Tales of Anyar Page 18

  Yozef frowned. “Balwis—,” he said before Wyfor held up a hand.

  “Nah, Reimo knew he wasn’t serious. The three of us and Storlini were drinking together the same night.”

  “Still, Balwis,” said Yozef, “it’s best if your clanspeople don’t hear you say such things. Words can get turned into rumors, and they influence how people look at you.”

  “So Ceinwyn keeps reminding me. I think I’m getting better, but sometimes you just have to say what’s on your mind.”

  Yozef let the topic go without adding anything more, but at least he’d dispensed a reminder. He agreed that Balwis seemed to watch his tongue more than in the past.

  “Well, I’m glad Kellen and Kemescu have worked out so well, despite misgivings from many parties. I had an instinct about them and am happy to see I was right.”

  “Quick,” said Carnigan, “let’s talk about anything else before he puffs himself up too much. He’s insufferable on the rare occasions one of his ideas works out.”

  Everyone laughed—even Yozef.

  “First, let’s order another ale,” said Carnigan. “Mine’s empty, even if the rest of you slackers have some left.”

  Without looking for a target, Balwis raised a hand, and a nervous woman wearing a smock appeared at the table as if by magic.

  “Another round, Hetman? Or anything else I can get you?”

  “Yes, my good woman. Another round for everyone, if you please. And some bread and cheese. Thank you.”

  The woman curtsied and rushed off.

  “There,” said Balwis. “See how charming I can be.”

  “I think her reaction would be about same if it had been one of Gaya’s merstors that raised a hind leg,” said Carnigan.

  “Whatever,” said Balwis, who then turned serious and addressed Yozef.

  “What are the other hetmen thinking to do about central authority? Both of the Fuomi leaders still on Caedellium, Kivalian and Saisannin, are right that complete clan independence can’t continue. We were lucky this time. I don’t have a family history of leading a clan, so I’m not as reticent to cede some authority, if I think it will make Preddi more secure. Of course, it depends on what the exact plan is for such a central authority. I read the dispatches I get on the topic—those passed on to me. It doesn’t seem like the other hetmen are any closer to a consensus than before.”

  “I can tell you there has been movement within the War Council,” said Yozef. “I expect all the other hetmen will be brought into the discussion soon.”

  “What movement?”

  Yozef shifted in his chair. “Uh . . . it’s best if I don’t say anything more right now.”

  “Well, whatever is going to be proposed, I hope it’s something you and the War Council came up with and not one of the more idiot hetmen.”

  “Oh, I suspect you won’t have any reservations.”

  EYE IN THE SKY

  The artificial intelligence (AI) orbiting Anyar was powerful and limited. It received and processed a continual stream of data from twenty surveillance satellites in geosynchronous orbits. The satellites had recently been supplemented by a cloaked drone cruising a gridwork pattern over a tiny fraction of the planet’s land, an island west and northwest of the land masses concentrated on one hemisphere. Initiative to activate the drone fell within the AI’s programming.

  Whether initiative, coupled with the AI’s immense processing capability, satisfied a definition of sentience was of no concern to the AI—it simply was .

  Also arguable was whether the AI possessed curiosity, but it noticed differences . It had circled the planet—which had no name because it was the only planet in the AI’s experience—for 5,913 orbits of the planet around its sun. The first orbit had started when the AI came into being at the instant of its activation by its creators—not that the AI conceived of the term creators . They, like the AI, just were . In the first seconds of the AI’s existence, the creators requested self-diagnostics, and the AI complied. All systems operated within parameters, and the creators left, not to return until the 5907th, 5909th, and 5910th years.

  Following the second of the three creator returns, the small island became of more interest than most other parts of the planet. On that visit, the creators deposited a single entity, self-described as a human, on the island without violating a mandate that they and the AI were obligated to observe—no landfall or detection by the inhabitants. How the creators placed the human on land without touching the surface, the AI did not know, only that the location was noted as one of the sites to be more aware of than others on the planet.

  In the following years, the island twice experienced events triggering AI subroutines. The first event was a battle between groups of humans inhabiting the planet. This was not the first battle observed on the planet, but never had a battle on the island involved so many of the inhabitants. That fact alone would only have been noted with no special significance, if not for the single human left there by the creators. The second event was another battle, this one larger than the first. These two events and the association with the human placed on the island triggered more subroutines, leading to the decision to deploy a drone to investigate further—the first time it had used this capability. The drone, operated by a lesser AI, hovered over the battlefield and observed what correlated with hot-air balloons, minefields, chemical flares, and hydrocarbon-based incendiaries.

  The AI dispatched a message to the creators, whose location it didn’t know. The message contained compressed relevant recordings and notification that one of the geosynchronous observation satellites had been repositioned to allow constant direct overhead monitoring of the island—a significant act of initiative—along with the intention to send periodic updates on the island.

  Even with entangled communication technology, it took a fifth of the planet’s year for the message to relay to the creators and an answer to return. The creators were coming again to the planet, with an estimated time of arrival given in reference to a Cepheid variable star visible to the AI above the ecliptic of this solar system. The translation of the stated number of pulses from the Cepheid to the planet’s orbit around its sun told the AI to expect the creators in approximately eleven of the planet’s years unless there were further developments raising the level of creator’s concerns.

