The Imprisoned Earth

by Vaughn Heppner

  He nodded. “That is a reasonable question. The basic answer is that I am a mentalist.”

  I recalled something I’d heard on the Arch Ship. Calidore used to have modifications. How had he said it? He’d possessed sensitivities, energies, projections, nullifications and lethal emanations. Supposedly, these…these “forces” had been integral to him. A modification could be anything put inside a person, I supposed. Was Ammon saying that he’d wielded some sort of energy that allowed bones to knit in an instant or so preposterously fast that it seemed to be an instant?

  “Some refer to us as wizards,” Ammon said, as he watched me.

  “Techno-wizards,” I said.

  “If you prefer the term,” he said. “By the way, do you feel differently than you used to?”

  “Do you mean differently toward you or your Myrmidon?”

  “I do mean toward me as a mentalist. Do you have a compulsion to attack me, perhaps?”

  “Are you asking me to be candid?”

  “Naturally.”

  “I…”

  “The bone-breaking assault was to show you my healing powers, nothing more. I am not suggesting he will attack again if you speak in a displeasing manner.”

  “I resent his attack and you ordering it.”

  “I would expect so. However, it was important you understood who and what I am. Therefore, it was a useful example. But to get back to my point. Do you desire to strike me?”

  “You mean other than in retaliation for ordering the bone breaking?”

  “I do.”

  “No.”

  “I see,” he said. “Do you feel perhaps a fanatical desire to stop my digging in the ancient ruins of Aiello?”

  “Why should I?”

  The Myrmidon growled a warning, halting as Ammon glanced at him. “He does not like anyone interrogating me, as it is a sign that you think of yourself as my equal.”

  “You conditioned him.”

  Ammon’s golden eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “That is obvious.”

  “Then you don’t like anyone thinking they’re your equal.”

  “I deal in truths, however stark, not egalitarian heresies. The truth is I have no equals.”

  “Lord Ammon, before we proceed, may I ask for a few clarifications? I’m…bewildered by several facets of the situation.”

  Ammon snapped his fingers. The Myrmidon headed for the exit, departing the chamber as the hatch closed behind him.

  “I suspected your careless words were about to trigger him,” Ammon said. “Thus, for the moment, at least, it will be easier if he departs. In time, you’ll learn proper decorum while addressing me. But that’s neither here nor there for now. What do you want to know?”

  “Did you successfully capture all the Fighting Hunge on the plateau?”

  “Those that survived are hard at work in the subterranean ruins. That includes the strange creature, Red Schaine.” I had the feeling he studied me as he said her name. Did he think I had special feelings for her?

  Maybe I did, but I suppressed them. “Has there been a long passage of time since that plateau attack?”

  “If by long you mean several weeks, the answer is yes.”

  “I take it I’ve been unconscious the entire time?”

  “Nearly so,” Ammon said.

  I noticed a slight hesitation, wondering why. “Have you kept me unconscious through artificial means?”

  “Your question implies I did so to harm you. Instead, the opposite is true. We kept you under stasis in order to prolong your life. You were dying, and would have died without my direct interference.”

  “Did I sustain near-terminal battle injuries?”

  “Notice,” Ammon said. He tapped the table. I heard a whirr of sound, and a sealed glass bottle rose from the center of the table. Inside the clear liquid in the bottle floated an intensely white worm, perhaps half the thickness of my small finger but twice as long.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “By your grimace, I suspect you already know. That was inside you until not so long ago.”

  My dreams had been reality. The operation had been a success. I studied the worm as loathing filled me. The Avanti had inserted the worm into my body. The worm had inserted tendrils into my spinal cord. It had been in the process of inserting them into my brain. Here, then, had likely been the reason others had slowed down as they’d attacked me.

  “Your facial tics indicate that you did not like it being in you,” Ammon said.

  “No,” I said.

  “It is a Lorelai worm, of course.”

  “You’re familiar with them?”

  “I am aware of the legend. They are supposed to be an invention of the Avantis. Have you heard about them perhaps?”

  I nodded.

  Ammon crossed his legs, smoothing out a crease on his knee. “We extracted the worm from your body, and the process nearly killed you. That was not due to any ineptness on our part, but a byproduct of the worm’s removal. It attempted to kill you, in other words. That would indicate the Avanti that put it in you wanted you destroyed if the worm should ever leave your body.”

  “The Avantis are a legend,” I said. “How could a legend put that into me?”

  Ammon smiled sadly. “Do you take me for a fool, Jason Bain?”

  “I—”

  He held up a long-fingered hand. “You must take care now. I know you were on an Arch Ship. I know you spoke to an Avanti. Such a fact is utterly amazing. The last Avanti was supposed to have died eons ago. Yet, you apparently have seen and spoken to one. That is a marvel, one that I wish to share.”

  We were coming to the heart of the matter. “Supposing such a thing is true,” I said. “What benefit would I gain in sharing my knowledge with you?”

  Ammon made an easy gesture. “There are several benefits. Firstly, your agony will cease before it begins in earnest. I mean, of course, that failure to share will cause me to hand you over to my Myrmidons. They will break you, and I will fix you. We shall practice the procedure until your will snaps and you beg to tell me everything you know. Listen to me well, Jason Bain. You cannot die while you are in my custody. I have already proven that I can bring you back from almost certain death.”

