Lost Past

by Teresa McCullough

  Jorxt Bud VII sent him a message, saying he shouldn’t let anyone know what he bet on. Something about public opinion not being sympathetic to Jorxt’s bets. While Jorxt was trying to understand what Jorxt Bud VII’s concern was, Saxant stormed into the lab.

  “You’ve got to stop Hernandez,” Saxant demanded.

  “Why? It’s just humans killing humans. They do it all the time.”

  “Humans you designed and supplied with weapons.” Saxant’s gray skin turned purple with anger.

  Jorxt was genuinely puzzled. “I didn’t design Hernandez.” Jorxt didn’t even participate on the Hernandez project when the genome was developed, joining it when Hernandez was a fetus. After looking at Hernandea’ genome, he scraped together $11,000 credits to bet he would be a killer. He didn’t even push to raise him to be one, realizing keeping his mouth shut was enough. Those fools didn’t understand human psychology, in spite of John Graham’s studies. “They didn’t kill your pet, John Graham,” said Jorxt, trying to be conciliatory.

  “He’s not my pet. He’s probably more intelligent than either of us, and he is certainly more honorable than you are, which wouldn’t be hard.”

  “He’s intelligent because we made him that way.” Too intelligent, Jorxt thought. We shouldn’t be making humans smarter than Plict.

  “All right, let me put it in terms you can understand,” said Saxant. “Both John Graham and Arthur Saunders are missing because of Hernandez’ actions. Both are respected, even if they are human.”

  “So?”

  “If it is discovered you supplied weapons that allowed Hernandez to go on a killing spree and kill how many humans?”

  “132,” Jorxt supplied. That was assuming Hernandez bombed the smaller apartment complex, but not the larger one. Jorxt didn’t like being overly optimistic in his estimates.

  “Kill 132 humans, they might decide your bet is void due to your interference. If Hernandez isn’t stopped by this evening, I’m going to publicize your actions.”

  “The weapons were approved by a committee.” Remembering Jorxt Bud VII’s warning, Jorxt said, “I’ll tell the Vigintees that we are not pleased by the actions of Hernandez and his clones. They’ll stop them.”

  As Jorxt escorted a mollified Saxant out of the lab, he considered what was the minimum he could do to Hernandez and get away with keeping his word to Saxant.

  CHAPTER 13

  When the storm was over, John went outside. A fog covered the spit of land. He felt he was probably safe from being found, but wondered what the point was. If he could rescue Linda, Cara, or even Wilson, he would, but how could they get back to Earth? They were probably better off where they were, than living like a rat that scrounged for food underneath the city.

  He was free, but there was nowhere he could go. If he had a choice, he’d return to Earth. Vigintees society had no appeal for him, even if they accepted him. Would he live the rest of his life in isolation? Even without his memories, he knew he was a social person. Should he return and face what his former compatriots considered to be justice? Was it just to condemn someone who couldn’t remember the crime? He didn’t think so.

  Besides, how could it be a crime to help people? That was the problem, he realized. The Vigintees did not consider those from Earth as people. What he taught Eric Schwartz and others would change lives, making Earth a better place. Drug addicts would get real help and most would be cured. Schizophrenics would largely be able to function. Autism would—

  A gray figure emerged from behind a rock and interrupted his musings. He wasn’t surprised that he didn’t see it earlier, because it blended in with the fog and rocks. It was a mouthless Plict, but not the same one as before. He pulled out a small board with a pen. He wrote, “I am Ghorxal Bud. You can’t stay here forever. I have a better place for you.”

  “Where?” John asked.

  “I will show you,” Ghorxal Bud wrote.

  He didn’t wait for John’s response, but turned around and walked to some rocks a dozen yards away. A two-person sea kayak was behind them. He pulled it into the water and motioned John to get in. There were two double-sided paddles, which he handed to John. After pushing the kayak further out, climbing in, and retrieving one paddle, he started paddling. John paddled with him, having no idea where they were going.

