The Rebellion (91 page)

Cassy’s “Guardian” and Garth’s “Sentinel” had to be the same thing. And what if it had been completed before the Great White? The whole point of the system was that it could operate outside of human influence; so, what if the deadly computermachine was even now standing somewhere in the world, needing only to be activated? Learning of the devastated world, wouldn’t Sentinel then rouse BOT?

I felt truly sick at the thought of a second Great White initiated by a mindless machine and cursed the Beforetimers with every foul word I knew for making an evil that would outlive their own rotten lifetimes.

I ran my eyes down the page.

A key that must be used before all else … Words that would let me enter Sentinel … Something that would reach its core … Something that would open a door.

My mouth felt dry as I saw that Kasanda’s “signs” could in fact be the means by which I gain access to the site of Sentinel and to its weaponmachines. No wonder I needed to find what Kasanda had left before walking the dark road.

But why had she made it so difficult for me? Even as I thought of the question, I knew the answer. She had foreseen
the existence of my fated opposite: the Destroyer, destined to activate the weaponmachines if I failed to disable them.

Kasanda must have known she was making it difficult for me as well as for the Destroyer. Of course, nothing about futuretelling was certain, and Kasanda could have overestimated my abilities. But knowing what was at stake, she would have done her best to transform possibilities into probabilities.

That meant the balance of chance was in my favor. It struck me that the purpose of the message I held might even have been to ensure that I understood that. I felt awed at the thought, for in a way, she had also been telling me that no matter how lonely my quest seemed, I was not alone.

I laid the page aside.

The quest before me was no less dark than it had ever been, but the feeling that I was not alone was new and welcome. Staring into the glowing embers on the hearth, I had the feeling that I need find only one clue, and it would lead me inevitably to the rest.

20

I
DID NOT
sleep until Maruman came into my room looking so shifty I suspected he had been chasing mice. Instead of scolding him, I lifted him onto the bed and curled my body around his furry warmth. On top of everything else, I was worried about the old cat. He had been behaving oddly for days, and though he had not fallen into one of his mad states, his mind had been unfocused. We had last communicated normally just after my nightmare about Ariel, and his confusion in the following days reassured me that it had been merely a period of mental instability that had led him to suggest my nightmares were anything out of the ordinary.

I shivered and pulled his body closer. I could not imagine life without him. I lay listening to the slow soft buzz of his breath until I drifted into unconsciousness.

That night, I did not dream at all, but the evening before my departure for Sawlney, I sank through the layers of my mind until I was just above the mindstream, and a memory bubble rose from it to engulf me.

I was hovering beside Cassy, who was painting a flamebird in a very white room with plain, shining surfaces. There were no windows and only a single closed door. The lighting in the room was the same radiant kind as the immense globe that lit the main cavern in the Teknoguild network but on a much
smaller scale. The only color in the room was Cassy’s orange shirt, glowing brightly against her brown skin, and the brilliant scarlet plumage of the bird in its cage on the table before her.

I studied the bird in wonder, for though much smaller, it was otherwise astoundingly similar to the Agyllians.

Cassy was absorbed in her painting, but suddenly she looked up, a stunned expression on her face. For a second, I thought she had sensed my presence. Then I realized she was looking at the bird.

“What?” she whispered, leaning closer to the circular air holes in the glass cage.

It said nothing, of course, but I opened my mind and heard its thoughts reaching out to hers. To my astonishment, I recognized Atthis’s voice.

“… can/do you hear?”

Cassy looked around the room in suspicion.

“Do not fear,” the bird sent calmly. “It is I/we who reach you. I/we need your help.”

Cassy licked her lips and spoke aloud, though very softly. “I … I
did
hear you the other day, didn’t I?”

“Did,” the bird sent with obvious satisfaction. “Felt you could/would. Not all funaga do/can hear.” Now I realized that though the voice was Atthis’s in a sense, it was like one strand of it, and that reminded me that the Elder of the eldar retained the memory of its ancestors.

“How is it that you can … can do this?” Cassy stammered.

“Many things they did to us/me. Many wearypainful things.” The bird’s tone held a residue of anguish that was almost palpable. “Funaga do not think birds feel/fear/think.”

“You … you’re using telepathy, aren’t you?”

“Something like. Something very like. But word too little. Too limited.”

“You
made
me want to paint you, didn’t you?” Cassy asked with a touch of fear. “You put the idea of it into my head.”

“Not put. Found thought. Amplified and nourished. Cannot/will not make.”

Cassy licked her lips doubtfully. “You … you said you wanted my help. Do you want me to set you free?”

The bird gave the avian equivalent of a sigh. “O freedom. Yes. But there is a more important doing needed. In this place there are others.”

“I might manage to get you out, but I doubt I could get to your friends and free them without being arrested. All of the experimental animals are locked up in the labs.”

“Friends yes. Not beast. Not avian. Human/funaga.”

“You have
human
friends here?”

