A digest from the Anthropologist's report on Dalorius Four: Dalorius Four is known locally as Misty. The inhabitants of Misty maintain a fairly stable tribal social and political structure, though internecine warfare is not unknown. The economy is Eastern Feudalism, with a highly evolved form of indirect barter. The primary economic activity is subsistence agriculture and resource extraction. Lacking any significant mineral resources, the primary advancements are in biology, particularly breeding flora and fauna for specific uses. They are noted for having gained significant mastery in using microorganisms to enhance their products. Technology is limited to non-metallic products, such as nano-computer circuitry, and non-metallic electrical generation, storage and transmission. The planet suffers many disadvantages in interstellar trade, sometimes lacking trading partners for long periods. They traditionally prefer to trade through monopolistic proxies. During better times, they export a wide range of luxury goods made from natural materials: woods, fabrics, ceramics and animal hides.
Fortis joined George in the lower deck, feeding, brushing and cleaning up behind the animals. He learned the common term for them was "coursers." During the journey across the polar island, it seemed they ate all the grass they could get. Once onboard, they grew eerily quiescent, eating far less of the dried forage stowed below deck for them.
George explained, "This long period of inactivity is very hard on them. When we dock, they'll need some hard riding."
"Does that fit in with our planned activities on Johnston Island?"
"Well, no. They are borrowed, as is the ship and the wagon. The food was provided, as well. Only the tent and a few belongings are actually my personal baggage. So when we land, the Harbor Master will take possession of them and notify the owner." George began gathering the tools and climbed to the rear deck.
Fortis followed. "Give me the bigger picture. Somehow my arrival, or that of any other visitor, must be quite significant, because this represents a substantial investment."
George began pulling his personal baggage out of the wagon, setting it on the deck. "When we discerned the time was ripe for expecting a peaceful contact, the Council of Sheiks met and decided it was worth ensuring there would always be someone on station at our primitive space port at all times. The task was delegated and elders were selected from each tribe, by clan, and various promises were made for exchange of goods to offset the costs for Clan Johnston. This is the closest clan home to the pole, and all of us selected for the welcome committee are being hosted here," waving his hand at the now visible island.
Fortis saw a low, gently sloping green hump rising from the sea. He had learned to expect trees at the lower elevations, with grass on the higher lands, but nothing much higher than a few meters. Aside from natural springs or wells, the only water was from the sea. While extensive research and development had made desalination a relatively minor task, so that even the ship itself relied on it, there was also an industry in capturing the night mists as cheaper and less troublesome. Water was easier to move and distribute when it was already uphill from the users. George had showed him the water collection tubing built into his tent, and the bladder where it was held.
As they drew closer, Fortis could see the clan banner atop a pole mounted on the hill nearest their southern approach. It was yellow, with a purple geometric design. He also saw a large number of wildly colorful fabrics fluttering and moving around the pole, apparently randomly scattered. "Are those water captures?"
Glancing up, George smiled. "No, those are kites. We encourage kite making by students and hobbyists. The wind is a major natural resource, and we are constantly seeking improved means for harvesting its power. Kite design over the centuries has yielded significant advancements, both in materials and shapes. Clan Johnston is a leader in this endeavor."
As George continued loading the loose equipment into the wagon, or stowing on the ship, Fortis stared silently at the kites. "Privilege and reputation are a major item of exchange, then?"
"Very perceptive!" George laughed. "Which brings up an important issue. You are currently the most valuable commodity on this planet."
Fortis turned red with embarrassment. Stammering, "I... I'm used to being treated well... But I hardly see myself..."
"Think in symbols, Fortis. If all you do is send your ship and spooler home, we will in a few years have trade missions coming to visit. Our few surviving metal imports are nearly worn out. It's not just better equipment we need, but just keeping our current level of comfort requires replacement. Naturally, human comfort itself is a mirage from the mystical viewpoint, but keeping ourselves alive and productive is critical to far greater concerns."
"Some rising threat to the galaxy?" Fortis remembered the previous hints, but had respectfully waited for George to discuss it at his leisure.
"That, but you would almost be missing the point if that were the whole matter. We do see a major threat, and we believe we have a solution, in a manner of speaking. But that in itself is the means to a greater end. The threat is a symptom of some deep darkness, for lack of a better term." George finished moving his personal baggage to the foredeck.
Fortis joined him at the steering controls one last time, as the stone and wood dock was now visible as the nearest fixture they were approaching. George continued, "The part you play as a fellow mystic lies entirely in your hands. I'm sure you'll want to learn as much as possible, but at some point the rest of the galaxy needs to know we are here. We must cultivate an acceptance for our uniqueness, as we seek to rebuild what has fallen in the wider galactic human culture. There are no words for it, but I believe you already know, in some sense. No one can stop the ultimate end of humankind, but we dare not let the light be extinguished, and the portal to the Other Realm be lost."
There was excited shouting from the pier. Someone was out on the end, calling back to several others in front of the first solid man-made building Fortis had seen so far. He could just make out carefully stacked stones in varying shades of gray on the lower floor, and what appeared pale yellow-brown wood on the second. The peaked roof was almost black, like slate. From inside the large open door on the bottom floor, directly facing the pier, came running several other figures. Unlike George, with his robe down below the knees, these wore uniformly shorter garments, cut just above their knees. They also had more color than George's somber gray and brown. While the elder had small hints of red and green, these men wore various shades of blue and purple, with yellow trim. Fortis' anthropologist frame of reference drank in the details of the scene.
The young men on the end of the peer were waving and chattering as they lifted long poles grappling hooks. Two were holding the ends of large, tan colored straps. George manipulated the controls and the sails slipped together in stacks. Glancing down, Fortis could see the bottom was sloping gently upward into view. George pulled a lever and there was the sound of splashing under the vessel as it suddenly slowed, and they were less than a meter from the end of the pier. Once the grapplers had pulled the boat tightly alongside the dock, the straps were snaked around fixtures on the pontoons. Each was anchored in a large roll around a small, narrow drum, with a crank handle. The two men quickly cranked in the slack as the port side pontoon was pulled tighly against some sort of pale colored cushioning of a material Fortis could not identify. The ship was now solidly attached to the dock.
The chatter never slowed. Fortis recognized it as an oddly inflected version of Standard Galactic, but it was clear some of the words were being used differently, rather like slang. There were hugs and back slapping with George and each of the young workers. Finally, George freed himself, stepped back and made a formal introduction Fortis understood. "Gentlemen, I would like you all to meet Doctor Fortis Plimick, Interstellar Anthropologist."
The men bowed half-way to waist level almost in unison. The eldest alone rose and spoke, this time in clear Galactic. "Doctor Plimick, on behalf of Clan Johnston, we welcome you to our home. Please be so kind as to tell us your slightest whims, that we may have the honor of assisting you."
With George's meaningful look, Fortis made a quick estimate of the situation, then bowed somewhat less than the workers had. "Men, I am grateful for your hospitality." Then, straightening up, he assayed a joke. "For now, I believe what would serve me best is getting off this boat."
The men laughed and cleared a path for him, as George gestured Fortis lead the way, bowing slightly himself. As he cleared the knot of men and turned toward the head of the pier, Fortis saw a trio of older men, noted their slightly longer robes, smiling broadly. While certainly more relaxed than most protocols he had seen, Fortis realized there would be a strong undercurrent of ceremony every where he went.
He was glad for the moment the odd flat topography of Misty meant the pier was at least a couple hundred meters long. Turning his face to George, just a half step behind on the left, he spotted the bow and sword hilt projecting above the shoulders again. Half smiling, "George, don't let me make of fool of myself."
"You're doing fine, Fortis. The burden of flexibility falls to your hosts, and they would probably laugh at themselves before daring to think anything you said or did was silly. They'll be relieved to find you so relaxed and friendly, because if you were a tyrant, they would be obliged to cater to your demands."
Fortis had met such men, even in his own profession where it was such a hindrance. Behind them was the sound of men working to unload the animals and wagon, while one trailed a few paces behind them lugging George's gear. With part of his mind, Fortis noted the forest grew within a couple of meters of the shore, but had been cleared back a bit from the small harbor. Across the way were a pair of shorter piers with a scattering of smaller boats tied up, including one which had no pontoons. It was rather long and sleek, with a ribbed hull, and a single mast for the complicated framework of the stiff curved sails used on Misty. Fortis noticed the boat when he caught out of the corner of his the movement of someone climbing over the side onto the dock, and rapidly pacing toward the head of the short pier. He was dressed more like George than anyone else Fortis could see.
Of the men waiting for them on this pier, Fortis saw two of them, of middling age, with dark blue, and patches of other colors. The other, much older, was wearing mostly mostly black, including leggings. Fortis stopped a comfortable distance away, and they bowed, bending only slightly at the waist. Fortis matched it, as George stepped forward and made the same formal introduction as before. The eldest man in black was Harbor Master Wendell Johnston. George didn't name the other two. The Harbor Master was just as formal as the eldest worker who first greeted him, with a similar offer of hospitality. He even asked if Fortis had any personal baggage he could carry.
At this, the younger man in blue relieved the worker of George's gear. Fortis held out empty hands, deciding humor was working well with these people. "I haven't lacked for anything so far, but I suppose I shall have to acquire some."
The Master chuckled, and turned to George. "Elder Manley, it's good to know you gave proper care to our esteemed vistor. You will see Francis here about proper equipment before you travel to the city," he said indicating the elder of the pair in blue. He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a shout. The figure who had left the fancy boat on the other pier was striding quickly toward them. He wore colors which matched the Johnston clan banner, but with large panels of gray. Glancing back at George, he noticed the similarities of style, and decided tentatively the gray was related to their profession or relative position in society, and the other colors marked clan affiliation. It was at least partially confirmed by the greeting.
George stepped forward to intercept the man. "Elder Bradley! How nice to see you again."
He wore large grin, and spoke with broad sarcasm. "So, you just couldn't wait for me to come and help. You have to drag this poor visitor up here in a hurry without any of his personal baggage. What is Misty coming to?"
There was hearty laughter all around, the two men in blue stepping back a bit. The Master spoke up, "Elder Bradley, were just discussing that. Manley, do your duty."
The ritual was familiar by now, and Fortis bowed just slightly from the shoulders, as Elder Bradley bowed from the waist about one-quarter. He decided it was really up to him to discern from the context what was the proper depth to bow.
Bradley continued, "I suppose there is no hurry now for me to chase the currents and winds to the pole, unless I just want to see the latest technology in space travel."
George produced his electronic sheet, unrolled it, tapped and stroked the face a few times, then showed an image of the ship. Apparently the device served several purposes, rather like personal communication devices, but without the communications. Everyone gathered around to see, but Fortis was suddenly struck by a thought.
"Elder Bradley, did we catch you about to relieve George on his watch at the space port?" Fortis rested one hand lightly on a pocket.
"Indeed! While he prefers the coursers and wagons, I just sail my little craft up the inlet on the far side. It crosses inside the polar flat, leaving me just a day's walk from the pole itself." His accent was much closer to George's than anyone else there.
