Ghandi planted his friction boots on the edge of a whip cycle, pulled himself forward into a “seated” position in the weightless compartment, and favored the tways with a grin.
"Afraid to let me see you?” he challenged, knowing well the dangers inherent in such provocation.
It was not as if he was throwing caution to the wind. Ghandi liked to think that he remained at least somewhat concerned about his own future. But since that weird performance by Sappho in the CPG boardroom several days ago, since experiencing those incredible sensations of once again having some semblance of control over his life, it seemed more natural for him to take risks, to challenge the status quo maintained by the force of Colette/Sappho's will.
And who was more representative of that status quo than Calvin, as rigidly obedient and territorially protective as a litter of well-trained dogs?
Ky and Jy were pitched about ninety degrees from Ghandi's perspective. Two sets of eyes glared at him; four angry dots propped one above the other, in a line so straight that it begged for a vector to connect them. As usual, the tways wore just enough facial makeup to hide their identical genetic features. Today, Ky's cheeks appeared more swollen than his brother's, and his closely-cut auburn hair provided a distinct contrast with Jy's wavy blond tresses.
Ghandi allowed his smile to widen. He approached his target from a new angle, his mouth wielding fresh taunts.
"I didn't mean to pop in on you like this. I didn't intend to make you feel so ashamed. I know how embarrassed you are about your scars."
Hatred. Murderous rage.
Following Sappho's boardroom behavior, Ghandi's newfound strength had, within a matter of hours, disappeared. He had been left only with a vague memory trace, the echoes of departed feeling, conceptions of what the emotion had been like. Agitated microbes had returned to dance through his body, mocking his subservience, his weakness. He had tasted virility—virility in the fullest sense of the word—and now he longed for repeated doses. He could not imagine a more potent drug, a more desperate addiction.
If he made Calvin too angry, the tways might risk Colette/Sappho's wrath. Calvin could kill him, here and now. But for Ghandi, the rewards were worth the risk. Truly, his addiction was that powerful.
"It must be difficult for you,” he pressed. “Here you are—by your own admission, the deadliest Paratwa assassin ever bred—yet you're scared to show old Ghandi a little set of blemishes."
Floating in the weightless chamber, the tways somehow fell into positions resembling full-G crouches. Their bodies compressed, coiled. Tiny aquatic particles detached from their flesh, drifted away; other beads from the steamjet shower remained affixed to their skin, held there by forces that Ghandi, at a fundamental level, did not understand.
"You'd rather kill me than expose yourself. I can see the shame in your eyes."
They pushed off one another, came toward him. In zero-G, the movement appeared unnatural—a violation of the laws of inertia. One of them should have been shoved in the opposite direction. Ghandi was not ignorant of all natural forces.
They halted their momentum by grabbing converse edges of the whip cycle, positioning themselves in line with Ghandi's axis, flanking him at a range of less than a yard. The smell of mild cocoa cologne, applied during final steamjetting, emanated from their bodies. It would not have been Ghandi's first choice.
Unpleasant sounds came from Jy's mouth. Snarls and a deep-throated hiss, like a cat might make when cornered by a larger beast.
The other tway—the one who had acquired the public moniker of “Slasher,” the one whose musculature had been trained to use the deadly flash daggers—spoke. Ky's voice sounded as calm as the surface of a gee-well.
"You are saying things that are not yours to say. Colette is not here to protect you. You are putting your life in danger."
Ghandi forced a dry laugh. “Frankly, Calvin, I expected a better attitude from you. We're not talking about my death here. We're discussing your cowardice."
A streak of motion. Ky's fingers snagged Ghandi's neck. Now both tways were glaring and hissing at him.
The pressure of Ky's viselike clamp was painful, yet bearable. Ghandi refused to be intimidated. He glared back at the tways, knowing that he was pushing this thing far beyond rationality, knowing that he was truly risking an explosion of Ash Nar rage.
But the microbes remained at rest; his body had achieved an inner tranquility that he had not known in ages. It was the repose of authentic fearlessness. He recalled what it had been like to be a Costeau, to be unafraid of one's actions, to live fully, forever skimming across a wave of consequences. It was a freedom of the spirit he had sacrificed long ago.
