The Imprisoned Earth

by Vaughn Heppner

  Annoyance crossed his regal features.

  I realized that this was my first real insight into the space politics of the local region of the Orion Arm. Ammon had just admitted that he lacked power against the Oladahn Confederacy. Ah. He’d also admitted that the starmenters feared the Oladahn military; and that for some reason, he, a mentalist, used space pirates as cargo haulers.

  “I have several other options to gain greater funds,” Ammon said. “I could sell Calidore or I could trade you.”

  “Trade me to whom?” I asked.

  He nodded, as if I’d scored a point in a running debate. “Before I sell or trade either of you, however, I need to know your true value. I believe you are of greater worth than Calidore, which is amazing, as the computer slate is full of interesting data.”

  My stomach tightened. What had Ammon managed to squeeze from Calidore?

  “Today, in the furtherance of my interests, you will share your innermost secrets with me.”

  I sat up. Was this the surprise and advantage the dream-Avanti had predicted? If it was, how could she have known about Ammon’s actions in advance? She’d spoken through a memory. Did that imply Avantis were prodigies at predicting other peoples’ actions? But how could you predict someone’s actions when you’d never met the person before? How many countless centuries and light-years separated Ammon and the Avanti?

  “You seem concerned,” Ammon said.

  I shook my head.

  “You should be,” he said. “Unless you speak quickly, the extraction process could become quite…well, painful might imply the wrong idea. The process could leave you as an imbecile or a vegetable.”

  “You have mind probes?”

  “That is a good guess. I suppose you could call our procedure a mind probe, but not as you’re thinking?”

  “Can you read my thoughts?”

  “Not yet,” Ammon said, seeming amused at my questions.

  “Not yet, as in mentalists don’t yet have that technology, or not yet, as in you haven’t yet begun to try?”

  “The latter,” he said.

  I licked my lips. “I wouldn’t attempt any info-extraction, if I were you,” I said.

  “Oh? Why not? Are you a dangerous telepath perhaps?”

  “No, as there are no such things as telepaths.”

  “Ah. Indeed? You’re certain about that?”

  “You’re talking about psionics or extrasensory perception.”

  “I’m not, as those are superstitions or fantasies or magically-based concepts. You are correct in saying such powers do not exist in the wild. I’m speaking about something else.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m taking the time to explain it to you.”

  “Why?” I asked, frowning.

  Ammon leaned forward. “You’re a prize, Jason Bain. I have learned enough from Calidore, as he attempts to—what is the term? Ah. Sell you down the river. Even as a computer entity, Calidore relishes life or existence to an unusual degree. I believe him when he implies that he used to be a living being. The Avanti must have digitized his personality, an amazing feat. Calidore hints around the topic and assures me that he’s saving himself from an auto-deletion, which he claims will happen if he says too much. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a lie,” Ammon said. “So…Calidore was correct about that. How interesting.”

  “You read my mind just now?”

  “No, your expressions,” Ammon said. “They gave you away. When I desire, I can view you at a much higher magnification. With my augmented eyesight, I can count your breathing rate and how much or little your skin perspires.”

  “Bodily modifications allow you that?”

  He made a bland gesture as a king might to a peasant.

  “You’re pretty certain of yourself, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “On the contrary, your assessment is false. I’m relaying these facts to you precisely because I lack full confidence. Oh, I can break you easily enough. But can I do so while collecting all the data stored in your brain? I have a high certainty of success. But because the prize is so vast, even a small percent chance of losing it means that I am proceeding with extreme caution.”

  “Then don’t mess with me.”

  “The data in your mind…do you have any idea as to its worth? I would call it incalculable. I simply must have it. Indeed, I will have it. But, before I begin the process, do you wish to freely ally yourself with me?”

  “Sure.”

  He nodded. “This is excellent news. As my ally, give me the galactic coordinates to Terra.”

  I blinked at him. “I, ah, don’t know galactic coordinates.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You just lied to me when you agreed to become my ally. I thought that would be the case. Thus, we will now begin the process.”

  “Don’t do it, Ammon.”

  “Lord Ammon to you,” he said in a regal voice. And he stared at me in his former predatory way.

  I soon felt a warm sensation against my forehead.

  “You’re using psionics or telepathy,” I said. “That means you lied before.”

  He forced a smile. “Those processes are magical fantasies. While I said earlier that some people refer to me as a wizard, that was a figure of speech. I do not attempt supernatural feats or mumble incantations. Think, Jason. Doesn’t your mind create electrical impulses that cause your limbs to move and your lungs to expand and retract?”

  “Yes,” I said, rubbing my forehead, hating the heat there.

  “I could use an x-ray machine and it could beam invisible rays at your brain, destroying it in time. Is that psionics?”

  “No,” I said.

  “What if could beam x-rays at you from my hand, or better yet, beam the x-rays at you from my mind with merely a thought?”

  “You’re doing that?”

  “No. I’m making a suggestion. Would that be psionics?”

  “Not if a mechanical modification did that from within you,” I said.

