The Carpet Makers (11 page)

“You’ll have the radio with you in case of an emergency?”

“Of course.” Nillian laughed out loud. “Hey, are you worrying about me?”

Nargant felt a twinge at these words. He realized that, in all honesty, he wasn’t, and it made him feel shabby and vile. Actually, he was worrying about himself, about what would happen to him if something unfortunate occurred to Nillian. He didn’t deserve the friendship the young rebel was extending to him, because he was incapable of returning it. All he could do was envy Nillian’s easy attitude and inner freedom and feel like a cripple in comparison.

“I’m dead tired,” he said, avoiding the question. “I’ll try to sleep a little. Good luck. Out.”

“Thanks. Out,” Nillian responded. There was an audible pop, and the recorder turned itself off again.

Nargant remained in his chair, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. He felt as though his eyeballs were vibrating. I’m sure I won’t be able to sleep, he thought. But he was asleep before he could manage to lift his eyelids one more time, and he slipped into a restless dream.

When he awoke, it took a while before it came to him where he was and what had happened. As he stared at the ship’s clock, his dull brain tried without success to figure out how long he had slept. At any rate, the counter on the recorder hadn’t moved, which meant that Nillian hadn’t yet reported in again.

He walked to the viewing window and looked out, down at the enormous sphere of the planet. An endless twilight stretched across the dirty-brown surface from pole to pole. It was like a shock when he suddenly realized that it was already early morning in Nillian’s location. He had slept the entire night.

And Nillian hadn’t reported in.

He reached for the microphone and hit the activation switch much too hard.

“Nillian?”

He waited, but everything remained silent. He became more formal, “
Kalyt 9
calling Nillian Jegetar Cuain, please respond!” That also brought nothing.

Time passed, and Nillian still didn’t check in. Nargant sat in his pilot’s chair and spoke Nillian’s name into the radio again and again for hours. He rewound the recorder and listened to the reports, but there really was nothing, no radio message from Nillian. He was unaware that he was constantly chewing his lower lip and that it was already starting to bleed.

He felt virtually torn in two by opposing powers pulling at him like two forces of nature. On the one hand, there was the command, the clear, unambiguous and unrescinded order, not to land on the planets under observation and also his sense of obedience, of which he had once been so proud. He had known from the beginning that this adventure had to go wrong—from the beginning. One single man, alone on an unknown planet in an unknown culture, which had had no contact with the Empire for tens of thousands of years—what could such a man expect to accomplish except to hasten his own death?

On the other hand, there was this new feeling of friendship, the knowledge that now, somewhere down below was a man who might be trapped in a dangerous situation and who was hanging all his hopes on him. There was a man who believed in him and had worked to gain his friendship, even though he knew that those things were difficult for this former imperial soldier. Maybe Nillian was looking up into a dark night sky at this very moment, where he knew there was a small, fragile spaceship, and was waiting to be rescued.

Nargant drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. He had made a decision, and that gave him new strength. With practiced hands, he prepared to send out a multi-format broadcast message.

“Nargant, pilot of Expedition Boat
Kalyt 9.
Calling Heavy Cruiser
Trikood
under Capt. Jerom Karswant. Attention. This is an emergency.”

Pause. Without noticing it, Nargant wiped beads of sweat from his brow. He felt as though this were more than a radio message, as though he had to engage his entire body and all its strength to say and do what was necessary. He knew that he couldn’t think about it too much; otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to send the message. Just talk and send it immediately, and then let the consequences come. He released the
PAUSE
button.

“Disregarding our orders, my partner Nillian Jegetar Cuain landed on the surface of Planet G-101/2 three days ago standard time, in order to do additional research among the inhabitants. His last planned radio contact is now eight hours overdue. The following events should be noted.…” He reported the facts briefly, completely, and without regard for the trembling in his legs. “Please advise. Nargant, on board
Kalyt 9.
Current standard time 18-3-178002. Last instrument calibration: 4-2. Position: map quadrant 2014-BQA-57, orbiting the second planet of sun G-101. Out.”

