The Beauty of Our Weapons

by Jilly Paddock

  I wasn’t worried on your account—it was Jeb. I’ve spent the last day and a half talking him out of staging a gung-ho rescue attempt. I think he had visions of blasting you out of the undercity with Brimstone’s cannons. It was fortunate he’d done most of the work—I was able to lock him out of my systems before he usurped control of the ship. I tried to drug him by slipping a mickey in his coffee, but he wouldn’t drink it. In the end, I had to teleport him into your cabin and seal the door. He’s nearly broken through the code twice, and the language— You wouldn’t believe how much my vocabulary has been widened! I’m afraid that our dear Dr Lucas intends to do me harm when he does get out.

  Oh, Zenni! I tried not to laugh out loud at the thought of Jeb’s fury. Tell him I’m fine, give him a few minutes to calm down and then grant him his freedom. As soon as I can find the others I’ll bring them all back on board.

  I wouldn’t advise mass teleport for an hour or so. Zenni cautioned. Don’t overexert yourself or you’ll find that you haven’t the strength to do anything at all.

  I’ll take it easy. I promised. Where is everybody? Chandre and the child here with me, and Lyall and Meeka back in Krystallya?

  The kidnappers failed to honour their side of the bargain. Zenni observed bitterly. Neither of the captives were released. Lyall and Meeka were waylaid on their way back to the city. Ms Ruhanna and her compatriots betrayed you absolutely. I managed to find Lyall, since he was kept in the same room as you, in a similar drugged state. He was brought to the clearing at the same time as you, so I can only guess that all of you are in the same area.

  I sent out a faltering mental probe. Chandre was beside me to my left, close enough to touch, and Lyall was beyond her. Meeka laid sideways at my feet, near a mind I didn’t know, the unformed, swirly-coloured, picture-book thoughts of a child. All four were insensible, in the thrall of Nansi’s drugs, and I could only guess at their physical condition. If they came out of it as shattered as I felt, I couldn’t expect much help from that quarter. I pulled back from the search, the effort of it making my head throb.

  Jeb is now on the flight deck, Zenni said.

  What did he say?

  All I got out of him was one comment—‘bloody smart-arsed machine!’. There’s silence now. He’s sulking.

  Keep him informed of what we’re doing. We’re in trouble, Zenni, but don’t tell him that. I realised that none of us needed reminding. I’m as weak as a day-old kitten and until I shake that, our psionics aren’t worth a brass farthing. As bad as that is, there’s worse. Nansi knows I’m from EI. Any guesses how she broke my cover?

  I should imagine it was relatively easy. He remained obstinately calm. She obviously has access to Tambouret’s data-net, so she may have high-tech resources that we aren’t aware of. If she knew of Lyall’s call for help, she’d guess that Earth would send an agent in. You turn up on cue and go straight to him—you have to be the one. You’re undercover, in disguise, and too laid back to be a trooper from Terrapol, so you must be Earth Intelligence. I think she knows nothing more about us than that. She was right about you, Anna—your acting may be nothing short of superb, yet you don’t react like an ordinary citizen of some backwater planet like Barnard Three. You’ve seen too much danger to be really terrified and too much horror to be truly shocked. Whatever image you try to project, when push comes to shove you behave like the professional you really are.

  I fouled it up again, huh?

  I didn’t intend to criticise. His inward smile begged forgiveness. You’re the best, Anna, and you always will be.

  Tell me that again when I get us off this lunatic world alive! I snapped the empty foodpak up to Brimstone and received a bag of fruit juice by return post. Now I’m ready to know what gives out there. Tell me the worst.

  I can do better than that. There was a glow of minor triumph in his voice. I sneaked an audio-vis probe down there when they weren’t looking. I can show you what’s happening in real-time.

  Patch me in.

  Jeb’s aware that I’m running a probe and says he wants in on the pictures.

  Bloody smart-arsed tech-wizard! Can I speak to him? I’m not sure that I can run to telepathy over a distance yet.

  I’ll rig you a comm-link tuned to a low sound level.

  After a few seconds I felt the tiny unit materialise inside my ear canal. “Anna?”

  “Hi, honey, I’m home!” I whispered.

