Nightborn, page 14
Emotion, he thought. That’s what it responds to. It’s been reflecting our own fears and desires back at us. That’s the common thread.
Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the yearning for knowledge that had always driven him, but that had no effect. Maybe it was too general an emotion, and he needed a specific image to focus on. So he reached back into his childhood, searching for a suitable memory. Something so intensely emotional that it had burned itself into his brain forever. God knows, that was an emotional time for him. In a world almost bereft of natural greenery, a child obsessed with plants was asking to be mocked, and local bullies were happy to comply. Cruelty was an intoxicant to them.
• • •
What have you done? There are tears in Ian’s eyes. What have you done!
He falls to his knees amidst the ruins of his botany project, gathering up mounds of soil in his hands. Roots are jutting out in all directions, reaching for nutrients they can no longer harvest. Can plants feel pain? There are so many tears in his eyes that he is half-blinded. They aren’t dead, he tells himself. I can save them. He turns to put them back in . . . what? The pots are all gone, smashed to shards all around him. The growth lights lie on the floor in fragments. And blood is dripping down his forehead from the gash made when one of the bullies struck him with a rock, when he tried to defend his precious work.
Rage burns so hot within him he can barely contain it, but he knows he must suppress it at any cost. These bullies will only beat him more if tries to fight back. Cradling the injured plants to his chest, he swallows back on his misery, letting them mock him and his project until his lack of response eventually bores them. But his hands are shaking, and he knows that as soon as he gets his experiment set up again, another bully will come along to destroy it. Only by keeping his work a secret from everyone can he hope to bring it to completion . . .
• • •
He opened his eyes. At first the fae looked the same as before, but no, the azure current had shifted ever so slightly. It seemed to be drawing back from him now, coalescing into a pool of light a few yards away. Breathless, he watched as some of the fae began to rise from its center, creating a vertical protrusion: a stalagmite of power. He was so fascinated by the transformation that his fears were temporarily forgotten. Dimly he understood how much danger he was in, but the knowledge was a distant thing and no longer had power to move him. Now he could see features forming, sculpted in light and shadow. Eyes. Mouth. A face—
With a gasp he rose to his feet, backing quickly away from the ghostly image. The face of one of his childhood tormenters was taking shape before him, and as each new feature manifested, a new wave of memory rushed over him, stoking ancient fears anew. Desperately he kicked at the remains of his sacrificial fire, scattering its embers, and tried to focus his mind on the real world, the solid world, once more. And indeed, as soon as his concentration shifted, the fae became invisible again. Now all he could see was the forest that surrounded him, veiled in the early shadows of dusk. Did that mean the misty creation was gone now? Did shifting his mental focus rob it of the energy it needed to manifest, so that it collapsed back into the pool of its creation? Or could he just not see it? The thought that it might still be out there, but beyond his detection, was terrifying.
If the fae could conjure his personal demons like that, could it do that to anyone? They already knew it could take on the form of lost loved ones, so it stood to reason it would be able to imitate one’s enemies and tormentors. And in theory it could do so in any location, at any time.
We need to figure out how to control it, he thought. Then he corrected himself: I need to control it. He was uniquely attuned to the fae, that much was clear. No one else had been able to shift their vision to see the blue currents, or consciously alter their flow. If there was going to be any breakthrough in understanding the fae—in controlling it—it would have to come from him.
Savior of the colony. Was that how future generations would remember him? The concept sent a thrill up his spine.
In the distance the dinner bell rang, breaking him out of his reverie. Suddenly the sense of being immersed in an unseen alien force vanished, and he was surrounded by nothing but grass and trees: normal, everyday vegetation. But the fae was still out there, he knew, and at any moment some fragment of repressed memory could be brought to life, for anyone. If he couldn’t figure out how to prevent that—or at least control how it manifested—none of the people here were going to survive very long.
Ian dreams they are all watching him: Leo at the far end of the group and the others arranged in a circle around the pod, as always. Misty dream-figures, waiting.
“I saw the fae again,” Ian says. The words are so significant they seem to hang in the air for a moment, as if waiting to be admired.
But their expressions are maddeningly impassive. Damn it, don’t they understand what he’s telling them? He’s offering them the key to Erna! Their eyes should be filled with admiration—nay, envy—while he, flushed with pride, exults in the existential satisfaction of knowing he is the one who is going to save this colony from ruin. History will surely remember him for that.
“I conjured the sight I needed,” he persists. “Angie designed the symbols I needed, and I meditated on them until the fae appeared.” Still no response from them. How he wishes Angie were here, so that she could explain the process involved! She could explain it far better than he can.
But does he really want them to understand that process? Right now he’s the only person in the colony who can discover how to control the fae. If others learn how to alter their sight like he did, that will no longer be the case. Someone else could make the breakthrough discovery, and vault a name other than Ian’s to history’s honor roll.
A flush of shame comes to his cheeks that he is even thinking like that. All for one and one for all, right? That’s supposed to be the motto of the colony. Back on Earth they had all signed contracts agreeing to honor it. The welfare of the colony matters more than the pride of any one man.
