The Dark Path

by Walter H Hunt

  He looked up at her, his gaze narrowing, his brow deeply fur rowed. "Let me clarify my position, Commodore. You are not a Sensitive; yet various portions of your official report make extensive use of Sensitive terms such as 'Domination' and 'Resistance.' Since you are not professionally qualified to use such terms, especially before a board of inquiry, I recommend that you refrain from doing so either in verbal or written form. Do I make myself clear, Commodore?"

  "You—you place me in a most uncomfortable position, sir. I—"

  "You may interpret my recommendation as an order, Commodore."

  She took a deep breath. "I understand your need for clarity at this proceeding, Your Grace." She felt her hands clenching and her voice rising in intensity. She restrained both. "However, if you choose to restrict my form of response to this board's inquiries, you not only compromise my ability to adequately defend my actions but also jeopardize the ability of the board to reach the truth. If it please Your Grace."

  "Are you telling me—"

  "Asking you, Your Grace. Asking merely that you not order such a constraint to my choice of terms. For the good of the Empire, if nothing else."

  "A trifle melodramatic, don't you think, Commodore?"

  "Sir?"

  " 'The good of the Empire' is hardly something you can comprehend, Laperriere, especially after your actions at Cicero. I daresay it is your own well-being you should be more concerned with."

  "If Your Grace would be good enough to expl—"

  "We are speaking of criminal negligence here, Laperriere!" the First Lord exploded. "We are discussing treason. I consider myself a consummately fair man; I could already have you in irons for abandoning your post."

  "I did not abandon my post, sir," she replied icily.

  "You abandoned your post, Commodore!" The First Lord frowned at Jackie. "Without orders to do so, you evacuated a perimeter naval base of the Solar Empire. This is a court-martial offense. If the evidence to support your actions is not overwhelming—and at present I do not think it is—there is an extremely high likelihood that the board will recommend that you, as well as several of your most senior subordinates, be summoned before a full court-martial to answer these charges in detail.

  "Is that clear, Commodore?"

  "If it please Your Grace—"

  "A question was asked, Commodore. Is it clear to you what the logical consequences of these actions will be?"

  Alvarez was moving the inquiry exactly the way he wanted it; Jackie could feel anger begin to rise as she took a moment to reply.

  "I understand what the consequences of improperly evacuating Cicero would be, Your Grace. If the board holds that my actions were indeed improper, I am sure that the full penalty of military law will be assessed. I knew that when I gave the orders, and I know it now. If the matter were a simple one, none of us would be here."

  "Your point is granted," Alvarez replied. He seemed some what annoyed; it was clear he had not received the meek response he wanted. "To return to the original point, Commodore, you should be more concerned with the defense of your position than with the fate of the Empire as a whole. However . . . in the interests of fairness, the board is willing to hear a justification why it should listen to inexpert testimony on the subject of, er, Domination."

  "Thank you, sir," Jackie answered, not letting go his gaze. "If the board is willing to hear expert testimony, it is available from my executive officer, Commander Ch'k'te HeYen. While the presentation of witnesses is irregular at a board of inquiry, it is not without precedent.

  "I would also call to the board's attention that the surname HeYen indicates Commander Ch'k'te's clan-relationship to the High Nest. He has ample Sensitive credentials. I am confident he will offer satisfactory evidence in support of my official, report."

  Alvarez did not seem to like this comment either and turned aside to discuss the matter with his two fellow officers. Jackie knew he had every right to turn down this request, but that to do so would show beyond any doubt that he was determined to hang her from the yardarm.

  He could've done that without a board of inquiry, she thought.

  After a moment Alvarez said, "There will be a short recess to discuss this matter." As they all rose he nodded at Jackie, who seated herself once more.

  Alvarez waited for the other two panel members and the bailiff to depart the room as well. Then, when the door had closed and they were alone in the room, the First Lord stood and walked to the drink dispenser in the corner of the room. "Black coffee," he said at it. It hummed for a moment and produced a plastiform cup.

