She nodded and readied her weapon. She felt only the normal tension; she had faced down great wizards in their own lairs many times. The only difference this time was that she really wanted to shoot some of those men, wanted to see them die, for the first time in her life.
“Now!” Matson shouted, and both stood and opened fire on their respective targets. Matson shot high, the force of the slugs knocking the two mounted men off their horses. The horses neighed and bolted forward a bit, but seemed confused and didn’t run off. Kasdi opened up on the four infantrymen, and they seemed to simply fold and collapse like pricked balloons as more than sixty large caliber slugs fanned out in their direction in the space of less than a second.
And then they were running towards the horses. Both were experienced riders and mounted almost simultaneously; they were away as the others were just reacting to the sounds of the shooting. Scattered shots were fired after them, but they were wild and not in large numbers. The soldiers were unsure if their orders not to kill except in self-defense applied here, and most opted to chase rather than shoot.
After the firing began, the men nearest Suzl and Spirit turned and began to run towards the spot where everything was happening. They took the opportunity and ran out and across to the next grouping of trees, then continued to thread their way along the edge of the woods. Men were yelling and running about, some shooting wildly, and more horsemen roared into the gap and began shouting orders. Four horsemen took off after the already vanished pair, but at least one of the officers was taking no chances and started fanning out the infantry up and down the opposite side of the woods. Foot soldiers began to go into the woods where Spirit and Suzl were, forcing them deeper into the extremely dark and damp vegetation. The soldiers were coming in fast, and they began to run.
Suddenly Spirit tripped on a vine and went sprawling. Suzl, behind her, avoided the vine and ran to help her up. She started to get up, then grimaced in pain. “I’ve twisted the ankle, damn it!”
“Then get down in the brush!” Suzl hissed. “I’ll try and lead them away and circle back!”
She started off again, but did not go far before stopping and checking. It had been a vain hope anyway that they would overrun Spirit, and she saw a bunch of grim-faced men pointing rifles down at the woman.
“You in the woods!” somebody shouted. “You have five seconds to come back here unarmed, hands in the air, or I’ll shoot your pretty friend through the head here and now.”
Suzl quickly tried to assess her chances of shooting all of them, but realized that with Spirit’s ankle it would just bring the rest down on them firing to kill. She removed her rifle and let it drop, then shouted, “All right! Don’t shoot! I’m coming out!”
They were taken back, manacled, to the communal farm of their birth, but to the other side where the administration building was, and then they were taken inside. A doctor or some kind of medic gave Spirit a shot in her lower calf that numbed it below, allowing her to walk on it with great difficulty. It was only a mild sprain, though, not a break, and they weren’t very concerned by it.
Once in the building, they were taken separately into a small room where a man in the mud-brown uniform of the conquerors checked their faces and prints against a film reader record. Then they were stripped, given showers, and taken into another room where Suzl found a device she hadn’t seen in almost nineteen years. Then, having been chosen for the Paring Rite, she’d been seated in a chair much like that one—perhaps that very one, from the look of it—and a technician had dialed in something on a small control panel just like now. The tattooing hurt more this time; she wasn’t drugged now.
She was ordered to stand and they examined it. She could see in a full-length mirror what they’d done, and it was very large. A long number, her temple registration most likely, and underneath, SUZLETTE-C-04. Area C, Riding 4—here.
She was then issued a pair of skimpy underwear, what looked to be a pair of thin, brown pantyhose so transparent the tattoo was easily read through them, and a pair of ridiculous-looking sandal-like shoes with thick heels easily fifteen centimeters high. Then they pierced her ears and actually soldered large rings to close the earrings permanently. She would later discover that whatever man “claimed” her would attach two small charms that would bear his I.D. on one and his rank in society on the other. She felt like she was back in the Paring Rite for real.
Suzl was not one to go along meekly with things, but she was a streetwise survivor who could count the odds. There was simply no purpose to do or say anything antagonistic at this point. Waiting for an opening was the first guiding principle in the survivor’s handbook.