Ky's grip was not yet tight enough to dam another stream of words. Ghandi whispered:
"The clans used to have a saying: ‘The heart of a coward bequeaths the mind of a fool.’”
The tway's fingers crushed inward. But only for an instant. Then Ky released his grip and somersaulted violently across the chamber. He hit the opposite wall, compressed his legs, and sprang back toward Ghandi.
Jy reached out, grabbed his twin's arm, retarded his velocity. Ky came to a halt beside his brother. The rage had departed from his face. In fact, both tways now regarded Ghandi with a curious dispassion.
"Show yourself,” urged Ghandi, knowing that he had pushed Calvin to the point where only two absolute choices remained. He must either grant my request or kill me.
Ky raised his left arm above his head; Jy raised his right one.
The banana-shaped scars, mirror images of one another, began just beneath their armpits and extended downward almost to their hips. Ghandi was a bit disappointed. His curiosity, cock-driven and fueled by inner turmoil, had now achieved its maximum state of fulfillment. Seeing Calvin's surgical disfigurements had instantly reduced their importance, making Ghandi aware—at least momentarily—of what little separation truly existed between the mythic and the mundane.
Nevertheless, it had felt good to outdistance the tways.
"When were you disconnected?” he asked, now genuinely curious and, to his own surprise, strangely affected by Calvin's willing exposure—no matter what forces had impelled the Ash Nar.
Ky and Jy responded in full stereo. “I was four years old when Sappho's doctors performed the operation."
Ghandi tried to imagine what it must have been like for the tways prior to separation: Siamese baby boys, learning to crawl, walk, and function as a whole.
"You were a difficult creation ... for Sappho?”
Ky answered, “The interlace, in its most natural state, remains dualistic."
Jy continued, “A tripartite consciousness required special provisions. In our wombs, I was two tways—Calvin and KyJy. Then Ky and Jy were split but not split entirely ... until the operation."
Ghandi shook his head. “This was done on the Biodyysey...” He hesitated, trying to formulate his thoughts into a precise question. “You were separated within a kascht that did not reek of the lacking?"
Again, they answered in unison. “Yes. Probabilities dictated that I could not have been created here. The difficulties would have been magnified a thousandfold."
Ghandi had the feeling that he was on the verge of comprehending something ... some important facet of Paratwa reality. But suddenly the tways’ eyes widened.
"I am being summoned,” said Ky.
"Your presence is also requested,” added Jy. The tway grabbed Ghandi's arm. “You will travel with me. I will show you the flight of an Ash Nar."
Quickly, they took hold of him and propelled him through the open seal, into the midcompartment. Walls and tables, terminals and lockers; everything sailed past Ghandi's eyes as he tumbled and twisted through the larger space. It was as if he had become a child's suspy ball—a sphere filled with just enough helium to maintain itself at a specific distance above the ground, forced into spontaneous lateral movement by the omnipresent spin rate accelerations found in every colony.
Calvi
n's four hands mimicked that Coriolis force, pushing and shoving Ghandi, the tways’ bare feet repeatedly kicking off the walls, expertly maintaining a desired conjunction of velocity and direction.
Through the midcompartment, Ghandi's head barely missing the edge of an airseal, now tumbling out-of-control like a spacecraft in zero-G with one retro jammed wide open ... yet he had never felt safer in his life. He had driven Calvin to a place where only those of iron will could hope to survive; he had shown the Ash Nar that he was willing to die rather than surrender. And now Calvin was driving him.
Ghandi laughed wildly, exhilarated by the sheer tumultuous sensations of manic flight, knowing that he had no control, knowing that Calvin would not permit any harm to befall him.
For the moment, he sees me as one who has matched his own courage. For the moment, he respects me as an equal.
And then Ghandi was somehow twisted—a course change of ninety degrees—and he was slowing down, velocity and spin rate rapidly retarded by a quartet of softly slapping palms. One final somersault and he vaulted through the open portal into the study/dinette.
The tways killed his momentum, flipped him upright; his friction boots reglued themselves to the grated deck.
Colette stood a dozen feet away, glaring at him. Ghandi grinned and swayed like a drunk, his equilibrium still disturbed from the mad ride. But emotions bubbled. He felt invigorated.
