by L. S. Gibson
“No, but Jon said it was different from any kiss he’d experienced before. He felt something special had occurred, and I felt that too. There’s a special connection between us, or I couldn’t know what I do.”
“Mistress, are you better now?” Lector asked, approaching from behind.
“Oh, yes. And you?”
“Yes. We should eat something at once and be on our way. The sooner we reach Haven the sooner we can get help for Jon.”
A short time later they were descending with ease toward the foothills having made a safe and quick trip down the chimney from the crevice. They were still being cautious watching out for patrols. Triena walked between Lector in the lead and Manny at the rear. All of a sudden she stopped dead.
“Triena? What’s wrong?” Manny asked, coming up alongside her. She didn’t answer. “Triena?”
Lector wheeled around; he stared hard at Triena. “Mistress, what is it?”
“Jon.” Her voice was hardly discernible.
“What about him?” Manny queried, knowing this meant something must be happening to him.
Still she didn’t answer. Her face paled and her eyes widened.
“Lector, can you get through to her?” Manny asked, desperate to know what was happening.
“No, not...wait.” He frowned. “She’s in contact. It’s of an exceptional personal nature. There has to be a strong connection for it to take place.”
She shivered and then went rigid. “Jon!” Manny felt a chill at the pain in her voice.
After as few moments her eyes focused on Manny again, and he saw her frame relax. “What, Triena, what?” he asked, unable to curb his impatience.
“He was in pain, Manny. I felt his desperation, his fear. Then the pain increased, and increased. I don’t know what they’re doing to him, but whatever it is he’s afraid, so afraid they’ll make him betray us.”
“Not Jon, Triena. He’d never betray you, us. I know he wouldn’t.”
“I know that too, but I also know what he fears. He fears whatever they are using to...torture him is inescapable.”
“I don’t understand, do you...can you read his mind? Is it language you exchange?”
“No it’s much more subjective than that. I can but sense his feelings, his reactions. There’s no communication in that sense of the word.”
“So, to a degree it’s based on your interpretation of whatever it is you receive?”
“Yes and no. Oh, it’s so hard to explain to an outsider,” she said in frustration. “I know Jon, literally; what I feel is based on what he feels, so my ‘interpretation’ is his interpretation of what he’s experiencing. I told you I sensed his fear, I felt his fear. I know it’s real. I know he’s determined too, but he fears the method they’re utilizing.”
“But you don’t know what that is?”
“No, as I said there’s no communication, no language. It’s just his emotions, and his reactions to those emotions that I can sense. I know he has a terrible fear, but it’s not of the pain itself, it’s of what the pain may result in.”
“Did it end, the pain, when you...came back to us?” Manny asked.
“Yes. The pain ended, and it was afterwards that I sensed the fear.”
“Afterwards?” Manny queried, wondering.
“We must hurry, we must get help,” Lector said with urgency.
They hurried on down, so fast at one stage Manny had to pull them up, reminding them they must still keep a look out for Midean patrols. They were now well and truly in the foothills and fast approaching the plains beyond. There was more scrub on this side of the mountain, and it seemed the forest that was prevalent on Rhiava was closer to the mountains on this side.
They’d been lucky, they’d seen one patrol just as they were about to leave the foothills and go out into the scrub. But it was heading away from them in the distance. Lector just informed Manny it should take about another two hours to reach Haven, for which Manny was quite relieved. So relieved that when his transmitter beeped it took a second for him to realize what it was.
“Questor!” he exclaimed. “Just when we need help. Mannheim to Questor. Come in please.”
“Mannheim. At last. We’ve been trying to contact you for days,” Piper said.
“Days?”
“Yes, it was just after our last interrupted conversation. We understood there was some sort of interference, which was being generated on the mountain you said you were going to climb. If you’d been anywhere else on the surface, we could’ve contacted you. Is everything all right?”
“No, far from it.”