Fortis turned to George. "Can you zoom that image closer on the legs?" George did so, then turned it back for Fortis to see. Motioning Bradley closer, he pointed to the platform still extended. "Right next to this, on the right side, is tiny little circle which opens if you press on it." Bradley signified he understood, with a quizzical look.
Producing the spooler from his pocked, Fortis handed it to the elder. "When you do get there, please press this into that receptacle. Then step away from the ship, as it will disappear, which will create a momentary vacuum. It could kick up some rocks or other debris."
The two elders stared at each other wordlessly. George smiled and gave a single, faint nod of his head. Bradley clutched the spooler in both hands to his chest, and his face took on a very serious look. "I was planning to leave first thing in the morning. I'll be sure to carry out your wishes."
For the first time, Fortis noticed insects. The polar island had been devoid of anything except grass. Though George had mentioned the possibility of predators, they had seen no sign of life other than themselves and the coursers. He had spotted a few sea birds while sailing, and there were just a few more randomly wheeling over the harbor. He wondered if any of flying insects would bite, but no one else seemed concerned, not even having to wave them off. They were simply there.
The man called Francis led Fortis and George through the large open doorway of the shipping warehouse. Through the gloom of the windowless open space, Fortis spied another opening on the opposite side, a rather solid gate over a doorway too wide for simple human traffic. The other side must have been somewhat open, because in the light he could see wisps of dried grass scattered on the stone floor, rather like the fodder they had given the coursers during the voyage north from the polar island. The three of them mounted an airy but solid wooden stairway up, Fortis trailing. He heard the sound of the coursers planting their heavy feet on the pavement, then watched them being led in the wide doorway as one of the young workers trotted ahead to open the gate. From this angle, over the backs of the animals he could also see the warehouse was filled ceiling to floor with racks and shelves, and broad aisles. His last glimpse was of long, thin curved planks, and what appeared to be the tip of a pontoon.
They entered the upper story almost dead center in the long building. A row of chairs backed on the railing, similar to the chairs George left packed in the wagon, but with heavier frames. The fabric was more carefully tailored to accommodate the human form, and there were armrests. The chairs faced an unpolished, but very finely crafted wooden counter, separated by a wide space of what looked like seamless ceramic flooring, buffed in the center where traffic was the heaviest, semi-reflective elsewhere. After arranging the baggage on the counter, Francis ducked behind a curtained opening into a back room.
Fortis glanced out the back window over the stairs and saw a tent awning over what he took to be the corral. To his left was on open doorway and what appeared to be offices of some sort. In the other direction was a partially enclosed dining area, with an open buffet of some sort, as steam was rising from parts of the counter. Brightly colored serving handles stood at various angles just barely in line of sight. Smells of cooked food teased him. Three large tables with stools scattered about them were currently empty. Fortis estimated the evening meal was not so far off, and wondered what combination of workers or guests ate here. There was a window on the far wall. In the distance were several tents, some over frames he guessed were permanent.
His attention returned to the counter as Francis brought out first two very slender pack frames, which Fortis recognized by the curvature. There were a number of quick release straps of various widths. An assistant brought out another frame with small wheels, and a folded handle. He placed it on the floor at the end of the counter, disappeared inside the curtain only to pop back out with two slender bags, colored bright orange.
George turned to him, with one hand on the counter. Pointing to the rig where Francis was fastening the folded tent over the long orange bags, "Those are hammocks. In the forest the insects and other creatures like to climb into your warm bed if you are on the ground, or even on a raised cot. Forest rangers maintain camping spots where there are pairs of large trees spaced for tents and hammocks. The bright color is to prevent them getting lost in the half light of morning when we pack up."
Fortis fingered the padding on one of the pack frames on which now a bedroll and a near empty pack was attached. Fortis had never been an athlete, nor had he been particularly lazy. But the extent of his physical exertions until now had been the automated training devices which stimulated the muscles while he lay quiescent, spooling yet more anthropological studies into his brain. Once or twice he had visited planets where walking was more common, but nothing like several days of hiking. He had already discovered muscles on the journey so far, and his body seemed to respond, but he was past his prime. Still, he was determined to face what ever was ahead, seeing George was obviously quite a bit older.
George responded to the unspoken question on Francis' face, "Lance." He turned to Fortis. "I take it you have nothing which resembles military training?"
Both is eyebrows shot up as Fortis shook his head. "Only the typical rough and tumble of boys and their wild imaginations of improbable combat skill."
George chuckled. "In my experience, people with virtually no skill can still make reasonable use of these." Francis laid along the length of the counter a pole made of that marvelous light wood. The center half was textured for gripping, and the diameter was a comfortable grip, indeed. One end slightly tapered, with an abrupt point. The other end smoothly tapered to a pale off-white tip. Rising back from this sharp point was a wicked trio of blades, long as an extended hand, each a half-finger width at the back, and barbed.
Fortis touched an edge lightly with his finger. It was sharp, but not like a razor. "What is this material?"
"Specialized ceramic. Only in the desert region can we produce enough heat to fuse the ingredients together, but it's as hard as almost any metal, without being brittle."
Fortis grasped it below the tip, leaned a little weight on it. Tilting his head toward it, "And just why is it so important I carry a weapon?"
George looked falsely pained by the implication he was hiding something from him. "Why, Fortis -- there are predators in the forest." Then he smiled slyly. "More than one kind."
Fortis tried on his backpack, then they piled everything in a corner near the door. George shrugged out of his weapon harness and placed it on top of the pile. He turned to Fortis. "Hungry?"
Francis hurried past them into the dining area and prepared two large platters. Fortis had no idea what some of it was, but realized he was quite hungry, and it smelled inviting. Rather than the mostly dried fare on their journey, and the boiled fish he forced himself to eat, this was much nicer food. Travel food was okay, even good, but nothing replaced the smell of fresh hot bread and seasoned stew.
Francis disappeared and the two ate almost silently. Fortis was sucking on some kind of fruit, while George gazed out the window. "We have just enough time to reach the village. We'll need the tent to set out for a day to fully charge, and it will give us time to arrange an escort."
Fortis dropped the empty fruit husk on his otherwise empty platter. "Soldiers?"
George chuckled. "No, there are no standing armies here. Each clan does have one House at Arms, traditionally a single extended family whose men are professional warriors, but they generally serve as bodyguards for the Sheik. There are forest rangers and field rangers, and they do have police powers, but their work keeps them too busy for much else. We will be seeking hunters, men who get paid mostly for hides of select wild animals. However, they also get commissions to ferret out troublemakers."
"So there's no such place as Paradise, where everyone behaves nicely." Fortis remembered the hundreds of types of criminals scattered about the galaxy.
Rising, George pushed his stool neatly under the edge of the table. Fortis copied the action. They had hardly reached their piled gear when the sound of many feet pounded up the stairs. The crew was coming to dinner. Francis' assistant barely managed to clear their platters before the tables were filled with the men who worked in the harbor. Fortis and George exchanged goodbyes with the men who had met them on the pier, while everyone eyed Fortis.
He realized his coveralls and light jacket were probably utterly foreign, as everyone Fortis had seen wore tunics and robes. His own suit was a standard issue to anthropologists. The high tech fibers worked to keep in sufficient moisture in dry climates, keep out excess wetness in swamps and rain, changed shades of gray to meet the glaring heat of sunny worlds, and generally acted like a second skin. Here on Misty, it remained resolutely slate colored. Most bacteria were neutralized and he could wear it for long periods without bathing, if necessary. He had followed George's example of washing from a small tub and simply dealt with the shocking cold of wet skin in the breeze of the cool climate this close to the pole.
The men here all wore beards, some trimmed in various ways, some not trimmed, but none shaved. Their hair was typically down on the collar. George had lighter hair, a medium brown visible in the gray, compared to a rather darker brown on men native to Johnston Island. Fortis had nearly blond hair, but had his face surgically denuded of hair follicles when young, as was the fashion in college. The only other completely smooth face he had seen was a fellow with darker skin and almond shaped eyes. Surely the clans on Misty were varied ethnic backgrounds, who mixed on some level. Still, Fortis made it a point to keep in mind his appearance naturally drew stares.
He and George lifted the little cart between them and walked down the stairway. Out on the open pavement, George pulled the cart and turned towards the woodline. In the rocky shore, larger rocks had been carefully laid to form a solid, flat road leading in a broad curve toward the trees. Fortis shifted the lance a couple of times between his hands. The backpack was comfortable enough, but he had never worn anything that heavy on his shoulders. He would be sore by tomorrow, even after the short hike he was promised would take them to the nearest village.
George seemed utterly at peace. "We aren't likely to see any wild predators this close to so much human activity, at least not until after nightfall. Even then, they would be too small to do much harm, and they don't run in herds. It's the humans we need to watch for."
George adjusted his weapons, now mounted on his pack frame. "Specific customs vary from clan to clan, but in general, there are three types of people who might trouble us on the road. There are men with training who went rogue, men exiled for some crime which did not warrant execution or prison, and the third kind is some local punk who hasn't yet grown up. The last are the easiest to handle. They run in packs, but run if you resist well. The exiles are executed if caught harassing anyone, period. The rogues are the most dangerous. They are also exceedingly rare, because they have a price on their heads."
They had gone a couple hundred meters into the woods, when George stopped. "Take a good notice of the smells." He waited a few moments. "The sea air is gone. By tomorrow, the smell of it will be gone from our clothes. I want you to become conscious of the background smells, noises, the full environment wherever you are. Most of the time, when there is trouble, something in that background will change, change enough to give you some clue. Your subconscious mind will tell you, if you learn how to listen."
Fortis made a note to begin cataloging more than standard human effects around him. He wasn't quite ready to move, but George abruptly began walking again. The rocks paving the road had disappeared under a thin covering of pulverized vegetation. On the edges of the narrow road, it was still visible as leaves, twigs, and such. Aside from the muffled sounds of their feet on this surface, the walk was altogether silent. Fortis struggled slightly to match the long stride of George's lanky legs. The elder's pack was heavier, and he drew the little cart behind him, but it was clear he had done this for years.
It was some two hours when the trees parted on a wide open circle, filled with tents of all sizes. Only two lacked the obvious internal framing. There was a single stone building off to one side. In the center was a large cistern, a stone wall waist high. Above it was a complicated framework with fabric panels tilted at various angles -- a mist collector. There was some space between the tents and the fencing Fortis now recognized. They passed between two tall posts where strands of the charged fencing was rolled up, waiting to be connected at nightfall. At various points around this oval perimeter, nearly a half kilometer across the longest section, were small vertical windmills just high enough to capture the breeze at the tops of the trees.
George walked to an open area not far from the cistern and began unpacking the tent. A few children ran up to watch, shyly staring at Fortis. George began singing some strange little ditty, obviously a song for children, but the words were in that odd local patois. They began chiming in, dancing and prancing, performing silly dramatic moves in unison. The noise blended in with the background sounds of people and a few domestic animals. There were smells of late cooking, baking perhaps. Fortis congratulated himself on trying to be conscious of these things. He also noticed most of the children lost interest, drifting away, only a pair left sitting with their backs against the cistern still watching.
