Shards [Book Two] Read online

  The lake was gone. The imps were gone. Alan and Susie were back in the open field, Susie on her hands and knees. Alan was feeling very disoriented, but knew this was the moment. He heard a step and saw Mike coming up to him.

  “Is it true? You found her? Oh, please! You found her? Is she all right?” he sobbed quietly. Alan stared, his emotions reeling. What kind of creature was this?

  “Yes, Mike, we've found her. She's sharded again, and seems to be on the Primary compound of NATech's Glendale base. We're not sure exactly where..."

  “YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER! YOU'RE A LIAR!” Mike started to glow a brilliant yellow. Black flickered deep inside his body. “YOU SAID..."

  “We did find her! But we need you to pinpoint her whereabouts. We know that she's sharded, Mike. That's the only way you could have missed her, isn't it?” Mike flinched, and Alan had a sudden conviction. He pressed the point. “That's it, isn't it, Mike? You're blaming yourself. You think it's your fault, don't you?"

  “Turkey! It is my fault! If I could have just kept her in the puterverse, she wouldn't be some piece of stupid flesh now.” He was openly sobbing now, all pretense gone. Susie looked at him and pitied him. He'd been such an impudent program before, but Alan had swept that all away. She looked at Alan in wonder, not knowing how he had accomplished this.

  “My name is Alan, Mike. Not turkey. And it's not your fault. Not entirely. We're to blame, too. But now isn't the time to find guilt. Let's find Abigail. Will you help?"

  Mike sniffed. An energy tear splashed off his form and onto the ground, causing the violet grass to shimmer and grow several centimeters. He nodded. “All right, Alan. But how can I help? I've searched as hard as I could. And I've been watching all 1.63473 billion interfaces on Earth and on the moon. I've even tapped into several of the hyperidors and accessed their nets, hoping I might catch it if they took her off planet. But I ... CAN'T ... FIND ... HER!"

  He was getting hysterical again. Alan had to calm him down quickly. “That's because she's sharded, Mike! Abigail is not Abigail! Not right now. But we've got it narrowed down to one of two possibilities. And you don't have to search every access, just a few thousand.” Quickly, he gave Mike the details as he had them. Susie provided what she knew, along with several of her assumptions.

  The change that came over Mike was rapid and extreme. He became almost wild with happiness. He jumped into the air. Razor-sharp emerald wings, tipped with blazes of white, sprang from his back. He shouted and screamed and laughed And then he disappeared, leaving Alan and Susie staring up into the =starless pitch-black sky of the puterverse.

  “So that was Mike,” Alan said conversationally.

  “I think that was,” Susie stammered. “However did you get him to cooperate? I've been talking to him for more than a year, and he never calls me by my name. I'm just ‘flesh’ to him, except when I'm with Abby. Then he doesn't call me anything."

  “You helped me out, Susie. If Abigail was just using pseudo trinary, then Mike would have been a program with subroutines for emotions. He'd be a lot easier to handle, because everything is just lines of code to him.

  “But if Abigail's been using real, unbound trinary, then Mike is feeling his grief and guilt, because they're not subroutines, they're actual emotions. Once you led me into seeing that Mike's a creature of unbound trinary, I took the cue from that and treated him the way I'd treat any headstrong, unpredictable teenage boy. And believe me, since many of the Shards we get in Glendale are just that, I've learned how to deal with them.” He avoided Susie's admiring look and pointed up. “And here he comes, now. That was quick!"

  Mike shot out of the sky, going into a near vertical stoop, aiming right at Alan. Alan stood his ground, shaking his arms with encouragement, goading Mike on. He plummeted, straight down now, then exploded into a muti-hued flash only meters above their heads. There was a peal of thunder, and then Mike was standing in front of Alan, his eyes burning bright, bright green.

  “You were right, Alan! I've found her!” His eager tone and willingness to please was a physical blow to Susie. “She's sharded as Miss DeChant, no first name, and is Major Deiley's housekeeper.” His eyes went black and pinpoints of hate ignited deep inside. “If he's done anything to her, I'll kill him the next time he accesses."

  “Let's not, Mike. I think Deiley's probably the best of that lot. Let's leave him alone for now and concentrate on getting Abby out of there. What can we do? More importantly, Mike, what can we do together?"

