“What are we if we succumb to unbridled violence?”
The answer was there in deepest awareness:
“Then we are useless.”
ConSentient government worked because, no matter how they defined it, the participants believed in a common justice personally achievable. The
Government
worked because
BuSab sat at its core like a terrible watchdog able to attack itself or any seat of power with a delicately balanced immunity. Government worked because there were places where it could not act without being chopped off. An appeal to BuSab made the individual as powerful as the ConSentiency. It all came down to the cynical, self-effacing behavior of the carefully chosen BuSab tentacles.
I don't feel much like a BuSab tentacle this morning,
McKie thought.
In his advancing years, he'd often experienced such mornings. He had a personal way of dealing with this mood: he buried himself in work.
McKie turned, crossed to the baffle into his bath where he turned his body over to the programmed ministrations of his morning toilet. The psyche-mirror on the bath's far wall reflected his body while it examined and adjusted to his internal conditions. His eyes told him he was still a squat, dark-skinned gnome of a Human with red hair, features so large they suggested an impossible kinship with the frog people of the Gowachin. The mirror did not reflect his mind, considered by many to be the sharpest legal device in the ConSentiency.
The Daily Schedule began playing to McKie as he emerged from the bath. The DS suited its tone to his movements and the combined analysis of his psychophysical condition.
“Good morning, ser,” it fluted.
McKie, who could interpret the analysis of his mood from the DS tone, put down a flash of resentment. Of course he felt angry and concerned. Who wouldn't under these circumstances?
“Good morning, you dumb inanimate object,” he growled. He slipped into a supple armored pullover, dull green and with the outward appearance of cloth.
The DS waited for his head to emerge.
“You wanted to be reminded, ser, that there is a full conference of the Bureau Directorate at nine local this morning, but the ⦔
“Of all the stupid ⦔ McKie's interruption stopped the DS. He'd been meaning for some time to reprogram the damned
thing. No matter how carefully you set them, they always got out of phase. He didn't bother to bridle his mood, merely spoke the key words in full emotional spate: “Now you hear me, machine: don't you ever again choose that buddy-buddy conversational pattern when I'm in this mood! I want nothing
less
than a reminder of that conference. When you list such a reminder, don't even suggest remotely that it's my wish. Understood?”
“Your admonition recorded and new program instituted, ser.” The DS adopted a brisk, matter of fact tone as it continued: “There is a new reason for alluding to the conference.”
“Well, get on with it.”
McKie pulled on a pair of green shorts and matching kilt of armored material identical to that of the pullover.
The DS continued:
“The conference was alluded to, ser, as introduction to a new datum: you have been asked not to attend.”
McKie, bending to fit his feet into self-powered racing boots, hesitated, then:
“But they're still going to have a showdown meeting with all the Gowachin in the Bureau?”
“No mention of that, ser. The message was that you are to depart immediately this morning on the field assignment which was discussed with you. Code Geevee was invoked. An unspecified Gowachin Phylum has asked that you proceed at once to their home planet. That would be Tandaloor. You are to consult there on a problem of a legal nature.”
McKie finished fitting the boots, straightened. He could feel all of his accumulated years as though there'd been no geriatric intervention. Geevee invoked a billion kinds of hell. It put him on his own with but one shopside backup facility: a Taprisiot monitor. He'd have his own Taprisiot link sitting safely here on CC while he went out and risked his vulnerable flesh. The Taprisiot served only one function: to note his death and record every aspect of his final momentsâevery thought, every memory. This would be part of the next agent's briefing. And the next agent would get his own Taprisiot monitor etcetera, etcetera, etcetera ⦠BuSab was notorious for gnawing away
at its problems. The Bureau never gave up. But the astronomical cost of such a Taprisiot monitor left the operative so gifted with only one conclusion: odds were not in his favor. There'd be no accolades, no cemetery rites for a dead hero ⦠probably not even the physical substance of a hero for private grieving.
McKie felt less and less heroic by the minute.
Heroism was for fools and BuSab agents were not employed for their foolishness. He saw the reasoning, though. He was the best qualified non-Gowachin for dealing with the Gowachin. He looked at the nearest DS voder.
“Was it suggested that someone doesn't want me at that conference?”
“There was no such speculation.”
“Who gave you this message?”
“Bildoon. Verified voiceprint. He asked that your sleep not be interrupted, that the message be given to you on awakening.”
“Did he say he'd call back or ask me to call him?”
“No.”
“Did Bildoon mention Dosadi?”
“He said the Dosadi problem is unchanged. Dosadi is not in my banks, ser. Did you wish me to seek more info ⦔
“No! I'm to leave immediately?”
“Bildoon said your orders have been cut. In relationship to Dosadi, he said, and these are his exact words: âThe worst is probable. They have all the motivation required.'”
