The owling, p.8
The Owling, page 8
“Good. Then let me brief you on what you’re going to be telling the media today. This is all about the Peace Initiative, and you’re going to be explaining how poor the conditions are in Lior. Understand?”
“Actually, they’re not that bad. In fact, in — ”
“That’s not what I mean, sweetheart,” Sola interrupted. “We’re talking compared to Corista. All right? So you explain as an eyewitness how poor the living conditions are there, and how much help the poor Owlings need.”
“Oh. I guess if you put it that way.”
“Exactly. You talk about the earthquake damage, that kind of thing, but you take your lead from me. Can you do that?”
“Sure. No problem. But, Sola?”
The comm line had already gone silent. By that time her ride had pulled up in front of the imposing Corista Bureau of Security building. At three stories, it seemed somewhat tall by Coristan standards but without many of the columns and outside ornamentation that set apart many of the other government headquarters.
“Miss?” The driver looked over his shoulder at her, as if wondering why she was still sitting in the backseat.
“Right.” She took a deep breath and reached for the door.
“Here I go.”
The good news was that she wouldn’t be the only visitor here; media transporters hovered outside, and several reporters had already taken up positions on the outside steps to file their reports. She turned her head away, hoping none of them would recognize her as she hurried for the main entry. They would have plenty of time for that. But for now, staying anonymous felt good.
See, Margus? she thought. I’m not here for the fame.
So why was she here? A minute later Oriannon joined Sola, who stood in front of a group of twenty or thirty media reporters crowded into the sterile, tall-ceilinged media room. Instead of ornamentation and carved stone that was found in so many other public Coristan buildings, here the walls and ceilings gleamed in no-nonsense titanium, trimmed with plain, sharp-cornered black marble. Built-in tech controls could be found on almost every wall. Oriannon shivered. Ever-present probes hovered in the corners, watching the reporters who recorded Sola and Oriannon.
“All right, people, let’s get your attention up here.” When Sola brought the group to order, no one could doubt who was in charge. Here she wore her Security ID with its holographic photo like a badge of honor. In keeping with the setting, she wore a trim-fitting black tunic, and her red hair was pulled back tightly.
An aide affixed a temporary badge to Oriannon’s shoulder. Did that make her a Security employee? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t feel nearly as serious as Sola, but she would try.
“We’re here to discuss the Peace Initiative, so you’ll confine your questions to that area. By now you all know Oriannon High-tower.” She gestured to Oriannon, who nodded at the small crowd. This time it felt a little easier, though still very weird to have media people know her name and face. “I’ve asked her to share some of her firsthand experiences in the Owling city. But we’ll get to that in a moment. First I want to tell you that Coristan vessels will no longer force open the water lines that begin over in Owling lands. ”
A flurry of hands went up as the media asked several questions.
“We’re not doing that anymore,” she explained. “It’s heavy-handed, it causes problems, and it’s dangerous besides. Oriannon saw Owlings who violently resisted our people, didn’t you?”
“That’s right.” Oriannon nodded. She’d seen that much. “But only because — ”
“So what we’re saying is that we’re trying new strategies to help these people, but that we’re still facing resistance. In fact, every time we’ve sent probes into the area — and we’re talking about all twenty-three Owling cities, not just Lior — Owling hunting birds are turned loose on the probes. It’s quite destructive, really, and so very unfortunate that they don’t seem to understand our motives. We’ve lost several probes that way, although we’re continuing to upgrade their capabilities, making them less vulnerable.”
That would explain why probes seemed so different these days. Of course the next question from the media was something like, “What do we do about it in the meantime?” Sola smiled in response, the first time of the day, and her teeth glimmered like the polished titanium walls.
“Very good question. This is where Oriannon comes in. With her photographic eidich memory, she’s graciously volunteered to provide us with a better map of the Owling capital city. This will help us safely secure the area, and it will help us to help the Owl-ings. They are a superstitious people, are they not, Oriannon?”
Oriannon hesitated. “Superstitious” wasn’t exactly the word she would have used. But Sola understood the situation better than she did. Sola did want what was best for the Owlings.
“Their customs are different than ours,” she finally admitted, and the media of course recorded every word. But what she said was true.
“And the horrible conditions!” Sola went on. “Oriannon tells us that life in the city was primitive even before the recent earthquakes. But now that conditions are so much worse, it’s imperative that we offer humanitarian aid as quickly as possible, without any misguided resistance. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Well, that sounded good too. And what better way to help save her Owling friends after all. Of course! This was a practical way to do just that — something no one else could do. Jesmet would have approved.
Wouldn’t he?
9
An hour after the media conference, Oriannon couldn’t help shivering as she followed Sola down the darkened halls of the Corista Bureau of Security building. Her feet clicked on cold marble tiles, and she wondered if they kept it so cool and dark for a reason. Five steps ahead and not slowing down, Sola conferred with a huddle of three advisors.
Maybe she’s forgotten me? Oriannon wondered. But soon enough, Sola glanced back over her shoulder and pointed at a closed black office door.
