Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) (23 page)

26

Klane’s baffled consciousness had left Jassac far behind. He’d attempted to reenter his inert form lying on a mentalist table. Something had hindered him from reaching his body, his mind and ego citadel. Angry and afraid, he’d leaped away in the opposite direction from before. This time he went out-system instead of in.

His consciousness roamed past the outer asteroid belt with its lonely ice-hauler teams attaching rockets to dirty snowballs. Once, there had been a silvery Bo Taw station out here, radiating thought waves into interstellar space. Klane’s consciousness didn’t even notice the wreckage created by
Discovery
’s heavy beams several months ago. His consciousness flashed toward a distant point an unimaginable distance—light years—away. Even at the speed of thought, it took time to cross.

Loneliness filled him, a sense of futility. Would he ever return to his body? Would he smell again, taste, touch . . . or hear? He longed for those things. The sense of disembodied wrongness grew stronger and harder to bear the farther he traveled. He recalled the savage destruction of the hive, and he wanted to smile and laugh about it. He hated the Chirr. Nothing in existence was worse than them. The Kresh should develop planet busters and use them on Fenris II and III. Annihilate the Chirr. Kill the insects. Without the Kresh, the Chirr would have likely long ago sent sub-light-speed craft to humanity’s home system and demolished every living thing there.

The beacon he’d been traveling toward now splintered into several distinct points. Vaguely, Klane was aware he must have voyaged twenty or thirty light years.

The distinct points turned into five vast spaceships. They could have been minimoons or large asteroids, but each was a metallic spheroid. Each pulsed with interior life. Messages zipped between vessels. He sensed limited psionics among them. The strongest sensation came from the last ship, and within it burned the brightest point of all.

It was another compatible mind, although there was something highly regimented about it. Klane hesitated. He didn’t want to go through another hive experience. Should he turn around and try to reenter his body again? What if he couldn’t break in? What if the strength of his consciousness weakened after prolonged traveling? He had to make a decision.

A moment later Klane’s consciousness moved through the last craft’s metallic skin. It sped past machinelike humans with biological brains. Klane noticed, wondering about them, and then his consciousness fell toward the compatible mind.

He saw it for a moment, and he knew greater fear than ever. He received psionic data concerning a thing boasting the name of Prime Web-Mind of the Fleet. It was a complex cyborg, a thing or meld of man and machine. There were rows and rows of clear biodomes. In the dozens upon dozens of domes were sheets of brain mass, many thousands of kilos of brain cells from as many unwilling donors from a war fought over one hundred years ago.

Green computing gel surrounded the pink-white mass. Cables, biotubes, and tight-beam links connected the endless domes to computers and life-support systems. The combination made a seething whole. It was an empire of mind. The biotubes gurgled as warm liquids pulsed through them. Backup computers made whirring sounds as lights indicated ten thousand things.

Then Klane’s consciousness entered a section of brain mass. He expected to breath, smell, see, and hear again. Instead, a strange, bewildering complex of thoughts drowned him in an avalanche of me, me, me, me.

“Attention, attention.”

“What?” Klane asked.

He didn’t articulate anything more. Chemicals sprayed his brain mass, his particular dome. It drugged him, made his thoughts sluggish.

Despite that, waves of data flowed through him. The Prime Web-Mind—the combination of the many biodomes—felt fear and tried to soothe itself. By degrees, and due to demanding interrogation, Klane released information. He didn’t do so with words or with psionic thoughts. He communicated with chemical and neurological reactions, a vast and mighty brain—perhaps the mightiest in the universe—that had an interior split personality.

By degrees, Klane divested himself of the hive experience to the greater Prime.

There are other life forms in the Fenris System, more than just the dinosaur aliens?

Sluggishly, Klane assured the Prime Web-Mind that was so. There were the Kresh, the Chirr, and humans—

Warning! Warning! Are you depicting solar system humans?

Yes. My ancestors originated in the solar system
.

Klane received his greatest download of data yet, as the Prime knew panic. The solar-wide war over one hundred years ago between the Social Unity Party, the Highborn, and the cyborgs replayed at fantastic speed. Klane learned about Marten Kluge, Neptune, and the last desperate days of the cyborgs. One cyborg starship had escaped destruction, limping into the galaxy and painfully rebuilding these last one hundred years in a new system.

The Prime Web-Mind had begun as a backup to the original Prime of Neptune, and attempted to learn from the old one’s mistakes. The new cyborg empire had found a dead system forty light years from Fenris. There, the cyborgs had built automated factories and thousands of robots. Slowly, the automated factories built new ones, more and more and more. In the last ten years, the vastly increased Prime received telemetry data from probes launched eighty years earlier at the Fenris System.

