Fellowship Fantastic

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  She moved Sidanne to her side and pulled herself taller. “How?” was all she said.

  “I don’t know how Sidanne came into our hands,” Grignal said. “I only know she needed help.”

  She pulled Sidanne tight and kissed her daughter’s honey-blond hair. “Yes, she did need that, but she’s safe now.”

  Grignal looked closely at Sidanne. She had hair. It looked just like it had in the article he’d found on the interlink. And her cheeks and arms. She didn’t seem gaunt at all.

  Somehow . . . somehow all this seemed right. It seemed like it had always been. Grignal knew something was wrong with that notion, but he couldn’t quite explain why.

  Footsteps came from behind. Grignal turned to find five men in red helmets and body armor advancing into the room. They sited down assault rifles and fanned out as they reached the expanse of the room. Behind them walked Jaubert Rousseau holding a sleek chrome pistol in one hand and wearing a fitted, cream-colored suit. He scanned the room, passing over his wife and daughter as if they weren’t there. Remmiau was nowhere to be seen. Grignal had no idea how they had subdued him so quietly.

  “Tell me what you’re doing here,” he ordered Grignal.

  Grignal looked at Ettienne, wondering if she would help.

  “Sidanne?” Jaubert scanned the room again and stepped forward slowly.

  Sidanne was watching her father, but she seemed distant somehow.

  “Jaubert, what are you talking about?” Ettienne asked.

  “Sidanne?” Jaubert repeated.

  “Jaubert, stop it.” Ettienne’s voice was forceful.

  “Tell me what you see.” Jaubert raised the pistol and pointed it at Grignal’s chest. “Now.”

  Grignal had no idea what was happening. “I see your wife and daughter. There.” He pointed.

  “Sidanne’s here?”

  Grignal nodded.

  “Sidanne, please don’t do this. It’s time to let her go.”

  Grignal felt another stab of vertigo, just like on the rooftop when Sidanne had been ready to fall to her death, only this time it was much worse. He collapsed to the floor and vaguely sensed the same happening to Jaubert and the armored men.

  The room spun. His life over the last several hours melted away. He couldn’t remember why he’d come to the tower. He couldn’t remember where he’d been before this very moment. He could barely remember coming to Ale Surçois at all.

  Bit by bit, his memories slipped away. He remembered traveling through the desert to reach Ale Surçois, and then there was an emptiness. He remembered their last performance before trekking into the badlands, and then he didn’t. One by one, the members of the troupe began slipping from his grasp.

  The boys who performed wonders on the plank. Gone.

  No.

  Le Chat and his poor excuse for a nurse. The seven taiko drummers. The three singers. Gone.

  No!

  Remmiau. Ijia. Bayard. All of them, gone.

  NO!

  Grignal fought to remember his training. He was supposed to sidestep the attack. Hide from it within his mind. Lure the psi in closer. He did, though it felt like it wasn’t working at all.

  But then he felt her. Sidanne’s mind. Her mind was arcing through all of them—him, Jaubert, the men in uniform. She was changing their memories, rifling through them like one of Bayard’s interlink bots and replacing it with what she saw fit. The only conspicuous absence was Ettienne. Sidanne wasn’t connecting to her mind. In fact, Ettienne didn’t seem to be there at all except to the extent that Sidanne was placing memories of her in all their minds.

  Grignal did the only thing he knew how to do—he bellowed and fought back. He charged. He clawed and growled. He beat against the mind that was toying with his own.

  Grignal could feel her fall back. He knew she was weakened from the cryosleeve and no doubt from depriving herself of her body’s basic needs in deference to her delusions. Grignal realized a moment later that he could actually remember Bayard and the first time he’d met the troupe. The memory had returned.

  He pushed harder, and Sidanne retreated. She couldn’t keep up the fight against all of them. She concentrated on Grignal instead. And it was all too quickly that she was turning the tide.

  But she was desperate. She hadn’t been pushed like this in years, not since she’d started covering up her mother’s death.

  The thought struck Grignal and Sidanne simultaneously.

