by M. A. Foster
“Can we do it together?”
“Yes… if you promise to scrub my back.”
“I promise.” Then he started pulling his clothes off and hanging them on a peg on the back of the door. After a moment, Damistofia did the same, saying softly, “I feel awkward; I haven’t done this for a long time… I can’t remember it.”
He said, “Don’t worry. Do you want to go on?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t look back.” Then he took her hand again and helped her into the running water.
In the hot water of the shower, in the dark, they spent the first moments washing, scrubbing, washing the sweat and fatigue away, and it was only after they were rinsing the soap off that he touched her, and brushed her face lightly with his mouth, and kissed her. It was odd only for an instant, and then it felt right, and she did what her instincts told her to.
They finished rinsing, and now shyly stepped out of the bath, where they dried each other off. He touched her, and she felt his bare nakedness against her. Cliofino led her back to the small bedroom, turned down the sheets, and gently laid her down on her stomach, kneeling over her and firmly but deftly massaging her back and shoulders. She felt hard, hairy knees gripping her shins, the pressure of his hands, and she let herself go to the feeling, and when at last she could stand it no longer, and rolled over to face him and hold him. it felt perfectly right and good and she enclosed him within herself and held him tightly to her until it was the best, and that went away slowly; and before they parted and slid beside one another to sleep, she felt indeed as if she had passed a test she had set for herself, and there was a real sense of accomplishment in that. Rael faded a great deal. And Damistofia stretched, and felt warm inside, and said to herself that she liked what she had become, that at least in this there was nothing to fear. She could do it.
Luto Pternam no longer spent the evening hours lounging on his terrace, looking over the soft outlines of Symbarupol, but instead worked long hours into the night, trying to keep up with the demands put on his organization. Not only him, but Avaria as well was pressed and they seldom saw each other save in passing.
The situation was essentially simple: for cycle upon cycle, the specialized product of The Mask Factory had been paraded, displayed, threatened with use, but actually used seldom. Now they were in constant use, somewhere in Lisagor, and their use required replacements. The Pallet-Dropped Heavy Troopers, lobotomized goon squads in uniforms, were dropped into action on cargo pallets with only drogue parachutes to slow their descent down a little, and from landing alone they could expect as much as a ten percent casualty rate, never mind the numbers that fell in their suicidal disregard for their own lives. In recognition of this terrible decimation, survivors of five operations were awarded a golden bolt to wear in their free hand; those few who survived ten got a gold bolt in their heads, all installed with all due surgical nicety.
Lisagor was crawling with incidents, and no area seemed to be free of them. The Innerlands and Crule the Swale were the quietest; Clisp, the Serpentine, and Sertse Solntsa the worst. And so Pternam had little time to wonder about revolutionaries, save to note that they seemed to be having great successes, which caused him to have dark thoughts indeed about the wisdom of the plan he had concocted. The operatives he had sent off to Marula had either been swallowed up in the chaos reigning there, or reported back with negative results; they were unable to get near the place where Rael-Damistofia had gone to earth.
But late one night, when Pternam and Avaria were pausing in one of their rare occasions of camaraderie, they were interrupted by a signal from the door, which Avaria went to investigate. Shortly he returned with two individuals, to Pternam’s surprise, one the redoubtable Porfirio Charodei, accompanied by a heavily built individual with beetling black hair and enormous hands whom he knew to be the equally fearsome Mostro Ahaltsykh.
Ahaltsykh took up a position at the door to the study they met in, and Charodei joined Pternam by the occasional table. Avaria waited a respectable moment, and then joined Ahaltsykh by the door, saying nothing.
Charodei started out, waving aside the usual pleasantries, “I have come on an errand which may sound like nonsense to you, but none the less it must be done: if there is any help your organization can give us, we would be most desirous of having it”
Pternam said, “If you mean that we should contribute to the revolution, it hardly seems necessary—your people are enjoying a singular success. The fact is, word is now from the Council of Syndics that they expect to wind up from this brawling with considerably less Lisagor than they started with. And losing it all is not out of the realm of possibility, either. We are examining several escape options along those lines already.”
Charodei reasserted, “To the contrary. This ‘brawling,’ as you call it, is not of our doing. It is apparently spontaneous, and uncontrolled. In the few cases where our people have been able to foment a rising, they can’t control it and lose it. In other cases, we have been able to take advantage of a situation, but it seems that we lose control of those as well. No. The Heraclitan Society is far behind things. We know you loosed that Rael among us, but we had no idea it would lead to this. We have thought that perhaps you had something like him left over, that we could use as an antidote, or some leavening agent.”
“Not so. We tried to stop him, after release, when we realized he was more powerful than we had originally imagined.” Pternam choked on the lie, but after he said it, it went a little smoother. “We sent operatives to detain him, but they were too late. We also sent assassins to catch up with the remnant, the woman Azart, but they also have failed to date. At any rate, what we had here in reserve did not work out, and we have been hard-pressed since.”
“We also put a man on Azart. The best. And according to reports, he’s got contact.”