The first raid into the Fenris System had shown the empire much. This was the second attack. The Cyborg Empire needed biomaterial, hundreds of thousands of tons of brain tissue. The Prime Web-Mind dreamed of conquering the solar system and creating the greatest political unit in existence.

Why must you grow?
Klane managed to ask.

Expand! That is the only true directive
.

Klane struggled to understand. According to the Prime, these five vessels could have destroyed the original Doom Stars, whatever they were. These five warships were the ultimate in design and destructiveness.

Open yourself
, the Prime said.
Do not resist the data intake
.

Klane resisted as more chemicals and neuron charges attempted to tame the biomatter he inhabited. Once he took over a brain, he was affected by “material” attacks. A wealth of information smashed down on him now. The cyborgs would rip men and women, Kresh and Chirr, anything with brain tissue, putting the biomatter into layered mats and then inserting that into robotic bodies. Many humans, Vomags, Bo Taw, Tash-Toi—it didn’t matter—would enter conveyor systems. Spines, nervous systems, and brains would be torn from flesh and married to plastics and metal, creating fighting cyborgs, throwaway assault troops as the melded society grew exponentially with each conquest. Alien concepts—stealth campaigns, Lurkers, webbies—flooded Klane, bewildering him anew.

What are you?
the Prime demanded to know.
How did you arrive into one of my biodomes? Is a Kresh war fleet near our position?

Klane struggled to hide his knowledge, but he failed miserably.

What are psionics?
the Prime asked
. You must explain the concept in detail so I can develop a countermeasure
.

The horror of his new existence gave Klane a last measure of strength. He thrashed about in his new mind. He raved and called upon the old seeker. He sought aid from the singing gods. And there came to him a distant siren sound.

What occurs? I do not understand this. Explain to me
—

It was the last piece of coherent thought Klane heard from the Prime Web-Mind. Klane’s consciousness ripped free of the biodome. He had a microsecond’s flash of vision as massive machines rolled toward his dome. He suspected the Prime attacked him.

The suspicion became reality as the machines beamed the biodome he had resided within.

I want to go home
, Klane told himself.
I want to get back into my body
.

His consciousness felt considerably weaker than earlier. There was a weariness of mind, of thought. He couldn’t stay here, though. Other bright points appeared in the various ships. They were the minds closest in nature to his. If he remained with the cyborg fleet, which made ready to telejump, he would fall back within another mind.

Gathering his last shreds of resolve, Klane’s consciousness began the long trek back to the Fenris System. It was a lone star over thirty light years away. There were closer star systems, but he ignored those, fixating on the planet where his body lay. He had to get back to his flesh before his consciousness dissipated. Yes. He realized that drinking the Chirr psionic force had given him greater mental strength. But that was dwindling rapidly. This was going to be a race, one for his life.

27

Niens stood before a large screen several chambers over from the test subject. He stood with his gaze cast down before the radiance of Zama Dee the 73rd. The Revered One called from High Station 3. Because of the distance, there was a short time delay.

“You have dropped the reality field?” Zama Dee asked, moving her predatory jaws as she spoke.

“I have, Revered One.”

“Was there a response from the test subject?”

“Not to date, Revered One.”

“Are you ready to raise the field?”

“At a moment’s notice, Revered One.”

The skin flaps on Zama Dee’s crocodilian snout drew back, revealing her blue-pink gums. “You are a mentalist. That means you are the most intelligent of humans. I demand more than these terse answers.”

“Forgive me, please, Revered One. I . . . find my situation precarious and it occupies too much of my mental energies.”

“Yes, yes, I much prefer to see your deviousness on display as you’re attempting now. It settles my mind into believing you aren’t hatching some subtle and ultimately foolish design.”

I love the Kresh. I love the Revered Ones, the masters of my life
.

“I have called for a variety of reasons,” Zama Dee said. “The Teleship crew from Earth . . .”

Niens sensed Zama Dee lashing her tail, and it frightened him.

“After seeing them and listening to a data stream from Earth, I have changed my estimation of the test subject,” the 73rd said. “He is highly dangerous and volatile. The Resisters I’ve helped interrogate . . . Klane must never leave that chamber alive.”

Niens dared glance up. He’d never heard of any Kresh admitting to the slightest fear regarding humans before. It was unthinkable. Hope flared in his breast because of it. Perhaps he’d chosen wisely to aid—

I love the Kresh. They are my masters
.

With a dry mouth and while mentally reciting the love litany, Niens asked, “Should I kill the test subject now?”

The 73rd became rigid, and her reptilian eyes gleamed with malice. “On no account are you to terminate the test subject unless there is a danger of his bodily escape from the premises. If he does escape, you may rest assured that you will perish in a grisly manner for many to witness.”

