The Dark Path

by Walter H Hunt

  "Erin?"

  "I'm for following this through. I was before I heard the details; I am now."

  "Ray?"

  "We're not innocent bystanders anymore, regardless of what Pyotr thinks. I'm with Erin; let's go through with it. There's an enemy aboard this ship, maybe even in this room. I can't let it lie."

  "And I can't either. Out past Crossover there's plenty of business opportunity; we can take the Fair Damsel wherever the legend or the clues suggest. Pyotr, we're going to go ahead with this. Are you on or off?"

  The question was a serious one. What Dan McReynolds was asking was whether Pyotr's objections were such that he would rather leave the ship and sell off his share in it than accede to the decision of the other stockholders. It told Jackie something significant about Dan, too: while as captain he was absolute master of the Fair Damsel, he wasn't a dictator. He wouldn't preside over a wardroom in which there was dissent. Given what it might cost him to buy out his chief pilot, it was a clear sign of his adherence to principles.

  "I don't think it has to come to that, Dan. We've been business partners for six years. If I didn't yield to your opinion at least occasionally, I wouldn't trust you to be captain. I've registered my objections; now I'm ready to move along."

  Dan looked relieved. "That's it, then. Everyone's got their duties to do; let's get on with it."

  Chapter 21

  Dan McReynolds leisurely raised his hand and caught the attention of the bartender and signaled for another round. Then, as if he were commenting on the weather or the traffic patterns, looked across at Jackie and said, "Well, Jay, this is about as far from the Plain of Despite as I could imagine."

  They were sitting in a bar named, interestingly enough, the Steps. It was located on the outermost ring of Crossover Starport; it was a prefab metal shell built near the top of a flight of metal steps that went nowhere. Dan had promised the best beer on-station, leading them through the labyrinth of Crossover, which appeared to be in a constant state of renewal—internal walls were being torn down or installed everywhere. The Steps had been there for only six months or so, according to the Damsel's captain; before that, the bar had been located near the main cargo bay under a different name, but someone had decided that it was in the way and had had it dismantled.

  Music blared from the sound system; some off-duty merchanters were playing some sort of space-combat game in a holo tank. There was a commentary program on the 3-V screens scattered around the room, the contents of which were inaudible to Jackie, but which was receiving rude commentary and jeers from the patrons who were disposed to give it any attention at all. The smells and sounds of people relaxing swirled around the room, occasionally washing over their table, intruding on their privacy but guaranteeing it as well. Dan was totally relaxed; Jackie was on edge, waiting for something to happen.

  "What do you mean by that comment?"

  "I mean . . . look. We've been here at Crossover almost two days. We've watched and waited; we've been looking out for clues in every direction. We've conducted a search of the ship and we still haven't found any indication of who tried to vent you into jump—there's not even a log entry of the doors being opened. With all that, you're still not sure where to go or what to do next."

  "No one's tried to kill me for the last two days, either."

  "Point taken." A tray hovered into view with two transparent mugs on it. When it reached the table, Dan inserted his comp into the base; after a moment he lifted the mugs from the tray to the table. He removed his comp and the tray whisked away. "Maybe that's not such a good sign. Are you sure we're in the right place?"

  "This is the right star. It's the wrong planetary system—it matches the old IGS data, not the system where Tolliver and my people were . . . where they found the vuhls.

  "So no, I'm not sure of anything. I've been pushed to this point. Now that I'm trying to follow the legend, you'd think I'd feel like I'm in greater control—but I don't. I don't know what's supposed to happen next or what I'm looking for." She lifted her mug and took a long drink.

  "I'd like to know, too." He leaned forward, rubbing his chin. "Has it occurred to you, Jay, that this might not be the Valley of the Damned after all?"

  "Lost Souls. Valley of Lost Souls."

  "Whatever."

  "I don't have the answer to that, either. There are too damn many parallels, too many indications that this should be the place. Ch'k'te told me that anyone esGa'u grabs lands in the Valley of Lost Souls whether they belong there or not. There were two ships grabbed out here—or what was here at some point."

