Persistence of Vision

by Liesel K. Hill

Maggie shifted uncomfortably. By extension, that meant that she could as well. The thought made her sweat.

  “He might have defended Maggie on that ship, and things would have turned out differently,” Karl got louder by the word. “Instead, she has several hours of unaccounted for time, no memories, and Colin is dead, all because he wasn’t man enough to take responsibility for his own God-given powers? What a waste.”

  “Karl.” Joan’s voice was low and calm.

  “What?”

  She gave him a scathing look. “Colin isn’t here to defend himself or his actions, is he? You should be ashamed to speak ill of the dead.”

  Karl waved his hand dismissively and turned away from the group, chest heaving.

  “I’m sorry, Karl,” Doc said. “I’m sorry to everyone. I should have told you long ago—when Colin died, if not before. But once he was gone, he was gone, and I truly didn’t think about it much after that. Believe me, I wasn’t happy about keeping his secret. I told him time and again that such power could do great good. I couldn’t convince him, so I didn’t think any of you would be able to either. A conflict such as that would have driven a wedge between us all, and I didn’t want that.

  “So I kept his secret, hoping in time to convince him to let the rest of you know and find a way to use his abilities to our advantage. And then he was gone. As was Maggie. And it became a moot point.”

  “So,” Joan said, “Colin had this ability no one knew about. Then he dies, but Maggie is probably the last one to see him—other than his killers, whoever they were. Now she has powers very similar, perhaps identical, to his?”

  Maggie frowned. “Are you saying he…conveyed his abilities to me…or something?” She looked at Doc. “Is that possible?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “I’m not pretending to know what happened”—Joan spread her hands—“but Colin had this ability. Something we can’t account for happened on that ship. Now Colin is dead, and Maggie has these same abilities. Does anyone think that’s a coincidence?”

  Silence stretched as everyone shifted uncomfortably. Maggie supposed the question was rhetorical.

  Clay’s quiet voice broke the tension. “So what now?” he asked.

  Doc looked around. “We should send that team to look for Strellend. I think he would be an asset to us—to Maggie. Other than that, we should keep doing what we’re doing. We need to find out more about the collectives if we’re to defeat them. We need to teach Maggie more. There’s much to learn before she’ll be of any use to the mission.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Maggie asked.

  Doc turned to her, arching an eyebrow.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help. I really do. But I nearly brought the mountain down around us. What if I can’t control it? I don’t want to hurt anyone. I could accidentally get us all discovered.”

  Beside her, Marcus shook his head. “No, Maggie. You have to learn. I need you to be able to defend yourself. We didn’t know this ability existed before. We do now. We’ll take it slow, but you must learn. I’ll teach you myself.”

  “He’s right, Maggie, Doc said. “We will have to take precautions, but now that we know about it, we can work around it until Strellend gets here. Karl, assemble a team of Trackers. I’d like to speak with the leader before they go.”

  “I’ll have Dillon lead them. He’s the best Tracker we have.”

  Doc nodded. “Good. Everyone else should get dinner and some rest. It’s been a long day.”

  Chapter 15: Bad-Guy Hierarchy

  The next day, Marcus continued giving Maggie tours of the compound.

  “So,” he said as they trudged along, “what questions do you have? What do you need to know?”

  Maggie sighed. There were so many questions; she didn’t know where to start.

  “Tell me about your abilities. Doc says you’re a great healer. Can you Heal anything?”

  He smiled. “I wish I could. The truth is, I must get to an injured person quickly, especially if the wound is potentially fatal. A broken arm can be Healed at any time, but if a person isn’t brought to me quickly, they can go into shock, bleed out, or simply expire from the injury. And then there’s brain damage.”

  “Brain damage?”

  “Brain damage is particularly hard to Heal. Often it can’t be Healed at all.”

  “Why not?”

  He was silent for several minutes as they made their way through nearly deserted corridors carpeted in inches of sand. Finally he stopped and turned to her.

  “When I Heal a bodily injury, I use the victim’s brain to help facilitate the healing. I have to pull energy to me in order to do it, but I’m using parts of the person’s own physiology to Heal them.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “If I were to Heal a broken bone, I’d do it using the body’s own functions. I build up the broken area with blood and tissue. I direct the body to replicate more at a fast rate so the marrow of the bone can knit together and become whole again. The energy I pull to me is used to direct the person’s brain to Heal them quickly, before it’s too late. Do you understand?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “If the brain has the injury, there’s no smaller brain to direct the function. Sometimes damage can be Healed if I get there quickly enough, but it’s often impossible. As with your memories, I can’t regenerate anything that won’t regenerate on its own. Brain damage often results in tissue that is necrotic. I can’t re-grow brain tissue, so brain damage is difficult to Heal.”

  Marcus gazed down at her, eyes asking if she understood. She nodded to show that she did. She could see frustration, even anger in his eyes when he spoke of brain damage. His limitations wore on him.

