Mindworlds

by Phyllis Gotlieb

  “So much has been happening that I don’t dare think.”

  Tharma said slowly, “One of my brothers has a charming wife-house standing empty in Burning Mountain. I had thought of retiring there, but I hate the summer heat.”

  “I don’t mind it. Perhaps I’ll buy it from him.”

  Of course the news spread hissing among all the whisperers munching and sipping at the end of third quarter. It simply added to the gossip about everything that had happened the day before. Hasso did not attend Refreshment Hour, too afraid of being a public spectacle like the one he had already taken part in. When the time came to convene in the Hall of Communication he remained in his room and watched on the TriV.

  Tharma watched from her office on several displays that commanded views of all guardposts.

  Everything in the New Interworld Court was grand, its marble walls and floors, its stained-glass skylights, its Khagodi-sized staircases with broad deep steps; even the narrow glass-walled escalator for diminutive outworlders managed a touch of grandeur.

  The Hall of Communication had all of this and more; even in the media gallery, and barely enough room for its avid listeners. Gorodek mounted the great steps to the huge dais and elaborately carved lectern. He did not bother with the lectern but came around in front of it so that it framed him. And after the techs had set up the speakers he said without preamble:

  “I have learned from sources I trust that factions from the world Lyhhr are planning to launch an attack, a senseless attack on territories in the Isthmuses district abutting my state, Western Sealand. They claim that this is necessary to redress our inaction during our crisis with the Ix. I do not care what they claim: I will do everything in my power to defend my state and its borders, and I deliver this warning as a service to the world.”

  This said, he stepped down from the dais, and with his guards around him, left the Hall.

  Tharma did not wait to see the melee or hear the buzz. She switched off the TriV, but before she had time to act, her comm sounded its chime and an aide said, “Osset, an official of Governor Gorodek, demands to speak with you.”

  She did not like that “demands” but on the principle of getting it over with said, “Let him in.”

  Osset, a man of rather reserved appearance, was rather more civil than Gorodek.

  “Firstly, the Governor wishes to know what is being done to find the murderer of his aide Sketh, which was obviously committed by a Lyhhrt, and why, when there is a Lyhhrt present here, he has not been sequestered.”

  “The Lyrrht in question was twenty-seven thousand siguu from the crime scene at the time it took place, asking me for help,” Tharma said. “We are not certain there is no other Lyhhrt here. We are well occupied with examining the case.

  Osset took a step back, and time to draw air. “I know that you are occupied, Supervisor. Principally I am here to tell you that the Governor wishes to leave and demands the presence of his bride-elect Ekket, to accompany him to Western Sealand.”

  Tharma smiled at the boldness of this demand. “At this moment that—eh, request, is impossible to fulfill. I believe that we can prove that Ekket was wronged, by the statutes of her own country as well as local ones, and since she has claimed that a felony was executed on her and asked for justice, the Court will give her status as an adult, no longer under the authority of any parent or guardian but the Law.”

  “You smile now but you will not smile later,” Osset said.

  “I don’t know whose words those are. But watch yourself,” Tharma said, “and tell your master the same.”

  Osset left and Tharma did not take time to consider his threat, but turned her mind back to her visit with Hasso in the Hospital, so few days ago, particularly during those moments after he had pulled off his helmet and flung it aside … .

  “Bring me Hasso, if you can find him,” she told the aide.

  While she waited Tharma looked around her office, which was not grand but a small cubicle lined temporarily in fiberboard and furnished with no more than a desk and shelves. Perhaps one day its walls and floor would be gracious and marbled. By then I will be retired or dead.

  For now it and the other offices were the backside of grandeur.

  Hasso was weary of everything in this place, even of his yearning for Ekket, and leaned heavily on his staff.

  “Hasso, excuse me for having to say this, but when I was with you in the Hospital a few days ago—”Only a few days! “—you pulled off your helmet, and I caught traces of some thoughts that I at first believed were part of the feverish dreams I am sure you were having. Now, with Gorodek’s astonishing declaration, I have come to believe you know something of its background. I am making a request. You must choose whether to answer.”

