The Recruiters, Part 8: Judge George Manley

Posted on January 6, 2010 by ehurst

Fortis looked at George riding on the courser beside him. “George, have you ever heard an ancient Terran phrase, ‘sneaker net’?”

“No.” George was mildly interested.

“Basically, computers have always been able to communicate directly via wires, then eventually with radios and now through galactic hyperspace signals. Aside from signal delays through whatever media, it meant instant sharing of data. But the same data carried via some physical storage by hand from one computer to another was called a ‘sneaker net’. I’m told it’s an obscure reference to footwear.” Fortis gave George a half smile.

“And on Misty we have the bird net.” George smiled.

“So a great deal of data is shared and compared periodically that way?”

“Though the pace of our development might not be as fast as out there where you come from, we now get the entire Council archives on each bird chip with much room to spare. It’s encrypted pretty well, and various algorithms compare signatures and such. They meet physically every so often. Corruption, by accident or intent, is controlled that way, even if it does take awhile.” George laughed.

“Does an updated copy come with the judicial robe?” Fortis asked.

“With a key for decryption, Professor Intuition.”

A moment later, Fortis asked, “What would induce a ranger to dishonest reporting?”

“That’s our mission.”

Back on board the ship, the Captain was laughing in a most undignified manner. When he caught his breath, he stood up straight and said, “Give the order, Judge Manley.” Not just any judge, but he was a Special Magistrate of the Council.

Out loud Fortis wondered, “Who outranks you?”

The Captain gleefully jumped in, “Nobody!” He began laughing again.

“It’s not permanent,” George reminded him with almost no humor.

Fortis half smiled, not sure why the Captain found it so funny.

“Great power, even greater headaches,” George noted. “Once I put this on, I have to give people the permission to breathe, for goodness’ sake. They are required to stop whatever they are doing and wait for me to order them to proceed. The whole purpose is to investigate without warning.”

On the voyage to the ranger station, George asked Fortis to share the digest of some of the books. Fortis outlined the obvious differences he had come to understand. George was disgusted. “Of all the hideous things. An empire of people who quickly forged their own chains of slavery because they worshiped material prosperity. All it took was a few lies to take advantage of popular ignorance to win the popular vote. And all that assumption about being under attack when it was they who were attacking everyone.” He shook his head.

Fortis nodded. “The worst part is all the clandestine services, which pretended to serve the governments who sponsored them, but actually served some shadowy global government. They were the ones who masqueraded as enemy and conducted all the supposed terror attacks on their own people. This continued until the end of the brief existence of that first Terran global empire. Your predecessors were lucky to escape alive before the next one found itself facing a much bigger interstellar human space.”

Turning to Fortis, George asked “You are sure it won’t turn on again?”

Fortis promised. “I reversed the polarity on the battery and it burned the circuits. You saw the smoke, smelled it.”

“Depending on how many people are infected with that virus, it may take a full generation to rid ourselves.”

“Well,” Fortis noted, “there were at least a dozen in Johnston.”

It was ten days sailing in the strong easterly winds to reach the ranger station. George directed the Captain to anchor behind a low forested island until dark. There was a long wharf for larger vessels, and the ship slipped in quietly before dawn. The crew themselves tied up to the dock. George, Fortis and the twins simply stepped off the rear deck and marched up the dock. By the time the watch noticed, it was too late to give notice. The black robes with white trim was unmistakable, and he simply froze.

“Remain on duty and notify your watch commander if anyone else approaches, including your fellow rangers,” George ordered him.

The man had been guarding the entrance to a large building not unlike the one Fortis remembered on Johnston Island’s southern approach. The stairs were in a similar location and they climbed without delay. The man slumped at the desk nearly fell into the floor trying to jump to attention.

“You are the watch officer?” George inquired mildly. To the man’s nod, he continued in the same tone. “You will insure your harbor crew render due services for my ship at the dock. By no means will you interfere with the personnel aboard that vessel, as the Captain is your superior officer.” The man nodded vigorously. “You may speak when we have left the building.”

And so it went, throughout the morning. The barracks was ordered made ready for inspection, but George noted it was simply to keep them busy. The commander was marched into his own office in front of the quartet, and the door locked behind them.

“Colonel, you may call me Judge Manley. Professor Plimick is my assistant. We will now conduct an examination of your records. Our particular interest concerns first a pair of prisoners I shall name. You will bring up the raw logs from the chain of custody.”

It only took them two hours to find it all. Roughly a century previously, the technician and the adulteress, among other prisoners, were on board the prison ship. The boat managed to make the crossing without incident, but upon clearing the northeast corner of the western continent, the woman created a disturbance. Apparently she undressed partially. In the chaos, she managed to dive into the sea, followed closely by the technician. They cut loose the line on the dinghy, and maneuvered right in among the rocks at that location, disappearing in the direction of the shore.

Assuming the pair would not do well without their supplies, the crew decided to resume their journey with the other prisoners to their assigned island exiles. Returning, they found they could by no means approach nor gain sight of the area where the pair escaped. In both directions for some distance was this highly unusual rocky buffer holding the ship at least a half-kilometer from the shore. The matter was forgotten, until the ship returned and it was noted some equipment and supplies of the rangers themselves was missing.

A month later, a different ship with a different crew passed the same area, as was the routine for such ships. Nothing was recorded, but the ship returned missing some equipment, and the rations were unaccountably short. No action was taken. At first, this sort of thing was random. Monthly voyages on regular rotation would see a small loss with no apparent pattern, but no one bothered to investigate or report. Yet the basic facts of in and out were logged.

This continued until the last voyage, which had returned a week ago. George checked the roster of crew members and ordered those men to assemble in the training yard.

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The Recruiters, Part 7: Bits and Pieces

Posted on January 5, 2010 by ehurst

They were on the road this time because, George said, it was the wagon route for the silica shipments. They met the wagons of their entourage at the junction where the road turned to Manley City. Everyone gathered in George’s tent that night while he recounted the events in the village. As promised, he left out the private business details. But he did mention they found the source of the pernicious democracy teaching. He explained it was critical he and Fortis pursue the leads.

This meant going to the capital city to consult some officials. Lisa smiled at the idea of returning to her childhood home, where her parents had immigrated before she was born. The twins were happy to be back on their assigned duty, with possible adventure in the offing. As Lisa busied herself with domestic chores, the four men stepped outside.

They climbed a nearby hilltop and sat in small circle in the tall grass.

“So we have thus far,” George was counting on his fingers. “An apparent ranger captain trying to get off-planet. He spouts this nonsense about democracy and centralized government. But nobody knows who he is, and the rangers deny missing any captains.

“Further, this fellow flew on a glider, and added a balloon fired with hydrogen cylinders. The glider included reeds, which we can’t explain, but apparently grow somewhere on Misty. We know there are some parts of Misty not too well explored except by the rangers who take prisoners out to the North Islands.

