The process defined tedium, this more than anything had bolstered her confidence that no other Speaker would think to try it, looking at the particles themselves, independent of the conversant they could produce. Easier to go looking for one specific leaf among all rain forests of all the islands of Barsk across eight hundred years of seasons.
Margda had no choice. Her visions had not shown Arlo to her. Everything she had set in motion, the rules of the Speakers’ Edict, the creation of the aleph, the conditions for ensuring Jorl would be marked, all were so she could one day be resurrected and Speak directly to Arlo. The entire mad plan had seemed full of promise and daring back when she’d been alive, but since her possession of the Lutr’s body, doubt had crept into her mind. Her attempts to shape the future might fly apart, and the backlash could shatter her own construct even as it destroyed the mind of her host. In all her long life, even during the worst of her seizures, she had never felt so little control. And yet, if her people were to survive, she had to succeed. On that point, all of her visions had been as clear as still water.
And then, she had him, or at least a tiny piece of him. A single nefshon belonging to a recently deceased, male Fant in his prime, and with the flavor of Jorl’s touch upon it. This was Arlo. She focused her will upon it, causing the particles of all other possible remaining conversants to fade from her perception. The nefshons of her desire came at her call, more swiftly than most summonings because they’d already been gathered near by Jorl’s use on the planet below.
Seconds later, a construct of Arlo coalesced and she brought all of her attention back to the image of her long-vanished home in Yargo. Her conversant stood before her, eyes closed, taller than most Lox, leaner as well. She’d dressed him as his own subconscious imagined him, in the multi-pocketed, bright orange and blue vest and utility shorts of a career pharmer.
“You’ve been summoned more than once before so I’ll spare you the formal ritual. You don’t need grounding. You understand what this experience is, yes?”
“I was just talking to Jorl…”
“And you’ve managed to retain that memory, an impressive feat, I assure you, but not something that interests me just now. I’m after recollections from before your death, not any chats you’ve had since.”
“I don’t understand. Who are you? Why are you Speaking to me?”
“Focus, Boy. Tell me your name, and then look at me. Closely.”
“I’m Arlo. And … Oh! This isn’t possible. You’re dead.”
“So are you, but we’re not going to let that get in our way. Now say it, words give body to thoughts. Say it.”
“You’re the Matriarch.”
She allowed herself a smile and reached out, her trunk encircling his left ear where it joined his head the way a parent might comfort a child.
“And you, my boy, are the savior of our people.”
“The what?”
“Years before my own death, I saw that you would kill yourself. Why did you choose to do so, Arlo?”
“I didn’t. Why would I? I had a great life. I was successful, I loved Tolta, we both loved our son—”
“There was a son? I had not seen that. Curious, but not important either. What is important is the truth. We don’t have time for lies, and I’m hardly in a position to share what you reveal with anyone else. So tell me, Arlo. Tell me, why did you take your own life?”
He turned away, pacing across her workroom to stand by the window and gaze out. “You have no conception of how difficult it was. An inspiration, really. I had to act on it at once; if I’d worked it through rationally I’d have lost my nerve. But in the moment, with nothing but oblivion coming after, I could do it. Only … Jorl, and now you, keep summoning me back, and in this endless moment from the end of my life I have nothing but time. Time to reflect on the pain I’ve caused my wife. Time to mourn seeing my boy grow up. I made the ultimate sacrifice, but with every summoning I agonize over it again and again. I’ve come to hate Speakers. Can you appreciate the irony?”
Margda said nothing. He hadn’t really been talking to her. She recognized his soliloquy as a conversation he’d wished he could voice to Jorl, venting the words out her parlor window instead. She waited for him to tire of his own silence.
“This isn’t Keslo.”
“It’s not. That doesn’t matter either. Tell me the reason for your suicide.”
He continued to stare into the empty Civilized Wood of her making. When he spoke, it might as well have been to himself.
“I’d been working on a new drug, a taww variant. It had the potential to allow the creation of a more powerful form of koph.”
“I’d suspected as much, but be specific. Powerful how?”
“A single dose would last a lifetime. Speakers would be able to perceive nefshons at any time, as easily as opening their eyes.”
“That’s exactly what the Alliance wants,” said Margda. “After eight hundred years, they’ve more than grown tired of their utter dependence on us for koph. Give them this drug, and they’ll lapse back into their sense of superiority and leave all of Barsk alone again.”
“I couldn’t. The variant was unstable. The taww’s toxicity had the same source as the mechanism that allowed it to be retained permanently. It would work, but in the process it killed the user. So I went looking for a binding agent to resolve that problem…”
“And you found it?”
Arlo turned back to face the Matriarch, a haunted look in his eyes.
“I did. In bacteria derived from a bioluminescent insect I found in my son’s bug collection.”
Margda slid from her hammock and crossed to meet him, taking his hands in hers. “And did this neutralize the toxic effects of your variant?”
