Binary by Jay Caselberg (best short books to read txt) 📖

his face, and then carefully reapplied it.

He couldn't understand how an entire people could live like this, divorced from the comforts of modern life: their simple wagons, the basic clothing, the hard sleeping pallets; they all had the feeling of penance rather than normal life. Yet Alise, whom he saw most of, seemed perfectly content. On a couple of occasions, he had tried to question her about her life, about the way they did things, but she would not be led. Most of the time she replied with a simple stock answer: As the Prophet wills. As the days wore on, his frustration grew. Alise was clearly not the route to the answers he needed, and he needed those answers if he was to follow through the plan that was gradually forming in the back of his mind. He decided to seek out the older man, Badrae. The only time he had seen him since entering the simple tent, it had been when he'd appeared just to look in on him, to see if he had any questions about the book.

They all dressed alike, these Atavists. The older men wore beards. There was only slight variation in their frames. One might be a little bit heavier, another more slight, but generally, they all looked alike. As he spent more time observing, he became more adept at distinguishing the individuals. Five days now, he had been among them. There was thick stubble on his own chin. No one had offered shaving materials, and he had none of his own gear with him. That had all been back in the groundcar. His clothing was starting to become worse for the constant wearing as well, and he was starting to smell of the potion Alise had been feeding him day after day. He had bathed, daily, in a large metal tub with the unscented homemade soap they provided, but it did little good if all he had were the same clothes to step back into. The paste on his face remained working on the cuts, despite the bathing. For the most part, the Atavist community simply ignored him. He was there, but they stepped around him, or out of his way. None of them offered conversation, and they shared very few words between themselves.

He scoured the camp, but Badrae was nowhere to be found. Asking was pointless. The first time he tried, he was met with a blank stare, a slight shrug, and then the person had simply walked on, ignoring further questions. The next was a repeat of the first. Not even a word. He then tried to find either Melchor or Arnod, the two who had been with Badrae when they brought him in, but both of them seemed to be missing too. He needed to find the old man. Already days had passed, and in those days, he had no clue what might be happening with Men Darnak. Badrae was the only one who might be able to provide the answers that would let him return, let him help the Principal in the only way he knew how. The more time that passed, the further he was from being able to do anything.

In the end, frustrated, he returned to Alise's wagon. He stood at the bottom of the steps, feeling slightly foolish. He didn't want to just climb the steps and walk inside. He knew she was in there, because he could hear her moving about, but with the Atavist avoidance of unnecessary talk, he was reluctant to call her name as well.

Finally, after he'd stood debating with himself for several minutes, Alise's face appeared.

"Sandon. What are you doing here? Is the pain back?"

"No, no," he said. "I, well, I wanted to ask you a favor or two. I cannot seem to get any sense out of any of the other members of your, um, family."

She nodded and beckoned him up, disappearing again inside the wagon's interior. He followed, ducked beneath the entrance flaps, then stood, still feeling awkward at one end. She gave him a slight frown, and waved at the bench. "Sit, Sandon, sit."

He nodded and complied. "Alise, I ... I would not want to impose, but there are two things you can do for me."

She stood waiting, and when he said nothing further, shook her head. "Speak, Sandon. Tell me."

He gestured down at his clothes. "Well, these, I've been wearing for almost a week now, and, I wonder if you could find me something else to wear."

She looked at him and laughed. "You should have asked before. We thought you would be more comfortable in your own clothes, made of such fine cloth. We did not think you would be at home in our simple garb. We have robes aplenty. All you needed was to ask."

"Hmmm," he said, looking down at the floor. "All right, I'm asking."

"And the other? If it's as simple as that."

"I need to talk to Badrae. Do you know where he is?"

Her face became serious again. "He is not here."

"I know that, Alise. I've looked for him. So, where is he? And Melchor and Arnod."

"Where the Prophet wills." She looked away.

"And where might that be?"

"Where the Prophet wills."

Sandon grimaced. It was the same set of stock answers again. "All right. I understand," he said.

Alise nodded, her face still serious; then her expression lightened.

"Then let us find you a worthy robe," she said. "Come." She held out a hand, and smiled.

Ten

Jarid paced around the confines of his private workrooms in the Guild quarters, almost as if measuring the limits of his allotment. Yes, lesser status, lesser space; that was how it worked. A slight sneer came to his face, and then, with an effort, he forced himself to forget about it. There were more important things to do than worry about the size of his rooms. If he could actually get Markis to play, without gaining direct knowledge of the game he was playing into, or of the real nature of Jarid's plans, then all the better.

