... _And you are not a dream. You are real. Who are you-- really? And where am I, right now?_
_I am the goddess to whom you have sworn allegiance, and we dwell in my private heaven_.
_Where is that?_
_My kingdom is within you_.
_You do not truly answer me, Lady_.
_I give you the only true answers_.
_Where did we meet?_
_We have always known one another_.
_It was Deiba, wasn't it?_
_That was where we made formal contact, yes_.
_I cannot recall the introduction_.
_You were ill. We saved you_.
_"We"?_
_I. I saved you for this time, that we might benefit one another_.
_Why did you wait so long?_
_The time was not propitious--until recently_.
He turned and regarded her. Quickly then, he bowed, as there was nothing but blue ice and blue flame before him.
_What has happened?_ he muttered.
_You have brought more here than is welcome, and less, _Dra_ von Hymack. The minor memories of a minor life have no part in our doings now. Bid them depart. You are no longer he whom you were on Deiba, or even on Cleech. Worship me now. I will sanctify you. I will grant you grace_.
_I worship thee and adore thee_.
_When you awaken, you will walk until you come to a city. There, you will not speak a word. You will but point your finger at the first living thing you see_ ...
... _I will point my finger at the first living thing that I see_.
_You will feel the power open within you like a flower, rise like a serpent_ ...
... _I will feel the power_.
_Then you will go away from that place and seek another_ ...
... _I will seek another_.
_You are beautiful before me and I love you, _Dra_ von Hymack_.
He felt her cold lips touch his eyes, like coins for Charon. After a time, from somewhere, he heard her singing. The moon was blue. Blood dripped from her fingertips onto his palm. The song was a piece of forever.
* * *
He had given her a tranquilizer and sent her to her berth. It was either that or shut off the screens which were the apparent cause of her vertigo. He could have done without the screens, but she had been rubbing his nerve ends raw since their departure.
It is not just that she is a lovely girl who idolizes you and is afraid to let you touch her, he thought. It is not her incessant talk of The Cause either, or the fact that she wants you to reminisce aloud. What the hell is it then? Just being cooped up with another human being for two weeks in subspace? No, that is not it. Maybe it is the sudden weight of time. She brings to my attention a matter of years, the contrast between what I was and what I am now. Did I really hate with such fire in the old days that I would have burned the city to kill the rats? When did I start going soft, moving from pure revenge to these half-assed plans for League status? It was such a graduated thing, and with lapses, that I never caught myself until recently. I wanted whips, and now I am not so certain it is the right way. I wonder about Sandow. Could he really have helped the DYNAB? Would he have, if I had asked him? He had sounded reasonable. But all that crap about the Strantrian goddess ... It had to be that, even if Sandow believed it himself. --This girl either brings out the worst in me or shuts me down completely. Not true. I did it myself. Still ... I will try to sleep when she awakens. If Sandow's people ever tie me in with this, there is going to be trouble. They do not care about political boundaries. Well, another bridge, another day. It is going to be rough when I unieash von Hymack. Somebody is certain to try for me after that, once the connection is made. Stupid thing, sending that globe. I should have kept it, not shipped it. Am I diminished thereby? Debit me, one memento mori? Hard to tell. How many of those bastards in the CL High Command have I outlived? They did not pass out S-S the way we did. --Earth, of all places! Bifrost, I should have let it go at that. I should have dropped her on Bifrost. That's DYNAB. --So she gets to see the volcano, learn about tracing the routes of contagion ... But why am I in such a hurry? Is it that I want done with this as quickly as possible? Probably. --God, don't give me a conscience now. I am not ready for one today. I have gone this long. I can go a little longer. --It is pretty, the way her hair falls, and those frightened eyes ...
A blue star appeared at the whirlpool's center, and he watched it spiral outward, then fly like a stone from a sling, away.
"That ruined city of the Pei'ans is nothing but a quaint relic," he said, gesturing, "when you consider an entire planet in that shape."
Jackara stared at what remained of Manhattan.
"I've seen pictures," she said finally, "but ..."
He nodded.
"I'll take you over the Mississippi this afternoon. I will show you where California once was."
He activated the screens, one by one, and the recon satellites flashed pictures of the other broken places.
"They were thorough," he said.
Why the hell is he doing it? thought Morwin, from where he stood, pretending to study a crater. Wherever he found that girl, he is turning her into something like himself. The way she spoke at dinner last night ... Another year and she will be worse than he is. Maybe she is already. Is that what it takes to be a fleet commander? The power to bend other people's thinking until it is just like your own? None of my business, but she seems so young... Maybe it is me that needs bending, though. Maybe they are right. I have been getting fat since the war, while people like this have kept on fighting. What if it is not a lost cause? Supposing that somehow the Commander wins? There probably would not be much surface change. --The stuff of news items. Unreal ... Still ... Have I developed a sheep's mentality? Or played with dreamstuff too long? The girl must only barely remember the conflict, but she is with him. What does he intend for her?
"It is pretty awful," he found himself saying, shifting his eyes from the girl back to the screens. Then, after a time, "Commander, why your sudden interest in epidemics?"
