by Sean O'Brien
But Vogel had spoken of stories, too. “What stories do you mean?”
Vogel began swimming in slow circles around her. “My father-by-action told me stories of his own youth. He told me that when he was a young [untranslatable utterance] himself, he swam towards the Above Place. Much farther than any other vix had ever done. He says he left the world for an instant.
Sirra glanced at her translator display. The last sentence had translated directly, according to her computer. More importantly, her own intuitive sense told her Vogel was speaking literally. She could make certain of her translation, if he let her.
“Vogel, may I touch you while you tell me the story?”
The vix stopped circling, his tentacles fluttering smoothly to check his movement. He hovered there before Sirra for a moment before answering. “You wish to touch me after what we have done to you?”
Sirra started to tap out an answer, started to tell him that she did not hold him responsible for what he had done, started to tell him she did not even understand what had happened a few hours ago, but stopped herself. If he was right about the Crusaders, she might not have long alone with him. “Yes. I must. Please.”
Vogel moved cautiously towards her. “Will I be…Lifted?”
It was the first time she had heard that phrase. Her translator was little help, even with Fozzoli’s additions—it blinked the question symbol to indicate Vogel’s utterance was an interrogative one but gave no alternate definitions for the final word. But Sirra was close enough to get an impression from him. The word had religious overtones, but she could not tell if he was fearful or eager to be “Lifted.”
She answered in the safest way possible. “No,” she said, and placed her gauntleted hand on his smooth surface. She closed her eyes and tapped out on her vixvox with her one free hand, “Now, tell the story.” She placed her second hand on his body and felt her connection with him deepen.
“My father was, to his friends and townsmates, a simple farmer. But he was much more than that.” His words came smoothly, easily, and Sirra felt the emotion behind each sonar ping. She could even hear his voice as she knew it would have sounded were he a man—a deep baritone that at once held conviction, wonder and wistfulness.
“He was a seeker of knowledge. Not the knowledge of the worldsea (her translator had labeled the word an “untranslatable utterance” but Sirra could feel the meaning) but a forbidden knowledge—the knowledge of the past and of the Aboveplace.
“He built strange devices and placed them as high as he could to listen for the sounds of the Abovefolk. He strove to reach higher and higher, but found his own fear limiting him. He told me he had often felt a pressure building in him as he rose, a pressure that threatened to take his reason away. I asked him if it was like the pressure of the Rite of Adulthood we all face when we descend to the Holy Chasm and behold a tiny part of God. He said it was similar in many ways but inside-out. The pressure came not from outside, crushing him in holy splendor, but from inside, as if he himself were creating the divine pain.”
Sirra caught her breath in sudden realization. Vogel’s father-in-action had felt pressure because of his ascent—or more accurately, a distinct lack of pressure—from the surrounding seawater. The effect must have been unsettling.
“One day, his crude devices told him that there had been a disturbance Above. For quite some time, he had been detecting other strange noises that he could not understand, but this new sound was unique. Something had happened Above that had never happened before. My father called on one of his friends, a younger vix named Vicar.
Sirra knew the name was only her own mind’s approximation for Vogel’s sentiment. The name he had used was, obviously, a mere “untranslatable utterance” to her computer, but the sense of it was “he or she who speaks for the gods.” Vicar seemed to fit.
“The two of them rose higher and higher, despite the mounting feeling of dread, until they had left the world of vixian experience. No creature had dared to rise so high. And still they rose. My father passed the uppermost of his listening devices and began to hear faint sounds of struggle above. There was a battle taking place.
“Vicar told my father that the sounds were of an infernal conflict that was not for vixian ears to hear.
“Then came the Song. My father could not, despite tellings and retellings, fully explain the rapture of the Song. He said it was like hearing a perfect note of music (Sirra was surprised the translation came so easily to her mind. Did the vix have music? She realized that even after thirty-five years, she and her fellow researchers knew very little about the natives) sung by every creature that ever existed. The note sounded, and sounded again, and again, over and over, each time perfectly, each time the same duration, the same pitch. The note played and played.
“My father and Vicar were enthralled. They continued the climb, heedless of the mounting danger to their bodies and perhaps their souls. Then they came to the Above. My father told me that it was a place of effortless movement, but also of suffocating evil. He could not remove his entire body to the Above, as if some force held him back. There was nothing there, save for a strange ledge, attached to nothing, with creatures resting on it. My father would not approach them, but Vicar did.
“Creatures like you, Speaker.”
Sirra did not open her eyes. She completed the story to Vogel in a half-whisper. She did not need to tap the words out on her vixvox; the mental link she had with Vogel was stronger than it had ever been.
“And Vicar swam towards the creatures, and one of them touched him. And he asked the creature ‘are you God?’”
Vogel took up the story smoothly. “And as he asked the question, the Song ceased, in mid-note, and Vicar knew she had offended. When my father and Vicar descended again, neither was ever the same. My father could not swim very well after that. The [doctor] told us that my father had lost the winds within and would not live long. He was right—only four seasons later, my father-by-action was gone. His mind had gone, little by little, in the last season, and the [doctor] told us that the winds in his head had quieted as well. My father did not live in our world much after the encounter with the Above. But he always told the story the same way.
