Eyes of the Calculor

  This book made available by the Internet Archive.

  ,-312-87736-6

  $27.95 ($38.95 CAN)

  EYES Of TIE CALCULDR

  In Sean McMullen's glittering, dynamic, and exotic world two thousand years in the future, librarians fight duels to settle disputes, there is no electricity, fueled engines are banned by every major religion in Australica, humanity has split into two species, and intelligent cetezoids rule the oceans.

  In space, the enigmatic Mirrorsun has begun to spin. Immense solar sails are pushing vast amounts of energy into its ancient orbital band, energy that could tear it apart—or be directed down at Earth. Already the hypnotic Call has ceased, and all electrical machines have been reduced to molten metal. A religious prophet has risen and is attempting to bring together the entire continent of Australica under her rule.

  Meanwhile, her diesel-powered sailwing shot down by religious fanatics, the American princess Samondel is forced to set aside her trade-seeking mission and disguise herself as a student. Her only friends are a disgraced monk who is a member of the secret police and a beautiful young librarian who is a dangerous and unstable psychopath. From these unlikely friendships she must form an alliance between two continents and two species, and prevent ultimate war.

  Fundamentally, unexpectedly, things are changing everywhere. As catastrophe looms and civilization begins to crumble, the Dragon Librarians of Australica have just one means left to hold their world together: to kidnap every numerate person on the continent and rebuild their out-of-date human-powered computer—the Calculor.

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  EYES

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  CAbCULOR

  TOR BOOKS BY SEAN McMULLEN

  The Centurions Empire Eyes of the Calculor The Miocene Arrow Souls in the Great Machine

  EYES

  ALCULOR

  sean Mcmullen

  ®

  TOR®

  A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

  For Sensei Alexander Albert . . . who is not a monk

  The Greatwinter Trilogy is dedicated to my friend

  and production editor Jenna Felice, 1976-2001

  Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011

  http://www.archive.org/details/eyesofcalculorOOmcmu

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Catherine S. McMullen, for constructive criticism; Trish Smyth, for research material; Jack Dann, for informed advice; John de la Lande, for checking my orbital dynamics equations

  EYES

  OF TH

  ALCULOR

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  PH-0LO

  PWeLOGUE

  The Rochestrian Commonwealth, Eastern Australica

  Ueep within Libris, the vast and ancient Mayoral library of Rochester, the pulse of the electric calculor was the warm, regular gusts of air that blew through the corridors of its body. The heartbeat of ZAR 2 was less impressive than its pulse, sounding like heavy hail beating down on a vast slate roof during a windstorm. The air around it was warm with its life, and that life had never faltered in the twenty-one years since its commissioning. Attendants wheeled trolleys loaded with punched cards and reels of paper tape up to the toothed hoppers that were its many mouths, while far above, in the courtyards and gardens of the sprawling library that was its home, horses paced in treadcircles to turn the generators that powered its heart.

  The display register in the operations room declared it to be the 13th day of September in the year 3961.

  Twenty-one years was very old for a calculor; in fact, ZAR 2 had survived to twice the age of its predecessor, a human-powered calculor. ZAR 1 had never been called anything but the Calculor while operational, but after the assassination of its creator, Zarvora Cybeline, the calculating machines at the heart of the Rochestrian Commonwealth were renamed in memory of her.

  All through the rooms and corridors that were ZAR 2's body,

  the signs of age were clearly visible: Unpainted wooden beams, ripped cloth partitions, broken pulleys that had been bypassed instead of repaired; even the stone walls themselves featured holes roughly knocked through to allow easier access for cables and tubes. None of the electric calculor's attendants moved with any sort of animation, and nearly all looked as shabby and neglected as the machine that they tended.