Next to Colette stood Calvin's third part, the namesake tway who remained physically distinct, the one whose body assumed the role of the seducer, the one who always provided the Ash Nar with its deepest glories of sexual conquest and ultimate gratification. In stark contrast to tway Calvin's sexual hunger, Ky and Jy remained virginal: the privilege of immaculate masturbation was their only means of relief.
The twins never needed to touch themselves. They could masturbate on command, just by thinking about it. An entire process and mythos reduced to the simplicity of urination. Even Colette admitted that the ultimate psychological processes underlying the tripartite's sexual functioning remained a thing not fully comprehended.
But Ghandi felt that he understood this facet of the tripartite's makeup.
Calvin endured an almost quaint sensitivity in regard to his twins, perceiving them as an impairment of his Ash Nar perfection, their physical and emotional blemishes inducing weakness, creating a constant source of vulnerability. And Calvin did what most humans did when confronted by the perceptions of internal frailty. He overcompensated. He attempted to depersonalize his shortcomings.
"That's a stupid smirk,” snapped Colette. “Remove it."
Ghandi continued grinning at her. “Why are you angry?"
"Don't contradict me,” she warned.
He remained silent, aware that there must have been fresh setbacks for Paratwa scheme. Nothing else could make her this furious. Maybe the whelm would come once again, illuminate monarch Sappho even as it carried his wife away.
"Lester Mon Dama is nowhere to be found!” she continued. “Likewise for Gillian and Susan Quint! Therefore, Aristotle remains an enemy cloaked in shadow!"
Ky and Jy attempted a stereo rebuttal. “The search continues—"
"Silence! Do not speak of that which you do not understand! Ramifications of your failure—” She paused, then began to speak very fast. “But all has not been a failure, has it? As planned, the Toulouse skygene suitcase has been found. The profarming plans have been proceeding as expected. Intercolonial acceptance ratios now indicate a cross-cultural willingness to return to the planet."
The tempo of her words increased, seemed to pour from her mouth like water from an open spigot. “Our gut-ads have been successful. Within six months of our victory, two hundred and fifty profarming communities will be in place, scattered across the surface of the Earth. The Biodyysey's crops will be deposited in fertile ground. Reseeding will take place according to plan. This kascht, which reeks of the lacking, will indeed bear fruit. A first harvest will indeed occur on schedule.” She stopped, as abruptly as she had begun. Then: “Is that not true?"
"Yes,” admitted Ghandi, feeling uneasy. Once again, Colette was betraying a novel pattern of behavior. He wanted ask her what was wrong, but realized that such a tactic would be a mistake.
A bitter grimace tightened her lips. “But at this point, the reseeding is of secondary importance, is it not? More important is the fact that only moments ago, the E-Tech archives suffered an assault on an order of magnitude unrivaled in its history!
"The archives have been deliberately blasted with electroshocks! Massive irreversible devastation has taken place! Our sunsetter has failed us!” A spasm seemed to pass through her. Shoulders scrunched together and misery ravaged her face. She turned to tway Calvin.
"The Czar is still alive! This is his doing! You did not kill him at the retreat!"
Calvin extended his fingers. YOU SAID THAT THE CZAR'S DEATH WAS NOT A PRIORITY. YOU SAID THAT THE PRIMARY REASON FOR THE ATTACK WAS TO KILL ADAM LU SANG AND DISPLAY OUR TECHNOLOGICAL SUPERIORITY—
"Fool!” she screamed, arms batting the air in front of her face, as if something terrible was approaching. “Must I spell out everything for you?"
Calvin responded with uncharacteristic rectitude; Ky and Jy bowed their heads, spoke in stereo.
"I made a mistake. I should have made certain the Czar was dead. It was entirely my error."
"And who will suffer the consequences!” cried Colette, her arms now flapping wildly, trying to ward off the invisible demons. “Freebird has been caught! Trapped in Irrya! The Czar will already be on his way to the check-in terminal. He will flay the skin from Aristotle's cursed abomination! He will learn Freebird's secrets!"
Ky/Jy offered, “We'll be docking in Irrya very shortly—"
Colette screamed in agony, grabbed her right shoulder with her left hand, squeezed as if there was a fire beneath the thin fabric of her blouse.
Ghandi moved toward her. “What is it?"
She thrust herself backward, into a console. “Get away from me! Don't touch me!"
