Seeker (12 page)

"Very good, Professor."

"Oh, and make sure he's a strong one." Professor Ortus was back in control, demonstrating by his commanding tone of voice that the king's secretary was no more than a minor member of his team. "He'll need to be fit and healthy and strong to take the load we're going to put on him."

"I'll do my best," said Soren Similin.

O
N THE FAR SIDE OP THE CITY, IN THE WARREN OF AL
leys that lay between the meat market and the lakeshore, there were cheap rooms to sleep in and cheap bars to drink in, and it was here that the transient population of unskilled workers, petty criminals, and drunks was to be found. Here the elegance and opulence of the imperial city gave way to stinking tenements, where the occupants defecated openly in the gutters. So it was here that Soren Similin went the next day in search of what he needed.

He could have commanded one of the prisoners held in the tanks to be handed over to him: his authority from the king certainly extended that far. But the wretches in the tanks were mostly spikers who had been caught seeking work in the city without permits and had been half starved even before their arrest. Also the secretary did not want the priests who picked out the daily tribute from the tanks to start sniffing round him, asking questions. So he had decided to buy what he needed, on the black market.

Soren Similin made it his business to be well-informed. He knew a trade existed that supplied tributes to the leading families of Radiance so that they could present offerings on their name days. In the past, all tributes had been prisoners captured alive in battle, and the offering of a tribute had been a sign of prowess. But the days of such wars were long gone. Radiance was too rich and too powerful to require its prominent citizens to wield a sword themselves. So when a wealthy magnate wished to impress the king by offering a tribute, he had to go and buy one.

The king's secretary made his way to the infamous hostel known as the Ham Bone. There he sat himself down at a table in the crowded courtyard and called for beer. When the drink came, he held the bar-boy's hand and said, "I'm here to do business."

The bar-boy nodded and left. The secretary drank his beer and waited patiently. After a while two unremarkable men sidled up and sat on the bench facing him.

"We're told you want to do business, Captain."

Similin nodded.

"And what would be your desire?"

In such a place, in such company, Soren Similin did not bother to pretend humility. He spoke briskly and to the point.

"Male. Strong. Prime condition."

The two men looked at each other and mimed astonishment.

"You hear that, Sol?"

"I do hear."

"Wouldn't you call that a coincidence?"

"Like the captain had read our minds."

"We brought just such a one in, only yesterday. Male, you say. Strong, you say. Prime condition, you say." He leaned across the table and exhaled his brandy-smelling breath at Similin. "What do you say to an axer?"

"An axer!"

"Retired, of course. But not long retired. A great big bull of a man!"

"How much?"

"For a perfect specimen like that? Five thousand shillings."

Soren Similin stood up, as if to go.

"I'll give you five hundred."

The two traders got up from the bench together, shaking their heads and sighing.

"We wouldn't want to waste your time, Captain."

The secretary spoke with menacing softness.

"That was not a request."

He drew out his royal medallion. The traders' faces went white. The king's power was absolute, even in this sordid corner of the city.

"You should have said, Captain. Always happy to oblige a servant of the king."

"Where is this man?"

"Right now? Right now, I'd say he's resting after his travels. Wouldn't you say, Sol?"

"Fast asleep, Captain."

"You mean he's drugged."

"You'd have done the same, Captain. He would keep wriggling and roaring."

"I'll send a cart for him. Be sure to have him ready."

It took four young men from Professor Ortus's team to carry the doped axer into the laboratory. They complained loudly all the way.

"That's enough!" chided Ortus. "True science is hard work. Great Sun! He's magnificent!"

Barban lay on a stretcher, his wrists and ankles bound, his mouth gagged. He was awake but too drugged to do more than roll his eyes. It took the combined efforts of everyone in the team to heave him off the stretcher and into the chair. Once there, they cut his bonds and strapped his arms and legs tightly to the chair, which was itself bolted securely to the floor.

