The Gentle Seduction (12 page)
The planetbreakers had blown the jammers to smithereens, Veddin realized. Then he noticed Autumn s song in his heart, so soft now, yet so unforgettable. He felt like rejoicing, until he felt the guts of his radiation-torn body coming up his throat, looking for someplace else to go. He remembered he was dying.
Then he was gone from there, no longer a part of his dying body. Now he was trapped in a multiple mind.
He was dimly aware that the Shaylohs were a part of that mind. "We are sorry," the mind said, "we would request your assistance, but there is no time, and we know you would volunteer, if time permitted," With that the mind swept, not merely around him, but
through
him. Everything he knew of space, of war, and of alien beings, was theirs. There followed a contemplation too brief and too intense for Veddin to understand. The mind opened a window on a brightly lit scene filled with warships. On board the ships were points of light; points that were somehow more like the mind himself than they were like the flares of the engines, and as he watched, those points of light dimmed and disappeared by the thousands. Other forces, yet again different in their appearance, grasped the ships and twisted them into the distance. The battle was over.
But the mind was growing; more and more Hydrans were finding themselves and joining the attack, With them they brought power, and hate. Soon the hate grew stronger than any of the other forces there, a lust for revenge that exploded as the members of that mind remembered and thought and searched, to see that other minds, the minds of friends and lovers, were missing, were gone forever. Wild with pain and hate, the mind shifted, passing thousands of stars to a planet covered with bright points like those once carried by the ships in the alien fleet. In a single shuddering pass through that planet, the mind snuffed out every last point of light.
The mind shifted again, to another system. Here there floated several planets covered with light. For a moment the mind paused. It considered which to destroy next.
Till now everything had moved too fast for Veddin to comprehend. But he understood the half-planned genocide that that mind would commit and, though Veddin too had reason to hate the Squishies, he was appalled at the totality of the coming annihilation. "Wait!" he cried into the agonized consciousness. "You can't just kill them all!"
The mind was well shielded. It fully expected some type of attack from the Squishies; it relished the thought of destroying the attackers. But the mind was not prepared for an attack from within. "You must stop!" Veddin cried with all his resolve and determination.
The mind stopped. And the people who composed that mind stopped, and thought, and saw what they had done, and were horrified.
The separate minds (for they were one no longer) turned to Veddin. "Thank you."
Veddin relaxed. The minds shifted away again, back to Hydra.
And Veddin found himself in a spacesuit filled with vomit and blood. His stomach still heaved to drive more forth. He had forgotten that he was dying.
Pain, blinding pain, fire screaming through every cubic centimeter of his soul. He tried to twist and turn, but couldn't even tell if he succeeded; he could feel nothing beyond the pain. He wondered if this was what it felt like to die of radiation. No, that couldn't be; he should already be dead. Could it be that the ancient religions had told the truth after all: Could this be Hell?
Somewhere amidst the pain there came a chuckle; certainly it was the Devil. "No," the voice said, regretting its earlier amusement. "Fear not. This is not Hell, and I am not the Devil, though I can surely understand why you might think that. Hold on to your sanity for just a few moments, and you'll be fine."
The pain subsided. A gentle rolling motion replaced the agony; he must be in a flotation tank. Ungluing his eyelids, Veddin looked up through the transparent case. A couple stood there holding hands, smiling at him. He rolled in the tank, reveling in his release from pain.
"We're sorry about the pain," the Couple told him, "but we haven't found a method to prevent it. It's a pretty wracking experience, for a human brain to have psikinetic Couples and receptor Couples stomp around, rebuilding each individual cell." The man shook his head. "It was pretty horrible for us, too."
"Sounds like it." Veddin marveled again at the powers these people had. He forced himself to remember their weaknesses as well.
He tensed as he felt the song in his heart growing stronger. "Autumn," he cried. "I have to get out!" As he beat against the tank lid, the Couple unlatched it. Veddin jumped out of the tank into the cool air, and became acutely aware of his nakedness.
