Alector's Choice (7 page)

The greatest struggle
that faces any people, especially a people who would be great and leave an
imprint upon a universe that offers neither reward nor punishment, is to see
the universe as it is, not as they would have it be. Because all life begins
with the irrational and evolves away from it, all beings capable of even the
most basic of thoughts begin with an attachment to the irrational. Feelings
precede thought, and all who have borne and loved an offspring understand the
strength of such emotion. Yet that strength of feeling should serve a true
perception of what is, and that perception must be grounded in what is
observed, what can be proved, and what can be replicated, without fault,
without deviation, time after time.

In any society, even
in a higher civilization such as ours, only a comparative handful of individuals
ever escape from the tyranny of the irrational. Nor should it be expected that
any greater number should so advance themselves in that manner of thought and
outlook. That is so because true per-

. I ception requires
one to turn his or her back upon the comfortable and the familiar and to
question not only what others see as the acceptable and proper way of life, but
one’s own predilections and observations. Few have the strength and insight to
do so; fewer still the will.

Of the insects, there
are millions upon millions upon millions. Of the rodents and lizards and the
fish in the streams and the oceans, there are millions upon millions. Of the
cattle in the fields and the sheep in the meadows, there are many millions. Of
those of our shape who toil in the fields and in the manufactories, there are
millions. Yet, of those who lead and guide them, who see each world as it is,
there are but scant thousands. That is the way of life and the universe. To see
it otherwise is but an illusion of the irrational.

Views of the Highest

Illustra

W.T. 1513

As Dainyl had known
from his own past experience, the flight to Dramur was long. While Quelyt and
Falyna were more than courteous, Dainyl would rather not have ridden a pteridon
as a passenger, in the second silvery saddle behind Quelyt, when he had once
been a command flier. There was no help for that. Still, once he was airborne,
with the wind in his face, and the land—or water—spread out below him, he felt
much of the same marveling pleasure that he had in years past.

Pteridons were too
rare to be spared for officers who did not fly regularly, not when the
creatures were linked to one Myrmidon and could not be flown by anyone else.
For all that, no pteridon had a name. None was necessary, because no pteridon
answered except to his rider—or one of the highests who used special crystals
in the rare cases when a rider could no longer ride—or was promoted out of that
status, as Dainyl had been. Neither event happened often. Dainyl had been a
rider for nearly eighty years, but then, so had many of the Myrmidons. Some had
been riding for close to a hundred, but the average was closer to sixty. His
time as a Myrmidon didn’t count the more than ten years he’d toiled as a
sandoxes second driver on the transport run from Hafin to Krost. Most younger
alectors spent some time as drivers; it was both necessary and expected.
Dainyl’s term as a driver had been longer than most.

The first night,
Dainyl and his escorts stopped at the Cad-mian compound in Southgate, the usual
resting point for Myrmidon couriers headed to Dramuria. While the tireless
pteridons could have flown straight through, a full day of flying was more than
enough even for seasoned Myrmidons. Dainyl was slightly sore on Octdi morning,
although he would not have been stiff at all years before.

They were airborne
again just before dawn and followed the coastline southeast, passing above the
Dry Coast, so named because there were almost no sources of water—not rain, not
streams, and not even wells or springs. The Dry Coast ran from twenty vingts
below Southgate all the way around the southwest coast of Coins to the Southern
Cliffs—nearly eighteen hundred vingts in all, with but a single town. The
section to the west of the Southern Cliffs was the Empty Quint, although where
the DryCoast ended and the Empty Quint began was far from clear. Not that it
mattered, since little lived there, and the high alectors in Lyterna had
determined early on that attempting to increase lifeforce mass in that area
would have been futile.

The one town along
the DryCoast was Ascar, some three hundred vingts from Southgate and slightly
more than that from the northern cape of Dramur. A single small stream ran from
the southern part of the CoastRange to Ascar, and there was a small natural harbor,
used mainly because the fishing off the DryCoast was among the best in the west
of Corns.

The second day’s
journey consisted of several brief stops, a quick early midday meal at Ascar, a
few more stops, then a longer leg over the channel and on to Dramuria.

As they flew
southward over the water, every so often Dainyl looked back, more up and to his
right, to find Fa-lyna and the other pteridon. Because of the vortices created
by the wings, all Myrmidon formations—or single trailing fliers like Falyna—always
flew higher than those in front, a V formation that extended aft and upward as
much as necessary.

