Diamond Mask (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (45 page)

Mum, I want to ask you something. I hope you won’t be angry.

Did Jack send you?

He’s a person who’s tried to bespeak me. Not lately, but a while ago. His mind is so powerful that it frightened me, and I refused to answer him. He says he’s a boy, living on Earth. Do you know him? Is he the one who told you I was operant and sent you to me?

I’m glad I did the right thing.

Don’t worry, Mum.

are so many things you must do before you leave Glen Tuath. Goodbye, my dearest little daughter. I’ll come and talk to you again soon. There are wonderful secrets I have to share with you. Marvelous things! Goodbye, Dody dear.>

Goodbye … Mummie.

A dream?

Dee opened her eyes. Her room was still winter-dark, but the clock on her nightstand said 6:00
A.M.
Time to get up for breakfast. Then she would have to do her last chore, bringing feed to the cattle and horses in the lower pastures. How she’d miss Pigean and Cutach! …

What kind of a dream?

 … She’d make a brief stop at the schoolhouse for the fleck with her transcript, then come back to the house and finish the last of the packing so she’d be ready when Gran Masha arrived …

A worrying dream. About what?

 … It was going to be strange, living on Earth where a day was twenty-four hours rather than twenty-six. And the months would be all different, too, because Earth’s moon went through its phases faster than Ré Nuadh. Not even the year would be the same length. She could hardly remember what life on the Old World was like …

Never mind that! What was in the dream?

 … All the trees would have green leaves, and the grass would be green, and the sky would be blue rather often, there’d almost never be earthquakes, and—

Stop that, mind.

The unwanted thoughts that had been flooding her head shut off as she finally exerted self-coercion. She was finally able to concentrate.

The dream had been very odd.

What had it been about? Why couldn’t she remember? It was important, she was sure of it.

Slowly, Dee crawled out from the warm bedclothes, lowering her feet to the carpeted floor. She waited before telling the room lights to turn on, went to the window, parted the drapes, and looked out.

It had snowed during the night, the first snowfall of the winter. The rocky knoll on which the farmhouse stood was covered with spotless white, like a plumped-up pillow, with a twisting line of small lights marking the buried pathway and steps. No
one had turned on the melting grids yet. The landing pad was a smooth white tablecloth and the two eggs parked outside the hangar had fat white berets. Exterior lights mounted on the stock barn, the factory, and the utility buildings made yellow-orange pools on the unbroken snow around them. More lights twinkling through the skeletal trees indicated that Domhnall Menzies and his wife Ciara Brown were up. Theirs was the only inhabited cottage at this time of the year, when most of the airfarm employees returned to Grampian Town or Muckle Skerry until the next harvest season …

The
dream!

Why was she having so much trouble concentrating? It was as if her mind rebelled at furnishing her with the memory she demanded.

Softly, she said aloud, “Angel, help me.”

And then she remembered.

Staring down at the whiteness, she recalled the figure she had seen so clearly in the dark of her mind. Her mother, Viola Strachan, wearing the same outdoor clothes she had worn on the day of her death, smiling at her and speaking. Speaking urgently about … what? An icy chill seemed to strike at Dee through the triple-glazed window. She hugged herself, shivering, and addressed her old mentor with growing fear.

“Angel, was that really Mum in my dream?”

No.

“I didn’t think so. The aura was wrong. What she said was wrong. Who was she, and what did she really want?”

The person who bespoke you is named Fury. It is neither a woman nor a man—only a mind. A mind overflowing with rage against the entire universe and its Creator. In some ways, Fury is exceptionally powerful. Besides insinuating itself into your dreams, it can farspeak across interstellar distances—

“Like that awful Jack!” Dee wailed.

Fury is not Jack. It hates Jack and is afraid of him, as it is beginning to be afraid of you. Fury is the one who controls the Hydra.

“The monster who killed my mother?”