  “You are too hung up on the form, not the reality. I have many modifications within me, and I control them through the electrical impulses of my brain. I have anti-gravity meshes embedded in the soles of my feet for instance. Thus, I can fly. That is not telekinesis, but simple science to give the appearance of telekinesis.”

  “Why is my forehead hot?”

  “Is it hot, or do you merely have the perception of heat?”

  I felt my forehead, shaking my head afterward.

  “I could cause a small force-field to coalesce inside your skull,” he said. “The field would squeeze your brain tissues.”

  “What kind of modification allows that?”

  “You have the curiosity of an ape, which is apt, as you are like an ape compared to me on the evolutionary tree. One mustn’t underestimate apes, certainly, but one mustn’t expect them to act in a human manner. In this case, I cannot expect you to act like a mentalist. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I was getting tired of his arrogance. I dearly wanted to smash a fist into his smug face.

  “You’re finally ready,” Ammon said. He reached to the equipment on the table between us and took the metal band, fitting it over his head and adjusting it. The wires stretched back to the machine.

  He blinked several times, inhaled deeply, and suddenly, the machine began to hum.

  The heat against my forehead increased.

  “Stop it,” I said.

  “The machine is recording the thousands and even millions of electrical impulses that your mind is creating,” he told me. “I am mapping your brain, your thought patterns. The machine sends those patterns to me as thoughts. I am, in a sense, reading your mind. Now, Jason Bain, I will ask you questions and you are going to provide me with answers.”

  “Stop,” I whispered, feeling something warm inside my head. I intensely hated the sensation.

  “Tell me,” Ammon said, “are you fro
m Terra?”

  I didn’t answer.

  The faintest of smiles appeared on his lips. “Interesting. According to this, you are a Terran from the Nevada Territory.”

  “Stop!” I shouted, and I rose from the chair.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  In spite of my best efforts to remain standing, my body obeyed his will.

  “There,” he said. “The machine is working. Your body will naturally obey your own mind, which will now produce the electrical impulses I give it. In essence, I have enslaved your brain to mine, and now it is time to drain you of useful, nay, priceless data.”

  -35-

  I heard the drone of his words and the answers bursting from my mind, but I could not stop the ongoing process. I was giving away the galactic coordinates of Terra, among other data. I had imagined—it didn’t matter. Humanity—

  Ammon asked yet another invasive question. I had no idea of his actual words at this point. I had zoned out in despair. The last question did something different, however. It felt as if a door opened in my mind. I wanted to weep, for I was certain that Ammon had opened the door and now invaded the citadel of my ego, about to gain total domination over me.

  He frowned, though, as if dissatisfied. “No. This isn’t right. I know your patterns now. This…this is alien to you.”

  The door in my mind swung wide. I had no understanding of the method, but I could feel myself taking back control of the electrical impulses in my mind, of my thoughts.

  “This is impossible,” Ammon declared.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  His golden eyes widened in astonishment. “You shouldn’t be able to speak.”

  “Yet, I do.”

  “Yet you do,” he said. “Let us put a stop to that.”

  My forehead became hot again, the intensity of his rays hitting it, I now realized. In some electrical manner I did not perceive, he began taking over centers of my mind, my brain. Something in me understood, though, because I resisted. A moment of dizziness struck me, and I had a terrible sense of falling. If I should hit bottom—

  One more door in my brain opened. Resistance grew within me.

  “This is preposterous,” he said.

  I laughed, and I saw him wince at the sound.

  Then, it felt as if I gathered strength or gathered the force he used against me. I packed that force tightly as one would pack wet snow into a snowball, and with a thought, I hurled it back at Lord Ammon.

  He grunted, sagged against his chair, and his eyelids fluttered as if he fought for consciousness.

  Released from his attacks, I resumed control of my body. It was a fantastic feeling, leaving me giddy. With understanding, I realized this was the moment of surprise. I overrode my own giddiness, standing, staggering around the table.

  Ammon’s eyelids fluttered faster. I could sense him struggling to tear off the metal band from his head. The machine on the center of the table hummed faster until it buzzed and made a zapping sound. A trickle of black smoke rose, giving off a burnt electrical smell. The machine was overloading. Perhaps it sent debilitating impulses into Ammon’s superior brain.

  “N-No,” he stammered, as his eyeballs tracked me. “H-H-Halt.”

  I did not halt. He had no ability to control me. What a wonderful feeling to move as you desired and do what you wanted. He had enslaved my very mind so it had betrayed me. Now, my mind was mine again. I also realized that Ammon had invaluable data concerning Terra. I could not let him keep that and certainly not let him tell others the galactic coordinates to my home world. Whatever else happened in the Solar System, if the mentalists challenged the Avanti, I was sure the people of Earth would cease to exist. The knowledge emboldened me to do what I had to.

  “S-Stop this in-instant,” Ammon stammered.

  The moment was pure sweetness, but I did not stop to savor it. The Avanti recording in my mind had suggested I act quickly. Such was my intention. Perhaps the high and mighty Lord Ammon understood that intention.

  I reached him, drawing my own Terran-made knife from his belt.

  There was terror in his golden eyes. The eyelid fluttering had stop, and he tilted his head to stare up at me. His fingers were twitching on his lap. He was regaining control of himself.

