Damon Knight - Orbit 15

Willie took his place in the ranks of the Ravens. The lower levels of initiates took their places against the walls of the tremendous assembly hall. The Ravens, the very lowest rank, were so far from Jennings’ speaking platform that none of them could hear the man’s words, and some of the weaker-eyed among the Ravens couldn’t even see him. Only the other Patres, the Runners of the Sun, and the Persians could hear Jennings easily. The Lions and the Soldiers could hear him often. The Occults and the Ravens were kept informed of Jennings’ pronouncements by means of messengers who made whispered reports at frequent intervals. Willie never listened very closely to the messengers, either.

After quite a while, the rest of the initiates arrived and took their places. Willie sat, nervously fidgeting, wishing the entire ritual were over, wishing the business of the week’s punishment and reinforcement were over. He thought of Sam, and tried to look toward the group of Lions. Most of the Lions sat against the same wall as Willie’s particular cult of Ravens, about half the distance to Jennings’ platform. It was much too far to make out Sam’s form among the others. Willie recalled that their friend Mac had been elevated from the rank of Soldier to that of Lion. Mac would be in the same temple as Sam, although probably not in the same cult. Just as well, thought Willie. Sometimes Willie was suspicious even of Mac’s attentions to Sam.

Jennings arrived and took his place. He greeted each group of worshipers. A messenger hurried to the Ravens and reported that Jennings had mounted the platform. Willie made an impatient face. Another messenger came and said that Jennings had ritually greeted each rank. Willie stopped listening. The morning passed slowly. The only motion came from the shuffling of the messengers, who reported each step in the ritual as though it had never happened before.

Some minutes after the sermon, Willie was aroused from a shallow doze by an irregular noise in the ritual hall. A low buzzing was originating from the ranks between the Ravens and Jennings’ platform. It sounded like clamor. There was never any clamor during the ritual. Risking punishment, Willie whispered to the Raven next to him. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said the woman. “I can’t see. People are standing up. I thought I saw Jennings bend over up there. Maybe he had to get sick.”

Willie laughed, but his humor faded. If anything, it meant that the ritual would take longer than usual. If anything, it meant punishment.

“It was really scary,” said the messenger, his voice hoarse and shaken. He had no ritual words to rely on. He was speaking as one person to a group of curious listeners, without the benefit or protection of his position. “I never saw anything like that. It was a Runner of the Sun, I think. I only saw the guy for a second or two. It had to be, or else another Pater. They’re the only ones close enough, right? He jumped up on the platform, and then he said something. I couldn’t make it out. One of my friends said it sounded like ‘Get the hell out of here.’ That’s crazy. I don’t know. Then he just put a knife in Jennings’ throat. Jennings went down. That’s all. I got to go.” People were screaming, frightened, trying to be heard. Others, more thoughtful, were trying to question the messenger; it was no use. He pulled away from the crowd and moved on.

Mac sat at the head of his cot, his back against the gray wall, his knees drawn up. Sam sat at the foot of the cot, her hands folded in her lap. Her face had a sad expression. Willie stood by the cold plastic slab of a window, staring out at the walls across the yard. After a few seconds of silence, he turned around and looked at Mac. “You know what your trouble is?” he said.

Mac sighed. “No. Tell me. What is my trouble?”

“You think you know everything about everything, that’s what,” said Willie. “You thought you had Jennings figured out. You kept telling us how you had Jennings figured out. You were very proud of that, if I remember correctly. You were the one who was going to lead us out of here, as soon as you had Jennings all figured out, even though you already told us you had him all figured out. Well, it looks like you didn’t. And it’s a damn good thing you didn’t convince us, either.”

“He’s dead,” said Sam, in a dull voice.

“You think he’s dead,” said Mac, smiling at Willie. “You were told that he’s dead. You think that you’ve seen him dead. He may not be dead.”

“He’s dead,” said Sam. Tears began to slide down her cheeks.

“We’re going to leave,” said Willie.

“He’s testing us,” said Mac.

“He’s dead,” said Willie, “and we’re going to leave. We’re going to walk right out the front gate.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Mac. “He knows that we’ve figured him out. He let us figure him out, just like I said before. He let us think we’ve figured him out. But he’s planning on a different level. Only I’m still ahead. I’ve got to where I know that he knows, and Jennings isn’t aware that I’m ahead of the rest of you.”

“We’re still leaving,” said Willie.

“It’s not a good idea,” said Mac. “Even if he really is dead.”

“It may not be a good idea to you,” said Willie, his voice angry, “but goddamn it, I’m leaving. And if you or Sam want to come with me—” Willie stalked from the room, raging, and slammed the cell door behind him. Sam looked at Mac helplessly. She got up.

“He may be right,” she said. “Jennings is dead.”

“I hope so,” said Mac. He sighed. Sam hurried after Willie. Mac went to the window, then sat on the edge of his cot so that he could still look out and down to the yard, several dozen stories below. He watched for a long time. He saw many people from many dorms cross the plain-colored yard, toward the front gate. He thought he saw two people that might have been Willie and Sam. Then he saw two more people that looked like Willie and Sam, and then another couple. After a while, Mac gave up. He stretched out on the cot and tried to take a nap.

He was awakened from a light sleep by a knock on the door. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Jennings,” came the answer from the hall. The door opened, and Jennings came into the cell. Mac sat up, startled and afraid. He said nothing. “Mind if I sit down?” asked Jennings. Mac couldn’t answer. Jennings sat on the foot of the cot and began talking. “I want to make some things clear to you, Mac,” he said. “It’s best to rule people with their freely given devotion. But that’s not necessary. If you can’t have their devotion, you can govern them with their respect and a neutral manner. If you can’t have that, then you can govern them with their fear and a strong executive branch. And if you can’t even manage that, why, maybe you ought to get out of the government business altogether.” Jennings paused and gave a little laugh. “I find that sometimes I don’t even have the fear to work with. Like in your case. You’re not afraid of me, are you? Or, I mean, you weren’t. Before. You know.”

Mac just stared.

“Anyway,” said Jennings, not particularly noticing Mac’s reaction, “in the case of a person like you, I have to rule by other methods. Bribes and threats are out. You wouldn’t fall for either. You like to think that you like to think. That’s your bait on my hook. So, what the hell. That kind of thing costs me less than a strong army would.” Jennings laughed again. The warning bell on the wall rang. Mac looked up at it; he remembered that it was still Sevenday, that it was time for punishment and reinforcement. Jennings just smiled and shrugged.