Pock's World

by Dave Duncan

  “You are staying to watch the fireworks?”

  “It will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

  “Once in six hundred million lifetimes. I find the idea morbid and repugnant.”

  He looked down thoughtfully at Solan and seemed to decide to ignore him. “Live and die happy, as they say on Pock’s.”

  “I shall launch my campaign tomorrow.”

  Linn nodded. “I shall watch it with interest.”

  Solan went through the door first. Athena followed.

  * * *

  Their replicas were reunited in Pyrus 1. Solan complained about the gravity. But the crowd was not as oppressive and food was available. There were even places to sit. He went to study the wall view screen for a while, then came back and flopped down on the floor at her feet.

  “Are we nearly there yet?” he asked wearily.

  “ ’Fraid not. Climatal 2 is next, then Ayne 3. From there we take a shuttle down to Shadoof Landing. And from there we get an air car to my house.”

  “I didn’t know it would be so long.”

  “In all, it’s about a hundred light years.”

  “How long in just hours?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Long enough, perhaps, that by the time he arrived at Portolan every person he had ever known would be dead or dying. Or would be dead in a century, relativity-ly speaking. She changed the subject.

  “On Ayne we all have at least two names. You’ll need another. I’m Athena Fimble, so you can call yourself Solan Fimble if you like. My partner is Proser Ryepeck, so you could be Solan Ryepeck. Or Solan Pocosin. Or Solan Skerry, or Solan Skerryson. Think about it and decide.”

  “Skerryson!” Solan said at once.

  * * *

  The crowd of refugees dispersed across the sector. At Climatal 2, the wait was mercifully brief.

  At Ayne 3 they walked right through.

  “This is the end?” Solan said as they settled in the shuttle.

  “Not quite. We come down at Shadoof Landing. And from there we take a car to Portolan. You can sleep in the car if you want.”

  He frowned in the solemn way he had, which she had already come to love. “But I shan’t want to sleep if I’m flying over a whole new world.”

  “I didn’t say you had to sleep.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  At Shadoof the gravity shaft elevated them to the roof. The sun felt right. The air smelled right. It was wonderful to be home. More than wonderful—heavenly! She turned to the ranks of rental cars. But here, wonder of wonders, was Proser, running to greet her. He hugged her, kissed her, swung her around like an adolescent showing off his strength. There were certain to be reporters to capture that indignity, but she didn’t care.

  “We heard the news,” he said. “Refugees coming through. Pock’s is no more? I’ve been sitting here for a whole day, running up a fortune in parking.” He looked down. “I don’t know you!”

  “This is Solan Skerryson. Solan, this is Proser Ryepeck.”

  “Greetings, Young Friend Solan.”

  Solan bowed. “Live and die happy, Friend Proser.” He spoke in Pocosin, but Athena was still wearing her translator and interpreted.

  Proser raised eyebrows at the greeting and peered around. “Where are the others?”

  A crowd of reporters had already gathered, staring.

  Her hair was a mess. She raised her voice to speech-making mode.

  “Linn Lazuline stayed behind to watch the death throes of Pock’s World from the safety of Pock’s Station. Millie Backet, I regret to report, was murdered by religious fanatics in the panic. Both Ratty Turnsole and Brother Andre elected to remain on Pock’s World, although they knew it was going to be cauterized. For different reasons… Is one of you named Jake, an associate of Ratty’s? He sent this for you.

  “Now, please!” She held up a hand before the mob could start rapid fire questioning. “I am very tired. Tomorrow at Portolan I will be happy to deliver a full report. I will also have a personal announcement to make. And you are all welcome to come early and enjoy our hospitality before the meeting: food, drink, swimming, boating. Anyone who asks a question now will not be admitted.”

  They laughed.

  “The car’s away over there,” Proser said. “You look tired, Young Friend Solan. Would you like me to carry you?”

  “I’m pretty heavy in this gravity.”

  “But I’m pretty strong.” Proser scooped him up.

  Chapter 4

  “The medic’s showing beta waves. He’s coming around.”

  “At last!”

