Alector's Choice (45 page)

From Dainyl’s point
of view, Quattri had been both productive in getting caught up with the piles
of paper and unhelpful in discovering what he really wanted to know. He’d
gotten to headquarters before the morning muster, but the marshal had already
left to meet the High Alector of Justice at the Duarch’s Palace. Since Dainyl
had been able to work uninterrupted all day, he’d finished reviewing the
reports from all eight Myrmidon companies on Acorus.

The marshal had
returned to headquarters late in the afternoon and immediately summoned Dainyl
to make sure he would be at headquarters on Quinti to welcome and brief Colonel
Dhenyr. Then the marshal had departed for a formal dinner at the Duarch’s
Palace.

Dainyl had gone home
to Lystrana—most gratefully— for a more than pleasant evening.

Although the spring
snow had all melted, the streets had still been damp and the air raw. The
rawness had persisted into Quinti, when Dainyl had arrived early at
headquarters to prepare to meet Colonel Dhenyr, although it was likely that the
new colonel would not be flying in until midday. The marshal was not in, and,
perhaps would not be. Before he began his own projects for Quinti, Dainyl
stopped to talk to Undercaptain Ghanyr at the duty desk.

“Submarshal, sir,
what can we do for you?”

“Is first squad up to
strength?”

“Yes, sir. Weather’s
clear, and we’ve got a dispatch run to Ludar. Nothing else, yet.”

“How did things go in
Iron Stem?”

Ghanvr shook his head
“Wouldn’t have been a oroble‘ 1

if anyone talked to
anyone. The local trade director claimed he’d sent three messages about cutting
the timber, because he’d been turned down on his requisition for stone and
bricks. The regional alector never saw any of the messages or the requisitions,
and the trade director produced a dispatch that gave him authority to cut. It
was forged, but not by him. Cadmian majer claimed he’d been ordered to do what
was necessary. Some hothead blew the shaft because he was tired of living in a
tent with all the wind. They were all trading dispatches, and half of them were
false—“

“How did that happen?
Do you know?”

“Marshal didn’t say.”
Ghanyr looked down the corridor toward the Submarshal’s study.

“That’s interesting,”
mused Dainyl. “I didn’t even know about Iron Stem until after the miners blew
the shaft.”

“No, sir. Most
didn’t. Just the marshal and the submar-shal, that’s what I heard Marshal
Shastylt was telling the regional alector.” Ghanyr was telling the truth, and
still doing his best to convey that the blame would fall on the dead Tyanylt.
It was also a warning.

“I’m glad everyone’s
back safe.” Dainyl smiled warmly.

“Yes, sir. Yuasylt
didn’t have it so easy out in Hyalt.”

“I heard. That’s why
it’s important to watch for wild Talents before they get established.”

Ghanyr nodded. “Heard
you found one of those places of the ancients down in Dramur.”

“We did. We circled
and watched, but neither Falyna nor Quelyt ever saw anything there. Some
indigen rebels took a shot at us, though.”

“Strange times, sir.”

“The strange
happenings come in groups. They always have, and now is no different. Then they
settle down.” Dainyl paused, but briefly. “Anything else I should know about?”

“No, sir. There’s
nothing new, no special dispatches.”

Ghanyr did not quite
look at Dainyl as he asked, “Are there going to be any more deployment orders,
sir?”

“Quelyt and Falyna
will be heading back to Dramur with me tomorrow, as things stand now. That’s
the only deployment, if you can call it that.”

“Lucky them. It’s
warm there.”

“It’s getting wanner
here.” Dainyl offered a parting smile before heading for his study, thinking
about the false dispatches. Why had Shastylt fomented the problems at Iron
Stem… and in Dramur? What possible reason could the marshal have had? Yet, when
Shastylt had talked to Dainyl on Tridi, the marshal had been most clear on
wanting Dainyl to resolve the problems in Dramur. That had not been the case
before. What had changed? And why?

