In every generation there would always be one or two -- someone who was born with exceptional intelligence, some unique talent, something which set them apart from the norm. In this generation, it was some peculiar genius no one expected, so it went almost unnoticed. That is, until he was approaching early adulthood.
His particular gift was a piercing insight, a powerful sense of what had to be. No one knew if they should call it intuition, because it seemed too fast even for that. Rather, his gift manifested itself as precocious maturity. It was as if he suffered very little of the wishful thinking, the fantasies and myths, common to children. Very early he could adapt quite effectively to changes in his environment. On the other hand, he certainly was capable of playfulness. And while he had no trouble giving himself to the games of children around him, they always treated him as a small adult.
His father had been a simple farmer who managed to win the hand of a very well educated wife. No great beauty was she, but devoted and well positioned to bestow upon her son a wealth of education. So while all children on Misty learned first at home, and were generally examined in their teens by the local village, town or district level for possible further education, this one confounded his examiners. Not just by his maturity, but it was his ability to converse and reveal a wide acquaintance with far more than many students who had already attended advanced academies away from home.
That very year, his father was killed by a predator in the field. The tragedy delayed any decisions on his further education. First, his mother ceded her husband's property to his brothers. Then she took a job writing technical documentation for the local research plant for computer electronics. Her writing skill brought her notice, then advancement, finally being hired away to the sheik's court, writing many of the reports and collating information for the messenger bird network.
Her son continued his education via exposure to this traffic. He was fully aware of the Special Magistrate's decisions, and the establishment of the South Pole Space Port. Port Master Manley was quickly famous across Misty. So, too, was the fame of his friend, Professor Plimick. The boy had seen their visit the first time, just over a year ago. He had heard the Professor planned to return, and was hoping to meet him.
His reasons were many, but chief among them was his deep desire to see his mother married again. Technically, the duty fell to him, though traditionally he would have yielded to older male relatives. None of them believed him when he insisted his mother was the perfect wife for the professor, who was soon to begin training the first class of foreign service students on Johnston Island. So he was determined to present his case, should the famous professor return as he had promised. He had heard the man had not accepted any of the marriage offers on the rest of the planet, but he realized the news would be a few weeks behind, at least.
Then, to his deep chagrin, his mother was granted a long delayed vacation to see her relatives on the northern side of the island. It broke his heart, because he felt certain this might have been in part to prevent him being in the city when the professor was expected to return. He spent many days at the northern port, out at the end of the dock, watching the sea birds dive and splash. He prayed.
Fortis had finished the recruiting tour alone. The Twins were deeply involved in ranger reforms, George was trying to restore some order to the already chaotic trade situation at the polar space port. The Captain seemed ready to get it over with, so Fortis simply made all the official visits, quickly whittled down the candidates, and traveled lightly and quickly between the clans. It was done early. Only the Captain's reminder of his promise to revisit Clan Nadul, as a social obligation, made him agree to the delay.
Nor had he taken George's advice to accept any of the marriage proposals. For reasons he could not have explained, none of them seemed right. Indeed, half of them were simply implausible, with girls far too young for his comfort. He was too wrapped up in planning his first classes, since George was no longer available to help address what really mattered. So he convinced the Captain to stop at the nearest point of contact with Nadul, which turned out to be the northern port. Since the capital city was pretty much the center of the island, it wouldn't matter where they landed. He hoped he could quickly arrange a courser and would simply ride to the capital the same day they landed.
The Captain indulged him by running low on food and other consumables, with plans to resupply at Nadul. Fortis was almost angry when the anchorage for the night was still a few kilometers off the island. The next morning he bit his tongue to keep from having words with the crew over what he felt was the slow pace of preparations as dawn approached. This was Misty, after all, where the pace of life was glacial itself. So he stood on the stern deck with his mug of tea and tried to reason with the unreasonable urge within to rush, rush, rush. It was almost a force of will to pray. Alone, he decided to pray aloud.
