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zzambrosius_02Ambros sat in the great room of Arrenji’s apartment in the country house that ‘belonged’ to Estelli’s Line: ‘I feel entirely relaxed, for the first time in a couple of years,’ he thought. He smiled and took another sip of spicy tea.
‘The third week in January in USIT Lines. January 13th, to be precise.’ he mused: ‘The Thirdday of the third tenday after the Winter Solstice.’
He banished such thoughts: ‘I’m here to unwind.’
“Ambros?” Kim’s voice came from out on the balcony.
“Yes?”
“What’s going on over there?”
Ambros knew what she meant: “Across the road?”
“Yeah...”
“Averos told me they were gonna dig the pit for Rose House this morning.”
“Oh. I see him!”
Ambros sauntered out onto the balcony and looked over Kim’s shoulder. She leaned back into him; he put his arms around her.
They watched as twenty or so people milled about across the way.
Averos seemed to be directing traffic. Ambros could hear snatches of what he was saying: “...is on a municipal water and sewage system in its Home Line...we’ll move it basement and all...hook the water input to a condenser...Keenafthono sewage treatment...”
Tan coats and heavy boots indicated Laborer’s Guild; Tech Guild had no colors, but they were obvious by the machinery they carried or operated.
Averos continued: “Marie is fond of large rocks, so we’ll pile any boulders over here...endaxi, that’s deep enough, let’s smooth the sides...”
Two Builder’s Guild members used tools similar to APSs to make the walls of the pit square and smooth.
Ambros turned around and hollered: “Hey, Marie, Luisa! I bet you’ll want to see this...”
A hologram of Rose House appeared, ghostly, translucent. Averos moved it with hand signs until it hovered directly over the pit. The concrete walls of the illusory basement/foundation lined up almost exactly with the real-life dimensions of the hole that the techs and Laborers dug. Illusory metal and plastic pipes of several sizes extended a few inches from the hologram in various places.
The Builder’s Guild folks moved around the hole, adjusting the edges of the house’s future home until Averos could lower the holo right into the ground.
“Perfect fit!” cried one of the Builders. She stood within the holographic gas furnace that heated the house in the winter in USIT Seventeen.
Averos pointed with a wand that lit up a pipe on the front of the basement: “We’ll need to manufacture an adapter for that pipe, for water in, and install new water heaters. We’ll place the sterilizer for the sewage unit into the wall near the existing outlet; another adapter we will need...see to that, Magistri Iyelisi, will you?”
“On it already,” Iyelisi replied.
One of the Builders clambered out of the pit and manipulated another machine; a squat water tower appeared on the ridge high above the pit. Other Builders plumbed it to the illusory house.
“What’s that?” asked Luisa, as a new item appeared from nowhere, atop the water tank.
“I think it’s a machine to condense potable water out of the air,” said Ambros: “It’ll fill that big tank, and the water pressure will come from gravity.”
“Futuristic!” said Marie: “So when they Shift the house here, it will fit right into the hole, basement and all?”
“Pretty much, I expect. Might take a day or two to shake everything down, before we could just live in it like always.”
“They are doing a lot of work here, on pure spec,” said Luisa.
Ambros said: “I think because they expect trouble in our Line, in some form or another. And we don’t need their level of experience to see that coming ourselves.”
Luisa nodded sadly.
Averos went over to the back wall of the hologram and consulted with a Builder. They began using force-field tech to excavate a second, smaller pit near the existing sewage outlet. When Averos certified that the size of the new pit was exactly right, the Builder touched his MPS and a machine of some sort appeared in the pit, with a pipe that matched up exactly with the holo’s sewer pipe.
“Whoa!” Kim exclaimed, reeling a bit: “That’s awesome!”
Ambros supported her until she got her balance back: “RNA hit?”
“Yeah,” said Kim, after a bit: “That’s a miniaturized sewage treatment plant...it’ll dry and sterilize all the stuff and turn it into fertilizer...The water will go into a tank that we can tap for irrigation, and the fertilizer will pile up behind the machine. We’ll be able to flush food scraps and floor sweepings and other organic matter, too.”
Ambros pointed at the extensive gardens all about the house they stood in: “Been doing that here for centuries, by the look of it.”
“They must have been,” said Marie. Ambros could see the gleam in her eye as she considered the rocks and boulders piled near the holo’s kitchen door, and what she could do with a steady supply of really good fertilizer: “I could grow a lot of food...”
“We could. Check out the vegetable gardens on the southeast side of this house.”
“I will!” Marie and Kim went off to do that; Luisa sat down with a laptop and began to type.
After a bit, she said: “So...those gray bicycles that are scattered all over Athino? What’s with that? Are they up for grabs?”
“Mostly,” said Ambros, grinning: “What brought that up?”
“I’m writing a short story, to publish as fiction in our e-mag. I’m setting it in Athino and I want to get the part about the bikes right.”
“Okay.” He pondered, then said: “So, nobody locks a bike in Athino. The gray ones are considered ‘public property’ though no Hellene would use those words to describe them...”
“How come?”
“They have strange ideas about ‘property’ as a concept. Your language studies are going slower than the rest of ours, aren’t they? Since you aren’t using RNA study aids...”
She shrugged: “I’m getting around to it. Anyway...”
“Right. The gray bikes are available to anyone, anytime. If you want to hold one while you’re ‘shopping’ or having lunch, you put it in the nearest rack with something of yours that’s colorful attached to it somehow. If you want to keep one for your own use, all you have to do is paint it.”
“Oh...so if I came across a bike painted, say, purple and saffron with maroon tassels on the handlebars, I should leave that one where it is.”
“Exactly. Did you see one like that?”
“Yep.”
Ambros laughed a little: “Sounds very Commonwealth-ish. Anyway, the bikes are made in a fairly big workshop in Piraeus, and the Athenian Road Guild makes sure that the supply of gray ones stays at about three million...”
“...or about the population of the City,” Luisa completed his sentence.
“More or less. It means that there is always a surfeit of them lying around or standing in racks.”
“I’ve seen Down’s Syndrome children rounding them up and putting them in the racks...” Luisa pondered.
