She rose and went across the kitchen to bundle herself into her coat. Kareen rose and watched her.

  “Those who remain, they will have a luthia with them?”

  “One I trained myself,” Silain assured her. “She is very strong, and her Sight is sharp. But she is young. Until she outgrows that fault, she will from time to time need you.” Silain paused. “She is wise enough to know this.”

  “Excellent,” said Kareen, following Silain to the delivery door.

  She stepped forward and undid the locks.

  “May I meet her—before you go?” she asked then.

  “You have met her,” Silain said, and turned suddenly, wrapping Kareen into an embrace.

  “Sister. We part now for a time. Look for me in the World Beyond.”

  Six of Us

  Jenarian Station

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  The surrender was accepted; the proper guarantees given.

  Tea was then called for, and a modest meal, which arrived at the comm room right quickly.

  Rys Lin poured for all of them, allowing Claidyne the lead, which she accepted with a quick glance into his face, before she turned to Caz Dor vin’Athen. “Tell us now: What has happened?”

  The Healer sighed, glanced at Rys Lin, and back.

  “There was…an event. You understand that those such as you had been—the agents of change, the directors, the field agents…each and all had their minds broken, and rebuilt into the Department’s image by a combination of torture and the dramliz arts. Others—the majority of those recruited—were kept…complacent and unquestioning by the dramliz, most usually Healers, who had been assigned to each posting. We made certain that there were no questions, that all were convinced of their importance to the Plan, and of the Commander’s specific and personal regard for them.”

  He took a breath, drank tea, sighed.

  “You will perhaps ask how so many Healers were brought to the Department’s side, when our oath of service strictly forbids engaging in mind control, and subverting the will of the individual.”

  Another sigh, and it could be said that the Healer’s eyes darkened, thought Claidyne.

  “The answer to that is very simple. The Department, far from needing to break the will of dozens of Healers and lesser dramliz—had only to find and restructure one very powerful dramliza.

  “This they did, and she…the Mistress…she found the rest of us, and bound us to her will.”

  “But is it not so,” Rys Lin said softly, “that a Healer forms a bond with everyone he Heals?”

  “Oh, that is certainly true!” said Caz Dor heartily. “But this…relationship…we enjoyed with the Mistress was nothing so benign. It was slavery, mistake it not. She bound us to her and could, at an instant, call upon all our strength, even to emptying us of life. We had no such call upon her, though we learned her, and eventually came to know her as we had once known ourselves.

  “In any wise, that was the way of it until there was, as I have said, an event. A separation. We were thrown back onto ourselves, stripped of our bondage.”

  “What caused this…separation?” asked Claidyne.

  Caz Dor moved his shoulders.

  “The ties that bound us were…cut,” he said slowly. “All of us felt it happen. Many of us were stunned. Others of us, so we learned later, were killed.”

  He turned his hands, palms up, and met Claidyne’s eyes.

  “You are distressed, I think, by the waste, but indeed, it could have been—it ought to have been—very much worse. We should…most of us should have died. That we did not was because someone—we believe now that it was the one who cut us free—deliberately shielded us from the worst of the backlash. There are those who say they felt the presence of that dramliza, saw a silver cloak thrown between them and the release of energy. That act preserved most of us.”

  He looked down suddenly, as if ashamed.

  “Understand that most of us are Healers. Healers being common enough in the general population. Some are dramliz in truth, strong enough in their own right to have survived such a blow, though not, perhaps, without injury. A goodly number of us, though…”

  His voice broke. He cleared his throat, and looked up to meet Claidyne’s eyes.

  “A goodly number of us are—were—what we term small talents. Lucks and Rememberers, Hearth-Warmers and Finders. We believe, now, that all of our small brethren were lost. They had no natural protections, no ability to Heal themselves. Even a much-diminished discharge, such as was delivered, had overwhelmed them.