The tent was rather compact, not fully extended as on the polar island. George dragged his baggage inside the tent, and Fortis followed suit. A female voice outside sounded, "Helloooo!"
George motioned Fortis to stay, and stepped to the entrance. They chattered in the local dialect, which Fortis was just beginning to follow somewhat. He unrolled a thin double layered fabric mat which would fill slowly with air by itself. The glow patches were already starting to put out some feeble illumination, and Fortis guessed the batteries were still carrying a charge after nearly a month. While the technology was surely different, they must have been at least as good as those available anywhere in the galaxy. Picking at his pack frame, he discovered it folded open to form a back rest.
George turned and closed the curtain over the entrance. "The village busybody. Actually, it's her job to keep track of visitors, because some would have to pay a fee, as it were. As we are on Council business, she was much more interested in our mission. Too interested, if you ask me, but I've come to expect it, passing through here at least twice each year for the past decade. I wasn't going to lie. I simply didn't tell her everything. Don't know if she keeps track, but I'm a week early. Our rotation on the Welcome Committee is every four weeks. With travel time between here and pole, it means I pass through here one way at the beginning of the southern winter, and the other way at the beginning of spring."
"So it's not quite spring." Fortis rolled this in his mind a bit. "The axial tilt of Misty isn't that large, so this close to the pole, the temperature variation is slightly greater than in the lower latitudes. But it's slightly cooler in the first place. That means just a few degrees warmer in the summer?"
"You would hardly notice," said George. "The winds come up just a bit more."
Fortis suddenly looked up. "You don't have much time to go very far from here the rest of the year."
George smiled. "My wife and I stay near the capital. The Welcoming Committee has a small village out in a meadow. Most of us teach at the academy, but a few contract out other skills during our time on the Island."
"Do all of you hike between the city and the harbor?"
"No, most of them take a ferry. Two fellows keep coursers because they want to travel alone. They take the open routes on higher ground, which is much longer distance wise."
Fortis sat on the ground, and leaned back on his pack frame. "You normally travel alone, too." Fortis was wondering if this would drag any more revelations from the elder.
"The biggest risk for you is not actual danger to your well being, but the rather high likelihood of being kidnapped. Aside from the handful of men at the harbor, no one knows you have, in effect, already notified your superiors of what you found here. I suggest we keep it that way for now, because it will keep you alive."
George busied himself making his own bed. That done, leaning back against his own pack frame, he looked directly at Fortis. "At the same time, I have to confess you are a pawn. I am utterly certain it will all turn out well, but we do have two of our thirty eight clans playing intrigue games. We aren't sure which they are."
Fortis ventured, "So if anything happens on the way, you narrow down who it might be because of the connections with who knows."
George smiled proudly. "Brilliant!" Then, "The mystic knows, in human society, you cannot trust any other human, because you cannot trust yourself. Yet mystics of all people know we must act. And you still have to give others room to act, and sometimes justice means waiting until they do the wrong you know they are planning. In the middle of our deep concern for the whole of humanity, we still have to fight human lusts in our midst."
Closing his eyes, George let his head fall back to rest against the cushion on the pack frame. Fortis' legs were quite stiff, and his bottom was numb. But he hardly noticed his body as George continued. "It's unlikely the two sheiks are involved themselves, but someone highly placed in both of these two clans is seeking an inappropriate leverage against the others. The Council itself is unaware of this; it's something only the mystics have caught onto."
"Is there some sort of shadow council of mystics?"
Shaking his head, George snorted. "You know better than that." He sat up, folding his long legs in front of him. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he gazed directly at Fortis. "Mystics among themselves never organize except ad hoc. We have no official authority as mystics, only that each of us here holds various roles which grant us an opportunity to act in small ways. Normally all we would do is watch and see what happens and compare notes. We've been doing that through the routine traffic across Misty."
George took a sip from his water bag. "If this crazy cabal succeeds, they will prevent any of us leaving Misty. In times past, that was not an issue, but the other mystics in the galaxy are being crushed. We must infiltrate mystics into other worlds. Without at least a few shreds of mysticism, the entire human race will destroy itself. With just a little, we can change the flavor of all humanity."
He was running through the forest, ducking under limbs, darting through underbrush, jumping over fallen logs. They were behind him and gaining. In a small clearing, he spotted a tiny hut. He ran inside and closed the door firmly behind him. Turning around, he saw it was a bakery, and the smell of fresh bread was strong. Would it cover his scent?
Then he sat bolt upright in his bed. Fortis blinked, stiff and sore, but not immobile. Turning his head, he saw George holding a half-eaten small loaf of freshly baked bread, a mug in the other hand.
"So, you have escaped. What was chasing you?"
Fortis began fumbling for his boots. "Giant insects with human faces."
"That would do it. I'd run, too. Your thrashing the last half hour provided a perfect cover. Fortunately you weren't vocalizing, as that would ruin my story." George took another bite of bread, set down the mug and pulled a few dark berries from a bowl.
"Cover story? To whom, and regarding what?" Fortis noted the fresh bread was the strongest smell coming from the basket between them.
"That busybody woman. She nearly ran me over trying to barge in here with this marvelous breakfast. She's never given me a second glance in the past few years, but today she makes a desperate ploy of to get inside the tent. Your thrashing allowed me the excuse you were still dressing, and indecent. I barely restrained her."
Fortis found the stiffness hardly restrained his impulse to dig into the food. But the faint cool on the sea became a bit of chill in the forest, so he reached for his jacket.
George held up his hand, "Wait. I want you try out the forest cloak in your bag."
"Forest cloak?" Fortis opened the top of his pack and found a large rolled bundle of fabric. Pulling it out, he saw an interesting cloth of mixed colored threads, resulting generally in a brown appearance. He shrugged into it and found it fairly light, yet feeling substantial and warm. "Nice. Why?"
George finished off his food, pushed the basket toward Fortis and sat back on his bed. As Fortis began pulling out warm bread and cheese. George poured him a mug of tea, and refilled his own. "We need to stay together, but I need to find where the old men gather. In a village this size, there are always a few retired woodsmen or something, men who know what's going on, and can help us find some hunters for our escort. Someone in this village really wants to get a look at you, so while we are out, you should wear the hood."
Fortis felt for it, then continued eating. Life on Misty created an appetite he never knew could be so powerful. Between mouthfulls, "Is there some danger in them seeing me?"
"I don't know, but whomever it is seems to think it matters, so we'll deny them if we can." George stood and strapped on his sword. It hung just off his right shoulder, and it occurred to Fortis George was probably left-handed.
It didn't take long to find a knot of older men gathered in front of an open tent. A middle aged man stood behind a counter with his heating plates, one supporting a sizzling skillet, two with lidded pots, and a tall urn from which a young woman repeatedly drew mugs of tea for their guests. The men sat on short benches turned at random angles away from tables to allow them a sort of circle, chattering away in their local dialect.
George and Fortis took seats at a table just inside the tent opening, which was a bit shadowy in the wan light of early morning. The young lady approached with a pair of mugs for them, exchanged a few words with George, then left them alone. Fortis caught one word he thought meant food and a negative. He then turned his attention to the patois of the old men's chatter, finding there were a few words he could decipher now and then. After a few minutes, George stood while motioning Fortis to stay put. He approached the knot of old men with his mug in one hand.
George spoke in Galactic, "Good men, could you tell me where I might find a couple of hunters? I am in need of an armed escort for a few days."
The men maintained their dialect. From the ensuing conversation, Fortis gathered there were a couple of young hunter apprentices up for licensing in the coming summer, sons of someone named Farrell. But the conversation was interrupted. From the other side of the entrance, a balding man stood and approached the group. Speaking plain Galactic, he addressed himself to George. He placed a palm on his chest.
"Sir, I am a hunter -- a senior hunter at that. I have business in the city and was planning to leave today, very shortly. I submit to you, one highly experienced hunter would be the equal of two apprentices. And I won't charge any fee, since I'm already going that way."
George's face was impassive. "Well, we can't leave right away. Our tent needs a full day to charge."
The stranger was quick. "Oh, but I have a spare battery pack, fully charged. There's no need to delay. We can be well on our way by nightfall."
"No, really, we aren't in a hurry..." It seemed George was almost making excuses.
The stranger betrayed just a tad of impatience. "Come on, old fellow! What are you waiting for?"
George raised to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. "Show me your sword," he said coldly.
The stranger's eyes diverted downward, and it was his turn to stammer. "I... I'm just a hunter, Sir. Elder, please forgive my impertinence."
There was a long silence as the muscles in his jaws flexed a few times. George remained frozen. Finally, the man turned quickly and stomped away. He passed close by the table where Fortis sat, as the latter tilted his hooded head forward a bit to meet his mug. George watched the man until he disappeared between two tents.
Turning back with mildness to the old men, he said, "Please be so kind as to inform the sons of Farrell I will offer a premium for their services. We depart with the dawn tomorrow."
Setting his mug on a table, George looked at Fortis and began moving slowly away. Fortis hurried to join him. George maintained his regal demeanor, scanning the street and open courtyard of the village until they entered their tent. Fortis noted the basket which had brought their fine breakfast, and which they had then placed just outside the entrance, was now gone. George checked his baggage, then Fortis' pack. Fortis checked his bedding, then his jacket. Nothing seemed to have changed, nothing gone, nothing added.
They sat down on their beds facing each other. Fortis ventured, "So the sword is a mark of social standing."
"These days it is mostly symbolic, but I have used it a time or two." He reached back and drew it out, confirming Fortis' guess about being a lefty. The off white ceramic blade betrayed nothing of its history, as George cradled it in his hands. It was clearly designed more for thrusting than slicing. "That man may know how to do some hunting, but he's no hunter. He slipped three times."
Fortis thought a moment. "I suppose the 'old fellow' was a breach in protocol. Did he forget he was playing a lower rank?"
"Indeed. Plus, the batteries are thin sheets built into the fabric of travel tents. Most tents used as homes do have external hookups, but a hunter would know the difference. Since I helped in making this one," he waved his right hand to indicate their shelter, "I knew precisely what was involved. There is no way to add external power without destroying the high efficiency of the meager current this thing generates."
"What was the third item?"
George half smiled, "Did I say where we planned to go?"
Fortis caught it. "No, but he did. Are there other places likely?"
"Of course. There is a second academy with a large village, a different direction from here. It's a business school, supported by a shipyard, and three logging houses. While the harbor we used does minor repairs, the staff shipwright there mostly performs inspections. A few kilometers farther east is the shipyard. This very village is mostly a bedroom for the woodsmen whose cutting feeds it. Take the narrow track northeast of here and you'll find a logging camp. This part of the forest is pretty much limited to selected species of tree for lumber. A ways north of here we'll be passing through one of the largest natural forest preserves on Misty. That's where the predators are more likely to appear."
