Authors: Jr. L. E. Modesitt
Adiamante (10 page)
“I'm in a difficult position, K'gaio,” I pointed out. “There are twelve adiamante hulls in orbit, jammed with weapons reminiscent of the Rebuilt Hegemony, and our system isn't fully operational yet.”
“Do we really know that they have such capabilities?”
“They have enough power generation ability to move those hulls from star system to star system. They've got portable net capabilities, and multiple comm systems and channels. I wouldn't want to assume that they don't have matching weapons capability. Would you?”
“No. When you express it in that fashion, Ecktor, I can understand your concerns. Still ⦠it might be useful to know more ⦔
I smiled. “I agree, absolutely, K'gaio. That's why it's important
to let them put more troops on the ground, and to keep them separated. We're far better off with five hundred marcybs in Ellay and five hundred in Deseret than with a thousand in one locial.”
to let them put more troops on the ground, and to keep them separated. We're far better off with five hundred marcybs in Ellay and five hundred in Deseret than with a thousand in one locial.”
“You continue to convince me that you are the right person to be Coordinator, Ecktor. You may tell Locatio that we have spoken.” With that, she was gone, leaving me with the dirty work of relaying her messages to Locatio.
My stomach growled, confirming the fact that I hadn't eaten since right after dawn. Keiko smiled as I left the office and headed downstairs to the small cafeteria.
Two draffs in blue singlesuits looked away as I stepped inside the archway and toward the serving bar. I tried to ignore the low-voiced comments as I took a basket of greens, with cheese.
“ ⦠Coordinator ⦠say ⦠lost soulmate and doesn't care ⦠what cost ⦔
“ ⦠nice enough ⦠when ⦠on comp-duty ⦔
“ ⦠better tech than any cyb ⦔
“Cyb type came out of his office ⦠looked like the Coordinator had chewed him up like a vorpal would ⦔
“ ⦠hope we don't get ⦔
As soon as I gave my code to the terminal, I left the cafeteria and took the basket back to the office. Keiko shook her head.
“Everyone's speculating,” I explained.
“We don't have Coordinators that often.”
“It's not as though I'm Wayneclint.”
“You're the first since him who's had to deal with the cybs,” she pointed out.
“Could I have some more tea?” I asked, imposing more than I probably should have.
The rest of the afternoon went better, or at least more smoothly, despite the endless linkages on the logistics for clearing the Ellay residential bloc, the repeated questions about the bison requisitions, the maintenance queries
about Elanstan's authorization to requisition all manner of electronics and subchip assemblies, not to mention several dozen less pressing items that got to me simply because, as Coordinator, I represented a new and higher authority to which more routine matters could be appealed. I turned them all back, because that wasn't my business, but even denials took time.
about Elanstan's authorization to requisition all manner of electronics and subchip assemblies, not to mention several dozen less pressing items that got to me simply because, as Coordinator, I represented a new and higher authority to which more routine matters could be appealed. I turned them all back, because that wasn't my business, but even denials took time.
Late that afternoon, as I took off into the wind, heading north, the dark snow clouds were rolling southward toward Parwon. I turned the flitter south, rotors
thwopping
their way through the cooling skies, glad to be away from the locial, if only for a few hours.
thwopping
their way through the cooling skies, glad to be away from the locial, if only for a few hours.
After another light dinner, I decided that I needed more exercise, something to get my mind off both the past and the rapidly approaching future.
The gray of twilight had begun to fade into the faded nielle of early evening as I trotted westward under a moon that would likely be covered before the evening was fair begun. A few tattered leaves fluttered from the limbs of the three pear trees at the western end of the garden, and something small and furry scuttled through the leaves under the spreading piñon that marked the beginning of the endless hectares of restored lands.
The rustle halted with the soft
whuft, whuft
of wide wings. Downhill and to the north passed a great spotted owl, her two-meter wings partly folded by the time I saw her outline vanish below the tree line. Exit some rodent, probably a giant field mouse.
whuft, whuft
of wide wings. Downhill and to the north passed a great spotted owl, her two-meter wings partly folded by the time I saw her outline vanish below the tree line. Exit some rodent, probably a giant field mouse.
I laughed softly and stretched out my stride, letting the cool air flow past my face. It had been a long day, and Locatio's inane protests had been the worst part.
I didn't run all the way to the meadows. Even had I been in good shape, just to get there would have taken most the night. But the meadows were on my mind. I'd studied the reclamation records for the area around the house, years back, just out of curiosity, and had been surprised
to discover that at some ancient time, there had been a massacreânot of Amerindians, but of old Caucasians, something less common among such sites. Not much had been left but bones bearing the marks of firearms, but there had been plenty of bonesâand remnants of a monument, but the inscription had been weathered out of existence and the rec teams had reconstituted the stone.
to discover that at some ancient time, there had been a massacreânot of Amerindians, but of old Caucasians, something less common among such sites. Not much had been left but bones bearing the marks of firearms, but there had been plenty of bonesâand remnants of a monument, but the inscription had been weathered out of existence and the rec teams had reconstituted the stone.