  “They died in their dozens, while we, their elders in craft and their rightful guardians—we, who might have been able to revive them, were stunned into unconsciousness.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “There is your waste, Director. They haunt my dreams, the vulnerable that I did not save.”

  “Could not save,” Rys Lin said softly. “You were yourself struck down by the released energies, stunned for crucial moments.

  “You will of course mourn as you find fitting. But I judge that those deaths are not yours.”

  There was a small pause. Rys Lin picked up the pot and warmed each of their cups.

  “What befell the Mistress?” Claidyne asked. “Did she fall in the attack that freed you?”

  “The Mistress—no. The Mistress lives, and that most of us stand with her—that is the measure of her greatness. She could have used us harder; there were moments when she stood our champion. There are those among us who love her. I…do not, though Hosilee, my partner, did. That weighs with me, and I would not undo Hosilee’s last work, for which she gave her life.”

  “What work was that?”

  “She ensured that the Commander would consider the event which freed us to our own wills too minor for her personal attention. The task of finding why so many of the dramliz had fallen ill at once was remanded to the Mistress, whom Hosilee trusted to preserve us.”

  There was a pause.

  “In that,” Caz Dor murmured, “she was correct. The Mistress has it in her mind to lay waste to all and everyone, until smoke and ash are all that remain of any who had been attached to the Department.

  “Once, she might have enforced such a program, but she no longer has that power. There were some…well. How it fell out here was common enough. There were those who could not be Healed. They were not damaged, nor ill, nor compelled. Cruelty and hatred were warp and woof, and they stood up as they were, perfect in themselves. After the event, when I had come to myself—knew myself for the first time in years—it was immediately apparent where my duty lay, and I did not hesitate. It would have been cruel to hesitate. Those whom I could not Heal…those who placed in danger the lives which could be saved—my partner would have said that they were an unacceptable risk.”

  He showed the empty palms of his hands.

  “So, it was done—quickly and mercifully. I had all of my training; I knew how to go on.”

  “You did well for those under your care,” Rys Lin said softly. “Still, to take lives—lives which were tied to you—could have been no easy thing.”

  “You know that, do you?” Caz Dor looked at him shrewdly. “No, I see how it is with you! Of course you know, tied as you are to so many. Their strength is your strength, and your strength is theirs.” He sighed lightly. “That is a very great gift.”

  “Yes,” said Rys Lin.

  “Will the Mistress move against the Commander who now sits in headquarters?” Claidyne asked.

  Caz Dor inclined his head.

  “That, she will do. She has clearances at the highest levels; she will certainly remove those who might impede us. Some others of us have similar clearances. The ranks will soon be rid of inimical forces.”

  “And then?” asked Claidyne. “What plans, then?”

  Caz Dor moved his shoulders.

  “That has been under discussion. We cannot…there are those who might be—as you have been—fully Healed or, forgive me, Healed sufficiently to go forward with…a life, though it may never be the life that was reft from them. There are others who will always require oversight, and proximity to a Healer.”

  “Will you give your life to this purpose?” Rys Lin asked quietly.

  Caz Dor looked wry, and not a little tired.

  “Recall that I am linked to those under my care, and also…they are not the only ones who have taken hurt from their transactions with the Department.”

  Again, he showed his palms.

  “Now, I think that you know what had happened here and elsewhere.”

  “Indeed,” said Claidyne, and shared another glance with Rys Lin, this time gaining his nod.

  “Allow me now to tell you why we are here.”

  Council Meeting Room

  Mercantile Building

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  “Since not every turf has street qe’andra, the design calls for each of the three teams that’re up and runnin’ to choose three subteams. Two of the subs’ll set up in four turfs, third team taking three turfs. They’ll set up a two-day shop in each turf to ’splain the process, answer questions, collect the votes. The votes will go into a lockbox, and the Watch’ll take care of getting the box to the bank, right downstairs, where it’ll be sealed into a safe room.

