Shield (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #2): Bridge & Sword World

by JC Andrijeski

  Help me with what? I sent, again a little sharply.

  Again, she acted like I hadn’t spoken.

  If I cannot get you ready in the next few months… She clicked softly, shaking her head. Well, that would be unfortunate.

  “Unfortunate, how?” I said.

  If this is what I think it is, I give us only weeks. Months at most.

  “Weeks?” I said, a little alarmed. “Weeks before what?”

  Before the Displacement begins for real, she answered, taking a sip of the dark brown drink. …And the humans begin to die.

  13

  FOUND

  …and they say Death will live among them in the guise of a child, for like air tears a cloud, or smoke kills flame, or a river wears down its own fire-blackened stones… Death breaks inside itself and cannot be mended.

  ––Seer proverb, Anonymous

  “SIR, YOU WON’T believe what we’ve found. We’ve scarcely been able to… wait. I should get Ithren, sir…”

  Already, Terian-3 was bored.

  Leaning back in his chair, the tall, Scandinavian-looking seer laid the folds of his furred cloak over one knee.

  Sequestered in Bhutan, he’d been prevented from crossing over to Four and the boy by the arrival of the Adhipan. Seertown being much closer in India than Three’s base in Berlin, they beat him here––then managed to cut him off.

  Three loathed Bhutan.

  Really the entire Asian continent could be swallowed up by some kind of sea monster, leaving only the raw materials and a few pretty views and he would be quite content. He sat in an abandoned communications terminal inside a former military outpost outside Kurjey Lhakhang, Bumthang, in what looked to be an out-of-service public queue from one Communist regime or another.

  So far, no one had found the modified box; but then, Galaith, despite his other faults, always supplied him with the very best toys.

  “Sir?” The voice resurfaced. “Apologies. You caught us at a bit of a bad time, and…”

  At his stare, the seer trailed.

  The man’s VR shadow was a bipedal reptile with striped horns that protruded from a domed, iridescent-scaled head. Enhancements gave his voice a growling, hissing quality, causing the lizard’s nostrils to flare as his voice rose with emotion.

  The seer had obviously programmed it himself.

  Terian took a drag of his hiri stick. “Go on,” he said.

  “We found another one, sir,” the lizard told him. “Totally unknown.”

  Terian choked on the smoke.

  He’d occupied himself with a secondary chore while he waited for the word from Washington D.C. Namely, he’d tasked the fragments of the Rooks’ genetics team with comparing Alyson’s bio-stats against all existing human and seer records.

  He thought it an interesting idea that he might be able to ID other intermediary beings from their biological fingerprint alone. Once he had the idea, he simply could not resist trying it out; therefore, Three ordered the scans run to amuse himself, but also to be thorough.

  He hadn’t really expected a hit. Little Allie’s bio-samples disintegrated upon separation from her aleimi with a speed that made it nearly impossible to tag her DNA with total accuracy, anyway.

  “Alive?” Terian queried.

  “No.” The man’s face fell. “Not as such, sir.”

  Three inhaled smoke, chewing the end of the hiri to get at the resin. He felt his shoulders relax. “I am not interested in dead glow-eyes, Remsn. Find me one I can fuck. Otherwise, it is of academic note.”

  A second voice rose. “This one might interest you, sir.”

  A nondescript shadow appeared. This one had wire-like hair and wore a yellow smock, to mark him as a doctor. Terian decided he liked the lizard suit better.

  “We think it likely the record of Syrimne. There are several factors that––”

  “Wait.” Terian raised a hand. “What makes you think that?”

  “The dates match,” said the lizard. “We found him initially in colonial records of the French. But the same being appears in German records when we cross-referenced.”

  “Show me.”

  Both shadows faded.

  Blood data floated, lines linking characteristics between the two subjects. Terian recognized Alyson’s before shifting his attention to the other, obviously older record. From phrasing it was likely from a primary source and handwritten.

  After staring at it for a few seconds, Terian exhaled.

  “There is some mild variation,” he commented. “And it is not a DNA record as such, but the old style of seer blood-printing, which is less accurate––”

  “Yes, sir,” the doctor agreed. “Of course you are right. But all of the secondaries match. They even tracked the rate at which the blood lost its structural integrity, and it matches our rate of genetic decomposition. Factors indicate the possibility of at least two discernible Elaerian blood types. Given how closely tied these creatures are to their sight, it could also have something to do with their aleimic signature, or their specific connections to beings within the Barrier.”

  Ithren sounded apologetic.

  “We still do not fully understand Barrier-mutable physiological factors, sir. We have a team working on mapping rules around…”

  Seeing, or perhaps sensing the impatience emanating off Terian, the researcher quickly changed course.

  “…In any case, the second specimen is clearly Elaerian. An exact match exists in all other relevant data: heart rate, reflexes, glandular make-up, brain activity, respiratory functioning, aleimic signature described. There is no doubt this is not a Sark. It is even more obviously not human.”

  Terian remained fixed on the dates. “Could the age be incorrect?”

  “We pulled the records from a colonial school organized according to age groups. At the very least, he appeared this age physically, sir.”