“Wait, let me get Commander Barlow and the captain, they’ve been impatient to talk to you both. You can explain it all then.”
“Yes, but hurry.”
Manny fretted waiting for the others to respond. Triena put a hand on his arm and somehow that was enough.
“Mannheim, Sullivan here. What’s wrong?”
“That interference from the mountain Philip mentioned? It’s the shield. It’s being generated from the mountain’s summit. There’s some huge construct there and a Midean base. We ran into major problems up there, and Jon was captured.”
“Captured? What about these Rhiava you’re with, couldn’t they help?”
“They’d used all their energy getting us across the summit and were exhausted when we fell afoul of a patrol. I was able to get them out, but that's because Jon gave us the opportunity. And now Triena senses Jon is being tortured. We know the Mideans have used torture on the Rhiava, and they want Triena in particular. She’s known as the Spirit. She is, to all intents and purposes, their leader. If they can make Jon talk…” Manny’s voice faded.
“Captain, please, we must help Jon. Is there any way you can assist?” Triena interjected.
“Is this Triena?” Captain Sullivan asked.
“Yes, Captain. We’re on our way to Haven, to see the other Elders. We’ll reach there in about two hours, and I’ll get whatever help I can from there, but we’ve no weapons except for Manny’s, and while the shield is in place our Gifts are much reduced. We’re no match for the Mideans with their weapons. Jon is at their mercy, but they have none. He was in terrible pain, we must do something, we must.” Her voice was breaking and she twisted away.
“Mistress,” spoke up Lector with urgency, “I sense another patrol approaching.”
“Did you hear, Captain? A patrol. Triena will help us hide. I’ll contact you when it’s safe.” Manny cut the connection.
“Mannheim, wait—”
“Sorry, sir. He’s cut the connection, and I don’t think he’d do that unless they were in danger.”
Sullivan nodded. There was more happening than he could yet put his finger on. “Well, what do you make of all that?” he asked Commander Barlow.
“Well, it's quite obvious a lot has happened since they crashed. They’ve made excellent progress with the Rhiava if they’re accompanying their leader to meet with others of the ruling party.” He cocked his head on one side, considering. “I must say, these Rhiava sound as if they have some peculiar attributes. I’m not sure what to make of it all. But, as for Hardesty, if this Triena’s report is anything like accurate we have to find a way of getting to the surface, and fast.”
“I would suggest, sir,” interjected Simpson, “that Jon appears to have made quite an impact on this Triena. She was most upset by his predicament. I admit it’s hard to judge from one conversation, but her reaction....” He let the sentence hang.
“Yes, she did seem rather emotional, didn’t she?” Sullivan said, looking thoughtful. “I wonder just what has been going on down there.”
He also considered the situation as a whole. It was clear there was more to the Mideans than he could ever have imagined. They’d subjugated the Rhiava and didn’t balk at using torture to gain their ends. He wished he knew more, much more about what was going on down there. However, until Mannheim could communicate with them again, he had other fish to fry.
“
Right, there’re still too many unanswered questions about the situation below, but one thing we do know is that we need to reach the surface. Hardesty was—is—our best pilot and he couldn’t get a shuttle down in one piece. We have to find a way of either strengthening the shuttle’s shields, or neutralizing the effect of the field as we pass through. The one other option is to take a craft down, knowing it will crash, but at least then we’d have more of our people down there.”
“But that sounds risky, as we don’t know what we’re facing,” Barlow said.
“I know, but don’t forget besides the problem of getting to Hardesty, our original purpose in coming here was for supplies, and our need for those is desperate. Now that Mannheim and Hardesty have managed to develop a good relationship we need to take advantage of it, because unless we get mineral supplies here we might not be able to go anywhere anyway.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. That being the case, it’d be best if I were to command the landing party. If we have to take the risk of going down knowing we might crash, I should be onboard. Can’t ask the crew to go otherwise. Besides, once there, I can begin official negotiations on your behalf.”
