Colony worlds, p.11
Colony Worlds, page 11
“No Wylie, this is an Audience Chamber. Our lady can only test you in a servatory. Our servatory on Mount Bakor no longer works, but we do have a theatre where Our lady might correct the failings of your test.”
“Some test,” Aderic said. “Maybe we should call Lord what’s-his-face back, have him undo the dolt’s fried brain; he fixed your scar, didn’t he?”
“Why are you so unkind to him? It isn’t his fault his test went wrong. Our Lady may have a way to correct it, but you ...”
Wolfy snarled at her. “Yeah, I know, I’m stuck with this Face,”
“Be nice Wolfy,” Wylie said. Knowing it was just Wolfy’s way and he didn’t mean it, Wylie couldn’t understand what had upset Nelda.
“But you,” repeated Nelda, “have only yourself to blame. Whatever caused your bitterness, it’s all yours now. Only you can change it.”
Wyle saw his friend open his mouth but close it again without speaking as Nelda turned back to him, her stern face relaxing into a smile. “Our Lady wants you to stay and talk with her.”
“Okey-dokey.” Wylie said, as an image of the Goddess appeared, so thin he could see the pretty lights right through her.
“Wylie, how nice to see you again.”
“For you maybe. I’m not sure this poor bugger would agree. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have enough wit to,” Aderic said.
“A little knowledge, Aderic of the Forests, makes you dangerous, not the little you have, but the vast quantity you lack.”
Wylie heard Our Lady’s beautiful words, and saw her image smile, so he smiled back, nudging Wolfy, whose face looked angry red. “Smile Wolfy.”
“I’ll see you later Wylie, I have to take Aderic to a different room,” Nelda said, and led Wolfy away, leaving him alone with Our Lady.
The Goddess asked him several questions about his life. He answered best he could, but he only knew about three things. First, he lost his hair when he took the test. Second, he was heading home to Deep Creek, and third, Lord Willard had his green robe and his sword. Everything before his test, except home’s name was out of reach in what Wolfy called his wooden head.
“Thank you, Wylie,” said Our Lady, and directed him to the altar standing beside her Oracle. “Your test did not go well. Your violent rejection caused a temporary break in communication. In my absence, one of my servers removed your implant before I could check if the damage to you was repairable. It is, so I will reimplant you, and attempt to restore the damaged part of your brain that interfaces with the implant, but it may not work.”
Wylie had a sense of déjà vu as he lay on her altar. When he’d been here before getting tested, it had gone wrong. Now Our Lady was fixing him, so he could get his sword and green robe back.
“Rest Wylie, when you wake, your world will be a different place.”
“Okey-dokey,” he said, feeling a slight sting in his shoulder. He turned and saw a shiny arm withdrawing into a pretty artefact, while around him the winking lights swirled, and suddenly he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
* * *
Wylie stormed around the chamber thumping anything in reach, ignoring the pleas of the Goddess, whose image dispersed and reassembled when he strode through her. He had never been so angry. Delicate Builder artefacts broke and winked out under the onslaught. Fury over what the tower hierarchy had done to him in her name consumed him.
He wanted to thump Sev Miller who had the implant removed as soon as Our Lady lost contact, then sent him to Thornton Abbey to get rid of him. ‘Bad for business,’ said the server who removed it. I’ll give him bad for business. Bloody Ser Clive also needed a good thumping, for assuming his father’s job meant emptying night cans was all Wylie was good for. The Abbey had used him for everything they found too horrible for their delicate sensibilities.
The door slammed back, interrupting his rage. Aderic stood in the opening, Nelda behind him. He stared at the acting server, young and attractive, her irises hardly differing. His gaze shifted to Aderic who was surveying the room. Wylie followed his gaze surprised to see a door-sized arch replica laid on its side, an overturned gurney smashed into a rack of mounted artefacts, and broken glass littering the floor.
Aderic burst out laughing.
The comical image of the elongated jaw wide open, chortling over a mouth full of extra teeth, neutralised Wylie’s rage. He knew instantly this wolf-headed feral had rescued him. Without Aderic, he’d have spent his entire life as Thornton Abbey’s dumb as floorboards workhorse. The thought made him angrier.
