WE HAD ABOUT GIVEN YOU ALL UP AS DEAD!”
Hawks practically screamed when Vulture’s call came in. “My god, what’s been happening? It’s been so long we’re starting work on Chanchuk without you!”
“You might still be in the dark, but I lucked into something I never imagined on this world. I got here from the Center in under two hours. Would you believe that? After all this . . . two lousy hours.”
“What? How?”
“Um . . . Would you believe I took the train?”
That got them almost as much as Vulture’s unexpected contact. “Uh—you took the what?”
“The train. It’s fascinating. Works on some kind of high-speed magnetic principle, I think. Little cars, really, but there are couplers that indicate more could be added. I have much to tell you, but the first thing is I think we made a basic mistake with this world. I don’t think this is a century-old experiment at all, and I don’t think it’s the harbinger of things to come so much as the origin of the idea. Hawks—you’re a historian. If this were a relatively new project, wouldn’t there be artifacts someplace? Ruins, perhaps, or an overgrown road or statue or something? Even after almost a thousand years they’re still all over Earth.”
“And there are none there? None that you saw anywhere?”
“Uh uh, and if you think it out it’s unlikely. The volcanoes around here are very active. The train tunnels are reinforced with the same synthetic linings used in jump propulsor motors on spaceships and rely as much on physics to keep them aligned as the rock they’re in. You don’t import lava snakes or the hundreds of other nasty creatures here, either, all well adapted to this place, but you also sure wouldn’t have them if there had been long-term civilized settlement here. The church is a Center and its chief is the C.A. This was the system imposed by Master System from the start for these people. I think it’s been going like this for centuries, maybe eight or nine. The kicker was the biology. I could see Master System transmuting a population but not an indigenous one. The very biology of the chiefs and the limits on the tribes makes it very unlikely there ever was a civilization here.”
“And those . . . trains?”
“That’s how it works. Until I was shown them—and only those who have seen the goddess firsthand and received her personal blessing know of them or can use them—I still couldn’t figure it all out. How did they maintain control over so vast a region? How did they stamp out innovation? How did they supply and support those countless truth-bearers in the wild? When I went to my first holy place there was power support for a computer and a limited sort of a mindprinter system, sophisticated security programs, and fresh supplies. There’s not, however, any indication of a direct communications grid. The train supplies them and also picks up the recordings and drops off new programs. Its power grid is fed by thermal stations deep below the surface and powers the holy places as well. They can cover an enormous area with the network and even shift supervisors around.”
Star Eagle broke in. “Then these holy places—they are train stations?”
“Exactly. But let me tell you all the details in order and all the complications and problems. I need help badly but time is of the essence. We are in serious danger of losing what remains of our people and causing a lot more suffering.”
As quickly but as thoroughly as possible, Vulture recounted the entire proceedings from their landing to the present situation.
“You actually kissed the ring.” Hawks sighed. “Too bad one of your lives wasn’t as a pickpocket. All right—after all this inactivity we have a radically changed situation and time pressure. Star Eagle?”
“I will need more information,” the pilot responded. “I’m going to need a thorough mindprint. Vulture, you will have to be picked up and taken aboard.”
Almost everyone aboard had been poring over the data bit by bit, trying to come up with a plan, or at least make sense of it all.
“I don’t like the sound of that amnesia drug one bit,” Raven commented. “I heard of stuff like that from my training days, though. Ten to one it’s the same stuff they give to Center personnel when they flunk a mindprinter exam or get caught with their nose where it shouldn’t be and are sent back to their people to live. Burn ’em out, give ’em a simple mindprinter program on living the old ways, and send them home to live and rot more ignorant than they were before they arrived. It’s that kind of crap I think Master System has been tempted to use on whole populations.”
“I’m more concerned right now about this Earth-daughter. Any idea what she might be? Or how?” Hawks asked any of them.
“The vision is quite graphic,” Star Eagle responded. “She is not hologram or other illusion. Tiny details picked from the scene in Vulture’s mind show consistent shadow, light breathing, moist lips, all indicating a living being. The radiation might be easy to fake, but I think she actually does glow. The subliminals indicate the use of a low-power hypnocaster but directionality emanates from her. It is almost as if she bad the hypnocaster inside her.”
“Is that possible?” Hawks asked.
“Not if you’re human, even Matriyehan. The required power sources alone would be injurious to tissue. If we rely on the assumption that she does indeed glow and she has this sort of device inside her, she is not at all human. Yet all external evidence that I can extract indicate she is.”
Raven sighed. “I been thinkin’ about Nagy.”
Hawks was startled. “Yes? What about him?”
