Fortis laughed. "Since when does my readiness have anything to do with it?"
George put on his comical pained look. "My dear Doctor Plimick, you are the ultimate VIP Guest on the entire planet! No one would dare to tell you what to do."
Fortis joined the charade. "No, of course not!" Then with a fake growl, "No one tells me anything. I'm just expected to jump through whatever hoops are held before me."
They both laughed out loud. Coming around the edge of one hill, they were in sight of the forest. Fortis turned to ask, "Why are we coming here...." His voice trailed off because George, still grinning hugely, had already pointed to a small awning at the edge of the trees.
Two figures rose at their approach. To his utter delight, Fortis recognized the Farrell twins. Fortis noticed first the off-white waistbands. Behind the right shoulder of each was the handle of a sword. Were all the good guys lefties on Misty? They wore something which was a cross between cape and cloak, with the familiar forest pattern, but lined in a dark shade of purple. No headbands, but Fortis spotted behind them droopy brimmed forest hats perched atop longbows, slightly larger and heavier than the one George typically carried, leaning against the trees. Their tunics were a shade of brown well matched to the trunks of the trees.
There were hearty greetings, hugs and handshakes. As usual, the boys said little, but glowed like the sun. Fortis grinned widely. "What a joy to see you two! What brings you here?"
George answered for them. "They must have enjoyed escorting us before, because when I mentioned in a message we were taking another journey, they came right away, even hiring coursers." Fortis glanced around behind them. Sure enough, a pair of the beasts stood tied at the edge of the forest road. The saddlebags indicated preparations for a long journey.
They took a ferry, not unlike the ship which brought Fortis to Johnston Island, out to deeper waters. There was anchored a very substantial ship, three slender hulls closed like pontoons, but much larger. There were three decks stacked, each smaller than the one below it. The bottom was enclosed, sitting very near water level, the second with a full circle balcony, and on the third a small cabin sat in the middle of several pieces of equipment. The sails were extensive, and complicated beyond anything Fortis had ever seen. There was a boarding deck on the stern, almost like a floating wharf low to the sea.
Aside from the twin bodyguards, George had his wife. She was a shy woman, but obviously fully in charge of whatever it was she decided was her duty. Fortis had noticed women dressed somewhat as echoes of their men, but the subtle clues of rank and status were hardly so uniform. There were women who wore garments reflecting official positions in the Sheik's service, and a handful among the faculty at the academy, none of whom taught religion. Most women worked a bit in the thriving barter markets which seemed to meet just about anywhere. Nothing Fortis saw or heard indicated oppression; it seemed women were disinterested in doing work commonly done by men.
George introduced his wife as Lisa, and she bowed to Fortis. Thereafter, she was less obtrusive than the twins.
They were given a suite on the middle deck, cozy rooms equipped with the hammocks Fortis loved. There were other passengers, but Fortis hardly saw them at first. George brought out his rolled up sheet computer, and showed Fortis the map of their planned itinerary. North and west to Nadul Island (George mentioned the clan was from Asian nations on Terra), west farther to a huge, almost continent sized Hollister Land, and on and on. Mostly larger islands, a couple of clans sharing a small continent here and there, zig-zagging up to the first of three continents which included the equatorial desert belt. This larger ship was able to travel a good bit faster, both because of design and more efficient use of wind power, but also because winds were stronger in the main and more predictable as they went farther north.
On this retrograde spinning world, where the feeble light of Dalorius rose in the west and faded into the east, so the prevailing winds were also easterly. Thus, their journey would generally circle Misty with the winds, mostly heading west. They hoped to see all 38 clans within two years of travel.
Fortis was reminded the topography varied little on Misty. Rather shallow oceans, where keels were almost useless, but without storms it hardly mattered. Instead, they might drop what George called "underwater sails" -- thin, curved plank panels to catch strong currents when they were favorable, and serving as brakes when it was necessary to slow the ship. The waves never seemed more than a half-meter, and rarely that. The islands and continents were relatively flat, with hills seldom rising more than five meters. The few which did were barren above that elevation. Forests always at the lowest elevations, it was grassland everywhere else. Changing latitude would bring a faint difference in temperatures, but otherwise affected only the relative distribution of deciduous and needle-bearing trees, the latter fading in numbers and in size as they came closer to the equator.
Fortis and George often stepped out on the boarding deck, where the noise of the sails and wind in general was much reduced. There was a stairway running from the back corner of the second deck down to one side of the platform. They would bring folding chairs and large mugs of tea. The ship was very stable, with only a rare tiny sprays splashing them.
"Tell me about body armor," Fortis asked. "I haven't seen any."
"Because you don't recognize it," George grinned. "The same variable stiffness we apply to fabrics and skins for other purposes can be enhanced for body armor. To make it truly wearable and effective, it requires a very expensive process so it remains moderately stiff, but hardens instantly on impact. Generally, only sheiks can afford it, and very little can be made, so there's always a dire shortage compared to requests. Johnston's bodyguard wore vests of it, as do all such troops. Rangers can get it issued for special operations." He hooked a thumb back toward the ship, "The boys have vests with small sections of it."
"You don't wear any." Fortis never saw such on George.
George sipped his tea, silent for just a moment. "I could." More thoughtful silence. "I'm altogether certain God would rather I didn't."
"A preference for the armor of God, mentioned in the Book?"
"Exactly," George smiled. "Your teachers did a good job."
"I had no trouble absorbing the symbolism, but everything I thought I knew already turned out to be pretty silly. I made my own copy of the Book, though," holding up his spooler.
"You can't afford to get wrapped up in cerebral questions. The language of Heaven is parabolic, the logic is symbolic, the narrative is not explanatory, but mostly indicative." George leaned back and closed his eyes.
"And the divine economy is a gift economy; sacrifice is the currency." Fortis stared down into the sea.
George rolled his head to one side and opened his eyes, looking at Fortis. "We sincerely wish we could make that work here in the real world. What we do have emulates it as much as possible. We don't have anything which serves as money, so we have had to be very careful about enforcing the barter provisions. Even in a world where most economic activity is food or resource extraction, it would be all too easy for someone to amass wealth and power. The Council tends to be rather brutal about that, since it is the primary route to destruction."
"So you believe there is a cabal which seeks ways around that."
George sat up, leaning forward, elbows on knees. "Naturally, though it includes other things." Staring out to sea, "They talk about centralization and democracy."
"On most every world out there in the galaxy," Fortis said, sweeping his hand skyward, "you would think there was something sacred about giving every breathing a soul a direct or indirect voice in government. Yet it seems to lead consistently to cycles of war and oppression."
"Is that taught in your former university, or is that one of your brilliant intuitions?" George smiled slyly.
"They don't teach it, but just about anyone with a hint of independent thinking can see it." Fortis grinned a bit. "I got in trouble for daring to say it, once. Then a short time later was told in private I was right, but not to say it. Something about professional doctrine."
"Good. To question is the answer." George set his empty mug in the rest made for it on the side of the chair. "To question all human declarations is the ultimate answer to living among humans," he expanded.
After a few moments, he continued. "We believe God's Book assumes mankind living in the tribal setting. In a pluralistic society attempting to operate by democratic assumptions, we say government is the monopoly on the use of force. If your government doesn't have a monopoly, then it's not the real government, or at least not the only one. Authority is, fundamentally, a threat of force. That it may be no one has any interest in defying it is not the point. Reducing the necessity of even referring to that threat is as good as it gets, because any system which fails to account for the Fall is broken from the start."