But the pride is there, and the temptation cannot be denied.
Now Joshua is asking how Ian knows that his vision was real. Is it possible his intense meditation could have served as a kind of self-hypnosis, conjuring images of the fae from his own mind and nothing really happened? It takes all the botanist’s self-control to respond calmly, but inside he is fuming. How dare they question his insight? Ungrateful bastards! He has risked exposing himself to the fae in order to save them—reliving one of his darkest memories to do so—and this is how they reward him?
They are not worthy of the truth.
Commander’s Personal Log
Year One
Day Nine
No one was attacked yesterday, at least that we know of. The mere fact that I consider it worthy of mention speaks to how tenuous our situation has become. It will take many more days of peace before I dare risk optimism. Deep inside I feel as if the planet is waiting, metaphorically holding its breath while it figures out how to get around our various precautions.
Yes, I am guilty of personifying Erna. We’re all doing it. The language of sentience is too convenient a metaphor to avoid. But will talking about the planet as if it were a living entity, capable of conscious intent, affect how it functions? The creatures we have dealt with thus far have reflected our own thoughts back at us. If language affects how we think about the planet, will that affect the planet itself?
At least the palisade is finished. Joshua is printing a lock mechanism for the northern gate, which will allow colonists to come and go as needed while leaving it locked between uses. The larger southern gate will be watched 24/7. Once we have a watchtower, sentries will be able to see the entirety of the camp. If anything gets past our wall—or manifests in the open space inside it—we’ll at least have some warning.
Ian has asked permission to add Angela Carmelo to our advisory circle. I’ve reviewed her file, and though I’m hesitant to add someone at this point, given the chemistry of the group, the request has merit. Her background includes study in many relevant fields, and her reputation for maverick thinking suggests she might be able to come up with out-of-the-box solutions. I’ve told him he can fill her in and bring her to the next meeting, if and only if she understands that some of our speculations need to be kept private, lest the others panic over things that turn out not to be true. We need the freedom to discuss things without worrying about what others will think.
TO DO:
Finish the watchtower. The logs for it have already been harvested, and I expect the basic structure to be completed by nightfall. All joints are being reinforced with rope bindings designed to make the structure flexible enough to withstand earthquakes. At least that’s the hope. According to the seedship analysis, we’re due for another one soon.
Work on the chapel. Now that the palisade is finished, we can spare the labor to set up Dani’s prayer tent. It was a good suggestion. Those who were badly shaken by my news yesterday may find comfort in prayer, and even atheists can use it as a meditational space, a respite from the tensions of the camp. Dani says she will design some services that even non-religious folk can relate to, focusing on the essence of hope and inner strength rather than worship of a divine being. She wants this tent to become a sanctuary for all.
Lise spent the morning handing out drugs to people. In most cases they were simple anxiety treatments, just enough to help ease them past the initial shock of Leo’s announcement. But every pill she dispensed hastened the day when they would have to find native substitutes or go without, so she hoped the need ended soon. That said, if ever there were a legitimate reason for the colonists to need mood stabilizers, learning that alien predators could show up looking like their loved ones definitely qualified.
She was trying to lose herself in her work, but her mind kept going back to the creature whose attack she had interrupted. Of all the creatures that had attacked thus far, this was the first whose appearance could not be explained away as a simple delusion. Tia could have transformed some animal sound into a baby’s cry in her head; Ian’s light-serpents could have reflected nothing more than the power of suggestion, after he’d heard Jeff’s description of them. But she had seen Leo’s son herself, and since she didn’t know what the boy looked like before that, her mind could not have created such an image. Whatever that creature was, it had really looked like Julian Case.
Which begged the question: how the hell was the fae doing that?
As she entered Leo’s office pod she tried to set such thoughts aside, to concentrate on the meeting at hand. Everyone else was already seated and waiting, and she took her customary place beside Leo. There was a newcomer to the group, she noted: Angie Carmelo. She was sitting beside Ian and the two were murmuring softly to one another in a vaguely conspiratorial manner. Interesting. She couldn’t remember enough about the woman’s resume to guess why Leo had added her to the group, but there had to be a good reason. Did she and Ian have a relationship?
“Welcome,” Leo said, when they all were settled. “As you can see, our circle has a new member, Dr. Angela Carmelo.” He nodded toward her. “Back on Earth, she studied methods used to manipulate neural function. Given that we’re dealing with a species that appears to be reading our minds, I thought her input might have value.” He looked at Ian. “You’ve gotten her up to speed?”
Ian nodded. “I have.”
“All right, then. Let the brainstorming session begin.” He turned to Anna. “Any news on the dream front?”
“Sally Chang is still dreaming about blue fire, and waking up chilled to the bone. As far as I know she’s the only one experiencing physical effects after waking. Others have reported fae-dreams to me, but most of those were from the previous night. Whatever caused so many people to see the fae in their dreams after the true night, the effect seems to have passed. A few more nights and I expect all dreams will be normal.” She paused. “Except for Sally’s. Hers preceded the true night, so there’s no reason to think they’ll stop.”
