Quiet clapping filled the room, and the vedalken representatives bowed their heads as their lord moved past.
Pontifex loved this. He loved that these people loved him. He had experienced nothing quite like it, and he relished every moment.
“Now that you have arrived-”
The vedalken’s clapping stopped.
“-may we proceed with the inauguration ceremony?”
These were the impatient words of Sodador. The younger, more hot-headed of the other two councilors, Sodador walked with the aid of a cane.
Yes, thought Pontifex, looking at him with narrowed eyes. You are anxious to lead the Synod.
But the councilor’s overzealous demeanor hadn’t won him the political power to challenge the previous leader, Janus. The latter had had too many allies.
Ascending to the head of the Synod was a nasty business. Assassinating one’s predecessor didn’t cast one in the most politically flattering light. It would be some time before Pontifex could overcome the negative image his rise to power on the body of Janus had gained him.
Pontifex smiled to himself. They might win this battle, but he’d make them pay.
“Oh, my, this is embarrassing, Councilor Sodador,” said the vedalken lord. “Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?”
Pontifex was nearly half way to the floor at this point. Sodador’s features cleared.
“I am most certainly not. We have followed every parliamentary procedure in calling this special assembly of the elected representatives.”
Pontifex stopped his descent, stepping to the railing between two representatives. He raised his finger. “Forgive me, Councilor Sodador, but isn’t a vote of the council required before we can bring a fourth member into the Synod? Certainly before we have an inauguration, we must have a vote. I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember voting on the inclusion of this person into our council.” Pontifex pointed down at the third figure on the floor. “In fact, I’ve never even been introduced to this man.”
There was a slight gasp from several of the collected representatives, and both Sodador and Tyrell seemed to squirm. Pontifex smiled. Their scheme hadn’t been covert, but now their motives for arranging the special assembly were called into question.
“Well,” he said, resuming his downward spiral, “am I wrong?”
“As you will recall, Lord Pontifex,” replied Tyrell, “this meeting was called in accordance with the law, which very specifically states there must be four members seated on the Synod at the start of each new moon cycle.” Tyrell ran his hand over his bald scalp. “It is dark outside, my friend. The moon cycle has begun, and we have an empty seat to fill.”
“Fill it we will.” Pontifex smiled wide. “However, I think you’ll agree just because we’re slightly behind schedule doesn’t mean we should abandon our long standing traditions and procedures. Our laws, Tyrell, were written to protect us from hasty decisions. Let us interview your candidate and bring him before a vote of the representative-as is the mandate for the Synod-before we swear him in.”
A light clapping followed.
“Our laws,” shot back Sodador, “were written to protect us from a council chair who abuses his power.”
Pontifex looked hurt. “Are you accusing me of something, Sodador?”
Sodador opened his mouth, but Tyrell raised his hand to stop him. “Our young councilor accuses you of nothing, Lord Pontifex. He merely speaks of the conventions of balance.” The elder statesmen turned to the assembled vedalken standing above him on the spiral. “As you all know, good citizens, the Synod is a council of four members. Though there is rarely a conflict of opinion, from time to time it becomes necessary to break ties when the council members do not agree. It is at these times that the council chair casts a second vote.” Tyrell spun as he spoke, making eye contact with each and every one of the elected representatives as he did. “Currently, there are only three members on the Synod. That is why you have been called here for this most unusual meeting. Many of you have never before set foot in this assembly hall. Many of you will never again be compelled to do so, but today is different. Today you must fill the fourth seat by wielding a single collective vote that will be cast in the event of a tie.”
Pontifex spoke in turn. “Because of the unusual circumstance which has brought you all here today, you have been given a rare glimpse into the workings of the Synod, and how we-” Pontifex indicated the other members and himself-“take into account the concerns and needs of the entire vedalken empire.” He nodded his head, smiling up at the representatives. “I, for one, am most excited. It is not every day that you get to witness the governing council at work, much less participate in the ruling of your own sovereign body. I’m sure you all are as excited by the prospect as I am, but I must take this opportunity to speak to you of the grave importance of the decision we are all about to make.”
Lord Pontifex stood up straight, his smile fading into a look of stern seriousness. “Weigh your vote very carefully, for whomever you chose to fill that empty seat will rule on the Synod for life.”
* * * * *
Memnarch ambled from his laboratory. The work he did outside Panopticon was easy enough, but the journey to the soul trap fields and back would take him considerable time-time he would have to spend away from his infusion device.
With serum storage tanks attached to his frame, it would take him even longer. The contraption kept him fully lubricated, but its bulk and weight slowed him down. No matter. He enjoyed his trips to the soul traps. Better to enjoy the work than to try to finish it in the least amount of time.
Besides, the metal tanks made Memnarch feel as he had before, when his body had been all metal. Perfect, the way it had been created.
“Do you think Memnarch has forgotten?” The Guardian shook his head. “Of course you do not.”
The lift stopped and the doors slipped open. Memnarch was greeted with silence as he looked across the empty staging area at the base of Panopticon. Before, there had been a hundred levelers arrayed here.
“Malil has taken them all,” he said. “He takes his duty seriously.”
The bulbous, crablike Guardian of Mirrodin scuttled from the lift then from his tower. The dimly lit interior was replaced by the blinding blue-white light of the mana core. High above the floor of the interior, the power core of the entire plane hissed and crackled with energy.
“Sometimes Memnarch misses the darkness. Yes. Yes. It is much easier to work with a constant source of light. Still, the convergence of the moons was a spectacular event, a spectacular event.” He stopped for a moment, putting one of his fingers to his lips. “There is a minor convergence happening now,” he said. “Do you remember when the first moon shot from the core of the plane?”
Memnarch moved on, shaking his head. “No, I suspected you would not. You were not here for that. Or for the next one.” The Guardian scowled. “Or for the next one. Or for the next one after that. Come to think of it, Mirrodin was always dark when you were here. Oh, how things have changed.”
Memnarch could see the tall chrome spires of mycosynth up ahead, touched at their bases with tarnish. They reached high into the sky, climbing from the ground up toward the mana core. Forests of these pointy towers dotted the interior of Mirrodin from one side to the other. From Panopticon, Memnarch could actually see how they curved with the slope of the round plane.
The Guardian wasn’t interested in these structures. They represented all that was wrong with Mirrodin now.
“True,” he said as he approached the nearest of the columns, “they are not the problem, but they are a symptom. Memnarch does not like the symptoms.”
Inside the forest of mycosynth, Memnarch stopped and knelt. Below him, dozens of little furry creatures scurried around, stopping when they encountered the large, diamond-shaped boxes, covered in mossy verdigris, spaced several meters apart.