Dante's Equation Part 49

"We have a choice," Aharon insisted, in a soft rabbi's voice. "At each and every moment.Nu? You taught me that."

"I understand my choices at this moment very well, Aharon. And if I'm lucky, if G.o.d is merciful, I will make the right one."

My Lord scanned the arena, trying to judge how much of the ominous atmosphere was coming from the crowd and how much from his own mind. The closing ceremonies were the highlight of the Festival, so the packed house was not abnormal. But the ma.s.sed Fiore were agitated, literally on the edges of their seats. The Fiore were capable of ravenous violence, and the threat of it hung above the crowd like a mist. My Lord was leaning forward, upright in his seat, the better to see, and when he noticed Argeh in exactly the same posture an ironic smile came to his lips.

Argeh was sweating as well. Good. Let him sweat.

Behind Argeh, Sevace was outfitted for anything, heavy gloves on his hands, his curved stone blade sharp and ready at his side. When he felt My Lord's gaze he glanced over with unmistakable fear and looked quickly away. My Lord smiled again. Sevace was thinking, perhaps, that he was sure he'd felt the knife go in, that he'd seen the blood . . .

"What is it? Why are there so many guards?" Aharon asked anxiously.

Down in the grisly arena, where the bodies of those who had been mounted on thehechkih earlier in the week still hung, Argeh had supplemented the decorative festival troops. Whole companies were arranged near the ground-floor entrances and spread along the walls. They were heavily armed.

"It's the execution of the heretic. Argeh expects trouble," My Lord said quietly. "If things get ugly, you must go immediately. My carriage is in back-take it and leave the city."

"What are you talking? What will happen?"

My Lord held up his hand to stave off the questions. He wiped his face. He turned and pretended to look at the crowd behind them, but instead he looked at Tevach. The little mouse was on hyperalert, his nostrils wide, his eyes darting around the arena. He nodded at someone.

My Lord put his elbow on the arm of his chair, and rested his head in his hand. He was deeply frightened.I have no power, said a voice in his head. Another answered,But I do; I have the power of any man. Even a man who is bound and gagged has this power: to choose who he is. And that is the only power thatreallyexists. Any other is illusionary.

The blare of the opening fanfare.

Kobinski prayed,Lord, Wallick had no mercy on me, on Isaac, and You did not stop him. I had no mercy on Wallick, and You did not stay my hand. If I have mercy now, will You have mercy on me?

But he knew the answer: His mercy on otherswas G.o.d's mercy on him; by being merciful hebecame mercy. Like to like, like to like, like to like.

In the arena, the opening prayers of the priests were rumbling upward. My Lord forced himself to stand, telling his joints to bear his weight whether they would or no. He slowly made his way across the aisle, down a step. Sevace watched his approach with growing discomfort. He tugged on Argeh's sleeve.

The pushed-in face that turned to him had haunted him for a long time. My Lord whispered in Argeh's ear, "I have been informed of a rebellion."

The priest grunted, unimpressed.

"The heretic's followers are planning to make a march on the House of Cleansing during the execution. They've given up rescuing Ahtdeh-they know the arena will be well guarded. So they're going to storm the House instead-kill the attendants, empty its prisoners in protest."

Now Argeh was interested. His nostrils flared as he sniffed, trying to smell the truth inside the mask. "Where did you hear this?"

My Lord turned to look at Tevach. "My servant. Something frightened him last night. He confessed everything to me this morning."

Argeh growled angrily and whispered orders in Sevace's ear. My Lord made his way painfully back to his seat. He lowered himself into his chair and felt the Jew's hand grip his arm. He put his own hand over Aharon's to feel its warmth. Within minutes, the troops in the arena had filed out to go protect the House of Cleansing, leaving fewer than three dozen guards. My Lord watched for the crowd's reaction. He saw several Fiore stand and stare after the guards, saw others whisper menacingly. Could Argeh really not see it?

But Argeh wasn't watching. Sevace had returned to the box and the two of them were whispering together.

The mind-numbing rituals of the previous days of Festival were thankfully missing on this day. There was only another long exhortation from Argeh. Like any evangelist, he could not resist the opportunity to drum his own obsessions into a packed house. My Lord prayed it would end quickly. He eyed the entrances on the arena floor with trepidation. If the guards returned too soon and said they'd found no attack on the House of Cleansing . . . Argeh droned on.