“What the fuck are you laughing at Wolfy?”
“You lumber brain, throwing a fit over having your addled brain restored.”
Aderic turned his head to display his profile and his demeanour suddenly changed. “See that? I have it for life.” He paused and turned back. “Here’s an idea. Let’s swap. I’ll chance the test frying my brain; you get my face.”
“But ...” Wylie still feeling a need to explain the injustice wasn’t only to him, that his family didn’t know he was alive, but his perspective shifted when he remembered Aderic’s story. Ethyl’s warband had wiped out his family because of that face. “Thanks,” he said instead.
“Don’t mention it,” Aderic said.
“I could reconstruct your face, making it acceptable to your people,” the Goddess’s image said.
Aderic lost for words was a rarity that made Wylie smile. The feral stood perfectly still, staring at Our Lady’s shimmering image.
Wylie, who had spent many hours working alongside Aderic, watching that muzzle, had seen every expression, and knew what each meant and despite his rewired mind, he could see the mind behind the mask Aderic presented, furiously weighing pros and cons. His eventual decision did not surprise Wylie.
“If it’s all the same to you, your ladyship, no. This face is mine. It’s the one my late parents gave me and paid for in blood. I’ll live with it. Besides, Wylie here wouldn’t recognise me without it.”
Severne’s image paused, sat on a stool that suddenly materialised behind her and settled the long robe about crossed knees. “Let me help you reconsider. You are still young, but your face limits your safe places. The task I have for Wylie, who kept enough of his aborted download to be an extremely useful warrior, means he will soon leave you. Reconstructed, you could join him, travelling together in plain sight, without fear.”
A task? This was news to Wylie, but welcome. He had scores to settle as soon as he left here, Goddess willing, and he liked the idea of Wolfy joining him. “I could use the company,” he said. “Everyone thinks of Restoration Warriors as solitary, not needing anyone but Our Lady. Truth is, we are still human and humans are social. Trust me, we’d make a good team.”
“Trust you? I’m not sure I even like this you. This you, has a foul temper. Look at this mess. When Nelda told me you were trashing the place, I didn’t believe her. I had to see it for myself and I found it bloody funny to watch, but now I wonder which is the real you.”
True, his destructive outburst had surprised, even frightened him. He couldn’t remember being so angry before his test.
[ As the son of waste collecting pauper, you were always angry.] Severne gently inserted into his mind. [Before today, however, you could not respond to the injustices you suffered after your test. Reconnected, your accumulated frustration needed an outlet.]
Wylie scratched his scar and looked at Aderic. “I’m neither of the personalities you know. I’m an ordinary bloke born to an extraordinary mother. She had her pick of men and chose my father.”
“I can relate to that. I’m a not so ordinary bloke born to an extraordinary mother. She protected me and it cost her family their lives.”
6 Aderic
After successfully reconnecting Wylie, the Goddess had offered to reconstruct Aderic’s face and make him acceptable to his own people. The offer had shocked Aderic speechless, but as his father always admonished, “refuse any offer too good to refuse. Whatever that reason is won’t be good for you.”
He had taken his father’s advice, but the Goddess persisted, giving him reasons to reconsider: his youth, implying he still had time to attract a mate and raise a family, and joining Wylie without fear, implying the new warrior’s task was below the Break, that he could go home. Wylie added to the lure saying he would like the company, suggesting they’d make a good team.
To give himself space to think, Aderic launched into a spurious augment which had soon faded into the background hum generated by a wall of working Builder artefacts.
The Goddess broke the long silence, “You should allow me to implant you Aderic of the Forests.”
Her gentle perseverance unsettled him. He couldn’t fathom what she wanted.
“What do you think?” he asked Wylie.
“Of my many thoughts, what opinion would you like?”
“The bloody implant, smart arse.”
“I think you’d be an idiot not to.”
“Said one idiot to the other. What’s the catch?” he asked, still looking at an amused Wylie. Then enlightenment struck. Shit, the Goddess wants access to my thoughts. In fact, all her warriors, including Wylie and his mate Willard, will have access.