McKie ruminated aloud: “All the motivation ⦠selfish interest or fear ⦔
“Ser, are you inquiring of ⦔
“No, you stupid machine! I'm thinking out loud. People do that. We have to sort things out in our heads, put a proper evaluation on available data.”
“You do it with extreme inefficiency.”
This startled McKie into a flash of anger. “But this job takes a sentient, a
person,
not a machine! Only a person can make the responsible decision. And I'm the only agent who understands them sufficiently.”
“Why not set a Gowachin agent to ferret out their ⦔
“So you've worked it out?”
“It was not difficult, even for a machine. Sufficient clues were provided. And since you'll get a Taprisiot monitor, the project involves danger to your person. While I do not have specifics about Dosadi, the clear inference is that the Gowachin have engaged in questionable activity. Let me remind McKie that the Gowachin do not admit guilt easily. Very few non-Gowachin are considered by them to be worthy of their company and confidence. They do not like to feel dependent upon non-Gowachin. In fact, no Gowachin enjoys any dependent condition, not even when dependent upon another Gowachin. This is at the root of their law.”
This was a more emotionally loaded conversation than McKie had ever before heard from his DS. Perhaps his constant refusal to accept the thing on a personal anthropomorphic basis had forced it into this adaptation. He suddenly felt almost shy with the DS. What it had said was pertinent, and more than that, vitally important in a particular way: chosen to help him to the extent the DS was capable. In McKie's thoughts, the DS was suddenly transformed into a valued confidante.
As though it knew his thoughts, the DS said:
“I'm still a machine. You are inefficient, but as you have correctly stated you have ways of arriving at accuracy which machines do not understand. We can only ⦠guess, and we are not really programmed to guess unless specifically ordered to do so on a given occasion. Trust yourself.”
“But you'd rather I were not killed?”
“That is my program.”
“Do you have any more helpful suggestions?”
“You would be advised to waste as little time as possible here. There was a tone of urgency in Bildoon's voice.”
McKie stared at the nearest voder. Urgency in Bildoon's voice? Even under the most urgent necessity, Bildoon had never sounded urgent to McKie. Certainly, Dosadi could be an urgent matter, but ⦠Why should that sound a sour note?
“Are you sure he sounded urgent?”
“He spoke rapidly and with obvious tensions.”
“Truthful?”
“The tone-spikes lead to that conclusion.”
McKie shook his head. Something about Bildoon's behavior in this matter didn't ring true, but whatever it was it escaped the sophisticated reading circuits of the DS.
And my circuits, too.
Still troubled, McKie ordered the DS to assemble a full travel kit and to read out the rest of the schedule. He moved to the tool cupboard beside his bath baffle as the DS began reeling off the schedule.
His day was to start with the Taprisiot appointment. He listened with only part of his attention, taking care to check the toolkit as the DS assembled it. There were plastipiks. He handled them gently as they deserved. A selection of stims followed. He rejected these, counting on the implanted sense/ muscle amplifiers which increased the capabilities of senior BuSab agents. Explosives in various denominations went into the kitâraygens, pentrates. Very careful with these dangerous items. He accepted multilenses, a wad of uniflesh with matching mediskin, solvos, miniputer. The DS extruded a life-monitor bead for the Taprisiot linkage. He swallowed it to give the bead time to anchor in his stomach before the Taprisiot appointment. A holoscan and matching blanks were accepted, as were ruptors and comparators. He rejected the adapter for simulation of target identities. It was doubtful he'd have time or facilities for such sophisticated refinements. Better to trust his own instincts.
Presently, he sealed the kit in its wallet, concealed the wallet in a pocket. The DS had gone rambling on:
“ ⦠and you'll arrive on Tandaloor at a place called Holy Running. The time there will be early afternoon.”
Holy Running!
McKie riveted his attention to this datum. A Gowachin saying skittered through his mind:
The Law is a blind guide, a pot of bitter water. The Law is a deadly contest which can change as waves change.
No doubt of what had led his thoughts into that path. Holy Running was the place of Gowachin myth. Here, so their stories
said, lived Mrreg, the monster who had set the immutable pattern of Gowachin character.
And now, McKie suspected he knew which Gowachin Phylum had summoned him. It could be any one of five Phyla at Holy Running, but he felt certain it'd be the worst of those fiveâthe most unpredictable, the most powerful, the most feared. Where else could a thing such as Dosadi originate?
McKie addressed his DS:
“Send in my breakfast. Please record that the condemned person ate a hearty breakfast.”
The DS, programmed to recognize rhetoric for which there was no competent response, remained silent while complying.
All sentient beings are created unequal. The best society provides each with equal opportunity to float at his own level.
Â
âThe Gowachin Primary
B
y mid-afternoon, Jedrik saw that her gambit had been accepted. A surplus of fifty Humans was just the right size to be taken by a greedy underlying. Whoever it was would see the possibilities of continuingâten here, thirty thereâand because of the way she'd introduced this
flaw
, the next people discarded would be mostly Humans, but with just enough Gowachin to smack of retaliation.
