The Magister (Earthkeep) (29 page)

"The Heart recognizes Magister Lin-ci Win of the Asia-China-Insula Tri-Satrapy!"

Lin-ci's voice carried to the limits of the rotunda.  "Marshal Mead," she boomed, "and Members of the Heart, I have come to ask you. . .to dissolve the Kanshoubu!"

In the split-second between the word
dissolve
and the reaction to Lin-ci's words, Zude sensed a grand stirring in the depths of a vibrational sea, a tsunami of exhilaration beginning its skyward lift.  The lucent wave rose high, crested and broke into a canopy of brightness against the domed ceiling.  It fell in sparkling shards of light over the colors of the Kanshou and the bold prints of the civilians.  It leached the scowls and tensions from their bodies, it drained away the aches and stiffnesses, it washed aside all resistance.  And it left, emerging from the departing deluge, the drenched and dripping, healthy and vibrant bodies of everyone in the Gather-Room.

"YES!"  The word was one voice.  It rang in a colossal chorus from the crowd.  "YES!"  It was shouted again and again in concert with loud sustained applause.  "YES!"  There was no ambivalence among the visitors to the Heart's proceedings.  "YES!"

As Zude scanned the ranks of the Heart of All Kanshou, her incredulity stopped her breath.  Fourteen women, clad in green or red or blue, stood in front of or leaned upon their padded chairs and applauded in unison with the crowd.  Some of them shouted while they clapped their hands.  Zude counted them again, to be sure.  Fourteen!  She quickly identified the four Members of the Heart who were not joining in the ovation. Femmedarme Adjutant Major Rabia Nuruk and Amah Sky Captain Anapaya Mogok had taken their seats; they observed the clamor through narrowed eyes.  Two  women in Vigilante blue were standing but pointedly not applauding; they were Lieutenant Carla Elana Díaz and Marshal N. Louise Mead, the Communication Escort.

Zude saw that Magister Lutu had also completed her calculation of the Heart's Desire.  Yotoma called to her above the din, "Not to worry, Zudie!  It's only four!  And they will stand aside!"  She continued her clapping.  "Only four!"

Above the noise Lin-ci Win was also shouting to Zude.  She stood supported by her aides, her face aglow.  "Zella Adverb!" she called.  When Zude harkened to her, Lin-ci shouted, "All will be well!"

11 - SHIFTING SCENE - [2088 C.E.]

Be free.  Fly free.

The dream of sky is limitless.

Voices Of The Stream

I. Shifting Habitantes

"The bailiwicks will open their gates at exactly the same moment all over Little Blue," said Anastasia N'basi, public airwaves correspondent.  "Some habitantes will thus be released at night, some at sunset, and others at dawn.  Still others will
Step To Freedom
in broad daylight." 

The correspondent’s black hair was studded with gold buttons, colorful pins and silver beads.  They took turns sparkling around her animated face.  Sustained crowd noises in the distance lent urgency to her words. 

"As you know," she said as she resumed her flatcast, "there have been worldwide protests of last week's action by the Heart. Tuesday, rioters panicked Yokohama citizens by encircling a bailiwick, pledging to kill any freed habitante.  Striking government workers in London still insist that they will refuse food until the Heart revokes its decision.  Citizens dedicated to 'preserving public safety' infiltrated the Teheran bailiwick yesterday and killed or fatally wounded 62 habitantes.

N'basi drew a deep breath.  "We will remember always the scattered acts of vengeance visited upon members of the Heart of All Kanshou, and the death of one of those members, Femmedarme Sky Captain Bushona Talabele, at the hands of demonstrators in Bujumbura." 

She shook her head gently.  "Many of us will puzzle over the movement within the bailiwicks themselves, called
We Like It Here
, the rebellion of habitantes who do not wish to be released."

With another deep breath, the correspondent went on. 

"During these next weeks, while the disbanding of the Kanshoubu begins, we can expect more dissention.  Street-corner prophets and diviners in every satrapy daily blame the loss of our children on too lenient a government." 

She consulted her notes.  "Some urge us, and I quote, 'to cease our folly, to double the number of Kanshou on our streets, to strengthen the walls of the bailiwicks, and to hold our children close lest the future of the race be swept from us by the overwhelming forces of rape and massacre that will be unleashed upon the world if the habitantes are freed and the Kanshoubu dismantled.'"

