“Well, we couldn’t get numbers of listeners but we know how many stations were set up to receive the signal, since we had to do advance wiring at most of the individual receiver sites,” the merchant replied. “But I can tell you this. There wasn’t a city in Samaria of over one thousand souls that didn’t have a broadcast hookup, and in places like Breven, there were maybe ten different sites.”
“All commercial sites, though, right?” Jared asked idly, though the question was not idle at all. “I mean, you’re still broadcasting business to business, aren’t you, not going into private homes?”
“Mostly, but we have set up broadcast stations in a few individual homes and complexes,” Solomon said.
“Complexes? Oh, Manadavvi compounds, you mean.”
“Some of them. And, for instance, Luminauzi schools.”
“But unless the Gloria were being performed every day, what would these people be listening to?”
“Well, that’s just it. You’d need a broadcast center providing some sort of program for a certain number of hours a day and days a week. Actually, you might be better off setting up a small series of regional broadcast centers because of the difficulty of transmitting a clear signal over a long range. That’s when technology goes hand in hand with artistry, don’t you see?”
“Seems like it’s a long way off,” Jared observed.
Solomon smiled. Jared was suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of Bael; the smile was a fanatic’s intense expression. “Not as long as you think,” he said. “Not nearly as long.”
Jared glanced around, but all the others appeared to be engrossed in their own conversations. Perhaps Christian expected Jared to learn something important from this young entrepreneur; perhaps he was trying to distance the angel from the other high rollers in the room. “So do you operate your own research and development divisions?” he asked. “Or how do you encourage new technology?”
“We have our own engineering staff, of course. But some of it we import, and then we fool around till we get a product that works for us.”
“You import?” Jared repeated blankly.
Solomon nodded. “From Ysral.”
“Ah,” Jared said, nodding casually, though his whole body prickled with discovery. Definitely an ideological foe of Archangel Bael, as if he hadn’t already realized it. “The Augustine school. Do you go there yourself to look over their new designs?”
“Studied there,” Solomon said proudly. “I’m not a bad engineer myself. Well, my father has been interested in sound transmission since I was a child. It seemed like a good idea to get some firsthand knowledge if I was going to be carrying on the family business.”
“So you must know the professors there. That gives you a little extra pull with them when you’re looking at their products.”
“Exactly. The arrangement has worked well for all of us.”
From across the room, Jared could see Christian deep in conversation with Ben Harth, but watching the angel closely nonetheless. Surely Christian had expected Solomon to share just this block of information with the newest guest, though as a rule none of the merchants were particularly open about contraband imports when carrying on social discourse with an angel. What, then, had Christian told the others about Jared before he arrived? That he was safe to talk to? Or that he should be sounded out for any unorthodox opinions of his own? It was no secret that technology was trickling into Samaria despite Bael’s best efforts, but before this, no one had walked up to Jared and explained precisely how it was done.
“Dinner, then,” Christian said, raising his pleasant voice. “Is everyone hungry?”
They all offered quiet affirmatives and filed out, Jared in the rear. Christian fell back to accompany the angel from the room.
“I congratulate you on your unmoved countenance,” the merchant said when they were a few paces behind the other guests. “You show no shock at all.”
“Am I supposed to?” Jared asked mildly. “I thought you invited me here because you enjoyed my company, not for my entertainment value for your other friends. Or were you hoping this little band of malcontents would be gone before I arrived?”
“No, indeed, I would have been happy had you arrived a few hours earlier. They’re all leaving in the morning, so you won’t have another good chance to talk to them.”
“About what? Accelerating the technological pace at which Samaria is crawling through this century?”
“Exactly. I knew you would understand immediately.”
“It’s not my pace to modify if I would.”
“But would you?” Christian murmured. “That’s the question at hand. If you were in power. If you were Archangel.”
“I’m not Archangel now. I have not been so named for the future. Winning me to your cause is most likely a futile gesture.”
“Not if any reasonable man—or woman—is selected by the god,” Christian said in a pious voice that rang oddly hollow. “You have friends, and you’re persuasive. Where you show enthusiasm, others are likely to follow.”
“And what makes you think I am a convert? Have I ever given you cause to think so?”
“You’ve given me cause to think you’ll listen to reason. That’s all we ask. It’s only reasonable to see that our single hope of a secure future lies in advanced technology.”
They were at the doorway to the dining room now; the others were seating themselves around the meticulously set table. Jared hung back a pace, lowering his voice still more.
“Our only hope of a secure future?” he said, his tones disbelieving. “What can you possibly mean?”
Christian had obligingly paused beside him. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that if Ysral continues to develop a wide range of technology, and Samaria develops none—or continues to rely on the outdated pieces of equipment that Ysral agrees to share— that Samaria becomes the weaker, dependent nation and Ysral becomes dominant. What if that technology includes weapons, Jared? What if Ysral becomes a nation of warriors, and Samaria becomes a nation of victims?”
“The Edori are not at all warlike,” the angel replied.