Finally, just when My Lord was considering acting before the speech ended, it did end. Argeh raised his arms. There was a mild round of staff thumping in the arena. As he dropped his paws, Argeh gave the order:"Bring in the heretics!"

Down below, the ragged, b.l.o.o.d.y group emerged from the prisoners' arch, herded by guards. They had spent days in the House of Cleansing, and they were a pitiable sight. Even Ahtdeh himself-his head was bowed and stiff with gore. Argeh's priests had lavished much loving care on him.

The crowd collectively held its breath, growing far too quiet for a group of Fiore of this size. Around the arena, several Fiore rose to their feet, then several more. It was so still you could hear the armor of the guards clinking as they moved the shuffling prisoners forward.

Argeh looked nervous. He picked up the scroll of the condemned self-consciously and scanned it. My Lord could see his mind working, recalculating his strategy.

"First prisoner! Ahtdeh, son of Hehchah, charged with heresy against Mahava and blasphemy toward our beloved My Lord."

Beloved My Lord.Argehwas frightened. And he had changed the order of execution. Normally, he would have saved the big fish for last.

Aharon tightened his grip on My Lord's arm. "Can wedo something?" he whispered.

"Shhhh," My Lord said.

The guards untied Ahtdeh from the other prisoners and began to lead him-half dragging the weakened body-across the arena to thehechkih . My Lord's eyes flickered to Sevace. He stood just behind the high priest, hand poised on the handle of his curved blade, eyes intently scanning the arena. But he was looking for trouble in the wrong direction. Argeh, hands stiff on the lip of the box, was leaning forward, watching the ritual.

My Lord was sweating. It was always freezing on Fiori, but the smooth interior of the mask was misted with perspiration. His head was spinning, yet at the same time he had a remarkable clarity. He felt as if all time and all meaning in his life had swirled together and condensed in this one black hole of a moment. He forced his palms against the arms of his chair and rose again, oblivious to the pain in his knees. He turned, one last time, to gaze upon that human face, upon the beard, the eyes, of a Jew. Aharon felt the gaze, returned it wordlessly but with a profound acceptance that touched My Lord's soul. Still all was silent.

As he had done earlier, My Lord took the few steps across the aisle toward Argeh, his feet pressing hard against the smooth, polished stone. As then, his left foot descended the single stair between them and his left hand went to the back of Argeh's chair to steady himself, to support his knees. Argeh was still cupped toward the arena, his head at the level of My Lord's waist. Four feet from My Lord, Sevace turned, recoiling for a fraction of a moment at My Lord's presence.

My Lord removed from the pocket of his robe the dagger Sevace had dropped at Tevach's side that morning. His hand, cold and numb, did not feel like his own. He pulled the dagger from his robe and plunged it into the center of Argeh's back with a mighty thrust. My Lord's arms were strong from bearing the weight of this world. The dagger went in to the hilt.

The arena was amazingly silent. My Lord felt suspended in time and s.p.a.ce until Argeh, expelling his dying breath, arched his back around the knife. Then he fell forward, tipping over the edge of the box and tumbling down to the arena floor. His body landed with a heavy thud and lay still.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

Kobinski, standing straddled between two steps, raised his b.l.o.o.d.y hand in the air, palm open.

"Free the prisoners!"he screamed.

For a moment there was nothing; then the mult.i.tude of Fiore stood on their feet, roaring hysterically. Kobinski saw concealed weapons appear from under robes, here, there, all over the arena. Others brandished their staffs, yelling. One group near the arena floor vaulted over the bal.u.s.trade to face the startled guards.

"Yosef!" Aharon cried behind him.

As he turned his head toward the Jew, Kobinski felt a great burst of trembling joy. He felt as though the door of some horrible cell in which he'd been imprisoned had finally swung open, revealing light and warmth. And then he caught a glimpse of a stone blade swinging toward him from the left, heard thewhoosh , felt the sharp and devastating impact as it cleaved his neck. His head was turning over and over through the air, over and over, and he could feel the movement of the wind against his hair, against his severed throat. The sound of Aharon screaming his name came through the screaming of all the Fiore and then both faded into the void.

The head landed on the arena floor, a few feet from Argeh's dead body. On impact the mask that had belonged to the king of Gehenna dislodged and spun away, revealing the human face of Yosef Kobinski, eyes closed, expression peaceful.

The arena was in utter chaos. Aharon had watched in disbelief as Kobinski murdered Argeh. He'd watched Sevace, intimidated and stunned at first, recover and draw his terrible blade.

