THE Governor’s office, when they came to it, was far from being the sumptuous palatial chamber they had been expecting. In fact, it was a room not much larger than the Inspector’s office back at Waknuk—or the Police Chief’s here in Rigo. And it was modestly furnished. Clearly the Governor had nothing of the pretentious about her.

Hilary Bligh, the Governor, was a short and slim woman in her sixties, with steely grey hair and a prominent chin. She wore spectacles which she sometimes pushed down her nose. She was dressed in a demure grey skirt and jacket—with no cross (Rachel was reassured at that). She shook hands, greeted them cordially and invited them to sit down. As they did so another man, who’d been standing in a corner, walked across the room and joined them.

Michael and Rachel cast one glance at him and gasped in amazement. It was Peter!

“You know each other, of course. Yes, I’ve invited Peter to come along. I know about him and I know he too will be interested in what I’ve got to say to you. And I know you’ll be pleased to meet each other once again.”

“That’s very good of you, Governor,” put in Rachel.

“ ‘Hilary’, please! In my office we’re on first-name terms, Rachel. And you too, Michael.

“So,” she continued. “You three are full telepaths. You may not know this, but there are several hundred of your kind scattered around Labrador. I say ‘full telepaths’ to distinguish you from those who can only receive thoughts from other telepaths, but not send to them. There are quite a number of those too.”

“We’ve met at least one of those too,” remarked Michael—perhaps a little injudiciously.

“So be it. We are also aware that you’ve been using telepathy very little whilst you’ve been here in Rigo. That’s understandable: you felt you were in danger of persecution. It’s also very wise of you. We know full well what’s been happening in Kentak region, and beyond there in Waknuk. And I can assure you that the treatment of those two poor girls is not tolerated in Labrador. Those who perpetrated it will be sought out and brought to justice, make no mistake. You can count on us…

“We are also reviewing our policy towards human Deviations in general. It is clear—at least, to the Government it is clear—that the Fringes process is not working and detrimental to the peace of the land. We have only the evidence of the terrible massacre of the raiding party from Waknuk, alongside many innocent Fringe-dwellers, to assure us of that! But more on that later. I understand that you were a witness, Michael, and I’m going to ask you about it.”

“Yes, Hilary,” said Michael. He wondered how much else the Governor knew.

“I can’t tell you now what the changed policy will be—that’s still being debated by the Government and I must not forestall them. Besides, we have to come to some agreement with the Right Wing Church group—who are most influential in your part of Labrador—and that’s not going to be easy. They give us enough trouble right here, in the Government. But I sincerely hope that some accord will be arrived at, which will result in a more humane approach towards those with minor Deviations.”

Michael though of Sophie—Stephanie—and how much she had suffered. One extra toe on each foot… that was all.

“One thing we can be sure of: we regard you telepaths as an asset to our culture, not a threat. We see no reason why you should not be allowed to integrate fully with our society. And Michael, we should have been very sorry to lose you: I’ve contacted the foreman at your shipyard and he says you’re an excellent worker. As to you Peter—how could we possibly manage without your insight, especially into Labradorean and pre-Tribulation history? You’ve recently had your latest book published: I’ve read it, and I hope there are more to follow.”

Peter shyly voiced his acknowledgement. In front of the Governor, he was surprisingly demure.

“In fact, there may come a time when we wish to exploit your telepathic powers—for rapid communications over a distance, for instance. But there’ll be no pressure put on you for now. In fact, I hope never to see coercion of telepaths into working for the Govern­ment—not while I’m Governor, at any rate!

“Now—coming back to the Fringes massacre. We didn’t send any police to the Fringes, because the surviving folk there were alarmed enough already and we didn’t want to provoke another conflict. But two men from Waknuk had apparently re-visited the scene incognito, and brought back some curious samples. When I heard about this I ordered the samples to be sent straight back here to Rigo for analysis. We’re not quite sure, but we think it’s ‘garrotte thread’.”

“ ‘Garrotte’?” exclaimed Michael and Rachel, simultaneously. “What does that mean?”

“Also known by some as ‘mercy thread’. A misnomer if ever there was one! A really nasty secret weapon. And there’s only one country in the world, as far as I am aware, where they possess the knowledge to manufacture the stuff.”

Michael took a long shot. “You know about—Zealand?” He took care to pronounce the word correctly.

“Indeed we know about Zealand. Probably more than you do. And more than most sea-goers do. Our communication with that country, which is carried out very discreetly via the Indies, is still top secret.

“Anyway, this garrotte thread is a strictly controlled substance, and dangerous to handle. It’s only intended to be used as a last resort on aggressive wild animals—Deviants especially—and only if there’s a threat to human life. Never against people. I have given orders that on no account are these threads to be brought to Labrador. We have our own ways of dealing with dangerous animals. But now it may be that they have been deployed, not only in Labrador, but against humans.