At first, his words were mere ritual. Then, something in his mind recalled a lesson from the religion professors at the academy: "When logic runs, the spirit crawls backward." There was no native image of roaring storms on Misty, but the emotional turmoil he felt was completely out of character. He forced himself to stay facing the rear, not allowing himself to check on the progress. Not only was it still too dark to see the approach to Nadul Island, but he needed the self-discipline to help recover some sanity.
So it came as a surprise when the ship began to slow, and he heard the sound of the water brakes. He felt at least somewhat in control of himself when finally the saw the end of the dock creep around to the port side of the ship, now on his right. Picking up his travel kit, he was almost on the dock before he noticed the figure standing there with a hand extended to help him up.
"Good morning, noble Professor Plimick." The young man bowed, touching one knee to the wood surface.
Something died inside Fortis, something which didn't belong. Then, a bit of humor took its place. "So, at least we don't have to worry about formal introductions."
"Please, Sir. You cannot imagine what an unspeakable surprise this is to me. I am at a loss for words. The very face I have longed to see is now catching the first glow of dawn before me." The young man still knelt with his head bowed.
Fortis smiled. "I wish I could speak so well when words failed me. Rise. Explain why it is so important you see me."
The young man rose. A very young man indeed, it seemed, but Fortis wasn't sure, as many Nadul folk appeared young to his eyes. "Please forgive me for daring to delay your business here. I have no standing to speak at all. Yet, if I do not speak, I should think it would bring great disaster to us all."
Fortis recalled wistfully he had declined an armed escort from the Captain, and was about to reconsider. "Is there some danger?"
The young man pressed his palms together in front of him. "Not in the immediate sense of threat from dangerous men here, Sir. At least, none of which I am aware. I speak of a much larger sense of danger. Your mission on Misty is well known. You came to study, and stayed to be a part of us for a time. You are about to embark upon a time of preparing some of our people for meeting the wider galaxy of humanity."
Fortis was surprised such a young fellow seemed to know so much about these things.
The boy continued. "More importantly, you must prepare their souls for the wrenching experience of facing a very fast-paced existence. But most importantly of all, they must be ready to answer why we are so very, very different from them all. Do we not hope they will carry with them the peace of Misty, the serenity of souls at rest in truth?"
Now Fortis carried an altogether new fear. George had mentioned the necessity of sending out emissaries to the stars to rekindle the ways of mysticism, that humanity would be lost without it. He had never been quite sure how that would shape his plans, nor how it would fit into a curriculum, but knew it had to be there somehow.
"Sir, I propose to bring alongside you such help as might lighten the load you bear."
Fortis cocked his head to one side. "You're doing a very good job of talking about it. Are you offering your services?"
The young man almost danced with glee. "Oh, Sir! Would that I could! It is not our way on Misty for me to leave my mother. She is a widow, and I the only child."
Fortis still had not quite caught on. "So, would you suggest I hire her? What skills of hers might justify that?"
The boy grinned. "It is not at all boasting for me to tell you she is one of the best writers. You yourself surely read her work, as she is the primary scribe for the bird traffic here in Clan Nadul. She began as technology writer for the computer research labs here."
If the boy was boasting, it would be easy enough to disprove, since Fortis still planned to see the sheik. "That might prove useful. I could surely use a very skilled secretary."
The boy smiled, as if at some secret joke. "You could not hire her from the sheik. He would fight to keep her."
Fortis still did not see it. "Then why are you telling me about her?"
The boy bowed again from the shoulders. "If I may be so bold, noble Sir -- you could marry her."
The noise of the stevedores calling to the crew served notice it was time to seek breakfast. On this northern port of Nadul, there was a village directly behind the harbor facilities. "So, young man, where could a weary traveler find breakfast? There are other things we need to discuss before we talk about arranging marriages."
"Come this way, Sir. We have a wonderful tea tent just ahead." The young man grabbed Fortis' bag and began walking up the long dock. On the way, he greeted the harbor crew with cheerful and respectful familiarity.
