Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 93

From the loudspeaker of the computer clanged an inhuman voice: YOU IN THE POWER ROOM. STAND AWAY OR DIE. I COMMAND RECLOSING OF CE POWER MAIN NOW.

Jeff Steinbrenner and Cordelia Warshaw fell to the deck.

Patricia supported herself with difficulty against the computer console and whispered, "It's all right. The power's back. You're safe, Marc ... "

A simulacrum of his face smiled at her from the blind black helm. "Thank you, Pat. Dear Pat."

One hand was raised toward him. "Go. You'll have to teleport everything away. All the others-turned against us. Escape, Marc. Then it was worth it."

For the last time, the mind shone with a dirigent's creativecoercive power; then all thinking was extinguished and her body lay beside the two others on the rough oaken planks.

Marc's amplified voice echoed through the hull: LEAVE THE POWER ROOM. ALL OF YOU.

Outside Kyllikki there was a tremendous sonic boom. The schooner rocked.

He sucked in energy, heedless of the risk, absorbed a greater input than he had ever attempted here in the Pliocene exile.

Yes! Fully powered, he spun the upsilon-field and made the hyperspatial gateway enormous. His mind designated the pieces of equipment to be translated: the entire CE complex, some weapons, supplies, more than eleven tons of ma.s.s altogether.

How easy it was to lift! How nonchalantly he pushed the load and himself through the gaping superficies-and slammed it shut in the Golden Adversary's frustrated face.

Zang.

... A perfect place to hide, fa.r.s.een weeks ago.

Zung.

The materialization down inside the deep, dry watercourse would have been visible to the naked eye for less than a second.

Then the absorptive camouflaging mechanism that had formerly sheltered Kyllikki clicked on, twisting the moonbeams to form an illusion that, viewed from above, roofed the gully with apparently solid ground.

After several hours the camouflager was turned off, and the gulley seemed to be as barren of life as ever. But the little cave where Madame Guderian and Claude Majewski had hidden was now greatly enlarged to accommodate a new tenant. He came out briefly after midnight and sat beneath the old acacia tree that slouched at the canyon lip, looking at the force-field hemisphere that shrouded Castle Gateway just up the slope to the south. A few hares and other night-prowling creatures ventured to creep up and inspect him-but they fled soon enough at the cold, terrible touch of his mind.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Minanonn the Heretic opened the door of the former feasting hall of the chalet, which had been converted into a nursery for the black-torc babies. The room was lit only by cl.u.s.ters of red faerie lights. He saw a double row of small cots with ten redactors seated on stools before them. The mothers were ranged behind the infants, observing. Dionket stood at the side, directing the operation, faintly veiled in carmine luminescence. Basil Wimborne played a quiet melody on his recorder and an aura of healing pervaded the chamber.

It's going to work, Minannon thought. The new program is beginning to help the poor little things even now, before the coercive segment of the metaconcert is phased in. They'll be cured, whole-minded again, inside of a week or so. And not only that, they'll be operant: the first of the new generation Brede the s.h.i.+pspouse had foreseen.

They must not be left to perish in Nightfall! Fortunately, the King's suggestion provides the perfect solution ...

Minannon waited. He caught sight of Elizabeth seated in a dark corner, her mind detached, her face covered by her hands-unneeded. Then the preliminary session came to a close; the young minds were awash in soothing endorphins and the pain was in abeyance. Basil absently mind-sang the human lullaby as he played his flute.

Joy will come to us at morning, Life with sunrise hope adorning, Though sad dreams may give dread warning, All through the night.

The last notes of the song died away. Dionket and the redactor company looked at one another and smiled, and then the healers rose and filed out. Minanonn's urgent summons brought the Lord Healer and Elizabeth to him, and they left the chalet by a side door and went into the twilit rock garden where the full moon was just rising above the hills.

"There have been important developments," the Heretic said.

"I didn't want to interrupt the work. Here is a message sent to me by the King within the last half hour." He displayed the picture of the portentous events that had taken place on the Upper Seine.

Elizabeth's mind darkened in dismay. "Then Marc's at large with his mind-enhancing equipment!"

"But deprived of his base of operation and his confederates,"

Dionket said. "Surely that's encouraging news. Even with his infernal machine, the Adversary is unable to break into Castle Gateway. And the King will surely take precautions against any renewed attempt against the dysprosium miners."

Elizabeth frowned. "I wonder if the Guderian Project is vulnerable to any other indirect attacks?"

