That was the Myoko I knew. Funny. Fun. Playing off the disparity between her outward appearance (dainty, demure) and her joyfully wicked mind. She was one of those rare women who could truly be "one of the boys" — joking more crudely, swearing more colorfully, belching more forcefully, and always with exquisite timing. Best of all, she never went too far: everyone has seen women act more loutish than men, but only gentle-ladies with a feel for the game can make one laugh rather than wince. Myoko had made me laugh a lot; I'd felt comfortable with her from the first day we met.
But not now. Not with her walking tensely beside me, arms crossed tight against her chest, her mouth a severe line. As if the two of us had just had a fight.
Maybe in her mind we had: the ongoing fight between psychics and everyone else. It wasn't something she ever discussed in public; but now that the subject had been broached, Myoko didn't suppress her long-simmering resentment. Though she'd told us how low-powered she was compared to "real" psychics, she must have lived her life in constant fear someone would decide she was worth enslaving.
Her fear was well-based. Naive old Pelinor might have been surprised about psychics being treated as cattle; but that just proved he wasn't really a high-born knight. Those of us who'd truly been born under a famous coat of arms knew what powerful families did behind closed doors.
We Dhubhais had always equipped our houses with "resident psychics." They were treated with respect, fed well, dressed well, and provided with suitably eye-pleasing companions — but they were never allowed off the grounds, and one could often catch them staring into the distance, their expressions carefully blank. Other rich families in Sheba mocked us for our softhearted ways. Those neighbors ruled their "chattels" with an iron hand.
Was that what was waiting for Sebastian?
Myoko clearly thought so: that's why she'd concealed the truth about the boy, even from those of us who thought we were her friends. She'd wanted Sebastian safe; and what place was safer than Feliss Academy? No one expected a gifted psychic at a school like ours. If you truly wanted to conceal a person's talent — if you wanted to pretend your powers weren't worthy of attention — the academy was an excellent cover.
Which brought up the question of Myoko herself.
I'd always assumed she was like the rest of us — competent enough to teach students the basics, but an utter mediocrity compared to real professionals. Even a small chore like levitating Impervia seemed to require Myoko's full concentration, not to mention a plenitude of preliminary brow-furrowing. However: after tonight's squabble at The Pot of Gold, Myoko had chatted casually while holding Impervia aloft… and for a brief moment, it appeared as if Myoko wasn't exerting herself at all.
Could she be stronger than she pretended? Could she too be using the academy as camouflage?
Things to think about as we walked unspeaking through the halls.
I was carrying an oil lamp, borrowed from Chancellor Opal. When we got to Sebastian's door, I handed the light to Myoko while I got out my pass key. This broke some wordless barrier between us, because Myoko shuddered and said, "There's something in the air tonight, Phil. Something big."
"Is that a psychic premonition?"
She shook her head. "I don't do premonitions. Just TK. Sebastian, on the other hand…"
"He did premonitions?"
"He did everything," she said. "TK. Telepathy. Remote perception with all five senses. I've never seen anyone like him." She paused. "My teachers at psionics school would say it was impossible."
I gave a weak chuckle. "Imagine that! Teachers being wrong about something."
"Granted. But it's the nature of psionics that…" She broke off. "Phil, you've studied science. Do you know how psionics work?"
"I've heard many theories… but they're all hot air and hand-waving. The only thing scientists agree on is that psychic powers come from outside intervention. Alien high-tech. And sorcery's the same. Someone a lot more advanced than Homo sapiens decided to get cute."
Myoko didn't look at me; she let herself lean back against the wall beside Sebastian's door. "You think the League of Peoples did something? To Earth? To humanity?"
"It's the only sensible conclusion. Maybe they thought it would be a good joke to make human myths come true. Or maybe they thought they were doing us a favor — fulfilling our oldest fantasies. Maybe they had some secret agenda we'll never figure out… but it's no coincidence everything changed at the exact moment they showed up."
Myoko didn't answer; she'd turned her gaze toward the oil lamp, watching the flame's soft glow. Finally, without looking at me, she said, "You know something, Phil? You're right."
I waited for her to go on. She didn't. Finally I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean… psychics know. The teachers who taught me — they know exactly what happened." She turned her eyes toward me. "It's a deep dark secret, but…" She shrugged. "Do you want to hear?"
Her voice was nearly inaudible. I said, "Do you want to tell me? If it's a deep dark secret?"
"Sure. Why not."
She was right about there being something in the air. A night for revelations. I fell silent as she began to talk.
"Do you know what nanites are, Phil? Nanotech? Microscopic machines the size of bacteria… or even smaller, viruses, single molecules. You've heard of such things?"
I nodded. OldTech fantasies had predicted nano would solve all the world's problems… provided the stuff didn't destroy the planet first. But before nanotech had progressed beyond a few rudimentary prototypes, OldTech civilization disintegrated to the point where we couldn't even make steam engines, let alone microscopic robots.
"This may surprise you," said Myoko, "but thirty percent of all microbes on Earth today — things that look like bacteria and viruses — are actually nanites in disguise."
