Pixie's Pad

It was several days later when the trader Nofis Lovt and his escort, the serpentine Deacon Kaiss, returned to the Missionary camp. The hand-wagon that had been tightly packed with little more than frippery when the pair had left was now stocked with equally meretricious junk from the Nyis villagers. Still, Bishop Voris had to show something for his endeavours, and some vainglorious idiot somewhere would pay well to have one of the native’s pieces of pottery on display in their opulent quarters where they could boast about how remarkable it all was that the backwards mud-dwellers could produce art.

What Kaiss brought back with him was far more worthwhile. A handful of villagers; a ragtag bunch of gormless halfwits who, the Bishop suspected, had left to find purpose with the Missionary because they had no purpose back at home. How pathetic; not even being able to turn their hands to a simple peasant’s life. Oh well – they’d assign them some menial tasks and pay them a fraction of what the clergy earned and they’d still be happy with it.

“Join me for a quiet supper?” Bishop Voris asked the Deacon when the new recruits had been sent to their new quarters.

“As you wish, My Lord,” the Deacon bowed courteously. It wasn’t the full floor-hugging prostration that his rank demanded, but even so Deacon Kaiss managed to satisfy the Bishop’s demand for respect much more than Deacon Ghas with his scrambling, sweating, infinitely irritating supine abomination.

They walked together to the periphery of the camp, where Bishop Voris’s grandiose canvas quarters were situated – intentionally away from the main bustle of the compound, on the quiet edges where quiet conversations could be carried out with more privacy. Food had already been ordered, and awaited them on a fully laid table at the centre of the main room. If there were any waiting staff present, they were being discreet, the Bishop noted approvingly.

“So,” the Bishop began as he watched Kaiss arrange his napkin across his lap in a fashion much similar to his own. “Do you think we will find many recruits at Nyis?”

“I believe our rewards from the village will be bountiful,” Deacon Kaiss purred. “The village is untouched by Off-Worlder presence save for vague rumours from the outlying towns. We are the first to make direct contact. The villagers lead simple lives and are easily distracted by even the smallest demonstrations of our advanced capabilities. I do not foresee any problem with acquiring a sizable amount of their population as Missionary Initiates.”

He had always liked Kaiss. The man was direct, forward and concise. Far more appealing than blathering blubberous Deacon Ghas. It was a shame that he could not request a transfer of his own personal Deacon and take Kaiss in his stead, but even a Bishop had to play by the rules. Especially Bishop Voris, one of the few granted command over a terran mission to bring the Missionary’s good word to the Old Earthers so that they, too, may be blessed by the truth and light.

“The village elder was not opposed to some of his flock fleeing the nest?”

“On the contrary,” Deacon Kaiss delicately sliced his seared calf flank into neat, bite-sized pieces as he responded; “He was most unfazed. Apparently the growth of the surrounding towns has left people short of work, and the clay pit at Nyis can handle far more than currently attend the quarry. Those who leave will be fast replaced.”

“I see. How fortuitous. I assume you are amenable to continuing operations at the village?”

The Deacon finished chewing his morsel, swallowed quietly, and dabbed at his thin, pursed lips with the napkin before replying in time; “Perfectly amenable, My Lord. I await your further instruction.”

Voris’s lips curled a satisfied smile. “Rest here a two-day; let’s not overwhelm the provincials. Return with two or three more Deacons of your choosing and five burro laden with food. Let them feast at our expense. I trust you to follow procedure from there.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Deacon Kaiss replied, his voice quietly eager.

They finished their meal in contemplative silence.

*

“I’m going to join the Missionaries,” Ranal said, and immediately winced.

They were sitting on a rock at the lakeshore with their toes swinging in the cool water, enjoying the sharp breeze brought by the setting of Noss and the cooling of the earth. It had been a long, hot day; for Oleipha, in the classroom, with a score of noisy, over-enthusiastic children to marshal beneath her wing; for Ranal, slogging heavy clay-laden baskets up the long, winding slope from the quarry to the pottery at the edge of the village. Spending sunset at the lake was a time-honoured tradition of friendship between them, and if they weren’t paddling or swimming in the summer they were hunched side by side under blankets in the winter.

Oleipha stared at him, her swinging legs stopped still by the surprise of this revelation.

“Ranal…” She began, but struggled for what to say.

“ ‘They’re untrustworthy. They’re devious. They’re up to something. They’re no good.’ I’ve heard all of your excuses, Oleipha, and I don’t care. I’ve made up my mind.”

