Certain aspects of the state are perceived as inevitable consequences of circumstance. Conflict exists, therefore so too does a military. Resources are finite, therefore an economic system arises to apportion them. These are simple, logical responses to the nature of the world.
There is a hazard, however, in continuing to extend this logic from generalities into the minute detail of governance. It is also the nature of the world that those humans who bear a soul represent a greater value to the state and their fellow n than those without. I do not take pleasure in stating it, but it is true - and avoiding unpleasant truths is not a path to effective governance.
So: this imbalance informs the decisions of our state, and we begin to draw certain logical conclusions. Certain opportunities require a soul to properly exploit, certain capabilities lie beyond the reach of the unsouled. It is sensible that the state should make a distinction between the two classes of citizen.
We extend this chain of syllogisms, each flowing quite nicely from the last. This opportunity is given only to ensouled, that resource is reserved for the most talented among us. By the ti we recognize the danger we have already gained a terrible montum, one that we cannot lightly divert. Optimization is the na of our vice, and though it is sotis a laudable goal I strive to ensure that we shall ever fall short of it.
Our most dedicated servants of governnt are comnsurately blind to this peril. That their intentions are good only deepens their distaste for moderation. As such I find myself playing the villain on occasion; it is in turns tiring, amusing and vindicating - and above all, necessary. Absent my ddling they will passionately sharpen the states teeth in the pursuit of an ideal, never once noticing that it has begun to drool when it looks their way.
- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 693.
They drew close enough to Leik to see smoke by the early afternoon, but their pace slowed to a crawl as they picked a circuitous route through the maze of Ardan defenses surrounding the city. Although the battle lines were concentrated to the north and west, soldiers patrolled the eastern access with so regularity.
Michael was tasked with scouting in tandem with Vernon, walking more often than not with his sight as high as he could reach. It was an odd sensation, to watch himself scrambling over the rubble from high above, but he found himself adjusting to the new viewpoint in short order.
There was also so help from Sobriquet, or appeared to be. It was nothing so obvious as the complete invisibility from the other night, but it beca evident when a quiet, motionless knot of soldiers escaped their notice and gained a clear sightline on their group.
When it happened Michael had frozen, heart pounding with sudden vigor, only to frown in puzzlent as the soldiers stared directly past them and went about their business. Clair had not offered a comnt; Michael, still wary from her tirade earlier, had not asked.
It was increasingly hard to keep focus on his watch as they drew closer to Leik. It was a fascinating sight, a low sprawl of whitewashed and boxy structures that flowed upward from the shoreline onto a low ridge. Atop the ridge lay a denser concentration of buildings in the monolithic Gharic style, festooned with columns and colonnades that held the warm glow of the evenings sun in their facets.
Those that were standing, that is. Other buildings lay half-collapsed in jumbles of blackened debris, columns broken and tiles scattered from the roof. Conspicuous gaps in the skyline told of still more that were less fortunate.
In the lower city the damage was worse. Smoke billowed from fires at a dozen points along the outer wall, and from twice that just beyond its curve. So were low, smoldering fires that still lingered in blocks that had been reduced to rubble by the barrage, but others were smaller and more intense. As Michael watched he saw figures feeding the flas, and in the motion of their far-off bodies he realized that they were pyres for the dead.
He looked around again and saw how many there were, feeling nausea creep slowly over him. He had marveled at the barrage as it happened, feeling only a bit guilty for his awe afterward when he reflected on the toll. Now he staggered and sank down onto a piece of debris, lightheaded at the enormity of the slaughter.
What? Clair hissed. This is no place to stop.
Sorry, Michael muttered, pulling himself to his feet. I didnt know it was this bad.
There was a pause, and Clair looked out to see the columns of smoke. Her eyes lingered on them for a mont. Thats why were here, she said. S-
She broke off. After a mont, she looked back toward Michael. Sobriquet says we dont know the whole truth. This is too big for doubt. She looked out toward the sea and the distant specks of the Safid blockade, adjusting her pack with an irritated, quick movent. When we kill the ones who did this, we want to be sure weve got them all.
Michael nodded, and the group moved on through the brush around the city. Their progress eased sowhat once they moved past the outer lines and into the fringes of the town, but what they gained in cover also benefited their adversary. He found himself moving his sight more, peeking around corners and over rooftops to ensure that none were so close that Sobriquets boons would fail.
Pause here, Sobriquet said, speaking close in his ear. Michael had been so absorbed in his scouting that he lurched to the side in shock, heart pounding - then glared at the distorted form of his perhaps-employer with irritation.
Was that strictly necessary? he asked, rubbing his chest. Charles and Gerard were smirking, while Clair and Vernon were looking pointedly away from the shimring blot.
