Читать книгу Gerun, the Heretic - William Maltese - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

Panrun-Ru: Incinerate the book! For it contains heresy.

Maxlima II: Should not we first run it through complete analysis?

Panrun-Ru: We have run it through all the analysis that need be. I repeat, the contents are heretical.

Maxlima II: But what of the molecular makeup of binding and pages? Aren’t we missing out on an opportunity to discover new structural formats?

Panrun-Ru: Advantaged-Risk does not balance out. In my estimate. In the estimate of the Religio-College. You may, of course, file Ruler Prerogative, section 3-dash-7. But, may I remind you of the consequences if the Telegrine Forum rules against you?

Maxlima II: Incinerate the book! But save the man!

—From transcript IV-4-20, regarding the book found in the possession of the man, Jon Missionary. Jesstic File 14-5-6.

Was it Kalvin who had summoned Gerun to this spot of nothingness on the edge of the escarpment?

At seventeen, Gerun wasn’t versed well enough in the mentat-exercises to identify the sender error-free. The signet-circle had been Kalvin’s, there was no denying that. Forgery of the intricate maze-image would have been impossible for even the craftsmen in Warluck’s employ to duplicate. But what of the contents? Added after Kalvin had somehow been tricked into affixing his signet-circle to the mentat-send?

The rendezvous spot had Gerun worried. It was perfect for an ambush. Cylic blazers could easily weave the area and find the target. Boy today, blistered crust tomorrow! Not a pretty anticipation after having survived three assassination attempts in as many terns. Gerun Missionary had every right to be wary.

Would Kalvin really have risked this spot for a meeting? Kalvin who had three-hundred assassination attempts registered against him since the clandestine purge had been initiated by the Religio-College. Not that the Religio-College even now owned up to them. The assassins had been expensively mind-erased to reveal nothing, even when they failed to self-terminate—as at least twenty had done —upon mission failure. Lately, though, suspecting increasing support among a populace long jealous and suspicious of the Missionary gene mix, the Religio-College had become more openly vocal with accusations that Jon Missionary had been as heretical as his book. Living, for a member of the Missionary clan, had become more and more precarious as the family had dwindled from twenty-four, at the last rising of the stellar curl around Kynol-II, to a mere four.…

“I’m afraid, there are only us two, now,” a voice said, close by, startling Gerun out of a reverie which had dangerously lowered his defenses against mentat-penetration.

“Kalvin?” His inner senses worked overtime to collate the voice pattern. Ears alone could be deceptive. The sophisticated mechanics had by Warluck could duplicate to the flaw-minus-six category.

“You mean, you were expecting someone else?” The quick response indicated no fear on the part of the sender that Gerun would utilize the additional dialogue for a speedier verification of origin. In fact, the resumption of a send so quickly as much as indicated a request for Gerun to confirm before actual face-to-face confrontation. Apparently, the sender had no intentions of sneaking up on Gerun, while obviously knowing the boy was waiting. The sender’s voice register was too audible to be haphazardly thrown. Unless, of course, Warluck’s lato-synes had developed even more sophisticated methods in their dealings with their assumed enemies.

“Only two of us left?” Gerun swerved into analyzing content once the Kalvin-ident mode seemed confirmed. The decline of Missionary clansmen had already gone from twenty-four to four. Now from four to two? This existent mind-meld the kind which could only be achieved between one Missionary and another? Gerun was more confident now that it was Kalvin who was the sender. He was disturbed, though, by what the sent message insinuated.

“We are alone, Gerun,” came the reply. The send was clearer as the sender grew closer in the darkness, although there was yet no visible sign or other-than-mentat sounding. “I tried to reach Kors, but the lines were already severed. Maseen’s channels were clogged with pain interference, indicating poison of the fiss-six variety. I dared not connect for long, of course, because you and I know how fiss poisons break down mentat and allow tracing. Think how many of us have died via fiss ingests so our secrets could be recorded by our enemies upon our exits.”

Beyond the decoded vibrations of his ear, Gerun heard the first outside indication of the approach. Kalvin—if it was Kalvin—was near. Beyond the next boulder, around the next bend, the gravel of a dried stream bed crunching beneath the weight of his feet.

“We could be sitting ducks for Cylic blazers,” Gerun said. “Not to mention Mylon-probes turned loose within this darkness.”

“But we have been too clever for them at the moment,” Kalvin sent. “They believe you have slipped the East Gate for meanderings on the Gran Sea. They have servo-ten units scouting even now. I’ve been no less clever. They’ve found my rest-cylinder empty and have followed a false trail to the Gryphis Cave. They ponder, and well they might, the motive of a descendant of Jon Missionary conversing with pagan gods.” He chuckled. He was old and could see the humor in the game, even though he saw himself—and probably the boy—as eventual losers. “For the moment, you and I are safe from Cylic blazers and Mylon-probes. Not that we are liable to maintain our safety quotients for long,” he added pragmatically.

“Two left,” Gerun said aloud, the horror of it well upon him. “Soon not even us two?” Then thought: What is the fear which sparks this purge?

