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want; for the women it was a dual reduction to menial laborer and/or sex
object.
The society was directed from the cradle so tightly and efficiently that each
sex believed it had the better part of the deal; that was the trick and quite
an accomplishment.
The population, all of it, he realized, would be terrified if they one day
awoke free to do whatever they wanted and free to do or get nothing as well.
Theirs was a society in which you did what you were told and in exchange were
provided with everything society could give you, including cradle-to-grave
security and the basics of life.
After three days he'd decided that Tilghman was right in one thing at least,
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that if the Judges and the Central Committee suddenly all died, but the system
and bureaucracy remained untouched, this society could and would by this point
go on indefinitely. Still, that was where
Tilghman the idealist and dreamer and Matson the sour pragmatist and cynic
parted company, for the Judge really believed that such a state would come to
pass, where Matson knew with conviction that any gaps in the top leadership
would be instantly filled from just below. The state would never fade away or
retire because human nature loved power most of all, and there would never be
a group tough enough and ruthless enough to get to the top who wouldn't hold
on to that power and use it themselves. The Fluxlord never surrendered; he or
she clung to power until deposed by an even stronger and more powerful
Fluxlord.
The only free people he knew or knew of were those so powerful they could not
be challenged, yet also smart enough to be bored playing tinpot dictator or
god. Even he was not really free, or he wouldn't be in New Eden now or
anywhere near the place. He'd retired and gone to work for a powerful Fluxlord
who'd also been a pretty nice guy but he was still the Fluxlord's man,
dependent on him for everything. Then he'd gone back to the Guild, and there
he was a colonel, which always seemed to him when he was young a high and
mighty rank and position. But the first thing a colonel learns is that there
are five ranks above him, all able to give colonels orders, and there were an
awful lot of colonels.
He spent one last night with Sindi, then rose early in the morning on the
fourth day and started packing up. She seemed genuinely sorry to see him go
and her affection seemed quite genuine and touching, but the cynic in him
wondered how many times a year she played out the same scene with equal
sincerity.
His clothes had all been neatly cleaned and pressed, and when he walked over
to Temple
Square in the predawn chill he found they'd taken very good care of his horse
and apparently had cleaned and waxed his saddle. Even the old shotgun looked
brand new. He hoped it still shot.
Tilghman was there in full uniform, as was a whole troop of spit-and-polish
cavalrymen. It was really impressive when you stopped to look at it. He was
escorted over to the high-ranking group and Tilghman spotted him and greeted
him warmly. The old guy seemed in exceptionally high spirits, and was quick to
introduce him around. He met too many men to keep track of them, but he knew
that there were three other Judges here, just slightly less powerful than
Tilghman, and
Gunderson Champion was impossible to miss. Only the general seemed less than
overjoyed to be there on what Tilghman kept referring to as a "historic
occasion," but he was a good soldier.
Champion knew of Matson but did not remember him, but the old stringer
remembered the general well. He'd been Coydt's chief henchman, lieutenant, and
troubleshooter. the only man as psychotic as Coydt himself and. therefore, the
only one Coydt trusted to run his operations and affairs while the chief was
away. Elsewhere around had to be the man who was Coydt's "left hand" as much
as Champion had been his right, but there was no trace of Onregon Sligh this
morning.
The main road led to the east and west Gates, always the only real entrances
and exits from
Anchor Logh, but the great banded multicolored orb that the Church called the
Holy Mother was barely a third of the way to mid-Heaven before they turned and
took a side road through the rolling farms almost due south. Even at the slow
pace such a huge group had to take on these roads and under these conditions,
they would arrive at the wall fully a day ahead of deadline if they continued
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in this direction.
Matson tended to be quiet and rarely initiated a conversation. He was a guest
of the big shots, but he wasn't privy to their councils or secrets and he
really didn't like Gunderson Champion in the least, so he stayed with the men
of the headquarters company on the frequent breaks. He learned very little,
except the fact that not one of them, including their top sergeant and their
commander, knew what the hell all this was about, either.
When they arrived at the wall he found that it had actually been breached in
this location, and professionally, too. A new, if primitive, gate had been cut
in it with a steel mesh bridge carrying patrols over the rectangular opening.
Sturdy temporary wooden stairs had been built on both sides of the opening,
and up top he saw where a section of wall had been widened into a platform a
good thirty meters long by twenty wide. The timber was fresh and untreated,
but the thing was sturdy as a rock. He saw grooves and holes in and around it,
indicating that something was to be put on it, but what that something was
turned out to be platform walls, or shields, perhaps three meters high, also
of wood but with metal sheets nailed firmly to their outsides. There appeared
to be only three walls. There was a fourth stacked up against the wall below,
but it seemed the wrong size and shape to fit anyplace up top.
Below, a tent city had already been established, and now the various parts of
the VIP detail found their temporary homes and stables and proceeded to move
in. There was no specific place for him, and he was told pretty much to pick
his own spot and just stay out of the way. He found an empty spot in the tent
with the detail who'd been here setting all this up for weeks, apparently.
They knew who he was, and seemed amiable enough to talk about their work.
After several hours he had a very good idea of their orders and the layout of
the place, and found out that none of them really knew what was going on,
either.
He had to admit, though, that he was increasingly worried, not for himself but
for Sondra, Jeff, and Spirit. In Flux they felt that they were in their
element and that nothing except an attack by a stronger wizard was to be
feared. Of course, he knew that you could blow a wizard's head off with a
shotgun just as easily in Flux as in Anchor, but he also hoped that Sondra
remembered her own experience in the attack on Spirit's refuge. One strong
wizard Zelligman Ivan and one
New Eden amplifier had collapsed a Fluxlahd maintained by both Cass and
Mervyn two of the strongest sent Sondra in flight and knocked Cass cold for
maybe days. Mervyn was hooked to
the old, pre-amplifier days and the pre-amplifier reflexes. Could he and the
other two wizards withstand a power that might be three, or even thirty, or
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