Archon (14 page)

He turned his mind to Da. He would do what he had to do to help Da.

“I don’t get it,” Taemon said. “My story is that I’m Yens from Deliverance, but I can’t tell anyone that until I get to the archon facility. What do I tell them
before
I get to the archon facility?”

Gevri grinned. “That is where my brilliant idea comes in.”

Taemon approached the checkpoint, where two guards stood watch. He tried to walk with confidence, but the pain in his left leg made it difficult. That, and the fact that he was a Nathanite strolling into a Republik military outpost.

Under his feet, the road was paved with a smooth, hard surface. From what Gevri had said, this hadn’t been done with psi. How in the Great Green Earth had they paved these roads so flawlessly by hand? He could hardly fathom it. In the powerless colony, a few of the roads were paved with cobblestone, but most were dirt or gravel.

The guards at the checkpoint stared at him as he drew closer. They looked only mildly curious, but they blocked the entrance defensively with their bodies and held their weapons at the ready.

Taemon took a deep breath. This was where his acting skills would come into play. This was where he would find out if he even
had
any acting skills. He limped forward.

“State your name and business,” one guard said.

Trying to match Gevri’s gruff style of speech, Taemon gave the Republikite name Gevri had told him. “I’m heading back to my unit. We were on a wilderness survival drill. I, um, got separated from my unit.” He tried to look sheepish, as if he were embarrassed by his incompetence.

The two guards stared him down. Taemon put his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” shouted one of the guards.

Taemon brought his hands up. “Easy, easy. I look suspicious, I know. It’s a spy-training exercise. The captain made us dress like this. You know, so we can go over the mountain.”

“Gods, man, you look like a girl with those sleeves. And who wears a scarf like that?”

“Apparently, Nathanites do.” Taemon almost smiled at the thought of an entire city full of people wearing Challis’s outrageous scarves.

The other guard grunted. “ID card?”

Taemon leveled them with what he hoped was a disapproving look. “Spies don’t carry ID cards.”

The guards exchanged a glance. “You’re supposed to carry your ID card.”

“And get caught by a Nathanite carrying a card that says I’m a spy?” Taemon scoffed. “The captain always says that the way you practice is the way you perform.” Actually, it was Taemon’s music teacher who said that. But it sounded good.

One guard turned to the other. “Did you hear anything about the spy unit doing maneuvers on the mountain?”

“They never tell us anything,” his companion muttered.

The guards eyed him warily but drew closer. Slowly, Taemon lowered his hands.

One of the guards started to chuckle. “Whoo! You smell bad enough to be a godsown stank. That part of your training, too?”

Taemon didn’t know what a stank was, but he was no stranger to being teased. “We can’t all have cushy guard jobs,” he answered before he could stop himself. He tensed. Had he gone too far?

The other guard grunted. “Looks like this little stank’s got teeth.”

The two guards loomed over Taemon, standing so close to him that he was forced to take an awkward step back.

“What’s wrong with your leg?”

“Twisted my ankle up on the mountain,” Taemon said with what he hoped passed for exasperation. “That’s how I fell behind.”

“Looks like you failed that training exercise,” one of them said.

“I’m glad you fellas are finding this so amusing,” he grumbled. Gevri had furnished that Republikite term —
fellas.
It sounded ridiculous to Taemon, but it seemed to work. “Look, the captain’s only going to be madder the longer I’m gone. Can I go now?”

The two guards stepped aside and let him pass.

Taemon walked through the gate on rubbery legs. He’d passed the first hurdle. Now for the second: find the archon facility without getting caught.

The outpost had more foot traffic than he would have liked. But people here walked with purpose, and most of them seemed to ignore anyone who didn’t figure into that purpose. Taemon tried to add a little purpose to his step as well. His purpose was to find Da — and to stay alive while doing it.

Turning a corner, he saw rows upon rows of oddly shaped houses. No, they weren’t houses, though they were the right size. They were vehicles of some sort; each had wheels and treads on the bottom. But they looked like nothing Taemon had ever seen. The vehicles seemed designed for one purpose: to carry a huge cylinder. One end was fitted with a monstrous drill-like apparatus, and the other end was capped with a huge metal disk.

