Trial of Intentions (92 page)

“But it's not.” Tahn smiled, paradoxically comforted to have Rithy running down the numbers for him.

“There's the Werner principle, that compounds the simple percentage. It says that in a contest of multiple linear opponents, the victor has fifteen percent less vigor to meet her next adversary; while that next adversary has fifteen percent more incentive and determination to beat the advancing force. It's a predictive military computation. It's a great deal more involved than that, but I've shorthanded it for your benefit.”

“Thanks.”

“Then, there's the relative size of each college in the Grove. Enrollment size isn't uniform across them all. Philosophy and Cosmology are extremely large.” She made a sound of disgust. “Everyone wants to play at high-mindedness instead of determination by fact.”

“I see,” Tahn said, grinning.

She wasn't looking at Tahn; her eyes were trained at his chest, while her sight had turned inward where she saw and worked the numbers.

“I know the relative college enrollment sizes, so I factored those in—the more minds working on a problem or argument…” She nodded to herself. “Then, there's the ambiguity of philosophical debate, and an estimation of your persuasiveness when it comes to the softer sciences.” It was then her turn to grin. “Have you any idea what Succession is going to be like with the cosmologists, provided you get that far?” She blurted laughter.

“Factor of six hundred is all, then?” Tahn asked with his most cavalier voice.

Even in the dim light of twilight, Tahn saw Rithy's expression sober. “If you start this, you win this. Understand?”

“I don't fight to lose.”

She looked away to the second moon, just rising on the eastern rim. “You realize tonight's the lunar eclipse of Ardua.”

He sighed. “I know. It would be easier on my nerves to think my hypothesis was wrong.”

“Because if you're right, the Quiet come through tonight? Is that it?” she asked, still serious.

“Something like that.” He followed her gaze to the sliver of moon they could see over the top of the discourse theater rooftop. “Somewhere, someone might be doing battle tonight. I don't like their chances, if we're still doing odds.”

Rithy looked back at him with an even stare. “If you succeed, what then?”

“Well, I guess we put our Theory of Resonance to work. Figure out how to strengthen the Veil before—”

“You'd be leaving again,” she finished.

Polaema saved him from having to answer, bustling up in her most magisterial astronomy robes. “I'll make an introduction, as is custom,” she said, brushing by them, and pulling them in tow down an exterior hallway. “You're lucky, Tahn. Up until even an hour ago, there was debate about allowing Succession to occur. You must have made an impression at one time on Savant Scalinou. A cosmologist vouched for you, hard to believe—”

Tahn smiled.

“—which necessarily means that if we make it that far, he may have to recuse himself from any judgment on the soundness of your arguments.”

The humming sound grew suddenly loud, and became a wave of noise as Polaema opened the door to the Physics discourse theater and led them inside. The chatter seemed to both intensify and grow softer, but he soon wasn't hearing anyone. Instead, he stood on the floor of the theater just past the door, staring slack-jawed up at an immense gearworks model of the night sky.

The apparatus hung from the high ceiling. Fifteen strides up from the floor in the center of the hall, a replica of the sun hung at the epicenter of a great planetary system. At various orbits around it were the wandering stars of Solena, Contuum, Reliquas, Boul, Ansic, and more. Each of these had orbiting moons, too. At the outer edges of the hall, the Perades a
é
irein had also been manufactured into the model, along with several other deep-orbit bolides. All these were held in place by thin rods that emerged from the center of the apparatus like spokes. And at the end of each spoke, a short rod turned down and fastened to the top of the various orbs. It was a masterwork of manufacture.

He marveled at the engineering that had crafted this articulated model of the heavens. Something he hadn't seen in years. As voices began to quiet, Tahn could hear the soft gurgle of water flowing down a chute up above.
It's like a water clock.
The water applied a slow amount of pressure to one of the gears, as it would a water wheel, and the whole system of stars would turn a click. Several wooden flywheels interlocked at various points to turn the wandering stars the correct amount for their orbital speeds. It was old, but it was genius! They probably kept it running for tradition's sake.

