Sample Chapter: Pax Humana, Book One; "Contact: Day Zero Plus One"

The next morning Montgomery went out to see the city. She emerged from her room dressed in native garb to find the guard posted there looking bored. He snapped to attention as she opened the door, holding his spear up straight. He looked like an adolescent compared to her; head and shoulders shorter yet fully developed and muscular, clad in leather armor with bronze plates and a light helm that did not conceal his features.

   “You’re with me,” she said as she walked past him. He scurried to keep up. She led him through the twists and turns of the citadel to the main exit on the lower level.

   “What’s your name?” she asked as they walked out into the full light of day. It took a moment for the guard to realize he was being addressed.

   “First Spearman Kelv Munatus, ma’am.”

They had entered a large courtyard planted with low-hanging trees. Flowered vines dripped down from balconies. They passed a marble fountain carved in the likeness of a group of fish leaping into a wave.

   “First Spearman Munatus, you are going to escort me to the lamp oil factory on Gronl Street.”

   There was no room for a response, and he decided not to ask the alien woman how she knew where such things were in his city.

   The lamp oil factory was a clay-brick structure three stories high, weathered and dirty and sagging into its foundation. Montgomery grimaced at it as they walked up together, huge striding human and small serious soldier, under the gapes of passers-by.

She walked in the front door like she owned the place, eyes flicking around in inspection. The main room was large and open, a storage and receiving area where materials were brought in and product was shipped. Stacks of crates were piled up with rows to walk in-between them; deliveries were being received behind a partition in the back. Workers moved about, filling the crates with straw and neatly packing small clay jars into them. The whole place stank of rotten blubber. Taking all of this in at a glance, she stopped in the middle of the room and yelled “Who’s in charge here!”

   A girl appeared from the commotion of bodies, appearing to be about fourteen in human years. Montgomery put her age at nine. The girl had been agitated at first by this disruption, but when she saw what was causing it, she froze and stared, her authority dropping away in a moment of panic.

   “You–you are–” she began, stuttering out an description of what she saw as a supernatural event. “Hyoomun?” She looked to Munatus, who nodded in confirmation. The girl dropped to her knees, bowed her head deeply. “I am yours, goddess.”

   Montgomery rolled her eyes. She snapped her fingers to draw the girl’s attention back up from the floor, and motioned for her to rise to her feet. “I’m not a goddess,” she said with amused irritation. “I’m an alien. Get used to it.” She smiled so endearingly that the girl forgot her shock and giggled. “Are you the supervisor here?”

   The girl nodded, then bucked up as she listed her title.

   “I am Hera Molnovo, Head of Shipping. Veo Nasir is the owner of this company, but he is out  overseeing an acquisition. I am in charge here today.”

   “Hello Hera. My name is Maxine Montgomery. I’m here to help.”

   After breakfast had been served, Namon was escorted to the upper city by a contingent of their guard detail, led by Captain Baktur. They exited the citadel by means of a private staircase that accessed only the royal apartments, opening into a series of walled passages that led them past several manned posts on their way to the main gate on the plain. His guards closed in around him as they moved through the scattering of foot traffic there. Then the city passed behind them and Jeffery turned to look, seeing the citadel sprouting up out of the canyon and the colorful buildings that travelers saw when they visited Kur from the north.

   They rode three hours to a fortified outpost whose walls bulged with the fences of corrals and stables. At first, a cloud of dust obscured any details, but as they approached Namon saw men breaking and training turuk, with others watching from raised seats along the walls. He felt wary of riding into such a flurry of activity, but his guards moved steadily forward and the rough-looking wranglers parted around them. Word had got out by now of the nature of the king’s visitors, and though Namon kept his head down under the hood of his riding cloak, several curious folks turned their heads as they passed. Namon was beginning to feel safe in the protection of this awe. He had decided that it would be an insult to the king’s countenance should he be found to be armed, so he had left his neutron wand behind, but he still had designated a small group of drones to follow his position.

   The guards deposited him at the entrance to one of the corrals, their turuk were attended to and they sat, watching the action. A young man with wild black hair and fine features was breaking a turuk, and the animal was defiantly resisting. It bucked and snorted and screamed, and tried with all its tricks to throw him off its back. But slowly, firmly, with a series of patient moves he reduced its will down to an uneasy compliance. Applause sounded out from the seats. He dismounted, and walked straight up to Namon, dusting off his clothes and accepting a drink of water from a servant.

   “So. You are the hyoo-mahn who has come from the stars. Jever-ree Némahn.”

   “I am. And you are Prince Kalesh Inkil.”

   The young man regarded Namon suspiciously. He scanned the human up and down, appearing unimpressed. “Why have you come here?”

   “To teach, and to learn.”

   “To teach what?”

   “All that we can. We have made advancements in medicine and technology that can greatly benefit your people.”

   “Tek-nawlo-gee.” Kalesh sounded out the new word. “What is that?”

   “Like…machines. Intelligent machines.”

   “Intelligent machines!” The prince’s eyes were drawn subconsciously to a nearby slave, but he avoided this conversation. “What I meant was, why are you here. Now. In my presence.”

   “I wanted to meet you.”

   Kalesh smirked. “Well, now you have met me. What do you think?” He raised his arms to display his dirty clothes, turning slowly in a circle. Some people watching laughed.

   Namon smiled, accepting the joke. “I am pleased. Will you eat lunch with me?”

   The prince nodded, reluctantly, and motioned for someone to take over with the turuk. They walked away into one of the buildings together. Kalesh ignored Namon’s guards.

   “If you have come here today,” the prince began as they ate bread and cheese and olives, “by way of some plot hatched between yourself and my father to get me to come back to court, I’ll have you know that such a thing would be met with disagreement on my part. Disdain, really. Perhaps a small amount of mockery.”

   Jeffery couldn’t help smiling. “I have come here of my own volition, I assure you, Prince. I am not here to try to drag you back to court, or to trick you into doing so, or anything else you don’t want to do.”

   “What then?”

   Namon shrugged. “A conversation.”

   “That is all?” The prince seemed doubtful.

   “If you like, I could show you something.” Namon held his lips tight and selected an olive.

   A long moment passed before Kalesh took the bait. “Such as?”

   Namon waited a beat longer than necessary. “You would have to trust me. I would leave my guards behind, and so must you.” This sounded preposterous, and he knew it, but the prince blew it off with a wave.

   “I have no guards here. I have friends. Speak plainly.”

   “I want to show you your kingdom. Your kingdom, and all of Capothiga. How far from Kur have you traveled?”

   Kalesh was eyeing Namon differently now. “I have been to Antho, in the north, Lutheria in the south. I have seen the sparkling beaches of Lasandoria in the east, and studied with the viziers in Omas in the west. All in service to my father. Many villages along the way.”

   “Of course,” said Namon in polite dismissal. “I can show you all of it. The entire continent of Capothiga, this afternoon.”

   Kalesh’s cocky attitude was beginning to fade, wonder appearing in his eyes. “How? A…” He groped for a word. “A map of teknawlogee?”

   “Trust me. Do you accept my invitation?”