“This decision does not have to be one set in stone, black or white, Ranal. Your mind is yours to change from now to when you arrive at the camp to when you’ve been there a month or a year. You do not have to commit, and you do not have to think of it in such stark terms.”

Ranal cast his friend a sidelong glance. She was being far too cool about this; he had expected a torrent of ostracism.

“So… you’re alright with it?”

“Of course I’m not alright with it.” She sighed and kicked up some water in irritation. “You’re my friend and I care about your wellbeing. It worries me no end that you might place yourself in a position where you are surrounded by those… Those people.”

“They’re not our enemies, Leiph. I can’t understand why you think they are. I mean, they traded with us – we don’t trade with our enemies. And then the feast. What kind of enemy sends his foes a huge feast?”

“They wiley kind.” Oleipha gritted her teeth. “You have to remember that they’ve been gone from Tassis for longer than we can remember, Ran. Time enough to forget our customs and forge their own. Our ways are not their ways. They may think nothing of breaking bread with us if it means they can sit at our table and learn our weakness. They ply us with gifts to make us friendly and invite them in. What better position for our enemies to be in than welcomed with the open arms of friendship?”

“Mmm.” Ranal grumbled. “I suppose. But why do you insist that they are our enemies in the first place?”

“I can’t tell you, for certain,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “I wish I could, that I had evidence that I could show to you. But I don’t. I have a feeling and a distrust of the things I hear that they are doing. It was inevitable that the Off-Worlders would return eventually; curiosity or obligation or just a desire to set foot on their home planet again – whatever the reason. I hear stories from the other towns that the Missionaries have visited and recruited people, taken them away as initiates. Absorbed them into their order.”

“I’m sure they went voluntarily,” Ranal pointed out.

“Of course. But why do they need to recruit people in the first place? Their numbers are many. More than ours, I wouldn’t doubt. Why not just find an empty spot of land and settle there, as we have?”

There was silence between them for a long moment, punctuated only by the soft lapping of the water’s waves against the rocks; a quiet rising ‘shloch’ and a gentle ebbing ‘hiss’ with the tide.

“I don’t know,” Ranal eventually offered.

“Me either,” Oleipha resumed a half-hearted swinging of her legs, her splayed toes combing the crests of the waves. “And I would like to know, I genuinely would, but Deacon Kaiss either outright ignored my questions or answered them in such a round-about way that they weren’t really answers at all. I don’t trust him. Eyes like a Banit python, and more besides.”

“I just can’t see how they could be bad,” Ranal shrugged.

“They are outsiders, they have been gone so long. We may have shared a planet once and been a united people, but now, they are strangers. And they are going about reuniting with us in all the wrong ways. Do you remember that travelling caravan that came through from Athl once with all kinds of rare curiosities from the wasteland settlers? They were so entertaining, and had such beautiful wares with them. The Elder welcomed them warmly and it never crossed their minds why they were so liberal with sharing their liquor.”

“And in the morning they were gone, with our wares and their wares with them. I remember. You didn’t come to the feast; said the caravan leader made your skin crawl.”

“Right. Well, Deacon Kaiss makes my skin crawl. Every time I hear of the Missionaries, my skin crawls. I hate not having a solid, quantifiable reason – to give to you, to put my own mind at rest – but there it is.”

Ranal draped his arm around Oleipha’s shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. “I know you’re just looking out for us, Leiph. You always do. Everyone in the village is so absorbed in just getting through the day, but you, somehow you’re always looking out for us. It’s little wonder Elder Iteldu goes easy on you. You’re worth your weight and more.”

Oleipha smiled and leaned into Ranal. They had been sharing more and more of these close moments; teasing punches had turned into gentle nudges, pats on the back had turned into brief hugs. Ranal smelled of the earth; not overpoweringly so like the workers who pulled the clay from the ground, and not mixed with the particular tangy smell of the heated clay at the pottery – just nice, comforting earth.

*

“We have confirmed Missionary activity in Denmor.” The young man before her spoke quietly. His hands clenched and unclenched behind his back; she could see the telltale movement of the muscles in his upper arms. “We don’t know the size of their contingent but we know they have been recruiting from at least two of the towns in the east of the province, and possibly one village.”

Arbiter Saight clenched her jaw and stifled a sigh. “Dammit. If only the Chancellor had listened.”