“We have a fellow who has for quite some time been delivering the highest grade silica ore on the planet to a Manley glass plant. Richard says it was a family connection through some aunt, and has been going on for as long as he can remember, so that’s at least fifty years. None of the other mines come even close, and no new ores have been discovered for mining in over a hundred years.

“Somebody previously employed at said glass plant was exposed in depth to the democracy garbage. Seems he got his hands on a military computer device left by the last foreign visitor to Misty before Fortis. The technician probably went to the North Islands, but we don’t know. We should be able to get something on him from the sheik’s archives.”

They sat silently for a few minutes. It was Stanley who spoke, “Something in the North Islands is not what we have been told.”

Fortis and George stared at Stanley, then each other.

Three days later, George was earnestly explaining why it was so vitally necessary he access the clan archives without disturbing the sheik. The official in green and dark red robes was having none of it. However, he allowed there was no need for a formal introduction and so forth. He left George waiting a few minutes, ducking behind a curtain of the tent which stood as vestibule over the one stone building in the city. A moment later he wordlessly motioned George alone to follow him.

Fortis replayed the known facts in his mind repeatedly, but nothing new would rise from his intuition. It was not simply gaps in the data, but very large gaps. There was no apparent pattern from which to extrapolate. The only thing was the obvious conclusion the rangers were hiding something. Somehow, it didn’t help to make the hour go by any faster, and the twins seemed almost asleep on their feet.

When George emerged, he had bundle wrapped in dark green fabric. He paused, staring back at the curtain through which he had emerged. His face was a complete blank. After some moments, he turned without a word or gesture and walked back in the direction they had come from the outlying village for visitor’s tents.

For the longest time, George sat staring at the bundle in his lap, sitting in a folding chair under an awning extension on his tent. Finally, he called Fortis and the twins to him. He motioned for them to pull their chairs up close. He rolled back a part of the cover, exposing a black fabric.

“I’ve been commissioned to investigate the ranger station up the coast a ways. Evidently the Council had planned for such a thing.” He covered the black fabric again. “Do you recall, Fortis, I told you I didn’t know all the Council knew?”

Fortis nodded.

“Part of that was no knowing why my own clan was under suspicion. It began to seem reasonable when I realized this strange business might be connected to our glass plant. What I didn’t know was the same fellow who brought the ore would then disappear with a ship load of food and other goods, but nobody registered his trading anywhere else.”

“So he was the go-between for some secret supplier of the silica ore, exchanging it for food and common goods,” Fortis volunteered.

“And” — with some emphasis — “he was the third generation doing this same thing,” George explained.

“And,” Fortis mocked gently with a smile, “our thief was three generations ago.”

George grinned. “The thief disappeared from the records when he was turned over to the rangers.” He paused a moment. “Along with a female prisoner shipped out at the same time.” Another pause. “A very naughty young woman caught in adultery. Her intended husband exercised his right to plea for clemency. Seems he was utterly smitten by this very pretty girl. The rangers didn’t report them dead, or lost or anything at all. No other clan received them on probation.”

“A breeding pair. But does that justify auditing the rangers?” Fortis asked.

“We have records of missing equipment. But the records we have for that ranger station don’t collate. It’s not at all rare to lose stuff on the rough passage between two ends of the desert belt to the North Islands, but it appears someone has made changes to the equipment records to hide a pattern. Instead, we have a much larger pattern which is broken.” George held up one finger. “And some of it was recent.”

“So maybe if we see the original records, it will help us clear up this disturbing business of flying rangers nobody knows,” Fortis smirked. More sedately, “Assuming I’m included.”

George stood up. “Boys, the recruiting mission has been suspended. I still need some alien expertise,” looking pointedly at Fortis, “and our bodyguards.” The twins smiled.

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The Recruiters, Part 6: Source of Sorrow

Posted on January 4, 2010 by ehurst

They stepped inside the cooler, darker opening, which turned out to be a foyer. Directly in front of them was a large wooden door almost closed, but George turned and walked down a narrow hall to another, smaller door set in the thick stone wall. Without knocking, he turned the handle and entered.

Fortis stepped into the well-lit office. Through the large glass window on the opposite wall, one could see odd pieces of equipment. He decided the rounded ceramic object was a hydrogen tank, as it had a single ceramic pipe running to a large interior chamber with a wide flat opening along the side. The opening was dark. He caught just a glimpse of an old style hydrogen separation unit commonly used on some planets George had visited. He thought to himself it was probably one of those expensive imports they managed to keep running, since it was obviously mostly metal.

He had to force himself to turn and pay attention at the mention of his name. It was another perfunctory introduction, and Fortis was quickly fascinated by the collection of items displayed on one shelf, running wall to floor and wider than his reach. Various pieces of raw silica mixed in among some of the previous products. Something utterly unexpected caught his eye.

Glancing back from time to time at it, he tried to listen to the conversation. The man behind the table was embarrassed. George was saying, “Richard, I understand keeping reasonable business confidences. Nothing I say or do will serve to force you. But if the man has failed to deliver on a bargain, wouldn’t you like to know if something unpleasant has befallen him? Will you destroy all we’ve built just because someone is a little nervous about someone finding his secret mine?”

Richard struggled for a few moments. Finally, he opened up his pocket device and showed George a picture with some information displayed below it. George touched his own device to this one, apparently copying the data. Then he reassured Richard, “My only interest is the village and our reputation. Indeed, you know I pointedly never got involved in your business as long as it was only your business.”

Richard glanced at Fortis meaningfully. George replied, “He’s from off-planet. He has no interest at all.”

“Except for one thing,” Fortis interrupted.

Both men turned to him. He stepped over to the shelf, reaching up high to a flat gray rectangle about the size of his hand, and thick as the tip of his finger. Pulling it down, he turned it over in his hands. “This is at least the shell of a standard Imperial era military individual communications unit.”

Richard seemed to welcome the distraction. “This has been handed down in my family for several generations. We never really knew what it was, but we believe it’s all here.” He reached for the device, pressed on one corner and the thing opened like a book. Both internal faces were smooth, but dark and faintly translucent. He handed it back to Fortis.

“I wonder if it still works?” Fortis began looking at it, tracing his fingers along the edges, faces, until suddenly it glowed and came to life.

Richard looked stunned. George asked, “Do you know how to operate that?”

“Of course,” Fortis smiled. “It’s like the one we have at the university computer museum.” He stroked and tapped on the one face, as images flashed on the other. The other two men watched as Fortis inventoried what was stored on the device. “Did you tell me there was once a military ship visited here?” he asked.

“About three hundred years ago, just before the last rash of wars started,” George said.

“This is a planetary survey log.” He turned it where they could see it.

Turning it back, he tapped and stroked some more. Then he froze for just a second, until a smile slowly crept across his lips. “Who else has had access to this device?” He looked up.

Richard thought for a moment. “My grandfather told me it had been stolen once by a distant cousin. The thief had it for a while when he was caught in possession. He was sent him to the North Islands. They never saw the man again.”