   They stared at each other for a moment. Then: “Yes.” The prince knocked his knuckles on the table and stood up. “Let us go.”

   Namon nodded, and casually performed some commands on his nav-com, which Kalesh watched in fascination. Then he stood as well, saying: “Come on.” He led the prince outside, and out of the corral fence, signaling his guards to stay where they were. He saw Kalesh give a similar signal to the men seated around the building they had come out of. Namon spoke briefly to Baktur, instructing him to return to Kur without him should he not return before early evening, then rejoined his companion. Together they walked away about seventy feet, and waited. Namon stood placidly watching the sky. Kalesh followed his gaze for a while, perplexed. Then he saw it. The transit craft appeared, gliding down toward them. It landed nearby, not disturbing the animals, and sat silently floating just above the ground. Namon did not look back to see the prince’s face; merely opened the hatch and went inside. A moment later he was joined by his companion, and the hatch closed. Namon demonstrated how to buckle one’s self into the seats. Kalesh sat stiffly, excited and afraid, looking around at the inside of the craft.

   Namon manipulated the navigation controls, called up a holo map of the region, touched an icon, and they lifted off. Kalesh gripped his seat for moment, then leaned forward, attempting to peer around inside the view of the monitors. The land swept by beneath them, dropping away as they rose into the sky.

   The library in the Citadel of Kur was a long, quiet room walled and roofed with sweet-smelling timbers from far away that had soaked up a hundred years of lamp smoke and thoughts. Sparsely furnished, it featured a row of reading tables and couches sitting under wide windows that let in the light. Three tall shelves held the entirety of Kur’s prized collection of literature: histories of lineages and wars, stories and plays, maps and marine navigational charts, even a few rudimentary scientific publications. These dusty old tomes represented a treasure of the written word, artifacts whose value was determined by their rarity. Several individuals of varying ages, but all male, sat studiously at the tables or lounged in the couches reading books.

   Kazimierz entered the room followed closely by two blank-faced guards, stood, and looked around, taking in the details of a familiar environment. He noticed the staff, adolescents in gray robes moving silently around tending to things. Faces looked toward him, at first in lazy curiosity, then everyone’s eyes locked uncomfortably onto his figure: a tall white man, clothed in local finery, old and wrinkled like an extreme elder of their species.

   He turned to his guards. “I will be safe in here.” They took up positions outside the door and he walked confidently into the room. All heads turned to follow him. He ignored them and addressed one of the older members of the staff.

   “Hello,” he said in his best library whisper. “My name is Dr. Jakub Kazimierz. I am one of the visitors from the stars, and a guest of your king. I am also a scholar, an academic who studies the cosmos. I would like to see your works of naturalism.” The man was frozen, standing with his mouth open. He prompted: “And your name is?” He waited politely for the man’s shock to pass.

   “I am Tolo Honlin, apprentice to Vizier Quo. You are welcome here.” He awkwardly bowed, as one would to a noble or a member of the royal family.

   “Thank you, Tolo. I will begin with anything regarding astronomical phenomena.”

   The apprentice gestured to a table, and Kazimierz took a seat, feeling the attention on him, hearing the muted chatter. Presently Tolo returned with a thin pamphlet bound in animal skin. He set it delicately before Kazimierz, who picked out the title from the faded letters.

   “An observation of the rogue star Jidra O Nespēs, years of The Common Era 532, 546, and 560. By Helarspond of Omas. Fascinating.” He opened the book and began reviewing the material. Someone had tracked the comet that appeared in the western sky every fourteen years for three circuits of its passing, providing detailed drawings and mathematical diagrams explaining its movement. Kazimierz was pleased to see that Helarspond had accurately predicted its return each time, and identified the comet’s relationship with the star of this solar system. The vizier had begun his observations as a young apprentice at the citadel, proceeding from the work of a previous astronomer, and had concluded them in his old age. The book ended with theories as to its nature.

   “Very good!” he said to Tolo, who smiled despite his nervousness. “We know this star. My people have followed it closely as well, but for much longer than forty-two years. It is called, in my language, a ‘comet.’ It means ‘long-haired star,’ similar to this definition. I suppose rogue star works just as well. We have another name for it, however, that is much more boring than yours.” He handed the book back to Tolo, who received it like he had been passed a sleeping baby. “May I see another, please?”

   The next book that Tolo brought him was an estimation of the distance of Geshiah’s moons from their mother planet. It appeared to be older than the previous work. Again, Kazimierz was pleased to see familiar mathematics applied to the problem; Brother Philus had missed the correct numbers by only a few thousands of miles.

   “Astonishing,” was his conclusion. Finally he was presented with a large tome that held pages of astronomical observances, going back hundreds of years, a compilation of generational knowledge. He began to pour through it; this was what they were missing from the ship’s records. Three-quarters of the way through, something caught his eye. It was the account of a punishing star that had landed in the ocean far to the east. A deluge from the heavens and a long period of darkness had followed a destructive wave, with all of these effects being localized to the eastern coast of the continent. Kazimierz suddenly felt sick. He closed the book, not meeting the eyes of his host. “I will return another day, and take my time with this. Do you have any maps?”

   “Yes, my lord. We have many maps of the region, and a few of the land of Capothiga.”

   “But nothing of the world?” Tolo looked at him helplessly. “Bring me everything.”

   There were laid out before him maps of the city, and the lands around, each drawn by a skilled artist with an eye for detail. Villages and geographic features filled the spaces between cities. One large, finely stitched tapestry showed a close approximation of the continent of Capothiga; the dimensions were rough, and even Kazimierz, who had been born on another planet, could draw the coastline from memory more accurately than this.

   Finally he was presented with a map which depicted the extent of the known world. Capothiga was there, in small scale, and to the east and west respectively were the vague edges of Ba-Gaung Itlan and Murda.

   “These places here,” he said, indicating the lost worlds. “What do you know of them?”

   Tolo shrugged. “They are mysteries. Primarily our maps are made by fishermen, merchant ships and slavers who regularly travel the coast. We have an agreement with the government of Omas; they copy any navigational charts that they find in the course of their commerce and send them to us, in exchange for like items regarding the lands around our city. This map was put together from several separate pieces, likely made by mariners who were blown far off course in storms, and found their way back home.”

   “It looks like they didn’t take the time to fully explore the coastline of these continents.” Kazimierz traced them with a finger.

   “Well, they must have been starving, and afraid. It is amazing that they returned with any information at all.”

   Kazimierz nodded. “But you have no contact with the people who live in these places? No trade?”

   Again Tolo shrugged. “Do any people live there? The ones who made these maps certainly never encountered any foreign ships, or that would have been reported. If they sent parties ashore, it was only for a brief time to search for food and water. We have no knowledge of these lands.”

   “Well, I can tell you a great deal about them.” Kazimierz paused for a moment, then recited the names, populations, land area and major settlements of Ba-Gaung Itlan and Murda. He went on to describe the cultures of each race, religions, and level of technological development. He did this blandly, like reading the instructions on an item he was assembling, while awe blossomed and grew on the apprentice’s face.

   “You…know these things? You have seen them?”

