Then it was gone — how quickly over!
Then yearning. Yearning for a lost mother, a crown and a whole kingdom; craving the love of all and the return of a long-departed sister, mourning a dead brother and the unrecoverable love, respect and approval of a departed father…
He stepped out of the square, breaking the spell.
He took a couple of deep breaths then turned and looked at Senior Technician Leratiy. After some moments he said, “You may tell your technician-recorder I experienced a sense of loss and a sense of longing, both expressed in terms of personal experiences.” He looked round the others on the platform, all of them watching him. There were one or two smiles, nervous-seeming. Oramen nodded at Senior Technician Leratiy. “An interesting experience. I take it that what I felt was on a par with the sensations others had?”
“Loss, yearning,” Leratiy confirmed. “Those are indeed the emotions felt in common, sir.”
“You think this qualifies it as being in any way alive?” Oramen asked, glancing, frowning, at the grey surface.
“It is
“It could be working as a waterwheel might work or a windmill might work, dug out of a similar caking of mud or dust,” Oramen suggested.
“We think it is something more than that, sir,” Leratiy said.
“Well then, what would be your next step?”
Leratiy and Poatas exchanged looks. “We believe, sir,” Senior Technician Leratiy said, “that the object is trying to communicate, but can only do so at the moment through crude images; the strongest ones the human soul experiences; those of loss and yearning amongst them. We believe that it may be possible to allow the object to communicate more fully by, quite simply, teaching it to speak a language.”
“What? Shall we talk baby-talk to it?” Oramen asked.
“If it could hear and speak, sir,” Leratiy said, “it probably would have tried to talk to us by now; a hundred or more labourers, engineers, technicians and other experts have been speaking in its vicinity since well before we discovered the curious property you have just experienced.”
“What, then?” Oramen asked.
Leratiy cleared his throat. “The problem facing us here, sir, is unique in our history but not that of others. It has been experienced many times before over many eons and by a multiplicity of peoples facing an uncounted number of similar relics and artifacts. There are established and highly successful techniques employed by peoples from the Optimae down which may be employed to establish communication with just such an object.”
“Indeed,” Oramen said. He looked from Leratiy to Poatas. “Have we access to such techniques?”
“At a remove, sir, yes,” Poatas said. “An Enabler machine can be ours to command.”
“An Enabler machine?” Oramen asked.
“We would rely on the Oct to provide and operate the equipment involved, sir,” Leratiy said, “though it would, of course,” he added quickly, “be under our most diligent and intense supervision. All would be noted, recorded, tabulated and filed. On any subsequent occasions it may well be that we would be able to employ the same techniques directly ourselves. Thus, our benefit would be twofold, or indeed of an even higher order.”
“We both,” Poatas began, glancing at the senior technician, “feel it is of the utmost importance—”
“Again,” Oramen interrupted, “is not this sort of technology transfer, this kind of help banned, though?” He looked at the two men in turn. They both looked awkward, glancing at each other.
Leratiy cleared his throat again. “The Oct claim that if they operate it, sir, then — as it is being directed at something that in effect already belongs to them — the answer is no, it is not banned.”
“Indeed,” Poatas said, lifting his chin defiantly.
“They claim this thing?” Oramen asked, glancing at the cube. This was a new development.
“Not formally, sir,” Leratiy replied. “They accept our prior claim. However, they believe it may form part of their ancient birthright, so take a particular and profound interest in it.”
Oramen looked around. “I see no Oct here. How do you know all this about them?”
“They have communicated through a special emissary by the name of Savide, sir,” Poatas said. “He has appeared within this chamber on a couple of occasions, and been of some consultant help.”
“I was not informed of this,” Oramen pointed out.
“You were injured, confined to bed, sir,” Poatas said, studying the planking at his feet for a moment.
“That recently, I see,” Oramen said. Poatas and Leratiy both smiled at him.
“Gentlemen,” Oramen said, smiling back, “if it is your judgement we should allow the Oct to help us, then let them. Have them bring their wonderful techniques, their Enabler machines, though do what you can to find out how they work. Very well?” he asked.
The two men looked both surprised and delighted.
“Indeed, sir!” Senior Technician Leratiy said.
“Sir!” Poatas said, lowering his head.
Oramen spent the rest of the day organising what were in effect all the trappings of a small state, or at least looking on as others did the actual organising. Apart from anything else they were resurrecting a disbanded army, turning the men who had been soldiers and had become excavationers back into soldiers again. There was no shortage of men, only of weapons; most of the guns that had equipped the army were stored in armouries back in Pourl. They would have to do the best they could with what they had. The situation ought to improve a little; some of the workshops in the Settlement were already turning their forges and lathes to the production of guns, though they would not be of especially high quality.
The people he entrusted to oversee this were all from relatively junior ranks; almost his first action had been to gather together all the senior people tyl Loesp had put in place, including General Foise, and send them off to Rasselle, allegedly as a delegation to explain Oramen’s actions but in reality just to be rid of people he was no longer sure he could trust. Some of his new advisers had cautioned that he was sending able officers with a clear idea of the precise strengths and weaknesses of Oramen’s own forces straight to their enemy, but he was not convinced this was sufficient reason to let them stay, and was reluctant to attempt to intern or imprison them.
Foise and the others had departed, reluctant but obedient, on a train only a few hours earlier. Another train had followed half an hour behind. It was full of soldiers loyal to Oramen carrying plentiful supplies of blasting material, with instructions to mine and guard every bridge between the Falls and Rasselle that could be attained without opening hostilities.
Oramen made his excuses from the planning meeting as soon as he decently could and retired to his carriage for a much-needed nap; the doctors still wanted him to take more days off but he would not, could not. He slept for an hour and then visited Droffo, who was recovering in the principal hospital train.
“You’ve moved quickly then,” Droffo said. He was still bandaged and looked dazed. Various cuts had been cleaned on his face and left to heal in the air, though a couple on one cheek had needed stitches. “Foise went quietly?” He shook his head, then grimaced. “Probably off to plot with tyl Loesp.”
“You think they’ll attack us?” Oramen asked. He sat on a canvas chair drawn up beside Droffo’s bed in the private compartment.
“I don’t know, prince,” Droffo said. “Is there any news yet from tyl Loesp?”
“None. He is not even in Rasselle. He may not have heard yet.”
“I’d be wary of going to meet with him, I know that.”
“You think he himself is behind this?”
“Who else?”
“I thought perhaps… people around him.”
“Such as who?” Droffo said.
“Bleye? Tohonlo? People like that.”
Droffo shook his head. “They haven’t the wit.”
Oramen couldn’t think of anybody else by name, with the possible exception of General Foise. Surely not