No, Sobriquet said. Consider it a lesson in situational awareness, if you must. I interrupted to tell you that youre approaching one of the nearer - confluences, let us call them. Secrets have a weight to them, and a spread. The spread is simply the array of locations where the truth resides, and the weight roughly corresponds to the impact should that secret diffuse beyond them.
Sobriquet paused, and Michael felt the sensation of being closely inspected. While not as weighty as so secrets, it said pointedly, this one is important enough to get a sense of its spread despite being fairly diffuse. You are approaching one of the relevant points. It lies perhaps two blocks forward and one block left of your current path.
The apparition lingered for a mont before fading, leaving Michael with swimming vision and a headache. When he regained his equilibrium Clair motioned impatiently for him to continue on.
Next ti dont stare like an idiot, she said. You can speak just fine without looking at that ss.
Michael shot an annoyed glare back at her, a feat he was rather proud of considering his vision was elsewhere at the ti. Thank you for the helpful advice, he muttered. Your timing is sowhat less fortunate.
I dont spoil the fun unless its relevant to the mission. Unfortunately, you are. Lets move to the spot. Clair motioned the others forward and began to walk once more.
The block in question had been shelled rather thoroughly, with divots taken out of the streets and massive sections of wall blasted away from every building. Fully half the structures had fallen into mounds of rubble, and the rest looked like they would do the sa at the next stiff breeze.
As they drew close Michael could sll rotting at under the omnipresent smoke, although he could not see any of the bodies from his current vantage. He curled his hands into fists and kept walking.
What are we looking for? he asked. Do we know?
Clair let out a sigh and shook her head. No, she said. This is the annoying part, we wont know what the relevant information is until we learn it. At that point it changes the spread of the secret, and Sobriquet will tell us.
So in effect, well know it when we see it, Michael muttered. But theres a whole block to comb through, this is going to take forever.
Imagine how long it would take us if we didnt have a spector, Clair shot back. Co on, Ardan. Ti to pay your fare.
Michael sighed and walked close to the rubble, finding a less-visible nook to stand in before sending his sight into the debris. It was chaotic and jumbled, his vision often cutting out entirely as he found himself watching from within so fallen bit of masonry.
For the first minutes he made little sense of what he was seeing, disoriented by the tight spaces and obstructions. Slowly he began to gain a sense for it, however, and as he did he began to see the fragnts around him for what they were.
A phonograph, half-crushed. An icebox that had burst open when a wall fell on it, spilling its contents onto the floor. A piece of cake was left, decorated with fine yellow swirls of icing. A book. Shards of a decanter still stained with wine. A childs doll, with a tiny, bloated hand wrapped-
Michael sank to one knee and vomited, heaving his trail lunch onto the debris pile in front of him. He felt Gerards hand on his shoulder, helping him back upright; he waved the man off and let his vision return to his own view for a mont.
No secrets here, Michael panted, wiping his mouth. Just - people.
Clairs mouth pressed into a line. She nodded and stepped back into the street as Michael began to walk to the next building, and the next. Sotis there were people, sotis only pieces of a life lying destroyed. They were each tragic in their own way, and full of their own secrets. A letter half-finished spoke of a love its writer had yet to declare. A suitcase of golden crowns lay exposed from its hiding spot under shattered floorboards.
Sobriquet said nothing for these, or the other minor secrets that Michael happened upon - so Michael said nothing, and let them rest with the dead. He was peripherally aware of his body amid the flood of eerie, poignant images. His face was gritty and wet with tears, his throat burning with the sting of bile.
He saw the others looking at him when he pulled back to himself for the walk between buildings; Clair with a slight frown, Gerard with evident concern. Charles and Vernon were inscrutable, keeping watch on the street for passing soldiers. More than once there were patrols, and they all squeezed into a broken foyer to wait out their passing while Michael cast his gaze through the destruction.
At one of these tis, when he sat with Gerard pressed awkwardly against him and Vernon looming close on his other side, Michael saw the small glint of a tal button reflecting from under a fallen beam. He shifted his vision closer and saw an Ardan uniform jacket, bloodstained where it was not blackened with fire.
It did not belong in this block, Michael knew. He was a stranger to this town and to this neighborhood, but he had been dragging his soul through the intimate shards of its ruin since he arrived; the jacket was out of place.
Michael shifted around the body. Most of it was pinned under the fallen beam. A fire had gnawed at the remnants for so ti, leaving one arm blackened and skeletal where it draped over a leather couriers bag.
The top flap had fallen open, leaving the charred edges of paper visible. Michael felt his heart begin to pound in his chest as he recognized the seal of the Assembly on one scrap. Stamped next to it was a single word in red ink: SUNBURN.
As he read the word, he heard Sobriquets voice in his ear once more. Thats it, the voice purred. Thats what were looking for.
Michael did not answer, nor did he move. His attention was fixed on the text that lay just below, barely protruding from the bag.
Committee of War, it read. Then: Vice-chair, Karl Baumgart.
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