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Authors: William C. Dietz

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BOOK: Steelheart
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In fact, by dividing the work into seemingly discrete chunks, and assigning a project name to each, Garrison had put most of the facility's resources to work on the problem. The most recent person to join the effort was a young man named Bana Modo, a skilled biologist who had joined the team two days before and showed every sign of having the right stuff. His e-mail still glowed on the monitor over Garrison's bed.

 

MEMO

Priority: 5

To: Dr. Gtene Garrison

From: Bana Modo

Re: Project Bio-Structure

Please allow me to tell you how thrilled I am to be part of your team. The trip from Shipdown was harrowing to say the least, but most of my party made it through, and Flat Top is everything your recruiter said it would be. A fully functioning computer network, hot and cold running water, and plenty to eat! What more could any researcher want?

On a more serious note—it's my understanding that new staff members have the freedom to review current projects, choose the one they can further, and join that particular sub-team. This is to inform you that I would like to work on Project Bio-Structure, which is described as "a feasibility study designed to assess the extent of damage done to Zuul's microbiological ecosystems during the recent volcanic episodes." A rather serious matter that I as a microbiologist hope to assist with.—

 

Garrison smiled at that point—enjoying the fact that Modo had self-selected himself for the work he'd been brought in to do. Just one more reason why Garrison remained in charge. The memo continued:

 

—Based on current personnel records, it appears that a three-person team consisting of Dr. Arno Styles, Dr. Imo Toss, and Research Assistant Amy Reno were originally assigned to this project, and that while Reno is missing, Styles and Toss were killed on an expedition into Zid-occupied territory.

That being the case, I plan to study their field notes (many of which were made on paper due to the penalties levied on individuals caught with data pads), review their lab specimens, and write a research plan. I am extremely eager to speak with Ms. Reno but understand there is no way to reach her at the present time.

Your thoughts and advice would be most welcome.

 

Garrison contemplated the message for a moment, knew he should reply, but couldn't find the energy. And besides, if Modo was half the bug-chaser he was supposed to be, he'd uncover the truth soon enough. Or was that the latest in a long string of faulty judgments? And what about his hygiene? Had his body started to smell? Garrison couldn't be sure—but somehow knew that it had.

 

 

 

 

5

 

ma chine'
/ n / a structure consisting of a framework 
and various fixed or moving parts for doing some sort of work

 

 

The mission, like all its kind, sat on top of a hill, or in this case a ridge, one of two that embraced the valley called Harmony. This location conveyed numerous advantages. It placed the mission closer to God, ensured that it would be seen from the valley below, and forced an act of contrition on anyone who attempted to reach it. The structure had three sides and a pointed top.

Like the mission itself, the one hundred ninety-two stairs that led up to it were made from hand-quarried rock, each block of which had been carried across the valley and up the hillside by local parishoners. Once there, it was up to the part-time stonemasons to make the necessary adjustments and set the stone in place. As the sun sank toward the western horizon, and day-end prayers were sung, the farmer-masons unhitched their plows, accepted bundles of food from their families, and climbed the hill. Work extended well into the night. Of course, they were gone now, dead these many years—freed from the unremitting labor that had shortened their lives.

Solly, conscious of the hardship the stairs imposed on his grandfather's seventy-six-year-old joints, took the patriarch's elbow. His father, mother, and sister followed. They were silent, but Solly knew what they were thinking. "Why? Why would our son-brother bring such shame on the family?"

And they were right. But for his weakness and affinity for evil, the family would be snug in their hut.

Solly was ashamed of himself. His gills started to flutter as his respirations increased. A smile rolled the length of his grandfather's vertical mouth. The clan mark on his forehead was so old that it had faded from bright red to light pink. He patted the youngster's arm. "Don't worry, Solly, you're a good lad—everyone says so. Besides, Brother Parly owes me a favor or two, and the rest will do as he says."

Solly took comfort from his grandfather's words, helped the oldster up the last few steps, and waited for him to recover.