“The lone surviving segment of the Book,” Kalvin answered him, his mentat having once again read even Gerun’s thoughts via the sympathetic wave-lengths that had once connected all Missionaries (and still did). Alas, Gerun’s abilities to mentat-unite with his kin hadn’t had nearly the time to develop as Kalvin’s had. This was why Gerun needed to be told that his last Uncle and Aunt were no longer among the living, while Kalvin had been immediately been tuned to their untimely departures.

“What book?” Gerun wanted to know. Yes, he could hear the old man’s progression now, coming nearer. Anyway, it registered as an old man’s progression. Was it a trick? The world was full of cunning tricksters. If they’d tricked inside the defenses of Uncle Kors and Aunt Maseen, how much more vulnerable a mere boy? Gerun had long suspected his defenses were being fortified from outside. Kalvin supervising Gerun’s welfare from the wings?

“Don’t underestimate your talents for survival,” Kalvin sent, having mentat-overheard. “You saved the day at Chinsore when the water surge broke the containing barriers, and you rode the face of the wave with balance that surprised and confused the secret instigators. And at Ron-ron, what could this old man have done to protect you from the pellets launched from unseen attackers in the hills? You lifted the stieler-sec and dodged so expertly those fiss-tipped missiles that could have ended you with a scratch.”

“Fiss-tipped?”

“They told you no, didn’t they? For whom but Warluck could afford the expense of dipping three-thousand pellets? Did you count them as they whizzed passed? Three-thousand. A tidy sum flushed down the toilet, considering you so skillfully danced the dodge. I hear they scoured the area for the missing, hoping to soak off the bitterment and use it another day. Unfortunately, they have enough for the two of us without it. The Westicks have grown rich on the death of our clan, brewing the lethal doses that Warluck has purchased with cubes of Tilinian. Warluck has financed a grand enemy in the Westicks. Ironic how they’ve used their money to amass munitions to be used in a revolution against him.”

“He risks strengthening the Westicks to kill us?” Gerun asked. Where did Kalvin get his information? It hinted access to data sources not available to Missionaries. He feared again that this wasn’t Kalvin heading in his direction.

“Warluck feels safer in dealing with the Westicks than with We of the Missionary,” Kalvin sent, ignoring any knowledge that Gerun doubted and was readying his C-gun just in case.

“We offered him a bigger threat than the Westicks?” Gerun asked. “How?”

“A question already answered, my boy,” Kalvin chided good-naturedly. “You must better learn to categorize your in-feed of information.”

“The Book?” Gerun ventured.

“Not the Book but a page thereof. Not a complete volume but a portion. Salvaged by Panrun-Ru, The Incinerator, from his own ruling to incinerate. Who can know what prompted him to salvage the part? Perhaps, he suspected the day would come when a successor needed incentive against the flowering of heretics. Assuming we’re the heretics in question.”

“The Book found with Jon Missionary?”

“One and the same,” Kalvin sent. “Would that I had access to but a peek at what powers the Book insinuated is ours. How Warluck seemed—seems—to fear that we should find out. Alas, he has been too clever for us. I only uncovered filtered word of the fragment after the purge was well begun. At the time word reached me, Melin was just dead, and I did grieve for him, letting the rumor slip completely before confirmation came much too late to be of help. So many of us dead because of this old man’s oversight. Any of us to survive? I so old to be of no real threat should I somehow slip through the final net Warluck pulls around us.”

He didn’t look old; Gerun confirmed when his grandfather was suddenly there before him. Not old as Gerun’s parents had waxed suddenly old upon their return from Wistock Cove where, phsi-phsis insisted they’d been exposed to rare tempmentum. That had been too early in the purge for accusations. In retrospect, however.…

“Yes, killed us one by one, two by two; in the case of Mandarin’s family, more brazen yet, wiping out six with a single blow and calling it ignited syphicic gas, having the Power Cor confirm,” Kalvin said. “A million in insurance doled out to surviving Bet? A price well spent in order to smoothly terminate six, especially since Bet would so soon follow. Klyrinstok Disease, was it? Oh, to exhume her body, all our poor dead bodies, and count the variants of fiss poisoning still clinging to the last of our remains!”

“There’s a way to get the Book fragment?” Gerun asked.

“Is there?” Kalvin asked, having mistaken the boy’s question for a statement. He quickly realized his mistake, feeling silly that he’d been so desperate as to think the boy might come upon something Kalvin hadn’t. “Oh, I see, you ask me. I answer, no. Not that I haven’t tried. I’ve even gone to Jursimms.” The last was muted whisper. It wasn’t a confession he made lightly. He could see the boy’s well-deserved disgust. “The Priest was of no help,” he added. “I endangered my soul for a word.”

“Word?” Despite his disgust, Gerun was curious. He’d known no one in his family who’d consulted a Jursimmic Priest. The Jursimms were of a faith that existed even before the Religio-College. Ancient. Old. The womb from which all the gods on Kanran-9 were said to have been born. Except for the god brought by Jon Missionary? “A word?” Gerun repeated. Had the old man really dared the journey into the Labyrinth of Klint? Had he truly paid the fee, participated in the dance, and endangered his soul to the pagans—all for a word?