It'd been difficult carrying out her daily routine knowing what she'd set in motion. It was all very well to accept the fact that you were
going
into danger. When the actual moment arrived, it always had a different character. As the subtle and not so subtle evidence of success accumulated, she felt the crazy force of it rolling over her. Now was the time to think about her true power base, the troops who would obey her slightest hint, the tight communications linkage with the Rim, the carefully selected and trained lieutenants. Now was the time to think about McKie slipping so smoothly into her trap. She concealed elation behind a facade of anger. They'd expect her to be angry.
The evidence began with a slowed response at her computer terminal. Someone was monitoring. Whoever had taken her bait wanted to be certain she was expendable. Wouldn't want to eliminate someone and then discover that the eliminated someone was essential to the power structure. She'd made
damned sure to cut a wide swath into a region which could be made non-essential.
The microsecond delay from the monitoring triggered a disconnect on her telltale circuit, removing the evidence of her preparations before anyone could find it. She didn't think there'd be that much caution in anyone who'd accept this gambit, but unnecessary chances weren't part of her plan. She removed the telltale timer and locked it away in one of the filing cabinets, there to be destroyed with the other evidence when the Elector's toads came prying. The lonely blue flash would be confined by metal walls which would heat to a nice blood red before lapsing into slag and ashes.
In the next stage, people averted their faces as they walked past her office doorway.
Ahhh, the accuracy of the rumor-trail.
The avoidance came so naturally: a glance at a companion on the other side, concentration on material in one's hands, a brisk stride with gaze fixed on the corridor's ends. Important business up there. No time to stop and chat with Keila Jedrik today.
By the Veil of Heaven! They were so transparent!
A Gowachin walked by examining the corridor's blank opposite wall. She knew that Gowachin: one of the Elector's spies. What would he tell Elector Broey today? Jedrik glared at the Gowachin in secret glee. By nightfall, Broey would know who'd picked up her gambit, but it was too small a bite to arouse his avarice. He'd merely log the information for possible future use. It was too early for him to suspect a sacrifice move.
A Human male followed the Gowachin. He was intent on the adjustment of his neckline and that, of course, precluded a glance at a Senior Liaitor in her office. His name was Drayjo. Only yesterday, Drayjo had made courting gestures, bending toward her over this very desk to reveal the muscles under his light grey coveralls. What did it matter that Drayjo no longer saw her as a useful conquest. His face was a wooden door, closed, locked, hiding nothing.
Avert your face, you clog!
When the red light glowed on her terminal screen, it came as anticlimax. Confirmation that her gambit had been accepted by someone who would shortly regret it. Communication flowed across the screen:
“Opp SD22240268523ZX.”
Good old ZX!
Bad news always developed its own coded idiom. She read what followed, anticipating every nuance:
“The Mandate of God having been consulted, the following supernumerary functions are hereby reduced. If your position screen carries your job title with an underline, you are included in the reduction.
“Senior Liaitor.”
Jedrik clenched her fists in simulated anger while she glared at the underlined words. It was done. Opp-Out, the good old Double-O. Through its pliable arm, the DemoPol, the Sacred Congregation of the Heavenly Veil had struck again.
None of her elation showed through her Dosadi controls. Someone able to see beyond immediate gain would note presently that only Humans had received this particular good old Double-O. Not one Gowachin there. Whoever made that observation would come sniffing down the trail she'd deliberately left. Evidence would accumulate. She thought she knew who would read that accumulated evidence for Broey. It would be Tria. It was not yet time for Tria to entertain doubts. Broey would hear what Jedrik wanted him to hear. The Dosadi power game would be played by Jedrik's rules then, and by the time others learned the rules it'd be too late.
She counted on the factor which Broey labeled “instability of the masses.” Religious twaddle! Dosadi's masses were unstable only in particular ways. Fit a conscious justification to their innermost unconscious demands and they became a predictable system which would leap into predictable actionsâespecially with a psychotic populace whose innermost demands could never be faced consciously by the individuals. Such a populace remained highly useful to the initiates. That was why they maintained the DemoPol with its mandate-of-God sample. The tools of government were not difficult to understand. All you
needed was a pathway into the system, a place where what you did touched a new reality.
Broey would think himself the target of her action. More fool he.
Jedrik pushed back her chair, stood and strode to the window hardly daring to think about where her actions would truly be felt. She saw that the sniper's bullet hadn't even left a mark on the glass. These new windows were far superior to the old ones which had taken on dull streaks and scratches after only a few years.
She stared down at the light on the river, carefully preserving this moment, prolonging it.
I won't look up yet, not yet.
Whoever had accepted her gambit would be watching her now. Too âlate! Too late!
