The Adversary

by Julian May

  Now, as Tony waited for the Firvulag to evacuate Bardelask, he began to wonder which, if any, of his old silver-tore comrades might have survived the destruction of Finiah. Where were they now—old Yevgeny and Stendal, cocky Liem and stolid Tiny Tim, luscious Lisette and Agnes Virgin-Martyr? Now he could call them ... and for an hour or so, he did. But the signatures broadcast into the aether evoked not a single response. His friends of yore were either detorced or dead, lost in the chaos of changing times. He had no desire to farspeak his former Tanu associates, not even those who had called themselves his Creative Siblings. The exotics wouldn't care about him, a single human outcast among thousands of others. They had troubles of their own these days, poor devils—and not a few of them human-caused.

  There was Dougal. Mad but loyal, he had been some kind of friend.

  But Dougal had worn no tore, and by now he was probably maggot-meat in the Hercynian Forest, where Karbree the Worm's patrol had ambushed them. No ... there was only one living soul left in the Many-Colored Land who might care if Tony Wayland lived or died.

  Or did she hate him by now? It would serve him right.

  His eyes misted in self-pity and he leaned his head back against the crunchy peanut-sack pillow. Outside the warehouse were the noises of guttural Firvulag commands, whips cracking, hellads and chalikos snorting and blowing, the jingle of harness, the thump and thud of loading. It was hot and humid and tedious—time to call upon the tore's solace.

  Then he heard an exotic's rage-filled roar. A human shriek bubbled and then stilled. Tony switched to the gray band and heard:

  Damndamndamn look at poorWerner!

  Poor sod should know better use figureeight hitch loose load like that bound spill—

  But to pull his tongue out?

  His fault for lipping Spook.

  MaryMother he's bleeding death!

  Sowhat? Weall be dead soon.

  Lookoutlookout here come 3 Jabberwocks OChrist with zappers—

  Sickened, Tony shut them out. There was nothing he could do to help the poor doomed bastards. Wails sounded outside, and curses, and a certain word barked out loudly in the Firvulag language. Then came sizzling chirps from Matsu carbines, one note after another in precise rhythm, until the human babble was stilled.

  Tony let the tore's bright comfort cover him. He saw himself crossing the Rhone in a stolen boat, traveling cautiously north on the Great Road, surviving by his wits and the cachet of mental gold. Once the Truce began, the track north of Roniah would be mobbed with sports lovers of all three races, peacefully heading up to the Grand Tourney. It would be safe to travel openly then. He would go up the Saone trail, pass Firvulag-held Burask (harmless in Truce Time), and finally voyage down the Nonol to the only sanctuary left to him—the city with toadstool domes that gleamed like El Dorado, the city hemmed with meadows and linked to the tournament Field of Gold by a rain- bow bridge. The city of monsters, the city of friends. He would go home to Nionel and Rowane.

  Rapt in the fantasy, he held her and knew joy. Later he woke to find that the sun had set and it was much cooler. Except for the distant howls of hyenas and the squeaking of rats in the warehouse, Bardelask was utterly silent.

  Tony stood up, brushed peanut shells from his clothes, and went confidently down the loft ladder. Outside on the quay he found what he was afraid he would find. But there was also a stout little wherry, complete with oars, tied up below the devastated ship chandler's shop. After a brief foray for items that the Firvulag had thought too insignificant for looting, Tony was ready to cast off. The boat floated on the placid Ysaar and there was no need to row. The current would carry him to the confluence with the Rhone, less than a kilometer away, and he could camp on the opposite bank of the larger river and start out for home in the morning.

  11

  AIKEN: Greetings, Elizabeth.

  ELIZABETH: Hello and congratulations! I see you're ready to leave Calamosk with the all-terrain vehicles. You've been very adroit in handling the young North Americans.

  AIKEN: They've swallowed my bluff, if that's what you mean. And for the moment, they're willing to accept my authority. Hagen Remillard suspects something fishy might be going on, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is.

  ELIZABETH: He's tried to probe you?

  AIKEN: That's his sister's gig ... but no, they've been discreet so far. Still sniffing me out.

  ELIZABETH: Are you heading directly back to Goriah now?

