by Sean O'Brien
“That was considered as an option. But I have not told you the whole truth about us. I use the term ‘hermaphrodite’ to describe myself, but that is not quite correct. Although I have a penis, it is incapable of impregnating anyone. Except myself.”
Iede did not respond. She tried to keep the horror off her face.
“It’s quite complex, and since I am not well versed in the field, I can give you only a simple explanation. My anatomy, and the anatomy of everyone in Ship, is such that the male sex organs, the testicles, are functional, but the penis is a, uh, a biological holdover. It serves no purpose save for urination. I remember being told that possession of a penis greatly reduces the risk of a urinary tract infection. Oh, and we have no prostate gland.”
He spoke matter-of-factly despite Iede’s mounting disgust. She knew her thoughts were unworthy, that she had no right to judge this god and his…could she even use the pronoun anymore? Could she even think of Aywon as “male” or “female?”
“I see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.” Aywon looked sincere. “I just wanted you to know how very different from you we’ve become. That’s why we could never…have sex.” Iede could hear the upset in his voice at the word.
“To answer your question about cloning, though, it was decided that even if we perfected cloning, there could be no guarantee that shipmates would not still impregnate each other, uh, conventionally and thus stir up the gene pool. The transformation to self-functional hermaphrodism, or a sort of asexual reproduction, was necessary to ensure genetic purity.”
“It is not for me to judge the gods,” Iede said, as much to herself as to Aywon.
He stared at her and said, with uncharacteristic irony in his voice, “No, it isn’t.” He waited a moment before adding, in a softer tone. “We are not admirable in many ways, Iede, but we have also made a great many sacrifices for the success of the mission. And we will make one more soon.” Again, his eyes unfocused and he was elsewhere. When he returned, he swam toward the chamber door. “It’s time to go. Follow me, stay quiet, and do as I say.”
The two left Aywon’s room and swam silently through the corridors on their way to the lifeboat bay. Iede knew the route almost as well as Aywon did—she had spent hours at his computer studying the twists and turns of the path they were now following. Despite the haste with which they traveled, she stole glances down access corridors she would never traverse, wondering what lay deep in the bowels of Ship. She had studied as much of Aywon’s files as she had had time for, but much was still unknown to her. The temptation to break off from Aywon and investigate further was strong—only her twin desires to return home and tell her people her story kept her steadfast. That, and her almost unquestioning obedience to her god, despite his protestations against godhood.
They were nearing the final leg of their journey when another god emerged from a hatchway before them. There was no time to duck into a side tunnel; Aywon would be forced to deal with this situation.
The god’s eyes widened as she (something indescribable about the god’s bearing suggested femininity to Iede—after Aywon’s revelations about the gods’ sexuality, Iede found herself almost pathologically determined to assign gender to all she met in Ship) took in the pair before her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Aywon was quicker. He produced the thin rod of milky translucence from a flesh pocket on his wrist and in a smooth motion aimed it at the god.
There was no sound, no discharge of light, but the god crumpled into herself and began a lazy tumbling spin, her limbs motionless. Aywon slid the rod back into his flesh holster, and it disappeared from sight.
“What happened?” Iede whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Aywon said, and, anchoring himself against the bulkhead, shoved the unmoving body out of his way.
“Is she…dead?”
“I told you it doesn’t matter,” Aywon repeated, his voice flinty. He opened the hatch from which the god had emerged seconds before and gestured for Iede to follow. Iede could not resist another glance at the gently cartwheeling body of the unfortunate god—she wondered if she had seen something that would haunt her forever.
The rest of the trip was uneventful; the pair slid through metal-white tunnels with ease. At last they came to the lifeboat bay. Although it was as clean and gleaming as the rest of Ship had been, a faint air of disuse hung in the chamber. Aywon approached the lifeboat and played his fingers gently on its surface. Iede could not see a control pad, but presently the lifeboat’s outer door irised open as it had done so many days ago on the surface.