Niens bowed his head.
I love the Kresh. I love the Kresh. I deserve whatever happens to me
.

“I have further orders,” Zama Dee said. “You must not allow the test subject to speak. According to High Station 3 Resister belief, he is the Anointed One. As you know, I have been trying to verify that for some time. If he is this legendary one, he will possess a golden tongue along with Herculean strength.”

“Revered One, I feel that I must inform you that I am not familiar with the last adjective.”

“I, too, found it unusual. Study has revealed that it relates to an old Earth mythos. Hercules was the son of the gods, half man and half god. He delivered his people from several misfortunes by applying his great strength.”

“The test subject will possess such physical power?” Niens asked.

“As to that I cannot attest. The Resisters believe so. There are clairvoyants among them who have had many precognitive dreams. Do all such dreams occur? That is my current area of study. To date, I have found that it depends upon the clairvoyant.

“Mentalist Niens, you have performed as I expected. It gives me greater trust in your predictability and therefore your reliability.”

“You honor me, Revered One,” he said.

“No, I most certainly do not. In fact, such words from you trouble me. For it shows you still think deviously. I am logical, among the most logical of the Hundred. I hold to facts, data, observable reality.”

“I stand corrected, Revered One.”

In silence, Zama Dee regarded him. Finally, the Kresh said, “That is all. Continue with your duties.”

Shaken, Niens left the communications chamber and returned to the reality field room. Klane still lay as before, an inert mass of flesh, barely breathing and without brain rhythms. From time to time, they had to turn on the reality field. Otherwise, the body, the husk, began to expire.

Niens tapped his chin. The 73rd had let slip amazing data. The Kresh-taught people could not live without someone in authority over them. Who would force the pay girls to their tasks? Why wouldn’t the Bo Taw simply take over, since no one could stop them from using their psi-powers with impunity? Yet apparently, people could run their own lives. The 73rd had admitted to seeing the Earth crew. The solar system foundation theory must have a basis in reality after all. It would seem that humanity hadn’t always served the Kresh, but had originated two hundred and thirty light years away. That meant his goal of freedom had an actual basis in reality.

“Mentalist,” a technician said.

Niens looked up in surprise. The techs usually avoided speaking or looking at him as religiously as their chief did. What could the man want?

The tech trembled and his lips quivered. Slowly, the tech raised his arm, pointing a single finger with a black tip at Niens.

What was the meaning of such indignity? Niens scowled. He would—

A scrap of noise behind him changed the contours of Niens’s frown. The only thing at his back was the inert mass of flesh: the test subject.

“H-he’s moving, mentalist,” the tech stammered. “I-I think his brain waves have begun again.”

Niens whirled around. The test subject’s left foot looked as if it was in a new position. Then the right-hand fingers twitched.

“Turn on the reality field!” a different tech screamed. “He’s back! The test subject’s consciousness has returned!”

Three techs were in the room. The one nearest Niens raised a brown-skinned hand, moving it toward a red-colored switch. With a rustle of cloth and a thud, the tech collapsed onto the floor and lay still.

The second tech hurried toward the switch, tripped, and dashed his head against a console. He hammered onto the floor, unconscious, as blood began to pool around the ugly gash.

From the raised level behind Niens, Klane began to groan.

This was the moment to act. Yet Niens didn’t know what to do.

Klane sat up. His eyes were lucid. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. It appeared as if he battled someone mentally. Of course, Niens realized—psionic Bo Taw had been watching the chamber. They must be attacking Klane with psi-power from the other rooms.

Niens witnessed the same grim determination as before, when Klane had slain Chengal Ras. Bowing his head, trying to remain invisible, Niens backed away. He still watched, though. Intense curiosity compelled him. Their gazes met.

Who are you?
The question appeared in his mind.

“I-I’m Mentalist Niens,” he stammered.

Why am I lying here?

Help me hold him
.

Niens frowned, confused. Then he realized he must have heard a Bo Taw’s thoughts, one of those battling the possible Anointed One.

Klane snarled, and his knuckles whitened, indicating a fierce clenching of his fists.

Niens heard a psionic scream. He pictured in his mind a Bo Taw bleeding from the eyes, nose, and ears and slumping backward.

From the raised platform, Klane chuckled. He pointed at Niens. “You’d better answer me, or I’ll do the same thing to you. Why am I lying here?”

The man’s cold eyes terrified Niens. “I’m your friend,” he said.

“You’re a liar,” Klane said. “And since you won’t answer me, prepare to die.”

Niens realized he didn’t have time to convince the man to spare him. So he spun on his heel and sprinted to the machines. The last technician there tried to slap the red button. The tech’s eyes crossed and he groaned, clutching his head before falling and expiring on the floor.

Now it’s your turn, Niens
.

