Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) Page 25

  “Mentalist,” a technician said.

  Niens looked up in surprise. The techs usually avoided speaking or looking at him as religiously as their chief did. What could the man want?

  The tech trembled and his lips quivered. Slowly, the tech raised his arm, pointing a single finger with a black tip at Niens.

  What was the meaning of such indignity? Niens scowled. He would—

  A scrap of noise behind him changed the contours of Niens’s frown. The only thing at his back was the inert mass of flesh: the test subject.

  “H-he’s moving, mentalist,” the tech stammered. “I-I think his brain waves have begun again.”

  Niens whirled around. The test subject’s left foot looked as if it was in a new position. Then the right-hand fingers twitched.

  “Turn on the reality field!” a different tech screamed. “He’s back! The test subject’s consciousness has returned!”

  Three techs were in the room. The one nearest Niens raised a brown-skinned hand, moving it toward a red-colored switch. With a rustle of cloth and a thud, the tech collapsed onto the floor and lay still.

  The second tech hurried toward the switch, tripped, and dashed his head against a console. He hammered onto the floor, unconscious, as blood began to pool around the ugly gash.

  From the raised level behind Niens, Klane began to groan.

  This was the moment to act. Yet Niens didn’t know what to do.

  Klane sat up. His eyes were lucid. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. It appeared as if he battled someone mentally. Of course, Niens realized—psionic Bo Taw had been watching the chamber. They must be attacking Klane with psi-power from the other rooms.

  Niens witnessed the same grim determination as before, when Klane had slain Chengal Ras. Bowing his head, trying to remain invisible, Niens backed away. He still watched, though. Intense curiosity compelled him. Their gazes met.

  Who are you? The question appeared in his mind.

  “I-I’m Mentalist Niens,” he stammered.

  Why am I lying here?

  Help me hold him.

  Niens frowned, confused. Then he realized he must have heard a Bo Taw’s thoughts, one of those battling the possible Anointed One.

  Klane snarled, and his knuckles whitened, indicating a fierce clenching of his fists.

  Niens heard a psionic scream. He pictured in his mind a Bo Taw bleeding from the eyes, nose, and ears and slumping backward.

  From the raised platform, Klane chuckled. He pointed at Niens. “You’d better answer me, or I’ll do the same thing to you. Why am I lying here?”

  The man’s cold eyes terrified Niens. “I’m your friend,” he said.

  “You’re a liar,” Klane said. “And since you won’t answer me, prepare to die.”

  Niens realized he didn’t have time to convince the man to spare him. So he spun on his heel and sprinted to the machines. The last technician there tried to slap the red button. The tech’s eyes crossed and he groaned, clutching his head before falling and expiring on the floor.

  Now it’s your turn, Niens.

  As the first tendrils of psionic-induced pain touched Niens’s brain, another team of Bo Taw invisibly hit Klane. It gave Niens a precious few extra seconds. He reached the switch and stabbed it, hard. The leads above the table and above Klane glowed blue, pink, and then deeply red. A reality field sizzled into place. It shimmered and flickered uncontrollably because there wasn’t anyone left to calibrate it properly.

  Niens watched in horror, waiting for the end. Alarms rang and a door opened. Technicians raced in, among them the chief. The reality field flickered worse than before, and it might have gone down. The chief tech reached the controls in time, and he acted swiftly, calibrating the field, solidifying it.

  Niens watched, and to his amazement, he saw the test subject lie down, beginning to dream while wide-awake. Klane’s consciousness had returned, and he—Niens—had captured the Anointed One for Zama Dee.

  Had he just foiled humanity’s lone chance for freedom? And had he just cursed himself to a lifetime in a cage as boredom drove him to madness?

  Niens paced before the shimmering reality field and the prone test subject beneath. On the other side of him, the technicians silently went about their work. The techs treated the machines as if they were gods, and the men the acolytes.

  Maybe they operated out of fear. Zama Dee had given explicit instructions concerning Klane. Bo Taw waited behind hidden alcoves, ready to dampen any psi-breakouts. Vomag guards prowled outside the building on the main floor.

  The 73rd would soon be in Jassac orbit. She returned from High Station 3, first traveling at maximum thrust from there and then slowing with hard retrofire.

  Furrows appeared in Niens’s forehead. Twice the door had opened and a Kresh had peered within. Clearly, Klane had the Revered Ones agitated.

  Niens licked his lips and sidled closer to the reality field. Klane had shown him mercy once, although the man had tried to kill him this last time. The power Klane had shown and the fear he brought to the Kresh—this was amazing. It seemed conceivable he really was the Anointed One.

  That meant there was a chance for freedom. It was time to take risks.

  A premonition touched Niens—Bo Taw psionic intrusion. It was like a feather in his mind. I love the Kresh. I love the Kresh. They give our lives meaning. Without the Revered Ones, humanity would boil into fevered madness. Men and women—

  If we’re such illogical beings, why did Earthlings build the first starship instead of the Kresh doing so?