"The King declared it was not," Minanonn said. "Save for the one critical element, the workers have all the raw materials and manufacturing equipment safe in Castle Gateway. A few more days will see the completion of the Fennoscandian operation. According to the King, the time-gate device should be completed sometime during Grand Tourney week."

"How appropriate." Elizabeth's mind was once again curtained and unfathomable. "The Field of Gold isn't too convenient to Castle Gateway-but of course there are the aircraft ... "

The three of them came to an ornamental grotto, a shallow cave with a spring trickling out of it, surrounded by ferns and night-fragrant plantings of damewort and mignonette. An oil lantern dangling from a tree cast warm light on the surrounding rocks and a pair of rustic benches. They sat down.

Dionket said, "Brother Heretic, you hold something back from us. What was the rest of the King's message?"

The former Battlemaster's att.i.tude was one of dejection. His ma.s.sive shoulders slumped and he picked up pebbles from the pathway and tossed them into the little stream. "The King captured the Adversary's large sailing s.h.i.+p. He interrogated the twenty-two surviving North Americans aboard, those who mutinied against Remillard. A certain Rebel named Manion believes that the next phase of the Adversary's scheme may involve the Firvulag. As partic.i.p.ants in an offensive metaconcert led by Remillard."

Dionket burst out laughing. "The idea is ludicrous! The Foe would never permit any human to direct them-much less him."

"I call to your mind certain sacred traditions," Minanonn reported. "The Adversary is no mere observer in Nightfall."

His confidence shaken, the Lord Healer said, "But the Little People aren't fools! Subordinating themselves to Remillard in an Organic Mind setup would be to risk permanent mental slavery. As it is, Sharn and Ayfa command a mind-force that may very well be superior to Aiken's. They require no a.s.sistance from this human interloper-"

"Not if the Firvulag really know how to make metaconcert work," Elizabeth said in a low voice. "If they can put the structure together so that the whole is greater than the sum of the small parts-the comparatively weak individual mindunits-and keep the thing working efficiently under their direction. But we've already had plenty of hints that Firvulag mastery of the orchestration technique is far from complete. They tend to fall apart, go every mind for itself, when they're backed into a corner. That was the point Sugoll and Katlinel hoped to pound home in their conciliation efforts, warning Sharn and Ayfa that they'd never be able to match Aiken's disciplined and efficient counterforce. But if Marc comes along promising to reorganize the Firvulag metaconcert in return for their helping to break the Castle Gateway defences ... "

"This is what the King fears," Minanonn said. "All the Adversary need do is bide his time. Make his offer known. Suggest ways that the royal pair might work with him while still maintaining independence. Wait for the inevitable flaws in Firvulag mental cooperation to manifest themselves. In time, Sharn and Ayfa will find his temptation to be irresistible."

"Irresistible," Elizabeth repeated. She stared at her hands, at the small diamond ring that had been the symbol of her protection back in the Milieu. Lawrence had worn its twin. Now the stone's sparkle was forlorn in the lamplight.

"What are we going to do?" Dionket asked.

"Flee," said Minanonn flatly.

"To the Milieu?" Elizabeth laughed. "Mark's collusion with those eighty thousand Firvulag minds will dispose of that option, I a.s.sure you. He won't even need the Little People on the scene at Castle Gateway. He can channel the psychoenergy from a distance-from Nionel-just as he did when he smashed Gibraltar and put down Felice."

"I didn't contemplate fleeing through the time-gate, Elizabeth," the Heretic said. "I asked the King, in the name of the Peace Faction, for the great s.h.i.+p Kyllikki. He agreed to give it to us, subject to his removing most of the armament. A prize crew of Tanu stalwarts and armed humans are taking it at full speed back down the Seine. It will be provisioned at Goriah for a return voyage across the ocean to the Blessed Isles. The surviving North Americans have a.s.serted that they will cooperate fully and accept the Peace Faction's governance."

Elizabeth was speechless.

Dionket slowly raised both hands. "The Isles! Of course. The sanctuary of our ancient legends ... the Land of Youth! We can complete the work on the black-torc infants in the week remaining before the Tourney, and take them with us!"

Minanonn said, "Our Peaceful Folk can be diverted from Nionel to Goriah, travelling the Western Track and then boating down the Laar. There is still time. I will pet.i.tion the King for a flying machine to evacuate those confined to the Pyrenees by the snows. And we here on Black Crag-"

Elizabeth finished ironically, "Can slip away quietly, while Aiken fights the Nightfall War and Marc Remillard destroys his own children."