Helm

by Steven Gould

  Another hundred meters and the walls went from water-smoothed stone to mortared blocks, then they were on paving-stone steps and climbing up a narrow stairway. Bartholomew stopped at the top and blew out his candle. He stood before a door outlined in thin cracks of dim orange light.

  Leland joined him, one step down.

  “Shhh,” Bartholomew said. He leaned forward, pressed his ear against the door, and froze. After a moment he took a thin piece of wire from his belt and used it to hook the bar on the far side, then, laboriously, work it out of its brackets. After several minutes he grunted and said, “Gently now—push the door open while I hold the bar.”

  Leland reached past him and eased the door open. The hinges squealed softly and then the gap was wide enough for him to slip through. There was a wall-mounted oil lamp at the far end of the hall but no one in sight. He turned and took the drop bar before it clattered to the floor, then the rest of them joined him in the hall and they closed the door behind him.

  Bartholomew pointed down the hall away from the lamp and tiptoed in the same direction. Leland vaguely recognized the hall as the one outside a series of storerooms near the baths. The dampness from the river permeated this wing and ruined anything that couldn’t take the wet.

  Bartholomew made a left at the next turning and they moved toward the “dry” wing, the more modern side that, due to its distance from the river and an improvement in ventilation, was far more usable for storage. “Though,” Bartholomew had told Leland the night before, “Siegfried made us prisoners move all the stores and turned those rooms into holding cells. That’s where your father is.”

  My father.

  WHERE ARE THE GUARDS?

  Leland tapped Bartholomew’s shoulder. “Where are the guards?” he whispered.

  Bartholomew held his fingers to his lips sharply, then pointed ahead and crooked his fingers to the right.

  Around the corner?

  Bartholomew stopped, however, well short of that point, outside an old door with two freshly installed bolts mounted upon it. Again he held his fingers to his lips, then pointed at Leland and the door before them. Then he pointed to each of the others and pointed down the hallway, held up two fingers, and pantomimed striking down on something with his closed fist. Finally he held his finger to his lips one more time.

  Leland looked to see if his men understood. The men drew their daggers and Leland, sickened, started to say something, but then their halvidar reversed his dagger so the heavy pommel projected, a potent club. Leland flipped his hand forward and they crept down the hall.

  Bartholomew went to work on the bolts, easing them back with only the slightest scraping, then pulled the door open. It was pitch black within and Leland could see nothing. Bartholomew handed Leland the candle and his packet of matches, then pointed to himself and down the hall, after the others.

  Leland slipped inside the dark room and felt the door shut behind him. He was fumbling with the matches, preparing to light the candle, when he heard the bolts thud home.

  WHY DID HE DO THAT?

  To make it seem undisturbed if anyone came along?

  HMMM.

  Into the darkness he said quietly, “Father?” His voice was quavering and he hated himself for it. There was no answer, no sound. He knelt and scraped the first match against the stone floor. It broke.

  CALMLY.

  The second match lit and he blinked in the sudden flare, then concentrated on getting the candle alight. Then, when it was well lit, he finally looked across the cell.

  They’d used quicklime, which was why there wasn’t much odor. There wasn’t much left of the body but bone, buttons, and some iron-gray hair. They hadn’t tried to take the ring from the left hand, though, a ring Leland remembered playing with in his father’s lap, and the manacles were still there.

  It was well he hadn’t stood for he would have surely fallen.

  THIS DID NOT HAPPEN OVERNIGHT.

  Leland clenched his teeth. Damn you, old man! I did everything you asked! How DARE you die on me. He dropped his other knee to the floor and slumped. The candle splashed hot wax on the back of his hand and he jerked. He dripped more wax on the floor, then pressed the candle base into it. He became aware of that other voice.

  BARTHOLOMEW HAS BETRAYED YOU.

  Excuse me. Can I have a moment here? He took a deep shuddering breath. Bartholomew? He’d die first. The anger was leaching away replaced by overwhelming numbness.

  NO. NOT IF SIEGFRIED HAS THE IMPRINTER.