When they reached
Dramuria, late in the afternoon on Octdi, the two Myrmidon riders circled their
pteridons twice around the Cadmian compound on the bluff on the northeast edge
of Dramuria, directly above the harbor and the main portion of the town—set
north of the small river that drained out of the MurianMountains to the west
and north. The town itself was built of local graystone, and all the roofs appeared
to be of a reddish tile. Dainyl could not see any marked changes in either the
town or its environs since he had last been there. Slightly more ground might
have been cleared in the lowlands west of Dramuria, and the road that arrowed
northwest to the mountains—and to the mine—seemed to have little traffic upon
it.

The Cadmian compound
was the same as any other in layout, except smaller, a stone-walled square half
a vingt on a side, with the headquarters buildings directly behind the
west-facing gates, and the barracks and officers’ quarters on the north side,
the stables and shops on the south, all separated by the central courtyard.

Falyna swept in
first, the pteridon coming to a graceful flaring halt, wings wide, then
settling onto the greenish gray stone of the central courtyard. Quelyt
followed.

After dismounting,
Dainyl had to admit to himself that he was glad enough to put his legs on the
ground and stretch. Then he turned to Quelyt. “Thank you. A very good flight. I
know it’s not the same with a passenger, but I appreciate it.”

“Thank you, sir.”
Quelyt nodded. “That last leg always seems so long.” He grinned ruefully.
“That’s because it is, and there’s no place to take a break.”

They both turned at
the approach of a Cadmian senior squad leader, who stepped up to them,
stiffened to attention, and half bowed.

“Sir?” The squad
leader looked up at Dainyl.

The Myrmidon colonel
could sense the concern that bordered on fear.

“Colonel Dainyl. I’m
here to see Majer Herryf.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir.
I’ll send word to him.”

The squad leader’s
words told Dainyl that either Herryf had not been told of his imminent arrival
or he was not expected as soon as he had arrived. Dainyl hoped it was the
latter.

“He’s not here, in
the compound, at the moment?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we’ll just get
settled. Officers’ quarters for three Myrmidons, and”—Dainyl gestured toward
the square stone buildings with massive perches above them—“the squares for the
pteridons.”

“Yes, sir. The
squares are always ready, and the senior officers’ quarters are always ready,
sir, and there are others…”

“Good. I think I can
find my way to the quarters. If you would take care of the fliers and their
pteridons.”

“Ah, yes, sir.”

While Dainyl had been
talking to the squad leader, Quelyt had unfastened the colonel’s duffel. He
handed it to Dainyl.

“Thank you,” Dainyl
said. “I’ll check with you both after

I talk to the major.
We’ll probably need to do some recon flights in the next few days.“

“Yes, sir.”

Dainyl turned,
leaving the senior squad leader with the two Myrmidons and moving quickly
toward the quarters on the north side of the compound. It felt good to stretch
his legs. As he walked, he studied the almost-empty compound, far more vacant
than it should have on an Octdi evening, even after duty hours. Did the
Cadmians in Dramur take all of both end days off?

Another squad leader
hurried toward Dainyl as he walked across the courtyard. “Colonel, sir… if you
would allow me to help you?”

Dainyl smiled. “I can
carry my gear, but guidance to my quarters might help.”

“Yes, sir. This way,
sir.”

The officers’
quarters were in the most northwestern of the structures along the north wall,
directly north of the headquarters building. The visiting senior officers’
quarters—effectively only for majers and above—were on the upper level of the
two-story structure.

Dainyl found himself
escorted to the quarters on the northwest corner.

There, the squad
leader opened the door and gestured. “Sir, these are the best. Even the
Myrmidon marshal found them most comfortable.”

“Thank you. If
someone would let me know when the majer arrives?”

“Yes, sir, Colonel.”

Dainyl closed the
door and stepped farther into the quarters, effectively a large room with an
attached second chamber holding a bath and facilities. The bed was long enough,
a full three yards. The writing desk was wide enough and set before one of the
windows, with a light-torch in a wall bracket directly above.

He sniffed. The room
smelled relatively clean, and he didn’t sense any obvious vermin. He decided
against bathing, but used the facilities and washed up before unpacking his
duffel and hanging up his second uniform. It didn’t need it, not when it never
wrinkled. He left the light-cutter in its holster.

After walking around
the room for a time, stretching his legs more, Dainyl seated himself at the
desk. The desk chair and desk were almost too low to use, but he angled his
legs to the side, considering what he’d seen on the flight in, and jotted down
his thoughts.

He’d have to ask the
council director about the mine and the dyeworks. Lystrana wouldn’t have
mentioned them without a reason beyond the comparative note that the decline in
guano receipts had not been accompanied by a corresponding decrease in other
trade revenues.

