by Anthology
13. The Lower Half of Hir Face
After enough nothing Ch’en-Gordon began to achieve a fullness of aware. Not any longer a pink vermiform sea-dwelling post-hominoid monstrosity, not merely a S’tscha. And not, oh absolutely not a man.
Something new.
Ch’en-Gordon could feel the clamminess and slight pressure of unpacked shallow soil, the press of other abandoned R troopers around hir torso and limbs. Se tried to open hir eyes, found them held shut by hir own arm, flung across them, perhaps reflexively, before the dirt had begun to fall.
With an effort se was able to raise hir arm sufficiently from hir eyes to open them, but was met only with utter blackness. Se strained upward with both arms, then with hir knees. Se was able to move hir four macrolimbs sufficiently to clear a small space above most of hirself, and thereafter to move hir macrolimbs at will, although for a short distance only, before encountering the dirt above.
Hir breathing was difficult but not dangerously so. Se was clearly close enough to the surface that sufficient air penetrated the loose dirt to permit breathing.
Straining once more to obtain additional free space around hir hands, se clutched the hand of another immobile R trooper, felt it respond to hir touch with a desperate grasping, tugging of its own. Ch’en-Gordon ceased hir pulling but continued to hold the hand. As if assured that se was not to be abandoned by hir new discoverer, the R trooper also abandoned hir frantic activity, but continued to grasp Ch’en-Gordon hir hand.
Ch’en-Gordon took as deep a breath as se could, then began to work hir way upward through the soft and crumbling soil. To do so se released hir grip on the hand of the other R trooper, who seemingly understood Ch’en-Gordon hir purpose. Almost immediately Ch’en-Gordon could hear the other struggling, digging along with hir.
Se used hir macroknees, pounding them again and again upward into the loose dirt, striving not merely to pack it tighter above hir and gain a little more room, but to lift it, to raise the dirt above hir, eventually to break through the surface to the free air above. Hir hands too, aided vastly by the strangely unfamiliar fingers of the macroappendages, relying on the Gordon portion of hir personality for the right neural connections and commands.
Dirt jammed beneath hir fingernails, entered and pained hir external eyes until se was forced to hold them squeezed closed against the crumbs and grains; when se gasped for air it filled hir mouth and se struggled with hir only Gordon-familiar tongue to push the dirt back out, shoving with hir tongue, blowing and spitting before most of the dirt was cleared, forming a gritty mud that plastered the lower half of hir face and neck.
Straining upward, clawing through the cold dirt, grunting and heaving with effort se managed finally to thrust one dirt-crusted hand out of the all-grasping soil. Se braced hir weight on hir other elbow, gathering hir strength for another thrust that might bring hir arm and shoulder above the ground. Instead se felt hir hand grasped, felt a powerful pull. Se pushed upward with all hir remaining strength, aiding hir unknown rescuer, felt hirself rising, the flesh all but torn from the bones of hir macrobody, then with an intensely painful wrench felt hirself rise from the mass grave of the R troopers.
Se stood in the cool night air of La Gonave, swaying slightly. The field in which se had lain was lighted to nearly daylight intensity by the brilliant glow of N’Haiti, hanging monstrously huge in the dark sky, its heavy mass threatening as if at any moment it would fall to the ground of its own moon, obliterating all that existed there, perhaps disintegrating the body of the satellite itself.
Ch’en-Gordon was shaken by the grasp of another R trooper. Hir gaze dropped to be met by that of hir fellow, who moved hir head sideways, gesturing forbiddingly at the bloated globe in the sky. Ch’en-Gordon moved hir head also, as if to give assent. The other R trooper removed hir hands from Ch’en-Gordon hir shoulders. Se pointed at the tumbled earth which rustled and heaved as hands, feet, faces, brown, black, white, poked upward.
They returned to the nearest furrow, together seizing a death-white foot that protruded from the mass grave, pulled at it until a complete patch-work corpse was exposed. They dropped the leg and the body rose, slowly and painfully, from the soil. The new figure gazed about as in wonderment, then stood staring skyward as hir eyes were captured by the giant bulk of the planet. Again the charade of shaking and gesturing was performed, and the three R troopers set about freeing comrades from their mutual tomb, their graveclothes R trooper uniforms, new but covered with the soil of La Gonave.
Those corpses which failed to move of their own power, they left.
