by John Grant
She gave him a confident smile. "Want to screw me, is that it?"
"Not at this particular moment in time," said Lan Yi. "Please, just do what I ask."
"Fancy your chances, do you?"
Strider had had enough. She applied the Strider Sedative with all the force she could muster, damaging her hand yet further. "I'll get a bot to clear her away," she said, looking down at the form of Strauss-Giolitto in front of her. "I suppose I'm likely to be indicted because of this sort of stuff." She looked at her hand, wondering if she had fractured her knuckles. "I think I need a medbot pretty urgently."
Then she saw the command deck twisting itself into curious patterns of bright colors, and fainted.
#
Lan Yi looked at the two unconscious women on the floor of the deck. His first instinct was to attend to them himself, but he knew that soon a medbot would arrive which would do the job much better than he could. Poor Strauss-Giolitto, in one sense. Poor Strider, in another. Both of them carried almost unbearable burdens.
"Where are you?" he said to the Images.
WE'RE HERE, said one of them.
"Who's speaking?"
Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
"Is the Santa Maria safe?"
It is at the moment.
"What do you suggest we do?"
There are Images in Kortland's flagship. We have established contact with them. We have explained to them that human beings are not suited to transferring themselves between realities. They will pass this information to Kortland.
"What would you advise?"
We would advise that you distance yourself from the Helgiolath fleet.
"But is it not our best defense?"
It is your worst enemy, and probably you are the worst enemy of the Helgiolath.
"I don't understand."
THE FLEET IS LARGE ENOUGH THAT THE AUTARCHY SHOULD HAVE DETECTED IT, DESPITE THE COMMUNICATIONS-DETECTION SHIELD IT HAS ERECTED AROUND ITSELF. WHY THE FLEET HAS NOT YET BEEN DESTROYED IS SOMETHING THAT WE DO NOT UNDERSTAND. AT THE SAME TIME, THE FORCES OF THE AUTARCHY SEEM ABLE TO DISCOVER THE SANTA MARIA WHEREVER IT IS.
"Polyaggle said there was a way we could perhaps get back to the Solar System."
THERE IS A CHANCE OF DOING THAT, YES.
"Why has Strider not instituted this?"
Her thoughts told us that she had decided to be "philanthropic."
Lan Yi thought about this for a few moments. He had no particular desire to return to the Solar System, where Geena had killed herself. When asked his opinions by Holmberg he had opted to stay in The Wondervale. But others—a majority of others—among the personnel had had different views. Why had Strider decided to ignore what they thought?
"Where's Pinocchio?" he said at last.
THE BOT IS APPROACHING THE COMMAND DECK. HE WILL BE WITH YOU IN TWENTY-TWO POINT ONE SIX SECONDS.
"And Polyaggle?"
SHE HAS YET TO RETURN FROM THE FRACTAL REALITIES.
The information made Lan Yi's face twist with pain. He and Strauss-Giolitto had experienced the nightmare of what Ten Per Cent Extra Free called the fractal realities.
"Will she return?" he said.
WE BELIEVE SO.
There was a mental silence. Lan Yi sensed that, whatever the Images had told them about Polyaggle, it was less than the full truth. But there was nothing he could do about it. Rubbing his hand tiredly across his forehead, he thought he saw one of the Images—presumably Ten Per Cent Extra Free—in the side of his vision.
The left-hand communications Pocket sprang into life. There was a hideous double visage there. This must be Kortland. Holmberg had told him that the Helgiolath were far from pretty. At the time he had assumed that he was above any preconceptions as to what constituted prettiness: what counted were intelligence and motivations; they were the true beauties, rather than physical appearance. Now he knew what Holmberg had been talking about.
"Where is your captain?" said Kortland curtly.
"She is . . . unwell."
Lan Yi heard Pinocchio entering the command deck behind him.
"There has been very great difficulty aboard this spaceship," said Lan Yi. "The shift you asked our Main Computer to perform caused much distress among our personnel."