   “I have seen them, yes. But not in person. We have studied your world for a long time. We possess records of two hundred years of your history, much more than is here in your library. We intend to share this knowledge with you. Look at this.” He removed his nav-com from his left forearm and set it on the table, set it to a larger projection size, and called up a map of the globe. Tolo gasped and staggered back as the holo sprang to life, Geshiah revolving slowly in space with all of it lands revealed. Others around him had left their seats and were crowding in to see this wonder; even his guards had turned from staring out of the door to see what was going on.

   “Here is Capothiga,” he said, pointing to the display. “And here and here, those continents you have had a glimpse of. This one, at the equator, is called by its people ‘Klek-tan,’ and there at the northern pole is the land of Rnirok. Other than a smattering of small islands, these are the only inhabited places on Geshiah. Not as many as my world, which is called Earth, but still…you are not alone.”

   He zoomed the projection out to show the whole solar system, six planets with their attendant moons. “These are the planets orbiting your star, some of which we saw in Brother Philus’s book. They hold no intelligent life, but some have animals on the land and in their subterranean seas.” This was nothing short of a revelation, and the observers had completely forgotten their trepidation at the alien, were pressing in close like curious schoolchildren.

   Kazimierz opened up the view even more, and twenty light years flashed by, planets and stars shrinking to pinpricks of light. He selected one of these, and expanded it. Another planet revolved there, blue and white and green and brown, very much like Geshiah.

   “This is my home world, Earth. At least, that’s what it looked like when we left it. That was one thousand years ago.” He gazed at the projection sadly.

   “One thousand years!” cried one of the onlookers. “So you are a god!”

   Kazimierz shook his head. “No, we slept through the journey, and for long after our arrival, using our technology to suspend our lives. We awoke two years ago. Others of my people remained awake the whole time, and lived and died along the way.”

   “How did you get here?” another asked.

   “On a spacecraft, a ship that sails through the stars. Larger than this city, containing farms and dwellings for hundreds of people. It was propelled with a sail, and, instead of using the wind, for there is no air in space, we were pushed along by a beam of light shot from our own solar system.”

   This was simply too much for the assembly, and silence fell for a moment. Then, the room exploded with questions.

  Bardadecker Quo sat alone eating breakfast at a small café. Omas was a coastal city, and his view was exquisite. His table was across a narrow cobbled street, a fence at his elbow that separated pedestrians from a rocky plunge into the water. Ships coursed in and out of the bay, and a few were docked at the harbor, being examined by city workers and searched for books by the scholars who curated the academy’s library. Overhead, sea birds cawed and croaked, winging on the salty breeze.

   Quo made a little sound of pleasure as he finished his meal. He appreciated the quiet intimacy after the bustling metropolis of Kur. He saw a well-dressed slave approaching and sighed. Time to go to work.

   “Vizier Quo?” the slave asked, noting Quo’s clothing.

   “Yes.”

   “The council is meeting.”

   They walked together down streets that twisted this way and that around buildings, shops selling fruits and vegetables, bread, spices and herbs. City folk went by on their business. Eventually they reached the entrance to the academy, an ancient tower at the city’s center with balconies and windows facing the sea.

   Quo left his escort at the door and moved alone through the halls of his old school, past libraries and classrooms where children sat quietly studying or engaged in some rudimentary demonstration of astronomy or chemistry. He went up several flights of stairs to where he knew he would find the council, and there they were, a group of elders from his field sitting around a table with expectant faces. Quo nodded to the most venerable of them as he entered, Vizier Grero, and sat down at the table.

   “Vizier Quo,” said Grero, smiling in greeting. “Thank you for attending this council. We understand that you have great news to share with us.”

   Quo nodded, feeling at a loss for words despite his mental preparation for this moment, then began speaking his practiced report. “Esteemed colleagues, what was reported in my messages is true. Beings from another planet have come to Geshiah.”

   The formal discourse of the council broke into a cacophony of random questions. Quo began answering them, starting with the basest facts.

   “They look like us. They appear to breath our air, and have physical manifestations of flesh. That is all we know so far about their physiology. They come from a planet called Earth. They say they want only to make contact, and exchange knowledge between our races.”

   “Do you trust them?” It was Grero, who had remained patient until the last.

   Quo waited to answer this. “I have not spent enough time with them to make a good judgment. I have had a conversation with one of their leaders, a man named Jever-ree Némahn. He is a teacher of history. When I return, I will make a more in-depth assessment of his character.” Grero nodded, accepting this.

   “But this is not the most disturbing news,” Quo went on. “Némahn wants us to write down the Oral History and pass it on to them.”

   “And what did you tell him?” Grero asked, leaning forward and peering at Quo.

   Quo shrugged. “I said I would talk to the council.”

   “What is your position?”

   “I think it’s a bad idea.”

   “Why?”

   “That history is a sacred tradition amongst the wisest of our people. It was never meant to be written down; it contains secrets that we keep for good reason. Who knows what they would use it for? They have been here for a long time, watching us. They know so much already. It is unnecessary. If we are to share with them, let us retain something of ourselves.”

   “Would they withhold information and aid over this point?”

   Quo shook his head. “I do not think they would do that. They seem benevolent. But again, I have only briefly made an assessment of their character and intentions. I was told they plan to have a meeting between themselves, and the heads of state from all over the world. More will be revealed then. And yes, there are more lands beyond the sea, with people like us in them. That is something we will gain by this. Connection. Whether that will be made peacefully, or lead to war, who’s to say. I suppose the humans would intercede as mediators.” He rankled inwardly at this statement, sensing his people beginning to give up control over their own future.

   “Can we meet them?” asked Grero.

   “Yes, I’m sure that will happen. They are very curious and want to learn everything they can about us. But as I said, they have been here for quite some time, studying us. It would not be unimaginable to presume that they already know all of your names.”

   This caused the room to go quiet for a moment. Then Grero provided the final question.

   “So what is next?”

   “I return to Kur, and see how this plays out. I will continue to provide King Inkil with advice on how to deal with this. I’ll keep you informed.”

   Montgomery and Hera were standing beside a long table on the second floor of the factory. A small crowd was beginning to gather around them.

   “So the blugh fat comes in from the south packed in ice,” Montgomery was saying. “It gets dropped off, is processed on the third floor, sealed in containers here, and shipped downstairs.”

   Hera nodded. “That is correct.” The table was covered with a mess of materials; corks, pots of wax being heated over candle-flames, clay jars stacked in drooping piles.

   “Let me see some being put together,” Montgomery said. She was looking around at the room, noticing the piles of oily rags in dusty corners, the lack of ventilation. Her eyes were drawn to six-foot high scorch marks blackening the bricks of one wall.

   Hera noticed that some people were standing around watching them and not working. She shouted “What are you looking at!” and everybody scrambled back to their positions. Then she and Montgomery watched as some of the products were assembled.

   First a woman took one of the jars from the pile, which shifted precariously, threatening to topple. Then she dipped a long ladle into a barrel of oil at her side and raised it to fill the jar, spilling a few drops along the way. A cork was tapped into place and hot wax poured over it to make it watertight. The process was complete, but as she set it down a crack in the jar gave way and through no fault of her own the jar split open. Oil poured out onto the table. The woman started cursing, Hera started cursing at her and they began a heated argument as the oil was mopped up with a rag, which was tossed onto the floor. The process was repeated, as Hera glared over the woman’s head and Montgomery looked on with reserved deprecation. Finally a completed product was assembled, and placed on a wheeled cart.

