Half stunned, but conscious, I looked up at Callina. The alien mind was torn free of mine. The screen was blank.
And in a crumpled heap on the floor, at the base of the Screen, where she had fallen, lay a slender, dark-haired girl.
* * *
CHAPTER NINE
Unsteadily, Callina knelt beside the crumpled form. I followed slowly, and bent over beside her.
"She isn't dead?"
"Of course not." Callina looked up. "But that was terrible, even for us. What do you think it was like for her? She's in shock."
The girl was lying on her side, one arm across her face.
Soft brown hair, falling forward, hid her features. I brushed it lightly back--then stopped, my hand still touching her cheek, in dazed bewilderment.
"It's Linnell," Callina choked. "Linnell!"
Lying on the cold floor was the girl on the spaceport; the girl I had seen in my first confused moments in Thendara.
For a moment, even knowing as I did what had happened, I thought my mind would give way. The transition had taken its toll of me, too. Every nerve in my body ached.
"What have we done?" Callina moaned. "What have we done?"
I held her tight. Of course, I thought; of course. Linnell was near; she was close to both of us; we had both been talking, and thinking of Linnell tonight. And yet…
"You know Cherillys' two point law?" I tried to put it into simple words. "Everything, everywhere, except a matrix, exists in one exact duplicate. This chair, my cloak, the screwdriver on your table, the public fountain in Port Chicago--everything in the universe exists in one exact molecular duplicate. Nothing is unique except a matrix; but there are no three things alike in the universe."
"Then this is--Linnell's twin?"
"More than that. Only once in a million years or so would duplicates also be twins. This is her real twin. Same fingerprints. Same retinal eye patterns. Same betagraphs and blood type. She won't be much like Linnell in personality, probably, because the duplicates of Linnell's environment are scattered all over the galaxy. But in flesh and blood, they're identical. Even her chromosomes are identical with Linnell's.
I took up the girl's wrist and turned it over. The curious matrix mark of the Comyn was duplicated there. "Birthmark," I said, "but the effect is identical in her flesh. See?"
I stood up. Callina stared and stared. "Can she live in this environment, then?"
"Why not? If she's Linnell's duplicate, she breathes oxygen in the same ratio we do, and her internal organs are adjusted to about the same gravity."
"Can you carry her? She'll get another bad shock if she wakes up in this place!" Callina indicated the matrix equipment.
I grinned humorlessly.- "She'll get one anyway." But I managed to scoop her up, one-armed. She was frail and light, like Linnell. Callina held curtains aside for me, showed me where to lay her. I covered the girl, for it was cold, and Callina murmured, "I wonder where she comes from?"
"She was born on a world with gravity about the same as Darkover, which narrows it considerably. Vialles, Wolf, even Terra. Or, of course, some planet we never heard of." Her speech had impressed me as Terran; but I hadn't told Callina about that episode on the spaceport, and didn't intend to. "Let's leave her to sleep off the shock, and get some sleep Ourselves."
Callina stood in the door with me, her hands locked on mine. She looked haggard and worn, but lovely to me after the shared danger, shared weariness. I bent and kissed her.
"Callina," I whispered. It was half a question, but she freed her hand gently and I did not press her. She was right. We were both desperately exhausted. It would have been raving insanity. I put her gently away and went out without looking back. It was raining hard, but until the wet red morning rose sunlessly over Thendara I paced the courtyard, restless, and the drops on my face were not all rain.
Toward dawn I fought back to self-control, and went back to the Keeper's Tower. I was afraid that without Callina at my side I would not find a way into the blue-ice room, or that Ashara had vanished into some inaccessible place. But she was there; and such was the illusion of the frosty light, or of my tired eyes, that she seemed younger, less guarded; like a strange, icy, inhuman Callina. My brain almost refused to think clearly, but I finally managed to formulate my plea.
"You can see--time. Tell me. The child Dyan calls mine--"
"It is yours," Ashara said.