“Get in, Iede,” Aywon said gently.
“Yes, my Lord.” Iede swam slowly to the portal, stopped with one hand on the jamb. “My Lord, I cannot repay you for what you have done for me, and for all of us. I will do your bidding to my people. I shall never forget what I have seen here.”
“No, you won’t. Good-bye, Iede. Continue to watch the sky for your final message after you have unlocked the secret of the ruins.”
Iede looked at him quizzically. “Final message, my Lord? What—”
“Get in, now. Before others come,” he said, and pushed her gently into the lifeboat.
Iede entered the craft and looked back out the doorway at Aywon. He stared back at her stolidly, then touched the hull, and the iris valve closed.
Iede hesitated only a moment before climbing into the control saddle in the front of the ship. Her hours of training came back to her and she pressed the proper surfaces to ready the lifeboat for its descent. Displays come to life in front of her and to each side, projected in three-dimensional representation. One display showed the bay doors slowly opening beneath her and Newurth hanging in space below. Iede released the lifeboat from its moorings and gave the superior jets a half-second burn. She fought back sudden sorrow as the lifeboat dropped rapidly out of the bay with the action of her thrusters. Iede swallowed hard and fought to keep her eyes clear of tears as she began the process of returning the craft to Newurth.
Chapter 25
Sirra fought to contain her emotions. Could Bishop know who she was? Could her capture by the crazed vix have been a kind of revenge for what Bishop had undergone all those years ago?
She calmed herself. Bishop had never spoken of the incident to her, even when they had been alone at the lava vent. And how could Bishop possibly recognize her after so many years? Bishop couldn’t even have seen her when she surfaced, so unaccustomed to light as the vix were.
That raised another question. How did these creatures, presumably adapted to life at these depths, rise to the surface and survive? Yes, Vogel’s father-by-action had died, but not immediately. Both vix ought to have suffered horrible nitrogen narcosis with pain so intense that neither would have continued to surface. Was it possible, however, that these creatures possessed some kind of internal system to compensate for the severe drop in pressure? Why would they have such an ability? The vix were fish, not mammals: they did not breathe oxygen from the air, but utilized the high amounts of dissolved oxygen in the water. They did not need to surface—in fact, they would not be able to breathe once out of the water.
“Speaker?”
Sirra shook herself within her suit. Maybe Vogel could help answer these questions.
“Vogel, you asked earlier if you would be Lifted if I touched you. What do you think it means to be Lifted?”
“I am not certain, Speaker. But I have been taught that those who follow in the path proscribed to us from the time-before-water will one day reclaim their place in the holy depths. Those who do not will rise to oblivion.”
Vogel’s answer raised far more questions than it answered. Sirra had to take things one at a time. “Why did your father-by-action rise, then?”
Sirra felt the despair of deep mystery swell in her as Vogel’s emotions surged through her suit gloves. “I have asked that question of myself for many years. I thought to ask Bishop, but I have never had the courage. Then you came, and I have thought many times to ask you, but again, I am afr
aid.”
“What are you afraid of, Vogel?”
“Wrath. Bishop’s, at first, but I now know that her wrath is that of a child’s to yours. I have been taught that there are some questions one does not ask.”
Sirra’s scientific mind took great umbrage to that, and she bristled. “There are no questions forbidden to you, Vogel. The only way you can advance as an individual and as a race is to ask—ask everything, question all accepted modes of thought and investigate for yourself. That is the path you should follow.”
“Who are you?”
Sirra blinked, then grinned sheepishly inside her mask. She should have seen that coming. For all her words about truth and science, here she was, deceiving this creature who may well represent the first tentative moves towards pure scientific inquiry his race had yet taken. Vogel wanted to know—and Sirra suddenly had an impulse to tell him all.
“All right. But I can’t just tell you—I’ll show you. You wait here; I have to get something that will take you to the answers. You are going to be Lifted, Vogel—but it is nothing like what you think it is.” As she spoke, she felt curiously liberated, as if a crushing weight had been removed from her mind. She felt better than she had in years.