“Yeah? I hadn’t noticed that.”
“I guess it figures. That’s a job...sorry, that’s a task they could do, and never get seriously ‘wrong’, correct?”
“Yes,” he murmured, musingly: “And a very Commonwealth way to get Status for those who would have a hard time organizing Status for themselves.”
Luisa went back to typing, and Ambros went to seek another glass of tea.
Later that afternoon they gathered in the Great Room of the apartment. Ambros’ Commonwealth laptop sat on the table, and projected an image of the family’s e-magazine on the wall.
“Twenty-five pages this month,” Kim commented.
“Yup,” said Marie: “Ambros’ ‘eyewitness account’ of the eviction of the Swampers, with links to his videos of the fight...Your imaginary dialog between a Hellenic psycho-physicist and a student, Luisa’s short story about an uproar at a Primary Skolo...”
“...And three long essays by Hellenic philosophers,” Luisa finished Marie’s sentence: “Translated and edited by Ambros and Voukli. Plus Megan the barista’s column, and a bunch of announcements about charity work happening in Eugene.”
Marie pointed at the lower right, where the final page displayed: “That’s the new Back Page, where we tip our hand slightly and make our positions more explicit?”
“Yes,” said Luisa: “Designed by me, with some help from Ambros.
Ambros said: “My main contribution is a decent translation into American of the two founding documents of the Hellenic Commonwealth...”
Kim nodded: “We’ve all read that stuff in Rational Hellenic, and heard the various parts in class and in debates.”
“Well, there it is in American,” said Ambros: “What do you think?”
Marie waved hand at the machine and it displayed the page at wall-size. The first document was short and simple:
“Ethic of the Polity”
“Harm no one. Stand up for yourself if you are harmed. Stand up for others if they are harmed, especially if they are strangers to you. Whatsoever you choose to do, do it with all your strength and heart. Whoever does more is better, whoever does the most is best. And don’t let such status as you gain from doing, doing more, or even doing the most go to your head.”
The second doc took up a full column of the electronic page:
WE, the people of New Sparta and Achaia and all the Morea, declare this place a free and sovereign nation, and repudiate our ties to those who would dominate us. We bind ourselves now in these Acts, which we vow to defend:
Act the First: No citizen of this Commonwealth shall ever go hungry, homeless or unclothed, save by his or her own choice, unless in times of want ALL are hungry, homeless or unclothed.
Act the Second: In pursuit of the above we shall have no money, nor shall anyone barter; all shall share in the bounty of Hellas, or suffer in dearth.
Act the Third: If the Commonwealth is attacked from without, it is the sacred right of every citizen to aid in the defense in whatever way he or she sees fit, nor shall anyone be prevented from fighting, or in any way be coerced to do so.
Act the Fourth: All citizens living or abiding in a city, village, area or other geographic space shall be equal citizens of the Polis in which they reside. The Polis Council will hear the concerns of the citizens and seek common ground, but will make no law nor impose its will on anyone.
Act the Fifth: Any citizen or group of citizens who contemplate actions that will concern the Polis at large will inform the Polis council of their Intent, that all may know of it.
Act the Sixth: No citizen or group of citizens shall contemplate actions that would restrict the freedoms of others; when this happens, the Polis council should intervene and seek common ground.
Act the Seventh: The Grand Commune shall act as the Council of the whole Commonwealth, and shall mediate all disputes such that the greatest good comes to the greatest possible number, so long as that good harms no one.
Act the Eighth: Guilds shall be established by the people who practice a Craft; or who serve in some capacity the needs of the whole; or who do both. The Guild shall be self-organizing and shall govern its own affairs, nor shall one Guild interfere in the affairs of another. We take note of the fact that many craft Guilds have already formed in this Commonwealth; We ask those that Labor for others to form themselves into a service Guild, or more than one; We acknowledge the existence of the Red Warrior Guild, and sanction it, charging it with the defense of the Commonwealth and the training of the next generation to do the same.
Act the Ninth: When a group of citizens self-organizes around something other than Vocation or Geography, they shall be called a Deme. We note that the Women’s Deme is already formed at the time of this declaration; and take note also of the nascent Pacifist Deme. We, First Grand Commune of the Commonwealth, think it wise that Hoplite Phalanxes, such as have been formed in many of the Polisae, should be organized as Demes separate from the Red Warrior Guild. (Later amended to say: “...from all War Guilds.”)
Act the Tenth: No part of any of these Acts shall be construed to forbid anyone from acting as he or she sees fit, if only you harm no one.
Act the Eleventh (Added after the opening of the First Gate): The Hellenic Commonwealth and Polity, and its constituent parts, shall endeavor at all times, to the best of our ability, to reduce suffering in any Timeline that we contact.
They read it through aloud, taking turns and stopping to nit-pick the translation occasionally. Ambros agreed with some of the points and made changes.
They looked the pages through then, one by one. Ambros nodded: “It looks good to me. Ready to publish?”
Every one nodded. Ambros waved a handsign at the machine.
“Tha télo,” said the machine, in an unemotional monotone.
“That voice is creepy,” said Luisa.
“I don’t want to let it sound like a real person,” answered Ambros: “I don’t want it to get any ideas...”
Kim shuddered, recalling the earlier New Pismo, which Ambros had ‘killed’ with his steel sword: “I agree, no sentient machines allowed,” she said.
After a long pause, Kim said: “The magazine...”
The other three raised their eyebrows and waited.
At length she said: “It’s not enough. We must do more.”
“I agree,” Luisa said.
“What is to be done?” asked Ambros: “That question was once asked by Lenin, but it’s a good one nonetheless.”
Luisa took the floor: “We need to enter into the so-called ‘marketplace of ideas’ in person.”
Ambros frowned: “Interesting way to put it.”
“I know,” Luisa said: “But in our Line, USIT Seventeen, that’s how people talk about it.”
“Okay,” said Ambros: “Tangentially, the United States Imperial Timelines are probably mis-numbered. Ours is probably the Prime in that family.”
“We are USIT One?” exclaimed Marie.
“Yeah, probably.”
