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

He stepped forward and put his face right up close. "I know all about your sort, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to help you."

Sandon had just about had enough of the self-important idiot's bluster. He was tired, he was wet, and he'd been running all over the countryside on some mad errand to deliver a simple message. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Edvin's shirt.

"And I told you to hold your tongue little man. You'll shut your mouth, or by the Prophet, I'll shut it for you."

Edvin struggled to break the grip, but Sandon had a good handful of cloth, and he drew him closer. "Do you understand me?"

Edvin blanched, continuing to struggle. "Help! Out here!" he screamed in a high voice. "There's a mad Atavist out here. He's got me."

Sandon leaned in closer and shook him. "Shut up, I said!"

A commotion from the front brought running feet. Two more household staff appeared at the corner. They quickly assessed the situation and raced to Edvin's aid. With a deep weariness, Sandon suddenly realized how stupid this was. He released the handful of cloth and stepped back.

"He's mad. Get me free," said Edvin. The staff members closed in on Sandon, one on either side and grabbed his arms. Edvin fussed about with the front of his clothing.

Sandon sighed. The man was going to make everything of this that he could.

"What are you doing here?" asked one of the men restraining him, tightening his grip.

"I have a message for Roge Men Darnak."

The man's grip loosened slightly.

"From the Principal."

Edvin pointed at him. "See! What did I tell you? He's mad."

Sandon tried to shrug free from the two holding him. There was nothing that would have given him more satisfaction than grabbing Edvin by the throat and shutting him up properly.

"What's wrong with you, you idiot?" he said.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? Roge Men Darnak is the Principal you fool. Get rid of him," he said. Now he was even ordering around the Ka Vail staff.

"Wait," said Sandon. "Not that Principal. Principal Leannis Men Darnak. His father. I have a message for Roge from his father."

Two more figures appeared at the side of the house. "What's all this noise out here? What's going on?" Sandon recognized the voice of Aron Ka Vail. Beside him was another figure. Was it Roge? No, too slightly built for Roge.

"Guildmaster," said Sandon. "I have a message for Roge Men Darnak."

"Message?" said Ka Vail. "Who is that?" He wandered forward, peering through the gloom. "Who has a message?"

"There is no message, Guildmaster," said Edvin. "This Atavist has clearly taken leave of his senses. You've seen the sort."

Ka Vail came closer. "You," he said to his men. "Let him go." He stepped closer, his head slightly forward, eyes narrowed. "An Atavist, hey? And why would an Atavist be bearing a message for Roge Men Darnak?"

"Send him on his way with a well-placed foot, Guildmaster," said Edvin from the side.

Ka Vail whirled. "You shut up." He turned back looking at Sandon suspiciously. "I may be old, but I'm no fool, Atavist. I've seen one too many of your people recently. And none of it has led to any good. Now, what are you doing here?"

"I come with a message for Roge from Principal Men Darnak."

"Who?"

"Leannis Men Darnak."

Ka Vail seemed to consider this for a moment. At the same time, the other man stepped forward. Karryl Ky Menin! What in the name of the First Families was the Head of the Guild of Technologists doing here at the Ka Vail residence? There could only be one reason. There was about to be some sort of action within the Principate.

"Leannis Men Darnak. Speaking of old fools," said Ky Menin. "Well, Roge, or should I say, Principal Men Darnak is no longer here. He has left."

Sandon gave a growl of frustration. "By the Prophet," he muttered.

Ky Menin peered at him suspiciously. "You're a very strange Atavist. And why would Men Darnak have an Atavist running messages for him?" He continued looking suspiciously. Sandon felt suddenly very uncomfortable.

"I was sent with the message by the Principal. I am called Tchardo. And as the Prophet willed it, I was taken on by Witness Kovaar to the Principal's party."

Ka Vail turned to his fellow Guildmaster. "Men Darnak has been known to do stranger things, Karryl. And that Kovaar's a strange enough bird. I see no real reason to doubt it, but it leaves us with a slight problem."

"Well, perhaps," said Ky Menin. "So what is this message?"

Sandon looked at Ky Menin and back at Ka Vail, knowing that he had no choice. Slowly he recounted the tale of the Men Darnak party's ejection from Karin's estates and the disrespect with which she had treated the old man.

"And so," he finished. "The Principal has sent me to inform Roge that he will be traveling to his holdings and to make ready. That man over there," he said, pointing to Edvin, "can confirm everything I have told you."

Ky Menin turned to Ka Vail. "It rings true. The old fool doesn't know when he's done. But then you would never expect him to."

Sandon felt the seed of anger start to grow within him. "And you would do well to show some respect for your Principal."

"He's not my Principal any more, Atavist," Ky Menin said quietly and calmly. "And you should learn your place."

"And you know yours?" Sandon hissed.

"That's enough," said Ky Menin. "You will speak when I ask you to or not at all."

