Four Lords of Diamond - Book 1 (9 page)

But what tuned you to your own symbiotes, allowed you to relay commands through them to others outside your own body? That I had yet to discover. The mere discovery that I could sense the communication while most pawns could not was the best thing that could have happened to me. I no longer felt tired or depressed. I had the talent. I needed to explore my powers, test them, learn how to use them, learn my own limits.

Perhaps I wouldn't equal the Lord; perhaps I'd need help, a valuable ally.

- For now, though, it was enough to know, finally, what was what on this mad world—and to know, too, that my days of hauling mud for sixteen hours were numbered.

More than enough.

Over the following days my increasing sensitivity to the silent communication absorbed me, and I tried to learn everything I could about it. None of the pawns were any help except Ti, who could feel the power but had never learned how to control or use it properly. Since one's position on Lilith was dependent on mastery of the power—and since social mobility usually led to the death of one of the contestants for a particular position—there were, needless to say, no instruction manuals.

Although I've lived with the sensation for quite some time now, it is still nearly impossible to describe. The best objective description I can give is a tremendously heightened sensitivity to an energy flow. The energy is not great and yet you can sense it, not as a static thing but as a continuous and pulsating energy flow from all things solid. Gases and water don't seem to be affected by the flow, although things living
in
the water, no matter how tiny, possess it.

The energy itself is of the same sort—that is, there's no difference between a flow from a blade of grass, a person, and the insects—and yet the patterns that it forms are unique. You can tell one blade of grass from another, a person from some other large creature; you even get different patterns from the billions of microbes we all carry inside us.

I was still experimenting when the stranger arrived in our little village. He'd apparently been there most of the day, walking around to different work parties and details, but hadn't yet reached mine. Early in the evening I finally saw him, relaxing in the common and eating some fruit. He wore a toga of shiny white that seemed to ripple with his every move and a pair of finely crafted sandals that marked him as a man of extreme power. Yet he was sitting there at ease, eating with and socializing with us mere pawns. He was an elderly man, with a fine-lined face and carefully trimmed gray beard, but he was balding badly both in front, where only a widow's peak remained, and around the top of his head. He looked thin and trim, however, and was in good physical condition, as would be expected. His age could not be guessed, but he would have to have been at least
in
his seventies, perhaps years older.

For a fleeting moment the idea entered my naturally suspicious head that this might be Lord Marek Kreegan himself. Why he'd show up here at this particular time, however, was a mystery that pushed coincidence to the limit. Besides, Kreegan would be of standard height and build, as all the other people of the civilized worlds and I had been. This man seemed a bit too short and too broad to fit into that absolute category.

It was interesting to see the pawns' reaction to him. While they would not even address a supervisor and would treat such a person with abject servility, they freely approached this man and chatted with him, almost as equals. I found Ti and asked her who he was.

He is Father Bronz, she told me.

Well? What's that mean? I responded, a little irritated. Who and what is a Father Bronz?

He is a Master, she responded, as if that explained everything when all it did was state the obvious.

I
know
that, I pressed bravely on, but I've never seen pawns be so casual with anybody with the power before. They even steer a little clear of you because of your reputation. I mean, is he from the castle? Does he work for the Boss or the Duke or what?

She laughed playfully. Father Bronz don't work for nobody, she said scornfully. He's a God-man.

That threw me temporarily until I realized that she wasn't referring to his power but to his job. Obviously, she meant he was a cleric of some sort, although I'd seen no sign of any real religion on Lilith. I knew clerics, of course; for some reason those cults and old superstitions still held a lot of people even on the civilized worlds. The more you tried to stamp 'em out, the more strength they seemed to gain.

I stared again at the strange old man. Odd place for a cleric, I thought. He must have some really weird religious beliefs if he's here on Lilith. Why condemn yourself here when you could be living the good life in some temple paid for by the ignorant? And, I wondered, how could a man of God, whichever one or ones it was, have risen to Master without blood on his hands?

I kept noticing the men and women going up to him, talking to him, in singles and small groups. Why are they talking to him? I asked her. Are they afraid not to? It seemed to me that if you were stumping for converts and had the power of a Master you could at least compel them to listen to your sermons—but he wasn't sermonizing. Just talking nicely.

