House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy) (12 page)

“By lies, by illusion, by false miracles. In the confusion and alarm of war, people won’t stop to think; they’ll act out of fear, and this man has devised a means of rousing the Bonds that will seem supernatural. On Corcord Day all through the compounds voices will come from out of nowhere, from the very air. At least, that’s how it will seem. He wants you to think these voices come from the Beyond, but they come from him, and there’s a simple and mechanical explanation for them. The voices will come from microspeakers.” He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a standard speaker. “Listen to this, Malaki.”

The Shepherd frowned intently at the small disk while it blurted its message:

“This is the voice of the Brother. It’s a recording made on a device similar to those used daily by the Fesh and Elite to carry messages.”

Alex shifted the rewind ring, then handed the speaker to Malaki.

“Touch that depression in the center. There—” He waited while the speaker repeated its message. “You see, it’s only a mechanical device.”

Malaki nodded as he returned the speaker.

“I’ve seen such things; the Fesh sirras use them. So this is how the false prophet hopes to make my flock rise up against Lord Eliseer?”

“Yes, except the speakers he’ll use are so small twenty would fit in this one. Hundreds of them have already been hidden in the compounds, and they’ll be activated
not
by touch, but by a radio beam from a great distance. You can understand how it will seem to your flock; the voices will apparently come from nowhere urging them by all they hold sacred to kill and destroy, to set themselves
free
.”

Any promise in that word didn’t reach Malaki, not when it was equated with death and destruction.

“I see,” he said dully.

“You must warn your flock, Malaki, and I leave it to you to tell the other Shepherds in the Eliseer compounds here in Helen. My time is short, and I won’t be able to talk to all of them myself.”

“I’ll tell them, my lord.”

“When you do, and when you warn your flock, you must be very careful. If you talk too openly of war or microspeakers, the guards might hear of it. They’ll call in the SSB, and you might be questioned. You can only tell them your source of information is the Brother, but that won’t make the questioning easier. For one thing, my friend, the SSB considers me imaginary.”

Malaki managed a faint smile at that, but his dismay at possible involvement with the SSB made it brief.

“It is said that truth has many faces, each as true as the other. I’ll find a way to warn my flock . . . carefully.”

“You must reach all of them. Concord Day will be a holiday; they’ll be free for the day, and you won’t be able to reach them then. They must be warned ahead of time.”

“They will be. What should I tell them to do?”

“They must ignore the voices as if they didn’t exist. The guards will probably order all Bonds to their quarters when the war begins, and they must obey. They must do exactly as they’re told, or the price will be paid in blood.”

“They’ll obey.”

Alex let his eyes close briefly. “I hope so.”

Malaki leaned toward him, watching him anxiously. “My lord, are you . . . ?”

“I tire easily, Malaki, but my strength returns. Don’t be concerned about me.”

“I won’t. You’re Chosen of the Mezion, and He watches over you. Still, I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer.”

“Perhaps it’s a Testing.” He paused then, sorting the mixed scents of candles, incense, and herbs. At some time, many times, Rich had sat in this same place, smelling the same warm scents, generation upon generation, past and future, coming together in memory and hope in this small, flame-lit room.

And in another room a few hundred kilometers away, buried under the star-lit desert, Adrien lived. She
lived
, and with her their pledge to generations past and future; their sons.

They were real to him now. He had held them, awkwardly with one arm, felt the pulse of life in them, heard their cries and the sounds meant for laughter, seen the light of cognizance, however potential, in their cloudy blue eyes, recognized already the signature of individuality in their faces and behavior even though they were such uncanny mirror images of each other.

There were three people in all the worlds whom he wanted to know about those infants, whatever happened on Concord Day. Phillip Woolf was one, Mathis Galinin the second, and the last was the Elder Shepherd Malaki, who had been a faithful friend to Rich, the first born’s namesake, and to Adrien, their mother.

But at length Alex rose. He couldn’t tell Malaki now; he couldn’t even tell him Adrien was alive, although he knew how much the old man had grieved for her. The danger of attracting SSB attention in the process of warning his flock was too real to be ignored. The Brother rewarded his faithful with the risk of agonizing interrogation and probably death. What would the omniscient Mezion think of that kind of justice?

