Under One Banner, page 17
part #4 of Commonweal Series
Eugenia stops and doesn’t say what they were going to say.
“You’re trying to organize a mass of material for an audience you know little about. Your memory doesn’t help with a question of selection. That’s judgement, not recall.”
Eugenia makes what might be the Creek gesture for something, sets their pencil down, notes the time, considers if they might just be stupid from lack of food, and has to admit that Francis has a point.
“Useful selection implies sound judgement.” Apprentice sorcerers, by definition, lack sound judgement.
“You’re busy abstracting the Empress, General Hammer, three or four other generals of historically enduring positive reputation, and the best artillerist the Commonweal had when held within a single Peace.”
Eugenia doesn’t know why Francis is using formal phrasing, and lets that go. “Captain Blossom?”
“Hank. Hank was specifically appointed Master Gunner for the Experimental Battery because the consensus of the standard-captains was uneasy about the Independent Blossom’s desire to innovate. They wanted a resolute and traditional judgement present.”
Hank has said two things about the Independent Blossom in Eugenia’s hearing.
One was that they had ‘a sound grasp of the principles’, without specifying which principles. That could be Hank not thinking there was any possible confusion about which, or meaning it in a general way, Eugenia doesn’t know.
Two was an offhand remark that the Independent Blossom understood the distinction between leading and pushing.
Eugenia thinks for close to ten minutes. Francis makes no move to interrupt or go on with other work. “What did you do when you were a clerk?”
“You know how Doucelin’s job is to keep track of Halt’s activity?”
“No, I didn’t.” Eugenia looks behind them for a chair.
“Well, it is,” Francis continues. “Which is why they came to the Second Commonweal. Mine was enchanters.”
Eugenia, having ensconced themself in the chair, says “Enchanters?” with some caution.
Someone keeping track of Tiggy would be a prudent thing. The whole team. Expectations about sorcerers, particularly enchanters, involve a certain lonely contemplation rather than something Eugenia can’t call vigorous discussion, not even to themself. Tiggy’s team argues. Tiggy’s team never quite shouts, but there are illusory mood expressions that serve the purpose.
They go so fast. The core insights aren’t theirs; Order’s curriculum is structured around core insights, and Eugenia thinks in those terms. No-one in the Shot Team devised red shot, but they took the ideas and the examples and made the same things happen using mechanisms modest talents could produce. It took, so far as Eugenia can tell, much less than a year for any particular thing. Spinner horrifies Eugenia, but it’s not a small accomplishment to make it work with a modest talent. Making it work in great quantity with a collection of modest talents and three varieties of dirt is a staggering accomplishment.
“Enchanters have this habit of thinking about something for a century or two or five and then altering the economy,” Francis says. “Part of the job for the Galdor-gesith is to be aware of potential alterations in sufficient detail to permit planning.”
Eugenia nods. That seems only sensible.
“There was a lot of concern about the original nine-layer artillery. It’s not incremental on the five-layer; there’s some theoretical discussion about whether it’s the same mechanism for inducing momentum.”
Eugenia’s eyes go a little wide. They haven’t been much concerned with the specifics of artillery tube manufacture, they’ve seen the final stage but they haven’t examined the enchantments. The driving focuses that push canal barges are what five-layer artillery was developed from, the insight that a continuous push into the barge structure could be a much more intense burst into a smaller object.
“So you were keeping track of artillery because it might mean better driving focuses?” Eugenia has no difficulty imagining that having an effect on the economy.
“Because the Independent Blossom gets interested in things and makes better ones.” Francis is so calm that Eugenia finds themself believing Francis was a Clerk as an emotional certainty.
“So far, better metal-forming, lights, wards, water-gates, canals, bronze bulls, artillery tubes, battle-standards, red shot, and hats.”
“Hats?” It doesn’t seem like hats belong on that list.
“Hats. Their own-work project,” Francis says. “I left my successor extensive notes. Hats that won’t blow off even under water sound simple, but they’re not.”
Eugenia’s talent was for stuff-stirring, and no enchantment qualifies as simple. They can manipulate the concepts in much the same way as they can approach prior probabilities, but no more.
“The Line,” Francis says, “is a conservative organization. They assigned Hank because they were the authority on current artillery practice and strong on logistical optimization, the Line calls it ‘delivered effectiveness’. They, and I mean the consensus of the standard-captains, not the Line-gesith’s clerks, presented the Galdor-gesith with an ongoing request to support an analysis of delivered effectiveness.”
Eugenia’s nodding. This seems an entirely regular thing. Just because something works better doesn’t mean it costs less. ‘Costs less’ doesn’t mean it works as well, or at all, or under field conditions.
“The initial experiments lacked delivered effectiveness.” Francis starts ticking points off on their fingers. “Individual source under a hundred. Bulk requirements for unusual elements in short supply. Tubes that need larger teams. New and difficult requirements for shot or the extra performance of the tubes wasn’t usable. No way to use the increased range.”
“The operational effectiveness was high.” Eugenia’s read the field reports from the Experimental Battery, all of them. Commander, master gunner, and the four individual gunners. Eugenia had to get up and pace around once per page on average but they read them.