Ch’en-Gordon looked around, seeking the faces of the patchwork troopers around hir. At last se advanced to another, one whose body was huge, a uniform, glistening, muscled black. Hir face was a mottle, the eyes a glazed blue, the hair a lank, straggling yellow, the skin a sickly white except for a masklike swath of black taking in what was left of the nose, the lower cheeks, mouth and jaw.
Ch’en-Gordon tried to speak. Se moved hir mouth, hir throat trembled, se heard hirself produce a gravelly moan.
The other R trooper made the same attempt, achieved no more success.
All around hir Ch’en-Gordon saw R troopers attempting to speak but succeeding only in uttering painful inarticulations.
Ch’en-Gordon stood with macroarms hanging at hir sides. The dual nervous system, interconnected by spiremal filaments penetrating the medulla oblongata of the larger brain, their almost monomolecular acid-chains stretching throughout the nervous system of the patchwork corpse, strained to devise some way of communicating with the other R troopers.
At last Ch’en-Gordon advanced to hir mottled fellow. Se opened hir mouth, gestured the other to do likewise. Se stepped forward, grasped the other with hir palms on the cheeks of the other, tilted hir head to the side using Gordon-synapses to control the movement, and clasped hir mouth onto that of the other.
Se thrust hir tongue into the mouth of the other, feeling the cold moisture therein. Within Ch’en-Gordon’s tongue the millions of spiremal threads writhed, snakelike; like feeding medusae they plunged into the icy tongue of the other R trooper, growing micro-inches downward into the wet flesh, contacting spiremal nerve filaments, exchanging data, telling, learning, planning, feeling the cold breath of the two as it rasped from throat to throat.
At last se felt that se had learned and told enough. The filaments detumesced. Se drew hir mouth from that of the other R trooper, turned and shambled across the field to find others with whom to share the plan. By the time N’Haiti had passed its zenith, decades of R troopers had received the plan.
By the time N’Haiti had reached a point halfway down the sky toward the horizon of La Gonave, the R troopers were moving on the Jacmel tarmac.
By the time the Jacmel tarmac was fully alight, the brilliance of true daylight replacing the murky glare of N’Haiti, the R troop landing ship Lumumba had left behind a seared and scarred concavity.
By the time N’Haiti again glared down on Jacmel, the gigantic fleet of Grand Admiral Gouede Mazacca had been augmented by the addition of the R troop landing ship Lumumba and her cargo of patchwork corpses.
* * *
In the sky of the Independent Planet of New Alabama the R troop landing ship Lumumba took position in a N’Haitian picket line. In stationary orbit Lumumba effectively hovered, day and night, the glare of NGC 7007 alternately appearing and disappearing from behind the red dirtball constantly below. On board, R troopers alternately watched watches and slumbered, nourished by minute quantities of hyperconcentrated food modules.
Ch’en-Gordon during one watch opened hir mouth to another R trooper, then a third, a fourth.
Hours later a glittering dart dropped from formation in the black sky over N’Alabama. Lower and lower its orbit dropped, the planetscape below slowly beginning to move forward as it rose and grew toward the Lumumba. At an appropriate height above ground the Lumumba‘s propulsors spurted briefly; her descent leveled off. An orifice appeared in her hull an
d the familiar extensile cable, smooth, rounded and gray, dropped toward the surface of the planet.
At a selected point an R trooper hooked onto the cable, slid downward, halted momentarily just above the surface of N’Ala, then dropped silently into a nighted field.
The Lumumba continued across the planet, R troopers checking invasion maps against familiar landmarks, returning, returning to familiar farms, to villages and cities in every semi-autonomous megacounty on the planet, to Abbeville and Albertville, Boaz and Bay Minette, to Citronelle, Carbon Hill, Dixiana, Eufaula, Goodwater, Huntsville, Jasper and Lips-comb and Letohatchie.
Ch’en-Gordon climbed down the cable at Letohatchie.
The first N’Alabamian Ch’en-Gordon approached looked once, double took, exclaimed—What the shee-it!—and drew a revolver. Ch’en-Gordon, hir reflexes slowed by the double consciousness of S’tscha and Man, was taken. Halfway to town, se found hirself riding the rest of the way in a whining patrol gyrocar. In the Letohatchie town jail se gazed out a barred window into a dusty square, contemplating something that might not have been a multiple-slot bicycle rack.
Interrogations produced no answers.
