Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

Voices came from the kitchen:

“She’s not a goddamn house guest, you know!” Lydia sounded furious.

“Look, the orders were just that she’s to be held—”

“ Held , you moron. Held.”

“But for safety—”

Lydia’s voice dropped in volume, but the contempt was sharper than ever. “…are we going to keep her safe if she’s sticking her goddamn face out the goddamn window—?”

Maris was surprised to realize that she’d crossed half the distance to the door while listening to the exchange from the kitchen. Her hand was reaching out.

Be quick! To safety! Before the others get here!

An image filled her mind of people approaching in the woods, strangers even less friendly than her captors here in the house. Maris shuddered, and pulled her hand back.

“…keep her the same way we’d keep any prisoner!”

“But the commander said we could—”

“What? The less she knows the better. You know that.”

“You were the one who said—”

I sense your fear. I can lead you to help.

Maris squeezed the door handle. What am I doing? What will happen if I stay?

You don’t want to meet the others.

There was a bang in the kitchen. “We better not leave her alone in there.”

“Well, it’s not as if she can—”

Maris yanked the handle and staggered out of the house. Raindrops struck her face. Fragments of memory of her escape from the outpost cascaded into her mind—the confusion, the urgency and fear, the need to escape now . Blood rushed in her ears.

Quickly… quickly…

The animal was waving its front paws like an excited dog. The pendant on its collar was pulsing with pink light. Now, Miss Maris! Follow!

“Okay,” she whispered, surrendering all reason, except that this creature had spoken the name of Legroeder, the only friend she knew. The creature sprang to the right, away from the house. Maris followed on shaky legs.

An alarm was trilling.

“She’s gone out!”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

There was a pounding of footsteps.

“Major,” said the corporal, “who’s that coming out of the house?”

Talbott peered down through the woods.

“There she is!” shouted Lieutenant Cassill. “It’s her.”

Jezu . “Let’s get moving! Get her! ” Talbott shoved the underbrush aside with his rifle as he leaped downward toward the clearing.

“There she is—!” shouted an unfamiliar woman’s voice.

Maris hesitated, turning her head.

“Get her!” called a man’s voice from the same direction.

No! cried the animal. Follow me!

Maris ran dizzily after the scurrying creature.

“You stupid bitch!” screamed Lydia.

A plasma beam crackled across the wet grass behind her, and there was a muffled shriek of pain.

“What’s the ferrcat doing— look! There’s a woman coming out!” rasped Georgio, pointing a tentacle-arm.

Morgan rose from behind the bushes, stunned. “That’s her , that’s Maris! She’s alive. She’s running! ”

“She’s following the animal,” Pew boomed in his foghorn voice.

“There she is!” shouted a voice from the far side of the clearing. Morgan blinked, then realized that it was one of the Centrist Strength people. Another voice shouted, and then a door banged, and a different woman’s voice: “ …stupid bitch!”

“We’ve got to move!” Morgan hissed. “ Now!” She jumped up to shout to Maris, but Pew’s large, horny hand shoved her back down. A shot crackled across the lawn; the flash had come from the far side of the clearing. A woman screamed in pain. Not Maris.

“NOW!” boomed Pew, leaping out to crash downward through the bushes. A weapon had materialized in his hand. Georgio leaped after him, and Morgan scrambled to follow. Maris was running in their direction, after the ferrcat.

More shots. From the house, from the woods; it was dizzying, and Morgan couldn’t tell who was shooting at whom. But the woman she’d seen circling the house earlier was down in a heap, and the Centrist Strength trio were crashing down through the brush across the way. Morgan cupped her hands and shouted, “ Maris—KEEP GOING! Stay down!”

Pew and Georgio dropped for cover, and Pew’s great hand swung up, aiming his weapon across the clearing.

The fleeing Maris saw the movement of the gun and dove into the grass even as Pew shouted, “ Get down, Miss O’Hare!”

Morgan sucked a breath, expecting to see fire erupt from Pew’s weapon. The three Centrists, bursting into the clearing, were exchanging fire not with Pew but with someone in the house. But before Pew could fire, Morgan heard the zzzip of a thistlegun. She saw the Fabri in the trees to her right taking another aim. One of the Centrist Strength men was down, and the other was staggering back. The Centrist Strength woman grabbed the second man and pulled him back toward cover.

Another man, apparently from inside the house, came around the corner—and fell face down with a smoking hole in his back. The Centrist Strength woman swung her weapon around, looking for another target, then retreated before a hail of thistledarts.

The Fabri who had fired gestured to Morgan and her friends, waving them forward. Morgan launched herself down through the brush, and out onto the lawn.

Maris was crawling along the ground now. The ferrcat was leading her straight toward Morgan. “Maris!” Morgan gasped, sliding to her knees on the wet grass beside the woman. “We’re here to help. To take you to safety.”

“Who are you?” whispered Maris fiercely, struggling to rise. “Are you—”

“Friends of Legroeder. Friends of Legroeder. Come with us now, quickly.”

Maris gasped and forced herself up. “How do I know you’re—”

“You’ve got to trust us. Come on. Just a little farther.” Pew and Georgio were at her side now. Pew lifted Maris effortlessly and carried her up into the forest at a run.

Glancing back, Morgan saw one of the two Fabri standing watch, thistlegun at the ready. The closer one whistled in a shrill tone, and the ferrcat ran back to him, a streak of white through the brush. Morgan gasped her thanks to the Fabri. He merely nodded, catching the ferrcat. Georgio kept his weapon raised, covering her retreat.

Morgan beat a fast path up through the woods to Pew and Maris, then fled with them across the ridge toward the waiting car.

“What the hell happened to you?” Glenswarg demanded.

Legroeder was standing in front of a mirror, wondering the same thing. The face that looked back at him was thin, dark-haired, and olive-skinned. The eyes were blue. It was his face, the face he’d had all his life, until the Narseil surgeons ran their camouflage job on him. There was no hint at all of the pale skin or the umbrella-cut white hair. Which probably explained why half the bridge crew had stared at him as he’d left the rigger-station after the battle.

Something happened during the quantum passage. Had a part of him gone back in time?

// Our internal records are incomplete for that period. But there may have been spontaneous activity by the residual plastic-surgical agents in your bloodstream… //

Legroeder grunted to himself and turned to the captain. “This is what I look like. What I’m supposed to look like.” The three Narseil were standing behind the captain, and they appeared to be suppressing laughter—Cantha and Palagren, anyway. Ker’sell merely looked perplexed, his vertical eyes slightly crossed.