They tell him their troubles, Ti said, and sometimes he can help them. He's the only one of them with the power who likes pawns.

I frowned. A confessor—or did he actually offer intercession? I considered it, but couldn't really figure out bis function. More stuff to learn, I told myself. Though there was really only one way to do so, I hated even the thought of going up to someone with ten times or more Kronlon's powers.

I guess he noticed me standing there staring, for when the group thinned out, he glanced over in my direction and then gestured and called to me. You there! You're a big, hairy fellow, aren't you? Come on over! he called pleasantly, his voice rich and mellow. That was a charmer's voice, a con man's voice —the kind that could make a crowd do almost anything he wanted.

I had no choice but to approach him, although my nervousness must have showed.

Don't worry, he assured me. I don't bite, nor do I inflict pain on pawns or eat little babies for breakfast. He looked me over in the torchlight, and his eyes widened slightly. Why, you must be Cal Tremon!

I betrayed no outward emotion, but inwardly I tensed. I had a bad feeling about that recognition.

I've heard much about you from, ah, other colleagues of yours who wound up here, he continued. I was wondering what you looked like.

I didn't like the sound of
that
at all. It implied that a fair number of people around might know more about Cal Tremon's life and exploits than I did.

Have a seat, he gestured at a small tuft of grass, and for heaven's sake, relax! I am a man of God— you have nothing to fear from me.

I sat, thinking just how wrong he was. It wasn't his power I feared, but bis knowledge that could expose me. Despite my misgivings, I loosened up a little and decided to talk to him. I'm Tremon, I admitted. What sort of stuff have you heard about me? And from whom?

He smiled. Well, all of the newer folk were to one degree or another in your former line of work. Reputations carry, you know, among people of like trades. You're a legend, Cal—I hope I may call you Cal. That Coristan raid alone guaranteed that. Single-handedly blowing the domes of the entire mining colony and making off with forty millions in jondite! He shook his head in wonder. With that kind of talent and those brains—not to mention money—I wonder they ever caught you.

'They put a Security assassin on my trail, I responded as glibly as I could, having never heard of Coristan and not having the slightest idea what jondite was or what it was used for. They're the best at what they do and they rarely fail. The only reason I wasn't killed outright was that I'd had the foresight to stash the loot and have it wiped, so they needed me alive to get the key information and find it. That much was the truth; the briefing had been better on the latter-day career and psychoprofile.

The cleric nodded sagely. Yes, the agents are almost impossible to avoid—and even if you get one, the rest are on you. You know the reigning Lord of Lilith was an agent?

I nodded. So I heard. Excuse me for saying so, but it's pretty odd to find a cleric out here, and particularly strange to find one who talks to thieves and murderers so matter-of-factly.''

Father Bronz laughed. No preaching, you mean? Well, I have my work and it's a little different. I
was
a preacher once, and a good one—the victim of my own success, I fear. Started with a tiny little church— perhaps twenty, thirty members—on a small frontier world, and it just grew until I was the dominant cleric of three worlds, two of them civilized! His face turned a little vacant, his eyes slightly glassy. Ah! The enormous sums pouring into the coffers, the cathedrals, the mass worship and blessing for a half million at a time! It was
grand!
He sounded both nostalgic and wistful.

What happened to bring you here, then? I asked him.

He returned to the present and looked at me squarely. I gained too much. Too many worshipers, too much money, which of course meant too much power. The church was uncomfortable; they passed me over for archbishop and kept sending in stupid little men to take charge. Then the congress and powers that be on a number of worlds we were just starting on got nervous, too, and started putting pressure on the church. They couldn't do anything, though— I'd broken no laws. They couldn't just demote me. I'd just pop up elsewhere, and my following and my order would have exerted their influence to return me. That would have been an unforgivable defeat, so they had the idea of posting me to missionary work in the Warden Diamond—the perfect exile, you might say. But I wouldn't go. I threatened to take my order and my following out of the church and form our own denomination. It's been done before when the church has become corrupt. Of course that's where they got ,me. They played a few computer games, got some trumped-up charges about misappropriation of funds and using religion for political influence, and here I am—exiled to the post I wouldn't go to voluntarily, transported like any common criminal.

