Pathspace: The Space of Paths

by Matthew Kennedy

  The guard shrugged. “You're right. I'll be right back.”

  Ludlow smiled, watching until Hollings was safely inside the stairwell. These people were so trusting, it was hardly a challenge at all to out-maneuver them.

  Once the guard was gone, he picked up the signaler and aimed it carefully, angling it so that it would reflect the sun's light from the south to the east. Quickly, from a skill born of secret practice, he flashed out a message.

  After a moment, he saw the answering flashes.

  He replaced the instrument where he had found it. After a minute Hollings reemerged from the stairwell, the cigarette in his lips, its tip already glowing red as he inhaled.

  He took it out as he approached and held it out. “Sorry about that. Howard wouldn't let me take the everflame with him, so I started without you.”

  “No worries, corporal,” said Ludlow, touching the tip of his own cigarette to the glowing tip of the other and inhaling to light his. “I would have done the same.”

  Chapter 31

  Aria: “the wisdom we have lost in knowledge”

  Miss Gerloch clucked her tongue. “If you insist on being late for your lessons, it would be better if the reason was that you lost track of time studying.” She moved to a different part of the map on the wall. “What do you know of this region?”

  “Europe,” said Aria. “The western part of the Continent of Eurasia the early flounders of this continent came from there, from old countries known as Spain, France, and England.”

  “All of them?” Miss Gerloch regarded her, watching for the first hint of hesitation.

  Aria sighed. “No, not all of them. When the first settlers came across the ocean there were people here already, the Amerinds. The were mistakenly called Indians because Columbus had intended to discover a shorter route to the spices of India.”

  “And how did they get here?”

  “Some may have floated across ocean currents from the pacific, but most came across a land bridge that existed during the last Ice Age. They came over from north eastern Asia, to Alaska, then down the western coast of America.”

  “You will no doubt be prepared to tell me that most of them were killed by the expansion of the colonists from the East, from Europe,” said Miss Gerloch. “Why?”

  “Because the colonists wanted the land,” she answered. “The farmers cut down the forests for farmland, and the as the expansion continued westward, the ranchers displaced the Amerinds and took their land for fields to graze their cattle, and because of the valuable minerals like gold, copper, and oil under the land.”

  No,” said Miss Gerloch. “That's not what I meant by 'why'. Why were the colonists from Europe able to do this? How is it they were able to wrest the land away from the indigenous peoples who knew it better, who had occupied it for at least a thousand years?”

  “Than maybe you should have asked 'how',” said Aria. “The answer is technology. The locals had low tech based on bone, skins, leather and wood. They used weapons like bows and arrows and spears tipped with chipped points of stone. The invading settlers came from a technology that was already using iron and other metals, with steel knives, plows, and explosive-driven projectile weapons. The outcome was inevitable. Those Amerinds that were not absorbed by intermarriage were massacred by superior weapons.”

  “Can you guess why I am asking you these things?” said Miss Gerloch.

  “I have no idea,” said Aria. “This is all ancient history. You might as well be asking me about the Trojan War. I see no relevance at all.”

  “When the Tourists came, they also had superior technology,” said Miss Gerloch. “So tell me, why didn't history repeat itself? Why didn't they take our planet? Why are we still here?”

  Aria shrugged. “The situation were not the same,” she said.

  Miss Gerloch locked eyes with her. “Why not? This time, we were the primitives.”

  “Because they didn't want our planet. All they wanted was information, the total genetic catalog of our planet. They didn't need metals or land, because they were a space-inhabiting species. They could get all the metals and volatiles like water and oxygen from asteroids and ice moons. The one unique resource our planet has is its genetic database. And they could probably have gotten most of it without our help, but it was more efficient for them to trade with us for the genetic sequences.”

  “Tell me something,” her tutor asked suddenly. “How do we know they ever left?”

  Aria gaped at her. “I...I don't know,” she admitted. “It seems logical, since they stopped contacting us and left orbit.”

  “Oh, come now,” Miss Gerloch countered. “You just told me they could get everything they needed in the Asteroid belt. So why wouldn't they just stay there instead of leaving our solar system?”

  “They could have left some colonies behind. But the prevailing view is that they would have left to seek other planets full of genetic sequences to add to their collection.”

  “Correct,” said Miss Gerloch. “That is the view that prevailed. But do we have any actual evidence that any of them really left the solar system? We do not. Have you ever considered that they could be lurking out there in our own asteroid belt, developing viruses and other bioweapons specifically engineered to exploit weaknesses in our own genomes?”

  “That sounds pretty paranoid, given that they don't want our planet.”

  “As far as we know. But maybe they just didn't want to fight us for it. Maybe they were willing to wait until they developed more efficient ways of removing us that would avoid risking their own population.”

  Aria pondered that, and was about to answer when the door to the Map Room opened and her mother entered. “Take a break, Miss Gerloch. I need to speak with my daughter.”

  “Of course.” The tutor picked up her copy of The Tourists and glided out into the corridor.

  She faced her mother. “Well this is a surprise. What's up?”