He knew what the Brother thought of it, but Alex Ransom had no choice. Malaki would know about Adrien, about the twins, but not now.

Not until after Concord Day.

“Malaki, I must go. If we don’t meet again, I ask this boon of you: Remember my words as you remember my brother’s.”

Malaki rose, and there was a solemn grace in his posture, an inherent dignity; his somber gaze was fixed on Alex.

“I can’t forget you or your brother. Your words will be remembered as his words are, and if we don’t meet again in this world, we’ll meet in the Beyond, the Mezion willing.”

“The Mezion willing. Thank you for your help and your faith, my friend.”

“It’s your due, my lord.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a gift, and I’m profoundly grateful.” He turned and crossed to the door. “Peace be, Malaki.”

The door slid open, and as he passed into the amber gloom of the chapel, he heard Malaki’s parting, “Peace, my lord.”

Alex was breathing hard when he transed aboard
Phoenix One
. Vic Blayn was near the MT, waiting; he snapped an order over his shoulder.

“Sargent Hansen, accelerate for SynchShift. Random course. Commander, are you all right?”

Alex nodded as he stepped out onto the condeck, automatically scanning the screens before he looked back at Mike Compton on the MT console.

“Mike, you have fast reflexes. Thanks.”

Compton gave him a crooked smile. “I’ve had a little practice on this thing, sir.”

Blayn was still frowning at his commander, thinking how incongruous he looked in the maroon Drakonis Bond cloak.

“Sir, what happened?”

“Luck, Vic; the worst kind. Lord Drakonis made an unscheduled inspection tour of the compound.”

“Damn. The place was full of guards, I suppose.”

“Yes. Before you reach SS entry, I want Mike to trans me to the Cave. The LR-MT experiment is scheduled in a few minutes. I want to be there.”

Blayn checked the SynchShift countdown clock. “There’s plenty of time before we reach entry. I ordered SS because we picked up a scan on a Confleet patrol. Did any of the Drakonis guards see you?”

“Quite a few, as a matter of fact. It gave me a chance to test my legs sprinting. I was stopped for an ident check outside the chapel.” He studied the radial scanners, absently reminding himself that he must take another analgesic. “I won’t be at the COS HQ long, then I’ll trans back to Danae; I have two more compounds to visit there today. Mike, check with Bergon. He’ll have to set up an MT fix for me again.”

“Yes, sir. The apartment will probably be safe. He said he’d be clear for two hours.”

“Good. Are you oriented for the Cave?”

“Any time you’re ready.”

“I’m ready. Vic, give me an all clear when you’re out of SS.” He stepped into the MT cubicle, frowning across at the radar screens. “That patrol is pulling up on you.”

“I know. We’re . . . ninety seconds from SS.”

“Then I’d better be on my way. All right, Mike.”

“Yes, sir. Transing—”

Compton’s voice was cut off, replaced by a roomful of voices. As Alex left the Cave of Springs MT, Jael was the first to greet him, extending his left hand in welcome.

“Well, brother, we wondered if you’d make it.”

Alex searched the intent crowd gathered around the monitoring consoles.

“I was wondering myself for a few minutes. Where’s Andreas? Oh—there he is. What about Ben and Erica?”

“They’re both neck deep in Fina, and there’s nothing they can do for this gim.”

Alex nodded, but his attention had shifted to the tunnel leading to the sleeping quarters; Val Severin and Adrien were emerging. Adrien was wearing a slacsuit, and her hair was tied at her neck out of her way; a towel was tucked into her waistband, and as she came in, she was wiping her hands on it. The midday meal was just finished.

Alex knew how she occupied her time while he transed across space from one Bond chapel to the next, or even when he returned to the COS HQ to immerse himself in continuous working conferences with the exile staff. He could manage eight working hours a day now if he remembered to stop for at least one full hour of rest. Adrien’s time was to a large extent taken up with the twins, but if any of the exiles expected her to spend her free time sitting idly waiting to be served, as they might think befitted her title, they soon discovered their error. She insisted on paying her way here with work, and further insisted on what was generally termed scullery duty. She was qualified for nothing else, she informed Mistra Cromwel, and she could free those who
were
qualified to concentrate on the real work of the COS HQ. And so the Lady Adrien Eliseer Woolf spent her days in a cave, cooking, scouring, laundering, and seemed quite content with it all.