"I apologize for this," said the two-headed leech-like thing. "Had I realized I would have—"
Lan Yi cut across him. "We do not attach guilt to you, but at the same time I think it unwise that we remain a part of your fleet."
"We wish to destroy the tyrant," said Kortland. "Is this not something you would wish to see? I had the impression from your captain that she wanted to experience the destruction of the Autarchy."
"The Images aboard this vessel say that we would be better off without you, and that you would be better off without us." Lan Yi peered at the alien. Biology was not his specialization, but he was beginning to perceive the elegances of Kortland's form. Where human beings had prehensile hands, the Helgiolath must use their mouths.
The Helgiolath appeared to be thinking; it was difficult to know.
"Are you our allies," said Kortland eventually, "or are you going to desert from our fleet?"
Ten Per Cent Extra Free managed to convey a sense of threat in the translation. Lan Yi knew that he would have to speak very carefully in response.
Prompted by Ten Per Cent Extra Free, he said: "We would like to assist you, but not as part of your fleet."
"There is something you could do for us."
"Tell me what it is. I am not the commander of this vessel, and so I cannot promise that we will obey your request."
One of Kortland's heads turned away, but the other continued to look at Lan Yi. The seeming eyelessness of the alien's face was one of its most repulsive aspects, and yet at a different level Lan Yi found himself appreciating it. Visible eyes are weaknesses, he thought, because if you can destroy a creature's sensory organs you can almost certainly, soon afterwards, move in for the kill. Sometime in the distant past the Helgiolath must have evolved away from having overt sensory organs in order better to protect themselves from predators. We human beings, on the other hand, not only have sensory organs plastered all over our faces but have even accentuated their obviousness by putting on secondary retinal screens. Before Strauss-Giolitto went through the Spindrifters' decontamination you could have blown every synapse in her brain by simply coughing loudly at her.
"There is a planet that the Autarchy values above any other except Qitanefermeartha itself," the Helgiolath said.
"'Qitanefermeartha'?"
"Qitanefermeartha is the planet at the very core of the Autarchy. It is not of current concern. It is so well defended that even this fleet might have no chance of succeeding against it. Perhaps in the future . . ."
The Helgiolath's second face turned back blindly towards Lan Yi. Did the aliens have two brains, one for each head? He was becoming much more interested in their physiology than he was in thoughts of fighting the Autarchy. The Santa Maria had been sent into space with the primary purpose of discovering a new world for humanity to colonize but with the secondary aim of studying alien lifeforms—not as lifeforms, exactly, but as representatives of other modes of evolution. Lan Yi had not been deeply involved in this part of the overall project, but it had interested him nevertheless. If he were ever given the chance he wanted to investigate Polyaggle: she was clearly put together in some way that human biology had yet to encounter. Dissecting a Helgiolath could likewise add more to humanity's understanding of the workings of biology than all the thousands of years of research that had gone before . . .
"Please tell me what you would like us to do," said Pinocchio.
Lan Yi started. He had almost forgotten that the bot was there on the command deck with him.
"I will give you the co-ordinates of this planet, which is called F-14," said Kortland. There was a note of relief in the alien's translated voice, as if at last he were dealing with someone rational.
"Please do not do so as you d
id before," said Pinocchio. "We have lost several of our personnel to your mode of moving vessels through space."
"You take this over," said Lan Yi to the bot. He had become too intrigued by the Helgiolath to remember Strauss-Giolitto and Strider. A couple of medbots should have been here by now. Was his order of priorities Strauss-Giolitto and Strider or Strider and Strauss-Giolitto? This worried him as he turned away from the communications Pocket to look at the two women. Strauss-Giolitto was motionless except for the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. It looked as if Strider had broken the woman's jaw, but this was nothing that a medbot couldn't deal with quickly. Strider, although her eyes were still closed, was mumbling some sort of gibberish. Spittle was leaking out of the side of her mouth.
