Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "A miracle!" the Commissioner almost laughed. "What sort of a miracle could this mysterious someone do for me?"

  "Heal you."

  There was an extended silence, then she replied very coldly, "Lansfeld, you can't imagine how much you just hurt me. If I didn't owe you I'd have you torn to pieces. Get out of here! Now!"

  "Commissioner, it's true. And at least up to a point I can prove it."

  "Lansfeld! Are you persisting with this rubbish?"

  "Yes, Commissioner."

  "And just how do you intend to provide this proof?"

  "It's Marisa Robeiro."

  "Go on!"

  "As you might know, she had a birthmark on and up from her left breast . . ."

  "As a matter of fact, I had no idea," the Commissioner said as she shook her head, almost in despair. "Lansfeld, I'm not particularly interested in your sordid affairs, although I'd prefer it if you found someone who wasn't so politically sensitive."

  "I wasn't . . ."

  "Don't get so upset. I'm not the puritan some people think I am. I didn't really expect the two of you to spend the weekend together and do nothing else than look at old rocks."

  "But that's all we did!"

  "At least that's politically correct. Now, would you get on with whatever you have to tell me?"

  "That birthmark will be recorded in her files, if nowhere else. It has been removed, with no sign of any surgery. Miss Robeiro has agreed to show you, as proof. She also had a terrible laser burn on her arm cured, but since nobody saw her get that, it's not so convincing."

  "You'll forgive me," Natasha said with a sigh, "but none of this makes sense. Perhaps you could start from the beginning."

  "Of course . . ."

  * * *

  Harry's self-confidence had evaporated. He knew that Marisa had wanted him to spend the night with her. He also knew his efforts at avoiding this had been clumsy. He had to look after her, he had to comfort her, but he could go no further. What could he do, apart from telling her about Jane? Tell her he was merely doing his duty? Hardly! Not the least because it wasn't even true. He would never tell Jane that he spent three days in Rome with another woman. She would never understand. This weekend, even though he would keep it innocent, was totally unfair towards her. Back in Sydney she would be going without most of the social life that really required an escort and which she enjoyed so much. She would be staying home, planning for the wedding, and probably dreading having to leave her social life to live in Tashkent.

  It was dawn, well before the tourists were permitted to come, when they stepped into the empty forum. Harry was embarrassed; so close were they walking he could feel every curve of Marisa's body. But it was chilly, and she was shivering slightly. They walked slowly past Trajan's column, each trying to imagine what sort of place it must have been when it was complete.

  "Hey, look over there!" Marisa whispered, and tugged on his jacket. He turned, and followed her pointed finger.

  There, kneeling beside a broken column, was a man who was clearly neither a tourist nor a permitted attendant. What was surprising was his attire. He had a wooden staff in his right hand, he wore what appeared to be a brilliant white toga, on his feet were laced up Roman sandals, while on his head was a hand-made 'crown' or wreath made of . . . of grass? His head was bowed, and he seemed not to notice the two of them as they crept towards him. As they were about to reach him, he looked up. Tears were running down from both eyes.

  "Sorry," Marisa said apologetically. "We saw you here, and we just wanted to see if you needed help."

  "Thank you very much for your kind thoughts, friends, but no. I need no help that you can give."

  "Then we're sorry to intrude," Marisa said, starting to withdraw.

  "You need not feel intruders. In some ways this place is more yours than mine."

  "What were you doing, if you don't mind my asking?" Harry asked impulsively, as he stared at the strange clothing.

  "It amuses me to complete a prophecy," the man shrugged. "Also, I am remembering friends, and perhaps they might be remembering me."

  "Remembering you?"

  "Yes. Look now. Up upon the Palatine." The staff lifted, and pointed.

  Harry followed the staff, and to his surprise saw the silhouettes of Roman soldiers with shield and sword.

  "Harry!" Marisa said, tugging on his shirt. "Trouble!"

  Harry ignored her. He glanced between the images and the man, who turned his staff towards the brick imperial palace. For a brief moment, the rubble was gone, and the forum stood in its previous glory.