  AIKEN: All of us except the expedition to the Alps. They'll split from our caravan at the Amalizan crossroads. Sail across Lac Provençal and then head into the mountains along the trail behind Darask. They'll approach Monte Rosa via the Italian back door. Bleyn's on his way down from Goriah to lead the expedition and Ochal the Harper will be his second. I'm sending seven of the fifteen fourplex ATVs, with ten of Hagen's nontechnical people as drivers. Basil and his Bastards will go, of course—all except one guy named Dimitri Anastos, who's some kind of hotshot u-field engineer. Hagen thought he might come in handy on the time-gate project. I'm filling out the expedition with thirty-odd Tanu and elite golds, armed to the teeth. Those aircraft are the family jewels, babe. Time-gate or no time-gate, I'll be truly snookered if I don't get my hands on them in time to counter Marc and the Firvulag. You could help the expedition, if you would.

  ELIZABETH: Routemaking?

  AIKEN: Primarily. The Darask people say that nobody knows the territory east of the Maritimes. To the north is Famorel, of course. The expedition wants to avoid an encounter with Mimee's forces at all costs. If you could keep an eye out, steer them away from hostiles, show them the fastest routes for the ATVs, you'd save lives.

  ELIZABETH: Of course. I'll be glad to.

  AIKEN: [Relief.] I was afraid it might be against one of your damn principles.

  ELIZABETH: I can't assist you in aggression, Aiken. This is nothing of the sort. Your acquisition of the aircraft may prevent war.

  AIKEN: It better.

  ELIZABETH: Will you begin work immediately on the Guderian device?

  AIKEN: I've got Alberonn and Lady Morna-Ia tracking down likely technicians and other boffin types right now. They'll assemble the personnel in Goriah. I wish I could hide the project away in some secret spot where Marc wouldn'tbe able to find it—but I wouldn't trust Hagen out of my sight, and there are some other specimens among those young rascals who make him look like Sir Galahad. Oh, we're getting along famously.

  ELIZABETH: Do you really think it will be possible to build the tau-field generator?

  AIKEN: These North Americans brought a hell of a lot of stuff with them—components, manufacturing apparatus, gadgets galore. And we'll probably find more useful items in the Goriah store that Kuhal and Celo mopped up for me. They're finishing the new inventory now. The most difficult raw material will be some rare-earth element Hagen says we'll have to mine in Fennoscandia. Even with an aerial survey, it'll be the devil's own job to locate the ores. None of the Tanu are familiar with that northern country.

  ELIZABETH: You should enlist Sugoll's help.

  AIKEN: ?

  ELIZABETH: Numbers of his people lived in that region prior to the Howler ingathering. Some may still remain. I know that many mutants were keen miners of jewels and precious metals. If you described these rare-earth minerals to them, they might be able to expedite your survey.

  AIKEN: Great idea. I'll farspeak Sugoll, spin him some yarn—

  ELIZABETH: Tell him the truth. About everything.

  AIKEN: You don't think he'd ... oh, my God, no!

  ELIZABETH: All peace-loving persons in the Many-Colored Land must know about the time-gate. And have the option to choose.

  AIKEN: [Laughter.] Oh, Woman! I can just see it. Nine or ten thousand hobgoblins pouring out of the gate into twenty-second-century France! There goes the neighborhood! The Milieu would have to find a spare planet or something.

  ELIZABETH: You could be dirigent.

  AIKEN: Who said I was returning?

&nb
sp; ELIZABETH: Aren't you? I took it for granted.

  AIKEN: Take yourself for granted, sweets. The gate project is a long, long shot at a murky target. I have plenty of other troubles to keep me amused. Such as regaining my own sanity and powers before that damned Abaddon lands in Europe.

  ELIZABETH: Aiken ... I thought you knew about Marc's d-jumping ability. [Image.] He came here. To Black Crag. He doesn't have the faculty under control yet, but it won't be long before he's able to teleport anywhere in the world.

  AIKEN: Then Hagen was telling the truth. I hoped hehad it wrong—that Marc was only pulling some sophisticated bilocation stunt with his augmented farsenses and creativity.

  ELIZABETH: He materialized inside my chalet.

  AIKEN: Jesus! Did he threaten you?

  ELIZABETH: No.

  AIKEN: I can give you a sigma generator. Hagen doesn't think Marc will be able to d-jump through its force-field.