“I will wait, Speaker.” Sirra felt dread mixed with eagerness in him, and she knew that he was at once terrified and elated at the prospect. She withdrew her hands and began her ascent. Her mind whirled as she mentally prepared the mission: she would need a scout sub and some way to fill it with seawater of the proper pressure so Vogel could rise and not be damaged. He would have to stay in some kind of holding tank so he could survive the trip and explanation.
She giggled when she thought of Fozzoli’s response to what would surely be the strangest request she had ever made of him.
Fozzoli did not explode when Sirra had finished. Instead, he nodded slowly and said quietly, “Sirra, something has come up. We’ve received a directive from the Coordinator’s office. All research concerning the vix is to be terminated immediately.”
Sirra stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
Fozzoli sighed. “Just what I said. We’re shut down.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
Sirra stared at him, then looked helplessly at the rest of the lab, as if trying to wrest control of the laboratory from the Coordinator’s unseen presence. She made vague gestures with her hands and heard herself mumbling incoherently for a few moments before she found her tongue and said, more clearly, “Did our Coordinator give a reason for this…decision?”
“Not really.” Fozzoli shuffled to the communications panel and pressed a button. The text of the Coordinator’s message filled the air between the two scientists.
Sirra’s lips moved slightly as she read the order. When she had finished, she looked meditatively through the words at Fozzoli, then slashed her hand through the speech, closing the file. “Dangerous? They’re not dangerous, if you know how to handle them.” Her objection sounded hollow in her ears. She grew angrier at the prospect that perhaps the Coordinator might be right. “And how did he find out about what’s going on?” she said, changing the target slightly. “We haven’t sent in any reports lately, have we?”
“Of course not. We’ve got nothing to report, yet,” Fozzoli said, matching her anger with calmness.
“Well, I’ll be domed if I’m going to let him tell me to stop my research. Until he sends some goons out here to shut us down in force, we’ll continue with the operation. I’ll need a scout sub, pressurized to—”
Fozzoli’s expression silenced her.
“What?” she said.
“Sirra, we’ve got to stop.”
“The hell we do!”
Fozzoli’s defeated countenance twisted in exasperation. “Listen to me for once, Sirra! It’s very easy for you to dig your heels in and make proud noises about never quitting, but just think for a moment!” Fozzoli lowered his voice and continued. “The Coordinator won’t tolerate anyone disobeying an emergency edict like this. You read the order—there’s no wiggle room. If we don’t stop, now, he’ll not only send some goons out here, but he’ll replace you, me, the whole domed staff with people he can trust. How long before the Coordinator notices we haven’t reported in? And how long before he sends a squad out her to stop us? A few days? You really think you’re so close to a breakthrough that a few days will make a difference?”
The question sounded rhetorical, Sirra knew—but for just a split second, she thought she could hear hope in Fozzoli’s voice. He was giving her a way out—and she knew the man too well to think he would not remain here with her pursuing illegal research up until the moment some government thugs tore his hands off the consoles. But he’d do it only if she was sure that she was on to something big. If Vogel didn’t come through for her, she would ruin not only her own career but Fozzoli’s as well. Her work was approaching the twilight years, while Fozzoli was only beginning to make a name for himself. Did Sirra have the right to place all of his promise in jeopardy?
She made her decision. “I’ve got Vogel down there waiting for me. I need to tell him I won’t be bringing him up just yet.”
Fozzoli’s face showed relief, and just a hint of disappointment. “This thing’ll blow over, Sirra. The Coordinator’s edict has the force of law only until the Assembly is convened. They’ll overturn this as sure as we’re sitting here. Let’s use the time to correlate all of our data.”
Sirra nodded. Yes, much work could be done with the data they had. Perhaps Fozzoli could come up with something they had missed. But Sirra couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost momentum at a crucial moment in her studies and was not sure if she could ever get it back.
