Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (87 page)

So
where
the
active
members
of
a
Command
enjoyed
nearly
hero
status
among
the
faithful,
their
stationary
contacts
had
to
try
to maintain
as
much
anonymity
as
possible.

"It
makes
little
difference
whether
her
information
is
trustworthy,
or
not,"
Rukh
said.
"I
believe
it
is,
but
it
remains
our
responsibility
to
verify
it."

"What
about
our
plans
for
Gracegiven?"
Tommy
asked.
"We have
need
of
the
ammunition
and
other
supplies
we
can
get
there."

"Gracegiven
is
a
ripe
plum,"
Rukh
said.
"Go
and
pluck
it."

"You're
leaving
us,
then?"
There
were
shiftings
among
the
veterans.

"I
shall
go
to
Ahruma
and
look
into
the
report,"
Rukh
said.
"If it's
true,
I'll
send
word
to
you,
and
wait
for
you
to
come.
The
supplies
you
get
in
Gracegiven
will
help
us
with
this
new
mission,
if mission
it
is."

"By
yourself?"
The
protest
came
from
Tallah,
the
Command's chief
cook,
treasured
by
all
for
her
versatility
and
common
sense. Other
voices
echoed
her
protest.

"Tallah,
you
must
realize
that
if
this
news
is
indeed
a
trap,
they'll be
looking
for
us
to
come
in
a
body,"
Rukh
said.
"Traveling
alone, I'm
much
less
likely
to
be
noticed."
She
looked
at
the
faces
about her.

"Nor
can
I
depend
on
others
for
confirmation,"
she
added,
more softly,
but
with
a
steel
they
recognized
in
her
voice.
"I
must
see
this for
myself.
Moreover,
it
may
take
some
time
to
come
up
with
a
plan of
action,
and
the
danger
of
detection
will
be
much
higher
for
a large
group
than
for
one
person."

Fourteen
days
later
Rukh
stepped
out
of
a
patch
of
brush
as
a
man she
recognized
left
his
little
house
to
begin
the
day's
chores.
She had
worked
with
him
in
the
past,
and
knew
him
as
a
station-keeper, one
of
those
who
functioned
much
as
Avila
Cotter
did.

Bernard
Farmer
was
a
tall,
thin,
brown-skinned
man
in
his
late middle
years;
and
also
the
Shepherd
of
a
small
temple
that
served
a rural
community.
He
was
thrilled
to
see
her.

"The
work
of
Rukh
Tamani
in
Ahruma
is
known
to
all,"
he
said, smiling.
"Not
only
among
the
Faithful,
in
joy,
but
among
the Accursed—although
to
them
the
knowledge
brings
a
vastly
different
emotion."

"All
of
us
work
equally
to
confound
God's
betrayers,"
Rukh
said. "I
do
no
more
than
He
bids
me,
as
do
all
of
us."

"Forgive
me,"
Farmer
said.
"It
was
no
more
than
my
enthusiasm speaking.
The
news
from
the
Core
Tap
has
saddened
all
of
us
here. To
have
one
of
God's
Captains
return
to
afflict
the
ungodly
gives
us heart."

He
smiled.

"Of
course,
a
Shepherd
should
not
need
to
be
told
that
our
belief in
our
God
gives
us
heart
if
we
are
true,
regardless
of
whether
a Commander
comes
by,
or
not,"
he
went
on.
"Nonetheless,
I
hope you
won't
be
embarrassed."

"There
is
no
embarrassment
in
doing
the
Lord's
work,"
Rukh said.

The
Shepherd
nodded.

"Some
of
the
Old
Prophets
would
have
little
good
to
say
about such
human
weaknesses,"
he
said.
"I
honor
those
men
and
women for
their
strength.
But
in
our
little
community,
we
are
not
Old Prophets,
but
only
human
beings
who
seek
to
serve
the
Lord
despite
our
weaknesses."

His
words
brought
back
Rukh's
memories
of
James
Child-of-God,
who
had
died
not
far
from
this
area.
The
old
man
had
raised her
after
her
parents
had
been
killed;
and
she
knew
in
her
heart
that he
had
loved
her
as
if
she
were
his
own
daughter
...
and
yet
even that
love,
as
everything
else
about
him,
had
been
of
the
implacable sort
that
marked
the
true
example
of
those
stalwart
souls
the Friendly
culture
called
Old
Prophets.

She
turned
the
conversation
back
to
the
subject
of
the
Core
Tap; and
within
moments
Farmer
was
able
to
give
her
leads
to
other
people
who
might
be
able
to
provide
more
information.