"Both kinds, I suppose," Fortis said.
"We will surely have at least one encounter. If Farrell's boys are any good at all, we'll be fairly safe. I surmise whatever is working against us has been too hastily arranged, so it won't amount to much. When I refused to grant that stranger forgiveness, he surely realized I was on to him, so there will have to be a Plan B."
Fortis cocked his head to one side. "You seem awfully relaxed about all this. I suppose it's part of mysticism, though -- a sense of detachment."
George chuckled. "It is, but there's much more to it than that."
George sheathed his sword, then took off the harness. After shifting things around a bit, he sat on the end of his bed, leaned back against the pack frame. "I am by no means a teacher of religion. But I do share your interest in anthropology, even if I lack your wide, hands-on experience. You may not embrace a faith like mine, but I feel comfortable trying to explain it in academic terms."
Fortis settled himself somewhat like George.
Looking at the ceiling, George began, "On purely intellectual terms, I assume you are like many out there in the more advanced society of the galaxy. You are aware of religion as a subject of study, without which no man can hope to fathom even a sliver of human nature. Humanity is religious, regardless of whatever word they use to denote a belief in something beyond human ken."
Looking again at Fortis, "You probably have some vague religious feelings yourself."
Fortis nodded. He fingered the spare spooler he had been keeping in case there were more significant details worth adding to his initial report.
"I'm going to guess you haven't really given it much thought, but your reflex is to believe it's unknown, but only partially unknowable. Belief should meet certain rational guidelines to avoid being a mere delusion. So you probably can respond to religious talk, and you are familiar with the vocabulary."
"Your intuition is better than mine," Fortis smiled.
George grinned. "Lots of practice, since all I have is the data from our birds. We understand there are a vast horde of varied religions out there, and plenty of them use variations of 'Christian' in the title or it appears in the summary explanation of them. Our religion here is one more. You also are probably aware of the Book, in various versions and translations, as ancient literature. Perhaps you are familiar with a major figure named Noah."
Fortis nodded, "The guy with the giant boat and all the animals."
"Quite so. While our religion holds the story contains literal elements, it is largely meant to be read as symbols. The ancient culture which produced the Book is what we attempt to emulate. Noah is associated with a particular set of Laws only vaguely referenced in the pages of the Book, but we know the very detailed laws of another character are a specific application of the more general Code of Noah. You would recognize the second fellow as Moses."
"Ah, the father of Judaism, and a few other derived religions," Fortis recalled.
"Exactly. Many religions diverge, then merge again, and it's all very mixed up. The point is this: We find in our holistic reading of the Book there is a set of standards for human government revealed in the Codes of Noah and Moses. Not so much in the words, as many religions assert, but for us the primary interest is the cultural and intellectual assumptions. That being, as you know, Eastern Mysticism. More precisely, Ancient Near Eastern Mysticism -- Early Hebrew Mysticism. The context of the terms are mostly forgotten now, but the labels still work. The entire culture and religion of Misty, while ostensibly Christian, adheres to a fundamental epistemology derived from what we can perceive of the ancient world of Noah, and to some degree, Moses."
George rolled a bit to one side, resting on his elbow as he gazed through the narrow gap between the curtains over the tent doorway. Fortis said, "But you can't really teach mysticism."
George rolled back to face Fortis. "No. We can't even really call it a way of knowing, but a way of arriving at a decision. The mystics have strong input on the development of the legal code here on Misty. Most of us serve as judicial advisers to Sheiks or their vassals. While the religion is carefully guarded, the most important thing we do is prevent changes to the basic social structure. Agitating for change is a good way to get in serious trouble. When sheiks call out the troops, it is most often to quash that."
George rose to his feet. With an oddly quite voice and dramatic gestures, "We are so very firm with such things because by mystical means we have concluded it is absolutely necessary. So important, we would destroy the planet before allowing fundamental changes in the tribal feudalism. We can offer rational proof this serves the purpose of reaping the promises of God's Laws, but that would miss the point. God is sovereign. What He commands, we do, regardless of the costs to us. Whatever comes of it is in our best interest."
For all his jolly, bubbly energy in the past, Fortis had never seen George quite so lit up. It was not fanaticism, but a quiet passion, an assurance of such depth there were no words. George sat back down, still glowing.
"So, this trip through the forest to the city is tied to this struggle to lay the groundwork for sending missionaries out into the galaxy?" Fortis was surprised at his own question.
George beamed. "Yes." He patted his palm on the ground between them. "Yes a thousand times." It was almost a whisper. "You can go your own way any time you like. If you choose to follow me to the city, you will learn far, far more. Not so much in the sense of volumes of data as you did in your professional studies, but a massive depth which will shift the entire universe under you."
"Rather like the technology of hyperspace which brought me here," Fortis thought outloud.
"Where do you think that technology came from?"
Fortis shrugged, having never given it much thought.
George went on. "One of the retired technicians of our community who stayed behind on Terra described a conversation he had with the men who developed that drive. They were having trouble with the algorithms, and he suggested they reverse their mental image of it. He was just a lab assistant then, on his first job after getting his degree, but he was a mystic. They laughed him off at first, but later embraced it as the only way to make things work."
Fortis found himself swimming in vast sea of thought. There were no words, no time, no reality, just himself cast upon a vast sea, alone. He closed his eyes. Perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes or hours passed. Slowly, he realized he was not alone. Not in the sense of George just a meter away, but someone else was in that endless ocean with him. Unseen, but there nonetheless. He knew he would not drown.
How long he had sat thus, he couldn't guess. A part of him knew when George slipped out of the tent, but it didn't matter. When at last he opened his eyes again, he realized he was a stranger to himself.
Eventually, Fortis rose to his feet and wandered to the doorway of the tent. George was standing, almost blocking the doorway. Between the half-open curtains, just over George's shoulder, Fortis spotted the clan banner. When they marched inland, they left behind the high knoll somewhere west of the harbor. Now and then the breeze moved the treetops just enough to glimpse the kites. The brightly colored panels of fabric were displayed in just about every imaginable configuration, but they had one thing in common -- most of them were quite stationary in the winds aloft.
"Do the kites remain in the sky day and night?"
George turned his head a bit toward the southwest. After a moment, "That's one of the objectives. Fancy loops and artistic whirling might be more interesting to watch, but stability is what pays the bills, so to speak. They are supposed to self-adjust for variations in the wind to remain stationary."
Fortis considered this for a few moments. "This village... Aside from the cultural bias in favor of orderly living, how do they maintain the social boundaries? I saw a sample of things when you confronted the self-proclaimed hunter, but I don't quite understand how it works in this setting."
George turned so he stood sideways to the entrance, facing Fortis in the interior gloom of the tent. "The largest tent here belongs to the village chief. When we first began to spread out across Misty from our crash landing, we were in discrete family units. Most villages remain so, but we don't pretend every man's son will love his father's business. Social stability depends entirely on the familial feel, the interdependence so essential to keeping order. Here, only half the village is actual kin, while the other half must enter a covenant to live as if they were kin. It's not highly involved, but is taken with deadly seriousness. Once a man or household moves to this village, they become kin-in-effect, interacting as family and adapting themselves to minute local variations in how the families interact.
"The village chief is neither precisely hereditary, nor elected. Certain assumptions about the natural order of things is given -- revealed, so to speak. Anyone stepping outside those boundaries is given ample opportunity to self-correct. The community itself is deeply obliged to maintain the process. Everyone is dealt with individually; not two people are treated precisely the same. It's not so important what one does or says, but whether the sum total of those things points to a commitment to keep the family stable, prosperous and safe." George counted those last three items on his fingers, to emphasize them as specifics. "That commitment is utterly personal, and person to person. The chief here is head of a very large household."
"And visitors stand out," Fortis concluded.
"Very much so. Various factors complicate things, based on covenants of loyalty through a complicated chain of privilege and mission, but we camp here only at the sufferance of the chief. That we have not seen him simply indicates he is busy, and that busybody woman is probably his primary point of contact for visitors. On my first visit a decade ago, I presented myself formally with proper credentials of the importance of my social position and my mission. Since I place no noticeable burden on his daily affairs, it is altogether appropriate for him to ignore us socially. It's up to me to demand more attention from him."
Fortis crossed his arms, looking down at George's feet. "So right now you are trying to keep a balance between too much and too little."
"Only because in my feeble imagination, it appears there is some threat to the mission. That mission is much larger than either of us. We can only act on what we perceive in the light of what God shows us." Lifting his chin a bit, George oriented on something across the square. He took a few paces out into the normal lane of traffic. After a few minutes, two rather smaller young men approached and bowed low to him.
Fortis noticed they wore axes across their backs. He estimated the ceramic blades were too broad and thin for serious wood chopping. Their cloaks were mottled brown, green and black, but they wore some sort of tied scarf around their temples, brightly striped purple and yellow, the clan colors. The two young men were identical twins, differentiated only by the scar running across the nose of one. George led them close to the tent, and one produced a pocket device like George's, but folded instead of rolled.
Fortis was getting better at following the local dialect, and he understood they were discussing routes. Fortis caught glimpses of the map displayed. He noted the forest was several kilometers across, a wide flat valley with some hills on either side. It ran generally northward with few breaks, and ended in a series of low hills clustered near the center of the island. Markings on those hills he took as indicating the city.
Stepping back, he tried to visualize a city of mostly tents, somewhat like a very large version of this village. George had said permanent structures were mostly outlawed on Misty. Frames were a compromise barely tolerated, and cultural traditions made much of genuine nomadic living. Buried utilities and such were out of the question. He recalled George mentioning whole cities were moved from time to time, based on a number of factors which included waste build-ups and such. George had said something about honoring God by respecting His creation. Fortis took that to mean a high degree of ecological awareness, though perhaps less than the nature worshiping Greens.
George seemed pleased with the meeting, as he stepped inside after the young men bowed quickly and walked away. "Those are good men. We are blessed." He clasped his hands together for a moment, vacantly staring at the ground. Looking up suddenly, "Pull up your cowl and let's find some lunch. And while we're at it, we need to get some dried food for the hike. Your load will get heavier." That last came with almost a smirk, as he shrugged into the sword harness.
They went back to the tea tent. After a solid lunch of stew, pan bread and berries, the man behind the counter brought out a cloth bag filled with various sized bulges. George pulled from his robe a similar bag which was empty, except for a few smaller ones inside. He then showed the man something on the screen of his pocket computer. The fellow pulled out a somewhat thicker flat version of the device, poking and stroking it a few times. He looked up with a smile, then bowed and walked away.
As they left, George handed the bag to Fortis. It was not so heavy as he expected, but heavy enough. "That should get us to the city with some to spare," George said with a smile. Fortis was suddenly freshly aware of the stiffness in his muscles. Yet something inside was eager to test the limits of physical endurance.
Back inside the tent, George was removing his sword harness. "I don't want to break our circadian rhythm, but if you are able to sleep, taking a nap would be a good idea."