"Translation?" Lan Yi said to Ten Per Cent Extra Free.
There isn't any.
"Is she all right?"
She will soon recover.
He knelt down beside Strider and took her head on to his knees, stroking her face.
"I have recorded those co-ordinates," said Pinocchio behind him. "You must tell us more about this planet."
Strider was beginning to recover full consciousness. Her eyes opened, staring into Lan Yi's, and then closed firmly again. "The hill of unbelief is never the sight of seeing," she said, very quietly.
"I do not understand you," said Lan Yi.
Her eyes opened once more. This time she recognized him and put her arms up towards him, pulling his face down towards hers. He kissed her politely on the cheek. She responded by kissing him eagerly on the mouth. He was appalled. His mouth was Geena's territory, not Strider's.
"Stop, please," he said, as her face moved briefly away from his.
He could see her eyes moving into focus.
She squirmed away from him across the floor of the command deck.
"It is undoubtedly very well protected," Pinocchio said in the background.
The Images were no longer interacting with Lan Yi, so he had no idea what Kortland was saying from the communications Pocket; it sounded like an explosion of flatulence that he was pleased to discover was not coming from himself.
Strider was lugging herself to her feet. She seemed shaky, but the craziness had gone out of her eyes. Lan Yi saw her look towards Strauss-Giolitto, who was still unconscious, and then towards the back of Pinocchio, who was talking earnestly with the Helgiolath.
"I have now stored a back-up of the co-ordinates within myself," the bot said, "but until I have received human instructions I am unable to take further action."
"Let me take over," said Strider.
Her brusque brushing of Lan Yi out of the way as she moved towards the Pocket might have been offensive, but somehow it was not. The out-of-Taiwanese didn't even start to think about what Pinocchio felt as he was thrown aside as well. Instead he went to Strauss-Giolitto. Still no goddam medbots.
"Stop pissing about and give me some more fucking information," said Strider into the communications Pocket.
Lan Yi hoped that Ten Per Cent Extra Free was performing adequate expurgation.
#
The flintreader in the eye of.
She.
Sun bright in the very high sky, then growing too much smaller. Feel of distance above ground. Wings flexing.
Dark sky now.
Thousands of children nudging uncertainly inside her. This is not what we want, mother. Most of them would die within moments of their birth, but enough of them would live.
The shape of creation was a rhombus. This had been known since time was very young.
Wings move, and then are torn from the back. Pain would be better than the sense of loss. The flintreader sees all, because he has become the too-small sun and the very dark sky. He is her magical incarnate lover and the one who surrounds her. She bites into him, feeling the warm succor of his fluids easing themselves as they should do into her mouth. The flintreader lets her take her fill and then releases her—thrusts her away from him.
This is not supposed to happen. The flintreader comes for a queen only in the moment of her death. It is not his role to mate with her through the feeding ritual, as he has just done.
Wingbrush. The flintreader once more?
No. Instead the Human-thing named Strauss-Giolitto. Hurtling towards the ground together with the human-thing, pulling her flesh away from her body in little pieces. No pain, but knowledge that the flesh would not return for a very long while.
Copulation with the Human-thing. Interesting but not greatly pleasurable. Try to make the bite, but this time pushed away even before the skin can be pierced.
Utter darkness, then brilliance.
The flintreader with her again as they fly, her wings restored, down topologically impossible corridors. Almost all of her dead, but almost all of her regrowing inside her.
Sharp blade descending. Flintreader gone from her side. Darkness brighter than the brilliance. Species-death descending with a loud shine. Descending towards her. Descending.
Blade, discovered from the Human-things, averted. She wings in emptiness. Where the flintreader? Gone, as always is in life. First real hope she is alive. Thousand of lives inside her. Must be protected.
Fly on through emptiness.
No flintreader.
Human-things least bad option. Raise small ones until take back to Spindrift. Much flesh on Human-things. Birthing can be achieved.
