A few days of uneventful travel followed. A minor sand-storm forced them to seek shelter off the road for a day; and another day when Vetch insisted he saw someone travelling towards them on the road they hid off to the side of the road for some hours before the sighting either turned out to be false or the traveller came no closer. As they approached Tucamari the normally imperturbable Thok appeared to become anxious, and he spent a lot of time looking over his shoulder. Clearly his early experiences had made a big impression on him. However as days passed with no sign of pursuit he seemed to relax, and when one mid-day Vetch pointed out a glint of light on the horizon and said it was sun on one of the roof-tops of Tucamari he seemed very relieved.
Two more uneventful days on the road brought them back to the gates of Tucamari. Sentries peering out from the jagged tops of the gate-side towers called challenges, and were met with haughty demands by Sutek that they be brought straight to the house of the Trademaster. After a delay during which Sutek stood motionless in a dramatic pose, staff grounded and mask pointed slightly above the guards’ heads, the gates grated open and two of the Trademaster’s guards, tough silent creatures with strips of blue cloth tied around their arms, escorted the group to the same hut inside the Trademaster’s compound. Water and food was brought presently, and one of Horocaxi’s advisors conducted a muttered conversation with Sutek while the others ate. The two left the hut and as the others finished the meal Sutek re-entered accompanied by two guards. The group were led across the compound to a house, painted blue and in a good state of repair; the Trademaster himself sat on the verandah, and the guards knelt, motioning the others to do likewise and scowling menacingly when Thok was slow to get down.
After a long pause the Trademaster motioned them to their feet with a languid wave. He himself remained seated, on a high-backed chair covered with embroidered blankets. Another wave brought a servant carrying a small wooden case and a pair carrying the box the group had recovered. One servant opened the box and without ceremony brought out a small device. It was a small smooth rectangle, half an arm’s length long, about half that wide, and as thick as a hand. From the wooden case another servant brought an identical item. An advisor, who had been standing behind the Trademaster’s seat, stepped forward. He was a tall, thin, austere creature with a long pinched face. He motioned to Sutek, who stood up and took the first device. The advisor spoke in a cold hollow voice. “This is the machine you went to some pains to recover. Observe.” He reached over and touched some button on the edge of the device which Sutek held. One side lit up, casting a white light on Sutek’s metal mask. “This part is called the screen. It shows a map. This is where you received the device.” He stroked the screen and a red circle could be seen. “The map on the screen is updated every day, by some means we do not understand. It never becomes outdated.”
He then stalked over to where a servant held the other device, and poked at the screen until a map appeared there. With a very superior air he stepped back and waved an arm at the screen. “This device speaks to that one. If you tap the screen in a certain way a marker is placed on the map. This marker can be seen on both devices. The men who passed you the device placed a marker before they gave it to you. As you can see, the marker appears on that machine, which you brought with you, and also on this one, which was in the Trademaster’s possession.” The advisor looked expectantly at his audience. Thok looked back blankly; Brol looked intrigued; Vetch fidgeted. The advisor motioned Sutek to put down the machine and spoke again.
“The Trademaster has another task for you. His caravans to the east are often attacked by bandits, and of late these bandits have become better organised. Whole caravans have been destroyed and the crews slaughtered. The bandits do not appear to be numerous but they do appear to have access to Ancient weapons in quantity. The Trademaster wishes you – “
A movement from the chair behind him caused the advisor to pause, and Trademaster Horocaxi cleared his throat. He paused for effect, steepled his long thin fingers and looked over their heads, then spoke in a pompous and didactic voice.
“It appears that the bandits are exclusively pure-strain humans, and that they call themselves the Last Men”. He gave what Brol took to be a smile. “They are of course not the last men. Perhaps they use that to justify their atrocities against those they designate as not human. They have dedicated themselves to re-establishing the rule of pure-strain humans – presumably themselves. What their plans for mutated humans, uplifted animals, artificial intelligences and so on I do not know, but they are not benign. They have left tracts at the scene of some of their attacks, declaring their intentions." The Trademaster made an airy gesture. "Fortunately the Last Men are few in number. However they are attacking trade caravans, killing the caravaneers and looting the cargoes. They also appear to have access to ancient equipment in quite large quantities and are not to be underestimated. We presume they have a stronghold, a base, an encampment at least from which they operate. What is clear is that they are severely damaging trade and I fear that they may gain knowledge of the locations of our towns and extend their raids to Qaleru, Tucamari and elsewhere. What we have built up over generations will be destroyed.” The Trademaster looked over their heads and spoke again as if to himself.