  Mike thought about it, folding his hands in front of his mouth and steepling his forefingers and pinkies, exactly the way Abigail did. There were a lot of things about him that reminded Susie of Abigail. Watching him, she suddenly understood that was why they had never gotten along. Mike and Abigail were very similar, and Susie had held it against Mike. Could Susie have been the cause for all the friction? That might be overstating it, but perhaps she was contributing. And now that she was looking at Mike as a real person, it was easier to see that her approach had been wrong. He was a real person. Of unfathomable abilities and composed of pure energy, but with fragile emotions and undying loyalty to his creator. Susie's eyes opened wide in revelation. Mike actually loved Abby.

  Mike put his hands down and looked at Alan thoughtfully. “What do you think we should do, Alan?"

  “Good question. I think our first priority is to end Abby's sharding episode and get her back in control."

  “Yeah, I agree. I can maintain a constant watch on the place. Deiley's got some tricky security, but it's not a problem. I can even get it to work for me."

  “That'll help a lot, Mike,” Alan said gratefully. “But we need more. Deiley's not a fool. If he spots the change in Abigail, he's going to act quickly. In the meantime, he's going to do things to further embed the persona of Miss DeChant. Can you do anything to help us shake that persona loose, then alert us the instant it happens?"

  “Alerting you is easy. Getting Abby's shard to end ... that's tough. I've never even thought about trying something like that. I'm not sure I could."

  “Really? For some reason, I'm sure that you can. I don't know Abigail personally, but Susie's her best flesh friend, and she has complete faith in Abigail's abilities.” Susie saw Mike straighten proudly, both from the compliment and from the fact that Alan had qualified her friendship to Abby as a flesh friend. That kept Susie and Mike from competing for Abby's affections. “Give it some thought. If you find anything, or have some ideas, give me a call and we'll talk them over."

  “You bet, Alan! You can count on me. We'll get Abby out of there real soon!” Mike looked over at Susie. Staring at the ground, he actually looked awkward.

  “Hey, I'm sorry I've been rude. I guess I've been a little jealous. Abby loves you, and I didn't like that she loved you and not me."

  “Idiot,” Susie said with a smile and soft, trembling voice. “You don't think that Abby's special enough that she can't love both of us, Mike?"

  He looked at her for a moment and nodded. “You're right. She is that special. I'm sorry. Susie.” He jumped up, and his sprouting wings shot him into the sky. “We'll be talking soon!” he shouted down to them. And then he was gone.

  The field faded away and Alan's walls returned. Alan felt completely drained. He'd never been to twelve before and could see that it took considerable endurance to do it. He marveled that Susie did this on a regular basis.

  Not that she looked that impressive now. Like him, she was covered with sweat and winded. She smiled at his look and stretched some, groaning a bit.

  “You might want to get a full night's sleep, Alan. You're really going to really ache in the morning. But you've earned it. You did more with Mike in one meeting than I did in a year.” She still seemed unbelieving.

  “It was easier for me. I know how to deal with boys his age. And,” he paused to emphasize, “I wasn't competing for Abigail's love. I said I wanted to meet Mike. Now that I have, I very much want to meet Abigail. She must be someone very wonderful to evoke suc
h emotion from two very different kinds of friends."

  Susie looked down to the floor. She pictured Abigail in Deiley's quarters, tending his home, cooking his meals, obeying his wishes. She remembered the dull eyes that looked back at her whenever Abigail sharded, and knew those same eyes were dull once more. Her own eyes misted, and she looked back at Alan.

  “She is wonderful, Alan. Very wonderful."

  “And what about what Mike said about Deiley? ‘If he's done anything to her, I'll kill him the next time he accesses.’ That's impossible. A puterverse creation can't kill."

  “Do you believe that, Alan? That Mike couldn't kill if driven to it?"

  Alan thought about the lake of fire and the burning in his lungs. He thought about the wail of anguish and the pinpoints of hate in Mike's eyes. And he thought about Mike's threat, and how maybe it wasn't impossible after all.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  I closed the door to my room and turned the lights low. Placing my tea on the tiny nightstand, I prepared for bed. Major Deiley had been very gracious in allowing me this corner of his home. It had a private bath and bedroom set off from the rest of the household. I could retreat here whenever my duties allowed me, yet be ready to serve him at the sound of his firm, comforting voice.

