Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
"I know, but
laran
has its limits, even this." He looked down at the ring glittering on
his hand, and wondered if he would live long enough to learn how to use it. He had
already discovered how to map with it, to throw his senses afar. But the information he
gathered was vague and shadowy, interesting but not immediately useful. He wanted
action, and he wanted it soon.
There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened. One of the silent servants stood in
the hall, and he gestured them to follow him. Mikhail stood up and discovered one of
his feet had fallen asleep while he sat. Pins and needles danced in his toes as he bent
down and pulled on a pair of soft slippers. They had been provided with comfortable
woolen robes as well, and both had been happy to discard their filthy clothing.
"We are finally being summoned."
"I see that—and about time, too!"
The servant, white-faced, placed a finger to his lips, and shook his head, admonishing
them to silence. The man was thin to the point of emaciation, and looked terrified.
Mikhail ignored him. "How do you feel, my dearest?"
"Up to my neck in kittens. This place is oppressive. No matter how much I sleep, I
don't seem to feel rested. I do not feel sick or anything. Actually, if I were to describe
my condition, I would say I was very happy for no reason at all." Then she smiled at
him. "Well, being married to you is reason enough."
Mikhail chuckled. "If you can feel happy in our present circumstances,
caria,
then you
are even more amazing than I thought."
And we'd better shut up, before that fellow has a fit, Mik.
Fellow? Oh, I had quite forgotten him. You are right. And perhaps now we will
discover exactly what is going on. Any flashes of the future?
None I would choose to dwell on
—
something with fire, and I don't like it one bit!
Fire! That does not sound very promising. I wish I knew why no one talks. I've never
known servants who did not want to gossip. And this man's mind is vacant of anything
except his immediate task.
Mikhail could sense her unspoken anxiety. It must be hell to
have flashes of the future with no means of being sure what they meant until it was too
late.
Mik, if no one can talk, then they cannot collude. I suspect that without whatever form
of repression is being used,
Dom
Padriac would have a rebellion on his hands. And I
think that Amirya has her hands full, trying to please him and also to complete this
devilish work of theirs.
But how can they work in the screens, then?
I think we are about to find out.
You seem awfully calm about this.
Do I? Well, I am not. But—don't you feel it?
What?
That everything is coming to a head, and soon?
No. All I can say with certainty is that I must be here, and do whatever must be done,
whether I like it or not. I don't have any sense of time, just of purpose.
Of course! Now I understand something that has been nagging in my mind for days. I
sense time, and you know what we must do.
He could feel her burst .of emotion, relief
and pleasure at finally solving a problem, and something more for which he could find
no description.
That is what Varzil meant when he said that we must become one out of
two.
The corridor was filling with men and women who moved like machines with slow,
stiff gestures that were disturbing. Their faces were empty of any feeling, and Mikhail
did not need telepathy to know that these poor wretches had no volition.
Mikhail felt his anger stir, then found Marguerida's hand on his arm, squeezing.
Try to look stupid, Mik, or we will end up back in that room.
What do you mean? .
Amirya and Padriac keep these folk in thrall so they cannot sabotage the work. That's
why she hasn't taken us up sooner
—
she wanted to be sure we had eaten enough
drugged foot to be nice and docile.
Docile? You?
It's a good thing you thought to smuggle what we did not eat into the privy! I would
have tried to hide it under the bed, and probably we would have some vermin for
companions by now.
Very likely.
These poor people are like a bunch of zombies.
Zombies? I don't know that word.
Revenants, Mik. Walking dead, and "from the look of them, dead is the operative word.
I want to help them, to heal what ails them. My hand is itching to get to work, and it is
very unpleasant! But we had better look meek and dumb, until we get into the upper
part of the Tower. Come on
—
tonight is the night, I hope!
They went through a door, and began to climb a narrow stairwell. There was no sound
except the shuffling of slippered feet on stone, and an occasional moan from one of the
people. The woman ahead of Mikhail halted once, leaned against the wall, and gasped.
Then she looked at him with dull but anguished eyes.
Marguerida leaned around him and looked at the woman sharply. Then she moved her
left hand quickly, making a clawing motion in the air before the stranger. The woman
jumped as if jolted, her eyes brightening a little. Something like a smile played across
her wan lips, and she shook her head as if to clear it. Then she dropped back into a
defeated posture and began to climb again. Only a slight vigor in her steps betrayed the
change.
The pungent scent of ozone grew more apparent as they ascended. Mikhail glanced at
his wife, but for once the nearness of many matrixes did not appear to be disturbing to
her. Indeed, she had a look about her that suggested she was able to endure the
environment as she never had at Arilinn.
Three floors up they came to an enormous chamber that gleamed with matrix screens,
larger than anything Mikhail had ever seen. The room almost trembled with energy,
and
his first impression was of enormous power. On closer examination, Mikhail noticed
that the screens were full of weaknesses, flaws in the crystal, and the sorts of
misalignments that would have driven any technician to tears.
Amirya was waiting, standing in the center of the room, her lower lip gnawed raw, and
her eyes narrowed to pinpricks. There were dark circles around those eyes, as if she
had not slept in several days, and her hands were clenched. Her will seemed to be all
that was keeping her from collapsing, and he had a moment of pity for her. Then he
looked at the sick
leroni
waiting around her, their hands limp against their sides, and it
vanished. He could almost smell her fear.