"By calling them ‘pure-strain human’ are we passing judgement on ourselves? Once the distinction between human and not-human would have been clear, but the weapons of the Ancients have washed away the clear lines. What are we?"
He gazed theatrically across the room at the group, at his guards and advisers.
"Human? Less than human? More than human? The animals which have been raised to intelligence - what are they? And the savage de-evolved creatures which are human in shape but bestial in behaviour? What of them? And the sentient machines the Ancients left behind them?"
Horocaxi stopped speaking and rested his chin on a hand. It seemed to Brol as if he was consciously posing as a philosopher for their benefit.
After a long pause the advisor considered it safe to continue and spoke again.
“The Trademaster wishes you to take one of the devices travel with a caravan. If it is attacked you will follow the attackers back to their lair. There Sutek will tap the screen in a particular way to place a marker on the map. The marker will be replicated here and a military force which the Trademaster will have gathered will march on the lair of these dangerous bandits and destroy them.”
Brol looked alarmed. He glanced at the others then spoke again.
“I think I speak for all of us when I say that before undertaking such a hazardous mission we would prefer to discuss the matter amongst ourselves first.”
At a sound from the chair behind him the advisor turned, and the Trademaster whispered something to him. It was his turn to look alarmed, but he composed himself and addressed the group.
“The Trademaster wishes you to know that the food you have just eaten was laced with a slow-acting poison. On the completion of your mission you will be provided with a counter-agent. You will be supplied with capsules which, taken daily during your expedition, will prevent the poison taking effect.”
Brol and Vetch jumped to their feet, shouting at the advisor. The Trademaster’s two guards levelled their spears at them. Thok remained seated and appeared unconcerned and Sutek, standing a little apart from the others, did not move. Theodora Fane stared into space for a moment then rose to her feet and without a word left the hut.
Later in the day Theodora returned, her appearance transformed. Her one piece uniform of peculiar Ancient material was gone, as was her belt pouch and pistol. Instead she wore a shirt and trousers of local manufacture and a quilted waistcoat which appeared to be newly made but which incorporated a strange saw-toothed fastener of Ancient origin. Her hair was now shorter and pulled tight back from her face. Brol was standing outside the hut, gloomily drinking from a beaker, and looked up in surprise. Theodora carried a long heavy gun, which she proudly held out to Brol. “If we have got to do this, at least this will help. Look – a Sterngarten VII.” She pointed to marks on the side of the weapon and Brol peered at them. She pulled a small square device from a leather bag slung across her shoulder. “Got this fusion charger too – the fool didn’t know what it was. All I need are a couple of discarded cells and I’m set.”
Brol looked her up and down. “Where are your old gun, your Ancient clothes?”
“Traded for these.”
“That useful fold-up-small tent blanket?”
Theodora looked uncomfortable. “That too.”
Brol smiled, trying to put her at ease. “At least you kept your boots.”
Fane smiled back, glad of his effort, and stamped her feet. “If we’ve got to walk all the way I’ll need to be comfortable.”
Theodora sat down and began to strip down the weapon. She removed the squat cylinder that Brol now knew was the power pack, then a series of clear tubes which she wiped with a scrap of cloth. Brol watched her and said, nodding at the rifle, "You seem very familiar with that."
Theodora stopped working and, seeming to be ready for more conversation, said, "Yes. I remember being trained on it. Not that I remember much else before you rescued me."
Brol spoke: "You have never said anything about your previous life; but then, either have any of us."
Theodora sighed, laid down the rifle, and spoke quietly, hesitantly, as if to herself to help her remember. "I remember waking up in a stasis tube and feeling panic. I remember an underground base with bright lights and lots of people dressed like this - " She stopped, smiled ruefully, and corrected herself " - dressed in the way I dressed previously."
Brol interrupted. "Like those people who shot at us near the bridge?"