“There was just something about him, something not right somehow. He was afraid only once that I saw, and that was when he thought his dead body might be ejected with a Val ship present. Now why would he be afraid of that if he’s dead? No earthly use to nobody—I mean, you’ve seen what a vacuum does to a body anyway. And then there was that small power surge, almost exactly like the surge we recorded when that Val we blew up sent out its little module and that ran and jumped. Suppose . . . suppose Nagy wasn’t human, either. Suppose he was something else, something transmuted to fool the best of man and machine but something a Val would discover anyway if it picked up the body—or maybe if it just scanned the body.”
“I have his medical records and his mindprints,” Star Eagle pointed out. “They show nothing unusual.”
“Yeah, and neither does Vulture’s. If we didn’t have Vulture, if I hadn’t seen the whole thing with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe such a creature could exist—no offense.”
“That’s all right. I am a creature,” Vulture responded off-handedly.
Isaac Clayben was fascinated by the line of thought that Raven had kept to himself all this time. “You mean you think my Arnold Nagy was a creature, as well? Like Vulture?”
“Uh uh. Not like Vulture, but with the same purpose. To fool everybody, human and computer. To hide. Look, I know this sounds crazy, off the wall, but Vulture was there and heard and saw it all, too. The way Nagy talked in his last moments about the heavy price to be paid using the transmuter. Almost a sense of loss, or longing.”
Vulture nodded. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I hadn’t thought of it much, though, but you’re right.”
“Doc, let me ask you—could you turn me into a horse? I mean a real, authentic horse, but with my memories?”
Clayben thought a moment. “There would be problems with memory storage and reinforced muscle controls, but it could be done using a modification of the memory storage system used on Vulture. Yes. Why?”
“What about a Val, Doc? Assuming you had the template for one, could you turn me into a living machine?”
“If I had the template, yes. The difficulties involved in control and reflexes and the like would be almost the opposite of the horse, but memory storage would be no problem, although you would literally no longer be human. Biochemistry would be replaced by programs, which are never as complex or complete as the natural thing. But, yes. What are you driving at?”
“Suppose you took a Val, for example, and tried to transmute it into a human being? Not human—but a perfect fake? One that would bleed and wheeze and drink booze and smoke cigars and tell dirty jokes and would be able to manipulate scanners to show the human insides you expect and would be able to make a mindprinter jump through the kind of hoops Vulture can?”
“It is—possible. Not with what we have here. It would take an incredibly complex computer with massive memory to do it, and possibly long periods of research and experimentation, but, yes, it could be done, I suppose. The price, however, would be quite high. As I said, you can only simulate so much. The creature would have to be half human, with biochemical responses, emotions, feelings of pleasure and pain, yet half machine, with a synthetic inner structure, power source, programmability—it would be an incredibly complex task, and it would create something that had the weaknesses of humans without the powers of the machines. Why would you create such a thing?”
Raven sat back and chewed on his cigar. “To replace a real human, to put your machine in a key place where it would never be suspected. As a spy, Doc. The perfect spy. I saw Nagy in action, Doc. He took on a Val head-to-head and he won. He thought as fast as the Val, and he out-thought it in planning and maneuvering. And those languages. He knew every language, every damned dialect there was, while all the time he kept playin’ the beer-drinkin’, cigar-smokin’, good old security boy.”
“But—he even had women. He enjoyed sex,” China pointed out. “He excelled at that, too,” she added, “although I never had his child.”
“You said it, Doc. Given a big enough machine to write a program that complicated and you can give your creature anything you want. Almost anything, anyway. He took his turn with China, and it didn’t take. Why? He wasn’t human. Now we have this goddess. Same thing. She’s human but she can’t be. More important, she gives the orders but she don’t wear the ring. Only a real human can wear or possess that ring. She could have the power source and all the gadgets you could want built in.”
“Hold on,” Hawks said. “This is all fascinating, but if some sort of humanoid Val was the top authority down there, it would violate the core program, the very reason for the existence of Centers in the first place. Humans must rule the day-to-day affairs of a planetary civilization.”
But Clayben was taken by the idea. “This is not necessarily a violation. It would be if she did rule, but she does not. She is rarely seen and then only by a few. Clearly she was not even a participant in the argument over how to handle the tribes. When authority must weigh alternatives and cannot decide on policy, it goes to its machines, its computers, and asks for advice. They were heavily, probably evenly, divided, and the chief administrator didn’t want to alienate either side by making a firm decision. So they put it to the Great God—their decision to do so—and the Earth-daughter intervened and decided as requested. It is like making a compact with the devil. If one does not consider all the angles and close all the loopholes, the devil will take advantage. Humans can choose freely to abrogate their decisions to machines. We do it all the time right here on Thunder. Whenever a complex issue is beyond us we defer to Star Eagle’s superior data, speed, and analytical skills. I can’t believe it of Nagy even now, but Raven may be quite correct here.”