With his eyes, Tahn followed what he assumed was the water chute. One end disappeared out the side wall—water must pass that way once it had done its job—and one entered near the ceiling. It was there, high up above the gears, that Tahn saw a small box, where a young man sat reading a book next to several levers.

Nudging Rithy, he pointed up. She glanced toward the gearbox then back at him, understanding immediately. Depositing her books and satchel on the nearest table, she scratched out some numbers and disappeared back through the door, just as Polaema began to speak.

The crowd silenced.

“Succession will begin with the College of Physics, since the College of Astronomy is the one to pose the question. And the question: Is there now ample evidence to prove the Continuity of All Things?”

Whispers rose and fell.

“Each college savant has given assent to the inquiry. I am its sponsor. Our inquirer is Tahn SeFeery, assisted by Gwen Alanes and other members of the various colleges.”

The murmuring that came again led Tahn to believe his return to Aubade Grove hadn't yet become common knowledge. But more than the speculation from the Grove scholars, Tahn was struck by hearing himself called by that name:
SeFeery
. It brought to mind memories of a hot and barren place … Grant. All his old friends. And the thirty-seven.

Polaema continued, and he forced himself to focus.

“We've not had Succession for several cycles. So let me remind you. We reserve it for the most difficult and important questions. For the discovery of foundational principles that we believe will illuminate and enlarge our body of scientific knowledge. You will all treat these sessions with the proper reverence and attention. All are expected to participate. For the duration of Succession, each of you will put aside your studies to focus on this one investigation.”

Polaema turned a slow circle, as though she would exchange stares with every student in the theater. “Lastly,” she said, “after all that is shown and argued, we share a common interest here. Let us not forget in the heat of debate that we question one another to find answers, and not from animosity or the desire to see others fail. Succession is all of us. A failed argument well stated and defended is better than prevailing with arrogance and vindictiveness.”

Polaema turned her eyes on Tahn. That last bit had been about him. The stories about Tahn had overgrown since he'd left. He could see it in their eyes: His opposing panelists would be studying extra hard to show any flaw in his argument. He thought of Aleck from the old story of Seletz Run—the last soldier left to defend the city gate at Mal point South against the press of the Mal nations.

Except Tahn wasn't alone.

Rithy returned, and Polaema took one of the somewhat larger seats, reserved for college savants in the first row of the theater. The mother of astronomy gave him a reassuring look and nodded.

It was time.

Tahn stepped forward. He caught sight of each savant; they were seated at even intervals around the theater, each in their finest robes, the emblems of their college in rich charcoal embroidery over their upper chests. Most of the college scholars likewise sat together in sections. It bothered him that they did so.

Then he focused again on his argument, and why he'd come to make it. He'd expected a rush of insecurity, doubt. Instead, exhilaration filled him. Damn, he'd missed making a formal argument.

“Continuity is simple,” he began. “In the past, it's been the idea that there's a binding substance that runs through all things. Erymol. Some call it an element. I think that's a mistake, since if the hypothesis proves true, it's in and a part of all the rest. But whatever name we use, such a thing would provide a construct and medium for the passing of light through the air, as well as sound and heat and…” Tahn stopped, thought. “Vibration of any kind would have a conduit for movement. But in some ways,” he said, “I wonder at the jumble of logic we use to account for such things. Because while erymol may help us establish some physical models, at the end, it's not necessary. What I hope to show is that Continuity is about Resonance, and isn't dependent on a medium. And that once we understand Resonance, we'll be able to strengthen the barrier commonly known as the Veil.”

More whispering followed Tahn's use of the term. The Veil hadn't been accepted into the science canon as yet. But rather than upsetting him, it made him smile. He was just getting started.

