L. Modesitt - Imager

“But . . . aluminum?”

“It’s unique, Rhennthyl. If you ever try to image gold, you’ll understand. Imaging actually requires energy from you and from everything around you. It’s a process of combining energy and material. A powerful imager has the ability to drain the life from everything nearby, including you, unless you have shields.”

I tried to conceal the chill I felt. “Sir . . . I wanted to ask about that.”

“In a moment, I’ll tell you how to begin thinking along those lines, and why you are never to mention it to anyone but a master. Anyone. But first, about gold and platinum. To begin with, they’re rare. Second, they’re very heavy. The heavier anything is, the harder it is to image, particularly a metal. It takes great skill and energy, and the fewer gold fragments or ore that there is nearby, the harder it is. Some would-be imagers have killed themselves trying to image the impossible.”

“Like trying to image gold in their chambers?”

“Exactly, but imaging certain metals-even in the midst of raw ore-can lead to death, and that death is lingering and excruciatingly painful. It takes several weeks, and the imager’s hair falls out, and he becomes like a leper all over.”

“Sir . . . if I might ask, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“You were told what to image and where. You were given quiet cautions. If a young imager won’t listen, we keep him here on Imagisle and sooner or later, he’ll destroy himself.”

I couldn’t help swallowing.

“Now . . . about shields . . . it’s simply another form of imaging. You image an invisible shield . . . but one that only stops imaging.”

“If . . . if . . . someone pointed a pistol at me . . .”

“You could-and should-image a harder invisible shield between you. Holding the shield might force you several steps backward when the bullet hit it, but that’s better than getting wounded. By the same token, that sort of shield won’t do much against a cannon shell.”

I could understand that.

“Don’t hold a hard shield long, not now. It will exhaust you. An imaging shield . . . with a little practice, you’ll be able to hold that in your sleep.”

“How will I know whether I have it right?”

“I’ll start testing you. Beginning tomorrow.”

Before he could ask more, I said, “Sir? Does the Collegium have special enemies?”

He snorted. “Do you need to ask?”

“I thought that we must, but I’ve never seen anything in the newsheets, and no one I know has ever talked about it, and you haven’t, either.”

He sighed softly. “You deduce too much without knowing enough to understand the implications. Think about this. While at Imagisle or the few other imager enclaves across Solidar and while in L’Excelsis, we all wear the uniform of the Collegium. Without those uniforms, what would distinguish us from anyone else? We don’t look different; we don’t have a way of speaking that would distinguish us from others of Solidar.”

“So . . . some of us are spies? For the Collegium or the Council?”

He stiffened. “Where did you come up with that?”

“I’ve been thinking, sir. A master can kill someone in a way that doesn’t look to be tied to anyone. If Floryn had been walking down the street who would have known how he died? You said that I would have been found dead on the street had I not come here. You said I could develop shields against a bullet, but not against cannon. Those suggest that an imager can do things others can’t, but not things that would help much in any sort of battle. You also said that imagers provided value to the Council, and it has to be more than aluminum ingots.”

A wry smile appeared on his face. “I knew you were going to be difficult.”

I could feel a chill, and I was the one to freeze.

“Oh . . . you don’t have to worry, not yet. That will come later, after you finish your training, and that will take a while.”

That I would finish my training was a relief . . . in a way.

“I do think that you need to work on your shields, starting now. Try imaging something like an invisible fog between you and me.”

I tried, and I felt an unseen pressure on my chest.

“That’s not working. Try a curtain, a black curtain that stops all light, except that the curtain is one that you can’t see . . .”

We had to work up to an actual visual wall, and then work back down to an invisible muslin screen before I managed to figure it out. By that time, almost a glass later, I was sweating all over. Master Dichartyn could have pointed out that imaging was sometimes far more work than anyone thought. He didn’t have to. The effort spoke more eloquently than he could have.

He did raise his eyebrows. “Now . . . let’s see your logical proof, Rhennthyl. I assume you did the assignment.”

I handed him the single sheet with the few carefully written lines on it.

“Not very long for a proof.” His voice was noncommittal.

What I had written was simple, but I hadn’t been able to think of anything better.

If there is an all-powerful god, nothing is beyond that god’s power. If that god is beneficent, then there will be no evil in the world. If that god is just, the god will not allow injustice to befall the good and the innocent. Yet there is great evil in the world, and much of it falls upon the just and the innocent. A just god would prohibit or limit injustice, at least against the innocent, but injustice continues, so that if such a god is omnipotent, that god cannot be just. Therefore, if there is a god, that god cannot be omnipotent, beneficent, and just.

Master Dichartyn looked up from the paper. “This could be worded better.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you believe what you wrote?”

I hadn’t liked writing the proof, and I’d liked the conclusion less, but I had to believe that there was some truth in the matter. “Mostly . . . sir.”

“Mostly?”

“Well . . . if people aren’t marionettes, pulled by strings held by the Nameless, they have to be able to make some decisions. That includes bad decisions. Bad decisions can cause evil.”

“Then you’re arguing that your proof is incorrect because a good and beneficent god has to allow free will.”

I didn’t like that any better. “I don’t like the idea that so many people can be hurt by those bad decisions and that sometimes bad people are rewarded for their cruelty and evil.”

“What do your feelings tell you about your logical proof?”

“It isn’t logical? That I made a mistake?”

He laughed. “No. Your reaction was that you weren’t logical or that you made a mistake in logic. Behind your reaction is a feeling that whatever is ‘true’ must be able to be expressed logically. Men, in particular, have a tendency to confuse correct logic with an accurate assessment of a situation. Be careful of any situation that you have to reason through logically, because if you have to work to reason it out, you’re probably missing something.”

Again . . . I had to think about that for a moment.

“Another problem is that we want the world to be logical and understandable, and we want people to act in a way that feels right and makes sense to us. That’s true of most people in most countries. There are difficulties in that, though. Can you tell me what they are?”

“What makes sense to us doesn’t make sense to them?”

“Precisely. We have different beliefs about what we feel is right and makes sense. We take for granted certain beliefs or truths. Other cultures take for granted other truths. According to our truths, their behavior is not right, and according to their truths, our behavior is not right.”

That certainly made sense.

“So which is right?” he asked. “In the absolute sense, that is?”