“So, Michael, can you describe what you saw.”

“Indeed I can,” replied Michael. “Not only saw—but felt, too. Some of the threads stuck to me: immensely strong and sticky threads—and I couldn’t pull myself free. Even the horses couldn’t free themselves. It wasn’t until the Zea—” He broke off. He hadn’t intended to say anything about the ‘Sealand—Zealand—woman’.

“Please continue. The Zealand who? The Zealand what?”

Michael had no choice. “The woman who came from Zealand. She played a sort of spray on me and my friends, and that loosened the threads. Then she took my friends away on her flying-machine, but I stayed behind.”

“This ‘woman from Zealand’. Can you describe her please?”

Michael was beginning to get worried again. But the Governor seemed determined. He continued: “Well, she was a very pretty young lady. In her thirties I guess. Brown eyes, dark straight hair cut short—just above the neck. Very smooth pale skin. And she had very strong telepathic powers—compared to us.”

“Aha!” said the Governor, with a smile. She reached into a desk drawer and brought out a piece of stiff paper. On it was a picture of a woman’s face, but it was not a drawing, such as he’d been taught to do at school: it was a more exact likeness: almost as if the woman was actually looking at him through a small window. Except that there was no colour in the image: just grey tones. But still instantly unmistakable and recognisable—

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Yes! That’s her! No doubt about it. So you know about her—”

“About Bernadette. Dear Bernadette! Indeed we know about her. That answers a lot of my questions. This piece of paper is called a ‘photograph’. It’s a fairly new way of representing someone’s face, or anything else for that matter: still being worked on, but very useful, as you have seen. So you’ve met Bernadette. I’ll bet she spun you a good yarn…”

“What do you mean?”

“Her story about her people—the telepaths—becoming the new ‘master race’ and preparing to ‘take over’ from ordinary, non-telepathic people—including myself. Her assertion that telepaths, because they could share thoughts, would inevitably be more powerful than other races. Her stories about Zealand being a paradise island entirely populated by telepaths—which it isn’t, for that matter, there are only about two thousand there and they’re by no means the governing class. She probably rabbited on a great deal about ‘evolution’ and how any species had to die out to give way to others. She probably mentioned ‘dinosaurs’. If I know Bernadette, she lectured you long and hard on this—and, although there’s truth in some of her concepts, a lot of it is just a pack of lies.”

“But—she spoke to us in thought-shapes. Telepathically,” put in Rachel. “You can’t lie with thought-shapes. We’ve known that all along. Which is why we had to be so careful while my sister was alive.”

“You and Michael can’t, almost certainly. You just haven’t had enough experience, you’ve not been practicing long enough. In essence, you’re both too young. Peter, I don’t know about.” Peter showed no reaction. He had barely spoken during the meeting. “But Bernadette can. Remember, she’s one of the most powerful and most experienced telepaths in Zealand, and she’s had plenty of time to develop the ability to lie with her thoughts. And sometimes I wonder if she actually believes all this stuff she spews out—which would make it not a lie at all—in her mind. More of a sort of self-delusion. But probably not: Bernadette lies through her teeth—or, to be more accurate, through the telepathic part of her brain. I know it.

“Anyway, I have in the past issued strict orders that Bernadette is not permitted to set foot in Labrador. Oh yes, she did approach me. She came to Rigo by boat, not by airship (though it doesn’t surprise me that she has somehow acquired one). She wanted to seek out the best telepaths in this country, and spirit them off to her community in Zealand. Yes, she commands a modest group of telepaths in that country, and is quite well-off, I understand: where she gets her money from, I don’t know. She was keen to visit areas where telepaths are persecuted, especially out in the far west, like your Waknuk. I refused. I told her that her visits would only provoke more persecution of those who must, of necessity, be left behind. And any persecution in my country was my responsibility, and my Govern­ment’s responsibility, and my Police’s responsibility. Not hers. She left in a huff, sailed straight off back to Zealand, visibly annoyed.

“So now, it seems, she has defied my order and entered Labrador illegally. It may be only Fringes territory, but it’s still Labrador, and hence still my responsibility. And moreover, your description, Michael, confirms my suspicion: she has got hold of garrotte thread—I don’t know how, you need special licence from the Zealand Government, which she certainly wouldn’t be granted—she got this awful weapon somehow, and she has deployed it against humans. That woman has a lot to answer for, and I shall be notifying the Zealand Government. A Government consisting mostly of non-telepaths, I should tell you. And I’m on good terms with their Governor, despite the necessary secrecy of our communications.

“And if Bernadette ever sets food in Labrador again, she will be arrested. And tried for murder. We shall be seeking her extradition, in any case. In Labrador our aim is to deliver justice, not mass murder. That’s my mission; that’s what I’m Governor for. Whatever may have been practiced in Labrador in the past.”

