Eyes of the Calculor (40 page)

Rositana stared at Martyne in Mirrorsun's light, both eyes and mouth wide open. She was a good intuitive judge of character, and this intuition told her that Martyne was neither joking nor lying.

"Didn't you get a letter?" asked Martyne.

She shook her head.

"Oh dear. Now, given that you have a mere fourteen hours to prepare for the examination, and given that you have several hours of solid drinking behind you ... if I were you I would begin munching my way through a couple of pounds of chocolate coffee beans in preparation for fourteen hours of solid study."

"But why?" she whispered. "I know the politics of the cadetship lists; I applied as a gesture of defiance rather than in real hope."

"Well, that was a bit dim of you. There are too many bad dip-

lomats being appointed as political favors, and the Dragon Librarian

Service has adopted a covert program of reform."

Rositana suddenly remembered something fairly important. "Martyne, I—I was serious about wishing to, well, you know—" "Frelle, how would I feel if you failed by some small margin

because I wasted even an hour or two of your study time in bed?

Up to your room, get to work. Go! Go!"

I he following morning Martyne paid a visit to a house where he dropped a message, then he went straight to the paraline terminus and vanished from the city. Three hours later the Inspector of Cadets at Libris was paid a visit by Highliber Dramoren.

"Make sure that an applicant for Dragon Orange named Rositana Seubel from Highlands castellany is on this afternoon's examination posting, and make sure that she is marked and passed on merit alone," Dramoren ordered.

"Merit alone, Highliber?"

"Yes. The Espionage Police are involved, so be sure to take care."

Uramoren was not sitting in his usual presiding chair at the weekly meeting of the Dragon Gold Librarians. It was occupied by an observer. This observer was the one person in Rochester who had a higher rank than that of Highliber. Out of courtesy and deference to Overmayor Lengina, Dramoren had given her the presiding chair and removed himself to the other end of the table.

"And next we have a report from the Monastery of St. Roger at Euroa," said Dramoren. "Calculations regarding possible scenarios when Mirrorsun might burst cannot be completed under a minimum of twenty-six months, and even that is an improvement on earlier estimates. Instead Brother Nikalan has proposed that all resources be put into testing the strength of the Mirrorsun material in storage at the monastery."

"I thought that was already being done," said Lengina.

"The rig is complete, Your Highness, but the crossbar beam broke at sixty tons. Both it and the weight box need to be strengthened to carry up to five hundred tons."

"One scrap of fabric can support five hundred tons?" exclaimed Lengina.

"We do not know, Overmayor. However Brother Nikalan's cal-culor programs have calculated that a break at four hundred ninety tons is good news for us. The Mirrorsun band would then have the velocity to escape the gravitational pull of the sun completely."

"It would never return," added the system controller.

"Precisely. Once the strength of Mirrorsun fabric is known, we can calculate when it will burst, if it will be a danger to Earth, and when that danger is liable to materialize. That calculation will need no more than two months, with the Libris Calculor helping."

"Jemli the Prophet predicted that Mirrorsun is being punished by the Deity for being an abomination, she says that it will be 'flung into the blackness, never to return.' How can she predict with prayer and visions what we have spent two million gold royals trying to do—so far with no answer?"

"Overmayor, she has made no verified predictions so far," Frelle Halen of the Espionage Constables pointed out. "She has only interpreted events that have taken place and predicted what has not yet happened."

"But people believe that she has foretold the future with accuracy," said Dramoren.

"All the more reason to have our own prediction," Lengina replied. "Highliber Dramoren, do you have faith in your librarians, and in the monks?"

"I would trust them with my life, Overmayor."

"Splendid, then I shall trust them with my reputation. Spread a message across the realm and beyond, say that I shall make a pronouncement on the danger from Mirrorsun in—ah, when will the tests on the fabric be done?"

"In ten days."

"So in ten days you will be able to say if there is a threat,

and in two months you will be able to say what the nature of the threat is?"

"Yes, Overmayor."

The meeting broke up, but Dramoren and Lengina stayed on in the room after the others had gone.

"You realize that this is science against religion, Highliber Dramoren?" said Lengina.

