Harmony

by C. F. Bentley

  Tall, gaunt, and balding, he looked as if he never saw the blessed light of Empathy and ate knowledge rather than food.

  He bore an uncanny resemblance to what Laud Gregor would look like in twenty years.

  “How do you find anything in here?” Lady Marissa asked. She and Lord Nathaniel were the only members of the High Council who had followed Sissy and Gregor to the archives in the very back of the oldest part of the Temple. Lord Chauncey seemed to be avoiding Sissy at all costs.

  “Apparently they remember where they put everything and don’t need to keep records,” Lord Nathaniel quipped, then spoiled the humor by coughing. He doubled over in an uncontrollable spasm.

  Jake handed him one of Sissy’s inhalers. The old man took it gratefully. Then he hobbled out, using his cane and Lady Marissa’s arm to keep him upright.

  “It seems the High Council does not agree with your need to read the copies of the Covenant,” Laud Gregor said mildly. He kept the infuriatingly blank look on his face, betraying no emotion.

  “I expect to see those copies on my desk by dinnertime,” Sissy said curtly. Angry at her repeated failure to accomplish anything, she spun about with a clank of the crystals in her veil and marched back the way they had come.

  At the first junction of corridors she turned to Jake and whispered, “I’m lost.”

  “To the left, I think. There’s more light down that way.” He pointed to where the massive stonework gave way to lighter woods, big windows, and well spaced lights.

  “What do I do now?” she asked the air, not really expecting an answer.

  “Wait until everyone is asleep,” Jake replied.

  “You know something?” She kept walking, making sure her voice didn’t carry beyond his ears.

  “I suspect something. We’ll investigate the High Altar in privacy. There should be a spring or hidden door to access the tablets. Or possibly a door from the basement.”

  “There are basements?” Sissy shuddered. She’d heard of basements and the filth they hid. “And you discovered this how?” She looked at the dust and globs of white stuck to him in odd places.

  “Let’s just say the Temple building has as many secrets as its inhabitants.”

  “I believe that.”

  “Guilliam?”

  “Yes, My Laud?” The assistant appeared at Gregor’s elbow, just as he knew he would.

  “Talk to the archivist and all his clerks. I want all copies of the Covenant rounded up and on my desk in one hour. No more. Less time would be preferable.”

  “Will you take the copies to Laudae Sissy?”

  “Not until I have read them all and corrected any mistakes.” Mistakes that deviated from what he knew was best for Harmony.

  “Yes, My Laud. While I take care of that, Admiral Nentares da Andromeda pa HQ H Prime awaits you in your office.” Guilliam scuttled off into the bowels of the archives.

  “The head of the Spacer caste? What does he want?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” came Guilliam’s disembodied voice from behind a tall case containing a haphazard collection of rolled documents and dusty books.

  Gregor mumbled and grumbled to himself as he wended his way back to his office. He formulated exact phrases to counter any accusations that might arise. He’d heard nothing about the deceased communications officer. The Spacers had not seen fit to release that information to the media.

  “What’s with that verbal dustup in the courtyard?” Admiral Nentares asked the moment he and Gregor shook hands. A man near Gregor’s age with a full head of brown hair, cropped short. He had the slight build of his caste, a more efficient metabolism and compact size for convenience in long-term space travel in cramped ship quarters. Gregor towered over him, yet he almost felt the need to salute his overwhelming aura of command.

  “A minor disagreement over proper ritual procedure,” Gregor dismissed the “dustup” easily. The entire city probably knew the minute details by now. He refused to acknowledge them; refused to give the media that kind of control over Temple. What he decreed as truth was the truth, no matter what the hover cams reported.

  “What brings you here, Admiral?” Gregor took his seat behind his desk and waved the admiral to the less comfortable chair before it. He wanted the symbols of authority and hierarchy in place.