Dainyl settled behind
his desk, thinking. After a quarter glass, he shook his head. There was
doubtless some simple reason, but he couldn’t figure it out. Shastylt was loyal
to the High Alector of Justice, and to the Duarchy. Dainyl had been able to
sense that, and so far, he’d never been mistaken. Could he be now? Was Shastylt
that much stronger with his shields, strong enough not only to hide lies but to
actively project untruths? Dainyl didn’t think so, but he no longer knew, not
for certain.

He lined up all the
reports, and all the background files, that Dhenyr would need to read and
review and carried them to the study that had once been his, placing them on
the corner of the desk. Gathering and arranging all that material took less
than half a glass.

After that, he turned
to the side table in his own study, and the ledgers stacked there—the
consolidated supply accounts for all the Myrmidon companies. He started looking
for something to prove or disprove his suspicions. Midday came and went, and
Dainyl only took a short break to eat before returning to his review of the
ledgers.

Four months back, he
found the only irregularity—if he could call it that. A page in the ledger had
been replaced, and there were two fewer lines of entries on the page than on
any other page. That was all. Nothing much, except that in scores of pages, all
were the same length and the pages had not been touched. The figures all
balanced. Dainyl put the ledgers aside. He suspected that someone had made a
mistake, and it had been covered up, but what had been covered up he wasn’t
about to find in the official records, and it couldn’t have been just a
bookkeeping error. That could safely have been corrected.

He stood and
stretched, then took a walk down the corridor toward the duty desk, only to
find Ghanyr walking toward him.

“Viosyna just
reported two pteridons inbound from the east, sir,” the undercaptain said. “It
must be the new colonel.”

“I’ll go out and meet
him.” Dainyl did not put on his flying jacket, but as he stood, looking to the
south and east, he began to wish he had. The wind was light, out of the north,
but still raw. He stood well back and to the east of the landing stage,
watching as the two pteridons circled to the south, then made their final
approaches into the wind. The first pteridon settled, then the second. Colonel Dhenyr
was in the second saddle of the trailing pteridon. Within moments, he had
vaulted off the flight stage and walked toward Dainyl.

Dhenyr was the image
of the perfect Myrmidon—two and two-thirds yards in height, black hair so dark
and straight that it seemed to reflect light while absorbing it, deep purple
eyes, a well-formed oval face with black eyebrows neither too thin nor too
bushy, and an alabaster skin whiter than the whitest marble or limestone. Even
after two days of flight, he scarcely seemed to have anything out of place in
either his bearing or his uniform.

“Colonel Dhenyr…
Submarshal Dainyl.” Dainyl offered a pleasant smile.

Dhenyr inclined his
head slightly before replying. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Marshal Shastylt
has told me a great deal about you. You’re the first Myrmidon born on Acorus to
become Submarshal. That’s quite something.”

“It had to happen
sometime,” Dainyl replied, smiling politely and keeping his shields locked and
impermeable. Dhenyr’s warm and deep voice should have been reassuring. For some
reason, it was not. “Let’s go inside. They can bring your gear to your study.
Your personal furnishings are being sent overland?”

“They left before I
did.” Dhenyr laughed. “With my wife. She was fortunate that there was an
opening for an assistant to the High Alector of Transport.”

“You both were
fortunate. There aren’t that many good positions.” Without saying more, Dainyl
turned and led the way into headquarters and to his own study, where he
gestured for Dhenyr to seat himself, then settled behind his own desk. “How
were the flights?”

“Long. There aren’t
many that aren’t, anymore. We came straight, and that was cold, just below the
Aerial Plateau.” Dhenyr waited, politely attentive.

“I’ll be relatively
brief with you… although there is a large stack of reports waiting for you to
review. As operations and maintenance director of the Myrmidons, you’ll see,
read, and review more reports than you knew existed…” Dainyl went on for close
to a glass, outlining everything from the duty and dispatch system and
structures to the general locations of what Dhenyr would need to know
immediately. “… and that’s probably more than you want to hear.”

“I hope I can explain
it that clearly before long,” replied the newly promoted colonel.

“I’m sure you’ll
manage.” Dainyl leaned back in his chair. “Now… I do have a few questions.”

“If I can answer
them, sir…”

“First, I was hoping
that you might’be able to explain how three—or is it four—skylances vanished
from Fifth Company in less than two seasons. I read your reports with interest,
but I’m afraid I never did get a good picture of what happened.”