“On what evidence?” Kim asked.
“Well...”
“Out with it!” Kim demanded.
Ambros sighed: “Your great-aunt-in-law, Clementine Orenhauser Crowell, and her sweetheart Miss Greenlaw, have no direct cognates in any other USIT Line.”
“Oh...” Kim, being immersed in Tech Guild studies, got the implications immediately.
“Additionally, the late Magistros Nikodemos appears in no other USIT Line. Because when the old shit was mucking about in our Line in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries of the Christian Hypothesis, there was only one such Line. It was after he had to flee USIT Seventeen/One that the whole shebang split into twenty or so separate Lines.”
Marie frowned: “How did the numbers turn out wrong?”
“Old Nick was a Master in Phalango Iera; the Sacred Band. He just didn’t tell anyone what he’d been up to, until Voukli and Arrenji forced him to admit that I,” here Ambros tapped his own forehead: “...was in a need-to-know situation.”
Kim nodded, a far-away look on her face: “So when the newly-split family of USIT Lines appeared and the Commonwealth took note of them, they numbered them in the order that they appearedto have sprung into existence...because...Old Nick had covered his tracks so thoroughly...”
“Exactly!” Ambros leaned back in his chair: “Back to the original subject.”
Luisa took up the conversation: “I am thinking that I want to start volunteering at CCULC.”
Ambros nodded: “Better you than me.”
“My thought exactly.” Luisa continued: “I think we each ought to pick some organization and start to dig in. We need to get more people on track towards a Commonwealth-style ultra democracy. Before it’s too late...before our ‘betters’ poison the planet beyond repair...”
They all sat for a few minutes, contemplating; there was no need to agree, the need was obvious.
At length Kim said: “I’ll look for a chance to volunteer at St Valentine’s, probably in the homeless activist zone...or maybe I’ll try to reform their labor policies. Maybe both.”
Ambros said: “Yeah, the pay and conditions aren’t great there. I know, I know all of the excuses: the shops and workshops are intended to raise money for charity, not for the profit of the company, blah, blah. But that’s not to say the workers shouldn’t get a good deal.”
“They should get a better one, anyway. I know, I was one of them for ten years. My dad is a great guy, but he’s remarkably obtuse on that front.”
“Well, I’m in agreement with Luisa’s proposal,” said Ambros. “And I think the IWW is the way for me to go. I probably can’t actually join the union...I’m not a wage worker. But I could get chummy with the lot of them, the makers and doers anyway.
“There, my more lunatic ideas won’t seem as outrageous as they would at St Val’s or the Coalition for Community Unity in Lane County. It would be good to have some Wobbly-organized shops in the South Willamette Valley. And...If push comes to shove we could use the Wobblies to organize St Val’s workers.”
Kim nodded: “We could.”
Everyone looked at Marie.
She shrugged: “I’ve worked in doctor’s offices in the past. Doctors Without Borders is begging for a volunteer to organize their local office. One day a week, which will probably stretch to three if I’m not careful.”
“Be careful,” said Ambros.
“For sure,” she replied: “I can’t let that gig get too time-consuming. I have too much other stuff to do.”
“Speaking of stuff to do...” said Ambros: “...I have to interrupt this vacation today, and go into Athino for a meeting.”
“Is it that important?” asked Marie: “I was hoping for some skin time today.”
“It is that important, and I’ll explain why. The skin time is a good idea, though. Tonight?”
“Okay. Explain why it’s so important,” said Kim: “The meeting I mean.”
He waved at the still humming laptop, and said: “Kódhiko Spartáka.”
“Code Spartacus?” Marie was amused.
Ambros nodded: “Yes. See what I’m talking about?”
His whole theory of what Emperor Jean IV l’Iriquois was up to—with the supporting evidence he’d gathered—appeared on the wall.
“That...looks really bad. Do you really think...?” Marie seemed appalled.
“I do.”
Kim stared at the display. “I think he’s correct.” With her greater knowledge of the “structure” of the Multiverse, she could see what he was pointing at a bit better than the others.
Luisa said: “Okay. I believe the two of you. What should we do?”
“Nothing in particular, for now. But up till today, Voukli and Arrenji and I have held this danger close. Today we are presenting it to a small number of SB and Black Warrior Guild Magistrae, so we can start planning a response. Voukli is talking to Skavo as we speak, and then...well, we thought you three ought to know at least this much.”
“That’s what your meeting is about? Planning a response?”
“Yes. This is what the Squids had in mind when they filled my brain with seven-D data and about sent me over the edge.” Ambros waved the display away: “We still hope to keep this close, and prepare that response without a lot of public outcry.”
“Sounds kind of un-Hellenic.” Luisa seemed resigned.
“Well...yes and no.”
“Please elaborate on that,” said Marie.
Ambros sat quiet for a few minutes, then said: “It’s how the Commonwealth resolved a fundamental contradiction in foreign policy and espionage. The early Commonwealth at first had one War Guild, Red, then by about the year 30, a second, the Black Warrior Guild. Naval actions soon got their own Guild, and the function filled by Marines in our Line fell to the Gray Warrior Guild.”
Kim nodded: “Grays pilot our aerospace craft now...”
“Exactly,” said Ambros: “And the old Phalanxes were organized as Demes, to keep them separate from the War Guilds. That’s the Commonwealth way, to separate power and mitigate authority to avoid allowing ‘leadership’ to hijack their long-term project. Skavo said to me: ‘The lesson of the early Commonwealth is that multiple accumulations of power in contention create chaos, but in harmony they engender the closest thing to utopia that the world has yet seen.’”
“I see how that works,” said Luisa: “So...secret operations...?”
Ambros shrugged: “Postal Guild fulfilled most of the Commonwealth’s requirements for espionage. Every once in a while, though, some enemy simply had to be eliminated. Every State in the history of humanity has run up against that necessity.”
“Sad but true,” said Marie.
Ambros nodded again: “Very sad. At first, Black Warrior Guild provided the assassins. But around YC 120, a new Guild formed, very slowly.”
Kim said: “Phalango Iera, which roughly translates as Sacred Band...or ‘Holy Phalanx’.”
