A tolling bell wakened me at 0530—me and everyone else in the Moleen brother house. It gave us time to dress, go out to the latrine, come back in and wash, and brush our hair. At 0600, everyone went to chapel for morning prayer, something not part of the Academy day. The Cultural Oversight Bureau, the COB, isn't part of the Church, for all their importance to each other, and now we were in the world of the Order again.
Meditation, on the other hand is part of life at both the Academy and the brother house. At 0640 we all went to one of the two zendos to meditate. There was a zendo for masters and brothers and one for novices and for any brother needing coaching. Freddy was the exception; he'd meditated before the bell woke the rest of us, so he could guide the novices in their meditations later. Supervising meditation is an art form.
At 0740 we went to breakfast, and at 0815, we four new masters met again with Tahmm and Fedor. Freddy was tied up with novices all morning. With the assistance of selected brothers, he worked with novices not only on meditation and the Catechism of St. Higuchi—but on martial arts. (The Catechism of St. Higuchi is a lot different from the Catechisms of the Council of Ponshtou, both the Complete and the Simples. It's not that they contradict each other; they simply cover different ground. And the Catechism of St. Higuchi is said to be nowhere written down. You memorize the whole thing, word for word, then gradually over the years, peel your way through new layers of meaning and application.) It was primarily Freddy who turned novices into Higuchians, spiritually and martially.
By contrast, Fedor's job was to supervise the entire operation—brother house, school, farm. He also lectured on, and supervised study in history, and in tactics in the broad sense. Higuchian tactics. And planned and debriefed brother missions, which were the great majority of missions. Tahmm had paired them. He's been known to keep a graduate around an extra year, getting further training while waiting for the graduation of an underclassman who'd be a really good match with him.
Tahmm and Lemmi and I, and Carlos and Peng, were in the briefing room a few minutes ahead of time. Fedor came in on the minute, and not alone. Our two assistants—"brothers" assigned to the Moleen brother house—came in with him. Lemmi and I recognized one of them: Paddy Glynn. Jamila and I had saved Paddy's life, back in Allegheny, and taken him under our wings. Supposedly I recruited him, but in a sense he'd recruited himself, as a big, remarkably brawny sixteen-year-old. And because of the emergency, he'd been exposed to things as an unprepared boy that even brothers weren't supposed to know about.
He'd handled all of it well.
The other was a black girl, or young woman. Brown, actually. Fedor introduced her as Kabibi Christian. Apparently he and Freddy had been encouraged to train more female brothers. She was taller than most women, but not as tall as Jamila had been, and she didn't have Jamila's charisma. On a good day, Lemmi and I combined wouldn't match Jamila's charisma. But Kabibi was no one to brush off. Like me, she had a warrior's aura with a good tinge of scholar, and strong self confidence. During the introductions, her glance took us in without self-consciousness. Though I didn't know it, she was still short of her eighteenth birthday, but she'd been on two brother missions.
When the introductions were over, Brother Krikor ushered the brothers out. Apparently Tahmm didn't want them exposed to some part of the briefing.
It was Tahmm who briefed us, of course. Lemmi and I, and Carlos and Peng, had been briefed back at the Academy, and this was pretty much a summary, but it tied in things Foley had told us. And hadn't told us; I had no doubt he and Tahmm had sat together into the wee hours, discussing things.
He began by repeating something we already knew—something obvious: "If the buffalo people massacre large numbers of Sotans, it will result in generations of hatred and violence between the kingdoms and the tribes. Which is what I believe the Helverti have in mind. So what you need to do is prevent a war between the Dkota and the Sotans. If you can't prevent it, keep it as minor as possible.
"Meanwhile, we need Sota militarily strong, to help prevent massacres. But His Majesty, Eldred Youngblood, and his confessor, Archbishop Clonarty, are confirmed 'mollies,' convinced that the way to peace is to mollify anyone who threatens you. And that all violence—all war at any rate—is evil. Meanwhile, Eldred has already weakened his kingdom's ability to defend itself.
"On the other hand, he's demonstrated willingness to use force brutally against rebellion, so if the Dkota attack, he may fight. But how effectively, given his weakened defenses?"
We already knew the basic problems, and our assignments. Lemmi was to learn what the Dkota planned, and what their military potential was, along with what he could find out about the Helverti. I was to learn the political and military dynamics in Sota, and what their potentials were, good and bad. Explore how pacific the king and his archbishop really were, and what the nobility was able and willing to do about it. We were cross-trained and cross-briefed, to help us interact and provide backup when needed, and whatever we learned, we'd share by radio.
This final briefing had been a last opportunity for questions. Now Tahmm dismissed us to see to our supplies and equipment for the long ride north to Hasty town.
We had everything ready before evening prayers. We'd leave in the morning. Supper followed vespers, and after supper, Tahmm called Lemmi and me to talk with him.
"I'm going to ask you some questions," he said. "Call it a catechism. Some of it will seem obvious, but bear with me.
"Luis, we were aware a year ago that an illicit shuttle was approaching Terra. Why didn't we jump it right away?"