Anastasia N'basi looked directly into the mikcam.  "I note these circumstances and these opinions because, in fact, they are more the exception than the rule in the world at large.  Next to the waves of acceptance and hope that seem to billow around Little Blue in the wake of the Heart's decision, the resistances to that decision pale in significance."  She moved toward the roaring crowds in the background of her flatcast.

"Today we find few people, in or out of a bailiwick, who harbor serious regret that the bailiwicks will be abolished."  N'basi was now strolling into the thickness of an assembled crowd.  "Everywhere today habitantes will emerge rejoicing, and everywhere they will be greeted by throngs of friends, family and well-wishers.  The celebrations will of course continue for hours, maybe days."

The yellow and brown of N'basi's large-print caftan stood out now against the background of Amahrery Red tunics and light-maroon habitante coveralls.  "It's 1:51 in the afternoon here at the Hanoi Bailiwick," she continued, "where, less than a year ago, at this very moment in the day, habitantes were in the last minutes of preparation for an uprising that would be coordinated with revolts in Bucharest and Caracas — three separate bailiwicks in three separate tri-satrapies carefully timed to explode simultaneously."

The mikcam dissolved the flatimage of the correspondent, bringing into focus the crowd of approximately 4,000 habitantes who were shouting and wavingd behind the main gateway to the Hanoi Bailiwick.  The long shot revealed the low buildings of the city's outskirts and, to the sides of the gate, it caught the shimmer of the hurtfields that still encompassed the bailiwick proper.  At the gateway itself, however, there was no barrier except for the wide red ribbon that stretched across the street between the guard booths.  The ribbon bulged outward with the press of eager habitantes, then inward with the passing of Amahs urging them back.  Minutes later the ribbon would be pressed outward and inward once more — time and again, in a dance of liberty and restraint.

In several streets perpendicular to the gateway and a distance beyond it, lines of Amahs monitored huge throngs that stretched back into the city: those who waited for the release of their loved ones.  The mikcams panned the masses of people, zooming occasionally upon a single item in the wild array of mannequins, drawings, hats, kites, balloons, goggles, toys, and papier-mâché figures.  Signs affixed to upraised sticks waved and bounced:
Sani, Here We Are!
—
Tong-se The Lightfingered!
—
Tuscan Wine for Dinner, Sam Woo!

Other signs, held by small groups of somber citizens, protested the entire scene: Don't Do It! — Stop The Liberation Madness! — Protect the Few Children We Have Left! — No Criminals on Our Streets!

Now and then the colors of the crowd were punctuated with Amahrery Red as pairs of Foot-Shrieves moved among the people, urging them to patience, re-forming the rough organization of groups, exchanging greetings.

The correspondent's warm voice spoke over the flatfilm of the noisy crowd.  "Friends, a scene similar to this one is taking place right now in every bailiwick on the planet, and you will be able to access flatfilms of the occasion from your demesne or quarter-trapy by tomorrow.  But today the public airwaves are bringing you the brief
Step To Freedom
ceremonies in simultaneous live coverage from each of the three bailiwicks that so recently exploded in violence.  Let's go now," N'basi urged, "to Alana Gold in Bucharest."

The crowd noises altered in volume and texture, early afternoon light gave way to the fresher brightness of a morning sun, the buildings lining Hanoi's streets dissolved into rolling open country, Amahrery Red turned to Femmedarmery Green.  More than 3,000 people, mostly men, stood behind a bright wide ribbon of green at the bailiwick's gates.  They waved, shouted and sang,   as the Third Femmedarme Division Marching Band lent a sedate, military precision to a medley of rowdy drinking songs.  The mass of thousands outside the bailiwick had swelled beyond the shoulders of the Bucharest highway and into the expanse of crimson clover fields that flanked it.  Its members waved and shouted in the direction of the habitantes.  The smiling face of Public Airwaves Correspondent Alana Gold filled the screen.

"As you can see, the atmosphere here, just south of Bucharest Proper, is almost universally one of celebration," she said.  "That may partly be due to the fact that this bailiwick will undergo a minimum of physical change, and many of its habitantes will continue to work here as free citizens in the sewage conversion facility."  Gold brushed a wayward curl from her cheek.  "There will be no speeches today, only the eagerly awaited appearance of Magister Flossie Yotoma Lutu.  In just a few minutes Magister Lutu will cut the ribbon that will symbolically allow the habitantes to take their
Step To Freedom
." 

