A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [61]
“Don’t worry,” said his father. “We’re safe here.”
Dan’nor looked at him. “How do you know that? How can you be safe anywhere while you’re part of…” He lowered his voice self-consciously. “Part of that?”
“Because,” said Trien’nor, “we watch the watchers. And we know that they don’t watch here.”
The younger man believed him. Was it something in his voice? In any case, it calmed him a little.
“You see?” said Trien’nor. “The authorities can be dealt with. They’re not all-powerful- and they know it. That’s the reason they conscripted Ralak’kai. They want to make an example of him. So that we will fear them as much as they fear us.”
Dan’nor’s knees were feeling weak. He found a seat on a weathered wooden bench.
“And there will be more like him. Those who’ve committed similar acts of rebellion over the years-worse acts, perhaps. They’ll turn up in the Conflicts, one by one, until we all get the message.”
Dan’nor felt as if his whole world were turning upside down. It was more serious than he’d thought-much more serious. And it wasn’t a stranger speaking of his involvement. This was his father.
“At the same time, this solves another of the Council’s problems. You know those bigger, bloodier battles you mentioned? They’re the Council’s way of fighting a decline in viewership. And it has always worked for them in the past. But now, it seems, they’re having trouble bringing viewership back up. So the battles are getting even bigger, even bloodier. Also, a good deal more frequent. The result? The ranks of the combatants are being depleted at an alarming rate. The Council needs a new source of bodies-and they’ve found it in men like Ralak’kai.”
Dan’nor shook his head, tried to think straight. His father’s ideas seemed to expand in his brain, to crowd out any others.
“Did you ever wonder,” asked Trien’nor, “why it is necessary for people to work in the factories? In a world where we can transform light into deadly force-or snatch aliens off their distant ships, atom by atom-why is it we can’t create machines to make our shoes?” The water lapped at the wooden pylons that supported the wharf. “Because then the people would have time on their hands. Time to think, to consider. And to wonder why there must be such a thing as the Council.”
It was the truth, of course. Dan’nor knew it. But it was a dangerous truth, razor-sharp and stained with other people’s blood.
“The Conflicts,” said his father, “are supposed to do the same thing-to distract us from our subjugation. To siphon off the energy of our minds as the factories leech the energy of our bodies. The Conflicts enslave us. And now, with the conscription of Ralak’kai, that enslavement has taken on a much more literal dimension.”
The younger man looked up. It seemed to him that Trien’nor looked placid as he sat there. Almost serene. The councillors he’d seen were only a parody of stoicism compared to his father.
In the distance, a boat was approaching from downriver-a shadowy hulk with lights fore and aft, casting tiny brightnesses into the water. It had to be a cargo vessel; it was much too big to be a passenger ship.
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Dan’nor.
But then, he’d known the answer to that all along-hadn’t he? From the first moment he’d recognized his father walking beside him.
“Because,” said Trien’nor, “I need your help. We’re planning something important-something diflicult-and something much more dangerous than that for which Ralak’kai was jailed. But to do it, we’ll need more hands and hearts than we currently have available. And experience in the Military certainly won’t hurt.”
Dan’nor muttered a curse. The madness of it all threatened to overpower him. The sheer insanity of a world where he could even be asked to do such a thing.
“Don’t say any more,” he told Trien’nor. “I’m not like you. I’m not a skulker-and I never will be.”
His father fixed him with his gaze. “You’re more like me than you can imagine. You’re like