Sirra opened her eyes and stared at Vogel’s head, aware that the vix’ wide-set, unblinking eyes were much cruder than her own (but also much more complex than necessary for a creature that spent its entire lifetime in the darkness of deep ocean: another mystery the researchers had not been able to penetrate) but feeling the need to connect with Vogel in a human fashion. “I’m…sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m to blame. Your father went mad and died because of us. Because of me.” The years floated away effortlessly, fog in sunlight, and she was again on the remains of the Beagle with her grandonly Yallia and Khadre. The sensation of touching the vix was fresh and just as electric as it had been those thirty-five years ago.
Vogel did not speak for a few moments. Sirra prepared herself for anger, sorrow, retribution—anything but the question he asked her.
Are you God?
Sirra was silent.
My father did not ask that those many seasons ago. Vicar did, but the answer she received is a closely guarded secret among the Crusaders. I now ask you: are you God? Or are you That-Which-Shall-Never-Be-Named?
Sirra felt a chill as her mind attempted to translate that last utterance. The sound for “That-Which-Shall-Never-Be-Named” was different—much lower in frequency according to her suit indicators, almost low enough for her ears to hear it if she had not been encumbered by her diving gear. And it had a feeling to it—a feeling Sirra associated with the infernal, the demonic.
Vogel was asking her if she was God or the Devil.
“I am neither. I and others like me are not from your world.”
This much is certain. Where are you from?
“That’s difficult to explain.” Sirra sighed inwardly, trying to begin her answer. As she thought, something Vogel had sai
d impinged itself on her consciousness. It had slipped past her then, but now she frowned at it. “Vogel, did you say the Crusaders guard Vicar’s secret?”
Yes.
“Where is the answer recorded? The answer Vicar received from…Above?” She had almost said “from me,” but decided not to press the point now.
I don’t understand. Recorded?
“Yes. I know you have records—you pass along much of your history orally, I know, but I have seen some, well, writings your village has. You yourself even took me to them seasons ago.”
Yes, Speaker, I know what records are. But there are none for Vicar. She keeps her own secrets.
“They died with her?”
She is yet living.
Another flash of insight. Vicar was alive—the vix Sirra had touched thirty-five years ago survived to this day. And Sirra knew the name she had chosen was accurate, but not exact.
Bishop.
* * *
Iede smiled slightly as she piloted the lifeboat down to her twelfth consecutive simulated landing. She turned expectantly to Aywon.
“All right. I think you’re ready,” he said softly.
Iede did not answer. She closed the holo program with a word and avoided Aywon’s stare.
“What is it?”
“I will leave if it is your will,” Iede said softly.
“It is. You know why it has to be done.”
“The ruins.”
“Of course. You must tell the rest of the colonists about them.”
“My Lord,” the honorific slipped out despite Aywon’s admonitions, “I shall of course carry out your wishes, even if my limited human understanding does not comprehend the divine purpose behind them.” She did not look at him as she spoke.
Aywon’s voice was a growl. “I’ve told you, over and over, not to refer to me or anyone else in Ship like that. We are not gods, Iede!”
Iede kept her eyes focused on the deck.
“Look at me!”
Iede met his gaze, trying to hide her terror. She had angered him, but she was prepared to suffer his wrath. Her life was his—having saved her so long ago, she was prepared if he should want to take it now.
But his features softened slowly, and within half a minute he was looking at her not with anger but with pity. “You can’t do it, can you?”
“My Lord?”
“I’m a god. We’re all gods here.” He faced her as he spoke, but something in his bearing suggested that he was not speaking to her. “No matter what I say, you’ll think of me that way.”
“Yes.” Iede hoped this would not make him angry again, but what else could she say?
He continued to focus elsewhere, then abruptly shifted his attention back to her, his eyes focusing almost imperceptibly on hers. “That will change presently. In the meantime, you must return to the planet and tell them of the ruins.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
“Listen, Iede,” Aywon said, floating closer to her and grasping her by the shoulders, “I could simply order you to tell everyone down there, but I want you to fully understand why this is so important. These ruins are, as I said, about ten thousand years old—sixty-one hundred local years, that is. This is only an estimate based on…well, many factors—no need to go into that now. We think the estimate is fairly close, give or take a few hundred years. But what we don’t know is who built them or where those beings went. Once that mystery is solved, a potential threat to the mission will have been identified and we can take steps to help you remove it.”
“The mission, my Lord?”
“The colonization mission.”
Iede stared at him for a moment, puzzled. “I do not understand, my Lord.”
Aywon smiled slightly. “Sorry. We refer to the events on…your world as ‘the mission.’ An old habit. You see, as far as we are concerned, this mission is not over. It began over two hundred and twenty years ago but cannot yet be termed a complete success.”
“When will that be, My Lord?”
“When you are fully self sufficient and all outside threats to the colony’s survival are eliminated.”