  Ratty forced his lids half open. He was in bed, a bed. Two Joys were peering down at him. He tried to speak. Nothing happened. Someone wet his lips with a sponge. He couldn’t focus the two Joys into one. The other must be Love, or perhaps Duty.

  “Wha’ happened?”

  “You had a bad reaction, darling. Tell him, Bedel.”

  Bedel’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “One of your implants contains dysprosium. It reacted with the tonic you got. We nearly lost you.”

  Just like old Ratty, Ratty thought, always early for the party. Have to wait for the others now. He didn’t say anything.

  “There’s still just time,” Bedel said. “At least one shuttle is still waiting to load at Nervine Landing. We can’t get hold of anyone at STARS, but we think Car One will be allowed through. We can get you up to Pock’s Station before impact.”

  No! He thought about it. Nothing in the galaxy would be worth getting out of bed for at the moment. “No,” he said. “Said I’d stay. I’ll stay.”

  Bedel loomed over him. “Listen, Ratty. Even without that reaction, your life expectancy on Pock’s isn’t much more than twenty years, at best. If you can’t tolerate adaption tonic, you won’t last five.”

  “Standard or Pocosin?”

  “Pocosin years.”

  “Well, then. No. Not going.”

  “But why, man? Pock’s will kill you. Fungus and cancer and—”

  “Love Joy. Promised Joy.” He was definitely waking up. “Joy there?”

  “Darling? You mustn’t—”

  “Must. Now send them all away and come into bed.”

  She sniggered and lay on the cover to cuddle him. “I don’t think you’re well enough for that yet, dear.”

  “You may be super… surp… superised. Don’ wan’ you go without me.”

  “Go away, all of you,” Joy said. “He’s staying, and I love him madly. So go away.”

  * * *

  Eight people went to Quassia in Car One: three Monody incarnations, two consorts, one cuckoo, and his two guards. Duty understandably wanted to pass her last hours together with Oxindole, her giver and her consort for two generations, so they were making their own way there. The sky was blue and cloudless, with no sign of climate in any direction. With bright week drawing to a close, the sun hung low in the west and Javel was rising below it, a thin crescent behind the hills. Sunlight cast long shadows over the landscape.

  Ratty sat with his arm around Joy, her head on his shoulder. He had failed to surprise her in his sickbed, but just cuddling was a fitting way to say goodbye. There was little conversation in Car One. He exchanged intimate little images with Joy through the adapter on his headband.

  “Why did you choose to die?” Umandral demanded once, aloud. He could eavesdrop on Pocosin implants to some extent, but he had not yet admitted being able to cognize to them. He was addressing Ratty.

  “A reason called love,” Ratty said. “I expect you’ve cut it out of your genome as an illogical redundancy.”

  The cuckoo shook his oversized head. “No. We understand love. And duty. And joy, too.”

  “Then why did you choose to die?”

  “I hoped I might negotiate, but you were all too scared of me.”

  “Talking of scared,” Ratty said. “Why did you spout all that stuff about parasitism when Linn was leaving?”

  Umandral spr
ead his hands in an ancient human gesture of resignation. “It’s all in medical reports.”

  Love said, “Friend Umandral, you claimed to be ambassador to the Pocosins?”

  The cuckoo nodded. Ratty had no idea why the Monody family kept the alien so close to them. Perhaps Duty was afraid that the secular governments would steal him or fight over him.

  “You do seem rather young for such a responsibility.”

  “I am smarter than any adult human. What do you want to negotiate?”

  She managed to smile at his insolence, although not very convincingly. “Well, for starters, would it be possible to add a more senior member of your group to your delegation?”

  “I expect so. In return, will you warrant safe conduct for both of us, guaranteeing that we shall both be unmolested and free to depart at the conclusion of the discussions? And that those discussions will not last longer than two hours unless both sides agree? And that they will be cognized so that the rest of the world can watch?”

  Bedel was grinning, and in a moment the others joined in, even Wisdom.

  Love herself made an effort to keep a straight face. “You do not beat around bushes, Ambassador. Roughly, and without prejudice, what topics would you want to see on the agenda?”