Fortis turned it around to George. “Books. Books on warfare, of course, but also books on government and political theory. Many of them related to one of the ancient empires on Terra, which collapsed just before your people came here, George. I have a digested copy of them on my spooler. It’s all about rational political theory, republics, pluralistic societies, nuclear family households, capitalism, credit systems…”

“Democracy,” George muttered, gazing at the screen.

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The Recruiters, Part 5: Work and Worry

Posted on January 3, 2010 by ehurst

The next clan they visited had one of two major hospitals on Misty, with the attached medical college. The one after that was a huge island almost entirely above tree level, where several species of hair and hide producing animals were raised. Another was covered with various fiber producing plants, and another seemed to be doing a little of everything.

During one of their numerous long discussions, George had explained, “People have to work, but no one should be driven by a clock. Our level of relative comfort has risen slowly, but it will never be that great. First is our fundamental other-worldly orientation. Eldership is granted only to those who prove their ability to maintain that. They control the primary education, which is always conducted by the extended household, and only grandmothers and grandfathers are qualified as teachers. Somewhere around the twelfth year we allow children to enter apprenticeship. Everyone learns a trade, and earns their basic colors, as we say.”

Fortis noted, “I’ve already picked up on some of the symbolism of costume color.”

George nodded, “Mine is pale blue for water supply maintenance. We have several springs near my birthplace.”

“I’m out of place on that one. I’ve never done anything outside academics,” Fortis said.

George chuckled, “We can give you a trade if you like. But the main point is we maintain a careful balance between too much and too little. Most of our wars have been the indirect result of population explosion, something which seems to come in cycles. Warfare serves the obvious purpose of reducing the population directly, but the destruction reduces it further by starvation, disruption of trade, and too often plagues. We know it’s not possible to avoid it totally, but we minimize it. We strive to balance the forces of human nature as a part of other natural forces.”

Eventually they landed on the coast nearest Clan Manley. The port was fairly busy and George spoke to one of the senior stevedores. Something he said made George’s face go ashen.

There was one clan territory to cross northward by land to reach Manley, and no one raised the slightest objection to going straight there. Indeed, it was quickly agreed Fortis and George would ride on ahead of the slower wagons. He asked the twins to stay with the baggage. “If we can’t be safe here, there really is no hope for much of anything.” As he and Fortis rode away, George eschewed the roads, driving straight across the open land. They picked up food from isolated farm tents or small villages near their path.

It took two weeks sleeping on the ground without a tent, and riding all day and trusting the coursers to warn if predators approached at night. It happened only once. George rolled out of bed, listened a moment, then shot two arrows into the dark. After a few minutes of silence, he dropped back into his bedroll and soon began to snore softly.

Fortis waited until they had gone some ten days like this before asking over lunch one day, “Your intuition is roaring.”

“Our primary glass maker has had access to the best silica on the planet for decades. Suddenly someone downstream complains the supply of high quality glass is declining. That was puzzling, but not disturbing. Then the dock manager tells me not a scrap of silica has come through the port in six months, when previously it was large loads, requiring six or seven wagons three or four times per year. This is no small matter. There is precious little silica or sand near my village, and the glass plant is the only reason that village exists.”

Fortis waited as George chewed. Finally, he prodded. “But there’s more.”

“But I don’t know what.” He started to rise. “It troubles my spirit.”

A few days later, they came down from an almost barren ridge. While Fortis noticed the air was slightly less hazy, and faintly warmer, he didn’t expect to see the huge rising shadow of high land on the other side of the wooded valley. He caught glimpses of numerous windmills climbing the gentle slope, and a cluster of several more in the far distance, just barely visible in the fading light of day.

Several of the people greeted George enthusiastically, then spluttered over the odd visitor with him. George did slow a bit and promised with a smile to talk later, then dismounted in front of the largest tent in the village. Fortis took the liberty of introducing himself, and no one seemed to object. With a dozen offers of service, he asked for, and received, a fresh drink of water from the cistern. Cautiously, he peeked inside the open tent doorway. George was talking to another man who looked surprisingly similar in age and features.

George glanced at Fortis, perfunctorily introduced the man as his brother, Randall. Then the two men promptly began a rapid fire discussion with such abbreviated references, Fortis had trouble following it.

Someone brought in their bedrolls and other baggage from off the coursers. The young man carrying it all shared an obvious family resemblance to George and Randall. Finally, the hurried conversation slowed.

George turned to Fortis. “I apologize for being such a poor host…”

Fortis put up a hand. “I’m in on this whole thing. Just tell me what I can do.”

“Right now, there’s nothing we can do. It’s late. Two tasks present themselves immediately. We need to visit the plant. I have to find out where the supply came from, as they surely know something more than who drove the wagons inland. Then, we have to trace down that supplier and find out what happened. We shall likely meet our wagons well before they arrive here.” George looked very tired.

“So, we will meet ourselves coming and going, in a manner of speaking.” Fortis tried to lighten the somber mood.

George smiled weakly. Everyone who visited that evening was just as somber, as the plant in hills to the north had all but shut down. Only the smaller workshops making goods mostly for local consumption were still running.

For all the hard riding, the coursers didn’t hesitate when George and Fortis mounted them before dawn for the ride up the draw toward the cluster of spinning wind turbines. As they drew closer and higher, Fortis realize these were quite large, much larger than anything he had seen before. He noticed the wind was strong, decidedly warmer than that first taste of polar breeze, yet still the climate was cool enough for sleeves. As the land rose, he noticed it was also somewhat drier. However, the one thing which locked his attention was the noise. The wind didn’t rip stones from the packed surface of the dry barren table land, but the noise was palpable on its own.

They turned into the teeth of this wind as the trail wound around a small hump to reveal an opening in the side of the slope. A great deal of stonework had been added, but clearly this was the opening to a man made cave.

The windmills were clustered on the flat top of the hill, bound together by a solid framework of stone and large beams. The turbines were vertical, covered with complex curved panels of bright fabric. At the foot of each was a sealed dynamo, according to George’s previous explanations. Farther back was another wind turbine by itself. This one dropped a spinning shaft directly into a fitting in the ground. This one met the description George gave for a water well. There appeared little sign of significant wear on anything, but there was no blowing dust. Just a steady blast of stiff wind below the somewhat higher clouds, which were still thick enough to prevent any detectable change in brightness for the dawn. Desert, yes, but unlike any Fortis had ever seen.

They rode up to an awning, then led the beasts under it, tying them to rings set in the stone. The wind was not quite so loud, and only gentle, random swirls managed to tousle the fur on their flanks. The flat entry way was cut out of the hill, so the sides were somewhat protected nearest the facing.

George stood, hesitating a moment before ducking in the wide doorway standing open.

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The Recruiters, Part 4: Canebrake

Posted on January 2, 2010 by ehurst

They had to dodge between two long, narrow islands to avoid an extra half-day of sailing to go around and come back to the natural harbor on southern Nadul Island. The Captain and his crew seemed to think it a minor task, but Fortis was pretty sure he could have speared any number of trees on either side had he tried with his lance. It was one of those rare places where a strong current had carved out a channel where once was probably a narrow sandy shoal. The trees grew out to the edge of land which dropped suddenly; not much from above the water level, but deeply below the surface.