Fury is the one who really caused the death of your mother and uncle and aunt. It told Hydra to kill them. Without Hydra, Fury is nearly helpless. This is its great weakness. Almost always, it must act through Hydra except when it interfaces mind to mind.

“This Hydra … there are four of them! I know it. I saw them when Mummie and Aunt Rowan and Uncle Robbie died.”

Yes. Fury’s great physical power results from the four Hydra minds working in metaconcert, as Fury has taught them. Fury’s ultimate goal is the destruction of the Galactic Milieu, and for this it will require other stalwart helpers besides the Hydra-units.

“But why does it want to destroy the Milieu?”

It schemes to establish a new galactic confederation, which it will rule. It hopes to trick you into doing its work, just as it once tricked Hydra.

“How can I make it let me alone?” Dee cried.

Now that you are aware of its mental signature and pattern of metapsychic emanation, you will be able to shut it out of your dreams if you wish. But since you are a brave and resourceful girl, you might wish to consider something else.

“What?” she asked suspiciously. She left the window, called on the lights, touched the bed-making button, and began to get dressed. The angel seemed to be thinking things over. Finally he said:

You might let Fury continue to come to you.

“Let that awful thing that pretended to be my mother into my mind? Angel, have you gone crazy?”

This alternative course of action would be somewhat dangerous. But you are in a unique position to help save the Milieu from this monster. At the present time Fury does not want to harm you. It would rather convert you. You see, Fury cannot easily coerce people into doing its bidding. The Hydra can exert very strong coercion for short periods of time, but that would be no help in getting you to become a follower of Fury.

“I see … It would like me to become its disciple of my own free will.”

That is correct. But if you resisted it tactfully—while at the same time gaining its confidence and encouraging it to reveal the details of its scheme to you—you could help destroy it.

Destroy her mother’s killer! Could she really do such a thing?

“How?” She had put on cord pants and a heavy shirt, work clothes she would not be taking with her to Earth, and now she went to her dresser for a fresh pair of wool boot socks. “If Fury is only a mind, it must be as indestructible as—as an angel!”

Not quite. Fury’s mind shares a human body with a second mind that is unaware of its evil companion. I do not know whose
brain Fury hides in and neither does anyone else. Not even the Lylmik know. If they did, then the monster could be destroyed.

“By the Lylmik?”

No. By the Remillard family. Acting in metaconcert, they would have the power to kill Fury. And the obligation to do so. Because this much is known about the monster: it is the product of a Remillard mind.

Dee paused in the act of putting on her thermal boots. “I’ve heard of them. The First Magnate belongs to the Remillard Dynasty. And Dad says Gran Masha will be taking Ken and me to an operant training institute run by one of the Dynasty women named Catherine … So if I discover any important clue about Fury, I’m to tell the Remillards?”

No! Under no circumstances. You will tell me, and I will see that the family is notified.

Frowning, Dee combed her hair and began to braid it into a single plait. “I—I suppose if Fury pushes me too hard, I can always shut it out of my mind.”

You could shut it out right now without too much danger to yourself. Later, closing your mind to Fury would probably rouse its suspicions. It might decide you were a threat to its plans and attempt to kill you. You must understand this clearly before you agree to my suggestion. I am confident that you will succeed—but there is danger.

Danger, she thought, but not much satisfaction. Fury could harass her for years without her being able to learn anything useful! On the other hand …

Guiltily, Dee looked over her shoulder in the mirror, half expecting to see either the tall figure of Ewen Cameron or the shrouded apparition that spoke with his voice, expressing stern disapproval of the startling possibility that had just sprung into her mind. But there was nothing reflected there except her own self and the familiar furniture of her room.

The angel was no more able to read her secret thoughts than Fury was. He would not be able to stop her from—

The small, heart-shaped face with the intent hazel eyes turned to a mask of stone.

“I’ll do as you suggest, angel. I’ll be very careful.”

Good. Call on me if you require advice.

She nodded, and the angel was gone.

