The Heretic g-6 Read online

  Correct. The strings and other metal elements were stripped and recast. You can see the remains and the keys in a pile by the door over there.

  Abel turned and looked. There was indeed a mass of broken wood and a neat stack of rectangular white stones. They looked like giant teeth.

  Boggles the mind. Three years ago the piano-and nobody has been back since , said the low voice.

  If I were a priest, I would spend all my time talking to nishterlaub, Abel thought. How could you not, once you knew it could answer, that it could tell you what it was, and, more importantly, what it did?

  Abel looked away from the piano remains and turned to the holy item behind him. Its surface was a kaleidoscope of colors.

  More plastic, Abel thought. Pretty.

  It was larger than he was and looked like an enormous flitterdont. Well, it had what looked like wings, anyway. Flitterdonts hunted in flocks and could be dangerous. Abel had been warned by one crusty old Scout in the caravan that the flitters sometimes made a meal of human blood. Maybe the Scout had been having him on. Maybe not. The flitters allegedly lived in the Escarpment overhangs, and there were plenty of those around here.

  But this thing, whatever it was, was not alive, and didn’t look likely to suck his blood. He gulped, then, after a moment of indecision, reached out and touched its smooth surface of swirling colors.

  Abel tried to forget about flitters and to clear his mind and concentrate. Maybe the next flood of information wouldn’t make him feel so dizzy if he was prepared.

  “Okay, tell me,” he said.

  An impulse flyer, used for personal transport. This is a foot-mounted model peculiar to this sector, pre-Collapse, and this one obviously belonged to someone with extravagant design tastes, perhaps an adolescent. This flyer here is perched on its side, of course. Obviously the priests had no clue as to how to arrange it after depositing it. Imagine the item rotated horizontally. That is its correct position.

  Abel ran his hand along the surface of the flyer, trying to do just that. His hand passed over a depression in the surface. Nearby was another, similar depression. Both were about two elbs across and a half-elb deep.

  Footholds. They activated the stabilization field and allowed the passenger to ride standing up without fear of overbalancing.

  I don’t get it, Abel thought. They stood on this and flew?

  Show the boy , said the gruff voice.

  I am not sure that such a young subject will be able to properly integrate a full virtual immersion. There is considerable risk to his neural networks.

  He’ll either adapt or break. Either way, we’ll have our answer , the gruff voice replied. Show him.

  “Yeah,” said Abel. “Show me!”

  Very well. Observe:

  And then Abel was flying.

  He was standing on the flyer in the air. The ground was far, far beneath him. For a moment, he almost did break. This was impossible. He was outside. He was flying like a flitterdont through the air. The world spun like crazy as dizziness overcame Abel. He started to fall.

  But couldn’t. Something held him in place.

  Stabilization fields. Of course, this is merely a simulation, but it is an extremely precise approximation of what a flyer ride was like.

  Abel shook his head, regained his balance. He looked down again. Far below were the roofs of Hestinga. It was perched on the edge of the oxbow lake that formed the great Treville oasis, one of the few places within the Land that was more than a day’s walk from the River. From this height, the waters of Lake Treville sparkled as a small breeze caused the surface to ripple.

  “I’m flying! Am I really flying?”

  Unfortunately, no, answered the high-pitched voice. This is a form of make-believe. A projection based on extrapolation. You are still physically within the storehouse. But given the historical records in my databanks and an accurate survey of the local geography prior to landfall, this simulation should be accurate to within one tenth of one percent of a hundred.

  In other words, lad, this is what it feels like to fly , said the gruff voice. How do you like it?

  Abel looked around. Far to the west, the River was a shining strip barely visible on the horizon. Between were the rolling hills of the Treville salient with its massive irrigation system, its ditches and canals, derived from the River and culminating in Lake Treville. Abel’s father had explained to him how it all worked, how the alluvial paddocks and washes along the way were watered by a system of ditches and aqueducts, and coaxed to yield wheat and barley, flax and rice.