   Everyone looked to Montgomery for approval. “Alright,” she said, “let’s see the processing stage.”

   The third floor of the factory was a dark, open space. Little windows ran around the walls near the ceiling, filled with crossing wooden slats, but these were caked with dirt and birds had made nests in them, blocking the light. Four large vats took up the room, set on platforms with fires under them, where the fat was being rendered down. Workers tended the fires and stirred the vats with long wooden instruments perched over them on rickety scaffolding. The whole place was pungent with the aroma of melting blubber.

   “God!” exclaimed Montgomery after poking her head into the room. “I can’t breathe in here!” She fixed a severe look upon the beleaguered Hera. “Let’s go,” she ordered, and led the girl and Munatas outside to fresh air. They stood in the street next to the building, refreshing themselves for a moment.

   “Well?” asked Hera hopefully. “What do you think of our operation?”

   Montgomery’s disapproval was impossible to conceal. “Well, I’m extremely concerned about the conditions here. I’m seeing several very serious safety hazards, for starters. That place is an accident waiting to happen. How many injuries have you had here, in the past year?”

   Hera considered this. “Last year, more than one person was burned alive in the assembly room alone per month.”

   “Per month?” Montgomery was beginning to get angry. “How many altogether?”

   Hera had a fine mind for mathematics and found the answer easily. “Thirty.”

   “Thirty people died in your factory last year?” Fury grew on Montgomery’s face. “That’s unacceptable!” she screamed, causing heads to turn toward them from people in the street. Hera stood looking sheepish and chastened, her mouth open, eyes wide.

   “Look.” Maxine was calming herself, becoming professional again. “I understand that you don’t have a lot of control over what goes on here. Resources are limited. Your techniques are primitive because of your level of development. But that’s just not okay. Okay?”

   Hera did not understand the word.

   “Just say okay.”

   “Oh-kay,” said Hera, trying it out.

   “It means yes, I understand. Anyway. You need to clean that place up. You can afford to shut down for a day or two. I’m betting that a fire shuts you down for longer than that. You seem like you have a good head for numbers, Hera. Do the math. You can’t afford not to. Clean up all of those oily rags in the assembly room and sweep and mop in there. Have metal bins put in to keep the rags safe from fires, and change them out every day. Get ladders and clean out the windows in the processing room. That place is like a box full of poison. Okay?”

   “Okay,” said Hera, more confidently this time.

   “Finally, the building itself.” They looked up at the leaning structure. “This place is sinking. It needs to be shored up. I suppose moving to another location is out of the question, so you’ll need to do renovations. I know, that’s expensive. If I were your boss, I’d take a loan off of my product for the next year and get it done this month. Tell the lenders that any temporary delay in production will be more than made up for by increased efficiency in the future. I’m sure they’ll see the reasoning there. Better yet, why isn’t the processing done on the coast where the animals are taken? The smell would be dispersed by the sea air.”

   “The lands in the south where the animals are taken are the ancestral lands of native tribes. They are the only ones who have the right to hunt there. King Inkil cannot tax their work, but he can tax the trade routes. They must pay a fee for bringing in a foreign product at checkpoints between their lands and the capital. If they produced a product that was directly commissioned by the crown, the lamp oil, that product would not be taxable. So the king has a deal with Master Nasir to keep jobs in the city.”

   Montgomery thought about this. From a humanitarian standpoint it was awful, but she had to admit that from a perspective of pure profit, it made sense.

   “Well, then the crown has an obligation to ensure safe work conditions. They should subsidize–pay for the improvements. If they want it to happen here, it’s their responsibility.”

   “Yes, Mak-seen. These are all very good ideas.”

   “I’m glad we agree. I’ll be back in a few days, and I’ll talk to your boss about all of this. I expect to see progress when I return.”

   “Of course. I will begin today.”

   “Good.” Montgomery reached out and took the girl’s hand, shook it. “You are amazing, Hera. So young, and so much responsibility. You remind me of myself.” She turned and walked away, leaving Hera standing behind her, swelling with pride. Then the girl spun on her heel and strode with determination back into the building, already calling out orders.

   “Great Vatarë!” the prince exclaimed. Namon leaned back in his seat and looked over at him. He was going pale. “We are flying!”

   “Yes. How did you think we had got here from another star, on a turuk?” Kalesh snapped his head around to stare at him, then they both laughed. Namon leaned forward and directed the craft upwards, and hills and grasslands and mountains diminished to the scale of paintings and toys. The western coastline became visible, then grew into a wall against the sea, here made up of massive cliffs, there vast stretches of desert. Soon the whole continent was visible, thousands of miles of jungles and mountain ranges and wastes and glaciers. Namon touched a control and they slowed, stopped, hovering above it like looking at a large, highly detailed map. He sat silently for a long time, allowing Kalesh to take this in. Finally, he spoke, casually and gregariously to put his companion’s nerves at ease.

   “Capothiga. Where would you like to go first?”

   The prince said nothing, just sat shaking his head.

   “Okay.” Namon dialed in a flight path. “The full tour.”

   The craft dropped, and though the gravity field held them in place, Namon unconsciously grabbed the handle on his seat and saw Kalesh doing the same. The sky was rushing by outside, and this motion was depicted clearly on the monitors. The prince appeared as if he might be sick for a moment, but then regained his composure and continued staring forward, shock and amazement in his eyes. The land was beginning to come back into focus; as they approached the area where they had lifted off from, the craft leveled out at about five miles up and continued rocketing forward. It banked left for a while until the sea came into view again. Jeffery increased the magnification on the monitors. Clusters of villages and farmlands filled the screens, then roads converged and a city came into view. A single thick stone wall, more or less round, comprising an area perhaps two miles across. A port, built on the water with ramps and stairs going up from the docks to warehouses and a market. Apartments several stories high, spewing smoke from their multiple chimneys, laundry strung on lines flapping in the wind. Skirting the walls were floral gardens and rich houses; outside, orchards and olive groves. Individual people were discernable as the city grew closer and began passing underneath them.

   “Omas,” Namon said, his voice sounding almost bored with the recitation. “Population thirty-five thousand. Second-largest city in Capothiga. Home of the viziers’ academy. Currently ruled by King Shataram.”

   Kalesh made as if to say something, but then the city was behind them and they were eating up the region in a great curving path that took them around the coast. Rocky islands inhabited by birds and sea mammals jutted out here and there like broken teeth. Namon stopped their flight and they hovered again, this time close to the rushing waves. He opened the hatch and filled the air with salt and wind. Kalesh unbuckled himself from his seat and stood in the hatchway for a moment, breathing deeply, watching the birds flying around them. One almost came inside, and Namon closed the hatch and resumed their flight.

