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

tents. Men started gathering around it, huddling in groups. Others withdrew to tents, the shapes suffused with yellow glows lit from within. Pity the poor individuals set to duty outside, with nothing more than the comfort of the large central heater and their own company to keep them warm.

After he judged enough time had passed, Sandon stood, and gathering the waterproof coat into a bundle, shoved it back into the pack. He groaned as he moved; sitting on the cold damp ground for so long had left him stiff and sore. At least it was only a short ride to the camp now, and he'd only have a limited time sitting astride the damned animal's bony back. With a grimace, he mounted, and running his story over in his head, headed the animal toward the camp with a sharp kick of his heels.

Slowing the animal to a walk, he passed the first of the tents, looking around. He had been right, there were fewer here than he would have expected. A couple of the men -- how many were there, five? -- looked up as he neared, showing first a touch of confusion, then open hostility.

"What do you want here, Atavist?" challenged one, not even bothering to get up.

"I am seeking some food for the animal, perhaps some warmth for the night."

Another man laughed. Sandon recognized neither of them, not that he necessarily should. Generally, Men Darnak's traveling parties were taken from the administrative ranks, or some of his personal household. That was good too. Right now, he was immensely conscious that he might be recognized at any moment. He swallowed back his natural response to the laughter, and thought about his next words carefully.

"By the Prophet, I am asking for your help." He said it as clearly as he could.

Another man sitting across the other side from the first two glanced up and quickly looked away again.

"Please," continued Sandon. "I can pay."

One of the first pair was grinning now. "Do you know whose camp you're in? And since when did your lot pay for anything?"

Sandon met the grin levelly. "I have some credits," he said. "Or I can work. I have been doing what the Prophet wills."

"Go on. Get out of here," said the grinning face dismissively, the expression now becoming less amused.

"Wait, Jask," said another one. "The Principal wouldn't like it."

The man called Jask frowned. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Please, brother," said Sandon. "You must have plenty to feed all these animals. You must be able to spare a little."

"I said get out of here." Jask's voice had lifted a little, and he stood and took a step forward. "Now. Go on. Take your stinking beast away from here."

"And the rest of you, brothers?" said Sandon, turning to the rest of the group. Three avoided looking at him, but the one that had spoken before was chewing his lip, watching, and he too rose slowly to his feet.

"Jask?" he said quietly.

"Damn you, Fran," said Jask, glancing at his companion. "No, damn you. You can keep your stupid religious nonsense to yourself."

A hiss came from another of those seated about the heater, now openly watching the exchange.

A motion from one of the nearby tents, and the flap was shoved to one side revealing a tall, thin figure. Sandon would recognize that frame anywhere. Witness Kovaar. He lifted a hand to pull his hood further about his face. Kovaar strode across to the group.

"What's going on here?" he asked in his thin reedy voice as he approached.

One of the other men in the group muttered in a low voice as he neared. "Now you've done it, Jask."

"Nothing to worry about, Witness Kovaar," said Jask. "Just one of those Atavists looking for what he can get. We can handle it."

Kovaar drew up beside the man, and with merely a glance at Sandon, peered at Jask with narrowed eyes. He looked back at Sandon, seeming to both study him and be thinking at the same time. Sandon gave the barest of nods, hoping that the poor light and his changed appearance would be enough. Witness Kovaar, after a moment, returned the nod with the barest inclination of his head.

"This is one of the Prophet's people. Do you know what he wants? Have you asked?"

The man called Jask shrank back from Kovaar's gaze. "Said he wanted some feed for the animal."

"Well give it to him."

"Said he wanted to stay here the night."

Kovaar glanced back at Sandon, gave him another assessing look, then spoke. "Well let him."

"But..."

"Did you not hear me? Give him what he wants. It is our duty by the Prophet's will." He turned on his heel and without another word, strode back to his tent and disappeared inside.

The look on Jask's face was like he had swallowed something bad. "You'd better come with me," he said sullenly.

Sandon dismounted and followed, leading his padder back to the line of tethered beasts staked further behind the line of tents. It looked like he'd gotten away with it�so far. There had been no sign yet that Kovaar had seen through his subterfuge. But then, there was something not right as well; it was Kovaar who had appeared from the tent to see what was creating the fuss. It was Kovaar who had ordered the men around. Where was Leannis Men Darnak, and how had Kovaar managed to gain such a hold on the Principal's affairs. Sandon was immediately more concerned than he had been before. Men Darnak's men were deferring to the odious priest. And what had that look of calculating assessment Kovaar had given him been about? Certainly, on the surface of things, they were both men of the Prophet in their own ways, and the teachings of the Church spoke of charity, but there was something more there. Sandon chewed this over as the grudging Jask set him up for the night. One thing was sure; the fates were shining his way to have allowed him to come even this far. He would have to wait and see exactly how long that good fortune lasted.