Malacar studied him for half a minute; then, "It is a new hobby of mine," he said.
Morwin packed his pipe and lit it.
... Clearly out of order, he decided. What could they be planning, though? When I did that damned globe for him, it reminded me of things I had put aside years ago. What will become of the girl, I wonder? Will she get thrown to the wolves like all those others, to die praying for him and still believing he is correct? She ought to get out. She has too much life before her to waste it this way. Still, I envy that sort of dedication, whatever its object. How dangerous will his new tactic be, I wonder? Perhaps ... Somebody should watch out for the girl.
He puffed smoke. He stroked his long red beard.
Finally, "I am interested in epidemics too," he said.
* * *
The first living thing that he saw that morning was a young man, walking along a narrow and deserted roadway. When he was near, Heidel stepped out of the bushes and stood before him. He heard him exclaim, "Good Lord!" and then he pointed his swollen finger.
The power was there. He felt it move within him, then leap like a spark crossing a gap.
The man staggered, almost fell, recovered. He touched his hand to his forehead.
"Who are you?" he asked.
He did not reply, but took several steps toward the man.
Bolting, the man ran by him and disappeared up the road.
Only then did he allow himself the faintest of smiles. No need to go farther. She had been correct.
Turning toward the misty hills to the south, at the first of which and beyond which lay much life, he continued his pilgrimage. A rainbow hung before him.
* * *
At the end of an Earth week, he was still not certain whether Malacar would allow him as company. A decision of some sort was now in order, however. It had become obvious from the preparations being made that Malacar was readying himself for departure within a day or so. He wondered what piece of
news might have stimulated this. He was still not privy to his former commander's secrets.
Jackara, on the other hand, obviously was. He felt a twitch of jealousy at this.
He had made his own wishes obvious during the previous week. Now it was up to Malacar. He was willing to accompany him in the name of renascent anger and more than a little guilt. In analyzing these feelings, he knew that they went back to that night on the couch and the thing he had wrought out of dream. No matter. The source was unimportant. He wanted to be trusted now, trusted as Jackara was. Perhaps there should be blood as there had been in the old days. He began to feel the old infection, the old hates.
Where could he be going, though? And for what purpose? Morwin had listened to news summaries religiously, but he had detected nothing that offered opportunity for one of Malacar's hit-and-run sabotage operations. Of course, it could have been information from a non-public source--such as Malacar's underground in the CL. Whatever the source, he became irritated as the Commander grew more and more preoccupied.
He smiled somewhat maliciously as he recalled how, on the previous day, he had upset the old man.
Malacar had come onto the observation deck unannounced, as he had stood there with Jackara, explaining his means of earning a livelihood.
The great silver Service vessel stood before them like an exotic candleholder, in the midst of the steam and the smoke. It stood in a place where no sane pilot would have set it, near to the rim of the crater itself. When Malacar saw it, he crossed the deck in a series of blurred strides and his hands darted like flames across the console. Morwin did not see from where they emerged, but he felt the aftershocks of the missiles. As he turned his head from the Commander to the scene below and back again, the vessel slowly faded from sight. He snickered and Jackara laughed.
"There is nothing there!" said Malacar, regarding his instruments.
"Uh-- No, sir," said Morwin. "I was just showing Jackara how I do dream-globes. I formed a picture out of the particles out there. That is--what you were shooting at."
Malacar snarled then, said, "Jackara, I want to talk with you," and the two of them departed. At dinner, Malacar had joked about the thing. By then Morwin was able to keep his laughter respectful.
_Mr. Morwin_ ...
_Yes, Shind?_
_The Commander is going to ask you to accompany us on a journey we will be undertaking tomorrow evening_.
_Where to?_
_It was a choice between two worids--Cleech and Summit. He chose Summit, for various reasons_.
_What are we to do there?_
_It is in the nature of a recruitment operation. He will tell you as much of it as he feels you should know_.
_If I am to go along, I ought to know everything. Please. This is not an invitation. I trust that he will never become aware of the fact that I have communicated with you_.
_What is it, then?_
_He requested my opinion as to whether you would be an asset to the expedition_.
... _And trustworthy, I daresay_.
... _And trustworthy, of course. My reply was in the afflrmative. I am not unaware of your resurgent sympathies_.
_Thanks for the good word_.
_It was not to preserve your feelings that I made the recommendation_.
_What, then?_
_I feel that this time the Commander will need all the assistance he can get. I wish to assure its presence_.
_What is wrong?_
_Call it a feeling and let it go at that_.
_All right. I will forget that we have spoken. Who else is coming?_
_Jackara. Myself_.
_I will go along, and be ready to help_.
_Good day, then_.
_Good day_.
He looked about. Shind was nowhere in sight. From where had the creature reached him? It was always a strange feeling to speak with Shind in this fashion. It occurred to him that Shind might have been in another part of the citadel, at Malacar's side perhaps, the entire time.
He paced and reflected.
