by Julian May
“What the fuck are you lot talking about?” Calum exploded. “What’s all this Fury-Hydra cack about?”
“Bi ad thosd,” said Catriona, hushing him. “I’ll explain it to you later.” She turned to Masha “The lad Jack: Has he indicated where his sympathies lie on the Unity question?”
“No,” the professor replied. “Annushka says he’s very cagey. Keeps his thoughts to himself and plays the prodigious innocent, skipping all over the map picking up advanced degrees as though he were gathering nuts in May, and spending a lot of time meditating. My mother has heard rumors that there may be some serious physical abnormality in the boy that he masks with his high creativity. She says Severin and Adrien will neither confirm nor deny the matter. Given Jack’s so-called ‘miraculous’ recovery from the genetic horrors of his infancy, some sort of teratism in the remissive state is all too likely.”
“It will be interesting to see how Jack behaves at the next Concilium session,” Catriona said, “when several thousand top-caliber operant minds are focused on him.”
Jacob asked, “Is there any possibility that this totipotent little pisher could be part of the Fury-Hydra combine?”
“Adrien was emphatic on that point,” Hiroshi said. “No member of his family believes Jack is involved in the killings.”
“Then perhaps,” Wasserman murmured, “one of our Rebel mavens who is adept at psychological subtleties might carefully sound the little momzer out.”
Calum’s grin was wolfish. “Go get ’im, Jake.”
Kyle Macdonald had no interest whatsoever in Jack Remillard. He had finished both entrée and dessert and now ogled Masha in a manner that required no mind reader to interpret.
“Has this Jack indicated what profession he plans to follow?” Clint Alvarez asked the question offhandedly.
“Evidently not,” Hiroshi replied. He stirred his tea, tasted it, and returned the mug to the table with a disappointed sigh before addressing Masha. “Kyle has told us that you are here on an exciting family mission, professor. You must be proud and happy that your two grandchildren have spontaneously emerged from latency into the operant state.”
“My happiness is mixed, Dirigent Director. Because Caledonia’s Metapsychic Institute lacks the facilities to train young metas of very high assay, I must take the children to Earth. We’re leaving in two days. This will be especially painful for my granddaughter Dorothea, who is eleven. She’s deeply devoted to her father, who is a widower, and now she’ll have to leave him.”
“Do the youngsters have masterclass potential, then?” Catriona inquired.
Masha hesitated, then finally said, “According to the preliminary test results done here on Caledonia, Kenneth appears to have Grand Master farsensing and coercing abilities. Dorothea … may have all five faculties at levels surpassing that.”
“¡Puñeta!” Clint Alvarez whispered. “Do you mean she might possibly mature to be another paramount?”
Masha looked away. “Both she and her brother are to receive therapy and training at Catherine Remillard’s preceptor establishment in New Hampshire, on Earth. It remains to be seen whether Dorothea reaches her full potential. Because both children will be lonely and confused, I’ve taken sabbatical leave from Edinburgh University in order to be with them. I may even assist in their therapy.”
“Another paramount!” Calum was elated. “And this one a good Scots lassie instead of a fewkin’ Yank-Froggie Remillard!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Catriona, rolling her eyes.
“New Hampshire …” Clint Alvarez seemed to be thinking deeply. “The home ground of the Remillard Dynasty. You might turn up some information important to our cause during your stay, professor.”
Masha appeared to be studying the grubby tablecloth. “I’ll continue to do whatever I can.”
“Get as close to Catherine as you’re able to.” Jacob spoke urgently. “She’s the most private member of the family. Not even Adrien and Severin know how she stands with respect to Unity.”
Masha nodded, and then they sat without speaking for several minutes, the mental façades of the operants adamant and that of Kyle Macdonald leaking maudlin sorrow, for he now realized that Masha would be leaving the Scottish planet almost as soon as she had arrived. Catriona sipped her mint tea pensively. Alvarez finished his cheesecake and then ate Wasserman’s. Jacob huddled inside his plaid with the tam tipped down nearly to his nose, looking like a trapdoor spider in ambush. The waiter came, slapped down a single bill, and ambled off.
From the floor below, a monstrous bass chord thundered out of amps cranked up to the max and settled into the teeth-jarring 16-beat rhythm of neutronium rock. The foundations of the tavern trembled and the inmates of the barroom applauded, whistled, and screamed. Slime Mold was beginning its set.