  “I'm told you went to the wizard's quarters this morning,” said the Governor. “Apparently my guards were under the impression that I sent you. We both know that isn't the case, so why did you really go?”

  Eek! If she admitted it had to do with the prisoners, her mother would want to know how she even knew about them. “I heard we captured some Texans,” she said. “The building is buzzing with it. They say the Texans massacred some farmer and his family.”

  Her mother frowned. “That's true, but the men were under orders not to gossip about it. The last thing we need right now is a lynch mob howling for summary executions instead of an orderly trial. Who did you hear this from?”

  “It's not important,” Aria said quickly. “The reason I went to see Xander was to ask is he had a magic for telling truth from lies. I worried that with the threat of war looming, your staff might try to talk you into using torture to get at the truth quickly, and I wanted to offer you another option.”

  “I'm the first person you should have come to,” the Governor said. “If you had, I could have assured you that we don't use torture in Rado. It doesn't ensure the truth of anything, often quite the opposite. A man in pain is liable to agree with whatever you suggest, or to make up something if you avoid leading questions. No one's getting tortured while I'm in charge.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. He wasn't there. But his apprentice Lester was, and he's learned to make himself invisible. So I snuck him into the outer room of the holding cell before my lesson with Miss Gerloch. We managed to get him in before your men brought the prisoners, so he might hear something useful when they talk among themselves.”

  “I see,” said the Governor. “I also see that you and I are going to have a talk about proper procedures after this is over. Did he learn anything useful?”

  “I don't know. He's probably still there, unable to open the door to leave without letting them know they're being spied on.” Aria took a breath. “It's been a while. Would you like me to go get him? I coul
d pretend I walked in by mistake, and leave the door ajar so he can follow me out.”

  Her mother considered it. “You shouldn't have done this without consulting me, but now that you have, yes, go and fetch him, and bring him here without talking to anyone else. No stopping to gossip. Is that clear?”

  “Of course. I'll be back in a few minutes,” she said, and fled, counting herself lucky that had gone better than she had expected.

  Chapter 32

  Peter: “desert is in the heart of your brother.”

  The Honcho stood on the balcony, gazing toward the northeast. The day was calm, but he was not. Brutus should have reported in by now. The man could be troublesome, but his loyalty was solid. Why hadn't he rendezvoused with the signalmen who were out there waiting to relay his reports back?

  He wished he were out there, out in the field, like the old days, when his father was Honcho. He envied the Runt his time of relative independence before the responsibility of rule was his to bear. But why hadn't they reported in?

  He decided to do something about it. Whirling, he strode off the balcony and our the door to the staircase. As he began to descend into the depth of the building, he cursed the Ancients and their stupid shortsighted greed. You contemptible fools! You had it all, an advanced technology, instantaneous communications that circled the planet, machinery to harvest crops, even machines to make the machines. And you threw it away! Threw it away because of your obsession with alien trash. You wanted all your fine machines to be replaced with magic tricks and shortcuts, and what did it buy you? What?

  It bought you a world of savages. A world of hunger. A world of disease. A world of tiny countries scrabbling to control dwindling resources, when we could be mining the immense wealth up there over our heads in space. It bought you this.

  I want to go to the stars, he thought. But I won't. I'll spend my entire life unifying old scattered pieces, sewing together what should never have fallen apart. Building an empire with enough resources to resume the conquest and exploration of space. Pouring my blood into a shattered flowerpot, coaxing the glory to flower again. And never seeing the bloom. Never to taste the rewards I'm earning. Because of fools who grabbed for magic toys.

  He laughed bitterly. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, old man! You're not starving. There's no use grieving for a world long dead. Get back to building the world that will be.

  If that is all you get to have, the striving, then strive.

  He emerged into the sub-basement of the building, where once the trains of the Ancients flew through tunnels devoid of air. There was air in some of them, now – the ones that hadn't collapsed over the years. The ancient pumps that kept them airless to reduce the drag on the supersonic maglevs had been replaced with swizzles, of course, and after the Tourists left and the alien magic began breaking down, it was too late to convert them back, in a world where no one made pumps anymore. He grimaced but made an effort not to fall back into his grumble-cycle.

  His grandfather had found a new use for the long-buried rails of metallo-graphene superconductor. It was the main reason the capital of the Lone Star Empire had moved to Dallas from Austin – far more of the maglev tunnels converged here. But nothing human rode them.

  “Quintus!” he barked. “Wherever you are, get your ass over here.”

  A short man in dirty leathers trotted up to him. “Yes, Excellency?” Quintus was not a handsome man, or a tall man. In fact, thought the Honcho, he was barely any kind of man. But he had his uses. The only thing that distinguished him was his extraordinary sense of hearing. It was said that he could hear the whinny of a horse from half a mile away.

  “We both know you heard me coming down the staircase,” said Peter. “Don't make me summon you next time. Why haven't you sent up the latest dispatches from Rado?”