As he watched from a forward facing railing, he turned to George. “What if the sheik doesn’t like us having armed bodyguards. What protocol prevents him making trouble for us?”

George hardly hesitated. “If the twins don’t come, fully armed, we stay on the boat and keep sailing.”

Fortis absorbed this. “And if they don’t get any students in the academy, they lose leverage for trade concessions?”

“Obviously. But it also means explaining why they reneged on a Council agreement. Worst of all, it means the suspicion falls to them for all this troublesome espionage.”

“Humor me a bit more. What if the boys actually decide there’s a threat and injure or kill someone?” Fortis was not thrilled with the idea of bloodshed on his behalf.

“There are established procedures for inquiry. The boys aren’t that eager to kill anything they can’t eat or skin. They’ll do their jobs, but they stand to become famous, crossing the entire planet with their swords and white belts. They’ll get more marriage offers than you will.”

“As well they should.” Fortis genuinely liked them. For all their reticence, they made dashing figures.

“Which reminds me,” George rounded on him like a schoolmaster. “I’ll wager you’ve been slack in your training. We’ll have to arrange some sparring with Nadul’s troops.”

Fortis groaned, more dramatically than he felt.

The welcome on Nadul was mostly the same routine. The only difference was the most obvious one: The sheik and all his people were varying shades brown, most had almond shaped eyes, and few of them had any whiskers at all, much less significant beards. He spotted one harbor worker who was even darker, and noted mentally the planet was more genetically diverse than he first thought.

They were welcomed, fed and housed, but this time traveled by wagons pulled by coursers. The ride was very nice, and Fortis noticed the suspension was fairly complex. In just tree days they reached the capital city, and received the normal welcome. They were hosted in their own grand tent. Fortis decided just once to play on a whim and requested a hammock. It appeared within the hour, and was strung from a sturdy frame built just for the purpose. He felt guilty until George told him he was hardly the first to ask for such a thing. It was just highly unusual.

So was the conversation he overheard the next morning. George was standing halfway in the tent door talking to another elder. The same brown and gray, but with patches and trim sporting the blue and tan of Clan Nadul. They were gazing down at an image displayed on a pocket computer.

“I didn’t hear about that,” George said.

“What do you make of it?” the other asked.

“My first instinct is to say it’s something artificial, very expensive to make. But it’s not simple wood like anything we know about. Instead of mere hollow piping, which I could understand, it has closed cells. I can’t imagine why, nor what it would do to production costs for that.” George shook his head.

Fortis approached, and asked to see. “Oh, some sort of reed.”

The other two stared at him. “We’ve never seen them on Misty,” George explained in all seriousness. Turning back to the image, “So that’s what a reed looks like.”

“Well, somebody is growing them. That, or someone has access to off-planet resources.” Fortis wondered what it was all about.

George looked up again. “What I got regarding our ranger captain’s glider was merely an initial report. The next report bypassed us on our voyage via messenger bird, and arrived a couple of days ago. Elder Nassi here was showing me his copy, which included this image. The glider had a unique frame built from these reeds,” pointing to the image. “It explains how he managed it so well, because they are lighter than wood, but have been enhanced the same way. Being thin and hollow, very sturdy and yet flexible, he could have easily flown much farther than anything we know about, with far less effort.”

Something clicked in Fortis’ mind. “So that’s how he got away so quickly from the roof of the academy. He didn’t have to wait for the wind to fill the fabric cells; they were already spread by reeds.”

George turned to Nassi. “Take our suggestion to your academy. With the next bird flight propagate a request about reeds. If these are enhanced by processing, someone has to have at least a substantial workshop with heat and water. Everything else is available on the market. Except maybe those tiny hydrogen cylinders. They would have no other use, so that means a kiln.”

Fortis and George stared as the elder first walked fast, then began running down the street.

Later that day came the first marriage proposal for Fortis. He declined. Something inside him knew this was not the time, so he made sure this was understood. He also promised to return on their way back after their tour, though without any commitment to do more than reconsider.

George seemed familiar with the city, and took Fortis on a guided tour. “Why do I see more than the usual number of fixed buildings?”

“Nadul specializes in designing and producing these small devices.” George produced his pocket computer, unrolled it. “It can’t be done in a tent.”

Fortis had seen personal communication devices which rolled, but was puzzled by something. “You don’t have plastics here, so how do you get one that rolls?”

“I’m no technologist, but I am told it’s basically fine threads of glass attached to a swatch of the fabric which stiffens when unrolled. We use microorganisms to coat the glass with nano-circuitry. I don’t really know too much about it, but the whole thing hinges a great deal on the natural silica found on just about every planet in the galaxy. Here it’s a major resource.”

“So silica mining is a big thing here,” Fortis guessed.

“Yes. My home clan is involved in processing it. The major restriction we suffer is impurities. We are constantly exploring parts of the desert we can reach for better sources, and so is every clan bordering it. Raw silica of good quality is worth quite a bit. The impurities affect the entire process, because we use micro-optics to control the growth of the microbes.”

Fortis stood admiring the devices stacked in a stall. “Protocol requires we don’t carry our personal communication devices when we visit a planet; only the equipment they issue from the university when we do a study. I suppose most of them are touchy about controlling radio wave frequencies.”

“Pick one. The Sheik will be embarrassed if he discovers you don’t have one already.” George showed something on his unrolled device to the woman working the stall.

Eventually Fortis chose a flat device small enough to hide in his hand, but folded out to palm size for use. During the ensuing conversation, the woman commented they were having trouble with a declining quality of glass.

His head cocked to one side, George asked, “Where did you get the glass before?”

“Clan Manley,” she replied. George didn’t say anything, but it was obvious to Fortis his mind was very busy for awhile as they strolled farther through the city.

The following day they appeared before Sheik Nadul. He introduced twelve prospects he selected for the new ambassadorial academy. George and Fortis had developed a battery of tests during the voyage north from Johnston. Over long discussions on the rear deck, they hashed out the basic personality traits Fortis felt necessary for dealing with the broad array of human cultures, interlaced with George’s emphasis on mysticism and faith.

“Our founders had a long history of living with a foot in both worlds. It was the primary reason they were able to stay so long on Terra. It requires parallel thinking, a constant awareness of things on two levels,” George explained.

“And I am certainly acquainted with the lower level,” Fortis noted. “I found the faculty at Johnston were very adept at getting across a great deal of meaning with a fairly dramatic telling of the Book. I’ll be trying my hand at that technique, since I find it considerably better than the dry, factual rendering required for spooling. Facts are easy, but it’s hard to replace the sense of being transported to the time and place of event.”

Fortis thought for a moment. “But they are going to need all the faith they can muster to deal with the jolting difference between the meteoric pace of life out there compared to the glacial pace here.”

