Magnificat (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (8 page)

“You mean, it could zap the lot of you to cinders with a mental laser if it thought you were out to kill it.” A question popped into my mind. “I wonder why it’s held back using its mind as a weapon? It’s always worked through Hydra, except for setting Jack’s fire.”

“I have no idea. Perhaps it has something to do with the structure of Papa’s disorder. Fury’s metapsychic complexus may be distorted, limited in any number of ways. On the other hand, the forbearance may simply be strategic.”

I pushed my dessert plate away. In spite of my shock and dismay, I’d somehow managed to eat every morsel. I got up from the table and started a pot of coffee.

“You know, Denis has never had a really comprehensive metapsychic assay,” I observed. “Just half-assed tests in the early days. He evaluated the bejesus out of his associates and subjects—except me—but he claimed he wasn’t
interested
in the calibration of his own mindpowers, just in their theoretical aspects. So he was never assayed using Milieu technology—and who’d ever give the Grand Old Man of Metapsychology a hard time about it? Another
thing: By continuing to turn down being appointed a Magnate of the Concilium, he neatly sidestepped the obligatory Lylmik mind-sifting. For all we know, Denis could be paramount in every damned one of his faculties.”

“I considered the possibility.” Anne leaned forward, turning the coercion on to me again. “This is why your own mental data on the Fury monster could be crucial, Uncle Rogi.”

“How about you and Dorothée? Wouldn’t memories of
your
Fury dreams provide better dope?”

“We’ll try to obtain those data, too, of course. But—forgive my frankness—the Dirigent and I have minds that are enormously more complex than yours. Once you open up that bloody invulnerable mindscreen, your repressed memories should be rather easy to get at. The stuff Dorothea and I have stored may not be.” She paused and delivered the zinger. “If you really love Denis, I don’t see how you can refuse.”

I gave the sly Jesuit female a twisted smile, but said nothing.

When the coffee was ready I suggested we take it to the living room. Outside the windows was a weird luminous glow, New Hampshire’s winter answer to the gray limbo of hyperspace. The blowing snow was so thick that you couldn’t eyeball a thing aside from fuzzy streetlamps and the creeping twin blobs of light indicating cautious groundcars navigating on full auto.

We settled down, me in my old armchair and Anne on the couch with Marcel, who was now purring from a surfeit of cat food and table scraps. I had turned on the fire, programmed a John Coltrane album, and found some Rémy Martin to liven up the coffee. For quite a while we just sat. “There’s something I might as well confess to you, Rogi,” she said eventually. “I’m no metaconcert designer, but my best calculations show that my brothers and sister and I probably won’t be able to crank the watts to overcome a paramount Fury through coercive redaction—even if we do manage to work out the proper program.”

“There’s Ti-Jean,” I pointed out, “and Dorothée, of course. Surely they’d be willing to join in the concert. Two paramount minds would give you the edge you need.”

“I don’t think we have the right to ask them to risk their lives. They’re both so young.”

“Balls! They’d jump at the chance. And what about Marc?”

“I don’t trust him. He’s too self-centered. Too—” She shook her head. “He’s such an arrogant, calculating bastard. I guess I’m half afraid he’d side with Fury …”

“Now
that’s
the most ridiculous thing I
ever
heard!”

“I’m not joking, Rogi. I know Marc very well. Better than any other member of the Dynasty does. Even better than Paul, his father. Marc’s a monumental egotist with a deficient affect, and unless I miss my guess, one of these days he’s going to cause the Galactic Milieu a shitload of trouble. There’s no way I’d let him participate in the treatment of Denis.”

“Well, you may have a point,” I conceded. “But you don’t really have to use Marc in the metaconcert. Just get him to lend you some of his E18 CE brain-buckets. Solve your mind-wattage problem in one swell foop.”

Anne frowned, but understanding was gleaming in her eyes. “Are you suggesting that we use cerebroenergetic enhancement equipment in Papa’s healing metaconcert?”

“Why the hell not? Jack and the rest of them used those gonzo hats in creativity mode to chill the diatreme on Callie. Curing Denis couldn’t be any more humongous than that little caper.”

“Dorothea nearly died from a dysergistic flashover during the Caledonia operation,” Anne noted grimly, “and none of the Dynasty are experienced in the use of CE. I’ve always had my doubts about the safety of mechanical brain-boosting and so have Paul and Philip and Maurie. To say nothing of the majority of the exotic Magnates of the Concilium.”

“Tout ça c’est des foutaises! The Dynasty can muzzle its precious principles until poor old Denis is back on line and Fury-free. You could learn to use the CE hats. Other grandmasterly operants have.”

I could tell Anne was weakening. “I don’t think Marc has ever considered augmenting coercion or redaction through his CE designs. There’s been no practical application.”

“Until now,” I said. “It could be your answer. With metaconcerted CE and help from Ti-Jean and Dorothée the Dynasty could either cure Denis, or—” I broke off, appalled at the direction in which my thoughts were heading.

“Or we could execute him, as a last resort, using the flip side of the healing metafaculty, and be rid of Fury that way. The creature has already been summarily condemned to death by Paul, just as the Hydras were.”

“But the good part of Denis’s mind is innocent!” I protested. “You can’t kill him!”

“If there’s no other course open to us, we
can
.” She toyed with her coffee cup, rotating it in the saucer with one finger pushing the handle. Her face was devoid of expression. “Both moral theology and the laws of the Milieu would give us the right to execute Denis
if the First Magnate deputized us. But with God’s help—and yours, Uncle Rogi!—it will never come to that. We’ll cure Denis at the same time that we exterminate Fury.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. Anne was bound and determined to go ahead with the redactive exorcism, and I was going to have to cooperate. But I was damned if I’d give her free rein to rummage in my brain—even to save Denis. Then a notion occurred to me, a perfect way to do my bit without laying myself open to her. I took a deep breath.