Could this be some kind of cannon? He’d heard of guns and cannons from tales of the old world, but they never seemed real to him, more like the stuff of frightening fairy tales. Taemon stopped to get a look. There were dozens of these things — too many to count — lined up on a wide stretch of gravel.

Studying the machines, Taemon felt a familiar gnawing of curiosity. How did these giant contraptions work? If he used just a squinch of psi, he’d be able to see inside one of them. Perhaps he could learn something that would be valuable to the people back home.

He willed himself into the stillness he needed for psi, blocked out all other worries, and focused on the nearest of these frightening abominations.

He encountered machinery, wires, substances unlike anything he’d seen before. Even though he could see all the parts, he couldn’t begin to make sense of them. But these were evil machines — that much he knew.

“You there! What are you doing?” a sharp voice rang out. “Who’s your captain?”

Two soldiers had appeared while Taemon had been examining the cannons. He turned to face them, and his left leg nearly gave out on him, his entire side suddenly numb. It took all the mental discipline he had to stay upright.

“I’m with the spy unit,” Taemon said. “Just got back from maneuvers.”

The soldiers looked him up and down. “Why are you standing here?”

“I thought I saw someone in there,” Taemon said, thinking quickly. “They told us to report anything suspicious.” He turned and peered down a row of cannons.

“There!” Taemon shouted. “Someone’s hiding in there.”

In spite of the added weakness Taemon knew would follow, he reached for psi. He needed something convincing right now, and psi was his only ally. Quickly, he used psi to move the gravel in a pattern that sounded like the crunch of running footsteps.

The two soldiers immediately snapped into action. “Halt!” they shouted, bolting into the rows of cannons.

As fast as he was able, Taemon limped in the opposite direction and ducked into an alley between two concrete buildings. He steadied himself against the wall with his good arm — which wasn’t all that good. He had to find somewhere to rest, somewhere safe, so he could get some strength back. He couldn’t show up at the archon facility barely able to walk.

He hobbled on.

Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind, then twisted his arm painfully behind his back.

“I saw what you did,” a voice whispered in his ear. “You have dominion.”

Taemon cried out as his arm was wrenched more violently. His left leg gave out, and he ended up on his knees. His attacker clubbed him over the head, and everything went dark.

When he came to, his vision was blurry and there was a shrill ringing in his ears. He had no idea where he was. Skies, he hated passing out, and it seemed to be happening a lot lately. He tried to shake the fuzziness from his mind, tried to remember what he was supposed to say and what he wasn’t supposed to say. He’d rehearsed it with Amma and Gevri, but that seemed so long ago. He tested his bad arm, flexing his elbow and wiggling his fingers. It felt a little stronger, which made him wonder how long he’d been sleeping.

“Who are you?” A man was addressing him, but he could see only a blur that was probably a face. “How do you have dominion? Explain yourself.”

Taemon squinted. Was he inside the archon facility? There was no way to know for sure, and he didn’t think it was a good idea to ask. But the man had mentioned dominion, which meant there was a good chance Taemon was exactly where he wanted to be.

“I’m Yens Houser, from Deliverance. Elder Naseph sent me.” His vision was slowly improving, and he could see that the man’s expression was full of doubt. Was this Gevri’s father, the man responsible for the army of archons? He was dark-complexioned like Gevri and spoke with the same bouncy Republikite accent.

“So, the True Son has finally honored us with his presence,” the man said with a mocking tone. “You were supposed to be here months ago. Why has there been no word from Naseph?”

The ringing in Taemon’s ears made it hard for him to concentrate.

“Elder Naseph sends his apologies. There were . . . unforeseen delays.”

“What could possibly explain a delay of four months? And why didn’t Naseph send a message?”

Taemon was prepared for these questions. “He
did
send a message.” Taemon raised himself on his elbows and tried to look equal parts confused and concerned. “He sent one of his guards to tell you in person. The high priests insisted on having a say in the decision, then deliberated for weeks before deciding I should come. Are you saying . . . ? Are you saying the guard never made it?”