  “Two things. First, you know that we have equipment and personnel monitoring deep space communications.” The admiral sat stiffly, his back never touching the chair. “Redundant systems.

  “I have heard rumors of such.”

  The admiral raised his eyebrows slightly. Did he know that Gregor had thumbprint-sealed detailed reports on his desk every day? He did until an unfortunate comm technician died. He’d have to find a replacement.

  “We have deciphered anomalies in the communications of our enemies,” Nentares said. He kept his voice level and his eyes probing Gregor.

  “What kind of anomalies?” Gregor sat forward, hands clasped. “New assaults on our frontier?”

  “We have noted a serious buildup of Maril fleets, almost the beginnings of a blockade. What concerns me more is that the CSS has sent an offer of peace, and the opportunity to consult with them on neutral territory.”

  “Bah, we don’t need them.” He’d had that report three days ago and decided to ignore it. “We don’t care about a blockade of our frontier. We are self-sufficient.”

  “Apparently the Lost Colony cares.”

  Everything inside Gregor stilled.

  “The Lost Colony hasn’t been heard from since they entered hyperspace three years ago. A tragic accident.”

  “You and I both know the Lost Colony cut off communications deliberately. They arrived at their destination and set up housekeeping independent of us. They have thrown off the caste system and elected a republican government.”

  “Blasphemy!”

  “Blasphemy that the Lost Colony has rejected the caste system, or is it blasphemy that I know about it?” the admiral quirked half a smile.

  Gregor allowed silence to speak for him.

  The admiral met him stare for stare, silence for silence. At last Gregor had to say something to keep the turmoil in his gut from exploding.

  “The fact that you dare ask the question tells me how far you have strayed from Harmony’s Covenant. Have you knelt in prayer and lit a candle to the gods this day?” Gregor assumed his most patriarchal demeanor. “We can retire to a private chapel.”

  “I make my prayers diligently every morning,” Nentares snarled. “With a priest who understands Spacer ways and has seen the frontier. A priest who knows that the CSS are as human as you and I and not the hideous snake monsters you pretend.”

  “The populace needs to know only that the CSS are as much the enemy as the Marils. Both are alien to our way of life.”

  “Granted. Which brings me to the second matter of concern. Another way in which life on Harmony has strayed from the path of the Covenant.” Nentares fixed Gregor with a new look that he could not interpret.

  But Gregor knew what was coming. He leaned back in his comfortable chair and crossed one leg over the other, ankle to knee, assuming a more casual air. The better to belie his nervousness. There was no law that could touch him if Nentares somehow proved that he had murdered the comm technician. But if it became known, then public confidence in him, in the Temple caste as a whole, would be shaken and possibly irreparably damaged. “Tell me what troubles you.”

  “One of my communications officers was murdered last night.”

  Only last night? It seemed a lifetime ago.

  “Unfortunately, murder and other violent crimes are on the rise,” Gregor said with eyes closed as if in grief. “I blame it on the increasing number of Loods among us. They should be euthanized at birth.”

  “Including your new High Priestess?”

  “That is one we are lucky we missed.”

  “What others are we lucky we missed?”

  Another long silence. Gregor didn’t have to explain
himself. To anyone.

  “My scientists tell me that the number of genetic anomalies born each year increases. My caste incorporates them into our population.”

  “Research into this area is forbidden. So is failure to report the anomalies.” Gregor’s foot across his knee began to twitch. He planted it on the floor. Firmly.

  “Try and catch us with legal evidence,” Nentares replied.

  Another long silence. Admiral Nentares broke it this time. “The officer who was murdered. His assailant tried to make it look like suicide.”

  “Oh?” Best not to say anything lest he inadvertently betray himself.

  “Typed a suicide note on the man’s computer. But it contained a grave spelling error.”

  “Surely a man in the throes of extreme distress cannot be responsible for his spelling.”

  “This was one word the man would not misspell, but someone from another caste would.”

  “Such as?”