  Her mother had died.

  No. She wasn’t dead.

  She couldn’t be.

  Grignal heard a wailing at the edges of consciousness. He knew it was coming from the physical world, but he was so tied up in the battle with Sidanne he had no idea who it might be coming from.

  “She’s dead,” Grignal said to himself, sure of it now. It was the only explanation. Sidanne was clearly a powerful psi. She was creating her own warped reality to keep her mother alive, for herself, for her father, and anyone else who got in her way.

  Grignal coaxed Sidanne’s mind into remembering by merely suggesting it. And within a few moments, Sidanne, in all her efforts to avoid it, uncovered it for him.

  Ettienne had died while walking Sidanne home from a cello recital. It had gone so well. Jaubert, as usual, had been unavailable, but her mother had been so proud. Sidanne had been, too. They had decided to take a walk together and enjoy the night, but neither of them did so often and they took a wrong turn. They didn’t notice the man standing in the dark, waiting. Ettienne had tried to protect Sidanne, but in doing so she had met with a glimmering blade. She died, right then, too quickly for any help to arrive.

  Sidanne had buried the memory so deep that she was sure she’d never find it again. Her mother was alive. She had to be. Sidanne would make sure of it.

  Grignal regained enough of himself to look around the room once more. The Sidanne that looked so much like a normal fifteen-year-old was gone. Ettienne was still there, but she was motionless, expressionless. The guards were still prone, but Jaubert was on his knees and his face was filled with a light melancholy smile. He was staring at Ettienne.

  Sitting in a chair, emaciated, listless, was the real Sidanne.

  She stared up at Grignal with sunken, watery eyes.

  “Your father woke up from the dream, didn’t he? That’s why he contracted us to send you to Balgique-en-Leurre, to the Temple.”

  Sidanne nodded.

  “He wants you to let go of your mother.”

  She nodded again. “But I didn’t want to. I made him forget.”

  “How long has it been?”

  Sidanne looked so scared then, just like she had on that ledge high above the city. “I don’t remember.”

  Grignal smiled. “That’s OK. The people in the Temple can help you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because a friend of mine told me so. He’s the leader of my troupe.” He kneeled by the chair, careful not to touch her. “We can bring you to the Temple. You can be free of the pain.”

  “I’ll never be free.”

  “No, you’re right. She’ll never be completely gone, but you can let her go and the parts you love will still be there.”

  She took in a deep, quivering breath. “You’ll take me there?”

  “Yes.”

  Sidanne hugged herself and began to cry.

  Nearby, the uniformed men curled up and vomited. Jaubert coughed and shook his head and fought his way to his feet. He blinked his eyes several times and then locked eyes with his daughter.

  “Sidanne?”

  They stared at one another for a long time.

  “I’ll go, father. I’ll go to the Temple.”

  Jaubert released the troupe within the hour. Bayard was so afraid Jaubert would change his mind that he nearly forgot several who had been held in another prison a few levels down from the bulk of the troupe. But within half a day, the entire troupe was packed and heading outside the city walls.

  Sidanne rode on a wagon with Remmiau.
Ettienne sat on the bench beside her most of the time, always watching, never speaking.

  Oddly enough, despite the eerie simulacrum of her mother, Remmiau had taken to Sidanne. He told her tales about Ale Surçois from before Sidanne had been born. Grignal kept a close ear out, though, for anything that would be too inappropriate for a girl of her age.

  Late that day, Sidanne moved to the back of the wagon. It took her a long time to do so, for she was still very weak. She hung her thin legs over the edge of the piled-up tent and watched Grignal lumber behind her. Ettienne followed and wrapped her arms around Sidanne, hugging her tight, as if she were only five.

  Sidanne had a wicked grin on her face. “Remmiau told me to call you a lizard.”

  Grignal shook his head. “Then why don’t you?”

  “It’s too mean.” Sidanne shrugged. “Besides, you don’t seem like a lizard to me.”