  In the sky above Rochester a great band of darkness blotted out a swath of stars, and at the point directly opposite to the sun was a small splash of orange light. The Mirrorsun band was a legacy of the ancient Anglaic civilization, an immense orbital sunshield to counter something called the greenhouse effect. It was also known to be intelligent. On this particular night there were odd twinkles and pulses of light in the darkened areas, and in patterns that seemed to be building in intensity. Astronomers excitedly took measurements, children pointed and laughed, lovers gazed skyward as they spoke endearments to each other, but most people were too lazy or busy to even glance up.

  Franzas Dramoren was exceedingly tired, but the new Highliber of Libris did indeed bother to look up at the Mirrorsun band.

  "Behind all great signs and portents may be found change," he said softly.

  Somewhere nearby a clocktower chimed 2:00 a.m., and he turned away from the window and got into bed.

  "And behind all small signs and portents may be found change," he added as he lay with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep to claim him.

  Uramoren was the third Highliber to take charge of both Libris and the Dragon Librarian Service since the death of Zarvora Cybeline. A mere twenty-nine years of age, he had previously been head of the Espionage Constables for six years. Dramoren was, like Zarvora, a child of a noble family who happened to possess great talent and drive, and both had made the most of the rank, privileges, and wealth that they had been born with. Half an hour before dawn he awoke in the small but richly furnished Highliber's apartment, washed at a

  porcelain bowl, and dressed in the clothes and robes that had been laid out by his lackey. With each new Highliber came a new style of uniform for the Dragon Librarian Service, and in a sense Dra-moren's aspirations were reflected in his choice of style. The black tunic, trousers, calf boots, and jacket were very similar to the style of Zarvora, but he had added his own special touch, with the wearer's rank displayed on the jacket's collar. Rank was now denoted by a pair of colored wings sprouting from a book, worn on the lapels of the jacket. Dramoren had black wings picked out in silver, for he was the only Dragon Black Librarian. Dramoren also wore a black skullcap. This was partly to acknowledge his monastic background, and partly to hide a bald spot.

  Being not yet thirty, Dramoren was the second-youngest Highliber ever to take charge of the Libris. A five-inch scar emerged from the hairline of his left temple, passed through the edge of his eyebrow, and disappeared again into the beard that ran along his jawline. The scar was only as old as Dramoren's inauguration as Highliber, and the stiches had not yet been removed. He was buttoning his jacket when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find his lackey, Vorion, had arrived with a chalkboard. Vorion's rank was Dragon Red, but he had forgone several opportunities for promotion to retain his position as personal lackey to the Highlibers.

  "Highliber!" the middle-aged man exclaimed. "I thought you were still in bed."

  "It is nearly dawn, Fras Vorion," replied Dramoren, gesturing to the window. "Most people have a tendency to get out of bed in the morning."

  "But Highliber, I should be here with your breakfast before you rise, then help you wash and dress, brief you on the schedule for the day, and—"

  "Fras Vorion, I can wash and dress myself, and I shall eat with my senior staff in the refectory."

  "Highliber, do you think that is wise? After, well, what happened to Highliber Waraman
ce?"

  "After what happened to Highliber Waramance I think it is particularly wise."

  Dramoren had already studied Vorion's file, noting that he had entered Libris as Highliber Zarvora's lackey and had worked in that position for the following thirty-three years. The two Highlibers since Zarvora had been over twice Dramoren's age, and had been given the appointment as a reward for a lifetime of inoffensive mediocrity. The first had died of heart failure after a single year in office. Highliber Waramance had then filled the position for four years without making a single decision of any consequence, then suddenly and mysteriously died. It had been made clear to Dramoren that certain reforms had been scheduled for the Dragon Librarian Service, and that the Commonwealth's Council of Mayors was less than impressed by Waramance's lack of performance—and even less impressed by his reluctance to resign when requested to do so. Dramoren had no doubt that the man had been deliberately returned to his Maker, and that as his successor he was expected to show considerably more initiative.

  Vorion was looking a little crushed as Dramoren combed down his hair and beard, then put on his skullcap. He selected a flintlock from his wall rack, checked the priming pan, then thrust the weapon into his belt. Finally he picked up an ankle-length black coat.