"Yes. National Recovery Agency. I suppose the base must have been theirs, and I suppose I must be one of them. I remember being in a vehicle, and it was upside down and I was hanging from my seat. I remember being in the desert, and losing my respirator" - her hand came up to her face and formed a cup shape over her nose and mouth - "and thinking I was dead for sure. The rest you know."
Fane sat staring ahead for a moment. With an effort she roused herself and with a forced smile turned to Brol. "You know all about me now. How about you? Where are you from? Were your parents - " She stopped, seemed to struggle for a word, then said " - like you?"
She found herself wondering at her own acceptance of and liking for this strange malformed creature and, in fact, for the whole group of people she might once have felt discomfort or even revulsion at.
Brol did not appear to understand the question. "My father is tall, spindly - I have his arms, I think. The rest of me is my mother's." He smiled as if at a fond memory. "They have a farm on the Fresh Sea, away to the north. They grew cabbage, onions, blueleaf, and carried them on their backs to sell in Broxer’s Fort. It's not an easy life, and I think when I left they were glad, hoping that I would find something better."
“Is it peaceful?”
“Mostly, but when times are hard people turn on each other and take what they need to live. At times like that small farmers are at the mercy of all.” His face hardened for a moment. “My people were defenceless, weak. Although the neighbours would pull together if need be they would have little chance against anyone more organised, or well-armed, or less well-intentioned.” He shook his head as if to dislodge the unwelcome thought.
Theodora looked concerned, and after a moment spoke again.
“At least they are free.”
Brol’s wide mouth twisted and he spoke sourly. “Free to starve in hard times. Free to be robbed and killed by any armed rascal that comes by. The Trademaster is a tyrant but I think it might be worth trading some freedom for some security.”
There was an uneasy pause until Fane broke the silence.
“Speaking of the Trademaster, how did you arrive at Tucamari?“
“By boat. Broxer’s Fort is upstream from the Fresh Sea and boats trading down the Ulver river have to go back up against the current. I joined one of them and helped row it back up to Messori. Sometimes where the river was narrow and fast we had to tow it with ropes from the bank. Thok and Vetch were also on the boat – they both joined at Ofravink – and as I had no real plan I went along with them to Tucamari. It turned out that they had no real plan either.”
From Dust:
Introduction
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-introduction.html
Prologue
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-prologue.html
Chapter 1 - The Trademaster
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-1---the-trademaster.html
Chapter 2 - The Wretched
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-2---the-wretched.html
Chapter 3 - The Device
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-3---the-device.html
Chapter 4 - Tucamari
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-4---tucamari.html
Two more uneventful days on the road brought them back to the gates of Tucamari. Sentries peering out from the jagged tops of the gate-side towers called challenges, and were met with haughty demands by Sutek that they be brought straight to the house of the Trademaster. After a delay during which Sutek stood motionless in a dramatic pose, staff grounded and mask pointed slightly above the guards’ heads, the gates grated open and two of the Trademaster’s guards, tough silent creatures with strips of blue cloth tied around their arms, escorted the group to the same hut inside the Trademaster’s compound. Water and food was brought presently, and one of Horocaxi’s advisors conducted a muttered conversation with Sutek while the others ate. The two left the hut and as the others finished the meal Sutek re-entered accompanied by two guards. The group were led across the compound to a house, painted blue and in a good state of repair; the Trademaster himself sat on the verandah, and the guards knelt, motioning the others to do likewise and scowling menacingly when Thok was slow to get down.
After a long pause the Trademaster motioned them to their feet with a languid wave. He himself remained seated, on a high-backed chair covered with embroidered blankets. Another wave brought a servant carrying a small wooden case and a pair carrying the box the group had recovered. One servant opened the box and without ceremony brought out a small device. It was a small smooth rectangle, half an arm’s length long, about half that wide, and as thick as a hand. From the wooden case another servant brought an identical item. An advisor, who had been standing behind the Trademaster’s seat, stepped forward. He was a tall, thin, austere creature with a long pinched face. He motioned to Sutek, who stood up and took the first device. The advisor spoke in a cold hollow voice. “This is the machine you went to some pains to recover. Observe.” He reached over and touched some button on the edge of the device which Sutek held. One side lit up, casting a white light on Sutek’s metal mask. “This part is called the screen. It shows a map. This is where you received the device.” He stroked the screen and a red circle could be seen. “The map on the screen is updated every day, by some means we do not understand. It never becomes outdated.”