  "Look out!" Marisa yelled. She dived towards the 'Roman', and screamed as a laser beam tore into her left arm. The two landed behind a large marble column. Marisa rolled over the Roman, leaving a large streak of blood smeared down his toga. The Roman seemed quite unperturbed by the event; he calmly reached into his toga, produced a strange metal bracelet, and slipped it over Marisa's arm.

  Harry had turned to see four men marching towards them, each using both hands to hold large laser weapons. Harry dived behind a large block of marble as a beam flew past. He wriggled along a small depression to reach the other two.

  "I don't know who you are," Harry whispered to the Roman, "but if I were you, I'd get out of here."

  "And leave my friends?" came the quizzical reply.

  "You haven't a clue who we are," Harry pointed out.

  "If they can get me," Marisa added sadly, "they won't bother about you."

  "It is true I do not know you," the Roman replied calmly, "but I know you tried to save my life, and were grievously wounded in so doing. To run and leave you would be truly cowardly and totally ungrateful. No, my friends. I shall stay."

  "Don't be silly," Harry muttered, "you can't fight lasers with a piece of wood."

  "So you think we shall die?"

  "I don't think we can do much to stop them killing us."

  "Would you like a bet?"

  "What?"

  "A bet. We Romans were inveterate gamblers. We would bet on anything. We shall bet a favour. What do you say?"

  "Oh, fine," Harry said, as he shook his head in disbelief. "So I'll bet we all live."

  "Oh, you do, do you? Indeed a fine bet. Have you any idea how?"

  "I'm thinking," Harry replied, without conviction.

  "But do you not hear help coming?"

  "What?"

  "Listen!"

  There was a muffled sound of marching feet. Then, through the still air came the shrill sound of a horn. Harry looked around the marble block and saw the four killers staring in amazement. Beneath the Arch of Titus came a soldier carrying the high standard of the twentieth legion of Imperial Rome. The emblem of the legion began to glow, highlighting the strange finned beast. Behind him marched troops in full armour, swords drawn.

  "Desecrators of the fora!" boomed the standard bearer, in Latin, then he stood aside. The finned beast leapt from the emblem into the air, glowed, and snorted at the would-be assassins. The troops marched into line, shields locked together, swords advanced. They then began to march towards the killers.

  One of the killers turned his weapon towards the advancing soldiers. The beam tore into the column, burning the clothing off the nearest troops, and tearing off four of the helmets. Without the helmets, skulls stared forwards; without the clothing, the skeletal ribcages glistened. It was then that Harry looked at the legs. They too were skeletal. There was a scream of horror from the killer. The troops advanced onwards. The killers turned and backed away. A strange marching song drifted through the air, over the incessant sounds of the marching skeletons.

  "They're not real," one of the killers suddenly said. "Look!"

  He marched straight towards the advancing column, intending to walk through it. As he reached the column, a sword flashed through the air, and the man's head flew from his body. The skeletons continued their march, maintaining their song as if nothing had happened. The remaining killers emptied their weapons onto the column; most of the
clothing was incinerated, but the skeletons, the shields, and the swords remained unaffected. The killers dropped their weapons and began to run, until they were cornered against a wall. The deathly column marched directly to them, and disappeared through the wall. The three killers lay decapitated.

  'There," remarked the Roman, as he stood up. "Another fine example of a correct observation followed by totally faulty logic."

  "What do you mean?" Harry asked, as he too stood up.

  "Oh, he correctly observed that they were not ghosts, and concluded they were mere illusions. He fell down, of course, by missing the point of the illusion."

  "A distraction?"

  "Exactly! Each of them spent all their time looking at the skeletons. Nobody stopped to consider what else might be there."

  "Including me," Harry remarked. "I saw nothing else. Please, tell me how you did it?"

  "Magic!"

  "So you won't tell me," Harry said sourly. "Sorry I asked."

  "So you don't believe in magic?"

  "There'll be a simple physical explanation," Harry snorted, "but if you won't . . ."