  “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

  There was such concern in Jeb’s voice that I shivered at the sound of it, humbled and delighted. So this was love, was it, this strange amalgam of vulnerability and terror? I smirked into the darkness. “No, hardly at all. Minor stuff, scuffs and abrasions. If I let you watch through the probe, will you promise not to do anything rash?”

  “Only if I’m in on the dialogue between you and Zenni.”

  “You strike a hard bargain! Is that possible, letting Jeb hear our conversation on the link?”

  Not only possible, but simple. The words came to me both ways, through mind and ears.

  Jeb laughed softly, impressed with the trick. “If we’re all sitting comfortably, why don’t we begin?”

  The vision was immediate and, in the circumstances, better than my own eyes. Zenni had lodged the probe high in a tree at the edge of the clearing and an improbable scene was spread out below us. The place was packed with Tambou, solid shoulder to shoulder in the livid orange-red glow of lanterns lashed to the lower branches, with only the far end of the clearing unoccupied. The crowd stayed back from the fallen stone and the great bonfire that roared beside it, built to cast light rather than heat. A hum of excitement and expectation rose from the throng, all of their attention riveted on the quartet of figures using the stone as a dais. Sensing my need to look there, Zenni zoomed the focus in on the group.

  Nansi was there, of course, playing the role of High Priestess to the hilt. She’d exchanged her tunic for a dress with a bodice cut to within a fraction of indecency, a billowing skirt and flowing sleeves to hide her extra finger and the sinister circlet around her wrist. The fabric was sheer, all but transparent and black. She wore an ornate silver belt, a flexible tube that encircled her waist and was pulled down to a V in front to follow the line of the skirt. The firelight dripped from her silver hair and flashed malevolently on the mirror lenses that concealed her eyes. Behind her stood the construct, Ruane, silent and unmoving, and beside him the brown-haired Tambou who had assisted in my capture.

  The woman is Nansi Ruhanna and the giant humanoid is a construct. Zenni explained, for Jeb’s benefit. Dismissing them, he settled the probe on the figure at centre stage, the man who commanded the unwavering attention of the crowd.

  He wasn’t native to Tambouret—he was too tall, I guessed at just over six feet compared with the woman, although the massive construct dwarfed him easily. His hair was long and flame-red, making my assumed copper look drab by comparison and, like the Tambou, it tracked along his spine to end in a neat point in the small of his back. He wore only a loincloth, and the curves and hollows of his well-proportioned body were slick with sweat. The lines of his face were sculpted with perfect delicacy, with a fine, straight nose, high cheekbones and a full, strong jawline—the whole could only be described as beautiful, a hero’s face, with pale skin unblemished by freckle or scar. His eyes were dark brown, so dark as to be almost black, and they were framed by superb arched brows and thick lashes, another departure from the native norm, yet he seemed more akin to the Tambou than to Earth-human. He was speaking the local tongue in a rich, powerful voice that filled the harsh, barking language with music. His audience were rapt and responsive; he had their measure exactly and was playing them to the full.

  I let out an appreciative sigh, half-expecting him to be a construct, but he was real enough. I’d met many handsome men in my time; dozens of vain, precious actors whose surgically-perfected faces were their fortune, scores of fans who thought their good looks could buy a favour from their idol. I
even counted more than a few as friends or lovers; Paul, so attractive in a dark, Latin way, my own Jeb, quirky and artistic, with all that enigmatic charm, and even Lyall, who retained much of his boyish good looks, but I’d never seen such a drop-dead gorgeous specimen of manhood before. Few women could claim to be unmoved in the presence of such a man and, even though I viewed him remotely through the probe, my stomach gave that little sinking kick of self-consciousness, as if I stood before him, blushing like a schoolgirl, afraid he’d smile at me.

  “That one’s got enough charisma for three people!” Jeb muttered in my ear.

  Don’t I know it! I fear I’m half in love with him already! I joked—at least, I hoped I was joking. He has the crowd eating out of his hand and I can hardly blame them. What’s he saying? Can you make out any of it?