Soren Similin looked on, noting the additions that had been made to the apparatus. In the twenty-four hours that had passed since he had left them, the team had made impressive progress. Above the chair, itself a piece of new work, there hung an iron-and-rubber harness, from which dangled thin rubber pipes and straps, clips, and needles.

"I would never have believed it was possible," he said. "You truly are miracle workers."

Ortus didn't reply. He was examining the big man in the chair. Barban sat lolling forward, unable to control his posture. The scientist passed one hand back and forth in front of the axer's eyes. There was no reaction.

"He's very heavily drugged," he said.

"Is that a problem?"

"In this condition, he's incapable of obeying even the simplest instructions."

"Does that mean you can't carry out the test?"

"Oh, the test won't be a problem. We have him entirely under our control. But when it comes to the real thing, we're going to need a carrier with his wits about him."

"Then, that is what we will find," said Soren Similin.

That and more, he thought to himself. He had known from the very first moment he had solved the final problem that the carrier would have to be a volunteer—and a very special kind of volunteer. He said none of this aloud.

"But for now, Professor, you can proceed?"

"Certainly. I'm extremely curious to know if my theories will be proved correct in practice."

"I'm sure they will, Professor," purred the secretary. "You've not been wrong yet."

The harness was lowered onto Barban's slumped shoulders and strapped in place. The fine needles were inserted into the axer's neck and arms and connected to the dangling rubber tubes. Professor Ortus himself then checked every connection to be sure the seal was unbroken. Then he gave a brisk nod, and the charging process began.

The machine made a soft roaring sound. The pipes and tubes began to quiver and throb. The drugged axer stiffened but gave no sign of resistance. He seemed not to be in any pain.

Ortus watched intently.

"The subject's blood is now passing through the charged gases," he reported.

One of the juniors began to feel uneasy. Something about the experiment troubled him.

"Professor," he said, "I think there may be some aspect we haven't checked."

Ortus frowned. This was no time to discover mistakes in the experimental process. On the other hand, he always stressed to his team that science was built on evidence, and evidence was the product of close and unremitting attention to detail.

"Yes, yes. What is it?"

The junior wasn't sure himself. He struggled to express his niggling doubt.

"The test subject," he said. "I mean, does he—can we—is he—"

"Is he in perfect condition?" snapped the professor. "No, not at all. But we can allow for that."

"What I meant, Professor, was—well—is it all right?"

"Is what all right?"

"I mean—from his point of view."

"His point of view? That is not our concern."

He turned to check the state of the big axer strapped in the chair. To Similin he said, "Now, you see. The charged blood is reentering his body."

Then, to settle the mind of his troubled junior,

"If we don't do this, others will. Do we want this great power in the hands of others? Think what destruction that could unleash! It could mean the end of the world as we know it! Whatever you or I do, science marches on. We have a duty to follow the flame of knowledge wherever it leads. To carry the torch—to make what sacrifices must be made—to serve and protect and enlighten."

The axer uttered a long gurgling groan. His mouth opened and shut, and his legs shook. The team of scientists crowded round.

"He's not going to be able to take much more."

Barban started to vibrate violently. His eyes protruded from his head. His tongue lolled out.

"All right. That'll do."

The team shut down the pumps and unharnessed the axer. They wore thick soft gloves and handled him with care.

"How long was that?"

"Twelve minutes, Professor."

"Not as long as I had hoped."

"Will it be sufficient, Professor?" asked the secretary.

"We are about to find that out."

The test site was in an abandoned quarry on the far side of the belt of sunflower fields. Here, surrounded by craggy stone cliffs, was a broad rock-strewn area into which Ortus and the team carried the shivering axer, lighting their way with lanterns. In the center an iron post had been hammered into the ground. To this they tethered their test subject—not that he showed any signs of trying to run away. He slumped to the ground and lay there, shuddering. A dozen or so other iron posts across the quarry had cows tethered to them. The cows lowed anxiously as members of the team went from post to post lighting the torches fixed on their tops.

