Behold a Dark Mirror (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

A low glimmer without shadows lit up the living room of Nero's trailer.  Kebe, wrapped in his robe, sat on the carpet rearranging her long dark hair.

Kebe's skin was pale, her hair deep chestnut, her figure too thin, and her eyes even greener than Nero remembered, lit up with an expression softer and warmer than a spring evening.  Her nose was small;  the fullness of her lips was enhanced by diminutive jaws and sharp cheekbones.  Kebe's lips often stretched into a smile that put dimples on her cheeks.

"You understand I didn't come to Doka for the fun of a private meeting," she said in a contralto voice.

"I'd rather believe you did," Nero answered half jokingly, sitting on the floor next to her.

Kebe turned around, pushed him down on his back, straddled his chest, leaned over until their noses touched.  "You're still awesome.  That, at least, survived your exile."

He drew Kebe closer to massage her shoulders and back under the robe.  As he rubbed, she said in his ear:  "I fear the mail shipment with the book was traced.  For sure
I
have been traced–visitors to Doka are, let me guess, rare.  I'm clean, but my visit is odd and will be noticed."

They sat up.  Nero moved his hands to the floor behind his back and leaned against them.  Kebe did the same, and her robe opened.  There was a nasty scar across her sternum, but she was tight-lipped about it.

"Doka is safe for a few more weeks," she said, "no longer.  My trip has put our timing on fast forward, but I had to come.  I don't want that book in their hands any more than I want you dead."

"You said nobody knew the book existed."

"Indeed.  You received, however, some mail that was traced back to a dirty shipnet hub–my blunder.  You also received a visitor thereafter.  The two facts together are suspicious enough that someone will come and investigate soon.  Life as you know it is over;  if you want to remain free and alive, you'd better listen."

Nero nodded.

"First, we need to hide the book.  Any ideas?"  said Kebe.

"I imagined you'd ask me that."

"Retrieval shouldn't be too easy."

"Resources?" said Nero.

"You and me."

Nero wondered if she was lying, and realized it didn't make any difference to him.

"Should we hide the book on Doka?"

"Maybe.  They don't know what to look for.  They only know that the shipment may have been illicit."

"What other place would be as good as Doka?"

"Oh, Nero, nowhere," she reached out to hold his hand;  Nero responded.  Maybe her body language was calculated, but it felt good:  Nero had forgotten the thrill of human relations.  She said,  "I really blew it.  I blew it.  I blew my best chance."

"My underground hotshot had a misfire," Nero said.

"Not the first for sure–just a bad one."  Kebe closed her eyes.

"We can beat them," Nero said.

"Thanks."

"I mean it."

"What do you mean, you mean it?"  She stood up, pacing, pulling her robe closed and retying the belt.  "You don't know what you're talking about.  Monsters, Nero, they're ogres:  They'll grab you and get all they want from you, then toss your remains in a dumpster.  What do you mean we can beat them?"

"Does a setback of a few years qualify as 'beating'?"

Kebe scowled, but listened.

Nero continued:  "We can trip the switch of the framepost.  They'd have to come by ship, and that'll take some time."

Kebe sat on the couch, interested.  "What about us?  We'll be trapped here forever, waiting for them to arrive."

"Well, that depends."

"On what?"  she said.

"Whether we can get away before powering down the machines."

"Big deal.  They'll track us, and come and look for us in a different place.  Eventually, even if we get away, retrieving the book from Doka would be a suicide mission for some of us."

Nero thought in silence.  "Listen," he said.  "You leave right away.  I hide the book here, then leave for the other corner of the galaxy.  Now there are three targets:  you, me, and the book.  Chances are they may not even try to come to Doka."

Kebe looked at him.  "I still won't know where the book is."

"No, you won't.  And maybe you shouldn't until you come around here again.  So I may place clues.  Or I may contact you."

"I don't like riddles, Nero:  Where are you going to hide the book?"

"I don't know yet.  And if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.  They may catch you...  I'm a fast learner."

"What if they catch
you
, Nero?  You're a better pilot than I am, I guess, but I'm better at not being caught.  Maybe
I
should hide the book.  Maybe we should swap roles."

Nero's scalp became ticklish–his whole skin did.  He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.  Pook materialized inside the trailer two inches away from Kebe's nose.  She backed away crying,  "Wha...  Wha...  What is
that
?"  Pook followed her motions;  her back hit the wall and she froze.

Static electricity became intense;  Kebe's long hair stretched out and away from her head, sticking out straight, turning her face into a caricature of fright.

"Dear, meet Pook," Nero said, fighting nausea.  "Pook, meet Kebe.  Please don't fight, you're my two friends."

