DUALITY: The World of Lies (9 page)

Aru looked at Mei. “I believe you now. There
is something down there, something significant.”

“Yeah, this configuration matches a continuous
transmission relay for that orbit, not the solar surface. But I
have to wonder. We only observed a one-way lateral signal, one that
had been reconstituted and relayed from a weaker one, presumably,
incoming from one of the Stones. So... so which Stone or both are
transmitting? And is there a return signal? I mean there'd have to
be… and what could be powering that back out of the
corona?”

Aru drank down the last of his glass mulling
her questions. “There may not be a return signal at
all.”

“Why? What would be the point of transmitting
data into a star without receiving feedback?”

“Why hide anything inside a star at all?
Whatever this is, it's something the Emperor needs hidden and
preserved, but doesn't want reaching back at him by any channel of
communication.”

Mei digested this notion. “That's rather
frightening in itself! I suppose what we need to do is get a look
at one of these relay satellite stations, and try to find an
incoming signal from the corona, which means rendezvousing with the
satellites coming into range with one of Stones. We could start
arching the Kinetic back...”

“No. Absolutely not. It would burn too much of
the fuel we'll need to achieve escape velocity when we exit this
star. No. We stay on course for the inner orbit, and our prize.
What you need to do is reallocate the bulk of the probes set for
the second launch and dedicate them to forming a relay network
spanning from the satellite ring to the inner orbit.”

“There aren't nearly enough probes to cover
all that area, and it would take months to search the orbit of this
supposed satellite ring without them. No, Aru, please let me direct
all our resources to searching the smaller target orbit. I still
think that's our best shot.”

“In light of what we've just discovered, I'm
inclined to disagree. I realize this is a drastic departure from
the original sweep strategy. We don't need to cover the entire
satellite ring, just the two stations that will be coming into
range of the Stones' transcornonal broadcasts. Diverting the probes
to relay that data will be worthwhile, and give us our best odds of
pinpointing our target, assuming our theory is correct -and I have
to believe that it is.”

Mei processed this with all her mental might.
He could see her wheels turning to refute it somehow, as it would
have her replotting the probe sequences for hours. Her face relaxed
in resignation as she reasoned herself beyond that hump. She glared
at him playfully, then hit him on the chest in feigned
agitation.

“You said “transcornonal” you drunken twit.”
And she started to laugh.

“I did, I did. I was going for “transcornonal”
-no, damn it, I just did it again.”

He'd done that on-purpose that time, more
humor to ease her into accepting his superior reasoning, which he
could tell from her demeanor she already had.

“Transcoronal?” she mused. “I guess I never
even realized that was a word.”

“Neither did I til I found myself in need of
it,” he agreed with a yawn.

She leaned in and kissed him, but
only briefly. “You know, I have to a say I'm impressed at how
quickly and thoroughly you managed to pull your head out of your
ass for that alert. Whatever else you may decide you want or don't
want out of this mission, when it's done, you're getting everything
you could ever want out of
me
.”

“I might just take you up on that.” He
considered taking her now, but then thought better of the notion.
“System, pod,” he ordered.

A relaxation pod glided across the floor to
his position. He dropped back and nestled into it as Mei again
donned her halo to commune with System for another long session of
vector plotting.

“Get some downtime yourself when that's done,”
he suggested. “System, if anything else demands my attention, shoot
me up with whatever serums are required to get me lucid and
functional.”

“Aye Captain,” confirmed System.

He sank deeper and deeper into the warm quiet
comfort of the pod. His mind instinctively started into race with
thoughts of the mission at hand but slumber quickly won out in
spite of it.

S
itting in
a cell in the Tulan jail was not someplace Gahre had ever imagined
he would find himself, and it irked him to no end to be treated
like a criminal in his own hometown, to have his movement unjustly
restricted, to be caged like a feral animal too dangerous to be
loosed. The guards here were his peers and they looked after him as
best they could. They brought him books, which he read intently for
lack of any more productive activity to fill his time. He read
Azweel's Treatise on Wild Botanicals for the second time. He hoped
to get it entirely committed to memory as it was one of the most
useful texts he'd ever encountered, spelling out how to forage
herbs for poultices and other medicinals in the southern wilds.
They also brought him a copy Savery's “Corruption of Karnica” a
firsthand account of the origin of the cult takeover of the Far
West with all the vices and horrors it summoned there that remain
to this day. It was quite germane to the present situation as these
bandits had fled from that same nation.

The younger bandit he had apprehended was
being held in the cell beside him. At first Gahre refused to even
acknowledge the boy, but the boy persisted in recounting his tale
to him. He hailed from, of all places, Karnica in the Wicked West.
The older man was his uncle and brother-in-law to the dread and
sinister Har Darox. He described a violent world of gambling dens
and cathouses, brutal torture and gang-rule. Har Darox was the most
infamous of bandits and had last year made the mistake of turning
his robbing efforts on the caravan of a powerful slave lord and
making off with a sizable piece of his ill-gained
fortune.

The slave lord had tasked all his men and a
small army of paid mercenaries to track down and kill not only the
bandit Har Darox but all of his kin. The boy described the bloody
raids that had taken nearly his entire clan to their graves. Har
Darox had come to the rescue of the boy and his uncle and insisted
they must flee together to the east. For lack of other options, the
boy followed him. Under the cover of night and foul weather, they
crossed through the southern pass into the eastern world two months
ago. They raided two wagons on their way, the first assault
resulting in the death of a merchant. The boy however swore that no
blood had ever been drawn by his hand, and that he had only stayed
in the company of Har Darox and his uncle because they told him he
was now an outlaw by way his association with them, and they were
his kin looking out for him in a foreign land.