Fortis was all seriousness. "Had not God Himself invaded my soul, I would still be choking on that concept."
George nodded sagely. "You and all the rest of the humanity. The paradox of the Fall is no one believes they are fallen until they find the remedy. None of us pretends to know how that invasion from God comes about, because the only consistent factor is His personal whim. We can predict most people come to it by embracing the demands of God's Laws, the inherent call for repentance. But that assumes a mostly mundane form of logic. With those already mystical, it is utterly random."
"As is fitting for what mysticism represents." Fortis agreed with a smile.
"Indeed, the readiness to receive truth on an entirely different basis from mere human reasoning. True mystics come to faith more readily than anyone else."
After a few minutes of silence, Fortis remarked, "I was completely surprised how that part of me already knew what I was being taught. It was as if my intellect was simply recognizing something already there, buried beneath the surface. Not every detail, but the general shape of the ideas. I started with a very amorphous view of God maybe as a person, and ended up with a very strong image, rather like a galactic sheik."
"Truth makes its own path," George agreed.
A crewman leaned over the railing above and invited them to dinner.
As with all things on Misty, it amused Fortis the odd mixture of simplicity and complexity which characterized the small dining room. While the wood was always the finest quality, the design of things might be entirely rustic. Eating was indeed a peaceful social occasion, but the furniture was not at all like the luxurious dining settings on other planets. It was entirely functional, with mere hints of ceremonial decoration at most. The Johnston clan banner was displayed on one wall, but there was nothing else to indicate who was sponsoring the voyage, unless you spotted the banner fluttering in the top of the sails. The fabrics on the chairs were rather drab moderate gray, as were most such chairs Fortis had seen. The table settings were simple, a mixture of wood and ceramic. However, the food was extraordinary.
Fortis remarked, "So this follows the pattern for mass space travel. When there's little to do, food makes the voyage."
"Crews are easier to get and train if they gain at least some advantage for leaving the comforts of home. What little culinary efforts exist on Misty are aimed mostly for ocean travel," George explained. He turned at the entrance of someone through the side door and stood quickly.
Fortis took it as a signal and rose, too. A man of obvious importance quickly announced, "Please, be seated. I apologize to you all for being late." Before taking his seat, he stopped near George, who had naturally remained standing to greet him.
"Captain, it's good to see you again." He bowed from the shoulders toward the somewhat younger man, then they shook hands. He presented Fortis, who copied the bow. The captain hurried around the table to an empty place in the center. He sat, then George, with Fortis following. He realized this was the usual simple ceremony which opened the working relationship between men of rank, after which very little ceremony was observed again. In this case, the man's name was immaterial.
"I was just complementing your chef, Captain." Fortis took a bite with obvious relish.
"I'll be sure to let her know. My wife seldom disappoints anyone with her cooking." Then he grinned and winked at George.
Fortis chuckled, then swallowed. "Compact crew."
"They are all family -- literally," George observed.
Fortis nodded. "I'm beginning to understand how well that works. The sheik's staff are cousins, nephews, even his own children. The faculty at the academy weren't all related that closely, but the other staff were always family of someone else there. The rest of the galaxy calls it 'nepotism,' but here it's an essential element of life. It's marvelously stable, given no one here wears an implant to control any part of their behavior."
The Captain smiled. "Frankly, we pity you here being so alone."
Fortis paused, then, "I doubt many of my relatives would be so comfortable, but I consider myself greatly blessed. I also doubt I'll ever be able to leave, family or not."
"I take you never married, then?" the Captain inquired.
"No, sir. It simply never presented itself. Perhaps I need a course in romance, too." He chuckled at the thought, as did the Captain.
George interjected, "Romance in that sense we understand, but all marriages are arranged on Misty. That shouldn't surprise you. Nor should it surprise you if someone offers you their daughter, sister or other close relative as wife."
"Indeed," the Captain agree. "Given the political situation, at least a half-dozen offers will be made during this journey. Several clans are suffering some disadvantage right now, and latching onto your fame and presumed influence would serve them well."
Fortis blushed. "I have little measure of my influence right now, so 'presumed' is the right word."
"Nor do we know," the Captain affirmed. "I don't want to deceive you, Fortis. You are certainly going to need those bodyguards in some places, along with your own fighting skills, such as they may be. For once, I fear for the safety of my crew. This business of restarting interstellar trade is a volatile issue, for more reasons than one."
Fortis looked at George, hoping to gauge how much he was at liberty to discuss. George saved him the trouble. "The Captain was chosen by the Sheik himself for his wisdom and discretion, along with his expertise in the politics of this planet." To the Captain, "We have yet to identify the ranger captain who troubled us when I brought Fortis to Johnston Island."
The Captain nodded, then stared at his plate for a moment, lost in thought.
George went on, "Having such skill with a glider kite, the resources to construct and fuel a small warm air pocket -- it all adds up to an extensive organization. It would be hard to imagine they have that much pull with any sheik's court. We are left wondering if they have managed to construct their own production facilities hidden somewhere."
"Well, the recruiting will be a great cover. All the more so since it's also a genuine mission in itself." The Captain rose, signaling them to stay seated.
Fortis realized the man had eaten rather quickly, even though with good table manners. Glancing around, he decided if anyone overheard, it was the Captain's choice whom to trust. Then again, George kept saying transparency was the first working assumption. So far, they had only been sneaky on two items -- keeping his face hidden in the village and trying to depart quietly before dawn.
"Those who walk in the light have little to hide." George was intuiting his thoughts, again.
"And I'm altogether uncomfortable with hiding, anyway," Fortis noted.
"Consider this," George turned to face him. "The Council of Sheiks already knows more about this than you and I. They all have too much to lose by hiding participation. And again, the biggest threat is not the rogue rangers and their resources. The only real problem there is resource waste which may be costing someone who can't afford it. Think of it as an illegitimate tax. But the greatest threat is from the ideas long ago rejected by our founders. Democracy is a cancer, based on lies. So is centralized government."
Fortis understood, having seen it up close. "So when you warned me about leaving and saying something destructive to Misty, you had in mind the concern I might send back someone who would want to bring such 'enlightened' ideas here."
George smiled. "We would gladly allow anyone to depart who felt life could be better under any other system. We hope we can arrange such things." Then his face showed deep sorrow, "But no one breathing anywhere in human space as any business fixing something here which isn't broken. Mankind had plenty of time to show off how well it works -- and it doesn't. When we left Terra, it was past time to return to ancient truths. We can't force the dissenters here to see the light if they refuse to open their eyes, but we also can't afford to let them spread that darkness to others."
"So remaining transparent is going to expose the lies." Fortis believed it, but wanted to see more of it in action, but without seeing too much action of the other kind.
George had that glow, again. "Our Creator is always watching. He can make of this anything which suits His whims. But in general, His promise is to back His own revelation. If we conduct ourselves accordingly on this mission, we have every reason to expect things to go well, even if sometimes harrowing."
"So we keep our eyes open, but simply stick with the ostensible purpose, and the skulduggery will take care of itself. That's certainly a lot easier than playing at espionage." Fortis was feeling better about it.
"Exactly. Those working in darkness will be forced to act, and it will expose them. God will either protect us from harm or take us home to be with Him. Nothing could be simpler."
