Shadow Over Avalon

by C. N Lesley

  But had his own motives for saving the Terran sprung from the image of enemies in her mind? She accepted death as a natural part of life and had been ready to go. How was she going to react to a second chance in an alien culture? His mind thrummed to another’s call, disturbing, demanding attention. He lowered his privacy barriers. Ambrose projected, requesting a meeting in the Terran’s room at once.

  *

  Ambrose sat on a comfortable chair with his feet propped up on a low table by the sleeping captive’s bed. His light-red hair looked ruffled, as if he’d run his hands through it. The girl now wore a loose, white sleeping robe, resembling one of the people in this half-light. Her short, ragged hair gave her a vulnerability Ector found difficult to bear.

  “I thought you should be present as a sympathetic figure when she wakes. There will be enough to frighten her without strange faces around,” Ambrose said. He got up, stretched and smoothed out the crinkles of his gray uniform bodysuit.

  “Aren’t you staying, sir?” Ector asked, rather surprised to find Ambrose leaving now after displaying such intense interest.

  “I’ll await the outcome elsewhere. Either we’ll get something to work with, or you can leave a sharp knife lying around. If she can’t adapt, it would be cruel to keep her. Terrans don’t bear weapons unless they can use them. This girl’s calloused hand marked her as a fighter. She’ll know how to make a clean end.” Ambrose walked over to the bed, staring at the sleeper. “Odd, she reminds me of someone.” He sighed.

  Ector took Ambrose’s place to wait. He considered scanning her mind while she still slept but dismissed the notion as impractical. He needed active cooperation from the girl for any significant improvement. She stirred, fitful for a moment while sleep receded. Her eyes snapped open when the end of her stump touched the mattress.

  She caught sight of the light source, a wonder to any primitive, without panic. Every aspect of the room, its furnishing, and Ector himself underwent a thorough inspection, yet she remained calm. He wondered what she thought, how her mind could accept illumination from a bright square instead of torches or candles. Cave walls couldn’t come as smooth as plexglass and nor would she be accustomed to fiber and glass furniture. Even when she found her amputation, she showed simple resignation as if she had already accepted this outcome.

  “Sorry, nothing left to save.”

  Ector then witnessed a desperate battle as the girl opened her mouth, struggling for words. Her remaining fist pounded against the wall. He waited, knowing whatever she found would come in time.

  “Thank . . . you.” Her voice rasped, no more than a harsh croak.

  Hairs on the back of his neck lifted, one by one. His assessment of her mental capabilities hadn’t included politeness. What else had he missed? Why had the Nestines needed to destroy her life, rather than just kill her?

  Accumulated data on the subject of sonic wristband devices, worn by all adult Terrans, indicated that the coloration of those permanently attached wrist manacles related to status. Blacks were rare, belonging to a fanatic warrior caste held in fear and contempt by other Terrans. Ector reviewed all reported sightings in the space of a few heartbeats. Not one glimpse of a female amongst them. Was she fugitive because she’d seen a Nestine, or fleeing in consequence? Had the landing Nestine skyship tracked her passage to reacquire an escaped deviant? Just how much of a threat to them did her continued existence pose? He had to have answers, and for that he needed cooperation from this potential killer.

  “We must talk . . . and you can’t, can you?”

  Her violet eyes looked away in sad resignation.

  “How about if I ask a question where a simple nod for yes, or shake of the head for no will do?” He smiled encouragement when she nodded.

  “We are different from your people. Does this frighten you?”

  “Ta–ste.” The girl’s voice husked with effort. She shook her head.

  “Hungry?” Ector asked, not surprised at this expression of basic need. Again, she shook her head. She struggled to tell him something. He couldn’t go into her mind for the data, not now. She’d know what he did by the results.

  “Thirsty then,” he tried. This time the girl nodded, and then shook her head. “Yes, you are thirsty and no, you didn’t mean that?” He gained the reward of a tentative smile.