  In the response were the acknowledgement of the AI’s monitoring decisions and an admonition to avoid any contact, physical or visual, with the planet’s inhabitants.

  In its previous state of awareness, the AI would have placed no valuation on the time for the creators to arrive. Nor would it have questioned the directive to remain hidden. With its enhanced awareness, the AI ascertained that the creators considered coming to the planet important but not urgent, and it wondered why the creators needed to remind it of the non-interference directive. These two responses from the AI were the direct result of a small piece of self-executing programming within the communication from the creators. The result was to activate a previously dormant partition.

  The AI could now wonder . Were the observed events tied to the single entity the creators had left on the island? It would search through the endless stream of data from the patrolling drone, now close enough to the ground to distinguish individual inhabitants. It would build a model of the society it observed and attempt to identify candidates to locate the human in question, images of which were now available to the AI. Then it would use the images to attempt identification by both visual observation and impact correlation.

  The AI was now interested, a state previously unknown in its 5,913-year existence. Interest, curiosity, patience, data, storage and processing power, and time—all the features it needed. The AI estimated the island had less than one million inhabitants, making it well within the its capability to identify every individual. Then, correlation with common and major events would narrow the focus to a limited number of candidates if, as the creators seemed to believe, the human had, against all expectations, affected the island’s
society. If confirmed, it would be a significant violation. The creators would decide what actions were needed, if any. Even with its enhancements, such a decision was still outside the AI’s parameters. So it would wait, watch, and wonder.

  Humans prefer to avoid the cognitive dissonance that arises from feeling empathy with an enemy. Otherwise, uncomfortable questions might be asked. Why are we fighting? Maybe the enemy is more like me than I want to contemplate? Might the opponent have had no choice in origin and culture? Must an enemy be an enemy forever? Does an enemy have a life worthy of sympathy and understanding?

  THE BITTER TASTE OF HOME

  Okan Akuyun stood at the rear of the war galleon’s aftcastle until the last glimpse of the Island of Caedellium disappeared at the horizon. Rabia, his wife, knew to leave him alone with thoughts he would later share with her. The ship’s officers and his subordinates needed only a few moments near him to sense his need for isolation.

  So much had happened in the last two years. So many new thoughts. How had this isolated island inexplicably turned back Narthani subjugation? Where had Yozef Kolsko come from? How had the man risen so high and united the clans so quickly? Then there were the many conversations Akuyun had had with Kolsko. Conversations that, given the circumstances of their relationship, seemed almost eerie. There had been tension at first, which faded into what Akuyun was tempted to consider conviviality by the time of his departure. Most unsettling were a few of the last meetings when Kolsko probed Akuyun’s feelings and innermost thoughts on Narthon’s future. At times, Akuyun was tempted to think Kolsko could see either the actual future or one that he, Kolsko, envisioned.

  Akuyun knew he would spend many hours on this aftcastle looking out at the ocean and thinking.

  The voyage to Narthon passed slowly for Akuyun. The seas were moderate, meaning eight-foot swells, low for this time of year off the western coast of Melosia, the largest continent on Anyar. By now, though he wasn’t a sailor by nature, the two months of the voyage had accustomed him to the ship’s roll. Without thinking, he shifted his weight to compensate, his brain automatically sensing the deck’s motion.

  That morning, the war galleon had turned ninety degrees and moved into the thirty-mile-wide entrance to the finger-shaped Ezarkin Bay. It remained ice-free this far north because of prevailing winds. The galleon would stay five miles off the northern coast, a part of the Narthon Empire. Occasionally, Akuyun thought he could just make out the towering peaks rising on the bay’s southern coast. It belonged to one of the members of the Iraquinik Confederation, though which one he couldn’t remember.

  In a few days, they would approach the city of Ezarkin at the easternmost tip of the bay. When he’d left for Caedellium, Ezarkin had been a moderate-size fishing town recently expanded to accommodate the High Command’s plans. From verbal reports of army and navy personnel making the trip to Caedellium, Akuyun knew Ezarkin would now be unrecognizable to him. Yet however much had changed, the city itself was not on his mind. He could focus only on what lay waiting for him.

  Marshal Gullar’s disastrous defeat by the island’s united clans had left Akuyun in an untenable military position. Although there were approximately 20,000 active Narthani soldiers between Akuyun’s command and that of General Istranik, the commander of the remnants of Gullar’s 29th Corps, and although the Narthani navy controlled the waters around the island, the leader of the clans had laid out a succinct argument for why Narthani forces had to leave the island or be destroyed.

  The clans were investing Preddi City, the only significant Narthani stronghold on the island. However, almost 100,000 soldiers and civilians were crammed into a city with insufficient water resources and reduced rations for no more than three to four months. The islanders also held 4,000 captured Narthani soldiers. Other scattered army units, along with 20,000 civilians, remained isolated and unable to reach Preddi City. The clan’s leader, a man named Yozef Kolsko, had insinuated that the lives of the 24,000 Narthani under his control could be forfeited if the Narthani didn’t withdraw from the island. While Akuyun had no way to ascertain whether Kolsko was serious or bluffing, Narthani citizens were his responsibility.

