Personal Recognizance (Sime~Gen, Book 9)

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “That’s a very big responsibility....”

  “Yes, but ruining lives unnecessarily is also a big responsibility. We want to be sure everyone here is internally stable, hasn’t been badly affected by too much intil stimulation.”

  “I’d expect the specialists would be better able to tell who is in trouble and who isn’t than I am. The Tecton wouldn’t ruin....”

  She trailed off thoughtfully zlinning the hall. Vret couldn’t resist asking, “Wouldn’t it?”

  “I see what you mean. Some of those who are not here will have been unaffected by the boards, and no doubt will get off with just a warning on their records when you let the boards be discovered. But those here don’t even deserve a warning flag that could mar their chances for advancement. I, personally, would be very interested in what cleaning methods you are going to recommend.” With that, she went toward the front of the hall to talk with the people waiting for the meeting. By the time Vret rejoined the renSime and Morry, the talk had become entirely technical rattled out at incredible speed.

  Morry didn’t believe the renSime could have done all he claimed and was making him prove his knowledge by explaining. That was fine, except they had no time.

  Aside, Ilin said, “I told people to pass the word that the meeting was about to begin so nobody would leave. By my count, we have the right number of people now—except for him.” She gestured toward the renSime who was suddenly animated and intense.

  Vret told her what he’d done with the First and her opinion of the renSime.

  “Then he’s on our ‘needs help’ list,” she concluded. She stepped up to the two jabbering men and said, “We don’t have all night you know. We have a meeting to start.”

  Morry took a deep breath and pulled himself back to the business at hand. “This explains a lot. If it weren’t for our friend here, we’d have been exposed weeks ago. So if we’re going to achieve our objective, we have to set up some timing.” He turned to the renSime. “How much longer do you think you can give us?”

  “If you’re not going to close down and erase everything, why do you want more time?”

  Ilin asked, “What makes you think we won’t?”

  Morry and the renSime spoke at once. “I just told him the whole plan.”

  “But he just said you weren’t.”

  Vret and Ilin stared at Morry. Too late.

  Vret turned to the renSime, “Then I have one very important question you must answer.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Why did you come here with this tonight? You obviously have the ability to erase all your own involvement with the boards, so if they do catch you, all you’re guilty of is reading the channels’ library. You’d probably just be sent to a different camp with a mild censure on your record. Why take this risk?”

  “You’re all going to get caught. And it’s my fault. Isn’t that enough reason?”

  “For some people, maybe. But I zlin there’s more to it than that for you.”

  With three channels focused on him, he couldn’t evade. But he didn’t offer anything more until Vret said, “Our First detected something strange in your nager. I think you have more to say to us.”

  “You want to know my board identity, don’t you? I’d think it would be obvious to you. I am Blissdrip. I’m the one who ruined everything for you. I’m the one who should be punished, not you.”

  The guilt and remorse was thick enough to have come from a Gen not a renSime. It brought tears to Vret’s eyes, but he blinked them back and said, “Why did you do it? More...why did you keep on doing it?”

  “I didn’t know until just a few days ago. I—I never looked at the comment boards. I stopped reading everything but Bilateral’s entries. I never had time. I didn’t know that people were taking what I was writing so seriously.”

  “You didn’t care how the readers felt?” asked Ilin.

  “At first...but then...I just had to finish writing it. Every night I would dream something, and I’d just have to write it all out. I just had to. And...and...after a while it wasn’t like dreaming at all. It was more like I remembered it, like I was..” He broke off, staring at them.

  The ambient was thick enough to wrap tentacles around. “Zlin me,” said Vret dropping his showfield so the renSime could get the truth of it. “I believe you didn’t know what harm you were doing. But how and why you did it matters. Tell us.”

  “This is going to sound insane, but I remember being Aunser, founding the Secret Pens. I wrote it the way it really happened because—because someone has to know. Everyone ought to know. And reading Bilateral’s whitewashed version, I knew—I just knew—that the world we live in now isn’t going to last unless people understand the way it really was at Unity. The price that was paid, the value of what we have today, the Tecton with all its shortcomings has to succeed. It just has to.”

  Vret felt the laughter surfacing in Morry and Ilin. He asked, “You think you really were Aunser ambrov D’zehn? Why?”

  “Well, there is the theory that people do get reborn.”

  “I’ve heard that. But not everyone living today was someone so—famous.”

  “Maybe I just imagined it all. But that’s why I did it, why I had to do it, and why I was so intent on getting the real story out that I just ignored everything else, the comment boards, the other stories being posted distorting what I was talking about, and the authorities searching for my tap into the channels’ school. But now, innocent people are going to suffer for what I did. Again!” He took a deep breath. “Or maybe I just imagined it all.”

  It wasn’t a surly challenge, nor a dodging defense. The renSime was entertaining the notion that his conviction was wrong. That, more than anything, convinced Vret.