"What?" My voice was suddenly shrill: loud enough to wake half the boys on my floor. I lowered it immediately. "What are you talking about?
"Outside intervention, just like you said. Someone covered our planet with nano: land, sea, and air. The nanites are designed to replace natural microorganisms, then work together to make sorcery and psionics possible."
A door opened behind me. The future Duke Simon Westmarch peered out to see who'd been shouting. He wore his stethoscope around his neck, like a medallion dangling over his pajamas. "Go back to bed," I told him. "Everything's under control."
He nodded without a word and shut the door — more proof that this was a night when miracles could happen. I turned back to Myoko. "How could anyone replace thirty percent of all microorganisms without scientists noticing? We still have microscopes; not fancy electron ones, but the best you can get with ordinary optics. When I was at Collegium Ismaili, the biology department examined bacteria every day, and I never heard them mention nanites."
"Two reasons for that," Myoko answered. "First, the nanites superficially resemble conventional microbes. Elementary camouflage. Second, the nanites are smart… at least some of them are. Some are like brain cells, coordinating other nano activity. If the brainy ones notice a biologist getting out a microscope, they tell their fellow nanites to clear out. If worse comes to worst, they send in nano-stormtroopers to crack the microscope lens."
"Nanites are strong enough to do that?"
Myoko put her hand on my arm. "Phil, they're strong enough to lift Impervia. That's how it works. My psionic powers are just a hotline to the local brain-nano. The brains summon other nano from the surrounding environment to act as microscopic sky-cranes… and up Impervia goes."
I tried to picture the physics of how that would work. If lifting Impervia was the action, where was the equal and opposite reaction? I couldn't figure it out and didn't want to display my ignorance, so I changed the subject. "So how did you get this psionic hotline?"
"There are nanites everywhere, Phil — in the food we eat, the water we drink, the air we breathe. They get inside us, the same way normal microbes do. Our lungs, our bloodstreams, everywhere. Some
drift inside by accident; others deliberately target humans and work into specific areas of their bodies. Particularly into the wombs of pregnant women."
"That doesn't sound healthy."
"Consider it a mixed blessing," Myoko said. "Some types of nano — and there are thousands of different breeds, each designed to perform a specific function — some types target the brains of developing embryos. They embed themselves shortly after conception so they're incorporated into the child's gray matter."
I winced. "How many children are infected like that?"
"All of them, Phil. Every last child bom on Earth for the past four centuries. Animals too — the nanites are everywhere, absolutely inescapable. You have them riddling every part of your brain; so do I; so does everybody."
For a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. "What are the damned things doing in there?"
"Mostly waiting. For instructions."
"From whom?"
"Psychics and sorcerers." She gave me a pallid smile. "Even I don't like to contemplate that fact too long. But how do you think telepaths read minds? It's not tricky once you realize everyone's brain is full of nanites that have been linked into your mental processes almost since conception. They know what you're thinking… and they transmit it to receivers in the telepath's brain. As simple as OldTech radio."
"Simple." I made a face. None of this was the least bit simple. Were all the nanites in my head taking up space that should have been used by brain cells? Did they actually replace brain cells, the same way they'd replaced thirty percent of the natural bacteria and viruses in our biosphere? Were all my thoughts partly running on alien-built nanites rather than regular neurons?
And how did they get enough energy to transmit radio waves? Only one way: they must tap into the body's energy, sucking nutrition from blood just like normal cells. Parasites. Extraterrestrial parasites in the brain. Though I'd lived with them all my life, I still felt close to vomiting. "If we all have these things in our heads," I asked, "why aren't we all psychics?"
"Ah," said Myoko, "there's the trick. The nanites most people have in their brains lie dormant till they receive an outside stimulus… but as I said, there are different types of nano. One particular type — extremely rare — also plants itself into people's brains; but this type has the ability to initiate action. For example, it can tell the nanites in other people's brains to send it signals."
"And that's the difference between a telepath and everyone else? The telepath has one of these initiator nanites?"
"That's it. That's the whole secret." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "Of course, there are plenty of complications." Myoko lifted her gaze to meet my eyes. "Do you know what it feels like when I use my telekinesis?"
I shrugged. "I don't know… maybe like you've got a phantom arm?"
"An arm? Hell, I'd kill for an arm." She rolled her eyes. "You know what I've got, Phil? A phantom knee. My right knee, to be exact. When I picked up Impervia tonight, I visualized tucking my knee under her, then shoving her up, up, up… the feel of it, which muscles would move when, picturing everything exactly. Of course, I couldn't lift Impervia with my real knee — I can't keep a full-grown woman perfectly balanced with just my kneecap jammed against her back. My psychic knee can do things my physical knee could never pull off. But in the end, it's still just a knee; exasperatingly limited. When I think what I could do if I had a hand: the joys of manual dexterity, Phil, the joys of manual dexterity!"
I had to laugh. Myoko did too. "The thing is," she said, "it all depends where the initiator nanite plants itself in a psychic's brain… and how far outward it sends its pseudo-neural connections. My initiator landed in the part of my brain that controls my right knee. As simple as that. So when I focus my attention on my knee in a particular way, the initiator responds."
