02. Empires of Flux and Anchor (25 page)

The front and back entrances were well covered. Barricades and even some artillery had been brought up by the invaders, and weapons were trained on the front street-level entrance from temple square. The back exit opened on a narrow street, though, and all they could do was seal off the street and put firepower at both ends.

They examined the remains of some of the rooms on the street level and were surprised to see them pretty much outfitted as rooms with beds. They had taken no chances and gone after anything that moved, and some innocent had been killed with the invaders. They
did
find a few people alive, although none in any condition to talk, and took them back on a series of litters to the gateway and to Flux, where they could be treated and interrogated.

Some of the men had been in a state of undress, and there had been women in the rooms as well.

They turned over and examined the body of one young woman, killed by a grenade. The concussion had done it; her body was definitely lifeless, but seemingly unmarked. She was wearing heavy makeup, had been as heavily perfumed, and was naked from the waist up. From the waist down she wore some sort of fishnet-like pantyhose that concealed nothing and ended at the ankles, and she had on very high-heeled shoes.

"They turned this temple into a combination charnel house and whorehouse," she said disgustedly. "This Coydt is beyond mere insanity. Look—what's that on her behind, there?"

Macree pulled down the fishnetting, which was secured by elastic. "It's a number and a word in purple. It's a tattoo, like they used to have in the old days of the Paring Rite."

It was, in fact, the same sort of tattoo, and after all these years Kasdi could still feel the sting of getting hers in this very temple and remember how she hadn't felt truly free until her own sorcery had wiped it away. "She's too young for that, and that would imply they were bringing in people from Flux. No, the number's wrong. It's not a Paring Rite number. By the angels! It's a registry number!"

"Huh?"

"It's the file system used for the master records in the temple. See? That's the code for native born to Anchor Logh. You wouldn't recognize it because it's strictly temple code and confidential. And under is her name, see? Johbee 19. That would be her riding number in the files."

Matson had gone off, but now he returned and listened to the conversation. Finally he said, "Well, we got over to the gym on the other side. It was pretty well guarded, too, but not inside. We finally have some live prisoners in good shape, but I'm not sure we're gonna get anything useful from them."

They followed him around and through a back hall to the other side where the huge gymnasium was. In the old days, this was where you got processed after being picked and enslaved in the Paring Rite, and now it was what it usually was in any era—a place to play and relax for temple personnel.

It was now filled with bedding and at least a hundred women, all made up and dressed in the same fashion as was Johbee, but these were very much alive. "Bear with me," Matson whispered to Kasdi, then looked over at one of the closest women. "You! Come here!"

The woman smiled and walked very sexily over to him on her high heels. "Yes, sir?"

"What's your name?"

"I am called Tabby, sir."

"Well, Tabby, what is it you do? What's your job?"

"To serve men, sir, and minister to their needs. We live only to serve as the Lord commands us."

He nodded. "Which lord is that?"

"Why, the Lord High God who created World, sir." She spotted Kasdi standing there. "You are dressed in a blasphemous manner, my sister."

Matson turned. "Look around at them. Look at their faces." She looked around, not quite understanding where he was going with this and feeling as sickened by this as she had from the dead bodies below. Suddenly she saw one face and gasped. It was an absolutely beautiful face, attached to a supernaturally gorgeous body. Matson saw Kasdi's reaction and called the woman over. She was so beautiful that it was almost impossible to keep his mind on business, .but his job and his discipline won out. "They won't answer to you, so—what's your name, girl?"

She smiled and bowed her head slightly. "I am called Marigail, my lord."

"Sister Marigail! Don't you recognize me?" Kasdi cried out, but in response she only got, "You blaspheme in that rag, old woman."

Matson turned to Kasdi. "Get it? These are all the priestesses in the temple who survived the initial attack. And they still are in a way. It's just that their definitions have been changed."

Kasdi frowned and shivered  "Drugs?"

"I doubt it. They're too knowledgeable, too alert for that. And, frankly, they're uniformly better built than they should be. Besides their vows were bound by spell in their minds. Even a drug would have-trouble overcoming that. Those spells had to be broken or rewritten."

"Marigail always looked this good, but I see what you mean. Flux, then. But how?"

"Well, as a guess, I'd say they marched each one down to the hole and did it in the Hellgate one at a time. It's a lot weaker, of course, but they didn't need much. A better guess is that they trucked the whole batch out to the Flux apron and had a job done on 'em
en masse
by a wizard in the space between the end of Anchor and the shield."

"It's disgusting!"

He felt a little ashamed of himself, but he had mixed feelings on that looking at Marigail. Still, it worried him. "You see what it means? First they march in and quickly secure each riding as a military district. Then they take the capital and chop up each little bit of resistance. The rest of them, mostly farmers and townspeople with no weapons and no real experience in this, give in and go along for now. Maybe they torture and exhibit the bodies of some of the smart mouths and rebels to give 'em a reminder. That was the first stage, and while it might still be going on in some places, it was probably mostly done in the first ten days. Now, little by little, using the records they got from the temple, they're taking the people out into Flux where they're being remade to order. Pretty soon the first riding's all done, and they can move all their forces to the next. I've seen the pattern used when a young wizard took over an old wizard's Fluxland."

"And they're turning everybody into—this?"

"Not hardly. If they plan to stay, they'll need folks who know how to grow things, how to make things, and so forth. No, you won't have to do it to everybody, just enough to create a real example. The rest of the folks will fall into line and fall all over themselves doing whatever they're told to do. You forget these folks' fear of Flux. They have all the records, too. They can hold husbands, wives, kids' lives over 'em. No, they'll go along because they'll be afraid not to. And the longer the new way stays, the more normal it'll feel. Folks don't like to be different than everybody else, especially when it's not healthy."

