Behold a Dark Mirror (36 page)

Lucretia examined Rebecca quickly.  "Shit," she said.

"What's up?"  Nero said.

"Breath fast and shallow, pulse 230, temperature 43 Celsius, blood pressure off the chart.  Her pupils show no reaction—she will die if she stays like this.  I've got to medicate her."

"This is like what happened to Nero in the powerhouse on Doka, even if..."  She looked at Nero, "I don't think you remember.  Only..."

"Only?"  Nero and Lucretia said together.

"You were transparent at the time."

"What else should I do?"  Lucretia said.

Rebecca's body wavered.

"Improvise," Kebe said.

Nero, too, collapsed on the floor, as if he'd fainted.

"What now?"  Kebe said.

Nero began wavering.

Lucretia used a syringe to inject medication into the IV drip spiked in Rebecca's now slightly translucent arm.  She knelt next to Nero;  Kebe tended to Rebecca.  Suddenly, Lucretia and Kebe looked at each other, asking silently,
Are you feeling what I'm feeling?

"I'm...  I'm terrified, Kebe!  This is... supernatural."

Kebe nodded hysterically,  "There..."

Lucretia rolled her eyes back, screamed, bent backward as if her spine had snapped, and fell, her mouth foaming.

"No!"  Kebe said, trying to bend to help.  Doing so reminded her of her pregnancy.  She felt her belly with her hands and got out of the room, closing the door behind, resting against it.  She stayed there for an immeasurable eternity;  then somebody knocked—from the inside.  Kebe moved, allowing enough room for the door to crack open.

"Nero...  It's you," she said, opening it wide.

Nero was back in the flesh, looking like the victim of a bad hangover:  "What happened?"  he said.

"You tell me!  What happened?"

He turned around, and just then he realized that Lucretia was sprawled on the floor.  He screamed, shaking her limp body without real hope.

"Nero," Kebe said, "Nero, she's dead."

Nero sat on the floor, stunned.

Kebe saw that Rebecca had also reappeared in the flesh, and examined her.  To Kebe, under the circumstances, she appeared lost in a coma like Nero on Doka.  Catjuice was working, after all.

"Nero, wake up!"  Kebe tried to shake him.  Nero was drooling, sitting on the floor.  "Tell me what happened, why did you disappear?"  At that instant, Rebecca moaned.

"Get out of here, Kebe, it's not over yet," Nero said.

*

Rebecca, sitting up in bed, was eating with good appetite but little satisfaction.  "What a tragedy," she said to Primus.

"Nobody could have anticipated this," Primus answered.

"I should have," Kebe said.  "Cheshires came to Nero on Doka as if a miracle had happened."

Primus interrupted:  "Under the circumstances, Mrs. Dorato, that
was
a miracle.  As a man of faith I can accept that.”

"Thank you, Primus, but I should have known better, there
had
to be a connection—Nero, Cheshires, Rebecca, Ghosts—the pattern is there.  Now we know;  there will be guests.  The next time they won't kill anyone."

"Lucretia's death is a tremendous loss," Primus said, "but there's no way anyone could have imagined this.  It's impossible to establish a pattern from one experiment only;  not even you," he looked at Kebe, "can do that."

"That's right, Kebe," Nero said.

"We must look at these events from the bright side," Primus said.  "Catjuice is working.  We've found an easy enough way to grow it.  Lucretia will be one of the last people the foams will kill."

Kebe nodded.  "Now we can prepare, we really can do something about the foams, the Ghosts are not certain death any more."

Rebecca looked at her.  "I wouldn't say so, yet."

Kebe scowled.  "I beg your pardon?"

"That might be right, Kebe," Nero said.

Primus asked.  "Would you please elaborate?"

"Initiation," Nero explained, "draws Ghosts—or Cheshires, or other initiated people, like it happened to me.  What I did was involuntary, a knee-jerk reaction.  I was sucked into Rebecca's change, and I became a part of that change.  I suppose I carry part of some Cheshires with me, as Rebecca carries part of me and of some Ghosts.  Like a catalyst, maybe...  Does it matter why?  In the end, Rebecca is now the authority on Ghosts."

"Not really," Rebecca said, "not yet.  But according to Nero, I'm the one with the best odds to become that, if I survive flight school.  Nero told me what he did, with the Ghosts, in the desert.  How nothing made sense to him.  I wonder..."

"Whether doing the same will make more sense to you," Primus added, nodding.  "That's possible.  These creatures are strange, very strange.  Unless you become as strange, they may still not make sense at all."

Rebecca closed her eyes, and her body began to waver instantly.  She returned to solidity:  "How's that for being strange?  It wasn't nearly as difficult as Nero told me it would be—if he really is a piece of me, that's how I must have learned to do it:  through his effort, not through mine.  Maybe I'll be able to connect with the Ghosts."