Fortis had learned if he pretended not to notice them as they passed, only those workers who really needed to address him would do so. While uncomfortable with it, this prevented the social obligations from interfering with their work. Besides, the young man set a vigorous pace.
But while winded when they arrived, Fortis felt the exercise did him good. This was a fairly large tea tent. The boy was waiting at the large opening, and Fortis spotted a couple of screened private tables, heading directly for one of them. It was already half busy, and his presence drew notice. Playing at the regal VIP was difficult, but he understood the utter necessity or things would never get done. By the time he was comfortably seated, the young man had deposited his baggage in another chair and ran to get service. He returned a short time later with a mug of tea.
"Have you had breakfast? I want you to sit with me and tell me more about the spirit of Misty," Fortis said, pointing to an empty seat.
The young man seemed almost embarrassed, even as he was delighted. "Thank you, Sir. I will join you." With another quick bow, he took the seat.
Fortis then asked, "What shall I call you?"
"Sir, my name is Samir."
As with every tea tent, servers brought whatever was cooked for that day. No sooner had the young man settled himself when two young ladies began bringing dishes of food, a pot with more tea, and a second cup. While Fortis had sampled the unique fair of Nadul on the first visit, here again it was quite different. Apparently the island was its own microcosm of cosmopolitan variety even within the cloistered world of Misty.
Though different, it was all to his liking, Fortis decided. After they had eaten a bit in silence, he asked, "My friend, Port Master Manley, once spoke of a mission to seed the human race once more with mysticism. What do you make of that?"
The young man set down his eating utensils before he spoke. "Sir, you know that live only that we may be salt and light." He paused.
Fortis recognized the phrase from his religion lessons at Johnston.
He went on. "Those are symbols. The first indicates our presence makes humanity tolerable to God. Just a tiny pinch of salt makes most food better to the taste. There could never be many of us, but we it really doesn't take much. That we are light also continues the thought. We are the living revelation of God's message to humanity. If we do not bring that message, they will not know -- can not know -- what God demands on the lower level, much less the higher level."
Fortis recognized the notion, but had not heard it put quite like that. "The earthly covenant points the way to the heavenly. How would trade embassies reach enough of the populations where they go?"
"In due time, the people would come to them." Samir seemed so utterly certain. Was it blind faith?
"What would draw them? Why would they seek trade offices from some obscure planet?"
"Sir, the galaxy has long been without peace, and without a peaceful people. You know we had no intention of restricting ourselves to a single monopoly trading partner this time. Rather, Port Master Manley is the focal point of monopoly on our behalf. He will wrest a far greater rate of exchange with the massively wealthy corporate banking and arms dealers who always survive wars. They will be seeking to expend their profits quickly on valuable luxury goods. Ours remain unique, because no one else has been forced to do so much with natural materials as we."
Fortis noted Samir was building up to something. Apparently the young man had discussed this with others, and Fortis guessed he had not been taken seriously.
Gesturing gently with his hands, "Sir, there will be many in the entourage of wealthy traders who are trend setters, and a few will genuinely fall in love with what we have here. A great many others will indulge it as a fad. Then, it will cascade to the masses as fashion. In no time, having among your acquaintances a citizen of Misty will be like dropping the names of the most elite in the galaxy."
Fortis realized this was entirely plausible. "So out of the vast ocean of faddists, we can expect to reap a small growth of genuine mystics. Then what? The fad will fade all too soon."
A strange look of sadness mixed with joy crossed Samir's face. "The seed will not sprout fully until it first dies. They will come and destroy Misty."
Fortis thought on this for a moment. "Figurative or literal destruction? They will most certainly try to gain control and corrupt the culture and government here. I suspect they would fail utterly."
Samir added, "What they cannot own, they destroy literally. Mankind is desperately wicked, needing only power and wealth to throw off caution. I fear the planet will be destroyed, though I cannot imagine how."