  Once, the Plict stopped and handed John a bottle of water, which John drank gratefully. It showed forethought, because the Plict couldn’t drink. It was perhaps two hours later when a motorized boat was visible. Ghorxal Bud threw a rope to another mouthless Plict on the boat. John climbed up a ladder into the boat. As soon as both passengers and the kayak were on board, the boat took off at a rapid speed.

  Ghorxal Bud gestured, “Wash, eat, sleep.” They led him to a room below, where there was a shower and clean, dry clothing, including shoes. Everything fit. Another mouthless Plict brought down a meal, which was Earth, but not Vigintees style. Pasta with a tomato sauce with real meat, green beans, and coffee. It was hardly a gourmet meal, but it tasted wonderful after the bland bars he ate for days. There was a cot and he obeyed the command and slept.

  He didn’t know how long he slept, but when the engine changed from maximum power to a slower speed, he awoke, feeling rested. He went on deck and saw them come into a dock. They rushed him off the boat and onto land. The boat took off rapidly, while the Plict worked on the dock. The dock sunk underwater. John looked around and realized he was on a shore with no sign of civilization. They entered woods with alien purple trees shading their path. They walked in single file up a path, which was clear near the ground, but in a tunnel of trees, which would hide it from the air. After walking uphill for over an hour, they came to a spot that was indistinguishable from the surroundings. A bare spot in the ground moved aside, revealing a stairway down.

  Concealment, John thought. This place was built to hide. Who or what are they hiding from? He felt in awe of the Plict and it did not occur to him to disobey them, but they obviously were not completely in charge, or else they wouldn’t be hiding.

  Once he reached the bottom of the stairs and went through the open door, he entered a place that looked more like Earth than Vigintees. The halls weren’t mirrored, but pale yellow. It looked like a spacious modern office building, with hallways where three people could walk abreast.

  They came into a pleasant room. The furniture was generously sized and looked comfortable, even if the style was not one he recognized. But the furniture was not what interested him. Coming toward him, with a smile on his face, was Arthur Saunders. He recognized him from photos, but Arthur looked like Linda, or perhaps he should say that Linda looked like Arthur. Arthur was about the same height as his daughter and was wiry.

  Arthur obviously considered hugging him, but settled for a handshake. He stared at John for a few seconds and said, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  John shook his head and said, “No. I know you are Arthur Saunders, but I don’t remember our friendship.”

  “At least you know we were friends,” Arthur said, gesturing to the chairs. The chairs weren’t as comfortable as they looked, hitting John’s back in the wrong place.

  Arthur brought John up to date on his kidnapping and escape. John watched Arthur as he described the situation, trying to remember the connection that Arthur obviously felt.

  “When I found what happened to Natalie…” Arthur interrupted himself. “Did you know what happened to her?”

  “Kidnapped because they thought she had telepathy. She died, trying to escape.”

  Arthur nodded. “Did you know she was pregnant? She was about to give birth.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I must have seen the censored version.”

  “I didn’t. What they did to her!” Arthur leaned back, obviously moved. John saw no reason to ask for details, since Arthur was disturbed enough. “I couldn’t stay with those who kidnapped me, but when I found out about Natalie . . . I knew I couldn’t go back to Earth from Vigint City, but the mainland w
as only a short distance away. If it isn’t foggy, it’s visible from the wall that surrounds the fruit farm on the roof. The currents would bring me to land. When I first worked with the Plict on wormholes, they allowed me to browse on their computers and I deliberately spent ten percent of my time learning random facts about this planet and its occupants.”

  John had a vision of Arthur carefully keeping track of the time and switching away from one task to meet his self-imposed quota. The thought amused him, but he realized that was what Arthur actually did.

  “I went down into that basement, bumped my head a few times,” Arthur continued, “then I went out into the water with my life jacket on and started swimming. I expected to reach land in a few hours, but I was picked up by the rebels who run this island.”