“Thank you.” Leo looked at Joshua. “Tech update?”
“Five more equipment failures.” The engineer tapped his tablet to bring up his notes. “All small items, nothing of great importance, but the pattern is becoming ominous. Whatever is affecting our tech appears to be escalating in its activity.”
“No idea what’s causing any of the failures?”
“No. I’m sorry. Sometimes we find a malfunction we can blame, but most of the time there’s no cause we can identify.”
Leo looked to Dani. “You brought Jeff to the colony meeting. How is he doing?”
She hesitated. “Better than expected. I was afraid that when you started talking about the fae that it would trigger a flashback, but he actually seemed reassured by your words. I think when you suggested that people were seeing illusions not because they were crazy, but because something external was affecting their minds, it made it easier for him to deal with his own encounter. Now he can tell himself that what he saw wasn’t real, without having to question his own mental health. It seems to be helping.” Her expression grew solemn. “He’s still terrified of the dark, though. I don’t see that getting better while our situation is . . . what it is.”
Leo looked at Lise. “Medical update?”
She sighed. “I’ve been giving out sedatives for nerves, bandages for injuries, and quite a few sleeping pills. Nothing significant. We’ll be decanting the penicillium soon, after which we’ll be able to produce our own antibiotics. I’ll breathe a lot easier once that’s accomplished.” A dry smile flickered briefly. “No fae involved there.”
Leo looked around the room. “Anyone else?”
Ted raised a hand. “I’ve been bringing CCs into the camp to see how they behave. As soon as insects are released they head straight for the exit. So whatever drove them away in the first place is still active.”
Leo looked at Ian. “News from our seer?”
Ian drew in a deep breath. “I saw the fae again. It was in my dreams this time, but it seemed very real. At first it looked the same as the first time I saw it, but then it began to change shape. Part of it rose up, and then . . . then it began to take on the shape of someone from my past. Someone I hated and feared. I felt as if those emotions had summoned it.”
“Holy shit,” Anna muttered.
“The image was ghost-like—insubstantial—and was only visible for a moment before I woke up. So I can’t tell you anything more, I’m sorry. It shook me pretty badly.” He hesitated. “I felt like it was showing me something real. Not just a dream.”
“Like with Sally Chang,” Anna suggested. “Connecting physical reality and illusion.”
“Maybe.”
What was so odd about his tone, that drew Lise’s attention? Why did she sense that Ian was holding something back? He had never been the secretive kind, preferring to be admired for his insights, but there was an odd evasiveness to his manner today. It sounded like things were being left unsaid, and that worried her. She started watching him more closely, noting subtle changes in his body language. What was he hiding?
“Well,” Leo said, “we discussed the possibility that the creature which attacked me came from the fae, so your dreaming about another such incident might just have been inspired by those talks. Did you see anything unusual when you woke up, that would suggest it was more than a dream?”
For a moment Ian was silent. Angie looked at him. “Not that I noticed,” he said at last.
He’s lying, Lise thought. But why would he not share the whole story with us? The group had been so close-knit since their arrival that it was hard to imagine why he would distance himself from the rest of them, but she sensed he was doing just that. What kind of secret are you guarding, Ian Casca?
Leo looked around the room. “Any other reports?” When no one else responded he turned to Angie. “Very well, you were invited here to share your thoughts. Now’s your chance.” He smiled. “Go for it.”
“Thanks.” She smoothed her clothing and said, “Ian told me the fae seems to respond to our thoughts, and may be able to read our memories. He asked if I had any ideas on how that might work.” She smiled faintly. “Something a bit more scientific than ‘it reads our minds.’ The first part of that is easy. The brain uses electrochemical signals to transmit information. Every thought leaves a trail of voltage spikes in its wake. There are species on Earth that can detect such activity with remarkable accuracy, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that an alien species could do so also. How that species would be able to interpret those signals is another question.” She looked at Leo. “The night you saw your son. Were you thinking about him right before that?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “No, I wasn’t.”
“So at the time, there was no mental activity connected with your son’s image. No electrical signal for your attacker to read. It must have been getting information through some other channel.”
“Such as what?” Pravida asked, and Ted said, “What are you proposing?”
“Long-term memory is episodic: we tend to remember events, not isolated facts. Stimulate a memory, and it triggers a cascading network of associations—a pattern of interconnections, if you will. That set of responses is what we experience as memory.”
“You’re thinking those pathways might exist even when they aren’t in active use?” Pravida asked. “A biological road map recording the path to one particular memory?”
“Exactly.” Angie nodded. “A mnemonic fingerprint, if you will.”
“But how could that be detected from the outside? Much less interpreted?”
“Well . . .” she smiled slightly. “I can’t claim to have all the answers yet. But we know there are wavelengths of light we humans can’t see, sounds we can’t hear, vibrations too subtle for us to be consciously aware of, any of which could be used to gather information from inside the human body. It’s not impossible that some alien sense, incomprehensible to us, might be able to detect the pattern of a neural network. Perhaps well enough to mimic its form.”