“And a word we already know, at that,” Kalvin said sadly. “‘You’ll die because of Christian,’ is what the Priest said, smiling all the while, as if knowing I’d come with the clue already etched in my brain. The Jursimms’s face was degenerate from a life of lust and self-indulgence. His stench was so overpowering I almost retched on the spot. ‘More!’ I demanded. ‘I paid the price, and what kind of answer is Christian?’ ‘You have your answer, tricked from me by your masquerade, I might add!’ the Priest accused me. ‘Well, I’ve kept my bargain, despite your deception. Christian is all the answer I have, all the answer you shall have from me.’”

Christian. It was not a new word, as Kalvin had said. Even Gerun had heard it often enough before, although it had never been defined. Nor did it have definition now, unless the Priest had known something he wasn’t saying. It remained one of the infrequent sounds Jon Missionary had uttered in his lifetime. There were more, equally obtuse and cryptic: Moriah, Aaronic, baptism, sacrament, crucifixion, resurrection. Jon Missionary always got a funny cast to his strange blue eyes— (At the time, blue eyes, except for his, were non-existent on Kanran-9; as soon, Kalvin and Gerun terminated, blue eyes would again be non-existent). —and would speak his strange sounds: Amalek, Zelotes, Philemon, Malachi, Mamre.… All jotted down by those who listened, words to form the litany Gerun had committed to memory, the litany that all Jon Missionary’s descendants had at one time committed to memory. Because if the meanings were obscure, even to the brain-damaged man who uttered them, they hinted of wondrous things just beyond the grasp. As if the correct arrangement would form an incantation that would summon forth a whole wealth of secrets to unlock answers to all the unanswered questions. Edom, Edrei, Gennesasret, Egypt, Omer, Ahab. People? Places? Things? Gibberish from an insane man?

Surely, not gibberish! Because there had been times when the words had been fed back to Jon Missionary, one at a time, or in running sequence, and the sparks of recognition had lit within that man’s eyes, and he’d tried to speak more. Tried to speak what?

Nothing Jon Missionary ever said had been translated to anyone’s satisfaction. His was a language—yes, it did have the insinuated structure and intonation and cadence of a language —but it was no language anyone on Kanran-9 had ever heard, or ever came to understand.

It would have helped, of course, if that man could have learned Kanranian, but it somehow stayed beyond his capacity. Maybe if he’d come to them whole, he could have grasped its intricacies, but the Mysons had gotten to him first, though they swore the real damage had been done him by the Xeons. There were no Xeons handy to verify at the time. Even in the present, they appeared only infrequently and then only to exchange goods, as they’d exchanged Jon Missionary, for the much-desired suji-juice. The Xeons, it was said, would sell their mothers (and often did) for suji-juice. Thus, the brain-blank (amateurishly mimicked by Warluck’s disfiguring mind-erase) was devised by them to insure that those sold forever forgot their sellers.

Jon Missionary had shown symptoms of Xeon brain-blank. On the other hand, he’d remembered his name. And sometimes he would sit back and look as if he were remembering even more. This was a strangeness that confused, because no one ever remembered anything from before a brain-blank. And he would say those wondrous-sounding words that were first recorded by the scribes of Melina-Lu, then by Melina-Lu herself; then by their children; then passed on to their children’s children. It was rumored to be set down within the recordo-writs of the Religio-College that “Melina-Lu did so lust after the body of the half-wit Jon Missionary that she did intercede with her father, Maxlima II, on the idiot’s behalf.” Saving Jon from the same fate (with the exception, it would now seem, of one lone fragment) of his heretical Book.

Gerun had never seen the live Jon Missionary, only visual-plays of him. Likewise, neither had Kalvin seen him. But they’d heard the stories passed down from generation to generation. They’d heard, repeated, and memorized his magical words. They’d sensed the specialness of him coursing through their veins.

All these years later, the descendants of Jon Missionary and the Princess Melina-Lu, Kalvin and young Gerun now the last of them, had been marked for death, because of a Book fragment none of them had ever seen.

The Book had come with Jon through the brain-blank of the Xeons and through his slavery beneath the oppressive yoke of the Mysons. Both Xeons and Mysons were firm respecters of personal talismans and amulets. Had they seen the Book as the man’s personal talisman? If so, Panrun-Ru had seen it as something more threatening, knowing, as he had, more of books than either the Xeons or Mysons combined. The soldiers who’d captured Jon, during an “unofficial” raid on a Mysons’s encampment, had forwarded the stranger and his Book to the Religio-College for interrogation. Where Panrun-Ru had ordered the Book incinerated as a work of heresy. Only to disobey his own directive and save a fragment. A fragment to surface all of these terns later and spark such terror in the heart of Warluck that he’d systematically set about killing off whatever traces of Jon Missionary had been salvaged, within the gene bank of that man’s descendants, by the meddling of a lusting princess.

And who or what was Christian?