  "Would you like something to drink, Commodore?" he said, without turning to face her.

  "No thank you, sir."

  He took his coffee to the table and sat behind it once more. "Official record disable," he said to the comp in front of him. "Commodore, I assume you are aware that the zor High Chamberlain arrived on base late yesterday, only a few hours ahead of me. His presence here, along with the condition of the—of Mr. Torrijos—complicates matters immensely.

  "I received extremely precise orders from His Imperial Highness before departing Sol System: Find out what happened at Cicero and who was responsible. His Imperial Highness learned, through the offices of the zor High Nest of all places, that an expedition was launched from Cicero; from your report, I understand that this was on the orders of Admiral Tolliver. But it was on your orders the base was evacuated.

  "The emperor's orders are my charter, Laperriere. I am not interested in academic discussions or protracted legal battles; I am not even interested in summoning a court-martial. This report of yours"—he pointed to the comp on the table—"while precise, authoritative and complete, simply will not satisfy His Highness. I have you by the . . . by the epaulets, Laperriere, and I need a reason to hear you out and give you a chance to defend this ridiculous series of actions."

  "I can only give you one reason, Your Grace. It happened just as I have described. The medical reports, along with Admiral Tolliver's testimony—"

  "I can't possibly admit that as reliable evidence. Horace Tolliver was a friend of mine, a good friend. I can't have his career end with something like this."

  "He attacked me, sir—"

  "Prove it. And while you're proving that, prove you didn't have your MP shoot him with something that would have killed him."

  "You're accusing me of murder!" Suddenly her unease be came anger. "Your Grace, less than two weeks' jump from this base there are aliens with incredible Sensitive talent that are bent on destroying the Solar Empire. They killed Admiral, Tolliver, they captured Cicero Op and Cicero Down, they very nearly killed me. They are real, the danger is real, and the report I gave you is firmly grounded in reality.

  "I realize that you have the power to bury this matter, and me along with it. You'll forgive me for fighting back, since I'm not enthralled by the prospect of making big boulders into smaller ones for the rest of my natural life.

  "But before you ignore my report and sweep it and me aside into the recycler, let me remind Your Grace of one important consideration. If I'm not telling the truth—if I acted improperly—if there really aren't any aliens at Cicero or Sargasso or anywhere else, I wind up in the same place I would have been. But if I'm right, and you ignore me . . ."

  She didn't even have a good idea of where to end the sentence and so just let it hang in midair. She looked away from the First Lord and noticed that she was gripping the desk so hard that her knuckles were white. She was angry now, though she knew it would do her no good to let it loose.

  "I'm not going to bury you, Commodore," Alvarez said at last, so softly she hardly heard him. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but just burying you was never an option. You'll get your hearing, although the board of inquiry will sit in closed session. But now hear this, Laperriere: I will not be played for a fool. There may still be leg-irons waiting for you if I see no alternative. I just had to be sure of what—of whom—I was dealing with.

  "When the
rest of the board returns, we will consider the matter of allowing your exec's testimony. In the meantime, Laperriere, I want to know, off the record, just what the hell happened out there."

  ***

  The shower washed away most of the frustration and anger, leaving her more or less refreshed. Her stomach was still churning in anticipation of the evening's events. Ch'k'te had left a message for her giving directions to the Chamberlain's quarters and the time of the ceremony; by the time she came out of the shower, she had only an hour and a half to prepare herself for it.

  Tentatively, remembering the mental link, she took the crimson robe and pulled it on, securing it at her waist with a sash. It had a peculiar odor, a faint zor-smell along with something else she couldn't identify. Still, it felt soft against her bare skin. Unlike the garment Ch'k'te's mind had fashioned for her, it reached nearly to her knees; it had been designed for a tall zor, with enough gather to allow wings to protrude from the back.

  She walked barefoot to stand before the mirror in the sleeping-chamber. She looked at herself wearing only the robe.

  And a zor looked back at her.

