Georgia on My Mind and Other Places (9 page)

He pressed a sequence of buttons along his belt.

There was a moment of total stillness, followed by an inhuman groan. It came from Valmar Krieg. He stood, unable to move. All the muscles of his body were contracting at once, tighter and tighter. Sinews and tendons snapped and popped, bones burst from their joints, arms and legs became shapeless bags of blood as veins and arteries ruptured. As he toppled forward the moan of expelled air from the tormented rictus of his mouth continued. But he was dead before his face smashed into the floor.

Gilden moved to stand by the body. “That’s one question answered. I wondered what you had in store for me. Sorry, Krieg. I have to say you deserved it.”

“You did that to him?” Derli Margrave had collapsed to her knees and was staring at Arrin Gilden’s impassive face and Valmar Krieg’s body with equal horror.

“I guess I did. He ought to have known better. Dammit, Derli, I’m a
voyeur
, and I’m the best there is. Krieg should have had more sense than to mess with me. Once you told me that coded sequences would activate implants in our skulls I had no choice. There’s easy access through the nose and mouth. I sent voyeurs in to discover and erase the sequence from my implant. Yours, too.”

“But what happened to Krieg?”

“I changed his coding to match the sequence that used to be in my implant.” Gilden gestured to the shapeless hulk at his feet. “That would have been me, Derli. That’s what he intended me to be. You, too, maybe.”

He went across and lifted her to a standing position. “We’re free now. Both of us. We can go where we like, do what we like.”

Her eyes were empty. He was not getting through to her.

“Derli!” He shook her. “Snap out of it. If you want to stay on Lucidar without getting arrested we’ll have to explain what happened to Krieg.” And, when that warning produced no effect, “What’s wrong with you? You were like this when we came in, before Krieg ever started in on you. What did you mean, we have everything wrong?”

The question broke her trance where shaking had failed. She began a shallow nod, almost fast enough to be a tremble.

“We did. We misunderstood everything. Now I know why the Sigil cut off contact with people here. I think I know why they left Lucidar—and if we send the right message, I think maybe they’ll come back. I have to reach Bravtz’ig.”

She started for the communication line, but Gilden stopped her.

“Bravtz’ig won’t talk to us. Better if we go over there.”

He led the way. Derli was talking nonstop behind him.

“I got off on the wrong foot during the very first meeting with Bravtz’ig. Sexual dimorphism, I said, to explain the size difference between the sexes. I also said that analogy with Earth forms could be misleading and dangerous, but I didn’t listen to my own warning. When the records came in from their ship I found myself having trouble whenever I looked at the big Sigil and the small Sigil. To me, they
both
resembled females. But they weren’t.”

“Of course they weren’t.” Gilden had to pause to take his bearings. He had never been to Bravtz’ig’s work area before in the dark. He turned slightly to the left and set off walking again. “We saw them mating.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“You may not have—but I did. Their coupling is on the data block I just gave you!”

“I know. But you didn’t see them mating. For one excellent reason:
the Sigil do not use sexual reproduction.
They are asexual animals. I suspect that they had never encountered sex in any form before they landed on Lucidar. That’s what terrified them when they began to learn our biology. Sexual reproduction is such a terrific way of performing genetic variations, anything without it seems at a terrific evolutionary disadvantage. They’re
scared
of our biology.”

Gilden had to stop, even though it was only another forty or fifty yards to Bravtz’ig’s office. “You don’t understand, Derli. I don’t know what was wrong with the data block that I gave you, but I
saw
them mating. In real time.”

“No, you didn’t. You just thought you did. There is a valid Earth analogy, but it’s not the one that we’ve both been using. Did you ever hear of a Sphex wasp?”

“What have wasps to do—”

“Everything to do with this. A Sphex wasp is one species of the order of parasitic wasps. Its larvae eat grasshoppers. But the larvae don’t catch them. The parent wasp does. She stings the grasshopper, enough to paralyze but not to kill. Then she lays her eggs inside it. They hatch and consume the host grasshopper from within. Some of the other parasitic wasps, ones that lay their eggs in caterpillars, are even trickier. The caterpillar is stung, but it doesn’t stay paralyzed. It recovers and goes on feeding. The wasp larva inside feeds on it, eating the caterpillar’s organs in ascending order of importance so that the host stays alive as long as possible.