  Hasso crouched, laying his staff aside.

  “I have long wanted to unburden myself, but could not find a way to bring it to anyone’s attention. It began three tendays ago in Burning Mountain …”

  He relaxed, and began to brighten before her eyes: he told her his story, beginning with the dinner on his rooftop, through the journey on which he had met Ekket, and ending, given Reddow’s permission, with mind-tampering and his certainty of the presence of one more Lyhhrt.

  “I meant to bring up this matter with the Interworld Council, but then Reddow was so distressed, and the situation has become so chaotic I was afraid to ask them to convene for my affairs.”

  “You had reason,” Tharma said sadly. “What message did the Lyhhrt bring you?”

  “He said, exactly: ‘I have been advised by the world Lyrrh to inform you that you will be called as a witness in an action being brought against your government for negligence in refusing to support and defend Lyhhrt action against the attack of the world Iyax in local year 7514.’ And then he told me, they have begun this action and will arrive on Khagodis within three thirtydays to bring it to Interworld Court, and if Lyhhr is not satisfied there will be an actual attack.”

  “Did he tell you how he knew all this?”

  “He seemed to be afraid to say more.”

  “I understand. That will explain something at least. But we have had no official warning and I don’t know of any ships in orbit except those of media from the moons and from Fthel worlds. Why did this Lyhhrt choose to contact you, Hasso?”

  “Partly because I have official connections, and the rest because he is the only Lyhhrt citizen onland and I am the only one he knows of with one heart and a wasted leg, so he believed I might be equally lonely.” Hasso smiled. “That is not quite the case.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, and said, “Thank you, Hasso. I will take these matters to my Prime.”

  She did not want to bring up the case of Ekket then, though it was a burning question, but left Hasso, and his Lyhhrt as well, to take a little comfort in having her strength added to theirs.

  She stayed alone in her office for an hour before going to dinner, with communications shut down, building her resolve to prevent Gorodek from becoming a master at setting worlds against each other, and remembering also those Lyhhrt, who had given their lives to the destruction of Ix power as simply as if they had snuffed a candle.

  Fthel IV, Bonzador: A Little Learning …

  “Next time let me search for fences,” Rrengha said.

  “You were asleep.”

  Dreaming terrible dreams of starvation and disease on Ungruarkh, the ancient curses of strangers in a savage world. Ned, aching in every muscle and half the bones, dragged himself out of his own nightmares, sloshed toothcleaner and wiped his face unevenly with depilatory, eyes half closed, mind stiff as his body, and staggered out of his tent.

  “Hullo!”

  Ned looked up and saw Lek. “Haven’t seen you around.”

  Lek, wearing the same fatigues as everybody else, came up to Azzah, who was rolling up her bedding, with a “Hello, sweetheart!” and a chuck under the chin and then “Hey!” and a good wrap around the neck in the coil of Spartakos’s arm.

  Ned cri
ed, “Let go, Spartakos!”

  Spartakos let go, Lek rubbed his neck and coughed. “I like her! I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Something wrong with your approach, Lek. Spartakos couldn’t tell that.”

  “Ouch. Believe me, I really do like this one. That other one you got with you is something else.”

  “Yeh. He is. You get a lot of money for recruiting, Lek? Maybe I’ll try that line myself.”

  “Whatever I get, I can’t do much with it until I get back.”

  Lek wandered off and Azzah snapped, “You let me take care of myself, Spartakos!”

  Spartakos said kindly, “You can’t have ‘take me with you’ and ‘leave me alone’ at the same time.”

  Rrengha said, :I don’t like that one, he is a thief, and gets a brand for it on the world Ahrgonsit.:

  Ned felt kinder toward the man now. “If he went about it the way he makes friends with women, I’m not surprised. But if he’s going along with us he’s just an ordinary pisser in the same boat, and if he’d meant to harm her you’d know for sure.” Ned picked up his ration and headed for a squat in the mess tent and a cup of weak tea.