"What gives you the right?" said Sandon. "The Prophet will see to proper order."

"I have more right than you will ever know," countered Ky Menin with a slight sneer.

Ky Menin's attitude, Edvin, the whole thing suddenly became too much. Sandon barely restrained the urge to reach out a hand, ready to wipe the sneering smile from Ky Menin's face. He had to remember who he was supposed to be, to retain control. The Guildmaster stepped quickly back, noting the tension, and gestured to the Ka Vail staff. "Hold him." No sooner had he said it, than Sandon was grabbed firmly again from either side.

"No!" Sandon said through gritted teeth. He struggled, trying to break their grip.

Ky Menin watched him with a slightly amused expression. "So, Aron," he said. "It appears we have another problem. I suggest we lock him in one of your garages until I work out what we're going to do with him. Let him sit and be intimate with all of the technology he despises so much. He might learn a lesson or two in there."

"We simply can't do that," said Ka Vail.

"Of course we can," said Ky Menin. "Who's going to stop us?"

"But we risk offending Men Darnak, and in the current circumstance..."

"And so what?" Ky Menin's voice had become firm. "Leannis Men Darnak is the past. What do we care if we offend him? Go," he said to the other men. "Take him. Lock him up. Let him think upon his blessed Prophet and what he truly believes."

Sandon glared back over his shoulder as he was dragged away toward the storage sheds. Ka Vail and Ky Menin were returning to the house. Edvin was standing there watching, a smug grin on his face. Finally, all the fight just went out of him; he was just too tired to struggle any more.

The groundcar stuttered once or twice as they pulled out of the holdings and headed into the open countryside. Jarid, one hand hanging beside his seat, fingered the tool thoughtfully. He knew exactly what he was going to do now, but he had to find the right moment�far enough away from the estates, but not too far along their journey. He needed to get back, to warn them of the terrible thing that had happened�.

Roge was concentrating on the way ahead, thankfully not talking for the moment, though occasionally lapsing into brief mutters to himself. Jarid watched through narrowed eyes. He traced the side of Roge's cheek, his neck in his minds eye, looking for the spot, testing the action in his head. He kept part of his attention on the surrounding landscape, what little he could make out in the darkness and the rain. Water spattered against the front screen, running in rivulets and waves, blurring the dim smudged image of the outside.

There! There was what he was looking for. A stand of trees lay off to one side. Mostly, the surrounding countryside had been cleared of trees, but a few remained here and there. Here was his opportunity. Taking a grip on the tool's handle, Jarid took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then, in one quick motion, he lifted his hand, slamming the tool into Roge Man Darnak's neck.

Roge's eyes went wide. A strangled cry and his hands flew to his throat. Jarid pulled back, wresting free his makeshift weapon and plunged again. As Roge scrabbled at his neck, trying to dig the shaft from his neck, Jarid leaned across and slapped the controls, bringing the groundcar to a halt. There was blood. Blood all over his hands, all over his clothes and the smell of it filled the confined space. Roge was struggling, bucking, making strangled sounds in his throat. Once more for good measure. He gripped the tool, yanked it free and then plunged it back into Roge's chest, burying to the handle. Then he sat back and watched as the last of Roge Men Darnak's life left him.

It didn't take him long to set the controls, pointing the groundcar toward the cluster of trees. As he watched the vehicle plow into the heavy ajura wood trunks, the rain beat down upon him, sluicing his face and hair, washing the Men Darnak blood away. With one last look at the crumpled groundcar, Jarid nodded his satisfaction, slipped the tool, the evidence away, and turned, starting the long trek back to the estates.

Markis looked around at his companions and around at the camp in which he now sat. A few wagons, the small canal with the longboats moored in place with thick ropes, the shed, cobbled together from bits of old metal and wood providing some sort of shelter from the weather; all of it so unfamiliar. Nothing seemed to make sense any more. All he really knew was that he had to keep low for a while. Maybe with time, all this strangeness would simply blow away.

And speaking of blowing, he'd been heading back to the mines when the most recent storm had descended on him with a vengeance. Desperately seeking somewhere out of the elements, he had stumbled upon this camp, this small way station used by the population of itinerant workers that roamed the countryside.

"Hey, Marky. What you doin' 'ere, staring at the water, eh?"

"Hmm? Oh, hello, Abaile. Just thinking I suppose."

"Well, thinking too much never did no man no good, Marky. Come get something to eat and something hot to drink."

Markis pushed himself to his feet, brushed off his thighs and glanced over at the shelter where the rest of the men were clustered around a fire. His companion, Abaile seemed to be the main speaker for this small group of half a dozen travelers. He was a tall, rangy man, bordering on the edges of middle age. Everything about him exuded an aura of unkemptness, and the same was true of his fellow workers. They were currently on their way to some of the larger estates, looking for whatever employment might be on offer. Abaile had already made it quite clear that