Something made Fortis remember the crater, but since he could not connect it to their conversation, he dismissed it. He signaled to the man behind the counter, who came over and bowed from the shoulders. By now, Fortis understood how to display his authorization from the Council, as the proprietor simply noted the reference to the letter as credit for taxes and so forth. Before Fortis could stand, Samir was up and holding his baggage.
As they walked out into the main plaza of the village, Fortis stopped and planted his feet, arms crossed and faced Samir. "I find it utterly repugnant that someone would be pressured to marry me without having some idea what she is up against, and have a chance to veto. The only reason I even consider your offer is because, while I can always find another secretary, there is only one other person on this planet whose wisdom I would trust so much as yours. And he is no longer available to me."
Samir bowed low. "By whatever means necessary, Sir, I would have persisted. I am the last to pretend I could have any great part in the things ahead, but I could not simply forget the deep burden of sorrow in my heart for what I see coming to Misty. That destruction will come cannot be avoided. What beckons those hideous forces is the one thing we must preserve and propagate. Striking us will only scatter what threatens them to more places, until they are surrounded. The lamp of truth cannot be put out until the End of All Things. We fail only if we do not try."
Fortis decided he would pay almost any price to be reminded of that often. "So how do we proceed? What is the custom here?"
Samir escorted him to a public bench, asking him to wait a short time. Then the boy trotted off down the street. Fortis gave himself to what Samir had said was coming. Something inside him had embraced it even as the young man spoke, as if he had simply recognized something inherent in all he had learned up to that moment. Suddenly, there was no real hurry, yet there was of a completely different kind.
It was the same as everything else on Misty, formality and simplicity in a mixture he could never predict. Samir returned a few minutes later and asked him to follow. They main street wound through tents which, though rather neatly lined up, still followed a somewhat winding course parallel to the coast. One turn inland and a few tents down, the young man stopped. "In honor of your wishes, I ask you to wait here a moment." Samir stepped into the tent.
Fortis could hear some discussion inside, then the curtain across the door parted a moment, but not enough for him to see inside. Having learned the dramatic regal bearing was expected, Fortis stood waiting with his arms across his chest. There was more hurried discussion inside, and Fortis gathered Samir was no longer the only one surprised to see him. Finally, the boy returned.
"Sir, she has echoed your scruples, and wishes you the opportunity to reject her, as well. Will you come inside?" He stood with the curtain held back.
Fortis played the role and stepped inside, and took two paces. He found himself in a vestibule separated from the rest of the ten by a wall sewn into the tent. She stepped out through an opening. It was not some magic moment. Her appearance was fairly ordinary, with long dark hair, a relatively short stature, and slender figure. Naturally, her eyes were cast down, because under these circumstances, only a prostitute would look him in the eye.
Searching internally, he saw no reason to object. If any portion of what Samir had said was true, there was little time to waste over story book romance. "My name is Fortis Plimick. What do they call you?"
It was barely audible. "Kalila."
Fortis looked at Samir, who motioned a question, then pointed at himself. In his best authoritative voice, Fortis said, "I accept the offer."
Wide in shock, her eyes met his for just a few seconds. Then Several people came spilling out of the inner room, as they milled around and decorated Kalila with some lacy fabric. Samir walked over to Fortis. "Because we are not at our home, there is little else to do but travel to the city and let the sheik know he has lost a servant. He will protest relative to how much he values her service, then send you both away with gifts."
Fortis replied, "Given what we have discussed, I would say we have no time to waste... Son." Samir flushed and grinned. "Where do we get some transportation?"
It was as if everyone simply stepped into their new roles without transition. Husband and wife, with a nearly grown son, heading off to Nadul City on a fast wagon trip. Actually, it was the same rig and animals Kalila had borrowed for the vacation, now cut short by a few days. She didn't seem to object, just looked at Fortis with adoring eyes and jumped into his world with both feet.