The woman handed him a towel. The man turned to a closet and pulled out some clothes. "Autumn will be here in a few minutes," they thought soothingly, completely misunderstanding his panic. "We've found it unwise to let touched-ones be present during cell-rebuilding operations; often the pain damages them even more than it damages the person being worked on."
Veddin's thoughts were incoherent. Finally he considered his ship, and was horrified. "The
DareDrop
," he thought in anguish, "she's gone." He looked wildly at the Couple, his mind filled with need.
"We think they've rebuilt one of the alien vessels for you, a replacement for the
DareDrop
." They were puzzled by his interest. "It's not the same, but it should serve most of the functions. Frankly, it'll be more comfortable, if the images of the
DareDrop
in your mind are any indication." The Couple smiled. Veddin received from them an image of the hall outside. He saw himself walking down the hall to a door, through which the landing field could be seen. "It's just outside."
With a final tug at the sleeve of the ill-fitting shirt they'd given him, Veddin dashed from the room. "Thanks," he thought over his shoulder.
As he broke from the building, he could feel the gentle pressure from his embedded shiplink. He turned left as the
DareDrop
II told him which way to go. He ran with increasing terror. A different kind of shudder formed inside of him; Autumn knew something was wrong.
Suddenly he was fighting his way through molasses. He worked harder with each step he took. At last he could go no farther.
"Stop," a mind projected at him. He was trapped.
"Let me go," Veddin begged. Autumn's song was pure with love now, and it grew closer. He turned to see Autumn approach, concern on her face. She jogged toward him as she saw his agony. "No!" Veddin screamed in voice and thought.
Now Autumn slowed to a stop. Her muscles strained as Veddin's had. "What's wrong?" she asked. Her parents were coming up behind her; they too looked concerned.
"Don't touch me!" Veddin said.
Autumn choked. "Why?" her voice wavered.
"Surely you know why! Do you want to wind up like the rest of the creatures here?"
"Calm yourself," the Westfalls commanded, "Your thoughts are chaotic."
They were right. Veddin forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly. He had panicked back in the flotation tank, and the panic was irrational. Touching Autumn would not turn him into a vegetable. He remembered that Couple they had met near the spaceport, helping people get indoors. They had been together almost a year, and they had still been able to act in the crisis.
Perhaps he could Touch Autumn, to try to explain . . .
No, he couldn't. Emotionally, he
wanted
to Touch her, to become a Couple with her. She could fulfill needs that he'd never admitted needed fulfilling. If he Touched her, he would never let go. Better not to even try.
Why did he have to love the woman whose touch would leave him crippled?
"What a foolish thought," Tarn and Tara Westfall interjected. "Our reliance on psi is no more crippling than your reliance on electroptics, Kaylanxian. What if Kaylanx's central power generators disintegrated? We, the psis, would have to save you, as you saved us. The difference is minimal."
"No!" It wasn't the same, but it took Veddin a moment to put it into an organized thought. "There is a difference. If Kaylanx lost her generators, I'll grant that she would probably die. But I would have
tried
to save her." They had freed his arms; he swept them over all Hydra. "
You didnt even try!
"
The Westfalls withdrew in embarrassment for a moment; another Couple, the pair who controlled Veddin's bonds, came in. "That is not an indictment against us either, Veddin Zhukpokrovsk. That is a tribute to you as an individual. Do you really believe all Kaylanxians share your will to succeed? How many of
them
would work with you if the lights went out on Kaylanx? How many would stare in horror and amazement, waiting for salvation, as we did?"
Veddin had no answer.
The Westfalls returned. "We're all a bit overwrought from the past two days' nightmare. It's difficult to discuss this unemotionally. Wouldn't it be better to postpone decisions for a few days, to let the light of objectivity begin to return?"
If he stayed long enough, Veddin knew he would lose. Touching Autumn would be so
easy
.
Pity flowed from the Westfalls. "How deep your conflict runs, Veddin Zhukpokrovsk. One part of you feels you must stay, and another part thinks you must leave." They paused. "Stay, Veddin. The emptiness that holds you is ancient, born in Man's beginning, before Nature stole from us the right to Touch. Few men ever get the chance to share the joy once meant for us. You would search forever for the answers you can find here with ease. Without Autumn you will never be free."