Ambros continued: “...which began its existence as small groups of women who were Masters in both Red and Black Warrior Guilds. They started their own Skolae, to teach girls in particular how to win with ‘dirty tricks’ and run what we’d call guerrilla operations.”
Kim laughed: “That’s why there are so many women in Sacred Band, to this day!”
“Yes,” said Ambros: “And it came to pass that Magistrae in the Sacred Band empowered themselves to keep the Commonwealth project on course, ‘by any means necessary’. Senior SB Masters do the dirty work no one else wants to do, and that can’t be done by consensus or agreed to by a super-majority of citizens. And they keep their mouths shut about it, before, during, and after.”
“That sort of thing could lead to someone abusing that power. What’s the check on that? There has to be a check...” Marie’s eyes bored into Ambros’.
Ambros frowned, thinking hard; Kim opened her mouth to speak, and he deferred to her. She said: “That’s why there are so few Sacred Band Magistrae, and even fewer who ever get empowered to act by Obligation alone.”
“As Arrenji does,” said Ambros, with a nod. He added: “Usually it takes a hundred years of service as an SB Magistre to demonstrate the requisite skill and discretion. Arrenji got there in about fifty years.”
“She’s amazing,” said Kim with a shudder.
“She is,” said Ambros: “Oh, and one more thing: nobody who shows the slightest sign of wanting that level of responsibility ever gets it. You can’t volunteer for that job, or campaign for it. It goes only to those who see the necessity, reluctantly, and do the work...discreetly. And in case you were wondering, they watch each other pretty carefully. And...”
“And what...?” Marie asked.
“Gimme a second...there’s a system in place, for watching over all of the Guilds and Demes...people are chosen by lot...”
Kim chimed in: “Yes, I see that.” She spoke to the other two: “We’re having an ‘RNA Epiphany’, both of us at once.”
“So I see,” said Luisa.
Ambros closed his eyes: “The population of the entire planet is divided in multple ways, and random individuals are chosen to ‘oversee’ the various organizations. Nobody serves more than a year...new members are constantly introduced...Sacred Band is watched over by a committee chosen by lot, and no one from Pacifist Deme or from any War Guild can serve.”
“Yeah,” said Kim: “I see why they did it that way, but it’s a tough job.”
“The toughest job of any oversight committee, that’s for sure.”
A long silence ensued, then Luisa said: “I get it. I see it now, how it came to be this way. But I don’t like it.”
Ambros raised an eyebrow: “That would make you a perfect candidate for the job, if you had the other qualifications.”
Luisa looked up at him, startled: “...oh.”
“Exactly,” he said. He rose and stretched, then said: “I gotta go, soon. Next bus into Athino is due at Fourth Bell.”
He stood in front of the ‘artificially stupid’ security system. After a nearly imperceptible pause it spoke his name and rank: “Spathos Pentá Ambros, Phalango Iera,” and the door opened. He walked very slowly along the hallway, negotiated the hairpin bend at the end, and entered the SB Magistrae Council’s chambers.
Voukli and Arrenji sat in seats on the dais, along with Magistros Megálos.
“Looks like I’m early,” Ambros said.
Arrenji said: “Just a bit...sit down. If you please...” She indicated a seat in the front row, directly in front of her.
He negotiated the sloping aisle and sat where she wanted him.
She said: “We are about to plan a very complex operation. How do you see it developing?”
He started to pull his rolled-up laptop out of the patch pocket on his right thigh. Arrenji said: “Just words, please.”
He drew a deep breath and said: “Step one: over the next year, gradually beef up the Red Warrior contingents at the Gates in the Allied Lines. Figure out a reason to do that without raising too many eyebrows in any of those Lines.”
Voukli nodded: “Good. Then?”
He frowned: “Start drilling all the War Guilds, in all the Commonwealth Coalition Lines, in ‘battle stations’. Alter people’s posts in that drill so they are poised for controlled Saltation. That won’t raise any suspicion. Everyone knows by now that we are considering more offensive action against the ATLs. It will appear that we are ‘moving to the front foot’, that’s all.”
“Go on,” said Megálos.
“Red Warrior Guild, in all the Allied Lines, has procedures in place for ‘standard’ Timeline defense.” Ambros made a handsign to put the airquotes on: “I’d leave those in place, they’ve drilled those scenarios for centuries.”
“They have,” said Megálos: “Go on.”
He drew another deep breath: “Whoever has overall Command of this operation...”
Voukli interrupted: “Would that be you?”
“Oh, hell no.”
“Why not?” asked Arrenji: “You came across Jean III’s plot; the Squids put a lot of information into your head to help us squelch it. You wrote the essay on “Deep Flanking in the Multiverse” that got the Squid’s’ attention. You are in a good position...”
Ambros interrupted: “Absolutely impossible. I don’t have the Status, or the ability. Yet.”
The Magistrae glanced at each other, and Voukli said: “Told ya.” She tipped her head at Ambros: “Continue.”
He frowned, re-gathering his thoughts: “Whoever has overall Command of this operation must have a way to keep it as secret as possible, while getting the whole plan to the point where we can activate it with a single code word.”
“How would you do that?” Arrenji stared intently at him. Unnerved, he looked away for a moment.
He turned back to her: “The old fashioned Communist Party cell system.”
She closed her eyes and tapped her RNA-induced memories.
“Ah!” she grinned: “Ingenious.”
“Yeah.”
The other two Magistrae looked blankly at them.
Arrenji said: “Explain.”
He grinned: “Overall Commander...”
“That’s me,” said Arrenji.
“...Arrenji chooses between one and five sub-commanders. Logistics, Mobility, Targeting...”
“Aid to Allies, and Mop-up-Education-Propaganda,” Arrenji finished.
“Education? Propaganda?” Ambros inquired.
“Well,” said Arrenji: “at the very least we’ll need to explain the nature of the Multiverse to people in Lines like yours. And your Line is on the list of ATL targets...”
“That’s true,” he conceded: “The Lines we defend are gonna need gigantic upgrades in their tech, just to keep the populations alive in the absence of their old infrastructure.”