Se was locked up for the night, fed a bowl of slop and guarded by a deputy who slept in a chair at the end of the sparsely populated cell block. Hours later Ch’en-Gordon lay on hir cell floor, face to the bars, mouth open, tongue lolling on the cement floor. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, filaments grew, spiremes were thrust through the surface of hir tongue.
The sleeping guard snuffled in his sleep; his jaw dropped onto his chest as he began softly to snore.
Ch’en-Gordon hir spiremes lengthened. Se did not smile, but hir spiremes lengthened.
Before the guard wakened he betrayed his trust. Then he did not waken after all.
Ch’en-Gordon stepped past the dead guard, let hirself quietly out of the Letohatchie town jail, walked unhurriedly past the perhaps bicycle rack, making quietly for the less lighted and less frequented portion of Letohatchie familiar to the Gordon portion of hir personality.
Over the weeks that followed se lived unobtrusively in shadows, sleeping days in abandoned shacks, prowling nights in ill-lit alleys, preying on occasional stray citizens. From sleeping derelicts se learned, via filaments provided by hir Ch’en component, of the progress of N’Haiti’s siege of N’Alabama. The Gordon component of hir duality was not pleased by what se learned.
Still, the Ch’en component remained aloof, unmotivated, devoted only to life and to experience, striving only at the command of some unobliterated instinct, to survive.
And Ch’en-Gordon hir N’Haitian conditioning settling over the two components, the S’tscha and the human, the spell of the vodu, the influences of the Goncourt treatments, the blended ancient memories of sparkling blue-green seas and red rut roads, nourishingly pervasive warm salinities and spacerine training, blended to produce a creature whose craft assured that survival, at least for the time being.
14. His Sweetheart’s Loving Arms
Freddie checked his plaingrays, okays, some days anyways, brass buttons plain too (no star zm braz) buddy had his bentfin boomer on, polished up, proud of that, still a sign of exclusive prestige, helped a bit clearing dinner dishes, gave his roommate a farewell hug na little peck on full soft lips, a nice cheery friendly helpmeet, slightly chubby m perspirey blond Bayou La Batre boy, turned m got a nice cheery friendly little goose in response m started for work.
He closed the door behind him, gave it a quick locking, heard dear roomie do same inside, plus a slide bar latch, m started downstairs. Outside thugly wooden pile Freddie tooka looka either side tillie spied all clear (no fear), no gangies tubie scene. Offie stepped along the cracked m pitted sidewalk, lookina round, no gangies found, notta sound, flishing his hand-cranked flishlite. (Few anteek lampposts still standing, but who remembered what they were once for? Fyadone like dark carry a flishlight, bebay.)
Past pinkred B A R past Pigpeg’s Pusspar (John Darn all garn) past EATS. Weapons shop close to stock-out, got only stickers left m boppers. Any what zaps, baps or whaps sold out just about. Self-wash surfery. Ononon. Military supplies gotta lotta craponie.
Letohatchie Noozan Sundries still there selling plenty boyboy books, prixpix, nookies bookies. Nooz? Fews. Not so big now, lookin like mimeo work: NIGRA GO HOME PAPADOCS GET OUT R SKY PISSFIRE WHERE R U NOW?
Y Bi Noozes? Headlines allasame allagame allasize allalize. Stick stick stick. So: Why nigra picket fleet up there constantly? How cum spacerines demobed? Wassamatta Pissfire Pallbox, wassamatta Yancey Moorman, wassamatta Eugene Youngerman, things ben going from worse to worst laylyn Leto.
—Yech!—sayn Freddie napproachesiz place of employment.
Up the old ricketycricketys, through the old wooden with the cracked m taped stapaglass, into the back room m—Ello emcee.—Ello Freddie.—Ello emem.—Ello Freddie.—Ello boyzm band.—Ello Freddie.—m outen plaingrays m into costume m drinkadrink (not such great stuff these days but who was any more?) m peek out at the floorn see cussomers coming in now mostly chubby blond boys (no ladies visible but who could notarize that?) m soon very soon to work.
=”=” SHOW TIME! =”=”
After, out back door (avoid hostility, plate safe, mister emcee’s disclaimer should work but who can be certain?) m stroll a bit (dangerous that but wudda hake, a man (mmm) garra live). Past PPPP couple times, tempin, tempin, but who got the price m besides, is that nice? Thinka sweet chubby little tubby from Bayou La Batre waiting at home, all snug in bed m waggin that head waiting for Freddie.