Pook sniffed Kebe, appearing and disappearing so fast she seemed wrapped in a yellow shroud.  Kebe was too shocked to move, making it simpler for her to heed Nero's gesture to keep cool. Trying to control herself was all she could do.

Then, unpredictably, Pook disappeared, leaving Kebe gasping.  Nero, his discomfort ebbing, was striving to recompose himself.  Kebe stared at him.  "That-was-a-Cheshire," she said.  Her hair was still puffy.  "So they exist," she whispered.  A smile was growing on her lips, and dimples on her cheeks:  she looked like a child on Christmas morning.  "They are real, Nero!  I saw one!"

Nero clapped, trying to stand up.

Kebe massaged her scalp, walking around and looking behind the corners.  "Where did it go?"  She turned to Nero.  "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm allergic to Cheshires.  I get sick whenever Pook appears–the closer, the worse.  Don't you...?"

"No," she shook her head.  "I'm fine."

"Did you see the flash?"

"What flash?"  Kebe said, lighting up the last cigarette in her supply.  "Yes," she puffed, "I should stop this," she said looking at the cigarette.  "Tell me about Pook.  And let's figure out what to do."  She sniffed.  "Smells like food," she said.  "What about talking over some dinner?"

Nero had thawed a real pork roast for the occasion, which, unfortunately, he also had to cook.

*

They both gnawed hard, candlelight hiding their efforts.

"I can't believe it, Cheshires do exist!"

"Why, you should have asked me," Nero said, waving his fork.

"I wouldn't have believed you.  I'd have thought you were trying to bring me here," she said.  "And I might have come."

"I'm blushing."

"Tell me about Pook."

"He–it adopted me," Nero said.  "Pook shows up now and then, peers around, and vanishes.  I guess it's just trying to be friendly, more so than the average Cheshire."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Are they hostile?  No."  Nero shook his head.  "For all I know, Pook could be the last Cheshire on Doka.  They value their privacy alright:  nobody has ever found their lair."  He paused.  "What do you know about Cheshires?"

"Pop science;  much speculation, little substance."

"That's as much as there is to know."

"I thought you'd know everything by now," Kebe said, putting down her napkin.

"My girl, you've been closer to Pook than I've ever been.  I might die if it tried sniffing me," Nero said.

"What's this allergy of yours?"

"I don't know.  It feels queasy:  no big trouble.  Some are more sensitive to Cheshires than others."  Nero put both hands under his chin and his elbows on the table, letting his forearms support his head.

Kebe sat back, enjoying her licorice tea.

"I had another idea about the book," Nero added.

She leaned forward.  "I'm listening."

"If we can't hide it, why not publish it?  What's worse?  Not to have the book at all, to let it fall back in their hands, or to let everybody have it?"

She reclined backwards, thinking aloud.  "We destroy it, we do them a favor.  We let them take it, we do them a favor.  We let others have it, we'll hurt a lot of people, unless everybody has it.  In which case, many will question its authenticity."

"Truth has a way of proving itself."

"Indeed."

"We can scan the manuscript, and broadcast it."

"How, Nero?"

"There's a very very powerful broadband radio beacon on Doka.  It was installed when the planet was quarantined and never removed.  I think it still works.  We can transmit anything we want."

Kebe pondered just a second, then a dimpled smile flared.  "Are you serious?" 

"This is something else for them to worry about.  Of course, we'll disable the framepost before leaving, so they'll have to worry for a long time.  In the meantime, we think."

"The book?"

"We take it along.  We can make more microfiches, and etch optical cards, too."

"The proof we have is the original.  What about it?"

"Before leaving we dial a few thousand numbers at random with the mailer, shipping rocks. 
We
know it's just noise, but
they
don't.  As you put it, all they can trace is the mass shipped.  So the book might be at any one of the destinations we dialed.  Later, we rent shuttles from as many different places as possible, set them on autopilot outward bound, and put the book on one.  The more dead ends they have to investigate, the more time we buy for ourselves."

"And in the meantime, we think," Kebe said.  "Given the options, this sounds feasible.  What about us?"

"You said you came to teach me Survival 101–My girl, this is where
I
need
your
help."

"If we stay together, we do them a favor.  So we split up."

"That's depressing," Nero said.

"Yes, it's sad," she said.  "We send the mail.  Then I leave with the original manuscript.  I can give you the address of a safe house, but you must be careful getting there:  It's not your butt alone at stake.  On the way, we ship outbound decoys.  You got money?"

Nero nodded.

"Are you done with dinner?"  Kebe said.

Nero dropped his napkin on the table and stood up.  "Let's get going."

*

Working the mailer now, and the beacon later, required way more power than the backup generator could supply.  A handbook instructed Nero how to put a bigger one on line.  Nero wanted to make the changes as soon as possible, so he left Kebe alone in the trailer and jumped onto his cart.