"And with her, I will never be free." Veddin turned away, not even noticing that the molasses that bound him was gone.
"Don't go!" Autumn begged. "Come with me. Please. See Hydra through my eyes. It's beautiful here." She stretched her arms toward him. "I love you."
"And I love you." He shook his head. "But there
must
be another answer, a better answer. Don't you see—it's us, the isolates, that makes Couples strong! To forego our isolation is to make us just like the Squishies. Is that a worthy goal? The children who grow up here, Coupled from birth, are they lucky never to know what it's like to be men? The answers that Hydra offers are no better than the isolation most humans suffer."
There was the mental equivalent of a polite cough in Veddin's mind, and the Couple that had bound him spoke. With a start, Veddin recognized them: they were the Shaylohs. "We don't pretend to have any answers," they began, "but we do have an alternative for you to consider."
Everyone was alert to the new thought. "Yes?"
"We have studied the psi-resonance jamming technology in depth since the battle. We could give Veddin a small implant that would locally jam psi-resonances. That way, he could touch Autumn, without Touching."
"Ingenious!" the Westfalls thought.
"Marvelous!" Veddin replied.
"Not on your life!" Autumn shrieked.
The Shaylohs focussed their attention on Autumn. "Would you rather lose him completely? We will design the device so that, if you ever succeed in convincing your touched-one that it is unnecessary, he may deactivate it."
A long moment passed while Autumn considered the compromise. "All right," she muttered.
A twinge of pressure formed under Veddin's left temple, then disappeared. Autumn broke free of the restraining psiforces and ran into his arms. Again Veddin felt the dim echo of a true Touch. It would be so easy to complete the sensation . . . yet, he believed, it would be so wrong. There must be more to mankind's destiny than just being like the others. He was convinced of that, though he couldn't say why.
He heard Tarn Westfall's hoarse voice—apparently the jammer blocked mental transmissions as well. "Good luck to both of you. Veddin, may your compromise bear new and interesting fruit." Tarn looked at Autumn and almost laughed out loud. "And you, my daughter, may you be successful in ending the compromise to your advantage." Now he did laugh. "I don't know which one of you to bet on. "
Veddin hugged Autumn. She responded in kind. He whispered, "Do you have anything you want to take with you? We're leaving for Kaylanx, you know, at least for a short time. I can't stay here, not now. The next destination after Kaylanx, I leave to you."
She shook her head. "I suspect the Shaylohs have already put my things on your ship. That's just the sort of thing they'd do."
"Very well. We'll go see."
They turned toward the waiting starship. Hand in hand they went, still alone, but now at least together.
Petals Of Rose
Stan Schmidt observes that the best science fiction often arises from attempts to answer really hard questions—questions so hard that most people would not even try to answer them. Petals was one of my first, and deepest, encounters with a problem of seemingly insurmountable difficulty.
Suppose the mayfly, which only lives 24 hours, were intelligent. Could such a short life have meaning? Could beings in such a straitened circumstance build a civilization? And could humans work with such beings despite the terrible distance in understanding that must necessarily separate us?
The answers to all these questions is yes. Ahh, but at what cost?
Petals Of Rose
Look to the Rose that blows about us—"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "Into the World I blow,
At once the Silken Petals of my Being
Tear, and my Treasure to the Great Winds throw."
—Rosan translation of the Lazarine translation of the English translation of the Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam
Sorrel Everwood felt his ears slowly being amputated; he reached up to adjust the damn strap on his infrared goggles a tenth time. While he was there, he adjusted the coloration control as well.
At last the Rosan he faced looked like the Rosans in xenoanthropological films. Hundreds of delicate cooling fins, the Rosan equivalent of scales or feathers, covered his body. He seemed to be wearing flower petals, petals of deep red laced with a fine network of pink veins. His wide, gentle eyes were violet with flecks of gold. The gold in his eyes matched the gold in his medallion, the medallion of the ruling Bloodbond.
