‘You have been trained since your birth for executive action. You have explored the deepest corridors of your beings. You have fought and meditated. You have studied the martial skills until no man can best you in combat. You can walk without disturbing the air, and move without being seen. Yet, the task in front of us may even put you to an awesome test.’
The teacher paused, and a monk at the end of the line raised his hand.
‘Teacher?’
The teacher slowly turned his head.
‘Na Duc Rogers?’
‘Has not the failure of Jeb Stuart Ho cast a shadow over our capabilities?’
The teacher smiled.
‘The wise man holds his dish level after once he has spilled the soup.’
Na Duc Rogers frowned.
‘Surely we can no longer have faith in our invincibility? That could hang over us like a blight.’
The teacher’s eyes twinkled.
‘The humble man who dwells in the barn with his cow very quickly learns to like the smell.’
Jeb Stuart Ho could contain himself no longer. He raised his hand.
‘Teacher?’
‘Jeb Stuart Ho?’
‘Would you outline what this task is to be?’
The teacher looked hard at Jeb Stuart Ho.
‘The foolish man summons the river to come nearer so he may cross it the sooner.’
Jeb Stuart Ho silently accepted the rebuke. The teacher waited for a while, then he spoke.
‘What would you do, Jeb Stuart Ho?’
Jeb Stuart Ho took a deep breath. The question was obviously a test. He answered quickly without faltering.
‘The city of Feld is already under attack, and A.A. Catto’s legions are moving centrewards on a broad front. In my estimation there must be some kind of guidance system that enables her armies to move through the nothings. I would strike at Quahal in force, and destroy this system and her whole base of operations.’
The teacher permitted himself a discreet grin.
‘That is a good analysis, Jeb Stuart Ho.’
‘Thank you, teacher.’
‘However, you strike at the branches, not the roots.’
Jeb Stuart Ho did his best to disguise his discomfort.
‘I do, teacher?’
‘You do, Jeb Stuart Ho.’
Another monk, Dwight Luang, raised his hand.
‘What then is the correct mode of action, teacher?’
The teacher bowed his head.
‘Young men hasten so swiftly towards their truths. They flee from ignorance as though a tiger was at their heels. What would you do, Dwight Luang?’
‘I would suggest the same as Jeb Stuart Ho.’
The teacher looked slowly along the line of monks.
‘I imagine you all think the same?’
The monks sat still and silent. The teacher nodded.
‘I too would concur with Jeb Stuart Ho, except for one factor. Tell me, Dwight Luang, did A.A. Catto raise her array among the population of Quahal?’
‘No, teacher. Quahal’s only inhabitants are a few hundred special function cloned servants and primitive warriors. She ordered her army from Stuff Central.’
‘A large army was delivered to her in a very short time?’
Dwight Luang nodded.
‘Yes, teacher.’
The teacher looked at Jeb Stuart Ho.
‘So, do you now have reason to change your analysis?’
Jeb Stuart Ho was confused.
‘I’m sorry, teacher. I do not yet grasp your argument.’
The teacher nodded.
‘Let us go further, then. Stuff Central provided the army without comment, is that not correct, Jeb Stuart Ho?’
‘Yes, teacher.’
‘And yet this army provides a tangible threat to many of the stasis settlements. A war on this scale could disrupt huge areas by the destruction of their generators. Our computer predicted that the loss of stable land area could be as high as 65.79 per cent. It is inconceivable that the Stuff Central computer would not make the same calculation on receipt of such a huge order.’
The teacher paused.
‘Perhaps Jeb Stuart Ho would remind us of the Prime Term of Reference of the Stuff Central computer?’
Jeb Stuart Ho recited parrot fashion.
‘The-Stuff-Central-computer-will-coordinate-the-manufacture-and-supply-of-material-goods-for-the-surviving-communities-to-the-benefit-and-wellbeing-of-those-communities.’
The teacher nodded.
‘In-the-same-way-as-the-brotherhood-analyses-events-and-predicts-future-patterns-for-the-benefit-of-those-communities. Is that not correct, Jeb Stuart Ho?’
‘That is our Prime Term of Reference, teacher.’
‘Then would you not say that the Stuff Central computer was in breach of its own Prime Term in supplying A.A. Catto’s army?’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed.
‘Yes, master, it is in error regarding the benefit and wellbeing of the communities.’
‘But the Stuff Central computer does not make errors.’
‘No, master.’
‘So what do you deduce from this set of facts?’
Jeb Stuart Ho felt himself go cold.
‘The Stuff Central computer is allowing a potentially disastrous war to take place.’
He hesitated. The teacher looked at him sharply.
‘So?’
Jeb Stuart Ho moistened his lips.
‘The Stuff Central computer has gone psycho.’
There was a long pause while the terrible fact was digested. The silence was finally broken by the teacher. His voice was very soft.
‘Would you now change your analysis, Jeb Stuart Ho?’
Jeb Stuart Ho took a deep breath.
‘An executive operation must be carried out against the Stuff Central computer, either to cure its capacity for error, or to isolate and destroy the sections of its chain of reason that are malfunctioning and creating the error.’
The teacher beamed.
‘You have done well, Jeb Stuart Ho. That is, in simple terms, the task that is to be assigned to all thirty of you.’
There was another long silence. Some way down the line of monks from Jeb Stuart Ho, Edgar Allan Piao raised his hand.
‘What about the attack on Feld, teacher? Surely we cannot allow this slaughter and destruction to take place?’
The teacher shook his head sadly.
‘Our concern must be with the cause, not the symptoms. Our computer directs us that we cannot intervene or take sides in the siege of Feld, or any of the other battles that will undoubtedly take place.’
A look of pain passed across Edgar Allan Piao’s face.
‘But teacher …’
The teacher cut him off sharply.
‘Your directives are very clear.’
***
‘We’ve picked some bummers before, but this must beat all.’
Billy Oblivion winced as a stick of bombs exploded on the other side of the city, rattling the glasses on the table and shaking down lumps of plaster from the ceiling of the gin house. The Minstrel Boy continued to stare morosely into his mug. There was another series of explosions and Billy took a hasty drink.
‘They’re going to bomb the whole fucking city to rubble. I wish we could find a way out of here.’
The Minstrel Boy looked at him with an expression close to boredom. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat further over his sunken eyes.
‘If there was some way out of here, we’d be long gone by now. There’s no way. The whole city’s surrounded.’
Billy’s head dropped and he looked bitterly at his drink. He pulled his fur jacket tighter around him. The log fire in the stone hearth had begun to go out.
‘We’re going to be blown up for sure.’
The Minstrel Boy shrugged.
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
‘Huh?’
‘I said maybe, maybe not.’
Billy’s face tightened.
‘I heard you, goddamn it. What’s that supposed to mean?’