“Thank you, Peter. I appreciate that. There’s no one I would like better in command. Here's hoping we can come up with something to protect the shuttle.”
“Speaking of that, sir, I know Henricks has been concentrating on finding a way of taking a shuttle through the atmosphere,” Simpson reported. “She’s well aware that if we can’t get the field shut down then we’ll have to go through it. She said earlier today she had a pretty good avenue she was following.”
“Go talk to her, Peter,” Sullivan instructed.
Barlow had just left the command center when Simpson spoke again. “Sir, I’m picking something up on the long-range sensors. It’s a little soon to be certain, but it could be another vessel.”
Jon was slow to return to awareness, surprised to find he’d been sleeping. He’d felt so cold and tired earlier that he wondered if he had the symptoms of shock. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to sleep again. His mind was in such a whirl of fear, desperation, and hopelessness. But the human body was a remarkable thing.
He was sorry to awaken, to find himself still on the bench in that room, when just a few minutes ago he’d imagined he’d been with Triena. And even worse, he was losing the sense of it. It was rare he could remember his dreams once he’d woken; he was always aware when he’d dreamed and sometimes had vague memories of bits and pieces but never the whole. He could still feel the pleasure of being in her company but that was all; all detail had faded. If ever he needed to lose himself in the memory of a dream it was now, but even that was denied him.
The light above him was still on, but thankfully it was white. He also noted it was even pale white. He wondered. Ah yes, he found he could move now, if not much. He heard a sound, a click, and the door next to the console window opened. Supervisor Charod walked in, smiling that cold smile of his.
“Awake at last. You’ve still not introduced yourself, have you?”
Jon decided it was no use to remain silent; he might at least give them a name. It wouldn’t tell them anything anyway. “My name is Jon Hardesty. I am a Human.”
“Well now, Jon Hardesty, Human. You’ve been through the assessment. How did you like it?” he asked as he circled the bench, looking down on his prisoner.
Jon ignored the sarcasm and went straight for the jugular. “Is that what you call it? I call it torture.”
“Oh yes. We’ve used this machine on many different peoples, starting with our own dissidents. It’s proved most beneficial. We’ve used it against the Rhiava and a couple of other races whom I believe you haven’t met.” He stopped pacing and gave Jon a long contemplative look, before giving another of those cold smiles and continued to circle the table.
Jon was reminded of a vulture.
“But you see, each race has a different reaction to pain, has different tolerances and, therefore, our results have a wide variance.” Charod explained this to Jon as if he were addressing a scientific committee. Cold with no real emotion. “We have to ensure what levels of pain the subject can endure, without endangering the subject’s life. It never ceases to amaze me that what one can endure will kill another. Quite remarkable. Anyway, we need to get a baseline and project the maximum level we can then use with safety. After all, it’d be of no use to us if you went insane, would it? Or if you died before we wanted you to.”
The chill down Jon’s back returned with a vengeance. Not so much at what he was facing, but at the casual, dismissive way Charod could talk about it. There was no mercy, no compassion at all in this man. Charod would torture someone to death; and beforehand, he could explain his method to the victim.
He’d die in this room. Jon knew it now with certainty.
In that moment a calmness descended on him, and he faced his own impending death with acceptance. It was a price he could pay for those he cared about. He could wish he didn’t have to suffer so, but somehow the supervisor’s visit had the opposite effect from that which Jon believed Charod intended. Instead of creating more fear in Jon, it had just created more determination.
This creature would never get his hands on Triena.
EIGHT
They were on the move again. After the patrol had passed well out of range, Manny contacted the ship and had a long and detailed discussion with Sullivan and Barlow, helping them to understand just how unusual a people the Rhiava were. Then the captain brought Manny up to speed on their plans, including Sara’s hopes to create a field around the shuttle to dampen the effect of the electromagnetic energy in the shield.
