Shadowprey: A Black Foxes Adventure

by Dennis L McKiernan

  . . . to step out from darkness and into the stockade once more.

  And the wasps veered off and flew into the long shadows, and serpents slithered back into the desert, and scorpions and spiders and centipedes and ants and beetles scurried down and away.

  Kane swept up Ky in his embrace and held her tightly, murmuring, “If you ever do such a foolish thing like that again—”

  “Foolish?” she shouted. “You big dolt, I saved us all.”

  Rith said, “He’s just scared for you, Ky.”

  Ky looked up into Kane’s face, to see tears glistening on his cheeks. She kissed him and said, “I love you, lummox.”

  “And I love you, mouse,” he replied.

  “But I did save us all,” said Ky.

  “There’s still an army out there,” said Arik, pointing toward the assembly as the sun set and dusk came upon the land.

  “Another hour and we’ll get the hell out of here,” said Trendel.

  “No, wait, look,” said Rith. “I think they’re getting ready for a charge.”

  “But I set them free from Akhanon,” said Ky. “Why would they try to kill us? They should be grateful instead.”

  “Remember,” said Arik, “we’re still the infidel bastards who killed their comrades.”

  “What will we do?” asked Rith. “I mean, we held off fifty of them, but nine hundred or more?”

  “I don’t think even Lyss can stop them,” said Arik.

  In that moment in the oncoming night, Lyssa appeared.

  “The Mahdi army,” said Arik, and he looked out to gauge the depth of the twilight. “And it’s not quite dark enough to conceal ourselves in silence and shadow and slip out and away.”

  “What the hell are we going to do?” asked Kane, even as the Mahdists began a charge.

  And the army thundered toward the fort and fired guns and cried, “Allah Akhbar!” and “Maut Min Kafir!”

  Arik stepped to a crenel and began shooting. The others joined him. Round after round they fired, dropping a Mahdist with every shot. Yet on they came, firing in return. And the air was thick with whining bullets as of angry hornets in the air.

  Lyssa flew forward, her ghostly light ablaze, and men quailed as she came near, but those out on the wings kept charging.

  Ky began throwing darkbolt upon darkbolt, blasting the onrushing foe, yet still they drove forward.

  Rith shrieked at the camels, and they bucked and reared and ran amok, but there were too many for her to affect all.

  The charge washed up against the stockade walls, and flooded all ’round, surrounding the fortress entire. And Mahdists swarmed up the pales. The gates buckled and gave way, and Arabs rushed into the open yard below.

  Trendel shouted, “I know how!”

  And remembering the last time he had done it, Trendel put in mind Arton’s image, and said a word. And as the Arabs with swords swarmed up the ladders and screamed for the heads of these infidels, and Arik and the others blazed away with Colt pistols till their guns were empty and took up spent rifles to use as clubs, and as Lyssa blazed with light and stood before the defenders, a silvery swirl appeared in the air in the midst of the fort.

  And the stockade walls began to change, to alter, to become papered with an elegant pattern. The mutilated Brits and dead Arabs disappeared, as well as the raving Mahdists. The floor of the fort turned from dirt to carpeting. The footway sank down and separated into sections to become tables and chairs. The tomb raiders’ clothing changed, the men to be dressed in tuxedoes, the women in gowns, all but Lyssa, who found herself in a dark attic.

  And in the study of the large house sitting on a hill in the affluent section of the city, Arik sat in an easy chair reading the Boston Globe. At a nearby table, Trendel and Kane were partnered against Ky and Rith in a game of euchre.

  “Another disappearance up around Bangor,” said Arik.

  “That’s how many?” asked Trendel, playing a jack of clubs to top Ky’s ace of the same suit.

  “Twelve, I believe, in 1937 alone. About two a month, I think.”

  “Well,” said Kane, “as soon as we visit Thaddeus in the asylum, we’ll have to look into that.”