Doka after sunset was freezing and pitch dark.  Nero was soon shivering in the driver's seat, squinting to see the road, wishing he'd started the tractor.  But in the warm trailer the cart had seemed adequate.  The wind felt its way through his heavy parka, its frigid fingers seeping into collar and sleeves.

After an eternity on the road, he reached the hangar.  His feet hurt from touching the ground when he dismounted;  much of his body felt numb.  As soon as he could do so without pain, he stomped and flapped to warm up.

The building was eerie as usual.  His breath puffed in the light of sodium lamps.  All inactive equipment needed testing prior to restart;  the whole exercise would be bothersome in the cold.  Nero decided not to mind, he had a good reason to ignore the cold now that his existential nightmares lay wasted and still.  He was working for a cause–his quest to find Margo's golden pages.  And start a revolution, perhaps.

He was ready to squander his savings, jeopardize his freedom, charge windmills, endanger his own and others' personal safety, and freeze to death.  Feeling alive was wonderful.

There were two spare generators, each big enough to sustain the forthcoming loads.  Nero fiddled with their panels for a long time.  The machines whirred and spun and stopped and restarted and groaned.  At the end, they both checked OK, 100% output.  He took the outer glove off his right hand, and reached into his pocket for Lucky Eagle–an old silver coin his father had given him ages ago. 
Heads, I start the generator on the left, tails, the one on the right,
he thought, sniffled and tossed.  His hand stretched out to grab the falling coin.

Pook appeared in a flash–two flashes?–just before his nose.  An overwhelming dizziness overtook him:  the hangar became a wild roller coaster ride–he dry heaved, his legs began yielding.  Yet he wondered: 
Two flashes–I saw two flashes, didn't I?
  before losing consciousness.

*

Kebe had started preparing a list of destinations for their rock decoys–bureaucrats, miscellaneous riffraff, collections of
persona non grata
–but too many of the 3,500 addresses were picked at random.  All recipients would have, at best, a lot of explaining to do.

"It will be their privilege to help the cause," Kebe said to the walls, trying to convince herself.  Still, she
had
to do it.

She ran another query through her dynabase, browsing the results.  The plan was shaky;  she knew it, and Nero knew it.  Her description of their circumstances, however, had been fair.  Manipulating Nero was not necessary:  He'd do his best, whatever the consequences.  "Sad, sad, sad that the book was traced;  Doka would have been a great hiding place."  And now, she had this mess to sort out.

Their escape needed organizing:  transportation, communications–too much, too fast.  She was well aware that Nero might never make it to the safe house. 
I must tell him, maybe he'll live longer if he stays here.  Another soul on my conscience.  Oh my Lord, I'm weary of this,
she thought and looked at the clock. 
I'll be up all night.

Hours zoomed by too fast.  Kebe reckoned Nero was so busy with his hardware, he didn't even try to keep in touch.  She reached for the radio he had given her.

"Nero, this is Kebe calling.  It's lonely here.  What's up?  Over."  She waited.  No answer;  she repeated her call.  Kebe guessed Nero was away from the box, his hands dirty, his head under a hood–better leave him alone.

The squelch had just closed when Kebe felt her hair stand on end.  She dropped the workpad, which clanked on the table.  She raised her head and turned.  A green Cheshire floated one meter behind her back.  Kebe drew a hand to her mouth, standing, facing the creature.

"He...  Hello," she said, taking a step sideways gaining clearance to move.

They're weird, but they're no harm.  No harm,
she thought.

The Cheshire was an indefinite shape with approximate edges looking like an optical illusion.  She giggled.

Can't.  Breathe.  No.  Air.  No.  Light.

The room had disappeared, cloaked in darkness.  Her diaphragm cramped.  Kebe started raising her hands to reach her throat and eyes.  At shoulder height her fingers met molasses and started shivering with electric shocks.  Probing around in a panic she found her head wrapped in a gooey lump.  The painful electrical feeling in her fingers was spreading to arms and shoulders.

Numb from the pain, she tore at the goo, swinging against the furniture, against the wall of the trailer, desperate to break loose and oblivious to the mayhem outside her airless universe.  The attempt to rip the blob around her head now ripped instead her own nerves with stabs hurting like burns, intolerable even to escape death.  Her fingers couldn't take hold, couldn't grip.  Her lungs ached in suffocation.

All strength exhausted, her knees yielded.  She collapsed on the floor, consciousness fading, resistance waning into feeble fits.  As awareness succumbed to oblivion, an image exploded in her mind brighter than a magnesium flare.  At the impact her body shuddered in a fitful jerk: 
Nero in the hangar.