Behold a Dark Mirror

by Theophilus Axxe

  "As I was saying," a man continued, "it looks like an epidemic. I know of 25 people who died last week."

  "I counted 28," another said.

  "That's four people a day."

  Three people started talking in a muddled cackle.

  "Hey, take turns," Terry said.

  "What about the symptoms? Any difference?"

  "Always the same. Panic, high fever, fits."

  "What does the coroner say?"

  "The coroner doesn't talk sense!" a man said.

  Everyone mumbled and nodded; whispers rippled through the crowd. If this was an epidemic, Jenus wondered whether he had been infected.

  "Is it contagious?" he said. Rebecca looked at him, nodding. Several people volunteered answers:

  "Nobody knows."

  "The foams hit at random."

  "People who were next to those who died are well."

  "Do we have a catalog of occurrences? Maybe there's a pattern," Jenus said.

  "It's all hearsay," someone said.

  "Better than nothing," a woman added. "Better to make a database than to sit here and cry."

  "Is there a medical doctor here?" Terry said; no one responded. "A nurse?"

  A man raised his hand.

  "Would you be part of the team to compile occurrences?"

  "Of course."

  Terry pressed on: "Who volunteers to help him?"

  Five hands sprang up.

  "Please state your occupations," Terry said.

  "Carpenter," one said.

  "Telecom technician."

  "Rig mechanic."

  "Social service counselor."

  "Civil engineer."

  "I propose," said Terry, "that we set up a network to report deaths as we learn about them. This will feed information to the database; we’ll see in time what we get out of it. Any seconds?"

  A forest of hands rose.

  "All opposed say no."

  "I say no," said a lady with red hair. "Sooner or later this will become illegal. Those working as contacts will have to keep a high profile and will be canned right away."

  Heads nodded.

  "Good point," said Terry. "Suggestions?"

  "I have some," said a petite woman with dark hair, who was sitting in the darkened corner. "The contacts don't need to keep a high profile if we all agree on how to collect the data. We don't need to hold meetings like these any more often than necessary, either."

  "And how will we collect the data?" Terry said.

  "Tonight we just had a few volunteers and it looks like most of us don't even know their names. Let's keep it that way. It's safe. Each of the contacts will keep in touch with ten of us in this room. Exactly ten. Each group will agree on a way they think safe to exchange information, and will act independently. The four contacts will report to the database team."

  There was a general murmur of approval.

  "Sounds good," said Terry. "Any opposed?" This time there was silence.

  "Ladies and gentlemen." The man who'd been sitting next to the petite lady stood up. "I think the database plan is a great idea. But this is not a disease, not as we understand it."

  "And what is it?" a woman said.

  Another man cut in. "A witch-doctor voodoo curse."

  "Very funny," said Terry, "Except you or your children could be next."

  Silence fell.

  "I know what's going on. I was on this planet before the Tower came. When we were here, one of my men died. We never found out how. We thought he'd been careless. I now think he died with the foams."

  "Do you think or do you know?" a man challenged him.

  "I can't go back in time, but I'm pretty sure. What I'm about to say will be difficult to believe, but I have another witness that I'm not making this up. You've already heard her speak tonight."

  The petite woman with dark hair stood up. The crowd murmured.

  "Some of you may know me as the magician," the man continued. "If you think I'm a trickster, be prepared to change your mind." A hushed murmur rose in a corner and died quickly. "In any case, you'll want some proof after you've heard what I have to say. I promise you'll have it."

  Jenus listened to the magician as he talked about what he called Cheshires, about a place called Doka, and about autogenic teleportation. He explained how he had run into creatures on Virgil he named Ghosts, about his idea that Ghosts may be a hostile breed of Cheshires. He said, "The Ghosts didn't harm me, but I think they cause the foams."