  Leland wiped tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. What are you raving about? What’s the imprinter?

  YOU CALL IT THE GLASS HELM.

  Leland stared blankly back at the skeleton. The eye sockets stared up, almost as if they were looking at something. Leland lifted his head up, at the wall above, and saw the dark, brownish letters: NON OMNIS MORIAR. What?

  I SHALL NOT WHOLLY DIE. OH, YES, I REMEMB—

  There was a brilliant flash behind Leland’s eyes and he gasped out loud, both hands going to his head. He staggered to his feet and felt every muscle in his body suddenly spasm. He knew he was falling backward and that he should do something about it, but he couldn’t.

  Darkness followed.

  Chapter 22

  KENSHO: ENLIGHTENMENT

  “Non omnis moriar. Well, someone has a sense of humor.” Dr. Herrin resisted the urge to rub her scalp. The electrodes were easily dislodged and they’d been calibrating them all day.

  The technician holding up the sign snorted and Dr. Guyton frowned at him before turning back to Herrin. “Well, we’ve tried it with and without the key and the key seems to work better. It gives them a chance to assimilate the other personality over a period of time instead of overloading their sensorium and sending them into shock.”

  “What happened to your test subjects?”

  Dr. Guyton looked uncomfortable. “The last one is doing all right. The first two… “ He shrugged. “We hope they’ll recover, in time.”

  “So there’s no shock with the key?”

  Guyton licked his lips. “Not as much.”

  Dr. Pearson, the neurologist, turned from his workstation and said, “We’re as ready as we ever will be.”

  Dr. Guyton nodded. “Are you ready, Michaela?”

  Dr. Herrin laughed. “As ready as I ever will be.”

  The technician held up the sign and Dr. Herrin stared at it, as instructed. Then they threw the switch and she was—

  Ten years old, racing over the waves, taking the hovercraft from Seattle to Victoria, weaving between the San Juan Islands. She spent the entire trip with her nose pressed to the glass, looking for the sharp black dorsal fins of killer whales. She didn’t see any.

  Mommy was home on leave and Daddy actually turned off his workstation for the day, though he checked his e-mail once every ten minutes, on his portable.

  Fifteen years old and a street gang almost caught her down by the docks and she pulled the screamer off its clip, dropped it, and ran, shielding her eyes from the glare of the strobe and holding her ears against the shriek of its siren. A police unit dropped from the sky, and the gang scattered like the debris blown before the turbofans.

  The woman officer who drove her home complimented her on the timing of her reaction. “Most people with screamers don’t use them or pull them too late. Have you considered studying a martial art?”

  Twenty-three years old and, even before they handed her the diploma, Ph.D. magna cum laude, she knew economics wasn’t the field for her. Still, she worked for Barclay’s Bank in Tokyo for a year because it let her continue her study of Aikido at Hombu dojo. At the end of that time she was invited to become an uchideshi, an inside student, and quit the bank. She stayed for three more years.

  Thirty years old and she met William in Amherst while working for her Ph.D. in social systems. He was seven years younger than she was, bright, attentive, and, most important, an aikidoka, someone who knew what the hours on the mat meant. They married
the day she graduated.

  Thirty-five years old and chief investigator in the Mexico City riots. So many people in such a small space. She’d predicted it in a paper three years before but it didn’t help. She talked to her girls every night, safe in Colorado, but to four-year-old Carmen’s questions she could only say, “Yes, it’s as bad as they’re showing on the tube.” It was far worse, actually, and she was having trouble sleeping.

  Forty-nine years old and she cried when Carmen left for Rice. “Mom, we can vid! Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.” But Carmen’s eyes were red, too, and, when she lifted off in the collocopter, she wiped at them with the back of her hands.

  Fifty-three, a very bleak year. William was attending a seminar at New York Aikikai when the Ramapo Fault let go. It rained at the funeral and it was all she could do not to rage at the coffin. Damn you, you were supposed to live longer than me! Her cradle-loot, her child-groom. Carmen and Mallory were dazed, tight-lipped, helping when they could and being cried upon by William’s parents. One’s husband should outlive his parents.