  But there was also the penetrating and undeniable reality in Blissdrip’s writing. It could have been written by someone who knew first hand what The Kill was all about. Vret had felt that in the one, too real, experience of Killmode he’d had. And there was the First’s testimony. She found something indefinably junct in this renSime’s nager. But it was there only when he was thinking about being Blissdrip.

  Vret said, “When you write, it’s as if you become Aunser, isn’t it?”

  “Yes! Yes, that’s it exactly. And all I’ve written is the truth as he knew it. But its done immense harm. I only knew that ten days ago after I read ‘The Mellow Ambient’ and the comments on it. When I let them catch me, I’m going to take all the blame for this—all of it.”

  Morry said, “I believe him. I don’t think he meant all the harm he’s done.”

  Ilin said, “Neither did Aunser, and in the end what he did was necessary, if not good.”

  Morry said, “If we let him go, I think he’ll do what I’ve asked of him, and what he’s promised. If he does, we can pull this off. His confession here has solved a lot of mysteries and restored my confidence.”

  Unnoticed, the First had drifted back to join them and report, “I didn’t find anyone else who shouldn’t be here, and you must get this meeting started before people decide to leave. I’ll take this one back to where he belongs.”

  After Morry and the renSime had exchanged more incomprehensible words, and Vret had told the First that they’d take care of getting the innocent out of the way, she wrapped the renSime in her nager and, with one arm around his shoulders, walked him down the steps of the Memorial.

  Ilin hesitated, then ran after them and shot one more question at Blissdrip and returned saying, “Come on, let’s tell these people what they have to do.”

  As they walked up to the stage, Vret asked, “What did you say to him?”

  “I asked if Aunser really was a telepath, and he said he hadn’t just made that up either. Even the First didn’t think he was lying, but the only thing I believe is that he actually didn’t mean any harm. There weren’t any Endowed channels back then. It’s a new mutation.”

  “That’s what they’ve been teaching us,” allowed Vret.

  The two of
them sat on the edge of the stage, gathering the few dozen people up close and gave them the whole story, and the plan for getting them out of the fix they’d fallen into by following Bilateral’s saga.

  The discussion lasted past midnight, but eventually everyone agreed to the plan and drifted away as inconspicuously as possible to erase all connection with the boards according to Morry’s directions. The sadness was palpable, but there was also relief.

  * * * * * * *

  Everything went off like a Tecton precision disaster drill. Five days after Vret’s turnover, Morry confirmed that all trace of the thirty-eight innocents had been eradicated from the systems. Blissdrip and his followers were all that was left.

  Then Blissdrip made the mistake he and Morry had planned at the meeting.

  Within a day the campus was buzzing with questions. Students had disappeared all over, older students, some with great records and some very poor. Tallies were guessed at anywhere from thirty to a hundred, and rumors began to escalate in the absence of any official announcement.

  People connected the disappearances to the intil accidents, to a minor shaking plague outbreak, to a political purge, to ever more unsavory scandals.

  Finally, two days after that, came the official word, one sentence at the bottom of the daily announcements.

  Sixty-seven students have left Rialite for other First Year Camps over the last four days as we have adjusted the size of the student body to allow your instructors to give you each more personal attention.

  Rumors still flew, but most people believed this was the whole story. Others questioned why the announcement hadn’t been made before the departures. Others said it was because it would have spooked everyone into worrying if they would be sent away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  BARRIER CONTROL

  By the time Vret was swept into his third Accelerated Development session, the rumors had disappeared. Vret walked into his session with a calm confidence and ebullient spirit he had never found in himself before, especially not this deep into Need. He was on his way to his life’s goal and nothing could stop him now.

  That lasted less than twelve hours. He had known that this session would be about transfer deferment. His transfer was set for a full day after his normal schedule, just as he’d known Ilin’s had been at her tenth transfer.

  He hadn’t known that this session would be a drill in barrier control.

  In his math and physics courses, he’d learned about discontinuities. He’d learned that renSimes, Gens and channels all had three major barriers or discontinuities within their selyn storage systems, and that barrier behavior was what distinguished the Orders. A Second Order channel was simply one whose primary system was not permanently divided into three compartments, but only two.

  Some people were born with the ability to find, sense, and even control their barriers. Some never got the knack of it, or if they did, they died horribly because they didn’t have the vriamic strength to manage it. Others had to learn the hard way, and many of those developed skills far superior to those with natural talent.

  Until they hit him with the first barrier exercise, Vret had harbored the ambition to become one of those supremely skilled Seconds and make his mark in the world of Troubleshooting because of his precision skills. Four minutes afterwards, he was ready to give up forever.

  They wouldn’t let him.

  Three channels and their Gen assistants surrounded him while he was strapped into a nightmarish chair rigged around with all kinds of instruments he didn’t recognize. They peered at the readouts and muttered to each other, snapped instructions at him as they tailored selyn field gradients and then slammed at his Second barrier with a Gen-like selyn field, discussing his vriamic responses with an abstract disdain that seemed cruel.

  That made him mad and he tried harder the next time. But with each attempt, he was left dizzy, weak, nauseated, and eventually knotted in painful muscle spasms. At least they didn’t force him to eat.