“If I may, Arbiter – it seems prudent to remind you that what the Commensurate lacks in gung-ho tactics, we make up for with good sense. The Missionaries may have gotten there first, but it’s not a race.”

If it were any other Keeper she’d have sent them running with their tail between their legs for spouting their opinion so brazenly, but not Kalam – and not because he was her sister’s child. Kalam had always been able to see more than others. If this conflict with the Missionaries was a storm, he would grow to be the calm that ran through it.

“Thank you, Keeper. I know. It’s just... Frustrating.” She ran a gloved hand through her hair as her other clenched around the railing, the leather fabric creaking with the tension. Their ship was hovering over the southern plains; they stretched out for miles, a solid, drab yellow peppered with the claws of dead trees and the dust-encrusted tear-tracks of parched rivers.

“There’s really nothing out here, is there?” Keeper Kalam offered into the hot, dry afternoon air.

“Nope. There used to be. I’ve seen it in the records. And there could be again.”

“How are negotiations going?”

Saight shrugged. “Pretty standard. We’ve made friends with all of the nearby settlements – if you can call hundreds of miles away ‘near’. It’s all just formality. They don’t come this far out any more so they don’t really care what we do.”

“At least the Commensurate are showing that formality. More than those Missionary snakes show.”

She had to admire his enthusiasm. It ran in the family, after all – her sister had been full of it, the same foolhardy zeal that had landed Saight in the position of being not just Kalam’s aunty but his sole custodian. She took a quick breath and turned away.

“Let’s go back inside,” She said, swiping her wrist over the reader and pausing briefly as the doors slid open.

“Heat getting a little too much for you, Arbiter?” Kalam quipped with the corner of his mouth half cocked.

“Hotter than a Nyshondan bull in season,” She mumbled and he laughed lightly as he followed her back inside, but she could tell by the concerned look in his eyes that he knew what she’d been thinking about.

“So,” He picked up the conversation as soon as the doors had slid closed and they were once more ensconced between the vessel’s temperature-controlled walls. “What of Denmor?”

Arbiter Saight slid into her easy-chair and pulled off her gloves, fingertip by calculated fingertip. “Do we know what their strategy has been there?”

The Keeper drew a dining chair from the table and swung it around to face him, staggering the seat and crossing his arms on the backrest. Still so young, she thought, but growing quickly. He had long outgrown his classmates when he had left his studies last year and now, with his schedule having shifted to involve less sitting and listening and more standing and doing, his muscles were defining themselves. He had a wave of brown-black hair that stood at awkward angles from his head as if he’d just shocked himself on an open panel; an unruly mane that came from her father’s side. Fortunately, it seemed that only the men in her family were afflicted. While on her father it had looked awkward, however, Kalam was growing into it. She wanted to say he’d be a charmer – didn’t want to admit that he probably already had a flock of suitors on his heels.

“The usual. Trading trinkets and flashing their technology. When the locals are suitably wooed by their advanced ways, they invite them into their flock and then use their converts as infiltrators.”

Saight wrapped her knuckles on the polished metal armrest of her chair, and then stood up with an exasperated sigh and began pacing. “It’s just so unreliable. I mean, can’t they see what they’re playing with?”

“This is the Missionary,” Kalam reminded her. “They probably know full well but you’ll never get them to admit it.”

“You don’t just – just – blaze into these small, tight pockets of established cultural civilization and throw this great power at them! There are – ways! Ways, and consequences!” She gestured wildly with her arms through this almost-yelling.

“I know,” He assured her. They had this conversation every week or so; every time he brought her an update on Missionary movements. “I know. And we’ll do the same thing we always do. Go in after them, clean up their mess, pick up the pieces and send them running with their tails between their legs.”

Arbiter Saight perched on the edge of the dining table and clenched her fists around the table’s edge so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “It’s just so damn infuriating. They know what’s going to happen. Sometimes I wonder whether they’re just doing it to waste our time.”

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Alright,” She spoke more quietly. “Alright. Let’s see. Do you have a map of the province?”

“As any good Keeper would,” Kalam stood, slipped a chip from his pocket and slid it into a nearby reader. “Pull it up. The file’s called Denmor. ”

“Lyen; display Denmor at our location.” Lyen was what she’d called her room A.I. Kalam didn’t know this, but it was the name her sister had wanted if she’d ever had the daughter they’d been trying for after Kalam had grown.

One of the large panels of the dining room wall blanked its muted pattern and was replaced by an overhead map of Denmor. Kalam strode over to it.

