As his troopers spread out to cover them, a few guards accompanied the Cassrian Commander down the center of the bay toward them. Krinata rose. This is the one who threw Chinchee in here without food or water. He deserves the same treatment.
The native was still too weak to stand, but the others gathered protectively in front of him. No one answered the Commander. The chairman of the defense committee for the settlement wasn’t there. Terab was, but she had not been elected by the settlers.
The Commander surveyed them all, then zeroed in on Krinata and Jindigar, his manner hasty—almost jittery. “Technically a Prince outranks you, Lady Zavaronne, but he’s Dushau. So I’ll talk to you. Come.”
He about-faced and started for the hatch, his guards closing on Krinata. He wants something from me! He knows who we are–why hasn’ t he lifted off? She stood her ground. “Wait a moment!” The Cassrian turned. “First, we don’t go by rank. Second, I don’t go anywhere without Jindigar. Third, I won’t speak for this whole group. You’ll have to negotiate with all of us.”
“Negotiate? You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“No? We can stop the stampede.”
The silence was profound. Even the faint wheezing of the armored breathing apparatus suspended. “Stampede,” said the Cassrian at last. “How did you know—”
Krinata interrupted, keeping the initiative. “Ever heard of an Oliat? They know things about planets—like how to avoid enraging the native species to the point where they turn on you in suicidal attacks. Pity Imperial Squadrons don’t employ them—”
“Enraging—?”
She had his attention now. She stepped out from the group. “Now, if you want our help saving this fortress, you’ll have to come here and speak civilly to Prince Jindigar and his associates. Put your case nicely, and you could find yourselves with valuable allies.”
As the Commander scanned the mass of settlers, then turned to survey the troopers deployed around the hatch, Krinata saw the bulkheads turn to a crazy patchwork of schematic diagrams that momentarily took on a depth as the pentad perception joined. Then it cut off, leaving her gasping. She saw Darllanyu’s hands clench. The pentad was as frightened of the Archive as they were.
Jindigar stepped out of the group to stand beside her, whispering, “Sorry, I had to know.” Then he addressed the Commander. “On the other hand, now that you’ve had such a power failure, I could simply ask Threntisn over there to work those three manual override levers and open the cargo bay doors behind us. We aren’t your prisoners. We don’t have to be your allies. We can all take our chances with the herds. Somehow I don’t think they’ll hurt us. It’s you they’re after.”
“They’re only animals—”
“Animals? Yes. Only? Well, they know what’s been devastating their homes. They are willing to negotiate.”
The Cassrian emitted a derisive hoot, no doubt a profanity. Jindigar didn’t react, but a Holot officer behind the Cassrian said, “Commander, I’ve seen an Oliat pull off miracles. I can believe they could negotiate with a herd of wild beasts. It might be worth leveling with the prisoners. I doubt there’s much they don’t know already.”
From the stir that caused among the distant troops, Krinata sensed that they all agreed. Darllanyu moved close to Jindigar and, in a warning undertone, asked in Dushauni, “You aren’t planning to Invert—”
“Of course not. We are where we should be. Chinchee’s friend will arrange everything.”
The Commander watched that exchange warily. His men had lost heart for suicide missions merely to net two political prisoners. He had to be careful what orders he gave now. He stepped closer to Krinata. “What are your terms?”
What could make a loyal Imperial betray the Empire by consorting with the people who’d assassinated an Emperor? And then she knew. “Your Orbital support is gone, isn’t it? They’ve abandoned you here!”
Krinata saw some of the farther troops move to make mystical signs. Another muttered cynically, “She must be a telepath. A few humans are, you know.”
“We only have a few minutes more to live,” said the Cassrian. The deck was definitely vibrating now. “I may as well admit it. They detected a large blip heading this way. There’s been a lot of privateering in this war, and our ships are considered great prizes. But this planet has left our Fleet undercrewed, and low on spare parts. We’re too far from our supply lines to risk an engagement. When the Fleet Captain was told we couldn’t lift, he ordered landers down to evacuate us. But the pilots said going down to this planet was suicide with that stampede coming, and not one would volunteer, not even when I reported we had you.