  ELIZABETH: Thank you, but no. I must deal with Marc in my own way.

  AIKEN: You have a way? Nice! I wish I could say the same. We've been hiding under Hagen's big SR-35 sigma for our conferences here so Marc couldn't farpeep or join the party—and I'll use the thing in Goriah to shield the Guderian project. But the King can't live permanently inside a friggerty silver fishbowl ... When Marc gets his act together, he'll put the screws on me proper. And I'm scared, sweets. When he finds out about the gate project, he'll try to burn me—and maybe succeed.

  ELIZABETH: He's much weaker than he was before. Felice injured both his body and his brain.

  AIKEN: That's what Hagen and Cloud said. But they didn't know how seriously his barebrain wattage had been diminished. Even if he's ninety percent wrecked, he's probably more than a match for Me right now!...Not to mention the help he'll get from them.

  ELIZABETH: [Concern.] Them. You're not talking about the Remillard children and their friends, or the older Rebels—

  AIKEN: [Quiet laughter.]

  ELIZABETH: ... There's been no improvement in your subsumption?

  AIKEN: I'm losing ground, if anything.

  ELIZABETH: Symptoms?

  AIKEN: I haven't slept since the fight with Nodonn. Ten perishing days. I can barely fly, let alone carry anything. My creativity is shot except for illusion making. The redaction is just about wiped out. I can stillcoerce. (Wouldn't you know?) I can farsense, but it hurts like hell.

  ELIZABETH: I never would have known. You have a very deceptive psychosurface.

  AIKEN: [Desperate weariness.] You mean, dear lady, that I am tricky. It may be my last bastion of survival. If I don't get some help soon, I'll be stark raving mad before Truce.

  ELIZABETH: Oh, Aiken.

  AIKEN: Well? I'm ready. Say the word, and I'll come.

  ELIZABETH: To Black Crag—?

  AIKEN: Unless you've learned to deep-redact at distance. The ATV train leaves Calamosk within the hour. It'll take us less than two days to reach the Amalizan cutoff where we rendezvous with Bleyn and split off the Alpine expedition. Black Crag is only eighty kloms from there as the golden falcon flies. I think I canjust about make it. Say—on the evening of September fifth.

  ELIZABETH: Aiken ... I'm expecting Marc to return here. It wouldn't be safe for you to come. Not even with the sigma. He mustn't ... I don'tdare...

  AIKEN: [Anger + fear.] Maybe you think I'm joking about my mental state! Well, I'm not. During the day when I'm busy it's not so bad. But every night they get bigger, more out of control. They're doing it that way so the last joke will be on me. I won't just die, I'll die ridiculous!

  ELIZABETH: I don't understand. You say you're experiencing hallucinations now along with the metapsychic weakening and the pain?

  AIKEN: It's not a delusion! It's real [image] real grotesque I'm so ashamed it can't be happening [image] not to Me and Mine they're dead there's no way they can be doing it [image] making me swell and burn and drain away again [image] and again [image] not real or real it doesn't matter because it's ruining me Me meELIZABETH HELP ME!! [Supremely obscene montage abruptly cut off]

  ELIZABETH: Yes. Of course I'll help. I'll come to you.

  AIKEN: Come?

  ELIZABETH: Be easy, dear. I'll come. Minanonn will bring me—and Dionket and Creyn as well. We'll help you.

  AIKEN: Alone. Come alone. (Nobody must know! Nobody must know!)

  ELIZABETH: I'll need help, just as I did when I redacted you on the Rio Genii, after the battle with Felice. Trust me.

  AIKEN: You'll really come?

  ELIZABETH: Yes. Now listen to me. We'll need a secure place. We don't want to use the sigma. The thing is a virtual beacon to a long-distance farsensor and Marc mustn't suspect that I'm working on you.

  AIKEN: (Nobody must know! Him above all! Humiliation! Ridicule! A jest on the jester!)

  ELIZABETH: There are more important reasons for secrecy. I can only help you to set up a skeletal structure for your reintegration. A mental framework for you to mount the subsumed faculties on.

  AIKEN: I won't be cured...?

  ELIZABETH: You'll be freed of distressing symptoms if the redaction succeeds, able to reestablish your metafaculties by yourself. You'll heal, just as you did after the Rio Genii. But you don't want your enemies to know your weakness.