  “Citizenship for all of us Children, with all the rights that human citizens have. In return we would obey your laws and reproduce only with our own kind and in the manners permitted and possible to humans. I should mention that we regard criminality as a major malfunction and will accept capital punishment for any misdemeanor by one of our kind. We would provide a list of more than one hundred technical innovations, and means to introduce them without damaging your economy or social structure.”

  Love nodded. “On the understanding that Monody does not rule the world and can use her influence only to persuade secular governments and other faiths, I accept that agenda and guarantee the safe conducts.”

  Umandral closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Deputy Mission Leader Ignitor also accepts the terms and will call on you at Abietin at your convenience.”

  Even Love started to smile, until reality threw a cold shadow over the conversation. Her face darkened. “Tell your Ignitor that noon on Sevundy will be convenient. And he is to ask for Duty.”

  “She,” Umandral corrected. “Ignitor is currently female. Your present Duty will have to provide the miracle, of course.”

  An icy silence fell. Impact was due twelve minutes into Sixtrdy. Nowhere on Pock’s World would Javel rise on Sevundy.

  Now Mount Garookuh was visible straight ahead, a low, irregular ruin of a mountain cloaked in greenery. The tallest spike at the highest summit must be Quoad. The sky was peppered with more air cars than Ratty had ever seen before. He glanced at the western sky, where Javel grew ever closer to the sun. Little more than an hour to go, he estimated. No matter what sacrifice Duty offered to her goddess, he expected no miracle. Even if there were, he would gain only five Pocosin years.

  Chapter 5

  The Monody family stood on a rock platform at the base of the Quoad spire, the four incarnations and three consorts. Facing them stood the assembled choir, and in back of them, it seemed, half the population of Pock’s World. Quoad’s shadow lay across the crowd like the hand of a traditional clock. Earlier, Ratty had managed to catch a glimpse of the crater, which was now behind him, and he had seen more tens of thousands gathered on the hills that formed the far rim.

  Somewhere in that western sky, invisible to mortal eyes, the pirate probe was hurtling towards its destiny, and his.

  —The sun’s disk has contacted Javel, said a voice in his head. —Eclipse has begun. Thirty-one minutes to totality.

  Joy’s grip on his hand tightened. Ratty glanced around. Duty had disappeared. The prayers had been said. The choir sang on.

  The air had been absolutely still when they arrived, an ominous sign to the true believers. Now the wind was rising, robes and cloaks starting to flap. Even in Pock’s sultry atmosphere, a wind could feel cold, especially on top of a mountain. He moved to Joy’s windward side to shelter her in his lee. He was surprised to see her smiling through tears, but of course a wind was good news for the faithful. Duty must fall, not jump.

  Joy and the others had turned their backs on the congregation and were staring up at the great spire, so he did the same. Already the senior priestess was climbing the ragged staircase that zigzagged up the near side.

  —Twenty minutes to totality.

  The steps were in shadow, but he knew how broken and rotted they were. Even in daylight and even for a youngster, that would be no easy climb. For a grandmother and soon-to-be great-grandmother to attempt such a feat in this rapidly gathering gloom was close to insanity. She was almost invisible, a white smudge, but he could still make out her robe flapping.

  He shivered and staggered slightly at a more violent blast. Duty believed that the fate of the world hung on her efforts. What happened if she blew off before she reached the summit? He dared not break the spell by asking. Probably that would count as a loss. Obviously—if anything in religion could be obvious to a skeptical eye—the sacrifice would have to be made at the top of the column. Close didn’t count. You had to put the ball through the hoop, the priestess on the top of that grotesque, gargantuan phallic symbol.

  Halfway now.

  Joy’s grip on his hand was almost painful.

  Two-thirds. The wind was blustering ever stronger, approaching gale force. Clouds were moving in, rain starting.

  —Ten minutes to totality.

  Duty fell. She slid or rolled down two or three meters before she stopped. The crowd cried out, a mighty protest in the night, instantly snatched away by the ravening wind.

