Tinker's Justice Read online

  Two of his men sat beside him at the witness table. Kep to his left, mostly for his steadfastness. General Bradet to his right, mostly because he looked respectable in a uniform. Both had been instructed to keep their rusting traps shut unless Draksgollow indicated otherwise. This was his show, his pitch, his chance to drive a spike into the stone of Korr and anchor himself there for posterity.

  “Please rise,” the bailiff said. Draksgollow waited until most of the room had stood before he followed suit. The councilors filed in and took their seats at the head of the chamber. They all looked in his direction, and he made a point of meeting the eye of every one of them. “This special hearing of the Kupak Deep Civic Council is now in session.”

  Councilor Gerkie Steelsmith rose from the seat she had just taken. “This hearing will determine our response to the recent human violence, and the appalling actions of the so-called Human Rebellion. We have two special guests today, Professor Ilvark Hargrick, senior lecturer of human history at Graines and Meddows University; and Mr. Ganrin Draksgollow, head tinker and owner of Draksgollow Metalworks in Cavinstraw Deep. Gentlemen, thank you for joining us this morning.

  “For as long as we have kept humans among us, there has been violence. The mere fact that every slave-owning business is forced to employ overseers to keep their humans in line is a testament to that fact. Left to their own ends, humans will prey upon the weakest segment of our population, wresting what little the poor possess for their own greedy ends. But always has this violence been kept in check. The officers of Judicial Enforcement put the troublemakers in their places and excise the worst elements from among the humans. Even the occasional revolt has been dealt with swiftly and resolutely. Now … now we are faced with a graver threat. The humans have organized on a scale we have never seen. They are rioting all across Korr, and in greater numbers in any city than we have ever seen. Even slaves certified as docile have turned on their owners, betraying them after years of care and gentle treatment. Today, we will debate how best to put an end to this human problem. And though we may only speak for Kupak, we have a third guest whom I would like to introduce: Mr. Calamson Goldore, special liaison to the Ruttanian Central Defense Ministry. He will take word of today’s resolution back to the Central Council, and they will take our actions under consideration for wider application.”

  Councilor Steelsmith took her seat and a well-earned glass of water.

  A second councilor rose. “Professor Hargrick, if you would state your proposal for the council.”

  Professor Hargrick stood and teased out the end of his beard, worn unbound in academic fashion. “Esteemed councilors, I thank you for allowing me to appear here before you today. We have the great privilege, responsibility, and misfortune of standing at a crossing in history. Down one tunnel lies destruction and ruin; down another lies the peace and harmony that society must have as its bedrock in order to thrive.

  “While I understand the intent of your opening statements, I would like to point out that there is in fact precedent for conflict with humans on this scale. We warred with humans once, long ago, not as rebels, but as rivals. We overcame them. There have been two great rebellions since then. First came the Loggers’ Rebellion, some eleven hundred years ago, where humans from the Lumberlands’ logging camps outnumbered their overseers by too great a margin and overwhelmed them. Those humans took control of a sizeable portion of the Lumberlands, shutting down the timber industry for nearly three years. Then there was the—”

  “We gotta listen to this air?” Draksgollow said, leaning forward in his seat and sweeping a hand toward the professor.

  A gavel banged. “Mr. Draksgollow, please contain yourself,” said Councilor Steelsmith. “You will have your say. For now, Professor Hargrick has the floor.”

  Draksgollow slouched back in his seat. Let him have all the time he wants now. He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. They’re all waiting for me to talk, not listening to him.

  Professor Hargrick cleared his throat. “Well … yes … then there was the Riders’ Rebellion just three hundred sixty years ago, where rebellious humans used thunderails—which were quite new at the time—to get from deep to deep. They caused more property damage than loss of life, but estimates placed their numbers at upward of four thousand, their travels allowing them to spread strife and to rally humans to their cause from far-dug places.” Professor Hargrick stepped in front of his witness table and began to pace in front of the council. He held a finger high. “Today! Today we face a new challenge, but an old problem: humans who have grown bold enough that they are willing to take up arms.”