"You wouldn't dare shoot on sight. It could have been from some ship in trouble. And if you'd simply challenged it, it could have generated warpspace and been out of this dimension before anything could be done about it.
"Once the intruder lands, then you might send the marines, but if they jumped it within sight of some locals, you'd be in serious trouble with Dzixoss. Because it's not all right for us indigines, present company excepted, to know we're being monitored. And that some material 'higher power' is hanging around. Even a beneficent higher power."
Tahmm raised an eyebrow at that. Not in surprise—I know his eyebrows—but to draw a response. An elaboration.
"To think that God is looking out for you is one thing," I went on, "because when nothing appears to happen, you shrug it off. God being unseen, and operating at a different level, his actions are indirect and hard to pin down. But a marine fighter swooping in, shooting up or scooping up whatever's threatening you? That kind of higher power is something else, especially for people who never imagined such things exist."
"Combat aircraft are mentioned in your Bible," Tahmm countered. "In 'The Book of Renewal.' "
"Even to strict constructionists, the Biblical universe isn't real in the same way the world around them is."
"All right. Are there situations in which the COB might intervene openly—visibly and conspicuously—in the Helverti's little game?"
"It would have to be very carefully. With the understanding that it automatically triggers two things: It will almost certainly enter the local—" I paused, groping; the word I wanted you don't run into every day. My experience with it had been in Psych-Soc 201. "The local folklore," I said. "The mythos! That's the word.
"And you'd have to be able to justify it, because it automatically triggers a COB board of inquiry. We indigenes are supposed to be responsible for ourselves. You people are here to train and guide some of us, help us get started. Not to intercede visibly."
"Good," Tahmm said. His grin was easy, impressing me because the ESS's Terran Command station, parked thirty thousand miles out, had sent Tahmm's report to Dzixoss, describing the mission against the Kelgorath chaos cult. And Tahmm's effort to camouflage the COB's role—to minimize the effect on the locals. The message pod could be arriving at Dzixoss even as we spoke; unmanned pods travel more rapidly in hyperspace than manned ships can. I could imagine a great scurrying of bureaucrats in the huge External Security Building we'd "visited" via holo cube, in Introduction to the COB. Scurrying, and shouts of "sacrilege!" Not really; I exaggerate.
Tahmm didn't seem to worry. For one thing it would be a long time before a replacement could arrive, or be assigned from local staff, and he'd commented once that he could have whatever decision they made. They had their problems to deal with, he had his. And if he could go back and change what he'd done, he'd leave it as it was.
I also remembered something Professor Sorvok had said: that the Bureau had never before dealt with anything like the Terran situation. That it was a learning experience, and the Bureau's manual for Terra was a work in progress.
Meanwhile Tahmm had turned to Lemmi. "Doesn't that seem a little silly," he asked, "being so careful with the Helverti? With a little skillful stalking, or an ambush, the marines could send a covert hit team, wipe them out or snatch them, and be done with it. I could even have you do it."
Lemmi shook his head. "A major key to the dynamics of spiritual growth is freedom of choice. Including the choice to do seriously destructive things. Sometimes the potential damage of an impending destructive action is too great to accept, so we prevent it, by force if necessary. By killing if necessary. But even coercion creates negative energy and mucks up the reality matrix: it's harmful to everyone."
Lemmi paused just long enough that Tahmm started to speak—did it on purpose I think—then cut him off. Lemmi's more of a gamesman than I am. I'm pretty sure he knew what Tahmm was going to bring up.
"To forcibly block choice generates futility," he went on, "and deep and protracted—or repeated—futility can generate destructive compulsions. So in the case of chaos cults, the Bureau tries covertly to let the game play out with minimum destruction. Using indigenes like us." He shrugged. "One of those indigenes—" he gestured at me "—who'd been stripped naked for purposes of torture, tricked the lizards out of their shoes. Got hold of a steel bar and went on a rampage in their engine room, shutting down power and shields. Allowing a troop of samurai to storm aboard with swords and bows, and it was more than futility the lizards felt. More than dismay. But it wasn't the same as being blocked by some overpowering Commonwealth military force. More like a force of nature."
I was impressed. That was no paraphrase of some Academy lecture. But Lemmi had it right. That's how it had been.
Tahmm nodded. He'd enjoyed it. But he wasn't done with Lemmi yet. "A lot of Dkota have seen the Helverti spacecraft. How might you explain it—or the Helverti—to a tribesman?"
"That they're probably survivors from before Armageddon, living on the other side of the world. I'll be posing as a healer, and to the buffalo people that means having a direct line to God." He grinned. "It's simpler and less intrusive than your old scout and bullhorn technique in the dark of night over Eisenbach."
Tahmm got to his feet. "Good enough, both of you. You're ready." He turned to me. "One more thing. I've been waiting in case you spotted it yourself, but you should know before you set out." He paused, making me reach mentally for what followed. "Kabibi Christian," he went on, "is Jamila's baby sister. Brought up in a different family; that's why the different surname."