“There are more Samarians emigrating to Ysral every day,” the merchant reminded him. “And Samarians, I regret to say, are not always the calm, peace-loving men we would wish them to be.”
Jared shook his head. “You cannot sway me with a threat of war,” he said. “War is the reason we abandoned technology to begin with, or have you forgotten your history? That is more likely to make me resist science than pursue it.”
“I have other arguments,” Christian said, laying a gentle hand on the angel’s arm and urging him forward. “We can talk about them tomorrow. For tonight, let’s just enjoy a convivial meal with like-minded friends.”
The meal itself was much less strained than Jared was expecting. For one thing, no one talked treason. For another, the angel had been paired with Isabella Cartera, the Bethel landowner, and the beautiful widow was always pleasant company. She was Edori-dark, with rich brown hair and fathomless, light-less eyes, and it was possible to forget for hours at a time that she could outmaneuver any of the men in the room in a business deal. She used every natural charm to its fullest advantage, and then casually revealed how much cleverer she was than any of her allies or opponents.
“Christian kept promising us, ‘My friend the angel will be here, my Mend the angel will be here,’ but of course we didn’t believe he had any friends at all, let alone powerful ones,” Isabella said in her molasses voice. “We were delighted when you showed up, of course, though it proved us all wrong.”
Jared grinned. “How long have you all been cooped up here?” he asked.
“Two days. It was Ben Harm’s idea. Some of us get together every few months and go over the basic trade agreements, trying to get better deals for ourselves, and we always go back home with the exact same percentages. It’s what passes for a social life when your heart is ruled by money.”
“Did you at least have time to go shopping wh
ile you were here?”
“Yes, Christian’s little boys took me to all the newest boutiques. Christian actually owns one, did you know? Strictly for tourists. It’s the most appalling place. He says it makes a fortune. I’m considering buying in with him.”
“You should open a franchise on the Plain of Sharon. If you are truly interested in dreadful merchandise.”
“I didn’t make it to the Gloria this year, I’m afraid,” she said. “I listened to you, though, on one of Solomon’s little— receiver things. You were very impressive, but of course you always are.”
So Isabella Cartera was one of the few private individuals who had been outfitted with Solomon’s equipment. Apparently this nucleus of Samarian power mongers was more tightly knit than Jared would have supposed.
“Well, I have little to recommend me but my voice,” he said.
“And your looks,” she added promptly, reaching out a hand to catch hold of a lock of his hair. She drew it slowly through her fingers, stretching the curl to its fullest length, then lingeringly released it. “Although looks fade so fast, don’t they? And it’s not like you’re the promising youth you once were.”
She was at least ten years older than he was, so he took it for irony, but it may have been flirtation. “And I tried so hard not to be promising,” he replied. “For my mellow, advanced years, I’m going to be dim-witted and difficult.”
“Oh, I hope not,” she said. “Surely you still have time to redeem those promises? We’re all counting on it.”
Not merely flirting with him; seducing him to the cause. Well, well, well. He smiled at her lazily. “Name the promises you’d like to see me keep,” he said, “and I’ll try to oblige.”
He didn’t know how she would have answered, but Ben Harth interrupted them with a snort “Stop monopolizing the only woman at the table, Jared,” said the Manadavvi. “Isn’t it enough that you have all the silly young girls fawning over you, or do you have to have the attention of every woman in Samaria before you’re happy?”
“I yield the prize,” Jared said gracefully, ostentatiously turning his chair away from Isabella’s. “So! Robert! Tell me how the markets are these days. Keep the terms simple, of course— I’m not the businessman you are.”
The rest of the meal passed in a similar manner, though business topics did spike frequently through the congenial chatter the way talk of the weather would surface among any other group of people. Jared listened, but picked up no other significant details. Not that he needed to. He had a pretty fair idea of why these people were here—and why Christian wanted him to join them.
Although, as it happened, he underestimated both his host and his own potential in Christian’s eyes. And that he discovered the following morning.
He had risen late, to find Christian already out of the house and most of the others departed. He had a light breakfast, entertained by Christian’s two young sons, then strolled through the rooftop gardens overlooking the white city. He was admiring the angled architecture of the nearby mansions when he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to find Christian approaching.
“How you can drink wine till midnight and be up with the sun is a mystery to me,” the angel commented.
Christian laughed. “Old habit. I can’t sleep past dawn or my blood riots in my veins. And I didn’t drink that much wine.”
“You’d be a fool to, in that band of cutthroats,” Jared agreed. “I was afraid to take a swallow myself.”
Christian laughed again and began a slow circuit of the perimeter path. Jared fell in step beside him. “They’re old friends,” he corrected. “And if I showed a moment’s weakness, they’d carve up my body, divide my bank accounts, and forget they ever knew me.”
“You weren’t talking business the past two days,” Jared said bluntly. “And my guess is the talk was even more ruthless.”
“What do you think we were discussing, then?”
