The Brave Free Men (5 page)

A tall man with black eyes burning from a waxen face rose to his feet. "Your remarks are to the point, and we will do our best. But remember: we are technists, not innovators. We refine processes rather than create concepts."

"If you can't do the work, find someone who can," said Etzwane. "I delegate to you the responsibility for this task. Create or die."

Another man spoke: "A matter to affect our thinking is the size of the proposed army. This controls the number of weapons required. Elegance might well be less important than availability and effectiveness."

"Correct," said Etzwane. "The army will number between twenty thousand and one hundred thousand, depending upon the difficulty of the campaign. I might add that weapons are "only the most urgent need. We want communication equipment so that the commanders of various groups may coordinate their efforts. Your chairman should appoint a team to develop such equipment."

Etzwane stood waiting for further inquiries, but a glum and dubious silence persisted. Etzwane said, "I will leave you to your work. Select a chairman, a man whom you know to be competent, decisive, and, if necessary, harsh. He will designate work groups as he deems practical. Questions or recommendations will reach me through the Chief Discriminator, Aun Sharah."

Without further words Etzwane bowed and departed the way he had come.

In the pavilion before the Jurisdictionary Aun Sharah approached Etzwane. "The processes go into motion," he said. "I hope efficiently. These folk have no experience in creative work, and if I may say so, the Faceless Man seems in this case indecisive."

"How so?" asked Etzwane in a neutral voice.

"Ordinarily he would request dossiers and evaluations of each man; he would then appoint a chairman and give precise orders. The technists are now puzzled and uncertain; they lack a sure initiative."

Etzwane gave a disinterested shrug. "The Anome has many calculations to make. It is essential that other men share the load."

"Of course, if they are capable, and given a program."

"They must develop their own program."

"It is an interesting idea," admitted Aun Sharah. "I hope that it will work."

"It must work, if we are to survive. The Anome cannot fight the Roguskhoi with his own hands. I presume that you have examined my background?"

Aun Sharah assented without embarrassment. "You are, or were, a musician with the well-considered troupe of Master Frolitz."

"I am a musician. I know other musicians in a way you could not know them, if you prepared a hundred dossiers."

Aun Sharah rubbed his chin. "So then?"

"Suppose the Anome wished to organize a troupe of Shant's best musicians. No doubt you would compile dossiers and he would make a selection; would these musicians play well; would they complement each other? I suspect otherwise. My point is this: no outsider can effectively organize a group of experts; they must organize themselves. Such is the Anome's present conviction."

"I will be interested in the progress made by the group," said Aun Sharah. "What weapons do you expect from them?"

Etzwane turned Aun Sharah a cold side-glance. "What do I know of weapons? I have no expectations, any more than the Anome."

"Natural enough. Well then, I must return to my office to reorganize my staff." Aun Sharah went his way.

Etzwane crossed the plaza and stepped down into the Rosewalk. At a secluded table he sipped a cup of tea and considered his progress to date. It was, he thought, significant; important forces had been set into motion. Women were moving to relative safety in the maritime cantons; at best there would be no more breeding of new Roguskhoi, at worst the Roguskhoi would raid further afield. The militia had been ordained; the technists had been instructed to produce weapons. Sajarano was guarded by Frolitz; Aun Sharah, an uncertain quantity, must be dealt with gingerly.

For the moment he had done all in his power. . .. Someone had left a copy of
Aernid Koromatik
^[4]
on a nearby chair; Etzwane picked it up and scanned the colored patterns. Pale blue and green characters informed of social events and trivial gossip, with pink and old rose titillations; these columns Etzwane ignored. He read the lavender proclamation of the Anome. In various shades of indigo and green
^[5]
opinions of well-known persons were set forth; all evinced approval. "At last the Anome turns his vast power against the savage hordes," declared the Aesthete Santangelo of Ferathilen, in ultramarine symbols. "The folk of Shant can now relax."

Etzwane's lip curled; he gave the journal a shake.

At the bottom of the page a border of brown enclosed an ochre-yellow message: news of morbid and dreadful nature. The Roguskhoi had moved in a strength estimated at over five hundred into the Farwan Valley of Canton LorAsphen, killing many men and enslaving a large number of women. "They have established a camp; they show no signs of retreating into the Hwan. Do they then regard the valley as conquered territory?

"The women of LorAsphen are now being evacuated into Cantons Morningshore and Esterland as rapidly as possible. Unfortunately, the Anome has not yet mustered sufficient strength to deal a counterblow. It is hoped that there will be no more such terrible acts."

Etzwane laid the paper aside, then on second thought folded it into the pocket of his cape. For a space he sat watching the folk at nearby tables. They chatted; they were charming; their sensibilities were subtle. . .. Into the garden now came the florid technist, he who had arisen first to ask questions. He wore a pale green cloak over his black and white; he joined a group of his friends at a table near where Etzwane sat; two men and two women, wearing rich robes of blue, green, purple, and white. They leaned forward as the stout man spoke in an animated voice. Etzwane listened:

"…insane, insane! This is not our function; what do we know of such things? The Anome expects miracles; he wants bricks without furnishing straw! Let him provide the weapons; is he not the power of Shant?"

One of his companions spoke a few words, to
which the florid technist made an impatient retort: "It is all nonsense! I intend to draw up a petition of protest; the Anome will surely see reason."