Hawks sighed. “So we’re dealing with some sort of powerful and unusual Val, whose loyalty, of course is to the system, working with a master computer through a religion. Vulture is now on the inside and in good graces—maybe good enough to switch rings.”
“If I am successful at stamping out all vestiges of creativity and progress,” Vulture replied. “Let’s face it—it may already be too late, but probably not. Still, sooner or later it’s gonna fall apart. The data will be inconsistent, the charade our people are playing down there will come undone, and that will be the end of it. If I don’t do what the Earth-daughter and the hard-liners on the council demand, I’ll never get close enough to that ring again to make a switch. If I do, then I’ll be destroying the minds and futures of four hundred or more people, not to mention five very brave members of this company that I personally recruited to go down there.”
“Then the only logical solution,” China said, “is to do both.”
They all turned to the blind girl expectantly, and she seemed to sense it.
“We have been too conservative, I think. We were afraid of activating a trained and fully equipped SPF unit. Now we know they’re all natives, and the bulk of our trooper opposition is technically superior but ignorant and inexperienced even when their hidden mindprint programs are triggered. We thought if we kept our raiding party at the level of stones and spears, we’d only have to deal with the same, but with this—goddess—and the trains and the rest, it simply isn’t so. Let’s use our technology. We have very little to lose at this stage and we’re so close. We have psychogenetic chambers and mindprinters and biochemical agents. And now we have access to the trains and the Center. Vulture—you say the trains serve the holy places? And that each and every one of the priestesses must go there if near one?”
“That is true.”
“Then the first thing we need, and pretty damned fast, is some truth-bearers of our own . . . ”
“Wait a minute!” Raven replied. “That won’t work. Remember the SPF have self-destructs if you try something like that.”
“Sure, the SPF does—but these aren’t SPF. Maybe their grandmothers were, or perhaps more to the point their ancestors, but not them. What kind of mindprinting do you think they give the third rank, anyway? The temple language, information on the technical weaponry and assets needed, and the chain of communications and command, I bet. Nothing more. They’re Matriyehans, not born commandos! That’s where we went wrong on this. You could give them the instructions on how to build an ion propulsor unit but they wouldn’t be able to comprehend what the hell it was. No, first things first. Let’s snatch a few and see. If I’m right, we can start turning this thing around in stages.”
And she was right. The first two Vulture snatched by using the previously forbidden laser pistol proved relatively easy. Waiting for them had given Vulture time with modern sensors to find out just what was in those holy places and how they worked. The answer was simple—Master System’s standard memory storage modules and a preprogrammed automatic computer sequence. The control computers were quite primitive and quite limited in what they could do. With that climate and level of vulcanism it had probably been decided that simple and compact was best. For the same reason, long communications lines within the rail tunnels were ruled out. The structural fields needed for the train would wreak havoc with any hardwired system, and ground-to-satellite communications would require a lot of maintenance. Forced to choose between communications or transport, Master System had chosen transport.
“The change to truth-bearer is a transmuter function,” Star Eagle reported. “They have quite a modern setup in the temple masked under that primitive mumbojumbo. They have to—to keep the system working. Reprogramming and reorienting them while letting them pass the mindprinter tests is not much of a problem, but other than changing their loyalties, don’t expect much more than you see now. Their level of superstition and ignorance is appalling even by Master System’s standards. They will obey your orders, Vulture, on coded commands. If you tell them the grass is brack and all women are turtles, they will believe.”
“Fair enough, but we need more,” Hawks told them. “We need the people who pick up those modules.”
“No go there, I think,” Vulture replied. “They’re on really tight schedules and they’ll be missed. A few hours here or there wouldn’t matter—the power’s always erratic in the tunnels—but not the two days it’d take to nab ’em, bring ’em here, process them, and return them.”
“Then we’ll go with portables. We’re going to have to do that with the other truth-bearers anyway.”
“You can’t run mid-rank programs on them!” Vulture protested. “They’re a lot more slick and sophisticated than that.”
“Then knock one out, take a print, and make it look convincing so that when she wakes up she’ll think she slipped and fell or something. You’re creative. Give me one, and I can work up something that won’t be a hundred percent, but will be general and generic enough to be useful.”
Inside of seven days they had five truth-bearers and the first of the programs. Vulture decided they could wait no longer on the tribes; even now, using the transport system, it would be guesswork where they’d be and would take some time to track them down. She needed her truth-bearers in place right now. The rest would have to wait.
The nearest holy place to the last known position of the tribes was about forty kilometers south-southwest of where the large camp had been, which was a good starting point. Vulture and her five worshipful, obedient retinue spent another two or three days checking with locals for word of tribal movements. What they heard was disturbing. The four groups had split geographically much farther apart than had been the plan and were established in broad areas with other tribes in between. The land they had was not the best, and they would have more than the usual struggle to support themselves in those places.