And I haven't yet told them why the Veil needs to be strengthened.
He was holding on to that for now. Sharing his intent too soon might cost him some credibility. He wanted his demonstrations fixed in their minds before he made the end goal explicit.

He gestured toward the door, and Seelia and Myles, physicist and philosopher, wheeled in two pendulum clocks on a flatbed cart. Per Tahn's prior direction, they circled the theater, clocks facing out, so that all could see. Then they came to the center of the hall, beneath the model sun, and faced both clocks toward the savant of physics. Tahn helped lower the two clocks to the floor.

One of the pendulum clocks stood seven feet tall and had a broad case. The other rose to Tahn's shoulder and had a much narrower width and depth. While his new friends withdrew the cart, Tahn wound both clocks, drawing up the weights. He set the pendulums in motion, and waited for them to settle into their own rhythms. He said only, “Please note the beat of each clock.”

The discourse theater grew silent, all listening. After a moment, Tahn moved on.

“At this time, there are but a few known forces of nature in our shared lexicon, right? Among these is gravity, which is easy enough for us to all agree upon, since none of us floats away into the sky.” He looked at Rithy, cueing her. “But what about magnetism?”

She pulled a couple of lodestones from a satchel, two lengths of wood from another, and brought them to him.

“We all see the effects of magnetism when we place a couple of lodestones near one another, right? They're drawn to each other. Or, we could roll such a stone through the dirt and it would attract bits of iron to itself.” He allowed the two stones, which had been shaped into cylinders, to snap together. “But what about their effects through matter?”

He held up the two pieces of wood, each of which measured about a hand's width. “This is maple wood, crafted tongue and groove for the making of a simple frame you might use to wrap a piece of art.” He inserted the tongue end of the first piece of wood into the groove of the other to demonstrate how they fitted together.

After pulling the lengths of wood apart again, Tahn placed one of the stones on top of the piece of wood carved with the groove. Next, he brought up the other stone until the magnetic force held it in place on the lower side of the same piece of wood, defying gravity.

“The power of the lodestones holds them in place on each side of this wood; their attraction spans the gap chiseled by our carpenter. But what happens if we now insert the other piece of maple, adding density between the two lodestones?”

Tahn fitted the two pieces of maple together, and raised the wood over his head to emphasize his point. “The attraction isn't changed by adding matter between the stones. But how can this be? If the separation by space or density of wood doesn't affect the magnetic pull, then what's facilitating these stones trying to draw together?”

Tahn slipped the pieces of maple into his pocket, and allowed the theater a few moments to anticipate the obvious solution. “Erymol might be
one
answer.” He spoke with skepticism, to keep them attentive. “Consider that for a bird to fly, or a song to be heard, or for any of you to see me from where you sit, there must be a vibration of wind or sound or color in one place that has an effect on another place. These all work through physical or known mediums. But magnetism maintains most of its effect regardless of what comes between the two endpoints.

“In the past, our best assertion was that there must be an unseen, subtle element—erymol—that conveys forces like magnetism. And why? Because we won't believe—or at least haven't been able to prove—that these forces have effect through a void. Or
without
a medium. And erymol was our attempt to explain what we've shown with these lodestones, that properties of forces like magnetism can pass through an obstruction.” He paused again, feeling more confident.

“This isn't new territory.” The lead physics speaker rose to her feet. She stood a hand taller than Tahn, her lapels showing several silver pins shaped in the form of gearwheels—decorations for new thought or discovery in the discipline of physics. “I hope you intend to do more than present again the arguments that failed in defense of Continuity the last time it was brought to Succession.”

Now the fun starts.
“Of course,” he said. “And in the spirit of Succession, may I ask you to lend me a hand?”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

The Patience of Friends

I'm a simple man. A wink'll do me in. But I deliver the kitchen goods to a place that fits your bill, all right. I'll swear it's the Academie of Persusasion, so called. Overheard a lass talking about something named the “five circles of manipulation.” Just her voice saying it made me feel slavish.