Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (84 page)

"We've
got
a
firm
controlling
structure
in
place
here,"
Dahno said.
"We
had
to
ensure
that
from
early
on,
if
only
because
you
and I
had
to
spend
so
much
time
off-planet.
And
the
Eldest,
McKae,
is your
own
particular
creature,
you
know
that."

"But
there's
been
a
growing
insurgency
on
both
these
planets
for some
time,"
Bleys
said.

Dahno
dismissed
that
with
a
wave
of
his
hand.

"That's
nothing,"
he
said.
"There're
dissenters
on
the
other
planets
we
control,
too,
but
none
are
much
of
a
threat.
And
here
on
the Friendlies,
your
position
as
First
Elder,
along
with
your
control
of McKae,
gives
us
complete
control
of
the
armed
forces
of
the
two worlds—the
strongest
armed
force
on
any
of
the
Younger
Worlds, leaving
out
the
Dorsai."

"Beyond
these
Friendly
planets,"
Bleys
said,
"we
also
need
you in
the
work
we've
planned
for
Ceta
and
the
others—"

"Again,
you
don't
need
me
for
that,"
Dahno
said.
"Our
people here"—he
swept
a
hand
across
the
room—"have
surprised
us
both in
how
much
they've
learned
and
the
abilities
they've
shown
to control
the
powerful
on
their
planets."

He
looked
across
the
head
table,
beaming
with
pride
at
the
Others
before
him,
every
one
of
whom
had
been
trained
in
the
program he
had
established.
Bleys
followed
his
eyes,
and
saw
that
those looking
up
at
them
were
responding
to
his
brother.

Dahno
had
won
them
totally.
Bleys
had
been
waiting,
all
through the
convocation,
for
his
brother
to
speak
up
in
opposition—but
now that
it
had
happened,
he,
Bleys,
had
still
been
surprised.

"You
forget,
brother,"
Dahno
was
going
on,
"I
was
the
one
who organized
all
this
in
the
first
instance.
I
was
the
one
who
found
and recruited
these
people
who've
proven
to
have
so
much
ability.
And organization,
above
all,
is
what's
going
to
be
needed
on
Old
Earth."

He
looked
back
at
Bleys.

"You
won't
find
anyone
better,
brother,"
he
said.
And
the
faces Bleys
saw
behind
the
ranks
of
tables
were
nodding,
certain. "That's
true,"
Bleys
said.

I
’ll
have
to
let
this
one
go,
he
thought,
but
what
does
he
have
planned?

"You
six
were
sent
to
me,"
Bleys
said,
"to
carry
out
a
specialized
task." The
meeting
with
the
Others'
leaders
had
ended
a
week
ago,
and
the lower-ranked
Others
he
had
sent
for
had
largely
arrived
at
headquarters
and
were
being
trained
to
accompany
Dahno
to
Old
Earth.

Bleys
had
been
watching
for
certain
of
them
to
arrive,
however;
and now
he
had
half
a
dozen
of
them
with
him
in
a
small
meeting
room.

While
he
spoke,
Bleys
looked
with
interest
at
the
six,
seated close
to
him
around
a
small
table.
All
were
men,
which
was
not surprising
considering
the
personalities
he
had
been
looking
for; but
he
had,
he
now
realized,
unconsciously
been
expecting
they would
look
different
from
other
people
.
.
.
somehow.
They
didn't, really.

"We
want
you
to
put
together
a
special
weapon
for
us,"
he
went
on.

None
of
them
reacted
at
all,
that
he
could
see.
But
then,
that seemed
to
be
one
index
of
the
kind
of
people
he'd
calculated
could do
this
job.

"To
be
more
specific,"
he
continued,
"we
want
you
to
find
us
the right
kind
of
people—people
who
can
be
depended
on
to
carry
out certain
kinds
of
actions—and
then
to
train
them,
and
lead
them
to perform
certain
special
tasks
for
us."

He
paused
again,
looking
for
some
kind
of
reaction.
He
got
only
silence.

"It
was
almost
painful"
he
wrote
in
a
note
to
his
memory
late
that night.
He
was,
unconsciously,
shaking
his
head
as
he
did
so;
and
he was
doing
it
in
darkness,
making
it
impossible
for
anyone
else—or himself—to
see
what
he
was
writing.

I never realized how much I depend on getting feedback when I speak—even if it's only from the technicians recording one of my talks. But those people today were the human equivalent of white noise.

The
sheet
of
paper
under
his
hands
was
unsympathetic.

I
was
looking
for
a
particular
kind
of
sociopath,
he
wrote
on.
The kind
who
can
function
within
a
system.
I
should
not
have
expected them
to
be
normal.

And
I
didn't.
Not
really.
But
these
were
all
people
who
had learned
to
counterfeit
normal
human
behavior
enough
to
fit
in—for the
most
part—in
some
societal
niche.
But
they
weren't
even
trying, this
time,
to
seem
human.

He
paused,
looking
down
the
length
of
his
lounge
in
the
direction
of
the
Mayne-map,
which
he
could
not
see;
and
then
he
bent over
the
unseen
paper,
and
continued
writing.

And
yet,
when
I
first
met
with
them
individually,
and
again
after
the meeting,
I
thought
they
seemed
close
to
normal.
I
'm
still
reacting
to that
impression.

On
reflection,
I
think
it's
because
initially
I
gave
them
the
kind
of encounter
they
were
more
or
less
used
to—in
other
words,
they
had an
idea
what
sort
of
behavior
was
expected
of
them.
But
when
I
presented
a
deliberately
vague
summary
of
what
I
want
them
to
do,
I
presented
them
with
a
situation
they
had
never
encountered;
and, not
knowing
the
right
pattern
to
adopt,
they
could
only
wait
for
some cue
to
tell
them
what
pattern
might
be
right.

He
stopped,
to
look
down
at
the
paper
as
if
rereading
what
he could
not
see;
and
then
felt
for
the
disposal
slot
and
fed
it
in.
Then he
pulled
out
a
new,
blank
sheet.

When
the
job
is
creating
and
leading
assassins,
I
don't
want
people who
might
have
second
thoughts.

Will
I
be
the
one
having
second
thoughts?