   One hundred and twenty miles passed by in less than twenty minutes, and there ahead was the might and majesty of a great mountain range, craggy foothills rising into snow-capped peaks. They approached from the western edge of the range, Namon slowed the craft, and took a moment to appreciate the view. There, lying crumbling into the ground, nearly indistinguishable from the stone of the mountain from which it had been built, were the ancient ruins of the city that the probes had seen in their study of this planet. Now abandoned and overgrown, Namon marveled that the pictures of this once-busy metropolitan center had caused so much shock and activity so far across the cosmos.

   Now they curved inward, following the range across its heights and observing closely the crevasses and awesome formations that had never been seen by any inhabitant of this world. Eventually the range subsided into a land of yellow grasslands broken by ravines and plateaus, then they were flying over a rain forest that stretched for hundreds of miles, gaining altitude, emerging from low-hanging clouds over the green canopy to see another city. Rather, an enormous settlement, constructed of wood with very little stone to be seen. The streets and buildings protruded haphazardly from one another with seemingly no order to them.

   “Irik,” Namon said. “Home to the native people of the forest, and settlers from the south who come here to tap the natural resources. This is part of your industry, timber and medicines come from here. Commerce between Irik and its neighboring colonies such as Huvrë and Antho have swelled the population to over twenty thousand.”

   The forest gradually thinned out, becoming great patches of trees that Namon knew were on average fifty miles across. Stone fortresses poked out of a few of these, and villages became more frequent. Wide brown roads cut straight lines through the wilderness. They passed a long column of soldiers marching south with their spears over their shoulders. Then, a disordered sprawl of tents and cages and cookfires. Camp followers; merchants and prostitutes and slave traders who profited off of the activity of war. Soon trenches and fortifications replaced the gentle curves of the farmlands.

   “And this is the front,” Namon said, gesturing to the armies spread out for miles in either direction.

   Kalesh sat forward. “My uncle is stationed here. Several of my cousins, as well. May we…” he started to ask, then checked himself. Namon finished for him.

   “No, we should not. My sudden and unannounced presence would surely create havoc down there. Or worse yet, peace. How would your father react, if I were to single-handedly demolish all of his machinations and wily maneuverings in a single day? How many people are relying on the continuation of the war as planned; promises made, deals struck, blood spilled. Our arrival has serious political effects on every ruler in every kingdom in Capothiga. We have to be very careful how we act here.”

   “You could end the war.” The prince said it flatly, like adding up a sum. “We could land this craft down there right now, and you could merely step out in front of the generals and…do some display of your teknawlogee, and dazzle them into shocked compliance. You could say that you are a god, and they would believe you. They would obey your commands. Lay down their arms, and swear allegiance to you.”

   “Yes, I know.” Namon said nothing else for a while, and they flew on in silence, the front lines receding into farmlands once again. 

   The crowd in the library had swelled to capacity, fed by wanderers-by who had been attracted by the commotion. The holo projection now filled half the room. Kazimierz stood on a chair, conducting a presentation of time and space. A giant smile dominated his wrinkled features; he was now fully in his element.

   “The universe,” he was saying, as the holo swooped and wheeled, “was created approximately fourteen billion years ago by a great explosion, a burst of force and fire. One billion, you understand, is one thousand million, and a million is one thousand thousands. Think of the blades of grass out there on the plain; now attribute a year of time to each of them, and scan all the way to the horizon. That will get you close to imagining the timescale of eons we are talking about here. It began as a tiny mote, no larger than the head of a pin, which contained all of the matter and energy you now see when you look up at the sky. It expanded to a nearly incomprehensible size in less time than it took me to say that. Basic elements like hydrogen formed; these collected together by an attractive force called gravity, and merged into vast clouds of gas. Hydrogen fields were crushed under their own gravity, and ignited, becoming stars. Billions of years passed, and stars lived out their natural life spans and died. Some of these exploded, scattering elements such as carbon throughout the cosmos. Over a further period of millions of years, these elements condensed, again drawn together by gravity, to form planets. Some of these planets, like Earth and Geshiah, possessed enough mass to retain heavy gases like carbon dioxide and water vapor, which were squeezed out of the primordial rock and contributed to by random rogue stars that crashed into the infant planets. The lucky planets have cores of molten metal, and radioactive materials within them, which cause volcanic eruptions and produce enough heat to release these gases from the interior. The combination of these factors created an atmosphere, a protective bubble around the planet. This allowed the conditions for life to form, first in the seas, then with plants and animals on land. Some of the animals, a very small amount, changed and grew over the eons, and developed intelligence.” He paused for breath. “Any questions?” He looked around at the group of open mouths. Tolo had produced a wax tablet and was frantically writing all of this down.

   “You said the…universe,” asked one observer, “the cosmos and all that there is, was created

in an explosion, and that there is no air in space. That might mean that there is no…resistance,

to the force of the explosion. Does that mean that the universe is still expanding?”

         “Good question!” Kazimierz beamed at the budding student. “Yes! The universe is still expanding. But, even in a vacuum an explosion would eventually slow down, attracted to itself by its own gravity. An unknown force called dark energy is propelling the universe, and it is actually increasing in speed as it expands. That is a mystery that, to my knowledge, has not yet been solved.” He changed the projection to reveal the entire galaxy, a swirling spiral trailing arms of stars tens of thousands of light-years long.

   “This is a galaxy; specifically, the one in which we reside. A galaxy is a collection of stars and planets, and astronomical phenomena. They are like the cities of the universe. We have named ours ‘The Milky Way,’ because at night our ancestors would look up at the sky and see a milky band encircling the heavens. You have seen it as well, yes? This is an effect of the coalescing of hundreds of millions of stars and cosmic gases.” He expanded the display again. “This is our closest neighbor, The Andromeda galaxy. Our closest neighbor, yes, but still it is millions of light-years away from us.”

   “What is a ‘light-year?’” asked another young man.

   “The distance that light, which moves at a constant speed in a vacuum, such as space, travels in one year of our time on Earth. That is so closely approximate to your own seasons here on Geshiah, and the distances so great, that the difference between our measurements is minute in comparison. Light, we have said, is the fastest thing in the universe, so you can imagine how far it travels in a year. It is about six trillion miles, a number greater than a billion. For scale, that is about two-hundred and forty million planets the size of Geshiah set end-to-end.”

   Silence. Kazimierz zoomed the holo even further out. Galaxies appeared in multitudes and resolved into groups, blobs of light that represented vast stretches of the cosmos. He accelerated the simulation.

   “Galaxies collide, destroying each other in a cosmic dance of destruction. The expansion of the universe tears apart stars, and solar systems, and galaxies themselves. Eventually, we think, the cosmos will be rent asunder by its own forces, and itself perish, to start anew as we have described.”

   “With all these worlds,” said yet another curious member of the audience, “surely you must have found other intelligences other than us?”

   “No.” Kazimierz’s demeanor reflected the questioner’s confusion. “We have not. As far as I know, anyway. When we left Earth you were the first, and only, intelligent alien life ever discovered by humans in the universe. But as I’ve said, it has been a long time since then…maybe they have found others by now. I don’t know.”