Finally they took her to one of the smaller rooms on the top floor of the administration building. Records and valuables had always been stored here, on the theory that it was difficult for a thief to make six stories of a sheer building. As a result, there were barred gates at both the fifth and sixth floor stairwells which required different keys, and the only windows were high-up slits, not large enough to let a bird through but just enough for ventilation. Lighting was by gas from an external tank, so it was quite bright in the hallway. Finally they reached a door, unlocked it, and told her to go inside.
The room surprised her. There was a comfortable real bed and clean bedding, a pillow, a table and chair with a large vanity mirror, and a pull-out portable potty. The guard asked, “Can you read, girl?”
She swallowed hard and resisted the put-down response she wanted to make. “Yes, sir.”
“There is a manual of rules and regulations over there. Read them through. An interrogator will be here tomorrow. Failure to comply with any of the regulations will be painfully punished.” And, with that, he closed and locked the door.
Suzl had never put much stock in makeup or other fancy stuff, and she was so out of practice that she might as well have never used them at all. Still, she examined the vanity and began reading the manual. It was worse than she’d imagined, and it contained not only the basic regulations but also the theory of this new kingdom.
She had called it a military state, and it was one in fact. The leaders of Anchor Logh, it seemed, were all former military men both from Anchor and Flux. There was much about the value of “perfect discipline” and “natural order and superiority” in it. In Flux, nature determined who had the power and how much one had. In Anchor, it argued, nature had been perverted by the growth of the Church. The argument seemed to run something like: men were on the average larger and stronger than women, and were the sexual aggressors. Women on the average were weaker and smaller, but were specifically designed for sexual pleasure and for child-bearing and rearing, something men could not do. Therefore, Anchor nature determined that men should dominate, and their job was to protect and provide for women and children. The woman, being basically passive and maternal, had created a culture through the Church which was basically passive, and therefore stagnant, and had tended to treat all citizens as children. They were restoring a male aggressive society based on natural power and natural sexual roles, as they saw it.
This, then, was Coydt’s basic outlook on society and the sexes, and he had chosen his administrators well for their experience and compatibility with his views.
The state, which would be the most powerful men around with a will to rule, owned everything. The ranking of men in society was quasi-military, with a series of “grades” going from “00” for basic unskilled labor to “50” which was, of course, the head of state. Life would be grim for the lower grades, even the men, who were expected to think as little as possible and follow orders to the letter. All necessities, including food, were rationed and the amount of your ration depended on rank, from food to living quarters. Polygamy was allowed, again based on rank, and unattached women were basically cared for by the state and regularly put on “parade,” as it was called, where men could come, look them over, and “claim” them. Women who were unclaimed for a long period or who failed to “socially adjust to nature,” were taken to Flux and “readjusted” there for a “useful social role.” She had seen the former temple priestesses and guessed what that phrase meant.
They fed her a good, hot meal about an hour later in the cell, and she wolfed it down appreciatively. It was the best meal she’d had in quite some time. Then she settled back on the bed and tried not to think about the future. She could only wonder where Spirit was, who’d never undergone anything like this before, and whether Cass and Matson were punching through the wall or dead in some lonely grove of trees.
After breakfast in the morning, they brought in a woman dressed in a bright green version of what Suzl had been given, bare from the waist up, but wearing lots of makeup and jewelry. “I am Jerane,” she said, “and I have been asked to prepare you for the interrogation.” Suzl noted that Jerane had little tags on her earrings.
The preparation consisted partly of doing Suzl’s hair, teaching her makeup, and an interminable session walking up and down the hall in those shoes. Suzl found the shoes an amazing fit, considering how long she’d gone barefoot, and also found the art of walking on heels came back rather fast. She had always used boots with heels on the trail to increase her height. What she didn’t like were the critiques, and she was ready to blow up if she heard “Wiggle, don’t waddle” one more time.