"Maybe you will," said Primus, pensive.

"And maybe I'll be out of a job too soon," said Nero.

"I think not, coach," said Kebe. "There are thousands of people who need a piece of you."

CHAPTER 41

"There's hope—only weeks away!"  Rebecca yelled at the top of her lungs for all in the crowd at the town meeting to hear.  Loud voices filled the auditorium packed with people.  The Tower's clerk running the gathering paid no attention to what was happening.  He was too busy feeling safe behind an armed detail.

"Why are we under martial law, then?"  a man shouted.

"Hey, look here!"  Rebecca yelled;  she disappeared and reappeared at the other corner of the stage.  People looked; the pandemonium subsided.  She did it again and in seconds she had the full attention of the audience—including clerk and guards.

"I know we're all reasonable people!"  The Tower wouldn't provide a working PA system, so Rebecca had to rely on her lungs.

"How did you do that?"  someone shouted.

"Great opening, sir—I'll come to that in a minute.  First, I want to make sure we agree on our circumstances."  Rebecca opened her arms as if to encompass the whole crowd.  "Life's dangerous on Virgil;  the foams are scary."  She nodded;  others in the crowd nodded with her.  "And the Tower won't let anyone go back—given that we may have a place to go back to.  As for me, I don't have that place."

A few agreed.  Rebecca said,  "We're in a damned if you do, damned if you don't predicament, and the stakes are high:  our lives!  If we stay here, the foams get us.  If we try to flee, the Tower," she pointed at the armed guards, "gets us."

Howls and angry shouts erupted;  the guards fidgeted with their guns, but the detail leader signaled frantically to his men to stay put. 

"Hey!"  Rebecca yelled, "hey!  I'm not done!"

"What's your plan, lady magician?"  One cried.

"There's a remedy for the foams," Rebecca said.  At that, the clerk jumped up, pulled his communicator and started talking, while the crowd roared loud enough to rattle the building.  "It's a vaccine, not a cure.  It will be ready soon.  There's enough for everybody, and it’s free."  The clerk put down his communicator and spoke with the detail leader.

"How do we get it?" a woman holding a baby shouted.

"As soon as it's ready we'll give it to everyone, but you'll need help—each of you!"  Rebecca said.

A guard fired a machine gun into the air, while the rest of the armed detail jumped onto the stage to seize Rebecca.  She closed her eyes and was gone.  Two guards, carried by their momentum, stumbled in the vacuum Rebecca had left behind, ran into each other and knocked each other out.

*

"Catjuice, you say they call it," Tissa said.

"Yes, sir," Eugene said.

"I suppose you realize what threat that poses to the standing of ConSEnt."

"It's teleportation without ConSEnt, sir.  That's the end."

"Oh, no, no," Tissa said, waving a hand.  "The Tower, my dear Eugene, is collapsing, and we're taking over—on behalf of ConSEnt, that is.  All is proceeding well.  Guilds and Corporations respond to the call of reason when offered proper terms.  Once that is completed, whether or not we remain a monopoly doesn't matter.  Don't confuse means and ends," Tissa said.  "We'll own the army, the police, and the privilege to exact taxes.  Think grand, Eugene—we won't need a large army, when it can be everywhere at once!  No more regulations for us:  Our army
will
use frameposts, and it will be the only army, the only police."

Eugene scowled.  "We need to keep the monopoly on deep-space transportation."

"Yes indeed, and catjuice doesn't seem to threaten that—yet.  Or does it?  What matters, Eugene, is that we'll be an empire, with Donald Maast as emperor.  I'll be a viceroy;  you'll work for me, and it will go very well for you.  This will be the largest empire history has known.  You'll personally wield more power than Alexander the Great ever dreamed of."  Tissa’s lips tilted into a smile.  "Still," he said, "the population at large is often unreasonable;  or rather, some individuals are—the hoi polloi at large is spineless."  He stood up, pacing.  "Some individuals," he said, "have fancies.  They get used to ideas like being agents unto themselves, and believe," he waved a hand, "that some God provided them with inalienable entitlements.  That, Eugene, is the leaven of the Pharisees."

Eugene nodded.

"Our rule," Tissa said, "will be benign, but it will be a rule nonetheless.  And a rule needs enforcement."

Eugene's eyes lit up.  "And enforcement..."

"Yes, enforcement, sometimes," Tissa continued, "needs physical confinement of the disturbance."  Tissa paused, engorged in his passion, lips quivering.  "Enter catjuice," he added, after a thick eternity, shaking his head.  He looked at Eugene.  "I'll tell you what we'll do, what you'll make happen for me."

CHAPTER 42

‘It's impossible to use this link to transfer any matter, regardless of how little you have in mind.’  Max Hopkins read the note, crumpled it in his hand, pressed it harder in his fist until his hand hurt;  he raised his arm and threw the note away.  A small jewel case that he held contained a white capsule, which he observed at length.  He pursed his lips, opened his mouth—and stopped when the capsule was one inch from his teeth.  Shaking his head, he put the capsule back in the case and walked to the heavy-equipment maintenance hangar.

