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A.R.Yngve
DARC AGES
Book Three
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Chapter 41

The monsoon rains began.

On the day of the trade expedition's return, after a journey several days longer with bad winds and feigned routes to confuse any followers, thunder and lightning shook the air around the islands.

Curtains of water fell on the sea and the Kap Verita archipelago, and whipped all naked ground into foam. The islanders opened their water cisterns, and put out all available buckets and cups to gather precious freshwater.

Hundreds of farmers went to work in the downpour to repair the walls that surrounded their terraced fields, to save fertile topsoil from being washed downhill. Still it was a time for rejoicing, for planting the next harvest; they sang as they worked the fields.

After the first rainfall, the fertilized landscape bloomed an intense green. Dohan and Meijji were forced to spend the days indoors, and found new pastimes. Together with her younger siblings, Meijji played cards and board games with Dohan for hours on end - and she won most of the time. Dohan, in turn, tried to learn Meijji and her siblings the basics of self-defense and combat - just in case, and he wanted to impress Meijji. Not only she was impressed; her sisters were as well. Dohan failed to notice this; he only had eyes for one girl.

Darc forced himself into the ancient basics of electronics. Fortunately, Mechao's huge library turned out to include a few old volumes on the subject. The mathematics was the worst part of it - in his former life, numbers had been David Archibald's secret Achilles heel. However, one of Meijji's elder brothers was a mathematical genius, and proved immensely helpful.

Two weeks after the journey to Dakchaor, Darc had completed a blueprint for a powerful radio transmitter - plus a simple, illustrated step-by-step description of how to build and operate one's own radio receiver, all written in Castilian. Shara helped him out with the language, correcting his gravest misspellings and grammatical errors.

Finally, Darc handed the finished manual to Amada. If she could be convinced his scheme might work, the islanders would give him the support he needed.

"So anyone can build this little machine?" she asked with friendly skepticism.

"Anyone who's eager to learn, can," Darc assured her. "The components can be tailored after what means you have. Now I need to print as many copies of the manual as possible."

"You have my support..."

"Thank -"

"On one condition," she added. "That you influence your young friend to marry into our family. And we expect a dowry of some kind."

"That, my good lady, is the least difficult thing you could ask me for."

He gave her a formal bow.



The next part of Darc's scheme demanded the electronic components gathered in Dakchaor, and some heavy electrical equipment from Mechao's workshop. Mechao's sons and grandsons helped Darc weld, bolt, and screw the great transmitter together.

Its biggest part - the antenna - was simply created by connecting the wire of the cable-way to the transmitter output. Another few weeks of hard work and testing resulted in the world's largest - and to Darc's knowledge only remaining - radio station.

He stood admiring his makeshift soundstage in Mechao's workshop, when Shara came in to see the result. The sight impressed her, though it mostly resembled a mess of cables and racks of components.

"Have you done anything like this before in your life? I think there must be a law against it in Castilia," she said.

"Mechao is the law here," Darc replied, and sat down on the central chair. He folded his hands behind his head, and gazed up at the arched stone ceiling. "You know," he mused, "in my time there were radio transmissions day and night, all over the world... even from other planets..."

His voice drifted off, as he was caught in a mesh of old images. So much time wasted, he thought. Shara rocked his shoulder; he started.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"Nothing," he muttered.

Darc rose from his chair and hugged Shara, squeezing her soft bosom against his chest, and took in the scent of her black hair. Was he about to help the world, or send a curse upon it? And the dangers - she of all deserved to know. He gave her a look of pleading concern.

"Shara, when I start this machine, people will be able to locate where the radio signals are coming from. I mean - we are going to be discovered, eventually. Hiding away from the world like this - it can't last. You understand what it means, don't you?"

"Yes, Darc," she said solemnly. "More fighting. More death. More speeches. More politics." But then she smiled at him. "You're a hero, don't you know? You're destined for great deeds."

He frowned at her, the way one does at a child who has said something dumb.

"I'm just trying to stay alive, is all. If that's heroic, then you are the greater hero. You've had a hard life, and I don't see you whine. You lived among Lepers, and I see you looking after Eye-Leg like she was your own daughter. Or Dohan - there's a hero."

Shara blushed at his compliment - a woman who otherwise never blushed. She leaned closer to him; Darc felt his concerns melt away. Of all the women he had loved - and, sometimes, learned to hate - Shara was the best one. Knowing him by now, she loved him for who he was.



The very same evening, Dohan and some islanders loaded the cabin of the Sunray with fresh bundles of paper slips. As soon as the rains ceased, Dohan could set off on a crusade. Several cities on the ship's map were targeted - one of them his own.



(CONTINUED)

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