by Sam Lippert
CHAPTER XXI
Jeremy had not missed Nola’s rapid exodus from Rand, although he forced himself to keep it in the corner of his field of vision so Admiral Sokolov would not be aware of it when he reviewed the daily download of information from James’ optic and auditory nerves. Even though a direct pursuit would have been impossible, he didn’t want to have to rely on a nut-job like Sokolov to know that fact. Much better that the Admiral not realize Equinox had nearly landed on top of Daniels and his crew.
It had taken less than an hour after landing for James to discover that, even with the advantage of knowing that Nathan had just left, gathering enough information to ascertain where his brother was heading was going to be a herculean feat at best.
Rand, because of its social structure, could be difficult to navigate under the best of circumstances, although usually the proper amount of money crossing the right palms could undermine even a Randian’s penchant to keep his nose out of the business of others. However, the Revolution had made things even worse!
He had started by talking to the spaceport manager, who claimed to have no idea what he was talking about. The manager informed him, plain and simple, that no traffic was being allowed to leave the planet, so if the ship he was looking for was not here, then it had not been here. Jeremy quickly found that no amount of gold would get the man to admit that a ship had, indeed taken off just moments before Equinox landed, let alone provide any information as to what that ship might have been carrying as cargo.
The fact that Nathan’s ship had managed to lift in the middle of an embargo imposed by the Revolution, without being shot out of the sky, meant he had to have brokered deal with their leader. Sure, an underling might have been able to grant the dispensation, but trusting the safety of his ship to anyone other than the ‘top brass’ was not Nathan’s style.
In the end, it had taken Jeremy the better part of three days, but he had managed to get himself a ‘dinner invitation’ from one Prescilla Anderson, leader of the Revolution, in the form of a heavy dose of tranquilizers administered by a trio of brutes.
Which was how he had found himself where he was now: tied to an otherwise comfortable chair at an elegant dining table whose centerpiece was some sort of roast fowl, obviously one native to the planet Rand. The plate before him was piled high with slices of breast meat, mashed potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. The aroma was causing Jeremy’s mouth to water, even though, thanks to the lingering effects of the tranquilizers, it was drier than the desert planet of master storyteller Frank Herbert.
Of course, being bound to the chair, all he could do was drink in the aroma, as it was impossible for him to even consume one bite. He was unsure if his current situation was some sort of test, or torture. From his read on Anderson it could be either. As was generally the case with revolutionaries, she seemed just a tad removed from ‘crazy’ although it was impossible to tell precisely on which side of the line she fell.
“Captain Jeremy James,” Prescilla said, flaunting a succulent piece of meat, dripping with gravy in his face. The woman had positioned herself directly across the width of the table from James, as opposed to a much more commanding position at one of the ends, obviously to taunt him with her food. “I am so glad you could join me for dinner!”
Jeremy’s eyes were drawn to the bite on the end of Prescilla’s fork, but he forced his attention elsewhere. His gazed travelled down the fork to Anderson’s smooth, slender hand. It took only a moment for him to realize it was a prosthetic. He filed that information away for future use. He watched as that prosthetic, using the fork that it held, deftly deposited the morsel of food in Prescilla Anderson’s mouth.
“Given you are the legal owner of a Piper 2245 known as Equinox, which recently landed at one of our spaceports, I have to assume that you are here seeking permission to leave our lovely planet in one piece.” Jeremy watched the leader of the Revolution reach over with both hands, the second of which he just noticed was also a prosthetic, cut a piece of the fowl on his plate, and raise it up to just in front of his mouth.
James opened his mouth to speak, suddenly finding it filled with something that tasted like chicken, but had more of the consistency of duck. He chewed thoroughly, the moisture of the meat and the gravy helped, just a little, to alleviate his parched mouth. He swallowed.
“Not exactly,” Jeremy responded. “I am, first and foremost, looking for information concerning a close friend of mine, Captain Nathan Daniels. Every indication is that Nathan’s ship, Nola, left Rand less than a week ago, unmolested by your blockade.”
“If that were the case, Captain James, and I am not saying that it is, I can assure you that Captain Daniels would have been guaranteed the utmost discretion when it came to information about his flight plan. We all know how particular you free traders can be when it comes to information provided to your competitors. I mean, I only have your word for it that the two of you are friends.” Prescilla took another bite for herself, and fed one to James.
“Ms. Anderson, I know revolutions cost money, a lot of it. If you are prepared to part with the information I need, I am prepared to pay quite handsomely for it. But first, why don’t you untie me?” Jeremy flashed a big toothy smile. “It would mean that you would not have to feed me, and being unrestrained generally lessens my restraint when it comes to negotiating…”
* * *
It was a little over a day before James was back aboard the Equinox. Once he had been untied, Prescilla refused to discuss business until after they had finished their meal. Although the negotiations had wrapped up soon after dinner, while the pair were enjoying a delightful brandy, Anderson had made it quite clear that she wanted him in her bed for the evening. Jeremy had decided that it would be suspiciously out of character for him to reject the idea, besides, he had been curious to see how the prosthetics felt.