“Wait in there for me, would you, sweetheart? Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”
Oriannon nodded and stepped to the door, pausing as it whisked to the side. She stepped into the dim, sparsely furnished office and stood waiting.
Did I really agree to do this? she wondered. Of course by now it was too late to change her mind, and Sola would join her any minute. Telling herself not to worry, she looked around the titanium-paneled room and stepped over to the shaded window overlooking the city’s green parks and multi-leveled avenues. From here she could follow traffic as it seemed to swirl about her feet, and see busy shuttles in the sky beyond. But even the spectacular view didn’t set her at ease.
Away from the window sat a matched set of firm but comfortable brown leather chairs, obviously arranged for conversation, and behind them stood shelves filled with ancient books by Coristan thinkers. The titles included An Alignment of the Planets, Principles of Power, and Destined to Lead. She recognized none of the titles. But . . . books? That did seem rather odd for anywhere other than a museum.
The equipment on one of the shelves looked vaguely familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere before. She ran her finger across a tiny blue screen and jumped when it flickered to life. A small, flat titanium box hummed, and a smooth voice told her, “Ready, Sola.”
Oriannon choked back the dull feeling of recognition while she could not bring herself to sit or to make herself comfortable. Instead she stood fidgeting in the dim, filtered light from the window, still shivering in swirls of cool air. She avoided stepping on a black yagwar skin that decorated the floor, even as she averted her eyes from strangely shaped black carvings on the shelves that reminded her of frozen flames. The ones closest to her seemed to glow a deep red, as if alive, but they only made Oriannon shiver even more.
In here the only thing that gave any feeling of hope was the warm Stone deep in her tunic pocket, and she was glad she had taken it along, instead of leaving it locked in the usual hiding place back in her room.
The Stone brought back memories of the mentor who had stepped out of his banishment to save her, defying the religious leaders who had called him faithbreaker. The leaders who held to the teachings of the Codex so tightly, they had strangled all life out of it — and out of him.
Jesmet. Here in this office the name seemed strangely out of place. As she gripped the Stone, she pictured the way he had stepped into the star chamber for execution. As he did, he’d proven he wasn’t just a music mentor.
The problem was, she still couldn’t even breathe his name in public and certainly not in Sola’s office.
I’m no good at this, she whispered to the window, as her words turned into a prayer. They think I’m so smart when I memorize things.But Maker, you know I’m not! I hardly know who I am or how to follow Jesmet. I can’t talk to Father about it. I can’t help Wist or any of the other Owlings. I couldn’t even help Cirrus Main. How can I —
Behind her the door quietly opened, and Oriannon felt a draft of cold air at her neck. She released the Stone, and the memory of her mentor faded.
“Thanks for being patient, Ori. How do you like it?”
Sola’s soft voice turned Oriannon around.
“Oh! You mean your office? It’s very nice.”
Without question she obeyed Sola’s gesture to seat herself in the nearest easy chair. The soft cushions sighed under her weight as she sank deeper than expected.
“This is actually where I do some of my best thinking. Comfortable now?”
Oriannon had to nod her head yes. Extremely comfortable.
“Okay, then. I understand you’ve had a less than positive experience with neural transmitters in the past.” Sola reached across to rest a hand on Oriannon’s knee. “But believe me, this will not be the same. Far less intrusive. You don’t have to worry, not for a moment.”
“I’m not worried.” Oriannon bit her tongue, not used to the feeling of lying.
“I could tell. But you would tell me if you had any concerns, wouldn’t you, Oriannon?” When she looked deeply into Oriannon’s eyes, the only thing Ori could recognize was concern, and as it washed over her like a welcome wave, she wanted it to be so. Sola was different, wasn’t she?
“Honest.” Oriannon gulped. “I’ll be okay.”
“Good girl. I know you will be. I also want you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, honestly. You’re making a difference. But remember, we’re simply transferring low-resolution visual images, so it’s nothing like those other clumsy machines you were used to, the ones that gave you so much trouble. This is completely new tech. Okay?”
Oriannon nodded and leaned back against the plush leather seat, as the equipment on the shelf once more told them it was ready.
I’ ll be good, she told herself with eyes closed and hands still shaking. Sola won’t let anything happen to me.
An hour later Oriannon finally relaxed again, spent and completely drained from the effort of recalling every turn and passageway she had ever seen during her short stay in the Owling cliffside capital of Lior. With Sola’s encouragement and a mildly annoying neural link that transferred vivid memories to a waiting computer, she recalled streets and buildings and passages, doors and locks, storefronts and alleys. If she had seen it even once, she mentally added it to the detailed schematic Sola’s tech assembled as they spoke.
“Wonderful. That’s wonderful.” Sola smiled and nodded at the results, even swiveling a screen around for Oriannon to see. It looked as if someone had taken a detailed vid of the entire Owling settlement, which she supposed was the idea. When Oriannon began to rise from the chair, though, Sola held up her hand to indicate she should wait.
“Rest a minute before you get back up, Ori.” Sola came over to perch on the wide arm of Oriannon’s chair and asked about school, about Oriannon’s parents, if she’d ever had a pet . . . Oriannon answered as best she could, while Sola nodded with interest.