  She stepped back in alarm out of the range of the mirror, feeling vertigo for a moment. She dropped onto the edge of the bed and looked down at herself, only to see a perfectly normal human body.

  She took several careful breaths and then stood and walked once more to the mirror and, after hesitating for a moment, looked again at herself.

  To her relief this time she saw herself, clad in the ceremonial garment. She reached up and absently pushed a strand of hair from her face.

  I'm not a zor, she thought. What the hell am I doing?

  "If I did not know him as well as I do," a voice said, "I would ask the same question."

  She whirled to look at the room, her eyes darting from place to place, to seek the source of the voice.

  "But I believed in him and trusted him when I lived, and he places faith in you. I can only do the same."

  Jackie's stomach jumped. What's happening to me? she thought. "Th'an'ya?"

  "Yes," said a voice from behind her. Slowly she looked over her shoulder at the mirror, and in the reflection of her sleeping-room she saw a figure standing behind her own reflection.

  When she turned back, the room was empty.

  "I did not mean to frighten," the zor said quietly. In the mirror, it walked forward and stood by the reflection of the bed. "In fact, I had hoped to do just the opposite."

  Jackie walked to the bed and sat down, watching as her image took up a position beside Th'an'ya in the mirror.

  "Where are you? What the hell is going on?"

  "I am inside your mind."

  "My mind? How can you—" She put her head in her hands. "This is crazy. First I look in the mirror and see a zor instead of myself, and then I'm—I'm talking to a ghost."

  "I am not a 'ghost,' " Th'an'ya replied.

  "I know goddamned well what you are!" Jackie answered. "You're some kind of imprint inside my mind. You're a hsi-image. Why don't you get out? I don't want you there, especially after what happened at Cicero Down."

  She felt the faintest touch within her mind and the memory of the Noyes-thing's mental probe began to surface. It was as if a door were slowly being opened, revealing an awful brightness beyond.

  "Stop it!" She stood and ran to the mirror, pounding on it with her fists. "Stop it! Get out of my mind, you—"

  The probing stopped. "I am sorry," Th'an'ya's voice said.

  Jackie leaned her head on the surface of the mirror. "I must be going crazy."

  "Most assuredly not."

  "How the hell do you know?" Jackie stared into the mirror at the zor sitting on the bed. "What do you know about madness, especially in humans?"

  "I know a great deal about madness, se Jackie. And I understand what the onset of Sensitive talents is like."

  "Sensitive . . ."

  "When I was twelve turns old, my Sensitive talents began to emerge. Normally this happens closer to adolescence. Few of my Nest knew how to handle someone too immature to produce shields or to restrain the outpouring of surface thoughts. What was more, I was a powerful Sensitive even at that age.

  "It was worse than the normal agonies of puberty. It was madness, friend of my mate."

  Jackie stood up straighter. "What . . . did you do?"

  "Suffered, mostly. When I was a few years short of adulthood, I went to Sanctuary, a sort of . . . asylum? No, that word has the wrong connotations. It is a retreat and place of contemplation."

  "A monastery?"

  There was a slight, gentle probe within her mind. "Yes, that would be a good description. The . . . keepers sent me on a journey through my own mind and taught me control from within."

  "A journey through your own mind? I don't understand."

  "They shut off all of my sensory input, and introduced a specific kind of hallucinogen into my bloodstream." She snorted, in a tone that always meant amusement when Ch'k'te did it. "Later I learned that it had a forty-forty chance of killing me."

  "How did you survive?" It seemed a strange question to ask of an apparition.

  "I pierced the Icewall."

  Jackie understood that term with more certainty and clarity than she would have liked to admit. She stood and walked to the mirror. She stood before it and reached her hand out; it blurred slightly. A zor four-taloned hand reached out to meet it. She put a hand to her face and felt what she thought was human skin, but the image-hand met the rough, leathery visage of a zor.

  I know what I am, she thought. I am a human Imperial naval officer, not a zor. This is like a Sensitive's fever-dream.