He wrote down ideas
as they came to him, for more than half a glass.

Thrap—the knock on
the quarters’ door was almost tentative.

Dainyl could sense
that it was a Cadmian. “Yes?”

“Colonel, sir, the
majer is here, and awaits your instructions and orders. He would like to know
if you would you like him to come to your quarters, or to meet in the
headquarters?”

“I’ll meet him in the
headquarters immediately.” Dainyl stood.

“Yes, sir.” The
Cadmian turned and left.

Even though he had
not met the majer, the man’s attitude already bothered Dainyl. Dainyl was his
superior officer, in more ways than one, and the man was sending a subordinate
to inquire. When his own superiors wanted something, Dainyl didn’t send
undercaptains or squad leaders to find out. He just went. Sending subordinates
was the mark of someone officious and all too willing to spend others’ time.

The Cadmian trooper
was waiting in the courtyard below the steps from the upper level, and Dainyl
followed him across a courtyard darkened by the long shadows of the compound’s
western wall.

They entered
headquarters through the front arched entrance, past a duty squad leader, who
straightened, and stated, “Colonel, sir, welcome to Dramuria, sir.”

“Carry on.”

Dainyl continued
toward the end of the corridor, but he could sense that, outside of his guide
and the duty squad leader, and the majer, the headquarters building was
deserted.

“That’s the majer’s
study, there, sir,” offered the guide.

“Thank you.” Dainyl
walked to the open doorway.

Majer Herryf stood
just inside. “Colonel, welcome to Dramur.” Herryf was short and dark, with
short-cut stringy black hair and eyes that protruded slightly—clearly a
Cad-mian who’d worked his way up from an indigen background—or whose parents or
grandparents had.

Dainyl nodded. “Thank
you.” He waited to see what the majer had to say.

“Colonel… I hadn’t
been informed that we would be receiving a senior Myrmidon officer, or I would
have been here to greet you personally.”

“Sometimes, messages
don’t always arrive in a timely fashion.” Dainyl studied the chairs set before
the majer’s desk and decided to remain standing. “Since you haven’t been
notified, I’ll make it very simple. Next week, probably on Duadi, a battalion
of Cadmian mounted rifles will arrive here on the Duarchs’ Valor. They are
being deployed here to deal with the mining situation.” He paused for but a
moment. “Tomorrow, I’ll need to meet with the director of the mines and the
head of the governing council of Dramuria. I expect that you can set those
meetings up after we finish here.”

“Colonel… it is
getting late in the day.”

“I know, but you
notified the marshal of a problem you felt required Myrmidon attention. I’ve
flown two straight days to get here. This appears to be a matter of some
con-cern. If it is, we should not worry about such… customs… as end-day relaxation.
Should we?”

“Ah… not when you put
it that way, Colonel. I’ll do what I can.”

“I expect to meet
with them both tomorrow.” Dainyl smiled coolly. “Now… what has happened here in
the last week? Will we need to put the Cadmians into the field immediately?”

“Cadmians, sir? I had
thought that perhaps a company of Myrmidons…” offered Herryf.

“When it does not
appear urgent enough to discuss immediately? For a handful of disgruntled
miners hiding in the hills?” Dainyl lifted his eyebrows.

“They are most
resourceful, Colonel.”

Dainyl could sense
the impatience restrained behind the cultivated politeness. The majer was
definitely a man who expected that people see things his way and no other.
“Resourceful or not, a battalion of Cadmian mounted rifles should be more than
enough.” Dainyl paused. “That is, unless there is something that you did not
convey in your reports.”

“No, sir. I wrote out
everything in my report to the marshal.”

“Your report
suggested the possibility of an insurrection, but I do not recall any detailed
information on the weapons available to these would-be rebels.”

“There’s blasting
powder missing. That’s what the director of the mine reported. As I told the
marshal.”

“That is not terribly
useful,” Dainyl pointed out, “unless they have some way to turn it into
munitions. Do you know if they do?”

“If I’d waited until
they did, the marshal would not have been pleased.”

“He is not displeased
with you. He took your report seriously. That is why a full battalion of
mounted rifles is arriving. You’ll need to arrange to billet and feed them.”

“Five companies of a
hundred, sir?”

Dainyl nodded. “Now…
what didn’t you put in the report? The things you couldn’t prove that worried
you?”

Herryf smiled
politely, but, again, Dainyl could sense the arrogance and calculation.

“The volume of guano
shipments is down, and at this time of year, it generally starts to rise with
the cooler weather. The mine director has been talking with the local justicer,
and it appears that more young men are being sentenced to the mines.”