Megálos nodded: “We’ll need to mobilize hundreds of language specialists and thousands of Techs. But we’ll let Thinker’s and Tech Guilds do that work. We don’t have to tell them why...”
“Talk to us about these sub-Commanders,” said Voukli.
“Okay,” said Ambros: “Sub-Commanders are entirely in on the plan. They each choose three people they trust to do parts of the preparations. Those people should know only what they have to know to do their jobs. Most important: they don’t know the names of the other two. Otherwise, they know it’s important, and secret, and an existential threat to the Commonwealth and our allies.
“They can each choose three people to help them, and each of those can choose three, and so on. Each level knows less about the whole plan, but they know exactly what they need to do in the event that the operation gets triggered.
“By the time we get to ‘ground level’, so to speak, Sacred Band and Black Warrior operatives will know only that they have a cache of orders to be activated when they receive a code word via their Multiversal Positioning Systems or their Shifters. Red Warrior Guild will be set to ‘react’ according to their training, without any advance knowledge of the actual danger...So you see, it’s crucial that everyone at every step of the way recruits only people whom they fully trust, and who fully trust them.”
He paused for a second, then said: “Also...if Jean IV or the Nazis have a mole in the Commonwealth, that mole probably won’t get the faintest idea that we are working on this. No Authoritarian Timeline will be prepared for our Deep Flanking counterstrikes.”
The three Magistrae glanced at each other again, then Arrenji said: “As we agreed, Voukli is Targeting, Ke’akani is Mobility, Megálos is Logistics, Ellisi is Aid to Allies, and I’m keeping Mop-up/Education, which Ambros will assist me with. If you please?” She looked at him.
“Sure. I can do that.”
Ellisi and Ke’akani entered the room. Arrenji activated a group of Strat-tac machines and they got down to serious planning.
Ambros seized the floor, saying: “I have a couple of big strategic questions for this group.”
“Go on,” said Megálos, glancing sideways at Voukli, who shrugged.
“Okay, so a so-called great general from my Line once said: ‘He who defends everything defends nothing’. We can’t possibly defend all of the Lines, not even our closest Allied Lines. So...who are we gonna notdefend?”
Voukli and Megálos sat there nodding as Arrenji said: “We are not going to defend the other Commonwealth Lines, for the most part. They have Skolae and Guilds comparable to ours, and the capability to defend themselves for some time.”
“All right,” said Ambros: “then...”
Ellisi interrupted him: “We are also not going to defend any United States Imperial Timeline beyond Seventeen and Eight.”
“Really?” Ambros’ eyes narrowed.
“We are going to rely upon your outsized influence in those Lines, and Danilos’ similar influence in USIT Eight, to affect those Lines enough that the ATLs will be defeated...eventually.”
Ambros considered the casualties likely in that case, then shook his head and continued: “Also, Sun Tzu said: ‘Appear where you are not expected.’...And we can definitley do that.”
Arrenji waved at the holo-tank and said: “Yes, look here...”
They dug in for some serious planning.
Ambros exited the War Guild complex via the door from the Main Hall to Odho Aeolena. He strolled casually along: ‘The bus to Parnassus via “Gormenghast” doesn’t leave until Sixth Bell.’
With the conversation about bicycles fresh in his memory, he considered the manifold ways the people around him were getting from place to place
‘Bicycles, of course...all kinds, even three-wheel and four-wheel pedal contraptions.’ He watched as a Kopelos swooped up on a thing like a skateboard, but which hovered six inches or so above the ground. He recalled the floating scooters he’d seen during the “Live Strat-tac” game, and the hovering APCs he’d ridden in when attempting to rescue some SB operatives: ‘That thing must use the same technology...’
The fellow flipped the board up into his hand and spoke a word; the board rolled itself into a scroll-like thing and it went into his pocket.
“Huh,” Ambros said aloud. He looked around and saw no others of the same sort, and realized that he hadn’t seen one before, either.
He then thought: ‘A collapsible hover board...I bet that would have a steep learning curve. That’s probably why not many folks use such a thing.
‘Of course, a lot of people just walk, most of the time. Commonwealth medical technology means that very few people are disabled or crippled by disease or accidents.’
Evidence of that truth was all around him: the closer he got to “downtown,” the area around the Akropolis, the thicker the crowds got. As he approached his favorite agora, the Plataeo of Sokratos, he found himself saluting many lower-ranking members of various War Guilds. Some did not return his salute; some did so with alacrity. ‘It seems to depend on whether they spot the chevrons on the end of my belt, and also whether they recognize the tokens of Sacred Band on my clothing.’
He knew about multiple ways to move from one quarter of Athino to another: ‘There are elevated trains that cling to the inside and outside of the Themistoclean Wall; there are a large number of buses travelling various routes along the main drags; a few people have access to actual ‘automobiles’, though usually only because of necessity, for their primary vocations; and there’s an underground system of moving sidewalks, though I’ve had no occasion to use that.’
He stood in the crowd of diners in front of his favorite food stall. He concentrated hard and began to see the pattern: ‘My turn is coming...’ he paused, as a woman pushed past him, ordering by handsign.
“Now!” he said, in American, and stepped to the front. This time, no one objected. He ordered by handsign as well, the noise in the Agora being enough to drown out casual conversation.
‘That will begin to ebb as “ora na fao mesimera” passes...I guess maybe a “lunch rush” is something common to any society that has public food distribution, whether there’s money involved or not.’
He took his bowl and mug across the plaza, to his usual table near the stoa that bounded the Agora on the west.
“It’s quieter over here,’ he thought. He sniffed the food: “Mmmmm.”
He tried the rice, and the pesto. He tasted the feta. He sniffed and then savored the pickled beans and garlic.
About halfway through his meal he paused to reflect. He looked around and frowned.
‘That’s Tantalos, Regulos’ best buddy. He looks unhappy to see me.’ Seeing the expression on Tantalos’ face and also the man’s body language, Ambros suddenly and uncharacteristically wished he had a weapon.
‘I don’t usually feel the need for one, in this Timeline...here he comes.’
