"I don't believe this." In her mind she was feeling both anger and amusement. "I'm in the middle of a damned wilderness, arguing philosophy with a zor." She pushed off again and Ch'k'te followed alongside. "I don't think I will ever truly understand you."
" 'You'? Do you imply singular or plural, Jackie?"
"Plural. The People. The whole race." She took several more strides before continuing. "The mysticism in your culture—I simply can't comprehend it. Like when you contacted me on the station and appeared to me in that castle—"
"Castle? What do you mean?" He looked at her curiously.
"When—when you contacted me on Cicero Op, I got the image of a castle. You were in a tower room, with . . . with high windows, open to a storm. It was a laboratory, or something."
"You saw images?" he asked. "I spoke to you—I heard you reply and communicate with me, with more facility than I could have hoped."
"You were a good teacher."
"You have been a good student. The images you saw were ones you created, however."
"I don't know how I could have done that—I don't even know what the hell it was."
"It was the Fortress of Despite," Ch'k'te responded stonily. "The stronghold of esGa'u the Deceiver."
"An enemy."
"The enemy, se Jackie. esGa'u is the Deceiver, 'the one who turns away from esLi.' What you saw, I believe, was his fastness on the Plain of Despite."
"I created that image?"
"Perhaps esLi answered my prayers," Ch'k'te answered. "You may have seen the Fortress."
"But I don't have the context. I haven't read the literature, I haven't seen the vids. How could I create that image?"
"I believe you may have seen the actual Fortress. You see, we believe that the Plain of Despite truly has a physical existence."
"You mean that it's actually somewhere? On some planet?"
"It might be."
"What about esGa'u?"
"Our philosophers reason that both esGa'u and esLi are a product of what might be termed the 'collective unconscious' of our race. If your mind produced an image of the Fortress of Despite, then it is clear that somewhere in me—at least—is a belief that esGa'u Himself has truly intervened in this matter."
"Meaning?"
Ch'k'te didn't respond for a long time. They moved silently across the ice plain, with nothing to interrupt but the wind and the back-and-forth sounds of their skis.
"When esHu'ur Marais conquered the People, he also demonstrated himself to be esTli'ir, the Bright Wing. His was the power to destroy but also to withhold destruction. esGa'u, on the other hand, was cast out with His followers in a titanic struggle far back before we began to record history. He has no such obligation to balance darkness with light.
"He will almost certainly show no mercy toward the faithful, se Jackie, or toward their allies."
Chapter 7
"Come."
The door slid aside and Ch'k'te entered Commodore Laperriere's office. He offered her a salute as the door closed.
"You have an explanation," Jackie said.
"I wish I did," Ch'k'te answered. He walked across to the window overlooking the landing-field. Snow continued to swirl, less fiercely than when they'd come down from the orbital station, but still steadily. "I hate this form," he added. "And I hate this planet."
"I am not interested in your preferences," Jackie answered. "I am interested in the escape pod and your apparent inability to locate it."
"We'll find it."
Jackie's eyes flashed in anger. "Contractions," she hissed. "The zor do not use contractions in Standard."
"No one will notice."
"Everyone will notice! This is not the time to create unwanted suspicion. You will perform your assigned task, Commander Ch'k'te, or you will yield to someone who can."
Ch'k'te and Jackie locked glances for several moments. Finally Ch'k'te looked away. "Acknowledged," he said. "We will find it," he added. "The storms on this cursed planet—"
"A poor excuse. It must have landed somewhere on this continent; the trajectory should have located the crash site within a few hundred square kilometers."
"Which have already been searched."
Jackie placed her hands on her desk, palms down—a very Jackie Laperriere-like gesture. "It must be there. You must have overlooked it."
"Perhaps the zor Sensitive could have concealed—"
"Nonsense. The zor Sensitive is not strong enough to effect a concealment of that sort; his human companion has no Sensitive ability at all."
"What about the old man?"