  The petite woman stood up again. "I was attacked by a Cheshire on Doka. If it had wanted to kill me, I think it would have. I was scared at the time, but I must admit now that the Cheshire was trying to communicate. I don't know the intent of Virgil's Ghosts. Maybe they're trying to tell us something; then again, maybe they're pursuing genocide."

  The crowd stirred.

  She continued, "Mankind on Virgil may be on its way to extinction if we don't do something. I was there when many of the events Nero just described to you happened, and what he said is true. We've got to help ourselves because the Tower isn't going to lift a finger to help us." She paused. "The Tower knew about the foams but feigned ignorance because it couldn't—it still can't—explain them. The Tower lured you and your families into a death trap." She explained the news broadcast alleging the complicity of Ayin Najjar.

  "How come we never heard this news?" Terry said.

  "Who runs the media on Virgil—and what do you expect?" The petite woman said.

  A deep silence fell on the audience.

  Terry broke the spell. "What proof do you have? It all sounds so incredible."

  "My name is Max Hopkins," an older man said. "Some of you may remember me from when I worked as a reporter for Universal News. I can confirm that the Tower's behavior is ambiguous enough to justify at least some suspicion. The allegations that this lady presented," he pointed at the petite woman, "are reported from an actual series of broadcasts, which were too much for the Tower to ignore. The Tower responded by inviting fifty news correspondents to Virgil; I was one of them. During our three-day tour, nothing seemed to happen. But the tour was contrived and less than satisfying to me. I didn't know whether any of the allegations were true, but I decided to start a real investigation—that’s why I’m here."

  Hopkins paused. "I'm a colonist now. Except for some private arrangements for communications, I'm in the same boat you're in—I don't have a return ticket."

  Terry said, "Mr. Hopkins, I remember your work; it's a tribute to you what you're willing to pay for your hunches. My hat is off to you."

  "Well, that takes care of the Tower's behavior," Nero said, nodding at Max Hopkins. He continued, "Pertaining to autogenic teleportation, you're about to see for yourselves. Please, I need a chair." Someone brought a chair; the people sitting nearby moved away to make room for Nero.

  "What are you going to do? Is it dangerous?" someone said.

  "No danger. Just watch."

  Nero closed his eyes. Murmurs and whispering filled the room. Nero's body quivered. Everyone looked at him, and oohs and aahs rose above the background mumbles as his features wavered like a hot horizon during summer. Nero become translucent, then invisible. He reappeared next to Terry. The room was hushed.

  "This... This was no trick?" Terry said.

  "Correct. This is how I found out there are Ghosts on Virgil," Nero answered.

  "How can it help us?"

  "Ghosts seem unable to hurt me—I guess the teleportation phenomenon protects me."

  "Like a vaccine?"

  "I suppose you could put it that way," said Nero.

  "How did you do it?"

  "I'm not sure, but it started like this..." Jenus listened as Nero explained about Chesh
ire tail, how he got it, what he did with it.

  "Can we all have this medicine?" Terry said.

  "I need help to fabricate it, which may be difficult. Taking it again from the Cheshires is impossible now. The medicine itself is dangerous—I told you only part of what happened to me."

  "You're still alive."

  "Agreed, but it was scary. This would be a gamble for those willing to try."

  "I'm willing to try," said Terry. "I have a wife and three children on this damned planet. I tried to leave but the Tower kicked me away at gunpoint."

  This is what the guards are for—crowd control, thought Jenus. "I second the plan," he said. "Let's make the vaccine."

  "All in favor, raise your hand, any opposed say no," said Terry.

  The room became a forest of upstretched hands.

  "Very well," said the petite woman. "Now we need a team. We have a sample of the vaccine. We need volunteers with a background suited to help synthesize the drug in quantity. Is anyone qualified?" Watching the silent, immobile crowd, she waited and started shaking her head, realizing what she had just asked for.

  Jenus slowly raised his arm. Rebecca looked at him with eyes as big as full moons. The petite woman put a hand on her chest, sighed, almost laughed; she turned toward Jenus: "Qualification?"