  Grignal smiled and continued on in silence. Sidanne and her mother were watching the city. The wagons would soon drop over a ridge, and Ale Surçois would be lost from sight. Grignal took in the grand cityscape one last time—its glimmering shield, its walkways and towers, its tram line stretching across the horizon. “You’ll see it again,” Grignal said.

  “I know,” Sidanne replied.

  Grignal smiled. “How do you know?”

  She shrugged. “I just do.”

  “When will it be, then?” Grignal asked, only joking.

  “Many years from now.” She said it in a very distant manner, as if she was viewing the event across the years between now and then.

  A shiver ran down Grignal’s back.

  When they had passed below the ridge, Sidanne turned to Grignal. “How long until Balgique-en-Leurre?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “What can I do until then?”

  With abilities like hers, there were a lot of things she could do. Grignal was glad Remmiau wasn’t paying attention.

  “Perhaps I’ll teach you how to juggle,” he told her.

  And with that, completely unexpectedly, Sidanne giggled.

  It was a beautiful sound.

  FRIENDLY ADVICE

  Alexander B. Potter

  Scott Ashford, report to the Central Office. Scott Ashford to the Central Office immediately.::

  Scott’s head jerked up, fingers pausing on his handheld, losing his place in his notes. The senior at the front of the room glared in irritation and jerked a hand at him.

  “Move it, Ashford. That sounds important. Get the rest of the briefing from someone. I’m not going over this again.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Bouncing to his feet, he juggled his handheld, bag, and Partokian reference disks. He could feel her annoyance was at the interruption, not him. She had no doubts he’d do what she ordered. He knew he should take the confidence as a compliment, but part of him rebelled at her casual assumptions. Always the good boy. So predictable. He sidled between the other juniors and slipped out of the briefing room, trying to ignore the curious thoughts zinging his way. What did I do now?

  Reaching Sector Central, he took the lift straight up to third level, disembarked, and halted at the sight of the diminutive redhead balanced on the corner of the receptionist’s desk. This could be either very good or very bad. “Gilly?”

  Gillian Gedrick swung around and hopped to the floor. “Here he is! Thanks, Stuart.” She leaned toward the brunett behind the desk and rifled his hair. “I owe you one.”

  “Don’t think I won’t collect,” he called, eyes tracking the movement of her hips as she rounded the desk. He leaned forward and ran an appreciative glance over Scott as well. Scott almost didn’t need telepathy to read Stuart’s thoughts with embarrassing clarity. “Hey, Ashford. Have a nice lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Scott looked to Gilly, perplexed.

  “Have you noticed the time?” Gilly demanded. “Your briefing ran late. Stuart agreed to help rescue you.” As they boarded the lift, the man behind the desk lifted his hand in a fluttering wave. Gilly waved back. “Remind me to pay up quickly. Not good to have an outstanding debt with that one. Besides, he’s fun.” As the lift descended she zipped the jacket of her flight suit back up over her cleavage.

  “Gilly!” Scott tried not to sound scandalized. “You had him call me out of an official briefing—to the Central Office—so we could eat?”

  “What are friends for? The proper response, if you’re wondering, is ‘thank you.’ ”

  “But . . . Central Office! Nobody there wants me! They’ll know and—”

  “And what? Stuart fields for so many offices I have no idea how he keeps them straight. You think all the various high and mighty are going to sit down over afternoon tea, compare notes, and realize none of them needed a word with Junior Diplomat Ashford?” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper as the lift opened. “Hate to break the news, but you’re not the center of the universe.”

  “I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, but she just laughed and yanked him out into the hall. Even the most basic of cafeteria smells made his stomach sit up and notice how overdue lunch was. He gave up and managed a sheepish, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Sit. I’ll get food.”

  He waved to a few beings they knew but headed for a table away from others. For dinners they welcomed company and breakfasts . . . well, they often had company depending on who Gilly may have entertained the previous evening. But lunches were theirs. Scott wondered if he ought to be prepared for this Stuart to show up at breakfast soon, considering the gleam in Gilly’s eye during the lift ride. He sighed, not sure how he felt about that. She had the strangest ideas about affiliating with others—human or otherwise. It was all about trades and favors, contacts and advantages with her. He smiled. Except for him. Although he supposed the freedom they gave each other was an advantage—offering at least one other person with whom neither had to pretend, from whom neither had to hide.

