Charon: A Dragon at the Gate

CHAPTER FIVE A Plot, a Deal, and a Potion

“Zola? You’ve got to be joking!” I could hardly contain my emotions at this point, a mixture of incredulity, relief, and a still-lingering suspicion that I was being had. “You’ve got to be kidding. Without protection she wouldn’t last ten minutes outside this hotel.”

“That’s partly the point,” Korman responded, and he didn’t seem to be joking. “Have you ever seen anyone so innocent, so confused, so totally dependent! Not the Warden Diamond sort at all. Not even the Confederacy’s.”

“You’re saying it’s all an act? A plant?” I found it hard to take this seriously from any viewpoint.

“Oddly enough, no. Zala is, I’m certain, exactly what we see. She’s shallow, weak, more an outline of a real person than a whole human being. There is no doubt in my mind that she believes herself to be what she is utterly and has no inkling whatsoever of her true nature and purpose.”

I had to laugh. “This is impossible.”

“When I saw her I was immediately aware of the anomaly. The Wardens, you see, congregate in every cell, in every molecule of our being. They permeate our existence. With some training you can even see them. Sense them. Hear them. I’m sure you’ll one day experience what I can only inadequately verbalize. But the Wardens become as highly specialized as the molecules they link up to. The brain is particularly odd. Wardens there organize in specific ways, so specialized that you can actually see a diagram of the parts of the brain. When I look at anyone—you, for instance—I see those parts distinctly, and even how they interconnect and interact. The cerebrum and the cerebral cortex are easy to define. In you, in everyone—but not in Zala.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“I can’t really explain it. It is outside my experience in every way. Outside anybody’s, I’d guess. But organically, Zala’s cerebral functions are organized very differently. It’s almost as if there were two forebrains in there, two totally different operative centers linked to the same cerebellum, medulla, spinal cord and nervous system—but not to each other. It is definitely organic. Deliberate. And unprecedented as far as I can tell.”

“You’re telling me that there are two minds in one body? That’s hard to swallow, although I’ve heard tales of multiple personalities.”

“No! Not in that old sense. Multiples as we know them are psych conditions. Psychologically induced—and curable. This is not a psych condition. I’m talking about two real minds, Lacoch!”

I couldn’t shake the oddest feeling that either I was dreaming this whole illogical and improbable conversation or that I had really gone suddenly insane. The thought suddenly came to me that all this was illusion, some way in which they were pulling some sort of sophisticated psyche job on me. Still, I had wits enough left to realize that no matter what the situation, my only choice was to keep playing along, at least for now. “You will understand,” I said carefully, “that I find both the idea and your means of confirmation rather, ah, improbable.”

He nodded. “Still, it’s true and it must be acted upon. The implications of a dual mind with unknown powers are ones we can’t ignore, and must know more about it Within a matter of hours, I can get a set of master defense codes for the Confederacy, even a list of the top fifty assassins now on assignment along with the actual assignments of at least half. Our information conduits into the Confederacy are not only beyond their belief, they are almost beyond mine. Yet we have heard nothing whatsoever about a project like this, which must have been—what?—twenty years plus in the making. The perfect agent. She can be hypnoed, psyched to the gills, tortured beyond endurance and she wouldn’t know or give away a thing. If we had telepathy she’d pass that test too. All the while the other mind, the assassin’s mind, would be there, beyond reach, gathering data and picking its own time to assume control. It must be something else—it has nothing to do but its job. Cold, analytical genius set to one task and only one.”

I thought about it. If all this were real, I could not only see his point I could almost doubt myself. Krega had never said that I’d be the only agent, and Zala might well be part of an independent effort. Telling myself I was really crazy for starting to believe all this, I still had to press on. “So you just kill her and that’s that,” I commented dryly.

“Oh, no! Then we would never see this other mind, never know its capabilities—and we might not catch the next one, or the next dozen, or hundred, or whatever. Not to mention that they’ll be ticking bombs back in the Confederacy when all hell breaks loose and we return. We need to know a great deal more about her new type. Of course, we’d like to know just how much they really know about us at this stage.”