“We’ve nothing to fight that herd with. Central power systems have failed, and so all our defensive screens are down. There’s enough tonnage out there to shove us right over that cliff, and without power to the a-gravs, the fall won’t do us any good. We’re beaten—by your planet, or maybe by your Oliat.”
Darllanyu bristled, but Jindigar said coolly, “The only hand raised against your troops, Commander, has been your own.”
From the Cassrian’s stiff pride, Krinata knew he’d never surrendered before, certainly never to his own prisoners. But his voice was perfectly modulated as he said, “State your terms.”
“Our only terms.,” said Jindigar, “are that when we’ve saved your fortress, you and your troops will join our community, live among us without regard to your origins or training, as fellow refugees from the crumbling Allegiancy Empire. We won’t single you out as troopers, nor hold the violence of this day against you. And you won’t set yourselves apart from the community but will give freely of every resource this fortress has yet to give.”
Feet shuffled in the background, but the Commander’s second urged, “Accept. I’ll get them to agree.”
“Done! Adjutant, pass the word!” Then, as if the words were torn from him, he added, “Strike the Imperial colors.” The Adjutant muttered into his helmet pickup, and the Commander asked, “What do we do?”
“Don’t strike the colors, Commander,” said Krinata. ‘Tell your people to salute the colors and remember they’ve been part of one of the greatest glories ever created in our galaxy. We’ve served the Empire well, but now it is dead, and we must bury it and go on with our lives. But we must never forget the peace and prosperity it brought to the galaxy.”
He considered, then amended his order, while Jindigar turned to Chinchee. A passage opened to expose the tall white native and his little black friend. Krinata sensed Jindigar’s inward uncertainty. They hadn’t won the native over yet. Jindigar knelt and respectfully asked the hivebinder to come onto his shoulder, stroking the little shellperson affectionately.
Through Jindigar’s touch Krinata could feel the hivebinder quivering with the restrained need to bind. How could Jindigar, with his limited command of the language, explain that those who had gutted hives all across the plain were now friends of the hives? Did they have wars, that they could understand truce?
Apparently they could.
But no sooner had she sensed their agreement than Krinata felt the hivebinder reaching through Jindigar to her, to the pentad, and into the Cassrian Commander, then out into the troops: war, destruction, honed reflexes, betrayal by faulty equipment, horror rising out of the innocent plains grass; Chinchee’s marveling curiosity, images of the armored troopers invading sanctuary hives spouting fire and destruction. All this spun away in every direction into tunnels of hive-memory. It was too much.
Darllanyu crumpled. Krinata nearly retched with sudden vertigo. Jindigar plucked the hivebinder off his shoulder and shrilled a piercing whistle at him.
The whole mental assault cut off, leaving Krinata’s mind a black field that was almost worse than the sensory overload. The troopers were staggering about, hands to their heads, moaning and in some cases screaming. Jindigar bent over Darllanyu as Zannesu wavered over to her. Over his shoulder Jindigar mumbled to Krinata, “They’d better leave.”
To Krinat
a it seemed that the scene in the cargo bay was painted into a screen, unreal, two-dimensional. Her voice sounded recorded, and it seemed she only remembered speaking the words she heard. “Commander, it may not be healthy for your troops to stay here while we work.”
He spoke the order to withdraw, his voice warbling into the supersonic. As the troopers picked each other up and straggled toward the hatch, Krinata followed the Commander, saying, “Leave the hatch unlocked, and we’ll send word.”
“How can we survive, trapped on this insane world?”
“It will become a wonderful place to live,” she answered. She’d seen the beauty of the planet, but right now she’d rather be back in her nice safe office with only Sentient computers and mad Emperors to deal with.
The Cassrian was still skeptical as the hatch closed behind t him, and Krinata turned to see people recovering, standing or sitting around the natives. Jindigar stroked the hivebinder on his shoulder and spoke softly to Darllanyu in Dushauni while intermittently gabbling to the native.