He takes a couple looks at the old pickets up there, first making a big circle with his eyes (many a fellerz fallen prey to desperadoes while gaping at the skies with his eyes) m then looking at them shipfeeding papadocs if looks could kill beggars would be risers you new.—Yech!—he sayn m goes tizzome.
A little fun there okay but shortish before sunrise poor old Bayou La Batre boy he’s awakened by Freddie yobbeling iniz sleep. Freddie he yobbels for somebody, some old gyrene buddiepal Bayou La Batre boy don’t catch no name m a little snubbelin m bubbelin m more yobbels from Freddie for this time Gordon somebody m poor Bayou La Batre boy he gets jealous. Freddie wakens up alone in bed, puzzled. That’s a mought distressing.
And the morning and the evening were the (so who’s counting?) day.
Freddie he worked nightly, wept slightly, kept sprightly up with B La B boy, bebay, so don’t you surlymouth him, leesee stayed outen Pigpeg’s (beside he couldn’t afford it).
* * *
Manother night Freddie gets to work late. Late? Wait! Almost not at all. Crowds in Mane Street! Rumors! Shouts m fistfights! Summony crashes by accident (mmm?) threwa store front. Sullenly everybody—spoosh!—into the store, onto the floor, back out the door m everybody got a new pair shoes, blue jeans, sweatshirts, wotnot.
Look! Uppina sky! Issa turd! Issa crane! Iss nigraships!
They been there too long. Nobody gets onta N’Alabama, nobody gets offa N’Alabama. Nigra pickets. Protest, protest! To (let us be correct, m?) whom? N’Ala’s allies don’t want to get involved. Hey gang, we all faw you! Zokkituum & Rossaruck! But we stain clean!
Rumors, rumors, yoladywarez bloomers! Where’s old Pissfire Pallbox these days, where’s old Yancey Moorman? Finally somebody pops outen City Hall wiffa nounce meant. It’s, now this is serious, bebay, Leto’s own beloved mayor, the white honorable Milburn Mitchum. Zez:
—Sizzens, sizzens, gotta make a big announcement. Word comen from N’Mongummy just now, just now. Old Gene Youngerman—Mayor Mitchum he turned his head m spat in the red dirt—been thrown out m placed under arrest for badfeasance m treason. Gomma be on trile right away. Meanwhile we gotta temporary provisional interim acting transitional gumt. Old Admiral Moorman, hez temporary provisional and et cetera governor of the independent planet of New Alabama. Old General Pallbox, hez tempo cetera principal executive.
—Troops comen from old Fort Sealy Mae to help us keep order. Ah asken all sizzens telp,
keep calm, maintain law norder. Now remember we got a primary election coming up in a few months so you all just remember who saw you through these trying days. Ah thank you.—
And he bowed, arms spread, yellow hair flopping over sweat-sticky forehead, and he turned around m went back into City Hall. (Near the old wormy moray eel.)
Crack your back, mac, who wouldn’t be late for work! They lucky anybody even showed up to work, but customers were plentiful you can be certain, those Letohatchie sizzens weren’t sure what was coming but they weren’t going to let this night get past without a little fun just in case there wasn’t any left to have later on.
Freddie, he was lucky to get out alive that night, so home to old tubby yellow-hair from Bayou La Batre m Freddie cried himself to sleep in his sweetheart’s loving arms. (Look, bebay, you don’t like that stuff, you go do it with an alligator or somebody, just make sure she’s a lady, and Freddie m his pal, just leave them in the privacy of their bed.)
* * *
—Think we otter ask for terms?—
—What, knuckle under to the papadocs?—
—Ida lykit but face facts.—
—Trust Yancey.—
—It only gets worse. Gangs m riots, nota nuffood.—
—Pissfirell do summon.—
—What so far?—
—Welleez . . . —
—Tooken a whompin. Spacefleet’s shot. Lost all them men.—
—Hey, you a . . . —
—Realist.—
—. . .nigrasucker!—
—Face facts!—
—Traitor!!—
—Face facts!—
—Lynchiz ass!!!—
—Face facts!—
—Get a rope!!!!—
—Face facts!—
—Over that, uh, wuchacallet, um, lamppost!—
—Face facts!—
—Uppy goes!—
—Fae urk!—
—Nigrasucker!—
——