“I thought you just told me their secrets were an open book.”

He glared at me. “Some. But we—the Four Lords—are a special target of a special group. Their plans are so secret that even those who formulated them have been wiped now.” He sighed. “And that brings us back to what we have dubbed ‘Operation Darkquest’—which brings us back to you.”

I nodded, beginning to see how all this was fitting together. Still, I couldn’t resist a mild jab. “It seems to me that for a man with the powers of a god you’re sounding pretty human.”

Again the glare, but it softened, and his eyes lit up with just a trace of humor. “You’re right, of course. It is something of a humbling experience, but the mind is always the best weapon no matter what sort of power one acquires.”

“Now—do you mind getting down to specifics?” I pressed.

“All right, all right. We are going to assign Zala to you and you to a minor but conspicuous village post down south where Koril’s cult is very strong. We feel certain Koril will contact you, indirectly of course, and sound you out. Now that you know the situation, we want you to go along with him, feed his prejudices. You and Zala will ultimately accept his deal to join him, and that will mean getting you to his redoubt.”

“You feel sure he’ll contact us? We’ll be pretty obvious, I’d think.”

“He’ll contact you, all right. Maybe not right away, but hell come. Eventually he’ll contact all of you, but not all will go his way.”

“I see. And you want me to somehow get the location of that fortress to you.”

He nodded. “That and his future plans.”

“You have some gadget for me to do all this with, I presume?”

He shook his head from side to side. “Sadly, no. Most of the usual ones won’t work here, and anything I might add by my powers Koril would detect. He’s that good. No, I suspect we’ll have to wait until he sends you out on your first errand, or mission, or whatever. Call it a test of your resourcefulness.”

I considered it. “And how am I supposed to make sure this message gets to you without getting my head blown off either by your people or Koril’s?”

“Koril is your problem. As for the other, the key word is “Darkquest.” Village sores and those above will know the term but not what it means. What it will do is make certain that you are not killed and that word of your capture or whatever will reach the Synod.”

“It seems to me Koril’s going to know at least the signal word himself—if he’s as good as you say.”

Korman nodded. “He will, but it will do him no good. He won’t know what it means, and any of his people using it other than yourself will simply walk into capture.”

That part pretty well satisfied me. “How good is this Koril in psych terms though? Am I likely to go through some sort of exercise that will betray the plot when I’m down there in his domain?”

“He himself is powerful enough to turn your mind to almost anything, which is the reason for the length of our session here. I have been creating blocks in your mind, selective traps and guards that will go up should he try any such thing. And if he does try any mind-turning, it won’t take. Not for long anyway.”

“But he’s likely to sense the blocks,” I noted.

“On most attempts, certainly,” Korman agreed. “But you—you have been through three years of intense psych before coming here, remember. Your mind now shows many, many blocks and re-channelings to me. The extras I add won’t be noticed, and that alone is what makes you so uniquely qualified—you see?”

I did see. Of course, the psych blocks Korman saw weren’t from any Lacoch psych treatments but from my own breeding, training, and Krega’s Security; but it explained a lot If Korman could sense those blocks—but not remove them—it not only reinforced my assumed identity but quite possibly prevented him from doing some of that mind-bending on me. I remembered that earlier hypnotic gaze. “All right, I understand the plot,” I told him. “What about Zala?”

“Take her along, by all means!” Korman urged. “Find out all you can from her, particularly from her alter ego which you will almost certainly see. And if you can manage it, when you are in position to use Darkquest see if you can’t manage to have her with you.”

I chuckled. “This is some job you’re giving me. I was a planetary administrator, for god’s sake^ Now I’m instantly supposed to be a master spy, secret agent, and the rest, pitting myself against the top power on the planet and a Confederacy assassin!”

“You don’t have to accept,” he said calmly. “I admit your overall qualifications aren’t very good. Against the perfect psych cover and an interesting and agile mind, we must balance your lack of experience. Do you remember your old self all that well?”

I gave the required shudder. “Yes, I remember him.”

“You were a master of disguise and you baffled the best police for over five years. You’re not as rank an amateur as you think.”

