The Broken Cage (Solstice 31 Saga Book 2) (13 page)

“Do your parents still live there?” Rand knew, right away, it was the wrong question to have asked.

“My folks died, twenty-two years ago, of the fever. Most everyone did in Greenwarren. I was ten at the time. Had to learn to survive, quickly. I became a tracker by the time I was fifteen. I was a tracker for eleven years when I met Vi.”

“Where did you learn to read?”

The reaction Rand received was as if she had slapped him. He was on his feet and looked like he was ready to run, again.

“I'm sorry,” she started, while folding the map, playing for time as she thought fast. “It's just that, it was obvious that you could read the map. Here, by the way, I want you to have this.” She handed the neatly folded map to him.

“Rand, only Keepers can read. You can be put to death for learning to read, without being apprenticed as a Keeper,” Vi said, patiently, understanding the depth of Rand’s ignorance.

“Look. I know you can read. Both of you.” She looked at Vi now. “Most trackers can read and write. I have been reading the journals for a while now. I have seen your own entries. I think it's a brilliant idea to share information like that. Why are the Keepers the only ones allowed to read?”

“Because the letters are a form of magic,” Tannhauser said. “They can't just let anyone have that power. Think about it. I read a book and a few hours later, I know how to forge steel. Or, I know how to get to Greenwarren. Or, I know what herbs to collect to ease pain. Or, I make poison. If that isn't magic, what is?”

“And, those journals are only for trackers. Never to be spoken of,” Vi added.

“They are magic. Other trackers that use them can talk to me. Across time. Even beyond death. This is too much for one day.” Tannhauser shifted into Common Tongue, as he walked away.

“Where is he going?” Rand asked.

“He says he needs a drink. I must say, so do I. He says there were flasks and wineskins in the saddlebags.”

Rand smiled at the thought of a drink.

When they got to the cottage, he had already emptied the saddlebags on the table. In the second one, he found a finely crafted silver flask. He opened it and sniffed. Looking at them, he smiled and took a long pull. He handed it to Rand. It tasted like strong bourbon—very smoky with oak flavors.

She took a second drink, before handing it to Vi, and said, “I suppose you are forbidden from drinking, too?”

They laughed.

***

Vi made them dinner—grilled venison and pan-fried tubers. It was delicious. Rand took the first watch. When she knew they were asleep, she had Poole come up and she unloaded everything for sorting, and dividing up, tomorrow. The pile she had taken, from the eleven men she killed, was large.

Eleven men, including a pilot and her first Keeper.

It was a good start.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

High Keeper Meeting

“The High Keeper was the supreme ruler, dictator, despot, whatever you want to call him, on the planet Baytirus. According to Mason, he was hundreds of years old and may have been one of the founding colonists. He was ruthless and, probably, insane. He also knew Wex before any of us.”

--
Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Captain James Worthington, senior surviving member of the Ventura's command crew, regarding Mason Tuey.

<<<>>>

Mason was ordered to meet with the High Keeper while he had his breakfast in the garden. He was led there by a small, thin man that was one of the High Keeper's ushers. They all looked the same to Mason. Short, thin, and dressed in a simple, white tunic with a cloth belt of the same material. Their heads were completely shaved. Even their eyebrows were gone. There was no mistaking an usher or disguising yourself as an usher. Ushers were tiny. They never spoke. If one came for you in the Citadel, you went, no questions asked. Mason had no idea how many there were. He didn't know if they even had names.

The roof garden of the Citadel had two sets of pilings for personal shuttle landings. The elevator doors opened directly between them. Only controlled, automated landings were allowed on the roof of the High Keeper's Citadel, by explicit appointment and by permission. Even then, it was only to drop off VIP passengers. Just, the Lord High Keeper himself was allowed to keep a personal shuttle there. Its sleek, black carapace and trio of guards were always there, just like the pilings, day and night.

The Lord High Keeper rarely went anywhere in recent years. But, he sent his personal shuttle for people. It wasn't a pleasure, usually. In fact, the shuttle was often thought of as a harbinger of doom. A one-way trip.

Mason had never been up there before. The garden was mature, and beautiful in its absolute perfection. Walking its paths revealed views of balance and symmetry, so perfect, so controlled, that it wasn't natural. Every blade of grass was the same length and perfectly straight. The giant trees that provided the dappled shade were perfectly still. They were perfect in their gnarled greatness, as perfect and as random as a Mandelbrot. Simulated streams, ponds, and waterfalls were tuned, to make the perfect sound of falling water compliment the music he heard as he approached his final destination.