  A thrill of pure terror shot through Niens’s chest. He shouldn’t dabble with such chaotic thoughts, not here in range of the mind readers. Vomags might enter the chamber under the guidance of a Revered One. If the Kresh knew what he really felt, the soldiers would shoot him for being a madman.

  Because of his fear of the Bo Taw, Niens shifted his position even closer to the reality field. The feathery feeling departed from his mind. The shimmering thing before him was like a psi-tent, shielding him from intruding probes.

  His eyelids began to flicker, and he found that odd. I’m too close to the reality field. I should back up. He didn’t, though. Instead, he watched a pay girl wearing sequins on her pert breasts coalesce into existence. She swayed in an erotic way and made pouting motions with her lips.

  “I love you, Mentalist Niens,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re so strong and virile and so very smart.”

  He grinned, and her existence solidified for him. In his subjective view, the chamber lost reality as she became more real.

  “I am smart, aren’t I?” he asked her.

  She nodded in an alluring manner. Then she twirled on her toes for him, letting him see her marvelous buttocks.

  Despite her beauty, Niens’s fear of the Kresh radiated through the fantasy. He combined the two. “I must use my superior intellect,” Niens told her.

  “And you must use other things, too,” she said, glancing meaningfully at his crotch.

  “Yes, yes,” Niens said. “I’m not thinking clearly enough.” He could use his fantasy—this pay girl—and possibly speak with Klane. He snapped his fingers at her. “I have an idea.”

  She ran her tongue over painted lips. “So do I, darling Niens.”

  His eyes shone with lust. This was the loveliest pay girl he’d ever seen. He wanted to disrobe, to make her strip and do things—he shook his head. Focus, Niens, this might be your last chance to affect your destiny.

  “You’re finally ready for me,” the pay girl said with a titter.

  “Never mind that for now,” Niens said. It would appear that all minds were schizophrenic. He was battling himself in a way. “I want you to do something for me.” It was a wild idea, but he didn’t see why this shouldn’t work.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “It’s
not what you think. You must cross the reality field and talk to Klane.”

  Something like fear appeared on her features. “I don’t think I can do that, darling.”

  “Yes, you can,” he said, wondering if he was battling self-doubt. “You’re a figment of my imagination. I power you.”

  The pay girl began to fade.

  “No,” Niens said, concentrating on her, believing in her existence.

  She solidified, and she glanced at her body in surprise.

  “Cross this barrier,” Niens said. “I want you to talk to Klane. Tell him he’s under a reality field, held in the . . . in the demon city.”

  “Don’t you want to mount me?” she asked with a pout. “We can make wonderful love together.”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “You’re the perfect figment, the perfect ideal of what I want to—listen to me. Quit trying to confuse the issue.”

  “Cross the field?” she asked.

  “And talk to Klane.”

  “You’re the one who will do the talking,” she said, beginning to sound more serious.

  “Don’t talk to me. Talk to Klane and give him the message.”

  “Where will you be, darling?”

  Niens laughed nervously. It was bizarre having this schizophrenic conversation with himself. It felt like he was talking to someone else. The reality field was a fascinating invention. “I imagine I’ll have to stay right here and continue to power you, to think you into existence. Now, hurry. I don’t know how long they’ll let me stand here.”

  She nodded, and she smiled nervously. She turned to go, paused, and glanced over her shoulder, showing off her triangular chin to great effect. “I just want to let you know that you’re the bravest man I know. There is no one like you, Mentalist Niens.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “And it shows your wisdom that you understand that. Now, go, please.”

  She nodded, resolutely faced the shimmering field, and slowly sashayed into it.

  28

  The stars shone brightly as Cyrus and Jana crawled to the edge of the mighty canyon. In the distance, the giant atmospheric convertor churned water vapor into the night sky.

  Two days and nights of stiff trekking had brought the avengers across the uplands to the edge of the Valley of the Demons. Three times during the journey, they’d spotted sky vehicles and taken precautions. No one really wanted to try Grinder’s suggestion of fooling an alien crew and attempting to kill the Kresh occupants. Skar had been lucky the first time. The soldier didn’t want to rely upon luck a second time.

  “We are soldiers,” Skar had told the others.

  “Space marines,” Cyrus had whispered under his breath.

  After several days of hard traveling, the avengers had finally reached the jumping-off point. Tomorrow morning at dawn, they would begin the descent. Tonight, Cyrus and Jana peered into the depths. The alien city’s lights shone far below. It reminded Cyrus of Earth and made him nostalgic.

  “Crazy,” he said.

  Jana turned to him. “What do you find crazy?”

  “Actually,” he said, “a couple of things.”

  “For instance?”

  “It’s crazy that two distinct groups of humans hundreds of years apart left Earth and took off toward the same place, a destination two hundred and thirty light years away. I mean, how did your ancestors’ original vessel manage to make it to this star system? That seems more than a little coincidental. The odds aren’t in our favor that both voyages took place by chance.”

  “Do you mean the Creator caused it?” Jana asked.

  “I suppose that’s one explanation, but that isn’t what I meant. No, I’m thinking along different lines, more nefarious reasons.”

  “Aliens?” she asked.