I considered that. “Still, I’m going to have to make every move right—no mistakes of any kind. One goof and I’m done, maybe for a very long time. The odds are I’m going to get killed.”

“Well, that’s true,” he admitted casually, “but consider that you have alternatives. First, you can refuse categorically. I’ll find another candidate, team Zala up with him or her, and wipe this entire conversation from your memory. You’ll then be sent north, out of the way, and can spend the rest of your life toiling in the fields getting in the harvest. That’s safe. Or you can accept—and get killed. Or you can accept, accomplish the mission, and find yourself very abruptly a man of immense rank and power at the right hand of Aeolia Matuze and the Synod, a participant in the coming revolution, and sure recipient of its fruits.”

I looked at him cautiously. “And I could accept, contact Koril, and really join his side.”

“You could,” he admitted, “and yet—why? If you win you’ll be a big shot on an isolated and primitive world forever. More likely, you will not win, and will either grow old in frustration as we go ahead anyway—or die in some foolish attempt on the Synod. If you can’t see that Koril has nothing to offer worth the risk, then you’re not much good to me anyway.”

I nodded. “All right, I’ll be your boy. Overall, you don’t give me much choice, and it beats boredom. Besides, I’m kind of curious about all this myself.”

Korman smiled. “I knew you would see reason. Just remember this: don’t underestimate Koril a whit, and under no circumstances try to take on the old boy himself or even run to us while he’s anywhere in the neighborhood. Nobody’s that good. It’ll take the whole Synod to nail him. Bet on it.”

“I fully intend to live through this,” I assured him.

He laughed evilly. “Lacoch, if you blow this, death will be the best you can expect. Now, I’m going to lower the barrier and continue asking routine questions once more. None of the others, not even my associates, will know that this conversation has even taken place. You’ll be assigned later today and be on your way early in the morning. It’s a long trip, but one you’ll find interesting. Once in Bourget, the town we’re sending you to, you’ll be under the whig of Tally Kokul, the local sore. He’s a good man and hell orient you properly, but he won’t be in on this at all. Keep it that way—and watch out for him and his apts. We’re not so sure of the apts, and any of them have more power than you can imagine.”

“I’ll remember,” I assured him.

There was a sudden feeling of disorientation that lasted only a fraction of a second. I didn’t turn around, but I could hear the rest of the inmates whispering and rustling behind me.

“I think we have a number of openings for administrative types like yourself,” Korman said, now very businesslike. “You may return to the group.”

I got up and went back to the rest of them, searching for signs that any of them were in any way aware of just how long we had been talking, but detected nothing. Still, there were a few knowing smirks, and I remembered that Korman had had private conversations with most of the others as well. I wondered if they had gotten the same offer that I had. I somehow doubted it—unless some of them also had unique qualifications. It was unlikely that the sorcerer had put all his eggs in one basket.

I had to look at Zala again, with new insight, but what I had just heard still didn’t seem possible. And yet… It was also unlikely that the Confederacy would have put all its eggs in one basket either. If what Korman suspected was true, it would place me in a very interesting position. I too wanted very much to meet this other Zala—if indeed she truly existed.

We were fed again, and then relaxed, playing some basic games, just snoozing or sitting in the lobby waiting for our hosts to return. Several times I got into conversations, but either I was too subtle or nobody wanted to discuss his experience. Finally I wound up in a corner with Zala.

“What do you think will happen to us now?” she asked me.

I shrugged. “They’re going to give us jobs, I think.” “They knew I wasn’t an administrator,” she said nervously. “I guess they have the official records no matter what they said He said there wasn’t much call for my talents here.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

“I wonder if they’ll split us up?” she went on, playing out her petty fears. “I wouldn’t want to be split up. Not from you.”

“We’ll see,” was all I could reply, knowing the verdict ahead of time.

It was a couple of hours before Korman returned, this time with a clipboard. He took his seat again behind the table, thumbed through some sheets, then looked up at us. We all stood, expectantly, waiting for the word. Zala seemed extremely nervous and squeezed my hand so hard she was almost cutting off circulation; some of the others looked a little anxious themselves, but others did not. I found that an interesting fact in itself.