  "But you are a Sensitive," the mirror-image of Th'an'ya said. "You are a Sensitive more than you know. And though you are not one of the People, the honor my mate has bestowed upon you is one that any of the People would envy."

  "I'm not sure I can go through with this," Jackie replied, fingering the hem of the crimson robe. "Whatever I am to Ch'k'te, I cannot be a zor to him."

  "That is not what he expects. I am also sure that he did not expect you to demonstrate such innate ability. It is for this reason that my hsi has come to you. I foresaw my own death in a prescient dream years before it occurred; I gave most of my hsi to le Ch'k'te so that he might have it in time of need. When he linked to you it summoned me forth. Though I did not know it then, I know it now: my hsi was meant to assist you. It is why I am here."

  "Why me?"

  Th'an'ya did not answer that question. "se Jackie, I live no more except through you. Though it will pain le Ch'k'te to know that I am now gone from him, he will understand that it best serves esLi that I become your teacher and guide—and also, I hope, your friend."

  "By forcing your way to the surface? By spouting zor poetry in my mind all the time?"

  "I . . . do not understand." Th'an'ya's image stood and walked toward the mirror, while Jackie's reflection blurred again and returned to normal. "This is the first time I have attempted to speak to you since our link was broken on Cicero."

  "You've been talking to me for days! You've been—There was the line about the wing of esGa'u, telling me I knew how to resist the vuhls."

  "I have not, se Jackie. I have done nothing of the sort."

  Jackie frowned and looked at Th'an'ya's image. "In any case, what right do you have to—to set up housekeeping in my mind? Don't I have enough damn problems?"

  "It is the will of esLi!"

  "You'll have to do better than that."

  "Ch'k'te is a talented Sensitive with a strong will, but he will never be as powerful as you will become. Ch'k'te cannot do what you must do, and for this you will need my help. It is the will of esLi."

  "A more powerful . . ."

  Suddenly Jackie felt cut adrift, more than she had ever been in her career or indeed in her life. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at her own reflection.

  She looked very frightened, and felt it. With a great effort, she sought to calm herself by taking a
deep breath and standing up straight as if she were on the bridge of a starship.

  "The Imperial Navy," she said after a moment, "employs about four hundred human Sensitives. As far as I'm concerned, they're a fairly disgusting lot who have no regard for discipline or responsibility. They can hardly respond to their own physical needs and they seem to exhibit little in the way of personal hygiene. When I graduated from the Academy, and again when I held my first commission, I was given routine tests for Sensitive talents.

  "I failed my E3G tests both times. They drugged me and I lost forty-eight hours of my life while these—civilians—crawled around inside my head like vermin, searching for some elusive talent I didn't even believe mankind truly possesses. At the end they said that I might have some abilities, but based on what I'd seen I didn't want to become one of them. I won't, si Th'an'ya, even under your tutelage, even at your urging, even if it is the goddamn will of esLi. It doesn't matter what you are or who you are. Sensitives are everything I am not: they exhibit every characteristic I abhor. If you think I'm going to change into—to submit to such—sloth, you should reconsider and go find some other host body."

  Jackie looked at herself in the mirror, and suddenly the robe seemed foolish, like a costume for a masquerade.

  "I understand your concerns. But it seems to me that you are frightened of your own talent."

  "You're right!" She turned away from the mirror and undid the sash on the robe and began to remove it. "You're damned right. I can't do this—I can't go through with it. I know what my limits are."

  "You have no idea," Th'an'ya's voice said quietly. "You can not comprehend."

  Jackie stopped, half undressed, and turned back to the mirror. "That's right," she said at Th'an'ya, pointing at the zor in the mirror. "I have no idea. I've had no idea since this entire thing started. Always—" She let her hands fall to her sides and looked at the floor. "Always it came to something I do not understand, something I cannot comprehend. I am a naval officer, a veteran of many years in His Majesty's service, and I am told that I cannot understand the full impact of my actions.