  "Er, Highliber, that is not part of the uniform."

  "Ah, yes, but I am the Highliber," responded Dramoren, glancing out of the window as he put the coat on. "Have you looked at Mir-rorsun lately?"

  "I, ah, no, but—"

  "There are faint lights dancing along its length, and they are growing more frequent by the hour."

  "Oh Ah, what does it mean, Highliber?"

  "It means change, Vorion." The master of Libris and the Dragon Librarian Service crossed the room and held the door open for his lackey. "One should be most alert when there are signs of change to be seen. Walk with me."

  They began the trek to the refectory.

  "What did you think of my two predecessors?" asked Dramoren presently.

  "They were fine and learned—" began Vorion.

  "I despised them both," interjected Dramoren. "Waramance was invited to attend the regional meeting of mayors at Rutherglen, so that he would be outside the protection of my Espionage Constables. There he was poisoned."

  "Oh no, Highliber, impossible!"

  "I have had my people make enquiries. The meeting had been convened especially to lure him out there, and a special poison was imported from the Northmoors."

  "I—ah, how terrible," stammered the lackey.

  "I quite agree; had they bothered to ask me I would have arranged his assassination with a lot less trouble and expense. Now, Fras Vorion, have you ever worked for anyone as ruthless as me in your three decades in Libris?"

  "Frelle Zarvora Cybeline," replied Vorion without hesitation.

  "Ah, really?" exclaimed Dramoren with a slight smile.

  "Without a doubt."

  "What did you think of her?"

  "I would have cheerfully died for her, Highliber."

  "Indeed?" said Dramoren, smiling again. "Well, I very nearly died to attain her rank, but here I am and there are going to be changes. The Dragon Librarian Service is like a beautiful, finely balanced, perfectly tuned flintlock. It looks magnificent, but it exists to be used."

  "If my services are no longer required, Highliber, just tell me," mumbled Vorion, expecting the worst.

  "That is up to you, Fras. I require assistance, not pampering. Be at my door as I emerge every morning, brief me on what is to come as we walk to the refectory, shield me from trivia, tend my files with efficiency, and keep an ear to the walls for rumors. Can you do all that?"

  "Better than any other, Highliber."

  "Then your services are required. What is scheduled for today?"

  "A meeting with your Dragon Gold Librarians in the morning, and a tour of the book stacks in the afternoon. The Overmayor has invited you to her palace for a working dinner, and at the ninth hour you are to meet the Bishop of Woomera for drinks."

  "Where I shall discuss what?"

  "A new religious movement to redefine electrical engines as fueled engines, and hence prohibit their use. Finally there is a tour of the ZAR 2 calculor."

  I hey are expecting change, thought Dramoren as he stood to address his Dragon Gold Librarians. Who am I to disappoint them?

  "I have been appointed to oversee a profound change in the role of the Dragon Librarians," he began. "Until the spread of radio and wire artisanry, librarians were the controllers and coordinators of knowledge, information, travel, and transport. Once, the networks of beamflash signal towers used telescopes, mirrors, and flashing lights to relay messages, and human-powered calculors ordered, analyzed, and stored the information needed to run our may orates. However, they were very large and expensive, and only the government could build and maintain them. Now, since the rediscovery of electrical essence, mere merchants can buy radio machines and desktop calculors, and networks of wire are replacing the old beamflash towers. What are we to do?"

  Dramoren folded his arms behind his back as they thought.

  "Restrict access to our boo—" began the head conservator before catching Dramoren's frown. "That is, preserve the glory and wisdom of the past."

  "Encourage the use of our books by students and researchers," declared the head of Reference, fishing for Dramoren's favor.

  "Through more rigorous cataloguing," added the head of Cataloguing.

  "And acquire multiple copies of more books," added the Dragon Gold in charge of Acquisitions, not anxious to be left out.

  "Research the control, storage, and spread of information," was the opinion of the Systems Controller of the electric calculor.