  “The three street teams—the lead teams—will each cover three turfs, their own and two others, drawn by lot. The three lead teams will also count the votes after they’re all collected. That’s three teams together to back each other up and double-check the counts, so there’s no question of cheating.”

  Jorish Hufstead ended his presentation with a nod and looked out over the assembled Bosses.

  “Any questions, ask ’em,” he said.

  “This—thing,” said Vine, “mighty complicated thing, by the way, Hufstead; I think you outdone yourself with this one.”

  “Thank you, Boss, but I gotta share the glory with Mrs. kaz’Ineo,” the former cornerman said with a smile.

  “Sure you do. But my question is—how’s anybody s’posed to choose? Here’s Conrad—who mostly everybody knows by now, they been payin’ attention, which most don’t, not outside their own turf—and he’s got some ideas about how Surebleak oughta go forward, which us in council know about, but out on the street? What do they know? And then Boss Surebleak…”

  He paused, looking like he was going to spit, which Conrad sincerely hoped he would refrain from doing.

  “…Boss Surebleak, who ain’t showed up to a meetin’ called only for her; well, who the sleet knows what Boss Surebleak wants, ’cept to have all the territories for her own—and what for? Ain’t like there’s any profit in it anymore.”

  “There’s the dif’rence between what’s profit and what’s good for bidness,” Ira said from down the table. “The Old Bosses, they took all the profit there was, and they kept on takin’ even when it wasn’t profit no more. The New Bosses—that’s us I’m talkin’ about now—we’re investing. That’s gonna be good for bidness, but it’s slower getting on then a smash ’n grab.”

  “All ties into what Mrs. kaz’Ineo tole us about the policies and procedures,” Melina said, picking up from Ira’s pause. “We been publishin’ what we do in the newspaper, an’ that makes it a public record. That’s us, the new New Bosses, investing in the Next Bosses, so they’ll have somethin’ solid to work from. What we’re gonna be needin’ to do is gather up all those public records into a Council Book, so nothing gets forgot or—”

  “That’s it!” Jorish Hufstead said from his chair at the side of the room, next to Mrs. kaz’Ineo.

  He jumped to his feet. “Sorry, Boss—Boss, but what you just said—about the papers and public records, and Boss Vine asking how can anybody at street level choose?”

  “And?” asked Vine.

  “And!” said Hufstead, not in the least put out. “What’ll happen, see, is Boss Conrad here’ll write a letter to publish in the paper about what he sees for Surebleak and asking those who agree with him to give him their vote. Same issue, Boss Surebleak’s letter about what she sees for Surebleak and asking them who agree to give ’er their vote. Same issue, we’ll have a letter—a letter from Mrs. kaz’Ineo an’ me, ’splainin’ the vote and how it’s gonna get done.”

  “Getting t’be a damn big paper,” said Vine.

  “A special edition, I think,” Val Con murmured from his seat. “Perhaps the council can fund an extra printing.”

  Hufstead nodded at him. “That’s the bean! People can keep ’em and read ’em and argue who’s most right. Then the judges, we’ll come out and take the votes.”

  Boss Marriott shifted and looked toward Conrad, who nodded.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, what I’m wondering is, if this Boss Surebleak ain’t, like Vine says, if she ain’t gonna work with us or even bother t’come by an’ cuss us fer snowmen—do we need to go through this votin’ thing at all? Why not just ignore her? She might break couple more windas, outta temper, but she’ll make a mistake an’ then the Watch’ll have her.”

  Penn Kalhoon leaned forward and struck the table with his fist. Conrad frankly stared; Boss Kalhoon was not usually given to displays of either temper or drama. The rest of the Bosses stared, too.

  When he was sure he had all eyes, and every shred of attention available in the room, Penn spoke forcefully, his posture still aggressive, and the fist resting before him on the table. “We need this vote. We need this vote even if Boss Surebleak don’t bother to write her letter for the special edition. Reason we need it?”