One by one, Korman called out our names, not in the order he had used at the start, and told the various people the names of towns and jobs they were assigned to. About halfway through, he called both Zala and me, whereupon my suffering hand got squeezed even tighter as we approached.

“Park Lacoch, you were a planetary administrator, and that’s quite good and useful experience, although here you won’t have your fancy computers and large staffs. It’ll take some getting used to, so we’re going to start you off small. The town of Bourget on the southeast coast just lost its Town Accountant. It’s a bit larger than we’d like to start somebody green at, but the position’s open and you’re here. You’ll deal with four industries, twenty-one Companies. There’s a civil staff there that’ll break you in and get you oriented—depend on them until you learn the ropes.”

“Won’t there be some resentment that I got the job ahead of them?” I asked him.

“Probably a little, but not much. It’s basically a local staff, all native, and they’re a pretty contented lot. They do what they’re told. If you’re good to them and respect their experience they’ll accept you.”

“Sounds fair,” I told him, meaning it.

“As for you, Zala Embuay,” Korman continued, “you present us with a problem. Your non-augmented literacy rate is very low, your grasp of figures basic. The best position we could find to fit your unique talents would be barmaid or chambermaid. Your entertainment and planning skills might be considerable, but they are all tailored to augmentation. Without the standard computer devices, these skills are mostly useless here. In fact, the more we considered it, the more we realized that you would be out of your element even in the bar or chamber service. You would have to learn skills taken for granted here.”

I felt her tremble through the clutched hand as this was being said, all the more so because it was true. A product of a society in which robots did all the basic work and everything from the lights to the music was controlled through machines, she simply had no skills to offer here.

“Therefore, the most logical occupation for you here would be an agricultural field worker. But we feel that such a radical change to basic menial labor without some intermediate steps might not be best for you; your outworlder status could cause some disruptions among your fellow menials.” Zala looked blankly at him when he said that, but I understood what he meant. Workers are happiest when they don’t know what they’re missing. Zala’s memories and tales of the wonders of the Confederacy, while they lived with no hope of change in the wretched and primitive condition, would foster resentment—and cause all sorts of local disruptions, not to mention perhaps more converts for Korf!.

“So, Zala Embuay, what shall we do with you?”

“I—don’t know,” she wailed, so pitifully that neither of us could be completely unmoved by her evident misery and low self-esteem.

“The best we could come up with, I’m afraid, is a rather outdated concept where you both come from,” Korman continued, sounding cold and businesslike. “With Lacoch’s permission, I’d like to propose you become his wifemistress.”

She gave something of a gasp and I kind of started myself. “Wifemistress?” I echoed.

He nodded. “I’m rather embarrassed to bring it up. In effect it’s a sort of chattel slavery. You would be pledged to Lacoch absolutely. You would live with him and be totally dependent on him for your living quarters and provisions. In exchange, you will learn and practice basic skills—cooking, cleaning, mending. Many of the villagers will take you in hand and show you these things. You will also clean and run errands in his office, whatever he requires you to do. And if need be, you may be called upon by any of the Companies or the town for supplementary labor in the harvest or maintenance.”

She looked startled. “That almost sounds like a service robot.”

“Something like that,” Korman agreed. “But there are no robots here. Other than as a subject for experimental research, there’s little we can do with you.”

She started at that “Exper… you mean like some kind of animal?”

He nodded gravely, then looked over at me. “Would you accept this arrangement?”

I was in something of a quandary. For anybody but Zala it sounded horrible, dehumanizing, demeaning in the extreme—but what else could she do? “If she’s willing, I’ll go for it,” I told him.

He shifted his gaze back to her. “Well?”

“I—I’d like to go with Park, but I don’t know whether I can…”

Korman grinned, made that magical wave and produced a vial of reddish-colored liquid. He handed it to her. “The oldest sorcerer’s gift in magical history,” he said. “If you decide to go along, both of you go up to your room and when alone, Embuay, drink this. It is pleasant-tasting and won’t hurt a bit, but it’ll make things a lot easier on you.”