  I’ve pulled a Tambou-Terran dictionary file up from the data-net, but I’m a long way from being fluent. Zenni admitted. Judging from the sixty percent I do understand, he’s advocating that Tambouret should split from Terra’s trade-empire and create a local alliance of worlds in this sector. He’s fed them the ‘what has Earth ever done for us?’ line, to which the answers seem to be obliterated our natural habitats, flooded us with tourists, milked off all the profits they bring here and foisted us off with its worthless technology. I’d say that what we have here is a hard-line back-to-nature man. He’s been decrying the evils of progress for the best part of the last ten minutes. In his eyes, technology is on a par with original sin; the whole of Tambouret is damned for using it and they won’t get to heaven until they’ve turned their backs on the last microchip. It’s all good, stirring stuff—believe in the powers of Mother Nature, abandon the heresy of electronics, throw off the yoke of Terran domination, brothers and sisters, and ye shall be saved!

  A religious nut is all I need to top off this lethal cocktail! I groaned, as the probe swept over the crowd again. Well, they’re certainly buying it. If anyone can incite rebellion under the guise of a holy war, this pretty messiah can. What are our chances of calling for a touch of help? Perhaps about half of the Terran Navy?

  Care to wait a week? I doubt they’d make it here in less.

  So, yet again, we’re expected to save Terra’s bacon—on our lousy salary, already! I put out a tenous scan, exploring the handsome rebel’s aura. His emotions could be clearly read and his mind was utterly open, sincere all the way down the line and totally unaware of the way he was manipulating his audience. I’d thought him a practised actor; instead he was an amateur with an all-consuming vision, speaking straight from the heart. I was aware of something else then, a vague emanation around the stone that was nothing to do with any of the people on it. It was faint, malodorous and plain nasty. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and my scalp prickled at the sensation.

  What is it? Zenni was in tune with my unease. Does he possess Talent?

  Our messiah? No, he’s a psi-zero, for sure. It’s a re-run of what I felt in this place before, a sense of the strange, a taint of wrongness. I attempted to pin it down and it slipped through my fingers. You said that I imagined it then, when my nerves were strung out, but it’s stronger and more definite now. There’s a power here unlike anything we’ve encountered before, but it’s inactive, sleeping. I don’t know what it is and I pray we don’t wake it up.

  If it disturbs you that much, then I second that prayer! Zenni turned our probe back on Nansi. The more I saw of that wretched woman the more I believed that she had links with the Sisterhood of Grace, and therefore a vested interest in raising rebellion here. She watched the flame-haired man with smug satisfaction, approving of his wooing of the throng. Do you see that belt of hers, Anna? My sensors say it has two hollow compartments to either side of that clasp at the front.

  An ideal place to keep valuable documents? From what I know of Nansi, she was never the trusting sort. I shut my eyes and ’ported the belt’s contents into my hand. Sure enough, I came up with two rolled sheets of paper. I’m sending them up to you. It’s too dark under here to see anything.

  The items vanished from my fist and there was a pause. I concentrated on easing the cramp in my left calf without noticeably moving the canvas.

  Jeb and I agree on this one—these are the stock transfer documents and they appear to be genuine. What shall we do with them?

  Destroy them.

  Another pause. Jeb’s burning them now. Shall I patch you back into the probe? Our messiah’s come to the end of his sermon.

  Put me on-line.

  The fire-browed hero had finished speaking, an innocent smile of pleasure wreathing his angelic features. The crowd erupted into a wild frenzy of applause and adoration, continuing for many minutes.

  Look there. Zenni zoomed in on one part of the assembly. SantDenis.

  So it is! The investigator was out of character, stooped and shabby, dressed in drab working clothes and cheering as loudly as any around him. He seems to agree with the anti-Earth sentiments, but that would be politic when surrounded by this mob.

  Friend or foe, I don’t think he’d be much help.

  The off-world messiah accepted the adulation as his due, merely waiting for it to finish. When it showed no signs of diminishing, he waved them into some semblance of quiet and spoke again.

  He’s asked them if they have any questions! Zenni translated, in disbelief.

  There were a few, mainly of the ‘What shall we do?’ and ‘How can we help?’ variety, which he answered graciously and simply. Then a Tambou from the rear yelled a question that silenced the assembly and brought murmurs of dissent from those nearest to him.