Hiroshi lifted his voice above the din and asked Masha, “Are there any other things you would like to tell us, professor?”
She shook her head. “Remember that I’m still fairly new at this game. Annushka let me attend Rebel meetings on Earth for less than half a year, even though I passed my ‘entrance exam’ last winter.” She shuddered. “That Cambridge mechanical mind-prober is a devilish thing. I was a total wreck for weeks afterward.”
“But ever so blithe and bonnie now,” her estranged husband said in a broken voice. “Maire, Maire, mo chuid d’en t-saoghal. Ach tha uaibh falbh!”
To her intense annoyance, Masha found she was blushing—and that wasn’t all—at the Gaelic endearment and his sorrow at her leaving him.
Damn Kyle for looking at her with those woebegone calf’s-eyes! The last thing she needed was to have the old passion force its way back into her carefully ordered life.
Ah, but see what a precious pair the two of them made! Rejuvenated, Kyle Macdonald was magnificent, even in his worn-out jacket, frayed shirt, and the limp tartan tie with fresh stains of hogget stew. There she sat with her perfect makeup and her auburn hair neatly arranged, the quietly expensive suit she wore a complete contrast to her young husband’s dashing seediness. The two of them were so unalike they were two poles of a magnet, inevitably attractive to each other as they’d been so many years before …
Masha damned her betraying body that knew what it wanted. She brought herself under control but she knew that Kyle had already caught her out, discovering her vulnerability through that concupiscent ultrasense even nonoperant men possessed. In an instant his melancholy vanished, giving way to perfervid hope. The sexual tension building between them was becoming as palpable as the grinding music assaulting their eardrums.
Hiroshi Kodama rose from his seat and inspected the check. “Please allow me this favor,” he shouted. “I have brought plenty of cash. Shall we say our adieux outside? Otherwise we may have to resort to farspeech after all.”
He put down a neat stack of durofilm money while the others quickly got up and donned their outerwear. Kyle insisted upon helping Masha into her raincoat, behaving with the utmost decorum. They trooped downstairs and out into the appalling weather. When the heavy old door closed, Slime Mold’s musical efforts were still audible—but the decibels no longer approached the near-fatal range.
Sleet had turned the sidewalk and street into a grubby skating rink of black ice. Since nobody except themselves was there to see, Jacob Wasserman erected a psychocreative umbrella above them all and adjusted the ice’s coefficient of friction. He folded up the huge plaid he had wrapped himself in and gave it back to Kyle.
“It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Professor MacGregor-Gawrys,” he said, taking hold of Masha’s soft hand in his sinewy one. He was wearing a shabby scarlet sweat suit that matched the tam. “Keep your courage up and take good care of those grandchildren of yours and Kyle’s. Be sure they get the proper kind of mental nurture.”
“At the appropriate time, I’ll certainly try to convert Kenneth and Dorothea to our Rebel cause. And anyone else I can influence.”
Hiroshi bowed to her. “We’re fortunate to ha
ve such a distinguished new comrade. I look forward to meeting you again at the Concilium session, Masha. I would like you to meet my own dear wife and children.”
Kyle looked at his antique windup wristwatch and cursed. “You offworlders are going to miss the Killiekrankie shuttle if we don’t egg out of here right now. My aircraft’s in the alley around back. It’ll carry four.”
Then Kyle realized what he had just said. Wasserman, Kodama, Alvarez, and him! There was no room in his damned old Porsche egg for anyone else. “I—I’m afraid the rest of you will have to call taxis.” He looked at Masha despairingly. “See you again sometime, luv.”
A totally unexpected pang of disappointment stabbed her, and she was certain that the dismay must have shown on her face. She was scheduled to take the children to Earth in two days. There was enough time for the flight to and from Beinn Bhiorach, but none to spare.
“So very kind of you to volunteer to fly us, Kyle,” Hiroshi said. He gestured skyward with a gloved hand. A glint of humor shone in his eye. “But we would not dream of imposing on you. Fortuitously, I managed to coerce two egg-limousines into providing us with transport. And here they come. Perhaps you would like to take Masha back to her hotel.”
A miracle! The writer and the professor stood side by side in the freezing rain (the creative umbrella having been abolished for prudence’s sake) as two luxurious rhocraft materialized out of the torrent like ghostly illuminated Easter eggs and landed without a sound on the icy street. Hiroshi, Clint, and Jacob climbed into one and Catriona and Calum got into the other. An instant later the aircraft were gone, leaving Kyle and Masha alone together.