Vulture headed for the nearest new tribe, wondering what the hell could have gone so wrong in just a few weeks with everybody on the alert. Maybe something hadn’t seemed quite right to the computer at the holy seat right from the start. If so, that would be very bad luck.
The tribe welcomed them with the usual rituals and no sign of suspicion or hostility in spite of their numbers, which really wasn’t good. They looked worn, tired out, and clearly had been through a rough time. Vulture recognized a few faces as belonging to Mari tribe, but the priestesses were being welcomed to Tura tribe, another bad sign. She stopped one of the old-timers and asked, “This used be Mari tribe. Where Mari now? Dead?”
The woman shook her head negatively, which was a relief. “No. Lose honor. Tura say it be for forbidden things Mari tell us do. Take tribe back to old ways. Mari now chief—of babies.”
It was actually a relief to hear that Santiago was still alive and healthy, but Vulture understood the insult. Chiefs who lost their male attributes were in deepest disgrace; when there was nothing else, honor was everything. Now she would not even be a warrior but in effect a slave, not just of the new chief but of the entire tribe.
It was late in the day, though, after all the amenities with the chief and firebearer had been settled and the news discussed, before Vulture could seek her out. She did look pretty miserable even though she seemed to enjoy playing with the young children, at least one of which was hers. They had used a slightly mismatched natural brown dye to cover over all her tattoos and badges of rank; she carried no spear nor wore pouch, belt, or adornments. When honor went, everything went.
The old Maria was still in there, though. She viewed the approach of the holy mother with mixed hope and fear, depending on who or what this one turned out to be.
The holy mother crouched low as Mari knelt and whispered, “Vulture has returned.”
She gasped and grabbed Vulture’s hand so strongly she threatened to wrench it from its socket. Finally Vulture was able to ask, “Why did this happen? And how?”
“Got word. Runner from Dakuminifar tribe. Truth-bearer showed up. Bad fates, bad medicine.” That meant rotten luck. “Suni strange, like demon. Holy Mother know. Worst tribe to pick. Truth-bearer saw heresy but not stupid. Play along with Suni so Suni no kill right off. Mix potion. Tell Suni potion make Suni body like rock, spears bounce off, Suni crazy, drink potion. Later scream all night. Next day Suni not chief, not crazy. Stupid, like child. Remember nothing, not even name or tribe. Nothing. Not know own face in stream. Big fight for new chief. Some of tribe sneak away, go to Maka, Midi, and Mari tribes. Tell all. Mari not wait. Remember Holy Mother teach drug for chief—no chief. Firebearer mix chief drug in Tura food. Tura never like new ways. Truth-bearer come, look at tribe, seem happy. Do nothing. Go away.”
Vulture nodded. “It must be rough on you—like this. But better this way than Suni’s way. Damn!” The only alternative Maria had in that time period was to flee, and that would mean loss of honor, reversion, and incorporation into a new tribe if she survived long enough in the wild. Better to wait here where Vulture could find her.
“Suni was always the weak link,” she continued, as much to herself as to Mari. “I just hoped they’d give me more time before checking up. I smell a palace revolution here, from somebody on the council who doesn’t like the idea that the chief administrator couldn’t make the hard choice and had to defer to the Earth-daughter.” She looked around. “All the truth-bearers here now are my people. Mindprinted. They’re still ignorant but they’re mine and you can trust them. Never mind how I pulled it off—now we have to reorient everything. What about Maka and Midi?”
“Midi do what Mari do. Same thing, but not as bad. Oona now chief. Made truth-bearer happy but then sent runners to talk Tura. Tura cut out tongues and send back. No more runners.”
Vulture nodded. “All right, then, so Oona’s learning real fast and that’s good. Maka?” She could hardly imagine Manka Warlock as this lowly slave and nursemaid.
“Word come Maka flee with Euno, two, three favorites. Rest fight, Maba be chief. Not good as Oona but not bad as Tura. Like new ways but know of Suni. Truth-bearer take Suni around to other tribes, show as warning.” She shivered. “Warning be real strong!”
“Uh huh. I bet. And what about this tribe? It seems to be totally back to the old ways.”
Mari nodded. “Strict discipline. Most no like. Much grumbling. Hard life again. But tribe obey. Tura is chief. Many still not taken but obey with no other chief. But Tura take Mari—every day, since . . . ”
And that would settle that, particularly with Tura strictly and punishingly enforcing a return to the old ways, and publicly and visibly—and probably violently—raping Mari, the old chief, every day reinforced the change. No wonder she moved so tiredly and looked like hell.
“We’ll take care of Tura if and when we have to. Right now I’ll have to contact Midi and reassure her and somehow find Warlock and Silent Woman if I can. I’ll see if I can spring you two from this to work with us. As soon as we can get organized things are going to start to pop around this dump.”