Morgen had claimed the place had a haunted feeling. I'd always felt melancholy there, and the cyb arrival triggered something. Were we to be the attackers or the victims? Either choice meant deaths.
My steps had shortened, and I forced my stride into a longer pattern as I paralleled the dry depression to my left.
A dark tower of fur growled from the hill to my right, three-plus meters of young black bear, and I growled back, the kind of growl that acknowledged her claim, presence, superiority, while skirting the area. Over any distance I could have outrun her, so long as I didn't get within the first fifty meters where her sprint could have caught me, but there wasn't much sense in provoking anything. Besides, the bears pretty much kept the vorpals away in the hilly areas that weren't out and out mountains. And the young female on the hill probably was more interested in plastering shut the giant bumblebee-hive entrances with the mud she slopped from the rivulet running from the spring.
I didn't know what plants the bears plastered inside the hives, but whatever it was, the bees would eventually abandon the hive and leave the honey. Most bears cultivated a few hives that way, and one sometimes took a few pears from the tree at the end of the ridge, but only on the side away from the house, and only when I'd taken the flitter.
Sometimes I wondered if they'd eventually inherit the earthâif we managed to leave them an earth to inherit.
I kept running, more slowly now that the moonlight was fading as the first tendrils of the clouds seeped southward across the sky and across Luna herself. When I got to a clearer spot on the trail, I squinted, and sure enough, could see that thin and short black line on the moon's surface that was all that remained of the ancient linear accelerator that had stretched for more than two hundred klicks.
I studied the piñon forest gently rising in front of me, then shook my head and turned back toward the house, trying to ignore the fatigue in my legs and the numbness in my soul.
O
utside the windows of the Coordinator's office, the snow had stopped falling, but the sky remained gray. Gray, like my mood.
utside the windows of the Coordinator's office, the snow had stopped falling, but the sky remained gray. Gray, like my mood.
Delta and Kappa stations remained inoperative, despite two more shuttles full of equipment and a half-dozen technicians. Elanstan and Rhetoral sounded haggard and stressed. Ingehardt from the NorAm maintenance depot had called me again, and he sounded haggard and stressed, and wanted to know if Elanstan's priorities for immediate shuttle lift were
that
urgent. His voice got even more ragged when I told him that if he could find a way to do it faster, he'd better.
that
urgent. His voice got even more ragged when I told him that if he could find a way to do it faster, he'd better.
Cyb commander Gorum sent a written message confirming Henslom's request for billets for another five hundred marcybs, and asking us to consider another five hundred after Ellay. I'd forwarded that through the link to
the representative Committee of the Consensus, indicating I would stall on the third increment.
the representative Committee of the Consensus, indicating I would stall on the third increment.
“Ecktor?” The persistent voice bored through the uppernet.
“Yes, Locatio?” Leaning back in the swivel, I waited.
“We're still having trouble ⦔
“So am I. I don't have answers from Crucelle. We can't get the necessary system equipment aloft to the ell stations, and the cybs are already pressing me for more planetside billets. No, I'm not granting any more yet.”
“I told you this would happen. You give in to themâ”
“I never wanted to give in. We're not ready. Do you think I like this charade? We have to show some sign of cooperation because they're looking for noncooperation as an excuse to power up all that destructive hardware.”
“Ecktor? Can't we have another day?”
“No.” He might get it, but if I told him that immediately, he'd just be asking for another day by tomorrow.
“K'gaio won't like this.”
“I've already talked to K'gaio, and she told me to tell you that she felt I had a lever on the situation. Link with her if you want.”
“She said that?”
“Absolutelyâin her very polite way.”
“Why did you contact her? That's a way of circumventing the Committee.”
“Locatio, she linked with meâat your request. I made no effort to contact her.”
With the momentary silence, I added, “I'm doing the best I can under the circumstances, and I appreciate your cooperating under difficult conditions.”
It took more pleasantries, but I finally disengaged without giving in, and without telling Locatio that Crucelle still hadn't given me an answer on the ENF resonance issue. No sense in having Locatio linking to us both.
The problems wouldn't have been even fly bites for the
old Rebuilt Hegemony, but the economic and social pressures created by the conflict between power and the principles of the Construct had forced the implosion of the Hegemony in a handful of centuries. The Construct was unforgiving, and so were the Power Paradigms. Of course, the cybs hadn't managed to figure those underlying principles out yet. No culture does when it's young, and when it's old enough to understand it's usually too late. We'd been luckyâlucky, and willing to pay the very high price. At times, I hated the Construct, but it had one big thing going for it. It had worked for a long, long time.
old Rebuilt Hegemony, but the economic and social pressures created by the conflict between power and the principles of the Construct had forced the implosion of the Hegemony in a handful of centuries. The Construct was unforgiving, and so were the Power Paradigms. Of course, the cybs hadn't managed to figure those underlying principles out yet. No culture does when it's young, and when it's old enough to understand it's usually too late. We'd been luckyâlucky, and willing to pay the very high price. At times, I hated the Construct, but it had one big thing going for it. It had worked for a long, long time.
