Julian May - The Many-Coloured Land

“Come out,” Creyn said.

“Oh, well!” Aiken gave him a grin as he scrambled to his feet. He flourished his hat in a mock salute and bowed from the waist. Before he realized what was happening, Creyn bent down and snapped something around his neck.

Oh, Christ, Aiken thought. Not me, too!

You are a completely different breed of cat, Aiken Drum, and bound for more sophisticated amusements than your muscular friend.

Aiken craned his head to look into the wintry eyes far above him. The Tanu’s hair that had been so sleek and shining was clotted now with the blood of men who had died defending him, died unwillingly, from the sound of their hopeless screams, freed from the symbol and source of their bondage only at the moment that Stein’s blade severed their heads from their bodies.

“I suppose you can do what you like with us once you’ve put on these fewkin’ dog collars,” Aiken said bitterly, touching the thing about his own throat. It was warm. For one fraction of a second he felt a flash of pleasure born in his loins go racing along his nerves like lightning through wires before it exited his body through tingling fingers and toes.

What the hell!

Did you like that? It’s only a sample of what we can give you. But our greatest gift will be the fulfillment of your own potential, freeing you even as you serve us.

The way these poor sods served? Headless trunks piled limbs awash in blood?

Amusement. Your own torc is silver and not gray. As befits a latent metapsychic made operant. You’re going to enjoy the Pliocene very much, my lad.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Aiken exclaimed aloud. Delight, Delight. DELIGHT! “How many of the functions am I strong in?”

Find out for yourself.

A built-in master control mechanism in the collar for you guys I presume.

What do you think?

Aiken gave a crooked grin. “Better than gray, less than gold. Tell you what. I’ll take it!” He folded his poncho carefully and stowed it back into his lumbar pouch. “What next, Chief?”

“We’ll let you wait in a fresh reception room for now. One with a more effective lock. In a few hours, you’ll be leaving for our capital city, Muriah. Don’t be apprehensive. Life here in Exile can be very pleasant.”

As long as I know who’s boss? Afirm.

The guards hustled Aiken Drum through a door. He called over his shoulder, “Have, one of your flunkies bring me a good stiff drink, will you, Chief? All this fighting raises a terrible thirst in a man.”

Creyn had to laugh. “It will be done.” Then the guards slammed the door and barred it.

Amerie had heard the sounds of fighting in the corridor outside and pressed her ear to the boards of the locked door to confirm her suspicions. It had to be Stein or Felice. Could one of them have been driven insane by the shock of the translation? Or was there a good reason for the violent outburst?

She tore open her backpack and rummaged in the Smallholder Unit for the small plass envelope holding the cord-saw. Dragging one of the benches over to the window, she tucked her skirts into her rope belt and jumped up.

Cut halfway through the upper bars of the brass grille on the inside! Cut all of the way through the bottom bars, then lever the whole thing outward with the top of another bench after I smash it apart! I could unbraid the rug and make a rope out of the wool, but wait! The decamole bridge sections would work, two for a ladder and the third to cross over the area with those damn bear-dogs.

“Oh, Sister. What are you doing? ”

She whirled around, hampered by both index fingers being engaged in the rings of the cord-saw. Tully and a burly guardian stood at the open door. The little interviewer’s tunic was covered with dark stains.

“Please come down, Sister. What a dreadfully reckless thing to think of! And all so unnecessary. Believe me, you are in no danger.”

Amerie locked eyes with him, then stepped down, resigned. The big guardian held out his hand for the saw and she gave it to him without a word. He-tucked it into one of the pockets of her pack and said, “I’ll carry this for you, Sister.”

Tully said, “We are having to expedite our usual interview program because of a most regrettable accident. So if you will accompany Shubash and me…”

“I heard sounds of fighting,” she said. “Who was hurt? Was it Felice?” She strode to the open door and looked out into the corridor. “Merciful God!”

Guardians had removed the dead and injured, and cleanup crews were sluicing the walls and floor with big buckets of water; but traces of mayhem were still sickeningly apparent.

“What have you done?” Amerie cried.

“The blood is that of our own people.” Tully was somber. “It was shed by your companion, Stein. He, by the way, is unhurt except for bruises. But five of our men are dead and seven others seriously injured.”

“Oh, Lord. How did it happen?”

“I’m sorry to say that Stein went berserk. It must have been a delayed reaction to the temporal translation. Passage through the time-portal sometimes triggers deeply buried psychic explosives. We try to protect both the travelers and ourselves by confining new arrivals to these reception rooms for a while during the recovery period, which is why your door was locked.”

“I’m sorry about your people,” she told him with sincere regret. “Steinie is, strange, but a dear man when you get to know him. What will happen to him now?”

Tully fingered his gray collar. “We who guard the gateway have our duty and at times it is a heavy one. Your friend has received treatment that should preclude another attack. He won’t be punished any more than a sick man is punished for his illness… Now, Sister, we must hurry you along to the next phase of our interview. The Lady Epone requires your assistance.”

They passed through the dreadful hallway and down the stairs to a small office on the other side of the barbican. Felice Landry was waiting alone, seated in an ordinary cushioned chair beside a table that held a metal sculpture all studded with jewels. The two men conducted Amerie inside and withdrew, closing the door.

“Felice! Stein has…”

“I know,” the athlete interrupted in a whisper. She put one gloved finger to her lips, then sat silent, holding her emerald-plumed leather helmet demurely in her lap. With her hair standing out from her head and her enormous brown eyes wide, she looked like a pretty child waiting to be forced onstage for some sinister theatrical performance.

The door opened and Epone glided in. Amerie stared at the immensely tall figure in astonishment.

“Another sentient race?” the nun blurted out. “Here?”

Epone inclined her majestic head. “I will explain it to you shortly, Sister. Everything will be clarified in good time. For now, I require your assistance in gaining the confidence of your young companion for a simple test of mental abilities.” She picked up a silver coronet from the table and approached Felice with it.

“No! No! I told you, I won’t let you!” the girl shrieked. “And if you try to force me, it won’t register. I know all about these rotten mind tricks!”

Epone appealed to Amerie. “Her fears are irrational. All of the newly arrived timefarers consent to the test for latent met-abilities. If we discover that you possess them, we have the technology to bring them up to operancy so that you and all of the community may enjoy their benefits.”

“You want to probe me,” Felice spat out.

“Certainly not. The test is a simple calibration.”

Amerie suggested, “Perhaps if you tested me first. I’m quite sure that my own MP latencies are minimal. But it would probably reassure Felice if she could see just what happens in the test.”