Some of his petals were curled, and turned green toward the edges.
Or Sae Hi Tor must be old for a Rosan
, Sorrell decided before concentrating again on the Bloodbond's words.
"I assure you we'll give you all the help, the highest priorities, available." Or Sae spoke slowly in logitalk for the humans. "Obviously we stand to gain even more from a translight communicator than you do. And I hope that—"
Or Sae rose suddenly from his chair, heading for the exit passage. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "May you die by a . . . rising . . ." He crumpled to the floor.
Sorrel was already moving toward Or Sae. Wandra screamed. The screaming made Sorrel turn, and as he turned he realized what was happening. Thus, when he turned back to Or Sae, he was not surprised to see a pool of green brainblood seeping from Or Sae's head, solidifying into jelly. Nor was he surprised when a sweet, gentle scent, disturbingly like honeysuckle, filled the air.
Sorrel hadn't known he still had it in him to hate; he had been so long so tired and so resigned. But sitting there with the Lazarine, the hate came back to him, along with fear and defiance. "Why me?" he asked harshly, or at least as harshly as he could manage with the fear in his throat.
Balcyrak Kretkyen Niopay blinked slowly. "Because you are the most qualified being in the universe. Isn't that obvious?"
Sorrel said nothing; yes, in some ways it was obvious.
The Lazarine laughed—a resounding sound, which faded slowly. "I'm sorry—I know that for you it's not a laughing matter." A robutler entered; Balcyrak pointed to the serving tray. Refreshment?"
"Thanks." Sorrel took the warmed liquor glass, containing . . . well, he wasn't sure what it contained, but it was probably costly, certainly good, and hopefully soothing to a dry throat. As he sipped, Balcyrak changed the subject.
"We know how much you hate us."
Sorrel coughed, inhaled sharply.
"And also why. I am sorry about your wife. We are sorry for all who die too soon, regardless of how many Lazarines those sentients may have killed, regardless of how involved we may have been in killing them in return."
Sorrel's wife had been an officer on board a human flagship when Man chose to fight Lazaran, before Man overcame his brooding jealousy. So long ago . . .
"But the work is, in our opinion, too important for historical phenomena, however recent, to interfere. You are the galaxy's foremost authority on Rosans, knowing them even better than they know themselves—in fact, you are the only sentient ever to have transformed an alien culture without force of weapons. That is quite an achievement; it may be said that you are the only successful xenopsychologist ever born."
"Without force of weapons?" Sorrel felt fiery horror. "Millions of Rosans died in the revolution."
Balcyrak waved it away. "But they were killed by other Rosans, the Rosans who could understand the superior regenerative society you offered them. Have you ever read Darwin?"
Sorrel snorted. "I don't have time for reading ancient history."
"Of course; I am sorry to mention it. No matter. The deaths were just a manifestation of the fittest surviving. Because the six-parent religion was superior, it destroyed the four-parent religion. After all, the superiority of six-parenthood inspired you to write your dissertation in the first place. The people of Khayyam are lucky that Prim Sol Mem Brite read it."
"Yeah. But not so lucky he killed so many of his own people because of it," Sorrel frowned. He wanted to argue, but this was neither the time nor the place. "Look. Why don't you go to Khayyam yourself? Why do you need a human as your local overlord?"
The Lazarine frilled his mane in distress. "You will not be an overlord; you will be an associate. Humans are the only beings who can be effective as interfaces between the ideas that originate here and the applied engineering that will originate there. We cannot do it ourselves. It is too . . . painful. For them as well as us." He paused, watching Sorrel, speaking softly. "You've never been to Khayyam, have you?"
Sorrel shook his head. It was an intolerable irony that he should never have visited the planet of the people whose lives he had transformed. He had never met a Rosan in his entire life; he had merely written a dissertation about them, in school
y
shortly after his wife's death.
And with the dissertation he had caused so many new deaths.
Balcyrak interrupted his thoughts. "Fear not, Man Everwood. You will understand why we can't go ourselves after you've been there a while. After you've become like a Lazarine unto them."