"It is actually engineer against priest, Overmayor. The people supplying our science are monks, after all."

"Whatever. I am in your hands, Highliber," she said with a coy smile. "A daunting prospect, is it not?"

Dramoren spent three frantic seconds searching for a witty yet respectful reply.

"I shall try not to drop you, Overmayor," he managed.

"I have the greatest faith in you, Highliber."

I wo days later the lists for the Dragon Orange Diplomatic Corps cadetships were presented to Highliber Dramoren. He ran his finger down the list. The name Seubel was absent. Two minutes and forty seconds later the Inspector of Cadets was marched out of his office by two Tiger Dragons with a gag between his teeth and his hands shackled behind his back.

The Deputy Inspector of Cadets was a mature, ruthless, and politically canny administrator, and not the sort to cower before even the Highliber. She was, however, cowering as Dramoren stood before her desk. Beside the chief of the Dragon Librarian Service was a strange Dragon Blue; in her eyes was a suggestion of something that lacked sanity and ate live meat.

"The Highliber wishes to speak with you, Frelle," said Velesti in a voice with the bite of a south wind in midwinter. "Please do not make him repeat anything, I am very anxious to begin a private interview with the former Inspector of Cadets."

The Deputy Inspector's bladder failed her, but she nevertheless sat upright and attentive with her hands clasped on her desk as Velesti took a step back.

"Candidate Seubel was to be marked on merit, why did she not pass?" asked Dramoren.

"Highliber, the candidate Seubel scored eighty-one percent in her paper, but the pass mark was raised to eighty-three percent in order to accommodate certain assisted passes from the diplomatic lists."

"Who authorized the mark to be thus raised?"

"The Inspector of Cadets, Highliber."

"What was the unadjusted average mark of the successful candidates, Frelle?"

"Sixty-one percent Highliber."

"Frelle Deputy Inspector, if I said the words 'marked and passed on merit alone' and 'Espionage Police' to you, would you have failed Frelle Rositana Seubel?"

"No, Highliber."

Dramoren turned to Velesti and nodded. Velesti folded her arms. Dramoren turned back to the Deputy Inspector.

"Congratulations on your appointment to the position of Inspector of Cadets, Dragon Silver," declared Dramoren. "What was Frelle Seubel's absolute placement?"

"Third out of ninety, Highliber," responded the new Inspector of Cadets.

"Post all the results on absolute merit."

"There will be protests from the nobility, Highliber."

"Deal with them. If any persist, arrange an interview with my new Inspector of Espionage Constables, here, Frelle Velesti Disore."

The new Inspector of Cadets looked from Dramoren to Velesti, then back to Dramoren.

"Would it not be more humane to just shoot them, Highliber?" she asked.

"It would indeed, Frelle, but I am feeling particularly vindictive today. Favors to the rich, influential, and stupid have become a blight upon the service; it is time for some merit to be flushed through the system."

Precisely thirty hours later, to the very minute, Rositana was in her Libris uniform and orange colors and dancing on a tabletop in the Gaudeamus Tavern, shouting "Bronze Scholarship!" and buying drinks for the entire taproom.

At the very same instant Martyne was far away, shivering with shock and soaked with blood. Fortunately most of the blood was not his.

Euroa, the Rochestrian Commonwealth

Kangen stepped down from the cart as the monastery gates closed behind him. Waiting for him in front of the ancient stairway leading to the monastic hostelry was a stooped monk in his fifties with his hands clasped before him. The cart was driven off to the stables. The two men faced each other.

"I was told by the Highliber that Brother Nikalan would be meeting me," said Rangen.

"And Brother Nikalan has met you, if you are Fras Rangen Der-ris. Even if you are not Fras Rangen Derris, Brother Nikalan has still met you, but seeing that nobody else would have been told that Brother Nikalan is meeting him, then you must be Fras Rangen."

Rangen lifted his bag from the ground.

"Well, take me to your calculor."

"Uh-uh, we cannot waste the talents of one such as you in a calculor," replied Nikalan, waving a finger. "We must have a tour of the monastery. Leave your bag there, someone will collect it eventually. But first, why are you here? Why is not Highliber Dramoren using your talents?"