The Sheik was caught off guard completely. Fortis doubted the grousing about stealing an important servant was entirely formality, and wondered if he would be allowed to leave with her. Eventually, the scene ended and they were preparing to pack those few things she was interested in taking to her new life. She sent Samir to fetch in various neighbors to whom she gave various parts of her accumulated goods. Among the gifts carted to the door from the Sheik were precisely the things they would need for their journey, and little more. This included a travel tent and lightweight furnishings. They were, of course, in the blue and tan colors of Nadul.
The Captain groused on a little at loading the extra baggage when Fortis finally returned to the ship. This time, Fortis knew it was all good natured, because the Captain winked before walking climbing to his bridge. Taking advantage of the voyage time to Johnston Island, the trio discussed the work of opening and academy and writing a curriculum. What Fortis already had was now revised greatly. Kalila hardly argued with her son's thesis. Fortis found himself slightly confused by the odd feeling of wondering, on the one hand, how he got along without them, and on the other hand, how it seemed there was no transition at all. It was not just instant family, but instant partnership.
When at last they bid the Captain and his crew farewell, Fortis was looking forward to seeing their new home. At his request, the Council funded and Sheik Johnston built an all-wood structure with quite a large number of rooms for housing. His explanation for not having his students stay in tents, as most of the religion students did just a short distance away, was to prepare them for living in the rest of the galaxy. Fortis knew of no other planet where tents were the norm.
It had been a year and five months. George had been at the pole most of that time. Whatever he had negotiated bore significant fruit. Already Fortis was seeing message birds with reed-stiffened wings, and even a few with tiny motors. A new class of batteries were shipping, along with prepackaged wind chargers. One trading applicant had placed a permanent satellite in orbit, and four birds to fly up and dock with it. George had emphasized communications first, then began with the heavier machinery. Johnston Island had already installed high capacity wind generators in the city, one attached to the new foreign service academy.
Fortis was almost in shock, standing in his apartment, attached to the back side of the four-story building. Several modern conveniences he had not seen in over two years awaited him, with the power to run them. "This is the beginning of the end, Son." Samir agreed silently. Once Kalila absorbed the situation, she went to work making it home.
There were several messages from George waiting. It's not as if he had forgotten the new birds traveled faster than Fortis could reply. Rather, each was an update on the situation. The various trade deals and feelers for embassies were mounting quickly, but the one thing which caught his attention was the notice a small colony of "seekers" had set up, paying a premium for authentic tents outside the official Port facilities, with their own electric fence and the older light-sensitive charging system. At first, George was delighted with teaching religious mysticism, but it quickly became too great a burden. He had already called for and brought in a few religion professors, mostly out of retirement. Naturally, Fortis showed this to his wife and son.
They all stopped and prayed together in a small circle.
Fortis composed a condensed version of Samir's warning, had Kalila transcribe it, and sent it on one of the new fast birds, along with a summary of events.
The new students began arriving the next week.
It was to become the standard introductory lecture.
"You were warned before: Most of you will never make it back home to Misty. You must take Misty with you.
"Business and trade here on Misty will never proceed in a hurry. Wherever you go as trade ambassadors, do not allow anyone to create for you an atmosphere of dizzying rapid changes. Do not attempt to adapt yourself. If they want what we have, they must slow down to our pace once they get here. They must become acquainted with that pace through your services there.
"Recognize and make room for their ways of doing things on their turf. Nothing you do can change them, but your whole mission is to expose them to our ways. Trade is simply how we get their attention. Once in place, bring your world with you. Where you are, Misty is. We should expect Misty to outlive us, even if Misty as a physical reality is destroyed. Misty is how humanity should live, not because we are better than they, but because our centuries of peace and stability are the showcase of life lived God's way.
"We do not demand arrogantly anyone follow this way. We simply show it, offer it to those who feel drawn. Any part of Misty they can use, let them take it and make it their own. The very nature of Misty is loving sacrifice, not control."
It was more important the future ambassadors be deeply committed before they understood what they would face.
"You can memorize these lectures, know beyond all doubt what they mean, but if the words and ideas are all you know, I have failed. The words and ideas simply represent things for which there are no words. But this is what we have to work with, so I will provide for you a short list of concepts which must color all our studies, and continue to color your whole existence throughout the future.