  Feeling self-conscious, she turned and began walking again. Marcus fell in beside her.

  “Anything else—other than brain damage, I mean—that you can’t Heal?”

  “As I said, if someone goes into shock or loses too much blood, I sometimes can’t stimulate their brains to produce more blood fast enough to save them. But I don’t think that’s what you mean. Any injury, given enough warning and assuming that there is something there to work with—no regeneration necessary—can be Healed. One injury is the same as another to me.”

  “Except brain damage.”

  “Yes.”

  Maggie nodded.

  They walked in silence for a time. The corridor took on a slight incline. Maggie wondered where he was taking her.

  There was one thing she wanted to know more about but was afraid to ask. It wasn’t a very pleasant topic. He seemed to sense that she was thinking things over and didn’t speak. After several minutes, she got up the courage to ask him.

  “Would you tell me about the Arachnimen? And the Trepids?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who are they? How do they function? Are they related to one another somehow?”

  “We think so. We haven’t ever had much success in penetrating the collective mind, so it’s hard to say for sure. The Arachnimen are directed by the collectives. They don’t make their own decisions—they’re just brute muscle. They carry out assassinations, absorb people into the collectives, and generally cause mayhem.”

  “And they always absorb by drilling, like the one on the road did to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why didn’t the one who was in my house do that? He touched me but just tried to kill me.”

  Marcus took a deep breath. “I’ve thought a lot about that. Based on what he said, I think he recognized you but didn’t know what to do. He was sent to assimilate you—and I don’t know what the grounds for that were if they didn’t know who you were—but when he recognized you, everything changed. It’s almost like there was a standing order or something.”

  “A standing order to kill me?”

  Marcus gave her a sympathetic look. “I don’t know.”

  Maggie didn’t want to dwell on it; it was too unsettling. “So the Arachni
men are brute assassins. What about the Trepids?”

  “We know less about them.” Marcus started walking again. “They are higher on the hierarchy.”

  “There’s a bad-guy hierarchy?”

  Marcus chuckled. “In a manner of speaking. The Trepids are still tied to the collectives, but they have more individuality than the Arachnimen do. They can make tactical and logistical decisions in the field independent of what the collectives tell them. If there were a large-scale attack, an ambush, a battle—anything like that—the Trepids would be leading it. They would act as generals to the Arachnimen and other collective drones.

  “Where the Arachnimen can assassinate people, they have to be given something very specific to look for, or they get confused. Trepids can wander about, looking for random people to assimilate. They don’t need as specific orders as the Arachnimen do to function.”

  “I notice that their tattoos extend over more of their faces and have jewels in the joining points of the webs. What does it all mean?”

  “We aren’t sure. It’s at least partially a status symbol. Beyond that, perhaps the jewels show how many people they’ve assimilated? Killed? Other things? Who knows?”

  Maggie gave him a sidelong glance. “And by other things you mean…?”

  He sighed. “Because the Trepids have more individuality than the Arachnimen, they have the motive and ability to do a great deal of violence. They like to brutalize people before forcing them into the collectives.”

  He glanced at her as if uncertain whether more explanation was needed.

  “The jewels could symbolize how many people they’ve raped or otherwise tortured.”

  Marcus nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. “It’s possible. There’s just no way to tell.”

  After a moment she felt her cheeks heat under his eyes. She couldn’t think of any more questions.

  Ten minutes passed before they came to a doorway. They stepped through it and found themselves in the back of a cavern that was open to the air on the far side. The natural light was blinding after being in the mountain for so long.

  When Maggie turned around, she couldn’t see the doorway they’d come through. Anyone who wandered into the cave wouldn’t be able to detect the entrance into the compound. Another safety precaution.

  Marcus took her hand and guided her through the cave, around rock formations and stalactites to the opening. They were in a different spot from the one she’d originally entered through, but the view here was stunning.

  She could see the entire valley below them, decimated though it was. The distant mountains were a deep, hazy gray, and the sky, which was light gray today, went on forever. She took in the scene with awe, aware of Marcus watching her reaction from a few feet away.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “This used to be one of your favorite spots. You loved the view.”

  She smiled at him. “Still do.”

  Marcus led her onto a smooth rock outcropping, and they sat down together.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

  “Of course.”

  “You told me when we were in your house that you saw flashes of things—that you’ve seen them over and over since—but you never elaborated on what they were.”

  Maggie took a deep breath. She owed him answers, but it had been her secret psychosis for so long that talking about it now felt strange.

  With more than a little hesitation, she launched into a description of the flashes.

  “The flash of light could be anything,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s something specific or just what I see as my mind succumbs to the memories. The rock formation is the entrance we used that first night to enter Interchron. In the flash there are people standing on top of the rock, but it’s dark and I can’t make out who they are. Any ideas?”