  “Not so superior now, are you?” I said.

  He raised his hands. I think terror gave him a boost. I brushed his hands aside. Then I plunged the knife into his chest.

  He bellowed as he thrashed, sliding off the chair. That tore the wires from the metal band around his sweaty head.

  “Guards,” he said.

  I was upon him, yanked out the knife and slashed his throat. He gurgled as he bucked, and he exhaled like a spent balloon. As the blood flowed from his throat—an incredible amount—he stopped twitching and shuddering. He stared at me with those golden eyes, and with the band still around his forehead, he died.

  Maybe that sent a feedback pulse to the machine, for it abruptly stopped hissing and smoking, and shuddered as it quit altogether, the lights flickering off.

  With a jerk, I looked up from Ammon at the hatch, expecting it to open as the Myrmidon charged in. Could Ammon have sent a radio signal from his mind? It seemed more than possible.

  I knelt beside him, removing items off his belt and searching his garment. I felt like a ghoul doing so, but the stakes were too high to do otherwise.

  Now what was I supposed to do? I needed to find Calidore if it was possible, and I had to remain free and get the heck out of here.

  I looked around the chamber and raced to a different hatch, found the wall control and figured out how to open the door. As the hatch slid up, I aimed at nothing with a laser pistol I’d taken from Ammon. Then I plunged into the new corridor, walking swiftly, wondering where in the world I was on Aiello.

  The sense of pressure continued to push down on me. Did that mean I was underground in a subterranean fortress? I wasn’t sure about the fortress aspect, but I was sure I was underground.

  I found myself panting and realized I’d started running. That wouldn’t do. I had to conserve my strength. I had one advantage—they did not suspect that I could resist their mind rays or their mental domination machines, or that I was free.

  “Forget about all that,” I whispered. “You have to get out of here.” I almost ran again. But that wouldn’t solve my problems.

  I—

  I stopped, with my right forearm pressed against a corridor wall. I groaned as a painful sensation welled up in my mind. The pain struck again—

  I looked up. I had a memory from Ammon. His way of thinking was so odd that it hurt my mind to think like him. The memory was important—

  I straightened. I knew exactly where I had to go.

  -36-

  I had a memory and several impressions from my machine-amplified mental contact with Lord Ammon. There was a second mentalist on the premises, Ammon’s brother. I did not know if that meant he was Ammon’s biological brother or if the society of mentalists were brothers in the way of monks.

  I slowed my advance, hearing the tread of—

  “Neutraloids,” I whispered.

  I didn’t think they were hunting for me, at least not yet. I heard other footfalls mingled with theirs, shuffling, the type of movement that meant people were trying to hang back. An electric whip snapped. A man bellowed in pain, confirming my idea.

  I hid behind large equipment in an alcove, not daring to peek around the corner to see who passed. I assumed it was neutraloids with another draft of prisoner-workers.

  Finally, the group left the area.

  I rose, easing out of the alcove, looking right and left. The way was clear. I walked quickly, half-crouched, along various corridors. After a while, noticing a taint, I sniffed the air. It had a briny quality like a salt lake I’d visited once in Nevada. Why would it smell like that underground?

  I remembered the drained Lake Paga and the vanished spring that had once fed it. Were the ancient ruins underwater or in deep subterr
anean seas? That would explain the difficulties of reaching them.

  I didn’t know enough to make a firm decision. I perked up, hearing more marching and snapping electric whips in the distance. I accelerated down my corridor, slipping through a hatch into a different area of the underground citadel. Who had constructed such an elaborate labyrinth under the earth? The place had a feeling of great age, but the lighting on the ceiling looked new.

  I sniffed the air. The briny smell was gone. In its place was cool, conditioned air. The lighting was more subdued, too. This was the living quarters for higher caliber people: the mentalists, their entourage and maybe the captain of the starmenters as a hostage.

  I grinned wolfishly, hurrying, wanting to surprise—I skidded to a halt, almost bursting through into a larger area. I crouched low and peered around the edge of an archway.

  There were four beautiful women in scanty outfits that revealed their lovely thighs, flat bellies and most of their breasts. A cloth string hid their nipples. The four sat around a table, playing a card game, stars and comets, I believed.

  I had a faint memory from Ammon. These were…special girls. He or his brother would breed with them and produce offspring. Not only did a mentalist modify himself, but he also desired endless drafts of genetically superior women as he strove to create clans, nations and even worlds after himself. In this way, a mentalist lived forever through his myriad of descendants. And in this way, a mentalist became more like an ancient god of myth like Zeus, who according to the stories was forever sleeping with beautiful maids who had caught his eye.

  Despite the excellent view, I drew back, resting my head against the wall as I crouched low. I could go around the chamber, I thought…

  I moved away from the opening and walked quickly. If Ammon had sent a radio signal through one of his modifications, neutraloids could already be scouring the underground facility for me. I was likely running out of time, given that scenario.

  I followed a corridor, took a turn, then another, walked for a time and heard feminine laughter. I looked back. I’d circled the card room. My jaw muscles bulged due to my anticipation as I headed for my destination.