  Everyone was helpful, but especially the students from the dojo, bringing food, running people to and from the airports, and just being there. It was her dojo but William had been dojo cho for so long that she wondered if her own death would’ve hurt them half so much.

  Fifty-seven and Carmen cried at the launch. “Carmen, dear,” she’d said, “We can vid!” She didn’t add, Stop it, you’re embarrassing me, because she wasn’t embarrassed. She was touched.

  Mallory said, “Take your meds, Mom. Bone loss is a problem at your age anyway, and in a sixth of a gee…”

  “Two years of med school and already a doctor! It’s only six months—just long enough to do these interviews. The research has all been done in Antarctica, anyway. I’m just confirming its applicability to extraterrestrial habitats.”

  “Ice is not vacuum, Mom. People have been going to Antarctica a lot longer than they’ve been going to the moon.”

  “Or the stars, child. These studies are important for Project Giant Leap. If I were young enough for that trip—”

  Both of her daughters looked horrified and she laughed.

  Fifty-eight.

  A very bleak year. Carmen dead. Mallory dead. Nine billion dead on Earth. Bauer dead on the floor before her.

  What have I become?

  The rest of the committee was staring at her. Novato, the NASA/ESA rep, said forcibly, “It had to be done. Don’t resign.”

  She shook her head. “And what happens the next time somebody wants to disagree with me? There’s a certain chilling effect. ‘If I tell her what I think, will she kill me?’ I really think I’ve gone over the line here.”

  She excused herself and waited outside in the packed corridor, while they discussed it.

  When they called her back, someone had moved Bauer back into the corner and covered his face with a handkerchief. She could’ve predicted the way they’d realigned themselves, Stavinoha at their head, Novato beside him. She approved—her efforts would not be undone.

  Stavinoha spoke. “We don’t think you should die. We don’t know if you’ve insured our survival or doomed it, but whatever, you may go with the colony.”

  And Novato added, “But there is a condition…”

  Fifty-eight.

  The technician held up the sign and Dr. Herrin stared at it, as instructed. Then they threw the switch and she was—

  Oh.

  OH.

  Leland felt something hard beneath him, something holding up his arms, his back.

  He opened his eyes and blinked. The room was well lit with gas lamps and smelled of something familiar.

  Sulfuric acid. The plating workshop.

  He tried to lift his hands to shade his eyes and found they were tied to the arms of a chair. No, he realized, as his eyes adjusted—strapped to the chair. His legs, waist, and chest, too. Someone had removed his outer clothing, but not his extra shirt. He was warm and still dazed from the awakening.

  He knew what kiwi fruit tasted like, a plant that didn’t grow on Agatsu. He had body memories of countless hours on the mat. Of having sex as a woman. Giving birth. Growing old. Dealing death deliberately. Incredible grief and loss.

  So that’s what you are.

  SO THAT’S WHAT WE ARE.

  There were two guards standing against the wall. Leland turned his head and saw Bartholomew standing against the other wall.

  He felt a flash of anger and then understanding. “What happened to my men, Bartholomew?”

  “They’re bruised but alive. The high steward doesn’t kill if he can avoid it. He prefers to convert.” Bartholomew’s smile was serene, peaceful. “I’m glad you’ll be joining us.”

  “I find it painful to know that you’ve betrayed our people. Betrayed me.”

  Bartholomew shrugged. “You will feel differently, after.”

  DON’T BOTHER. THEY TRIED EVERYTHING TO DEPROGRAM THE IMPRINTEES IN TURKEY AND IRAQ, BUT ONLY THE IMPRINTER CAN UNDO WHAT THE IMPRINTER HAS DONE.

  Then what about me?

  The door opened and the guards snapped to attention. A guard stuck his head in, then said, over his shoulder, “Secure, sir.”

  The guard withdrew and Siegfried came in carrying a case.