“Telepaths, you would say/call them. Like you.”

“I’m not telepathic,” Cassy laughed self-deprecatingly. “Believe me, I’d love it if I was. I even went to one of those centers. They tested me and found zilch.”

“Do not know tests. Not know zilch. Know only could not reach your wakingmind if not receptive.”

“But I’m telling you I tested as dull normal!”

The bird made no response.

“All right. Let’s just say I am telepathic, or at least I’m receptive to telepaths. You say there are people here who are telepathic? Volunteers?”

“Prisoners. Like me/mine. Stolen.”

She looked shocked. “You can’t steal people. There’d be inquiries.”

“Stolen, yes, but cleverly so no searching. Most dark
of skin/hue like you. But no money. No family. No position/place to make for wondering.”

“Trashers,” Cassy said. “That’s what people call poor folk who live in the rim slums.…” She spluttered to an indignant halt.

“Your anger burns me,” the bird complained.

Cassy looked discomforted. “I … I’m sorry. It’s just that the whole thing makes me so mad. It’s just dumb luck my mother was able to get herself educated, or I’d just as likely be in those rim slums right now. All the progress we’ve made, and still no one does anything about the disadvantaged … uh, sorry,” she said, seeing the bird ruffle its feathers in reaction to her anger. “Look, these people. Why are they being held here?”

“Experiments. Like on I/we.”

“Oh hell. What can I do? I mean, I’ll help, but I’m nobody here. I’m only here because I was dumped on my father at the last minute. He’s the director of this place,” she added. “I barely move without Masterton treading on my shadow, the bastard.”

“No one knows they/human telepaths here,” the bird sent.

“No one …” Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You want me to let people know? The electronic bulletins would jump at the story, but I’d have to have proof.…”

“There is a woman who must be told they are here. If more know, they would be moved or killed.”

“A woman? Who?”

For the first time, I sensed uncertainty. “Not know name. I/we dreamed of her. Find her. Tell her.”

“I can’t find her without knowing more than that.”

“Woman searches for telepaths,” the bird sent with a touch of desperation.

“Hell, lots of people are interested in telepaths. Or they were a couple of years ago. There were all those mobile clinics roving around testing people, though it all came pretty much to nothing. At least, that’s what the bulletins said.…”

The Agyllian sent a swift warning, and Cassy barely had time to snatch up her sketch pad before the door burst open and the gray-suited Petr Masterton appeared.

“Time’s up,” he said.

I was only slightly less shocked than Petr Masterton appeared to be when Cassy smiled at him. “Damn. I haven’t worked nearly as fast as I’d hoped.” He blinked, as well he might, for her tone was several degrees warmer than usual. As if realizing that this might require some explaining, she said blithely, “It’s just been the first good subject I’ve had in ages. I’ve been in such a bad mood. I really enjoyed today, so I guess I owe you one for hustling me into it.”

Petr Masterton gave her a stiff smile, as if it was not an expression that often crossed his face. “I’m glad you are having a pleasant time,” he said.

“I know I shouldn’t ask when I’ve been such a bad-tempered brat to you, but do you think I could have some more time in here tomorrow?” Cassy directed a pleading look under her lashes, and I all but felt the man melt under its impact.

“Not tomorrow. There are World Council representatives to be shown through the compound. They will want to see the birds.”

“You said they were useless.” Her response was a fraction too swift and sharp, but her face was so guilelessly open and friendly that he didn’t seem to hear it.

“The birds are the remnants of an older phase of a long-term experiment that continues to this day. Flamebirds are actually the result of cloning in the last century. They possess certain natural properties that make them ideal for the genetic manipulation of the frontal lobe. That is the seat of paranormal abilities. Unfortunately, cloning is costly and the bird is unable to reproduce efficiently, so it is on the verge of extinction.” His voice had taken on a lecturing tone, and Cassy adopted an expression befitting a favored student receiving the wisdom of her acknowledged master. “The birds were subjected to various treatments, but it was discovered that you can only develop a bird mind so far. Ultimately, they lack certain qualities that exist in, say, the human mind. This bird and the others you saw were not subjected to the more drastic phases of experimentation, because they were the control group.”

“What happened to the experimental group?”

“They were vivisected and subjected to autopsy. The few birds left are a pretty but bitter reminder that even the most promising experiments can come to nothing. That’s how science is. A lot of dead ends before you find a fruitful lead.”

Even I felt Cassy’s rage, and the bird shuddered slightly in response, but she only said lightly, “I guess it’s lucky I’m an artist, then, since there are no dead ends and certainly no dead birds.”

Petr Masterton’s eyes flickered, and I wondered if she was underestimating him. She must have felt the same, for she began packing up her notepad and pencils, chattering about the sort of colors she would like to see as part of the design. After she had gone, he stood staring at the bird, frowning.

“Wake.” Maruman’s mindvoice lifted me from the dream. “Angina wearies. Mornirdragon restless. Wake lest she comes.…”