  Rrengha followed. “And where is that other one who is something else?”

  “He’s just—eh—”

  Ned realized that the Lyhhrt was gone. He found a place to sit and ate in a daze. “He said nothing to you?”

  “He does not invite me into his mind.”

  “You think he deserted?”

  “I don’t know what.” Rrengha had not much enjoyed being upstaged by the Lyhhrt.

  Trying to pull his ragged thoughts together, Ned found himself chewing his paper fork and threw it in the trash along with the empty container. Rrengha added grudgingly, “I cannot believe that one is a deserter.”

  From the watchtower, Gretorix called, “All you sinners, Work Area Number One!”

  This was the largest of the fields Ned and the others had been working to keep clear, and carriers crowded with recruits from other camps were rapidly filling it.

  “Awright now,” Gretorix yelled, “you know you’ve been hired by the Lyhhrt to take a bite out of Khagodis, in sharp and out soon. You need training for that, an here’s where we start—you, Esser and Yokoah, bring that over here!”

  Two burly NCOs unloaded and wheeled what looked like a big metal cage into the center of the field. “There now! We need a volunteer—you, Ned Gattes, I remember you from old days, you get to try this first! In you go!”

  “Wha—?” Esser and Yokoah grabbed Ned by the arms and stuffed him into the cage. “I never—”

  “Don’t mind the electrodes and that bit of a needle won’t hurt—”

  Before Ned could say his prayers, he felt a great jolt and at the same time Rrengha’s reassurance, :No fear, they are not killing you yet,: and then as if the whole contents of his skull had been sucked out, dumped into a giant mixer with the power on high, and poured back in.

  In one standard minute he opened his eyes with the ability to load, aim, fire, field-strip, clean, and assemble a GuentherMMV. A very old mercenaries’ standby.

  Gretorix thrust the Guenther with its cleaning pack into Ned’s hands and Ned went through all of the maneuvers zipzap.

  “Neat,” he said. It was all he had breath for. He handed back the Guenther. “I hope I don’t have to do that every day.”

  “You’ll find out,” Gretorix slapped him on the back. “Now who goes next?”

  Ned did not want to watch the next victim’s fear. He threaded his way through the crowd and headed for the mess tent, where he found Rrengha drinking from a bowl, the i.d. tag around her neck rattling against it. No one else was there except a Varvani named Orbo who was sweeping the rough floorboards.

  “That tea you got?”

  :Maybe.:

  Ned filled himself a cup from the tank and muttered, “Christ, you’re as cranky as he was.”

  :He sends a message.:

  It fell into Ned’s mind that moment, the way the ability to handle a rifle had done:

  My fission-sibling saved your life on Shen IV and gave his life for you when you tried to save his in return. I found him in your memory and saw through your eyes what happened to him. I hope you will forgive me if I seemed angry. I am angry at myself for taking you from your life to do my/ our work for me/us. I must do it for myself to give you back your lives.

  Ned sighed. I dunno what he thinks he can do. He had never felt nearer to Nowhere than he was now.

  The Lyhhrt might have caught a ride by boarding any air or ground vehicle in the camp, but he was weary from being with the minds there and had no trouble passing the armed guardians at the edges, they blinked and he had passed. And just as easily he went through the barbed wire fence that Ned had not reached by cutting it with his laser and rewelding it when he was on the other side. The thornbushes caught at his clothing and false skin, so he slipped them off and used the laser to vaporize them. The glass eyes popped when they exploded, and someone far back called, “What was that? You hear that?” By then he was gone into darkness.

  His brushed silver carapace was unencumbered, but he did not feel more free. He was a being confined to a cramped cell with small windows, burdened with a task beyond his stability that he could not give up, and weighted further with the sense that he had taken a dreadful wrong turn that led him to conscript Ned Gattes, and draw him into the camp in Bonzador.

