Haze and the Hammer of Darkness (7 page)

As they walked nearer, Roget could see two ramps under the low domed roof, each slanting into the ground—one on each side of the portico. A couple wearing hiking gear emerged from the ramp opposite the one immediately in front of Lyvia and Roget. Neither hiker so much as looked in Roget's direction.

“This way,” Lyvia said pleasantly.

The mouth of the tunnel holding the ramp was encircled by a deep green band. On each side, waist-high, protruded four black squares, each some ten centimeters on a side. Lyvia raised a black tube and pointed it at one of the squares.

“Paying the fare?” asked Roget.

“Paying yours. Mine is deducted automatically.”

The tunnel beyond the entry formed an oval with a flat base, roughly three meters wide, and the top of the ceiling was about four meters above the ramp. The flooring looked to be a deep green composite that offered a certain amount of give, combined with enough roughness to provide easy traction. The walls were a deep greenish gray, except for the two curved lighting strips some thirty centimeters wide set three quarters of the way up from the ramp surface. The light from the strips was slightly whiter than the amber that filtered through the atmospheric shields.

As he walked down the curving and sloping ramp, Roget asked, “You don't have any aircraft, flitters, that sort of thing?”

“We don't use them. They're energy intensive and excessively hard on the environment. They also create unrealistic expectations.”

“Don't use them? That's an interesting way of putting it.”

She smiled. “It's accurate. You'll see.”

“Unrealistic expectations?” asked Roget.

“I'll explain once we're on the subtrans.”

Roget started to protest in exasperation, then just smiled politely.

The ramp descended in a semicircle, then straightened for the last few meters before emerging onto a simple concourse that stretched some twenty meters to Roget's right. The walls of the concourse curved slightly, suggesting that they were but a fraction of a larger arc. A series of four archways punctuated the straight wall facing Roget. A half-transparent, half-translucent light green substance filled each archway.

Lyvia walked briskly to the third archway, halting there. “It shouldn't be long now. Not too long anyway.”

Two older men stood talking several meters away, right before the last archway. While Roget thought he heard some familiar words, clearly language on Dubiety had diverged from the Federation standard. Yet Lyvia spoke Federation standard perfectly.

“If you listen closely for a while, you'll begin to understand,” she said. “It's more a matter of cadence and localisms.”

Roget hoped so. He could feel a gentle but persistent breeze, and he glanced to his right, taking in the slots in the end wall of the concourse. Even straining his senses, he could detect no sounds of machinery.

“About expectations?” he asked.

“Later, after we're on the subtrans,” she repeated.

Roget decided not to push her. A good fifteen standard minutes passed before the translucent green doors slid back to reveal the interior of the subtrans. Again, Roget had been unable to detect the approach of the underground conveyance.

Lyvia stepped through the archway, and Roget followed her. The subtrans's interior was simple enough, two individual seats on each side of a center aisle, set in groups of four, two seats facing two others. The flooring and walls flowed into the graceful seats, a deep green, with a brownish amber “trim.” There were no windows, just a featureless wall.

Lyvia took a wall seat and gestured for Roget to take the seat across from her. He eased his small pack off his back, then settled into the seat, expecting it to be excessively firm, if not hard, since it looked to be the same material as the walls and flooring. Surprisingly, the seat was yielding and comfortable. His pack went between his legs.

The platform door closed, leaving a wall as blank as the one facing it.

“That's a great deal of wasted space.” Roget pointed to the open area between the doors.

“That's where large packs, luggage, and sometimes freight get placed. There are concealed and recessed tie-downs.”

The acceleration of the subtrans was gentle but continued for a time.

“Air travel? Expectations?” pressed Roget.

“Oh … that. Letting people travel by air creates a whole host of expectations. One expectation is the feeling that they ought to be able to go when they wish and exactly where they want. After all, there's nothing like a maglev tunnel or the obvious limitations of one train at a time to reinforce the idea that not all things are possible. The expectations are even higher for those with resources and power, especially if the society allows them private aircraft of some sort. They believe their time is more valuable; they're more important. That reinforces the feeling that anything can be bought, regardless of the cost to others.”

“That sounds like old-style socialism, even communism.”

Lyvia shook her head. “We're very capitalistic, extremely so. We just price things at their total value. We don't allow people to buy privileges at the cost of other people's health or future, or life expectancy. Those are real costs. Most so-called market systems don't include them.” She smiled. “At least, they haven't in the past. We don't always either, but we keep trying.”

Roget didn't believe a word. “What about other expectations?”

“There's the expectation that immediate travel at comparatively low costs is a right, rather than a costly privilege. There's also the expectation that personal freedom of movement is a right, regardless of what it costs others.”

Roget decided that he was getting nowhere. “Where are we headed?”

“To Skeptos, of course. It's the capital. Isn't that where you wanted to go? To find out our weaknesses?” Lyvia smiled warmly.

 

8

17 LIANYU 6744
F. E.

By the time Roget arrived at the FSS on Friday, his first four days on the job had given him a very good understanding of the routine of an E&W monitor in St. George. Immediately after reporting each morning, he went over the status reports and reviewed all the anomalies reported by the system. Then he'd set up a preliminary prioritization of the anomalies, with recommended observation points. He'd offer those to Sung. Once the head monitor had approved his plan for the day, Roget was free to head out with his portable official E&W monitor. The monitor held all the data for the day. That way, no one could hack or razor transmissions because there weren't any, and it kept down unnecessary energy usage.

Unless there happened to be an urgent surge in excess energy or water usage, Roget was free to arrange his observations to minimize his travel time. Since he was limited to public transport and his feet, he'd learned after the third day to be most careful in planning his route. Even so, his feet had ached by Wednesday evening, and Thursday night hadn't been that much better.