  Tarvi had left a beaker containing water mixed with trace elements to restore her electrolytic balance. Ector approached slowly, and then supported her to drink, astonished when she did not throw a fit at the contact. When she’d taken her fill, he resumed his seat but didn’t stick his feet on the table again, interested to see if she’d become defensive. She didn’t.

  “I know you saw a Nestine—a Harvester, you’d call them.”

  The girl made a sour face, her mouth forming a moue of disgust. She scanned around the room again.

  “So you don’t like them. In your position, I think I’d wonder if the Nestines and my type are allies,” Ector suggested, pushing his luck.

  “Taste,” the girl said, clearer this time as if she’d locked the word into memory.

  “Now I’m lost. Nestines taste different from me? Do you mean touch?”

  He demonstrated by touching his own face. Again, immense frustration clouded the girl’s features. She touched her head, looked toward him and made a clutching motion that seemed to drag an invisible object away.

  “Taste and it’s concerning the head?” Ector watched the girl as she made a fist, opened it, again touching her head, repeating the same clutching motion as if giving him something.

  Understanding dawned and with it, doubt. She could understand the thoughts of others. How was that possible? All Terrans were head-blind.

  That sad smile, with all her soul in her eyes, began to get to him. Ector could imagine the frustration of understanding without being able to respond. He tried to still excitement at his discovery. What if the Nestines had discovered her ability for alternative communication? It might explain why she’d strayed so far from habitation and why they hunted where no legitimate prey should exist – not because they suspected any Submariner excursion into their domain, but to finish the girl away from the herd.

  “Our information suggests a certain degree of bad behavior is necessary to be expelled from the fold. My scan of your mind didn’t reveal the reason for your exclusion, just its newness. Were you blocking me?”

  Now the girl looked angry. She shook her head.

  “You don’t have that memory.” He reviewed all data gleaned about these elusive pariahs but couldn’t recall one scan of them being recorded—only the impression of disgust and loathing emitted by traveling companions.

  On a practical level, recent bloody conflicts between his people and those wearing black wristbands showed up with greater frequency in Ambrose’s reports. So far Submariners had won every conflict, but those conflicts ended with the death of all opposition despite offered quarter. This girl surrendered to death during his scan, although she had strength enough to fight for life for many more minutes. By the deeps, what sort of warrior among primitives had this kind of discipline? Had Submariners gained an asset or a liability? If only he could get access to that damaged mind without antagonizing her. Ector took a deliberate gamble.

  “Having no recollection of sin during punishment is an offence against justice. It plumbs the depths of deliberate cruelty.”

  She looked up, her mouth set in hard anger lines although her body language did not appear to include him in the cause of her anger.

  “Will you allow another mind contact? It will probably hurt, if I can undo some damage, and I must have full cooperation.” Again, her instant compliance startled him. By the deeps, she had courage.

  Ector started rerouting synaptic pathways. Several times he touched unusual suppressors, keyed to pain centers. She moaned with the agony. Tears streaked her face, and she trembled as she matched his efforts with her own. Ector suspended disbelief when she aligned her will to his purpose, learning so
quickly what was necessary that he wanted to shout ‘fools!’ into the heart of Sanctuary.

  They had dismissed this girl as a moron. Ector estimated a very high intelligence, coupled with the potential of an eidetic memory, although he visited the realms of pure speculation since her recall of a past life existed in fragmented form. The Nestines must have blundered by allowing this one to reach maturity, and then letting her slip through their fingers prior to termination. His head ached at the finish, and the girl looked as white as her night-robe.

  “Say how you found us in the open.” He withdrew his link.

  “Felt . . . sense . . . safe. Thought . . . Copper . . . there. One . . . like . . . me.” She trembled from effort, smiling like a child mastering a new toy.

  “Much better.” More than he had thought possible too. So others like her existed, did they? He resisted his need to continue, aware that he risked pushing her too far. “Sleep, little Shadow. We’ve time to spare, and we’re both in need of rest.”