“Come on!” he cried, and grabbed her hand. They skidded and slid through a dark gangway, past disposal units, dustbins, and heaps of rubbish covered with a gleaming, glassy shell. His Porsche egg was waiting in the mews, encrusted with ice nearly a centimeter thick.
“Allow me,” said Masha. Her creativity was feeling distinctly better. She pointed a finger at the frozen lockpad and a faint beam of metapsychic energy shone forth, melting the icy covering. Kyle poked through the resulting hole and quickly tapped out the DEFROST and OPEN codes. Within moments the door gaped with a tinkle like breaking crystal.
He tossed the bundled plaid inside and they fell in after it, laughing. He slammed the door behind them, lit up the rho-field, and the rest of the ice crust vanished in a great cloud of steam.
“My place,” he said, “or yours?”
“I’m out of my mind,” she wailed. “Oh, you great gowk! I can’t believe this—”
He opened the console storage compartment. “And what, to my wondering eyes, should appear?” He extracted a vial of clear plass and held it before her face. There were greenish-pink spherules inside. “But some poppers of screw-weed for you and me, dear!”
“Hah! You never used to need such things.”
“You’re right!” He tossed the vial aside, seized her, and kissed her until the two of them half suffocated.
“For God’s sake—not here!” she moaned. He was tearing open her raincoat and fumbling at her blouse.
With difficulty, he controlled himself. “High in the stormy sky, then! Into the backseat with ye while I get ’er up!”
“I think,” she said primly, “that you already have.” They both howled with laughter and collapsed into another embrace.
A sobering thought struck her and she pushed him away. “The children! Dorothea and Kenneth—I hired an egg to fly me to Ian’s farm tomorrow. It’ll be at the hotel at five in the morning and we’ll have to—”
“No we won’t,” he bellowed, turning away from her to the rhocraft console. “I’ll cancel the bugger and take ye myself!” He plucked the command microphone out of its clip, called up a map reference, then barked out a flight plan. The Porsche lofted into the sky with inertialess ease: one moment they were in the sleet-clogged alley and the next they were arrowing toward the black stratosphere.
“But, my things—” she protested.
He pressed some buttons and the front seat metamorphosed, merging with the rear banquette to form a single flat padded surface. He began to hum “Roamin’ in the Gloamin’.”
“Kyle, this is madness!”
“What’s the name of the transport service you hired?” She told him and he transmitted the canceling message. “We’ll get other clothes and all the rest on the way to Beinn Bhiorach.” He shook out the big length of tartan wool, singing:
“What a wondrous time we had on that old MacGregor plaid, Oh, it’s lovely roamin’ in the gloamin’!”
“Nach bu tu an t-urraisg,” she whispered. “What a fool you are!” And came to him.
16
SECTOR 12: STAR 12-337-010 [GRIAN] PLANET 4 [CALEDONIA]
36 MIOS MEADHONACH A’ GHEAMHRAIDH [29 AUGUST] 2068
Mum? Mummie? But … you’re dead.
This is a dream, isn’t it.
Then you’re not like my angel.
My angel. [Image.] He’s a preprogrammed mental response who acts as a kind of psychic counselor and guide to my metafaculties. Not a real person. But he was installed by somebody real.
I don’t know.
Mum, please don’t do that! You can’t coerce me like you did when I was a baby.
What’s that?
… That’s why you came?
No he won’t! I’ve … redacted some of his fear away. He doesn’t know how to show love very well because that’s the kind of person he is. But he loves me as well as he can, and I love him.
I wish I could stay here! I wish I could have kept the powers hidden.
I don’t! I never did such a thing!
Dad wishes … that Kenny had been like Gavin. Strong and outspoken. But he never treats Kenny badly, and he does love
him.
Yes. A vocation is when a person is called to do something important.
Mummie, that would be nice. But I wish you wouldn’t for a while. I’m all mixed up inside—
I have to work it out for myself. [Obstinacy.] Otherwise it won’t be … done right.
Now that I’m operant.
Will you be Kenny’s friend, and come into his dreams, too?
Mum, I want to ask you something. I hope you won’t be angry.
Did Jack send you?
He’s a person who’s tried to bespeak me. Not lately, but a while ago. His mind is so powerful that it frightened me, and I refused to answer him. He says he’s a boy, living on Earth. Do you know him? Is he the one who told you I was operant and sent you to me?