She looked excited but nervous. “Mari’s child . . . ”
“Can come along, don’t worry. This thing is getting too damned complicated as it is. For two rocks I’d just blow that damned holy seat to hell and fight the whole galaxy’s fleets!”
It really wasn’t much of a problem to spring Mari, although taking her child along took a bit more negotiating. Still, if you’re going to return to the old ways then you always obey the truth-bearer. Springing Midi and her child was even easier. Although it was never said and all the actions were to the contrary, Vulture and Mari had the strongest impression that Oona not only knew who Vulture was but that the situation had changed once again. There was some question, though, as to just how much help the two could be. The trap of Matriyeh was that much of the culture was imposed physiologically. One who had lost honor also lost more than the male hormonally triggered attributes; they lost their aggressiveness, some strength, and actually became more submissive and dependent. If one was chief one died a chief or lived forever in dishonor. The fact that the pair were not native mitigated the change only slightly.
Still, a portable mindprinter made conversation far easier. They might have lost much, but not their intelligence or mental skills. Star Eagle had anticipated problems and provided a cartridge to remove the filter. It hardly seemed worth it any more. It made them educated and articulate Matriyehans, but still Matriyehans of the lowest social order. They simply would not fight, even in defense, but they would carry the supplies no matter how heavy or complex. They would wear nothing, nor would they even eat until Vulture had finished. She argued with them on this over and over to no avail. It was a wrinkle outside Vulture’s vast collective experience.
“Look, don’t you think we want it?” Maria asked, almost pleadingly. “We were both captains and then chiefs. Independent leaders. We want to be again, but we can’t. You must stop torturing us like this. It’s like someone who is crippled. She wants to walk, but her brain, her muscles, her legs just do not respond. It’s not fear. I’m still not afraid to die, and I’m surprised I’m still alive. And I don’t want to die. Neither does Midi. But alone, out here, if we were alone, we would die, and our children, too. If something dangerous were to attack and there was no place to hide, even if I had a spear, I could not defend myself or the others. I just could not bring myself to do it.”
“It’s humiliating,” Midi agreed. “It’s like, well, you get muddled or confused and have no real confidence. You can’t plan, you can’t think straight. The result is you just can’t make a decision. What was once clear isn’t any more. That may sound nuts, but it just is, that’s all. When you lose honor you lose your ability to lead. You can’t do anything but follow.” She sighed. “If I’d known, I’d have tried Warlock’s way or killed myself first, I think. We both had tribal members who lost honor one way or another but you never thought of it as something that changed you, just some cultural thing.”
Maria sighed. “Maybe you just should have left us with the tribes. At least we would not be a burden.”
“Cut the guilt! We’ve misread this and played into the hands of Master System from the start,” Vulture told them. “Maybe we can work with some of the psychochemistry when we have a chance to study this genetic system in detail, but, right now, if all you can do is haul stuff and make pleasant conversation and maybe orient me around here, that’s more than enough. I’m mostly concerned about Warlock and her party. Technically, she lost her honor when she ran out on the tribe. I can’t imagine Warlock reverting to your state without committing suicide, so maybe mental power can overcome its effects.”
“I had not thought of that,” Maria replied. “If she perceives herself, or is perceived by those she took with her, as having lost honor it will happen, and she will not kill herself. That would require a firm personal decision to act. I could not have come with you on my own, but you wished it, and the chief ordered it.”
Midi nodded, thinking of the Warlock party. “It would be a small new tribe but it would be only a few smaller than we were at the start. I wonder which of them would become chief.”
“One thing’s sure,” Vulture responded. “Any of the others would want to get as far away from here as fast as possible. We might just have lost them. For the time being, we’ll be canvassing all the tribes we run into and if we get any word of them, fine. If not, we’ll just have to move without them. I need more personnel now, and I need to get a complete picture of what we’re dealing with here. You two just follow me and stay mute in the presence of any others, concentrating only on me.”
She had hoped originally to use the tribes to do things more quickly and efficiently, but that was now out. Vulture’s “girls”—the mindprinted truth-bearers—would be doing the real work without understanding what they were doing or why, but more was needed. Oona couldn’t be a big help; how did you explain to a Matriyehan native who spoke and thought no other language and had no other experience that you were planning to knock off a goddess and reprogram an entire theocracy?
For several weeks Vulture and her pair of porters were busily seeking out the native tribes and gathering information. On occasion, using injectors or even a small stunner, Vulture was able to knock out and reprogram a truth-bearer or two, and once, at a train stop, she managed to knock out and record the mindprint of a second-rank priestess who maintained the places, making it convincing that she’d slipped on a wet spot and fallen and knocked herself out. It was a major victory.