"Hum." I thought for a moment. "And it responds by sending radio messages to nearby nanites in the air. It tells those nanites to get together and lift Impervia… or to do whatever else the initiator wants."
"Exactly!" Myoko gave my arm a squeeze. "A psychic's power is entirely determined by where the initiator settles in. If it lodges in your visual cortex, you'll be able to see psionically. Maybe you'll be clairvoyant: your initiator can link with nanites half a continent away and see what they see. Or maybe you'll perceive auras… which means your initiator communicates with nanites in other people and presents their emotional states as colors. You might even be able to project optical illusions; your initiator sends images from your visual imagination to receiving nanites in other people's brains. Voila: they see what you want them to see. There are lots of variations — visual processing occupies great swaths of our brains, and you get different effects depending on where the initiator lands within those swaths."
"I suppose if the initiator lands in a hearing center, you can hear things happening far away… or project sound illusions, or maybe hear other people's thoughts, transmitted by their own mental nanites."
Myoko nodded. "That's the idea. Things get weird if the initiator plunks down in an exotic corner of your mind; there was one guy at school whose initiator lived in his primary pleasure center and he could transmit the most…" She suddenly stopped in embarrassment. "Figure it out yourself."
"Lucky guy," I said.
"No," she replied, "very unlucky. He disappeared one day when he left school grounds. Now he's probably chained in some brothel where he has to make sure the paying guests have a good time… or he's playing gigolo to someone like Elizabeth Tzekich, who'll beat him if he doesn't give her orgasms on demand."
Myoko's voice had suddenly filled with bitterness… and her hand on my arm was an eagle's claw, fingernails digging fiercely through my sleeve. "Come on…" I began; but she gave me a look that made me hold my tongue.
"Don't try to comfort me, Phil. If you do, I might ram you through the wall. It's…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "The threat hangs over every psychic's head. Always. Forever. The only protection is being too weak to interest the sharks. In a lot of psychics, the initiator attaches itself only loosely to the brain. You get a small intermittent power that isn't much use… or a power that takes a lot of strength and effort to activate. People like that — like me — are usually safe: more trouble than they're worth. But if you have a good strong power…"
"Like Sebastian."
She nodded. "Like Sebastian. Then you'll be a target your entire life… until someone finally gets you." She glanced at Sebastian's door. Her grip on my arm eased and I thought she might be ending the conversation; but I still had more questions.
"How do you know all this?" I asked. "About the nanites. How do you know things that scientists don't?"
"Oh, that. Forty years ago, there was a psychic man named Yoquito — came from a five-hut village near the Amazon, never learned to read or write, died young from chronic tuberculosis… but he had a hellishly powerful initiator in some analytic center of his mind, and he was undoubtedly the greatest genius ever produced by Homo sapiens. He didn't just think with his own brain; he could use all the nano around him like extra neurons. Yoquito wasn't the first person to have a power like that, but he was far and away the strongest: he claimed he could draw upon the power of every brain-nanite in the whole damned rainforest."
"So he was smart enough to figure out how psionics worked."
"He didn't just figure it out, Phil; the nanites literally explained it to him. As if they'd been waiting centuries for someone to ask, and were thrilled they could finally spill the secret. They told him about psionics and sorcery—"
"Sorcery?" I interrupted. "He knew how that worked too?"
"Sure," Myoko said. "It operates through the same nanites… just invoked a different way. Sorcerers don't have initiators in their brains; they initiate effects through gestures and invocations. If you say certain words or enact certain rituals, it triggers the nano to do specific things. Picture the nanites as trained dogs: if you say, 'Sit!' in the right tone of voice, they'll do what you
want."
"Or," I murmured, thinking it over, "picture them as library functions in an OldTech computer. You invoke the correct subroutine and the nanites behave in accordance with their programming."
"All right," Myoko said, "if you insist on getting technical. The nanites respond to people performing certain actions… and those actions are intentionally bizarre so the nanites aren't triggered by accident."
"You don't think the aliens just invented crazy rituals so they could laugh at stupid humans dancing naked around a goat's head?"
Myoko nodded. "Maybe that too… but weird magical rituals date back thousands of years, well before sorcery became real. The aliens may simply have designed sorcery to match existing Earth folklore."
She was right — lots of human cultures had developed mythologies about what sorcery should look like, long before nanites made magic a reality. Those myths could easily have inspired the nanite-designers when they were deciding how sorcery would work. "What about the way the Caryatid controls fire?" I asked. "She never performs any fancy rituals."
"She must have when she was younger. When you're starting, you need exactly the right rigmarole; otherwise, you can't catch the nanites' attention. After a while, though, they begin to follow you around and pay attention to smaller and smaller signals. Like a trained dog again: at first you have to say, 'Sit!' very clearly and firmly… but once the dog gets the idea, you don't have to be so formal. Dogs even read your body language and anticipate what you want. The nanites are the same way. Think of the Caryatid's premonitions — they didn't start happening to her until that ritual with the pony and the calliope. After that, the premonitions began to trigger themselves spontaneously."
Trapped lop-6 Page 9