"Who-"
"I know. You've been celibate, except for Diotima Ridenow Comyn, since your Marjorie died." She looked right through my astonished stare. "No, I didn't read your mind, I thought the Ridenow girl might be suitable to train as I--as I trained Callina. She was not. I'm not concerned with your moralities or Diotima's; it's a matter of physical nerve alignments." She went on, passionlessly, "Hastur would not accept the bare word of those who brought the child; so he brought her to my keeping for search. She is here in the Tower. You may see her. She is yours. Come with me."
To my surprise--I don't know why, but somehow I had felt that Ashara could not leave her strange blue-ice room-she led me through another of the bewildering blue doors and into a plain circular room. One of the furry nonhuman mutes--the servants of the Keeper's Tower--scurried away on noiseless padded feet.
In the cool normal light Ashara's flickering figure was colorless, almost invisible. I wondered; was it the sorceress herself, or merely a projection she wanted me to see? The room was simply furnished, and on a narrow white cot at the center, a little girl lay fast asleep. Pale reddish-gold hair lay scattered on the pillow.
I went slowly to the child, and looked down. She was very small; five or six, maybe younger. And as I looked down I knew they had told the truth. In ways impossible to explain, except to a telepath and an Alton, I knew; this was my own child, born of my own seed. The tiny triangular face bore not the slightest resemblance to my own; but my blood knew. Not my father's. Not my brother's. My own. My flesh.
"Who was her mother?" I asked softly.
"You'll be happier all your life if I never tell you."
"I can take it! Some light woman of Carthon or Daillon?"
"No."
The child murmured, stirred and opened her eyes. I took one step toward her--then turned, in an agony of appeal, on Ashara. Those eyes, those eyes, gold-flecked amber…
"Marjorie," I said hoarsely, painfully, "Marjorie died, she died …"
"She is not Marjorie Scott's daughter." Ashara's voice was clear, cool, pitiless. "Her mother was Thyra Scott."
"Thyra? I fought an insane impulse to laugh. "Thyra? That's impossible! I never--I wouldn't have touched that she-devil's fingertips, much less--"
"Nevertheless, this is your child. And Thyra's. The details are not clear to me. There is a time--I am not sure. They may have had you drugged, hypnotized. Perhaps I could find out. It would not be easy, even for me. That part of your mind is a closed and sealed room. It does not matter."
I shut my teeth on a black, sickening rage. Thyra! That red hellion, so like and so unlike Marjorie, perfect foil for Kadarin! What had they done? How--
"It does not matter. It is your child."
Resentfully, accepting the fact, I glowered at the little girl. She sat up, tense as a scared small animal, and it wrenched at me with sudden hurt. I had seen Marjorie look like that. Small, scared. Lost and lonesome.
I said, as gently as I could, "Don't be afraid of me, chiya. I'm not a very pretty sight, but I don't eat little girls."
The little girl smiled. The small pointed face was suddenly charming; a tiny gnome's grin marred by a dimple. There were twin gaps in the straight little teeth.
"They said you were my father."
I turned, but Ashara was gone, leaving me alone with my unexpected daughter. I sat down uneasily on the edge of the cot. "So it would seem. How do they call you, chiya?"
"Marja," she said shyly. "I mean Marguerhia--" she lisped the name, Marjorie's name, in the odd old-world dialect still heard in the mountains sometimes. "Margue
rhia Kadarin, but I just be Marja." She knelt upright, looking me over. "Where is your other hand?"
I laughed uneasily. I wasn't used to children. "It was hurt, and they had to take it off."
Her amber eyes were enormous. She snuggled against my knee, and I put my aim around her, still trying to get it clear in my mind.
Thyra's child. Thyra Scott had been Kadarin's wife--if you could call it that. But everyone knew he was rumored to be half-brother to the Scotts, Zeb Scott's child by one of the half-human mountain things. Back in the Hellers, half-brothers and sisters sometimes married; and it was not uncommon for such a marriage to adopt the child of one by someone else, thus avoiding the worst consequences of too much inbreeding. I scowled, trying to penetrate the gray murk which surrounded part of the Sharra affair in my mind. I had never probed that partial amnesia; I had felt, instinctively, that madness might lie there.
