“Oomark keeps talking about a She who is responsible through you – ” I persisted, determined that this time I would not allow her to put me off.
“Oomark’s just a baby,” she answered. “I used to scare him when he was bad. I told him that a Green Lady was coming to get him and that she would do all I told her to. Now he thinks there really is a Green Lady and – ”
“And you still play upon his fears to get your way?”
“Well – sometimes – ”
Plausible enough given coincidences, which do happen. If I had not seen and overheard enough to make me suspicious, I might have believed her. What to do now – should I accept her explanation and wait for her to irretrievably betray herself? Or should I at once call the parapsychologist and arrange an interview?
“I wouldn’t, you know.” She held my eyes with a straight stare as she said that. There was a faint shadow of an unpleasant smile about her lips.
“But you see, Bartare, I am not a little boy you have managed to frighten by your tales. I do not believe in your Green Lady, nor shall Oomark any longer. It is apparent you both need more help than I can give you.”
Her smile was broader. “Try it and seel” There was an exultation in that, far from any child’s emotion. “Just try and see!”
To my horror, I found she was right. Try as I might, I could not reach the corn when I went to call Commandant Piscov and ask for the help I was sure we needed. And, truly frightened by this check, I returned to Bartare, who was again listening to the tape, very much the schoolgirl absorbed in her lesson.
“You see” -she glanced up as I came in – “I told you that She won’t let you do that.”
I sat down on the chair facing this enigmatic charge of mine. “Suppose you tell me who She really is – your mother?” I made as wild a guess as possible, hoping to surprise some answer. The results were past my hopes.
Bartare was out of her seat, leaning over me, her whole face convulsed with some emotion I could not read.
“How did you – ” Then that emotion was gone. She turned her head a trifle. Her attitude was so much that of one listening that I also looked in that direction. There was nothing – no one – there.
“Who is She?” I asked again.
Then she gave a pert answer. “That’s for me to know, and it would be better for you not to find out, Kilda. Really it would. I like you-a little. But if you make trouble, then you’ll find trouble. Don’t worry about Oomark. And you can tell him Griffy’s going to be all right – as long as he does what he’s supposed to. You’ll be the same, for the same reason. We are going to the valley. It is important.”
With that she left me sitting there.
My first reaction was a flare of anger. Luckily my creche training helped me to face facts. I was badly hit in both my self-confidence and my self-esteem. It would appear that Bartare had some power, undoubtedly esper, which could keep me from summoning aid. I had very little left to me in the way of a weapon. And when I faced that bald fact, I was almost as frightened as I had been by that vision in the mirror. Now I did not, in the least, doubt that that had been some product of Bartare’s arranging also, that she had done it either as a warning or a threat. Was Guska Zobak aware of what she had produced in a daughter?
And was her present withdrawal based on a desire not to face the fact of Bartare without the support of her husband? Or was it also engineered by Bartare? She apparently was able to keep me from summoning help to deal with her.
My knowledge of espers and esper powers was only that of the average well-read layman, garnered from Volk’s tapes. And it is difficult for one without such abilities to judge, or even believe, in the extent of what one so endowed can accomplish.
Esper or not, my nature rebelled against becoming, as Oomark had, one Bartare could dominate. Perhaps she did not believe, in her child’s confidence, that forewarned is forearmed, and there were measures that could be taken to forestall take-over – I was startled to find my thoughts had ranged so far. To be controlled by a child only little more than half my age! It was impossible – or was it? That chill question hung over me as a constant mind-shadow.
I did-not have the knowledge I needed, only scraps and bits of information. And from those bits I must build an inner armor and strengthen it until I could stand up to Bar-tare. How I longed for only an hour’s access to Volk’s library.
Outward compliance was my best cover for the present. I agreed to that bitter fact reluctantly. There were exercises against hallucination, and I would begin those. In the meantime – what better material could I supply to Volk than my own entanglement in this weird web? I had come a long distance in search of some wonder to add to his store of knowledge, and I had found what I sought – not on Dylan, but within myself.
I went back to my room and brought out Volk’s recorder. Yes, there was a thought transcriber attachment. I had used one but only briefly, and I was not sure I had the training to completely record a report thus. But I believed now it was the only sure method, for I had no idea how far Bartare’s esper powers penetrated or whether she could overhear an audible recording.
With the lock beam set on my door, I lay down on my bed and began to compose within my mind the clearest record I could of all that had happened to me since I had met Guska Zobak and her children. Twice I outlined events in my thoughts, edited and strove to make them as free as possible of my own reactions and guesses. It might be pos-sible to add those at the end, but what I had to deliver first were facts, not my interpretations of them – though, as with any report, no matter how hard the compiler strives to make it impersonal, there would continue to exist traces of the maker.
Having done my best to assemble a coherent and meaningful sequence, I strapped on the forehead disk and began, giving my twice-edited account. I used the high speed so that much could be embodied on the smallest possible portion of the tape. And I found the whole process much more exhausting than any two regularly dictated accounts.
Then I spun the tape back so the spool looked unused. That I was taking the precautions of one being spied upon, I realized. But I would not make the mistake of underestimating Bartare.
Oomark spent the rest of the day in bed. Also, it was apparent that just as he had turned to me earlier for help, so now he shrank away. As far as I knew, Bartare had not visited him. But I could be sure of nothing now, and it was plain that he feared either me or what he had told me in his confusion. He did receive a call via visa-com from Griffy’s owner and was reassured that the poohka seemed to be responding to treatment.
The next morning he went off eagerly when the school transport picked him up, though I noted he glanced several times with apprehension at his sister’s door, she having made no appearance. Within the hour she did appear, wearing sturdy outdoor clothing ready for the valley expedition.
I had changed into breeches, land boots, and a warm innerlined tunic – for which foresight I was to be very glad. And I packed a shoulder bag with trail rations, making sure that though we might go to the valley with the group escorting Oomark’s class, we would not intrude upon their picnic lunch. The farther I was able to isolate Bartare at present, the better. To my relief she appeared to accept the idea of staying to ourselves quite as if that was the best thing to do, though perhaps she was as eager to keep me from contact with those outside our private field of struggle as I was to restrain her.
We reached the flitter park in good time and found ourselves assigned to a craft with two mothers and one aunt. At best, I found casual contacts difficult because of my own background. And now, with my inner tension, it was an added burden. I seemed to preserve my outer shell so well, though, that they accepted my account of Guska, in an- swer to their inquiries and other small talk, as if I were acting my part well.