Fortis was loading the food into his previously light pack. "Sneaky plans ahead?"
"Sneaky, indeed. I need to explain now, because when the time comes, we will need silence." George sat down on his bed and began removing his boots. "We are going to arise about midnight, take down the tent, and prepare to leave."
"Midnight," Fortis muttered.
"But we won't leave for awhile. Going through any gate at that time of night would require waking a warder to open the electric fence. We need to slip out unnoticed, if possible. So we'll add a little confusion to whomever is watching us; it cannot be very many in a village like this. Likely the fake hunter is working alone here, with just a small amount of assistance from the busybody woman. She would probably believe whatever wild story he concocted for her. The tea man told me he had packed that breakfast basket to order for the stranger, who also returned it empty."
"So he was still at the tea tent waiting for us. We all leave tracks unawares," Fortis offered.
"Oh, yes. But we need not make a bunch of noise about it." George produced something Fortis thought looked like thick woolly socks with drawstrings. "Slip these over your boots before we leave. A little nap now, dinner, then we pre-pack and set everything up to move quickly at midnight. We'll meet the boys near a work gate and wait for the loggers to leave before dawn."
Fortis lay back and swam in the ocean of thoughts. Perhaps it met no previously accepted definition he knew, but he realized he was praying, conversing with the presence of that Other in his soul. It was a conversation without words.
After dinner, George took him through a few exercises using the lance. There was barely any room inside the tent, but Fortis was assured that was a critical part of the training. The simple drills were repeated until Fortis was aglow and perspiring. Then they bathed and packed everything, each item thoughtfully positioned for quick and silent departure.
Of course, it helped if one was fully alert when executing such plans. Fortis had long experience with shifting his circadian rhythm, but it was never previously accompanied by so much physical exertion. Midnight came too soon, of course. George was patient, but Fortis could not quite shake his embarrassment at being so slow and clumsy. He wondered if all the trouble had not been wasted by his fumbling.
Even having seen it so many times, he was still surprised at how quickly and efficient George triggered the built-in frame to collapse, each section going limp when George pinched some part to turn off the charge which made it harden. With the ceiling caved in, George stepped out, pinched two places at once, and the tent collapsed, almost folding itself. In seconds it was folded and strapped on the cart. George had borrowed Fortis' jacket to cover the bright orange hammock bags.
The pack with it's new load was not yet too heavy. Fortis recalled that first hike inland to this village, how the load was there, but his body had ignored the signal until he took it off. The muscles had suddenly complained loudly after the fact. With lance in hand, and muffled boots, Fortis followed George as they wound around past a couple of large tents, slipping in behind one where a low awning stood. George ducked under the edge, left his cart standing, and sat down with his pack still on, leaning back against it in the dark. Fortis did his best to follow suit.
He was startled by a whispered voice just beside him, and realized the young hunters were there. George responded in kind. "Yes, I would." Leaning over to Fortis, "I recommend you take some of their jerky. We won't be stopping for breakfast."
Fortis accepted the bundle of rough, dried meat. It smelled of spices, very tempting, but he decided to stuff it into the inside pocket of his cloak. Stroking the fabric idly, he realized he liked the cloak better than his jacket, much better suited to the climate and circumstances. In the ensuing silence, he dozed.
A hand shaking his shoulder brought him back to an awareness only slightly less confused than when they rose earlier. It was George's unmistakable precise Galactic telling him, "Rise to your knees. In a few moments a group of men will walk by and we will join them as they exit the small gate. Make sure you stay close to Stephen here" -- his hand was guided to a shadowy form in front of him. "Stanley and I will be behind you. We'll break from the workmen without warning."
The vague thrill of fear brought Fortis to full awareness.
Because the woodsmen were generally large, and their ax heads narrower and thicker, Fortis had little trouble distinguishing his guide once they were out from under the awning. The warder was an aged man. He was yawning and stretching under the blanket draped across his shoulders. His arms were crossed before his face, hands clutching the corners of the cover, elbows extended high, and his head was turned slightly. Clearly the man would rather still be in bed. Fortis barely heard the sound of the gate being closed as the herd of boots in front of him mixed with a few words in the local patois, and the occasional snort of laughter.
Fortis kept his attention on Stephen in front of him, as the lad seemed very much just another part of the workforce. At one point the path narrowed between several pairs of large trees, and Stephen slowed a bit, opening space between himself and the workers, then suddenly darting left in the middle of the defile.
They labored forward on a narrow path for a while as the gray light of dawn filtered through the trees. Fortis realized Stephen had a small pack bulging low under his cloak, and the ax handle rested against it on one side. Stephen kept his right hand in front of him, holding something Fortis could not see. The pace was quick enough he didn't want to risk turning to see, but he heard the muffled footfalls of George and Stanley behind him.
It was full daylight when they halted at a wide spot in the trail. Stephen turned, and it was then Fortis saw he held a small, light crossbow in front of him. His was the nose with the scar. He smiled at Fortis, but said nothing. It was not quite a whisper when George said they could remove the cloth booties. Standing his lance against the nearest tree, Fortis took a moment to balance himself with the load on his back, but managed it. George took the booties and stuffed them in Fortis' pack. He then produced his water jug and offered it around.
"Are you doing well, Fortis?"
Nothing was hurting, but he knew his muscles were going to scream if they stopped for too long. "I'm okay for now." He remembered the jerky and began gnawing on a stick, which suddenly awoke his hunger.
George reclaimed his water jug and took a long drink. His brow was slightly damp, compared to Fortis' dripping. The two hunters showed no evidence of having done more than a light stroll. George reached out and readjusted something on Fortis' pack. "Keep your water handy, especially while you eat that jerky. Drink a little between each piece, but don't guzzle." Fortis felt to make sure his hand could find it.
"In less than a kilometer we'll join a wider road. It's not the main road, and it's not much used. Still, if we are going to have trouble, that's where it is most likely." With that, George pulled out his bow, and placed three arrows in the clips near the grip. The hunters checked their crossbows and bolts. Then Stephen turned and strode off down the trail. Fortis grabbed his lance and followed.
Once on the road, Stephen slowed a bit, drifting to the left side. He glanced back and indicated with his hand for Fortis to remain in the middle, several steps back. Glancing back, he saw George several meters behind, and Stanley on the right farther back.
While the others obviously paid close attention to their surroundings as they marched on, Fortis focused his mind on George's advice about registering a full awareness of the background noises and smells. The road was moderately hard packed, but carpeted in pine needles. There was the faintest crunching sound from twigs generously mixed in, and the strong smell of resinous sap. There were birds, unseen but making occasional calls. The insects flying around didn't seem to make any noise Fortis could hear.
But his mind was poorly trained for this, and a part of him returned to swim in that ocean. He lost awareness of the time passing, and was brought up short when Stephen suddenly raised a hand. The young hunter's stride changed and he stepped quietly forward, looking off into the trees. Fortis gripped his lance in both hands nervously. Satisfied it was nothing, Stephen seemed ready to move on. He had half turned when his body snapped back around and he fired off a bolt.
Fortis found his heart hammering, watching the woodline, but knowing he was unlikely to see anything the others missed. He glanced at George, who was studying the place Stephen's bolt had gone.
The tension still high, Stephen motioned them to continue forward. Slowly and warily at first, they eventually returned to a more watchful march. Off in the woods behind them, there was a faint, whining growl. Fortis glanced back at George, who mouthed the word, "predator." Fortis surmised Stephen had wounded the creature and it fled.
While it didn't lessen his fear, he assumed it was another when it was Stanley's turn to whip around the other side of the road and fire into the woods. But this time George and Stephen joined in, as they sent several missiles in short succession into the trees. A couple of them struck wood, but there was the distinct sound of bipedal running and human panting. Fortis caught a glimpse of movement; nothing more.
In a stage whisper, George spoke, "Excellent shooting, lads!"
The twins merely grinned in response. The three took care to resupply their clips. Then, after a few more moments of silent celebration, they continued their march. George moved up close to Fortis, placing a hand on his cowled head.
"The predators are all over the place, so we are bound to see at least one every day. We are bigger than even the largest, and four of us together makes them cautious. We wounded the first one, so it won't be back. But the time it took to deal with it allowed whomever was following us to catch up, and approach from the other side. We didn't strike him, but he won't be back before we stop, if at all. At the same time, he'll have to deal with the predators."
"And we will have our little electric fence?"
"Of course. But we are going to push just a little today, so lunch will be late. Would you like me to get you some more food or water?"
Fortis took him up on the offer. He knew when they finally stopped, he would be too tired to eat.
Fortis decided he really liked hammocks.
It was hard to get out of it, but not because of the design. It was simply very comfortable on his aching muscles. The long nap after they first stopped and set up the tent was not long enough, but George insisted he train some more with the lance before dinner.
While they were thus engaged, the twins slipped away into the trees. They returned with a collection of game fowl, which made a marvelous dinner. That, despite what Fortis considered a very ugly butchering and cleaning process. But the boys handled it all themselves.
They rarely spoke. Fortis thought at first it was simply deference, but George mentioned how much he liked hunters because they were so quiet. So it was something natural to their work, obviously. Finally, Fortis recognize the small gestures, a highly subtle and abbreviated sign language.
"You know we have advanced medically to the point almost no one born deaf stays that way. Even here on Misty we do aural circuit implants. Still, we have maintained an official sign language. It's taught in every academy, particularly useful for working in the desert where the high winds make conversation difficult." He glanced at Fortis from his own hammock. "My clan home borders part of the desert belt."
He was silent a moment. "But these boys are using a rather private version, with only a vague resemblance to the official one. I recognize the patterns, but not the meanings. I assume it's a benefit of growing up so close to someone your whole life who thinks and acts the same."
Fortis watched them awhile at the other end of the tent. Their hammocks were much lighter, but obviously well used. Nothing but a thin net, the end spreaders went stiff when pinched, like the tent frame. Fortis luxuriated in the denser fabric panel with the solid wood spreaders. It gave just a bit to accommodate an elbow or his aching back, yet held its basic shape, hugging him warmly. When he moved to roll out, it seemed to give just enough to make for an easy exit.
And while he was in no hurry to do so each morning, well before dawn, he knew it was necessary. Part of the reason he loved the hammock, though, was because the soreness in his back, especially, was somewhat less than when he slept on the mattress on the ground. Too bad it required sturdy trees for the tent to withstand the load strung from the spines running in the ceiling. The spines wouldn't break, of course, but the whole tent would simply fold under the weight were it not firmly guyed to fat solid trees.
The five days passed quickly in the routine. During that time, the twins killed two predators, one which had dared to face them on the road. It was about half his size, Fortis estimated, after they told him it was a big one. It's forelegs were long and thin, ending in a triple hooked claw, and two vestigial digits on either side. They ran on their knuckles, with the claws tucked under. The hind legs were thicker and shorter, and this one easily reared on them to threaten with the claws. The dark brown hair was thick, streaked with faint variations in shade. The snout took up half the face, round and not particularly long.