“There’s only one place you could really call a city, but it’s not much bigger than the towns of the province.” He pointed at a large dot on the western side of the map. “Here; Sayen. The towns are here; Asmor, Fyan, Tyst, Sayton. The only village we know about is the one the Missionaries have possibly made contact with. We know it’s called Nyis and that it’s near the eastern border, but we don’t know where exactly.”

“Four towns? Just four?”

“Just four. The neighbouring country is a wasteland; there’s a crevice there.”

“Mined?”

“Not this one. The land is pretty harsh – I doubt any of the Old Earthers have anywhere near sufficient equipment or technology to survive there, let alone set up a mine. The country’s called -”

“Athl. I know of it. Just border settlements.”

“That’s it.”

“What’s that big body of water covering the eastern half of Denmor?”

“That’s Lake Siashim. The forest here, all the way around the north-eastern corner around the lake, is Ochae Forest. That’s all we know.”

“Where are our nearest allies?”

“Athl, actually. There’s a monastery around here, up on the mountain. One of our trade ships has been doing liquor runs to the place.”

“Liquor runs?” The Arbiter laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, you couldn’t make this stuff up. We had a scouter come down in Athl. Ship was a wreck but the monks saved the pilot. Verroda? Don’t know if you know him, he’s not on our Vessel. Anyway, Verroda stayed with them for a while until he recovered and was able to reach us and let us know he was safe. While he was there, he got a taste of their Cershy. They grow the berries up there on the mountains, do the fermentation themselves, and apparently make a damned fine profit in trade through all the neighbouring provinces.”

“Did Verroda interfere?”

“Not beyond protocol. He had a look at their set-up, suggested some base modifications to their fermentation tanks and piping system. Just enough to pave the way. They were very grateful.”

“Right. Good. We’ll start there, then. I’ll contact whatever Vessel is closest and have them send a small team down.”

“Keeper Isen’s over that way, I believe.”

“Becan Isen? Graduated with you?”

“The very same.”

“Didn’t she get in trouble once for stealing a cruiser and landing on the surface to go swimming in a river?” Saight tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Kalam smiled. “Yes, she did. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Lyen; display off. Think she’d be up for some field work?” The map faded from the wall panel and was replaced with the same pattern that covered the rest of the room. Saight watched her nephew walk across to the reader and eject the chip, sliding it back into his pocket.

“Oh I think so, Arbiter Saight,” He said, straightening with a grin. “And at a liquor-producing monastery, to boot. Sounds right up her alley.”

“Very well, then. I’ll give her name to the Dignitary in command of whichever of our Vessels is nearest. They can scout the – what was it, Ochae Forest? Find this little village. Hopefully, if the Missionaries have been there at all, their oily influence won’t have spread too thickly. We’ll attempt to rectify any damage they’ve done and then move on to the larger towns further west.”

“As per usual,” Keeper Kalam offered Saight a sympathetic smile.

“As per usual. Thank you for your report, Keeper.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Arbiter Saight?” Kalam asked, standing again with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The tension from previously had evaporated after his telling of the news, replaced with his usual easy confidence.

“As a matter of fact, there is. When are you off duty?”

“In two hours, Arbiter.”

“Good. Dinner, The Nebula, deck ten. Three hours.” She curled a little smile. “I don’t see you nearly enough, Kalam. Not out of hours, anyway. We should talk more.”

“We should,” Kalam agreed. “I thought graduating would give me more time, not less.”

She laughed. “You have no idea. Have you heard about your next assignment?”

“Mmm. I’ll be assisting Marshal Garisay with mediations.”

“Oh? That’s a rewarding position. Are you happy with it?”

“Absolutely,” Kalam beamed. “The opportunity to undo whatever brainwashing the Missionary is responsible for, and then work further towards ensuring a peaceful cohabitation between our people? It’ll be a learning experience for all of us. I’m sure the people who’ve lived here since the Shattering will be able to teach us as much as we can teach them. They managed to survive, after all.”

Arbiter Saight only barely managed to keep her grin in check. Her sister would have been so proud. She had been a strident voice against all things Missionary and in favour of a healthy, symbiotic relationship between the Off-Worlders – the Commensurate, at least – and the Old Earthers. Kalam, of his own free will, was growing up to do exactly what she’d have been most proud of him doing.

“Dinner later, then?” Kalam offered her a curious look.

“Er, yes,” Arbiter Saight pulled herself from her reverie. “Dinner later. You are relieved, Keeper Kalam.”