Sandon awoke to the sounds of the camp stirring about him, another cold, gray day and the noise of padders complaining. Men were grumbling along with the beasts as they went about their allotted tasks, and here and there, he caught snatches of conversation. He hitched himself to his feet and went to attend to his own padder. At the line of animals, he received one or two strange looks, but he assumed that news of last night's events had already made its way throughout the camp. From what he overheard, he quickly learned that they were nearing the end of their visit to the area, that Men Darnak had indeed been looking for Tarlain, and that there had been expeditions to the Kallathik hive. When he had seen to the animal, he went in search of the man who had offered support, Fran. He found him over the other side of the camp, carrying bundles and loading them onto the back of a wagon.

"Brother," he said.

Fran stopped, still holding the bundle he was carrying, frowned, and then slowly placed the bundle at his feet.

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you."

Fran nodded. He had clear, open features. His hair was light, and fell in waves about his ears. He looked at Sandon, waiting for him to continue.

"I wished to thank you for your words last night."

Fran shook his head. "It wasn't for you, especially."

"All the same�"

Fran stood waiting and Sandon nodded. "I have heard that you might be leaving soon. The activity suggests you are about to break camp." He gestured about them with one hand. "Would you know where you are headed?"

Fran shrugged. "Probably back to the Men Darnak estates, but the way the Principal's been behaving lately, it's hard to say. We'll know soon enough."

"Ahh," said Sandon. "It would be good if that was the way. I too am traveling in that direction." He filed the comment about Men Darnak's behavior away without comment.

Fran leaned down and hefted the bundle again. "So, what is it you're saying?" He started off toward the wagon, and Sandon kept pace with him.

"Perhaps there might be a way I can travel with you."

Fran headed back to the pile of bundles and lifted one with a grunt. Sandon reached down and lifted another.

"What are you doing?"

"I am helping," said Sandon. "I can help. I can work."

"I don't know," said Fran, but the young man didn't protest as Sandon walked with him and tossed the bundle into the wagon's back with the others. "Someone would have to clear it with Witness Kovaar, but the Prophet knows, we're short handed enough." He grunted as he hefted a heavy sack. Sandon stooped to help him. Together they carried it back to the wagon and swung it inside.

Kovaar again. Sandon mulled this over as they walked back to the pile of supplies. Elsewhere, others were starting to break down the tents and pack them away. If it was going to be cleared with Kovaar, it would have to happen soon.

"Fran, could you...?"

The young man stopped, hesitating, looking back at the remaining pile of bundles and sacks, then back at Sandon.

"I'll keep loading while you go and see," said Sandon.

Fran was caught in a moment of indecision, but then he nodded. "All right," he said. "It can't hurt."

As Fran headed off to speak to whomever he had to, Sandon, good to his word, kept loading the wagon. The young man seemed simple and good-natured enough. He had no doubt that he'd put in a good word for the lone Atavist. Meantime, he had seen nothing of Leannis Men Darnak. In the past, the Principal would have been in the midst of everything, directing, passing judgment, making his presence felt, but there had been not a sign. He'd seen Witness Kovaar already once or twice, but still nothing of the old man. Then there was the whole question of how he was going to get close to Men Darnak anyway. If he was to be of any use, he had to get near enough to be able to observe, perhaps to influence, without giving the whole game away. As it was, he needn't have worried. He was nearing the end of the pile, starting to shift the last few sacks, when Witness Kovaar came striding toward him over the damp ground with Fran in tow. Almost out of habit now, Sandon reached up and pulled the hood further around his face, bowing his head.

"So, Atavist, what are you called?" said Kovaar.

"I am Tchardo."

Kovaar stood looking at him for several moments. Sandon felt the tension rising inside, but finally, the priest spoke.

"This man here tells me that you wish to travel with us. Is that so? Where are you headed?"

"Where the Prophet wills," said Sandon. "I go where the Prophet wills."

"Yes, of course," said Kovaar with a sigh. "Nowhere else but where the Prophet wills." Again the look of assessment. "So, it may be useful to have you along. Every reminder that we can give the Principal about the Prophet's teachings can only serve to the good." This time Kovaar looked around the camp before turning back. "Yes, you will travel with us. You will even sit with us tonight, I think. The Principal and I will have much to talk about with you." He turned to Fran. "You, whatever your name is. If any of the others give you any trouble about this, or if they start giving this man, Tchardo, any grief, you send them