"Cows?" said Soren Similin.

"Part of the test."

When everything was in place, Ortus, the secretary, and the rest of the team retreated to a base located behind a shield of rock. The professor then turned to the junior who had expressed doubts back in the laboratory.

"You," he said, handing him a small sharp knife. "Show us you're a true scientist."

The junior took the knife.

"Yes, Professor." He spoke too loudly, eager to affirm his commitment to his profession. "Now, Professor?"

"Now."

The junior set off at once across the quarry to the tethered axer.

"Is he in any danger?" asked Similin.

Ortus shrugged.

"The trigger time is unknown, of course. One shallow cut, anywhere on the body. Just enough to cause bleeding. The charged blood reacts when exposed to the air, setting off a chain reaction. The stored energy is released, in a force-wave. But how quickly? And how powerfully? We have no idea."

"The flame of knowledge sometimes burns the hand that holds it," said Similin with a smile.

The junior with the knife made his cut, and came racing back to the shelter of the rock. He had barely dropped to the ground when there came a sound like a deep dull thud. This was followed by a shiver in the air, a distorting ripple. Then a shriek of high wind. The force-wave ripped outward from the center, blasting the loose fragments of rock across the quarry floor and into the surrounding cliffs. The tethered cattle were carbonized where they stood. The blast slammed into the rock cliffs and caused the very ground to shudder beneath the crouching team. Then, like distant thunder, the blast expended itself, rolling away across the fields and the lake.

Cautiously the team members rose from their sheltering place, and relighting their lanterns, which had been doused by the blast, they went back into the quarry. The entire quarry floor had been swept clean, as if by a giant broom. In the center, the iron post had melted into a simmering mound. Barban was gone. Not one trace of him remained.

"Stupendous!" said Soren Similin.

"And that," said Evor Ortus, swelling with pride, "is a fraction of the power we can release."

"What a weapon! Professor, I salute you!"

Ortus could no longer contain himself.

"My friends, what we have all just witnessed is beyond question a major scientific success. You should all be very proud. As for me, I'm not ashamed to say that this is my finest hour. My discovery will change the world!"

The team, all as excited as their leader, pumped one another's hands in their delight. The doubting junior, who had so nearly been swept away in the blast himself, set up a cheer of triumph.

"Science is marching on!" he cried.

Soren Similin watched and was well pleased. Such a weapon could never be detected by the Nomana, because what was there to see? The carrier could walk naked into the Nom, and he need do no more than scratch one finger to detonate an explosion that would wipe the holy island off the face of the earth. Then the king, in his gratitude, would raise his secretary to a position of power, and Soren Similin would be able to proceed to the final stage of his long-unfolding plan.

"We must present ourselves to the king," said Ortus, eager now for his rightful praise. "We must tell the king of our success."

"We must indeed," said the secretary. "But would it not be wiser to wait until we're ready to act?"

"We are ready! The test was a triumph!"

"There is still the matter of the carrier."

"Pooh! That's easy. Take a spiker out of the public tanks."

"Professor, our carrier must go alone and unaided onto the island. I think you'll agree with me, once you give the matter some thought, that a common spiker won't do at all. We need a very special kind of carrier. We need a volunteer."

"A volunteer?" The scientist frowned as he took in this notion. "It's true, a volunteer would be desirable."

"And we need, you would agree, a person who has access to the holy island. One who lives there, perhaps. Or a pilgrim."

"Yes. I can see that would be an advantage."

"One who is brave enough to penetrate to the shrine at the heart of the Nom."

"Yes..."

"And one who hates the Nomana so much that he or she would gladly die to destroy their power."

The professor's face had been falling more and more with each requirement. Now all his excitement evaporated.

"But how can such a person ever be found?"

"Where there's power," said Soren Similin, "there's hatred."

"It seems to me to be beyond all possibility. Why should anyone who lives on Anacrea, or anyone who goes there to worship as a pilgrim, have any desire to destroy the island—let alone themselves?"