  AIKEN: (Nobody must know the shame.)

  ELIZABETH: Listen. I've asked Minanonn, and he saysthere's a suitable place about twenty kilometers southwest of the trails junction. [Image.] It's a disused Firvulag cave, abandoned centuries ago when the Little People withdrewfrom southern France.

  AIKEN: Yes. I see. You want to meet me there?

  ELIZABETH: Try to be inside the cave before sundownon the fifth. Marc seems to do his d-jumping by night to minimize solar interference withthe upsilon-field.

  AIKEN: They grow at night, too. Even if I sleep under the sigma.

  ELIZABETH: You'll be better soon.

  AIKEN: Are you sure?

  ELIZABETH: No, I'm not. What you did—the subsumption—is unprecedented. But I'm going to do my best to help you.

  AIKEN: Please. Please. Try anything. Oh Elizabeth they're so freakish so enormous and now It's bigger than all the rest of my body controlling me punishing me making me Its slave making me hate It because I used It I didn't know it would happen didn't think why how I did it—

  ELIZABETH: Tell yourself it's only a delusion. A dream. Not real.

  AIKEN: Not happening to my body?

  ELIZABETH: No, dear. Be easy. Wait for me in the cave. It will be all right. (Please let it be.)

  AIKEN: Yes. I told myself that.

  ELIZABETH: Goodbye, Aiken. (Goodbye poor demigodling, poor rampant Loki, poor priapic Fool, poor Mentu-Ra with the fiery mentule, poor Ithyphallikos. Now we both know what a terrible thing it is to live the myth of our own choosing.)

  ***

  The storm, racing along the front of the Pyrénées, came into view shortly after Minanonn carried Elizabeth, Dionket, and Creyn over the valley of the Proto-Aude to the Great South Road. Anvil-headed cloud cells formed a long rank from the Gulf of Lions into the angry sunset. They were filmy white at their stratospheric tops and purplish black below, tinged with lurid brushstrokes of copper on their western flanks, where the lowering sun still sulked. Lightning flickered in their hearts and beneath the gray-curtained bases. A low rumble of thunder became almost continuous as Minanonn bore his passengers farther south.

  "Don't worry," the former Battlemaster reassured Elizabeth. "We'll be at the cave ahead of the rain."

  "It will mean an end to this awful heat wave, at any rate," she said.

  "Has it seriously distressed you?" Dionket asked in surprise. "I found it pleasant myself. Reminiscent of Duat. We could have used a bit more humidity, though, to make it genuinely homelike."

  "You First Comers!" Creyn said, amused. "Nostalgic for the ancestral hellhole."

  "Nonsense, lad," said Minanonn. "Duat was much more comfort able than this planet. A soft haze to temper the sun's glare, never these prolonged droughts for part
of the year and half drowning the rest. On Duat, the rains came fairly uniformly all year round. And the temperature was rarely low enough to chill, even at aphelion."

  "He speaks of the Tanu motherlands, of course," Dionket explained. "We lived in the equatorial regions and the Firvulag at the poles, where the really high mountains were. Ghastly country, that of the Foe. Constant winter."

  "No changing seasons at all?" Elizabeth asked.

  "None to speak of," said the Lord Healer. "Our planetary axis had a minimal tilt."

  "A stiff-necked world," Creyn observed, "like the peoples it bred. Fortunately, the spawn of Duat's daughter-planets proved more flexible. It was they who engendered the peaceful galactic federation that rejected Duat's attempt— our attempt—to reintroduce the ancient battle-religion."

  "Brede told me something of your history," Elizabeth said. Her gaze was fixed on the looming line of thunderheads. "At the time of your exile, were the Duat colonies the only planets in your galaxy that had an interstellar socioeconomy?"

  "The only planets," Dionket said, "but not the only people. There were the Ships."

  "The Ships." Elizabeth's voice was tinged with wonder. "They seem incredible, even though I have Brede's glass model. How could highly intelligent life-forms evolve in a void?"

  "There is no void," said the Lord Healer. "The space between the stars is pervaded by matter and energy. All of the organic molecules necessary for the generation of life are present in the clouds of dust that drift through the galaxies. This one, as well as the star-whirl of Duat that is its sister."