Tantalos approached, pausing a step away from the table. He gazed at Ambros with a curious expression, a combination of admiration and irritation.
After perhaps a minute, he said: “Hello. May I join you?”
Ambros leaned back in his chair, raised an eyebrow, and said: “You may.”
Tantalos grimaced: “I got some questions for you.” He drew out the opposite chair and sat down, slowly.
“Fire away,” said Ambros; he wondered at his own choice of words, and drew a deep breath: ‘Calm,’ he thought: ‘Relax...’
“Yeah, right,” said Tantalos: “Look, I get that you did your best not to fight Reg at all. I saw most of that stuff happen, endaxi? I get it...and I was there when you apologized for almost killing him, so...”
“So what?”
“So, I feel like have no standing to criticize you.”
“But,” said Ambros pointedly: “You would like to criticize me.”
“...Yeah.”
“Like I said, fire away.”
“Okay, why did you give in? Why accept his challenge? Couldn’t you have laughed it all off?”
“I did laugh it off, several times. Regulos just got angrier. He even started getting physical.”
“Well, you...you were so sarcastic!”
“What else could I be?” Ambros opened his hands at shoulder level, an exaggerated shrug: “The guy had no chance in any fair fight with me. Everyone knew that...except him, I guess. How bout you answer me this: Why did he insist on the duel in the first place?”
Tantalos shook his head: “I don’t know...I mean I know, but it makes no sense when I say it out loud.”
“I hear you.” Ambros lowered his brows: “Say it out loud anyway.”
“Endaxi. Look, Regulos wanted to be in Phalango Iera since we were kids together. He started at Red Warrior Skolo when he was ten, for Zeos’ sake. And he could fight a little...better than me, anyway. Nobody in Sacred Band would give him an interview. They barely gave him the hour of the day. And when yougot in, recruited by...”
“...by the ‘infamous’ Magistri Arrenji Athenini, I know. Do you share his disdain for foreigners, for barbarians like me?”
“No...” Tantalos seemed very uncertain of his opinion. He continued: “Anyway, a bunch of Reg’s buddies are extremely pissed off, not least because they’re missing his masterful fellatio. And...they attribute to you the sort of ignorant opinions endemic to people in your Line. Stuff about money and hierarchy and all that. I try to explain to them that you’re an exception, but...”
Ambros glared at him: “Do you believe that if circumstances had been reversed and you and Regulos had been born in my Home Line, that you would share the opinions of most of the population thereof, and be worthy of the disdain of your friends?”
Tantalos frowned: “Well...”
Ambros laughed bitterly: “There’s only one correct answer to that question, citizen. And any equivocating at all means you’ve answered incorrectly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ambros ate the last of his food in a few quick gulps, and swilled his now-tepid tea. He swallowed and said: “You go think about that. If you don’t figure it out in a couple days, come see me again.”
He bussed his dishes to the bins nearby, and strode off in the direction of the War Guilds’ Command Complex, which he had left only a short time before.
He didn’t trouble to pick up his Shifter; he was on vacation, and not intending to leave Commonwealth Prime. He walked the halls, passed the doors, and entered the locker room where he stored his equipment. ‘Locker room six, locker 226,’ he thought absently as he palmed the red indicator on the locker door. The indicator segued from red to green and the door opened, slowly.
Ambros sat looking at the equipment. After a while, he pulled the belt off its hook and strapped it around his waist, beneath his red leather belt
He worked the APS in its loop around his waist until it sat at his left hip. He dug into the back of the locker and drew out the Damascus shortsword that he kept there. He attached the sheath to his belt on the left side, just behind the APS then slid the steel back in.
He sat there with a bleak expression on his face: ‘I’m going armed in the face of an implied threat from a man who couldn’t touch me with a sword if his life depended on it...I don’t even know if Tantalos is telling the truth about Reg’s “friends”, but I don’t like taking chances. I don’t dare take any chances...’ He shook his head. Aloud he said: “Don’t startle me, boys, I’m not in the mood.”
Kim stretched and yawned; Ambros admired the view.
She laid back and wiped herself somewhat clean: “I can’t fall asleep, I have a date with Voukli tonight. I haven’t been to the Baths yet, she’s taking me there.”
“Nice,” said Marie, sitting up: “You said you wanted to talk about something this afternoon...after sexy times.”
Kim said: “Yeah. I want to talk about Jaíme. He’s getting out of the hospital tomorrow or the next day. I want to bring him here for the rest of our vacation, and start a trial for him getting into our family.”
“Like in our contract? An actual new member?”
“Yup. Any objections?” Kim was nervous.
Marie shrugged: “I’ve barely met the man. I guess I’ll trust you, that you want something more than just sex with him...”
“...and that he’s a good fit for the family,” said Luisa, more dubiously.
Everyone looked at Ambros.
He said: “I know the guy a little better than any of you...even if you’ve been between the sheets with him, Kim. We were in a firefight in Guatemala City. He can handle himself in that way. He can obey an elected Commander, and fight without orders when there are no orders to be had. But...”
“But?” Kim seemed unhappy.
“But...he’s from a wealthy family in Guatemala. He’s a sincere convert to the capital ‘A’ anarchist cause, but his philosophical and political thinking is plateaued there. The three of you all came to the movement under my...tutelage, I guess you’d say, so you haven’t fallen into the trap of capital ‘I’ Ideology. He’s still pretty ideological, and that will cause conflict. Deeper disagreement about what goes into our e-magazine, for instance. Plus...He’s kind of got an entitled attitude, from his privileged upbringing, and...” Ambros shrugged: “He’s got a lot of macho BS hanging on from his own culture, too.”
Kim nodded: “I had kind of noticed that.”
“He’s possessive?” Marie asked.
“A little,” Kim admitted.
“More than you probably realize,” said Ambros. He showed his palm: “I’ll let you discover the reality of that, or not. If it gets thick, we can talk. And I can talk to him.” He showed a thumbs-up.
Marie copied it: “A trial. He doesn’t get family status unless we all agree.”