  Duisberg barley, said the high-pitched voice. The planet was renowned for beer and whiskey. Liquor was the principle export, pre-Collapse. Since settlement, Duisberg has remained mostly agricultural, which is probably why the Sector Command Control Unit AZ12-i11-e Mark XV remained set in his ways. Cultural accretion often creates waves of repetitive behavior to which even artificial intelligent units find themselves subject.

  “Huh?”

  Zentrum is stuck, lad.

  We have come to unstick the unit. More importantly, we have come to reintegrate Duisberg into the reconstituted Galactic Republic.

  “Zentrum?” replied Abel, confused. “But Zentrum’s just a special name for God.”

  Zentrum is not a god, and he is not God. He is a computer.

  It is the being your priests serve, boy, said the gruff voice.

  Zentrum was the word for God that the priests used when they were talking about the Laws. The Edicts. The Stasis. All the stuff you learned in Thursday school.

  Whatever. It was the most boring stuff in the world. He wanted to fly, to keep flying, forever. This was so much fun!

  The wind was whipping past him and, in the process, making a terrible din, like a storm. He leaned to his left. The flyer tilted sharply with him, and Abel quickly straightened back up. Too much. “How do I steer this thing, anyway?” he shouted.

  Quiet lad, said the gruff voice with a laugh. You’ll accidentally summon the guards. Remember, you are actually still in the storehouse. You needn’t speak. We can hear words if you think about saying them.

  Can you hear this? Abel thought.

  Yes, boy.

  Abel didn’t know if he liked the fact that the nishterlaub voices could eavesdrop on his inner thoughts. But for the moment, all he really cared about was keeping this trip going, to fly like a flitterdont across the landscape.

  I dreamed of this. The day before Mamma died.

  The sickness had grown worse, and she was wrapped up and shivering on her pallet even though it was a hot day outside. And that night, he’d dreamed of flying with his mother beside him, her flowing robes trailing behind her as they both laughed and zoomed over Lindron, over the River, and into the beyond.

  But that dream was nothing compared to this!

  He shifted his balance slowly and carefully to the left again. The flyer reacted by swooping into a graceful arc.

  I can do this! I can steer this thing like a reed boat.

  He leaned to the right, almost overbalanced, but caught himself, pulled the flyer into a sweeping curve.

  I want more, he thought/said to the voices. I want to go farther. Let’s go. Show me! Show me everything!

  Done, said the high-pitched voice.

  Abel leaned back and, yes, the flyer tilted up as he’d hoped it would, climbed higher. The River was now in view below him, as were both sides of the Valley. It wasn’t at all straight, but twisted like a legless dont whipping through the dust.

  How high am I?

  In local terms? Approximately half a league. Seven thousand feet. You are at the maximum recommended altitude for an uncovered flyer such as this. But this should be sufficient for the purpose.

  What do you see below you, boy? the gruff voice asked.

  The River. There’s Garangipore to the north, where the main canal and the River meet. I see the Valley. The Land. But not all of it.

  You couldn’t see all of the Land, not unless you flew nearly to
orbit, out of the air itself.

  Air ends somewhere in the sky? That’s a lie. Has to be.

  What I say to you will never be a lie, Abel.

  Whatever.

  He looked back down.

  Like a map. Like one of my father’s maps. I love maps. I can almost read, you know. Mamma taught me a lot. And Father has taught me all about maps, too.

  We are aware of your strong literacy skill set, replied the high-pitched voice. This is one among several latent abilities, some of which you do not yet realize you possess. As you see, the Valley here at the branch-point of the Treville salient is at its widest. To the southwest, it becomes narrower until it finally reaches the capital of Lindron and then Mims, the city just above the River Delta. At Mims, the River widens, drops its alluvium to form the Delta islands and the tidal estuaries, and then flows into the Braun Sea. The average width of the Valley is two days’ travel on foot.

  The Valley is hardly twenty leagues across at its widest, said the gruff voice. But its length from the top of the cataracts to Fyrpahatet on the coast-now, that’s another story. In fact, that’s the whole story of the Land and why things are the way they are.