Only two days had passed during their exile back to the mainland, and despite the considerable opulence of her mainland estate Sirra had grown angrier. The Assembly had indeed convened but had not instantly overturned the Coordinator’s edict—they had instead decided to debate the issue. Sirra found to her chagrin that she was not very interested in the data Fozzoli brought to her in increasing postures of excitement. He was finding more and more subtle hints about vix language that Sirra had grasped instinctively with her unusual talent. Fozzoli had been shuttling between his mainland office and Sirra’s home for the past two days while she sat in her apartment and sulked. She was not proud of herself—her attempts to hide behind aged cantankerousness did not work, at least not on herself.
Late in their second day of waiting, Fozzoli approached Sirra with a curious expression. “Sirra, you have a call.”
“From whom?”
“She says she’s your halfonlyaunt.”
Sirra reeled, and for a moment did not grasp the meaning of the word: her grandonly’s daughter—as it applied to herself, Sirra had all but forgotten its meaning. Her ha’lyaunt (the word still rung queerly in her mind) had left the Family perhaps twenty-one years ago to pursue her insane preoccupation with Ship. Despite her many attempts to keep her attention on her research and away from her ha’lyaunt, Sirra could not insulate herself from the knowledge that Iede had founded a growing quasi-religion. Why was she calling now? Had Iede somehow found out about the interdiction regarding the vix and was going to try and convert her sibling into her religion to fill the void?
She was being silly, she knew.
“Thanks, Foz,” Sirra said faintly. Fozzoli opened his mouth, but Sirra turned to look at him and he understood. Not now, my friend.
When Fozzoli had left, Sirra activated the comm outlet in her sitting room. The screen lit up to reveal Iede’s face, still youthful despite its thirty-six years. Iede was three years younger that Sirra, but Sirra knew her own face was far more aged.
“Ha’lyneice. It’s good to see you again after all these years,” Iede said, her voice a youthful melody. She was smiling broadly in what appeared to be sincere delight.
Sirra was determined not to return the emotion. “What do you want, Iede?”
“It’
s been…nineteen years since I last spoke to you.”
Sirra was unimpressed. “Yes, it has. I won’t lie to you and say I’m interested in what you have been up to, Iede. So why are you calling?”
The faintest hint of disappointment flickered over Iede’s face, but then it was gone, replaced by her placid mask of composure. My God, Sirra thought, she really does look happy. Brainwashed, but happy.
“You want me to get to the facts, eh, ha’lyneice? You haven’t changed. Ever the scientist. Just like Grandmother.”
“Yes, and you’re still just like….” Sirra couldn’t finish the thought. The effort she had expended to remove Iede from her conscious life was nothing compared to the mental energy she had directed trying to eradicate her knowledge that Iede’s father was the traitor that had nearly cost the fledgling Family their lives—Lawson. That Yallia was her Grandonly and Sirra herself had no genetic connection to him did not help in this instance—her ha’lyaunt carried his blood in her veins. Nothing could wash it out.
“Don’t call me ha’lyneice. Call me Sirra. What did you want?”
“I’ve been on a journey to Ship.”
Sirra resisted the impulse to sigh in exasperation. “Really, Iede, I’m a little busy here,” she lied, “and I haven’t got the time or the patience to hear about your visions, so—”
“No, no, Sirra. Not a spiritual journey, though the experience was certainly…enlightening. No, I was there. Physically.”
“Up in Ship?” Sirra’s eyebrows climbed.
“Yes. And I have learned something the gods wish me to impart to all of us.”
“You’re saying you are a prophet?” Sirra couldn’t quite keep the disdain out of her voice. Was Iede telling her the truth or had she finally lost what tenuous grip on reality she possessed?
Iede cast her eyes downward. “I make no such claim. I am just a messenger from the gods.”
“A prophet, then,” Sirra snorted.
“If you want to use the term.” Iede’s voice was cool and even.