Exchange flesh.
Blinding lights and once more the sensation of falling.
Exchange flesh, or feel the species slip away. The male and the female mate after the female is engorged with a litter and then the female sucks the flesh out of the male and plants her already sentient offspring into his shard. This is the way it has always been. This is rightness.
She is underwater, the worst of all places to be. The coldest of all water. Required: the warmth of the flintreader.
Now light again, and she can see bubbles of air drifting up swiftly from mouth. Wings start from back but are heavy with moisture. Dying here.
Back in air, but somewhere unknown—not Spindrift. Move wings, and now can fly. Air too thick for breathing. Gag as if trying to breathe water.
More pain.
But soon to reach the Human-things once more. Then to the birthing give and if only that forevermore the eleventh was the next number.
She.
Wanted to be.
Herself.
Again.
Flintreader holding her back.
Hitting him away.
Human-things excellent hosts for the brood. Better even than flintreader. More flesh.
#
In the end, Polyaggle spent a very long winter on a planet called Xr—where she was hunted through the snows by creatures that looked like low walls but had gaping mouths in their centers—before she was able to fight her way back through her nightmares to one of the Pockets on the command deck of the Santa Maria.
"You're the last to get here," said Lan Yi, holding her in his arms, although it was obvious to her that her bristles were cutting painfully into him.
Did he have enough flesh?
#
There was a time when there had been a world called Preeat, which had been inhabited by a pre-space people called the Preeae, who looked rather like something you discovered splattered on the windshield of a cabble. Now no one called the planet Preeat any more, because it was much more conveniently referred to by the Autarchy as F-14. Of course, no one called the dominant aboriginal species Preeae any more because no one had seen any of them for a very long time. Two thousand years ago the cleansing operation had taken the Autarch Nalla about two seconds to conceive and about two hours to watch being executed.
The Preeae had looked remarkably funny as they'd fried in the Autarchy's beams: the spectacle had been well worth watching.
The Autarch never did anything without reason, unless he felt like it. The reason in this instance was that he needed an unpopulated but hospitable planet so that his technici
ans could develop and manufacture extra weaponry. The various species of The Wondervale showed a remarkable amount of ingratitude towards the Autarch, who spent much of his time—when he remembered—keeping the galaxy in order. So it was necessary to keep the forces of the Autarchy properly equipped with weapons just so that they could enforce law and order whenever they had to for the benefit of the people.
The Preeae, for example, were no longer unlawful or disorderly.
The techs on the world that was now called F-14 had not entirely been volunteers. To call them conscripts would have been unfair, because most of them had been rather more unwilling than that. Nonetheless they worked away faithfully producing the hardware for density rays, maxbeams, fudgeblasters and all the rest. Once every few planetary orbits a small armada of Autarchy warcruisers would descend to hoist skyward the products of the techs' endeavors. In the early days a few of the techs had passed loose comment about how they were less than totally happy with this business of manufacturing weapons of mass destruction. After those few had gone the way of the Preeae there was substantially less chit-chat in the canteen of an evening.
F-14 was, naturally, well defended. For example, even a fleet of seven thousand six hundred and ninety-two warcruisers would have difficulty getting close enough to slide a missile through F-14's defensive shields. A single vessel that used cobbled-together technology that mixed the primitive with the best that the Images could produce . . .
"Is it really necessary?" said Strider.
"If this tyranny is to be ended," said Kortland, "we have to wreck its manufactory."
"But what about all those people?"
"They are of not great importance. There are only a few hundred thousand of them. There are billions on billions of people in The Wondervale whose lives will be saved if the factories of the planet F-14 are destroyed." Kortland paused. "I once felt exactly as you do now. But do you kill a poisonous parasite before or after it kills a host of people?"
"I still don't like it," said Strider.
"If it is something we can do and no one else can," said Lan Yi, holding Polyaggle's claw, "I think we should do it."