Citadels of Darkover

by Deborah J. Ross

  Garrett held up bloody fists to the dim fireplace glow, shocked by what he had done, but strangely satisfied. He understood now that he had taken knowledge from Gant and used that knowledge against him.

  It was a major step beyond just taking fractured bits of information from a sleeping John Barron.

  The thought reminded him of John, who was in danger and unaware of it. He had to protect his lover from Devin Ardais, no matter what it took. He sprang up with a clear purpose, washed himself from a basin of water, dressed in clothes suitable for travel, And after donning a thin backpack, threw his only cloak around his shoulders. Before leaving his room, he glanced at Gant’s body and stopped long enough to go through the dead man’s pockets, finding cash and a small, sheathed, razor-sharp knife. The cash went into his pack, the knife into his waistband.

  Without another look back, he exited the rooms that had been both his home and his place of work, descended a flight of stone stairs, and walked into the dark night of Ardcarran. As he went, he glanced up at the pale fragments of Idriel and Liriel. Although their light was weak, they created strange shadows that stretched across the narrow streets, crawled up the walls and sides of buildings, shadows that seemed to reach for him, entice him, menace him. Not far from his door, one of those shadows suddenly moved.

  “Hey, little gutter-rabbit.” The shadow came closer and transformed into a skinny, half-starved human with hungry eyes and a knife in its hand. “I’ll take that pack you’re carrying.”

  Garrett whirled toward the man, with Gant’s knife suddenly in his hand. The moonlight glittered on the keen edge as Garrett brandished it. “Come take it if you can,” he snarled in a voice more like Gant’s than his own. “Or go find easier prey. Better club them in the head, though, before they see you. It’s more your style.”

  The skinny man hesitated, his eyes on Garrett’s blade. He feinted, pretending to lunge at Garrett, but Garrett stood his ground, his gaze cold and ready, his grip on his knife expert. Finally, the skinny man stepped back, licked his lips nervously, and bolted into the darkness without another word.

  Garrett put his knife away and continued on his journey. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, but someone else in his head knew–John Barron. The broken, dream-like images, the knowledge he had taken from the Terran without understanding any of it, were all becoming clear.

  I am changing and growing, Garrett thought to himself. He just wasn’t sure into what. He had beaten Gant to death with his fists, and he felt no remorse. He held up his hands, one to Idriel, one to Liriel, and studied them in the light as if to make sure they were his own hands.

  After a time, he continued walking past empty markets and blackened warehouses until he reached the outskirts of Ardcarran. The city was little more than an oasis in the middle of a Darkovan desert. The moons shone brighter, and the sand sparkled under the faint light. An easy breeze whispered against his ear and rumpled his hair.

  Garrett stopped and adjusted his pack. Ahead lay the new airstrip. Recently built by Terrans, lined and criss-crossed with colorful landing lights, it glimmered in the night, like a place of beauty and mystery, as if the stars in the heavens had scattered themselves over the ground. Garrett had never seen anything like it.

  But John Barron had. John knew the way to the hard-packed road that led to the airstrip. John knew about the sentry post at the gate. John knew the lay-out of the entire facility because he had supervised its construction. So with John’s guidance, Garrett avoided the road and the sentry post, and made his way across the loose sand until he came to a fence. Gant told him how to quickly scale that and how to avoid being seen in the glare of the field lamps.

  Once inside, Garrett crouched low. Five Terran aircraft sat out on the nearest runway. A hangar stood nearby. Its giant rolling doors were open and light poured from inside, but there was no sign of movement. Keeping low, Garrett ran across a sandy expanse, then over the hard, smooth landing strip, and up to the hangar doors.

  With the skill of an expert criminal, he slipped inside, hugged the nearest shadows, and looked around. A pair of dirty mechanics were busy over some greasy engine parts. He watched them carefully for long moments. No one else seemed to be around. But then, off to one side through the frosted glass of a lounge window, another figure moved. A pilot’s lounge. John Barron knew it well.

  Garrett crept toward the lounge. Then, as he reached for the door knob, he drew himself erect, carrying himself with pride and confidence as John Barron would have, and he stepped inside.