Fortis grinned. "At least you didn't say 'easy'."
They had to dodge between two long, narrow islands to avoid an extra half-day of sailing to go around and come back to the natural harbor on southern Nadul Island. The Captain and his crew seemed to think it a minor task, but Fortis was pretty sure he could have speared any number of trees on either side had he tried with his lance. It was one of those rare places where a strong current had carved out a channel where once was probably a narrow sandy shoal. The trees grew out to the edge of land which dropped suddenly; not much from above the water level, but deeply below the surface.
As he watched from a forward facing railing, he turned to George. "What if the sheik doesn't like us having armed bodyguards. What protocol prevents him making trouble for us?"
George hardly hesitated. "If the twins don't come, fully armed, we stay on the boat and keep sailing."
Fortis absorbed this. "And if they don't get any students in the academy, they lose leverage for trade concessions?"
"Obviously. But it also means explaining why they reneged on a Council agreement. Worst of all, it means the suspicion falls to them for all this troublesome espionage."
"Humor me a bit more. What if the boys actually decide there's a threat and injure or kill someone?" Fortis was not thrilled with the idea of bloodshed on his behalf.
"There are established procedures for inquiry. The boys aren't that eager to kill anything they can't eat or skin. They'll do their jobs, but they stand to become famous, crossing the entire planet with their swords and white belts. They'll get more marriage offers than you will."
"As well they should." Fortis genuinely liked them. For all their reticence, they made dashing figures.
"Which reminds me," George rounded on him like a schoolmaster. "I'll wager you've been slack in your training. We'll have to arrange some sparring with Nadul's troops."
Fortis groaned, more dramatically than he felt.
The welcome on Nadul was mostly the same routine. The only difference was the most obvious one: The sheik and all his people were varying shades brown, most had almond shaped eyes, and few of them had any whiskers at all, much less significant beards. He spotted one harbor worker who was even darker, and noted mentally the planet was more genetically diverse than he first thought.
They were welcomed, fed and housed, but this time traveled by wagons pulled by coursers. The ride was very nice, and Fortis noticed the suspension was fairly complex. In just tree days they reached the capital city, and received the normal welcome. They were hosted in their own grand tent. Fortis decided just once to play on a whim and requested a hammock. It appeared within the hour, and was strung from a sturdy frame built just for the purpose. He felt guilty until George told him he was hardly the first to ask for such a thing. It was just highly unusual.
So was the conversation he overheard the next morning. George was standing halfway in the tent door talking to another elder. The same brown and gray, but with patches and trim sporting the blue and tan of Clan Nadul. They were gazing down at an image displayed on a pocket computer.
"I didn't hear about that," George said.
"What do you make of it?" the other asked.
"My first instinct is to say it's something artificial, very expensive to make. But it's not simple wood like anything we know about. Instead of mere hollow piping, which I could understand, it has closed cells. I can't imagine why, nor what it would do to production costs for that." George shook his head.
Fortis approached, and asked to see. "Oh, some sort of reed."
The other two stared at him. "We've never seen them on Misty," George explained in all seriousness. Turning back to the image, "So that's what a reed looks like."
"Well, somebody is growing them. That, or someone has access to off-planet resources." Fortis wondered what it was all about.
George looked up again. "What I got regarding our ranger captain's glider was merely an initial report. The next report bypassed us on our voyage via messenger bird, and arrived a couple of days ago. Elder Nassi here was showing me his copy, which included this image. The glider had a unique frame built from these reeds," pointing to the image. "It explains how he managed it so well, because they are lighter than wood, but have been enhanced the same way. Being thin and hollow, very sturdy and yet flexible, he could have easily flown much farther than anything we know about, with far less effort."
Something clicked in Fortis' mind. "So that's how he got away so quickly from the roof of the academy. He didn't have to wait for the wind to fill the fabric cells; they were already spread by reeds."
George turned to Nassi. "Take our suggestion to your academy. With the next bird flight propagate a request about reeds. If these are enhanced by processing, someone has to have at least a substantial workshop with heat and water. Everything else is available on the market. Except maybe those tiny hydrogen cylinders. They would have no other use, so that means a kiln."
Fortis and George stared as the elder first walked fast, then began running down the street.
Later that day came the first marriage proposal for Fortis. He declined. Something inside him knew this was not the time, so he made sure this was understood. He also promised to return on their way back after their tour, though without any commitment to do more than reconsider.
George seemed familiar with the city, and took Fortis on a guided tour. "Why do I see more than the usual number of fixed buildings?"
"Nadul specializes in designing and producing these small devices." George produced his pocket computer, unrolled it. "It can't be done in a tent."
Fortis had seen personal communication devices which rolled, but was puzzled by something. "You don't have plastics here, so how do you get one that rolls?"
"I'm no technologist, but I am told it's basically fine threads of glass attached to a swatch of the fabric which stiffens when unrolled. We use microorganisms to coat the glass with nano-circuitry. I don't really know too much about it, but the whole thing hinges a great deal on the natural silica found on just about every planet in the galaxy. Here it's a major resource."
"So silica mining is a big thing here," Fortis guessed.
"Yes. My home clan is involved in processing it. The major restriction we suffer is impurities. We are constantly exploring parts of the desert we can reach for better sources, and so is every clan bordering it. Raw silica of good quality is worth quite a bit. The impurities affect the entire process, because we use micro-optics to control the growth of the microbes."
Fortis stood admiring the devices stacked in a stall. "Protocol requires we don't carry our personal communication devices when we visit a planet; only the equipment they issue from the university when we do a study. I suppose most of them are touchy about controlling radio wave frequencies."
"Pick one. The Sheik will be embarrassed if he discovers you don't have one already." George showed something on his unrolled device to the woman working the stall.
Eventually Fortis chose a flat device small enough to hide in his hand, but folded out to palm size for use. During the ensuing conversation, the woman commented they were having trouble with a declining quality of glass.
His head cocked to one side, George asked, "Where did you get the glass before?"
"Clan Manley," she replied. George didn't say anything, but it was obvious to Fortis his mind was very busy for awhile as they strolled farther through the city.
The following day they appeared before Sheik Nadul. He introduced twelve prospects he selected for the new ambassadorial academy. George and Fortis had developed a battery of tests during the voyage north from Johnston. Over long discussions on the rear deck, they hashed out the basic personality traits Fortis felt necessary for dealing with the broad array of human cultures, interlaced with George's emphasis on mysticism and faith.
"Our founders had a long history of living with a foot in both worlds. It was the primary reason they were able to stay so long on Terra. It requires parallel thinking, a constant awareness of things on two levels," George explained.
"And I am certainly acquainted with the lower level," Fortis noted. "I found the faculty at Johnston were very adept at getting across a great deal of meaning with a fairly dramatic telling of the Book. I'll be trying my hand at that technique, since I find it considerably better than the dry, factual rendering required for spooling. Facts are easy, but it's hard to replace the sense of being transported to the time and place of event."
Fortis thought for a moment. "But they are going to need all the faith they can muster to deal with the jolting difference between the meteoric pace of life out there compared to the glacial pace here."
Sheik Nadul presented his dozen candidates. Fortis estimated they were all under thirty years of age, but clearly adults. After a couple of days interviewing, George and Fortis whittled it down to three. The key was how quickly they absorbed things which made little sense initially, and were able to formulate a response which exhibited transparency and empathy, without entanglement.