  “That’s right, nonhuman intelligences causing or helping our various ships to head here.”

  “You can’t mean the Kresh,” she said. “According to you, they don’t possess psionic abilities.”

  “True,” Cyrus said. “But they had a station on the outer asteroids that gave us a false picture of Fenris. It showed us a pristine star system, ready for humanity to exploit. It was the most idyllic, perfect image we could get. Does that make sense?”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “And your ancestors’ leader, the original guy, Attlee, I think the Reacher told me. Why did he see the Fenris System? I bet there are other, closer Earth-like planets. Yet he brought you all the way out here to the Kresh and the Chirr.”

  “By your earlier tales,” she said, “it would seem the cyborgs made it in this general region as well.”

  “Say, that’s right,” Cyrus said. “What’s going on, do you think? What’s the game?”

  “I don’t follow you,” Jana said.

  “I’m suspicious of coincidences, especially these,” he said.

  “Does that change anything about what we should do?”

  Cyrus thought about that. “I guess not. It’s just that I don’t like being led around by my nose. I don’t like prophecies, either, which say certain events have to happen. I mean, do we have free will or not?”

  “The seeker chose to die so we eight of Berserker Clan could have knowledge.”

  “Did she choose?” Cyrus asked. “I think she felt compelled to go along with the planned program, with the so-called prophesies.”

  “That’s good, though,” Jana said. “The prophesies foretell of our ultimate victory.”

  Cyrus snorted. “I wouldn’t count on winning. Including Skar and me, we’re ten . . . outcasts planning to rescue the Fenris System’s savior. Ten against thousands are bad odds, my love.”

  “But better than doing nothing.”

  “True,” Cyrus said.

  They peered into the canyon depths. It was a long way down. It was going to be a hard trek to reach the Kresh lights.

  “Cyrus?”

  “Hmm?” he said.

  “Would you have been happy with me if I hadn’t received these memories?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was a primitive.”

  He shrugged. “You were smart. You just hadn’t gotten a technological education yet. I used to be in the same boat.” He smiled at her. “That’s the long answer. The short one is, of course I would have. You’re the same Jana.”

  She’d been watching him closely. “No. I have different memories. We all have them. Well, not exactly. I think you were right the other day when you speculated that each of us received a portion of the seeker’s recollections. We each recall different things. My point is that I no longer think like Jana did.”

  “I’m not sure you’re right,” he said.

  “I am,” she said. “You know I’m right.”

  “Okay. So who are you then?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” she said in a soft tone.

  Cyrus sidled closer. “No. I don’t believe that. You’re the same Jana, but with more experiences. This isn’t like primitive spirit possession. I’m still the Cyrus of the slums, of Bottom Milan. I react with more knowledge most of the time, but it’s still me inside here.” He tapped his heart. “And it’s still you,” he said, tapping her heart and ending up by squeezing her right breast.

  They embraced, and for a time they kissed.

  “Do you love me?” Jana whispered.

  He almost told her that he’d already said he did some time ago. When he changed his mind, he would let her know. But that didn’t seem like the response she was looking for.

  “I love you, Jana, whatever your memories.” He kissed her long and lingeringly for emphasis, tasting a hint of salt on her lips.

  “Do you still want to marry me?” she asked in a small voice.

  “With all my heart,” he said.

  “When?”

  He let go
of her and searched her eyes. “Earth customs say that a captain of a ship can marry people. Once we get a spaceship, I’ll have the captain marry us. Does that sound good?”

  She smiled and hugged him fiercely.

  Cyrus breathed deeply afterward. He didn’t know what the next few days were going to bring. Probably pain and suffering, maybe death. He knew, though, that he would protect Jana with everything he had. It would be heartrending to lose her now. He was going to make sure he didn’t fail her as he’d failed the seeker. That he vowed.

  29

  Klane frowned and he didn’t know why. He recalled something about a hive, and then there had been cyborgs. Yes . . . the cyborgs came in five mighty vessels, heading toward the Fenris System. He tried to concentrate on that because it felt as if he was missing something. A fuzzy dome sizzled above him, and . . . and . . .

  His thoughts slowly turned and everything shifted. He was young again. No. What was he thinking? He’d never been old. Clan Tash-Toi gathered at the Red Rock Jumbles. They were reddish boulders piled beside a shale-littered rock formation. Klane examined himself, surprised to see six-year-old limbs.

  This happened to me. It’s not happening now. Yet it seemed very much to be occurring in real time.

  The hetman and several warriors had left a day ago in search of meat. The seeker had cast into the future and foretold about bad omens. At six years of age, Klane toiled for the crafty seeker with his ill-smelling breath. He didn’t want to be an apprentice. Klane yearned to be a warrior, carrying a spear into battle and wielding a sharp knife.

  It seemed as if he remembered one of the worst days of his life. Yet this felt as if it happened right now. He could feel the cool breeze on his skin. He was always colder than the others were, and had to wear thicker garments to stay warm. Even more embarrassing, he had to breathe rapidly so it didn’t feel as if he were suffocating. To him, the air was thin, too thin if he ran or played too hard.