  “What would your recommendation be, Professor?” Councilor Steelsmith asked.

  “We must reform, and we must quell,” Professor Hargrick said. “Like a rockslide, you cannot build a retaining wall while it is occurring. We must let it run out, shovel ourselves free of the debris, examine the origin of the problem, and put in place safeguards against recurrence.”

  “That’s all very general, Professor,” said one of the councilors who had not yet spoken. “Can you delve into more detail?”

  Professor Hargrick gave a tight, smug smile. “I would be delighted, Councilor Lanbeck. The quelling is a Judicial Enforcement issue, possibly requiring military support. Of course, we cannot allow armed, rebellious humans to run amok. We take a methodical approach. One city at a time—starting here in Kupak Deep—we scour the city, take every human into custody, interview them to determine rebellious tendencies, and return the rest to their occupations. Those that resist are obviously rebels, of course, without requiring additional investigations.”

  “That sounds laborious,” said one of the councilors.

  “Each city will prove easier than the last,” said Professor Hargrick. “We should employ the seeding method used in the quelling of the Loggers’ Rebellion. Slaves believed to have participated in rebellious activities, or who aided those who did, will be punished by the removal of the tongue and breeding paraphernalia, then returned to their owners. If previously they were freemen, they are to be sold at auction for the public benefit. Once these chastened humans—pardon my pun—are returned to work, others will see the consequences of their actions, and become less likely to join rebellious factions.”

  “Thank you, Professor Hargrick,” said Councilor Steelsmith. The professor sketched a shallow bow and returned to his seat.

  “Mr. Ganrin Draksgollow, to address the council.”

  Draksgollow drew himself up to his full height. He wasn’t tall for a kuduk, but he had a presence out of proportion to his stature, with his bald face and mechanical embellishments drawing fascinated looks. He nodded to the audience as he walked to stand in the narrow alley between the witness table and the councilors. “Now, far be it from me to question a plan that would result in a pile of human tongues and dangle-bits the size of a trolley, and result in gainful employ for a couple poor sots making that pile. But you’re just cleaning up the problem with a greasy rag.”

  There were murmurs in the gallery as Draksgollow paced, imitating the professor with the addition of faint hissing and creaking sounds from his mechanical joints. “You see, you put them maimed and un-manned humans into mines and fields; they don’t need to talk. Other humans will see them, then they’ve got to choose: do I put my head down and keep safe, or do I fight back like this poor rusted heap of a human next to me? You might think those humans would pick being safe, but you might just not understand how bleeding stupid they really are. It’s too late; they’ve heard; they know they can fight back, and lookie there, it don’t even get them killed. And humans always think it won’t happen to them; it’s some other poor ash-sop who gets ventilated, gets hanged, or gets his danglies tossed in a pile by Professor Hargrick over there.

  “I got a real plan, a solid plan, a plan that we can sit down at the end, put our feet up, and say ‘well, that’s that.’ It’s the only plan I think we can count on to work, and I promise you, it’s going to be work.”
/>   “What’s that, Mr. Draksgollow?” asked Councilor Steelsmith. She knew already, but she wasn’t letting on. All the councilors knew the plan. The whole show was pre-arranged. Only the audience and Professor Hargrick were ignorant, and that audience included the visitor from the Ruttanian Central Defense Ministry.

  “We stomp ‘em out,” said Draksgollow. “Every last human if we have to. Maybe we let a few be exceptions, but they better be rusted rare exceptions. Make folks pay by the trolley-car if they want to spare one.”

  Professor Hargrick rose from his seat, eyes wide with shock. Draksgollow couldn’t have found an actor to play the role like the Professor of Humans was playing it. “You can’t do that. The economic tremors would shake us to collapse. We need humans. We depend on their productivity for our standard of living.”