"Mysticism is fundamental to our culture and education, but most people under thirty aren't quite ready to operate on that level. Still, the basic tendencies which can't be trained should be visible fairly early," George had said during their planning sessions.
The next clan they visited had one of two major hospitals on Misty, with the attached medical college. The one after that was a huge island almost entirely above tree level, where several species of hair and hide producing animals were raised. Another was covered with various fiber producing plants, and another seemed to be doing a little of everything.
During one of their numerous long discussions, George had explained, "People have to work, but no one should be driven by a clock. Our level of relative comfort has risen slowly, but it will never be that great. First is our fundamental other-worldly orientation. Eldership is granted only to those who prove their ability to maintain that. They control the primary education, which is always conducted by the extended household, and only grandmothers and grandfathers are qualified as teachers. Somewhere around the twelfth year we allow children to enter apprenticeship. Everyone learns a trade, and earns their basic colors, as we say."
Fortis noted, "I've already picked up on some of the symbolism of costume color."
George nodded, "Mine is pale blue for water supply maintenance. We have several springs near my birthplace."
"I'm out of place on that one. I've never done anything outside academics," Fortis said.
George chuckled, "We can give you a trade if you like. But the main point is we maintain a careful balance between too much and too little. Most of our wars have been the indirect result of population explosion, something which seems to come in cycles. Warfare serves the obvious purpose of reducing the population directly, but the destruction reduces it further by starvation, disruption of trade, and too often plagues. We know it's not possible to avoid it totally, but we minimize it. We strive to balance the forces of human nature as a part of other natural forces."
Eventually they landed on the coast nearest Clan Manley. The port was fairly busy and George spoke to one of the senior stevedores. Something he said made George's face go ashen.
There was one clan territory to cross northward by land to reach Manley, and no one raised the slightest objection to going straight there. Indeed, it was quickly agreed Fortis and George would ride on ahead of the slower wagons. He asked the twins to stay with the baggage. "If we can't be safe here, there really is no hope for much of anything." As he and Fortis rode away, George eschewed the roads, driving straight across the open land. They picked up food from isolated farm tents or small villages near their path.
It took two weeks sleeping on the ground without a tent, and riding all day and trusting the coursers to warn if predators approached at night. It happened only once. George rolled out of bed, listened a moment, then shot two arrows into the dark. After a few minutes of silence, he dropped back into his bedroll and soon began to snore softly.
Fortis waited until they had gone some ten days like this before asking over lunch one day, "Your intuition is roaring."
"Our primary glass maker has had access to the best silica on the planet for decades. Suddenly someone downstream complains the supply of high quality glass is declining. That was puzzling, but not disturbing. Then the dock manager tells me not a scrap of silica has come through the port in six months, when previously it was large loads, requiring six or seven wagons three or four times per year. This is no small matter. There is precious little silica or sand near my village, and the glass plant is the only reason that village exists."
Fortis waited as George chewed. Finally, he prodded. "But there's more."
"But I don't know what." He started to rise. "It troubles my spirit."
A few days later, they came down from an almost barren ridge. While Fortis noticed the air was slightly less hazy, and faintly warmer, he didn't expect to see the huge rising shadow of high land on the other side of the wooded valley. He caught glimpses of numerous windmills climbing the gentle slope, and a cluster of several more in the far distance, just barely visible in the fading light of day.
Several of the people greeted George enthusiastically, then spluttered over the odd visitor with him. George did slow a bit and promised with a smile to talk later, then dismounted in front of the largest tent in the village. Fortis took the liberty of introducing himself, and no one seemed to object. With a dozen offers of service, he asked for, and received, a fresh drink of water from the cistern. Cautiously, he peeked inside the open tent doorway. George was talking to another man who looked surprisingly similar in age and features.
George glanced at Fortis, perfunctorily introduced the man as his brother, Randall. Then the two men promptly began a rapid fire discussion with such abbreviated references, Fortis had trouble following it.
Someone brought in their bedrolls and other baggage from off the coursers. The young man carrying it all shared an obvious family resemblance to George and Randall. Finally, the hurried conversation slowed.
George turned to Fortis. "I apologize for being such a poor host..."
Fortis put up a hand. "I'm in on this whole thing. Just tell me what I can do."
"Right now, there's nothing we can do. It's late. Two tasks present themselves immediately. We need to visit the plant. I have to find out where the supply came from, as they surely know something more than who drove the wagons inland. Then, we have to trace down that supplier and find out what happened. We shall likely meet our wagons well before they arrive here." George looked very tired.
"So, we will meet ourselves coming and going, in a manner of speaking." Fortis tried to lighten the somber mood.
George smiled weakly. Everyone who visited that evening was just as somber, as the plant in hills to the north had all but shut down. Only the smaller workshops making goods mostly for local consumption were still running.
For all the hard riding, the coursers didn't hesitate when George and Fortis mounted them before dawn for the ride up the draw toward the cluster of spinning wind turbines. As they drew closer and higher, Fortis realize these were quite large, much larger than anything he had seen before. He noticed the wind was strong, decidedly warmer than that first taste of polar breeze, yet still the climate was cool enough for sleeves. As the land rose, he noticed it was also somewhat drier. However, the one thing which locked his attention was the noise. The wind didn't rip stones from the packed surface of the dry barren table land, but the noise was palpable on its own.
They turned into the teeth of this wind as the trail wound around a small hump to reveal an opening in the side of the slope. A great deal of stonework had been added, but clearly this was the opening to a man made cave.
The windmills were clustered on the flat top of the hill, bound together by a solid framework of stone and large beams. The turbines were vertical, covered with complex curved panels of bright fabric. At the foot of each was a sealed dynamo, according to George's previous explanations. Farther back was another wind turbine by itself. This one dropped a spinning shaft directly into a fitting in the ground. This one met the description George gave for a water well. There appeared little sign of significant wear on anything, but there was no blowing dust. Just a steady blast of stiff wind below the somewhat higher clouds, which were still thick enough to prevent any detectable change in brightness for the dawn. Desert, yes, but unlike any Fortis had ever seen.
They rode up to an awning, then led the beasts under it, tying them to rings set in the stone. The wind was not quite so loud, and only gentle, random swirls managed to tousle the fur on their flanks. The flat entry way was cut out of the hill, so the sides were somewhat protected nearest the facing.
George stood, hesitating a moment before ducking in the wide doorway standing open.
They stepped inside the cooler, darker opening, which turned out to be a foyer. Directly in front of them was a large wooden door almost closed, but George turned and walked down a narrow hall to another, smaller door set in the thick stone wall. Without knocking, he turned the handle and entered.
Fortis stepped into the well-lit office. Through the large glass window on the opposite wall, one could see odd pieces of equipment. He decided the rounded ceramic object was a hydrogen tank, as it had a single ceramic pipe running to a large interior chamber with a wide flat opening along the side. The opening was dark. He caught just a glimpse of an old style hydrogen separation unit commonly used on some planets George had visited. He thought to himself it was probably one of those expensive imports they managed to keep running, since it was obviously mostly metal.
He had to force himself to turn and pay attention at the mention of his name. It was another perfunctory introduction, and Fortis was quickly fascinated by the collection of items displayed on one shelf, running wall to floor and wider than his reach. Various pieces of raw silica mixed in among some of the previous products. Something utterly unexpected caught his eye.