  A fit, middle-aged man with lively eyes and thinning hair greeted him. “Nice to know I’m not the only soul up at this hour,” he said, smiling. “Just get in?”

  Garrett smiled back and let John take over. “Just landed,” he answered, extending his hand toward the other man. “Long flight from Caer Donn, and boy are my arms tired.”

  “That gag must be in every pilot manual ever written,” the other said with a grin as he accepted Garrett’s hand and shook it. “I’m Veet Waylon....”

  The darkness that engulfed Garrett felt familiar now, and welcoming. He had no fear of it. A spark flowed from Veet Waylon’s hand into Garrett’s, and Garrett sucked all memories and knowledge from the other man. He did it easily.

  Veet Waylon was a pilot, a rare expert at navigating the fierce air currents around the Hellers.

  Now Garrett was, too.

  He let go of Veet Waylon’s hand, breaking the connection, noting how Waylon stared blankly into space, how confused he looked, even frightened, when he finally blinked and woke up.

  “I must be more tired than I thought,” Waylon muttered with an apologetic grin. “I’m out on my feet.” He looked around for a chair and sat down. “Aldaran, you say? Met another fellow passing through here when I first sat down for repairs. My magnetometer crapped out. Can’t fly in those mountains with that. Anyway, handsome guy. Terranan, I think, and military, to judge by his bearing. He was headed for Caer Donn. A private plane picked him up a little over an hour or so ago.”

  Garrett searched through Waylon’s stolen memories and found John Barron there, even more handsome than Garrett remembered him. Garrett allowed a slow smile. In one short meeting Waylon had developed a crush on John. A crush on Garrett’s lover. Garrett’s smile turned to a look of secret jealousy. The John Barron in Garrett’s head beamed with egotistical satisfaction. The Gant in Garrett’s head whispered, “Kill him.”

  For the first time in a while, Garrett felt the sting of the lashes on his back. He didn’t like the pain, but it was part of his job and he had learned to tolerate it. But he also remembered the things John had said to him before leaving, and he recalled the thousand small humiliations the Terran had delivered in bed. And the lies–he remembered every lie.

  Garrett was no longer just a prostitute. He had changed, become more than that. Yet he still remembered a prostitute’s first lesson, that men were only good for two things–fucking and lying, and most were better at lying.

  Yet, he still loved John. At least, some part of him did.

  “So tell me, Veet Waylon,” Garrett said conversationally. “Did you also happen to see a Comyn nobleman pass through here earlier? He might have had a tall companion or bodyguard along with him.”

  “That I did,” Veet answered. “Arrogant pair. Didn’t talk to anybody, just demanded that traffic control give them immediate clearance, then out to their plane and up in the air.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett answered. Moving closer, he put an arm around Veet in a friendly way and let his hand settle on Veet’s bare neck. “There’s just one more thing I need, Veet.”

  Once again, a thick darkness swallowed Garrett, and he felt the spark establish itself between him and Veet Waylon. It was so easy now, and he controlled it. He felt Veet stiffen as, effortlessly, he pushed deep into Veet’s mind and stole every bit of aviation knowledge, then deeper still, as he stole everything about the city of Caer Donn and the Terran spaceport there.

  Mind rape.
He had used that term before. He felt guilty for what he was doing to Veet Waylon, but at the same he felt power–immense power. He felt Veet start to collapse from the onslaught. Still in the link, Garrett caught him and eased him back into a chair. Yet, the darkness continued to swirl in Garrett’s mind, and the link between them grew stronger than ever.

  Indeed, it felt too strong! Garrett tried to break the link, but the link resisted. He struggled, then he began to panic. Despite himself, he plunged deeper into Veet Waylon’s mind, absorbing information that would never be useful, stealing things he didn’t want. It was almost as if Waylon didn’t want to let him go!

  Then, he saw it–the deep well of loneliness and isolation that formed Waylon’s core, the terrible insecurities, all the dark fears, the damaged child that Veet Waylon concealed from the world and even from himself with the jovial and carefree exterior he presented to the world. Garrett cried as the wave of Waylon’s secret pain threatened to drown him. So much sorrow!