Pternam sat up stiffly. “Contact? What is he waiting for? My permission? Kill the insect immediately!”
Charodei held up a hand. “A moment, if you will. He had to be sure before he acted, and to date he’s not completely convinced. After all, Azart is still in detention, under surveillance by the police. To be sure, it’s light but nonetheless there is considerable risk to our man, and we told him not to move unless he’s sure, because if he strikes down the wrong woman, there’s a good chance he’ll be caught, and we don’t want him risked on a nobody.”
“What does he report?”
“He has contact with a woman who meets the general specifications; there are some minor discrepancies, but none major.”
“I still ask: what is he waiting for?”
“Orlioz reports that the woman Azart responds as a woman in all pertinent matters, but that her reflexes are abnormally fast. He tested her under the pretext of physical therapy. In short, he doesn’t know if he can. He has arranged a sexual liaison with her at the moment, but he claims that she’s quick enough still that if she divined his purpose, she could probably defend herself well enough to endanger him. He has asked for clarification instructions.”
Pternam shook his head. “This is your best? No wonder you needed Rael-Damistofia. You send an assassin in there, he gets a little sugar, and now he’s got cold feet.”
Charodei said stiffly, “I don’t think that’s the case at all.”
Pternam said, “Well, there isn’t much we can do to help him. I mean, he’s there and we’re here. He has her; he will have to make the critical decision alone. We agree on this: Azart must be killed. We don’t know what she is capable of.”
“Orlioz said in his report that her movements under stress revealed a concealed level of control… a level he thought higher than his own. He said further that this ability seems to come and go, as if she were not completely sure of herself, or was half-asleep. He fears the consequences if he initiates any series of actions which would alert her completely, or awaken her to her full potential. Apparently, under the stress of changing genders, she is attempting to bury Rael and become Damistofia Azart in reality. In the light of wh
at Rael has proven capable of, and that by way of a simple agreement, we are not certain we wish to see what Damistofia Azart might try to do motivated by emotions like revenge.”
Pternam said, silkily, “We are not convinced that what Rael did is the proximate cause of these internal problems.”
Charodei responded, “We are! We need no convincing; we know.”
Pternam looked narrowly at Charodei. “How so?”
Charodei said, beginning slowly, cautiously, “There was an element in Lisagor which acted as a dampening agent on the pressures within this society—the impetus to change, and the resistance to that which was so strong here. No one imagined that this was the keystone holding Lisagor and Oerlikon together, but Rael struck at it, and through a series of coincidental events, which we believe he could somehow perceive, he neatly sliced that element out of the picture, which allowed the contending forces to come into direct contact. They will continue to work against one another until another stable amalgam is attained. The prospectus now is that of a number of semi-independent states, some hostile to others… the unique conditions here will not reappear; in fact, they have already gone.”
Pternam commented, “There is some truth in what you say; I know for a fact that Clisp is already loose, however much they disguise the fact. Much of The Serpentine as well, and also Karshiyaka, of all places. They have brought the mercenaries from Tartary. But aside from all that, I find your, ah, viewpoint, as it were, a little odd. You sneak almost as an outsider, with a clinical detachment I cannot manage. How is this so?”
“I have some truth to deliver, and you must take it as you will.”
“Speak on—we have need of it.”
Charodei said, “The element that dampened: those people were not natives, but were from the old worlds, let us conjecture.”
“Go on. Why would they care?”
“Originally, let us say that they wanted to see how a change-resistant system of society would work, because elsewhere they don’t. But as they stayed here longer, they gained a vested interest in keeping things as they were.”
Pternam swore, “Hellation! They were filthy spies, laughing at us.”
Charodei demurred gently. “No, they may seem that way, but they were not. They were in fact mere academics, students, if you will, who wanted to maintain what they found. Chance was building up pressure here, as elsewhere. And so they acted to deflect the impetus for those changes, to keen Oerlikon as it was.”
Pternam was still skeptical. “Why should they care?”
“They, such people, would have to train exhaustively for such a mission, learn the modes of speech, the customs, the laws, also which are most followed, and what outlets does the system allow, or encourage. In doing so, one would become used to thinking like a native; some might come to like it, after all, everyone on every planet sometimes remarks about the ‘good old days.’ We all share the fear that things will not remain as we left them, that the change of values makes us ciphers, nothings, insignificances. And frankly, I think that some of those watchers would also prefer this kind of work to other occupations they might be doing, for in a lot of ways, the mission would be a soft job, and they would want the conditions that called the Oerlikon project into existence to continue, so they would have a place, however obscure. Let us further say that the tour here would last, say, twenty-five standard years, so that one could do a trip here and go home and have a pension. Not a bad life, eh?”
Pternam said softly, “And these people from the void; they would have been here a long time, yes?”
“From the beginning. Many—indeed, the vast majority, were insignificant people who were never noticed. Some rose to high position. One or two ruled.”
Pternam thought about something Rael had told him, something about a third force. And here was this Charodei describing the same thing, although it was much more fearsome than he imagined. “How would they come and go?”