Alex was smiling when she turned and found him in the crowd, his focus of awareness narrowing, as it did every time he saw her, as if it were a fresh discovery each time. She crossed the comcenter to him, studying him with a clinical eye that reminded him of Erica, and he asked the question that had been uppermost in his thoughts since he arrived.

“How are the twins?”

Adrien smiled obliquely. “Napping with full stomachs, and I don’t think they’ve grown more than ten centimeters since you saw them this morning.”

Dr. Lind’s quiet voice sounded from the ampspeakers, creating a hush in the chamber.

“Zero minus two minutes. All sequences on schedule.”

Alex took Adrien’s arm. “Come, I want to talk to Andreas.”

The greetings offered as they moved through the crowd were absent and unintentionally distant. The tension was almost tangible, voices muted more by mutual consent than by necessity. The only one present who didn’t seem to feel the tension was Andreas Riis. Lyden and Bruce were seated on either side of him, both displaying more anxiety than Andreas, who seemed totally relaxed, his spare body slumped in a chair at the consoles, his eyes focused vaguely on one of the screens before him as he spoke into his headset mike.

Alex heard the name Leftant Cary. That meant Andreas was in contact with
Phoenix Two
; a very long-distance conversation.
Two
was in the Solar System outside the Asteroid Belt waiting for a miracle that Andreas would call a fact.

Alex asked, “Any problems, Dr. Bruce?”

“No, not yet, anyway.” He was listening to his own headset. “
Three
is on intercept course with the power beam, and no hint of patrols in the area.”

“Thank the God. Dr. Lyden, don’t tell me you’re nervous?”

Lyden grinned sheepishly. “Of course not. I’ve only had three calmers today.”

His SynchCom conversation concluded, Andreas swiveled his chair around.

“Alex! You transed in just in time. A few more minutes and we’d have had to decline trans; the MT would be somewhat occupied. How are you feeling?”

“Very well, Andreas. I needn’t ask about you. You look fit as a twenty-year-old.”

“Well, I am feeling rather fit at the moment.” He frowned, hearing someone call his name, and looked past Lyden to Telstoi, who was on the SynchCom console. “What’s that, Tel?”

“Sir, you’re still transmitting.”

“I am?” He reached up and switched off his headset mike. “Forgot about that thing.” Then his smile returned as he looked up at Alex. “How’s the Brother’s tour going?”

Dr. Lind’s amplified voice intoned, “Zero minus one minute. All sequences on schedule.”

The murmur of voices around them stopped, then resumed at a lower tone, the tension collectively increasing.

“Andreas, I can’t muster any interest in the tour now.”

Andreas turned back to the console almost indifferently, and Alex smiled to himself. No doubt Andreas would be willing to let the experiment take place without witnessing it. He knew what would happen. If there were any problems, they could only be mechanical.

“Well, there won’t be much to see here,” Andreas said, “except on this screen. It’s coupled with the
Two’s
vis-screens. The flare we’re transing should emerge within range of their vidicams, so we’ll see it here. It’s pressure activated; it’ll go off when it hits vacuum. This screen is only for effect, really. The important data will come from the recording instruments; they’re a bit more accurate than the human eye.” He surveyed the intent techs at their screens and consoles and smiled faintly. “Actually, we’re all only for effect. When
Three
intercepts the beam and it hits our receptor, it’ll trigger the MT automatically. It’s in the hands of the machines now.”

From the ampspeakers came the words, “Zero minus thirty seconds.”

Alex felt the quickening of his pulse and knew it was in part simply a response to the countdown, to any countdown. But it was also a response to understanding, knowing how many years had gone into creating a flash of light in space, knowing what that flash could mean for years to come.

This day, 6 Octov 3258, would be a date to be memorized by generations of school children, like the first Terran satellite, the first manned landing on Luna, the first MAM-An generators, the Drakonian Theory, and the first SynchShift ships. And perhaps some of those children would be the descendants of today’s Bonds, who knew nothing of history except the history of saints taught them by their Shepherds. And perhaps some of those children would live on the planets of stars brought within human reach by the LR-MT.