"You must be transparent at all times. It matters not a whit what they hide, mask, emulate, or show. Find out what passes for brutal honesty and their culture and live there. Never step outside it for any reason, or you cease of have any reason for being there.
"Their needs, relative to what we can provide, must remain your ostensible mission. If they do not get the sense we care, we have nothing to offer. Cultivate business contacts on the basis of what you can do for them.
"At the same time, you have absolutely no control over the results. You go with a mandate to offer only what we have. There is no need for negotiating anything, because there are no exceptions for anyone. The only question is relative exchange value. If they cannot meet a certain minimum, you cannot help them. If you go and offer our best, you cannot possibly fail."
He had encouraged his wife and son to adopt the students as distant cousins, to make them feel at home. He was particularly interested in Samir's character to rub off on them, and to hear his predictions. If anyone became uncomfortable with it, they were given time to adjust. If they could not, they were allowed to go home. Until they passed the initial test of shock, the details of the broader galactic culture and laws would mean little.
By now, the new message birds made the round trip to the pole in less than a week. George backed Samir's expectations. The colony of seekers were at first content to absorb the slow pace of life, and learn first hand what mattered most to folks on Misty. Some got it, and returned home with a fresh other-worldly perspective. They knew it hardly mattered where your body resided, what mattered was whether your spirit lived. That they had previously been the cutting edge of their respective cultures gave them leverage to share the message.
As time went on, though, the groups were larger, and less pure in their motives. Natural the Misty's teachers was the ability to discern and cull the herd, as it were, to ensure those who were open got what they came for, and the rest were fed a strict diet of religious law. It was the best they could do. Knowing there would arise a cultic false version did not justify purging the seekers of those so minded. In due time, they separated themselves. A precious few were allowed to graduate and visit Johnston Island.
They paid their way, as it were, by guest lecturing on whatever suited them before the foreign service classes. It always provide Fortis with a depth and a chance to show how such things could be evaluated. But truly, seeing Johnston Island was so very much like seeing the rest of Misty, it was as far as they were ever allowed. A short stay, then back to the Polar Space Port.
George established flexible policies as things developed. So it was with Fortis graduating his students, some were ready early, and some took longer. So at about the same time the first few graduates embarked as passengers on ships returning to their new homes as trade consuls, it became necessary to restrict travel for off-worlders. Several science missions had come to evaluate what made energy fields fail on Misty. The results were inconclusive, but simply confirmed it with solid evidence.
So as more and better equipment were being designed to work for sale on Misty, so were the technologies for travel. That is, some proposed to bring aircraft too expensive for trade, but for their own use in facilitating contacts on Misty. Even after being warned, some brought them anyway. George had to threaten armed force more than once, and only superior numbers against the small bodyguard allowed prevented worse trouble. It was only the necessity of using smaller ships to land in the limited space, to actually have a chance to trade, which kept some from bringing troop ships to force things. Plus, the activity created enough of a scent to draw the predators. Apparently swimming from island to island, they were now fairly numerous outside the fence.
George had known all along it was only a matter of time. Something had warned him even before Samir's message came, which simply put into words what his spirit knew. He did his best to slow the approach of trouble, not because he had any hope of stopping it, but to give Fortis ample time to plant the seeds of truth in enough fertile minds to ensure the ultimate mission of Misty would continue.
Meanwhile, the message birds quickly spread the need to anticipate efforts by the off-world traders to corrupt Misty. The Council quickly agreed, nothing could be called an improvement if it compromised the nature of their existence.
The first infiltrator stowed away in an equipment crate. When it arrived at the port of destination, he was found when the stevedores opened the crate which was too big to fit on any wagons. He was held at the harbor, then returned on the next ship to the Pole.