  The final factor, and one that many officers argued about with Akuyun, was that he believed the islanders able and willing to besiege and take Preddi City, even in the face of expected heavy losses. Akuyun had experience with underestimating the islanders, and the tour of clan forces Kolsko had given him was impressive, though he didn’t doubt it had been organized to overstate their capabilities. Nevertheless, it settled Akuyun’s mind that he had made the correct decision to abandon the mission to subjugate Caedellium and save all the civilians and whatever soldiers remained.

  The agreed-upon armistice terminated hostilities in exchange for Narthani withdrawal, a process that had taken six months for the available ships to ferry all Narthani on Caedellium to Ezarkin. Akuyun and his family had left on the last ship.

  During those six months, there had been no communiqués from higher authority to indicate how the mission’s failure would reverberate on Akuyun’s or any of the other officers’ and administrators’ future. The first clues would come when they reached Ezarkin.

  The months on the voyage had given Akuyun time to think. He often thought he had too much time. He found his thoughts returning again and again to one specific conversation he’d had with Yozef Kolsko.

  ***

  Four months had passed since the armistice, and the second convoy loaded with Narthani soldiers and civilians had left two days earlier. The remainder would depart when empty ships returned from Ezarkin. Akuyun was not among those of his people who worried about so few soldiers remaining while islanders repopulated the city. With a few exceptions, the Caedelli had honored the truce.

  Once the first convoy left, the islanders began moving into the few structures between the outer and inner defenses, and a vigorous construction program was underway, with new residential areas surrounding planned trade centers. With the Narthani population down to only 11,000, the remainder had consolidated in the southern part of the city, while more islanders occupied vacant northern sections.

  As part of the shift in populations, Akuyun had met the new Preddi hetman several times in the first month. This was enough for him to realize it would best if they never met alone. The hetman’s eyes slashed every Narthani his gaze fell upon. The man’s mood had seemed to change during the last month, but Akuyun was honest enough to understand that grievances would linger for generations.

  Yozef Kolsko was different, likely because he wasn’t originally from Caedellium and he lacked most islanders’ visceral hatred of the Narthani. Whatever the reasons, Kolsko was cool-headed, wanting to discuss and solve problems, rather than dwelling on the past.

  Their meeting place was inside the outer Preddi City fortification ring that had been constructed in anticipation of clan attacks. On a small hill north of the main city wall sat a villa. The identity of the original Caedelli owner had been lost when the Narthani erased records of Preddi killed or shipped away as slaves during the first years of occupation.

  The two men faced each other under a flowering vine–covered pergola on a slate-paved patio with a view of the ocean a hundred yards away. It was the tenth time they had met at the villa, after holding previous meetings under a tent between the Caedelli trench works and the city’s outer defenses.

  Each time, only four persons attended meetings between the two men. The third was a hulking red-headed man who always hovered near Kolsko. Akuyun inferred that the men were friends, besides being a protector and charge. The fourth person was an interpreter; necessary because neither Akuyun nor Kolsko spoke the other’s language. Whoever interpreted alternated among a group of people: the new Preddi Clan hetman, Balwis Preddi; an ex-Narthani citizen named Storlini, who had opted to remain on the island; and twice it had been Kolsko’s wife, when she accompanied him to Preddi City.

  For the particular meeting and conversation Akuyun kept dwelling on, Storlin
i had interpreted, and the two principals had met enough times that they barely noticed the conversation flowing through a third party. They had finished the formal discussions on arrangements for the last two to three months before Akuyun and the final Narthani would leave Caedellium. Akuyun had never learned what title Kolsko held among the Caedelli, and, in lieu of knowing how to address the man, he had said it was unnecessary to use his own title.

  “You must know, Akuyun, that Narthon is destined to eventually fall,” said Kolsko. “Rule by force of arms and terror only breeds festering hatred. In addition, no matter how well organized and with whatever foundation of customs, it’s only a matter of time before circumstances change, inept or corrupt rulers blunder, or the empire has fostered strong-enough enemies, and it will all come crashing down on you.”

  “Few of my people would agree with you,” said Akuyun. “Besides, it’s the only life we’ve known.”

  “Both of those things may be true, but I notice you didn’t disagree with me.”

  Akuyun ignored Kolsko’s comment.

  “Who knows what the future holds?” said Akuyun, who then segued into an attempt to coax from Kolsko hints of the man’s origin. “We all live the life fate has given us. In my case, a life within my people. But for you, we know you are not from Caedellium. You must miss your family and people. I’m from eastern Narthon, and while all of us are Narthani, regional differences contribute to where we will always consider home . It must be far more difficult for you, and you must often wish again to return from where you originated.”

  “Caedellium is now my home, and its people are my people. That is why I will do everything possible for the island to remain free from any outside control.”

  Akuyun had wondered whether the Fuomi might have designs on Caedellium, but Kolsko often indicated that Fuomi influence was welcomed but limited.