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

staring, unable to do anything else, finally remembering to close his mouth as Alise reached up and dragged him down to kneel beside her.

He could barely drag his eyes from the sight in front of him as finally understanding came to him. This was one of the landing craft that had come from the enormous colony ship that had carried their ancestors across the reaches. This was all that remained of one of the vessels that had made it down in that disastrous landing so many seasons ago. Here lay the skeletal remains of his heritage, of their history, of all of their history. Of course he knew that there were still remains of these craft, but he had forgotten about them, pushing the memory to the back of his mind. He hadn't really thought about them since he was a child. It was the sort of reminder of the Return that most of the population preferred to forget.

The elder was speaking again, but Sandon barely heard what he was saying. "Let us give thanks to the Words of the Prophet, that he has shown us the way. Let us spend a few moments in reflection, understanding what it is we have been shown. Let us thank the Prophet for these reminders of the goodness and rightness of our lives." He raised his hands and closed his eyes.

Beside Sandon, Alise bowed her head and closed her eyes. All along the line, the other Atavists did the same. Sandon stared at the picture in front of him, the decaying remnants of the vision that had brought them here and thrown them helpless against the whims of the twin suns above.

Thirteen

"Yosset, I don't care about that at all. You know what we have to do, but you're always so afraid of upsetting anyone."

The portly Guildmaster sat across from his wife, feeling harassed, looking everywhere but at her.

"By the Prophet, Yosset! Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I am," he said, staring down at his hands. He sniffed, tasting the scent of ozone in the air. More storms. More storms coming.

"Well, pay attention to me. I will not have him coming here trying to disturb our plans."

Yosset sighed and finally looked up at her. "But this used to be his place," he said simply.

"It used to be one of his places," she snapped. "He gave up the rights to most of his holdings when he passed the title to Roge. He hasn't personally lived in this house for years. He hasn't lived in any of our holdings for years. You tell me where he's been. Tell me. Either at that little farmstead out in the middle of nowhere, or at the Principate itself. Not here. Not at the place up at Yarik. Not anywhere. For all those years, he could have had virtually anything he wanted, but could he have cared less? No, not in the slightest. No, I don't want him here. I don't want him at any of our residences. And, I might add, it's because of him that we don't have enough room to deal with him and his cursed entourage." She sliced her hand through the air with finality.

Yosset sighed again. For all her wit, for all her intelligence, for all the support she gave him, sometimes his lovely wife just made him feel tired.

"But he's your father, Karin," he said pleadingly.

"I don't care if he's the Prophet himself. He is not staying here." She spun back to face him. "Do you understand me?"

He nodded mutely.

"And as for you, get this through your fat round head," she said turning away and starting to pace again. "Leannis Men Darnak is no longer Principal. You do not have to cower and fawn at his every breath. Remember who your position depends on now, Yosset, and remember it well. It is certainly not my father. Who controls the Guilds now, my dear, sweet husband?"

He rubbed his lips one over the other, moistening them. "Why no one controls the -- "

She cut him off with another impatient wave of her hand. "Who is Principal?"

He hated it when she got like this, speaking to him like a child, no, rather speaking at him -- he was not her idiot brother -- but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well?"

"You know as well as I do."

"Fine. And who owns Roge?"

He stared at her for several seconds. She actually believed that...

Finally, he buckled under the intensity of her stare, the confidence in her stance, and he looked away. She was right. Just in the same way that she owned their landholding, that she owned her husband and she owned their servants, she also owned her brother. And through him, she now owned the Principate. Yosset turned back to face her, and slowly he smiled. By the Prophet, he loved this woman. What had he ever done to deserve her?

"Karin, I still think you are worrying unnecessarily," he said. "We have no guarantee that your father will turn up here. Last time we saw him, he was off to the mines, and that was before we did the move. He could go anywhere from there."

She rolled her eyes and paced behind the chairs. "Whose holdings are closest? Do you think he doesn't know that we're here? Use that fat head of yours for once, Yosset."

"I cannot see why it is such a problem."

She sat opposite him again. "Because I don't want him here. Because he will only get in the way. I don't want his presence confusing anything else."

He nodded, reconciled to playing along. "My love, what do you think we should do?"

"Go and talk to the staff. Make sure that it's clear he isn't welcome. Let them behave accordingly. And if he asks for me, or you, we're nowhere to be found. That's it. I have too much to think about without having to deal with him face to face again."