Now he was back in Equinox, with the knowledge that Nathan had lifted with a hold full of old fashioned books. Which meant that he was headed to the one place James could not go: G’dowen. Yes, he knew how to get there, but visiting with the knowledge of being tracked, which he had and was, would be a violation of the agreement between the G’dowen and his brothers, and was likely to result not only in his own death, but retribution against his entire extended ‘family.’ Even if that were not the case, his implant would stop recording as soon as he entered the bubble the G’dowen maintained in this space-time, and when Sokolov reviewed the download it would be all over.
One never knew exactly what the G’dowen were going to offer in trade, although based on his experience he might be able to make a pretty good guess. He activated Equinox’s navcomp.
James centered the display on Rand. The navcomp defaulted to Equinox’s range, showing two-hundred thirty-seven inhabited planets, planetoids and stations within her flight distance. Nola was not going to be able to refuel after visiting the G’dowen, so he could approach the problem as if Nathan were leaving directly from Rand. He dialed the distance back, adjusting for the reduced range of the Nola. This left him with one-hundred twenty-two.
Based on his past experiences, cargos obtained from the G’dowen were generally made up of large numbers of identical items, requiring a large market to trade them to. James filtered out all destinations with a population less than ten thousand. This cut the list down to thirty. He displayed and scrolled through the details on these destinations.
Jeremy had executed a trade ten times with the G’dowen. Although each time he had left with a unique cargo, there were some similarities. The G’dowen always offered items that, in some fashion, took advantage of their transcendental nature, and while all were ‘mystic’ in appearance to the intelligent races of James’ plane of existence, they generally fell into three distinctly different categories: Prognosticatory, Historical, and Enlightening.
He was able to find one destination on his list for each of the types of items. If the G’dowen provided Nathan with Elightening items, those artifacts that further c
urrent races on the path to becoming like the G’dowen, the obvious destination among the worlds on his list would be Verstat. Historical items, or those that offered a glimpse of the past in some way, would be best delivered to Ivy. Finally, if Nathan were given Prognoticatory items, or those that offered a glimpse of the future, his obvious destination would be Tzigane. Any of the three would make sense as a destination to sell a cargo of old books, so nothing would arouse Sokolov’s suspicions.
One in three was the best he was going to be able to manage. Actually, he was only going to have to choose between two, as he could no more reveal the existence and location of Tzigane to Sokolov than he could G’dowen. He was going to have to pick either Ivy or Verstat and hope for the best. He was about to flip a coin, when he was interrupted by the airlock intercom.
* * *
Prescilla Anderson watched the dot that represented Equinox on the sensor screen in her command center, even though she had already given permission for the craft to be allowed to leave.
She smiled as she recalled the previous night spent in bed with Jeremy James. That captain was every bit as skilled as her Captain (for she would always think of Nathan as her captain), but he had not managed to touch the emotional chord with her that Nathan had.
It was because of that connection with her Captain that no amount of money would have gotten her to reveal anything that Nathan Daniels had not wanted revealed. He had specifically told her before leaving that Captain James would come looking for information, and it was important that he get what he was looking for, but there was no need to be quick about supplying it.
Jeremy had no way of knowing that he would have come to know Nathan’s cargo eventually, without the cash donation to the Cause, or the sweet night of passion.
But, having a few more kilos in the bank certainly did not hurt.
CHAPTER XXII
Taste dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Sight dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Sound dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Touch dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Smell dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Taste dims...
Omany, although finished with constructing his own mental fortress against the sensory overload chamber, was now assisting the priest known to the collector as ‘Twelve’ construct one of his own.
He had spent two days watching the goings on here at The Collector’s estate from the spirit plane, while leaving his body programmed to continue to give the appearance of fighting the conditioning the Sensory Overload Chamber was supposed to be performing. He did not know how long such conditioning had taken with his Brothers, but he was sure he did not have much time before The Collector’s suspicions were aroused.
During the day, the captive priests, although restricted to a single underground suite of rooms, were free to train, eat, drink and train some more. Although the twelve of them spent virtually every waking hour together, there was no socialization on any level, with each of the priests behaving as an automaton, except during The Collector’s daily visits.
Every evening the twelve returned to their Sensory Overload Chambers, activating them before climbing in. Exactly eight hours later the chambers were deactivated by remote control. Based on his experience before finishing the construction of his mental fortress, the promise of sixteen hours of peace would be more than enough of a ‘carrot’ to keep his Brothers in line. Obviously, left entirely to their own devices, their Verstaten training would eventually win out and the priests would be free, hence the return to the chambers every night.
On the second night Omany took the chance. He waited until the other priests were sealed into their chambers, then he walked his incorporeal form over to the chamber marked twelve. The twelfth priest would have had the least amount of time to acclimate to the conditioning, so should be the easiest to ‘break.’ Omany hesitated only a fraction of a second before joining his spirit to that of his Brother in the chamber.
