In the first session of that class, people began to ask questions about where their ancestors came from, and were astounded to learn that the fairy stories about other worlds were true. That led to a lively discussion about which childhood tales had been true and which fantasy; Dirk helped resolve it by telling them which fairy tales came from medieval Terra, and which countries there—so by the end of the week, they had a very general outline of Terran history and geography in their minds, and an even more sketchy outline of the history of space colonization.
Dirk had also learned which of them were very intelligent, and that no one was anything else. He asked the Guardian about that.
“How come all your inmates have such high IQs?” he asked the decorated wall.
“Because those who weren’t would have felt inferior here, and that would have deepened their delusion,” the computer voice told him.
Dirk felt a cold chill inside. “What did you do with them?”
“Sent them to the city of Firstmark. The computer there cares for them as I care for mine.”
“Oh, really.” Dirk pricked up his ears. “I take it Firstmark is buried in the forest, too?”
“It is indeed.”
“Just how many lost cities are there?”
“Five,” the computer answered. “Firstmark and Secondmark are for people of moderate intelligence. Thirdmark is for people of low intelligence, but Fourthmark holds delusionaries of high intelligence, too. I did not think it wise to have more than three hundred people in each city.”
“So there are more than a thousand people ready to become subversives, not counting Thirdmark,” Dirk said slowly, “and there are only a dozen living cities, and maybe four hundred towns, in this whole land.”
“You should have a potential labor force equal to half the bureaucracy, if I guess rightly from what you have told me of it.”
Dirk nodded slowly. “If Gar’s health holds up, yes. Half should be enough for a revolution.”
“Quite adequate,” the computer agreed.
By the end of the third week, Gar had recovered enough for his conference with the computer. It was very distressed to learn that the bureaucracy it had served had become the tool of a dictatorship, and was completely in favor of overthrowing the Protector, provided that it could be done with very little bloodshed. Gar explained the plan, and the Guardian approved it.
So the former delusionaries kept on with their training in weapons in the morning, then retired to their chambers to learn literature, history, psychology, mathematics, general science, music, strategy and tactics, and political science, then went on to learning the root legal code from which the Protector’s laws were drawn. The computer was also able to teach them the bureaucratic procedure that was probably the basis for the current government. The people confirmed the resemblance from their own experience with magistrates and reeves.
Very quickly, they began to form study groups, to discuss issues that confused them. Dirk explained to them that they could talk to the computer anywhere within the palace, and was amazed to find that the machine could explain a dozen different concepts to a dozen different groups at the same time. In those discussions, the Guardian revealed that the Protector was originally chosen by vote, and that everyone was born with rights—an alien concept which the cured madmen accepted eagerly, since it confirmed the ideas Gar and Dirk had given them.
As soon as the educational program was set up, Gar and Dirk left for Firstmark—which the Guardian had explained was short for “first market.” Dirk gave the original settlers high marks for organization, but negative marks for creativity.
Miles was astounded to find himself left in charge of Voyagend, but even more surprised to find the people coming to him to answer questions and resolve disputes. He was most surprised to find that he knew the answers and could settle the disputes fairly. Apparently Gar and Dirk had taught him more than he had realized.
CHAPTER 15
Two years passed, with Gar and Dirk returning from their journeys for brief visits; they were constantly on the road, overseeing training in all four cities. As the former inmates’ minds grew, they hammered out their own idea of what a government should be. The bailiffs would be appointed by the magistrates, as they always had been, but to become a magistrate, men and women would have to pass examinations, then be appointed by the Protector, but would have to be approved by vote of the people in their villages every year. The reeves would be elected by the magistrates from their own number, but would have to stand for a vote of confidence from the people of their shires every year. The Council of Reeves would be elected by all the bureaucrats together from the ranks of the reeves; the Council would elect the ministers from their own ranks, and people would elect the Protector from the ranks of the ministers.
Thus, to qualify to vote for the reeves, they had to initially pass examinations. To stand for office as a reeve, or minister, they had to prove themselves by years of service, and for Protector, by more years of service as a minister.
Once they knew how they wished to reshape their government and why, Gar began to give them their assignments within the underground, so that they could undergo advanced training. Those most adept at music were appointed to be minstrels, given subtly subversive songs to sing, and special training as secret agents, to keep all the false magistrates in touch with one another. The women, knowing they couldn’t become magistrates, were given very specific training on how to influence other people—persuasion and soft propaganda. The men, already trained as potential magistrates, now learned how to be secret agents, too, learning the cell system, codes, and infiltration techniques.
Meanwhile, Dirk sent out minstrels with forged travel permits, to listen more than they sang until they learned of magistrates scheduled for reassignment. By the time the first such agent came back to the City in high excitement, knowing the time and place of the rotation, the first false magistrate was ready to go—Orgoru.
The sun was barely risen as Orgoru came out of the city dressed in magistrate’s robes to meet the false bailiff and the dozen men dressed in watchmen’s uniforms.
“Farewell! Oh, fare you well indeed!” Gilda cried, and threw her arms around Orgoru’s neck. “I was among the first to greet you when first you came—let me be among the last to bid you good-bye!”
“Good-bye—until I see you again.” Orgoru took her into his arms, amazed that so bony a woman could feel so soft in his embrace—then even more amazed as she pulled her head back enough to turn, and kissed him full on the lips. It was a lingering caress, and for a moment, closing his eyes, Orgoru saw again the beautiful countess. Then he drew away, smiling with affection, for they had shared many long talks about right and wrong, and the fate of their country, in the last two years, and he had become almost as fond of common Gilda as he had been obsessed with the beautiful countess. “Good-bye until I see you again,” he said, “and may all go well for you.”
“Send word as soon as you know you’re safe!”
“I will,” he promised, and turned away quickly to mount his horse, before he could feel greater temptation to take her with him. Mounting, he turned back, and was surprised to see Ciletha standing by the gate, hand lifted in farewell, eyes bright with tears. Orgoru gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then turned away to his horse and his men.
It never occurred to him to wonder why Ciletha had come to see him off, or why she should be teary-eyed. They were old friends, after all.
He did wonder, though, if he really wanted to trust his life to that grim-faced Miles. What the deuce did the man have against him, after all? But his master Dirk was going too, leaving Gar and Ciletha in charge of the city—Ciletha in charge! an amazing thought!—so Orgoru mounted his horse and rode off to ambush a magistrate.