  The nearest village was ten kilometers distant; he lengthened his legs and began walking toward it, using his radio to search for unoccupied land or aircars. He was not quite as good at this as Spartakos, but eventually he was able to summon a buzzer and direct it to take him to Montador.

  Montador was more sophisticated than Port City, much less of a company town, and the capital of the Cinnabar Keys. For the Lyhhrt everything had begun here. Here is the center.

  There were Lyhhrt here who worked at the embassies, or for businesses, and he would be one more. He would be allowed to obtain drugs that were illegal for fleshers in order to mix his food, and buy the expensive power cells that were vital to his workshell’s operation; he did not dare go back to that cavern in Miramar.

  Here was where he would find—no, be found by, the Other who wanted him dead.

  He landed in a car park as the sun cleared the horizon, sent the buzzer home and walked the streets of the city. There were open-air markets, leafy trees, glassy towers that even the Lyhhrt might have enjoyed observing when he first came. He paid no attention to them now, but walked through the markets and down the main avenue scanning the crowded minds to sharpen his sight and hearing.

  He saw through alien eyes that there were brilliant holographic advertisements swarming among the people, urging, pleading, admonishing, but they appeared to his vision as flickering mists, and he was concentrating intensely on what was in the minds, what the eyes had seen, the ears heard, that would point him where he was going.

  Projected on the walls of tall buildings there were other kinds of messages, printed newsstrips telling of games won and lost, wars in distant places. The Lyhhrt did not read, but the minds of readers who stopped to look told him what was being said, a great deal that was of no importance to him, and suddenly, a report that the Ambassadors from Lyhhr had been called home for gross misuse of their authority, and the Embassy closed. There were no other details.

  He caught this message just before it scrolled out of sight, and stood stunned, feeling faint while streams of people heading to work swarmed around him muttering. Finally he withdrew the feelers of his mind into himself. What does this mean? Of course that pair well deserved to be sent home, and good riddance.

  But he was not sure now that the murderer in wrought-iron was a cohort of those ambassadors, Brass and Bronze, and he was struggling to put the two parties in relation to each other.

  The matter had begun with those ambassadors and Brezant planning a neat coup against Khagodis. Now Brezant was dead, the two ambassadors displaced; that murderer, who had
come out of nowhere, was now running the Company. He wondered if that one had been in control all along, had used Brezant as a puppet. Brezant had been a man with no control and little talent in an organization of any size, the controlling Lyhhrt had seen that, had seen that his underlings were contemptuous of him and let them—perhaps even encouraged them—to kill him. That death made no difference.

  The difference is that my Other is dead, and Willson.

  If I do not destroy that dark sibling, all of those in that camp will die, Ned Gattes, Spartakos and Rrengha, and all of the poor fools that the world could not find a use for, they will die horribly and I will die for shame … .

  But for all of his casting about, the Lyhhrt found nothing in the minds of the news-gathering passersby to suggest that any threat had been made against Khagodis. Then what is going on?

  The woman Greisbach had run for her life, he did not even have any one of the Embassy staff to reach out for and the ground was rapidly shearing away beneath him.

  Tracks

  Jesus God how did I ever get into this / being too pissed off with the old man / falling into a whorehouse and letting myself be / not having enough guts to sit out him and his lectures till I could earn a real / picked up because anything was better than that knockshop and ended just as much of a whore … .

  Tyloe pulled himself away from his thoughts and hers, they glanced at each other, one blink, and turned their heads to look out the windows. They had left their aircar at the monorail junction and boarded for Montador. The windows showed an autumn landscape, what passed for autumn in Cinnabar Keys, a slight yellowing of thin leaves in the rich growth, a dark thickening in the succulents that rose like city towers.

  “There’s no reason we have to go there just because he said so,” Tyloe said.

  “I’m so afraid of him,” Lorrice whispered. “My esp is almost zero on Lyhhrt, they can shield so you don’t see them coming.”