Though far too modest to be considered a church, the mission was the largest structure Solly had ever seen. Larger than the biggest hut—and the Forerunner ruins that capped the opposite ridge. A fresh crack, caused by a recent quake, had already been patched.

Each side of the triangle represented one aspect of God. It was well known that the supreme being was omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient.

Solly had noticed that God's attributes didn't extend to Brother Parly, whose knowledge was limited to what his eye saw, mostly from the top of the hill, and what his parishioners told him, usually in private.

The family entered via the north side of the mission and paused to genuflect in front of the Devil's altar. The purpose of the display was to remind the parishioners of the fact that the Devil's work can be found
anywhere
—even in a church.

The altar, and what it held, had been a source of fascination for Solly. Was there some sort of relationship between the green board with silver tracings and the spiral-shaped piece of metal? And if so, what? He'd spent hours on the puzzle and never managed to solve it.

Brother Parly said
real
churches had larger, more complex displays, up to and including real live mechanical aliens. The possibility of such a thing caused Solly's hearts to beat a little faster. To complete the great pilgrimage and see such wonders was Solly's fondest wish. Not that such an adventure was likely, given both his propensity for trouble and the fact that God knew what he was thinking.

Solly rose with the rest of the family, bowed in the prescribed manner, and nearly fainted when a horrible thought entered his mind. What if punishment had already been levied? Was that why God had taken his grandmother? As punishment for
his
transgressions? Such things happened all the time, according to Brother Parly's sermons.

Solly swallowed the lump in his throat and followed his sister into the prayer chamber. It was a spartan place, empty of furnishings except for the backless wooden benches on which parishioners sat during Brother Parly's interminable sermons, and the Zid cross, a symbol so familiar to some of the humans that they erroneously assumed a connection with Christianity—a rather happy coincidence that helped win converts.

A curtain concealed one corner of the chamber. Witnesses, if any, waited within. Solly wondered who, if anyone, would testify against him.

Brother Parly was waiting, as were four of the village elders. All were male, and, taken together, they constituted the village council. The monk stood. His belly gave a mighty testament to his flock's hard work, and his voice was a much-played instrument of instruction. "Elder Raswa, Father Raswa, Mother Raswa, Sister Raswa, and Brother Raswa, welcome to our mission. You know Elders Tobo, Worwa, Gorly, and Denu? Yes, of course you do. Please be seated."

The Raswa family took seats on the first row of benches while Parly sat in his customary high-backed chair with elders to either side. A long, somewhat flowery prayer was said, God was asked to monitor the proceedings, and Elder Tobo fell asleep. No one seemed to mind.

"So," Brother Parly said, hands clasped in front of his paunch, "serious allegations have been brought to my attention. Our task is to hear those allegations, consider their merits, and determine a suitable level of punishment."

Those elders who were awake mumbled their agreement and stared at the family in question. The fact that Brother Parly's words seemed to assume his guilt wasn't lost on Solly. His gills started to flutter, and he struggled to control them.

"That being said," Parly continued solemnly, "the Lord's witness can now be heard."

The curtain swished open as if the person concealed within couldn't wait to emerge. Her name was Mother Orlono. She shared her father's coarse face, broad shoulders, and enormous feet. Her eye, which never seemed to rest, was hard and malignant.

Solly felt his hearts sink. The Orlonos worked the land just east of his family's fields. Father Orlono was nice, but ineffectual. Even now he sat head down, staring at the floor. Mother Orlono had worn her most ragged dress in a transparent attempt to impress the council with her clan's righteous poverty. Her words, like the process itself, had been formulated by the founder. "I come in the name of God."

Parly nodded dutifully. "Welcome. Being that you are known to those present, please bear witness."

Mother Orlono bowed submissively and turned toward the benches. Her arm rose until a thick, stubby finger pointed straight at Solly. "Brother Solly meets with the Devil at the end of each day. After they come together, all manner of hammering, screeching, and grinding can be heard."

Parly nodded encouragingly. "Please comment on the significance of such noises."