“I don’t want this to go to waste, and I think you two will be better off aboard Thunder, particularly with the kids,” Vulture told the rebel women one day. “Besides, we’ll let China and Clayben look at how these psycho-chemical processes function. Maybe there’s some way out of this.”
“Yes,” they both agreed. “If you say so.”
Thunder was more than agreeable. “But what will you be doing?” Hawks asked.
Vulture sighed. “I think it’s time I became one of those courier priestesses,” she told him. “I ate a couple of very good computer scientists back in the bad old days on Melchior. I think it’s time I got an idea of just exactly what we’re dealing with.”
By the time Vulture reappeared to report again, weeks later, much progress had been made aboard.
“The changes in Santiago and Ng are permanent as far as their submissive nature goes,” China reported. “Essentially, their bodies simply lose the ability to manufacture certain brain chemicals and hormones, reducing them to that. The solution, such as it is, is to administer chemical substitutes for what their bodies can no longer make on a day-to-day basis. The trouble is that the human being is such an adaptable animal. We learn to live on ice floes in the Arctic and in equatorial jungles. The longer they remain in that state, the more hardened their thinking will be to that type of behavior, and we can’t do more than a tiny stabilization without risking their unborn children, since both are pregnant. Afterward—well, maybe with some mindprinter therapy and daily injections, they’ll come back to their old selves. I can’t help thinking that if I weren’t blind Matriyeh might be a world for me. It seems as if everybody’s pregnant all the time.”
“Mostly,” Vulture agreed, “but remember that maybe one in nine children will survive to adulthood. The biggest problem they’ll have down here, if they can ever break this cycle and create a civilization, is that medicine, sanitation, and the lack of constant hunting and gathering will dramatically decrease infant mortality, but yet they’ll keep having babies. I don’t see how the southern continent keeps so primitive without this church-imposed system.”
“We have a theory. It appears really brutal there. The average age of an adult is in the low teens, and they don’t even seem to have control of fire. Clayben says they’re in a prehuman state, more like smart apes, and doubts they even have what we would think of as a language. It’s possible that whole southern continent overstepped the proscribed bounds and was given a good dose of that mind-destroying drug. It could be that some of the fruits peculiar to the south were bred to produce it naturally. We’re not sure, but also it’s possible that the south is the real experiment. Data suggests the geology there would make the north’s transportation and communications network impossible to maintain. If anything, it’s rougher geologically than the north, but has fewer large animals of prey. But enough of that. What do you have?”
“Plenty. The standard data packs retrieved from the holy places are brought to a smooth and obviously artificial chamber below the statue of the Great God. There are no controls, screens, speakers, or the like, but there is one wall composed entirely of slots. With proper ceremony you stick the cubes in the slots, wait until they turn from blue to red, then remove them and replace them in your pouch. Because there are chambers on all sides and the train below, I feel pretty certain that the computer console isn’t very large and is possibly a modified starship core command module and data center. It looks to be about the same size as the one we have on Thunder. That’s still one hell of a computer, though—but I get the very strong impression that it controls only the direct machines within the temple and the communications link to the satellite above. It’s more a transfer station than a command center like the one on Janipur. It takes the raw data, sorts and correlates it, then beams it out to someplace far from this system, and gets its orders back from there. Its output is strictly through the modules, the mindprinter, and, of course, the Great God, who not only speaks but also moves a bit on occasion while giving commands. It’s pretty impressive.”
“Pretty limited,” China agreed. “And it matches our thinking. The codes it uses to transmit to Master System are new, but the frequencies and methods are ancient. Instead of being one of the latest installations, Star Eagle now thinks this may have been one of the earliest colonies, when Master System was still experimenting. Maybe even the first and the origin of the Center concept, which was later refined. So Master System just left it that way, and stuck a ring there as well because it figured it would be damned impossible to lift it. Good. Then the master computer of Matriyeh only knows what is fed into it, not what it directly observes and measures, and is basically a simple device used to maintain a simple system. That explains the Earth-goddess, who was probably added later on, maybe much later, when the south got out of hand and needed direct action. She doesn’t run the church—she is the guardian of that computer!”
“My thinking exactly. If she ran things, she’d make herself more visible. Nothing like an appearance by her to inspire the troops and send the new field agents out with fanatical devotion. But that’s not her job, of course. That’s the council’s job.”
“Yes. What is most significant in the matter of sending the truth-bearer independently to deal with your tribes is that it was against the direct orders of the Earth-goddess to let you give it a try first.”
“There was something of a power struggle,” Vulture agreed. “It’s still the talk of the second rank. The chief held on to her job, but there was a shake-up on the council and the balance was changed. A couple of second-rank officers got the call to godhood, and a couple of the ones on the council passed on into the company of the Great God having attained absolute perfection. You get the idea.”
“Yes. What else?”