  Garrett wanted to reach out, to embrace and comfort. Yet, on some fundamental level, he knew that if he did that, he would lose himself inside Veet Waylon forever.

  Gant! John! Help me!

  The link weakened, and the swirling darkness in his brain melted away. Garrett’s hand still rested on Veet Waylon’s shoulder. He snatched it away and stumbled back from the chair where Waylon sat, blank-eyed, staring at nothing. Gant whispered something in Garrett’s head, and John Barron answered with a sadistic chuckle.

  Garrett’s heart pounded, and his breathing turned ragged. He looked at Veet Waylon, not knowing if the man would ever awaken or what he would recall if he did. With a choked sob, Garrett backed out of the lounge. The workers in the hangar, still oblivious to his presence, continued scrubbing engine parts. Taking a chance, Garrett ran for the door and out onto the airstrip. He spied a plane and knew it was the right plane. He broke into a run, no longer worried about being seen. Yanking open the cockpit door, he dived inside, threw his pack into the passenger seat, and settled himself behind the pilot’s yoke.

  He studied the controls with Veet Waylon’s eyes.

  He started the engine just as Veet Waylon would have.

  Before anyone could stop him, he turned the plane, taxied out onto the airstrip, and took off. All as Veet Waylon would have done. When an angry air traffic control belched out of his radio, he turned the radio down.

  John Barron. Aloysius Gant. Veet Waylon. All three men were part of him now. Garrett began to sweat. It was getting harder to find his own personality as his mind became more crowded and more fractured.

  He remembered a verse from an old Terran bible John Barron had once shown him.

  I am Legion, for we are many!

  Garrett put his hands on the yoke and felt the throb of the plane’s engine. The vibration coursed through him, and he experienced a deep joy, a transcendence, as he climbed to twenty thousand feet altitude. He had never flown before. And he had been flying all his life. He didn’t know the way to Caer Donn, but Waylon did. So did John Barron. And Gant? Gant knew exactly what Devin Ardais was after.

  Off to the left through the cockpit window, the two moons shone with a brighter, crisper light. Off to the right, the Hellers could barely be distinguished as an impenetrable wall of darkness. Below, the desert sand gave way to grassland, then forest and hills and, finally, fields of snow. Garrett tried to relax. He let the Waylon and Barron parts of him handle the controls and navigation while Gant slept.

  We have to find Ardais and stop him, Garrett thought. Terran and Samarran relations depended upon that.

  Gant stirred. Kill him, he said. He deserves it.

  Garrett found it completely weird, holding a conversation inside his head. I killed you, he said. Did you deserve it?

  No man deserved it more, Gant admitted. I know what kind of man I am, Garrett, and I know what Devin Ardais is. Kill him.

  Garrett considered Gant’s advice. Kill Ardais. Kill one man and spare millions.

  Why did you go along with this? Garrett asked Gant.

  You know the ancient legend about the scorpion and the frog? Gant answered. It’s what I am.

  But you’re part of me now, so what am I?

  Gant gave a low chuckle. That’s for you to figure out.

  Garrett glanced toward the cockpit window and noted the sole reflection in the glass. It was a startling reminder that he was alone, the only one in the plane. His hands were on the controls, his eyes on the navigationals. He was talking to himself.

  A voice came over the airplane’s radio, a traffic controller at the first and oldest Terran airbase ever allowed on Darkover. “Pilot, turn right heading 300 to intercept the GPS instrument approach.” Garrett and Waylon followed the control tower’s instructions and, a moment later, Caer Donn traffic control took over the aircraft and brought him down for an easy landing.

  You’re no longer just a prostitute, Veet Waylon said. You’re a pilot.

  You think that’s funny, John Barron said. Now the voices were talking to each other! Garrett was never just a prostitute. He was the finest piece of ass in Ardcarran.

  Gant smirked. You would know, Terran.

  Garrett pressed his hands to his head and tried to shut them all out as a pair of ground crew walked toward the plane. One shoved chocks under the landing gear while the other waited with a clipboard. Garrett pushed open the cockpit door.

  “Veet Waylon,” the groundsman asked.

  “That’s me!” Garrett answered, knowing the tower would have identified the plane and its owner long before allowing it to land. “Back again where I started from!”