  I don’t get it.

  Wouldn’t expect you to, boy. You’ve never known anything else. The River drains the whole of the western continent on this planet, northeast to southwest.

  Don’t know what he’s talking about and don’t care, Abel thought and tried to keep the thought to himself. He had a feeling the gruff voice could be just as impatient with what he viewed as foolishness as his father. Just let me keep flying!

  He must have at least partially formed the words in his mind, however, because the gruff voice stopped short, let out a growl.

  You either care or you’ll be made to care, lad, the voice grumbled. Center, impress upon our young charge what it means that we are inside his thoughts.

  Are you certain that’s wise?

  We have to push now. If the lad’s what we’re looking for, he’ll survive it.

  Agreed, said the high-pitched voice, which must be “Center,” the possessor of the high-pitched voice that the gruff voice was speaking to. This may prove disorienting.I will physically alter certain neuronal firing sequences within your brain and impart to you sufficient strata of term denotations to enable you to understand otherwise undefined referents.

  Didn’t sound good. Not good at all. Whoever or whatever this Center was, it or he or she was about to alter his thoughts. Could it alter his memories? Everything?

  Cause him to forget.

  Mamma.

  No!

  I’m afraid this will be necessary.

  I’ll jump. I’ll fall and die.

  You are, in actuality, already standing on the floor.

  Don’t poke inside me, I mean it!

  I will perform only necessary poking.

  Please! No!

  I’m…sorry, Abel.

  “Wait!” Abel screamed, this time sure to do so aloud. Maybe he could summon the priests or a guard. The gruff voice had cautioned him against shouting. Maybe he could use this against them. “I’ll yell!”

  No, said Center, you won’t.

  Abel’s opened his mouth to prove Center wrong. Not a sound came out. He struggled to shout. Nothing, not even a voiceless puff of air.

  Okay, Abel said. Okay, you win. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?

  Yes, said Center.

  And suddenly his head exploded in pain.

  And understanding. Continent. Orbit. Energy. Northern hemisphere. He began to comprehend.

  The world is round!

  Yes.

  And the Land is not all of the world. Not by a long shot.

  The Land and its surrounding desert reaches, which stretch to the Schnee Mountains in the east and the Braun Sea to the west, are the only portion of Duisberg inhabited by humans.

  You keep saying Duisberg. That’s the name of this…planet? asked Abel.

  Correct.

  And there are lots of other planets?

  Lots, said Center. And other suns.

  And he was made to understand.

  That’s what the stars are.

  Correct.

  “Why should I believe you?” said Abel, speaking aloud. The thought was too hard to form completely without hearing it first. “You’re probably lying to get me to do something, like those beggar boys in Lindron who said they’d show me a hardback riverdak out of its shell. What they really wanted was to steal the slingshot Father made me. I had to fight six at once when they chased me to the barracks row.”

  And did you win, lad? asked the gruff voice.

  “Nope,” Abel replied. “They got the slingshot. But it took all six of them to lick me.”

  Abel leaned hard to the left, then hard to the right. The flyer yawed, and he could feel a buzz as the invisible stabilization fields, whatever they were, gripped him tight. He leaned to the left again, attempting to rock the flyer into capsizing.

  If I’m not really flying, then I can turn this over…and fall! I won’t die, because I’m really in the storehouse. But maybe that’ll get them out of my head.

  Another gruff laugh. Good try, lad.

  General Whitehall, we have much to accomplish today, said Center. Foundations must be laid. It, he-Abel decided Center sounded more male than female-seemed irritated.

  Almost. The flyer was almost tipped over on the right side. One more hard rocking motion and-

  Enough!

  The flyer froze in place. If he’d been on the edge of a cliff, Abel’s momentum would have made him fall. Instead, the stabilization fields seemed to absorb his motion like a down pillow.

  We must decide if this child is the one , the gruff voice said. If so, then agreed, we will proceed. If not… The voice trailed off.