   “What about the gods?” Faces turned toward this man. “Where are the gods, in all of this? You must have seen them, for some of them are said to live in the heavens…”

   Kazimierz considered his answer carefully. When he spoke, it was in the sympathetic tone of one who is revealing some widely known fact to a child. “In our travels, and studies, we have found no evidence of any higher being. No supernatural forces, no anthropomorphic entity living in the sky, nothing that cannot be explained by science.”

   Disturbed rabbling filled the room, arguments and affirmations, “See, I have always said this!” and “Blasphemy, sheer blasphemy!” One furious individual raised his voice over the din.

   “But you admit,” pressed the faithful questioner, “that there are things about the cosmos that even your people still do not understand. Could not the gods be one of these things?” He was defiant, mad with his conviction.

   Kazimierz lowered his head, made a gesture of concession. “Perhaps.” He watched the rabble go on for a moment, strapping his console to his arm again, then said: “Good folk, I am heartened by your curiosity. That is enough of a lesson for today. With your permission, I would like to return and visit your library again?”

   Tolo stepped forward, grasped the human’s arm like a man greeting his long-lost brother. “You are welcome here any time, my lord. Please return when it suits you. You will find yourself well received.”

   “Thank you.” Kazimierz turned and walked from the room, his guards closing in behind him.

   “Alright, Kelv,” Montgomery said to her guard. “We’re going to the shop where they make the lamps on Krasata Street.” Again he dutifully followed her sure strides. She kept her hood down as they passed merchants walking their pack animals and turuk-drawn carts loaded with goods, and soon they came to a block of old houses that had been converted into workshops.

   The supervisor of lamp-making at the house they entered was named Brevin, had a fuzzy frizz of black hair, and was extremely enthusiastic about meeting an alien. After talking to him for a little while, however, Montgomery guessed that he was just always that way about everything.

   “How did you get here, from this place of Earth?” Brevin asked questions with a broad smile, as if everyone he met was a beloved friend.

   “On a ship, a spacecraft. Like a ship that sails on the ocean, but this flies like a bird through the cosmos.”

   Brevin nodded, granting his approval to such a notion. “That must have taken a long time!”

   She laughed. “Yes. It did. But I slept through most of it. May I tour your operation?”

   Brevin agreed exuberantly and went off to explain to his workers the nature of the situation. She saw them turn their heads toward her in the expected mixture of emotions, then she and Munatas were waved over by their host. Several old men and women were sitting at one side of a long table, spaced apart into workstations. Neatly arranged at each station were all the components for making a lamp: a molded bronze base and frame, with a reservoir for oil at the bottom and a loose ring handle on top; the brass wick holder, round with a rod run through it, on one side a key and on the other toothed wheels for raising and lowering the wick; two more bronze frame pieces to cradle the wick holder and glass enclosure; the shaped glass itself, little treasures of craft work; and two small metal brackets, the hardware that held it together. A hammer lay by clay cups full of rivets, plaited wicks and corks nearby. One of the workers was just finishing a completed product, setting it aside and beginning another. Montgomery addressed him.

   “I would like to see you make a lamp, from start to finish.” He nodded tiredly. “And I’m going to time you.” She activated her nav-com and called up the chrono display in large yellow digits that hovered in the air, astonishing everyone except her guard, who stood off a few paces looking around at the room. “Don’t be distracted by this,” she admonished. “Ready, go.”

   The man went to work. First he connected the brackets at a certain angle with a rivet, which was driven home on a stone block at his elbow. He tested the brackets; they moved freely around the securing pin. Then a second rivet connected that assembly to the top of one of the frames. It also was tested for mobility. That part of the frame went onto the base. He held it in place, and selected a different kind of rivet from another cup. This one had been finely sawed through at its tip. Hammering here would ruin the base; the pin was spread open with light taps using a tool that looked like a screwdriver. The progress was checked; the brackets now served as a lever that moved the frame. This would allow the glass to be opened and closed to light the wick. A wick was threaded into the mouth of the holder so that its tail hung down about four inches. This was fed into the oil reservoir, and the holder sat on top, capping it. Carefully, the glass enclosure was set in the upper and lower rings of the frame. The reservoir was corked. Finally an outer frame fit tightly around the arms of the base, and the lamp was complete. He set it out for inspection.

   “Two minutes and thirty-six seconds,” Montgomery said, stopping the timer. “Not bad.” She was enjoying this, the hands-on work of a manager, what she was best at. She wondered about the motivation of the workers, spoke aside to her host. “How do you like your position.”

   Brevin smiled deeply. “I am very much enjoying my position here.”

   “What do you like about it.”

   Brevin answered readily. “When I go home at night, I light my lamp, and look out at the city. I see many little flames lighting the homes of my neighbors. Hundreds and hundreds of sparks and each is a person’s home. In that home they are praying, or teaching their children, or making love. We make the lamps that light those homes.”

   There was no better answer than that, and she felt her eyes welling up at the man’s pride for his work. “And what about your workers?”

   “Oh, they are mostly here for the money. A pittance, but enough to survive. Some were crafters who no longer can afford their own place of business.”

   Montgomery looked at one of them in particular, an old man whose wrinkled hands moved over the details of his work like pre-programmed automata, mechanically performing rote functions of repeated perfection. He felt her staring at him and he looked up; in a moment she saw in his dark brown eyes a lifetime of perfecting a trade, now reduced to mass production for an indifferent master.

   “Separate the jobs,” Montgomery was saying, in a tone for the recitation of instructions. “Some people are good at some things, not so much at others. Have them do only that one thing they are good at. Rearrange the table, separate the components into individual piles of only one part each. Each person does only one job. The first one rivets the brackets together, hands it on to the next one who attaches them to the base, and so on. It will increase production speed and reduce mistakes. At the end you have one complete product. Try one now.” She stepped forward and scooped up one pile of lamp parts; doled them out piece by piece to the assembly stations. She popped up the stopwatch again.

   “Ready, go.”

   The first man hammered the rivet and passed it to the man to his right. “Now start another one,” Montgomery ordered. The second man performed his simple task and handed his work over, accepting another piece to attach. The work went down the line, lamps building up behind the flow. She stopped the clock as the first hit the table.

   “One minute and fifty-four seconds!” she said triumphantly. Brevin raised his arms in the air and let out a loud whoop; even the old folks at the assembly table cheered feebly. “I will be around the city for the next five days. Tell your master that if he needs any more help, send word to the palace.” She left Brevin and the group of workers looking after her as if a parade had suddenly appeared and passed through their shop.

   Namon and Kalesh had sat without speaking for thirty minutes as a sandy waste passed beneath them. Then the colorless uniformity broke up into shades of bronze and red and black; even some green where struggling desert flora prevailed briefly against the hammering sun. A shattered land of broken stone gradually subsided into grasslands that extended as far as the horizon in all directions.

   A settlement stood out from the swishing sea of grass, no walls but cloth huts and fires. Namon slowed their craft, increased the magnification of the monitors.