He stood looking at his communication screen for a few minutes considering. He knew what he was going to say, but it didn't hurt to go over it one more time in his head. Markis would have to feel threatened enough to drop what he was doing and come rushing back to the Guild rooms. Jarid would have to feed him enough information that he'd doubt, without giving the entire thing away, and that was a delicate juggling act. His brother had never been a really big thinker, however, and that should work to Jarid's advantage.

The screen stuttered and flickered a few times before the image stabilized. Jarid pursed his lips as he was waiting. Already the interference was bad. He drummed his fingers on the table, killing time while the various connections directed the call through pathways that would guarantee the best signal. It took longer than usual, but at last, the symbol indicating connect wavered into solidity in the screen's center. It flickered once or twice, shuddering and jerking in and out of definition while he waited for Markis to respond. His brother was probably out at the mines right now. He'd have to get back to the screen to answer, but any call at this time should be enough to prompt him to hurry back to the mobile communicator wherever he might be. He pictured Markis reaching for his prompter, the look of concern on his face, a muttered curse, then the looks, this way and that, working out how he was going to make his way to the communication station. As Jarid waited, the screen faded in and out. The image wavered, shook, solidified and sparked across with random lines. It seemed to be taking forever. He stood and stretched a few times waiting for the tone to arrive.

At last, the insistent chime drew him back to the desk, and he sat before the screen. His brother's image swam into view, broken by static and random lines. If this was the best connection they could get, interference from the stellar storms clearly had to be strong, getting stronger.

"Jarid," said his brother's voice from the speaker, overlaid with hissing white noise. "What is it? What's happened."

"Markis, hello. How are things at the mines?"

"Yes, they're fine at the moment. Pretty quiet, considering."

"No trouble with the Kallathik?"

"No, none to speak of. But come on, Jarid. You didn't call me simply to discuss what's going on at the mines. What is it? What's happened?"

Jarid chose his next words carefully. "It's father."

His brother's face loomed larger in the screen. "What's happened?" A note of panic in the voice. That was good. Very good.

"Is he all right? What's happened?" His face was now reflecting the panic.

"Yes, yes, he's All right. Relax. Nothing's happened to him, but there are things you need to know."

Markis's features eased slightly, but a frown wrinkled his forehead. "And couldn't this wait?"

Jarid reached out and gently traced the fingers of his right hand up and down the side of the screen and then leaned forward, dropping his voice. "Markis, no, it couldn't wait. There are things you need to know about right now. As soon as I found out, I had to get in touch with you. Before you spoke to father."

"I don't understand."

Jarid maintained the conspiratorial tone. "There's a lot you have to understand, Markis, and understand now. Someone's been at father. There have been accusations. We need to talk as soon as possible, and we need to do it in person."

Markis cocked his head to one side on the other end. "I'm sorry. I didn't get that. Too much interference. You said something about someone being at father, about something else. What are you saying?"

Jarid nodded in understanding and repeated what he'd just said. Markis's face drew back from the screen. The image wavered again and then he spoke. "This is going to have to wait. I have things to do out here, Jarid. You know that. We have to get everything ready. I can't trust the people out here to do it properly without supervision, and I certainly can't..." His voice disappeared into a burst of static.

"Sorry? Repeat the last."

"I said I certainly can't trust the Kallathik."

"Yes, I know. But this is far too important." He paused, waiting for maximum impact. "Do you value your position, Markis?"

"What?"

"You heard what I said. Do you value your position?"

His brother started to look concerned anew. "What are you...?"

"You need to get back here. We need to talk in private, plan how we're going to deal with this together. We can't trust this link, Markis. You have to get back here. This is serious."

Markis looked torn. "Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely certain. How soon can you get here?"

There was a long pause. Markis was clearly debating with himself, assessing his priorities. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision, and leaned forward again after glancing off to one side. He looked tired and harassed. "All right. As soon as I can. Where will you be?"

"I'll be here, my rooms, waiting for you. I'm not going anywhere."

Markis nodded, and Jarid cut the connection, forestalling any further questions. He sat back, fingers linked behind his neck. Good. Markis would be off balance by the time he arrived. He had let him have little enough information to keep him guessing. Anything serious enough to have him called back from the mines was serious indeed. He nodded to himself then tapped at his screen to call up a strategy game. He would have some time to kill before Markis arrived.

One by one, he selected, and then lined up his chosen forces, positioning