  “Rebels?”

  “Yes, the mouthless Plict are rebelling against the Plict with mouths. Only the other Plict don’t know it yet.”

  “How do you fit in?” John asked Arthur after a pause.

  “Damned if I know. I don’t think anyone knows. They picked me up, but don’t want to release me because they weren’t supposed to be out in a boat. The Vigintees don’t want me to go back to Earth because they know I’ll tell them everything I know about them, the mouthless Plict rebellion doesn’t want me to tell the Plict that they have a secret base and own a few boats. Next thing you know, I’ll find out the regular Plict have some reason for keeping me.”

  John was briefly surprised that Arthur was so calm and even a bit flippant about his situation. He started remembering what he had heard about him and realized the explanation. Arthur was a realist and was not about to bemoan his fate, quickly accepting the situation and moving on.

  “Arthur, there is something I must tell you . . . Mary is dead.”

  “I know,” said Arthur. “I saw her die. Not in real time, but the Plict have cameras everywhere. Recently, they put them on Hernandez and his clones. They showed me. . .”

  After John expressed his condolences and a few conventional words were said, he asked, “Do I have a camera on me?”

  “No. One of the clones was arrested on Earth and they decided to put cameras on all of them. This happened just a few months before the bombing. Also, there are cameras everywhere on Vigintees. That’s the main reason for all those mirrors. They don’t have to have as many cameras if everything is reflected. Watching the humans is a common occupation among the Plict. They place bets on everything too. Your trial was a top-rated show, and the odds were that you would be executed.”

  John was startled. “Did the Vigintees see it?”

  “Of course not,” Arthur replied. “They didn’t even record it because it proved you really had amnesia.”

  “What proved it?”

  “You did not use the obvious defense. You were only giving Earth information you personally developed. Not the stuff on schizophrenia, which is pretty common among the Vigintees.”

  John stared in confusion at Arthur. He wanted to sputter, what? what? what? I’m a resident, not a researcher, but after a long pause, he was able to ask more rationally, “I think that requires a bit of explanation.”

  At that point, Ghorxal Bud came up behind Arthur and tapped him on the shoulder. When Arthur turned to face him, John saw a translation disk in his skull. Ghorxal Bud gestured and Arthur translated.

  “They want you to have a translation disk which will translate their sign language. It is a lot better than waiting for them to write everything out.”

  John consented and the process was much like the one that gave the disk to Cara, Wilson, and Linda. When it was attached, Ghorxal Bud signed, “You were twenty-two when you went to the United States as an anthropologist. Within a year, you wanted to do more than study, you wanted to help people. It started with an autistic child. By trial and error, you managed to improve his life some, but you realized that he needed more. You requested help from the Plict and they were willing to experiment. You drugged the child and brought him to the Plict lab in Vigint City and Bixtant Bud XI worked on the biology and chemistry, and cured him completely. But he needed both what we did and what you did.”

  “There’s a Plict Lab in Vigint City?” Arthur exclaimed. “If I’d known that, I’d have saved myself a swim.” He looked over at John, who forbore from saying that Arthur might not be a prisoner in that case.

  “One thing led to another,” Ghorxal Bud continued. “You had a secret clinic in Mexico for fourteen years where the local poor people came and well-informed rich people from all over. The clinic in Canada only lasted three years until the authorities got wind of it. You were practicing medicine without a license, and they disapproved, even if you were curing people. There were several clinics in the United States and two more in Mexico. Every time, you used a new name and had to start from scratch. But you kept learning. Bixtant’s lab did the biology and the chemistry, but that was only a piece of it. You invented all the clinical support that went with it. Although your support staff on Earth helped, the Plict didn’t let you teach others most of your techniques.”

  “Why not?” John asked.