  She was asleep by the time he had adjusted his chair to a reclining position. He dozed awhile, afterward requesting access to the Archive from the room’s console. He didn’t need direct contact, just a search/locate on files, and then a visual replay with subtitles. Ector wanted any information on female military factions on the surface world. Since he couldn’t go to source, the history database of pre-holocaust humanity gave him the next best solution.

  The console screen jittered and fussed as the Archive made its resentment known at having to interface with the slow, badly encrypted systems. Ector began to wonder whether the old ones hadn’t got it right. Working with an artificial intelligence, which also happened to be fully sentient, had distinctive drawbacks if the thing happened to be having an angry fit.

  Research proved disappointing. Where women had autonomous rights to fight as individuals, they also formed part of a sophisticated society. As for primitives, they fought in groups. How did this girl fit into a male-dominated world? Was this Copper another telepathic female, or had he jumped at the explanation he wanted most? Why did this girl belong to those of the mad blackness?

  A slight change in the air on his neck warned Ector. Shadow stood inches away, looking around his shoulder at the screen. He hadn’t heard her stir. His senses came to full alert.

  “Hungry?” He deactivated the playback.

  Her face changed to look like a lost child and she reached to the screen as the pictures faded. She didn’t want food; she wanted knowledge. Ector caught her hand before she touched any of the controls, holding it firm in his. Where he’d expected roughness, her skin felt velvety soft, different from his, yet not unpleasant.

  “Watching this will spoil the few memories you have, Shadow. Wait until we can access more.” Ector wanted answers almost as much as the girl did.

  “Mixed-up. Not . . . any sense.”

  Ector sighed, risking primary mind-link. His awareness reeled from the ease of entry. Shadow didn’t voice complaints. She had an assorted mixture of images from varying perspectives. Some appeared big, as if seen through the eyes of a child, but these muddled with those of a normal viewpoint. Nowhere had she any trace of family, home or individual identity, except one fragment, a distorted picture of an auburn-headed man with a speech problem so like her own, it couldn’t be a coincidence. This fragment contained a record of direct speech and identified the elusive ‘Copper’. He had assumed her name to be Shadow from her attempts to communicate, but she didn’t have a personal tag. Ector perused every part of her memory to find it blocked for the most part. All he could do was to arrange the little remaining in chronological order, and for that, he needed direct linkage with the Archive.

  “I can’t retrieve more,” he told her. “I can get sense from the rest, only I don’t want to cause panic by releasing muddled images. This picture thing has a mind of its own much sharper than mine. I can link us to it, so it can sort. It must touch me in its own special way. Can you handle that?”

  “What worse?” Shadow tapped her head and looked down at her empty sleeve. “Only go . . . up now, down . . . has limit.”

  “See this?” Ector brushed back the hair behind his right ear to display the implant port. “The Archive, that intelligence I told you of, touches me here. It won’t hurt either of us, and you mustn’t fight. It doesn’t taste bad.”

  Ector activated a set of controls, keeping his grip on her hand as an automatic locator snaked into link. She trembled when the Archive flowed through his mind into hers, selecting, correlating into a time related pattern. Many of those fragments that he had not understood linked into cohesive thought pattern. She had much more than he had suspected. The Archive downloaded data into coded files as it withdrew.

  The life of a social pariah became outlined in grim detail now. Shadow’s telepathic ability had enabled her to retain a few memories, such as a wealth of information concerning survival in the wilderness and an astonishing collection of battle skills, along with her ‘Brother’ and his warning.

  The man had an intriguing insight into the future that Ector wanted to investigate. No Submariner had the talent, yet it smacked of extended thought-processes. Then there emerged this business of Nestine drones, ‘priests’, who eliminated mutant births. How many Terran telepaths suffered quiet removal? Shadow had slipped through this process. He knew late developers like him manifested the strongest level of psi-power and the emergence linked to first sexual encounter. Shadow had no memory of a liaison except being aware of leaving behind something so important it needed retrieval, a child perhaps, maybe a lover? He dissolved their link when she snatched at his mind in a desperate search.