“Bael’s inability to appreciate the—shall we call it, technological imperative?—and how you can speed his departure from his exalted position. And then, of course, you were also discussing the scientific advances you have made despite Bael’s specific prohibitions.”
“You sound angry,” Christian murmured. “And surprised.”
“A little angry,” Jared admitted. “And not as surprised to learn how you spend your time as I am to find that you wanted me here to witness it.”
“Now that shouldn’t surprise you.”
Jared halted and swung round to face the older man. “Don’t cast me in the role of savior Archangel,” he warned. “Even if the god named me as Bael’s successor, what makes you think I’d take your part? Doesn’t it occur to you that I might view this little convocation as heresy just as surely as Bael would?”
“No,” Christian said sharply. “Because you’re not another Bael. And if you think you are, or could be, you don’t know what Bael is capable of.”
Jared frowned and resumed walking. “He’s narrow-minded and obstructive, and he’s afraid of change,” Jared said. “And I don’t care for him personally. But if—”
“He’s a fanatic, and he’s dangerous,” Christian interrupted. “It’s not enough that he’s tried to resist every scientific advance Solomon and Ben and Isabella and I could bring into the country. He commits murder in the name of ideology, and he breathes death on political rivals.”
“Death and murder,” Jared repeated. “Surely you’re speaking metaphorically.”
“I’m not,” Christian said. “He’s on a campaign right this minute to systematically eliminate the remaining Jacobites in Samaria—and I’d say he’s made damn good headway.”
“The Jacobites! Surely you can’t expect him to tolerate them with any pretense of warmth.”
“No, but I don’t expect him to kill them.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He does. A few weeks ago he loosed his Jansai troops on Luminaux with specific instructions to seek out and destroy any known Jacobites. And they managed to find a handful, but most of the rest of them had fled. And are even now being hunted down.”
Jared could feel the muscles of his face contracting in a disbelieving scowl. “That’s not true. Luminaux? Mercy said nothing of this, and I was just there.”
“She might not know the extent of it. She might have thought the Jansai were merely rousting out the Jacobites, scattering them just to scare them. But there were deaths, my friend, and more than I think you’d like to count. And there are more deaths to come.”
“What do you mean? If they’re scattered—”
“Those who escaped the net in Luminaux agreed to meet in Ileah. Do you know it? It’s an abandoned Edori sanctuary in Jordana. The Jansai plan to raid it once the camp is full.”
Jared felt a rush of anger and impatience. “What’s this about Ileah? How would Bael even know about something like that? You have to be fabricating all this.”
“I’m not. Bael knows because he tortures captured Jacobites before he has them killed. Some of his Jansai caught one in Breven as he was attempting to escape to Ysral, and he gave the interesting news about Ileah.”
Jared looked at his friend sharply. “And how do you know all this?”
“Because I torture captured angels.”
“And the next question,” said Jared slowly, “is why you care. So much. About Jacobites.”
“Wanton destruction has never been my favorite pastime, despite the ruthlessness you might see me exhibit in my business dealings,” Christian said lightly.
Jared shook his head. “You’ve got a more personal stake in it. You’re friends with the Jacobites—or one of their believers.”
There was a lengthy pause. Christian had come to a halt again and surveyed Jared with a long, sober look. Not glancing down at his hand, he reached out and snapped a thin new branch from one of the manicured bushes lining the walkway. “I’ve a deep and abiding interest in technology,” the merchant said slowly. “It’s led me to do a lot of researc
h about scientific development in Samaria. Doing that, one can’t help but come across continued references to the Jacobites’ theories. And some of them make sense.”
“You cannot be serious,” Jared breathed.
Christian nodded toward a stone bench set to overlook the soaring architecture of Semorrah. They sat, Christian apparently at ease, Jared stiff and uncomfortable, his wings taut and quivering behind him. “What do you know about the Jacobite doctrine?” the merchant asked.
“That it states the god is a machine! That’s all anyone needs to know!”
“The Jacobites believe that the entity we call Jovah is in reality a spaceship called Jehovah, which carried the original settlers here from their home planet more than seven hundred years ago. Now, you have to admit that the histories of Samaria—the Librera and all the old books that deal with colonization—are very vague on how we came to be here. The Librera says we were carried in Jovah’s hands. Across countless miles of space. What hands? How far? Why couldn’t there have been a spaceship called Jehovah that carried us this immense distance?”
“Because Jovah is not a spaceship. Jovah is a god.”
“Stop thinking like a brainwashed angel for a moment, and use the intelligence I know you have,” Christian said impatiently. “Just answer the speculation. Why couldn’t we have come here in a spaceship?”
“What’s a spaceship? A machine that can fly through who knows how many miles of space, carrying hundreds of people inside? That seems even more fantastic to me than the notion that a god could close his hands around his people and carry them from one place to the next. Why does it seem so plausible to you?”
“Because I have never seen a god, but I have seen trucks and transporters that can carry a hundred men over a thousand miles. I think with the right equipment and a little luck we could design vehicles that can fly through the air. And maybe through space.”