Cresting a small hill, the path wound around to a small bowl. The road skirted by a slight set of risers, concealed by a perfect hedge of shrubs of different heights. The risers were occupied by a chorus of about twenty young boys that were humming, not singing, complex harmonies. A flute was the only instrument played, and a single voice of a young girl sang a beautiful song.

The usher halted and Mason almost walked into him. He was to wait until beckoned. He was within the line of sight of the High Keeper, who sat in a chair at a small table on a flagstone patio at the bottom of the bowl. He was next to a large pond that had huge gold and silver fish, circling near the surface. The High Keeper talked to the tracker, Tolwood. Mason was so close to the chorus that he could not hear the conversation. Clever set up.

The usher stood, unmoving. His hands were at his sides, palms facing back and fingers wide in the standard ‘wait here’ posture. Mason had seen them stand in this position for hours.

Another usher waited, on the far side, for Tolwood to finish and be led away.

He looked further into the garden. The music was so beautiful. Another tune started. This one he recognized. The flute, alone, was heartbreakingly beautiful. He glanced at the musician for the first time. Her flute was long, black and carved on most of its length. He followed its length up, past her beautiful hand, to her face. At first, he thought she played with her eyes closed, in concentration. He was close enough to see.

Her eyes were sewn shut.

The entire chorus of beautiful, young boys had the same impairment. Even the young girl, the soloist, had her eyes sewn closed.

Their clothes matched and seemed selected individually to match the flowering shrubs in the small, artificial vale. They had a silver manacle on their left ankle that had a ring. All the rings were attached by a long, thick silk rope.

Mason closed his own eyes and took a deep breath. Turning his attention back to the High Keeper, Mason saw him scolding Tolwood. Tolwood was unarmed. His sheaths were empty. But, Mason thought that didn't make Tolwood any less dangerous. Mason was sure there was a sniper, with a plasma rifle, hidden there, somewhere.

The High Keeper tossed some bread into the pond as he dismissed Tolwood. The gold and silver fish fought over the food. They were all mouths and threw themselves on top of each other to get to the bread. The sight was unnerving to Mason, for some reason.

The chorus continued to hum another haunting tune as he waited. The flute had a richness that seemed impossible, with an octave range beyond a standard flute.

The usher moved forward, at some unseen gesture, and Mason followed.

Mason paused before the High Keeper. He knew better than to speak before being spoken to.

“Explain this report to me.” The High Keeper pointed his butter knife at a plate on the table.

“A team was dispatched to the crash site and the ship was located as a debris field spread along the bottom of a ravine. The pilot's remains were also recovered and are being examined.” Mason tried to be concise.

“And, the other bodies?” The High Keeper stopped eating and focused on him, entirely.

“The ship had been dispatched there because of an interrupted Keeper transmission that was followed by total loss of signal from his plate. Keeper Esau's body was one of the twelve bodies that High Tracker Tolwood ultimately found. This is where it gets complicated, my Lord.” Mason gulped. “Tolwood found no tracks around the bodies, not even the footprints of the victims. Most of their weapons and personal effects were gone, as if they had been robbed, including Keeper Esau's plate. The horses were scattered. Most headed south and were recovered. All recovered were riderless. Three were not recovered.”

He paused, then continued.

“Tolwood's trackers followed the horses south, thinking thieves had robbed the team and fled.”

The High Keeper snorted a small laugh but said nothing.

“They found the horses grazing in a meadow. And, they discovered four more horses and four more dead bodies, another team of trackers.”

The High Keeper said, “Yes. This mystery has Tolwood perplexed and, frankly, disturbed. It's the heads, I think. He thinks they have been eaten.”

“Eaten?” Mason asked.

“All the heads were gone or crushed more violently than an anvil execution,” the High Keeper said, looking at Mason's face. “Tolwood identified the four trackers in the meadow. They were following a creature that fell from the sky. Eyewitnesses say it escaped from some wreckage before it exploded and burned, but it was injured.” The High Keeper poured himself some tea as he let Mason digest his words.

“Where is this wreckage?” Mason asked.

“There isn’t much left. There doesn't seem to be any instrumentation, computers, or other identifiable technology. The material it was made from is nothing we have ever seen. Not metallic, not ceramic and not plastic—like the statue Tolwood brought in months ago.”

The High Keeper lifted tongs up from the tray, reached into the brazier coals that kept his kettle hot, and withdrew a black, mottled piece of material. It was about six inches long and two inches around.

“Hold out your hand.”