  Draksgollow remained calm in the face of Hargrick’s red-faced outburst. “Park yourself in that seat of yours, and don’t sit on your head. I wasn’t done. I’ve got a plan to replace all the humans we lose in the purge.”

  “Replace them?” Professor Hargrick scoffed. “You can’t kill all the humans and replace them. You’re missing a basic tenet of population growth: to make humans, you need to have humans.”

  “Now you see? That’s your problem right there,” said Draksgollow. “You’re not looking to the future. You’re just shoving your nose in a book for an answer. Me? I make my own answers.” He pointed to the front of the room, behind the councilors’ table. A world-hole opened, drawing gasps from the crowd. His own men were standing at the ready, marching a chained line of humans into the chamber, circling around to bring them in front of the audience. “There’s other places out there. I won’t get into details, but I tinkered up a way to get there. They’ve got humans there that have never heard of kuduks, don’t speak our language, and enough of them that know a hard day’s work that we won’t have any trouble replacing our lost humans.”

  Draksgollow finished his speech at almost a shout to make his voice heard over the rumble of conversation that broke out when the world-hole opened. The banging of a gavel was a rhythmic undertone, like a metronome ticking as an orchestra rehearsed. Everyone ignored it, or pretended they didn’t hear it. Draksgollow reveled in the moment, watching the chain of humans—many of them battered and bloody—shrink back with nowhere to hide. He let the chaos reign for a moment.

  “Shut up!” he shouted when he decided that the crowd had enjoyed enough gossip and speculation. The voices still buzzed, but most of the room wanted to hear what he had to say. Professor Hargrick was forgotten, just five paces away.

  “These here humans, they’re mine. I went and rounded them up, and just like that, they’re mine. They don’t know spit about us, about what we want them to do. But they’re humans. You beat them when they’re not doing what you want, you beat them when they’re being lazy, or sloppy, or proud. You stop when they’re doing what they’re told—no more, no less. Works on all of them, or if it don’t, you cull them. I’m not going to pretend this won’t be work. This’ll be work like the thunderail tunnels. This’ll be work like a war. But when it’s over, we’ll have humans that never heard of a rebellion, humans that don’t know what’s what and are scared of everything. These humans are going to be afraid any time they aren’t doing exactly what they’re told, and they’re going to have that hang over them for the rest of their lives, and pass it on to their children. Our humans have got brave. They got stories from a hundred years ago saying things is fine. Makes them comfortable. Makes them feel like they’ve got the world figured out, even if they’re at the bottom of the heap. We got these new ones, and it’s gonna be generations before they even think of thinking they got the world sorted out.”

  The meeting was effectively over. There was no going back to mundane arguments after the show Draksgollow had put on. Debate over the plan had ended, even if there was no longer the proper forum for announcing a decision. Let the decision come later; Draksgollow was satisfied that he had won his case. As the room cleared, Draksgollow glad-handed a few spectators as he waited for the one person in the room he had been truly concerned about swaying.

  “Mr. Draksgollow,” said the representative of the Central Defense Ministry, holding out his hand, “I’m Calamson Goldore, liaison of the—”

  “I know who you are,” Draksgollow replied, shaking the man’s hand and sizing him up. He had his beard woven into two long braids at the chin, the rest close-cropped—all grey. Soft skin on the hands, but a grip like a meat packer. He was a man who used to work, but had settled into a comfortable life. “You think we put on this kind of a display to drop the jaws of the trolley-riders?”

  Goldore released Draksgollow’s hand with a shrewd gleam in his eye. “That machine … what’s it do, exactly?”

  “Exactly?” Draksgollow asked. “It cuts a hole between two places, one end where the machine is, the other wherever the bloody bolts I please.”

  “And where exactly did you get those spare humans from?”

  “That,” Draksgollow said, “will take some time to explain. If you don’t mind a trip through that machine, I’ll be happy to sit down with you over dinner and lay it on the rails for you.”