He then stalked over to where a servant held the other device, and poked at the screen until a map appeared there. With a very superior air he stepped back and waved an arm at the screen. “This device speaks to that one. If you tap the screen in a certain way a marker is placed on the map. This marker can be seen on both devices. The men who passed you the device placed a marker before they gave it to you. As you can see, the marker appears on that machine, which you brought with you, and also on this one, which was in the Trademaster’s possession.” The advisor looked expectantly at his audience. Thok looked back blankly; Brol looked intrigued; Vetch fidgeted. The advisor motioned Sutek to put down the machine and spoke again.
“The Trademaster has another task for you. His caravans to the east are often attacked by bandits, and of late these bandits have become better organised. Whole caravans have been destroyed and the crews slaughtered. The bandits do not appear to be numerous but they do appear to have access to Ancient weapons in quantity. The Trademaster wishes you – “
A movement from the chair behind him caused the advisor to pause, and Trademaster Horocaxi cleared his throat. He paused for effect, steepled his long thin fingers and looked over their heads, then spoke in a pompous and didactic voice.
“It appears that the bandits are exclusively pure-strain humans, and that they call themselves the Last Men”. He gave what Brol took to be a smile. “They are of course not the last men. Perhaps they use that to justify their atrocities against those they designate as not human. They have dedicated themselves to re-establishing the rule of pure-strain humans – presumably themselves. What their plans for mutated humans, uplifted animals, artificial intelligences and so on I do not know, but they are not benign. They have left tracts at the scene of some of their attacks, declaring their intentions." The Trademaster made an airy gesture. "Fortunately the Last Men are few in number. However they are attacking trade caravans, killing the caravaneers and looting the cargoes. They also appear to have access to ancient equipment in quite large quantities and are not to be underestimated. We presume they have a stronghold, a base, an encampment at least from which they operate. What is clear is that they are severely damaging trade and I fear that they may gain knowledge of the locations of our towns and extend their raids to Qaleru, Tucamari and elsewhere. What we have built up over generations will be destroyed.” The Trademaster looked over their heads and spoke again as if to himself.
"By calling them ‘pure-strain human’ are we passing judgement on ourselves? Once the distinction between human and not-human would have been clear, but the weapons of the Ancients have washed away the clear lines. What are we?"
He gazed theatrically across the room at the group, at his guards and advisers.
"Human? Less than human? More than human? The animals which have been raised to intelligence - what are they? And the savage de-evolved creatures which are human in shape but bestial in behaviour? What of them? And the sentient machines the Ancients left behind them?"
Horocaxi stopped speaking and rested his chin on a hand. It seemed to Brol as if he was consciously posing as a philosopher for their benefit.
After a long pause the advisor considered it safe to continue and spoke again.
“The Trademaster wishes you to take one of the devices travel with a caravan. If it is attacked you will follow the attackers back to their lair. There Sutek will tap the screen in a particular way to place a marker on the map. The marker will be replicated here and a military force which the Trademaster will have gathered will march on the lair of these dangerous bandits and destroy them.”
Brol looked alarmed. He glanced at the others then spoke again.
“I think I speak for all of us when I say that before undertaking such a hazardous mission we would prefer to discuss the matter amongst ourselves first.”
At a sound from the chair behind him the advisor turned, and the Trademaster whispered something to him. It was his turn to look alarmed, but he composed himself and addressed the group.
“The Trademaster wishes you to know that the food you have just eaten was laced with a slow-acting poison. On the completion of your mission you will be provided with a counter-agent. You will be supplied with capsules which, taken daily during your expedition, will prevent the poison taking effect.”
Brol and Vetch jumped to their feet, shouting at the advisor. The Trademaster’s two guards levelled their spears at them. Thok remained seated and appeared unconcerned and Sutek, standing a little apart from the others, did not move. Theodora Fane stared into space for a moment then rose to her feet and without a word left the hut.