  “Because they weren’t sure how they were going to deal with humans,” the Bud said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Plict are more advanced than humans and if we fought a war now, we would easily win. We could throw an asteroid at the planet and the war would be over. But if the Plict ignore humans, they will inevitably find the wormhole and find us. We might lose a war then.”

  “I am glad that you aren’t planning a preemptive strike,” John said dryly.

  “It’s been considered. No one is happy about the thought of killing seven billion intelligent beings, although the species would not die out, because we have samples in our…” Ghorxal Bud didn’t finish the sentence.

  John wondered what Ghorxal Bud was going to say, but didn’t press him. Looking at Arthur’s lack of curiosity, he realized that Arthur completed the sentence in his own mind.

  Ghorxal Bud continued, “We wanted to know as much about humans as possible. You provided an immense amount of information, but if the knowledge were to spread, Earth would become much more powerful. Imagine a world where drug addiction was curable with a few months of work. Put resources into that, instead of detecting smuggling, and the smuggling would dry up very quickly. The resources could be put into space travel and weapons.”

  “And you couldn’t allow that.” John thought it extremely unlikely that the freed resources would be put into space exploration, since there were too many other things people would want to spend it on, but realized that there would be no point in raising the issue.

  “No. We wanted Arthur Saunders to show us how to close the wormhole. Once it is closed, it doesn’t matter what they do, because we will never see them again.”

  “Do you know how to close the wormhole?” John asked Arthur when they were alone.

  “No. I gave them all my research.”

  Both true statements, John felt, but Arthur was concealing something. It was possible that he was concealing it from the Plict, who easily could be listening, so John didn’t press him.

  John wasn’t sure if Arthur knew that Linda was on this planet, but found that he did. “They don’t have a direct feed of the Vigintees show and don’t want to call attention to themselves by getting one. It’s sort of like cable. You pay to watch. But every few days, someone brings in bits of recordings of Linda. It’s frustratingly limited, but she seems fine. The boat that brought you had something from two days ago, I was told.”

  While John followed Arthur to his room, Arthur told John that Linda was always in the same apartment in Vigint City with two other people who were obviously from Earth. John described Cara and Wilson to Arthur who confirmed them as being with Linda. “Yes, they’ve downloaded it,” Arthur said, when he looked at his computer. Linda was using the exercise equipment, which clearly surprised Arthur. “Well, at least I know she’s physically fine. I would love to get a more direct feed.�
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  Arthur took John to the room next door, telling him that it was his. There was a makeshift bathroom with exposed and jury-rigged pipes. “Remember where it is,” Arthur said. “It’s the only one in the building.”

  “Don’t the Plict need one? The boat had one.” Obviously not designed for humans, but usable.

  “The mouthless Plict don’t. The mouthed Plict do, which means you probably were on a boat designed for them.”

  “Ghorxal Bud talked about the mouthed Plict as both ‘us’ and ‘them.’ What’s going on?”

  “A regular Plict can reproduce sexually. They don’t have gender, but two Plicts share genetic material and one of them has a baby Plict. A mouthed Plict can also create a Bud. A Bud has all the memories and skills of its progenitor but doesn’t have a digestive tract or sexual organs. It can’t talk and is legally limited to communicate in writing or in a very limited sign language.”

  “The sign language they’re using here is hardly limited,” John said. Ghorxal Bud used a full vocabulary describing John’s past. But John remembered he understood the sign language of the Bud who showed him where to find food and water, but the Bud had to write, “Shake to recharge.”

  “It is theorized that Buds were originally useful in combat. At first, they lived only a few days, but they now live for decades,” Arthur said. “But they don’t have the same rights as mouthed Plict and they have their own culture. They want equality.”

  “And I suspect that we will be their prisoners until they get it,” John said. He realized all of the Plict must learn the limited sign language and the handwriting so their Buds would know it. It would also allow them to communicate with Buds. “By the way, what was Ghorxal Bud going to say when he said, ‘the species would not die out, because we have samples in our. . .’ How was he going to complete the sentence?”