“A cyb subcommander to see you, Coordinator.” Keiko's words came through the net, as smooth and polished as always. “A Subcommander Kemra.”
Kemraâthe cyb officer who resembled Morgen. She was all I needed.
“I'm here.” I stood and walked to the half-open office door.
“Coordinator.” The sandy-haired woman in the dark green uniform of the Vereal Union stopped more than a meter short of me, not surprisingly since the cybs like more physical space than most cultures. She inclined her head stiffly.
“Subcommander. Please come in.”
She did, and I closed the door, then motioned to one of the upholstered green chairs. She took the one facing both the door and the windows, sitting down somewhat stiffly, though not in the rigid way Majer Henslom had. I eased into the chair at the other end of the low table and studied the cyb. She still looked far too much like the sister Morgen had never had.
“You're the navigator?”
“I'm Kemra.”
“What do you want?” About some things, I've never been good at saying nothing.
“Information. Background on what's happened on Old
Earth. A general feel for your culture.” Her voice was harsh, husky, almost hoarse, because she spoke so little.
Earth. A general feel for your culture.” Her voice was harsh, husky, almost hoarse, because she spoke so little.
I nodded and asked, “Why you?”
“Why not? The Fleet doesn't need a navigator while it's in orbit.” She shrugged, and the gesture was half-familiar.
Why her? Had the cyb construct picked up my reaction? Probably, and that showed just how dangerous the cybs were, despite their arrogance. I forced myself to wait.
“I studied old Anglas, and nav work isn't exactly solar-flash right now,” she concluded in a professional tone, one that would have done justice to Majer Ysslop.
She didn't want to be in the office, and that bothered me, although I certainly understood the feelings. I didn't really want to be in the office, either.
Still, pleasantries were necessary, and I linked to Keiko. “We need some of the Selastiorini, fruit, crackers, something to go with it. Two glasses.”
“So friendly already?” Keiko asked, the hint of raised eyebrows following the words.
“Quite formal,” I pulsed back.
“I can barely even sense your netlinks,” Kemra said.
“I asked for some refreshments, that's all.”
Another swirl of snowflakes fluttered past the windows, and Kemra shivered slightly. I was more than warm enough.
“It's cold here.”
“Colder than Gates?”
She pursed her lips. “Not necessarily. We have cold polar regions, but all our populated areas are in warm temperate areas.”
“We have locials in warm temperate or tropical locales. It's just that Deseret isn't one of those. Some of us like the seasonal changes. If someone like K'gaio becomes Coordinator”âI shruggedâ“the welcoming locial would probably be Kelang. It's warm and damp there.”
“How did you get to be Coordinator? We really don't
know anything about how Old Earth's society has evolved. It's been a long time.” Kemra tried a smile, and I wished she hadn't. She was worse than I at dissembling.
know anything about how Old Earth's society has evolved. It's been a long time.” Kemra tried a smile, and I wished she hadn't. She was worse than I at dissembling.
Keiko knocked perfunctorily at the door and entered with a tray containing a bottle of chilled Selastiorini, two glasses, sliced winter apples, and alternating thin white and red cheese wedges. Even carrying all that, her steps were graceful and silent, her black hair perfectly in place.
I stood. “Thank you.”
Kemra also stood and nodded.
Keiko set the tray in the middle of the table. “It wasn't a problem at all, especially for such a distinguished guest.” She smiled charmingly, the way I wished I could, and I could tell she didn't like Kemra at all. With a nod to me, Keiko slipped out of the office and closed the door.
Since the wine had already been uncorked, I poured two glasses of the Selastiorini, and handed Kemra one.
“What's that?”
“Wine,” I answered, recalling that she had not even touched the Whitespring at the welcoming reception.
“Is it poisonous?”
“Hardly. Ethyl alcohol content is about twelve percent, and the various side-contaminants make it flavorfulâto those who wish to taste it.” I took a small sip.
Her face went blankâa blankness that signaled a retreat to the hard-wired nets and the repeater or data bank worn on her wide uniform belt.
“Wineâthat's something we lost in The Flightâthe grapes, not the techniques,” she said after a moment, the expression/possession returning to her face. “A small amount won't affect me ⦔
“And your net will sense if you have more than a small amount,” I finished with a smile.
“Your aide out there doesn't like me.”