Triena intervened then. “You’ll need to inform me before sending any craft down. We have a ban in force, and any craft attempting travel below the shield will be disabled. With advance warning, and the help of Lector, I should be able to make it possible for your shuttle to travel, but we need time to prepare.”
“You have a ban in force.” The captain paused, coughed as if clearing his throat. “Of course, we’ll inform you as soon as we’re ready.”
Meanwhile, Manny’s party was to continue on to Haven and get help from there.
At last they were within reach of Haven and Lector went on ahead.
Again Triena stopped and this time Manny waited. There was nothing to be gained by pressing her. It was obvious she was in some kind of contact, he assumed with Jon, but maybe Lector.
Her eyes came into focus again. “That was odd, Manny,” she said. “I don’t quite understand what I sensed.”
“It was Jon?”
“Yes. First a sense of fear again, then horror and revulsion, but then something I can but describe as resignation. No wait, acceptance—that was it. Acceptance. The fear had faded by then.”
“No pain this time though?”
“No, thank goodness, no. But I feel unnerved.”
Just then Lector came back through the trees. Triena moved forward to meet him, to stop again. Her face paled and she ran forward again. Manny followed and caught up with her as she ran into Lector’s arms.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Manny asked. What else could go wrong?
Triena and Lector pulled apart. Looking into Lector’s eyes Manny was shocked at the pain he saw there.
“Haven. I’ve been there. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t read anybody. I should’ve known something was wrong, but I was so relieved at last reaching journey’s end. I...” Lector stopped, raised his eyes to the skies then with a sigh brought them down to look direct at Manny. “There’s no one there anymore, Manny. Unless you count the bodies. I didn’t count them, I couldn’t. When I saw them scattered there among the destroyed village, I just ran.”
“No one at all?” Manny asked, his eyes wide. Lector’s silence was answer enough. “Let’s go.” He indicated Lector lead the way. Lector glanced toward Triena, who nodded in mute agreement.
They walked through the trees and emerged in a clea
ring to find a village not unlike Sanctuary except it was larger. Most of it lay in ruins as if it had been pulled apart in a frenzy. Scattered about at random amongst the damaged buildings were the bodies. Manny hurried about checking how many there were—he found fifteen Rhiava and two Mideans. All the Rhiava had died from wounds from the Midean percussion weapons, but there was no indication what had killed the Mideans. Of the rest of the inhabitants of the village, there was no sign. Fifteen out of a population of around four hundred.
Triena hadn’t ventured beyond the edge of the village. She stood there as still as a statue.
Lector followed Manny around the village and when they were sure they’d located all the dead, they carried the bodies to a central place, where they laid them in a row. On purpose Manny placed the two Mideans separate at the end. Then he fetched a piece of material to place over the first of the bodies.
“What is that you are doing?” Lector asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I forget these days that to us you are alien.” He gave a rueful shrug. “This is a custom of my people. When one dies the body is covered over as a mark of respect. I meant no offense.”
“It wasn’t that I took offense, I just didn’t understand. We don’t cover our dead in that way. Death is part of life, and there is no need to hide it. We’ve a ritual to say good-bye and afterwards the dead are burned. The ash will rise into the air and fall to the land. All returns to the land of the Treasure. It’s the way of things.”
Manny nodded his understanding. “And Triena, is she all right? She hasn’t moved for some time now. It must be a shock, but—”
“Shock? Yes, one could call it that. You and I might feel the shock of one or two deaths. But she is the Spirit, she’d feel each one.”
“Are you serious? Are you saying each time one of you dies she grieves as for a loved one?”
“No, it’s not so personal. But...oh, how to explain? The Spirit. It’s more than just a title, it’s a mantle. Our people are inextricably linked to our world and each one of us is linked to each other, though in truth it's tenuous. But the Spirit is like a link between all the people and the Treasure of our world. Each loss lessens the whole, each new birth increases it. When so many are lost at once the Spirit is hit hard. She’s trying to cope with the loss.”