Severne seemed to read what he was thinking, “You would also have access to any thoughts they wish to share.”
“Wish to share?”
“With practise, public thoughts become a choice.”
“And while I’m learning, everyone else gets full access and I get only what you share. Sounds like I get the pointy end of the sword.”
“It’s only weeks, not years. You also get access to the collected data on Our Lady’s bots, like the rabbit that led you here. There are thousands throughout the world masquerading as animals, birds and insect, that go unnoticed until Our Lady wants your attention, and lights their eyes.”
Access to her bot thingies could have merit in helping him find Ethyl, if he could return home without seekers hunting him. He started re-thinking face reconstruction. Only the Goddess and Wylie would recognise him with his muzzle pushed in; maybe the other warrior. To his people, he’d be like a stranger from another town or district. He snarled at the image of the Goddess, thinking his father would turn under his cairn the easy manipulation of his son.
“What would you want in exchange?”
“I have candidates among your people.”
“That’s not quite what I meant. What do you get out of it?”
“Your unique perspective, on all you see and hear, will enhance my knowledge of your culture, and help save mutated candidates from the ravages of your seekers.”
The implant was a simple two-hour operation. His face reconstruction required several operations over as many weeks. The Goddess, or more correctly her artefacts, had removed twelve teeth along with sections of his upper and lower jaw. His blood now contained what the Goddess called nanites, fine-tuning the result, mending tissue, and reconnecting nerves. Recovery allowed Aderic to practice keeping his thoughts private, but judging success was trickier than expected. No reply did not guarantee the Goddess hadn’t overheard.
Constant interaction with the Goddess altered his perspective of her. Unlike his growing-up years where she’d been the remote Jewel of Heaven, a moving light transiting the night sky, she was now a personal Goddess, with a plan for Nuaith and a part for him.
Aderic studied his new profile reflected in the still water of the lake, pushing his lips out, trying to recall how his protruding jaw had looked prior to reconstruction. His reflection no longer matched his self-image and touching his face felt strange. His nose protruded past his jaw, getting in the way when he tried to scratch his missing muzzle.
[Happy?]
Wylie’s question appeared in his mind a fraction before he heard the jetty timbers protesting creak as the big man stepped onto it; he hadn’t smelt his approach.
[Dunno,] he thought back. [Adapting to having less smell, fewer teeth, and not seeing my nose, will take time. What about you? How’s your un-fried brain?]
“Works better than the fried one.”
Wylie, wrapped in the smooth green warrior cloak, sat beside him, and dangled his feet over the end of the jetty. Tooled into the scabbard of the sword he carried, strapped across his back, was the name Fireraiser.
“I have chosen Stringer from the Goddess’s list of sleepers as my warrior-name.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with Wylie or big brain.”
He paused and Aderic feeling his prolonged scrutiny asked, “What? You don’t like my face?”
“Dunno. It’ll take time to adjust.”
Aderic marvelled at the change in his demeanour. Wit and determination had replaced passive and pliable.
“I was thinking about your fixation with killing Ethyl to revenge your parents.”
Aderic glared at his friend.
“It’s uppermost in your thoughts. I gather it’s your original motivation for coming to the uplands, to prepare yourself. Your next uppermost thoughts are tragic.”
“Don’t go there.”
Aderic cringed at having Wylie observe his thoughts on his new face. Without his muzzle, attracting a woman became possible, but knowing he might breed a mutant, he had to find a mate who didn’t want children. He didn’t want his progeny saddled with his life-experiences.
“Our Lady, can ensure you breed true.” Wylie said.
“I can tell you for free. I’m not leaving until I can keep my thoughts private.”
In the sudden quiet, a fish leapt above the surface took a hovering insect. Ripples from its re-entry distorted Wylie’s reflection, giving him a muzzle-like face he found disturbing.
“I suppose you realise killing Ethyl won’t bring your family back.”
Aderic jumped to his feet snarling at Wylie, an empty gesture without his muzzle, and lashed out with a savage kick. His foot hit Fireraiser’s dazzling blade, standing upright on the jetty, its point embedded in the timbers. Excruciating pain shot up Aderic’s leg. Through his tears he saw Wylie clap his hands to his ears and almost laughed to see the scream he stifled broadcast unattenuated.