  He looked at Leland with narrowed eyes. “Good morning. Did you have a nice rest?”

  “Morning?” It had been late afternoon when they entered the mouth of the falls.

  “Oh, yeah. Very restful. How long did I sleep?”

  Siegfried put the case down on the workbench and Leland had to crane his neck to see him. Siegfried shrugged. “I’m not sure if sleep is the word. My men tell me it looked more like a seizure. You’re not epileptic, are you?”

  Would it interfere with the imprinter if I was?

  I DOUBT IT.

  “No,” Leland said.

  Siegfried removed the Helm from the case. “I expect it was something of a shock finding your father that way.” He looked over at Leland and raised his eyebrows.

  Leland, stone-faced, said, “Shock. Yes.”

  “Enough to cause a seizure?”

  Leland shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ll answer my questions soon enough.” Siegfried was doing something with wires. “Blast! The charge is down again. We’ll have to wait a bit for it to recharge.” He walked over to stand before Leland.

  “Fetch me a chair,” he said to the air in general.

  Bartholomew reacted first but the guard next to the door left quickly and Bartholomew leaned back against the wall.

  Siegfried continued. “Tell me what happened at the Plain of the Founders.”

  Leland blinked. “Zanna de Noram negotiated a truce for this year. Then the Rootless found out you’d poured all your men into Laal and decided to invade Cotswold.”

  Bartholomew cleared his throat. When Siegfried looked over at him, he spoke.

  “According to his men in the Eight Hundred, Leland took King Roland right out of his own camp, forcing negotiations, and later, he was the one who told Roland that you’d shifted your forces.” He beamed at Leland like a proud father.

  Siegfried frowned. “Oh, really?” His chair arrived and he sat, hands steepled before him. “Very resourceful. You will have to use some of that resourcefulness on my behalf…for a change.”

  Leland licked his lips. “One man, more or less, won’t make any difference. You’re seriously outnumbered here in Laal. Convert me if you will; the forces of Laal and Noram will still walk all over you.”

  Siegfried laughed. “One man, more or less, is exactly what I need. They have to be the right men, of course. Captain Koss is next on my list, as well as your remaining brothers and sister. I had your cousin Ricard, but he chose death before conversion.” He tilted his head to one side. “You don’t have that choice, by the way. You’ll get me your siblings and the good captain and then we’ll see who’s outnumbered. Arthur and his girls, perhaps, after that. Then I’ll work my way back through
the Nullarbor clan chiefs.”

  He tapped his fingertips together. “I’m going to rule this planet before I’m done, without bloodshed or violence.”

  Leland shook his head.

  Siegfried smiled. “You disagree?”

  “It’s the ultimate violence—the destruction of personal volition, the loss of choice.”

  “I will give them direction and purpose. Ask Bartholomew if he’s happy.”

  Leland glanced at Bartholomew. Bartholomew’s eyes were on Siegfried, following his every breath and movement. Leland felt bile rise in his throat and forced it back. He didn’t speak.

  There was a crystalline tone from the workbench and Siegfried straightened. “Ah. The point is moot. You’ll know what I’m talking about in just a moment.”

  What can we do? He tested the straps, straining, summoning ki, legs, arms, chest, but the straps were thick, new leather, more than adequate to contain him. Perspiration formed under his arms and soaked his shirt. His breathing rate increased.

  Siegfried walked over to the bench, humming to himself lightly, as if he were engaged in some mundane chore—not the destruction of a human being.

  GET OUT OF MY WAY.

  What?

  GIVE ME CONTROL. REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE FIRST TAKING UKEMI? YOU RELAXED AND MY BODY MEMORIES TOOK OVER. I WANT YOU TO GO AWAY, THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. DON’T TAKE THIS HIT—GET OFF THE LINE.

  Siegfried lifted the Helm and disconnected the leads from the battery. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Leland. I was impressed by your loyalty to your father.”

  Leland clenched his teeth together. My father? You have no idea.

  Siegfried continued. “Any last thoughts? Of your own, that is?”