  He looked around the table. No one said anything; he had the room’s undivided attention.

  “Because the hurt Boss Surebleak did t’all of us—did to Surebleak the planet an’ all the people living here—is to claim that Conrad invaded us and took what ain’t his. That the New Bosses and everything’s been done since he retired Moran is piracy and against the will an’ best interests of the Surebleak people. That survey team down the port? They gotta take account o’that. Got to. So the vote…that’s for them, as much as it’s for us—all of us: New Bosses, streeters, and newbies—all!

  “Goes on record, just like Melina’s been sayin’, an’ it gets recorded for the Next Bosses, too, so they got support from the past, any damn fool thing like this comes up again.”

  He looked ’round the table, meeting each pair of eyes in turn and giving a little nod. Then he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the table before him.

  There was general, low-level muttering, some shifting of papers, the sort of small noises made by people who are thinking through difficult concepts. When they had stopped and the room was quiet, the assembled Bosses at rest, Conrad put the question: “Shall we proceed with the vote, as has been described to us by Mr. Hufstead? Those who say yes, please raise a hand.”

  For a moment, the room reposed in silence. Came a rustle, as Penn Kalhoon raised his hand, then Ira Gabriel, Melina Sherton, Val Con, Marriott, Engle…until it was only Vine, glowering, sitting with his arms crossed.

  Conrad met his eyes and waited.

  Another moment and Vine grunted, a corner of his mouth twisting in what passed for his smile.

  “Nervy little bastard, aincha?” he said, and raised his hand.

  “The project goes forth by the unanimous will of the Council,” Conrad said calmly. “Boss Gabriel, will you head the Committee of the Vote?”

  “I will, sir, gladly,” said Ira.

  “I thank you. I suggest that the sooner the vote is taken, the better it will be for Surebleak.”

  “Yes, sir. If Mrs. kaz’Ineo and Mr. Hufstead are available, we’ll start right now. Should have a timetable for the Council to go over tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent.”

  Conrad rose.

  “This meeting of the Council of Bosses is adjourned.”

  Bechimo

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Stone Ronin had the assembled machines stumped. Theo couldn’t help but think that was a good thing, as it drew their attention from Bechimo.

  “We will come to our turn,” Bechimo said, in bond-space.

  “Yes, but the longer they argue about Stone Ronin, the more time we have to figure out what to do with them.”

  “First,” said Bechimo, “we need to convince them not to destroy Surebleak.”

  “True,” Theo acknowledged, turning her attention back to the discussions of the Assembly.

  The question was whether Stone Ronin was sentient, or sentient enough, to participate in the discussion of the Assembly. The cloud of timonium that surrounded it was considered a crucial point—for both sides.

  Had the timonium been willfully gathered? It was held as fact that no such cloud would form spontaneously. Therefore, Stone Ronin had gathered it with purpose, to ensure its own survival, which was held to be an act of sentience.

  Also, having wakened from an emergency shutdown, Stone Ronin had shown the ability to make decisions, to detect intrusions into its personal space, and to issue warn-aways.

  Yes, it seemed as if the Assembly was very close to deciding that Stone Ronin was sentient and able to fully conduct itself in the upcoming discussions.

  More…devices had been coming in to Benoo Three during these debates. Bechimo had identified forty-seven separate shields and fifty-five signatures.

  “Is there an upper limit to a group’s effectiveness in discussion?” Win Ton asked.

  Theo blinked out of bond-space.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “On Delgado, if there were more than three ideas in the room, the assembly would split itself into groups, each group working on a specific small bit of the overall problem.”

  “Might keep ’em here awhile then,” said Clarence.

  “Is that a desired outcome?” asked Win Ton.

  “No,” said Theo sharply. “We want them out of Surebleak space.”

  “The Scouts…”

  “Not the Scouts,” she interrupted. “If these left Scout custody, I don’t think they’ll want to go back.”

 

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