Despite her reverence for Aywon, Iede found her planetary pride swelling. “My Lord, are we not now self-sufficient?”
“You ask me that, Iede?”
Iede stared at him, uncomprehending. Why should she have any special insight as to colony management?
Aywon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. One thing is undeniable. The ruins represent a mystery that may pose a threat to the colony. You must tell your world so that its scientists and explorers can investigate.”
“Will you help us, My Lord?”
“I have helped all I can. But there may be…a sign, later, if you solve the mystery.”
Iede shivered at the prophecy. Something about Aywon’s bearing caused her great dread.
“But we must now focus on returning you to the surface. And for that, we must be cautious.” He glanced at a spot on the wall that Iede was only dimly aware of as a timepiece and said, “In a few minutes Ship will be in shift-change. The third-shifters will be moving to their posts while the seconds leave. Once third shift is underway, we will make our move.”
Iede nodded. She had learned from the holos that Ship followed the same day that Newerth did, and although Ship never fully slept, the third shift, which took place during the nominal sleeping hours, was the least populous. There would presumably be less chance of running into a wandering god during their escape.
Aywon swam to a wall console and performed a series of elaborate, intricate movements along its surface with his slender fingertips. The console slid open noiselessly to reveal a thin sliver of metal that glinted ominously in the chamber light.
Even the alien design did not hide the item’s purpose: it was a weapon.
“I will not ask you to use this, Iede,” Aywon said, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on the weapon, “since I know you could never hurt one of us.” Now he looked at her, and his eyes were soft. “But I will. You must return to the surface at any cost.”
“You would kill a god for me?”
“No, not only for you, Iede. For all of you. And I will do much more.” For a moment, his gaze was no longer upon Iede, though his eyes did not flicker from their position. Iede saw them unfocus for an instant, as if Aywon was looking into another time.
A soft chime sounded. Aywon nodded, then said when it had ended, “Third shift has begun. We will leave in five minutes.” He stared at Iede for a moment, then picked up the memory disc he had compiled for her. “As I told you, this disc contains everything you’ll need to find the ruins below. You shouldn’t have any problems using it on the colony’s machinery.” He handed the disc to her. Iede took it and stared at it reverentially for a moment, then secreted it in her tunic. She stared at Aywon, her mouth opening as if to speak, but she did not trust herself to make the request she had so desperately wanted to utter since she had arrived on Ship.
“Iede, you want to ask me something. I think I know what it is, and I have an answer for you. I cannot come with you to the surface. Even if somehow my body could survive the transition to gravity, I could never betray my principles to that degree. I—we must not interfere with the colony’s development any longer. Do you understand?”
Iede felt a flush coming to her face. Aywon’s answer was well-reasoned and firm, and utterly inappropriate. She had had a different question in mind, and now it shamed her even as it burned in her brain.
“My Lord, I….”
“What’s the matter, Iede?” Aywon swam closer to her and lightly touched her cheek. She was startled to discover that she was crying.
“I….”
Realization seemed to dawn on Aywon. “You were going to ask me something else, weren’t you?”
Iede did not answer. She could not.
“Even a god can be wrong, eh?” Iede did not react, and Aywon said gruffly, “Well, what is it?”
She looked at him longingly, hoping
that such a god would not be offended by a mere mortal’s offering of love. She did not trust herself to speak—she wanted the moment to convey her message.
Aywon stared at her for a long moment, then swam away hastily. “Iede, I don’t understand. Are you….” For once, Aywon appeared flustered and embarrassed. “…Well, proposing something? Sex?”
The word exploded in the air between them. Iede recoiled at it and suddenly began to shake in mortification. He had understood her, and now she was more ashamed than she had ever been. “My Lord,” she began, “I meant no offense. I….” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Iede felt Aywon’s smooth hands on her shoulders. “No, you haven’t offended me, Iede. It’s only…well, I’m sure you’ve noticed our anatomy.” He paused for a moment to pick his words. “We’re all hermaphrodites. When we are directed to reproduce, we do it ourselves. There is no sexual intercourse on Ship, and there hasn’t been for about seventy years. A little over forty or so of your years. So I’m not offended by your offer, in fact, I am flattered, but it would be impossible. Literally—impossible.” He smiled, taking away some of her mortification.
Iede sought refuge in a change of subject. “My Lord, why are you…the way you are?” As soon as she asked it, she realized how disrespectful she was being. But the need to change the subject, even slightly, away from her foolish mistake was paramount.
Luckily, Aywon did not seem to mind the question. “I’m not one of the Bloodweavers…the geneticists, but I have had the basic indoctrination on our history. I am told that in order to ensure changelessness, we strove for full hermaphrodism. Each offspring is the direct genetic duplicate of its parent. In a closed environment such as Ship, we can virtually guarantee sameness generation to generation. It’s been this way for three generations, near enough.”
“My Lord, I know that our science below could not hope to compare to yours, but it occurs to me that—”
“You’re about to ask me about cloning, aren’t you?”
Iede nodded.