Perhaps I had been drugged with aphrosone. I knew how that worked. The one drugged lives a life outwardly normal, 15ut he himself knows nothing of what he does, losing continuity of thought between each breath. Memory is retained in symbolic dreams; a psychiatrist, hearing what was dreamed during the time spent under aphrosone, can unravel the symbols and tell the victim what really happened. I had never wanted to know. I didn't now.
"Where were you brought up, Marja?"
"In a big house with a lot of other little girls and boys," she said. "They're orphans. I'm not. I'm something else. Matron says it's a wicked word I must never, never say, but I'll whisper it to you."
"Don't." I winced slightly; I could guess.
And Lawton, in the Trade City, had told me; Kadarin never goes anywhere--except to the spaceman's orphanage.
Marja put her head sleepily on my shoulder. I started to lay her down. Then I felt a curious stir and realized, abruptly, that the child had reached out and made contact with my mind!
The thought was staggering. Amazed, I stared at the tiny girl. Impossible! Children do not have telepathic power--even Alton children! Never!
Never? I couldn't say that; obviously, Marja did have it.
I caught my arms around her; but I broke the contact gently, not knowing how much she could endure.
But one thing I did know. Whoever had the legal right of it, this little girl was mine! And no one and nothing was going to keep her from me. Marjorie was dead; but Marja lived, whoever her parents, with Marjorie's face sketched in her features, the child Marjorie would have borne me if she had lived, and the rest was better forgotten. And if anyone--Hastur, Dyan, Kadarin himself--thought they could keep my daughter from me, they were welcome to try!
Dawn was paling outside the tower, and abruptly I was conscious of exhaustion. I had had quite a night. I laid Marja down in the cot; drew up the warm covers under her chin. She looked up at me wistfully, without a word.
On an impulse I bent and hugged her. "Sleep well, little daughter," I said, and went very softly out of the room.
* * *
CHAPTER TEN
The next day, Beltran of Aldaran, with his mountain escort, came to the Comyn Castle.
I had not wanted to be present at the ceremonies which welcomed him; but Hastur insisted and I finally agreed. I'd have to meet Beltran sometime. It had better be among strangers where we could both be impersonal.
He greeted me with some constraint; we had once been friends, but the past lay between us, with its grim shadow of blood. I was grateful for the set phrases of custom; I could mouth them without examining them for a hostility I dared not show.
Beltran presented me, ceremoniously, to some of his escort. A few of them remembered me from years ago; but I looked away as I met a dark familiar face.
"You remember Rafael Scott," Beltran of Aldaran said.
I did.
There is no such word as endless, or the ceremonies would still be going on. However, at last Beltran and his people were handed over to servants, to be shown to rooms, fed, and permitted to recuperate for the further formalities of the evening. As we dispersed, Rafe Scott followed me from the hall, and I turned to him brusquely.
"Listen, you," I said, "you're here under Beltran's safe-conduct, and I can't lay a hand on you. But I warn you--"
"What the hell's the matter?" he demanded. "Didn't Marius explain? Where is Marius, anyhow?"
I looked at him, bitterly. This time I would not be taken in by the confiding manner that had gulled me before, when I was sick from space and too trusting to doubt him.
He laid rough hands on me. "Where's Marius, damn you?" It got to him, through the touch. He let me go and fell back. "Dead! Oh, no--no!" He covered his face with his hands, and this time I could not doubt his sincerity. That momentary shock of rapport had at least convinced us that we were telling the truth to each other.
His voice was not steady when he spoke. "He was my friend, Lew. The best friend I had. May I die in Sharra's fire if I had a hand in it."
"Can you blame me for doubting you? You were the only one who knew I had the Sharra matrix, and they killed him to get it."
He said evenly, "Believe what you like, but I haven't seen Kadarin twice in the last year." His face was wrung with grief. "Didn't Marius ever get a chance to explain it to you? Damn it, if I wanted to hurt him, would I have loaned him my pistol? He gave it to the Ridenow boy--Lerrys--because he was afraid to take it into the Terran Zone. Like I said, it has the contraband mark on it. I have a permit but he didn't. When you thought I was Marius, I pretended--I thought, if I could only get a chance to keep the two of you apart, until you understood what was going to happen--"
I could not disbelieve his sincerity. After a moment I put my hand on his shoulder. Had we been Darlcovan men, we would have embraced and wept; but we both have the reserve of our Terran blood. I said baldly, at last, "You have seen Kadarin?"
