Grail - By Elizabeth Bear Page 0,28

that’s what the word meant a thousand years ago,” Captain Amanda said. “In this context, I’m assuming she means some sort of majordomo or servant. That’s speculation, but based on what we know of the cultural antecedents of the sophipaths who sought refuge on the colony ship, I would guess that that might be a term they use for the Captain’s servants—since angels were the servants of God.”

Danilaw watched Jesse’s nose wrinkle and felt empathy. It was uncomfortable to consider such hierarchical distinctions, but it was also an important reminder that the crew and passengers of the Jacob’s Ladder had traveled across a gulf of distance and experience that seemed insurmountable. If he allowed them to land, there would be cultural conflicts. Some of them might escalate into violence—a concept that unsettled him as deeply as contemplating unleashing a few thousand (or perhaps a few hundred thousand) rampaging invaders on his intricately carbon-balanced and socially engineered colony world.

As an Administrator, Danilaw had viewed historical documents that most citizens were not subjected to, and he had vivid and visceral memories of the violent images associated with those documents. Public beheadings, state-mandated torture, maimings in war, violence—perhaps most horribly—between family members and spouses.

What might seem quaint and yet disturbing when it appeared in a folk song was absolutely horrific in old flat-page photographs or—worse—“film” reels. The art and entertainments of the ancients had been full of carnage, and while Danilaw found it difficult to comprehend, he also found it a rich source of inspiration and catharsis. Human beings had been so animal, so at the mercy of their inheritance of endlessly reworked evolutionary hand-me-downs, until so very recently.

And here those atavistic hominids were again, like monsters out of time, returned to haunt him.

Judging by the stricken faces of his Administrative Council, Danilaw was not the only person thinking so. Gain traded glances with Amanda, and Jesse seemed enmeshed in some sudden, vitally important, research project for whole seconds as he got his expression—and his emotions—under control.

When he looked up, though, his eyes were clear and his brow serene.

There was no talk of refusing sanctuary, nor would there be. While Danilaw, with his historical perspective, could imagine scenarios where turning away refugees would be the only possible choice, no matter how tragic, you would have to be unrightminded to consider it beyond the option stage under the current circumstances. “I wish they’d told us their numbers.”

“It is probably,” Captain Amanda said, with a bright flash of smile, “their first time doing this, too.”

Speaking in tones of quiet reason, Jesse said, “We need to consider the worst-case scenario.” He swallowed, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat.

“Care to illustrate?” Gain asked, facilitating whatever it was Jesse was working himself up to saying.

Jesse wouldn’t notice, but Danilaw gave Gain a little grateful smile.

Jesse said, “There used to be traveling charlatans, people who moved from town to town promising miracle cures for a variety of ailments. They’d provide a series of fake ‘proofs’ of the efficacy of their products, and then they’d ‘sell’ the patent medicines and move on. They charged money for these treatments—scrip that could be exchanged anywhere else for goods or services.”

Danilaw had a sickening sense that he knew how this would come out. “And then what was in the bottle? Cold tea?”

Jesse shook his head. “Oftentimes, the patent medicines contained harmful substances. Mercury, arsenic, lead, radium. But by the time people started to get sick, the medicine man had moved on, and he’d taken the money with him.”

Gain sat back in her chair. “That’s barbaric. And these were just normal people, not Kleptocrats?”

“That’s the point,” Jesse said. “They were all Kleptocrats—some more successful than others. That’s what unrightminded people are like. They will trade future suffering for gratification now. They’re hierarchical, and they don’t care how badly they hurt somebody if they get something out of it.”

“And that’s what we’re up against?” Gain said.

Captain Amanda nodded. “There’s a whole shipload of them, headed right at us.”

8

where they ought stand

A woman will have her will.

—ANONYMOUS, The Marriage of Sir Gawaine

(medieval manuscript)

Perceval, still pacing the Bridge in her armor, the cowl stripped back but the seals intact otherwise, knew there was news because Tristen came in person. It being Tristen, she didn’t know if the news was good or bad until he spoke. And, it being Tristen, he did not draw out the suspense.

“I do not believe Dorcas is behind the raid,” he said. “But she knows or suspects who the