Dhenyr smiled,
ruefully. “None of us did, either. The skylances were racked with the saddles,
each in the square for that pteridon. The pteridons never left the squares, and
no one could have gotten to the skylances without coming within a yard or two
of the pteridons. I requested that the regional alector interview each ranker
and officer. The interviews revealed nothing. Both the regional alector and the
marshal were less than happy with the results.”

“Do you have any
ideas who took them—or how they managed?”

“Well, sir, it is
Dereka, and some of the locals said that it could have been the ancients, but
there was no Talent-trace of anything—not alectors, not ancients, not anything
else. The recorder used the Table, but it revealed nothing untoward, either.
The last time, he used the Table within a glass of the disappearance, but there
was no sign of anything. The regional alector sensed no Talent-use, either.”

Paradoxically, that
meant that Talent had to have been involved, Dainyl knew, but how had it been
managed with no Talent-traces? “What do you think happened?”

“I’m truly at a loss,
sir. Dereka is an old city. Maybe it was the ancients.” Dhenyr shrugged.

The colonel didn’t
really believe that, Dainyl could tell, but seemed mystified by what had
happened, and not all that upset. His reactions told Dainyl more than just what
Dhenyr didn’t know, and that suggested Dainyl would learn little more from
Dhenyr, about anything.

All Dainyl really
wanted to do was to go home to Lystrana.

All alectors who deal
with steers each and every day must keep in mind that there are significant
differences in outlook between alectors and steers. Some of these differences, while
fundamental, are anything but obvious to casual observation. One of the most
critical differences is that steers instinctively believe that there is an
intrinsic worth to each and every person, no matter how useless or even
destructive an individual may be. This is often expressed in terms such as,
“every life is sacred” or “we are all worthy in the eyes of [whatever deity is
fashionable].”

As alectors, we
understand the feelings behind such quaint phrases. All beings who can think,
even those who do so on a rudimentary level, seek meaning in their lives. They
wish to be appreciated, to be recognized, to be granted a place and position of
some value. At the same time, the universe does not place any value on any
life. Life is. It is the result of physical and chemical processes, and it
arises in some places and not in others as a result of the interactions between
the components of a world.

What value an
individual may have to the world or society is determined solely by his or her
abilities and contributions. To say that a mature individual has an intrinsic
worth, independent of acts, is mere wishful thought. Thus, a newborn child has
no worth—only potential worth. That potential may be great indeed, but it is
only potential until the child matures and demonstrates through abilities and
acts what that value may be. History has shown that the worth of individuals is
not the same, and yet the delusion persists that because individuals are
created by the same process, they are equal. Anyone who has observed
individuals knows they are not equal, and that their worth is anything but
equal. While the laws of a society must assure that no one is treated
inequitably, no society that has forced equality of worth upon its members has
lasted long.

Yet the delusion about
intrinsic worth is necessary in steer societies because, without it, too many
individuals would become excessively self-centered and spend their lives
seeking only to gratify the most basic and base of instinctual drives, using
all their resources against those with less strength or wealth. This reduces
creativity, such as it is, and productivity, and is not acceptable, either in
terms of maximizing higher lifeforce or in assuring fairness to others.

As alectors, we
understand that what value we may represent or attain comes solely from what we
can create or produce of higher worth. Great art, soaring architecture,
inspiring music, well-organized and functioning cities—all these and other like
achievements are the manifestations of individual worth.

We must recall,
however, that such worth is as we deem it. The universe makes no judgments and
bestows no awards for worth or merit. Because the universe does not, we must
make such judgments. One of the most critical requirements of any society is to
define “worth” fairly, accurately, and in a way that inspires all thinking
members toward achievements that create such worth.

This understanding,
which is taught to and accepted by all discerning alectors, is seldom accepted
by steers. Therefore, any alector who deals with them must always recall that
it is the fashion and custom to act as though all individuals have worth, even
the most worthless, and that, when a steer must be disciplined or terminated
because the individual in question is truly a destructive and negative force on
others and the world, such discipline must be administered with a show of
regret that the worth of such a life has been wasted…

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W.T. 1513