John Brosnan - The Sky Lords

“I … I … don’t know. What’s the matter with me?” Her body was shaking violently, her limbs trembling so badly she seemed to be having a convulsion. She was filled with a feeling of nameless terror, as if she was about to fall off the edge of a bottomless abyss.

“It’s just a delayed reaction to all you’ve been through,” Milo told her, still holding her tightly. She, in turn, clung tightly to him. She felt that if she didn’t hold on to him the force of her terror would sweep her away and she would be lost forever.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Breathe deeply and slowly. One … two … One … two. …”

Gradually the awful feeling of panic and terror diminished, the trembling subsided. Milo released her. She felt drained; sick. In the dimness she saw him go to his trunk and take out a small box and his canteen. Kneeling before her on the mattress he told her to hold out her hand. When she did so he placed a pill in her palm and said, “Swallow that. It’ll make you feel better.”

“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.

She saw the flash of his teeth in the gloom. “You’re already sounding like your normal self. But don’t worry. It’s just a synthetic hormone that will stimulate your brain into producing more of a specific encephalin. It will calm you down and allow you to sleep peacefully. You’d better take it before I change my mind. Those things are as rare as hen’s teeth these days.”

She frowned. “But all hens have teeth. …”

“Forget it. An archaic saying. Just take the pill.”

Doubtfully, she put the pill in her mouth. He gave her the canteen and she washed the pill down with several welcome swallows of water. “I don’t feel any different,” she said as she gave the canteen back to him.

“You will.” He put the canteen and box back into the trunk. He turned and faced her again, remaining on his knees. “Jan,” he asked quietly. “What’s that you have in your pocket?”

“What?” she asked. For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered the bomb. Her mind went blank. “Er … it’s … I … don’t know …” she said lamely.

“You don’t know what you have in your pocket?” he asked. He leaned towards her and reached out. She didn’t resist as he deftly plucked the bomb from her top pocket. She watched him examine it in the dim light. “It’s heavy,” he said. “So what is this thing you didn’t know you had, eh, amazon?”

Oh Mother God , she thought as she watched him handling it, if he should twist the top . …

“Give it back to me,” she demanded, holding out her hand. “And I’ll tell you.”

He hesitated for a long time before handing the cylinder back to her. “Well?” he insisted quietly.

Something was happening to her. She realized it must be the pill. She was beginning to feel … wonderful. All her worries and fears—even her grief—were falling from her like old scabs from a healed wound. She felt both euphoric and pleasantly relaxed.

“Tell me what it is, Jan,” persisted Milo in the same quiet, encouraging tone.

Why not tell him the truth, she wondered? What did it matter? But at the last moment she decided not to tell him. Instead she said, “It’s a sacred object. Very sacred. All I have left of Minerva. My mother gave it to me.”

“Your mother?”

“My mother was a Headwoman in Minerva. Very important. The people you call the Aristos don’t know that … kept it a secret from them … you won’t tell, will you …?”

She leaned back on the mattress, resting on one elbow. She was feeling very sleepy now. Wonderfully sleepy.

“I won’t tell them,” said Milo softly. “But what is that object?”

“I’m tired,” she said drowsily. “Want to go to sleep.”

“In a moment, amazon. First tell me what it is.”

“Very sacred.”

“You said that. I want to know why.”

“It’s a rod of authority. One of several given to our fore-mothers by the Mother God.” The pang of guilt Jan experienced as she spoke this blasphemy was so slight as to be almost nonexistent. “Swore to my mother I would look after it. Protect it with my life.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “But how did you manage to get it on board?”

“Hid it.” She was struggling to keep her eyes open. It felt as if she was sinking into some deep, cosy bed. She felt like a child again; a glow of reassurance was washing over her from some unknown source.

“But how? Surely your own clothes were destroyed.”

She giggled. “Hid it in me . …”

“Oh,” he said, understanding. “Of course.”

“Sleep now,” she said and let her head drop on to the mattress. Within seconds she was asleep.

Milo remained where he was, staring down at her. When he was certain she was in a deep sleep he reached over and again removed the cylinder from her overall. He studied it thoughtfully for some time then returned it to her pocket. He got up and went to his bed. As he lay there he concentrated on damping down the sexual desire that the girl’s presence had induced. Eventually he slept and for the first time in decades he dreamed of Miranda.

The feeling of well-being was still with Jan when she woke up, though not as intense as before. She sat up. Milo was already awake. He was dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at her. “Feel better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Thank you.” She looked around. The lights were back on. Then she remembered what had happened just before she’d fallen asleep and quickly felt her pocket. The bomb was still there.

“Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “I haven’t stolen your precious heirloom.”

She felt herself blush. “What was in that pill you gave me?” she asked, changing the subject. “Some kind of Old Science drug?”

“A product of Old Science, yes, but not a drug in the sense that you probably understand the word,” he told her. “As I tried to explain to you last night, the actual drug that makes you feel better is produced by your own brain. The pill contained a substance that stimulates the specific part of your brain into producing large amounts of the ‘drug’.”

She frowned at him, trying to make sense of his words. As before, she was unsure if he was deliberately spinning her a tall tale or telling the truth—or what he believed was the truth. “You are saying there is a drug in my brain that caused that marvellous feeling I had before I went to sleep last night?” she asked. “But that can’t be, otherwise I would have felt like that before.”

He gave a small sigh. “You wouldn’t have experienced the effect as intensely before because your brain had never before released so much of the relevant encephalin—‘drug’—into your nervous system.”

She continued to look doubtful. Milo said, ‘“You are familiar with the drug called morphine?”

“Yes. It comes from the poppy. A gift from the Mother God. It deadens pain. …”

“Well, a long, long time ago scientists discovered that the human central nervous system possessed its own version of morphine, which explained how some people could suffer serious injuries and not feel any pain—at least not immediately. And as research into the biochemical workings of the brain continued more and more substances were discovered that were analogous not only to narcotics and anaesthetics but also to a large variety of other mood-changing drugs. It became apparent that human thought was the end result of a veritable chemical cocktail. Identifying all the different chemical participants and pinpointing their exact function took many years and along the way several interesting discoveries about human nature were made. One of them concerned depression. You know what the word depression means, don’t you?”