The next three were caught a little farther along their path, as they gained better understanding of life on Misty. Each was caught simply because they were forced to lie, and were caught at it. It's not as if people on Misty didn't deceive each other at times, but there was no room in the culture for winning that way. The social penalties were too excessive. It was apparently the hardest lesson for the traders to learn.
Eventually, they caught on, and managed to avoid any confrontations with citizens until they were near their targets. At first, it was simply trying to gain a confederate in any of the clans who would work with them on bypassing George's controls. When the first few offers were rejected, and no terms seemed sweet enough to tempt their targets, there was a lull in the espionage for a time.
Eventually the efforts shifted mostly to seeking direct access to resources and to the technology. However, whatever it was making energy fields fail on Misty was somehow related to how the technologies worked, and most copies were easily spotted as imitations. When one fellow managed to spirit out a small load of cut wood, and attempted to apply heat, moisture and pressure as was done on Misty, the result was pulp, not something nearly as hard as iron. Then came the ships attempting to land on the isolated northern islands. But this was dicey at best, requiring craft with extensive chemical-based maneuver capabilities, and almost no spot they landed was large enough to establish facilities.
When the rangers discovered the remnants of a couple of failed efforts, George -- indeed, the whole Council of Sheiks -- wondered how much longer things would hold up. The culture and laws were resilient enough, and the forced primitive conditions which made Misty such a perfect home for them, were doing quite well. The magnitude of what they had to trade, and how much they could use in exchange, limited the possibilities. The traders were not the problem.
The final threat came to life almost unnoticed. Kalila spotted a small notice within the hyperspace radio traffic. It was a fragment using terminology she had not seen before. She asked Fortis about it, and he almost dismissed it. Then something clicked.
"It's a debate invitation. Some religious philosophy group is hosting a debate not too far from here, in terms of space travel. Now I remember them. Nasty bunch, because they talk about peace, but it's just a code word for crushing any thing which smacks of dissent. They are just about as opposite from us as can be, because they cling to serious legalism. They proclaim something which sounds like mysticism, but is in disguise entirely rational and logical. They were outlawed several times in different parts of the galaxy because they spawned fascist movements. I thought they were gone. Keep an eye on this."
He consulted his spooler, then gave her a list of terms and names likely to be connected. That night he had a long discussion with Samir.
"You know, Son, we've seen the energy weapons continue to fail here. We've seen the scientists puzzle over what causes it, and not yet find out. Do you suppose they'll ever get past that?"
Samir thought for a moment. "For now, I feel certain God Himself is doing it. That's not meant to be simplistic dodge, but I honestly believe it's an ongoing miracle."
Fortis, looked down a moment, then raised his head, cocked it to one side. "Let's assume that's fact. Science will not get past the failure of energy fields here. Nothing we have justifies an invasion in terms of resources, so training troops in the use of weapons which work here would not be worth it. What would be worth it?"
"False religion."
"So if some crazy madman gets stirred up by demon gods, what could he do to attack us? How could we be threatened?"
"It's must a matter of physics. Something small and fast, or really big at just about any speed, and it will work here. We've had people in the past build catapults, didn't we?"
Fortis froze. The image of the crater came to his mind again.
Urgent message to Port Master Manley, from Professor Plimick.
Death and destruction are very near. There is a way to attack Misty, and there is a motive. We need to discuss possible evacuation for those so inclined.
It had been some five years since Samir had last traveled. That had been the start of his new life as the adopted son of Fortis. Now his heart was sad, as he bore a dark mission. While it held the promise of yet another new life, it meant leaving the magnificent cocoon that was Misty, and facing danger no one could imagine.
He was very relieved when Master Manley himself met his ship at the dock on Pole Island. The parallels were too fitting. He dropped to one knee, but was immediately lifted by a George still vigorous, and hugged warmly. "So, I finally get to meet the son of Fortis! Welcome, Samir."
"Forgive me, Sir, but I cannot let this wait another moment." He produced his pocked computer, displaying the summary of the documents and notes from his father.
George cradled in his hands and read as he led the way toward the Space Port facilities. Samir tried not to notice the armed guards and their Gauss rifles.