Dee opened the jewelry drawer of her dressing table. The pieces she had made herself with real gold and silver and semiprecious stones were packed in her trunk, ready for the trip to
Earth. Only Grandad’s pearls, which she was going to wear on the starship, and the old rhinestone pin remained, glittering in the shadows. She fastened the diamond mask to her shirt and smiled.

Breakfast at Glen Tuath Farm was unusually quiet. Gavin Boyd was unable to hide his triumph; with Dee gone, he would once again be cock of the walk. Hugh Murdoch and Ellen Gunn, the other nonborns, ate their porridge, smoked goose breast, and hot fruit compote with resentful expressions, knowing that they would now have to do Dee and Ken’s chores as well as their own. Ian was more dour than ever, ignoring Thrawn Janet’s attempts at conversation. The domestic manager was in a sunny mood, clearly overjoyed to be rid of the two young flies who had infested her ointment for the past six years.

When the children finished their meal and Ian left the table to go to his office in the factory, Janet gave out the work assignments as usual.

“Gavin, Domhnall will need your help overhauling the broken animal waste conveyor. You go meet him in the stock barn. Ken, you finish putting in the new section of melting grid on the school walk. Hugh, do the regular monthly maintenance on the fairy-gun and be danged sure you wear your safety harness when you’re up on that roof. Ellen, sort the clean laundry and route it to the proper rooms. The clothes-tag reader’s on the fritz again. Then give the mole-cars a good mop-out. We don’t want Citizen Kyle and Doctor Mary getting all mucked up coming through the burrows from the landing pad to the house. Doro, you truck feed down to the livestock in the winter pastures as usual. And for corn’s sake don’t dawdle around! I want you and Ken back here, washed up squeaky clean and packed to go, by lunchtime. Okay? Ever’body got their beeper?”

“Yes’m,” chorused the children. All of them except Ellen trooped to the cloakroom to put on their outer garments.

“Hughie!” Gavin said. “Trade jobs. Nice warm barn instead of freezin’ your butt off on the roof.”

Hugh gave a scornful laugh. “Nice warm cow-shit to scrape off the busted conveyor, you mean! Keep it, sucker.”

“I’ll trade if you like,” Ken said. “I think I’m getting a sore throat. It might be better if I worked inside.”

“Aw riiight!” Gavin said. “You’re on, Lavender Lips. The grid tools still in the school shed?”

Ken nodded. “You’ll have to apply the top layer of sealant as
well as hook up the power. The mini-dragline, the mixer, and the bags of stuff are with the tools.” He turned to his sister. “Will you pick up my transcript fleck at school when you get yours? You’ll probably finish sooner.”

“Sure, Kenny.” She fiddled with the control of her environmental suit, then pulled on her mittens. “I’m going to walk instead of taking a mole-car. See you guys.”

“Aww.” Gavin pulled a lugubrious face. “Does little Dodo want one last slog through the Callie snow so she can store the memory in her giant brain?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Yes. But I’ll be coming back to Caledonia, Gavin. You remember
that.
” She went out the door and closed it carefully after her.

The snow was 20 cents deep and fluffy, not too difficult to walk in. The veranda lights gave the snowbound farmhouse a cosy look, and when she had tramped halfway down the knoll she stopped and looked at the place for a long time. Her mother had designed the house and supervised its construction. She and Ken had been born in it. It was not only a beautiful building but also sturdy enough to resist the hurricane winds of Beinn Bhiorach winters and the frequent earthquakes that shook the land. She loved the house and the farm. She would come back.

There was no wind now and the buried stone steps were firm beneath Dee’s boots. She continued down, singing quietly.

Down on the freshly snow-covered pad, she delighted in being the first one to make a dotted line of prints across it to the stock barn. Then she continued on to the big storage shed next door to pick up the tractor. She could use the sledge this morning instead of the wagon. Ken met her at the side door of the barn when she drove up and quickly loaded bales of hay and sacks of feed with a forklift. She would have had to do that work herself if surly Gavin had been working there.