CHAPTER
28

The
tone
that
sounded
in
the
meeting
room
was
quiet
but
rich,
a mellow
sound
that
evoked
a
fruity
ripeness,
as
if
a
gong
had
been sounded
that
was
made
of
a
softer
metal
than
most.
Until
its
sounding,
this
room,
the
informal
meeting
place
of
the
Laboratories
Review
Council
that
ran
Newton,
had
been
silent
as
a
tomb.

Five
Council
members
were
present,
scattered
about
the
large room
as
if
wary
of
each
other.
At
the
tone
the
Council
President,
a slim,
elderly
man
named
Half-Thunder,
reflexively
reached
to
the control
pad
on
the
arm
of
his
float
chair.
His
hand
stopped,
however, before
actually
touching
the
controls,
and
after
a
moment
another hand
activated
other
controls.

The
surface
of
the
gigantic
mural
that
dominated
the
wall
behind Half-Thunder
shimmered,
its
depiction
of
the
major
events
in
the
life of
Sir
Isaac
Newton
resolving
into
a
complicated
three-dimensional schematic
that
flickered
with
continuous
minute
changes.
Every
eye in
the
room
ignored
those,
focusing
only
on
the
bright
red
bars
that slashed
across
the
display
in
six
places.

Those
eyes
were
practiced,
and
it
took
only
seconds
for
the
body language
of
four
of
those
present
to
change.

"It's
clear,"
an
inhuman
voice
said.
The
voice
emanated
from one
of
the
seated
Council
members,
and
its
mechanical,
sexless quality
was
a
result
of
the
same
disguising
effect
that
caused
the
figure's
head
to
appear
as
a
blur
of
pale
blue
light.

"Perhaps,"
Din
Su
said.
"Perhaps
not."

Her
voice
was
soft,
and
would
have
seemed
gentle
had
it
not
carried
an
edge
of
clinical
rationality
that
contrasted
sharply
with
her plump,
grandmotherly
appearance.
As
she
spoke
she
touched
a
control
on
her
chair,
and
it
glided
across
the
room
to
a
position
midway
between
Half-Thunder
and
the
figure
with
the
blurred
face,
and halted
in
that
position.
She
lifted
a
hand,
to
hold
it
poised
over
the arm
of
her
chair,
index
finger
extended
as
if
awaiting
an
order
to push
a
button,
and
looked
expectantly
at
Half-Thunder.

As
he
watched
her
actions,
the
President's
face
lost
its
bleak
look, and
he
moved
his
own
chair
closer
to
hers.
At
the
same
time
there was
movement
in
the
far
corner
of
the
room,
where
Iban,
a
woman with
a
fine-boned
face
who
had
been
standing
alone
near
an
interior door,
seemed
to
gather
herself,
lifting
a
hand
to
pat
at
the
black
hair held
tightly
in
place
by
colorful
combs.
Her
austere
clothing
seemed almost
an
affront
to
her
elegant,
delicate
beauty,
but
her
movements were
precise
and
firm
as
she
walked
across
the
room
to
take
the
vacant
seat
near
Half-Thunder.

"Georges?"
Din
Su
said,
looking
over
her
shoulder
at
the
transparent
door
that
opened
onto
the
balcony,
where
another
figure slouched
against
the
glass,
crushing
the
filmy
drapes
that
obscured any
view
from
outside.
It
was
dark
out
there,
and
a
heavy
rain
was falling,
one
that
had
been
required
by
climatic
considerations
despite
the
weather-control
fields
that
normally
shielded
the
entire city
of
Woolsthorpe.

For
a
moment
Georges
Lemair
seemed
to
ignore
Din
Su's
words. His
expression
was
sour
and
truculent
under
his
overly
long
red hair,
and
his
rumpled,
casual
clothing
appeared
badly
out
of
place amid
the
sophisticated
dress
of
the
room's
other
occupants.
But
after
a
moment
he
shrugged,
the
movement
of
his
shoulders
seeming to
push
him
away
from
the
window;
and
he
moved
forward
to
take
a vacant
chair
near
the
disguised
figure.

As
he
seated
himself,
Din
Su
touched
the
arm
of
her
chair,
and
a transparent
blue
bubble
blossomed
from
the
end
of
that
arm,
growing
until
it
surrounded
all
of
the
Council
members.

"What's
the
point
of
using
the
security
bubble?"
the
blur-headed figure
asked
in
its
machine-like
voice.
"The
election
results
we
just saw
show
that
three
of
you
have
been
voted
out
of
office,
by
margins
far
too
wide
for
any
challenge
to
be
feasible.
Until
your
successors
arrive—along
with
the
newly
elected
replacements
for
Ahmed Bahadur
and
the
late
Anita
delle
Santos—this
Council
has
no
quorum,
and
no
business
to
discuss."