I had the idea that nothing about Father Bronz was common. And yet you still serve the church as a missionary here? I asked incredulously.

He smiled. My bookkeeping may have been lousy, but my motives were sincere. I believe in the religious part of my church's teachings, and I believe God uses me as His instrument in His work. The civilized church is as secular and corrupt as the governments—but not here. On Lilith it's back to basics—no ranks, no churches, just pure faith. Here I am with a large heathen population and no superior save God Almighty. He looked around at the pawns going about their evening routines and lowered his voice a bit.

Look at them, he almost whispered. What kind of life is this you are all leading? There's no hope here, no future, just a stagnant present. If you don't have the power you're a pawn in the literal sense of that term. But they're human beings all the same. They need hope, a promise of something better, something beyond this life. They'll not get it on Lilith, and they can't leave the place, so Eternity is thek only hope of salvation. As for some—the criminal element, let's say—well, that's where people like me are needed most. Besides, he added, they need me. Who else will hear their complaints, as pitifully small as they really are, and who else will speak for them with authority to thek superiors? Just people like me. No more.

I had his number now, I thought. He was completely insane, of course, but in his tremendous guilt over his own criminality with his cult or whatever, he'd decided on reparation for that guilt. The martyr type. Save his own soul through saving others. Such men were dangerous, since they were far too fanatical to face reality, but they were useful, too. Useful in some way to these people, and perhaps a lot more useful to me.

Father Bronz looked over and saw Ti standing shyly nearby. He sighed sadly. Oh, no, he murmured under his bream but I caught it.

My eyebrows rose in surprise. What's the matter?

He gestured at Ti. It's a sin, what they're doing with her and with a lot of other fine girls. They're coming along too quick—and their fates once they're taken into the castles are even worse.

I felt a nervous tingling. I didn't like to think of that, and by common consent, the subject was never mentioned. Perhaps I didn't want to think of her leaving, at least not while I was here. She had helped pull me out of the black pit into which my mind had sunk and had provided me with a friend, a companion, a source of information and growth. We'd already been paired longer than anyone in the village could remember anyone else being. Though I didn't kid myself that it was more than my body and her body having stronger needs that only we two could fulfill, I still didn't like to think of the future. But I felt compelled to ask the questions.

What will they do to her? I found myself asking in spite of myself.

He sighed sadly again. First they'll freeze her, so to speak, Father Bronze said slowly. A growing, intelligent mind would be a liability to them, so they'll keep her in a state of perpetual childhood. Even worse than now. It's only a matter of finding the right part of the brain and carefully killing what's necessary. Most of the bodymasters are former physicians and can do it easily. Then they heighten the glandular secretions or whatever—I'm no doctor, I don't really know—and when everything's balanced, they'll stick her in a harem with similarly treated girls and experiment with baby after baby trying to find the key to the power and how to transmit it. It's almost a mania with the knights, and the bodymasters are happy to practice, to continue to experiment, in their chosen field.

I shivered slightly. And they're doctors? I thought doctors
saved
lives and made bodies and minds whole.

He looked at me strangely. What an odd sort you are, Tremon! Why, of course doctors are no more free from sin and corruption than you or I. There are good ones and bad ones, and most of the highly skilled bad ones wind up here, the better to test their grotesque theories. I've heard it said that the Confederacy encourages them in this, even provides offworld computer analysis of their work, in the hope they'll find out what makes the Warden organism tick.

I just shook my head, refusing to accept such a horrible thought. The Confederacyl It was crazy, insane, and perfectly logical, damn it. All other experiments had come to nothing, after all, and these were considered prison worlds. But Confederacy support or no, what Bronz was saying was bleak news indeed for poor TL

How long before they—take her? I asked, fearing the answer.

He looked carefully at her. Well, he replied, she's already had all the preliminary treatments. I'd say she would be overdue. You see, they can't let her go too long or shell have to set an intellectual pattern for them to play with safely. In other words, she'd be too smart for them, too complicated. I suspect that you've accelerated their plans, if they're aware of the attachment you two have formed, since contact with an outsider like you would widen her world.