Sheik Nadul presented his dozen candidates. Fortis estimated they were all under thirty years of age, but clearly adults. After a couple of days interviewing, George and Fortis whittled it down to three. The key was how quickly they absorbed things which made little sense initially, and were able to formulate a response which exhibited transparency and empathy, without entanglement.

“Mysticism is fundamental to our culture and education, but most people under thirty aren’t quite ready to operate on that level. Still, the basic tendencies which can’t be trained should be visible fairly early,” George had said during their planning sessions.

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The Recruiters, Part 3: No Secrets

Posted on January 1, 2010 by ehurst

As with all things on Misty, it amused Fortis the odd mixture of simplicity and complexity which characterized the small dining room. While the wood was always the finest quality, the design of things might be entirely rustic. Eating was indeed a peaceful social occasion, but the furniture was not at all like the luxurious dining settings on other planets. It was entirely functional, with mere hints of ceremonial decoration at most. The Johnston clan banner was displayed on one wall, but there was nothing else to indicate who was sponsoring the voyage, unless you spotted the banner fluttering in the top of the sails. The fabrics on the chairs were rather drab moderate gray, as were most such chairs Fortis had seen. The table settings were simple, a mixture of wood and ceramic. However, the food was extraordinary.

Fortis remarked, “So this follows the pattern for mass space travel. When there’s little to do, food makes the voyage.”

“Crews are easier to get and train if they gain at least some advantage for leaving the comforts of home. What little culinary efforts exist on Misty are aimed mostly for ocean travel,” George explained. He turned at the entrance of someone through the side door and stood quickly.

Fortis took it as a signal and rose, too. A man of obvious importance quickly announced, “Please, be seated. I apologize to you all for being late.” Before taking his seat, he stopped near George, who had naturally remained standing to greet him.

“Captain, it’s good to see you again.” He bowed from the shoulders toward the somewhat younger man, then they shook hands. He presented Fortis, who copied the bow. The captain hurried around the table to an empty place in the center. He sat, then George, with Fortis following. He realized this was the usual simple ceremony which opened the working relationship between men of rank, after which very little ceremony was observed again. In this case, the man’s name was immaterial.

“I was just complementing your chef, Captain.” Fortis took a bite with obvious relish.

“I’ll be sure to let her know. My wife seldom disappoints anyone with her cooking.” Then he grinned and winked at George.

Fortis chuckled, then swallowed. “Compact crew.”

“They are all family — literally,” George observed.

Fortis nodded. “I’m beginning to understand how well that works. The sheik’s staff are cousins, nephews, even his own children. The faculty at the academy weren’t all related that closely, but the other staff were always family of someone else there. The rest of the galaxy calls it ‘nepotism,’ but here it’s an essential element of life. It’s marvelously stable, given no one here wears an implant to control any part of their behavior.”

The Captain smiled. “Frankly, we pity you here being so alone.”

Fortis paused, then, “I doubt many of my relatives would be so comfortable, but I consider myself greatly blessed. I also doubt I’ll ever be able to leave, family or not.”

“I take you never married, then?” the Captain inquired.

“No, sir. It simply never presented itself. Perhaps I need a course in romance, too.” He chuckled at the thought, as did the Captain.

George interjected, “Romance in that sense we understand, but all marriages are arranged on Misty. That shouldn’t surprise you. Nor should it surprise you if someone offers you their daughter, sister or other close relative as wife.”

“Indeed,” the Captain agree. “Given the political situation, at least a half-dozen offers will be made during this journey. Several clans are suffering some disadvantage right now, and latching onto your fame and presumed influence would serve them well.”

Fortis blushed. “I have little measure of my influence right now, so ‘presumed’ is the right word.”

“Nor do we know,” the Captain affirmed. “I don’t want to deceive you, Fortis. You are certainly going to need those bodyguards in some places, along with your own fighting skills, such as they may be. For once, I fear for the safety of my crew. This business of restarting interstellar trade is a volatile issue, for more reasons than one.”

Fortis looked at George, hoping to gauge how much he was at liberty to discuss. George saved him the trouble. “The Captain was chosen by the Sheik himself for his wisdom and discretion, along with his expertise in the politics of this planet.” To the Captain, “We have yet to identify the ranger captain who troubled us when I brought Fortis to Johnston Island.”

The Captain nodded, then stared at his plate for a moment, lost in thought.

George went on, “Having such skill with a glider kite, the resources to construct and fuel a small warm air pocket — it all adds up to an extensive organization. It would be hard to imagine they have that much pull with any sheik’s court. We are left wondering if they have managed to construct their own production facilities hidden somewhere.”

“Well, the recruiting will be a great cover. All the more so since it’s also a genuine mission in itself.” The Captain rose, signaling them to stay seated.

Fortis realized the man had eaten rather quickly, even though with good table manners. Glancing around, he decided if anyone overheard, it was the Captain’s choice whom to trust. Then again, George kept saying transparency was the first working assumption. So far, they had only been sneaky on two items — keeping his face hidden in the village and trying to depart quietly before dawn.

“Those who walk in the light have little to hide.” George was intuiting his thoughts, again.

“And I’m altogether uncomfortable with hiding, anyway,” Fortis noted.

“Consider this,” George turned to face him. “The Council of Sheiks already knows more about this than you and I. They all have too much to lose by hiding participation. And again, the biggest threat is not the rogue rangers and their resources. The only real problem there is resource waste which may be costing someone who can’t afford it. Think of it as an illegitimate tax. But the greatest threat is from the ideas long ago rejected by our founders. Democracy is a cancer, based on lies. So is centralized government.”

Fortis understood, having seen it up close. “So when you warned me about leaving and saying something destructive to Misty, you had in mind the concern I might send back someone who would want to bring such ‘enlightened’ ideas here.”

George smiled. “We would gladly allow anyone to depart who felt life could be better under any other system. We hope we can arrange such things.” Then his face showed deep sorrow, “But no one breathing anywhere in human space as any business fixing something here which isn’t broken. Mankind had plenty of time to show off how well it works — and it doesn’t. When we left Terra, it was past time to return to ancient truths. We can’t force the dissenters here to see the light if they refuse to open their eyes, but we also can’t afford to let them spread that darkness to others.”

“So remaining transparent is going to expose the lies.” Fortis believed it, but wanted to see more of it in action, but without seeing too much action of the other kind.

George had that glow, again. “Our Creator is always watching. He can make of this anything which suits His whims. But in general, His promise is to back His own revelation. If we conduct ourselves accordingly on this mission, we have every reason to expect things to go well, even if sometimes harrowing.”

“So we keep our eyes open, but simply stick with the ostensible purpose, and the skulduggery will take care of itself. That’s certainly a lot easier than playing at espionage.” Fortis was feeling better about it.

“Exactly. Those working in darkness will be forced to act, and it will expose them. God will either protect us from harm or take us home to be with Him. Nothing could be simpler.”

Fortis grinned. “At least you didn’t say ‘easy’.”