  Terian quirked an eyebrow, smiling in spite of himself.

  “A school? What was his claimed race?”

  “Human, sir.”

  “Human?” Terian blinked. “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. He claimed to be the son of a diplomat from Serbia. A blood illness, along with rumors of mixed ethnicity were meant to account for some of his secondary traits.”

  “And you believe this age to be correct?”

  “It matches, sir,” the lizard piped in. “Three of his classmates went on to take prominent roles in the German military in World War I. His guardian was a confirmed member of the resistance under Syrimne later.”

  “All right.” Terian tapped his fingers. “What else?”

  “Intelligence tests, emotional assessment, disciplinary reports––his intelligence scores were off the charts. Empathic didn’t even register. Relational he was weaker, but still better than most Sarks.”

  The avatar gave Terian a grim look.

  “…They thought he cheated, sir. Apparently he made a point of sabotaging every test they tried to perform on him, either rigging outcomes or refusing outright to participate. They have a lot of notes scribbled by the results…” Trailing, the seer gestured vaguely. “The issue of his race was never raised. Of course, humans were ignorant about seers at the time––”

  “What was the name again?”

  “Nenzi, sir.” The avatar turned, scanning other records. “That was likely his seer name, or a nickname, perhaps. At the school he’s listed as Ewald Gottschalk. Could have been a joke though, sir, that name.”

  At Terian’s blank look, Ithren shrugged.

  “‘God’s servant in the Law,’ is roughly how it translates. We were able to trace back a clan name, from the guardian. Humans knew him as the boy’s uncle, and we’ve got him ID’d as a seer, as well. Sark, of course, so unlikely to be a true blood relative, but it has to be presumed he knew something was odd with his charge.”

  “Name?”

  “Clan Argstaad, sir.” He cleared his throat meaningfully. “Menlim, as given.”

  “You mentioned disciplin
ary reports.” Terian scrolled through electronic records. “Were these all about faked tests?”

  “No, sir. Most related to behavioral issues, but he was also written up for a number of… well, odder things. One of the teachers built a case for suspected child abuse, openly naming the boy’s guardian in several reports. According to her, young Ewald refused to undress for physical examinations, fell asleep repeatedly in class due to sleep deprivation, passed out at least twice from lack of food, came to school visibly injured. Emotionally, he showed symptoms of trauma. He also displayed as nearly obsessive-compulsive in terms of certain rituals, and acted as though he thought he was constantly being watched––”

  “Did they pursue it?”

  “No.” Ithren shrugged with one hand. “Given the political situation at the time, it is hardly surprising. One of the reports also has Nenzi cutting the throat of a classmate in a schoolyard fight, so he didn’t make a particularly believable victim.”

  Seeing Terian’s eyebrows rise, Ithren added,

  “The classmate survived. And extenuating circumstances were present… but Nenzi wasn’t popular. They actually had a petition at one point to drive him out of the school.”

  Terian lips twitched in a smile. “I’m beginning to like this kid. Did the petition succeed?”

  “No, but only due to timing. His uncle pulled him, claiming his nephew ‘Ewald’ suffered from some sort of illness. We found no reports of him visiting medical facilities, however. In fact, there are never any reports of him visiting the human meds, except when his teacher forced the issue, and then the guardian nearly had her arrested.”

  “Any adult records?” Terian said.

  “Two.” Ithren’s image receded, replaced by a VR record that had once been hand-written. “A double homicide in which he was the primary suspect. The records are incomplete, and the murders may have related to the war. There was a fire at the relevant police station prior to his transfer to military tribunal.”

  Terian skimmed details. “Was he prosecuted?”

  “No, sir, but again, only due to timing. The second record I referenced is that of his death.”

  The image morphed again, replacing the first record with another, also hand-written, beside a death certificate in German.

  “…which is listed as occurring one week prior to the first scheduled hearing before the military tribunal assigned the case.”

  “Death? But that would be before the war ended, surely?”

  “Well before, sir. We believe his death must have been staged. Perhaps even with the complicity of the German military.”

  A news broadcast began playing in the background, describing an explosion in one of the military shipyards.

  “It makes sense,” Ithren said. “If his handlers were trying to keep him inconspicuous, they didn’t do a particularly effective job. And the incident was used as a political weapon for a number of months after. The Germans claimed it was sabotage by the French.”

  The geneticist’s tone shifted, as if he were reading details aloud.

  “Nenzi was known to be a member of the Brotherhood, which was only a political organization at the time, handing out leaflets, giving speeches, holding protests, that kind of thing. He had a reputation as a fighter… even made money as a street boxer. He appeared to be around eighteen, in human years, by that time. It’s impossible to know his true age. We now believe, from Alyson’s records, that Elaerian are able to adapt to the chronological cycles of the dominant species around which they were raised, as a function of camouflage. If he were raised mainly around humans––”

  “This was all prior to the ban. Are there any images of him?”

  “No, sir. That’s another odd thing. Images of his classmates exist, but his were destroyed. All of them, even in the official records.”

  Terian thought for a moment. “Who witnessed his death?”