By the time he sent the message, he was wet with perspiration. Now everything would take its course. Reduced to information particles in an incomprehensible dimension, the message raced toward its goal, and no one could hold it back. Nargant lowered the microphone and settled in for a long wait. He was tired, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

In the hours that followed, he called Nillian’s name into the electromagnetic radio again and again. His nerves seemed to glow, and he was plagued with a premonition of approaching disaster.

Suddenly, the orange-red signal for incoming messages lit up on the transmission unit, and the recorder switched on automatically. Nargant started from his fitful half-sleep. The flagship of the Gheera Fleet was calling!

“This is Heavy Cruiser
Trikood. Kalyt 9,
we confirm your message, sent standard time 15-3-178002. The expedition headquarters is issuing you a directive to interrupt your research and to return as quickly as possible. Out.”

Time seemed to stand still. Suddenly, Nargant heard nothing but the wild pounding of his heart and the rushing of hot blood in his ears. He thought he could hear “Error! Error! Error!” in the rhythmic meter of the beating of his pulse. He had made an error. He had allowed an error to be made. He had been disobedient, and he would be punished without leniency. The only thing he could do, for the sake of his honor, was to return as quickly and as humbly as possible to accept his punishment.

Nargant’s hands flew over the armatures. The whispering and murmuring of the instruments in the control panel died out as the colossal engines in the depths of the spaceship came to life and made the outer shell vibrate. Fear had swept away every thought, even the thoughts of Nillian. A needle crept up from the red into the green zone while massive power units boomed as they pumped energy into the ship’s drive. Then Nargant accelerated and sent the ship tearing toward the dark fabric of stars. Each of his movements bespoke a lifelong routine; even half-dead, he could still have flown the ship. Without a single wasted movement, he made preparations for trans-light-speed flight, and soon after that
Kalyt 9
slipped into that dimension that is governed by other laws … where there is no limitation on movement through space, but where everyone is alone. No message can reach a spacecraft under way within this incomprehensible superspatial dimension.

That was the reason that Nargant missed the arrival of the real answer to his emergency message by several minutes.

“
Kalyt 9,
this is Capt. Jerom Karswant on board the
Trikood.
Attention. This countermands the previous order you received. That order was a standard directive to all expedition boats. Nargant, stay in orbit around G-101/2 and continue your attempts to make radio contact with Nillian. I am sending the Light Cruiser
Salkantar.
Calculate the closest entry point for a ship of that size, and send the exact coordinates, so that the
Salkantar
can reach you as quickly as possible. Repeat: Do not return to base. Maintain your position, and facilitate the arrival of the
Salkantar.
Help is on the way.”

Much later, after the arrival of the expedition ship
Kalyt 9
at the Gheera Expedition Base, and after repeated conversations with the
Salkantar,
which tried without success to locate the star G-101 using imprecise and error-filled star maps, it became clear to Nargant: in his panic, he had not noticed that the message he assumed to be an answer to his emergency call had arrived much sooner than the laws of physics would have allowed; it was a routine message to all expedition boats. It also became clear, that with his rash return, he had abandoned his comrade Nillian and had probably condemned him to death.

He had an unpleasant interview with the bullish captain of the expedition fleet, but the rebel general didn’t punish him. And that was perhaps the severest punishment.

From then on, Nargant said every morning aloud to himself in the mirror: “There is no Emperor anymore.” And every time he spoke these words, he felt within himself the profound fear that was still crippling him, and he recalled the man who had given him trust and friendship. He had wanted so much to return both those gifts, but it had been beyond his ability.

VII

The Tax Collector

HE HAD BEEN FOLLOWING
the trade route markers for days, and he really had no cause for worry. The rough-hewn waystones were set at regular intervals and were easy to recognize, and only in a few places had dunes drifted over the firmly trampled road. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when Yahannochia finally appeared on the horizon.