"He is comatose," Jackie answered. "He has not stirred since the sword was taken away, and I suspect all of his power comes from it. He is no threat.
"I warn you, Commander. Find the escape pod. I have received word that this operation is to be completed soon, and I wish no loose ends."
***
Something woke her from troubled sleep. At first she reacted like a soldier, crouching and reaching for her weapon: she wouldn't expect mercy from the things that had been lurking in her dreams. Then she realized she was alone in the small tent. The still-warm impression of Ch'k'te's body in his sleeping-roll indicated that she had not been alone for long.
She sat up slowly and pulled on a gunbelt and holstered her pistol, then pulled on her outside clothing and made her way out of the tent. It was a chill night with a stiff wind blowing from the top of a nearby bluff; the tent itself was in the lee of the wind, but she could see loose, powdery snow swirling, wraithlike, by the light of Cicero's two tiny moons.
She could see Ch'k'te standing with his back to the tent, only partially dressed in his cold-weather suit. His wings shivered in the breeze. He held them stiffly, with his arms held loosely at his sides; his head was inclined downward.
She had not intended to disturb his contemplation, but the crunching of snow attracted his attention and he turned. Again, as had happened so many times in the last few days, Jackie was taken aback by his thin, disheveled appearance, his eyes red-rimmed even through their protective lenses. Zor were clearly not intended for postings of worlds like Cicero.
"An elder cousin in the High Nest convinced me that it was a posting with great honor."
"Is everything—" she began, but stopped, seeing the look in Ch'k'te's eyes.
He looked at her curiously, as if seeing her for the first time.
He held a hand out, shivering in the cold. She took it and he grasped it tightly.
"He is . . . alive, se Jackie. I heard him cry out."
"Who?"
"The Gyaryu'har. se Sergei. I heard him as I dreamed. He is . . . The blade and the wielder are linked. They share a deep bond, and when it was taken from him by the . . . It pained him. I can scarcely fathom the depth of anguish I felt."
"Is he dying?"
"Nothing so . . . easy. They will not let him transcend the Inner Peace, especially with Cicero Down's facilities at their disposal." Ch'k'te turned again to face in the direction of their next day's travel.
The last few days had been difficult at best. A storm had come up suddenly, forcing them to dig a snow-cave along an escarpment to evade the biting wind. As they came closer to Cicero Down, they had also been forced to elude the prying eyes of overflying aircraft.
It had troubled her all along that they had little in the way of a plan. The journey itself had occupied their waking hours; they traveled from sunup to sundown, stopping infrequently, taking a few minutes out at the end of the day to cook a hot meal and collapse for the night to regain their strength. Not surprisingly, survival had made all other concerns take second place. Now here was a new wrinkle: the Gyaryu'har was alive and was in the hands—or rather the tentacles—of . . . the aliens.
"We left him behind once, Ch'k'te. We won't do it again. You told me that he was a warrior, but we're going to rescue him if we can. The last time it was about survival. This time it's about duty."
Then, as she looked at Ch'k'te, something occurred to her.
"You heard him cry out, you said."
"That is correct," the zor replied, letting go of her hand.
"Was it the first time you . . . felt his mind? Since you were on the station, I mean."
"This is almost the limit of my range—perhaps twenty kilometers," he replied. "I was not even sure that se Sergei was alive until this night."
She thought about this for a moment. She still didn't know how to approach the problem: the unknown capabilities of the aliens and their ability to invade minds and to assume different forms clouded her thinking.
"I—" She sighed heavily, wondering how to broach the subject. "Ch'k'te. Do you think you could contact him?"
"Touch his mind? The Gyaryu'har I . . . may not."
"Why not?"
"It is not permitted, se Jackie. Except for the High Lord, no one may touch the mind of the Gyaryu'har."
"If he is in danger—"
"It is not permitted."
"For God's sake, Ch'k'te, this is an emergency! If we can reach him . . . if he can help us get to the gyaryu . . . Without se Sergei's help, we'd be walking in there blind."