  Quintus blinked. “Because there haven't been any,” he said. He led the Honcho over to the maglev rails that used to connect Dallas with Denver. At the end of the rails, where elaborate shock absorbers used to be, to damp out any remaining trace of the train's motion, there was now, instead, a concavity in the floor of the station that housed a desk, with pads of paper and charcoal sticks for writing. The ends of the rails protruded from the edge of the pit into the small ends of enormous trumpet-like blossoms that curved as if trying to meet. The metal had taxed the patience of the smith who had produced them.

  The last transmission window was nearly an hour ago,” said Quintus. He shrugged. “Perhaps something will come in in a few minutes.” He turned his head and checked the hourglass. The sand in the upper half was nearly gone. “Won't be long now,” he said.

  Peter scowled. Brutus had many faults, but not reporting in wasn't one of them. He knew where the submerged rails in their tunnels had been uncovered by cave-ins and erosion. There were at least two such spots between here and Denver, one on the Texas side of the border and the other nearly within sight of the city. “I'll wait,” he said.

  His grandfather had been the one to realize the potential of the ancient rails. The stories told how the Ancients had used trains that floated above them on invisible forces. But Alfonzo Martinez had been the one who had realized that the rails which had not fallen victim to earthquakes could still be used – for communication. Some of the rails had breaks in them, such as the line that went to Angeles, off to the west in Californ. But some of them had been more fortunate. The line to Denver was still unbroken, as was the one that led to Atlanta, in the East, in the heart of the Dixie Emirates

  Soon, the last grains of sand tumbled into the lower half of the hourglass. Quintus flipped it over, then went and sat, his head between the two flared and of the metal trumpets.

  Peter watched him. Come on. Show some signs of life.

  Nearly a minute went by, and he was about to look away when Quintus's eyes widened and he reached for paper and a charcoal stick. “Something coming in,” he said.

  “What does it say?”

  “Nothing yet. They always start with five groups of five before the Morse begins. It's their way of getting my attention.”

  Peter paced back and forth as Quintus listened and wrote. After about a minute he pulled his head out of the focus. Peter leaned over to read the marks on the paper.

  GANDALF REPORTS SCOUTS CAPTURED STOP RESCUE IN PROGRESS STOP

  “Who's Gandalf?” Quintus asked.

  “An agent of ours inside the Governor's headquarters,” said Peter. “That's all you need to know.” He turned to head back upstairs. “Let me know if there is any follow up.”

  Captured. His mind spun out possible implications. Brutus wouldn't surrender without a fight. Is Jeffrey alive? Damn it, how could this happen? And if he is alive, do they realize they have the Runt? He had to believe that Jeffrey would at least have the sense to pretend to be a common soldier. And then there was that “rescue in progress” bit. He wasn't sure what would be worse – letting his son remain in enemy hands, or risking his life in an escape attempt.

  The bottom line was, he could always sire another son. If Angela couldn't bear another child, then she'd just have to accept a surrogate if and when the time came for that.

  Chapter 33

  Aria: “With a new verse the ancient rhyme”

  The door to the holding cell was ajar when she got there. Had he gotten out without her help? She stopped and listened but heard nothing. Maybe he didn't know the door was open? Frowning, she pushed into the room and regarded the cells' occupants.

  They didn't seem very worried. Shouldn't they be? The big one with red hair was actually grinning at her. “Why are you so happy?” she asked him.

  He pushed the door to his cell open. “Because you've solved the problem of how we're getting past the guards.”

  She gasped and jumped back, but bumped into someone behind her. Someone who grabbed her arms and held them.

  “Dear me,” a familiar voice smiled into her ear. “You appear to have volunteered to join my rescue. How generous of you.”

  “Ludl
ow! What are you doing here? Let go of me at once!”

  “My dear, as usual, you have no idea what is going on.” He whipped a knife around to her throat and pushed her out the door.

  Xander and Lester were heading toward her. With a sinking feeling, she realized that the apprentice must have made it out without her help and was looking for her to report what he had heard. If I had only waited, the Texans would have had no hostage.

  “Stay back!” Ludlow warned.

  “That's him! That's who I heard,” Lester said to Xander.

  The wizard held out a hand to stop him from talking. “I see it all now,” he said. “Tell me, Ludlow, how long have you been spying for the Honcho?”

  “”Long enough, old man. You really should have kept me on as your apprentice. But that's not important now.” Ludlow moved aside as the rest of the prisoners filed out of the room behind him. “What is important is that you understand the situation. These man know if they don't escape they're likely to be executed. I'd expect the same for helping them. And we all know that they only thing preventing their recapture is the fact that Miss D'Arcy is still alive.”

  “You always were long-winded.”

  “They wish to escape, and Miss D'Arcy wishes to go on living. It is my hope that you share her concern. In order for everyone to get through the next few minutes, you are going to precede us down the stairs, staying in sight, and tell the guards to let us reach the ground floor, where we will be given horses and allowed to leave without any awkward heroics.”

  “And then what?”

  “We'll release her when we are far enough away. Best I can do.”

  Xander nodded. “I understand,” he said. “But know this: if Aria come to the slightest harm as a result of this betrayal of yours, I will find you and kill you..”