  “His guardian, a few neighbors, people he worked with. We looked into all the names. All Brotherhood, sir. No one thought to question it at the time.”

  “Any of them alive now?” Terian said.

  Ithren shook his head, clicking softly. “Not on record. We’d have to do more digging to be sure. A lot of people changed identities following the war.”

  “Do it,” Terian said. “What about the guardian?”

  Ithren glanced at the lizard, as if for help.

  The lizard cleared his throat. “Menlim was relatively unknown in Germany back then, sir. Locally, he was known only as a Bavarian scholar who adopted an orphan boy out of pity. Locals believed him to be human.”

  Resmn scrolled through images of the war.

  “…A few months after his nephew’s death, he and his Brotherhood went underground. That was right before they began attacking the French forces openly, sir. And, pardon my saying it, but you know what happened after that.”

  A map materialized, showing mountains Terian hadn’t seen with his eyes in thirty years, but that formed a portion of the modern history curriculum of every school-aged child since the end of World War I.

  He recognized the most picturesque of the peaks, had a sudden memory of walking up there once, with Dehgoies. It had been the other’s idea, of course. Dehgoies never got the Himalayas out of his system; as long as Terian knew him, he always seemed to be looking for a mountain tall enough that he might stretch his legs.

  “There, sir.” Ithren pointed to infrared images of caves dotting the cliffs. “They likely hid him there, where Menlim and Syrimne both were reputed to live during the war. The Allied powers only found those headquarters after the Treaty of Versailles. Menlim had them protected with some kind of Barrier trick…”

  But Terian was staring at the map, his mouth ajar as the pieces clicked into place.

  “Menlim of Bavaria? Do you mean to tell me this Elaerian child was adopted by the Menlim, the one behind the Brotherhood’s military strategy?”

  “Yes, sir.” Remsn sounded relieved that Terian had finally caught on. “Most thought Menlim was Syrimne, sir. He was infamous in the Pamir, one of the few known experts in military tactics for seers at that time. He’s one of the only seers who could have trained Syrimne to do those things, sir.”

  Terian leaned back in his chair.

  There was something here, something important yet, and not only in regard to the puzzle around the boy from Sikkim.

  He couldn’t make the pieces fit, no matter how he assembled them.

  “I want every record, every scrap and word you dug up on this person. Not just the summaries. I want originals.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ithren said. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.” Terian steepled his fingers. “I will wait.”

  14

  FOUR

  TERIAN-4 TENSED, FALLING to a fighting stance without knowing why he’d done it. He watched the boy’s face––focused, attentive.

  When nothing happened, he forced himself to relax.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d felt something off the boy’s light that nearly gave him a heart attack. Unfortunately, he had no idea what the kid had done that affected him so viscerally.

  The cave where they’d stopped was the size of a small cottage. Drafty, but a blessing in that it had three solid walls, and not a lot of heat escaped out the low-ceilinged tunnel that led outside.

  Still, it had been hell coaxing the boy in there the first time.

  They had to build two fires and illuminate every crack in every wall before the kid would so much as venture past the threshold.

  Four studied the boy’s youth-rounded face now.

  The deep black eyes shone with intelligence.

  More than intelligence––at times he saw a depth of understanding there that shocked him, particularly given the boy’s long isolation in that cave-like prison. He appeared to comprehend the problems raised by outside forces to a surprising degree, even when relatively sophisticated and modern elements were involved, such as satellites tracking them and the problems raised by modern scanning
methods and drones.

  He reasoned. He quickly grasped multiple variables and drew conclusions.

  He adapted to his environment. He had adjusted to being outside of that dungeon faster than anyone could have reasonably expected.

  But Four still couldn’t reach him. Not really. Not enough.

  They were being followed. Four knew now by whom. It would certainly be easier if he could make the boy understand the specific problems associated with that as well.

  So far, Terian’s efforts to communicate had met with no discernible success.

  Still, Four was alive. Moreover, the chemically-heated food he’d insisted his sherpas pack seemed to be a big hit.

  He watched the boy stick small, corpse-white fingers into a bag full of something meant to approximate beef stroganoff. He seemed oblivious to temperature, responding only to the smell as he crammed chunks of seared meat and brown sauce into his dirty mouth. Terian witnessed the process in fascination. He wondered if his new charge would ever sleep long enough for a successful attempt to collar him.

  He kept the thought very carefully in the back of his mind.

  Even so, the black opal eyes darted up.

  They met Terian’s, and Four felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise. A curl of electrically-charged aleimi slid around his skin.

  “No wire,” the boy said.

  English. That was new.

  Up until that point, he’d spoken a form of bastardized Prexci, mixed with what Terian identified as Khaskura Bhasha, an older form of Nepali. Terian also caught a few muttered words in Mandarin and Hindi. But the English was a first.

  “Spracken zi deutsch?” he ventured.

  “No wire,” the boy said in German.

  “I understand,” Terian said in Russian, holding up his hands. “No wires.”

  “No wires,” the boy repeated in Czech, or maybe Polish. “Try and… boom!” He grinned, his mouth filled with meat. “Boom!” he said again, throwing his hands up on spidery, stick-like arms.