All right, he decided, it is not a typical Malacar operation. There has been no hint of planned mayhem. Yet Shind seems to feel that it is something more dangerous. If I can't be a fop or a good artist, perhaps I can be a decent assistant agitator. Wouldn't it be amusing if a real Service ship put down right now and Malacar thought it was another illusion? I don't think I could operate that console ... --Would I, though? Would I actually fire and kill them, after all these years? In peacetime it is called murder. I wonder ... ? The Commander certainly seemed upset, though. I understand that on other occasions he has actually allowed them to land here and even spoken with them. This thing must be big if he is jumpy. --I probably would fire, and regret it afterward. --What is Jackara's part in this? Is she sleeping with the Commander? Is she a professional member of the network with an assigned role in something that is to come? Possibly both--or perhaps a relative. She could be his daughter, I guess. Wouldn't that be something? Typical too. He seldom speaks of his personal life, and I have never heard him mention relatives. Strange girl--too hard and too soft by turns, and you never know which turn is coming next. Pretty, though. It would be good to know her real status, to decide what I would like mine to be. I will ask her, later . .
After dinner that evening, Malacar carefully placed his utensils across his plate, looked at Morwin and said, "Do you want to accompany us to Summit?"
Morwin nodded.
"What's on Summit?" he asked, after a period of silence.
"A man I've been looking for," Malacar said. "A man who might be able to help us. At least, I think he is there. I could be mistaken. It could be the wrong place. If so, I will simply have to keep looking. The indications are pretty good, though. What I want to do is locate him and persuade him to assist us."
"What has he got that makes him so special?"
"Diseases," said Malacar.
"Beg pardon."
"Diseases, diseases! At certain times this man becomes a walking infection, a plague-bearer!"
"To what use would you put this condition?"
Malacar chuckled.
Morwin sat unmoving for several seconds, then resumed scooping at his lemon sherbet.
"I think I see," he said, finally.
"Yes, I think you do too. A living weapon. I intend for him to walk among our enemies. How does the idea strike you?"
"It-- It is hard to say. I will have to think about it."
"But you _will_ come?"
"Yes, I will."
"Jackara will be accompanying us, and Shind."
"Very good, sir."
"Have you no questions?"
"Not really. Not at the moment. Though I am sure I will think of some later. Well ... What is the man's name?"
"Heidel von Hymack."
He shook his head.
"Never heard of him, sir."
"Yes you did. Only you called him Hyneck--the man Pels was looking for."
"Oh, him. Yes."
"Ever hear of a man called H?"
"It seems to me that I have, though I forget the circumstances. It was not as a disease-carrier, though. Doesn't he have a rare blood type or something?"
"Something. I will send some articles to your room later."
"Thank you."
He glanced at Jackara and returned to his sherbet.
God! It's like looking down into hell! she decided. It has been an entire week, and this is the first time I have seen it at night.
She stared into the smoldering place, nearer-seeming now that night had come.
I wonder how far down it has to go to find those fires? she thought. I will not ask. It would show my ignorance. No volcanoes on Deiba. Too old, perhaps. Dust and rain. I remember descriptions, pictures of volcanoes. Never realized they were like this ...
The building trembled, slightly, and she smiled. It was good living so close to so much power, to dwell on the periphery of chaos.
Will he allow me to remain when this is all over? she
wondered. Perhaps. If I prove useful on Summit. I could learn to help with things around here. I will make myself useful. He will come to rely on me.
She looked about.
He must know I am out here, she thought. He knows everything that happens in his home. I never walked alone up here before, but I don't suppose it would bother him. No. He told me to make myself at home. He would have said something if he did not want--
"Hello. What are you doing up this late?"
"John! --Oh, I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I. So I decided to get up and take a walk. --Pretty spectacular, isn't it?"
"Yes. It is the first time I have seen it at night."
He moved near to her and pretended to study the flames.
"All set for the trip?"
"Yes," she said. "Malacar told me it would only take about eight days, sub-time."
"That sounds right. Are you related?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you and Malacar relatives?"
"No. We're just--friends."
"I see. I'd like to be your friend too."
She seemed not to have heard him.
He turned then and stared down, and the smoke arced to the right and the left, came together, formed a great sparkshot heart in the midst of which her name appeared, then his. An arrow of flame pierced its center.
"Be my valentine," he said.
She laughed. Turning, he took her shoulders quickly and kissed her on the mouth. For a moment she relaxed, then struggled with surprising strength and pushed him away.
"Don't do that!"
Her voice was shrill, her face twisted.
He stepped back.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean-- Look! Don't be angry. It's just that you looked so pretty standing there . I hope my beard didn't tickle too much. I-- Oh hell! I'm sorry."
He turned and regarded the dissolving heart.
"You surprised me," she said. "That's all."
He glanced at her again, and she was nearer to him.
"Thanks for the valentine," she said, and she smiled.
He hesitated, then reached forward slowly and touched her cheek. He moved his hand down it, traced her chin, her throat, then around to the back of her neck, rested it there a moment, then drew her toward him. She stiffened then, and he relaxed but did not remove his hand.
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