  “Suppose I do as you ask. What will you do with the knowledge?”

  His golden eyes seemed to swirl with power. “Do not seek to question me about my ultimate plans. I am a mentalist. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “We are set apart from the common ruck. Most people are content to swill in their own primeval stupidity. We refuse to stall at our evolutionary location on the Tree of Life, but choose to ascend higher one upward bound after another. We modify ourselves. We grow, we climb higher and higher, attaining more in a lifetime than millions of generations of common people can attain. As a regular man is more than his primitive progenitor—I mean a lumpish apish creature—so is a mentalist superior to a common man. In that sense, people are correct to think of us as wizards. For we hold interior powers and can use our minds to greater effect than legions of common people can do united.”

  “You’re gods?”

  “Not yet,” Ammon said. “But we are attaining godhood. That’s what it means to climb the evolutionary tree. With Avanti technology, there would be no limit to our achievements. Consider what I’m saying. The Ancients—the Avantis and the Masters—controlled unheard of powers. They achieved miracles as easily as you and I breathe. We seek to grow, to expand our horizons even as we expand our minds and abilities. I am on the verge of a breakthrough, even more so because you are going to give me the location of your planet.”

  “For what reason?” I asked.

  “I want the Arch Ship.”

  “But if the Avantis are so great, won’t they simply destroy you during your attempt to hijack the Arch Ship?”

  “In order to gain the universe, one must risk everything. I shall overpower the Avanti and take the Arch Ship for my own. Thi
nk, now, Jason Bain. Do you dare to stand in my way? You are a pawn in a great contest that you cannot possibly understand.”

  “You have admirable powers,” I said. “But you’re no match for the Avanti on her Arch Ship.”

  “She? A female did this to you?”

  “Ask Dr. Calidore,” I said.

  Ammon’s eyes swirled with golden power. “Yes,” he said. “That’s an excellent suggestion. I believe I shall.”

  The mentalist stood. The door opened, and the neutraloid reentered the room.

  “Take him to his cell,” Ammon said blandly.

  Thus ended the first interrogation.

  -33-

  I recovered rapidly during the next few days, although I was bored sick inside the small cell. I slept. I ate what the neutraloid slid through the slot and I began intense callisthenic workouts as my muscles firmed and expanded under the regime.

  That was interesting. Apparently, the Avanti, or the sarcophagus experience, had done something to my body so I healed faster than I used to. It wasn’t all due to the Lorelai worm that used to be wrapped around my spinal cord. Perhaps I could still expel bullets lodged within me.

  I became aware of new sensations as heat and cold, in turn, struck my brain. I felt dizzy sometimes and threw up twice.

  It dawned on me that the mentalist practiced mind assaults upon me in here, perhaps with various rays. Was he breaking down my resolve? Did the boredom aid the machines beaming various waves at me?

  I worked out harder, doing a thousand push-ups and three times the number of sit-ups.

  On the fourth night since regaining consciousness, I had a bizarre dream. I’m sure it was a dream, although it was the oddest one I’d ever experienced.

  As I slept, I dreamt that I was once again on the Arch Ship. I stood before the shining one as she peered at me.

  “This is a recording,” she said.

  “What? In a dream?” I asked.

  “Dreaming is the easiest method for you to recall, remember or play back what until this point has been kept from you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You are a mentally dull species. Perhaps that is why your kind has flourished throughout the galaxy. You don’t have the decency to succumb to the higher troubles that a superior species faces. You just plod along, continuing to rut and eat, rut and eat, and fill up one planet after another. Even a series of nuclear wars can’t stall you for long. But that isn’t why I’ve inserted this memory into your mind.”

  “You put a Lorelai worm in me.”

  “Do you think the Avantis were stupid buggers? The mentalists are cunning. Our examination and dissection of the entity known as Dr. Calidore proved that to us. Yes. I inserted a Lorelai worm into you, certain the mentalists could extract it. If the mentalists could not, then they never were a serious threat to my Arch Ship. In that case, let the Lorelai worm live and exude in the new eon.”

  “What would have happened to me?”

  “Your body would have survived. Your brain would have ceased being yours as the worm took over.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Your sarcasm suggests you are not as dull-witted as you pretend.”

  “How can you talk to me like this if this is a recording?”

  “I am an Avanti. That is answer enough. It was an easy matter for me. But that isn’t the issue. Our time is short. I have altered you. That means I altered more than just your physical form. I am certain you will need extra abilities if you are to perform the service I desire.”

  “I don’t work for you anymore. The worm—your coercion—is gone.”

  “I never needed the worm. Your own enlightened self-interest will serve me just as well. The mentalists will desire your knowledge regarding my Arch Ship and me. One way or another, they mean to extract it from you. Once they do, you will become a husk, expendable to them. Do you understand?”

  “I’m going to stop you from experimenting with the people of Terra.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “First, to stop me, you must escape from the mentalists. That is what I mean by enlightened self-interest.”

  “What?”