“
That’s
the analogy for the Sigil. We are observing two different, asexual species. They look pretty much the same to us, but a grasshopper and a wasp probably look the same to aliens. The little one has evolved to prey on the larger—and carries it on long journeys, so that the smaller one’s young will have food. The yellow organ you saw isn’t for transfer of sperm. It’s a combined sting and ovipositor, to paralyze the big one and then lay eggs inside it.”

Gilden recalled the wriggling Sigil, suddenly becoming still as the tapered member pierced its body. “But the big one is
intelligent
. It must realize very well what’s being done to it.”

“It surely does. But we can’t begin to guess how it
feels
. Maybe it even believes itself privileged, to carry the offspring of a superior being. Like the old stories of mortals who bore the children of the gods.”

Any horror that Derli might feel was overwhelmed by professional satisfaction. She seemed to experience none of Gilden’s revulsion as she moved ahead, leading the way to Bravtz’ig’s offices. “But we can go into details on this later,” she said over her shoulder. “What we have to do right now is send a message after the Sigil ship, pointing out how asexual animals survive on Earth and Lucidar and compete very well with sexual forms. Of course, that message won’t be necessary if the Sigil has simply gone off for solitude during the larval growth period. That’s what lots of Earth creatures do. Then the ship may be back anyway in a month or two.”

Gilden trailed after her. He was not listening. To experience as the climax of life’s experience, not love but the exquisite pain of a wasp’s sting. To be protected and cherished not as a companion, but as a living larder. To be consumed slowly and agonizingly from within. And above all else, to
know
your fate and comprehend exactly what was being done to you.

Somehow, the old torments threatened by the Teller seemed feeble and halfhearted.

* * *

The Sigil ship had not returned three weeks later when Gilden appeared one evening in Derli’s living quarters. She was still hard at work. As Lucidar’s expert on both the psychology of the Mentor and the biology of the Sigil, her services were constantly in demand.

She nodded to him. “Dinner? Sit down, Arrin. Ten minutes more and I’ll stop.”

“You don’t need to stop.” Gilden did not sit down, but began to pace back and forward behind her. “I didn’t come to suggest dinner. I came to say I’m leaving.”

“You have to go to Montmorin again?” She was focused on the screen in front of her.

“No. I’m leaving Lucidar.”

“Didn’t I tell you? We don’t have to. Bravtz’ig says the Mentor daren’t try a military move, and Lucidar would never agree to our extradition. We’re quite safe here.”

“It’s not that. I came to say
goodbye
.”

She froze, still staring at the screen. “You mean—you’re leaving me?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you . . . cared for me.” She swung around. “No. I thought you
loved
me. That’s what you’ve been telling me for the past few weeks.”

“It was true. It
is
true.”

“I see.” Derli stared down, to her swelling belly. “I
see.
I’ve been a fool. I started a relationship with you when I had another man’s child growing inside me. That was crazy. You can’t put up with that, no man could.”

He said nothing, and at last she went on, “It’s the baby, isn’t it? You can’t stand the idea that I’m carrying Valmar Krieg’s baby. But it’s
my
baby, too. And you want me to get rid of it. You think, I could just go and have an abortion—”

“Stop it. Right there.” Gilden halted in front of her. “I could agree with you, tell you that it’s the baby. That’s an easy out. But it wouldn’t be true.”

“Then what is it?” Derli could not hide her misery and confusion. “I know I’ve not had enough time for you, I’ve been so busy the past couple of weeks.”

“It’s not that I’m feeling neglected, either. I’ve been busy, too. And it’s certainly not the baby. It’s
me
. You tell me I’m cured, that everything is fine now. That I’m sexually normal—”

“More than normal. You are a wonderful lover.”

“So you say. But Derli, inside my head I’m a
mess
. I dare not tell you what I think about when the two of us make love. I have to go away and try to sort myself out.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“I hope so.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Might you come back when the baby is born? I mean, you say it’s not the baby....”

“One more time:
it’s not the baby
.”