  A metallic shriek echoed through the workshop over the thrum of machinery. Rebel workers manned the equipment, churning out parts for the various projects going on between the rebellion’s tinkers and the everyday necessities that they replenished. In one corner of the workshop, Rynn had commandeered a lathe, where she was working on shaving a fraction of an inch off the diameter of a brightsteel rod for her next improvement. Her goggles kept brightsteel chips from her eyes; earmuffs kept the shriek from taking its toll on her hearing. But while the muffs protected her in the long term, in the short term they blocked out all but the loudest of sounds. It was peaceful. Everything around her was muffled. The goggles blocked most of her peripheral vision. There was just her and the workpiece. One thing to worry over.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. Rynn flinched away from the machine; her first worry was of getting caught in the whirring head that spun with enough force to rip her hand off. She twisted around. “What the—oh, piss off, Kupe! Don’t you know better than to sneak up behind someone working at a machine?”

  Kupe held up his hands. “Sorry. I called your name from the door and you didn’t turn around.”

  “Rusted Eziel,” Rynn swore. “Can’t you read the signs? Get some goggles on at least, before something blinds you.”

  He shielded his eyes with a hand. “Sorry. I just needed to talk to you.”

  Rynn took him by the arm and marched him out of the workshop before he broke something or got himself killed. “What made you think this was a good time?”

  “Well, because every other time I try to talk to you, you always find a way to get someone in my way, or you’re too busy and I can’t even get to you.”

  “Did you ever stop to think, ‘hmm, maybe Rynn’s time is pretty valuable? ’” Rynn asked. “I can’t drop everything I’m doing whenever someone wants my opinion on something. Bloody boots, it’s not like I don’t have enough people I can’t get rid of … no offense.”

  “None ta—no, piss off!” Kupe shot back. “I was about to say I wasn’t offended, but like an ox’s ass I’m not. You parade me in front of your recruits because they recognize my face from that one bloody flashpop. I had come down here to thank you for letting me go with Hayfield on that liftwing heist. I want to get a chance to be a soldier.”

  Rynn pushed her goggles up onto her head. Kupe was blurry without them, but they were fogging from her sweat. “Kupe, you were a soldier before I met you. That’s how you got your flashpop in the paper in the first place. You just aren’t the hero you pretend to be.”

  “The hero you make me pretend to be. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

  Rynn sighed. “Fine. If your heart’s not in it, you won’t be any use as an inspiration. I’ll get you put back on regular duties.”

  “No, you’
re not catching my toss here,” Kupe said. “I don’t want to pretend anymore; I want to a chance to be that hero. I want in on the big jobs, so that when those new recruits ask what it’s like making a difference, I don’t have to look for you, or Davlin, or Rascal for an answer.”

  “Heroes have a habit of dying young.” Rynn said.

  “Doesn’t stop you.”

  Rynn stopped to really look at Kupe. He had changed. He wasn’t joking about wanting to contribute. She could see the desperate longing in his eyes. What have I put him through, making him the face of the rebellion? He’s not much of a fighter, but then, who is when they first try? He also hadn’t looked below her jawline the entire time they had been talking, which was some sort of record for him.

  “Report to Davlin tomorrow morning. We have a new initiative starting soon, and I’ll get you in on it.”

  Chapter 11

  “If faced with a communication barrier, revert to core languages. These have been found commonly in many off-world cultures, and suggest common ancestry or creation.” – Traveler’s Companion: Contact with Indigenous Populations

  It had been two days. Kaia referenced the notes by the side of the console, checking the coordinates. It took her a moment to sift them through her head, deciphering the code Cadmus had devised to avoid ever writing actual, usable coordinates in plain sight. Kaia chuckled softly to herself. Cadmus was such an eccentric. Here they were, burrowed away in a cavern they had dug on the moon, of all places—Kaia could still hardly believe it—and he was still worried that someone might find them.