Glancing back from time to time at it, he tried to listen to the conversation. The man behind the table was embarrassed. George was saying, "Richard, I understand keeping reasonable business confidences. Nothing I say or do will serve to force you. But if the man has failed to deliver on a bargain, wouldn't you like to know if something unpleasant has befallen him? Will you destroy all we've built just because someone is a little nervous about someone finding his secret mine?"
Richard struggled for a few moments. Finally, he opened up his pocket device and showed George a picture with some information displayed below it. George touched his own device to this one, apparently copying the data. Then he reassured Richard, "My only interest is the village and our reputation. Indeed, you know I pointedly never got involved in your business as long as it was only your business."
Richard glanced at Fortis meaningfully. George replied, "He's from off-planet. He has no interest at all."
"Except for one thing," Fortis interrupted.
Both men turned to him. He stepped over to the shelf, reaching up high to a flat gray rectangle about the size of his hand, and thick as the tip of his finger. Pulling it down, he turned it over in his hands. "This is at least the shell of a standard Imperial era military individual communications unit."
Richard seemed to welcome the distraction. "This has been handed down in my family for several generations. We never really knew what it was, but we believe it's all here." He reached for the device, pressed on one corner and the thing opened like a book. Both internal faces were smooth, but dark and faintly translucent. He handed it back to Fortis.
"I wonder if it still works?" Fortis began looking at it, tracing his fingers along the edges, faces, until suddenly it glowed and came to life.
Richard looked stunned. George asked, "Do you know how to operate that?"
"Of course," Fortis smiled. "It's like the one we have at the university computer museum." He stroked and tapped on the one face, as images flashed on the other. The other two men watched as Fortis inventoried what was stored on the device. "Did you tell me there was once a military ship visited here?" he asked.
"About three hundred years ago, just before the last rash of wars started," George said.
"This is a planetary survey log." He turned it where they could see it.
Turning it back, he tapped and stroked some more. Then he froze for just a second, until a smile slowly crept across his lips. "Who else has had access to this device?" He looked up.
Richard thought for a moment. "My grandfather told me it had been stolen once by a distant cousin. The thief had it for a while when he was caught in possession. He was sent him to the North Islands. They never saw the man again."
Fortis turned it around to George. "Books. Books on warfare, of course, but also books on government and political theory. Many of them related to one of the ancient empires on Terra, which collapsed just before your people came here, George. I have a digested copy of them on my spooler. It's all about rational political theory, republics, pluralistic societies, nuclear family households, capitalism, credit systems..."
"Democracy," George muttered, gazing at the screen.
They were on the road this time because, George said, it was the wagon route for the silica shipments. They met the wagons of their entourage at the junction where the road turned to Manley City. Everyone gathered in George's tent that night while he recounted the events in the village. As promised, he left out the private business details. But he did mention they found the source of the pernicious democracy teaching. He explained it was critical he and Fortis pursue the leads.
This meant going to the capital city to consult some officials. Lisa smiled at the idea of returning to her childhood home, where her parents had immigrated before she was born. The twins were happy to be back on their assigned duty, with possible adventure in the offing. As Lisa busied herself with domestic chores, the four men stepped outside.
They climbed a nearby hilltop and sat in small circle in the tall grass.
"So we have thus far," George was counting on his fingers. "An apparent ranger captain trying to get off-planet. He spouts this nonsense about democracy and centralized government. But nobody knows who he is, and the rangers deny missing any captains.
"Further, this fellow flew on a glider, and added a balloon fired with hydrogen cylinders. The glider included reeds, which we can't explain, but apparently grow somewhere on Misty. We know there are some parts of Misty not too well explored except by the rangers who take prisoners out to the North Islands.
"We have a fellow who has for quite some time been delivering the highest grade silica ore on the planet to a Manley glass plant. Richard says it was a family connection through some aunt, and has been going on for as long as he can remember, so that's at least fifty years. None of the other mines come even close, and no new ores have been discovered for mining in over a hundred years.
"Somebody previously employed at said glass plant was exposed in depth to the democracy garbage. Seems he got his hands on a military computer device left by the last foreign visitor to Misty before Fortis. The technician probably went to the North Islands, but we don't know. We should be able to get something on him from the sheik's archives."
They sat silently for a few minutes. It was Stanley who spoke, "Something in the North Islands is not what we have been told."
Fortis and George stared at Stanley, then each other.
Three days later, George was earnestly explaining why it was so vitally necessary he access the clan archives without disturbing the sheik. The official in green and dark red robes was having none of it. However, he allowed there was no need for a formal introduction and so forth. He left George waiting a few minutes, ducking behind a curtain of the tent which stood as vestibule over the one stone building in the city. A moment later he wordlessly motioned George alone to follow him.
Fortis replayed the known facts in his mind repeatedly, but nothing new would rise from his intuition. It was not simply gaps in the data, but very large gaps. There was no apparent pattern from which to extrapolate. The only thing was the obvious conclusion the rangers were hiding something. Somehow, it didn't help to make the hour go by any faster, and the twins seemed almost asleep on their feet.
When George emerged, he had bundle wrapped in dark green fabric. He paused, staring back at the curtain through which he had emerged. His face was a complete blank. After some moments, he turned without a word or gesture and walked back in the direction they had come from the outlying village for visitor's tents.
For the longest time, George sat staring at the bundle in his lap, sitting in a folding chair under an awning extension on his tent. Finally, he called Fortis and the twins to him. He motioned for them to pull their chairs up close. He rolled back a part of the cover, exposing a black fabric.
"I've been commissioned to investigate the ranger station up the coast a ways. Evidently the Council had planned for such a thing." He covered the black fabric again. "Do you recall, Fortis, I told you I didn't know all the Council knew?"
Fortis nodded.
"Part of that was no knowing why my own clan was under suspicion. It began to seem reasonable when I realized this strange business might be connected to our glass plant. What I didn't know was the same fellow who brought the ore would then disappear with a ship load of food and other goods, but nobody registered his trading anywhere else."
"So he was the go-between for some secret supplier of the silica ore, exchanging it for food and common goods," Fortis volunteered.
"And" -- with some emphasis -- "he was the third generation doing this same thing," George explained.
"And," Fortis mocked gently with a smile, "our thief was three generations ago."
George grinned. "The thief disappeared from the records when he was turned over to the rangers." He paused a moment. "Along with a female prisoner shipped out at the same time." Another pause. "A very naughty young woman caught in adultery. Her intended husband exercised his right to plea for clemency. Seems he was utterly smitten by this very pretty girl. The rangers didn't report them dead, or lost or anything at all. No other clan received them on probation."
"A breeding pair. But does that justify auditing the rangers?" Fortis asked.
"We have records of missing equipment. But the records we have for that ranger station don't collate. It's not at all rare to lose stuff on the rough passage between two ends of the desert belt to the North Islands, but it appears someone has made changes to the equipment records to hide a pattern. Instead, we have a much larger pattern which is broken." George held up one finger. "And some of it was recent."
"So maybe if we see the original records, it will help us clear up this disturbing business of flying rangers nobody knows," Fortis smirked. More sedately, "Assuming I'm included."
George stood up. "Boys, the recruiting mission has been suspended. I still need some alien expertise," looking pointedly at Fortis, "and our bodyguards." The twins smiled.