“You were fortunate.” Sola finally stood and paced around the chair, arms crossed. “I wish I’d never known my mother.”
Fortunate? Oriannon wasn’t at all sure what she meant; her puzzled expression surely gave her away.
“Let me put it this way.” Sola hesitated, as if searching for the words. “My mother was . . . not the nicest woman in Corista. So my parents didn’t get along, and as a girl I always thought it was my fault. Not anymore. Now I have — we have — a chance to put the world right. Can you understand that?”
“I think so.” Oriannon nodded. She still wasn’t sure, but for the first time she felt sorry for Sola.
“But enough of me.” Sola straightened with a smile. “Ready for just a little more?”
Oriannon tried not to let her hands shake all over again. All she could feel was a slight tingle in her forehead, a vague headache, as the transfer continued. This wouldn’t be so bad. Sola pointed to the fuzzy screen image of a rough-looking door hewn into the side of a cliff. Gradually it cleared into a more recognizable picture — the entry to the Grand Hall of the Owlings.
“That’s it. We’re especially interested in the Grand Hall.” Sola leaned forward, checking an instrument that measured the transmission rate of the images. “Tell us about the passages that lead through the mountain and out the other side, and we’ll see what else we can capture here.”
These images would apparently be one of the keys to entering the Owling stronghold. As Sola reminded her, peace with the Owl-ing people in large part depended on how well Coristan Security could access these sites. This was good for everyone concerned, and so the images flooded through the interface — hundreds, thousands of images.
“You’re doing wonderfully, dear.”
Was she? Oriannon struggled to concentrate, reached to bring back every memory she knew of — and perhaps some she wasn’t even aware of. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up, but when Sola smiled that way, she knew she was doing the right thing.
“I was just wondering, though.” Oriannon didn’t think it would hurt to ask. “When you said the Owlings were superstitious, did you really mean — ”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Sola touched a panel to put her machine into standby mode, and it hummed expectantly. “When we’re out there with the media, we speak in terms they understand. Conflict, you know. That’s what they need for their stories. They need a problem, whether one exists or not. We give them one, and they’re happy.”
“So you didn’t mean what you said?”
“Oriannon! I’m surprised at you for even thinking such a thing. I was simply attempting to express the fact that these people live in filthy cities under primitive conditions. You of all people should know how bad it is. We’ve seen it right here from the images you’ve given us.”
“Yeah, but actually, I was wondering something else.” Oriannon wasn’t sure why she dared to bring it up, and why now. “I’d really like to go back to see what’s happened in Lior. Do you think I could go with one of the teams that’s been going over there? Just to see what’s going on?”
Sola didn’t answer right away. She shut down the machine and rubbed her chin as if thinking it over.
“Of course you can. I’d like you to. The thing is, it’s still very dangerous, and your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”
“I know what it’s like. I wouldn’t be in any danger.”
“You know what it used to be like. Believe me, it’s not the same. The poor Owlings are desperate, you know, under the stress of what’s happened over the past weeks.”
“They are?”
“Oh, yes. That’s why they so desperately need our help to put things right. Everyone can use a little hope, no? Isn’t that what the Codex requires us to do? To bring hope to the hopeless?”
Yes, that’s what the Codex said. Sola was right. But by that time Oriannon had leaned back in her chair once again, and a nap sounded like a wonderful idea. New technology or not, the thought transfer had taken all she had.
“So let’s give it a few more days,” Sola told her, rising once more to her feet. Oriannon gazed up through droopy eyelids. “Perhaps a week or two. By then the situation will have settled a bit. That will give us an opportunity to speak with your friend as well.”
Oriannon nodded her head slowly, barely aware of the fact that she could probably agree to just about anything at this point.
Please, she thought, just let me sleep.
“You see, I’m a little concerned about some of the influences in your life right now. One in particular.”
“Uh-huh.” Oriannon had no idea where this was going and no longer cared unless it allowed her to sleep.
10
Where’s Margus been the past couple of days?” Brinnin wondered aloud as the three girls walked home from school. They’d taken the long way home through the tree-lined Seramine Park, a haven of shallow ponds and manicured patches of soft grass in the middle of the city.
“Heard he’s been sick,” said Carrick, chewing on a raw stick of clemsonroot. Oriannon often wondered how a person could eat so much and still look so skinny.
“Maybe.” Oriannon checked her comm just to be sure. “But he sure hasn’t been taking calls, has he? I think we should go by his house and see.”
As soon as she’d said it, though, she remembered what Sola had said about influences in her life. Had she meant Margus?
“I don’t think we’ll need to go by his house.” Brinnin pointed behind them at a red lev-scooter jetting out of the bushes, headed straight for them. “Just my first impression, but he sure doesn’t look sick either.”
They nearly had to jump out of the way when Margus plowed to a stop right beside them. The thrusters on his scooter whined and stirred up a cloud of leaves. Oriannon backed up next to a large pond, not sure what to say. Margus barely looked at her.
“So what do you think?” he asked them as he climbed off the two-seater. It hovered quietly, and he patted the handlebars. “Just a few years old, but it sure is nicer than the one that got wrecked.”