"A few times, with Thyra. I've tried to keep out of his way." Rafe looked at me, oddly. "Oh, I see. They've told you about her baby."
"And mine," I said grimly. "I imagine I was drugged with aphrosone. Why did she do it?"
"I don't know," Rafe said. "Thyra never tells anyone anything. There's an odd streak in Thyra--almost inhuman. She's very strange with the baby, too. In the end Bob had to put the kid in the spaceman's orphanage. He didn't want to. He loved the kid."
"And knew she was mine?" It didn't make sense, any of it. Least of all that a child of mine had grown up to call Kadarin father, to bear his name, to love him.
"Of course he knew. How could he help it? I think he made Thyra do it," Rafe said. "He's had Marja home a dozen times, but he couldn't keep her. Thyra--"
But before he could go on, we were interrupted by a palace servant with a message from Callina.
"We'll talk again," Rafe said, as I took my leave. And I was not sure whether it was a promise or a threat.
Callina looked tired and harried.
"The girl's awake," she greeted me. "She was hysterical when she came to; I gave her a sedative, and she's calmed down a little. Lew, what are we going to do now?"
"I won't know until I see her," I said emptily.
The girl had been moved to a spacious room in the Ail-lard apartments. When we came in, she was lying across a bed, her face buried in the covers; but it was a tearless and defiant face she raised to me.
She was still Linnell's double. She looked more so, having been decently dressed in Darkovan clothing, which I supposed--correctly--to be Linnell's own.
"Please tell me the truth," she said steadily. "Where am I? Oh--" she cried out, and hid her face. "The man with one hand who kissed me on the spaceport, back on Darkover!"
Callina stood apart, a figure of dignified disdain, leaving me to squirm alone. "That was a--a mistake," I said lamely. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lew Alton-Comyn, z'par servu. And you?"
"That's the first sensible thing anyone has said." Although she spoke the language badly, I was amazed at the luck that gave us someone who could speak it at all. "Kathie Marshall."
"Terranan?
"
"Terran, yes. Are you Darkovan? What's all this?"
"I suppose we do owe you an explanation," I said, and broke off, staring with what I suppose must have been a very stupid expression. "But I'm damned if I know how to explain it!"
"You have nothing to fear. We brought you here because we need your help--"
"But why me? Where's here? And what makes you think I'd help you, even if I could--after you've kidnapped me?"
It was, I supposed, a fair question.
Callina said, "Shall we bring Linnell here, and let her see? You were brought here, Kathie, because you are twinned in mind with my sister Linnell. We had to-take the chance that you would be willing to help us, but there will be no compulsion involved. And no one will hurt you."
As Callina moved toward her, Kathie sprang up and backed away. "Twinned minds? That's--that's ridiculous! Where am I?"
"In the Comyn Castle in Thendara."
"Thendara? But that's--that's on Darkover! I--I left Dark-over weeks ago. I arrived on Samarra just last night. No," she said, "no, I'm dreaming. I saw you on Darkover and I'm dreaming about you!" She wasn't to the window and I saw her white hands clench on a fold of curtain. "A--a red sun-- Darkover--oh, I have dreams like this when I can't wake up. I can't wake up--" She was so deathly white that I thought she would faint. Callina came and put an arm around her, and this time Kathie did not pull away.
"Try to believe us, my child," Callina said. "You are on Darkover. Have you heard anything of matrix mechanics? We brought you here like that." It was a grossly inaccurate description, but it calmed her somehow.
"Who are you, then?"
"Callina Aillard. Keeper of the Comyn."
"I've heard about the Keepers," Kathie said shakily. "Look, you--you can't take a Terran citizen, and--and pull her halfway across the Galaxy; my father's going to tear the planet apart looking for me--" Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands. She was only a child. From the child came the scared wail. "I'm afraid! I--I want to go home!"
The Sword of Aldones Page 11