“I’ve managed to make a pretty good guess at the layout of the entire temple. It’s big, but not as big as you’d think by looking at it. One thing I hadn’t noticed originally was how stagnant the air was. Torches burn straight up, and the place smells. The only reason it’s not unbearable is the transport center beneath. Every time a car leaves there’s a pull of air in from the entrance all the way through.”
“It’s that solid?’
“It seems like it. The first rank have large quarters higher up from the administrative areas. Hard to say how large they are but they’re said to be straight up, and the curve of the rock at that point wouldn’t indicate that they were very high up. It occurs to me that if you could block the train for a period, the air would just sit there, since the valley itself seems to have an almost permanent inversion. It rarely clears up there, but there’re never any bad storms. I think we have a pretty good chance that it’s nearly a sealed air system there.”
“Hmmm . . . Yes, and we have now some pretty extensive knowledge of Matriyehan biochemistry. Yes, this is coming together nicely. If it wasn’t for that damned Earth-daughter, this would be ready to go. Still, we have some ideas on her, as well, although it’s going to be very chancy in the end. You will have to face facts, Vulture. We can deal with her, but unless we guess right a hundred percent on slight knowledge, the master computer is eventually going to miss her and sound the alarm. If so, short of having all five rings and using them properly, there is no way in the universe that we can help or protect these people. But we will give it a try. That’s all I can offer.”
“It will have to do. I’ll remain in this role until we’re ready to go and continue intelligence-gathering. I’m supposed to be put on a route next week that might take me close to Oona. If I get the chance I’ll check on her. She’s a good kid.”
“All right, but take no unnecessary risks. We were very lucky on the Janipur job, and we didn’t realize it and got overconfident. Even without the Earth-daughter to deal with we are still going to have to make many educated guesses and suppositions and trust to luck for the fine details, and we haven’t had much luck on this job so far.”
“Yeah—I think luck owes us one.”
Vulture took a chance going to Oona’s territory. True, she wasn’t due for a new set of rounds for a few days and was technically off duty, but she had no real authority to use the train for a personal mission, and there was great risk if it was found out she’d done so. She didn’t care by this point. This time, too, Oona, who had been a witness to the startling transformation of truth-bearer into holy mother in that encounter that now seemed ages ago, was not kept in the dark as to who her high-ranking visitor was.
“Oona—Holy Mother must know. Do Oona believe real truth-bearers or new truth-bearers?”
The former firebearer, now chief, who’d been the only one to keep a few comforts in spite of constant observation, shrugged. “Oona not know. New truth-bearers have much magic, but old way has honor.”
“If all Oona tribe had way to end old way, make tribes free to live as wanted, even if way much dangerous, much chance die or worse, small chance be free—then?”
“Oona no like live hard when tribe can live easier,” she answered carefully. “But Oona no like there be no rules, no true belief. Each chief have own faith, own rules. Whole Earth-Mother break from cracks.”
It was an understandable and quite sophisticated line of thinking for such a one as this, a native who knew nothing else. She no longer believed in the old church; if she ever had, the sight of truth-bearers being killed without some angry god striking dead the killer dissolved that. She understood that much of it was drugs and trickery, even if the trickery itself was magic. But this was the world and the life she knew, and she understood it and her place in it—and there was comfort in that. She was concerned that if the old order broke, it would collapse everything she knew and leave only a chaos worse than the life she now had. Hatred of unjust rule and oppression was balanced by fear of the unknown—fear, in fact, of freedom. The church was a hated evil—but it was all she had.
Vulture sighed and wondered if she wasn’t right. They wanted an easier life, more freedom to make better tools and weapons and gain some shelter and protection and security, but their own racial preconditions and genetic makeup would make any real sort of civilization as others understood it next to impossible here. With settlement and agriculture would come that security, but with an exponentially expanding population that was nonetheless limited by biological imperatives to a hundred per chief, things would explode in violence and the losers would be slaughtered again and again. Perhaps over thousands of years a workable and unique system would develop, but just as likely they would descend back into permanent barbarism and remain there. The only other way would be to impose it through alien technology, and even then the amount of people involved would be enormous and the task long and daunting. It had seemed so simple when they had decided to join the four tribes—a few hundred out of a couple of million. They just hadn’t understood the complexity of the problem.
Vulture could only change the subject. “Holy Mother still looks for Maka. Oona hear?”
The chief nodded. “Maka no chief now. In small tribe two day walk west. Soba tribe. Be captured long time. Oona scout see, no talk. Get word from truth-bearer. One of Holy Mother’s. Not know which.”
“Lose honor?”
“Not know. Should have, but Maka strange like Holy Mother.”
“Not like Holy Mother but Holy Mother know what Oona mean. Thank you.”