The man’s expression gave nothing away, but Taemon knew his story’s credibility was being weighed. “No, the guard never made it,” he said simply. Then, “Ruling committees are a nuisance. I know this only too well. Still, Naseph should have sent a second messenger when he failed to hear back from the first.”

Taemon nodded. “I’m sure he would have if he’d suspected anything was amiss. But once the priests voted to let me come, we were occupied with the preparations for my travel.”

The man nodded briskly, which Taemon hoped meant he bought the story. “I am General Sarin, as I’m sure you’ve deduced. As for you . . . Yens. Are you as powerful as Naseph claims?”

Taemon forced himself to hold the general’s stare without blinking. It all came down to this.

“More powerful,” Taemon said boldly. “Not even Naseph is aware of my full capabilities.”

That much was true, at least. But Taemon was hardly in top fighting form — Skies, he could barely manage to keep himself propped on his elbows!

“I see,” General Sarin said. “I have to say, I’m not impressed with you Nathanites. When you didn’t show, we took matters into our own hands and found a replacement ambassador. But he proved to be very uncooperative. This is not the way we operate in the Republik.”

“I’m very sorry about the delay, sir. And about the uncooperative ambassador.” Taemon struggled to remain calm, to appear docile. “I promise you won’t have any such troubles from me. Sir.”

Skies, that ringing! Taemon rubbed his ears, but it didn’t help.

“This room is equipped with electronic emissions that block any exercise of dominion,” the general said. “Normal people wouldn’t even hear that sound, but I can see it bothers you.”

So that’s what it was. Much better than that Skies-awful serum they used in Deliverance, at least.

The general held up a little box about the size of a piece of bread. “I have a portable dominion-blocking device right here. It’s coded to my thumbprint, so I’m the only one who can activate it.”

That little thing? He had to be bluffing. How could anything be coded to a thumbprint anyway? The general must think he was stupid.

General Sarin must have detected Taemon’s disbelief. He pressed his thumb to the device. Clutching his ears and stifling a scream, Taemon fell back against his pillow. Two discordant tones sounded in his head, competing against each other and making him want to vomit.

The general released the button, and the ringing became bearable again. “You cannot exercise dominion in my presence unless I allow it.”

Taemon swallowed the bile that had come to his throat and took a deep breath. “Understood.”

“Good,” General Sarin said, and got up to leave. “Change into this,” he said, nodding at a folded garment. “I’ll return in three minutes to introduce you to Captain Dehue. Then we’ll see what you can do.”

Captain Dehue was tall, with pale skin and red hair pulled tightly into a knot at the back of her head. He’d seen so many different skin and hair tones in the Republik already. People in Deliverance were not nearly so varied. Most had a light-brown complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes — the result of being locked away from the rest of the world.

The general and the captain led Taemon down a gray unadorned hallway, turning twice. Two armed guards walked behind him. The walls were concrete, with metal plating that covered everything from about hip height down. The carpet, which had a shallow but dense weave, stretched over the entire surface of the floor. It was clearly not handwoven, but it wasn’t psi-woven, either. Again, Taemon wondered how they managed to produce such things.

At least the ringing was gone. But General Sarin kept his portable device in clear view, thumb at the ready. Taemon had no intention of using psi, of course, but clearly they didn’t trust him.

“Here we are.” The general stopped and ushered Taemon through a double doorway into a cavernous room about four stories high; it reminded him of the gym in Deliverance where they used to hold the psiball tournaments.

What struck him first was the feel of this strange new psi. The air was thick with malice. He had always associated psi with a certain state of calm. It was the way he’d been taught, the way everyone in Deliverance had been taught, and he had assumed it was the only way psi worked. But there was nothing calm about what was happening in this room.

Dozens of soldiers, perhaps a hundred, were using psi against one another in the most aggressive ways he’d ever seen. They were pushing, pinning, striking, twisting — and those were just the visible signs of fighting. Taemon wondered if some of them were causing internal pain and injury to one another. The noise certainly suggested that: grunts, shouting, whoops, and hollering.