Once they reached his office, George had just finished the summary. Looking up, he said, "This fascist cult planet is practically next door. Obviously they have managed to infiltrate their agents into the seekers compound. I wondered why there was a recent revival of interest, when the initial buzz had finally died away. That would explain the notice which arrived today."
High level trade documents and treaties were usually burned into a type of plastic sheet which, once finalized, could not be altered without obvious signs of tampering. This one demanded Misty recant of the mystical elements, and stick to the law portions of their religion. It came from the star system which claimed sovereignty over the local sector of the galaxy. Naturally, that sector held mostly empty star systems, a field of gas and dust clouds, and two inhabited planets: theirs and Misty.
No one was disputing these claims, for obvious reasons. They had made enough deals with enough bankers and such to ensure nary a peep. Now that Misty's luxury goods were no longer a novelty, and efforts to duplicate proved fruitless, and the supply was pretty much permanently limited, the traders had moved on to other growing markets. This other planet had managed to negotiate for proxies for just about every trade partner, and those would come into force within a year.
Naturally, Misty would submit to changes in trade, but not the other matters. Someone would eventually come back for an answer, and George had no intention of hiding anything. Nor did he need to seek permission from the Council, which had already agreed on this long ago.
Clearly, the question was not whether they would be attacked, but when. Then, it was a matter how quickly the attack proceeded, and whether the fascists could muster the resources to finish them off. Given the situation, George agreed with Fortis it would probably be quick and total, once it began.
"Does your father plan to evacuate?"
"For obvious reasons, he is willing to stay. So it is with my mother and I." Samir's eyes were shining.
"I advise you to all to go. You and anyone else who feels called to it. There will be plenty of death; Misty will soon be no more. A general evacuation is simply not possible. Frankly, the fascists will do all they can to prevent it."
George turned and faced out the window. From time to time, ships would simply appear or disappear. Their numbers were smaller these days, but their size remained substantial. He was owed some favors and it was time to call them in, but time was short.
"I'm going to make sure the whole planet knows what is coming. We don't have secrets here on Misty. Time and resources alone will decide who leaves, once people have searched their own hearts." George was reaching for message composer.
"Is it not odd, those most likely to stay are the ones we would like to go?" Samir smiled gently.
"You'll be staying until your parents arrive, I'm sure. Would you like the meet some of the seekers? I'm sure they would benefit from talking with you!" George ordered an attendant to escort Samir to the compound.
It took Fortis a month to close down the academy. He sailed with the last group of graduates. Upon arriving at Pole Island, he was surprised at how few citizens of Misty were evacuating. George had managed to find berths, and even a few jobs for some of them, with the shipping lines. The graduates had their assignments, and Fortis had his old position still open and reaffirmed each year so far. George had no plans to go.
There were no grand speeches, no rituals, just a quiet activity of moving those who wanted to leave. People went in groups or individually to make the best of whatever future they found scattered across the galaxy. No official census, but whatever accumulated list of contacts where sent back by ship. Once out of the cloudy envelope, communications were almost always instantaneous across the far reaches of human space. Misty was now out there, as well as here.
It was Fortis himself who wrote the official epitaph for his Anthropology Department texts.
Excerpt from: Dalorius Four, AKA Misty.
When the fascist government of .... learned the inhabitants were unwilling to conform, they wasted no time in using the only weapon of attack which would work. Using large mining ships with tractor fields, they towed random chunks of space debris into the gravity well of Dalorius, since there were no asteroids in that star system. It wasn't too complicated to calculate the point of entry which would drop these frozen stones onto the planet's surface. After some 53 hours of continuous bombardment, the planet broke apart. Today, Dalorius star system now has an asteroid belt place of the fourth planet.
But Misty cannot die. Wherever anyone reaches out to the Creator, transcending what mere man can do, think or understand, and embrace the eternal truth for which there are no words, Misty is there.
By Ed Hurst
03 January 2010
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