  “Just sign here, sir,” the groundsman directed, holding out the clipboard. “We’ll tow your plane into the hangar just as soon as there’s room.”

  “Have some other fellas come through here?” Garrett asked in Waylon’s tone and speech pattern. “A couple of nabobs probably acting like they owned the place? One even claiming to be an Ardais family member?”

  The groundsman made a face. “Oh, that pair. They landed just before you about fifteen minutes ago. Real jerks, if you ask me. But one of them did carry the proper Ardais credentials.”

  “Well, proper or not, I think they’re up to no good, and somebody should keep a close eye on them.” Garrett scribbled Veet Waylon’s name on the clipboard sheet. “Even if he is an Ardais, you know that lot isn’t known to be the most stable brick in the building.”

  Kill him, Gant said.

  The groundsman frowned. “Yeah, they’re all about twenty degrees off true. Don’t ever tell anyone I said so.”

  “One more question,” Garrett asked. “A Terran military officer, name of John Barron. Tall, handsome. Has he passed through here?”

  “Oh, sure! Commander Barron is in one of our conference rooms right now, awaiting a pick-up flight to the spaceport at Thendara. Do you know him?”

  Garrett felt the hairs on his neck stand up. John was here! And Devin Ardais and his henchman, Garth, were also here!

  Kill them! Gant repeated as if they were the only words he knew.

  Garrett didn’t hesitate. He offered a handshake to the groundsman, and in the instant their hands touched, he leeched all the memories and knowledge from the groundsman’s mind. He needed that knowledge of basic layout and field operations if he was to have any chance of stopping Ardais. He knew it was a cruel thing to do, the most intimate violation of privacy possible, and yet he did it anyway and felt powerful for it.

  When it was done, the groundsman sank comatose to the tarmac. Garrett barely noticed. He felt beneath his cloak for Gant’s knife. Ardais was going down right here at the airstrip, right here in the hangar. His heart hammered as he jumped down from the cockpit. In the chilly air, he sprinted across the landing field for the hangar’s open doors.

  The voice of John Barron spoke in his head. Better move faster, little whore, if you intend to save me.

  Shut up! Garrett snapped. It’s not all about you!

  Garrett reach
ed the hangar and shed his cloak. Next, he shrugged quickly out of his backpack. It only encumbered him. But Gant’s knife came into his hand, and he felt Gant smile with a ruthless kind of mirth. Or maybe it was really he, Garrett, who smiled. He couldn’t really tell anymore.

  The hangar was filled with small aircraft and little room to move among them, but urgency drove Garrett as he sped to the far side of the hangar and to a hallway beyond with several rooms. Clutching his knife, Garrett checked them all.

  No sign of John Barron, nor of Devin Ardais!

  A hand closed on his shoulder. Instinctively, Garrett spun around and caught the wrist of a field security guard. He immediately regretted it as all the bright hangar lights turned dark. Blackness swirled around Garrett, filling his mind and senses. An electric spark flared between the guard and himself, and a new flood of memories, knowledge, skills spilled into Garrett’s already crowded brain.

  The guard stared wide-eyed, as if seeing right through Garrett. Then he slowly sank down to sit like a child on the floor.

  Garrett reached out, but then snatched his hand back. “You’re going to be okay,” he told the guard, trying to sound reassuring. But he didn’t know if that was true. He wanted to think that he was only copying memories, not stealing them, not doing any real damage.

  Could you use that power on a woman next? Gant said. It’s getting crowded in here, and not all of us are into men.

  Waylon chuckled. Don’t worry, son. You’re young–there’s time.

  “Shut the hell up!” Garrett screamed. He felt the guard’s confusion, but the man did have a useful bit of information. Like the groundsman, he knew the lay-out of the hangar and its surrounding grounds, and so all the other personalities inside him knew it, too.

  They’re dragging me into an alley out back, John Barron said. That’s where they’re going do it!

  Garrett raced down the hallway and slammed against the release bar of a heavy metal door. The door sprang back with surprising ease, and Garrett nearly tumbled out. Half in a panic, he started to laugh. He felt as if he were leading a team, but in reality he was very much alone.