  "Guild of Chemists, Senior Master, Ph.D. organic chemistry. I can probably do it."

  CHAPTER 31

  Rain hammered the roof of the shack where a group of conspirators had gathered; a steady wind howled in the night, whiffing noisy and wet tendrils through the cracks of the rough building. A portable cell lamp shone on the faces of the rebels: Jenus, Kebe, Nero, Max Hopkins. The door squeaked open once more, letting in another person.

  "Hi Terry, take a seat and let's start," Max said.

  Terry Dayan pulled the door shut, joining the group. The bench squeaked in protest when he sat down on it.

  Kebe began, "We need to figure out how to produce enough Cheshire drug for all those who'd want to try it."

  "There'll be many," Terry answered.

  "There are risks in trying," said Nero.

  Max intervened, "Looks to me as though the issue is to decide not if, but when to take your chances—there's no safe haven on Virgil. As for me, I'd rather go down shooting."

  "Same here," said Jenus. He looked at Kebe, and their eyes caught. She smiled. Smiling back, he continued, "Copying a complex drug is difficult. Without the right equipment it'll be next to impossible."

  Terry said, "We're all motivated allies, Dr. Doe."

  "What do you need?" Max asked Jenus.

  Jenus shrugged: "Atomic absorption, gas chromatograph, mass spectrometer, structural probe, bond analyzer, UV imager, software... If you have it, I can use it."

  "I have contacts beyond Virgil," said Max. "Asking for that stuff may raise eyebrows, but I think I might be able to get it."

  Terry asked, "How did you manage to set up a secure channel?"

  "Well, I have—"

  Kebe interrupted, "Enough, Mr. Hopkins. Nobody else here needs to know, as long as it works."

  "That's right. Make it work, Mr. Hopkins," Terry said. "There'll be customs to clear—that may take some help."

  Kebe continued, "Yes, we'll need to address that, too. First, we need a place for the lab. It's got to be dry and clean, with water and power, secure, and private. Any ideas?"

  Silence fell, broken by the indifferent howl of the wind.

  Kebe tapped her hand on her knee, "Do you mean to tell me that we can get a load of fancy gadgets but not a closet to put them in?"

  Terry said, "I hear the foundations of the solar furnace have been cast. Maybe there's a dark corner in there to hide the lab."

  "Construction is my day job; I'm best qualified to stick my nose into that." Jenus volunteered.

  "I'll help you," said Kebe.

  "What should I do?" Nero asked.

  Terry looked at Nero. "Stay put. Practice and become a good teacher. You're our ace in the hole, and nobody," Terry looked at Max Hopkins, "will blow your cover."

  Max shook his head, "This is too hot to keep silent; eventually, I'll write."

  Kebe said, "Your timing means life or death."

  Max nodded in assent.

  Terry said to Nero, "No more magician acts."

  "Have we covered everything?" Kebe said.

  Terry answered, "For the time being, I'd say so."

  "Meeting adjourned until next week, same time," Kebe said.

  Max stood up. "Let's go, then," he walked away, opening the door to the darkness outside. The wind was still strong, the rain heavy. Deep thunder belched in the heavens.

  Kebe cried, "Put out the lamp!"

  Jenus killed the light, and said to Kebe: "I'll see you at the furnace tomorrow at shift break—can you make it?"

  Kebe answered, "My shift fits."

  Jenus waved goodbye in the glare of a lightning strike, followed immediately by Terry.

  Kebe and Nero remained in the shack.

  "I don't want to sit on a pedestal as the wonder-boy of the circus," Nero said in the dark.

  "It won't be long, Nero."

  "What about your original project—Duskin's memoirs, ConSEnt's dirty laundry?" Nero asked.

  "Way back then, I thought there was nothing more important."

  "But now?"

  "Now," said Kebe, "lives on Virgil have greater priority. Destiny is giving you a chance to make up with your conscience. Fighting ConSEnt is less important—no, less urgent than protecting families. I'm not in control any more."