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The Recruiters, Part 2: Floating Foundations

Posted on December 31, 2009 by ehurst

They took a ferry, not unlike the ship which brought Fortis to Johnston Island, out to deeper waters. There was anchored a very substantial ship, three slender hulls closed like pontoons, but much larger. There were three decks stacked, each smaller than the one below it. The bottom was enclosed, sitting very near water level, the second with a full circle balcony, and on the third a small cabin sat in the middle of several pieces of equipment. The sails were extensive, and complicated beyond anything Fortis had ever seen. There was a boarding deck on the stern, almost like a floating wharf low to the sea.

Aside from the twin bodyguards, George had his wife. She was a shy woman, but obviously fully in charge of whatever it was she decided was her duty. Fortis had noticed women dressed somewhat as echoes of their men, but the subtle clues of rank and status were hardly so uniform. There were women who wore garments reflecting official positions in the Sheik’s service, and a handful among the faculty at the academy, none of whom taught religion. Most women worked a bit in the thriving barter markets which seemed to meet just about anywhere. Nothing Fortis saw or heard indicated oppression; it seemed women were disinterested in doing work commonly done by men.

George introduced his wife as Lisa, and she bowed to Fortis. Thereafter, she was less obtrusive than the twins.

They were given a suite on the middle deck, cozy rooms equipped with the hammocks Fortis loved. There were other passengers, but Fortis hardly saw them at first. George brought out his rolled up sheet computer, and showed Fortis the map of their planned itinerary. North and west to Nadul Island (George mentioned the clan was from Asian nations on Terra), west farther to a huge, almost continent sized Hollister Land, and on and on. Mostly larger islands, a couple of clans sharing a small continent here and there, zig-zagging up to the first of three continents which included the equatorial desert belt. This larger ship was able to travel a good bit faster, both because of design and more efficient use of wind power, but also because winds were stronger in the main and more predictable as they went farther north.

On this retrograde spinning world, where the feeble light of Dalorius rose in the west and faded into the east, so the prevailing winds were also easterly. Thus, their journey would generally circle Misty with the winds, mostly heading west. They hoped to see all 38 clans within two years of travel.

Fortis was reminded the topography varied little on Misty. Rather shallow oceans, where keels were almost useless, but without storms it hardly mattered. Instead, they might drop what George called “underwater sails” — thin, curved plank panels to catch strong currents when they were favorable, and serving as brakes when it was necessary to slow the ship. The waves never seemed more than a half-meter, and rarely that. The islands and continents were relatively flat, with hills seldom rising more than five meters. The few which did were barren above that elevation. Forests always at the lowest elevations, it was grassland everywhere else. Changing latitude would bring a faint difference in temperatures, but otherwise affected only the relative distribution of deciduous and needle-bearing trees, the latter fading in numbers and in size as they came closer to the equator.

Fortis and George often stepped out on the boarding deck, where the noise of the sails and wind in general was much reduced. There was a stairway running from the back corner of the second deck down to one side of the platform. They would bring folding chairs and large mugs of tea. The ship was very stable, with only a rare tiny sprays splashing them.

“Tell me about body armor,” Fortis asked. “I haven’t seen any.”

“Because you don’t recognize it,” George grinned. “The same variable stiffness we apply to fabrics and skins for other purposes can be enhanced for body armor. To make it truly wearable and effective, it requires a very expensive process so it remains moderately stiff, but hardens instantly on impact. Generally, only sheiks can afford it, and very little can be made, so there’s always a dire shortage compared to requests. Johnston’s bodyguard wore vests of it, as do all such troops. Rangers can get it issued for special operations.” He hooked a thumb back toward the ship, “The boys have vests with small sections of it.”

“You don’t wear any.” Fortis never saw such on George.

George sipped his tea, silent for just a moment. “I could.” More thoughtful silence. “I’m altogether certain God would rather I didn’t.”

“A preference for the armor of God, mentioned in the Book?”

“Exactly,” George smiled. “Your teachers did a good job.”

“I had no trouble absorbing the symbolism, but everything I thought I knew already turned out to be pretty silly. I made my own copy of the Book, though,” holding up his spooler.

“You can’t afford to get wrapped up in cerebral questions. The language of Heaven is parabolic, the logic is symbolic, the narrative is not explanatory, but mostly indicative.” George leaned back and closed his eyes.

“And the divine economy is a gift economy; sacrifice is the currency.” Fortis stared down into the sea.

George rolled his head to one side and opened his eyes, looking at Fortis. “We sincerely wish we could make that work here in the real world. What we do have emulates it as much as possible. We don’t have anything which serves as money, so we have had to be very careful about enforcing the barter provisions. Even in a world where most economic activity is food or resource extraction, it would be all too easy for someone to amass wealth and power. The Council tends to be rather brutal about that, since it is the primary route to destruction.”

“So you believe there is a cabal which seeks ways around that.”

George sat up, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “Naturally, though it includes other things.” Staring out to sea, “They talk about centralization and democracy.”

“On most every world out there in the galaxy,” Fortis said, sweeping his hand skyward, “you would think there was something sacred about giving every breathing a soul a direct or indirect voice in government. Yet it seems to lead consistently to cycles of war and oppression.”

“Is that taught in your former university, or is that one of your brilliant intuitions?” George smiled slyly.

“They don’t teach it, but just about anyone with a hint of independent thinking can see it.” Fortis grinned a bit. “I got in trouble for daring to say it, once. Then a short time later was told in private I was right, but not to say it. Something about professional doctrine.”

“Good. To question is the answer.” George set his empty mug in the rest made for it on the side of the chair. “To question all human declarations is the ultimate answer to living among humans,” he expanded.

After a few moments, he continued. “We believe God’s Book assumes mankind living in the tribal setting. In a pluralistic society attempting to operate by democratic assumptions, we say government is the monopoly on the use of force. If your government doesn’t have a monopoly, then it’s not the real government, or at least not the only one. Authority is, fundamentally, a threat of force. That it may be no one has any interest in defying it is not the point. Reducing the necessity of even referring to that threat is as good as it gets, because any system which fails to account for the Fall is broken from the start.”

Fortis was all seriousness. “Had not God Himself invaded my soul, I would still be choking on that concept.”

George nodded sagely. “You and all the rest of the humanity. The paradox of the Fall is no one believes they are fallen until they find the remedy. None of us pretends to know how that invasion from God comes about, because the only consistent factor is His personal whim. We can predict most people come to it by embracing the demands of God’s Laws, the inherent call for repentance. But that assumes a mostly mundane form of logic. With those already mystical, it is utterly random.”

“As is fitting for what mysticism represents.” Fortis agreed with a smile.

“Indeed, the readiness to receive truth on an entirely different basis from mere human reasoning. True mystics come to faith more readily than anyone else.”

After a few minutes of silence, Fortis remarked, “I was completely surprised how that part of me already knew what I was being taught. It was as if my intellect was simply recognizing something already there, buried beneath the surface. Not every detail, but the general shape of the ideas. I started with a very amorphous view of God maybe as a person, and ended up with a very strong image, rather like a galactic sheik.”