  For a while she just lay there. Dead or wounded or just dazed?

  —Five minutes to totality.

  Duty was upright again, crawling up the cliff, ever so slowly. Even if she were down on hands and knees, Ratty could not imagine why the wind did not hurl her off. At that rate she wasn’t going to make it in time.

  The choir tried to sing again. Soon it gave up, unable to compete with the wind. The sun was a mere speck of light, dangerous to look at. Ratty glanced eastward. The hills in that direction were vanishing even as he watched. The shadow of the giant planet came rushing westward over the landscape.

  —One minute to totality. Twelve minutes to impact.

  Then he was cognizing a view of Duty. Some reporter was watching her through a night scope, probably from an air car. She was not even on hands and knees now, but right down on her belly, dragging herself centimeter by centimeter up a nearly vertical slope. Her white robes were ripped and muddy. When she turned her head, he could see dirt and blood on one side of her face. Her goddess was testing her hard.

  —Totality. Sixtrdy has begun. Just over eleven minutes to impact.

  The world was dark. Much of the sky was clouded now, but in all the gaps the stars came out, millions of them. Behind the great dark Quoad pillar stood silhouetted against the disk of Javel came into view, lit by thunderstorms, crowned by aurora.

  But he could still cognize Duty, and it looked as if she had almost given up the struggle. One hand clawed weakly at the rock, but she lacked the strength to move herself. For the first time in his adult life, Ratty Turnsole felt ashamed of his former profession. What right had he or anyone else to intrude like this on that old woman’s suffering, her desperate struggle to die where she chose? She was doomed. She could never make her way safely down now. She had so far to go and only a few minutes left.

  —Ten minutes to impact.

  Joy had buried her face on his chest, sobbing. He suspected he was weeping, too, and yet he could not bring himself to reject the cognition. But his eyes were seeing other things. He could hear more than the wind and the massed sobbing of the crowd. There was singing. There were lights on Quoad.

  “Look!” he shouted. “They’ve come. The souls of the Querent!”

  Bedel and Oxindole t
ogether were saying what and where and what could he see. But the Monodies could see. Joy and Love and Wisdom all cried out in wonder as blue lights danced over Quoad. Ratty could see, and he thought he heard Umandral exclaim something in an alien tongue.

  He was seeing double now, a real—seemingly real— view of the pillar and the ghostly Querent, and an internal cognition of the wounded or dying Duty. She had given up or passed out. The lights flickered and danced around her, and she was not responding. Ratty’s head was filled with singing. St. Elmo’s fire and his implants, or the souls of the Querent sent back by the Goddess to save her world? Who cared? It ought to be the start of a miracle, but Duty was not responding.

  The Querents were all over the pillar now, many almost at the base. Singing. Calling. Urgent. If they were just an electrical discharge, as sanity told him, then Duty was in grave danger of being struck by lightning and fried like his parents.

  Being fried might be a better way to die than being blasted by a meteorite. What was he doing just standing there like a ghoul, gloating over this tragedy and doing nothing? Duty was old and hurt. He was young and had muscles bred for much higher gravity. He had only minutes of life left to lose, and the lights were calling him. If the Querent visions meant anything at all, however improbable a miracle must seem to a lifelong skeptic, they were calling on him to help.

  Joy cried out in dismay as he released her hand, vaulted over the fence—and was almost blown flat by a vicious gust. He regained his balance and bounded up the slope of rocks and moss that formed the base of the pillar. Then the Querent were all about him.

  —Five minutes to impact.

  He reached the steps and started scrambling up them on hands and feet.

  He saw Love in his head, superimposed on all the other images there. “Well done! Oh, well done, Ratty! The Mother’s blessing on you.” And Joy, cheering and weeping at the same time.

  Duty still prone, unable to do anything now but hold on. The hurricane wind was the problem. His Ayne muscles would be the solution, if there was one. Sharp fragments cut his hands but he paid no heed. He could see violet light streaming from him now, hear it buzzing, and he wondered how he looked to the planetary audience, because that was probably real St. Elmo’s fire, visible even to sane people.