The twins skinned the two they killed, salting the pelts down and rolling them for travel, but stretching them for drying in the evening. They carried a bunch of clips with thin net bags. The skins were hung from a limb first thing, with the clipped bags filled with rocks stretching them. In the morning, the boys would scrape off insects trapped in the gooey underside. They sprinkled on more chemicals, then rolled the pelts tightly into a peculiar cloth cover they carried for the purpose. George explained the pelts had some value, but only insects and birds cared for the meat.
Four other predators were chased off, perhaps wounded. There were no more encounters with the human kind. Thus, he was puzzled when George insisted they set up camp, on schedule, just five kilometers from the hilly grassland rising up to the city.
As they lay in their hammocks after lunch, George stared at the ceiling. "Stanley is certain we were still being followed until this morning. Most likely that means whomever it is has gone on ahead into the city."
"If the predators were such a chore for us, how did our pursuit handle them?"
"Slept in the trees, using a hunter's hammock like the boys. There is a range of much more expensive and ultra-light military equipment for extended survival. I'm betting it's a ranger. Not quite so specialized as the boys, but highly trained in tracking people, avoiding capture, moving fast and consuming very little for long periods. He would carry a terribly expensive Gauss weapon, lots of metal. One of the few still functioning after all these years without replacements or parts. They take a lot of power, so with the feeble daylight of Misty, even a fully charged battery pack" -- he paused just a second -- "would mean something just slightly more effective than our weapons, but far more compact, using tiny metal darts for ammunition."
With the advent of such highly efficient energy weapons in the rest of the galaxy, Fortis had seen few Gauss weapons, mostly museum pieces. Nothing on Misty could replace the bare minimum wiring necessary to create a powerful electromagnetic field. Here, then, they would just barely work.
George went on, "Their importation here has been strictly controlled. Given our barter rate in the past, each one would equal over a ton of our products, so it's not hard to track. Any clan with a significant number of them would have too great an advantage in battle. The temptation to take over would prove too irresistible."
Fortis digested this in silence for a few minutes. "So you and others suspect this is what these two clans plan to do, if they can somehow seize control of some part of the future trade."
George smiled broadly. "You never fail to bless me with your quick intuition, Fortis." He turned his head to face Fortis. "So tell me -- why would I want us to wait here, now that this nameless ranger has surely gone into the city to meet with his confederates?"
"They'll try to stop us." Fortis felt that tiny chill again.
"But because we don't come waltzing into town this afternoon, they'll have to come look for us. Did you notice we came farther off the road than usual to set up camp today?"
Fortis had thought it was because the trees weren't quite right near the road. He nodded.
"This will be another midnight move. The boys aren't hunting dinner, but scouting right now. For our enemies to mobilize a search, they'll have to move. Regardless of their ostensible reason for leaving their other duties, it would mean a coordinated departure from the city. We will trap them by notifying trusted authorities. While we would hardly catch them all, it will throw things into disarray for them. We'll slip into a village not too far from here, where an old friend of mine has a very light-footed daughter. She can enter the city without attracting attention, and knows a few other friends of mine at the academy."
Fortis didn't sleep at all that evening. His body rested, but his mind drifted all over that ocean of thought. It was no longer fear, because he felt confident Elder Bradley would do his part, and whatever happened now was his own personal adventure. That sense of the Other's presence was not particularly comforting, but his fear seemed to drown in the fascination for the intrigue. It was as if his life had become a very engaging adventure story. George's confidence the real threat was capture, not death, was plausible. By the same token, Fortis was certain dying to avoid being used as a pawn for evil was not such a bad thing, even if George and he alone knew they were just a couple of weeks away, at most, from his spacecraft returning home.
With the first spooler almost off planet, he began reliving his adventures and recording them on his secondary.
He found himself praying again.
He was surprised when George left the tent standing, but realized someone could come back for it after it had served as a decoy. They even left the packs, carrying only water and weapons. Remaining in close formation, they dodged through the trees, moving as quickly as they could without noise. Predators were quite unlikely this close to the city, but not impossible.
Still, it took quite a while to clear the forest. The trees gave way slowly to scrub, then tall grass as the slope rose ever so gently. George took the lead. It was nearly dawn when they reached a fenced animal yard. A few diminutive herd animals greeted them quietly near the fence, but not touching it. George said they called these things "goats" despite their stubby legs, rather like the coursers. They did have wicked twin horns, and Fortis wondered if they really needed the fence for protection.
George left him there to wonder about it, with the silent twins keeping watch. It was only a few minutes later he saw a slender figure darting across the crest of the hill. A bit later, he heard voices in jovial chatter, this time mostly Galactic. Around the corner of the fence came George with a fellow wearing a broad brimmed hat, an equally broad smile, and mostly green clothing. The usual bits of yellow and purple were there, of course.
George introduced Fortis, but ignored the twins. The man bowed low, calling himself simply Tom, making the usual offers. Fortis realized how very tired he was, and said so. "Now that you mention it, Tom, do you have a spare space under one of your awnings for a tired visitor from across the galaxy? I could use a nap myself."
Turning to the twins, George said, "Boys, would you rather watch the fun?" They smilingly nodded. "Try the wind tower about a half-kilometer that way," he pointed over the rolling grassy hills, splitting the difference between the direction they had come and where the girl had gone. They strode off, grinning.
Fortis remembered Tom and George continuing to chatter as they led toward the large tent, but little else. Once he dropped into the soft grassy pile under an awning, he was gone.
It was all too soon when he had to come back. There was a fresh lunch on a small folding table near him. He struggled to consciousness and didn't even have to think about being hungry. The brightness of the sky told him it must be mid-day. George and Tom were laughing, and Fortis assumed it meant good news. Swallowing some cold fruity liquid, he waited for a break in the conversation. "How many were arrested?"
George guffawed, "The girl decided to stay and see the fireworks. Within just an hour, the Sheik's bodyguard came back with a dozen. They added one more when someone on the chamberlain's staff raised too much of fuss. They'll sort it out eventually." Then he got more serious. "Sadly, none of them match the description or our fake hunter."
"Too smart to be caught?"
"Likely. Which means we have to promote him in our minds to ranger captain. Which would explain his slip, since that's roughly equivalent to my rank, socially. It's worth dispatching a few message birds to other parts of the island. Oh, how I wish I had had an excuse to capture his image."
Fortis rather liked the rougher, darker bread, and guessed the farmer grew it himself. Fields nearby looked to him like grain stubble. It reminded him of George's description of each city being confined to the size and population the land around it could carry. The mainstay of food, drink and waste removal had to be within a day's walk. "Do you mean something like the proverbial carrier pigeons?"
George leaned back on a packed lump of dried grass. "A mechanical version of them, one of the results of our kite technology. Not quite so large as the bird you saw on your screen from space, but same idea, minus the radio. Computer navigation, tilting the wings to take advantage of the wind, carrying standard memory chips. It's our primary means of communication here on Misty."
George suddenly jumped to his feet and walked away. Fortis followed him with his eyes and caught a glimpse of the bright headbands worn by the twins. Then he saw they were lugging all the baggage, plus the cart, all smartly repacked. Impressive service, indeed! When they stopped near Tom and Fortis, George asked, "Ready to go? We have to go meet the Sheik."
Fortis stood, then bowed in thanks to Tom. The farmer flushed red and got to his feet, bowing in return and to George. There was some cryptic exchange about meeting in the light, then George led the way on a path running over the crest of the nearest hill. Not far later, they came within sight of a tall structure of wood, with multiple windmills spinning next to a cluster of tents. Fortis could imagine the twins climbing this thing and sitting near the top. Apparently it offered good line of sight to where the old road they used came out of the forest.
George retold the story. "The local conspirators apparently met before dawn and broke into teams to search. When one bunch found the tent, they came back out and signaled with a lamp to whomever was directing the search. It took awhile to gather their whole force to attempt a capture. By the time they moved, it was daylight. The Bodyguard were alerted and simply went in after them."
Fortis smiled tiredly. "So your skepticism about their ability to organize a response to surprises proved accurate. I'll bet you knew the ranger would be able to follow us out of the village, too."
"That merely confirmed the level of skills. Had we lost him, it would have been a wholly different situation. This confirms the two clans are in league with rogues, using them as proxies. We know what sorts of things they might be able and willing to do in the future. I'm glad you felt like playing along."
Fortis thought for a second. "Your faith in God was infectious, and your faith in me was a further encouragement. So what does it mean to meet the Sheik? What do you suppose comes next?"
George hooked a thumb toward the twins walking easily behind them. "First order of business is to see these are properly rewarded. Perhaps full hunting licenses, fancier weapons they could never afford, other marks of favor. Certainly food for their return trip. Lord willing, we'll see them again, and will surely need their help."
"Good men, indeed," Fortis agreed. "Tell me why you know Johnston is not part of the plot."
George shook his head, laughing. "Sharp, my friend. First, they are an obvious target of suspicion, and someone has already tried to implicate them falsely. So the Sheik has been fastidiously transparent. Further, he has already promised severe and quick action against anyone found with sufficient evidence of involvement in the cabal. Those arrested today will be lucky to survive the night."
Fortis' eyes widened in surprise.
George went on. "Second, he's a true mystic. We talk of sending missionaries, but the ostensible structure will be a foreign service academy. Where do you suppose it makes the most sense to build one?"
"Oh, I don't know. How about Johnston Island?" Fortis tried out some sarcasm.
With even broader and more dramatic sarcasm, George responded. "Why, what a fine idea! But wait... we need someone to teach the fine cloistered Misty folks how to mingle as ambassadors with other cultures. Hmmm. I wonder if we know anyone familiar with the vast array of different cultures across the galaxy."
Fortis turned bright red. "That would be me."
"Glad you offered, Professor Plimick! You'll make a great university founder."
A few minutes later, as they began to see the tops of a huge number of tents over the tall grass, Fortis asked, "I suppose I may not see the rest of Misty, after all."
George laughed heartily. "Don't be silly! We will have to mount a very strong recruiting campaign. It means visiting every clan." George looked about furtively, then with a dramatic stage whisper, "And maybe we can help discover who is doing all this sneaky stuff."
Fortis took out his spooler and recorded some narrative.
Fortis was completely surprised by the odd mixture of formal and casual elements to their reception. Even as they began approaching the outermost cluster of tents, heavily armed men, all quite large and imposing, greeted them. Without exchanging any words, the troops simply bowed, the fell in as escorts. Glancing back, Fortis saw the bemused look on the twins' faces. It took quite a while to actually reach the Sheik's Court. The tent was huge, and people were busy all around it. As they neared the door, the soldiers led them under an ornate awning, mostly in clan colors.
Some fellow, whose colorful robes were near ankle length, and a staff of neatly attired servants, met them there. They were all quickly relieved of their burdens, which were gathered and placed at the feet of four alert soldiers who stepped forward for the purpose. In very short order, they were also relieved of their travel robes and given very nice replacements, also nearly reaching the ground. They were joined in front by some sort of catchment, with the neck open to expose what they wore beneath. The twins kept their head wraps.