* * *
He found himself in a desert wasteland, in the middle of a sandstorm. The wind howled, obviously, a manifestation of the assault on the sense of sound. Grains of sand buffeted his skin, driven by the wind, assaulting his sense of touch. The same blowing sand assailed his sense of sight, while at the same time obscuring his vision. Although his spirit-self did not need to breathe, the wind drove the grains of sand deep into his sinus cavity activating his phantom smell receptors, meanwhile the same thing was occurring with the taste receptors on his tongue. All in all, the assault was nowhere near as hard to bear as what he had blocked out inside his own body, but that was to be expected as this experience was being filtered by the subconscious of the priest currently known as Twelve. The storm had the outward appearance of being continuous, but when Omany stretched his time sense he could feel the regular, although slight, dimming in each of the senses that had allowed him to construct his fortress.
He began to comb the wasteland, although to the outside observer, if there had been one, it looked far more like aimless wandering. He needed to find the central shard of consciousness that was the priest currently known as Twelve. Finding him was the first step towards saving all of them.
Omany wandered the desert for what seemed like days, although intellectually he was aware that it was less than two hours in the real world. He was on the verge of labelling his task hopeless and trying with Eleven instead, when he noticed some of the sand crystals were behaving differently than the rest during the periodic ‘lulls’ in the storm. While the majority were being driven in straight lines by the wind, a much smaller number were moving in an arc tangent to it, almost as if they were swirling around some central point. Working his way perpendicular to the swirling sand, he found what was left of the man who was currently Twelve.
The spirit of this Verstaten Priest appeared very different from the body that Omany had been observing for the last couple of days. Twelves’ flesh was young, vibrant and toned, but his spirit was haggard and skeletal, looking to be one-hundred years old if he was a day. Watching him, Omany saw the reason for the swirling sand: each time there was a lull in the storm Twelve took a handful of sand and threw it in a circular motion, that sand continued to move in an arc, spiraling outward from Twelve’s form.
Omany was quick to recognize this as Twelve’s attempt to protect himself from the sensory onslaught. Instead of building a barrier, as Omany had done, Twelve had attempted to control the flow of the overload, hoping to create an ‘eye’ in the center of the storm where he could find peace. No doubt when he was first captured Twelve’s efforts had been far more effective, however eventually the SOC had won the battle. What the priest was doing now was surely nothing more than ineffective habit, although it had helped Omany to find him.
The ferocity of the storm made it impossible for Omany to communicate what was necessary to actually create a haven from the effects of the SOC, so a more direct approach was required. He merged with Twelve, once again opening his consciousness up to the full onslaught of the SOC. He used his will to guide Twelve’s actions.
Taste dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Sight dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Sound dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Touch dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Smell dims, place a brick, wait an eternity.
Taste dims...
* * *
Omany and the priest who was no longer Twelve but was once again Mecy enjoyed the relative solace that was available inside the fortress they had constructed over the last few hours. Although initially they had acted as one person, it did not take long for Mecy, even though weakened, to work independently from Omany, which speeded the process considerably.
“I am Mecy,” the haggard priest went down to one knee and introduced himself when the last block was placed. “I am honored that one of the Elite has come to guide me back from the brink of oblivion.”
“Stand, my
brother,” Omany replied. “I am Omany, and as you can tell by my name I am not one of the Elite, simply a High Priest. I am a prisoner of The Collector, as you are.”
“If you are not of the Elite, I venture you will be elevated soon. You were able to not only work out a method to defeat the Sensory Overload Chambers, but you were also able to pass that knowledge on under very trying circumstances. Surely that requires Elite level knowledge of The Ways.” Mecy stood.
“I thank you for the vote of confidence, my brother.” Omany offered a slight bow in the other priest’s direction. “We do not have long before the chambers are deactivated for the day. You will need to go about your daily activities as if you were still conditioned. When you return to the chamber tonight, I will meet you here, in the fortress. Together the two of us will set about freeing the remainder of our brothers.”
* * *
While it took Omany the better part of an entire night to successfully free Mecy from the conditioning, Omany and Mecy acting together accomplished it for Onuny, formerly Eleven, in about three hours.
By the end of the second night, three new priests were free from control by the Collector. On the third night, those three plus Omany were able to free five more. By the end of the fourth night all twelve were free. The following morning, they made their move.
That morning, Omany stopped fighting, allowing his body to send all of the proper signals to the collector, demonstrating that the conditioning had finally taken hold.
His spirit-self was in the common area with the other priests when The Collector made his regular appearance.
“My twelve, today is a truly glorious day for our cause!” Morrison, The Collector, raised his hands in a sweeping gesture and the assembled priests applauded, not giving any indication that they were, once again, truly Priests of Verstat. “Your thirteenth brother has finally agreed to join us! Please come with me to the next room so we can greet him as he emerges from his cocoon fully transformed!” With no reason to believe The Twelve were no longer under his control, The Collector led the way to Omany’s SOC, then deactivated it and keyed the code, known only to him, which unlocked the chamber.