Luisa raised her thumb: “Like in the by-laws.” She frowned: “But you definitely willneed to get him out here to this house, and let us get to know him.”
“Thanks, guys. I love you!” Kim was obviously overwhelmingly relieved.
“Keep in mind,” Ambros added: “He’s got months of work here in the Commonwealth before he can become a Sacred Band operative.
He may fail, and wind up as an ally, under my supervision...My turn. I want to suggest Randy.”
“Your student.” Kim nodded.
“Indeed. And now he’s an assistant instructor at Salon Spathena, and the caretaker for the building. I’ve come to respect him very deeply, and I think he would be, eventually, a fine family member. Also...”
“Yes?” Marie and Luisa spoke at once.
“My leave-taking on New Year’s Day? I had too much to do that day to worry about it then, but he saw me Saltate out of the Salon. I gave him a heads-up ahead of time that my tech was a bit ahead of anything he’d seen before, but still...that was a bit much, y’know? So I took him to Seattle in the Alcatraz Quiet Line. He’s gonna be an operative eventually, I mean working with Sacred Band via...me.”
Kim said: “We will probably have to ease him in to the whole polyamory thing.”
“Yeah,” said Ambros: “He’s got more of a clue than Jaime already, though.”
“You know what I just thought of?” said Kim: “We should have a party. A special sexy-times party...”
“You mean an orgy...?” Luisa corrected. She seemed dubious.
“Well...yes!” exclaimed Kim: “I mean, if we invite the two of them, we can allsee how they react to the ‘wildest’ part of our lifestyle, and if they totally fail, we can reconsider.”
Luisa remained uncertain.
Kim noticed, and said: “Y’know, it would be the same rules as we always use...no coercion and all...”
Ambros nodded slowly; Marie seemed amused. Luisa frowned, then lightened up a bit: “That could work,” she admitted: “It’ll be a trial by fire for a couple guys who’ve presumably never played such games before...Now I really have to get to know Jaime better, though. I mean, if we are considering orgy-ing the guy into shape for the Family...”
Marie said: “You don’t personally have to fuck him...”
“I know, I get that, but I still need to know the guy better before I take off my clothes!”
“Got it!” Marie said. She turned to Kim: “Why don’t you make the arrangements. We’ll consult via the calendar program! Luisa, you and I will track Jaime down in Athino and chat him up.”
To which suggestion they all agreed.
Jaime de Cordova entered the café. He looked around, swallowing repeatedly.
He stood about five foot seven, and weighed more than he seemed to. He had a muscular build, which explained some of that. He had a very ordinary face, easily categorized as “Latin American” but otherwise unremarkable. He wore a thin mustache and dark black goatee.
“Over here, Jaime,” Ambros called.
Jaime staggered a little as he crossed the floor. He sat down across from Ambros with a thump, then winced as though his backside pained him.
“You look like shit, vato.” Ambros seemed slightly amused: “Lots of RNA assisted training, huh?”
Jaime said nothing; he put his face on his folded arms and groaned.
After some time, Ambros shook the table: “Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Bleah, that’s what.” Jaime spoke American, with a distinct California accent: “Anni...Magistri Anni says I need a lot of training before I can go back to...back home. To work for them...”
“The Commonwealth doesn’t feel like home to you?” Ambros watched his friend carefully.
“Oh, well, I mean...”
“Yeah...” Ambros grunted.
“This place feel like home to you?” Jaime asked.
“Yes. Jaime...”
“You gotta call me ‘Jimmy’ now. Jimmy Asuajay. Ah-SWA-hay. I’m an American, from Cali, with relatives in Venezuela.”
“Okay.”
“Just ‘okay’? That’s it?”
“Hell yes, idiot. Look, I getcover stories, okay? I had a name once...that guy’s dead. I have to beAmbros-with-no-‘e’-and-no-middle-initial-Rothakis and nobody elseto the point of not ever even twitchingif someone hollers ‘Carlo’ in my presence...So Jimmy: to Keenafthono Hellenikánot feeling like home to you?”
Jimmy switched to Rational Hellenic: “Dhen eenou to spito mu.”
“Sure, I know,” Ambros said in the same language: “But Guatemala...is off-limits. Do you get why, now?”
Jimmy muttered a string of curses in Spanish. The Venezuelan accent sounded perfect to Ambros.
He smiled wryly: “At least one of those words is a fighting insult, Jimmy. I sure hope you weren’t aiming them at me.”
Jimmy’s face paled a little: “No, no, not at you...”
“Good. Keep in mind they sometimes fight duels in this Timeline. Anyway, I asked you if you get why Guatemala is...”
“I get it,” said Jimmy, in American again. “I have no desire to have my fingers broken again, for one thing. I mean, I went back because...never mind. Anyway, I found my face splashed over every damn newspaper and magazine. I hid, and I ran, but...”
“But they caught you. So now you know that the big shots in Guatemala have not forgotten or forgiven you.”
“Most of them are my relatives. Not likely they’ll ever forgive or forget.”
“Right back to my other question. How can this place not seem like home to you? It’s fucking paradise...”
“...you just said they fight duels!”
“Very seldom. And nobody’s in jail, or homeless, or hungry. No starving kids, shivering on the street-corners. That’s what started you down the Open Road to Anarchism, right?”
“...yeah. It’s just...nothing looks like I thought it would.”
“Ideology,” Ambros said, disgusted. He softened his expression: “I could take you to one of the Syndicalist Lines. They are our allies in the war...hard Syndicalists, or soft? What’s your pleasure?”
“Hard or soft?”
“The Soft Syndicalists leveraged powerful industrial unions like the CNT or the CIO to get control of a basically capitalist society and re-write the Social Contract in favor of the working class. The Hard Syndicalists abolished money and the State and manage their version of the world through unions. The Commonwealth has twenty or so Syndicalist Allied Lines: I never counted the exact number. They sit on a spectrum between those poles. You’d like it there. They’d fit your preconceived notions.”
Jimmy ignored the dig: “I kinda want to stay here, or in our own Line.”
Ambros laughed: “Meaning you want to stay in grabbing distance of Kim Mallory.”