The servants also wiped their faces and hands with warm damp cloths, brushed off their boots, and then waved some sort of censor around them. The aromatic smoke clung to them. Then the man in charge led them to the main entrance on one end of the tent. Two more burly guards pulled back the curtains. They were met by an even more richly dressed man wearing an oddly shaped hat. Fortis would have called it huge floppy beret, hanging off the left side. He smiled wordlessly, brought George forward, placed Fortis directly behind him, and the twins abreast at the rear, some three paces back. He then turned and marched them all down the length of the wide open space. Various functionaries were scattered around the sandy floor.
There was a huge carpet covering the sand at the end of this huge area. As they drew closer to it, Fortis realized the focus of attention was on the right hand side ahead of them. The man with the funny hat led them to the edge of the carpet, then ducked to one side. With a fluid sweep of the hand, he motioned them to continue. The pattern on the carpet indicated something to George who walked to it, turned quickly and bowed to the waist. Fortis slowed, confused, but George quickly reached out his hand to catch Fortis by the shoulder and turn him to face the Sheik, whose throne was in a chamber off to the side, curtains drawn back.
He copied George's bow, and heard himself introduced formally once again. He rose to see a man about George's age sitting on a fancy folding chair. He wore a very fine, smooth purple cap with a thin, bright yellow border on it. His beard was oiled, and his robe only slightly fancier than the fellow who led them inside, but it had a train on it, which was pulled to one side.
The simplicity of his greeting is what surprised Fortis. In a rather mild voice, "Welcome Fortis. George, it's so good to see you again. I owe you both a debt of gratitude for all you've done."
George took this as his signal. The twins were still standing on the edge of the carpet. George gestured them forward. They strode forward abreast, turned in unison directly to Fortis' left, turned and dropped to one knee in unison without a word. George spoke, "My Lord, without these men, we would not stand before you now. Stanley and Stephen, sons of Charles Farrell. They were our escorts the entire way, and acquitted themselves with honor."
The Sheik smiled. "They shall be honored, indeed. Rise, lads."
The twins stood smartly.
"I welcome you this day to the ranks of Master Hunters of the Clan." Their eyes widened in surprise. "Our armory is open to you. Do not leave it empty handed. Let it be published the household of Farrell is tax free in Clan Johnston. Go now and change your attire to that of freemen. We are blessed to see you and expect that pleasure again soon."
They smartly dropped to their knees again, then rose and marched out. On cue, several members of the court applauded, even cheering a bit. George took the opportunity to lean over and remark, "Master Hunter is a special privilege on top of everything else, with numerous benefits. That and freeman status makes them eligible to carry swords."
Once they were off the carpet, all eyes turned back to the Sheik. He clapped his hands once, and everyone relaxed. It was as if ceremony was turned off instantly. Almost everyone receded respectfully from the throne. George pulled Fortis forward as the Sheik rose, shrugged of the encumbering robe, and spoke first. "George, it is good to see you are safe." They embraced warmly, then the Sheik went on, "So we didn't catch the ranger. I suppose we didn't really expect it. But if those boys detected his movements, they are his equal, if only lacking some experience. We need them in the proper frame of mind to carry the burdens they'll soon face."
His eyes drifted downward a moment as he considered something. Turning to face Fortis, "So, in two weeks your superiors will know about us. The sooner the better. Did George mention our little project for future trade relations?"
Fortis decided he could dare a little humor. "George lays a better trap than any of his enemies."
George guffawed, and the Sheik bent just a little in his own laughter. When he had recovered, "I'm glad he caught you." Turning to George, "You didn't tell me he was so sharp minded."
"He surprises me often, Sir."
At that moment, they were interrupted by one of the many aides in the Sheik's Court. He leaned very close to the Sheik. "My Lord, we shall have serious trouble creating a double for this one," politely indicating Fortis.
Without glancing at the aide, the Sheik said quietly. "Do what you can." Fortis was struggling to guess what a double would be for, but was not prepared for what came next. He drew them physically close.
"Fortis, we are going to dispatch someone looking like you and George northward on a fast ship. They will be leaving within the hour. I'm afraid we will have to ask you to disappear again. My staff will outfit you two as servants before you leave, and you'll need to be sure to wear that cowl again." He sighed deeply, then smiled. "The things we have to do to save the human race." Stepping back, he said in a louder voice. "I sincerely hope things slow down in a week or two; we never get to talk, George."
With that, the Sheik walked away and disappeared in a sea of purple-and-yellow clad servants. The aide who had interrupted earlier still stood by, and George turned to him. "Okay, take us away."
Darkness came more slowly in the city of tents, because it was higher ground and no trees blocked the sky. Fortis and George had slipped into the academy, one of two permanent structures in the area. The ancient stone building was simple, though quite large. They had been placed in a room on the third floor, and Fortis sat on the tiny balcony. The wind was cool, but the night dampness had not yet begun. His mind swam in that wide ocean again.
Some part of him remembered to absorb his environment. The wind across the low peaked roof of slate made odd noises. He could have sworn he heard for a moment something like the sound he recalled the sails making during their long voyage from the pole. Was that movement on the roof?
Too slowly he turned to look, and faced the glint of a Gauss weapon in the hands of a shadow on the roof above him. Fortis froze.
The shadow spoke in a stage whisper. "Good idea. I have no intention of harming you, so not moving will keep me from having to think about it. Step over here to the railing."
Fortis moved slowly to the place where the roof met the framework of the balcony. The shadow climbed down and sat on the railing next to him. Somehow, the Gauss weapon never strayed from pointing at him. He was now just a few feet from the barrel.
The shadow removed his cowl. Fortis was hardly surprised to see the fake hunter from the village. "Your hunters just about finished me back there in the woods. I wish I could recruit them, but I don't have time for such things." He seemed quite relaxed, almost friendly. "They deserved their awards. And you aren't such a slouch yourself. Past your prime and you still manage to keep up with everyone else, load and all. I'm impressed."
Fortis was not sure how genuine such praise could be. But the weapon was relaxed, and the man leaned near him, as if he feared nothing at all.
"Again, this has nothing to do with hurting you, or anyone else. I decided to take a chance and just talk. Frankly, if you wanted to run back inside, I would not stop you. What I hope for is just your ears for a few minutes. I want you to hear an honest account of the other side."
Fortis sighed, then said quietly, "I'm listening."
"Good. I knew you were too intelligent to swallow everything you hear without a few questions. This isn't some evil cabal plotting to take over Misty. We just want a chance to be heard, and so far, no one will listen. We are shot on sight, mostly."
"So I've heard," Fortis agreed.
"That part was true enough. All we really want is for someone to consider the safety of our paradise here. We have no standing army, and the few troops we have are tied down. Most of the rangers are tied up chasing punks or preventing prisoners escaping the northern islands."
Fortis bit his tongue to keep from asking about that.
The man continued. "It's gotten pretty tough, lately. Quite a few are getting much closer to escaping. My associates are catching more and more of them trying to slip across the open water to the deserts. Twice in the past year, they chased little groups across the plateaus, even though letting them go would have left them to die in the desert. No man on this planet can carry enough water to make it.
"So what's going to happen if the outsiders send their troops? You know better than I do. Rangers are stretched too thin. Don't you think we need some effective defense to keep ourselves safe? If nothing else, let them see a deterrent force at the pole. All we are asking is that the first shipments include some more weapons, better stuff that work here, like the old chemical explosive based rifles. They make these" -- holding up the Gauss short rifle -- "look like toys. We know they can be made, and we are sure they'll work here. With no energy weapons working here, we would always have the upper hand."
Fortis placed the fingers of one hand on his chin, resting the elbow in the other hand. He hoped he looked a lot more relaxed than he felt. "I suppose you would recruit men like the twins as part of your larger ranger force."
"Yes. We can surely afford to field a couple of new regiments. Of course, it would require a central command to run it, but this planet has more than enough wealth to support at least that many. We just need an independent force so the sheiks will quit hindering our efforts to protect the planet. They keep finding unimportant errands for us, like they don't have enough slaves running around."
Fortis was pretty sure this was not entirely accurate, but let it pass. "I suppose you have something you'd like me to do."
"Of course. Just take me back with you. I'm sure your ship has room, no?"
Fortis juggled the risks, then decided honesty was the best answer. "There is room. However, the ship is going to leave without me, so there might be plenty of room for you."
"What?" The man stared hard at Fortis.
"I estimate within twelve or thirteen days, Elder Bradley will reach the ship with a device which will instruct it to leave immediately without me. I can't imagine you'll get there fast enough to do any good."
The man froze, staring. Then he jerked upright at the sound of door handle rattling. With a quickness that left Fortis staring, the man jumped back up onto the roof and disappeared over the peak. A few seconds later, something like a kite rose almost invisible in the night air. With its dark fabric, Fortis barely made out the shape, as it filled with air, then drifted away.
George's face peeked around the door. "I'm going to bed..." He stepped out hurriedly. "Are you unwell? What has made you so pale?"
"Our fake hunter came to visit." Fortis still stared off into the dark over the peak of the roof. "I didn't know the kites could be used as gliders."
George looked, too. "It's extremely risky. Only a very few can afford the time to master them. Most who try end up dead or maimed. It began as a way to gain elevation for human eyes with the rangers. But the winds aloft are very unstable compared to what we experience with sails and windmills. A skilled wind-rider must face the wind, rise to altitude, and as soon as it starts bucking and before collapsing they must glide downward a ways, then repeat the process. It's exhausting, so just a few kilometers is about the limit for most."
They stepped inside the little room. George continued, "Did you have a nice conversation?"
Fortis looked just a little sheepish. "I told him the ship was leaving when Elder Bradley got to it."
George smiled. "I suppose now is as good a time as any for him to learn that. If he were able to muster the incredible endurance, he just might fly there that fast with his glider kite, but the winds won't give him much of a lift down near the pole. He would have to approach in a very wide circle, making at least a couple of loops around the polar island. So it's not likely any man could get there, and Bradley would surely try to kill him before he landed. He's a much better archer than I."
George stepped into the hall and called someone as he walked, then thumped down the stairs. Fortis stayed in the room, staring out the window at the eternally starless sky of Misty. He could hear George talking to whomever answered his call. The ranger captain might easily escape, but there was little he could do now. Perhaps this would shut down all their plans? He hoped so.
George returned shortly, and Fortis gave him a digest of the conversation.
George closed his eyes, hugging himself, dropping his chin against his chest. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, moved his hands together and clasped them in front of his face, resting his nose on the tips of his fingers, his chin on his thumbs. Finally, dropping his hands, he spoke. "I don't know which is more disturbing -- that he would be lying to you on purpose, or actually believe any part of what he said."
George paced back and forth across the room slowly. "Given his actions, it seems most probable he believes it. It's hard to act with such desperation for a lie. This means I was right to warn the runner of that little visit. I wager our ranger friend will attempt flying to the pole right away. I can't warn Bradley, because the messenger birds can't get there any faster than a skilled human on a glider. We'll have to trust God on this one."