  Marcus was quiet for a time before shaking his head. “Maybe you’re just seeing a time when the team stayed outside training until after dark. We didn’t do that often, and no particular instance comes to mind, but that’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Maybe,” Maggie said, doubtful. “The big hands covering mine have to be masculine. They’re too large to be a woman’s. And I’m sure they’re covering my hands, because my wolverine scar was visible.” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  He reached down and covered her hands with his. “Like this?” he asked.

  She nodded, watching his eyes.

  He sighed. “I might have done that a few times: taken your hands that way.” He glanced back at her face. “I don’t know. No specific memory comes to mind, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “But don’t you think there must have been something specific and important about it for me to remember it when everything else was gone?”

  After a moment, he nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. I just wish I could be of more help. What else?”

  “There’s a blackened hand, but it’s less clear. It’s so shriveled and burnt that I can’t tell if it’s a man’s or a woman’s hand. Can you think of anyone who burned their hand like that before?”

  Marcus couldn’t.

  “Then there’s the woman standing in front of the lighthouse. That flash is the most vivid but the least clear. It’s so beautiful, like an oil painting. A woman is standing in front of a lighthouse. Its windows are broken, and the entire structure is in disrepair. I can’t see the woman’s face because the sun is setting behind her.”

  “Then how can you be sure it’s a woman?” Marcus asked.

  “She has feminine curves and long, wavy brown hair. I’m sure it’s a woman, but I don’t know who she is. Any ideas?”

  “None. And I haven’t seen any lighthouses in years. I’m not even sure if there are any still standing. Sorry.”

  Maggie shrugged.

  “Is that all of the flashes?”

  “No. One more. Blood on my hands. Again, I’m certain they’re my hands, but my hands themselves aren’t bleeding, so I don’t know where the blood is coming from. I don’t even know if it’s my blood or someone else’s.”

  When she paused, Marcus again shook his head. “I don’t know, Maggie. I can’t think of a time there would have been blood on you—you were never injured severely enough to bleed like that. Maybe these aren’t memories at all.”

  “Then what?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “At the end, I always hear a whispering voice. Whispering takes away the identity of the voice, so I can’t be sure of anything. Whatever the voice is saying, I think it’s important, but I can’t decipher it.”

  Marcus sat silently for a long time. “Nothing’s coming to me,” he said.

  Maggie sighed. “I appreciate the effort. I suppose I’ll never know.”

  He surprised her then by taking her hands in his. “Of course you will, Maggie. We’ll figure it out. Now that I know all the details, I’ll keep trying to puzzle it out too. The more minds that work on a mystery, the more likely that they’ll crack it. We’ll figure out what they mean eventually.”

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back, her stomach tingling.

  “One more question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Karl was really angry when he found out about Colin. Were you?”

  Marcus sighed and looked out over the precipice for a long time. Maggie wondered if the question was too personal. When he answered, he looked straight into her eyes.

  “I wouldn’t have handled it quite that way, but then I’m not Doc. The thought that maybe Colin could have saved your memories and his own life and saved the team a whole lot of heartache makes me want to put my fist through a wall. But we don’t know any of that for sure. We don’t know how Colin died. What’s the point of dwelling on it now? Dwelling on the past won’t help us move forward. Colin is gone. Your memories are gone. And you’re back here with us again.” With that last, he took her hand.

  Despite their exposed position and the bleakness of the lands
cape in front of her, Maggie suddenly felt very safe.

  Chapter 16: Karl’s Theories

  A few days later, it was decided that Maggie should shadow Karl. They would be working in one of the lower storerooms. Some supplies had been dropped off there but hadn’t been put away. They needed to be inventoried, which was where Maggie would come in, and put in their proper places.

  After breakfast, she followed Karl through the twisting corridors of the compound. She felt the ever-subtle descent as they walked and, not for the first time, was glad she didn’t have a fear of close spaces.

  “Does anyone ever get claustrophobia?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “No. When the brain was mapped, all phobias were dealt with. They don’t exist in our world anymore.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Do you have claustrophobia?”

  “No. I was just wondering. It occurred to me that living so far down in the earth might cause it.”

  “You probably have it a little bit.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because if you didn’t, such a thing wouldn’t even occur to you.”

  Maggie scowled but didn’t answer. She didn’t want to contradict him, but she didn’t like being accused of having a phobia either.

  They worked for a few hours without saying much. The work didn’t accommodate much talk. Karl would tell her what a box of supplies was, and she’d write it down. Then he’d disappear with it back into the cavern. They only had a few seconds in between each box to speak, so there was no point in starting an actual conversation.

  After what couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, Karl began digging in a small knapsack he’d brought with him. “I think it must be lunch time,” he announced, sitting on a nearby crate.

  Maggie chuckled. “Uh, Karl? I don’t think there’s any way it’s lunchtime yet. We only ate breakfast an hour or two ago.”

  He raised an eyebrow and shifted his eyes from side to side as though alarmed. Then he shrugged. “Well, this is morning-lunch then.”

  Maggie smiled. Karl dug into his bag of provisions with the exuberance of a child who’d been given permission to raid the cookie jar.