"What?!" Sorrel wrenched forward in his chair.
The Lazarine smiled; he seemed languid, almost uncaring, but then all Lazarine activity seemed languid by human standards. "When you are Lazarine-like, you will understand."
Sorrel realized that Balcyrak was assuming he would take the job, assuming that he would go to Khayyam as Balcyrak's proxy. Even more infuriating, Sorrel realized that Balcyrak was right.
"You'll see" the Lazarine promised.
Wandra took a large gulp from the glass Sorrel had given her; she was still shaken from the death of the Bloodbond. The three humans were back on the ship, though they hadn't yet taken off their coolsuits. The coolsuits made them look like pale, ragged Rosans, as far as Sorrel could tell.
Wandra spoke. "I just don't believe it. I know, I know; everything I had read about the Rosans before coming here warned me about their deaths, and I should've realized that it'd be a casual occurrence." She took another gulp. "But dammit, I still don't believe it. How could somebody be that way?"
"It's simple enough," Cal started with his cool, sarcastic voice. "You'd be that way too if you only had thirty-six hours to live. You don't have time to pay too much attention to somebody else dying."
Sorrel sighed. Cal was going to be a problem; already he was building a shield of cynicism to insulate himself from the wounds this planet could leave. But then, Wandra's hysteria boded ill as well. "It's not quite that simple, Cal. Though the adult phase of the Rosan life cycle lasts only thirty-six hours, they pack a lot more life into those thirty-six hours than most humans pack into a hundred years. The main reason death isn't a cause for grief is that it's so necessary for the children; a Rosan can't, after all, have children in our sense of the word unless his brainblood is preserved for the larval bloodfeast." Sorrel shrugged. "For that matter, the bloodfeast confers a bit of immortality to every Rosan; the bloodchild starts adult life with many of the memories of the bloodparents, and much of the knowledge of the brainparents."
Cal snorted. "Yeah. Immortality. The kids remember everything. Only problem is, you're still dead. Hell, you might as well write a book—that's about as immortal as a Rosan can get."
"And that's probably a lot more immortal than any of us will get," Sorrel said, and immediately regretted its saying; Sorrel, after all, already had that kind of immortality.
Cal stalked from the cabin.
Sorrel watched Wandra pace across the deck, watched her wring her hands in agony. "Yes, Wandra, what do you want to tell me about Cal?" he asked at last.
Wandra paused in mid-stride. "I, uh . . ."
Sorrel nodded his head. "I'm supposed to say that since I'm a psychologist I analyzed you and already know what you want to say. Unfortunately, it would hardly take a psychologist to see that you're disturbed— more disturbed now than you were before Cal left."
She sighed, sat back down. "I suppose you're right. Look, Dr. Everwood—"
"Sorrel," he said, "My name is Sorrel."
"Right. Sorry. Do you know how Cal happened to become a part of this expedition?"
"Not really. I confess I've wondered about it. He doesn't seem like the type to volunteer for a job like this."
"He didn't—not exactly, anyway. He's a flunk. Blew his postdoc thesis at U. of New Terra. Since he couldn't make it as a theoretician, they consigned him to engineering. Apparently that's a big loss of prestige where he comes from."
Sorrel nodded. "Yes, on Narchia it would be. So he came out here to get as far as possible from the embarrassment."
"Yeah."
Sorrel shrugged. "Well, at least he should be successful at getting far enough away. Lord knows, there's nobody here to bother him." Except for Sorrel himself, he realized; his "success" would be a continual insult to Cal. He looked at Wandra; she looked back, knowing his thoughts as he had just known hers. "So who's the psychologist now?" he murmured.
She laughed, the first time since planetfall.
Sorrel stood up. "Let's go back and meet the new Bloodbond. He should be settled in by now; we have lots of business to discuss."