“Truth makes its own path,” George agreed.

A crewman leaned over the railing above and invited them to dinner.

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The Recruiters, Part 1: Support

Posted on December 30, 2009 by ehurst

(The tale of Dalorius Four continues.)

Fortis laughed. “Since when does my readiness have anything to do with it?”

George put on his comical pained look. “My dear Doctor Plimick, you are the ultimate VIP Guest on the entire planet! No one would dare to tell you what to do.”

Fortis joined the charade. “No, of course not!” Then with a fake growl, “No one tells me anything. I’m just expected to jump through whatever hoops are held before me.”

They both laughed out loud. Coming around the edge of one hill, they were in sight of the forest. Fortis turned to ask, “Why are we coming here….” His voice trailed off because George, still grinning hugely, had already pointed to a small awning at the edge of the trees.

Two figures rose at their approach. To his utter delight, Fortis recognized the Farrell twins. Fortis noticed first the off-white waistbands. Behind the right shoulder of each was the handle of a sword. Were all the good guys lefties on Misty? They wore something which was a cross between cape and cloak, with the familiar forest pattern, but lined in a dark shade of purple. No headbands, but Fortis spotted behind them droopy brimmed forest hats perched atop longbows, slightly larger and heavier than the one George typically carried, leaning against the trees. Their tunics were a shade of brown well matched to the trunks of the trees.

There were hearty greetings, hugs and handshakes. As usual, the boys said little, but glowed like the sun. Fortis grinned widely. “What a joy to see you two! What brings you here?”

George answered for them. “They must have enjoyed escorting us before, because when I mentioned in a message we were taking another journey, they came right away, even hiring coursers.” Fortis glanced around behind them. Sure enough, a pair of the beasts stood tied at the edge of the forest road. The saddlebags indicated preparations for a long journey.

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From Mists to Mysts, Part 16: Epilogue

Posted on December 29, 2009 by ehurst

The greatest struggle for Fortis was not the symbolism of Misty’s dominant religion. The spiritual logic was not out of reach. What he struggled with was the sudden slow pace of life. The sea journey was a jolting experience intellectually, so his mind was busy enough. The first week of travel on Johnston Island brought a more physical brand of adventure. The month of religion instruction was actually rather mundane in itself, though the sudden insights were constant. But the waiting for news of how things transpired with the ranger and Elder Bradley was a nagging worry the whole time.

George had other business to attend to, and Fortis made new friends on the college faculty, as they devoted time tutoring him one one one. So he was caught off guard when, after almost a month, George turned up at his door just before dawn. “Looks like the ranger didn’t make it. Fisherman found his kite off the coast south of here,” he announced.

Fortis invited him inside. George was about as bubbly as Fortis was anxious to hear the story. “We were shocked by one thing. The wreckage included a hot air balloon. Not completely enclosed, just a way to create a pocked of warm air. So it was just enough to enhance the rate of climb for the kite. Our boy had several small ceramic canisters of hydrogen and a tiny burner. Best we can tell, he would fire up the balloon when he couldn’t get a lift from the winds, but still had to collapse the bag at glide altitude to get forward travel.”

“But you don’t use hydrogen much for heat, do you?”

“We’ve been able to extract it for quite some time, but we don’t have the means for condensing it to liquid. Refrigeration requires too much power. Some limited compression storage is possible, but it’s very inefficient. Most production facilities are bunkers. A cluster of windmills running non-metallic dynamos will be clustered together right near the machinery to prevent the need for metal wire. We use the ceramic hotplate technology to warm stuff. If we need more heat, we have a separate windmill pull water from a well, and some of that electrical power operates some ancient water fracturing equipment we imported. We pull the gases off and inject them back into an oven. The fracturing units operate pretty much on demand. They include a mechanical compressor with a small chamber.

“We have tried, but could never make hydrogen economically feasible for shipping. Mostly we use it in melting glass and firing ceramics. What our ranger friend had would have cost almost as much as two ships and the resources to operate them for the same trip, so why would anyone bother?” George shook his head in wonder. “Somebody was pouring extravagant resources into his mission. Too bad. We found his remains still attached to the harness.”

Fortis thought for a moment. “Why do I get the feeling at least one of the clans involved has a factory?”

“So we believe,” George affirmed. “My own clan is one of them.”

Fortis took a moment to absorb that. Meanwhile, George produced something from under his cloak. He shook out a dark red robe, just like the ones worn by the professors in the academy. However, this one had no patches of yellow and purple, but a thin stripe of each down both shoulders. “Put this one, Fortis, and let’s take a walk.”

“So I’m a professor, now?” Fortis was trying to catch on to the complicated symbolism of the garments he had seen so far on Misty. “What do the stripes mean? I haven’t seen anything like that before.” Fortis wrapped the robe about himself.

George led him down the hall. “You aren’t a citizen of Johnston, but a free employee. There are precious few of those anywhere on the planet.”

“So tell me why the Harbor Master wore black, with leggings,” Fortis asked as they descended the stairs.

They exited the wooden door at the bottom which led into the hard packed street. “Judicial authority. He exercises the Council’s power, separate from the Sheik. That, while he technically remains a vassal of the sheik. I suppose you would call it an extension of the Law of the Sea, which is often echoed in space travel, no?”

Fortis nodded. “Yes. A Port Master has similar authority, typically used to handle unruly hands or passengers who escaped a captain’s execution outright when the ship lands. It’s part of the treaty system for space travel.”

George grinned. “Same here. I was acting Port Master when you arrived.”

Fortis was almost bursting. “And I suppose we have no idea whether that ship of mine is gone, yet?”

George pretended the question was an unimportant distraction. “Of course,” he said, watching something down the street. “Bradley is a good man. He promptly sent a message bird as soon as the dust settled. Bird arrived an hour ago.” Then he grinned broadly.

Fortis sighed deeply. “And for all we know, another has returned by now with some other mission.”

“You would know better than I. News on Misty travels very slowly, as you know.” Again, the broad mocking grin.

“And Acting Port Master Bradley will greet them faithfully according to Council’s wishes. But I doubt any of the visitors are so anxious to travel as we do here on Misty, only to confirm what I reported. Should I suppose Elder Bradley had any sample trade goods or something?”

They rounded a turn sloping down toward the forest. Cocking his head to one side, George thought about it. “Most likely he did. His specialty is business management, so I have no doubt he quickly seized upon the opportunity. He’s a mystic, but finds business negotiations a major form of entertainment. I’d wager he raided Francis’ closet for a selection of goodies before he left.”

Abruptly George turned to him. “How soon can you be ready to sail north?”

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From Mists to Mysts, Part 15: Prisons of the Soul

Posted on December 28, 2009 by ehurst

George returned shortly, and Fortis gave him a digest of the conversation.