   “There,” he said, pointing to the settlement, now seen it greater detail as they flew by it from two thousand feet in the air. “The nomadic people. There, more of them.” A caravan was moving slowly across the steppe, turuk and covered wagons and children alongside guiding the animals. “These are the most important people in the world.” The prince looked at him strangely, and he continued. “Kalesh, I study history. Events and peoples of the past. Yes, mostly that has been on my own planet, but our worlds are not very dissimilar. And we have been here for a long time, observing Geshiah. Personally, and as well with my fellow emissaries, we have spent the last two years learning about this planet. Before that, our crew arrived here two hundred years ago, and began collecting information. We have seen your world go through crisis and catastrophe. The great battles and wars from your history books are recorded in our archives, to be viewed at leisure like theater. We have traced the ancestry of your people and noted that the populations of entire continents dropped down to a few thousand breeding pairs after a huge volcanic eruption. And what we’ve seen time and time again–and this is true on Earth, as well–is that people like these are the ones who survive, who carry on knowledge and traditions that would otherwise be lost. Look at them.” They were approaching the blocky hills and jagged peaks of a mountain range frosted with snow. Dwellings were built into every possible feature of the rock that could support life. Most even had a small patch of level land, or a path to some elevated pasture for grazing their animals. Groups of hairy beasts were more numerous than the people who lived there.

   “Simple, and strong,” Namon went on. “They domesticate animals, living off of their milk, meat, fat, bones and fur. They even do a bit of gardening, growing vegetables that are as resilient as they are themselves. They burrow into the mountains, those giants that stand unscathed by fires and floods, and barely notice the passage of time. These people can survive a natural disaster like an earthquake, and they have done so, on many occasions that we have seen. They are the tough backbone of your race.” Kalesh sat in wonder, and Namon saw that he was absorbing this information.

   “You are prince of Greater Capothiga,” Namon said after a while. The infrastructure of civilization was growing in the land beneath them. He set the craft’s altitude to lower by one thousand feet. “And someday you will be king. Perhaps, king of all Capothiga. The war is going in your favor, and one can conclude that your expansion will be encouraged by that victory. So it is time to start thinking like a king of that magnitude. You will be responsible for millions of lives. These are your people. Not only the nobles, and the soldiers, and the craftsfolk. But the simple herders and obscure farmers and subsistence hunters out there, whose names you will never know, but who carry the spirit of your kingdom in their hearts.”

   The prince appeared to be agitated by this. “I am aware of my royal duties. I have in fact been specifically avoiding them for quite some time. Ever since I was a child, teachers have been pounding this into my head. Do you think I am ignorant of these things? It is all that my father talks about. You sound like him.” He sat back in his seat and folded his arms. “I don’t care about politics. I do not possess in my mind a grand vision for the conquest of Capothiga. I only want to break turuk, and be with my friends.”

   Namon sighed. He had tried every tactic other than blunt insult. “Yeah, when I was a kid I wanted to be a cowboy, too. But then I grew up and accepted the responsibilities of an adult.” He looked over at the prince, expecting anything. He received a baleful glare.

   “What is a cow-boy?”

   Namon laughed, shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. “Like the thing you want to be.” He waved it off. “Look, Kalesh. I’ll let you in on a great secret. We plan to bring together all the leaders of this world, from all the continents, and establish a world governing body that creates peace and prosperity for all of its inhabitants. Capothiga is just one of five continents on Geshiah, and your petty little squabbles and nefarious court intrigues are merely threads on a tapestry. The big picture is world unification. You would be representing your homeland as a monarch greater than any who came before you. This sounds like a huge burden–and it would be, I’ll not lie to you–but this thing passes from the realm of royal duty into the jurisdiction of personal responsibility. Your responsibility as a citizen, and as one who was born to the time, place, and position in which you find yourself. How many unworthy people are born to power, and use it unjustly for their own benefit? How many true souls live and die in obscurity, devoured by the indifference of the world. You find yourself prince of a prominent kingdom in the time when aliens came to visit your planet. An unprecedented amount of power and responsibility has been placed into the hands of a single person. The character of that person will determine the future course of the entire world, and he will be remembered forever as a champion.”

   “There are other lands? Beyond the sea?”

   “Yes. Four more continents, but Capothiga is the largest and most advanced.”

   “There are stories, of course, sailors coming back from long voyages, but these are often dismissed as tall tales. Can we see them? Now?”

   “…best not to right now. We have a plan for contacting those places. Best not to fool around. We can go there someday, though. I can show you those places, after we have established ourselves there.”

   Kalesh stared at the horizon on the monitor for a long moment. “World unification.” He shook his head. “You speak of more of the same. This is just the work of my father writ large. This is a job for a veteran king.”

   “No. That makes a person set in their ways. And in this case, there is plenty of evidence to prove it. I have seen your father at work. Remember, I have been studying his polices for years. I have seen the way he rules. He is about power, the getting and the keeping of it. The expression of power over others. Let me tell you what we saw him do in court yesterday.” Namon went on to relate the story of the man who had spoken against Kataresh’s legitimacy as a monarch; the birds, the forced cannibalism.

   The prince took a moment with this, Namon studying his face for any sign of approval. When he responded, his voice was quiet, chastened.

   "My father is a hard man. He has to be, to rule the kingdom."

   "Kalesh, he's a monster. Look at what he did to that man and his family...I've seen it before. In the ancient past, on my planet, we went through a similar time. And let me tell you, it doesn't work. That sort of behavior died out, was stamped out, outlawed and shamed by general society. That kind of brutality is a stain on the history of the human race. There are a few tenacious dictators who cling on to the old ways, but at large that sort of state-sanctioned atrocity has been removed from the world."

   "What was it replaced with?"

   "Enlightenment, and democracy." There was no word for either of these concepts in the Capothigan language, so he had to say them in English. “Basically, wisdom, and a system of government based on the will of a majority of the people. Kalesh, I think that you are a good person. We’ve only just met, but it was my intention to use this visit to size up your character. I’d always hoped that you would be susceptible to reason, and not be led by your emotions in this. It’s too late for your father. But there is still hope for you. Great change is coming to your world. You are the future.”

   A small town came into view. Namon called it up into sharp resolution on a screen. “Well, that’s where I picked you up. Shall we land? My guards are probably getting tired of waiting for us.”

   A long moment passed without a response. The town came and went; Namon said nothing. The lights of Kur appeared like frightened eyes peeping out of their craterous cave.

   “Jever-ree.”

   “Yes, Prince Kalesh?”  

   “I have some very fine wine in my apartments in the citadel. Would you care to partake of some with me?”

   Outside the lamp shop, morning was blending into afternoon. The traffic in the streets had picked up; fruit vendors had their stalls opened and sidewalk cafés were now populated by old men smoking and drinking coffee.

   “Weaver’s District,” Montgomery said and once again led them onward to their destination.

   They walked up long, narrow streets that climbed the walls of the canyon past tall apartment blocks housing workers from the various industrial districts around the area. The streets leveled off into a wide plateau filled with mostly uniform buildings.

   The weaving house was a long, low building that took up a quarter of the block. A single giant room was occupied as far as could be seen with square rows of looms all working nearly in unison. A rhythmic clacking and particles of fiber filled the air. Around the walls heavy carpets hung and bolts of cloths were laid out. 