"I—I do not know if I could even reach him over this distance. The amount of energy required is great."
There was a long silence, except for the wind.
"Can I help?"
"It would not be easy. They might be monitoring his mind. Even with your strength added to mine, we might not be able to reach him. What is more—"
He fell silent and looked away from her.
"What's wrong?"
"The process of drawing upon another's mind is one of . . . forced intimacy. It is more than the mind-touches we have as yet undertaken. It can only be performed in harmony with someone one knows and trusts. It is more than a simple linking of minds: it involves the lowering all of the barriers, making all avenues available."
"I trust you," Jackie replied. "I have nothing to hide from you."
"It was not you with whom I was concerned. It was myself."
Ch'k'te stood in the cold, shivering as the wind gusted above. "Opening one's mind to a mate or even a close member of the same ehnAr is one thing. But you are an alien, a naZora'. Eight thousand pardons, se Jackie, but if our minds proved to be incompatible—"
"We've served together for years, Ch'k'te. How could we be incompatible?"
"Our minds, se Jackie. You are important to me, as a friend and comrade. I have affection as well as respect for you, but it is a thin veneer of custom and behavior that allows us to enjoy our relationship. There is no hiding when the mind is bare, no duplicity. There may be things lurking within that we would rather not have exposed."
"I'll take the chance, thank you. Without any idea of what's going on at Cicero Down, we don't stand a chance of getting in there."
"I am not sure this is a wise course, se Jackie."
"Oh?" She put her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not sure as we have much choice. I don't like walking into a trap.
"I can order you to do it," she added.
"Indeed you can," he retorted at once. For several seconds they stood facing each other, neither speaking, each waiting for the other to look away.
At last Jackie dropped her hands to her sides. "I can't really get you to do so against your will. Look." She took his arm and began to lead him toward the tent. "We aren't going to get any where, except together, as a team."
She stopped, and turned to face him. "I'm afraid of it, too. It's not any easier for me, thinking about letting down my barriers—all of them—to a, a zor. It just may be easier for me to admit to the fear."
***
By relaxing and breathing slowly as Ch'k'te had taught her, Jackie put herself in a receptive state to prepare for the mind-link. Unlike a simple touching of minds, the link involved a total fusion of consciousness. It was done infrequently, and only in response to a particular need. Reaching se Sergei, if it could be done, was just such a need.
As she drifted, hearing the distant howl of the wind outside he tent, she felt the tendrils of Ch'k'te's mind reach for her . . .
"se Jackie."
She awoke with a start, finding herself in the tent. Opposite her sat Ch'k'te, but instead of appearing grim and haggard, he appeared healthy and strong. He was draped in a crimson robe, belted loosely at the waist; his wings were raised slightly. All around him was an almost imperceptible glow.
She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing a similar garment, though it was cut differently for her human form.
"What—"
"A construct," Ch'k'te replied. His voice seemed fluid, as if it were echoing the strumming of some alien instrument. "An illusion, if you will. It is customary for the one guiding a link to provide a framework within which to form it." He drew back the flap of the tent.
Jackie looked past the open flap, bracing herself slightly for the inrush of cold air . . . but outside the tent she saw nothing but a featureless expanse of gray. She could not suppress a shudder.
Ch'k'te let the tent-flap fall from his hand. "I did not intend to frighten, se Jackie, merely to illustrate. Beneath the veils of reason and logic, all is illusion. To a Sensitive, much of what he sees in . . . reality"—she thought she heard a distant chiming of laughter in his voice—"is illusion as well. It is all of a piece."
Jackie let one hand trail along a bare leg. "And all this?" She fingered a seam of her garment, noticing in passing that it was all she was wearing. "What is the significance of all of this?"
"My . . . mate gave me this robe," he said, running a taloned hand along the lower hem. "She fashioned it herself. I tried to provide a comfortable fit."