  "I find it hard to imagine that planets got moved or changed around. It's either here or it's not. Right?"

  "We know the enemy is capable of fooling sensing equipment."

  "Is the enemy capable of fooling navigation equipment, or communications equipment? There must be dozens of systems in a hundred-parsec radius that have never been visited, only surveyed by robot probes. What's more, this is outside the Empire—even the worlds that have been surveyed haven't been completely mapped. Think about it: How easy would it be for one of those ships to misjump?"

  "Two Imperial starships?"

  "Yeah, two Imperial starships. Navigation isn't a perfect science, as you know. Maybe they got lost somewhere else."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Look, Jay, it's not my job to strain your sense of credulity, but I'm not going to try and explain what's going on out here, either. Occam's Razor applies, doesn't it?"

  "It's fit well so far."

  "All right, let's approach this scientifically, no mystical stuff. I'll accept that you're out here as some sort of avatar and you're supposed to find this sword and hustle it back to Zor'a. Everything you know about this situation is based on S'reth's, or Ch'k'te's, or your own, interpretation of the legend.

  "Suppose you're off base? Are you going to continue with the theory you have if it doesn't give you the information you need, or are you going to come up with a new theory to fit the new evidence—the evidence that this doesn't seem to be the First Circle of Hell here?" He leaned back in his chair and waved around him. "Does this look like the Valley of the Shadow of—"

  "The Valley of Lost Souls. Your point is taken."

  "Okay. So you agree with me."

  "No, I don't agree with you. I concede you have a point. I haven't seen any of the evidence I'm looking for; Crossover is a navigationally simple system with eight almost perfectly coplanar planets with no asteroid belt. It corresponds exactly with the Imperial Grand Survey data. The system that the Negri Sembilan and the Gustav Adolf II reported is nowhere to be found. As for what the Singapore and the other squadron ships encountered—well . . .

  "But if you're willing to accept me and the mission I've been given, then you have to accept the premise that there's an enemy out here. Maybe it's here on Crossover, maybe not. The enemy is more powerful, more dangerous, more—more evil than anything we've ever seen. They're extremely potent Sensitives, and there may be no defense against them."

  "If there's no defense, how did you get away back on Cicero?"

  "I—"

  There is a way, and you already know it.

  Jackie whirled in her seat, looking around the bar in alarm. Dan pushed back his chair and went around to her side, grasping her hand. The expression on her face was almost unread able. She tried to mask it right away.

  "What is it, Jay?"

  She carefully disengaged her hand from his and carefully stood. "I heard the voice."

  "What voice?"

  "I . . . I don't know. I started hearing it back on Cicero. It's been pushing me all along, even before this Qu'u thing began."

  "Great." He walked back around to his side of the table, sat down, and took a drink from his mug. "You're hearing voices. You didn't mention this in your briefing."

  "Why should I have? You wouldn't have believed it then. You don't believe it now." She leaned over the table, placing her hands out in front of her. "All right, you want
some proof? Let's go back aboard the Fair Damsel. I'll give you proof, from an authority even more responsible than me."

  "What—"

  "Not here. Back aboard."

  Dan shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, it's your game."

  ***

  In place of her regular coveralls, she had put on the crimson robe from the Dsen'yen'ch'a and had made a comfortable place to sit on her cabin floor. She didn't know if it was necessary, but it seemed to fit the mood. Ch'k'te was standing behind her, his right hand resting lightly on his chya. Karla was perched on her bunk and Dan McReynolds was lounging in an armchair.

  "All right, Jay. I'm ready to hear about this voice."

  She closed her eyes. Th'an'ya?

  I am here, se Jackie.

  I need your help. Would you make yourself visible?

  Jackie opened her eyes and saw Dan standing up suddenly. Near the closed cabin door, an image of Th'an'ya had appeared. She sensed Ch'k'te tensing behind her as usual and heard a sharp intake of breath from Karla. "What the—Who—"

  "Permit me to introduce si Th'an'ya ehn E'er'l'u na HeYen. In addition to other distinctions, she was once the mate of my companion and friend Ch'k'te."