  "So, who's in control?" Nero said.

  "Fate, I suppose. What's eating you, Nero?"

  The glare of lightning seeped through the cracks in the walls, followed by rumbles of thunder in the wet, windy blackness. Kebe turned the cell lamp on again.

  "Nothing is eating at me," Nero answered.

  He closed his eyes, concentrating, then his image began to waver.

  Kebe tried to get his attention, "Hey! Where are you going?" she yelled. But she was too late, Nero had disappeared.

  She picked up her lamp, turned it off, opened the creaky door into the storm and walked off into the night, back to her crowded and lonely barracks.

  *

  The site of the solar furnace was a wasteland of scrap material and restless machinery, with people as busy as ants in perpetual motion. Thousands of steel beams and rebars pricked a gigantic concrete pincushion. Three construction cranes hung over it all. Floodlights were fighting the impending darkness, and the frenzy of activity didn't stop for day's end. A dozen electric welders turned on and off at random intervals, their blue glare beginning to cast shadows.

  Kebe had just begun to appreciate the order embedded in this controlled chaos when a touch on her shoulder startled her.

  "Hi, Kebe."

  "Oh—Hi, John," she said, her heart slowing down.

  "My name is Jenus."

  "Why are you telling me?"

  Jenus shrugged, "Makes no difference, I'm headed for trouble anyway."

  "For trouble?" Kebe said.

  "Yes, aren't we a conspiracy?"

  "Shh. That's for the greater good."

  Jenus nodded, "Alright, but it's still a conspiracy."

  "I came here as Jane Doe, too."

  "I heard about that. Why? And why aren't you incognito any more?"

  "ConSEnt was after me. This is the Tower's home turf," she said.

  "What's the difference? They're all in cahoots."

  "That's an astute observation, but here I think the Tower is holding its own," Kebe said.

  "What makes you think that?" Jenus asked.

  Kebe shrugged, "Necessity.
Who's after you?"

  "ConSEnt. The Tower. Civil Defense," Jenus said.

  "No kidding! What did you do?" she asked.

  "It's a long story. Perhaps one day I'll tell you. Do you want to go now?" He indicated the work site.

  "Sure—is it hard?"

  He looked at her, "To get in? Nah, just watch your step. Come on."

  They walked across a stretch of ground littered with remains of vegetation, negotiating their way through the unfenced perimeter. Kebe followed Jenus's lead.

  "What if someone sees us?" Kebe asked.

  "They've already seen us; that's why I'm wearing a hard hat and overalls—I'm another roughneck trying to impress a date."

  "Oh. Are you?"

  He looked at her with a grin that glowed in the dusk. "Maybe," he answered. "Here, put this on." He gave her another hard hat, which she donned after adjusting its strap.

  The concrete foundations were dug many meters into the ground. Walls emerged above ground level—at present, just higher than a man. Many openings without an obvious purpose broke through them, most dropping into a chasm sometimes dark, sometimes glaring with floodlights. Inside and all around, clusters of people worked at tasks as mysterious as the breaks.

  "Here's a ramp," Jenus said.

  They walked on boards cut from yellowtrees down to an intermediate subfloor.

  "Well, what do you think?" Jenus asked.

  Kebe inspected a short tract of the inner perimeter, looking down to the bottom of the foundation. "What a mess!"

  "This isn't that bad. You should see the place I'm working now."

  "Oh, yeah? How could it be worse?"

  "We're building the machine house for the dam; that's where hydropower equipment sits: turbines, generators... This here," he pointed to the floor, "is one-third the size of the hydroplant and will work on sun furnaces—the Tower is taking no chances with power supply. But the hydroplant is not this tidy yet."

  "Tidy!"

  "Yeah," Jenus said, balancing himself on one leg and sticking both hands in the back pockets of his overall, "this is farther along. We'll be at this stage in, oh, three months."