If Aharon had moved, if he'd had a weapon, if he'd been fast enough . . . But he hadn't.

He was still staring in horror at Kobinski's headless corpse as Tevach shoved him.

"Go! Get out!" Tevach yelled. The ma.s.sively built servant had a blade of his own in one hand. He gave Aharon another shove, then gave up on him, throwing himself over the side of the box and pus.h.i.+ng through the milling crowd toward the arena floor.

Aharon stood, dazed. Sevace took one step toward him, b.l.o.o.d.y sword in hand, then paused, suddenly fearful. He changed his mind, leaving Aharon and following Tevach down to join the melee, yelling a cry of pure rage. And still Aharon stood.

Blood ran down the steps behind him and soaked over the edges of his sandals-this made him move at last. He put up the hood on his cloak to hide his face and pulled his weight up the heavy steps by leveraging the backs of stone chairs. He made it out the rear door of the box.

The roaring from the arena intensified now that he was outside. A long, narrow flight of stone stairs led down to the street below. No railing guarded the edge. He saw a few Fiore running from the arena in terror, but none of them looked in his direction. He couldn't take these stairs alone; it wasn't possible. He would plunge over the edge and kill himself. But he took one step, then another, clinging to the smooth stone wall to his left. Somehow he made it to the bottom.

My Lord's carriage was waiting. The driver stood anxiously, alarmed by the sounds of the crowd. He spoke to Aharon, and Aharon realized he couldn't understand or be understood. He wavered uncertainly, with no idea how to proceed; then he remembered what Kobinski had told him.

"Chebia," he said to the driver. He took the parchment from his pocket and showed the driver the map. He looked confused. He glanced again up the stairs toward the box.

Aharon lowered the hood to expose his face. "Chebia," he demanded as the driver drew back in fear. Aharon motioned to the coach, opened the door, and got in.

The sounds from the arena were clearly battle sounds now. Dying screams rent the air. The driver had the look of a dog torn between sticking by its master and fleeing a dangerous situation. Aharon was his excuse to flee. He climbed up to the top of the carriage and, once rolling, moved at top speed. The arena fell away behind them.

Chebia was in the middle of nowhere, a few shacks in a barren wasteland. The community of twenty accepted Aharon without question. Within days, he was working in the field next to Tevach's father, coaxing rocks from the thin, dusty soil.

His new life was a hard one, bitter as gall. He felt like a Jew from ancient times toiling in some distant land-Egypt, perhaps-lost to his people, sold for a slave. But the physical labor freed his mind to reflect on many things, and he was glad to be away from the City. Now he was only a man, a man doing penance, and that . . . well, that was perhaps as it should be.

It was three weeks before any carriage approached the village. The carriage brought Tevach. His family stopped their work to greet him, milling about him with tender-eyed pawing. Tevach seemed glad to see him, coming up and smelling him, rubbing his face against Aharon's arm.

"I thankAdonai that you are safe," Tevach said.

Aharon was startled at the use of the Hebrew name. He nodded. "And I you, Tevach. I see you survived the fight at the Festival."

Tevach's nose twitched with excitement. "Argeh's guards won a b.l.o.o.d.y battle and Ahtdeh is in hiding, but he lives! And there are many followers of Ahtdeh now. All will be well."

Aharon had the feeling that was hopelessly optimistic for Fiori, but he wished it would be so.

Later, after a scanty meal, Tevach took him aside to say good-bye. He handed Aharon the ma.n.u.script. "I took it from My Lord's room. It is for you."

Aharon ran his hand over the cover, thinking of Kobinski. He briefly considered giving the work to the little mouse, to Fiori. But with all the trouble it had caused on Earth, he guessed it would be more of a curse than a blessing in the long run. Besides, Tevach and Ahtdeh already understood the heart of it.

"Thank you," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat. He tucked it into his belt.

"My mind thinks often on My Lord," Tevach said, his small face sincere. "He helped free Ahtdeh- did you see?"

"Yes, Tevach. I saw."

"When I thought he would do nothing, he helped us. He showed us G.o.d cares, even for the Fiore." Tevach placed his cheek on Aharon's sleeve again, holding it there for a brief moment. When he pulled away, he looked sad. "You stay here?"

Aharon nodded. "I think that's best."

"How long?" Tevach's eyes were bright and curious, curious, still, about where Aharon had come from and where he might go.