  "Honored," Th'an'ya said, bowing slightly toward Dan.

  "Where did you come from?"

  "As I understand the import of your question, I 'come from' the mind of your former mate. I . . . reside there."

  It wasn't clear what had rendered Dan speechless: the term "former mate" or the idea of a zor personality living in Jackie's mind. He looked several times from Jackie sitting on the floor to the image of Th'an'ya and back, each time trying to start a sentence but failing utterly.

  "You'll want an explanation."

  "I—well, yes."

  "While Ch'k'te and I were on Cicero we performed a mental link, and during it Th'an'ya appeared. She was a powerful prescient Sensitive who had seen this quest coming many years ago; she mated with Ch'k'te and put her image in his mind, along with the key to bringing forth."

  "So she was inside Ch'k'te and now she's inside you."

  "Basically."

  "She's some kind of memory, then?"

  "Not exactly," Th'an'ya replied for herself. "I am the hsi of my former self. A mental representation of my . . . 'soul,' as you might say. se Jackie is not only my host, but also my student and my friend. There is even a place for me in the Legend of Qu'u—that of the spirit guide."

  ". . . Okay," Dan said after a moment, and flopped back into his chair. "So what about this 'voice'?"

  "You are referring to the voice that se Jackie has been hearing intermittently since Cicero. She originally incorrectly attributed it to me. I have not reached any conclusions as to the source of the voice, though since it speaks in allusions and metaphors it is clearly well steeped in our racial culture. It could be the Lord esLi Himself, to whose will I humbly bow."

  "God is talking to Jay?"

  "Is there some reason why a divine being might not speak to your former mate?"

  "Listen here, spook," Dan said, pointing his finger at her. "Get off the 'former mate' bit. We weren't mates; we were friends and lovers, and that was a long time ago."

  "You still address her by another name—"

  "I call her what I used to call her! Why are we discussing this?"

  "You objected to my use of a term," Th'an'ya replied quietly. "I referred to se Jackie as your 'former mate,' and you said, 'Get off the—' "

  "I know what I said! What is this, a self-analysis seminar?" He rubbed his chin. "A ghost. I'm arguing with a ghost. Can we get on with this?"

  Jackie couldn't help but grin at Dan's annoyance. However, unlike on other occasions, Th'an'ya's image did not waver or blur. She waited patiently for Jackie's concentration to return.

  "What has the voice said to you, se Jackie?" Th'an'ya asked at last.

  "We were discussing the enemy." She tugged at the hem of the robe. "I said they were powerful enough to radically alter reality as we observed it. Dan then asked me how I could have escaped them myself.

  "At that point the voice told me that I already knew the answer."

  "And do you know the answer?"

  "No, not at all. I—I was almost taken over, replaced, by one of them."

  " 'Almost.' " Dan looked at Th'an'ya, suspicion clouding his face, and then back at Jackie. "If these things are so all-fired powerful, how did you stop it?"

  "She—it—was distracted."

  Poor John Maisel, she thought to herself, feeling slightly sick in the pit of her stomach. "Then Ch'k'te shot it."

  "Was that the only one you actually met, face-to-face?"

  "No, there was one other." Jackie felt Ch'k'te shift nervously behind her, his wings rearranging themselves in a pattern she could not see but could guess at. "He took control of me to learn about dispositions." She clenched her teeth, remembering the pain.

  This time Th'an'ya did waver and almost disappear. Dan looked around, alarmed. "I couldn't see, couldn't move," Jackie continued. "It was like someone was driving a stake into my head. I couldn't fight him off, really, all I could do was struggle . . ."

  "I would not have expected Sensitive talent of you, Jackie . . . But you will not live long enough to use this secret."

  He raised his hands and a wedge of pain was driven into her forehead. She screamed as it drove farther and farther into her skull, growing white-hot . . .

  "What happened then?"

  "I fought him—them—off. I tried to get to a window, to jump out."

  "You resisted the probing. How did you do it?"

  "I don't know."

