than seven stories had been torn down and rebuilt.

  The elevator took an uncommonly long time to progress upward. His stomach plummeted and his head felt light, as if the mechanism rose faster. Ah, each story must be twice normal height, giving this building the look of a tower jutting far above its neighbors, but still maintaining the sacred seven.

  He exited into a broad lobby surrounded by closed office doors. No signs. He guessed that anyone coming here was supposed to know where to go. Sort of like knowing which line to stand in at the commissary and who sat where in transport vehicles or in the mess hall. Little things that people grew up knowing but had given Jake the newcomer several moments of awkward pause until he figured it out.

  The first door to his left was locked, as was the next one to it. He’d come back with his trusty lockpicks if the other five doors didn’t pan out. The fourth door he tried opened at a touch. He held back listening at the crack.

  Two men conversed quietly to the far left of the big room. A quick peek put them in a corner cubicle, crouched over something that looked suspiciously like a communications board.

  Jake slid around the door on tiptoe and into the first cubicle to his right. Another comm board. Lots of buttons, nothing like a thumbprint recognition screen. Old-fashioned, easier to hack into.

  Sitting with his head bowed to avoid being spotted by the others, he began the long process of finding passwords to get him into the system. Pretty easy, actually. Morrie da Hawk’s name and ID number produced access to a variety of menus. Including interstellar messages.

  “Now we’re flying,” he muttered. Over the past two days he’d taken the time to carefully compose his message so that it looked like just a lonely man telling his sister how much he missed the family—and others. Embedded in the phrases were code words to Pammy. Should all the stars align and the seven gods shine on him, she’d understand that when he said that all was well in Harmony City, he meant that nothing is as it seems. And sorry you couldn’t come with me, really meant Pammy should consider invasion. As he finished typing the message, he added a last nano thought requesting an immediate reply.

  Then he found the menu for selecting a destination. Cities throughout the empire followed by their coordinates. A few simple tricks and he tweaked the coordinates for H6 so that the message would bounce from ansible to moon to asteroid and into hyperspace where a CSS beacon sat quietly waiting for instructions.

  Just as he pressed the send button, the voices in the other cubicle rose to hearing level and beyond. More curious than cautious, Jake poked his head above the barrier around him that really only gave an illusion of privacy.

  The two men had moved into a glassed, enclosed office with a more complicated comm board. The Military caste man wore the standard black jumpsuit uniform with pockets inside pockets inside pockets and the hash marks of a corporal. Short, thin, unassuming, and young, barely old enough to shave. He could walk anywhere and no one would notice him.

  The other man, also in black but of a civilian cut, was striking. Tall, loose-limbed, with a fringe of gray around a shiny bald pate, he carried himself with pride and self-assurance. His purple circle caste mark glistened in the bright overhead lights.

  “My Laud, I am obligated to pass this information to my superiors,” the corporal said. An edge of panic made his voice rise from tenor to nearly soprano range.

  “I am superior to your superiors. Giving me these communications fulfills your obligation,” the priest replied.

  “But, My Laud . . .”

  “Do not question my orders. I can have you stripped of rank and caste. Do you want to end your days in an asylum?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “I thought not. Tell no one of my visit or the contents of these messages. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded, chewing his lip in agitation.

  “I will be in contact.” Abruptly the priest turned to leave.

  Jake ducked back behind his cubicle, seemingly intent upon the board and screen before him. He waited until he heard the priest’s footsteps retreat and the outer door slam. A quick check showed the young corporal hunched into the chair in the office. He stared out the wall of windows over the city, oblivious to all but his own turbulent thoughts.

  “Time for a judicious retreat.” But Jake would be back to see if he could find hidden copies of those communiqués on a hard drive.

&nb
sp; “You missed some.” Penelope brushed a mat of dust out of Gil’s shower-damp hair.

  He blushed slightly, more concerned at having her discover his clandestine activities in the archives than how easily his red robe untied.

  As her hand traveled down his face in a gentle caress, he captured her hand, pressing his lips to her palm.

  “What fascinates you so about those dusty old documents, Gil?”

  “You’d be surprised what I can find, Penelope.” More than surprised, possibly appalled.

  “Like all this upset about colors?” A frown drew long lines on her face, showing her maturity, making her more beautiful than ever.

  “Among other things.” How to tell her his most recent discovery? Excitement of a new revelation bounced through his blood. At the same time apprehension churned in his gut.

  “Come to bed, love.” She shrugged, uninterested in the past.

  “Penelope.” He paused, not knowing how to say what he must say. He wanted to practice on her before approaching Gregor. She might forgive him. Eventually.

  “Oh, stop fussing and come to bed. It will wait until morning.”

  “Everything in its own time.”

  “Precisely. And now is the time for you to hold me close while we lie side by side.”

  “What if the out-of-season storms, the quakes, the floods, and volcanoes are not Harmony’s wrath, but a natural cycle to planetary stresses?”

  “What? You’ve lost me.” She shook her head, boredom glazing her eyes. “You aren’t going to leave this alone.”

  “I found notes written by a scientist five hundred years ago. She documented evidence in layers of rock that suggested the planet goes through cycles of disruption. She’d just lived through the tail end of one of those cycles.” And probably died for writing down that evidence.

  Penelope froze, one hand half-lifted to cup his face. “Does that mean SHE didn’t stop the quake? SHE isn’t a miracle worker?” Hope dawned in her face.

  “No, Sissy mitigated the quake and its damage. But the coming of it is something that just happens. Nothing we did brought it on.”