*

Kebe was holding baby Janet in her lap, rocking her.  The child was sleeping, unaware of the weight of history in the making. "Catjuice will stay here until all on Virgil have a chance to try it," Kebe said.

"And why should it be that way?"  Hopkins said.  "Do you realize what catjuice represents?  It's bigger than the Tower, bigger than ConSEnt!"

"Exactly," she said, contemplating her perfect baby girl.

"Mr. Hopkins," Primus Lelouche said, "It takes a few weeks for a crop to ripen.  Fringes of the first large batch are ready now;  there's enough for a few people to try.  In a matter of months everyone will be immunized.  Shipping a sample to Earth may compromise our ability to carry out the plan—it will generate too much interest.  After all, catjuice on Earth is a curiosity;  here, it's life or death."

"On the contrary," Max said, "it's for mankind's benefit.  Suppose that—for any of many possible reasons—catjuice were never to leave Virgil:  what next?  What would this cost mankind?  Is this the next step in our evolution?  Can we afford to be its anal-retentive custodians?  Damn!"  he said, banging his fist on the table, "Why?  What does it cost you to agree?"

"Thirty thousand lives," Nero said.  "I've mistrusted Kebe's judgment before, to my chagrin."

"Besides," Jenus said, "catjuice may become a rewarding financial enterprise."  Nero, Kebe, Primus, Max, Rebecca looked at him as if he'd just declared himself a double agent.

"Just kidding," Jenus said, lowering his eyes.

"But someone on Earth might claim commercial rights to evolution.  You know," he went on, "Newton did try to patent gravity.  Whoever tries to patent catjuice may succeed."

Max Hopkins chuckled.  "Yea, there's truth in that."

"But not," Primus said, "if the recipe is already public;  that’s ‘prior art.’  All you need is a seed," he exhibited a speck of catjuice in the palm of his hand, "common chemicals, cheap equipment, and enough time."

"Don't forget a bootstrap incubator," Rebecca said.  "There aren't any on Earth.  Ship catjuice—someone will try it, and there'll be no Cheshires, no Ghosts, no Nero, and no Rebecca to clean their dirty diapers.  What would happen to them?"

Max looked at her:  "Who'd be crazy enough to try it?"

*

Ayin sipped from her tumbler, and her shoulders shook as the fire sank from her mouth to her guts.  Potter had sent a package.  It was sitting on the top of her large and now barren desk.  Potter was immensely loyal.  By now he must know of her disgrace, and he didn't care.  Why else would he send her that package?  What favors could he hope for?  There was nothing Ayin or the Tower could deliver for him.

She stared at the package.

Is it for me, or for my office?  Shit, there won't be anyone else sitting behind this desk.  Would it bring back the hundreds of people I've killed?
  she thought.  The press was calling her ‘the butcher of Virgil.’  Ayin was realizing she might go down in history with Jack the Ripper, Adolf Hitler, and Leo Sikorsky.  Crime, genocide, and the Perimeter Wars—what a company.

She took another gulp.

The package was tantalizing.  She reached for it, a small box that fit in her hand.  She opened it.  Inside she found a letter and a pillbox.

Ayin:

This is contraband that security found hidden in a shipment for Earth.  I'm not sure what it is, or from whom, but I'm convinced it's a sample of the drug I've heard of—it's known as catjuice.  Rumors say it's effective against the Foams.  I suspect one of the reporters is trying to smuggle it to Earth.  I know about your situation, and I'm sorry.  On the other hand, catjuice may work.  I'm sending this to you as a curiosity and a token of friendship.  Whatever you do with it, please don't stop whoever is producing it.

Stop them?  Hell, no—even if I could,
she thought.  The tumbler was empty, so she took a generous swig from the bottle and tossed the letter into the trash can. 
Build them a monument, perhaps.
  Why'd it taken them so long to find a cure? 
Because,
she thought,
they're a bunch of ordinary people who trusted the dream I sold them.

It was a miracle that they found a cure at all, she realized.  "Hail to the people," she said, standing up and raising the bottle.  Stumbling, she bumped the chair, which fell backwards.  Ayin lost her balance momentarily, and grabbed her desk to steady her stance.

"Hail," she said again;  taking the pill from the jewel case she put it in her mouth and drank it down with another swig.  "Now, I need to go to the bathroom."

She walked with wobbly steps toward her private restroom but collapsed on the floor halfway, and her bladder gave.

Her secretary found her in a pool of urine.  The physician's report diagnosed her death as heart failure, leaving out any embarrassing details.  A janitor cleared her office—including the wastebasket—according to the routine instructions received.