Fortis looked at George riding on the courser beside him. "George, have you ever heard an ancient Terran phrase, 'sneaker net'?"
"No." George was mildly interested.
"Basically, computers always have been able to communicate directly via wires, then eventually with radios and now through galactic hyperspace signals. Aside from signal delays through whatever media, it meant instant sharing of data. But the same data carried via some physical storage by hand from one computer to another was called a 'sneaker net'. I'm told it's an obscure reference to footwear." Fortis gave George a half smile.
"And on Misty we have the bird net." George smiled.
"So a great deal of data is shared and compared periodically that way?"
"Though the pace of our development might not be as fast as out there where you come from, we now get the entire Council archives on each bird chip with much room to spare. It's encrypted pretty well, and various algorithms compare signatures and such. They meet physically every so often. Corruption, by accident or intent, is controlled that way, even if it does take awhile." George laughed.
"Does an updated copy come with the judicial robe?" Fortis asked.
"With a key for decryption, Professor Intuition."
A moment later, Fortis asked, "What would induce a ranger to dishonest reporting?"
"That's our mission."
Back on board the ship, the Captain was laughing in a most undignified manner. When he caught his breath, he stood up straight and said, "Give the order, Judge Manley." Not just any judge, but he was a Special Magistrate of the Council.
Out loud Fortis wondered, "Who outranks you?"
The Captain gleefully jumped in, "Nobody!" He began laughing again.
"It's not permanent," George reminded him with almost no humor.
Fortis half smiled, not sure why the Captain found it so funny.
"Great power, even greater headaches," George noted. "Once I put this on, I have to give people the permission to breathe, for goodness' sake. They are required to stop whatever they are doing and wait for me to order them to proceed. The whole purpose is to investigate without warning."
On the voyage to the ranger station, George asked Fortis to share the digest of some of the books. Fortis outlined the obvious differences he had come to understand. George was disgusted. "Of all the hideous things. An empire of people who quickly forged their own chains of slavery because they worshiped material prosperity. All it took was a few lies to take advantage of popular ignorance to win the popular vote. And all that assumption about being under attack when it was they who were attacking everyone." He shook his head.
Fortis nodded. "The worst part is all the clandestine services, which pretended to serve the governments who sponsored them, but actually served some shadowy global government. They were the ones who masqueraded as enemy and conducted all the supposed terror attacks on their own people. This continued until the end of the brief existence of that first Terran global empire. Your predecessors were lucky to escape alive before the next one found itself facing a much bigger interstellar human space."
Turning to Fortis, George asked "You are sure it won't turn on again?"
Fortis promised. "I reversed the polarity on the battery and it burned the circuits. You saw the smoke, smelled it."
"Depending on how many people are infected with that virus, it may take a full generation to rid ourselves."
"Well," Fortis noted, "there were at least a dozen in Johnston."
It was ten days sailing in the strong easterly winds to reach the ranger station. George directed the Captain to anchor behind a low forested island until dark. There was a long wharf for larger vessels, and the ship slipped in quietly before dawn. The crew themselves tied up to the dock. George, Fortis and the twins simply stepped off the rear deck and marched up the dock. By the time the watch noticed, it was too late to give notice. The black robes with white trim was unmistakable, and he simply froze.
"Remain on duty and notify your watch commander if anyone else approaches, including your fellow rangers," George ordered him.
The man had been guarding the entrance to a large building not unlike the one Fortis remembered on Johnston Island's southern approach. The stairs were in a similar location and they climbed without delay. The man slumped at the desk nearly fell into the floor trying to jump to attention.
"You are the watch officer?" George inquired mildly. To the man's nod, he continued in the same tone. "You will insure your harbor crew render due services for my ship at the dock. By no means will you interfere with the personnel aboard that vessel, as the Captain is your superior officer." The man nodded vigorously. "You may speak when we have left the building."
And so it went, throughout the morning. The barracks was ordered made ready for inspection, but George noted it was simply to keep them busy. The commander was marched into his own office in front of the quartet, and the door locked behind them.
"Colonel, you may call me Judge Manley. Professor Plimick is my assistant. We will now conduct an examination of your records. Our particular interest concerns first a pair of prisoners I shall name. You will bring up the raw logs from the chain of custody."
It only took them two hours to find it all. Roughly a century previously, the technician and the adulteress, among other prisoners, were on board the prison ship. The boat managed to make the crossing without incident, but upon clearing the northeast corner of the western continent, the woman created a disturbance. Apparently she undressed partially. In the chaos, she managed to dive into the sea, followed closely by the technician. They cut loose the line on the dinghy, and maneuvered right in among the rocks at that location, disappearing in the direction of the shore.
Assuming the pair would not do well without their supplies, the crew decided to resume their journey with the other prisoners to their assigned island exiles. Returning, they found they could by no means approach nor gain sight of the area where the pair escaped. In both directions for some distance was this highly unusual rocky buffer holding the ship at least a half-kilometer from the shore. The matter was forgotten, until the ship returned and it was noted some equipment and supplies of the rangers themselves was missing.
A month later, a different ship with a different crew passed the same area, as was the routine for such ships. Nothing was recorded, but the ship returned missing some equipment, and the rations were unaccountably short. No action was taken. At first, this sort of thing was random. Monthly voyages on regular rotation would see a small loss with no apparent pattern, but no one bothered to investigate or report. Yet the basic facts of in and out were logged.
This continued until the last voyage, which had returned a week ago. George checked the roster of crew members and ordered those men to assemble in the training yard.
Eight men marched silently out into the yard. They came to halt in neat formation facing George, who waited as if utterly bored. Then he tilted his head to one side, smiled and spoke gently.
"Have a seat boys." They all sat rigidly on the ground. George hiked up his black robes and joined them. Fortis was sitting on a bench with his back against the building. The twins were stationed a couple dozen meters off to either side, arrows nocked on the strings of their longbows, but aimed down, held by one hand.
"Relax." He waited a few seconds. "Anybody married or engaged?" Four hands went up.
He put his left hand over his chin and mouthed and stroked for a few seconds. Then opening the hand in invitation, "How many of you would go home right now if I found a way for you to be relieved of duty properly?"
They didn't respond immediately. "What's it like here, away from home for three years? Ship out the prisoners; bring some back. Two weeks or so going out; the same coming back. Then off a month, then back out again. Holidays, sure, but only if folks come to see you here."
He paused for a few moments. "Yes, duty to your clan and to your planet. Select duty, no less. Automatic promotions."
"I'm going to take it all away." He let that sink in for a moment.
"What makes a man do his duty for three years, such hard duty, such upstanding men guarding us all -- then throw it away like this? The Council -- your very own sheiks -- ordered me to come here and shake things up. They gave me this fancy robe and said to do whatever I like."
"I'm the last man who wants to put you on those ships as prisoners. But you know? It won't be straight north from here where you've been going all this time. No, we will have those ships going south and around the central continent, to the northern islands thousands of kilometers from here. How long would such a voyage take? I'll bet the trip out is a lot worse than a single month on an island."
A very long pause, as he looked down, resting his chin on the back of his left thumb. Then he began dramatic gestures, drawing his idea in the air. "The other plan I had in mind was to fix this mess by making sure rangers always worked with their own kin. I never liked mixing clans randomly and taking you away from family. I have a wild dream of this island being fully developed, with men rotating on duty with their own clans, family members and so forth." He looked up at his hands in air in front of his face.