The question was a setup, and Mother Orlono's answer was ready. "The rotes command that we listen for the hammers, shapers, and grinders. 'For they work the Devil's will, and once loosed to their evil tasks, enslave those who would take them up.' For reasons unknown to me, Solly Raswa has chosen to violate our tenets. Those who doubt my claim can examine his plow."

Mother Orlono stopped at that point, as if confident that the necessary information had been imparted and punishment could now be rendered. And, had Solly's grandfather not been present and in possession of certain facts regarding the supposedly celibate monk, her accusation might have been accepted as proof.

Parly, who felt the full weight of the oldster's stare, cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you. These are serious allegations indeed. Lever, pick, shovel, hoe, plow, hammer, saw, axe, chisel, awl, drill, trowel, knife, and broom. These, plus a few more granted by special dispensation, are the tools of God. To invent others, or to change the ones we have, constitutes a crime against God. However, every tale has at least two sides. I sent for the instrument in question—and suggest that the elders have a look."

The elders were excited by the prospect of viewing the Devil's work firsthand—and even went so far as to wake Father Tobo for the outing. Solly, the second lowest-ranking individual present, was one of the last to exit the building. The clouds had parted for once, and rays of sunshine broke through. An omen, perhaps? There was no way to tell.

The plow stood on blocks. Like all Zid plows, it was what xenoanthropologists referred to as a "walking plow," meaning that it was designed to be pulled by a nonsentient organism, and guided by its owner.

While the handles and other gear associated with walking plows varied according to individual physiology, the "bottoms,' ' or working parts, tended to be somewhat similar. The Zid plow, with its chisel-shaped blade, was very common to Class I nonindustrialized worlds.

Of course, Parly, who had been raised on a farm, and the elders, who had farmed their entire lives, didn't know that. They knew what Zid plows were
supposed
to look like, though, and were quick to spot the changes Solly had made. The traditional chisel-shaped bottom had been replaced by a carefully sculpted wedge. Their consternation was evident.

"Look at that thing! What's it for?"

"It's the Devil's work—sure enough!"

"The lad's crazy—that's what I say."

Solly was mortified by the negative comments and welcomed the sound of his grandfather's familiar voice.

"Crazy? I don't think so. Let's consider the facts. The previous design lifted the soil and didn't turn it. An excellent strategy, since the surface material protected the soil from erosion." This was safe territory—so the elders nodded in unison.

"Hear, hear."

"Raswa speaks the truth."

"Thank you," Grandfather Raswa said gently. "I'm glad we're in agreement. That being the case, let's see if we can agree on something else. The great one sent us the cold. Why? Because by reducing the quality of our harvests he could illustrate the benefits of husbandry."

There was much head-nodding and "hear-near" ing as the other elders agreed. After all, Brother Parly had said as much during his most recent sermon, and that made it true. Grandfather Raswa understood the importance of consensus—and waited for the ensuing silence.

"Your female folk feed leftovers into their vegetable gardens and till them by hand. Tell me, which are more productive,
their
gardens or
your
fields?"

The fertility of one's fields was a matter of familial pride and the subject of much debate. That being the case, none of the elders was willing to cede the point. Still, they knew full well that the vegetable gardens were more productive, and wondered where the old geezer was headed. The communal fields were far too large to be enriched with table scraps or tilled by hand. The senior Raswa gestured to the plow.

"All
my grandson did was to enlarge the chisel—and change the way it's shaped. The plow remains a God-given plow. In fact, the inspiration for this small but meaningful change was nothing less than the shape of the mission itself. Imagine how the structure would look lying on its side, and you'll see what I mean. The new blade simply does what our female folk do. It lifts the soil, breaks it into smaller pieces, and moves material to one side. The residue, like table scraps, is folded into the earth."

The connection between the mission's architecture and the wedge-shaped plow bottom was entirely fanciful, but the elders didn't know that, and Solly marveled at how gullible they were. Would the lie take Grandfather to hell? If the oldster was scared, Solly saw no sign of it.

BOOK: Steelheart
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