The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  You have thought of something, and you don't want to tell me what it is.

  How did you know?

  Because you always try to distract me from unpleasant things with your jokes, caria.

  I suppose I do. A deplorable character flaw. Very well. I think that Dom Padriac is trying to get fissionable materials.

  What! How did you leap to that idea?

  Several things. I noticed just a bit of a glow on the stairs leading up from the entry, when we came in. It set me thinking. And I remembered that when I was trying to read the entire scriptorium at Arilinn, and driving the archivist nearly mad, I came across a few documents that suggested to me that at one point, low-yield atomic devices were used—during the time we are in now. Damn! My mind feels befuddled. One of the things that Varzil did was put a stop to that, but the knowledge still exists, and I think Dom Padriac intends to use it.

  But why? Mikhail was aware that there were a few places on Darkover which still glowed in the night, and which were avoided by everyone. And his Terranan education had given him a rudimentary knowledge of physics. He was not surprised that Marguerida had a better grasp of it. What science he knew was that of the matrix, not of chemistry or physics as used by the Federation.

  From the little that Amalie told us, I think he has some dispute with the Hasturs in Thendara. Now, Mik, if your foe was in a certain place, and you had the capacity to destroy that place, what would you do?

  Mikhail was too stunned for a moment to reply. It went against everything he believed in. To strike an enemy from a distance was cowardly and dishonorable. But Marguerida was right. During the Ages of Chaos, before the making of the Compact, that was exactly how the small, warring kingdoms had behaved.

  That is horrible! Surely if that had happened . . . there would be some record ...

  Mik, I don't pretend to understand it—but we know it did not happen, and perhaps the reason is that we were the ones to prevent it. But, right now, what we have to do is learn what is actually going on in this Tower, and then figure out what to do. The real question is whether our actions change the future, or preserve it.

  He felt his heart sink. But he looked at her, her lower

  face greasy with fat, her hair tangled, and her golden eyes surrounded by dark circles of fatigue, and felt it lift again. He leaned across the tray between them and planted a messy kiss on her mouth. As long as Marguerida was with him, he was sure he could face anything.

  Mikhail bit into his bread again, and felt his mouth pucker. Was the grain moldy or something? And why was he feeling woozy, with food in him? Weak and stupid. He spat it out. He rose and poured some water from the pitcher on the stand into his hand and cupped it into his mouth.

  Marguerida was looking at him, her eyes unfocused. She . looked down at the food for a moment. "I'll have her guts for garters!" She spoke in Terran, not casta, and Mikhail had to struggle to translate the words. "The food is drugged! Or poisoned." She made a gagging noise, staggered to her feet, and leaned over the bowl on the stand, retching and spewing.

  Mikhail gripped her shoulders, supporting her. She was right, and he spent a futile moment being furious. Then he felt his hand warm beneath his ring, and he sensed a flow of well-being course along his body. Whatever had been in the bread, and perhaps the boiled grain, changed. He watched it transform, amazed and fascinated.

  Marguerida stiffened in his grasp, and he knew she, too, was feeling the incredible sensation of being cleansed. And it was from him, not from her. He, too, could heal. For no reason he could bring to mind, this pleased Mikhail inordinately. She spat once more into the bowl, rinsed her mouth and face, and stood up, leaning against his shoulder. '·'Whatever you just did, I feel better."

  "I do, too. And as for that woman's guts, you are going to have to share them with me!"

  Marguerida laughed and slipped her arms around him. He could sense the roil of her emotions, and knew she was laughing to hold the other feelings at bay, the rage and helplessness. "Here we are, hungry enough to eat a bear, and the food is toxic. And stuck in a dreadful castle as well. Why am I not completely terrified?"

  "I don't know, beloved, but I am glad that you are not. And if I can just discern how, I think I can do something about the food. The fowl is safe, and it is the bread and

  grain which have been poisoned. We will manage, somehow." Mikhail knew he should be afraid, and part of him was. Together they could solve the problem—not separately, but as one. As they were meant to be. And somehow they must survive.

  32

  "t

  M wonder if Amirya is just going to let us sit here, eating our heads off and being bored until the end of the world," Marguerida complained on the fourth afternoon of their confinement.

  "You didn't seem bored an hour ago," Mikhail replied, smiling at her.

  "We can't spend-the rest of our lives making love and sleeping, Mik!"

  "I can think of worse fates, but you are right. It's amazing we haven't gotten on each other's nerves. This room seems to get smaller every time I look at it. But, while you were having a nap earlier, I did some more mapping. I am getting rather good at it."

  '.'Find out anything useful, or were you just eavesdropping?"

  Mikhail shifted on the narrow bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was sitting with his back against the wall, with his legs tucked up tailor fashion, and he ached for freedom. He had learned much during the enforced confinement, though he did not understand all of it yet. "I discovered there is a large cache of explosives on the other side of the Tower—in that stone building with the red door we saw when we arrived."

  "How did you manage that? I still don't understand how you do this mapping trick—do you?"

  "No, I "don't. I assume it is a function of the matrix, and just accept it. All I know is that I can sort of feel spaces, which I could never do before, and sometimes I can sense what is in them. For instance, I know there is a proper banqueting hall in the other tower—very grand, if a little chilly. Dom Padriac spends a good bit of time there, dream-

  ing of destroying Thendara, I suspect. I did not stay long, for fear my presence might be noticed."

  "I am more interested in getting out of here."

  "That won't be easy. This corridor we are on is locked at the end where it goes into the kitchens, from the other side. There is a cook and several servants, but none of them talk very much, so I haven't been able to pick up gossip. Still, there is an air of anticipation that I have noticed, a kind of general anxiety, so I think things are coming to a head. If we could somehow get through that door, and past the kitchen, the stables are about a hundred yards beyond. Then there is the gate, which we could not open between us."

  "Oh, I don't know." Marguerida flexed her left hand and narrowed her eyes. "I think, if I could get to it, I might be able to do something."

  Mikhail studied her. She slept a great deal, and was quiet for long periods, which was a difference that worried him at first. The Marguerida he knew was much more alert and active. Now she seemed dreamy much of the time. But he knew that she was doing some sort of work, for while she was sleeping, he got impressions from her mind that were very complex. Her contact with Varzil's matrix had clearly provoked changes in her that she needed time to integrate. He had the same problem, and had been glad that Amirya had ignored them, instead of putting them to work, as she had promised her brother she would.

  "Yes, you probably could. If we could get there. Which we cannot at present." He shifted again. "I've tried to map the whole place, and the one area I can't penetrate is right over our heads. I can sense a lot of screens, but it is so well dampered that it makes the Crystal Chamber seem like a sieve. And I know that the people in the other rooms go up there, and that they are sick. I've never seen anything like it, Marguerida. They are wasting away."

  On the second night, he had heard the shuffling of many feet outside his door. He had felt their illness, and the silence of their minds as well. They did not seem
to know their own names, and there was none of the normal hum of thoughts that he expected. They did not speak either, which was even more disturbing.

  He followed them with his mind, and was surprised when

  they all seemed to vanish completely a few minutes later. It was then he had discovered that the upper floors of the building were protected by telepathic shields that made it impossible to see beyond them. It was as if the upper stories were invisible, although he knew they were there.

  "I know, and it makes me furious. They are drugged into submission, and I expect Amirya assumes we are as well. But I don't think the drugs are the cause of what ails them—there is some poison in this place and I am not sure we will not fall ill if we remain here much longer. A pity we can't just blast our way out of here."

  "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!

  Dom
na, 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.