As the first tendrils of psionic-induced pain touched Niens’s brain, another team of Bo Taw invisibly hit Klane. It gave Niens a precious few extra seconds. He reached the switch and stabbed it, hard. The leads above the table and above Klane glowed blue, pink, and then deeply red. A reality field sizzled into place. It shimmered and flickered uncontrollably because there wasn’t anyone left to calibrate it properly.

Niens watched in horror, waiting for the end. Alarms rang and a door opened. Technicians raced in, among them the chief. The reality field flickered worse than before, and it might have gone down. The chief tech reached the controls in time, and he acted swiftly, calibrating the field, solidifying it.

Niens watched, and to his amazement, he saw the test subject lie down, beginning to dream while wide-awake. Klane’s consciousness had returned, and he—Niens—had captured the Anointed One for Zama Dee.

Had he just foiled humanity’s lone chance for freedom? And had he just cursed himself to a lifetime in a cage as boredom drove him to madness?

Niens paced before the shimmering reality field and the prone test subject beneath. On the other side of him, the technicians silently went about their work. The techs treated the machines as if they were gods, and the men the acolytes.

Maybe they operated out of fear. Zama Dee had given explicit instructions concerning Klane. Bo Taw waited behind hidden alcoves, ready to dampen any psi-breakouts. Vomag guards prowled outside the building on the main floor.

The 73rd would soon be in Jassac orbit. She returned from High Station 3, first traveling at maximum thrust from there and then slowing with hard retrofire.

Furrows appeared in Niens’s forehead. Twice the door had opened and a Kresh had peered within. Clearly, Klane had the Revered Ones agitated.

Niens licked his lips and sidled closer to the reality field. Klane had shown him mercy once, although the man had tried to kill him this last time. The power Klane had shown and the fear he brought to the Kresh—this was amazing. It seemed conceivable he really was the Anointed One.

That meant there was a chance for freedom. It was time to take risks.

A premonition touched Niens—Bo Taw psionic intrusion. It was like a feather in his mind.
I love the Kresh. I love the Kresh. They give our lives meaning
. Without the Revered Ones, humanity would boil into fevered madness. Men and women—

If we’re such illogical beings, why did Earthlings build the first starship instead of the Kresh doing so?

A thrill of pure terror shot through Niens’s chest. He shouldn’t dabble with such chaotic thoughts, not here in range of the mind readers. Vomags might enter the chamber under the guidance of a Revered One. If the Kresh knew what he really felt, the soldiers would shoot him for being a madman.

Because of his fear of the Bo Taw, Niens shifted his position even closer to the reality field. The feathery feeling departed from his mind. The shimmering thing before him was like a psi-tent, shielding him from intruding probes.

His eyelids began to flicker, and he found that odd.
I’m too close to the reality field. I should back up
. He didn’t, though. Instead, he watched a pay girl wearing sequins on her pert breasts coalesce into existence. She swayed in an erotic way and made pouting motions with her lips.

“I love you, Mentalist Niens,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re so strong and virile and so very smart.”

He grinned, and her existence solidified for him. In his subjective view, the chamber lost reality as she became more real.

“I am smart, aren’t I?” he asked her.

She nodded in an alluring manner. Then she twirled on her toes for him, letting him see her marvelous buttocks.

Despite her beauty, Niens’s fear of the Kresh radiated through the fantasy. He combined the two. “I must use my superior intellect,” Niens told her.

“And you must use other things, too,” she said, glancing meaningfully at his crotch.

“Yes, yes,” Niens said. “I’m not thinking clearly enough.” He could use his fantasy—this pay girl—and possibly speak with Klane. He snapped his fingers at her. “I have an idea.”

She ran her tongue over painted lips. “So do I, darling Niens.”

His eyes shone with lust. This was the loveliest pay girl he’d ever seen. He wanted to disrobe, to make her strip and do things—he shook his head.
Focus, Niens, this might be your last chance to affect your destiny
.

“You’re finally ready for me,” the pay girl said with a titter.

“Never mind that for now,” Niens said. It would appear that all minds were schizophrenic. He was battling himself in a way. “I want you to do something for me.” It was a wild idea, but he didn’t see why this shouldn’t work.

“Of course,” she said.

“It’s not what you think. You must cross the reality field and talk to Klane.”

Something like fear appeared on her features. “I don’t think I can do that, darling.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, wondering if he was battling self-doubt. “You’re a figment of my imagination. I power you.”

The pay girl began to fade.

“No,” Niens said, concentrating on her, believing in her existence.

She solidified, and she glanced at her body in surprise.

“Cross this barrier,” Niens said. “I want you to talk to Klane. Tell him he’s under a reality field, held in the . . . in the demon city.”