The standoff outside continued, with the forces of the invaders sealing off the temple while not firing into it. They could blow the doors, but they'd still have to attack across open areas. Their artillery would do little to break down the tremendously thick and tough material from which the temples were made, a material that had not been duplicated, even in Flux, for there was no way to break off a piece and get it to Flux.

A sweep of the temple got some more prisoners, both transformed priestesses and even a few of the invaders, now rather meek and pretty scared in the dark, not daring to light torches. From them, and from those sent back to Flux, the story of the invasion of Anchor Logh emerged.

12

FEASIBILITY STUDY

There had been no warning. The entire thing had been carefully planned out to the last detail, with Coydt directly in charge. It was, he told his followers, a scientific exercise, a "feasibility study" of several new theories and techniques in war and political control, as well as social theories he wished to test out and demonstrate. Most of the men who joined with him didn't really understand or care about all that, and he knew it. He promised them their own private Fluxland, all to themselves, and a safe haven for as long as they wanted it.

Whether he was mad or whether there was true method to it, he told each group he needed what they wanted to hear. He promised the Fluxlords that he would break the back of the Church, pull it back not only from expansion but even from their own domains, and show it demoralized and impotent. Their fears of the Reformation were far greater than their lifelong emnity towards one another. If Coydt could deliver, they did not want to be left out.

There were a bit more than a million people in Anchor Logh, divided into fifty-seven political subdivisions called "ridings," each with a population of about eighteen thousand. This included the concentration around the capital, which was a riding all its own. Firearms, and even bows and arrows, were strictly illegal in Anchor Logh. Almost no one, except perhaps a few stringers and others trapped with the general population, would be armed or have access to arms beyond the rather weak border patrol.

The number of his forces had been underestimated by Mervyn and the rest; they failed to take into account the contributions of population from the participating Fluxlords, which swelled his ranks to perhaps ten thousand. All were extremely well trained and well drilled in secret camps in Flux, and the attack was perfectly planned and timed. At the same moment that soldiers were being introduced into the temple basement in the same manner as Matson and Kasdi had reclaimed it, both gates were hit and specific points in the old wall were blown completely out. Within the first hour, all of the arsenals were taken, and there was only scattered border guard resistance. The shields went up at that point, coordinated by the Fluxlords. The mass of them maintained the shields only for the first few days, though; they were replaced later by something new. They weren't sure exactly what, but they had the idea that the shield was now being maintained by only a token force of powerful wizards and a lot of very strange machines.

The temple was taken in less than two hours, most of that time consumed in getting enough men into it to handle it all without the general population becoming alarmed. Small teams then went after the police, all of whom were unarmed except for "billy clubs" in the Anchor tradition. The small arsenal and almost all the police arms were taken with few shots being fired. All electrical power was cut off.

The forces divided along well thought-out lines, occupying riding centers, while a strong force rode in on the capital from both directions. They quickly took control of the waterworks and major buildings.

There was resistance. A number of invaders were literally beaten to death by an enraged mob that surprised and jumped them, but quick examples had been made, along with assurances. Those who showed any opposition were summarily shot. For every invader killed, ten people were picked at random and mowed down in the temple square. The rest were warned that the next time it would be a hundred for a life. However, everyone was also assured that cooperation and obedience to what were called "martial law liberation forces" would result in the people's homes and families being safeguarded. There were even apologies made for the brutality, and excuses that it was necessary to avoid greater bloodshed.

Huge numbers of people tried to bolt out of Anchor Logh, but were stopped at the wall or at the shield itself. Again, examples were made.

It took Coydt and his ten thousand less than two days to secure full control over Anchor Logh. Local civil servants cooperated with them, knowing the alternative. All public roads were declared military, and anyone on them without a letter of permission from the local commandant would be tortured and then shot or hung. A dusk-to-dawn curfew was established, not just in the cities and towns but everywhere, and ruthlessly enforced. Within five days, all people of Anchor Logh were required to report to their local churches. There they were matched with records from the temple, churches, and government, were photographed and fingerprinted and given identity cards. They were also, to their indignation, tattooed, with machines not seen since the days of the Paring Rite. Women were tattooed on their left thigh or rump, men on their left arms. Resisters were simply forced to do it. Objectors were taken away and not seen again.

Local watch groups were established throughout the whole of Anchor Logh as a part of the processing. People in positions in every commune, town, and apartment were told that they would be held directly responsible for anything traced to their local area, and all of them were married and most had small children. By the tenth day, enough examples had been made that everyone was afraid to speak of anything but work or the weather.

By the end of the second week, hope for a quick rescue had faded, in some cases into bitterness. An astonishing number of officials and merchants began to cooperate openly, even enthusiastically with the invaders. Also, the new rules were being enforced.

These struck at the very social balance of Anchor Logh and most Anchors. The Church was dissolved as an institution. Priestesses, those who survived, had vanished early in the invasion, but were now back and being paraded out as
"ministering angels." Women in supervisory positions were removed, and it became illegal for a man to work for a woman. Women were restricted to their homes and work places only, unless escorted by a man at all times. Worse, women were forbidden to wear anything above the waist, something which caused much embarrassment and much protesting— which was dealt with in the usual manner. Reminders were made that a sufficient amount of Flux remained to remake anybody into anything the new rulers wished, and again examples were made.

Men were only marginally better off. They bore direct responsibility for everything, and they were accountable for it, including a woman in their company mouthing off or protesting. One of the invaders remarked that a man was probably asked for his I.D. four times just going to a public bathroom.