The correspondent was about to lead her mikcams toward the gate when she stopped herself. 

"I'm told that Magister Zella Terremoto Adverb has just arrived at the Caracas Bailiwick, where it's nearly two in the morning.  Are you there, Long Ron?"

"I'm here," answered a deep voice.  It belonged to one of the lankiest Japanese men anywhere on Little Blue. Correspondent Ron Haniku stood by a brightly lit building beside the blue-cloaked Magister of the Nueva Tierra Tri-Satrapy.  He struggled to be heard over the music and chaotic street noises that surged around them.  "Caracas is exploding with happiness and anticipation tonight," he announced, "and I have the honor of being here with the person who, many believe, is responsible for this joy.  Will you speak to us, Magister Adverb?"

"Ron, I'm running short of words these days," Zude said, "but I can tell you that, of all the duties I have ever executed as Vigilante, as Kanshou, or as Magister, the duty I will carry out only minutes from now, when I cut that blue ribbon, will be by far the happiest duty I have ever performed."

Wild cheers erupted from the dancing crowd.  Magister Adverb was hoisted to the shoulders of a shouting civilian and an off-duty Vigilante.  She was borne by the crowd to the gateway of the Caracas Bailiwick, while around her roared the cries of "Adverb! Libertadora!"

Around the world, viewing screens great and small split into thirds as the three Magisters simultaneously approached their habitantes, the thousands of laughing, clamoring free-citizens-to-be.  Lin-ci Win walked easily without the aid of crutches or Amahs; Zude was carried; but Flossie Yotoma Lutu moved most smoothly of the three because, observers insisted, her boots never touched the ground.

Sudden silence fell.  In Bucharest.  In Caracas.  In Hanoi.  The Magisters positioned themselves by their ribbons, facing their habitantes, their bodies slightly turned toward the prime mikcams.  Together they opened their ceremonial shears.

"What the animals knew," said Yotoma in Bucharest.

"What the children knew," said Zude in Caracas.

"What we are learning," said Lin-ci in Hanoi.

"Is that the most precious gift of all," said Zude, "is freedom."

"Freedom," said Yotoma.

"Freedom," said Lin-ci.

With precise uniformity the three Magisters severed their ribbons.

The ribbons dropped into an incredulous silence of approximately three seconds.  Then cheering habitantes swarmed from the bailiwicks, some to reach their friends, some to touch their Magister.  Lin-ci, Yotoma and Zude stood unprotected while thousands of men --- and some women --- surged by them.  Or stopped to touch them, to speak, or to look them in the eye.

Ron Haniku's face was an inset in the upper right-hand corner of the aerial view of the Caracas celebration, emblazoned now by the fireworks splitting the sky above the bailiwick.  Haniku's inset enlarged to present his full-screen interview with a woman who carried a small boy.  The boy's black hair was streaked with gray.  "Then you've travelled a long way for this celebration!" exclaimed the correspondent.

Both woman and child were smiling.  "We have friends here," she said.

"Zudie!" affirmed the boy.

"I see," laughed Ron Haniku.

Almost straight through the middle of the earth, on the other side of the world, Anastasia N'basi had captured the Magister of the Amahrery in her interview inset.  "The world is crazy with curiosity, Magister!  Will you tell us how you came to your decision to support the abolition of the Kanshoubu?"

Like the traditional Chinese rulers who had gone before her, Lin-ci Win faced the Equator as she spoke.  Folding her arms under her red Magister cloak, she said, "Not for a while, Correspondent N'basi.  Perhaps I shall someday record my memoirs."

"Then we must wait?"

"You must," smiled the Magister.

In Bucharest, Alana Gold plunged behind her mikcams into the sea of habitantes flooding through the bailiwick's gates.  The full screen showed her in pursuit of a near-teenage girl whose long flowing gray hair was in stark contrast to the black face of the habitante she was hugging.  Gold drew the pair to the side of the gate.

"You are family?" she inquired, indicating with her hand the mikcams that carried their images around the world. 

The man lifted the girl into his arms.  The two looked at each other.  Then they both smiled at the correspondent.  "Yes," they said in unison.

"And where are you going now?" Gold shouted above the din of human traffic.

"Well," said the broad-shouldered man, "I'm going to go looking for snakes and eagles."