Finally one of the men spoke. "What do you want, Judge?"
He dropped his hands and looked mildly at the man who spoke. Leaning forward, he rested his left hand on his knee, and placed the index finger against his upper temple. "What happens when you pass the rocks on that northeastern shore?"
Somehow, Fortis was not really surprised with the answer. Young men on such duty, and on such a planet as Misty, never faced naked women who offered to exchange their bodies for food and supplies. And it really wasn't hard to convince them to drop their prisoners closer to that area, though they had no idea why. It surely shortened the trip and helped avoid having to explain a day lost, anchored there near the rocks with the lovely young maidens. There were always enough to go around. Not all the men participated, but they all had agreed to remain silent.
Apparently the commander was not aware of this, remaining on the base island his entire tour. His family was there, of course, since his duty was six years. They had their own section of the island. That was not the problem, but that his family was isolated from the clan. Were the entire garrison from the same clan at the same time, there would be precious few shenanigans. Men create an artificial loyalty when the kinship is absent, sharing only the experience of common misery. That also means sharing the secret ways they relieve the misery. But changing that meant changing how rangers were chosen, trained, and so forth. Most of the rangers already felt isolated from the rest of the planet. It would mean assigning each clan to provide themselves a full ranger village, choose an extended household much as the bodyguard were formed. It would mean raising the tax rates just a bit, but with the impending trade, perhaps it would balance out.
Either way, Special Magistrate Manley ordered it so.
He granted a limited amnesty to all the rangers if they would fully cooperate in ending this fiasco. Thus, he ordered a crew to make ready for sailing, and took all volunteers. By the end of the second day, the men were ready.
He had one more task before he removed the black robes.
The Captain was amused to see a half-dozen racing kayaks tied up behind his and the ranger ship. He was much less amused at the idea of crossing the equator. That's not to say he didn't believe his ship could, but didn't like the risk of taking his family into such danger. George shrugged. "Then don't go."
The Captain almost took him up on it, then decided he would regret that more than any losses doing it. So it was they found this fancy cruise liner skirting the eastern shore of the passage. At some point, the winds would catch the tops of the sails as they edged into the zone where the wind ran down the desert slope to the sea. It wasn't just a cross wind; any sailor could handle that. It was a stiff cross wind with little room for error as the currents and wind together drove them west while they traveled north. If it worked, it would still put them very close to the rocky zone.
The ranger ship was narrower, lighter, and without the usual load of prisoners, made it just fine. The bigger ship ended up near the western shore too soon, so the sails were dropped, as were the anchors. With the winds still rather high, the captain turned the ship into the wind. "Now what?" he asked George over the dull roar of the winds. They were just a few meters from dragging bottom at the stern.
Fortis had an idea. "How hard would it be to create a kite big enough to lift a man?"
"Which man?" The Captain and George spoke in unison.
"I'll go," Fortis said, feeling sure he would regret it later. He remembered a popular sport on some worlds called para-sailing. Within an hour, spare sail panels were rigged to a frame with a long thin line on a reel. Fortis climbed up to the top of the bridge cabin, and easily caught the wind, suspended below this kite. It took a few minutes for him to get the feel of tipping the sails up and down, but he managed to do it reasonably well as they let out the line slowly. He was lifted with good clearance from the rather steep, craggy rise of the shore. Slowly, he drifted up the shore, until eventually he was even with the crest. He turned his neck to see what was behind him. He was stunned by what he saw from his high altitude, just down the shore a couple of kilometers or so where it turned back west. So stunned he changed his mind and signaled to be reeled back down.
He was utterly exhausted by the time he crashed gently just off the rear of the ship into the water. He had come in too far behind the ship and lost the wind. Once they fished him and his kite out of the water, he ignored the wetness in his excitement.
"George! It's a crater. Sometime in the far past of this planet, something struck the surface right at the edge. The rocks are the debris thrown out by the impact. I caught just a glimpse of the depression with water in it. The whole thing is well below sea level, and I saw the reeds, I'm sure."
"We thought maybe the pole was something like a crater," George agreed.
"Probably so, maybe a vertical strike, but this one is very pronounced, the unmistakable signature of a linear impact crater."
Meanwhile, the Captain didn't want any more silly experiments. He broke out some long poles and had his crew stand on the rear deck. Pushing off, they were able to shift the boat northward just a bit. With a little judicious anchor lifting, they made some slow headway. Taking turns, they moved a few hundred meters before dark.
The next morning, they applied themselves again to the grueling work. The ranger ship remained where it was, unable to help. However, at some point they saw the big ship was in range, and sent a man over in a kayak.
George first ascertained what was the angle of view when the girls usually showed themselves, then explained the plan to the ranger, who promptly headed back. It was slower for him against the wind, but not out of reach for a strong rower. Meanwhile, the ship continued slipping slowly sideways along the shore. Finally, they stopped.
At dawn, it was the captain himself who manned the reel when Fortis went up with the makeshift kite. He almost missed the first time, but recovered and set himself on top of the cliff with a single step to spare. The landing was solid. Seeing that, the twins manfully joined and managed to place themselves, with help from Fortis grabbing, on the same spot. They each had water and weapons. Fortis had seen the approach from the table land down to the crater was relatively easy back of the cliff face. They had just a bit more light than the bottom of the crater. As they made their way across the rugged surface and began down the slope, the kayaks from the ranger ship set out. George worked his way along the shore in a kayak alone from the big boat, and then angled around to join the rangers' approach.
Fortis and the twins picked their way down, while the rangers and George threaded their way through the rocks. The latter eventually found a low rock ledge where several battered rafts and reed canoes were pulled up out of the water. George and the rangers worked their way up to the lip of the depression, spread out along the rim, and caught a handful of men by surprise. The men with George carried Gauss weapons for this occasion, almost the entire ranger armory. Resistance never really formed. The men were herded together, marched down the side of the deep bowl, and simply sat down on the shore. There were reed huts all along the edge of the bowl. It was quite warm, almost swampy down inside, with almost no wind. George loudly ordered the women to stay inside their huts. His voice carried quite well across the wide bowl.
The eastern end down close to the water line showed extensive mining scars, with glints of light reflecting from exposed silica. Reed ladders and makeshift mining equipment were scattered around. From the narrower end far in the other direction, steam rose from where the water seemed to be boiling up from the ground. There were stacks of reeds up on the rim. Hot springs were not unheard of, but rare on Misty. The waters were not toxic. The bowl was a long slash in the ground, and the waters managed to cool somewhat before reaching the other end.
Finally, someone obviously older than the rest waded around to meet them. The man wore a sleeveless tunic.
"So, you finally found us." His voice was raspy. "I'm called Charley."
George noticed everyone was looking just a bit undernourished.
"Nice place here, Charley. I'm Judge Manley."
"Hooo, a judge, even. Gonna kick us out, Judge? Take us out to exile on the islands? Kill us, even?"
"No, nothing like that. I'm just checking out where our rangers' resources were going. Looks like you weren't getting enough of the food."
"Nah, been bad times lately. Our regular supply ship quit showing up. I suppose it didn't help we couldn't produce enough silica to make him happy. We've been hanging on by our fingernails." He pointed at the mining scars, and a small pile of silica on the rim.
"What happened, Charley?"