  "I'm prepared to show you, but it might hurt you. Are you prepared to learn?"

  "Yes," Harry replied, then added quickly, "but not to the extent of losing my head!"

  "That wouldn't teach you much," the Roman laughed. "If you wish, then . . ."

  Something like a flat hand struck Harry in the middle of his back, and Harry felt himself being thrown forward. He flung out his hand to grab the Roman's arm, but his hand seemed to pass through it.

  "And what did you learn?" the Roman asked the sprawling figure.

  "That's hardly fair," Marisa groaned, then turned towards Harry and added, "but there was something behind you."

  "What I've learned is that I am talking to an illusion. There's a real you, and it must be invisible."

  "Your young lady is on the right track," the Roman laughed. "Let this illusion give you a hand up."

  "It's merging!" Marisa grasped.

  "Spoiled the effect," the Roman shrugged, as he put out his hand and grasped Harry's. "Do you believe in invisibility?"

  "Almost, but not quite," Marisa said. "I saw it!"

  "No!" Harry said.

  "No?"

  "Invisibility is physically impossible."

  "But . . . !" Marisa almost shouted.

  "If you can create an illusion like that of something else," Harry said quietly to the Roman, "you should be able to create an illusion of the background around you. That way you could walk around, and everyone else would see what is behind you, so they wouldn't see you."

  "Unless they look very hard," Marisa nodded, then gasped.

  "You're hurt!" Harry started. "We've got to get help!"

  "I'll be all right," Marisa said, without conviction. "It's not serious. It's not bleeding too much, and . . . ooww!." She had tried to flex her arm, and then it was clear that it was damaged.

  "I'll do something for you in a minute," the Roman said softly, then he turned to Harry, "Now since we all live, you can receive a favour."

  "There's no need," Harry shook his head. "I cheated."

  "You what? How?" came the stunned reply.

  "I realized that if we were killed, I could never benefit, so I bet against what I expected. If I'd lost, you would never have collected."

  "My friend, you won. My friends in the legion you just saw would always bet to win. You may choose a favour. The only restriction is it must be possible, and you must not attempt to hurt others. What do you wish?"

  "To get a doctor for Marisa," Harry said quickly. "Now," he added when nothing happened.

  "Yes, I shall heal your friend," the Roman said, as he bent down to look at her. "Your arm is broken," he said, after feeling the arm gently. "You may not wish to walk very far, so we need transport."

  "I've got a vehicle parked out there," Harry offered.

  "Then if you drive me where I wish to go, I shall heal your Marisa." He paused, and saw Harry's doubtful expression. "You don't believe me?"

  "No disrespect," Harry said, "but she needs a doctor. This is . . ." He paused, uncertain how to proceed.

  "You have no faith?" the Roman smiled. "You do not think I can heal her?"

  "I don't know whether you can heal her or not," Harry retorted, "and I know she will be healed at a hospital. I don't wish to take the risk that something will go wrong."

  "I understand," the Roman said, "nevertheless you should let me heal her. I promise, and with no illusions." He looked at Harry's uncertain expression, then he added softly, "I have shown you two things you could not even dream of doing. Let me show you a third."

  "You really mean you can heal her?" Harry asked. His expression clearly showed that on one hand accepting the word of a stranger that he could do better than fully trained professionals was ludicrous, but on the other hand he had just seen what was impossible in terms of conventional physics, and he felt he knew as much of that as anybody.

  "I would not lie about that," the Roman said quietly. "Your Marisa tried to help me, and I only wish to return her to full health."

  "Then we should get going," Harry said, having taken a decision.

  * * *

  "I am sometimes introduced as Claudio the Magnificent, Faith Healer Extraordinaire," the Roman explained with a wide grin as he ushered Marisa into a room. They had driven for over an hour, and had arrived at what had once been a magnificent villa, but had somehow seen far better days. The villa appeared as if it had been on an estate, but one that had met harder times a couple of centuries earlier, and the then owner had sold off the adjacent land for development. "What I want you to do is get into this."