Jimmy blushed: “I wouldn’t...I mean I know she’s...your compañera...one of them...”
“She’s not ‘mine’, Jimmy. She is her own. But, yeah: I have a home in our Home Line, but that’s because of who lives there with me. You want a quick roll in the hay with Kim? That’s easy...I suspect she’s already there. But if you want a long termrelationship, I expect you’ll have to join Rose House.”
Jimmy looked sickly anyway, and the news did not seem to please him. But he nodded: “I get it. I had a lot to prove before I could get into ‘la casa de las anarchistas’ in Guatemala City, too.”
“Yeah? I guess you would have. Consuela was your introduction there, I bet.”
“You’d win that bet.”
“Has Kim given you the big manila envelope?”
“Huh?”
“I guess not. I’ll remind her...” He sent a mental command to his calendar via the MPS: “The main thing for you to do is read the by-laws.”
“I don’t get it...”
“We formed a corporation. We couldn’t get married, not all four of us, so we formed a B-corp. It’s a legal fiction designed to entangle our businesses and make us all heirs to one another. The first three or four pages are legal BS, language meant to stand up in court. The by-laws are in ordinary American. They describe how someone like you can get in as a shareholder, among other things.”
“Oh. How...?”
“You have to bring some resources: physical or emotional labor. And you have to prove your understanding of what you’re ‘marrying into’, so to speak. And you need unanimous agreement from those of us already ‘in’.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“Your American is good now. You can work your way through the by-laws, I’m sure.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
Ambros grinned: “Here’s another test: I’m gonna send you some articles on polyamory. You need to understand that, because that’s what you’d be ‘marrying into’.” Ambros used the USIT handsign for the quotes.
“Poly...amory.”
“Yes, as opposed to the constant partner-changing and jealousy and what-not that your own affinity group was into.”
“Hey! We were...”
“I know. You were getting over it. But you were all still in pairs, just different couplings. With every breakup and re-alignment, a new layer of debris scattered across the emotional landscape, new scars on your collective psyche. Affinity groups are close-knit...”
Jimmy interrupted: “Yeah that’s what the ‘affinity’ part means. Okay, I get it, amigo. I’ll read and study. I’ll do my best...”
“Right. You have a few months at least.”
“Months?”
Ambros smiled: “Voukli gave you a choice, right?”
“Yeah...’erase and release’ or join the fight. I figured...” Jimmy stared at the statue of Sokratos that dominated the plaza: “...I figured: ‘bigger fight, bigger chance to have an influence’, so I jumped, y’know?”
“Actually, yes, I do know. But before you can join the fight as an equal, you gotta spend time at Red Warrior Skolo, learning to fight with reedswords.”
“Yeah they told me. I don’t get why.”
“Reedswords are the safest way to get ready to wield an APS, that’s why.”
“APS?”
“Adjustable-Range Plasma Sword. Like this one...” Ambros drew his own weapon: “Don’t move. Don’t touch it. It’s deadly.”
He activated the blade and extended it slowly, until it reached about six feet long: “Like a light-saber, but real.”
Jimmy sat there stunned. Ambros deactivated the weapon and stowed it.
He noticed the curious stares from all around: civilians, some of whom had never seen a plasma sword, and War Guild folks, who wondered why he carried one in the City. He smiled cheerily at all and sundry and turned back to Jimmy.
He said: “So, depending on how good you get with weapons, like Commonwealth firearms—I’ve seen you in a firefight, you’ll ace that part—and the APS and power mod grenades, et cetera, you may or may not graduate to Black Warrior Guild, or even, in a few years, to Phalango Iera, Sacred Band.”
“So the more badass I am with swords and guns...”
Ambros interrupted: “And the more judgement and discernment you demonstrate, and the better you get at tact and diplomacy, and how much you absorb of the Commonwealth’s norms and ethics, and on and on and on. I mind me of one guy who is pretty good with a sword, and can shoot really well. He is unlikely to ever move out of Red Warrior Guild, though, because fighting is his one and only skill. He is a hammer, to whom every problem is a nail.”
“Hmmm.”
“Indeed. Think about this. It all fits together, none of the parts are less important than any of the others.”
Jimmy still looked nauseated. Ambros took pity on him:
“Take as long as necessary to recover from the RNA-machine learning you’ve just gotten. Think about the History of the Commonwealth, as it appears in your mind over the next few days. If you visit the Library and read random books and articles about our History, it’ll speed up the process. When you feel good and ready, go to the Door at Red Warrior Skolo and ask for Magistri Anni’s class. I’ll be there, teaching Archarae.”
“Beginners...” Jimmy remained where he was, as Ambros got up.
“I’m supposed to be at a meeting in an hour or so. I gotta get ready. See ya!”
They bumped fists and Ambros strolled off, glancing back at Jimmy as he passed around a corner. Kim awaited him by the entrance to the café.
“How’d it go?” she asked, taking his arm.
“As well as could be expected.” Seeing her dismay, he continued: “That means it’s all good. He has a lot to think about and to do in the next few seasons—months in our calendar—and he seems willing to put in the work.”
“Oh...okay.”
They strolled in silence for a while.
Ambros said: “I kinda wish we’d got to Guatemala City a little sooner. Like before Jimmy’s affinity group got sideways with the Mob. It would have been instructive for them.”
“In what way?” she inquired.
He shrugged: “it’s futile to wish for a different past. But if they’d seen our affinity group interacting: seven fifty-something people, all equals, with romance and sexual and...sensual pleasure all more or less evenly distributed...”
“Jimmy would have a better idea what he wants to get into...or thinks he wants, anyway.” Kim seemed unusually sober: no smiles, no giggles, no flirtatious eye contact.
“So,” he said, slowly: “We have to be the example that helps him decide.”
“Which means...” she began.
He didn’t step in there, so eventually she finished her thought:
“...we have to notdo things differently when he’s around.” She turned and threw her arms around him, kissing him soundly. She laughed and wiggled. She whispered: “He’s watching, from back there by the plataeo.” She winked at him, and he grinned.
He kissed her then, and she took his hand; they went on their way, arms swinging in time and smiling happily.