She took the vial and looked at it curiously. “What—what is it?”

“A potion,” he replied. “As I said, the oldest basic formula. A love potion, the ancients would call it. Just be sure to drink it when the two of you are alone, maybe just before going to sleep.”

Suddenly, again, that wall of silence and isolation came down and Korman and I were effectively alone.

“Is that really a love potion?” I asked him.

He chuckled. “Not to you or me if we drank it. Tastes a little like licorice. But I have prepared her mind for it, and it’ll be quite effective with her because she will believe in it and that will trigger my patterns in the Wardens of her brain.”

“Which one?” I couldn’t resist it.

“Actually, that should be interesting,” he replied, taking no note of the sarcasm. “The emotional centers and hormonal responses are in the animal, not the human part of the brain. Theoretically it should affect her no matter what—I hope. But don’t count on it. If that other brain’s as good as I think, it can probably control and suppress almost any emotional response.” He paused for a moment. “See that she drinks it. And—well, good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” I assured him, and I sure would. Still, all in all, things had gone better so far than my wildest dreams. If what was going on could be taken at anything close to face value, they suspected someone other than me of being, well, me; and they’d assigned me to keep watch on their mistaken notion. They had practically forced me into the camp of what would seem to be a natural ally-¹-Koril—and given me the option of joining a local super-powerful resistance devoted to my own cause or betraying it, giving me entre into the presence of my quarry, Aeolia Matuze, as a trusted confidant. Hell, I couldn’t lose!

Zala, though, was still and always the unknown factor. The more I analyzed her, the more I began to believe that she couldn’t be what she seemed. Such a weak ego was unthinkable on the civilized worlds.

Later, back in our room, we sat and talked for a while. It had not been pleasant having her low self-worth so coldly and completely analyzed in the open, even if it was obvious.

“I want to go with you,” she told me sincerely, “but—people as property! It’s barbaric!” She took out the vial and looked at it oddly.

“You don’t have to take that,” I assured her. “Just come along.”

She shook her head slowly, still looking at the vial. “No, I know what would happen. I’d rebel, or go crazy, and wind up worse than I am now. Maybe… maybe this is best for me.”

“That stuff might not even work,” I noted. “Not only is the idea pretty insane—a love potion—but it seems to me that it’s like everything else on this crazy world—a love potion only if you think it is.”

“I wonder what he meant by love potion, anyway?” she mused. “As in making love?”

“No, I don’t think so. It’s an ancient romantic concept. Somehow I doubt that any little bottle is going to revive that.”

She removed the stopper and sniffed. “Smells like candy.”

I sighed and relaxed back on the bed. “Look, stop it up for now and let’s get some sleep. Bring it with you it you want. But let’s get some sleep—we’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow.”

“I—I suppose you’re right. But damn it, Park, I’m scared! Scared of me, scared of that town, scared of… living.” That last was said slowly, strangely, as if only now she was accepting the truth. I watched, curious, as she suddenly pulled the stopper back off and raised the bottle to her Ups… and froze solid. It was odd, as if she’d made the decision, started to drink, and then become petrified in mid-motion. Still, there was movement, of a sort. Her hand, and only her hand and arm that held the vial, trembled, the little vial rising ever so slightly, then falling slightly more, as if it were at war with itself, receiving two totally different sets of commands.

I rose a bit and watched, fascinated. Two minds, Kor-man had said. Two minds, one central nervous system. Abruptly, the struggle stopped, and, without a word, her body seemed to relax, but her face seemed vacant, expressionless. Wordlessly she stood up, walked over to the basin, and poured out the contents of the vial. Then, after putting the vial on the commode, she turned, returned to her bed, and lay down.

“Zala? Are you all right?” I asked gently, finally getting up when I had no response and going over to her. She was asleep, breathing regularly and rhythmically.

I stood there a few moments, just staring. Finally I said, aloud, “Well I’ll be damned,” snuffed out the light, and got into my own bed. I found it hard to sleep. It had started raining again, but the regular sound of the drops hitting the roof hardly bothered me at all.

What the hell had I just witnessed?