George sat down on his bedroll, leaned back and gazed at the dark ceiling. There was a feeble lantern for each of them standing on the floor, standard lighting on Misty anywhere glow patches weren't feasible. Fortis sank down onto his own, but crossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows. The muscles in his back and legs complained but he hardly noticed.
"Perhaps I can untangle this for you." He sighed, then began. "Our founders back on Terra made a covenant. We still have it today, as a fundamental part of our laws. Not so much for what it says directly, but what it conveys. The covenant recognized not everyone would be able to embrace mysticism or faith in God. But it assumes those are essential to discerning how we should live. It becomes necessary to vest someone with power to keep things together under faith and mysticism, and to provide certain unalterable principles. People who, for whatever reason, lack faith and insight must have something they can cling to in order to remain among us. We do our best to teach the higher meaning, but we back it up by laws which no man can mistake.
"Throughout human history, every system breaks down, sooner or later. What we do here is preserve the context in which law is most likely to succeed, that it will work as well as it can. That context is this our enforced primitive culture and lifestyle you see. We make it a matter of religion first, then culture, but finally it has to be enforced.
"We accepted the peculiar qualities of Misty as God's way of saying He supported that commitment by bring us to a place where it is easier to enforce. A very significant part of that commitment is, aside from our tweaking the gene pool of flora and fauna through entirely natural means of selective breeding, should the entire population of Misty disappear, future visitors would have little idea who or what was here. It would be virtually unspoiled. That's our commitment to letting God recycle this planet for the next inhabitants, should He so choose. We are committed to consciously maximizing His freedom to act in our lives, and in the lives of others.
"Those of us who study that covenant, and commit ourselves to keep it alive have already committed ourselves to die sacrificially. But not just individually, we are willing to lose the entire planet at God's behest. Yes, we presume to make that decision for everyone here, because that's what brought us here, and what has made everything we have, and is only reason we have for continuing to exist. There is nothing we can do with our hands worth saving, if we do not portray that sacrificial love which took God's Son to the Cross."
George rose to his feet again. "We have had those chemical explosive weapons. The ammunition for them does not store well on Misty. For the high cost of getting them, we ended up with useless weapons requiring constant resupply at very high expense, because every shipment degraded within a few months. Gauss weapons, at least, continue to work. Again, the cost is exceedingly high, and we reserved their use to rangers, simply because anywhere they go, numerical advantage will never be theirs. That's the nature of their role. That we could have a captain spout such nonsense shows his training is broken in the area of law."
Fortis interjected, "Or that someone has seduced them to another way of thinking."
"Yes. But there is almost nothing we can do about that. All humanity is broken, damaged in some way. Those of us who are granted higher faculties realize we are trapped between two worlds. There can be only one reason for struggling here to keep things together -- it's still a useful tool for pointing to that higher plane of existence. If we discover any part of this stops working, we discard it immediately. Things have changed since our landing on this planet. Some parts of our charter have been loosened, and other things added or tightened. The mechanism cannot be eternal, but the higher purpose is never anything less. We fix what we can and trust God for the rest."
Fortis shifted to relieve the tense muscles. "So in the end, our ranger captain is left to figure it out for himself. You could easily have killed him back there in the forest."
George smiled. "I told the boys to miss, and they shot well. The man's perceptions are his own worst enemy, his own prison. Tell me, what would happen if he boarded your space craft before it left?"
Fortis didn't hesitate. "Without evidence someone in authority approved his use of the ship, he'd be a stowaway. He'd be arrested by men and women using energy weapons, immobilized in a stasis field. Very humane and painless, but unfailingly effective."
George tilted his head to one side. "So it is here, but we lack the energy weapons and stasis fields. We are very reluctant to execute. We would rather give folks a chance to negotiate terms of peaceful coexistence. We really don't even try to muzzle heretics, just make sure their lies are countered by truth. No one has the right to attempt reshaping the mind of another adult. All we can do is demand terms of sufferance."
"So your northern hemisphere is somehow a prison?" Fortis recalled the ranger's comments.
"It serves. There are precious few resources to harvest. We take our rejects there, give them just enough basic survival equipment. We don't know how it happened, but most of the islands look like cut pieces of higher ground. Precious few trees, none with the enhanced properties of selective breeding, and nothing big enough to make a raft. They can fish, catch birds, eat insects and vegetation, and the weather pattern is the same as on the rest of the planet. They'll spend almost every waking hour just trying to stay alive, even without much in the way of predators. They get a sealed water filter rig which makes just about enough to drink for daily use, and it will stop working if they try to open it. They are left alone on their own island. They could swim to another if they want, but they might have to fight sea predators.
"As for escaping across the desert? Not a chance. On the northern shores of the equatorial continents there is almost no land at all where you can live. The dry plateaus rise almost straight up from the sea, and climbing is very challenging. The few places that isn't the case, we tend to avoid leaving our prisoners near them. The one fact the ranger got correct was how much water it would take to get anywhere. We are talking hundreds of kilometers from the nearest human habitation.
"When their time is up, they know where they have to be for the relief ship to rescue them. It keeps the rangers assigned there pretty busy, and we rotate them through there frequently."
Fortis asked, "Do most of the exiles make it back after their sentence?"
"Most of them, yes. It's easy enough to die there, but few are exiled for more than three months. That's about all it takes for them to either negotiate with themselves to rejoin society or confirm their rejection."
"And if they confirm?"
"Everyone lives under probation, and the next mistake could easily be their last. Would it surprise you to know most of those caught searching the woods for us were on probation? Probation is always served with a distant clan, and all of these were brought here from somewhere else. They were slaves, as it were, not citizens. As you know, the idea behind probation is to earn your way back into society. We don't permit abuse of slaves, but their lives are not easy, and there is no pretense. They knew the risks."
Fortis thought for a moment. "I suppose our doubles will be recalled, now? The trick didn't fool our ranger."
"No," George shook his head. "He may have been working independently, but was not working alone. Someone told him where to find you. He took the risk of flying over this place and found you outside on balcony. We can even say God allowed that to happen, and controls much of what goes no here. We don't fight His hand. We simply do the best we can within the limits of imperatives we perceive from Him. No, we'll let the charade play itself out as planned to maintain consistency for whomever is watching, including God, but certainly for a number of people lacking omniscience."
Fingers buried in his blond hair, Fortis clasped the sides of his head. "I think I could use a good course in your religion."
The greatest struggle for Fortis was not the symbolism of Misty's dominant religion. The spiritual logic was not out of reach. What he struggled with was the sudden slow pace of life. The sea journey was a jolting experience intellectually, so his mind was busy enough. The first week of travel on Johnston Island brought a more physical brand of adventure. The month of religion instruction was actually rather mundane in itself, though the sudden insights were constant. But the waiting for news of how things transpired with the ranger and Elder Bradley was a nagging worry the whole time.
George had other business to attend to, and Fortis made new friends on the college faculty, as they devoted time tutoring him one one one. So he was caught off guard when, after almost a month, George turned up at his door just before dawn. "Looks like the ranger didn't make it. Fisherman found his kite off the coast south of here," he announced.
Fortis invited him inside. George was about as bubbly as Fortis was anxious to hear the story. "We were shocked by one thing. The wreckage included a hot air balloon. Not completely enclosed, just a way to create a pocked of warm air. So it was just enough to enhance the rate of climb for the kite. Our boy had several small ceramic canisters of hydrogen and a tiny burner. Best we can tell, he would fire up the balloon when he couldn't get a lift from the winds, but still had to collapse the bag at glide altitude to get forward travel."
"But you don't use hydrogen much for heat, do you?"
"We've been able to extract it for quite some time, but we don't have the means for condensing it to liquid. Refrigeration requires too much power. Some limited compression storage is possible, but it's very inefficient. Most production facilities are bunkers. A cluster of windmills running non-metallic dynamos will be clustered together right near the machinery to prevent the need for metal wire. We use the ceramic hotplate technology to warm stuff. If we need more heat, we have a separate windmill pull water from a well, and some of that electrical power operates some ancient water fracturing equipment we imported. We pull the gases off and inject them back into an oven. The fracturing units operate pretty much on demand. They include a mechanical compressor with a small chamber.
"We have tried, but could never make hydrogen economically feasible for shipping. Mostly we use it in melting glass and firing ceramics. What he had would have cost almost as much as two ships and the resources to operate them for the same trip, so why would anyone bother?" George shook his head in wonder. "Somebody was pouring extravagant resources into his mission. Too bad. We found his remains still attached to the harness."
Fortis thought for a moment. "Why do I get the feeling at least one of the clans involved has a factory?"
"So we believe," George affirmed. "My own clan is one of them."
Fortis took a moment to absorb that. Meanwhile, George produced something from under his cloak. He shook out a dark red robe, just like the ones worn by the professors in the academy. However, this one had no patches of yellow and purple, but a thin stripe of each down both shoulders. "Put this one, Fortis, and let's take a walk."
"So I'm a professor, now?" Fortis was trying to catch on to the complicated symbolism of the garments he had seen so far on Misty. "What do the stripes mean? I haven't seen anything like that before." Fortis wrapped the robe about himself.
George led him down the hall. "You aren't a citizen of Johnston, but a free employee. There are precious few of those anywhere on the planet."
"So tell me why the Harbor Master wore black, with leggings," Fortis asked as they descended the stairs.
They exited the wooden door at the bottom which led into the hard packed street. "Judicial authority. He exercises the Council's power, separate from the Sheik. That, while he technically remains a vassal of the sheik. I suppose you would call it an extension of the Law of the Sea, which is often echoed in space travel, no?"
Fortis nodded. "Yes. A Port Master has similar authority, typically used to handle unruly hands or passengers who escaped a captain's execution outright when the ship lands. It's part of the treaty system for space travel."
George grinned. "Same here. I was acting Port Master when you arrived."
Fortis was almost bursting. "And I suppose we have no idea whether that ship of mine is gone, yet?"
George pretended the question was an unimportant distraction. "Of course," he said, watching something down the street. "Bradley is a good man. He promptly sent a message bird as soon as the dust settled. Bird arrived an hour ago." Then he grinned broadly.
Fortis sighed deeply. "And for all we know, another has returned by now with some other mission."
"You would know better than I. News on Misty travels very slowly, as you know." Again, the broad mocking grin.
"And Acting Port Master Bradley will greet them faithfully according to Council's wishes. But I doubt any of the visitors are so anxious to travel as we do here on Misty, only to confirm what I reported. Should I suppose Elder Bradley had any sample trade goods or something?"
They rounded a turn sloping down toward the forest. Cocking his head to one side, George thought about it. "Most likely he did. His specialty is business management, so I have no doubt he quickly seized upon the opportunity. He's a mystic, but finds business negotiations a major form of entertainment. I'd wager he raided Francis' closet for a selection of goodies before he left."
Abruptly George turned to him. "How soon can you be ready to sail north?"
By Ed Hurst
29 December 2009
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