[Something you didn’t anticipate big brain,] Aderic thought, amazed he hadn’t seen Wylie draw the sword, but knew he must have anticipated the reaction his comment would provoke.
[I’m not the only one with a temper,] Wylie said, spinning Fireraiser back into its scabbard. Reverting to voice, he added, “Our Lady has given you a fresh start, don’t waste it.”
His toes on fire, Aderic glanced at the restored Wylie, his expression no longer bland, but full of confidence, and his eyes full of ancient wisdom downloaded during his test. After a long silence, he said, “You’re right about one thing; I’ll be an orphan forever.”
“You have me,” Wylie said.
Moments passed.
“I doubt it,” Aderic said, his voice hoarse, “my flattened face has as many drawbacks as advantages. I’ll be returning at the right age for warband recruitment, our training ground for the army, and they will have me scaling your defences, killing your comrades.”
“Not if you accept Our Lady’s proposition to send you home as her envoy.”
[I need your seekers to stop killing mutants,] the Goddess added.
The idea astounded Aderic. Why send him as an envoy when she could send a warrior?
“Our Lady knows of nobody better qualified. Your face reconstruction is a perfect example of why killing mutants is unnecessary.”
“It’s not possible,” said Aderic, instantly realising that changing a centuries-old cultural practice would be a monumental task that could take decades. “Fixing mutations won’t convince seekers. In their view, only dead mutants don’t breed.”
[Yet you do not classify differently coloured irises, in otherwise perfectly formed individuals, as mutations. I want your seekers to check the mutant’s eyes, and not kill candidates.]
Aderic objected. [No one will believe me.]
[But they will believe the Restoration Warrior I send with you.] the Goddess said.
Aderic looked around at a grinning Wylie.
“I’m coming with you, Wolfy.”
* * *
Aderic smiled. He was back in the Shadows, the only District he could call home. He and Wylie stopped in the valley where his family home had once stood. Rudyard of the Lakes, whose candidate daughter Our Lady had tasked Wylie to save, had erected a shanty on the stone foundation Aderic’s father had laid. The shanty’s wall contained a few charred timbers. It pleased him to see the cairns untouched.
“Your parents?” Wylie asked.
“Yeah, and the pity is, the place they built still serves the same purpose.” Aderic said, noting a gaunt man in tattered clothing had emerged from the shanty.
“What brings you here, warrior?” he asked, ignoring Aderic, who answered.
“We after seekers, to stop them killing mutated candidates,” Aderic said, scrutinising the man’s face, waiting for that flicker of fear he had often seen in his mother’s face when strangers called.
[There it is, the tell-tale tic of those hiding a mutated child. Trust me, I know it well,] he projected to Wylie.
[Time to check on Farah.] Wylie replied, then to man said, “I’m Warrior Stringer, Rudyard of the Lakes. We are here to ensure your daughter Farah’s welfare. May we come in?”
Rudyard turned and fled. Unhurried, Aderic and Wylie followed.
[Your people rarely fear my warriors,] the Goddess said Since crossing the Dividing Sea, and landing in the Shadows District, the Goddess had included both in her communications.
[Parents hiding mutant children fear everyone equally.]
The shanty’s door offered little resistance. Inside, they found a woman. [Farah’s mother, Lizbeth,] the Goddess said, holding a girl, presumably Farah, whose pale blue iris strongly contrasted to her brown one. Rudyard stood in front of both with a raised sword.
[With shoes on, she looks perfectly formed.] Aderic said and scanned the room erected over his early life. He could see outside through gaps in the wall. There was a single chair at the three-legged table, the legless corner propped up on boxes, serving as storage. A big bed completed the crowded room. Everything smelt clean, despite poverty well beyond Aderic’s experience. The floor made of hard packed ash raised bumps on his arms, making him look like a freshly plucked chicken; he could feel his parents here, more that at the cairns. It struck Wylie that Rudyard’s family wouldn’t survive in the Shadows, with or without a mutant daughter.