  “No—mind talk is easy, but you’ll never relearn speech this way.”

  “Want data.” Her eyes narrowed and her mouth compressed.

  “I want data. Say ‘I want data’,” Ector countered, aware she’d just picked his mind for a word.

  “I not . . . same as you . . . Nestines . . . humans. Only Brethren like.”

  “I seriously doubt the Nestines, but you, the Terrans, or humans as you’d say, and I are brothers and sisters under the skin,” Ector said. “There was a time when we all looked alike, before a rather special weapon severed contact. The Nestines want to kill all my people, and Terrans are under their control. How else could they take away your life?”

  “No good. Terrans . . . not liking Brethren. Brethren sin. Did Shadow sin? Shadow . . . not remember.”

  Ector suppressed a sigh. He had to do something about her lack of personal pronoun. It was like trying to converse with a baby when he knew an active, if insensitive mind lurked behind the gibberish.

  “I am Ector, and I don’t say Ector does, or Ector thinks. You know what I think. You thought it with me,” he instructed. “Transgression depends on the rules of the society one inhabits. Since all Terrans I, or any of my kind have encountered, are head-blind with the exception of you, I would say you sinned in ignorance. You know what happens to newborns who don’t meet Nestine standards. Supposing your mind skills have surfaced? Wouldn’t that be reason enough?”

  Ector frowned as an incoming thought pattern touched his consciousness. Ambrose was sending a pathe from outside this room wanting to know if a reclamation detail needed ordering.

  “My commander is concerned. He thinks you might need an ending. That your brains have dribbled out of your nose, and you chose death. Do you want me to leave you alone with a sharp blade, or can you live with the differences of our lifestyle?” Ector doubted the former, despite Shadow’s disability.

  “I . . . want to live. I need . . . ” She struggled to form words. “Nestines taste bad. Shadow . . . I want to fight.”

  He couldn’t have put it clearer himself. Ector deactivated the door lock, admitting his supreme commander. Ambrose must have been monitoring the Archive for input, or he wouldn’t be here. “Shadow has a problem with language enunciation,” Ector reported. “She is able to understand, and if there’s a communication problem, she
is a telepath. I suggest limited use of this ability, or she’ll never learn to speak again. And she wants to kill Nestines.”

  “You are a find, youngling. We are at war with that nasty species. What would you say if I gave you the chance to hurt them?” Ambrose smiled encouragement to back up the simple wording selected as appropriate to a primitive.

  “Give,” Shadow said.

  “Very basic, isn’t she.” Ambrose raised his eyebrows.

  “Shadow has a personal score to settle. I think you can take it as a positive yes.”

  “Then we’ll start with limb replacement. Show her how one functions, Ector.”

  “Elite recruit?”

  “The best placement, and keep her in barracks or she’ll get mobbed.” Ambrose looked the girl over with approval. “Report on progress.”

  Ector was left with a very inquisitive looking Terran who he could see was bursting with questions. Trust Ambrose to offer a terse solution and leave someone else to deal with practicalities. He found himself rather grateful the girl had limited recollection since it made his task easier.

  “Make it better?” Shadow glanced down at her empty sleeve, her brows raised.

  “Too difficult. Ambrose meant constructed, like the communication port in my head.” He paused for a second as she accessed the meaning of communication from his mind, wondering at the same time why that notion seemed natural to her. “I lost my right leg below the knee some years back. A new limb is fixed to my own flesh.”

  “Wood?” Now she looked disappointed.

  “No, many parts giving the movement of a natural limb.” Ector pulled off one boot and rolled up the leg of his uniform gray bodysuit. He ran the blade of his belt-knife down the inside calf; pulled back lips of the plastiskin to reveal a glistening display of metal, fibers and microprocessors.

  “Same?” Shadow pointed to the console, which happened to be of the same color metal as inner parts of his prosthesis.