"Karin, I don't see what -- "

"I don't care what you see or don't see, Yosset. Just do as I tell you."

He bit off any further reply, and pushing his chair back, stood to do exactly that. He looked at her sitting there for a few moments, but she was off in her own thoughts again. Such determination, such focus, such innate power. There was just so much to admire in her.

Images of the skeletal ship rode with Sandon for days after they'd left the crash site. He spent lengthy periods musing about how their history had shaped them, shaped the structure of their society and the existence of others, such as the Atavists themselves. The Atavist family used the ship as a reminder. All of their people used it as a reminder. Were they right? He glanced across at Alise riding beside him. She believed it. He knew there was no point questioning her about it. Every time their conversation strayed to areas of belief, she fell back on her standard phrases and responses. Could she be right, and he be so wrong? He fingered the burgeoning beard on his chin and turned back to watch the passing landscape. As much as he wanted to test her beliefs, he knew there was little to be gained from the exercise. Perhaps some day, but not now. Not for a long time. There were other things he might like to test too, while he was about it� He turned to look at her again, but she was off in her own place.

Three weeks they'd been traveling now. Three weeks of interminable hours on a hard wooden seat on the front of the wagon, and gathered in temporary campsites at night. The time had given him many opportunities to watch and learn. He was at last really starting to understand the Atavist way of life, their routines, their ways of interacting with each other. Alise was always ready to explain when he had questions, and she did so without preconception, allowing his explorations, but yet never stepping over her own personal line. Over the days, he had learned where her boundaries lay, and knew where and when to avoid them.

The wagon train took its time getting down from the high Yarik plateau. After moving on from the crash site, they wound inland and then tracked a wide arc before heading down a rugged track that led down to the plains in a desolate unpopulated area with scant sign that any had even ventured that way. The only thing that told Sandon otherwise was the well-traveled path itself, barely marked by the instability of the area, or encroaching brush. As they creaked and rumbled their way down the mountainside, Sandon wondered how much else he didn't know. The Atavist community seemed to survive conveniently unobserved by the rest of the world.

The surroundings had changed over the last few hours. They'd passed through farmland, through open undeveloped countryside and through forested areas, deep with ajura trees, broad-based and shiny with their armored bark. Every few days, they'd seen one or two small groups of Atavists passing in other directions, but no party as large as their own. They exchanged brief greetings, and then went their own ways. If anything, their interactions had seemed almost perfunctory. What it was that held these people together? It had to be more than faith, didn't it? All these questions were accumulating in the back of his head. He needed to understand, to put it in a place where he could appreciate what made it work. One day, when he had the space, it would make sense, and then he'd be far better equipped to do what he needed to do. For now, he just needed to understand enough to be able to carry out the start of his formative plan.

Small squat plants dotted the surrounding fields, their broad, flat, fleshy leaves spread out from a central spine. Between the plants, dead grasses made a browning carpet, starting to rot and blacken with the ever-present moisture and soaking rain. He knew this landscape; they were nearing the mines, and somewhere close by sat a large Atavist community, a permanent community, from what he had been led to believe. It was a good base to start from, but then? The problem was, he had no idea how he was going to link up with Men Darnak and his party. If he even believed in the Prophet, he might consider some benevolent guiding hand. No, if there was going to be a guiding hand, it was the guiding hand of Sandon Yl Aris.

"Alise, are we getting close?"

She turned and gave him a half smile. "How did you know that?"

"Well, when I spoke to Badrae, he said we were headed for somewhere close to the mines. I recognize this area. If I'm not wrong, that's where we are, or close to it."

"Yes, there is not far to travel. But what then, Sandon? What will you do?"

"What will I do? That's the question all right."

She looked vaguely disappointed. "You are leaving us, aren't you?"

He gave a short half laugh. "If the Prophet wills it." He caught himself and responded to her frown. "I'm sorry," he said, lifting one hand. "I don't mean to mock. The truth is, I really don't know. All I know is that I have to find the Principal and his party. There is something that doesn't sit right, and for some reason, I have a duty to see if I can do something about it. I don't expect you to understand."

Instead of protesting, she nodded. "I will be sorry to see you go."

He met her gaze, and was surprised to see that she really meant it.

"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I really will