His jibarat was indifferent. The mount didn’t change its steady, rolling gait, not even when he tried, against his better judgment, to urge it ahead by striking it with the flat of his hand. In regard to the proper tempo for long, overland trips, jibarats had more sense than people.

Now he could see the estates of the hair-carpet makers scattered among the hills. Depending on the age and style of the houses, some were showy and colorful, others gray brown and inconspicuously hugging the cliffs. There were houses with pitched roofs and walls of red-fired clay. Others were flat and constructed of cut stone. He even saw a house that was completely black and, from a distance, appeared to have been gutted by fire.

No one paid him any attention as he rode through the city gate. Children ran about quarrelling loudly, and a few women stood chatting at the corner of a house. Only once or twice did he see unmistakable fright in the eyes of those whose glance fell on the insignia on his saddlebags: the insignia of the Imperial Tax Collector.

He still knew his way around. Not much had changed since his last visit, which was now a good three years ago. He still found his way through the narrow alleys past wretched, dusty workshops and dark pubs, past stained walls and moldy piles of wood to the City Elders Hall.

A tight smile played about his lips. They would not fool him. He would assess and tax them without mercy. Of course, they knew that he would come; they always knew. And he had been in the Imperial service for decades; he knew all the tricks. No need for them to imagine that they could deceive him with their wretched housefronts. A closer look would find fat hams hanging in the cellars and fine linens in the cupboards.

Godless thieves! They were asked to sacrifice nothing from their pitiful lives but a little tax, and they even tried to evade that.

He stopped his jibarat in front of the City Elders Hall and, without dismounting, rapped on one of the windows. A young man stuck his head out and asked what he desired.

“I am Kremman, Imperial Tax Collector and Judge. Announce my arrival to the city elders.”

The boy’s eyes widened when he saw the Imperial seal. He nodded hastily and disappeared.

They tried all the tricks. At Brepenniki, his last stop, they had burned the General Tax Ledger. Of course, they hadn’t admitted it; they never admitted something like that. They claimed that a blaze broke out in the City Elders Hall, which destroyed the book. As though they could get around paying taxes with a story like that! The only thing they accomplished was a delay in his schedule. A new ledger had to be created, and every city resident had to be assessed anew. There had been weeping and gnashing of teeth, but he had not been swayed and had done his duty. He knew they would be more cautious in the future. They wouldn’t try that again with him.

The door to the City Elders Hall flew open, and a fat old man came rushing out, still slipping into the sleeves of his well-worn ceremonial robe. Wheezing, he came to a halt before Kremman, finally finished donning his robe, and looked up at the tax collector with tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Greetings in the name of the Emperor, Kremman!” he called out nervously. “It is good that you have arrived, very good, as a matter of fact, because we’ve had a heretic in the dungeon since yesterday, and we don’t know what to do with him. But now Your Honor can pronounce judgment.”

Kremman looked disdainfully down on the man. “Don’t waste my time. If he’s a heretic, then hang him as the law requires.”

Snorting loudly, the city elder nodded so eagerly that it seemed that he might fall over at any moment. “I would never pester Your Honor with the matter if he were a common heretic, never. But he is not a common heretic; as a matter of fact, he’s an extremely uncommon heretic, and I am absolutely convinced…”

The things they could dream up! If only they would direct this resourcefulness to their work instead of using it to try to fool him!

He stemmed the man’s torrent of speech with a motion of his hand. “First I want to deal with the books, which is the reason I have come.”

“Certainly, of course. Pardon my thoughtlessness. Your Honor must be exhausted from the trip. Do you want to see the books immediately, or may I first show you to your quarters and have some refreshment provided?”

“First the books,” Kremman insisted, and heaved himself from the saddle.

“First the books, very good. Follow me.”

Kremman took the bag with the implements of his profession and followed the old man into the cellar vaults of the City Elders Hall. While he spread out his utensils on a large table with motions practiced hundreds of times, he silently watched the old man fumble with a rusty key and open the large, iron-fitted cabinet in which the General Tax Ledgers were kept.