The office had changed little; the Bloodkeepers had taken the remains of Or Sae Hi Tor to the larval gateway, so the next returning larva could take him in bloodfeast. The stacks of papers in the out-slot of the desk seemed larger; those in the in-slot seemed smaller. Tri Bel Heer Te was a member of the current dayspinner ruling bloodline. They directed the MoonBender cavern works during the thirty-six-hour daylight half of Khayyam's cycle, as Or Sae's bloodline ruled during the nightspin half of the planet's revolution.
Tri Bel rose to greet him with a touching of petals along the forearm. The gold, silver, and green medallion of the Bloodbond glinted with splendor. "My children will remember this meeting forever," she said, giving the traditional greeting. With Sorrel, the greeting might well be true; Tri Bel looked upon Sorrel in raptured awe. Her wide, bright, Rosan eyes were wider than usual, and Sorrel had the uncomfortable feeling that this was how she might look upon a god.
"We will remember you in our books," Sorrel said, using the closest human counterpart of a racial memory. "And even the Lazarines shall sing our songs, should we of Earth and you of Khayyam succeed in our plans."
The awe surrendered to the press of business in just a few seconds—still a long time in Rosan terms. "I wouldn't be surprised. Let's talk," Tri Bel said. The Rosan gestured for Sorrel to take the resting incline at the head of the conference table; Sorrel uncomfortably sidled to one of the others. He wasn't a god, dammit! Why did they have to treat him like one?
Sorrel spoke, as fast as he could, in Ancient Rosan (Ancient Rosan being several years, or hundreds of generations, old); he didn't want to waste any more of Tri Bel's time than necessary. "Do you know what we were discussing with your predecessor?"
"No, I haven't had time to read his lifescription yet."
"The significant information we bring is this," Sorrel ticked off. "The Lazarines have developed a universe- gestalt incorporating methods of faster-than-light communication, methods much faster than sending messages on starships. Cal Minov and Wandra Furenz, the other two humans with me, have translated the Lazarine gestalt into a practical theory. Now all we need is a massive engineering effort, to find a workable implementation of the theories. The Rosans, of course, are the fastest, most efficient engineers in the universe, and the project is so large it'd take any other beings decades of effort. Here on Khayyam we hope to cut that time to less than a hundred generations." Sorrel scratched on his goggles. "When we're done, your descendants will be able to talk to beings on other worlds and receive answers within their own lifetimes."
The Rosan should have been bored with this slow aimless speech—but because this was Sorrel Everwood, the One Parent of the Faith of Six Parents, she was not. Besides, the merits in FTL communication were truly awesome. The merits were especially great for the Rosans, who were isolated on Khayyam by lifespan as well as by distance. Tri Bel's tragic smile seemed a bit human, yet a bit elfin as well. "Man Everwood, again you bring us salvation. How can we repay such a debt?" She shook her head. "Have you spoken with our scientists and engineers? Have they seen the plans?"
"No, we've been waiting for a Bloodbond's authorization."
"You've waited hours, just for a Bloodbond?" Tri Bel's eyes filled with puzzlement, then cleared. "We must arrange for the work to begin. Send Man Minov and Man Furenz to the Bel Dom laboratories at once." She shook herself. "I can't believe you waited hours for authorization!" She moved to her desk. "Your project has Priority 1A, the pick of the engineering pool and all material resources, as well as the right of bloodfeast selections, with higher bloodfeast priority only for Executive Bonds. Further, your techs have fully expanded egg-laying rights. The orders shall be ready within the hour."
Sorrel's head spun; the FTLcom was being backed with resources far beyond his wildest expectations. Bloodfeast selection would permit them to mix and match the brainbloods of the best FTLcom workers in each generation, to selectively shape the chemogenetic skills and blood memories of the next generation even further. And fully expanded egg-laying rights would make positions in the project extremely valuable, since FTLcom workers would be permitted to have more than two replacement eggs, as well as multiple brainchildren and bloodchildren. "Thank you," he said to the Rosan, who was already speaking into the room's transceivers. He listened for a moment, but couldn't understand a word; both because it was modern Rosan, and because Tri Bel spoke impossibly fast. Sorrel left immediately; though Tri Bel never would have dismissed him, Sorrel knew she couldn't work effectively with a god in the room.