Krinata joined them, sitting beside Jindigar, as he explained to everyone, “The only way the hivebinder can deal with this situation is to create a boundmind from all of us– all of us—and use that binding to convince the hives we’re not mavericks but controllable neighbors.” He speared Threntisn with a glance. “He refused to exclude me. He’s intrigued by the Archive; can’t believe it’s a threat.”
Darllanyu said in Dushauni, “We’ll all be sucked through the Eye! I’d rather go down to the settlement and be eaten alive.”
Krinata squirmed, wondering what she’d do if it came to that, but Threntisn answered, also in Dushauni’s technical vocabulary, “No, when Jindigar goes, the Archive will implode after him.”
“Jindigar won’t go!” said Krinata, also in Dushauni, forgetting the others listening. “You’re going to take the Archive and Seal it!”
“I told you—”
‘“You can’t achieve fidelity,’” quoted Krinata, ‘“by forsaking Completion.’ Nobody here is going to achieve Completion by getting trampled or eaten, so what sort of fidelity can you achieve by refusing to risk taking the Archive?”
Threntisn started to object, but she talked him down, suddenly seeing what the Dushau hand growing out of the little garden, harboring a fish bowl, fingers turning to lightning flashes really meant. Certainly, if she could understand, a Historian could. “Listen to me. What is it you’re trying to Complete? Your Identity! What is an identity? It’s the sum of all experiences. Nobody, not even a Dushau, can live long enough to have every experience! Identities can grow and become complete only by drawing on other organized systems, absorbing them as a plant absorbs nourishment from the soil, integrating even—or especially– your antagonists.
“Threntisn, this Archive is your antagonist because you’re the one who’s most frightened of it. Do you seek Completion, or do we all die incomplete?”
Jindigar looked at her, as delighted as if she’d solved a Cassrian puzzle-cube using only her soft-fleshed hands. Then he turned a proprietary smile on Threntisn, showing pale teeth. “I only saw it last night, at the river, and here she has the whole solution without even studying the Seven Schools of Aliom. Threntisn, we’ve been trying to practice Efficacious Helplessness by knowing only our own Identities. But to be successfully helpless, one must integrate others’ Identities as well. I failed to validate your fear; you failed to validate my fidelity. How could we possibly help each other? Reciprocity is a Policy behind all Laws of Nature.”
The Historian nodded slowly. “You’re right. You’ve found a truth despite your skewed Aliom approach.” He pushed himself to his feet, regarding Krinata with an odd intensity. Then he nodded. “I wonder if Raichmat’s knew what they were doing when they suggested a Dushau multicolony?”
Jindigar answered, “No, we didn’t. But being right doesn’t require foresight; it requires insight.”
Threntisn grunted, then offered Jindigar a hand up. “Come, there can’t be much time left.”
Jindigar set the shellperson on Chinchee’s shoulder with a few trills of explanation and accepted the Historian’s hand. But as Threntisn turned to lead the way off into the red shadows, Jindigar bent to whisper to Krinata, “I apologize for saying you needed to develop an epistemology. Lelwatha couldn’t have done better.”
Bewildered, she watched him follow the Historian to the other end of the cargo bay. When they’d first met, he’d said she needed an epistemology, but she’d never followed his advice.
Darllanyu interrupted her. “We must attempt not to interfere. Do you know how to outfocus from a duad?”
She shook her head.
Darllanyu sighed. “The pentad can’t accept you, or we’ll drag Jindigar—and the Archive—in.” Her eye lit upon a box of ration bars, and she seized it. “Here! Eat.” She shoved the box into Krinata’s hands, adding, “Get everyone to eat. Talk to them—”-And she turned back to the pentad grouping, taking them away into the gloom.
Krinata felt the constant distraction of images from outside the fortress subside, and almost simultaneously the duad link shut down tight, leaving her with a sudden emptiness– a hole where she hadn’t been aware of substance. She knew it took Jindigar a great effort to produce that effect, different from dissolving the link. Determined to cooperate even though she wasn’t hungry, she took a ration bar and passed the box around, saying, “We may not get another chance to eat.” She didn’t want to tangle with that Archive again.