Still, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was amazed at the difference. She really was kind of cute and sexy, she decided.
Jerane was something of a mine of information as well. The killing had all but stopped, except for the major offenses you’d expect. Rape, however, was no longer a crime if the woman was unaccompanied by a man. The bodies were being taken down and buried; the economy was starting to improve again, and the rules were no longer being changed every day. The invaders were settling in, marrying local women, and actually helping in the clean-up and spruce-up work that had to be done. People knew who was what now, and they were memorizing posted chains of command.
On the dark side, all education for women had ceased. Block captains, who were local residents and not invaders—she used the term “liberators”— checked daily to see that each dwelling and work place, inside and out, was cared for. They were quite strict, and the wives of workers at various places were brought in as a team to clean and polish everything there as well. For those women who just couldn’t be “re-educated” properly, there was, in addition to the lash, a new device worn like a necklace. Patrolmen all had little boxes that could activate them. If you were close to them, say no more than two meters, they would deliver an agonizingly painful shock that would do no real damage. It had done wonders, she said.
Yes, virtually everyone she knew now accepted the system. It was dangerous to voice any negative comments, since anyone could turn you in for extra ration coupons, but negative comments were fewer and fewer these days. Jerane had been an inventory clerk on the farm, but was now a housewife and part-time cleaner for the administration building, and she was trying desperately to get pregnant. Suzl asked her whether she missed her job and career and was told, “It is no longer relevant to my life or future. I no longer have any real pressure, and I have the time and the duty to have children. For a while I resented it, but accepting it and living it is just so much easier.”
It was always easier not to think but to obey, Suzl thought glumly. At first she’d been repulsed by the woman’s meek acceptance, but then she’d thought of her own life. Kicked as a slave into Flux by the Paring Rite, she hadn’t even tried to resist. She’d lucked into freedom on Cass’s coattails, but it was an illusory freedom. As a dugger with no Flux power, she’d done nothing but take orders and compromise all those years. Ravi seemed the ultimate compromise, considering what he wanted from her for protecting her.
Of course, she’d kidded herself that it was nothing personal; there were two kinds of people in Flux, those with the power and those without, and she’d been one of the “withouts” through no choice of her own. Now she had Flux power, but no real knowledge of how to use it, and here she was in Anchor, a woman in a society that decreed that women were the ones “without.” She seemed destined to always be in the right place on the wrong side.
Sooner or later there had to be a way out, a way to escape, but, until then, she decided that it was Ravi time once more and she had to be a good little girl.
The interrogator, who identified himself as Captain Weiz, was a young, handsome man with striking blond hair and beard. She walked into the interrogation room wiggling, not waddling, and he smiled, got up, and offered her a chair.
“We need to know the answers to some questions,” he told her. “Are you willing to cooperate?”
“As much as I can, sir,” she responded.
He nodded, liking having his ideology reinforced. “Now, you came in from Flux. We know that. Did you exit through the temple?”
She nodded. There was no use denying it now. “Yes, sir. There was a one-time condition that was induced to let us pass.”
“How many people emerged?”
She considered that but knew that hesitation was loss. “Three. Myself, Spirit, and Cass.” None of them had ever seen Matson, and there was a slight chance they didn’t know about him. It was a chance worth taking.
Weiz nodded. “This ‘Cass’ is also known as Sister Kasdi?”
She nodded again. “Yes, sir. But we grew up together and I never could think of her any other way except as Cass.”
“I see. And what was your objective?”
“Several, sir. First, if possible, we were to destroy whatever or whoever was maintaining the shield in any one spot and create an opening. Second, we were to get out and report on conditions here. Finally, if the opportunity arose, we were to find and kill Coydt van Haaz.”
Weiz seemed pleased with the answers. “You are the same Suzl who was once a somewhat male dugger in Flux?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. It was a curse that finally got lifted.”