   A fat male middle-aged prosien sauntered over to them. He was dressed finely in silk robes and a cap embroidered with gold thread. Whereas all motion in the room seemed orchestrated to prevent a collision, he passed through it obliviously and others altered their courses around him. Two heavy, sour-looking guards carrying truncheons flanked him a few steps back, matching his every movement.

   “Hello!” The man greeted them boisterously, then checked himself as he saw the pair: a soldier and a tall strange-looking woman. He peered at Montgomery. “You are the one of the visitors.” She nodded. “What are you doing here? It is an honor–” He broke off and began looking around as if to invite them to sit down on the spot and take lunch.

   Montgomery waved this off. “I am here to inspect your factory. Where I come from, I am an industrialist, a manager of places like these.” She waved her hand over the room. “I find this kind of operation interesting. Would you allow me to tour your facility?”

   “Of course! I am Belio Varnas. I am master of this house.”

   “Hello, Belio. Maxine Montgomery.”

   He made a gesture of polite supplication. “Please.” They walked up and down the rows of looms, not drawing an eye from the diligent workers. Montgomery took in details as she passed: the cuts on the hands of the weavers, the sleeping cots on the floor beside each machine.  She noticed that, other than a few older supervisors walking around, the workers were quite young; pre-adolescent, and mostly all female.

   “This looks like a fine operation. Clean, and well-managed.”

   “Thank you.” Belio beamed. “Will you take tea with me?” Montgomery accepted politely and they went into a small room off the factory floor that functioned as his office, her guard waiting outside the door. They sat on low couches and were served sweetened tea by female servants. As one of them bent over to arrange the cups, the girl’s tunic slipped forward, and Montgomery saw a large bruise along her side just under her barely pubescent breasts. Her eyes flicked back to Belio and locked onto his face. He sat casually sipping his drink, trying a biscuit, smiling. The heat of day was coming on, and the room was stifling. Montgomery felt herself perspiring inside her native clothes. Belio noticed her discomfort, issued an order and two boys appeared carrying palm fronds. They began waving them over their guest and their master, cooling the air a little.

   “So. Belio. Tell me about your operation.”

   The merchant smiled, relaxed back onto his couch. “My factory produces sixty percent of the cloth used by the garment makers in Kur. The majority of the other forty percent is got by foreign trade; I have no real competitors. I am honored to be the sole supplier of material for uniforms to the military. In my time as administrator of this facility, profits have increased by four percent. That surplus has remained constant and will continue to do so in the future.”

   “Yes. You made a better deal with the toll guards in Axium.”

   Belio’s mouth dropped open. She went on.

   “You married your daughter to Csam Modrik, a local Axian merchant, and built a house there, in which by all evidence you have never dwelt. However you are now for purposes of official record a citizen of Axium and receive a discount on toll fares. Also, you bribe the local tax officer who passes a few coppers down to the toll guards. Just enough of a bribe for them to ignore larger shipments that would be taxed at a higher rate, while allowing for a respectable profit margin. This allows you to undercut your competitors, a few of which have attempted to copy your tactics, but who have been…shall we say stymied in their efforts.”

   “How do you know such things?”

   She waved off his surprise. “It is my business to know such things.”

   Belio was impressed, both at her knowledge and her casual use of business information. 

   Montgomery set down her empty tea cup. “Let’s take a walk.” She rose nimbly, Belio less so, and strode out into the factory, her guard following closely but discretely behind. 

   “These machines,” she said, indicating the looms. “They are brilliantly designed. But think of the cost associated with them. The workers, and all their attendant needs. We have ways of automating–of making self-energizing–tasks like this to increase productivity, and improve work conditions for essential staff.”

   “How do you do that?” Belio was intrigued, but wary.

   “I will show you. It is called electricity.”

   He sounded out the word. “Ee-leck trissit-tee.”

   “Yes. It would greatly reduce your work staff. All these people–” she swept her hand around the room–”could be free to do something else with their lives.”

   Belio chortled with real amusement. “What would they do.”

   Montgomery shrugged. “Go to school. Pursue their dreams. Do whatever they want.”

   Belio was regarding her with outright suspicion now. “There are no schools for girls, “ he stated with a tone of the obvious. “Not many schools at all, really. None whatsoever for common folk. Where do you think you are? Omas?” He shook his head.

   Montgomery ignored this jibe. She ran her eyes over the factory, its workers. “Things are going to start changing around here, Belio. In this city, and the whole world. I’m giving you an opportunity to prepare for that.” Her attention returned to the young weavers. “How old are these children?”

   Belio addressed one of the girls who was fast at work on her loom. “You there. What is your age.”

   The girl answered without looking up from her work. “Five years, sir.”

   Montgomery repeated the word, her mouth twisting like she had tasted something sour. “Five.” She knew that prosien matured more rapidly than humans; that put the girl at about nine in human years. ‘That’s still pretty bad,’ she thought. “And how much are they paid?”

   Belio made an expression of surprise and disappointment, as if he were a teacher and had received an incorrect answer to a simple question from a star pupil. “Paid? No, they are slaves.”

   Montgomery nodded, accepting this. “Where do they come from?”

   Belio shrugged. “Orphans, refugees from the war…who knows?” He pointed down at Montgomery’s feet. “Those sandals you are wearing. Where did they come from?”

   Montgomery stared down at her shoes, momentarily caught by this twisted logic. “I don’t know,” she finally had to admit.

   “Do you care?”

   She was silent for a moment. “Not really,” she said, the heat rising in her face.

   “So you see,” he said happily, satisfied with his reasoning. He indicated the room of people. “These are tools, and as long as they do their job it matters not to me from where they originate.” One of the younger girls walked by, carrying a pile of folded garments. “Young, yes. Slaves, who cares. They are good little workers.” He reached out and casually smacked the girl on the rump as she passed.

   Montgomery’s arm shot out, grabbed him by the throat, and drove him into a wall. She got right in his face, furious, bug-eyed and sweating. “What the fuck was that!” she roared, slipping into English in her rage, and Belio’s eyes went wide with fear. His guards surged forward, becoming alert and lumbering toward their duty. First Spearman Munatas stepped between them and raised his spear in a posture of defense. One of the guards stopped, seeing his cool, calm demeanor, the look of a professional killer; the other one decided to try his luck against the soldier, and kept moving forward. Munatus swept the shaft of his weapon in a smooth, practiced move, and the guard’s nose exploded in gout of blood. The man howled and staggered back, dropping his club and waving his hands blindly to ward off another blow. Montgomery was oblivious to everything except Belio’s terrified face. “Do you think that was acceptable behavior?” She was screaming questions at him.

   Belio swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure while also trying to squirm out from Montgomery’s grasp. “Get your hands off of me, woman,” he croaked around her fist.

   “What’s the matter,” she replied, switching from fire to ice, reverting to Kavarün to make her words clear to the man, “you don’t like being touched without your permission?”

   Belio appeared confused. “They-are slaves.”

   “They are people.” She pronounced the word very clearly. “People.” She released his throat and he sagged down the wall. “You are going to learn that.” She turned and walked away. “Go ahead,” she called out over her shoulder, “make a complaint to the king. He knows where I live, right down the hall from his apartment.” Munatus followed behind her, walking backwards, holding the guards back with his eyes.