Chronicles Of Tonath Collection

Chapter 8

Evanston Donaldson entered the Teacher"s office after a somber Brother announced his arrival. The speedy admittance surprised Donaldson as he had expected to wait. Although the Teacher had reason to welcome him since it was his money and expertise that had paid for the new Western Star Shift Institute of The Way and their modern observatory, waiting made others conscious of a superior"s authority. Donaldson also knew the man to be overworked; a fact that could delay an immediate audience.

Donaldson inclined his head and obediently took the chair Teacher pointed to. “It"s good of you to see me on such short notice,” he said.

“You are always welcomed here.”

Donaldson rarely wasted time on unneeded small talk. “I need your formal permission to bring the railroads into the new settlement. I"ll also need laborers and provisions at a reasonable cost once we"re close to the area.”

The Teacher let amusement slip into his voice. “I had forgotten how direct you are.”

Donaldson"s blue eyes flashed. “If I were not, valuable time would be wasted.” He could feel his body heat rising underneath the linen underwear and worsted woolen suit over his stocky frame. The heat was brutal even though summer had wandered into fall. Outside, in the breeze, the heat was bearable. In this shaded, draped, and closed room it was stultifying. He wondered if the Teacher ever exhibited normal human reactions as there was no moisture on his brow.

“Why do you want a railroad here?” asked Teacher. “Aren"t the freighters adequate for our population? Does a dry prairie land grow that rapidly?”

“The predictions are for a wetter climate since the Shift. If so, more grass will grow here and that will bring people. We"ve had railroads for over thirty years now and they have proven their worth. They"ll help bring in people and new development will follow them. In the East, we"ve agreed to the same gauge for all lines and the quarrels over who uses them have been resolved. Every line is interconnected now and we can move people and goods rapidly.” He extracted a diagram from his valise. “Here, you can see how all transportation lines are linked.”

Teacher studied the map, his finely sculptured eyebrows rising. He then laid the map down and looked up.

Donaldson pressed his argument. “We"ve been busy with day-to-day rebuilding the economy while you"ve been understandably preoccupied with the Shift and the new Readings. By bringing the rail lines here, we can speed up the settlement process and be ready for the freight shipments that they will necessitate.”

The Teacher looked up and smiled. “And, of course, your company and profits will grow even larger.”

“There is nothing wrong with profits when we benefit the general populace,” Donaldson said stiffly.

“I cannot order the people to work for nothing, nor will I encourage them to sell to you at a lower rate.”

Donaldson looked at him. “It is to their advantage. Without my railroad, there won"t be much of a market for their wool, leather, or grain.”

Teacher leaned back in his chair. “You know I"ll never agree to that proposal. What is it you really want?”

Donaldson suppressed a soft smile. “I want the land for the rail lines and the depots for free. Then I"ll be able to pay a small, but fair wage for the work. The people will be able to afford the goods brought here as it will be less than that freighted in by wagons. There won"t be any ships sailing around the land or the Green Belt. The Belt has shifted southward over the known ocean lanes and going beyond them is too uncertain.”

“Why do you think I"ll agree?”

“You know as well as I that the Council at Anoth is largely heretical. They keep throwing obstacles in the way of your new settlements. They, like the Universals, claim the latest Star Sift is temporary and everything will be as it was. The only part of the combined railroad"s proposals they have accepted is the time zones.”

The Teacher looked puzzled. “Time zones?” he inquired.

“Yes, if you will look at the map again, you"ll see the zones are marked with North to South lines. Instead of each community relying on a sun dial to adjust their watches, we"ll use the central location of Tonath. The zone to the East will increase by one hour. The two zones to the West will decrease by one hour each.”

“And what is wrong with the use of a sundial for midday?”

“It"s inefficient, particularly when scheduling for railroad passengers or freight,” Donaldson answered. “We have proof that this scientific change will enable all in the different zones to accurately determine when trains arrive and when others can safely leave. The Council, of course, believes that you will never agree to such a radical change.”

Teacher smiled. “And you are assuming that I will agree. Why have you made this assumption?”

Donaldson stared at the Teacher for a moment. “Teacher, you are more of a scientist than that bunch of heretics will ever understand.”

“Are you saying that you are a follower of the Way?”

Donaldson bowed his graying dark head in assent and spread out his hands. “Teacher, I"m here because I believe in the Readings. This will be a growing market filled with people who will need a railroad.”