  "'This' looks awfully like a coffin," Harry remarked with concern, "Except . . ."

  "Except for all this electrical stuff," the Roman said, "and all these plates and so on." He turned to Marisa and shrugged as he said, "I know this is unfair on you, but you're going to have to trust me. Look at it this way. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so with those others. So, please get in."

  So Marisa got in and lay on her back. The Roman carefully adjusted her arm, then said, "I am going to close the lid, and have a look at all of you, a bit like an X-ray. Could you please just lie still." With that, he placed the lid down, moved across the room and flicked a switch. There was a slight buzzing noise, then a screen lit up on the far room. There was a picture of Marisa, with a blue flashing light where the break in her arm was. There were two other slight blue smears, and beside the blue pieces, red text in what seemed to be Latin.

  The Roman opened the lid and smiled at Marisa. "In a few moments I shall heal you. Besides the break, you have a small cyst, which I shall also remove, and we shall restore your teeth. Now, before I start, there is a birthmark on your chest. Would you prefer to be without it?"

  Marisa nodded in surprise. Then the lid was replaced, another switch was thrown, and after a further few seconds of a humming noise, the switch was turned off and the lid reopened.

  "Then have faith, my child, arise and walk. You are healed!"

  "How . . .?" spluttered Harry, as Marisa got to her feet. The arm was unmarked, although the clothing was in tatters.

  "How do you feel?" the Roman asked Marisa.

  "Wonderful," Marisa replied, her voice laden with surprise. "I've never felt better in my life."

  "You've never been better in your life," came the reply. "Now, tell me, those uniforms, what are they?"

  "We're in Defence," Marisa replied. "We're training to go into space."

  "To fight alien invaders who out-gun and out-power us by more than two orders of magnitude," Harry remarked wryly. "I wouldn't count on seeing us again, unless . . ."

  "Unless?" the Roman gave a quizzical smile.

  "We need help," Harry said in a flat tone. "Any advice on this you could give would be very welcome."

  "Only advice?"

  "Well, if you've got a spare battle fleet lying round doing nothing, I'm sure �
��"

  "I'm afraid a spare battle fleet is outside what I can offer," the Roman shrugged.

  "I guessed as much," Harry laughed. "I was hardly likely to get that lucky."

  "However," the Roman said, as he turned towards Marisa, "in the language of the prevailing culture of your times, I have paid your expenses. In payment of the debt, take this." He placed a strange ring on Marisa's finger, and she found, to her surprise, that try as she would, she could not move it. "This ring is a type of beacon, amongst other things. If you ever need help when you're in space, press that little button, and it's just possible that rescue could arrive."

  "It's so visible," Marisa replied with concern. "There's hundreds of thieves who'd cut my finger off for this." She tugged at it, but still it would not move.

  "It's not the easiest thing in the world steal," the Roman replied, "and it would certainly not be the safest."

  "Even apart from the M'starn, we're not alone here are we?" Harry asked.

  "No, but I cannot tell you any more."

  "You won't help us?" Harry asked in a resigned tone.

  "It depends what you mean by help," the Roman said quietly. "Your soldiers will have to do most of the fighting, but that doesn't mean there won't be any assistance. But on that you'll have to trust me. I cannot discuss that further. Now, I am sorry but for various reasons I am going to have to ask you to leave."

  "About the healing," Harry said.

  "Yes?"

  "I can hardly believe what you just did," Harry started.

  "That is your problem," came the quiet reply.

  "I know. It's just that . . ."

  "You wish to say something else?"

  "You spoke about expenses and debts . . ." Harry started slowly.

  "So?"

  "The favour! Can you do that again?"

  "Of course. If you have faith. What is wrong with you?"

  "Not me. A friend. Someone who needs a miracle because everything else has failed her."

  "Not a sweetheart?" There was a slightly disapproving glance, and a sidelong glance at Marisa.

  "Help, no," Harry replied quickly. "Just someone who really needs help."

  "Where are you staying?"

  Harry gave the name of the hotel.

  "Your friend will need to be identified," came the simple reply. "Your name is?"