Hilary stopped and let her speech sink in. Michael and Rachel could only sit there, silent and dumbfounded. This utter demolition of the character of this lady—this lady who they had thought to be the saviour of all telepaths everywhere—this they could not absorb. It seemed utterly impossible—incredible. Was it possibly the Governor instead, who was now lying to them? But Peter was nodding, and now at last he spoke up.

“Some of what you have said, Hilary, is news to me—but not all. I should explain,” he said, turning to Rachel and Michael, “that we’ve been in correspondence, Hilary and I, for some years now; going back to before she became Governor—although this is the first time we’ve met face-to-face.

“Michael gave us a good, detailed account of what happened in his trip to the Fringes, when he was staying at my house. I have to say, now, that I had my suspicions about the ‘Sealand woman’s real intentions all along. I even mentioned my doubts to Rachel and Michael: suggested that Zealand was a place best avoided. But what I didn’t know was that there were so few telepaths in Zealand—I thought they numbered in the hundreds of thousands, or even millions. Are you sure about that, Hilary?”

“Quite sure. As I said, I know the Governor of Zealand: we’re in touch regularly, we’ve met once or twice. He’s fully aware of their community and keeps a close watch on it, despite not being a telepath himself. All that stuff about telepaths being a ‘superior’ or ‘more powerful’ race is just poppycock, as I’m sure you now realise. It’s like saying that a circus acrobat, because he can stand on his hands, is ‘superior’ to folk who can’t.

“But for now, I’m afraid I must cut this interview short. Meetings to attend to,” and she sighed. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to this meeting: you’ve been a tremendous help. So, you young people, what are your plans now? I would wish you to remain in Rigo for the time being, if you that’s agreeable to you. I’m almost certain to want to speak to you again. You are no longer under the threat you were before, and Michael has a good job here. And Rachel, you may be able to find work here, too. Think about it.”

And with that, the three took their leave of her.

“Peter,” whispered Michael, grabbing his arm as they were leaving the building, “I still owe you money. I was going to send it to you but I needed it to pay the hospital bill. I think I’ll have enough to repay you in a few weeks, but—”

“No problem, Michael, pay me when you’re able to. I got a good advance on my book, I’m in no hurry. But we’ll keep in touch. What do you make of our friend Hilary?”

“She sounds very convincing. And I can’t get that ‘garrotte-thread’ image out of my head—not ever. I think that’s what decided me that staying in Labrador, going to Rachel, was better than fleeing to Zealand. Where does that word ‘garrotte’ come from?”

“I suppose you’re asking the right person for that! But I’m not sure: it’s certainly not a Labradorean word and, as you know, most of my research has been centred around Labrador. My best guess is that it’s the word, in a forgotten foreign language, for ‘strangle’ or ‘strangulation’.”

“Ugh! Don’t, please!” exclaimed Michael, not wishing to be reminded of the scene any more. He changed the subject. “Are you staying at the same inn while you’re here?”

“Yes I am. And you’d better give me your address here, so we can keep in touch.” Michael promptly wrote down Mrs Norman’s address on a slip of paper and handed it to Peter. “Hmm… not the most salubrious quarter of Rigo,” Peter continued, “but I suppose you’re safe enough there. When you’ve earned enough, Michael—and you Rachel too, hopefully—you should look for somewhere better. A flat, or even a house, perhaps.”

“We’ll think about it,” replied Rachel. “Yes, certainly we’ll think about it.”

With that they took their leave of Peter, promising to call at the inn before his departure. As they were walking back to their lodgings (slowly, because Rachel was still in some pain), Rachel glanced slyly at Michael several times without speaking. At last the urge con­quered her diffidence: she looked up at Michael with a strange smile:

“Michael, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it, dear?”

“I’m late.”

“Late? What do you mean, late? Oh—you mean late!” with a sudden flash of realisation.

“I was three weeks late when we were going to board ship—when I got shot. I hadn’t wanted to tell you before, because I was afraid you’d want to cancel the trip. And afterwards! When I was able to, at the hospital I asked Benjamin—and Laura too—whether the baby had been harmed, whether it was still alive. Benjamin gave me a thorough examination, he listened very carefully through his stetho­scope, but of course he couldn’t be sure at this stage. But both of them were at pains to assure me that the baby was most likely to have survived: the bullet went nowhere near him or her. And I’ve had no symptoms since then to suggest otherwise. I think he, or she, is still there…”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Michael, almost dumbfounded. “What a sly one you are! But that’s brilliant news. I couldn’t have asked for better—especially as it looks like we’re settled in Rigo for a while instead of gallivanting all round the world. I’m absolutely delighted. And we’ll have a future together, us and Junior… won’t we?”

He paused for a moment, remembering Stephanie—the girl who couldn’t have children.

“…but I wish I knew what happened to Mark and Stephanie.”

“Maybe one day we’ll find out,” said Rachel quietly.

END OF PART I