  Sometime during the second day his brain locked up in fear—no, it was actually terror. Real abject terror.

  Kindly, they explained this was a common side effect for a Third and was certainly not nearly as bad as what the average Gen would experience if attacked by a Sime.

  Patiently, they explained over and over that what they were doing was nothing more than simulating conditions a Third would encounter working as a channel, conditions that would eventually bring a Qualifying transfer.

  Understanding that didn’t help. The third day passed in a murky blur.

  And this time there was a fourth day, the day he would have had transfer except for the transfer deferment exercise that wasn’t even part of the Development session. Without sympathy, in fact with something akin to satisfaction, the channels continued to hammer at his barriers using their Gens’ fields at odd intervals.

  Need clamped down bringing bouts of extreme panic between peaks of torment and troughs of unutterable dread of another assault on his barriers. Through it all were the physical symptoms, but he was barely aware of his body’s rebellion. All he knew was Need.

  And then he surrendered to Death.

  That suddenly changed everything. He came to lying in a hospital bed surrounded by opaque white curtains laced with nageric dampening fibers.

  His whole body was one aching bruise, the worst in chest and abdomen. There was dried blood under his nose, and tears glued his eyes shut. His throat was so raw he could hardly breathe. His handling tentacles gripped the bars around his bed spasmodically, and his laterals protruded, wandering through the dampened ambient with fretful insistence. But padded restraints held him fast.

  Outside the curtains, a tight cluster of Simes and Gens gathered, muttering and gesturing. And finally he knew what had wakened him. The unmistakable nager of Saelul Farris approached talking to a Gen who moved with him. The whole conference fell silent, audibly and nagerically.

  The Farris attention raked over Vret right through the curtains and the channel announced, “He’s awake. The drugs have worn off. Good, it’s all arranged. And—all of you—your reports will be on my desk in the morning without fail.”

  Immediately the curtains were whisked aside, and Vret caught a whiff of that Farris nager retreating toward the ward doorway before the team working over him began their next attack.

  But this time they only tipped him onto his feet and began cleaning and dressing him in another disposable coverall, keeping him wrapped in a nageric cocoon. “Your transfer has been moved up. We’re taking you to your Donor now, so just be patient.”

  Moved up?! Vret had never heard of that being done on a tenth transfer deferment exercise—not unless the student had failed some key test for an out-Territory license. You had to pass deferment to get a license.

  To his vague horror though, he couldn’t work up any interest at all in his failure.

  His time sense told him it was barely half an hour later that they brought him to a transfer suite down the hall, not one across in the other building as always before.

  But as the door opened, he knew his Donor wasn’t there. There was only a First Order Donor in the suite along with the channel and Donor escorting him who took the monitoring station in the corner.

  But the Donor came over to him, nager open in complete welcome, falling into sync with him. He felt the monitors relinquish command of his body as the First smoothly took over, a clean, hard but precise grip that sent waves of relaxation washing through him in places he hadn’t known were tense.

  He was scooped onto the transfer lounge so smoothly he was hardly aware of moving, and then the Gen was sliding his hands up Vret’s arms.

  Vret’s tentacles lashed out with embarrassing strength and his laterals flicked into place. The Gen was already coming close for the fifth contact point, lip to lip, but Vret didn’t wait. He seized the Gen and his draw began of its own accord.

  All at once, he was raging in Killmode, grabbing selyn from the Gen without waiting for the
Gen to offer it. It was just like Blissdrip’s endless, sensuous, detailed descriptions, identical to Iric’s mad attack on Joran Nah. Killmode. All his carefully developed control was gone.

  He drew and drew selyn faster and faster seeking that final lightening strike of pure bliss at full satisfaction, Killbliss, the sizzling shock that would leave his body strong, healthy, pain free, and in love with life for another month.

  He almost had it and then something inside him broke, and Need erupted full force again. Frantic for satisfaction, he redoubled his draw. And selyn rushed into him easily, in pure abundant plenty, carrying a bright, shining joy such as he’d never felt before.

  And then he felt the Gen’s strength like a hand spread wide, containing and protecting, guiding the selyn flow, regulating its speed and permitting the endless abundance to continue.

  He relaxed into that powerful presence, no longer drawing selyn but simply accepting it deep, deep inside himself where it spread a great, abiding peace and serene happiness. It was better than any description of Killbliss. It was what he’d really been trying for. And it went on and on for almost a minute after the selyn ceased flowing.

  Awareness of the room slowly faded in. The monitors were bending over him but somehow nagerically transparent. His Donor was waiting for him to dismantle the contact. The First Order Donor was still apparently high field, bearing much more selyn that Vret now had.

  As Vret repossessed his laterals, and unwound his handling tentacles from the Gen’s wrists, the Gen smiled warmly, just as if he’d participated in Vret’s satisfaction.

  The monitors moved back to their corner to fill out their forms without comment, and Vret sat up, scrubbing at his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even say hello. I was...well, I was...I....” It was all starting to crash in on him, the failure, the loss of everything.