Unbound by Shawn Speakman

defense.”
    “Sounds like government,” I observed, already hating the League more.
    Scalinou had a faraway look in his eyes. “When they formed political and militant branches . . . that’s when things really changed. They’ve established garrisons in many cities. They sit on ruling councils. In many places they enforce the law—oftentimes, the very laws they’ve lobbied to establish.”
    “Sounds lovely.” I sat in an open chair across from Scalinou—my legs were aching.
    Scalinou gave a sour smile in the starlight. “It’s hard to argue against ideas of self-reliance, of education, of ending slums and porridge lines. Trouble is,” he took a deep breath, “once they gain a foothold somewhere on the basis of these ideas, they go further.”
    Recent news ran through my head. “They’ve passed laws in Recityv legalizing the killing of Sheason who employ their use of the Will . . . even when it’s to help others.”
    He nodded. “I was the only Savant that voted against a League chapter in Aubade Grove. I don’t blame the others. As I say, the League’s core ideas are good ones. But,” he looked down at his star ledger, “if we move past the trial period. If we install them as a part of what we do, as a means for keeping law . . . they’ll go further.”
    “Like beating up albino philosophers?”
    “I mean you and me,” Scalinou replied, eyeing my several bruises. “Think about the Grove’s five sciences. Astronomy, physics, and mathematics—those have practical value. But philosophy? Cosmology? We’ll be seen as im practical.”
    I listened to the silence that fell between us for several moments before answering. “Because we don’t add demonstrable value.”
    “Because we’re predicated on opinion, judgment, ideology, belief,” he added. “Funny that.”
    I laughed, seeing the immediate connection. “We’re too much like the League itself, needing others to take stock in our ideas.”
    Scalinou looked up toward an open pane of glass in the observation dome. “It’s not even about us, though. Think what will happen if they succeed in publishing this new philosophical position. If it comes from Aubade Grove of all places.”
    I sat, considering for the first time the repercussions. Our stories. The ones that had given us strength each time the Quiet had come into the east. They’d be challenged. Abandoned maybe. Our stories. The ones that led to ethics like giving kindness for kindness, mercy to balance justice. They’d be replaced with the League’s brand of ethics.
    “Damn me,” I said, shaking my head at the futility.
    “What?” Scalinou asked, as he poured us each a short glass of pomace brandy.
    “You’ve given me another good reason to try and win my little argument . . .”
    “But?” my old friend prompted, knowing me well enough to know there was more.
    “But Darius told me that he’d abandon the League chapter in Aubade Grove if he won.” I took my drink and quaffed the whole thing.
    “Was this before or after he beat the last hell out of you?” Scalinou showed his wry grin.
    “Oh I know. Little jackbird has no intention of keeping that promise.” I poured myself another glass and took a short pull. “Why did you want to see me, anyway?”
    Scalinou pointed up toward the open pane—the same one his skyglass was pointed at. “Pliny Soray might be teaching us something.”
    I followed my old friend’s gaze. “Can you dispense with the cosmologer’s analogies? My head hurts.”
    He chuckled warm and low. “Some change is beyond us. Like a planet that may be out of true. We can observe, record, speculate as to possible outcomes. But some change,” he looked down at me, “some change is directed . And the one thing I know you’re good at, Lour, is getting at why someone wants what they want. Why does the League want this change? Maybe if you find the answer to that, you’ll know how to win your little argument.”
    And that was the right question: Why did