George closed his eyes, hugging himself, dropping his chin against his chest. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, moved his hands together and clasped them in front of his face, resting his nose on the tips of his fingers, his chin on his thumbs. Finally, dropping his hands, he spoke. “I don’t know which is more disturbing — that he would be lying to you on purpose, or actually believe any part of what he said.”

George paced back and forth across the room slowly. “Given his actions, it seems most probable he believes it. It’s hard to act with such desperation for a lie. This means I was right to warn the runner of that little visit. I wager our ranger friend will attempt flying to the pole right away. I can’t warn Bradley, because the messenger birds can’t get there any faster than a skilled human on a glider. We’ll have to trust God on this one.”

George sat down on his bedroll, leaned back and gazed at the dark ceiling. There was a feeble lantern for each of them standing on the floor, standard lighting on Misty anywhere glow patches weren’t feasible. Fortis sank down onto his own, but crossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows. The muscles in his back and legs complained but he hardly noticed.

“Perhaps I can untangle this for you.” He sighed, then began. “Our founders back on Terra made a covenant. We still have it today, as a fundamental part of our laws. Not so much for what it says directly, but what it conveys. The covenant recognized not everyone would be able to embrace mysticism or faith in God. But it assumes those are essential to discerning how we should live. It becomes necessary to vest someone with power to keep things together under faith and mysticism, and to provide certain unalterable principles. People who, for whatever reason, lack faith and insight must have something they can cling to in order to remain among us. We do our best to teach the higher meaning, but we back it up by laws which no man can mistake.

“Throughout human history, every system breaks down, sooner or later. What we do here is preserve the context in which law is most likely to succeed, that it will work as well as it can. That context is this our enforced primitive culture and lifestyle you see. We make it a matter of religion first, then culture, but finally it has to be enforced.

“We accepted the peculiar qualities of Misty as God’s way of saying He supported that commitment by bring us to a place where it is easier to enforce. A very significant part of that commitment is, aside from our tweaking the gene pool of flora and fauna through entirely natural means of selective breeding, should the entire population of Misty disappear, future visitors would have little idea who or what was here. It would be virtually unspoiled. That’s our commitment to letting God recycle this planet for the next inhabitants, should He so choose. We are committed to consciously maximizing His freedom to act in our lives, and in the lives of others.

“Those of us who study that covenant, and commit ourselves to keep it alive have already committed ourselves to die sacrificially. But not just individually, we are willing to lose the entire planet at God’s behest. Yes, we presume to make that decision for everyone here, because that’s what brought us here, and what has made everything we have, and is only reason we have for continuing to exist. There is nothing we can do with our hands worth saving, if we do not portray that sacrificial love which took God’s Son to the Cross.”

George rose to his feet again. “We have had those chemical explosive weapons. The ammunition for them does not store well on Misty. For the high cost of getting them, we ended up with useless weapons requiring constant resupply at very high expense, because every shipment degraded within a few months. Gauss weapons, at least, continue to work. Again, the cost is exceedingly high, and we reserved their use to rangers, simply because anywhere they go, numerical advantage will never be theirs. That’s the nature of their role. That we could have a captain spout such nonsense shows his training is broken in the area of law.”

Fortis interjected, “Or that someone has seduced them to another way of thinking.”

“Yes. But there is almost nothing we can do about that. All humanity is broken, damaged in some way. Those of us who are granted higher faculties realize we are trapped between two worlds. There can be only one reason for struggling here to keep things together — it’s still a useful tool for pointing to that higher plane of existence. If we discover any part of this stops working, we discard it immediately. Things have changed since our landing on this planet. Some parts of our charter have been loosened, and other things added or tightened. The mechanism cannot be eternal, but the higher purpose is never anything less. We fix what we can and trust God for the rest.”

Fortis shifted to relieve the tense muscles. “So in the end, our ranger captain is left to figure it out for himself. You could easily have killed him back there in the forest.”

George smiled. “I told the boys to miss, and they shot well. The man’s perceptions are his own worst enemy, his own prison. Tell me, what would happen if he boarded your space craft before it left?”

Fortis didn’t hesitate. “Without evidence someone in authority approved his use of the ship, he’d be a stowaway. He’d be arrested by men and women using energy weapons, immobilized in a stasis field. Very humane and painless, but unfailingly effective.”

George tilted his head to one side. “So it is here, but we lack the energy weapons and stasis fields. We are very reluctant to execute. We would rather give folks a chance to negotiate terms of peaceful coexistence. We really don’t even try to muzzle heretics, just make sure their lies are countered by truth. No one has the right to attempt reshaping the mind of another adult. All we can do is demand terms of sufferance.”

“So your northern hemisphere is somehow a prison?” Fortis recalled the ranger’s comments.

“It serves. There are precious few resources to harvest. We take our rejects there, give them just enough basic survival equipment. We don’t know how it happened, but most of the islands look like cut pieces of higher ground. Precious few trees, none with the enhanced properties of selective breeding, and nothing big enough to make a raft. They can fish, catch birds, eat insects and vegetation, and the weather pattern is the same as on the rest of the planet. They’ll spend almost every waking hour just trying to stay alive, even without much in the way of predators. They get a sealed water filter rig which makes just about enough to drink for daily use, and it will stop working if they try to open it. They are left alone on their own island. They could swim to another if they want, but they might have to fight sea predators.

“As for escaping across the desert? Not a chance. On the northern shores of the equatorial continents there is almost no land at all where you can live. The dry plateaus rise almost straight up from the sea, and climbing is very challenging. The few places that isn’t the case, we tend to avoid leaving our prisoners near them. The one fact the ranger got correct was how much water it would take to get anywhere. We are talking hundreds of kilometers from the nearest human habitation.

“When their time is up, they know where they have to be for the relief ship to rescue them. It keeps the rangers assigned there pretty busy, and we rotate them through there frequently.”

Fortis asked, “Do most of the exiles make it back after their sentence?”

“Most of them, yes. It’s easy enough to die there, but few are exiled for more than three months. That’s about all it takes for them to either negotiate with themselves to rejoin society or confirm their rejection.”

“And if they confirm?”

“Everyone lives under probation, and the next mistake could easily be their last. Would it surprise you to know most of those caught searching the woods for us were on probation? Probation is always served with a distant clan, and all of these were brought here from somewhere else. They were slaves, as it were, not citizens. As you know, the idea behind probation is to earn your way back into society. We don’t permit abuse of slaves, but their lives are not easy, and there is no pretense. They knew the risks.”

Fortis thought for a moment. “I suppose our doubles will be recalled, now? The trick didn’t fool our ranger.”

“No,” George shook his head. “He may have been working independently, but was not working alone. Someone told him where to find you. He took the risk of flying over this place and found you outside on balcony. We can even say God allowed that to happen, and controls much of what goes no here. We don’t fight His hand. We simply do the best we can within the limits of imperatives we perceive from Him. No, we’ll let the charade play itself out as planned to maintain consistency for whomever is watching, including God, but certainly for a number of people lacking omniscience.”

Fingers buried in his blond hair, Fortis clasped the sides of his head. “I think I could use a good course in your religion.”

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