  “His pa assignment in his name.”

  Gulp.

  “Do you have suspects? Motive?”

  “We do. But no proof. Whoever entered the secure building knew the pass code and knew enough to wear gloves. No fingerprints.”

  “Weapon?”

  “A common knife available anywhere in the city. Left at the scene.”

  “I can see why this concerns you. A drastic breach of security. But why bring it to me? If you need help with the investigation, I’m sure the Military forensic people will assist.”

  “The murderer deleted some files from the computer. But he did not reformat the hard drive. We recovered them.”

  Gulp.

  “They were top secret files designated for your eyes only.”

  “What are you saying?” Hedge. Stall. Divert. How?

  “I’m stating facts.”

  “Then stick to facts. I’m interested to know the outcome of your investigation. Send a message directly to me when you arrest the murderer.”

  “You’ll be the first to know, My Laud.” Nentares rose and saluted, turned crisply, and marched out the door.

  “If any of your Loods stray into normal society, they will be arrested and confined, Admiral,” Gregor said just before the man stepped through the doorway.

  “Little chance of that, My Laud. We fix them, we don’t discard them. People are too valuable to discard. Or murder casually.” Nentares kept moving, beyond Gregor’s sight, beyond Gregor’s words. Beyond Gregor’s reach.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  "GENERAL ARMSTRONG DA BEAURE PA HQ H PRIME sends his compliments and requires your presence at HQ within the hour,” a young male acolyte announced to Jake just as he and Sissy approached her quarters.

  “Tell General Armstrong da Beaure that I cannot leave Laudae Sissy unguarded,” Jake spat at the boy. He wondered what mischief the child had gotten into that he drew runner duty for the front office.

  “He thought you might say that,” Sergeant Morrie da Hawk said from the end of the corridor. He lounged against the wall as if he had nothing better to do than keep everyone waiting. “The powers that be sent me to fill your place until you return.” He sauntered forward, casual and unconcerned, keeping his hands out to the side, well away from his sword and dagger.

  Jake raised an eyebrow at that. Of all the people from his unit at Law Enforcement HQ H Prime, Morrie da Hawk was the only one he knew well enough to trust.

  But he did not bear a purple circle around his red square caste mark.

  Jake stared at Morrie in indecision. If the head of the entire Military caste sent for him, then he must have something important to say. His duty to Pammy and the CSS demanded he find out what that was.

  On the other hand, he’d sworn oaths to protect Sissy with his life. If anything should happen to her while he was gone . . .

  Would his life be worth living without her? With the guilt of having left her vulnerable and unprotected.

  “I can take care of her,” Morrie said quietly.

  “Go, Jake,” Sissy said removing her headdress. “You must obey the head of your caste.”

  “My Laudae, what if . . .”

  “I promise not to leave the Temple before you get back.” She dismissed his concerns with a wave of her delicate hand.

  “You will not leave your quarters without me,” he replied sternly.

  Sissy rolled her eyes, then nodded her agreement. “I have plenty of paperwork to keep me busy and chained to my desk for the rest of the day and half the night.”

  “I promise you, My Laudae, I will return as fast as humanly possible. Do not open your door to anyone. Do you hear me, not anyone.”

  She nodded and gulped.

  “A better class of uniform might be advisable,” Morrie added. He bowed respectfully to Sissy and opened the door for her.

  “Generals must love making subordinates uncomfortable,” Jake growled as he headed for his own narrow room between Sissy’s suite and Shanet’s less spacious and opulent one.

  An actual motorcar awaited Jake at the Temple’s back entrance, a dark-green two seater. It barely had enough power to move faster than a loxen cart. But it was extremely fuel efficient. He probably could have walked to HQ faster.

  The entire headquarters staff had been put on alert for him. From the lowest private guarding the door, to the reception sergeant, to the lieutenant assisting General Armstrong da Beaure, they each ushered him forward with all due speed and a minimum of protocol. Jake barely saluted before the burly general shoved a thin file folder into his hands.