A streak of orange-yellow meandered in the river current: contaminants from the Warren factories ⦠poisons. Presently, not looking too high yet, she lifted her gaze to the silvered layers of the Council Hills, to the fluting inverted-stalagmites of the high apartments to which the denizens of Chu aspired in their futile dreams. Sunlight gleamed from the power bulbs which adorned the apartments on the hills. The great crushing wheel of government had its hub on those hills, but the impetus for that wheel had originated elsewhere.
Now, having prolonged the moment while anticipation enriched it, Jedrik lifted her gaze to that region above the Council Hills, to the sparkling streamers and grey glowing of the barrier veil, to the God Wall which englobed her planet in its impenetrable shell. The Veil of Heaven looked the way it always looked in this light. There was no apparent change. But she
knew
what she had done.
Jedrik was aware of subtle instruments which revealed other suns and galaxies beyond the God Wall, places where other planets must exist, but her people had only this one planet. That barrier up there and whoever had created it insured this isolation. Her eyes blurred with quick tears which she wiped away with real anger at herself. Let Broey and his toads believe themselves the only objects of her anger. She would
carve a way beyond them through that deadly veil. No one on Dosadi would ever again cower beneath the hidden powers who lived in the sky!
She lowered her gaze to the carpet of factories and Warrens. Some of the defensive walls were faintly visible in the layers of smoke which blanketed the teeming scramble of life upon which the city fed. The smoke erased fine details to separate the apartment hills from the earth. Above the smoke, the fluted buildings became more a part of sky than of ground. Even the ledged, set-back walls of the canyon within which Chu created its sanctuary were no longer attached to the ground, but floated separate from this place where people could survive to a riper maturity on Dosadi. The smoke dulled the greens of ledges and Rim where the Rabble waged a losing battle for survival. Twenty years was old out there. In that pressure, they fought for a chance to enter Chu's protective confines by any means available, even welcoming the opportunity to eat garbage from which the poisons of this planet had been removed. The worst of Chu was better than their best, which only proved that the conditions of hell were relative.
I seek escape through the God Wall for the same reasons the Rabble seeks entrance to Chu.
In Jedrik's mind lay a graph with an undulant line. It combined many influences: Chu's precious food cycle and economics, Rim incursions, spots which flowed across their veiled sun, subtle planetary movements, atmospheric electricity, gravitational flows, magnetronic fluctuations, the dance of numbers in the Liaitor banks, the seemingly random play of cosmic rays, the shifting colors in the God Wall ⦠and mysterious jolts to the entire system which commanded her most concentrated attention. There could be only one source for such jolts: a manipulative intelligence outside the planetary influence of Dosadi. She called that force “X,” but she had broken “X” into components. One component was a simulation model of Elector Broey which she carried firmly in her head, not needing any of the mechanical devices for reading such things. “X” and all of its components were as real as
anything else on the chart in her mind. By their interplay she read them.
Jedrik addressed herself silently to “X”:
By your actions I know you and you are vulnerable.
Despite all of the Sacred Congregation's prattle, Jedrik and her people knew the God Wall had been put there for a specific purpose. It was the purpose which pressed living flesh into Chu from the Rim. It was the purpose which jammed too many people into too little space while it frustrated all attempts to spread into any other potential sanctuary. It was the purpose which created people who possessed that terrifying mental template which could trade flesh for flesh ⦠Gowachin or Human. Many clues revealed themselves around her and came through that radiance in the sky, but she refused as yet to make a coherent whole out of that purpose. Not yet.
I need this McKie!
With a Jedrik-maintained tenacity, her people knew that the regions beyond the barrier veil were not heaven or hell. Dosadi was hell, but it was a
created
hell.
We will know soon ⦠soon.
This moment had been almost nine Dosadi generations in preparation: the careful breeding of a specific individual who carried in one body the talents required for this assault on “X,” the exquisitely detailed education of that weapon-in-fleshly-form ⦠and there'd been all the rest of itâwhispers, unremarked observations in clandestine leaflets, help for people who held particular ideas and elimination of others whose concepts obstructed, the building of a Rim-Warren communications network, the slow and secret assembly of a military force to match the others which balanced themselves at the peaks of Dosadi power ⦠All of these things and much more had prepared the way for those numbers introduced into her computer terminal. The ones who appeared to rule Dosadi like puppetsâthose ones could be read in many ways and this time the rulers, both visible and hidden, had made one calculation while Jedrik had made another calculation.
Again, she looked up at the God Wall.
You out there! Keila Jedrik knows you're there. And you can be baited, you can be trapped. You are slow and stupid. And you think I don't know how to use your McKie. Ahhh, sky demons, McKie will open your veil for me. My life's a wrath and you're the objects of my wrath. I dare what you would not.
Nothing of this revealed itself on her face nor in any movement of her body.