Etzwane listened in a rigidity of disbelief that dissolved into fury. Only minutes before he had enjoined selfless exertion upon this fat, stupid man. Already he spread defeatism I Etzwane brought out the pulse-emitter; he punched the studs to the man's code. . . . He stopped short of touching yellow; instead he went to glare down into the man's suddenly blank face. "I heard your remarks," said Etzwane. "Do you know how close you came to losing your head? One eighth of an inch, the press of a button."

"I spoke idly, no more," cried the man in a plaintive rush of words. "Must you take everything at face value?"

"How else? It is how I intend my words. Say goodbye to your friends; you have suddenly become a member of the Garwiy militia. I hope you fight as well as you talk."

"The militia! Impossible! My work…"

"'Impossible'?" Etzwane ostentatiously made a note of the man's color code. "I will explain circumstances to the Anome; you had best set your affairs in order."

Stunned, white-faced, the man slumped back in his chair.

Etzwane rode a diligence to Sershan Palace. He found Sajarano in the rooftop garden, playing with a prismatic toy. Etzwane stood watching a moment.

Sajarano moved colored spots of light along a white bar, small mouth pursed, eyes studiously averted from Etzwane.

Under that poet's forehead what occurred? What impulses actuated those small hands, once so quick and powerful? Etzwane, already in a grim mood, found the bafflement intolerable. He brought forth the newspaper and placed it in front of Sajarano, who put aside the toy to read. He glanced up at Etzwane. "Events rush together. History occurs."

Etzwane pointed to the brown and yellow. "What do you make of this?"

"Tragedy."

"You agree that the Roguskhoi are our enemies?"

"It cannot be denied."

"How would you deal with them, had you power once again?"

Sajarano started to speak, then looked down at his toy. "The avenues of action all lead into dark mist."

Sajarano might well be the victim of mental affliction, thought Etzwane; in fact, this almost certainly was the case. He asked, "How did you become Anome?"

"My father was Anome before me. When he grew old he passed on the power." Looking off into the sky, Sajarano smiled in sad recollection. "The transfer was in this case simple; it is not always so."

"Who was to have been Anome after you?"

Sajarano's smile faded; he frowned in concentration. "At one time I inclined toward Arnold of Cham, whom I considered qualified by birth, intellect, and integrity. I reconsidered. The Anome must be clever and harsh; he can afford no qualms." Sajarano's fingers gave a convulsive twitch. "The terrible deeds I have done! In Haviosq to alarm the sacred birds is a crime. In Fordume the apprentice jade carver must die if his masterwork cracks. Arnold of Cham, a reasonable man, could not enforce laws so grotesque. I considered a man more flexible: Aun Sharah, the Chief Discriminator. He is cool, clever, capable of detachment. . . . I rejected Aun Sharah for reason of style, and settled upon Garstang, now dead. . . . The whole subject is irrelevant."

Etzwane pondered a moment. "Did Aun Sharah know that he was under consideration?"

Sajarano shrugged and picked up the toy. "He is a perceptive man. It is hard to conceal the exercise of power from a person in his position."

Etzwane went to the radio room. He adjusted the filter to disassociate himself from the previous message; he then called Aun Sharah. "This is Gastel Etzwane. I have taken counsel with the Anome. He has ordered that you and I go forth as plenipotentiaries to all regions of Shant. You are required to visit the cantons east of the Jardeen and north of the Wildlands, including Shkoriy, LorAsphen, Haghead, and Morningshore. I am assigned the cantons to west and south. We are to stimulate and, if necessary, coerce the mobilization and training

of the various militias. Do you have any questions?"

There was a brief silence. "You used the word 'coerce.' How is this to be effected?"

"We are to note particulars of recalcitrance; the Anome will inflict penalties. Conditions vary. I can offer no explicit instructions; you must use your best judgment."

Aun Sharah's voice was a trifle bleak: "When am I to leave?"

"Tomorrow. Your first cantons should perhaps be Wale, Purple Fan, Anglesiy, Jardeen, and Conduce; then you can take the balloon-way at Brassei Junction for the far west. I go first to Wild Rose, Maiy, Erevan, and Shade, then take balloon for Esterland. For funds we are to issue drafts against the Bank of Shant, and naturally stint ourselves nothing.

"Very well," said Aun Sharah without enthusiasm. "We must do what is required."

The balloon
Iridixn,
requisitioned by Etzwane, swayed at the loading platform; a triple-segmented slab of withe, cord, and glossy film. The winch-tender was Casallo, a young man of airs and graces, who performed the sensitive acts of his trade with bored disdain. Etzwane stepped into the gondola; Casallo, already in his compartment, asked: "What, sir, are your orders?"

"I want to visit Jamilo, Vervei, Sacred Hill in Erevan, Lanteen in Shade. Then we will proceed directly across Shant to Esterland."

"As you wish, sir." Casallo barely stifled a yawn. Over his ear he wore a sprig of purple arasma, souvenir of last night's revelry. Etzwane watched with suspicion as Casallo checked the action of his winches, tested gas valves and ballast release, then dropped the semaphore. "Up we go."

The station gang walked the Judas dolly down the slot, allowing the balloon a medium scope. Casallo negligently adjusted cant and aspect to lay the balloon on a broad reach across the wind. The guys were detached from the sheave on the Judas dolly,

the running dolly was released from its clamp; the balloon slid away; the dolly whirred cheerfully down the slot. Casallo adjusted the guys with the air of a man inventing a new process; the balloon perceptibly accelerated and sailed east through Jardeen Gap. The Ushkadel became a dark blur to the rear, and presently they entered Wild Rose, where among wooded hillocks, vales, ponds, and placid meadows the Aesthetes of Garwiy maintained their country estates.