Teacher stood and walked to the window. “Do you know why the Council fights against following the Way?”

“They don"t like change; nor, do they like giving up where they have invested their money against your advice. They also have to contend with that portion of the populace who are agitating for some sort of meeting with the Greenies. Then there are those followers of your precious Doctor Crossen. The latter are mostly ineffectual pedants. Frankly, had you not spared him, they would be silent.”

“Doctor Crossen did not take a life,” replied the Teacher. “He was guilty only of dissention and disbelief.”

“No, not murder directly,” agreed Donaldson, clipping his words. “The last of my family died in the Star Shift: my brother, his wife, their sons, and over twenty thousand others. I call that murder.”

Teacher sagged and sorrow tinged his voice. “They were warned.” He straightened and turned to Donaldson. “Very well, you shall have your land for your railroad. How soon will it be built?”

“We can do it within two, no more than three years. Perhaps two is the better estimate since there won"t be any haggling over the cost of land once we"re over the mountains. With your approval, the Council can"t stop us. They"ll probably invest.”

“Please accept my condolences on the loss of your family, Mr. Donaldson. I understand you never went overseas to visit them.”

Donaldson wondered why the Teacher was revealing that he had kept informed about his family matters. Donaldson, like all important men, knew the Institute kept files, but rarely was it admitted.

“No, I didn"t,” he replied. “My brother and I last saw each other when they left over twenty years ago. There wasn"t really the time for visits. We did correspond about the shipping business and other matters.”

“You never saw your nephews?”

Donaldson shook his head. “I saw one when he was a baby, but the other was born after the move and I never saw my brother and his family again. Why do you ask, Teacher?”

“We have a young man here, who may have escaped from New Anoth.”

“Impossible! Is he claiming to be my nephew?”

The Teacher gave a wry smile. “At the moment, he is not claiming to be anyone. This is just to clear my own mind. Will you answer a few questions?”

“Of course,” replied Donaldson, slightly mollified.

“Have you, or anyone you know, heard of any New Anoth survivors?”

“No.” Donaldson shook his head emphatically. “No one has heard anything. Even the ships that were out on the seas and made it back to shore saw no one.”

“Tell me,” Teacher continued, “was one of your nephews planning on being married?”

Donaldson shifted his wide body. “Yes, but Zanzar, my brother and his wife, objected. Their son and the young woman, girl, were too young.”

“Would you know the young woman"s name?”

“My secretary might. I don"t commit unnecessary social contacts to memory.”

“Was there anything remarkable about either of your nephews?”

“No, except they were both young scalawags bent on proving that just one of them would become as strong and as daring as their father.”

“Did they achieve their goal?”

“No, they did not. I don"t believe any man has ever had Zanzar"s strength.” Donaldson stood. The loss of his family had been too recent. He had no desire to continue the conversation.

“If that is all, Teacher, I"ll have my agents contact you when the railroad tracks being laid reach two hundred miles from here.”

Teacher looked up with a straight, forward gaze. “Be patient with me. I"d like you to meet this young man and tell me if there is any family resemblance.”

“Did you see any?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want me to meet an obvious imposter?”

Teacher"s eyes became opaque. “To humor me,” was his answer. “As I said, the young man does not claim to be your nephew.”

Donaldson considered. He had no desire to antagonize Teacher just after they had struck a business agreement. “Very well, but I warn you, even if this young man is my nephew, I"m not likely to recognize him. Neither of the two boys looked like Zanzar as both were far too slender.”

The Teacher and Donaldson walked to the Healing Quarter while Teacher explained the circumstances of the young man"s arrival. It was three o"clock in the afternoon and the sun was no longer at its zenith. The slight breeze worked as an imperfect cooling system as perspiration began to seep through Donaldson"s clothing. As a diversion, he commented on the green and yellow herb beds along the pebbled walk.

Teacher smiled. “Brother John"s and Brother Zack"s efforts have produced an abundance of medicine for us. They hand carry the water to these beds every evening. It is part of Doctor Crossen"s duty to help with the watering and the weeding. It keeps him occupied.”

As they approached the Healing Quarter, Donaldson noted a young man honing knives seated in the shade of one of the cabins. He barely heard Teacher"s comment.

“We assign duties to all who live here. He seems to be adept at whatever task we give him as long as we explain what we want done. Brother Jemmison tells me he did not need to explain honing knives. Perhaps it was something he had done before arriving here.”