“Because I haven’t said anything to you, but I’ve been really worried. I came through a subspace trip when I was pregnant, which you’re not supposed to do. Then when we got here there were the changes of air and food and gravity, and no one seems to know what effect that might have. Maybe it’s going to be abnormal, maybe it will be deformed....” She paused. “I don’t see anything funny in this!”

Because Gilden was smiling. “Derli, you don’t give me credit for anything, do you? Not for caring about you, not for worrying about you, not for watching over you. Not even for competence in the one field where I’m supposed to be better than anyone in the Empyrium.”

He leaned forward and touched his fingertips to her abdomen. “Don’t worry about the baby. Take my word for it: she’s doing just fine.”

* * *

The bee’s kiss, now!

Kiss me as if you entered gay

My heart at some noonday,

A bud that dares not disallow

The claim, so all is rendered up,

And passively its shattered cup

Over your head to sleep I bow.

—Robert Browning, from “In a Gondola”

Afterword to “The Bee’s Kiss”

I usually tell people that I don’t write horror stories, but if this isn’t one then I don’t know what is. The horror for me lies not in the fiction, which is a homey tale of human obsession, domination, cruelty, torture, and death. No. The horror is all in the factual statements about parasitic wasps that occur late in the story.

I have seen the event for myself, and it’s much worse than I described. The biggest Sphex wasp (
Sphecius speciosus
, a monster up to two inches long) captures cicadas and takes them underground to feed its young. However, it is big and strong enough to grab its prey
in flight
. The cicadas make a loud squealing noise when they are caught, which they keep up until the wasp stings and paralyzes them. There is no way that they can know what is going to happen to them, but they certainly sound as though they do and the result is truly awful to hear.

If you see this happening and are tempted to interfere on behalf of the cicada I suggest that you think again. This species of wasp is said to have the most painful sting of any insect—and that refers to its effect on a human, a hundred pounds or more in weight. What it must feel like to a tiny cicada is beyond our power to imagine.

But I couldn’t help trying.

Millennium

Portents are tricky things. You have to know how to look for them.

I saw the last one as soon as I came out of my house after morning prayers. I went across to where my neighbor, Newberry, was digging his fool garden.

“See that?”

He peered in the wrong direction.

“Nope.”

“Not there.
There
. The sun—it has a ring around it. Take a look.”

“Without sunglasses? You crazy?” But he stared anyway, shielding his eyes with his hand. He shook his head. “Can’t see a thing. Should I?”

“You should. This is the last day of December, 1999. The last day of the last week of the last year before Judgment Day. Are you ready for
that
, Newberry?”

He didn’t answer. Just shook his head and went back to digging up parsnips, or whatever them white carrot things are. He was a gardening maniac.

At least his hobby was an innocent one. Newberry and I were bachelors, and he might go to Heaven. But the woman in the house the other side of his wouldn’t. She was married. Her husband worked weekends. There was a delivery truck in Maggie Milner’s drive, and no doubt what was being delivered. It was the same every Saturday. One more day, though, and Maggie would be roasting in Hell with a white-hot you-know-what.

Serve her right.

And
Joe Sotter on the other side of her. He was out in his yard, too, waiting for his dog to sniff its way all along the fence. Joe must have tipped the scale at over five-fifty. He had a triple-decker sandwich in one hand, his chins were covered with grease, and his jaws never stopped moving. It would take a year of rendering on Lucifer’s griddle just to bring him to normal size.

I went back indoors. The thing that I couldn’t understand was that last Sunday they’d all been in church—the same church as me. But not one of them seemed to realize that if they didn’t shape up quick, in another week the Millennium would arrive and it would be too late. Then they’d all be writhing and wriggling for eternity on the tines of the Devil’s Fork.

And serve them right. I went to my basement and set to work again. I was almost finished.

What I was doing was a bit different, but I’d checked and checked and it wasn’t forbidden by any Scripture. A man couldn’t
survive
Judgment Day, but there was nothing to say he couldn’t last just long enough to take a peek around after the final trump sounded. And Charbonneau, the little faggy Frenchman at the factory, swore that Neutrite, the material he had made in his lab, could stand
anything:
heat and pressures that were out of this world.