The west screen is malfunctioning again. Fix it!
Two of the benumbed
leroni
shuffled across the floor, dragging their feet. He could
sense them resisting, in spite of their drugged minds. The woman Marguerida had
helped on the stairs gave them a swift glance, and just the hint of a smile. He wondered
if there was any way his wife could help the others in the same way, without Amirya
becoming aware of it. A plan started to rise in his mind.
He watched the two, a man and the woman from the stairs, approach the screen. They
both pulled on thick gauntlets, their movements clumsy. They looked at the screen, and
then the woman did something he could not quite see. When she turned, she had a
large matrix stone in her hands.
Amirya cursed in a hissing whisper, as if her control were ready to snap completely.
No, no! Fix it, I said!
Domna,
this crystal is cracked.
It was not cracked last night!
Even in the mind, her words rang shrill, on the edge of
hysteria.
We-must finish the mining tonight!
Domna,
the crystal is ruined.
Amirya flew across and struck the woman across the face, screaming with frustration.
Then the room was very quiet. The woman recovered a little, grew calmer.
Replace the
crystal!
Domna,
we have nothing to use.
There was a dullness in the reply, a lack of emotion,
but Mikhail was certain that this was a ruse. Amirya was too harried and exhausted to
notice that the woman was no longer completely helpless.
It looks as if these poor slaves have been doing a little sabotage of their own, Mik.
Yes, I think you are correct. And Amirya's problem is that in order to keep them
working meekly, she has to keep them drugged, and drugged people make stupid
mistakes. More, she doesn't have the experience to actually direct a circle
—
notice that
the others are just standing around like dummies. She is on the edge of losing control
—
now, how can we use that to advantage?
Poor Amirya.
The expression on Marguerida's face was compassionate, but there was a
light in her eyes that was cold and terrible. Mikhail hoped she would never turn that
gaze on him, for it was terrifying, and more, there was something quite impersonal in
it. He knew that she would do whatever she had to, and worry about the consequences
later.
He decided that while Amirya was distracted, he should map out this chamber, and one
he sensed beyond a closed door. These had been so well shielded that he had not been
able to penetrate them during his earlier mental excursions, and he realized that if the
poor Keeper had not been forced by circumstances to bring them up, he never would
have had the opportunity at all. She was afraid of them, and would likely have let them
molder in their room until it was too late.
I
don't suppose you have any great ideas how to proceed. Can you see that stuff in the
next room?
What stuff? Oh, that. I can only see it through you, but it looks like some low-grade
uranium, I think. Well, something radioactive anyhow. 1 have no idea if there is
uranium on Darkover. Do you? No wonder Amalie was having fits. This is bad, very
bad, because there is no safe way to get rid of it that I know of. I am not even close to
being a nuclear engineer, Mik.
Can't it be . . . changed?
Changed? Hmm. In theory, any element can be transformed into something else, but
the amount of energy it takes is beyond human reach. I seem to remember something
about being able to turn lead into gold, which was the dream of the alchemists, long
ago, with nuclear materials. Which does not help at all. I can't work at subatomic
levels
—
can you?
I might, if I had a dozen years to study my matrix.
If we had a rocket, we could send it into the sun.
Mikhail knew Marguerida was trying
to keep her own spirits up, but he could feel the sense of despair that was beginning to
eat at her. She was frightened of the glowing stuff in the other chamber, and he was
almost glad that his ignorance kept him from sharing her fear completely.
And if we had wings, we could fly away!
They both fell silent, watching the miserable
leroni
perform tasks with sullen
clumsiness. Their minds might be overshadowed, but something of their wills
remained, or they would not be able to work at all, Mikhail realized. Amirya had to
leave them enough volition to function, and he thought that keeping that balance was
taxing her to the utmost.
The man and woman at the west screen had put down the damaged crystal, and were
lifting another one from a box. The man grunted, shifted his weight abruptly, and the
large stone fell to the floor, shattering into several large chunks. Then the weary man
looked up, glanced at Mikhail, and he saw a momentary flash in the sad eyes, a gleam
of rebellion. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, and he looked down at
the ruined stone, seeming surprised.
The Keeper turned and screeched. Mikhail moved across the chamber, his legs
carrying him without any conscious thought. He reached Amirya, and balled his fist.
Then he brought it up in a swift motion, and caught her chin against his knuckles.
Amirya staggered for a second, then went down in a heap of garments. Mikhail stood
over her unconscious form, struggling with conflicting feelings. He experienced a
profound satisfaction. She had not been expecting a physical assault, only those of
laran.
And she had assumed him drugged into servility. He shook his hand hard. It had
hurt!
The atmosphere in the room shifted. The
leroni
stirred, restless and bewildered. Their
dull eyes regarded Mikhail, and one grizzled fellow started into a slow grin. "Now,
why did none of us think of that?" he asked in a gruff voice.
One woman collapsed, and another started to vomit. The man who had spoken shook
himself, as if trying to rise above the drugs in his body, to free himself of them. But the
others just stood, helpless and exhausted. And from