There was a stiff silence, then Viradel passed around a water bag, saying, “She’s right.”
Then the others were all asking questions about what had been said, and Krinata found it so much of a challenge to translate the concepts that she munched the bar and washed it down with the tepid, sterile water and never gave a thought to what was going on out in the cargo bay’s shadows until the shock hit like a toothache that spread through all the nerves behind her face.
Gasping, she clawed at the pain, fending off queries until it subsided as suddenly as it had come on. Her nose was running, tears streaming from her eyes, her heart racing, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the physical pain or the sudden overwhelming flood of bereavement that came in the wake of the pain: death, loss, endings, every parting she’d ever experienced. That, too, ebbed away just as quickly, to be replaced by an equally inexplicable joy, ecstasy beyond endurance. She was ready to prefer the grief when that burbling intoxication faded to be replaced only by darkness, void, emptiness, silence.
It was like stepping into an anechoic chamber—the constant feedback of living was gone. Is there such a thing as a thought-echo?
But before it became a horrifying sensory deprivation, Jindigar was bending over her, the duad link blossoming to full so she was bending over herself, and she was in desperate need of assurance that she wasn’t hurt too badly. “I’m sorry, Krinata. I didn’t know that would happen—”
Sniffing and blinking, she tossed her head back and managed to mutter, “It was nothing. Forget it.” She could feel the tremors shaking his body. She had only felt the edges of what he’d lived through—the ripping asunder of the bonds holding the Archive to his mind at those strategic points of high emotion—the “scars” that ruined him for the Historian’s functions. “I’m fine,” she insisted.
He fingered the half-eaten ration bar in her hand. “Brilliant idea. You did beautifully.” He straightened and went to lower himself beside Chinchee, moving as if he were afraid of becoming dizzy, but smiling freely now. His teeth seemed dark in the red light. They must be bluer than they’d been since the hive. He really was regaining his health, and if all it cost her was a few tears—it was worth it.
As he reached for the shellperson he glanced back at
Krinata. “Ready?” And suddenly she felt a new sharpness to her awareness of his perceptions, quickly swamping out the absence of a thought-echo. The hold was red-lit, and it was totally dark. It was filled with flat, odorless air, and it reeked of human swea
t, Holot breath, and Cassrian acridity. And she understood the chirrup of the hivebinder.
“If you’re finally ready,” it was saying, “we must hurry, for the big ones cannot stop or turn quickly.”
“We may begin slowly, not to touch Threntisn until he’s ready. He has the Big Memory now. Let me guide.”
Threntisn? She gulped. If he couldn’t master the Archive—/ convinced him to do it..’..
But there was no time to think. The hivebinder touched her through Jindigar, and a panorama of images returned. But this time it wasn’t a wild, uncontrolled flicker-flash, nor the sickening whirl of the unSealed Archive. Stretching almost to the tearing point, her mind was able to interpret the pattern, perceived through vastly alien minds.
Below the cliff, the troopers held the settlement. The sun was setting. An Imperial banner made of photomultipliers was being raised on a pole in the middle of the settlement. It glowed the Imperial colors into the shadowed night, and every trooper turned to salute.
The settlers had been herded outdoors, under surveillance by the floating gun platforms and patrolling guards. Knowing nothing of the ground-blanketing swarm of insects coming toward them, they withstood defeat with pride.
She felt the first, tentative touch of the pentad—aching, hungering to complete itself again, but repelled by the taint of the Inverts. The hivebinder, relaxed and pleased, wound them all together, keeping the pentad a single entity—as if it were a hive all by itself, while she and Jindigar were a unit, with Jindigar holding the closest mental contact with the alien, Emulating the herald’s role. He even walked with
Chinchee’s gait as he rose to confront Terab, “Will you let the binder include you among us? It won’t be like the last time, when the hive tried to swallow us. We’re forming our own hive.”
She recoiled, leery of anything so alien.
“It’s not permanent,” coaxed Jindigar.
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