  He says that he’s a medic and, in his experience, the so-called evil of Terran technology has saved many lives and eased much suffering. Zenni’s fluency was improving with use. He calls the messiah ‘Draoi’, a Tambou word meaning ‘magician’. He asks if Draoi would deny his people the benefits of modern medicine and, if he would, how many must die in the name of his cause?

  He’s brave, to voice a doubt like that in this company, I said, as those nearest the medic backed away. If he felt exposed in his bare circle of trampled grass, he didn’t let it show in his stance.

  Draoi paused for a moment, then smiled broadly at the doctor as he gave his answer. Zenni struggled to translate verbatim: My friends, here we have a man who has... cut out his own tongue? Oh, of course—an unbeliever. His heart must be made out of stone, for he has heard my vital—no, impassioned words, and still his head rules it. Do not rebuke him for his lack of faith, my brethren, for you will often meet those who cannot accept the truth without proof. Draoi’s grin widened. Yet I have proof.

  “Show us!” the crowd clamoured, ecstatic at the performance.

  Zenni went on, giving the magician words: Medic, you do not need technology to cure disease. There are elements—no, powers in nature equal to such a task and I am blessed with the gift of summoning—perhaps wielding would be a better word—those powers. Draoi spread his arms. Are there any amongst you who would be healed? If there are, come to me!

  There was a muttering and a gradual stirring in parts of the crowd, then a shuffling and shifting to let the sick pass. They came to the front, only a handful, yet they came. Draoi stretched out a hand to invite them up onto the dais.

  The first one is blind, Zenni translated. He was a tunneller in the city and was blinded in an accident with explosives. Terran explosives, he says.

  Draoi took the miner’s arm and led him to centre stage. He gently laid his left hand across the man’s afflicted eyes and the crowd held its breath in expectation. Concentration knitted the magician’s forehead and he muttered words that smacked more of Greek than Tambou. A gasp erupted from the throats of the assembly as the curing hand blazed with violet fire.

  “Shit!” Jeb exclaimed, the word a compound of fascination and horror.

  You said he had no talent! Zenni accused.

  He hasn’t! I clenched my fists, yet my body still trembled. The power may be flowing through him, but it isn’t
of him!

  Where’s the source?

  The stone—no, it’s just transmitting it. Under the stone. The flow of energy ceased and I tried to calm my pounding pulse. It was inhuman, Zenni, fearsome, vicious—

  Yet it made a blind man see.

  The Tambou was delirious with joy, dancing up and down on the spot and obviously in possession of his sight. The crowd roared its approval, which Draoi accepted with an inscrutable smile.

  We watched as the parade of the maimed went on. The second invalid was lame and Draoi restored his twisted foot. The third was deaf and dumb, yet in seconds she haltingly spoke her thanks to the messiah. The last case was the most spectacular, a Tambou who had severed his hand during routine maintenance work at a space-station. Draoi knelt at the man’s feet, resting his forehead on the ugly stump and remaining thus for seven minutes. When he rose, freeing the arm from the concealing curtain of fiery hair, the lost hand was complete and whole again. On each occasion there was a flare of brilliant purple light, and I felt a flux of tainted power sluicing upwards through the fallen monolith, rising to a peak of intensity on the final cure. The crowd screamed in near-hysteria at these miracles.

  Could any of them have been faked? Zenni asked. Actors planted in the audience, that kind of thing?

  I shared with him the childlike purity of Draoi’s aura. That’s no trickster. All of those cures were real.

  “I’ve seen a few psychic healers in my time, but none up to that calibre.” Jeb admitted. “He’s something special, this pretty magician. I wonder if he can raise the dead?”

  That alien woman you encountered on Lysseya, the one who treated your injuries there—could it be another like her? Zenni trod softly, mindful of a forbidden subject. I had told him the story of my survival on that Hades of a world only once, but Zenni, for all his human ways, was logical to the core and firmly grounded in orthodox science. He could never accept that anyone could wipe out wounds and remove old scars with nothing other than their bare hands. I had argued in vain that it was a simple extension, allbeit to an exponential degree, of psi power; he had taken exception to the reverence in my voice when I spoke of the heal-wife, and refused to believe. To avoid conflict, we never spoke of the matter, and it surprised me that he raised it now.