A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [60]
Now, apparently, Trien’nor had found it. But where was it leading him?
“Of course, I did not realize any of this until after her death. But once I did, it opened my eyes. I saw that there were others around me who felt the same way I did. And who wished to do something about it.”
The younger man didn’t like the sound of that. He said so. “You can’t defy the authorities. They’ll crush you-no matter how many of you there are.”
Trien’nor laughed. It was not a particularly pleasant sound. “You’re wrong. The authorities are much more fragile than one might think. It’s just that no one has ever challenged them.”
Dan’nor regarded him. “And you plan to do that?”
His father shrugged. They came to the planked walkway that led down to the riverside. It was too narrow for them to walk shoulder to shoulder, so Trien’nor went first.
“You watch the Conflicts,” he said, offering it to Dan’nor over his shoulder. It was more a statement of fact than a question.
“I put them on,” amended Dan’nor. “But I don’t always watch them.”
“Do you see anything different about them?”
Dan’nor thought about it as he descended. A bird dove perilously close to the walkway and disappeared beneath it.
Come to think of it, he had noticed something. “The battles seem to be getting bigger. Bloodier. Is that what you mean?”
Trien’nor glanced back at him. “Exactly.” He grunted. “You’ve seen it too, then. That’s a good sign.”
“Of what?” asked the younger man.
But his father seemed not to have heard. “Did you notice any unusual combatants?” he asked. Trien’nor reached the wharf level and turned. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”
Dan’nor wanted his question answered first. But this was his father’s game. It had been since he first made his appearance.
“No. I mean, aren’t they all out of the ordinary?” He joined Trien’nor on the wharf and they began to walk again. Beside them, the river murmured in its own slow, dark language.
“You’d have recognized this one,” said the older man. “He’s a Klah’kimmbri.”
Dan’nor searched his father’s face. But there was no sign of dissembling there. No sign of a joke either.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “How would a Klah’kimmbri have gotten into the Conflicts?”
Trien’nor’s eyes narrowed. “Simple. They put him there. He’s a political criminal and they have chosen this as his punishment.”
Dan’nor shook his head. “Come on. The last Klah’kimmbri soldier came home sixty years ago. It’s unthinkable that it could happen today.”
“Why?” asked his father. “Because it would be barbaric? And yet, we don’t hesitate to subject off-worlders to the same barbarism-do we? We call them criminals for having trespassed in the space around our planet, and then we take away their memories so that they do not know otherwise. That’s the kind of people we have become-ready to overlook slavery and wrongful death if it serves our ends. Or rather, our Council’s ends. But there is something more offensive, you think, in all of this happening to a Klah’kimmbri?”
“Of course.” The reason came to Dan’nor a moment later. “Because if it could happen to one of us, it could happen to all of us.”
Trien’nor nodded. “You’re right. And that’s the reason it offends me, too. You see, there is a Klah’kimmbri among the combatants. I can even tell you his name: Ralak’kai. And the reason I can do this is because, just a few weeks ago, he was whispering in that dark room along with the rest of us.”
Ralak’kai. Dan’nor had heard the name spoken by Trien’nor’s friends before he’d been discovered outside the door.
“And they arrested him for that?”
His father shook his head. “Not just for that. There was a matter of sabotage as well. A factory-one owned by Councilor Fidel’lic. It was temporarily disabled.”
“Gods!” blurted Dan’nor. “Is that the kind of thing in which you’re involved?”
Trien’nor smiled his First Caste smile. “Yes. It is. So you see, Ralak’kai’s fate has a special meaning for me.”
Suddenly, Dan’nor had a feeling he was