  “Continue to do as you think best, Jason. Just be ready for something new. My suggestion is to extract all the advantage you can that the surprise will give you. The mentalists will not expect the surprise precisely because of the existence of the Lorelai worm that used to be in you.”

  The dream began to fade.

  “Wait,” I said. “Tell me more.”

  “It is possible the recording will have already given you too much advance notice. Don’t give it away, Terran. Continue to act like a dull-witted buffoon.”

  “Huh?”

  “If you are hearing this, it is because the mentalists have acted as predicted, removing the Lorelai worm and then trying various expedients against your mind.

  That is going to trigger an interior event. Be ready for it, Jason. It will likely be your last chance to survive your first encounter with the mind wizards.”

  With the final warning, the dream dissolved, and I headed upward toward consciousness. I awoke in the dark on my cot in the tiny cell.

  The dream—the Avanti, the shining one, had been cunning, it would seem. Had she controlled me in some other manner than the worm? I did not feel controlled. She said to trust my own enlightened self-interest.

  I nodded slowly. I was going to do exactly that. Somehow, I was going to survive Aiello and Lord Ammon and surprise the Avanti by returning and taking over her precious Arch Ship. In that way, I would save Terra from becoming her experimental pawn in some galactic chess game.

  -34-

  Two days later, the hatch opened, and the neutraloid escorted me to the larger chamber. The table with food and drink was gone, although another table stood in its place. The neutraloid shoved me onto one of two chairs in the room. The other was on the other side of a large circular table upon which stood odd equipment.

  “Lord Ammon will be here shortly,” the neutraloid said in his harsh voice. “Don’t touch anything or you’ll be sorry you did.”

  The blue-skinned thug departed, leaving me alone in the room.

  Was this a test? I shrugged inwardly. Damn the mentalist and his tests. I wasn’t a monkey, or a chimpanzee.

  I looked around, finally centering on the equipment on the middle of the table. The machine was complex looking, had various antennae and a circular band hooked to it that seemed it should go around a person’s head. Wires from the band were attached to the machine.

  I thought about that. Before I could reach over and pick up the band, putting it on my head, the hatch opened.

  Lord Ammon entered in a regal manner. He wore red and green garments with a short red cape that reached halfway down his back. He wore gloves today, too, and had several implements on a belt, including a familiar looking knife—mine. The sky-men had stolen it after first shooting me in the back when I’d arrived on Aiello with Calidore the computer slate.

  Ammon halted in the hatchway, staring at me.

  I waited.

  He continued to stare with his strange yellow eyes.

  “I’ll bite,” I said. “What’s wrong now?”

  He shook his head in a quick negative. But that seemed to release him. He walked to the empty chair, sitting in it, staring at me anew.

  Finally, I felt pressure against my forehead. I reached up, rubbing the spot.

  “Ah,” Ammon said, relenting at last.

  “What was that about?”

  Ammon pushed his chair from the table and crossed his legs. He put a hand on his up-thrust knee and began to tap it.

  “You’ve filled out,” he told me. “You don’t look like a walking skeleton anymore. That’s an incredibly rapid recovery.”

  “I don’t smoke, and I eat right.”

  “Eh?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Ah. You attempted a joke. That was an example of primitive humor.”

  “You exalted men
talists have forgotten how to laugh?”

  “On the contrary. However, our humor is more refined and exalted than you would understand.”

  “Because I’m too dumb?”

  “Inferior or lower would be more apt,” he said.

  “Because you’ve scampered high up on the evolutionary tree?”

  The faintest of frowns appeared on his face, although it straightened out of existence almost immediately.

  “There has been a glitch in the digging,” he said. “It is unfortunate, because in my estimation we are near the prize. However, ‘glitch’ implies easily fixed. The solution is easy…” Ammon inhaled, slightly altering his position. “I’ve debated leaving Aiello in order to buy excavation equipment. That would be the most elegant solution. However, I could also gather greater drafts of laborers and continue as is, accepting a high percentage of fatalities. The starmenters favor the first method, as they realize that the draft gathering and fatalities would swing planetary perceptions against them, perhaps enough to goad the Wind Runners and Hunge into an alliance with the intention of slaying all off-worlders. Leaving the planet is time-consuming, though. Thus, I favor the second method.”

  I had no idea why he was telling me this. I shrugged, inwardly again. Did it matter why? I should learn all I could while he was being talkative—if he was even telling me the truth and not making up BS to snow me.

  “Mentalists are all high and mighty and yet they don’t even own their own spaceships?” I asked.

  He made a vague gesture.

  “Why tell me about any of this?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

  “Indeed, there is a reason. I have, ah, shall we say, reached the end of my patience and excess resources—funds, in the common tongue. The starmenters have become itchy to leave for the reasons I’ve stated and because they fear an Oladahn patrol. One is due about now.”

  I shook my head, not knowing what he was talking about.

  “The Oladahn Confederacy claims ownership of Aiello,” he explained, “as the star system lies in their sphere of influence.”

  “Your solution seems simple enough, then,” I said. “You’re a mentalist, which is to say akin to the gods. Merely order the Oladahn to stay away and grant you extra funds to buy excavating equipment.”