Of course, she could make it carry something, if she wanted it to. Something like … omens, maybe. She sat staring and planning for some time as the sun dropped lower, her eyes fixed on the silent gyrations of her devices. When the light went at last, she nodded to herself and went into her secured room to get her tools.
When Danivon returned the following morning, he found her working on a skeletal array, a bony assemblage of rods and tracks and bright bits of moving mirror reflecting shards of lasered light.
“What in the devil?”
“Tell your destiny, Danivon?”
“My what?”
“Tell your destiny?”
He gave her a questioning look. “I suppose.”
She beckoned him to sit where she was sitting. Before him sprouted a forest of little levers, some gemmed, some plain, some colored, some black, variously shaped.
“Pick some at random,” she told him. “Any of them.”
He pressed some half dozen, mostly blue ones. The machine made questioning sounds, hummed, glittered at him as though it were looking him over. Light flickered into his eyes and away, quick mirrored glances. Bells rang, singly and in harmonic series. Small bright capsules plunged down, while others spun off into remote parts of the maze. A capsule was retrieved from some distant siding, edged nearer in repeated orbits, then dropped into a bin before him where it was joined eventually by another and yet another. The machine tinkled and became quiet.
“Now what,” he asked.
“See what they say,” she suggested, turning a capsule so he could see the word written on it.
“Journey,” said one. “Ancient,” said another. “Danger,” said a third.
“We journey into ancient danger,” she intoned portentously. “But then, we knew that.”
His mouth dropped open. He closed it with a snap. “You had it set for that message! How random is it?”
“It won’t repeat itself, if that’s what you mean. Not if I put each word in the pot only once. The capsules aren’t all shaped alike. Actions fit on one track, descriptives on another, entities on a third. It’ll deliver from three to five words, assorted.” She pressed a key, dumping the capsules back into the machine’s innards. “This one is only a sample. It isn’t nearly complicated enough. To be properly impressive, it will have to be more complex, with more noises and movement to it.”
“What do the levers have to do with it?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “They all press the same start bar. I’ll change that on the final model. Make different levers start it at different places.”
He laughed, his eyes squinting shut in amusement. “What do we call it?” he asked. “What’s our hype?”
“Hype?”
“That’s what the twins say we need. Hype. They tell me hype is the message that evokes wonder or desire in the observer. Excited words. Loaded language. Hype. Evidently many activities in their time depended upon hype.”
Fringe considered what would make the device seem more marvelous. “We can say it’s ancient,” she offered. “People are always fascinated by ancient things. We say it was discovered in some uninhabited place. Desolations are intriguing too. Maybe we’ll say something about the mysterious creators of the machine and how they vanished. We’ll call it the Destiny Machine….” She paused, thinking. “Oh, I know! We can pretend the Arbai invented it.”
“Make it look corroded like the Arbai Door, then.”
“I’ve never seen the Arbai Door.”
He described the convolutions and corrosions of the Door while she nodded thoughtfully. When he had finished, he took in her intent expression and laughed. “Fringe Owldark. I didn’t expect it of you. I marked you as lacking imagination.”
She flushed, angry at him. “I have as much as I need, Danivon Luze. Isn’t it the kind of thing you wanted?”
“Oh, yes. It’s quite marvelous. Finish it. Tell me what you need, if anything. You’ll have to have some kind of traveling crate for it. We’re leaving in two days’ time.” He stood smiling at her, obviously enjoying what he was looking at.
She flushed again, at first in embarrassment, then in annoyance at his smile. It knew too much. It belonged to one who had read her Book. Who had transgressed upon her privacy. “Well then,” she said in an angry voice, “let me get on with it.”
“It’s almost mealtime,” he wheedled. “You must have a favorite eating place. Let’s go there.”
She shook her head, still peevish. “No. I should get this thing mostly finished before we go, though I can add the final bits and pieces on the way. Besides, I’m not hungry.” Her palms were wet, and she wiped them on her trousers, a gesture of rejection. “We’ll have plenty of time for lunches in Tolerance.”
He flushed. “No. Sorry. I’ve received orders….”
“Orders?”
“I’m not to return to Tolerance. For some reason old Boarmus wants me to stay clear of the place. He’s invented a job for me in Denial. Curvis will go with you to Tolerance, and I’ll meet you two and the twins in the Curward Isles.”
She stared at him in bewilderment. Why should Danivon be warned away from Tolerance? Him, a Council Enforcer? She didn’t ask that question, but instead, “Why do I have to go to Tolerance at all then?”
“Don’t you want to be initiated as a Council Enforcer?” he asked.
“Is it required?” she demanded.
“Well … not strictly, no.”
“Then I don’t.”
“It’s a nice ceremony, very impressive ritual.”
“I don’t like ceremony. I don’t like ritual.” She avoided either, whenever she could. They reminded her unpleasantly of other things, other times.
He shrugged. “Well, take your ceremonials anyhow. Boarmus will probably want to see you. He does that with all the Council people.” He rummaged in a pocket and drew out a travel disc that he dropped on the table by the machine. “Here’s your authorization. There’ll be a CE flier at the northeast flight center, first watch, day after tomorrow.”
She nodded, silently.
“You’ll need help with your machine.”
“I’m competent,” she muttered. “I can manage.”
“I was only