“Spaceships, naturally. The locals have no incentive to travel space in the local system, and the nearest inhabited systems are too far. Also, Lisagor has no competition, hence, no enemy to watch for. And Lisagor early turned away from space—it is a powerful motive for change. Most landings took place at sea; a few in Tartary.”
Pternam said, “Why should you voice such conjectures to me?”
Charodei said mildly, “To accustom you to the idea. Most Lisaks would find the idea insupportable, but you seem receptive to ideas of this sort, and your business here involves change in a profound way. You would react the most reasonably.”
Pternam glanced at Avaria, then said, “Could I make one of my own conjectures? That you might be one such person?”
Charodei hesitated, as if weighing minutiae, and said at last, “In the light of what we have said, the assumption would seem to follow.”
Pternam said, not missing a fraction of the beat of the conversation, “Then one could also assume Akhaltsykh would be one as well; one would hardly reveal such a secret before a mere idealist.”
“That is correct.”
Pternam nodded. “I understand. This is valuable tender to reveal. We have heard, of course, of such a thing, from Femisticleo Chugun and his henchmen, lackeys, and minions. But also Monclova is taken with the idea. I had considered it nonsense. But then, you must desire something of me. You may speak of it.”
It was Charodei who flinched. He had evaluated Pternam correctly, of course, but the quickness and ruthlessness of his response took him aback. He cleared his throat and said, “Rael struck during a period when we could not communicate, and our infrastructure here was destroyed by him. Those of us who survive would like to return to our home-worlds. You are high enough to have constructed a suitable apparatus so that we can arrange for pickup with our monitor ship. Then we depart.”
Pternam said briskly, “Difficult that would be, especially in such times…” He glanced at Charodei. “But not totally impossible. We have a certain secrecy here, and a certain tether… But what can you provide in exchange? I have no irrational hatreds against your people, but I am pressed now. Lisagor is in great danger, and with it, all of us who have ruled it. I do not care to have a mob uncover all that was here, in the pits and training cribs.”
Charodei said, “One of the first native casualties of the unrest was The Heraclitan Society; it disintegrated into a score of ideological and territorial factions. Certain survivors have come together, and taken over some of the larger surviving fragments. This movement is now under the effective control of a council of four persons, two of whom are here now.”
“The other two?”
“Cesar Kham and Arunda Palude. Kham was acting bureau chief for Clisp and the Serpentine, Palude was central integrator.”
Pternam said, “Those are not your real names, the ones you had at birth?”
“No, but what matter? I am Porfirio Charodei now. But to the point: we are trying to salvage a core here in the inland provinces; Crule the Swale, Puropaigne, Akchil, part of Grayslope. The Lisak central government will of course be discredited and will fall as a matter of course, but something will take its place. We offer our expertise in arranging things to fall your way. We will work with those people you designate.”
“There are details to be worked out…”
“Yes. This is detail-work of no great importance. What we need early on is a sign of commitment that we may proceed.”
“What would you do otherwise?”
“Just vanish into the masses. We can do so.”
Pternam nodded, “And who knows who else you’d make such an offer to? Doubtless there’s someone somewhere who’d stand still for it, besides us here. Yes. Very well. Proceed. I will arrange to have the proper components brought here and assembled. You have an expert to coordinate this?”
“One will be provided.”
“And your end?”
“We will commence immediately. The resultant state which emerges cannot be guaranteed as to physical extent, but you and such associa
tes as you designate will be at the head of it.”
“And we’ll be rid of you.”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Our motives seem to coincide. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“Yes. Rael; or more properly, Damistofia. We would like to take her with us. He, she, is a unique being, and we would desire to study this creature under controlled conditions.”
“Is Orlioz one of you?”
“No. He is a Lisak. A real one, if somewhat deviant. He has asked for clarification before proceeding. Capture would be simple, relatively. We would also ask for the experimental notes and records, and some person from your staff who participated in such training.”
“You would take such a monster back to your own worlds? Alive? I might, were I you, take it back, a certified corpse, encased in a ton of glass. But you have no idea what you are dealing with. It is supremely dangerous, and must—I say must—be eliminated. I insist. Rael must die.”
Charodei began, “We must look beyond revenge…” Pternam interrupted, “That creature possesses an ability to disrupt entire worlds. I am not thinking revenge, but protecting my own world from further disruption. And probably yours as well.”
Charodei said confidently, “We think we can isolate it suitably there—we have devices and methods…”
“Yes. Devices, methods, spaceships and telephones that speak across the void. But you couldn’t make a Morphodite. We did that. And I reiterate: you have no idea how dangerous that thing, that insect, really is, fully awakened. We simply cannot take the chance. I say have it killed, or… I’d reconsider.”
“How much of a reconsideration?”
“Come, come, my good Charodei, let us not fall to threats and promises of dire events. Nothing is more boring than the fool who claims, ‘I intend to do so-and-so,’ when one can be certain that such claimers will in fact do nothing, or cannot. I prefer to speak of accomplishments, of facts, of deeds, of ‘I shall’. We made Rael. We know now how dangerous he is. He must be killed.”