“It did. Perfectly. The simulations showed the perceptual enhancement remained unlocked and accessible. In that sense, the new drug was a complete success. But it also did more.”
“More?”
“If the user had carried the bioluminescent in his or her body for more than a season, the taww variant increased the perceptual capabilities beyond what I could model. At least two orders of magnitude, probably greater.”
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone have an insect’s bacteria in their body?”
Arlo pulled his hands free and raised one to lightly touch the aleph that glimmered faintly on her head. “Because you decreed the creation of the aleph, and the people who made it a reality used that chemical in the tattooing process.”
She staggered back, a myriad possibilities and consequences racing through her mind. “You’re saying, that if I used your new and improved taww variant, that not only would I never need to take koph again, but that my abilities would increase a hundred-fold?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Two reasons. Mainly because you’re already dead. But also because I eliminated the only sample I created. I destroyed it along with all of my notes and equipment and anything else that might cause people to suspect what I had discovered. And then I died.”
“But why?”
“For the same reasons you would want to give a single-dose koph to the Alliance. Because if they learned of such a thing, that we had it and they did not, their paranoia and loathing would expand beyond anything we’ve seen since they forced all Eleph and Lox to resettle on Barsk.”
Margda scowled. “What gives you the right to make that decision for everyone. You were a pharmer, not a legislator. What do you know of negotiating with the Alliance?”
“You think you could do better?”
“I was one of the architects of the Compact that has kept our people safe for eight hundred years!”
“Exactly. Why would I risk throwing all of that away? Besides, it’s more than just that. No one should have this kind of power. Right now, Speakers can reach back centuries, but with the new drug anyone with an aleph could search through millennia, possibly ten or a hundred times that with practice.”
“Yes,
and the Alliance actively discourages digging back that far. But that’s something that could likely be negotiated. There’s no point at present, but if the means to access such ancient memories became available, options would open up.”
Arlo fanned his ears. “Spoken like a legislator, not a pharmer. Do you even understand how memory works?”
Margda waved the question away with her trunk. “Simple associations, neural networks, semantic representation through distributed points of activation.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything you said came from the psychological understanding of your generation. But your own discovery changed all that. Once you showed the galaxy how to see nefshons, new research opened up new explanations. Those models you described are still true, but only go so far. They account for much of learning, semantic memory, and even aspects of episodic memory. But not our memory of other people.”
“What are you saying?”
“The memories of individuals, the people who have touched our lives, require nefshons. When I remember something about my wife or son, I’m tapping into their nefshons, particles I’ve received from them. When I think about someone who has died, I’m unconsciously activating their particles that I already possess. Koph lets people perceive nefshons, but we’ve always had the power to manipulate them. It’s how memory works. Your drug just provides some individuals with conscious control and more power. And my new drug could take that too far.”
“Why too far? Why is that a problem?”
“What do you imagine would happen if a Speaker could summon all of a person’s nefshons? Not just enough for a conversation, but every last particle? That person would cease to exist. No one would be able to recall anything about her. No matter how detailed, how intimate, how vast the memory might be, it would be gone. Wiped out of the consciousness of the galaxy. As if she never existed, never touched another person’s life.”
“Impossible! Even if a Speaker could pull in all of another person’s particles, sooner or later they’d have to release them. They’d become available again. Floating freely.”
“Probably. But the damage would be done. The memories would be gone. Another Speaker probably couldn’t even summon that person again, because there’d be no memory of her to suggest a summoning in the first place. Now think about how you might undermine a society, a world, a culture, by causing everyone everywhere to forget the existence of key figures. Ask yourself what effect you have had on the development of this planet, Matriarch, and what confusion and chaos would erupt if you simply didn’t exist?”
“That is insane! It would disrupt and redefine reality.”
“That’s the power my new drug might unleash. All of that could be done by one person. That’s why I gave up my life, so the secret would die with me.”
Margda stepped back and dropped into her hanging chair, letting her body go limp. The nubs of her trunk curled back to squeeze the bridge of its root between her eyes.
“I did not foresee any of that. I only saw a threat that could be avoided by your discovery. The Alliance knows nothing of this, but I believe they are tired of having to rely on Barsk as the sole source of koph. A secret senate committee is threatening to kill every Eleph and Lox on the planet if they don’t get what they want. That was my vision. Only you can prevent the extinction of our peoples.”
Arlo just shook his head, his ears flapping listlessly. “And if I give them what you want, they wouldn’t have to stop there. One person, one irrational bigot could dedicate his life to wiping the existence of all Fant from the collective memory of the galaxy. I gave up everything for that. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”
She raised her trunk in a sad salute and reached out with a trickle of Lirlowil’s telepathy that had returned to her, confirming the conviction she heard in his voice. There would be no changing his mind. With no more ritual than a wave of her hand she removed her will from his nefshons and ended the summoning. Arlo vanished in an instant. A moment later, so did the house on Yargo. Margda found herself back in the body of the Otter, weeping and unable to stop.