“You prefer being female, then?”
Loaded question in this rulebook! “Yes, sir, I do. That’s why, when it was finally learned how to dissolve the curse, I opted for my current form.”
“And what would you wish for your future life?”
Another loaded one! The fellow was good at his job. “Sir, I would be lying if I didn’t say I would rather return to Flux.”
“And if that was impossible?”
“Then I would accept life here, sir. I’m a survivor. I had no power in Flux, so I went by others’ rules. This is no different. I would only like to be near enough to Spirit to see her regularly. We are very close.”
“Spirit was claimed by her legal father this morning, as is his right. He has been promoted to Chief Riding Mechanic in Trobovar, near the east gate, and they left immediately. Would it shock you to know that her parents are the ones who told us about you?”
“I kind of figured that out, sir.”
“They don’t want a hole punched in the shield,” he told her. “Not even our critics in Anchor wish that. It would be the end of us all, and everyone knows it and believes it because it is true. I say this because I want you to know that there’s no help for you here now and no help in the future. If you adapt to this life, there are rewards. Enough of Flux is ours so that the best citizens, male or female, need never grow old or lose their looks. If you live by the rules, punishment won’t exist and only rewards will flow. You adjusted to Flux; you must adjust here.”
She nodded, herself finding the logic easy and seductive. She wondered, though, what they would do with the excess population—or was that the Fluxlords’ payment? They went through lives like water and had lost their endless supply with the ending of the Paring Rite. Their power had been weakening from slow attrition. It made sense.
For the next few days she underwent “re-education” and it was no fun at all. Again, the methods were simple but seductive. They would have you do things, memorize things, then surprise you with all sorts of unexpected situations. If you hesitated, gave the wrong answer, or didn’t do it exactly right, you got a shock from the little collar. In an amazingly short time, you found it much easier to go along with it and found your mind concentrating only on what you were expected to do or say in any given circumstance. She knew that if it went on for too long, even a few weeks, she would be doing it so automatically that it would be impossible to resist. She’d seen the technique in Flux, but never thought it could be applied to Anchor.
The sessions were long and punctuated by uneven breaks. Food and sleep periods did not come with any regularity, and it was quickly easy to lose all track of time. She knew they were giving her hormones or something in her food; she felt constantly turned on, and her breasts gave milk, and she was ready for anything, man or woman. Hopes for rescue faded with time, and thinking of Spirit and the baby only made it worse.
She was awakened and told to “prepare herself,” and so she washed, got herself done up right, and dressed, then reported to the main office. She was no longer even surprised at herself for ogling men and checking out their asses. She’d always swung both ways, depending on the person, and would always have hopes of eventually reuniting with Spirit, but she was always the practical survivor, too, always adaptable to whatever conditions came along.
She was surprised to see Captain Weiz waiting.
She approached him and stood silently, waiting for him to speak.
“You’ve made excellent progress, Suzlette,” he told her. They insisted on full names, and she’d decided it made sense to use it for this new personality to keep confusion down, although she’d never used it before.
“Thank you, sir,” she responded.
“A question I forgot before. Just which point in the shield were you to attack?”
“The one nearest Lamoine, sir, if separated,” she heard herself replying without thinking. It took that to realize how far they’d taken her.
He reached into his pocket and took out two small charms and reached up and clipped them so they hung from their circular earrings. “Let us go back to your room,” he said, and they walked back, she keeping deferentially slightly behind him.
When they got there, he closed the door and smiled. “I have just claimed you, Suzlette. What do you think of that?”
She was shocked. “I’m honored, sir.”
He put her through all her paces, including the sexual. She was very, very horny and so was very, very good. It helped that he was attractive, but it was remarkably easy. You just turned off your mind. . . .
Nor, in fact, was he that bad either.
They relaxed after, and she felt very good, even though a back corner of her mind said that she should not. Clearly, linking spells did not work in Anchor.
