GRYCHN SPENT the next day arranging things so they could leave. She had to be discreet, because she did not want cybermind to discover what was going on. She told her house computer that she and the boys were going down-under to visit Sharlyn–any calls or correspondence would be directed there. The house staff was programmed into a maintenance mode–they would keep up the place indefinitely. Lords and Ladies often left for extended periods of time. Nothing unusual about that.
She packed some baggage for herself and the twins–the sort of things one would take down-under. Nothing else mattered anyway, and besides, her other houses were already furnished. Money was no problem–most of her bank accounts were in foreign banks anyway, since her business interests were extra-terrestrial. Her legacy was held by Earth banks, of course, but it was a small fraction of her total worth, and was tied up in trusts anyway. She diverted as much electronic cash from her credcount to the RAM of her chargring as would be expected for an extended visit to Antarctica.
She called around and told her friends about bumping into Gordon and how she had decided to visit Sharlyn. It was a perfectly plausible story. She tried to call Damiel, to make sure everything was still on with him, but there was no answer at his house and no message had been left for her. His personal holophone was not activated. Since he had not called or left a message, she took it to mean there had been no change in plans.
The twins moped around and pouted, secretly anxious to go to space, but mad at the thought of having to stay there. Grychn finally told them they could come back to Earth at the first sign of “growing up.” The lie mollified their feelings, and afterward they could barely control their excitement. Grychn decided it would be prudent to wait until they were on Ceres before telling them the truth.
By late afternoon, everything was in order.
It was agony waiting around with nothing to do. They had dinner, but the twins were too excited to eat, and Grychn was too nervous.
The sun set and darkness settled around the house. Grychn loaded the skimmer with their baggage.
At 2030 they climbed into the skimmer and took off. Grychn flew manually and at altitudes below controlled airspace; there was no need for the air traffic computer to know where they were headed. She flew between the ice-laden peaks of the continental divide, relying on the skimmer’s sensors to pick out the passes. A trip that normally took thirty minutes, now took sixty. It was 2130 before the skimmer settled down on the tarmac in front of the hangar that housed the Kalispel Condor.
Grychn and the twins carried their bags into the hangar.
Something was terribly amiss. The hangar was empty. The Kalispel Condor was gone. Surely Damiel would not have left them for being a half-an-hour late. Maybe he had already moved the ship out of the hangar.
Grychn went outside, telling the boys to wait for her in the hangar. There was no sign of the Condor anywhere. She walked toward the terminal, tuning her combracelet to the VOIR frequency. She listened to the terminal’s computer talking to various departing and landing ships’ computers–there was no mention of the Kalispel Condor.
At the entrance to the terminal there was a console where private pilots filed flight plans. Grychn scrolled through the day’s list. The Kalispel Condor was not on it. But then, Damiel may not have filed a flight plan. After all, they were going to sneak past customs. But how was she going to find the ship?
On an impulse, she scrolled backward through the list. There it was, Kalispel Condor, filed for a direct flight to Ceres. The ship had left last night at 2100. Damiel had left a day early.
Grychn was stunned. Why would he lie to her? He did not have to offer his help, so why would he and then sneak off? He could have just told her she would have to find another way to leave Earth. He did not have to lie.
There was nothing she could do about it now.
She started walking back to the hangar.
She heard a peculiar, high-pitched whine. It was not the sound made by a space craft. She looked up. A shimmering blue sphere was hovering over the hangar. Lady Blue! But she was coming too soon. Someone had betrayed her twins.
Grychn ran toward the hangar. As she approached, something dropped from the blue sphere and popped at her feet. Noscamine filled her nostrils. She broke her fall with her hands before passing out.
* * *
Lord Surgeon Edbryn observed the two boys being unloaded from Lady Blue, which was no more than a psiber-controlled ambulance with EMTroids. The blue ionization field was a bit of whimsy Edbryn had thought up himself. Normally, Edbryn did not personally supervise the hybridization of children. He had also seen to the disposition of their cousin several days ago, making sure he went into a zoanthrope tank. Alix had been a special case. So were the twins.
He had been waiting for a set of twins for some time. Corps Intelligence was short of path teams and twins made the best path teams–their psyches were already imprinted on each other. From the medical test that had been run the other day, Edbryn knew, these two were perfect candidates.
He was glad Damiel had tipped him off that Grychn was about to flee Earth–he had sent Lady Blue out a little early.
He waited around until he saw both boys safely sealed in their own hybertank, reassured then that Entropy had not been cheated.
* * *
When Grychn regained consciousness, she was alone. Lady Blue’s sphere was gone. The twins were gone. Kalispel Condor was gone. All that remained was the faint odor of noscamine.
Grychn had lost her boys. She would never see them again, or even if she did, they would not recognize her nor would she know them. Their memories and personalities would be stripped from them in the hybertanks, replaced by standard psyches known to be resistant to psychotic breakage. Their human form would be molded with xenogenes into the grotesque morphology of a combat hybrid. Hardware would be grafted into their flesh. Her lovely, sweet little boys would be no more.
Damiel had betrayed her.
But why? What possible reason would he have to betray her? He was no longer a Lord General. Or was he? Maybe his disaffection with Earth was just a ruse. If another rebellion occurred, cybermind would need spies. Maybe Damiel was a spy for cybermind. Grychn would have killed him if she could.