“Hank is a Regular One. Even for that ilk of folk, they have a reputation for steadiness of purpose.” Francis’ voice takes on no inflection.
There aren’t many Regular Ones, and fewer in the Second Commonweal. These days, it’s mostly Threes and Fives with a side note in Eights. Twos are extinct in the territorial extent of the old Commonweal and perhaps entirely so. The usual phrasing about Regular Ones involves implacability or relentlessness or invokes metaphysical concepts of nemesis, it’s not as tactful as ‘steadiness of purpose’.
Eugenia’s expression cannot settle. Regulars, all Regulars, have a tendency to obey instructions from sorcerers in proportion to the degree of the sorcerer’s talent. It varies in individuals between extremes of subtle bias and socially disabling, but it’s reliably there. Eugenia cannot imagine a polite way to say “But what about obeying the sorcerer?” and is startled to realize they’ve said the impolite version.
“An issue, certainly,” Francis says. “Hank tells a story about how when they met the Independent Blossom, they were welcomed to the battery and told to do the best job they could, and all should be well.”
Eugenia shudders. It would be true. It would become true.
“They did,” Francis says, “And if all was not well, as well as could be expected.”
Eugenia does their best to nod dispassionately, acknowledgement and not agreement. It might not work.
“Now that the Commonweal has funded artillery development Hank’s the Adjutant for the nominal battalion.”
Which is something Eugenia admits they do not understand. Adjutant means helper, if you follow the word back far enough. In a heavy battalion, the adjutant is the person who can travel; standard-captains must stay by their standard, so you get the battalion if you want the standard-captain. Much of the consensus of the standard-captains depends on the gatherings of adjutants. Serving as an adjutant doesn’t guarantee you’ll be offered a standard, even if you do the job excellently. Not doing the job excellently guarantees you won’t.
“Who is Hank helping?” Eugenia doesn’t think the artillery battalion exists beyond a minimum of written acknowledgement.
“That same consensus of the standard-captains, mostly,” Francis says. “The absent battalion commander.”
“Which establishes that Hank is competent.” Eugenia sounds bitter enough they’re sure Francis can tell. “It doesn’t explain why ancient complex aesthetic constraints on what display of wealth is tasteful illuminate military operations.”
Eugenia holds up a hand, hoping to indicate a pause. “There’s an argument that the Line is a collective display of wealth, in that we have enough surplus to actively defend ourselves. I can’t quite accept that it’s wealth, I think it’s a minimum condition for the Peace. Everybody’s concerns vary, everyone has different answers for what frightens them the most. Society must provide a way of agreement, it must readily decide which fears are addressed by what resources. Preferably that mechanism need not reference opinion.”
Francis nods, face somehow both impassive and intent.
“We cannot hope to avoid referencing opinion without a minimum degree of security.” Eugenia smiles. “Order had a low opinion of safety.”
Francis smiles, narrowly and briefly, but it’s still startling between expressions of habitual clerkly impassivity.
Eugenia goes on. “That’s one of the constraints on a functioning Peace. It’s the original constraint on a functioning Peace; the Peace arose in circumstances where the Line already existed. People had to talk.” Order’s memories of these events are a child’s, not a sorcerer’s, but not less emphatic for it. “Decorum During Private Festivals is all about opinion; it’s a contest to get the other participants to agree you did better. It’s questions of style, it involves narrow innovation, because innovating too much and planting your ornamental garden with something edible would destroy the contest. The contest has rules, not complete rules so there’s room for variation but there are eight stages to the most formal style of party and three for the least and required numbers of attendees and you have to attend with specific things depending on the season and I’ll be surprised if anyone ever enjoyed one.”
“Hank would prefer to plant something edible,” Francis says.
Eugenia starts to say something, stops, stops again, and grabs their toes around the outside of their legs where they’re sitting cross-legged. The realization is unpleasant.
“Line below the Law. It’s a rules-based environment, not constraints. Not in the Peace.” These are not new ideas; school, children-and-youth’s-school, discusses them. But this is the first time in their life Eugenia has ever come to an emotional realization of what they mean.
Francis nods.
“The garden parties — ” Eugenia waves at their stack of notes with the neat abstractions of the theses of two moderately thick modern histories in them — “were a logistics contest, the most result from the fixed resources available.”
The parallel becomes inescapable, and Eugenia says a phrase in Initial Spider. Their pronunciation might be terrible; the phrase itself certainly is. It’s usually translated as “May you be found too dry,” but no living speaker of Present Commonweal can truly hope to understand.
“We can’t have two apportionment systems.” It can’t work Eugenia’s thinking, and trying not to splutter.
Francis gives Eugenia time to get their thoughts in order.
“Society is a discussion about what risks we are most willing to devote resources toward. If conflict on the border is distinct from other risks — ” Eugenia trails off.
“There are many ways for the Peace to fail,” Francis says. “Nor may we know the future.”
“So Hank’s … the garden parties were surplus, they had to be surplus, at least if you asked the polity, not hungry individuals. It’s an apportioned surplus indirectly applied to the polity as a whole. Just because it’s an economic loss doesn’t mean it can’t do something useful.”