  Dramoren stared down at the polished table before him. They all want to say what will please me, he thought. They have no visions, neither have they dreams, and there is probably a shortage of backbones in the room as well. Would they do anything other than applaud politely if I drew my Morelac and shot the head of

  Calaloguing's stupid hat off his head? If I dropped my trousers and presented them with a full moon? If I announced the death penalty for overdue books? Did I really leave the Espionage Constables for thisl

  "Libris and the Dragon Librarian Service have had a role for over a thousand years," said Dramoren. "I cannot believe that they have ceased to be useful in just twenty. The Southmoors, the Central Confederation, the new Kalgoorlie Empire, and the Alspring Ghans are held together by their religions. The Woomerans and Northmoors are no more than trade and defense alliances of small mayorates and castellanies, while Avian's citizens have unity because they are aviads and most humans are trying to kill them."

  "Killing aviads is now prohibited under Rochestrian law," began the head of Reference.

  "Quite so, Frelle, but that is not my point. Only the Rochestrian Commonwealth is based on the Dragon Librarian Service now."

  "The Dragon Librarian Service nevertheless provides services everywhere except Avian," said the Dragon Gold of Communications.

  "Services which are becoming increasingly redundant, except in our Commonwealth," Dramoren pointed out.

  "In that case the Service is vital to the Commonwealth," said the Systems Controller.

  "So should we become the Rochestrian Dragon Librarian Service, and abandon our brothers and sisters elsewhere on the continent?"

  "I am tracing a logical path, Highliber. Logic leads where it will."

  Dramoren nodded his agreement. Perhaps Hawker has a brain but has learned to keep quiet about it, he decided.

  "Your thoughts on this matter are very constructive, Systems Controller Hawker," he declared. "I look forward to speaking with you further this evening, during my tour of your electric cal-culor."

  I he day passed slowly, and Dramoren was deluged with agendas, petitions, and requests wherever he went. Late in the evening he called in at the refectory again and secured a mug of coffee, which he took with him.

  '"Ere, who does 'e think 'e is?" d
emanded a servingmaid.

  "The new Highliber, ,, replied the refectory supervisor.

  The Libris refectory was beside the dormitory wing of the vast library complex, and separated from the older buildings by a wall and bluestone plaza. The wall also separated the artisan workshops, bookstores, calculor hall offices, and armory of Libris from the lower security areas. Dramoren passed through a gate that was guarded by bluestone grotesques and live Tiger Dragon guards. Glancing up at Mirrorsun, he noted that the pulsing lights had by now become a faint, twinkling torrent of light across the sky.

  "It means something," he said to a guard, who responded by saluting.

  Dramoren entered the old central store where Hawker was waiting.

  "Even after twenty years this place seems unnaturally quiet," said Hawker as they walked past a vast array of small, partitioned rooms packed with odd jumbles of woodwork and wire. "These cells are where the components were kept when they were not on duty."

  "So, you saw this place when the components of the original Libris Calculor were housed here?" asked Dramoren.

  "I was one of those components," replied Hawker.

  "And which component was that?" asked Dramoren, quickly recovering from his surprise.

  "MULTIPLIER 17. I was there from the first experiments until the upgrading to the electric calculor, ZAR 2."

  "And what is all that rubbish in the cells?"

  "Why Highliber, it's the abacus frames, desks, seats, and transmission wires of the original Calculor. Ironic, is it not? The great machine is now in the cells where its components used to sit."

  "I read that it had been smashed up."

  "About a quarter of it was destroyed, the rest was moved down here for salvage."

  "And nothing has actually been salvaged?"

  "When the space is needed, the salvage will begin."

  They passed out into another courtyard, where two dozen horses were walking treadcircles while munching chaff from nosebags. They were powering gearboxes that were attached to generators, and from these ran wires wrapped in beeswax-soaked cloth spaced by porcelain insulators that led to the next building, a thousand-year-old cathedral to knowledge in red abandonstone.