TWENTY-FIVE
NEAR AND SOON
PIZLO’S lunar communion ended when Telko’s arc carried it beyond the edge of the station mess’s viewport. He sat on the floor, reeling, as he struggled to process even a tiny bit of all that the moon had conveyed.
Pemma, the previous moon, had told him he would need to climb high above Barsk to meet Jorl in a worldless island where nothing lived. Now Telko had provided the where and when, and much else besides and even the little bit that he already understood sickened him. “It’s going to be horrible,” he said, but if the whispering throng of the planet beyond the window understood, it gave no sign. Pizlo rolled to his feet, dragging his mesh sacks behind him with his trunk as he crossed back to the door. It opened to the long corridor he’d already traversed and shorter hallways both left and right. He had a destination now and set off down the right side, the way ahead illuminating as he approached. The doors to either side looked no different from those in the previous corridor, spaced the same as well. He counted off seven doors on his left and stopped at the eighth. Telko had promised it was empty.
He leaned his head against it to trigger the door and entered. It looked like the other room he’d explored, the one with the holo of the waving Pandas, except this one didn’t have any Pandas. Nothing hung from the hooks on the wall. The lavatory and the closet were also in the same place, although both were empty. No one lived in this room. He sat in the middle of the floor and emptied out his sacks, making a feast of everything he had left. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he began eating. After his appetite had abated, he realized he hadn’t noticed the hunger because he’d been scared. Just a little. Even with what Pemma had told him, so much had been strange and new. Being afraid had been new, too. He didn’t much like it.
Finished with his meal, Pizlo gathered up rinds and other debris and disposed of them in the lavatory. He took each of the bags that had held his supplies and knotted the mesh to create a sling and secure his useless arm across his chest. He fanned himself with his ears for a few moments and then stood up and went to the closet. Using his trunk and good arm he hauled himself to a seat atop the dresser to wait. He slid the closet door closed and settled back against the wall. Telko had told him he’d meet up with Jorl near and soon. He’d resolved the matter of near, and in the process used up most of the soon.
TWENTY-SIX
CONCURRENCE OF VISION
ONCE his ship had docked with the station, Bish sent his aide, Druz, on ahead. The facilities there were more than adequate to secure one Fant, and the sooner he had the freak off his own vessel, the better. The senator considered himself enlightened, and recognized his reaction as simple bigotry, but that calm knowledge in no way eliminated the emotional reaction of being near this Jorl ben Tral.
The incident at the polar base had rattled him. The Urs-major’s colossal bungling of what should have been a simple mission had necessitated his instant removal, and while dispensing justice in front of the Lox had added to his profile as a benevolent figure, subsequently threatening the Fant had been a mistake. The Yak had realized the error the instant after the words had left his lips, and spent the trip to the station attempting to rectify things. Still, his mistake need not be irrevocable. The Fant was clearly in shock from witnessing the immolation of his elders, and the cocktail of drugs Druz had administered imparted a certain malleability.
Upon boarding his ship, Bish had placed Jorl in an opulent cabin, sublimated his own disgust for the man by indulging his culinary hobby and crafting from his own hands an unparalleled meal. But he drew the line at sharing a table with him. Instead, he left his reluctant guest to enjoy the food alone, the better to rest and recover from his ordeal. The senator had set Druz to work at the same time, learning everything possible about the surviving Fant. For all her
slow movement, the Sloth had as keen a mind as any being the Yak had encountered. She’d prepared and presented a report both thorough and surprising; best of all it gave Bish a starting point for establishing a fresh connection.
Soon after docking, the senator took it upon himself to escort Jorl through the station. In this instance, the limited facilities worked in his favor. The Lox had nowhere to run, which meant he needed no guards and thus no reminder that he was obviously a prisoner. It helped, too, that the room he’d selected for Jorl was in no way different from any of the station’s crew quarters, though by now Druz had recoded its door to lock from the outside.
When he entered, he found the Sloth already settled in at a small desk, her equipment recording everything that happened in the room. He gestured for Jorl to precede him and followed closely.
“I apologize for the sparse accommodations, but this station wasn’t designed for visitors. Per the terms of your own Compact, the Alliance keeps only a minimal presence here, just what’s necessary to oversee your world’s exports. Most of the transfer protocols are fully automated, both from down below and to the delivery vessels that carry everything to other worlds.”
The senator watched Jorl look around the room. The Fant hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since leaving the planet. The meds had dulled the immediacy of his experience, but Bish saw the horror of it yet lingered. It showed in his posture, the softness of his voice, and most vividly in Jorl’s eyes.
“It’s fine, sir,” replied Jorl. “Though you still haven’t told me why I’m here.”
“We’ll get to that, I promise. But first, I wanted to share something my aide discovered while we were en route. She looked into your background a bit, nothing invasive mind you, all public record material. I had known from the Urs-major’s reports that you had the distinction of serving in the Patrol, but I was unaware of your prolific work as a historian. I actually feel a debt to you, curious as that may seem.”
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