  "You have to remember," Dan replied, insistent. "This is important, Jay. The voice told you that you already knew how to fight it. How?"

  "I don't know, damn it!"

  "What were you thinking? What went through your mind?"

  She was afraid. Still, the point of paralysis had been reached and passed and left far behind. She had known worse, though her mind was now open to all of the horrors and fears she had kept concealed behind a wall of reason.

  She had known death on the battlefield. She had watched a starship disintegrate and explode under concentrated fire.

  She had watched John Maisel collapse and die at a single thought.

  Hatred fueled anger, an awful, growling thing forming first in her chest, making her hands clench and her arms and legs tense.

  Jackie's arms and legs grew tense at the memory. "I was past pain, past fear. All I could think of was how John Maisel had died." Dan shot a questioning look at Ch'k'te, but the zor did not seem to notice. "All I could feel was anger and hatred. The creature that was ripping my mind apart was the most evil thing I could imagine."

  "anGa'riSsa," Th'an'ya said. "The Shield of Hatred."

  Jackie emerged from her memories, willing herself to relax. "I don't remember that from the Qu'u legend."

  "It is a later tradition," Th'an'ya said. "It comes from the epic seLi'e'Yan, or 'Standing Within the Circle.' In the story, the esGa'uYal seek to assault the Lord esLi's Circle of Light; the Army of Sunset, commanded by He of the Dancing Blade, Shrnu'u HeGa'u, comes to the gates of the warriors' city of Sharia'a . . . the city of my birth . . . and uses their powerful weapons of Despair to sap the will of the people there. The lord of the city goes all about and finds that everyone from the highest to the lowest is overcome by lassitude and unable to act. A young warrior, trapped by the advance of the host of Despite, goes to the lord of the city and exhorts him with tales of all of the Deceiver's misdeeds, reminding him how much evil has been done in the past. With this Shield—anGa'riSsa—the lord of the city is able to protect his people against the Deceiver's minions, which saves the city."

  "Hatred." Jackie sat forward. "The ability to resist is based on hatred."

  "Just so," Th'an'ya answered. "But many will not be capable of such a strong emotion. You have been touched by the esGa'uYal."

  "And lived to tell about it. And to have a mysterious voic
e remind me about it. I believe that if we were in the wrong place, the voice would tell me."

  "So . . ." Dan said, "that leads me back to the question: How are you going to find the way to the sword?"

  "Well, actually," Jackie said, turning to look up at Ch'k'te, "there is an alternative. Ch'k'te and I can create a mental link and search around."

  "Search around the station?"

  "Something like that." Jackie looked at Th'an'ya, who nodded at her.

  "Is that wise?"

  "I think it's worth a try. We have Th'an'ya to help protect us while in the link and you folks standing by to protect us on the physical level. We might be able to find out if this is where we're supposed to be, and we might be able to locate the base of the steps leading to the Fortress of Despite."

  "Whatever the hell that means. All right." He exchanged some kind of knowing look with Karla. "What do you want me to do?"

  ***

  When she opened her eyes this time, she expected to see some sort of construct Ch'k'te had built for her. She was prepared for the pastel nothingness of the void. Instead it was as if she had been awakened by a large, loud noise echoing nearby. She found herself leaning against an outcropping of large, misshapen boulders. The sky above was hazy and smoke-filled; the air was filled with explosions. She was still wearing the crimson robe; where her skin was exposed, it was grimy and the dirt wouldn't rub off.

  She wore no sword, but her belt had an empty scabbard hanging from it. It was the scabbard she'd seen on se Sergei's belt; she knew what was supposed to go in it. Ch'k'te and Th'an'ya, similarly attired and standing nearby, seemed to be waiting for her to take action.

  "This is a hell of a mental construct," she said to them. "Couldn't we have tried something a bit easier to deal with?"

  "We are on the Plain of Despite, se Jackie," Th'an'ya answered. "The pattern of this mental link is not under our control."

  "Does that mean that we can't break it? Or can it only be broken the way it was broken last time?"

  "Perhaps, perhaps not. There is no ready answer," Th'an'ya answered.