“I was attracted to you from the start,” he told her. “I was in Flux, too, most of my life. Most of the women here are terribly inexperienced. We can go far together, you know. You can supplement and help me with my job.”
She began to grow suspicious. This was for a purpose.
“Get dressed and come with me now. We’re going to take a long ride up to Lamoine.”
He had an open surrey on order and drove it himself. It was a bright, pleasant day, and quite warm, and it felt good to be outdoors once more. He didn’t take a direct route but a number of back roads, stopping often in small towns and at farms. He seemed genuinely affectionate, and she played the servile game, all the time wondering what this was about. Clearly, he was showing her off conspicuously, but that might be to show her conversion. Everybody would know who she was.
They reached the small farming village of Lamoine in about four leisurely hours. The wall, and Flux, was only a kilometer away, but trees had been cleverly planted to block the view of it from the town. He made all the courtesy calls in town, and she was beginning to get used to being called Suzlette Weiz and even identified herself once as Madame Hamir Weiz. She was taken to a small kitchen and told to prepare a good picnic dinner for two. This surprised her even more, but she did as instructed.
She had found the whole experience and the day rather educational. She found herself critiquing other women’s hair and makeup, and found herself feeling quite comfortable looking and acting as she was—which was how all the other women in town were acting. It was a vaguely disquieting feeling. As the woman had said, it was so easy to conform.
They rode out past the trees and the wall came into view, a huge stone structure that looked impenetrable, although it was never more than a psychological joke to ones wanting to sneak in and out. A wooden superstructure had been built and the road had been extended to it. A bevy of armed guards and a machine gun outpost were set up there. The shield, not the wall, sealed them in, and they were there not to protect the wall but that machine that sustained the shield.
They ate in the shadow of the wall—a very nice picnic lunch, which she served. During the whole time Weiz had talked about inconsequentials, even some of his past, but never about what this was all about. Now, all packed up, he said, “Walk with me to the wall. I want to show you something.”
She followed him, and they mounted the stairs to the top. The defensive positions, which looked both in and out, were formidable in appearance. She reflected, though, that if anybody could get close enough to the wall and had the arm for it, it wouldn’t take more than two big grenades to wipe the post out. As a good wife, she kept her opinion to herself.
She looked out at the apron, fairly short in this area, and to the void beyond. Usually the scene was a total sameness, but not now. Out there, so close to Anchor it could be dimly made out, was . . . something. She stared at it and frowned.
“The machine you and your friends sought to destroy,” Weiz told her, seeing her fascination. “Come. Walk down the other side and we will take a look at it. As you can see, it is still very much intact.”
They walked out onto the apron and across the area bounding Flux and Anchor, It was odd to be going into Flux, and her wizard’s senses switched on in an instant.
The machine was basically a cube, with an operator’s cab on one side. It had never been moved here; it had obviously been built, or more likely created, in Flux.
“It is an amplifier,” Weiz told her. “It magnifies the power of the wizard in the chair a thousandfold.” She saw the enormous Flux energy flowing into it on all sides and saw, too, the massive concentration that radiated outward from it.
Another figure, a man, walked up to them. She turned and looked at him and knew him in an instant. That handsome face, those bulging muscles, that light, gray-tinged hair and beard she had seen only once, other than in pictures and accounts, but she knew who it was.
“Suzlette, Meet Prince Coydt,” Weiz said amiably.
Prince of Darkness, Prince of Evil. Demon Prince. What did you say to such a man as this?
“Hello, sir,” she managed.
15
SHADOW PLAY
Coydt van Haaz stood there dressed in a loose flannel shirt, blue denim work pants, and boots; a slight smile played on his face. “You may go now, Captain. Remain on the wall. I may need you later.”
Weiz looked nervous, but he responded crisply, “Yes, sir,” and departed, leaving Coydt and Suzl alone in Flux. She stared at him, feeling the tremendous energy inside him and also real fear inside her.