Aharon looked over Tevach's head, at the cold wasteland of the farm. He sighed. "That, Tevach, is in G.o.d's hands."

Follow the Way of Heaven, And you will succeed without struggling. You will know the answer, Without asking the question. All you need will come to you, Without being demanded. You will be fulfilled Without knowing desire. The Way of Heaven is like a vast net. Although its mesh is wide, it catches everything. -Lao-tzu,Tao Te Ching, sixth centuryB .C.

20.1. Forty-Sixty Calder Farris

Pol's room that night was unbearable. He had an attack of paranoia so strong that he found himself jerking open the hallway door and looking out three or four times. No matter how he tried to talk himself out of it, he could not escape the feeling that they were coming for him, that they knew everything. He searched for bugs again, this time not caring what damage he did: wrenching open the pipe under the bathroom sink, prying the mirror off the wall, making his knuckles bleed probing the shower drain. He found only himself, looking back from the gla.s.s.

Alien.

His eyes looked haunted. It was no longer a matter of simply being mad or brain-damaged, was it? There were too many things that didn't add up.

He went out and checked the hall again, went back to the mirror.

Whoam I?

Gyde wanted to find out. He had felt Pol's arm, which, as far as Pol knew, felt like any other Silver's arm. He had asked him to go to the gymnasium. Bulls.h.i.+t. Gyde had friends from his youth that he trained with every day. That was not a clique Pol ever had or ever would be invited to join. No, Gyde wanted to see him unwrapped, naked, or maybe had just wanted to see what Pol would do at the mere threat of it, how fast he would scramble. And hehad scrambled.

He grabbed his coat, unable to stay in the room any longer. He did not go to the rec club on the Silver campus. Instead he took a bus downtown where a few mixed nightclubs were open past curfew for those with merit pa.s.ses.

There had not been an air raid that day and the nightclub crowd was edgy, nervous, and overly loud. Pol recognized a few Bronzies from the Department of Monitors. He sat by himself at the bar and ordered fifty proof.

He was on his second when a young Silver in battalion uniform sidled into a seat beside him. The youth was well made, with a square jaw and lively face. "Greetings, cla.s.smate. Are you a detective?" "That's right." "How do you like it-compared to combat, that is?" The boy was eager. "I like it." "How much?" Pol looked down into his drink. "That was a stupid question. Listen, I heard you're partners with Gyde 332."

"I am." "By the blood! He was at Cross-Plain, wasn't he? He's alegend. I've heard he's got so many merits he's practically-"

"Excuse me." Pol got up and went to a private table. He ordered two more drinks. From his semihidden seat he could stare with impunity at a Silver female at the end of the bar. She was a beauty and men hovered near her like planets around a sun. Her form was lithe and muscular, her hair soft and limp around her perfect face like silk ta.s.sels in an egg-yolk hue. Her eyes turned to his, bright as little fishes. He tried to feel something for her, but all he felt was emptiness. Had he had a woman, where he came from? He stretched for the memory, but there was only that aching hollow. He took the pamphlet from his pocket and smoothed it out on the table.

It is possible to travel to other worlds. I have done it myself.

Pol had never tried entering the Department of Monitors late at night, but to his surprise, there was no red tape. The doors remained open for late-night arrests and his ID alone did the trick. It was well past midnight.

Up in the office he went directly to the telex, but the results from Research had not yet arrived. While he waited, his eyes kept wandering to Gyde's desk. He tried the top drawer, where Gyde had put that file. It was locked.

The desk, like most things the state made, was heavy, built for maximum functionality and length of life. Its lock was the size of a small mouse and its hasp, Pol knew from his own desk, went deep into the wood and metal. But he found he knew how to pick locks just as he knew how to search for bugs. He took out a pocketknife, the regimental one he'd taken from Pol 137, and began working carefully with the tip inside the keyhole.

He was close to getting it when the telex when off. The loud, clanking noise made him jump. He closed the knife and went over to peer at the paper.

Research had found a match: a Bronze 2 construction foreman originally from Madamar. The name and address were there and it was not far, in the Bronze housing on the west side of the city. Pol put his knife in his pocket and grabbed his coat.

20.2. Sixty-Forty Denton Wyle

By the time Denton reached the horseshoe gorge he'd been walking for six hard days and nights, alone. The journey itself had changed him. He had already done things, and thought things, that were like nothing Denton Wyle had ever done or thought before.