Finding the right truth-bearer in this whole area was a job for which she didn’t have the time, but she felt she could find this Soba tribe and did so, although it took three days. Vulture was concerned at what she would find, since losing honor was not confined to chiefs. It was triggered by a mental attitude, a way of looking at oneself that precipitated permanent changes. If a whole tribe all thought of themselves as cowards, as running away from power and responsibility, then they might all be a bunch of submissive slaves, and that would be too bad. Vulture could particularly use Manka Warlock in what was to come.
What she found was not nearly as bad as she expected. The tribe was small, no more than twenty-five with perhaps nine children. Soba herself was almost tiny; unusually short for a Matriyehan and quite thin and wiry, she was almost dwarfed by her tribe. That showed her to be doubly dangerous and clever that she had managed to defeat or outwit the larger contenders. They had blundered into the tribe by chance less than three days after fleeing. Warlock had already lost her male aspects and, in spite of herself, Silent Woman had been taking them on, although slowly. The strange, mute woman had been the most independent and self-sufficient in the wild, and nature had started the process, but she had no will or desire to be chief. She quite literally led them into Soba’s entire group and refused to challenge. Because the process had been involuntary and incomplete, and because Silent Woman simply did not know the Matriyehan standards for loss of honor, she had not suffered.
Warlock looked somewhat different—softer, with a tighter figure, but she still held the spear and wore the accoutrements of a warrior. She had taken on many of the traits that accompanied a loss of honor, but she could still fight. She seemed both relieved and chagrined to see Vulture.
“Maka fight two fights,” she told the creature. “Fight enemies of Soba tribe, fight Maka.” She was, in effect, at war with her body’s own built-in instincts. She had run and thus lost honor, but she simply couldn’t see it that way herself. Moreover, Warlock was a psychopath, someone who loved to kill. “Maka not quick as think. Get old. Make mistakes.”
“Why didn’t you just kill her and run with the tribe?”
“No chance. Most of tribe not obey Maka. Rebel. Think truth-bearer one of Holy Mother’s. Big mistake. Used magic, turned part of tribe with Maka not know. Saw too late. Enemy cheat!” she spat angrily. “Holy Mother say not come, only look, see. Holy Mother wrong. Now Maka not be chief again. Know this. Not lose honor. Betrayed. Now Maka fight self. Hard.”
“Yeah, I know, I blew it. I didn’t understand the way things really worked up there, and I admit it. But we’re ready to move soon, and we need help.” Quickly she sketched in the situation to Warlock. “Do you think you’re up to helping?”
“Maka still good warrior. How long do not know. Soba good chief. Smart. Young. Know much. Ambitious. Holy Mother talk with Soba if need tribe to help. Soba still listen to Maka. Ask, take advice.”
“Then we will both talk with her.”
Warlock was right about Soba, a personality tough and hard but not at all cowed by her culture. When she was still a little girl she’d overheard two truth-bearers comparing notes, talking patronizingly about the tribes and discussing the tricks they pulled on this chief or that. She had never told—who would believe her?—but she had never again had any faith in the one true way. Soba very much believed in magic, but she had no such belief in Great Gods or testing places. Magic might be great, but behind magic were people who were the same as her. In a sense she was the ultimate cynic in a world not made for such people; even if faced with a moving, talking statue of the Great God, she would be less impressed than wary of its power while looking for the ones making it move. She had heard of the innovations the four tribes had briefly introduced: the bolo and bow and arrow, methods of storing food and perhaps concentrating and aiding its growth. She didn’t believe in afterlives or heavenly rewards, and she was impatient for something better—nor was she alone. Many of the chiefs felt this way secretly, but they could never get along with each other for any coordinated action and the church’s magic was far too strong.
Neither she nor the others would rebel because they did not believe they had a chance, but if they thought they did . . .
“Thunder tribe not gods but people. Look, act different than Matriyehans, but people. Thunder tribe has great magic and wants put end to church. Be many Earth-Mothers, many ruled by great chief of church.” The ring was something Soba could understand. A master of power behind it all, with all the knowledge of magic, but with one weakness. With the five magic rings they could destroy the all-powerful chief. In the meantime, they might be able to help—if they had a sufficient number of local people to make it work.
She thought about it, believing some of it, probably not believing the rest, but she listened, and she deliberated, and she consulted her firebearer and others whom she trusted. Finally she said, “Tribe fights, dies, for honor, for food, for territory. No can stop. Fight, eat, make babies, sleep. Over and over, then die. Do this to stay same, do same, be same. If tribes must fight, if warriors, chiefs must die, why not fight, die, to get better? Tribe die anyway. If be one chance . . . ” She looked at them. “Soba tribe help.”
“If Soba live, Soba be greatest chief of all Matriyeh,” said Manka Warlock.
“Not be long,” Vulture told them. “Wait for call of Thunder.”