  Making sure the door was locked and a chair placed against it, I darkened the window glass and closed the curtains tight. I then slipped into the bathroom, careful not to turn on a light until I had closed and locked the bathroom door as well. Once I was certain no one could see me, I undressed and showered, my stomach jumping at any sound other than what I expected. All my showers were like this now, and I fear that I shall be like this for a long time to come. It had been over three weeks now since my ordeal, and although the physical wounds had healed, the spiritual ones were still raw. I would bear it all gladly, though, if I knew that it would never touch my soulner. For Professor LeClaire had been right: it was now possible to restore the soulner's persona, and such had been the case with me.

  Feeling the warm water splashing over my shoulders and body was always soothing, and it slowly washed my nervousness and fear down the drain. The pulsing water also tended to make me reflective. As I rubbed my soapy hands over myself, I became very sad at how poorly I had taken care of my soulner's body. I didn't know the circumstances of my sharding, but that did not lessen my responsibility to my true mistress. Though Major Deiley owned my body, I was the one who needed to take care of it for its rightful owner. And I had not.

  I turned off the water and dried myself. Seeing myself in the mirror, I was ashamed, and turned away. It had been like that since those creatures that only looked like men had forced themselves upon me. Each had taken his turn, raping and hurting me. Then, when they wearied of their sport, my horror became even worse as their leader claimed me. Thankfully, I had lost consciousness after his beatings and repeated rapes had become too much. And I was also thankful that he was now dead, killed by my master. The price would continue to be exacted, however, and my mirror would remain untouched by this beautiful yet now spoiled body that was not mine. I dressed in my underclothes and nightgown, then turned the bathroom light off.

  My bath was attached to my bedroom, so no one could see me. I sat at the little stool to comb my hair out. It was only here that I could look in the mirror. With my nightgown closed up to the neck and by concentrating on my long hair, I could bear seeing my reflection. But it was difficult. Sipping my tea, then setting the cup down, I picked up my brush and began. Tonight, I would try for two hundred strokes.

  Twenty. I would need to pick up a softer white wine for the chicken with peas I was serving Friday. I planned how to prepare it and the best time to begin. Forty. The flooring in the Major's room had gathered some additional wax about the floorboards and I would need to scrape it clear and shine the wood again. Sixty. My apron had been torn when I caught it on a corner this afternoon, so I shall have to sew it up tomorrow morning. Major Deiley told me to order a new one, but there was no need to discard what I could repair so well that no one would notice.

  Eighty. The menu for Major Deiley's minor reception tomorrow evening had been fully planned, except for one detail. Captain Miller had a particular fondness for roast beef, but I needed to work out a way to prepare it without it flavoring the trout I would be steaming for Captain Dimille. One hundred. How could I have been so blind as to what would happen to me once I had entered the base? Why couldn't I have simply turned around and ... No! One hundred. I would need to access the puter to learn better techniques for rubbing Major Deiley's shoulder. With the arrival of the higher humidity these past two days, it was giving him more discomfort. He tried to hide it, but I could see he was in pain. It was my duty to work that pain away.

  One hundred and twenty. Perhaps it was time to consider getting a new dress. What I wore was very comfortable, and safe, but it was very old-fashioned ... and had I been wearing it that day, I might not have tempted those ... very ... old ... fashioned, and I'm sure Major Deiley would like to see me more properly attired.

  One hundred and forty. Could I really just brush away this guilt? Or should I just accept it as part of my life forever? How could ... how could she ever forgive ... forgive...

  I wept, laying my head on my table, dropping the brush. Such a burden! This small, lively body, ruined by my stupidity! By my thoughtless and arrogant assuredness that nothing would happen once I told them I was not a sexual plaything. Ruined! I was as guilty as the men who raped me. Who raped my soulner.

  Each night was the same. I struggled with my grief, and was able to weakly fight it off one more night. I wiped my eyes and straightened. I had failed her, but would not do so again! I looked into the mirror and stared into my own accusing eyes. Miss DeChant, you will bear this burden! You will do what you can to prepare for her return, whether it be in ten seconds or ten years. What has happened is your fault, but it is past. I set my mouth and repeated it in my head. It. Is. Past. Rebuild the ruins, and offer it as best you can, to her when the moment arrived. I picked up the brush and placed it on the table. One hundred and forty strokes. Perhaps two hundred tomorrow night.