"Well, to make a long story short, it took all our resources to send my boy Freddie out. He managed to hitch a ride with the supply ship on a load of silica. Took our best glider, some nice clothes and our only real weapon. There's fish out there, and we can eat some of the shoots off the cane growing here. But we used up all our next two loads of silica paying off the risks for helping Freddie sneak into the Bradley Clan.
"Back when my granddaddy started here, the silica was all over the ground. We eventually had to start digging it out. Now, I reckon you know a few men and a bunch of girls can't mine much silica. That stuff is stuck hard in that ground. No, we been enticing some of the prisoners off their islands for a some years with the extra food we bought with the silica. Gave `em some good education, too. Taught `em all about democracy and proper organization. Let `em learn to vote. When we got behind after Freddie left, we didn't have any way to persuade them to come work for us. Mine ain't played out; just the miners." He produced an odd, horse laughter, coming in gulps.
"Sorry to hear that. You'll be sorry to hear Freddie didn't succeed. He ended up on Johnston Island where you had a few followers among the probates. They are all dead, and so is Freddy. Crashed his glider into the sea."
Charley dropped to his knees in the water, blubbering. George waited for him to recover. It took awhile, and the young men moved to comfort him.
By that time, Fortis had come around with the twins, walking on the east rim. They had in custody two more of the skinny men dressed like Charley. They stopped a few meters from the scene. "Looks like hot water comes in from a spring in the west, drifts across the bowl, then drains back into the ground in the deepest part of the crater here," pointing behind him where the bank was steeper. "Probably struck the planet from the west, which stands to reason, cutting against the direction of rotation. This crater was once far deeper, so a lot of deep material was plowed up."
Charley finally regained a measure of composure. "So what you going to do with us now?"
George looked back at him. "Your only real advantage was secrecy, and that's gone now. And you can't teach any more democracy nonsense" -- Charley's eyes glared at the choice of words -- "but just to make sure, we are going to order all shipping to avoid this area. We'll move prisoner operations to the ranger base over on the other side of this continent and double up on the number of islands out there for detention."
"What about food? You gonna leave us here to starve?" Charley was angry, if powerless.
George remained utterly calm. "You could trade. Not just silica, which you could contract out easily, but the reeds. I see you have here a natural heat-treating plant. Like every other woody product on Misty, it hardens that way. Very nice."
George rose to his feet. "I could even declare you folks a Clan, give you full rights and all." Charley had just a hint of hope in his eyes. "But you'll have to adopt our way of life. You'll have to understand why we don't tolerate democracy, capitalism, militarism, centralized government, everything that goes with it. You can join us and be a part of the community, or you can rot here in the middle of nowhere."
"That's blackmail!" Charley growled.
"Maybe. It's also not democracy. You can be Sheik of Northland, or you can be starving Charley. You can train your girls to be respectable wives instead of prostitutes, marry them to men who will come and stay. We'll send you whatever you need, but you'll have to learn more than just a brief period of history on Terra. You'll need to learn the whole history of mankind so you'll understand why democracy was a lie from the first."
George started walking away, as the others followed. Charley began blubbering again. George turned back, "We'll send someone back in a couple of weeks to see what you think about it."
They signaled the ranger ship to come closer and start picking them up.
Eventually the bigger ship caught a bit of helpful current and managed to pull away from the shore. They towed extra kayaks out for Fortis and the twins. The rangers ran some food back into Charley's clan, then followed the bigger ship in the currents which took them north, then back around to the far side of the narrow sea between the two continents. This time, southbound, they made it on the first try.
Fortis finally got to see a message bird. It came low across the water, surprisingly fast. In front of the harbor house it tipped upward, stalled, then simply dropped slowly to the ground. The Harbor Master walked with George over to retrieve it. George pressed his pocket device to a tiny thick spot in the fabric. It took only a couple of seconds to download the data, then upload various judicial decisions.
They sat on the dock of Clan Bradley's main harbor, having arrived with the warrant for Charley's supplier three days before. The man had quickly admitted his family's role in shipping the silica in exchange for food and supplies. He also showed them the small shop which made the tiny cylinders, with the homemade rig for fracturing water using salvaged scrap metal. There was a compressor which had required two modified wind turbines. He had it engineered and built it all within his own househould, using profits from the silica trade. He admitted charging far more than was fair. After turning over all his logs, George had calculated the tonnage and compared with other known shipping data. After conferring with Sheik Bradley, it was decided the man would continue the shipments, but be assessed a much higher rate until someone else took over the franchise. Keeping the silica flowing was more important than punishment.
The updated report this day confirmed George's suspicions. Charley's clan got together and simply voted him out of office for refusing to give into their desire to join civilization. Stories were a bit confused, but near as the rangers could determine, Charley was the grandson of the original technician. He had killed off several cousins and uncles and resented the necessity of enticing rangers and other prisoners to prevent too much inbreeding. The few surviving men in his household were those who didn't challenge his rule. After deposing Charley, they all decided to leave and enjoy the relatively light service as probationers preparing to covenant with other clans. Two large households volunteered to explore the possibility of occupying the crater area. While living initially on houseboats, they had already created a harbor which gave access to a slender grassy shelf just west of the area.
The ranger station became a prison colony while the ranger operation was reformed. With the other changes, they would soon continue prisoner detention in the same vicinity as before, but farther from the crater. Several commanders from different clans were preparing to meet and reorganize in light of the recommendations George made about keeping families together, and creating ranger households. This had delayed them almost a month on the ranger station, overseeing the transition. The twins were made ranger captains, and sent home with their new wives to organize a ranger household. The Farrells were mostly hunters already.
Finally, a large number of former prisoners infected with the democracy heresies were offered a chance to volunteer for staffing the new Johnston Foreign Service Academy, which was next door to the religion school at Johnston Island. The classes in religion were free and mandatory as part of the deal for them.
George had advised Fortis to also make a copy from the bird and begin learning how to make use of the data exchange with his relatively new device. As he scanned the various notices, George's face went white, then slightly red. A scowl slowly set in on his features. Then he groaned and turned away, dropping his device down to his side.
Fortis looked up, scanned quickly through the documents. Then he saw it. The Sheiks had long ago set up the provisions for activating the Special Magistrate office. They had attached to it a proviso for making the office permanent if the space port was ever opened again to trade. George had been ordered to retain the vestments and prepare to establish a space port on the pole. He was given the status of a sheik, and his relatives were invited to join him in building several permanent structures for the port. As a quasi-clan, their colors would be the black and white he already wore. The other sheiks had drawn up an advance agreement to support the space port through increased taxation from whatever trade concessions they had gained.
"Don't like the pole much, George?"
"You know better than that. All I ever wanted was to go home and regain my duties as village elder."
"We won't be very far from each other. Just three weeks of sailing," Fortis offered.
"That's probably the only light in my personal darkness right now, my dear friend. Space Port Master! Sheik!" He groaned more loudly and dropped his face into his free hand. "The space ships have already begun arriving. I have to leave right away to get it all under control."
"And I have to finish the recruiting mission alone." Fortis tried to look unhappy, but he was frankly glad George had been chosen.
George looked up and put on a fatherly face. "My friend, you need to seriously consider accepting the next plausible marriage offer. You will never make it without that support. Just trust the Lord and plunge in, because it will work out just the same as everything else. Given God's sense of humor," rolling his eyes, "you'll end up with a huge family."
They both laughed heartily.
By Ed Hurst
29 December 2009
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