  Gilly arrived balancing three plates and two coffees. Moving to help, he knocked the third plate askew from where it rested on her forearm. Entirely too quickly, her hand snapped out and caught it. Without anyone close enough to notice, her full reflexes extended, settling the sliding plate and the rest of the dishes on the table, then smacking him on the shoulder, all in a blur.

  “Just let me do it.”

  “Sorry.” He winced. She tended not to watch her boosted strength around him either. “It’s the old chivalry training.”

  She snorted. “I’ll beat that out of you yet.”

  “I have no doubt,” he agreed. As she settled between him and the rest of the room, he felt the relaxation steal through him that always came with the presence of her blessedly quiet mind. He wondered, not for the first time, if more humans knew about the genetic modifications that made empathy and telepathy possible, if they would risk the legal repercussions and buy their children the corresponding modifications that allowed for resistance and blocking. He wished they would. His life would be so much . . . quieter if more people were like Gilly. “Remind me to thank your dad.”

  “I keep telling you, you are not going to meet my father.”

  “Then thank him for me.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that, considering I have no idea when I’ll see him.”

  “At least your father got it right. Unlike my dearly beloveds.”

  “Takes someone without a lot of ethics to navigate, and beat, an illegal system, Ash. All your parents’ money couldn’t keep them from getting taken if they didn’t have the right contacts.” Gilly’s eyes sparked with familiar anger. “Unfortunately, you end up paying the price.”

  “Somehow, they don’t see it that way. They paid a high price, and got . . .” he tilted his head. “Me. Not exactly a bargain.” He caught the rising color in her cheeks and changed the subject, reaching for a topic at random. “Thanks for getting me out, I didn’t realize how starved I was, and the briefings were getting boring.”

  “So what terribly important information ran so late?”

>   He instantly regretted his choice. “Gillllly.”

  “Aaaaassshh.” She rolled her eyes. “Is this where you say ‘I’m not supposed to talk about information from briefings’ and I say ‘I’m employed by the Diplomatic Corps, too, so it hardly matters’, and you say ‘It does matter because you’re a pilot, not a diplomat,’ and I say ‘Semantics, semantics’ and you say ‘It’s a rule’ and I say ‘Screw the bloody rules’ and you say ‘GILLY!’ in that shocked uppercrust voice you do so well and I snort and say something crude and you say ‘Now you’re just being childish’ and then I punch you?”

  He lowered a chicken bone to his plate and laughed. “Yes, I think this is where that happens.”

  “Isn’t thirteen months of playing that tune long enough?”

  “I suppose. Still, I feel like I ought to make a token objection.”

  “You’re such a strange man. Token objection recognized. So, the briefing?”

  “Lots of Partokian information.”

  “All material you could get out of a first year diplomacy disk on Partokians, right?”

  “Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “Insanely boring. I sit there taking notes because that’s what we’re supposed to do but I’m thinking how useless it is. Although the early bits were interesting. The Earth Alliance reps have more of a vested interest in the Partokian mining of Ilma IV than I realized. Our entire delegation is being pounded backward and forward on how to handle any inquiries about mining concerns, so as not to let on. If they wanted to stick it to Earth, they’d just hold out long and strong on anything they want, with the cherry of mining rights on Ilma giving them carte blanche.”

  Gilly snorted, sipping her coffee. “Earth always has more of a vested interest than it lets on. And surprise, Earth wants more Turner’s ore. That is what they’re after?” At his reluctant nod she grimaced.

  “But why? The stuff is almost useless to us.”

  “Who knows with Earth?” Gilly drawled in a bored tone. “Any good gossip on the visiting Partokians? Any excitement brewing?”

  He laughed. “Sorry, nothing but a warning that we should keep a couple of the younger ones away from Karavalo’s Pit.”