Slowly, Mason held out his left hand, knowing what might happen.

The High Keeper dropped it into his palm.

The pain he expected never came.

It was cold to the touch.

Mason looked from the piece to the Keeper.

“Much of this material has fallen from the sky. Entry burns away other materials, leaving only this.”

“The Planetary Defense System activated and destroyed it.”

“Any luck accessing the system?”

“No, my Lord. I would have notified you, immediately.”

“Here is what I think happened.” He sipped his tea. In the pause, he heard the choir begin a new lullaby.

“Our PDS shot down an alien vessel. The first
alien
vessel. One of the beings survived. It may have been the only one on the ship, for all I know. It got away. The four trackers caught up with it. Then, the other eight that were...investigating another matter, ran into it. So did my ship!” He pounded his hand on the elegant table.

“Witnesses say it is a giant, black spider with arms that hang down just below its mouth.”

The High Keeper handed him a drawing of a six-legged creature. A man standing next to it for scale. He swallowed hard. His mouth was dry.

“It can breathe the atmosphere. It may have been here before.”

“Been here before?”

“That would answer much,” the Keeper said.

Mason didn't understand.

“You are one of the few that know we arrived here 212 years ago. We always wondered why the world was so perfect, as if it had been terraformed thousands of years ago. So much life.”

“Tolwood thinks he can track it. Might have found prints in that meadow. Headed west.”

“There is nothing west of there for 2,500 miles,” Mason added.

“Exactly. Winter is on us, and we have bigger problems. I want every piece of wreckage collected before it's lost in the snow. Organize a large team. Take the M79. Make more than one trip, if you need to. Salvage all the parts possible.

“Keep this quiet. The council doesn't need to know, especially that pain in my ass, Ronan.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Anything else to report?”

“I have been studying the sat systems, as you know, looking for a solution to that access security issue. I believe I have discovered why the infrared heat mapping has faded. There is a maintenance process that involves recharging the sensors with coolant. I think without this particular, periodic maintenance, they lose fidelity. We still have access to the nonmilitary applications. We may be able to cross over from there via the hypervisor...”

Mason trailed off because High Keeper Atish was waving a hand as if to dispel pipe smoke.

“Only other thing is the storage failure rate is up two point nine percent this year. We will have to reduce consumption to compensate, again.”

“Anything else?”

“No, my Lord.”

The High Keeper waved him away and Mason started to walk off. He turned back to have a look at the choir, one last time, as they hummed what sounded like a sea shanty.

Wex stood, waiting on the far side, flanked by an usher.

***

The cells in the deepest level of the Citadel were kept pitch-black. The long corridor, with cells on each side, collected more dust than light. The ninety small rooms, with open bars for the door, were all empty, except one. The lone prisoner knew when he heard the keys in the lock at the end of the hall that they were coming for him, again.

The sounds seemed very loud as the gate-like door opened, then closed, and was locked again. The guards were so afraid.

The prisoner heard bare feet as they padded their way down the hall. He heard the water sloshing in the bucket as the glow of the single, fat candle approached.

“Hello, peanut,” the voice said, from the shadows, to the tiny girl with the bucket in one hand and the candle in the other. “Move slowly,” he whispered, “there are four crossbows pointing this way.”

He was right. He was always right. The girl had stopped asking how he knew that kind of detail.

He reached out through the bars and took the candle she offered. He placed it on the recessed shelf designed for this purpose.

“Go ahead and have a wash, peanut, they’ll wait,” he said, as he sat down on the stone shelf that also served as his bed. She handed him, through the bars, a plain, white tunic that had been draped over her shoulder.

She withdrew the rag from the cold water and wrung it out. She scrubbed her own face, neck, arms and armpits, before dipping and wringing it out again. She was already naked, making the procedure easy. She was always naked.

She handed the prisoner the rag and turned her back to him. He scrubbed her back. When he was done, he handed the rag back for another dip in the bucket. She quickly finished the rest of her body, except for her feet. She dipped the cloth and it was all repeated, washing him.

“I heard the guards talking about Wex a few days ago. She is in the Citadel. Just like you said she would be.” She scrubbed his back and repeated rinsing the rag. “I heard them say something else…” She sounded frightened. Her lisp was more pronounced through her missing, broken teeth.

Casually and quietly, he replied, somehow already knowing, “They mentioned the Man from Earth.” He was very matter-of-fact.

He finished washing his own body and then his feet. As he was slipping the oversized, sleeveless tunic over his head, the small girl washed her own filthy feet.