  “We need this to get to Laudae Sissy with all due speed,” the general said.

  “Um . . . aren’t there protocols . . .”

  “With all due speed and without question. She has to see it, be made aware of the implications. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.” The general resumed his perusal of the next folder on his desk. “There is a private message for you in there, too, received from your mother on H6,” he added, not looking up. “Something about your father being sick. You are not to request leave to visit. You won’t get it. Our HPS is more important than an aging sergeant.”

  Jake saluted and backed out. A message about a sick parent from Pammy meant trouble. Big trouble. Did he need to abort with his mission less than half complete?

  He had just opened the folder to read the material when the assistant grabbed his arm and nearly dragged him back out the way he’d come. He had to close the folder to keep the two sheets of paper from flying out.

  “With all due speed,” he repeated as he slammed the door of the waiting car.

  The same car that had brought Jake to HQ. He didn’t think he’d been inside for more than two minutes. Only a few people in the chain of commandhad seen him enter or leave. He was willing to bet each and every one of them reported only to General Armstrong da Beaure and they all owed each other extreme loyalty above and beyond rank and caste.

  Something was up. Something important. He opened the file again. Two columns of words. The one on the left appeared gibberish jumbles of random numbers and letter. Code. The same code he’d memorized for any emergency message that went direct to Pamela Marella. The column on the right was the translation.

  “The CSS offers peace with the opportunity to discuss trade and a mutual alliance against common enemies,” he read silently. Then he matched the code against the translation. Exact. Word for word.

  And the private message? Translation: “Get the formula and get out now. War getting hotter by the minute.”

  Not exactly what he’d planned. He went back to the first message.

  “Now why do they need this to go directly into the hands of the HPS?” Jake muttered.

  “To make sure she gets it and it isn’t lost in transmission,” the driver replied quietly. “We’re working closely with the Spacers on this. It’s important that Laudae Sissy know what’s actually happening and not what Laud Gregor wants her to know.”

  Sissy stared at the stacks of paper requiring her signature. She hated signing b
efore she’d read and fully understood the documents. If she took the time to read every piece of paper brought to her, she’d never finish. Even if she read faster, she’d never find an end to them.

  With a sigh she lifted her pen to sign that she approved the latest requisitions for the Temple kitchens. That, at least, she understood. Though why they needed so much sugar she did not know. Her mother would.

  An ache of loneliness invaded her heart.

  She rested her head on the desk a moment. If she could just picture Mama and Pop and Stevie behind her closed eyes . . .

  The image of Harmony, arms raised, sleeves flowing away from her like wings appeared in the distance. Tiny. Moving forward, gliding through the air like some predatory bird using the air currents.

  Sissy blinked and found herself looking down upon the land. Upon the people. Her people.

  They looked up at her, pointed, and began shouting. She almost understood their words.

  Then she peered closer. Not her people. They were different. Strange fur covered the tops of their heads instead of a sleek cap of iridescent feathers. These people had no wings.

  A sharp pain pierced her neck and side.

  She cried out in pain and rose higher, into air that grew thinner. Not enough air to breathe.

  Then she looked down. A huge arrow pierced her side. Blood streamed away from the wound. Where it touched the ground, it turned to acid, burning lush greenery into withered and charred stumps, became desert.

  The land protested with tremendous shakes. Volcanoes spewed their innards like a drunk unable to contain his drink. Thunderstorms built higher and higher, sending sheets of rain.

  A crack of thunder so loud her ears hurt . . .

  Sissy woke up with a crick in her neck and an ache in her side. Beside her, a book had crashed to the floor.

  Just a dream. A strange and terrible dream that left her with a sour mouth and shaking hands.

  She got up and poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table. It had gone warm and flat. It tasted vile. She spat it out.

  Even the endless reports requiring her signature were more pleasant than this.