He actually was in the office on Friday before Sung. The anomaly list was short—four shops; two residences in the historical district—probably poor insulation or equipment that needed maintenance; and an increase in ambient temperature in the Virgin River that couldn't be accounted for by weather or solar radiation intensity.

The river had to come first because there was no telling how long that anomaly might last. He also might have to take several readings over the course of the day. He'd just finished his proposed priority listing when Sung appeared and settled himself before the main console.

“The list is up,” Roget said.

“Good.” After a moment, Sung turned in his swivel. “You've got the Virgin first. That's right. But you need to move your first observation farther north, out east beyond the Green Springs tram terminal.” Sung called up a map on the console and motioned for Roget to join him.

Roget did.

A red triangle appeared—a good klick to the east of the station. “There,” announced Sung. “Don't forget to check to make sure nothing's coming down the Mill Creek wash, either. A reading there will determine whether it's natural, or whether it's coming from a source in town.”

Roget thought about the long walk ahead.

“Oh … you can sign out a bicycle if you don't want to walk it.” Sung grinned.

“I don't believe you mentioned that.”

“Supply keeps one for us, down on the lower level. They fold and fit in the carriers at the rear of the tram cars.”

“Thank you. I could use it today.”

Sung smiled. “I thought you might. You'll need three locations on the river and three different intervals at least an hour apart.”

Roget had planned on that. He just nodded. “I'd better get going.”

Sung returned his attention to the console, and Roget finished loading the data into his duty monitor. Then he left the office and took the ramp at the end of the corridor down to the lower level. He had to walk the entire length of the corridor on the lower level to reach the supply office—a small cubicle with a door behind it, presumably to a storeroom.

The supply clerk was a black-eyed and black-haired woman. She looked up with a cautious smile. “Yes?”

“Keir Roget. I'm the new E&W monitor.”

“Caron Fueng.”

“Monitor Sung said that there might be a bike I can sign out?”

“There is.” The clerk smiled. “Sung must like you.”

“Oh?”

“He didn't tell Merytt about the bike for close to a month. I'll get it for you.”

Roget laughed. But as he waited for Fueng to return with the bike, he wondered if the head monitor suspected what he really was.

The bike that Fueng wheeled out was the compact type with wide balloon tires. Not the speediest on paved surfaces, but much better on trails and lanes or unpaved surfaces.

“Just a thumbprint, please.” She gestured to the authenticator on the corner of her desk. “I checked the tires. They're fine.”

Roget thumbed the authenticator panel. “Thank you.”

“If you don't bring it back before five, you'll have to keep it in your office. You can't take it home.” She shrugged. “That doesn't matter to me, but accounting doesn't like it. Rules.” She shook her head.

“I appreciate the warning. I should have it back by then.” He offered a smile as he took the bike from her.

He wheeled it up the front ramp and managed to get it through the security gate and the front doors without banging anything. Once outside the FSS, he rode down to the tram station. The morning was already warm and clear, more like late summer than late fall or early winter. Then, he doubted that there was really any season besides summer in St. George.

His ID implant allowed him entrance to the platform and train—but only during working hours. The carrier in the rear of the second car was empty, and the bicycle did fold—if not as easily as Sung had suggested. He sat down in the seat next to the carrier.

A young man scurried onto the tram just before the doors closed. He wore the white short-sleeved shirt and dark trousers that all the Saint youths affected. As soon as his eyes took in the white monitor's singlesuit, he looked away and slipped into a seat two rows forward from the one where Roget sat.

Three rows forward on the other side sat two white-haired women. After the tram left the platform, they began—or resumed—their conversation.

“… still think it's a shame the way the Federation limits missions…”

“… say it's to reduce energy spent on travel … don't want us converting people…”

“… Jared's oldest is in Espagne … says it's hotter than here … and almost as dry…”

“What do they have him doing?”

“… building a new stake center there … they can't offer their testament, except in church or on the premises … just show faith by example…”

“So much for freedom of speech…”

Roget wanted to snort. He didn't. Why did so many people think that freedom of speech meant the ability to harangue other people when they didn't want to be bothered? True believers had the idea that once someone understood what they were saying, the listeners would be converted. Understanding didn't mean accepting, and that was why, under the Federation's freedom of speech provisions, people could harangue all they wanted, but it had to be on their own property, or in their own dwellings, or with the consent of the property owner. Public thoroughfares or property were to be free of any form of solicitation, ideological or commercial, and soliciting others in their dwellings or on their property, without their permission, was also forbidden.

“… how can anyone learn the Way if no one can tell them?”

“… time will come … the Prophet says … after the great tribulations…”

“… not too soon, if you ask me … had enough tribulations…”

“How is Jared?”

“Doing mission duty this year … Wasatch reclamation team…”

By the time the electrotram came to a halt at the Green Springs platform, the northeastern terminus of the system, and across from the maglev terminus, Roget was the only one in the car. He lifted the bike out of the carrier and carried it onto the platform, just before a large group of young women entered on the other side of the car. All of them looked to be fresh-faced and far younger than he was—and yet all had the braided hair of married Saint women.

Were they all headed to the Tabernacle or the Temple? For what?

He smiled faintly and snapped the bike together. Then he wheeled it down the ramp from the platform to the street, where he swung onto it and began to pedal eastward along Green Drive South, past white stucco dwellings larger than any he'd seen nearer the center of town. Like the others, though, they had walled rear courtyards. Only a handful of small electrocoupes passed him, all headed westward.