“Okay. Let’s get started as soon as possible. I’m willing to let
Dorothée
—no one else—probe my mind for repressed Fury memories anytime you like.”

“I should have thought of that myself,” Anne said approvingly. “She’s the most talented redactor in the Human Polity. Even better than Jack … Very well. This will all take some organizing, Uncle Rogi, and we’re going to have to be very careful not to tip our hand to Fury. We know the thing’s farsensory faculties are extraordinary.”

I shrugged and quoted an old metapsychic cliché. “ ‘The whole operant world could be spying on us this very minute—but it probably isn’t.’ ”

That was true for as far as it went. Unfortunately, it didn’t go far enough …

We drank our cognac and coffee and listened to the music. Anne may have been checking the aether for metapsychic snooping, but there wasn’t a hope in hell she’d detect anything if the eavesdropper was a paramount.

I finally said, “How in blazes do you plan to get Denis to submit to your therapy? I can’t see Fury lying meekly doggo while a squad of CE-equipped Remillards politely asks for permission to unbutton its host’s mind.”

“I’ll talk the matter over with Jack and Dorothea, but I suspect we’ve got no choice but to take Denis by surprise.”

I mulled that over. “If Marc builds coercive-redactive brainboards for your therapy session at the CEREM facility, word of it will almost certainly leak out. There are too many Rebels in his corporation who’d really prick up their ears about something as outré as CE redaction. Before you knew it they’d spread the news all over the Orion Arm.”

“I think you’re exaggerating—”

“Listen to me: The one person who
could
build the hats in secret is Ti-Jean. The crafty little bugger’s got unlimited resources.”

“Jack!” Anne exclaimed. “What a great idea. And he could do the metaconcert design, too. You’re brilliant, Uncle Rogi.”

I flapped one hand modestly.

“My greatest fear,” Anne went on in a low voice, “is that an alerted Fury might find some way to subjugate Denis’s core persona before we’re ready to attempt the therapy. If Fury took over Denis’s body and then went into hiding, we’d never be able to track him down—any more than we’ve been able to trace the two surviving Hydra-units.”

I was aghast. “Do you really think Fury might snatch Denis’s body permanently if it gets the windup?”

“I think it’s distinctly possible. That’s why I’m going to stay away from Earth until we’re ready to roll. I’ll work out of my office in Concilium Orb so Fury has no chance to probe me. It can’t do it at a distance. Fortunately, Denis hates star-hopping.”

“But you’ll miss the wedding!” I exclaimed.

“It will break my heart not to be able to marry Jack and Dorothea, but I’ll survive. I’ll brief the newly weds on the entire situation when they attend the next Concilium session in Orb. That’ll be late July, Earth time. We’ll get things started then. In the meantime, I don’t intend to mention a word of this to the other members of the Dynasty—and you won’t either. No one in the family must know about the plan until Jack gets the modified CE equipment and the metaconcert program ready and we’re set to begin practice.”

“You won’t even tell the First Magnate?”

“Especially not Paul. Heaven only knows what tangent he’d fly off on if he discovered the truth and had months to brood about it. He might decide that the lot of us had an obligation to turn ourselves and Denis in to the Galactic Magistratum or Davy MacGregor—just to make a grand gesture. He’d certainly insist on resigning the First Magnateship, and that would jeopardize our pro-Unity agenda.”

I kept my subversive opinions about that to myself. “How long before you’d be ready to act?”

“That will depend entirely upon Jack and Dorothea. Don’t worry, Rogi. You’ll be safe enough from Fury-probes if you don’t get smashed and start shooting your mouth off.”

I cringed, remembering my indiscretion with Kyle Macdonald. It looked like I might have to forgo overindulgence in bottled delights for the duration. Bon sang, c’est emmerdant, ça!

We sat there for another hour or so, killing the rest of the cognac and listening to moody selections from my music-fleck collection.
Then I lent her spare pajamas and fixed up a bed for her in my little study, which doubled as a guest room, and we both retired, intending to sleep in until the foul weather was over.

RE YOU READY MY DEAREST LITTLE ONE
?>

Yes. I took over one of the unmanned maintenance craft from Chopaka Moonbase. I’m now in position docked against one of the meteorsweeper satellites. When the Orb courier exits the hype into c-space I’ll be well within metacoercive range.

Give me credit … I’ve been working on the operation night&day for nearly a week.

I’m sorry. I’ve experienced a certain amount of emotional tension.

My coercive power will be more than adequate to control the cerebroenergized pilot. But if the target herself should discover the source of the malfunction before the point of no return and abort the maneuver she may not only survive but also be able to identify me. I wish to hell Parni were here! If we could do the job in metaconcert I’d feel more confident.

Right. Well this plan of mine is the most effective one I could come up with but it’s not a total lockup. Even if she can’t prevent the sneetch&splat there’s still a remote possibility that she’ll pull some creative stunt [image] and stave off death.

!!!You didn’t tell us that!!!

But … you are the invincible one.

If the deaths are truly imperative you should think again about letting Parni act alone. He’s strong but he’s dangerously overconfident and too fond of bizarre stunts.

I’m not so sure about that. Remember how—

Yes … Forgive me. But I worry. Single units utilized in vital tasks such as these leave no margin for safety. Even the Hydraentire would be inadequate to deal with a metaconcert of three or more Grand Masters or an alerted paramount mind.

But this brings up an important point: You promised that I/we would soon have help. New Ones. Subordinate minds to amplify Hydra’s energy.

And I will control them! You promised.