“That’s the consensus,” Francis says. “There are alternate positions. Not everyone’s comfortable viewing the Line as an essentially recreational mechanism.”
“Social?” Eugenia says. “The Line expends things, that’s their own term. Sometimes people, sometimes economic effort. And the hell-things were the first time a brigade’s ever lost. We — ” and Eugenia gets up and paces.
“It can’t be right. Five hundred years without meaningful opposition. We can’t possibly have an effective understanding.”
“That’s Hank’s view.” Francis sounds faintly pleased.
“We’re oversupplied with opposition,” Eugenia says, still pacing. No one in the Commonweal knows how large or how capable the empire responsible for the Sea People might be. No one knows if the hell-things come up from the Dread River are in finite supply. No one knows if whatever might be destroying Reems will stop with Reems, if Reems won’t prove victorious and have another rise.
Eugenia hasn’t seen hell-things, but they remember Order’s expression, and Order had.
Eugenia’s got a capable imagination. The Line accounts of the March North and the Fight Below the Edge would be difficult reading regardless.
“This isn’t quite the weeding problem.”
Weeding teams naturally want to use abrupt and certainly sufficient means to destroy weeds. These are inevitably not the least sufficient means, and so the area weeded could be greater. The Line must, Eugenia thinks, have a similar problem; the individual battery wants its opposition to die immediately and completely. Before it can attack would be best, before it can summon another demon or perform another ritual working or another charge with spears certainly a pressing desire. The artillery battalion wants to use as little as will suffice, so there’s as much as possible remaining for the next threat. The Line wants … the Line can’t know.
“No way to measure yield.” Eugenia’s stopped pacing. “With the weeds, you can measure crop yield. You can count who dies.
“The Line’s structural. The Peace requires a sufficiency of food, it doesn’t require a particularity. We don’t want people to die, but weeds will certainly kill some. The borders … can’t leak, if we’re in contact with an asserted dominion we can’t tolerate that.”
An asserted dominion means the weeds obey the dominant will. It stops being weeding and starts being a battle, anywhere the dominion reaches.
There was a dominion when those garden parties were happening, an unquestioned one.
“There’s an idea that we’re really fighting the Power,” Eugenia says. “That we’re trying to do something outside the historical pattern, so the measure equivalent to yield is how far from the historical pattern of the Bad Old Days we can stay.”
“That’s the idea,” Francis says. “Precise measurement presents challenges.”
“Hectares?” Eugenia doesn’t like the answer, but they like feeling like they understand.
“The un-lost hectare supports an argument of infinite expense,” Francis says. “Yet we do not wish to lose any.”
“There’s a calculation somewhere,” Eugenia says. “Some confidence interval for what’s required to have a larger economy per person in a hundred years.”
“There is,” Francis says.
“Conservative assumptions say we can’t make it?” Eugenia wishes they could better sound doubtful.
“Median assumptions say it’s maintain the Line or grow.” Francis sounds serene. “Four brigades.”
Eugenia wonders if anyone’s told Tiggy’s bunch. Four brigades just isn’t enough.
“Yield comes down to how many five-red to a conquering army.” Eugenia’s face does something that’s almost a smile, under the stocking cap and the shining silver device and the strange heptagonal scar. “For purposes of artillery operations.”
Eugenia says it in a voice for grief.
“For purposes of artillery operations,” Francis says in a voice for correct answers.
Chapter 24
Year of the Peace Established Five Hundred Forty-Five, Month of Festival, Fifth Day
Eugenia had expected to spend Festival hoping the refectory stayed open all five days. Five days with nothing to do is an unsettling prospect; five days with uncertain meals is worse to contemplate. The Creeks Armoury shuts down for Festival; as the other wreaking teams, the Shot Team return to their various maternal homes.
The provisional battery does not. Someone must remain on watch, and while the battery is not yet operational, the Fifth Battalion was created so. It is an entire bureaucratic lie, as Hank openly acknowledges. Someone must keep watch, and there is no-one else to do it.
Eugenia’s vague notion that a larhaus is like a thorpe becomes an embarrassed realization that while the Armoury employs the wreaking teams, many other persons are resident, just as you can be resident in a thorpe without any connection to its land-rights. The land-right equivalents in the Armoury are held by the Line-gesith and the standard-captains assigned there. Presently, that’s a single fylstan who is disinclined to make any attempt to set customs.
One result is an exchange of hosting between the Line and the residents on the third and fourth days; Eugenia is invited to both dinners, and finds all the customs more strange for when they are familiar. On the fifth night, the refectory is indeed open and Eugenia finds themself at the same table as Francis, several other librarians, and a few miscellaneous persons. One of the miscellaneous describes themself as a hobbyist and carries on a conversation with Eugenia all evening in First Expansion Casual Spider. First Expansion Casual Spider subsists on four cases, and they need only two, equals and foreign, since the conversation touches on the presumed intention of the Sea People.
Talking in a language everyone does not understand is hardly polite. Everyone else at the table was emphatic that an opportunity for their colleague to practice was their strong preference, and so Eugenia makes an effort to keep up with the other conversations as well and tries not to think about whether or not they’re being rude.