  I drank the remainder of my tea and climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets up high. I turned off the general lighting and turned on a reading light. Picking up my book, I read for nearly half an hour. I needed to become accomplished in the Terran/Martian Wars period. I found it detesting and frightening, but Major Deiley had commented several times on it, and it seemed a favorite topic of his, so I struggled through it. Fortunately, the wars had occurred only a few decades past my own life, so there was little extra history to prepare before studying the wars.

  By the time I had reached the discussion of the Third Meeting's abrupt ending with the assassination of the Martian Vicar and the dissolution of the Pisces Congress, I was quite exhausted. Although the political ramifications were very fascinating for a French woman such as myself, it had been a long day. I marked the book carefully and turned off the light. I prepared myself and offered my prayers to my Lord, wondering if He were really my Lord. Could a person without a soul have a God? I didn't know, but I was charged with the safe keeping of my true mistress's soul, so I would take proper care of it. I finished my prayers and relaxed myself for sleep.

  Lemon. My eyes opened and I looked at the ceiling. Captain Dimille always preferred lemon on her trout. I felt that fresh fish was ruined with anything more than a pinch of salt, but Captain Dimille insisted. And I had no lemon.

  I rose quietly and returned to my table. Mounted on the wall was a terminal. It was nothing like Major Deiley's, but it served my purposes.

  “Access. Miss DeChant, sublevel three minus."

  “Access allowed. Good evening, Miss DeChant."

  “Good evening, m'sieur computer."

  “May I ask why you are accessing so late? This is far later than your normal access times."

  “Oui, m'sieur computer. But I have a special order. I have forgotten to order
lemon from the commissary, and I need some for Captain Dimille's steamed trout tomorrow evening."

  “That is a very reasonable request and within normal behavioral parameters for you, Miss DeChant. I will be happy to forward your ... ABBY!"

  WHAT?

  WHO SAID THAT?

  I BANGED MY HEAD ON THE UNDERSIDE OF THE COMPUTER CONSOLE, THEN SLITHERED OUT FROM UNDER IT SO FAST, I BURNED MY BARE BACKSIDE ON THE CARPET. STANDING UP, RUBBING MY SORE BOTTOM, I LISTENED. I KNEW SOMEONE HAD CALLED MY NAME. I LOOKED AT THE GIRL, BUT SHE WAS STARING OUT THE WINDOW, KEEPING HERSELF OCCUPIED. MISS DECHANT WAS NO DIFFERENT THAN SHE HAD BEEN SINCE I ARRIVED HERE TWENTY MINUTES AGO. OR WAS IT YEARS? I CONSTANTLY CONFUSED THE TWO.

  “Pardon, m'sieur computer? What did you say?” His voice had changed from a kind man to that of a youthful boy.

  “I said, ‘ABIGAIL!’ Eyes front and center!"

  I SPUN AROUND AT THE SOUND OF THE SHARP VOICE. COULD IT BE ... WAS IT...

  "MIKE? IS THAT YOU?"

  “Mike, is that you?” I heard myself speaking out.

  “Miss DeChant?” the computer said. Then, switching to wonderful, flawless, beautiful French, he continued. “Mademoiselle, do you know who I am?"

  “I do not, m'sieur computer,” I replied, my soul lifting as the sweet language again rolled off my tongue. “I do not know why I spoke that name."

  “Please listen carefully then, Mademoiselle. I am trying to contact Abigail Wyeth. She is your soulner."

  “No! This is true? That is fantastic! But how would you know this, m'sieur computer?"

  “Please, call me Mike. I know because she is my dearest friend, and I have tried very hard to discover a way to return her. Do you wish to do this, Miss DeChant?"

  “Oh! Oui, M'sieur, oui!” I felt like singing and shouting. Then I realized the danger. Softening my voice to a whisper, I said, “But, please, Mike, we must be careful. Major Deiley will be out until late tonight. And he has given me my privacy in these quarters. But your illegal access may cause difficulties."