"A bit short," she replied. "But your knowledge of human customs must have told you something about undergarments."
A wave of embarrassment struck her almost physically and she felt a pang of fear. Ch'k'te reached out for her hand as the image of the tent began to waver.
She took the offered hand and the scene stabilized. "No, no," she said, smiling. "I'm sorry. I'm not offended. I'm actually quite touched."
"If you require something, you can fashion it easily," Ch'k'te replied carefully.
Thinking slowly, Jackie tried to imagine undergarments, and presently found them forming around her. After a moment's adjustment, she looked up at the zor.
"Much better. Now, how do we contact—"
"Patience," Ch'k'te said, cutting her off. "We are only at the surface." He paused, and she tried to reach out to him, but his thoughts were guarded.
"Is something wrong?"
"I thought my . . . framework would make this an easier task. Instead I fear that it has made it more arduous."
"I don't understand."
"I did not expect you would." He absently traced a pattern before him with the talon of one hand. A faint glow stayed visible for a moment. "You see, the linking of minds is most often done in conjunction with a . . . particular custom in zor society. It is often practiced as a . . . in prior to—"
"Mating," Jackie finished for him.
"Yes. Mating." Another wave of embarrassment spread out from Ch'k'te and this time Jackie forced it back herself, consciously trying to make the scene stabilize. It solidified at last, though she noticed from the corner of her eye that a wall of the tent now bore a holographic painting of Sol System and part of her Academy diploma—both of which hung on the wall of her office at Cicero Down. Further, she could feel her day uniform forming in place of the ceremonial robe.
No, damn it! she thought. This is Ch'k'te's mind-link, you're going to screw it up!
Ch'k'te looked up at her, his eyes focused and intent. The holo vanished, but the Academy diploma remained, tauntingly, hanging on a corner of the wall. Her suit faded away.
"Mating is a spiritual as well as physical experience," Ch'k'te said. "Especially among Sensitives. Mating partners unite with one another, sharing experience and feeling, until they are truly one."
"Where is your mate now?"
"She has transcended the Out
er Peace," Ch'k'te replied, looking away.
"I'm—I'm sorry."
"I appreciate your sympathy," he replied. "But you must understand, se Jackie. I feared this link because of that situation. My mate was a strong Sensitive, and . . . she was the last person with whom I attempted as deep a mind-link as we now require. I have determined that she left some of her hsi behind. I retain an image of her personality in my mind."
"I don't understand," Jackie repeated. "—I seem to be saying that a lot."
He looked away. For a moment, Jackie saw the faintest image of a different zor hanging in the air beside Ch'k'te's head. "Those that transcend the Outer Peace continue to exist only in memories. But a considerable amount of the hsi of my mate appears to have remained."
The image of the other zor disappeared suddenly. "I do not think the two of us, even combined, can reach the Gyaryu'har. But with the hsi of my mate . . . But to introduce that personality might destroy the link, or do grievous damage to your psyche—if it were forced upon you."
"But with her strength, you might be able to reach se Sergei."
"Yes." He looked down at his talons, partially extended from their sheaths.
"What would that entail?"
"Bringing her forth? If it were possible . . . se Jackie. You are not a Sensitive, and you do not possess certain skills to protect yourself if her hsi proved to be strong enough to take over the link. Still, with her strength . . ."
"What if I . . . let you do it?"
Ch'k'te's head snapped up. "I could not take the chance, even if you would trust me to do so. The temptation—"
"Temptation? To bring her forth and—"
"And leave you trapped."
Jackie smiled, though she could almost see her own uneasiness in the air around her. She ignored it and continued. "You are too noble a being and too good a friend to try and do that."
Ch'k'te did not speak.
"I trust you, damn it."
Ch'k'te looked up at her. "se Jackie, I—"
"You need my help. I'm putting myself in your hands. Get on with it."
The zor sighed deeply. "Very well." He reached his hands out to either side of him, raising his wings in a position of supplication.
The Dark Path Page 10