Sympathetic to the boy’s story, Gahre felt
compelled to write a statement to the courts outlining the case
that the boy was unduly influenced beyond his control and urged
leniency in his sentence. For his own legal troubles, however,
Gahre gruffly refused to talk to anyone in the system, not the
sheriff and not the investigators who already had his statements,
not even his own appointed barrister. He felt the very system was
corrupt and that he should do nothing to legitimize it. He would
not sign a document, answer a single question, or cooperate in any
way. He only answered them with the loud clank of his foot on the
cell door and a shout of “Begone!” before slumping onto this bunk
to devote his attention back to his reading.

He stewed in his incarceration and
contemplated escape more than once. They had to open the door
eventually, and there would be little they could do then to stop
him from simply barging out. Raised as he was under the charge of
his uncle, a tinker, he understood enough of the inner workings of
the lock that he might pick it should he acquire the right tool to
do so. He was being guarded by lifelong acquaintances and could
probably press one for the favor.

On the third day the Karnica boy was
transferred to the capital for his trial, leaving Gahre alone to
hum tunes and count the cracks in the wall whenever he needed a
break from his long stretches of reading and
daydreaming.

On the morning of the fifth day the guards
opened his cell and took him to wash. He was not escorted back to
his cell but to the interrogation room he'd been held in recounting
his tale to grueling infinity the week before. Gahre sat alone in
the bare room with the bare table expecting his appointed barrister
or the sheriff or the Elder Panthus to come and receive his
rebuke.

It was no small surprise to him then when the
daunting figure of Indulu darkened the doorway. Indulu, the
enigmatic leader of The Order, whose mysterious role in the
governance of nations was ever presumed but never verified; his
godfather; and the only man Gahre had ever known who could look him
square in the eye for any length of time.

He had eyes that shone with the light of
wisdom, stature that held a great countenance, and a clear spoken
voice heavy in gravitas. He was wielding the rifle Gahre had
confiscated from the bandits, and which was the source of half the
charges against him.

Gahre stood up at once. “Honored
One!”

Indulu quietly seated himself, laid the rifle
on the table between them, and nodded his indication that Gahre be
seated as well.

Indulu put his hands on the rifle and pulled
back the bolt. “I'm glad you brought this to us,” he said. “We've
seen this maker’s work before. It's highly refined. Just look at
this bolt, the stock, the trigger mechanism.... all machine
rendered and of advanced design.”

“You've seen its like before, Honored
One?”

“Aye, but never here in the eastern realms.
Our intelligence service is still trying to track down the workshop
that produces them, no doubt run under the auspices of some warlord
or another. They continually thwart our best efforts to locate
it.”

“I think it is a fine tool, ideal for safely
clearing away both predators and hostile men alike. If it were up
to me, I'd have every ranger in the realms armed with
one.”

“They are forbidden by law so that we may
control their proliferation. Legalizing their issuance to any group
will invariably lead to that in the long run.”

“Yes, well, if the bandits have them, our
lawmen ought to also, else you leave them at a distinct
disadvantage.”

“Son, imagine if you will the evolution of
this technology if men were free to develop it. There would be
magazines of bullets, self-loading, and the weapon could fire
automatically, many rounds every second. In the hands of a madman,
it would give him the power to slay dozens of people.”

Gahre contemplated what he was hearing and was
a bit astonished by it. “Honored One, if such technology has
existed or ever could again, you would be now in violation of the
Law to impart it to me as you are.”

“Ah yes...” Indulu seemed to be reminded, “The
Law. It seems, since you used this weapon, fired and reloaded it,
that you were possessed of unlawful knowledge of its operation, and
that's a good portion of what all this fuss is about.”

Gahre sighed. “I refuse to discuss the case
further, I've made my statements and I stand on them. There is
nothing more to add.”

“Yes, I know. I understand, bright one. You
have to draw the line somewhere, don't you? I mean, you say all
there is to say, yet still they're compelled to clamor on. They'll
talk and talk and talk themselves right unto their death. And
fleshless years into the grave their jawbones still be
clacking.”

Gahre smiled at this, in spite of his dour
mood.

“I get barrages and onslaughts of it daily,
mercilessly upon my ears. Such is the burden of governance,” Indulu
continued. “I intend to retire one day in quiet solitude when this
world allows me.”

“So you arrive here for the Spring Conference
of the Realms, Godfather? It is still a half a moon
away.”

“There is another matter in the region that
requires my personal attention.”

“And what be that?”

“This matter, young one. You.”

Gahre displayed a look of mildly indifferent
suspicion. “I hardly believe I'm worthy of that much
concern.”

“Perhaps not entirely worthy, but I do owe a
great debt to your father. And I would've come regardless of who
you were to deal with any such debacle of justice as this. You have
to understand, my son, the minds of these men...”

Gahre scoffed. “I understand already more than
I care to, Honored One, and I refuse to play their games or
legitimize a single one of their perverse conflations.”

“Good,” agreed Indulu. “Then you realize the
real issue here is that you frighten them. They don't know how to
handle one as exceptional as you. No ordinary man would have done
what you did, ambushing armed bandits solo like that, head on and
without hesitation. I doubt I could've mustered such courage. But
you didn't muster it, did you? You are.... you are
fearless?”

“It was all calculated, Honored One. I
understood the risks and my own capabilities. Morally, I was
obligated to accept those risks for the sake of their potential
victims. I felt fear surely, but it was more the voice of caution
than any debilitating force or voice urging me to flee. I am not
brave. The brave overcome their fears. I simply process differently
than others.”