Later in the day Theodora returned, her appearance transformed. Her one piece uniform of peculiar Ancient material was gone, as was her belt pouch and pistol. Instead she wore a shirt and trousers of local manufacture and a quilted waistcoat which appeared to be newly made but which incorporated a strange saw-toothed fastener of Ancient origin. Her hair was now shorter and pulled tight back from her face. Brol was standing outside the hut, gloomily drinking from a beaker, and looked up in surprise. Theodora carried a long heavy gun, which she proudly held out to Brol. “If we have got to do this, at least this will help. Look – a Sterngarten VII.” She pointed to marks on the side of the weapon and Brol peered at them. She pulled a small square device from a leather bag slung across her shoulder. “Got this fusion charger too – the fool didn’t know what it was. All I need are a couple of discarded cells and I’m set.”
Brol looked her up and down. “Where are your old gun, your Ancient clothes?”
“Traded for these.”
“That useful fold-up-small tent blanket?”
Theodora looked uncomfortable. “That too.”
Brol smiled, trying to put her at ease. “At least you kept your boots.”
Fane smiled back, glad of his effort, and stamped her feet. “If we’ve got to walk all the way I’ll need to be comfortable.”
Theodora sat down and began to strip down the weapon. She removed the squat cylinder that Brol now knew was the power pack, then a series of clear tubes which she wiped with a scrap of cloth. Brol watched her and said, nodding at the rifle, "You seem very familiar with that."
Theodora stopped working and, seeming to be ready for more conversation, said, "Yes. I remember being trained on it. Not that I remember much else before you rescued me."
Brol spoke: "You have never said anything about your previous life; but then, either have any of us."
Theodora sighed, laid down the rifle, and spoke quietly, hesitantly, as if to herself to help her remember. "I remember waking up in a stasis tube and feeling panic. I remember an underground base with bright lights and lots of people dressed like this - " She stopped, smiled ruefully, and corrected herself " - dressed in the way I dressed previously."
Brol interrupted. "Like those people who shot at us near the bridge?"
"Yes. National Recovery Agency. I suppose the base must have been theirs, and I suppose I must be one of them. I remember being in a vehicle, and it was upside down and I was hanging from my seat. I remember being in the desert, and losing my respirator" - her hand came up to her face and formed a cup shape over her nose and mouth - "and thinking I was dead for sure. The rest you know."
Fane sat staring ahead for a moment. With an effort she roused herself and with a forced smile turned to Brol. "You know all about me now. How about you? Where are you from? Were your parents - " She stopped, seemed to struggle for a word, then said " - like you?"
She found herself wondering at her own acceptance of and liking for this strange malformed creature and, in fact, for the whole group of people she might once have felt discomfort or even revulsion at.
Brol did not appear to understand the question. "My father is tall, spindly - I have his arms, I think. The rest of me is my mother's." He smiled as if at a fond memory. "They have a farm on the Fresh Sea, away to the north. They grew cabbage, onions, blueleaf, and carried them on their backs to sell in Broxer’s Fort. It's not an easy life, and I think when I left they were glad, hoping that I would find something better."
“Is it peaceful?”
“Mostly, but when times are hard people turn on each other and take what they need to live. At times like that small farmers are at the mercy of all.” His face hardened for a moment. “My people were defenceless, weak. Although the neighbours would pull together if need be they would have little chance against anyone more organised, or well-armed, or less well-intentioned.” He shook his head as if to dislodge the unwelcome thought.
Theodora looked concerned, and after a moment spoke again.
“At least they are free.”
Brol’s wide mouth twisted and he spoke sourly. “Free to starve in hard times. Free to be robbed and killed by any armed rascal that comes by. The Trademaster is a tyrant but I think it might be worth trading some freedom for some security.”
There was an uneasy pause until Fane broke the silence.
“Speaking of the Trademaster, how did you arrive at Tucamari?“
“By boat. Broxer’s Fort is upstream from the Fresh Sea and boats trading down the Ulver river have to go back up against the current. I joined one of them and helped row it back up to Messori. Sometimes where the river was narrow and fast we had to tow it with ropes from the bank. Thok and Vetch were also on the boat – they both joined at Ofravink – and as I had no real plan I went along with them to Tucamari. It turned out that they had no real plan either.”
From Dust:
Introduction
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-introduction.html
Prologue
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-prologue.html
Chapter 1 - The Trademaster
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-1---the-trademaster.html
Chapter 2 - The Wretched
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-2---the-wretched.html
Chapter 3 - The Device
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-3---the-device.html
Chapter 4 - Tucamari
http://www.spodilicious.com/from-dust-chapter-4---tucamari.html