  That doesn’t sound good. That’s the kind of voice father uses just before he takes out his sharpening strop.

  Abel stopped rocking and ceased trying to end the flying simulation. Besides, he really didn’t want to, not yet. It was time, however, to change the subject. “So you, the squeaky one who sounds like a cross between a three-year-old and a priest, you’re Center?”

  Correct.

  “And the other, you with the mean voice, you’re General White-something?”

  Call me Raj, lad, the gruff voice replied. It’s my first name. I have a feeling we’re going to get along fine. May even be friends.

  You wish! But Abel did his best to keep his misgivings to himself and tried not to let them form into a full thought. He found it helped if he considered other things at the same time. Feeling like a flitterdont flapping around. The wind in his face. Clouds.

  It did seem that the two voices couldn’t know exactly what he was thinking unless a thought was so complete he was on the verge of speaking it out loud.

  At least so he hoped.

  Well, Raj, you can call me Abel, he said, and I don’t think we’re going to be friends. He hoped the tone of defiance was clear in his thought-speech.

  From Raj’s quiet chuckle afterward, he figured it had been.

  Abel turned his attention back to flying. He’d now reached the River. He’d approached from the east, and he leaned to his right to tilt the flyer into a north-northwest direction, parallel to the general trend upriver, although the water’s course itself wound back and forth in a completely crazy fashion.

  The wind whipped by his ears and caused his hair, plaited by the nanny into a single pigtail, to stick out like a riding dont’s neck plumage. He leaned forward, and, to his delight, this increased the flyer’s speed.

  You’ll notice that there are very few clouds to obscure your view of the Valley below, Center intoned.

  Yeah, so?

  Precisely, said Center. There are never many clouds. Due to the extreme height of the Schnee formation-we are still not level with the smallest peaks, even at this altitude-almost all westerly wind current is blocked on the eastern side of the massif. The prevailing
winds on this side of the continent are strong northeasterlies, channeling up from the Braun Sea to the wastes above the River’s springs and, ultimately, flowing through the high passes and into Duisberg’s Arctic, where what moisture there is becomes locked up in snowfall and ultimately ice. The northern glaciers calve into the Braun, and the cycle continues, for this geological moment, at least.

  Massif.

  Continent.

  Arctic.

  Abel winced as each of the unfamiliar words seemed to twist and squirm inside him before they locked on to a set of meanings. Every moment of new knowledge acquisition was also a moment of pain. Center had not lied. It hurt. But in the end, he made sense, or believed he made sense, of what the voice was saying. He understood.

  The River itself originates near Chambers Pass in the Schnees and is the sole drainage for the western continent. It flows south-southwest to the Braun Sea. Duisberg is extraordinarily dry as settlement planets go, and there is no comparable hydrological system anywhere else, not in either hemisphere. The terrain created by the River provides the only planetary region capable of feudal-style agriculture such as is practiced in the Land.

  Your deserts and scrublands are herder territory, said Raj. Fit only for nomads. And the Redlands will only support scraggly grazing animals at that, given the present condition of development. That’s one of the reasons that raiding has become such a way of life for those…what do you call the tribes outside the Land?

  “Redlanders,” said Abel. “Even talking to them can get you crucified.”

  And yet talking goes on all the time, I’ll wager, answered Raj.

  Correct, said Center.

  “But if you touch a Redlander, you’ll get sick and die!” Abel exclaimed.

  You never really believed that, did you, boy?

  Raj was right. When Abel mentioned the Redlander curse to his father, his father had nodded, but he’d smiled in the same way he did when Abel asked him if it was true swimming in a temple pool made a baby grow in a mommy’s tummy.

  “I guess not.”

  In fact, the current aristocracy is made up of Redlander stock, said Center. Observe. The Land is merely two to three leagues across roughly east to west, but is over two hundred leagues long north to south. It would take the better part of a Duisberg year to walk its length from the Delta to the upper cataracts.