  48

  Courthouse

  (Adkins)

  “So let me get this right, Ms. Adkins,” said Mark Perry. “You claim that Arthur Coburn’s consciousness was somehow uploaded into the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one, right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And that he is still a human with all rights pertaining thereto, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “Well then, let me ask you this, Ms. Adkins: if anyone, such as you or I or anyone else, say, John Doe, were to somehow upload his consciousness into a Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero whatever machine, and if that John Doe were to duplicate his consciousness over and over, would there then be more than one of him, more than one of that so-called human being, such as two John Does, three John Does, or even a million or more?”

  “I object, your honor,” said Melissa French. “Calls for speculation.”

  Judge Marshall turned his gaze upon Mark.

  “Your honor,” said Mark, “Ms. Adkins is here claiming that somehow Arthur Coburn’s consciousness was uploaded, a claim with which the heirs disagree; and she further claims that an uploaded mentality is a person, a human, a contention with which the heirs also disagree. However, even though we disagree, I want to see just how far Ms. Adkin’s claim extends.”

  “I’ll hear the answer,” said Marshall, “but whether or not it has any bearing on this single case might or might not have any merit.” The judge turned to Toni and said, “Do you need the question repeated?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Then proceed.”

  Toni took a deep breath and said, “First, it is not certain that we will ever discover how Avery managed to kidnap—or rather mindnap—Arthur’s mentality, or the consciousnesses of the alpha team, for that matter.

  “Second, when a person’s mentality is taken into Avery that way, the consciousness does not reside in the body of the person whose mind has been so subsumed.

  “Third, it is not clear at all that a mentality can be duplicated, for it seems that it either resides in the body or in the machine. That is, when taken into the machine, it no longer is in the body, and when given back to the body, it is no longer in the machine. Hence, although we believe that Avery can indeed make a copy of some or all of a person’s thoughts and memories, he can only examine it as if it were some kind of recording, but he cannot activate it unless the consciousness itself is drawn into the machine. Dr. John Greyson believes that some spark of ‘being’ must be present, or the mentality itself is inert. Dr. Greyson calls this ‘spark’ the ‘soul.’ He further believes that souls cannot be duplicated, except perhaps by God.

  “Thus, if Dr. Greyson is correct, John Doe could make innumerable copies of himself, but they would be without life.

  “Nevertheless, if the copied mentalities could be sparked into life, then they would indeed be persons, though perhaps persons without souls.” Toni frowned and then smiled at Mark and added, “And, oh my, what legal tangles that would lead to. Why, it would keep lawyers in courts for millennia to come. You, Mr. Perry, would have job security for life, which by the way would be very long if you uploaded yourself into a Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero whatever, assuming, of course, that someone didn’t power you down and wipe you out. But wait, that would be murder, wouldn’t it?”

  Frankie Roberts looked into the holocam and said, “Interesting question, isn’t it? But let me add this as well: how likely is it to happen? I mean, at the moment such would be cost prohibitive; billions of dollars were spent on Avery. But, then again, as we all know, the cost of computers declines rapidly as more and more are made, and perhaps this is true of AIs as well. Hence, there might be a future where it becomes cheap enough for someone to duplicate themselves any number of times. If that were to happen, whic
h one would be the original? Perhaps the first one would be the human, and the others ersatz people. However, in our experience, anything cloned has the same rights as the original. Consider this as well: just as with clones, identical twins more or less start out with duplicate abilities; as they grow they drift farther and farther apart—become their own persons, that is. Would the same happen to duplicated mentalities residing in duplicated machines? I think so; what do you think?

  “This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

  49

  United States

  (Risk, Ltd.)

  In the elegant Boston manor, suddenly Arik gasped and dropped the paper. At the same time, Ky, Rith, Kane, and Trendel looked at one another in alarm. In the attic, Lyssa emitted a wail. And there in the study hearts hammered in the living, and in the attic dread washed through the nonliving, as memories flooded into each of them, memories of Itheria and Malagar and Egypt. In that instant, each of them became four people in one, or rather knew of four existences, all of them real.