Maybe she could yet. Maybe he had not left Earth at all. Maybe he was home right now, laughing over the way he had tricked her. Maybe she could have the last laugh yet.
She loaded the baggage back into the skimmer. It broke her heart to think about the boys’ things she would have to unpack. She opened her suitcase and took out a holstered hand pulser, setting it on the seat beside her. She told the skimmer to take her to Damiel’ s place. She would try there first. If he wasn’t there, perhaps Edbryn could be made to talk.
The skimmer landed at Damiel’s house on the Arkansas River. Only security lights were on. Grychn crept around the whole house to be sure none of the windows were illuminated. There were no other skimmers on the grounds. She holstered her pistol. She wanted to check out the house, but she could not break in without being zapped by the security system. Maybe she could bluff her way in.
She walked up to the main entrance. Lasewires scanned her and the door latch clicked open. Just as she had hoped, Damiel had not reset the ID file–her image was still in its memory as a friend.
Grychn wandered through the house. No one was home. The mechanical staff were in standby mode. She went through drawers and closets. There was nothing that told her anything useful: no letters, no notes, no holos. Nothing that would make the house any different than a hotel room. But then Damiel had not been back to Earth for several years. She wondered what had made him come back just then.
As she searched the house, Grychn’s anger evaporated into depression. She already missed the boys. There was nothing else on Earth that she cared about.
She started weeping and could not stop for a long time.
She thought about killing herself–a clean burn behind the front teeth would be quick and painless. She would need more courage than she had right now to do it.
She rummaged through the pantry and found a bottle of wine–a decent vintage, at that. She poured herself a glass. Maybe when she finished the bottle she would be able to do the deed.
She had poured a second glass when the ghost materialized. The swirling lights appeared across from the table where she sat.
“How did you find me here?” she asked.
“You are not at all difficult to trace,” her father’s voice said. “Cybermind can keep track of all living beings on Earth. There can be no secrets from us.”
“Then you knew all along what I was planning?”
“Certainly.”
“Why didn’t you let us go? What difference would two less soldiers make?”
“No difference whatever. But I could not let you humiliate me again. I knew what you would turn those two boys into–rebels, terrorists, just like you had been. You ruined my name once before; I will not let you do it again.”
“Then I won’t be allowed to leave Earth either?”
“Of course not. There will be another rebellion. Although I hate to say it, you do have a certain flare for terrorism. We will have enough difficulty suppressing this next rebellion anyway. Cybermind wants you where we can keep close tabs on you. Besides, we need more troops. You’re young and healthy. You can have many more babies.”
Grychn fingered the holstered gun.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the ghost said. “The trigger switch has shorted out on that gun.”
Grychn drew it from the holster, pointed it at the ghost, and pressed the trigger. Nothing happened.
“You won’t even give me that way out?”
The ghost disappeared without answering.
Grychn knew she was beaten. Edbryn had been right–cybermind was both pervasive and autocratic. She hoped the other Lords and Ladies appreciated the demigod they had created. There was nothing left to do.
She took the bottle and went upstairs to a bedroom, thinking she may as well spend the night there. She had no reason to go home.
She opened a window to let in some fresh air. She took off her clothes and lay in bed. A cool breeze blew in, raising her skin into gooseflesh. She shivered.
Rather than close the window, she looked for a pair of pajamas she could wear. She began opening drawers. As she opened one, she stopped short, as though she was paralyzed. She stared into the drawer for a long time.
Finally she reached into the drawer and pulled out a dream-processor. She decided she would play one final dream-game. Just one dream. She hoped cybermind would allow her that much.
She carefully deactivated the processor’s timer, so the dream-game would last until the processor lost power or her brain died. The processor was fully charged so it would run for a thousand hours. Without food or water, she doubted she would last that long. She set it for one dreamer. The dream would be hers alone, augmented and enhanced by the processor.
She put a psihelmet on her head. Tiny needles pricked her scalp; peptide burned into her brain. Muscles sagged; eyes stared blankly; face became lax.
She dreamed: She frolicked naked with two young men, the twins grown to strapping manhood. Her beauty filled them with awe. Her sensuality filled them with lust. Craig lay on his back. Grychn straddled him. She took his penis into her mouth, pushing it in until her lips surrounded the root. Chris entered her from behind and began thrusting deeply into her. After a long time, the three of them came simultaneously, and their orgasms lasted forever.
* * *
The woman’s body was emaciated. Her eyes were sunken into a gaunt face, her arms and legs were spindly, her ribs stood out plainly. She lay in her own urine and feces, still connected to a dream-processor.
The medroids dispassionately disconnected her and placed her in a mummy stretcher, which automatically began rehydrating her and correcting her electrolytes. They flew her to Nyssa.
Edbryn shook his head as he examined her. There was no point trying conventional restoration–too much catabolism of tissue had occurred. She was a living mummy. She had probably burned out quite a few synapses also. Complete hybridization would be required.
He looked at a printout of her tissue analysis–the plasticizing potential was high. Her psychgram showed considerable latent schizophrenia–with perhaps a dozen suppressed personalities. She would be perfect to make into a chameleon.
He placed a plastic tag on her toe and watched as the medroids wheeled her away.
He briefly wondered why she had to become such a hybrid, and then forgot about her. He was not privy to the Prophet’s precognition. Besides, he saw ten or twelve such dreamers every day. You could not wonder about them all.