“Most people on Old Earth are wary of cybs,” I pointed out, “just like you're all wary of Old Earth.”
“It's not that.” Her eyes were direct, too direct, too like Morgen.
I forced a shrug.
“You never said how you became Coordinator.” She took an infinitesimal sip of the Selastiorini.
“It's simple enough. The Consensus chose me.”
“What is the Consensus exactly, some sort of representative body?”
“That's close enough, although ⦠that's not it exactly, either. Locials and regions have Consensus representatives, and the representatives are the ones that make the choices.” I wasn't ready to explain all the checks and balances, and the exponential compensatory time required. I almost shuddered at how many years it would take me to work off having been Coordinator. Then I took a small sip of the wine.
“Did you seek the position?” she probed.
“Hardly. It's not the sort of position anyone seeksâand anyone who did would be suspect.”
“How do you get good leadership if no one wants the job?” She sneaked another sip of the Selastiorini.
“Fear.” I laughed. “People accept the positions, if they're good, because they fear the alternatives if they don't do their best. It doesn't always work, but it works better than anything else we've tried.” I decided against mentioning that Coordinator was a sometime position. This time, while waiting for her response, I put a wedge of the red cheese on an apple slice and chewed both slowly, letting the two tangy tastes and differing textures blend together.
Kemra took exactly what I did, but only nibbled at the edge of each, and we sat in momentary silence. The sky lightened as the high clouds outside thinned, and I saw the sunlight on the top of the eastern peaks, but only for a moment.
“It's hard to believe that you've eliminated the power-hungry
in your society,” she finally ventured after licking her lips and moistening them with another small sip of the Selastiorini.
in your society,” she finally ventured after licking her lips and moistening them with another small sip of the Selastiorini.
What she meant was that the cybs continued to think of the demis as power-hungry. That meant more trouble because the entire chaos that preceded The Flight occurred because the cybs had possessed an inflated image of their own indispensability to society and the universe.
Hell, no living creature is indispensable to anyone or anythingâexcept to himself or a newborn offspring.
“We've managed to deal with the problem,” I finally answered.
“We'd be interested in the details.”
“It's simple enough. We developed a philosophical credo and applied it consistently. We accept that morality, power, and consensus are the underpinnings for any society and work to maintain all three in balance. Trust and mutual respect are, in a way, the mortar that hold the other three together.”
“Every modern society has tried that, and most have failed,” the cyb navigator pointed out.
“Actually, if you look at history, you'll find that most gave lip service to them, but few ever applied them. The problem with most past societies was that they insisted that either control or freedom was the paramount requirement of society, and neither works.”
“Still the same old dictatorial demis, I see.” Her tone was ironic, rather than bitter.
“Hardly.” I forced a laugh. “We offer great freedom. We just don't place it first. The first freedom in primitive society, after all, is the freedom to starve or die. Most cultures rejected that freedom. They also rejected the freedom to kill others.” I took a sip, a longer one than I should have, from the goblet. “Yet they proclaimed freedom as the central tenet of their cultures. The first goal of a culture is survival, both short and long term. A culture
that is too permissive or too restrictive cannot survive, nor can a culture that cannot agree on its morality. That's where we started.” I set down the glass.
that is too permissive or too restrictive cannot survive, nor can a culture that cannot agree on its morality. That's where we started.” I set down the glass.
“Is this great philosophical credo set in print somewhere? It would be ⦠interesting to study, if it isn't too technical.”
“We call it
The Paradigms of Power.
There are seven or eight paragraphs, that's all. I'll get you a copy in the next day or so.” I wasn't about to give her the
Construct,
because the cybs would have totally misunderstood it. I could have had Keiko get a copy of the
Paradigms
while we were talking, but the more I could stall her, and the cybs, the better, because we needed time to get the full station system up and running. The defense system would work without the Delta and Kappa stations, but both the strain and potential casualties would be higher. Besides, the more time the cybs spent on Old Earth, the greater the possibilities of avoiding actual armed conflicts. At least, that was what Arielle calculated. I wasn't that convinced of the comps' analyses. My own intuition said the cybs wanted an out and out battle no matter what. Either way, we needed time.
The Paradigms of Power.
There are seven or eight paragraphs, that's all. I'll get you a copy in the next day or so.” I wasn't about to give her the
Construct,
because the cybs would have totally misunderstood it. I could have had Keiko get a copy of the
Paradigms
while we were talking, but the more I could stall her, and the cybs, the better, because we needed time to get the full station system up and running. The defense system would work without the Delta and Kappa stations, but both the strain and potential casualties would be higher. Besides, the more time the cybs spent on Old Earth, the greater the possibilities of avoiding actual armed conflicts. At least, that was what Arielle calculated. I wasn't that convinced of the comps' analyses. My own intuition said the cybs wanted an out and out battle no matter what. Either way, we needed time.
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