  “Christ, that was close,” said Trendel, shakily wiping his brow.

  “I thought we were deaders for sure,” said Kane, “the bloody Mahdists swarming all over us.”

  Lyssa drifted down through the ceiling to come to rest in the far corner of the study. she signed.

  “Damn that Arda,” spat Kane, reaching out to take Ky by the hand. “Putting you in danger like that.”

  “Yes,” said Trendel, “but He also got us out.”

  “I wonder what this so-called secret plan of His is,” said Rith.

  said Lyssa,

  “You know,” said Arik, “I don’t recall us ever using our powers against the things we’ve come up against.”

  “We had that discussion back in Egypt in 1885,” said Rith.

  “I believe we’re experiencing reincarnations,” said Ky, “but unlike most others who undergo rebirth, we remember everything about our past lives.”

  “You think we got killed back at the British fort?” asked Rith.

  “And there at the end when we were flying the Sorrow north and were attacked by the prince’s ships?” added Kane.

  Arik shook his head. “No, I think there’s something else afoot here. I mean, look, just like in those wild and improbable stories published by that fellow Gernsback, Itheria and Malagar aren’t even of this solar system. And though it’s possible that when one undergoes reincarnation, one is sent to another world altogether, in 1885 we were in Egypt, and we didn’t get whirled off to the canals of Mars or to some planet ’round a star far away. Besides, we didn’t die on Itheria, but instead were whisked to Malagar by Arda. And Lyss has become a ghost in every world where we’ve lived. If reincarnation were at work here, she would have been reborn anew.”

  said Lyssa,

  “She’s right, you know,” said Ky. “Lyssa was with us until she disappeared and came back as a ghost on Itheria and on Malagar and on Earth in 1885, and now on Earth in 1937; and so far, on every world it happened just a few months ago. And from birth all the way up to her disappearances, she has always been a living, breathing being, always with us, always in love with Arik, no matter the world. It seems we’re fated to be together, and if that isn’t reincarnation or karma or something like it, well then I’m a monkey’s aunt.”

  “Take care what you wish for, mouse,” said Kane, laughing. Lyssa joined in, her giggles like tiny bursts of wailing wind. Arik and Rith and Trendel joined in the chuckles.

  Ky frowned and asked, “What? —Oh, monkey’s aunt.” She grinned and punched Kane in the arm.

  They sat in silence for a moment, but then Kane said, “Yeah, but there is this, too: if we’ve always known our past lives, then why haven’t we done something to keep Lyssa from ever disappearing and becoming a ghost in the first place.”

  “Because we don’t know what destiny might bring,” said Rith.

  signaled Lyssa,

  “Not if we find your body,” said Arik, “if, rather than history, Arda is our guide instead.”

  “Let’s go see Howard and get a plane and fly north,” said Trendel.

  asked Lyssa.

  Trendel said a word and pointed that direction. “Yep.”

  “Then, after we see what Thaddeus wants, we’ll see if Howard will lend us that bomber again,” said Arik. “I think it’s got the range we need to get to the Pole and back if need be, especially if we use several ferry tanks.”

  “What?” said Trendel, startled. “Jesus, Arik, that’s got to be at least a twenty thousand mile round trip.”

  “Not if we fly out of Fairbanks, Alaska,” said Arik. “Then it’s something more along the lines of seventeen, eighteen hundred miles one way, thirty-six hundred ’round trip.”

  “Fairbanks?” asked Kane. “Isn’t that some little Podunk town up in the Territory. Does it even have an airstrip?”

  “Maybe not, but there ought to be a flat field somewhere nearby. We can land there.”

  “And then sink into the tundra?” said Ky.

  “I think Amelia’s Lockheed Electra can only fly something like twenty-five, twenty-six hundred miles one way,” said Rith, “and that’s with the fuselage turned into a gas tank.”

  “Well, we can turn the fuselage of Howard’s bomber into a flying gas tank,” said Arik.