Ghandi, mystified, turned to the tways. But if Calvin understood what was happening to her, he was keeping the knowledge to himself.
Another scream escaped Colette, a wail of agony even more penetrating than her initial outburst. Still clawing at her shoulder, she fell to her knees. Tears began streaming down her cheeks.
A chill went through Ghandi. Something horrible is happening to her other tway. He moved forward, wanting to help, or at least comfort her.
But Ky and Jy grabbed Ghandi from behind. Calvin's fingers spattered fresh letters.
DO NOT REACT. THERE IS NOTHING THAT YOU CAN DO FOR HER.
Another bitter shriek—a high-decibel wail of outright pain—filled the study/dinette. Ghandi could not help himself. He lunged forward, desperate to break the Ash Nar's grip.
It was no use. One of the tways yanked him backward while the other swept his feet out from under him. Ghandi slammed hard onto the grated deck.
DO NOTHING. INTERFERENCE WITH THE DISINCORPORATION COULD BE CONSIDERED A REASON TO INCREASE ITS DURATION OR INTENSITY.
Ghandi shook his head, bewildered.
IT WILL NOT BE FATAL TO HER. SHE IS BEING MADE TO SUFFER ONLY A LIMITED DISINCORPORATION. OUR TASK IS TO BEAR WITNESS. THAT IS THE OBVIOUS REASON WHY YOU AND I WERE SUMMONED HERE. SHE WAS ORDERED TO PROVIDE OBSERVERS. IT IS AN INTEGRAL PART OF THE PUNISHMENT.
"Punishment?"
FOR HER FAILURES.
Desperate sobs shook Colette's frame. Heart wrenching wails. Her other tway is being tortured!
Ghandi could not stand it. Seeing his wife undergoing such turmoil was worse than that sheer internal helplessness associated with the mad dance of his microbes.
"No!” he hollered, roaring to his feet.
This time, the tways were less forgiving. Ky's bare leg nailed the back of his knees like a steel rod. Pain shot through him as he again collapsed to the deck.
THIS IS THE WAY THAT IT IS DONE. IT MUST BE.
"Why?” he moaned.
A WARNING. SHE HAS LED US TO A PLACE WHERE SUCCESS AND FAILURE ARE HINGED ON THE SAME AXIS. THIS IS A CONFIGURATION THEY DO NOT TOLERATE. IT IS ... AN ORGANIZATIONAL ERROR.
A shudder passed through Ghandi. “Who ... who is doing this to her? The other Paratwa?"
YES. THE OTHER PARATWA.
A final scream. Colette's eyelids fluttered. She slithered to the deck, face-forward. Unconscious.
Ghandi crawled across the deck toward her. Calvin did not stop him.
"My love,” he whispered, cradling her head in his arms, stroking her hair. “It will be all right,” he murmured. “I promise."
Colette awoke, opened her eyes, attempted a fragile smile. “Pain incorporates,” she whispered. “It teaches the individual the importance of the society."
"Be still,” he hushed.
"Corelli-Paul ... we once told you that you might have to make a great sacrifice. Someday, you would have to become the public scapegoat."
"Whatever you wish,” he vowed.
She shook her head. “No, I—Colette—do not want it to happen. I want you to be unshackled. I want you to be liberated. If there is a sacrifice to be made, then I will make it."
He gazed at her silently, seeing for the first time a creature strictly guided, a creature as bound to a specific direction as he had been for these past twenty-five years. Colette/Sappho was powerless to alter the rigorous limitations of her existence. Like Ghandi, she could not truly escape.
She gripped his arm. “I need to recover my strength. I must sleep now, Corelli-Paul. For a short time only. Just until we dock."
Calvin moved out of the way, as Ghandi scooped his wife into his arms, carried her to their cabin, laid her on the bed, covered her with a single sheet.
"My love?” she asked, as he turned to go.
"Yes?"
"I never dream."
Ghandi frowned. It was something he had wondered about for many years. “You're not missing much,” he offered, trying to keep his tone casual, trying not to choke on a sudden terrible pain that rose from his guts.
"Corelli-Paul?"
He turned away so that she would not see his agony. “Yes?"
The Paratwa (#3 in the Parawta Saga) Page 24