Donaldson was not concerned with abilities. He was trying to assess the young man capable of crossing an ocean during a Star Shift, but could see nothing that remarkable.

The young man rose in greeting, the knife and stone still in his hands. He was tall, perhaps six foot-three, wide shoulders, flat stomach, and lean flanks. The dark hair wavy, the ends wound in tighter curls. His features verged on perfect, dark eye brows arched over grey eyes, sheltered by long lashes. An almost imperceptible scar ran from the high point of the cheekbone down onto the neck and slid under the collarless shirt.

“Mr. Donaldson, this is Loren Donald,” the Teacher intoned gravely. “Loren, Mr. Donaldson.”

The Greenies take him, thought Donaldson. The Teacher knows full well what my nephews were named. Politely, he extended his hand.

Loren laid the knife and stone on the chair to shake hands. There was no recognition in his eyes, just simple politeness.

“Well?” asked the Teacher.

For a moment a flare of hope appeared in Loren"s eyes. His handshake was firm, but Donaldson was not interested in having some New Anoth derelict tossed into his life. He addressed his words to Teacher.

“Why the name if he doesn"t remember his own? Is it your choice or his?”

“It sounded familiar to him, but then Loren was a popular name twenty years ago.” Teacher did not add that Donaldson or Donald were as common as pewter.

Donaldson felt his teeth clenching. “I can assure you that he is not one of Zanzar"s sons.”

Loren"s eyebrows lifted and then straightened. The words were like a melody twinkling in the mind: there and then gone. “No, that wasn"t his name,” he said.

“Whose name?” asked the Teacher softly.

“My father"s,” answered Loren. He turned to Donaldson. “That is who you meant, isn"t it?”

For a moment, Donaldson directed his gaze at the young man. What if he was in error? “Then what was his name?” he asked.

“I don"t remember.” Loren hated those words. He had said them so often in answer to the questions they posed to him. He had given up trying to remember anything when he was asked for details. He could see only shapes that clouded or twisted into strange patterns of unknown architecture. The people he tried to picture would start to take form and then recede into a darkened cloud that obscured everything except their eyes. The effort would trigger the headaches that drained away his physical and mental strength. He knew he needed both for survival.

He shook his head. “Is that all?” he asked. “The kitchen will be wanting their knives returned.”

The Teacher nodded. “Very well, thank you both for your patience. Mr. Donaldson, a safe and pleasant journey on your Way.” It was a dismissal for them both. As he turned away, the Teacher considered whether the interview had gone as he had planned. Perhaps it was his own underlying desire that there be a firmer answer to the Readings.

Then he remembered that he had other instructions for Loren. The young man was just a few feet behind him. Loren was wearing the disreputable hat of some forgotten teamster that Brother John had procured for him. In the open, Loren refused to be without it. Did it represent security? Was it a defense against the brutal western sun? Or was this his way to protect a badly damaged skull?

“Loren, in the morning you are to report to Brother Calvin for instructions in reading and writing. I wish you well.”

For a moment Loren was stunned. Then a twisted smile shot across his features and disappeared. Who, he wondered, had told Teacher that he couldn"t cipher or read? Probably Brother John was the culprit. Brother John still fussed over him and willingly offered to share his ale and his jokes in the evening time before the Readings and prayers.

From Brother John, he had learned a bit of history, a few famous names, and a little geography. None of this information made any sense or related to anything that might flit through his mind as a memory. He also suspected that Brother John was less than proficient in those matters. Doctor Crossen was no longer allowed to attend him, or even speak. Loren sorely missed the Doctor"s counsel. It had not taken long to realize that no one spoke to or with Doctor Crossen except to give orders. The man was ostracized; a pariah. What had the man written or said to be condemned? There was no one to ask questions about science, politics, or different cultures without being accused of being a Greenie or a heretic. Loren surmised that angering the Teacher could well be his last free act.

There was so much to learn and any effort to remember even the more intimate moments between his parents or someone who would have taught him brought excruciating pain that left him weak and shaken. The morning sessions with the dour Brother Calvin would probably be unpleasant and guarded. Whenever he was with Brother John, he did not worry too much if his tongue twisted and an odd phrase slipped out. Brother Calvin, he knew, would report him and Loren had no intention of being flogged as one young initiative had been. Just watching the spectacle aroused anger so consuming it shook him. He had been ready to tear the whip from the administrating Brother and use it on the Teacher. It had taken all his will to stand there.