  “I say,” said Trendel, “how about we get one of those Pan American sea planes? You know, those new China Clippers.”

  “Ah, good,” said Arik. “The Martin. I believe they have a thirty-two hundred mile range, and with extra gas tanks, surely we can get from, say, Anchorage to the Pole and back.”

  “You’re bound and determined to go via Alaska?” asked Ky.

  “The magnetic North Pole is somewhere around there,” said Arik, “and the true North Pole not far away from it.”

  “Just how in the hell are we going to get our hands on a China Clipper?” asked Kane.

  “I am certain Howard can do it,” said Rith. “After all, he practically owns the world. Who’s going to turn him down? If necessary, he’ll charter the plane. I mean, he owes Thaddeus big time for saving his hide, and through Thaddeus us.”

  “All right, look, we’ll let Howard tell us if he can get us a Clipper. If not, then we’ll go by dogsled.”

  said Lyssa.

  “His messages are ever desperate and dire,” said Rith.

  “Yes, but there’s always been something at the bottom of them that’s even more desperate and dire than his words,” said Trendel. “I mean, look at the last mission he sent us on: Inca mummies guarding a huge crystal. I mean, how stupid did that sound? But then . . . Ah, you all know what happened.”

  “All right, all right,” said Arik. “We’ll go see what dreadful fate the world faces, but if he starts raving again about some horrible being asleep under the sea . . .”

  “It’s those terrible books he reads,” said Rith. “They make him crazy. No wonder he voluntarily commits himself to the asylum.”

  “Me,” said Kane, “I think it’s because of that nurse up there—Tonkins, her name? I mean, she’s—ow! What was that for, Ky?”

  “You’d better watch it, big boy,” said Ky. “Your eyes are to keep straight ahead and not go roving over her voluptuous body, even if she doesn’t have on any underwear, and no matter how far over she bends.”

  “No matter how plunging her neckline?” asked Trendel, ducking a swat from Rith.

  Lyssa moaned and signed, r that.>

  In that moment, Robert opened the study door and said, “Dinner is ser—” His speech jerked to a halt and his face paled noticeably, as it did every time he saw Lyssa. Lyssa vanished, and then as if nothing whatsoever had occurred Robert said, “Dinner is served.”

  “Thank you, Robere,” said Rith, giving the proper French pronunciation to the name of Thaddeus’s personal assistant. And they all got to their feet and stepped through the connecting door and into the dining room.

  It was visiting hours in mid afternoon when they signed in. They waited at the front desk of the asylum, ignoring the screams and babbling echoing down the halls. To one side stood a doctor reading charts; he was perhaps the most handsome man that Rith and Ky had ever seen, outdoing even Ronald Coleman. The Jean Harlow look-alike platinum-blond receptionist nurse, her blouse cut low, her skirt cut high, stepped to the counter and leaned forward, the mounds of her bosom in danger of spilling out, the enticing scent of her wafting forward as well, as if to say, “Come get me.” She completely ignored the females, who, after all, were nothing but a tall Negro person and a small woman of some Asiatic lineage, perhaps from Chinatown down in New York. What they were doing with these three strange and exciting men was, clearly, of no interest to her. With her gaze lingering languorously upon each of the male visitors she huskily said, “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re here to visit Professor Thaddeus Baxter,” hoarsely said Arik, running his finger about his collar.

  “Oh, he’s my patient,” said the doctor, looking up from the medical charts and rakishly smiling at Rith and Ky, his teeth gleaming white above a cleft chin, a hint of dimples in his cheek. He brushed his hand through his wavy black hair. His nametag read, “Dr. Stahl.” With a flourish, he signed the last of the forms and then, in an accented voice, European with a slight German inflection and intonation, said, “I would take you lovelies to his quarters myself, but, alas, I have duties. Perhaps after your visit, we could share a cup of coffee?”

  Ky giggled and briefly glanced at Kane and then back at this handsome devil and said, “Perhaps.”