Baron Sharpe had never met an Archon, only other hybrids, though he was certain they existed, simply because the gene pool of the baronial hierarchy was a collection of superior traits derived from both human and Archon DNA.
He understood that the entirety of human history was intertwined with the activities of the entities called Ar-chons, though they didn’t refer to themselves as such. The term was very ancient, referring to a mystical force that acted as a spiritual jailer, imprisoning the spark of the divine within human souls.
The Archons’ standard operating procedure was one they had employed since time immemorialthey established a privileged ruling class dependent upon them, which in turn controlled the masses for them. In ages past, the Archons’ manipulation of governments and religions was all-pervasive. However, as time progressed, the world and humankind changed too much for their plenipotentiaries to rule with any degree of effectiveness.
Hence came January 20, 2001, and the greatest megacull in the long, confusing history of the world.
Now, nearly two hundred years after the nukecaust, the population was only a fraction of what it had been and far easier to manipulate, with most nonessential and nonproductive humans eliminated.
Still, the existence of the Archon Directorate remained a ruthlessly guarded secret. The Trust acted more or less as the protectors of the Directorate, and its oath revolved around a single themethe presence of the Directorate must not be revealed to humanity. If its presence became known, if the truth behind the nukecaust filtered down to the people, then humankind would no doubt retaliate with a concerted effort to wipe them out, and the Directorate would be forced to visit another holocaust upon the face of the earth. No one, not even the barons, wanted that. The planet was now orderly, and another catastrophe would cause a great deal of distressing chaos.
The Trust stood in a formal semicircle around the high-backed leather armchair in which Baron Sharpe sat. Crawler didn’t stir from his rug near the hearth, not even lifting his close-cropped head from a satin pillow as the men trooped in. All of them studiously avoided looking in the mutie’s direction.
There was a sound reason for not questioning or even acknowledging Crawler’s presence in the room. Only a few days after the administrator of the Manufacturing Division lodged an objection to Crawler’s input, he had vanished. His replacement, a man named Tobak, knew Crawler had claimed the man harbored disloyal, seditious thoughts. Every member of the Trust did his utmost not to draw the doomie’s attention. That was all it took nowadays to disappearsimply come to Crawler’s attention.
Baron Sharpe listened graciously to the reports from the Trust, despite his disinterest. He always found it a great effort to pretend he cared about anything his subordinates considered of import.
Ericson, the Magistrate Division administrator, spoke last, in his characteristic colorless monotone. “At the request of Baron Cobalt, I dispatched a recon party to Redoubt Papa.”
Baron Sharpe stirred in his armchair, his high forehead furrowing a bit as he ransacked his memory. “Redoubt Papa?” he murmured. “Where is that again?”
Ericson answered blandly, “Washington Hole, my Lord Baron.”
Sharpe nodded distractedly. “And why did you send a recon party there?”
“To honor a request made by your brother baron in
Cobaltville.” Ericson softened his clipped speech pattern, hoping he sounded unctuous. “To search for the renegades who used a gateway to kidnap a member of Baron Cobalt’s Trust. Quite the outrage.”
Baron Sharpe flipped a diffident hand through the air. Impatiently he said, “Yes, yes, now I recall. Something about a renegade Mag who humiliated Baron Cobalt beyond his ability to endure. Pompous fool. So?”
“The party I dispatched should have returned by now. They are nearly a half day overdue.”
“And that’s bad?”
Ericson lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Merely disquieting at this juncture, my Lord.”
Baron Sharpe narrowed his eyes. “Why do you think they have yet to return?”
Ericson cleared his throat. “I can only speculate on the possibilities.”
“You have the floorspeculate to your heart’s content.”
“They encountered mechanical difficulty with their conveyance.”
“Which was?”
“A Sandcat. Or they encountered a difficulty that they could not cope with.”
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