"Because of a woman," admitted Rangen sullenly.

"Only one?" asked Nikalan sympathetically.

"I was running an invisible paraline, smuggling numerate refugees away from the reach of Libris. She seduced me, charmed my secrets from me, then sold them to the Espionage Constables. She made over three hundred gold royals from the venture."

"They arrested you?"

"Worse. They intercepted my numerate fugitives by the hundreds. By the time I was caught the Libris Calculor was overflowing with components—people—who were desperate to kill me. Preferably slowly, and as painfully as possible. I was sent here to be out of harm's way."

"You will like it here, a mathematician of your talents. St. Roger's is dedicated to the pursuit of science."

"Good. I have been seriously contemplating holy orders and celibacy anyway, as a new lifestyle."

"You wish to become a monk? Even better. That is the chapel, where the Calculor is housed. The observatory is on that low hill off to the north, and that very strange framework to our left is a machine to predict the end of the world by the application of physics and mathematics to observed phenomena."

"The end of the world?"

"Well, perhaps not the world, but the end of conditions under which we could live."

"Is it something to do with the speeding up of Mirrorsun?"

"My young neophyte, it is everything to do with the speeding up of Mirrorsun."

Behind them, out of sight, two Balesha monks were watching. One of them had been driving Rangen's cart.

"Killed two," reported the carter monk.

"Gentheists?"

"Aye. Everything still on schedule?"

"Aye. Everyone is so grateful for our guard and security services in this endeavor."

"Isn't it nice to be appreciated?"

"That it is."

Lake Taupo, New Zealand

I he wingfield at Lake Taupo was of a higher standard than those at Hawaii and Samoa, even though it had been prepared with less labor. Two thousand years earlier there had been a road running beside the lake, a wide, straight road on firm ground. Sometime in the mid-twenty-first century of the old calendar, there had been a volcanic eruption that had deposited a layer of ash over the road, and this had protected it from erosion by weather and vegetation. Although digging three feet of ash and pumice away from a strip several hundred yards long by ten wide had been depressingly hard and dirty work for Samondel, Alarak, and the first four navvies, at least there was little preparation work needed on the surface. Since Samondel had left, a lot more of the road had been exposed and crude shelters of poles and brush thatch were even being built.

The limiting factor was fuel. The new super-regal Albatross had enormous range, but it was the only wing of its kind yet in service. Oilseed, barley, and other compression spirit crops had been planted in the rich, volcanic soil but they were months from producing anything, even had processing equipment been on hand. By February the Albatross was making a trip every four days, however, and compression spirit barrels were piling up in the shelters. Serjon decided that it was time for the Seaflower to fly due west.

It had been three weeks since Samondel and her navigator had flown west in the Swallow, and it was no real surprise that they had not returned. They had achieved miracles by establishing wingfields on three islands, but none of these had been inhabited. The question of most concern to those on Lake Taupo was not the fact of the Swallow having gone down but where and in what circumstances. Serjon's flight plan was a lot more ambitious than Samondel's, yet it left a lot less to chance. As the light of early morning began to color the sky, lake, and wingfield, Serjon, Bronlar, the wingcaptain of Albatross, and the adjunct discussed procedures.

"First the Albatross ascends and circles, then the Seaflower as-

cends and both turn west-," said Serjon. "Albatross will then drop a tube line to the Seaflower, and top up the tanks."

"I cannot understand why the wing's tanks were built to take more compression spirit than it could get off the ground," said the wingcaptain.

"Normally it can, Sair Wingcaptain," replied Serjon, "but the Seaflower will also be carrying Semme Bronlar and provisions for two days. Even as little extra weight as that makes a difference.

"When the Seaflower is gone, the Albatross will return here. The Seaflower will proceed to the edge of the Australican continent, where it will overfly the southeast region at extreme height until the major cities are found. I will then parachute down to a suitable rendezvous point and Bronlar will return here. In fourteen days she will return to the rendezvous point, and if I signal with a mirror that it is safe she will descend. If not, she will survey the Australican farms for one with horses and we shall proceed with Project Tornado."