Awakeners by Sheri S Tepper

“Died?” Tharius had not heard this.

“Old people, mostly. The great mob of them have no proper provision of food or shelter. The towns have been instructed to put their own surplus foodstuffs under guard, and the Jondarites have been ordered to prevent looting. So, there is a good deal of hunger. Which begets a regrettable tendency to eat off the land, as it were.”

“Violence?”

“Some. Fights break out. Mostly the deaths are old people dying of lung disease brought on by cold and hunger. Some younger ones, too, through accidents or violence. Some children and babies, the same.”

“So, the pits are full,” Gendra mused. “Well, the fliers wanted the quota of bodies increased. They should be happy.” “Ezasper Jorn,” queried Bossit, “what mood are the fliers in?”

Jorn, huddled in his chair wrapped in three layers of blankets, blinked owlishly at them from his cavern of covers. “Voiceless as mulluks. They may not understand what’s going on so far as a crusade is concerned. They don’t seem curious, but then they’ve seen these little skirmishes before. We’ve had intertown wars; we’ve had rebellions put down by the Towers. That kind of thing has filled the worker pits from time to time over the centuries, so they might not think much of it. In short, they do not seem to be concerned. It’s a local phenomenon, after all.”

“They’ll scarcely change their reproductive habits on the basis of this temporary glut, which, at most, affects ten or a dozen towns.” Koma Nepor was using his best pedant’s voice, reserved for meetings such as this where chortle and giggle would not serve. “I agree with Jorn. They’ll stuff themselves for a time; then the movement or whatever it is will fizzle out as these things always do; and they’ll go back to normal.”

“Hungry normal,” commented Gendra with a vast grinding of teeth. “In those towns, at least. With all the oldsters gone, the death rate will be low for a time.” She reflected upon this. There was no reason the average lifespan should not be somewhat shortened. For parents, say, fifteen years after the birth of the last child. Or even twelve. For nonreproducers, earlier, unless they filled some important niche in the town economy. She would send word to the Towers. Fuller pits around the world would please the fliers, and if she could start currying the favor of the Talkers even now …

“So, the Talkers will tell the fliers to move across town lines and share.” Shavian was heartily weary of the entire discussion.

“The point is not what the fliers will or will not do, though it may come to that later. The point is, what are we to do?”

Tharius stirred uneasily. He had been arguing the proper course of action with himself for days now, first yes, then no, both sides with reasons that seemed equally good. Now he must choose.

“Have her brought before me,” he said firmly, nothing in his voice betraying either how little faith he had in his own recommendation or how deeply he was invested in its success. “Have her brought here. We know where she is. We do not need to wait for Laughers to find her. They were instructed, had they found her, to bring her here, so let us get on with it. Send word to the Jondarites in—what’s the next town west, Gendra?” He knew perfectly well. Pamra Don had surfaced in a hotbed of the cause. The dozen towns west of Thou-ne were all rife with rebellion, and their Towers were full of Tharius’s men.

“Rabishe-thorn,” she responded absently, even as she peered at him with searching eyes. What was he up to? “Rabishe-thorn, then Falsenter. If we send word now, they should be able to intercept her in one or the other.”

“Send word she is not to be harmed,” Tharius went on in an emotionless voice, praying the quivering of his hands clasped in his lap could not be seen. “As Propagator of the Faith, I need to know everything she knows, and I won’t get it if she’s too frightened or abused or—forbid it—dosed with Tears. It will take months for her to reach us overland. During that time, the crusade will be effectively stopped since she will not be there to lead it.” And this was the bait he hoped would bring them. Though he was thankful for the distraction she had provided, he wanted Pamra safe. With the day of the strike approaching, with his own inevitable mortality close at hand, he wanted to know she was well. I want to leave something behind me, he told himself, as though talking to Kessie. Kessie, I want to leave a posterity—silly though that may seem. I want it.