Orphans of Earth

by Sean Williams

  “Frank was part of a razor gang for the military,” he said. “A cost-cutter. He had a reputation for being ruthless and interested in only one thing: the bottom line. A real throwback to the 1980s.” Remembering who he was talking to, he tried to put it in more objective terms. “He and my original moved in different circles. Their paths—or swords—only crossed over budgets, so in that sense I guess he did have some sort of power over...”

  He stopped, realizing only then that he had been talking about his original in the third person. Saying “me” felt wrong, and there was no other word in the English language for it. He needed a new pronoun.

  “That’s all in the past, of course,” he went on. “Now it’s different. He has his world, and I have mine. We’re only working together because each of us has something the other wants. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he thinks he’s got the upper hand, but I think it’s in his nature to assume that, anyway—while at the same time building contingency plans in case it ever changes.”

  Ueh’s head tilted. At the same time his facial plates shifted in a way that Alander recognized to be a nod of acknowledgment. “Your genders/relationships are unclear to me/us. There were three of you when we first met I was confused. I thought one was the bearer/favored to the others, but I could not decide which.”

  Alander sympathized. “Bearer/favored” was a notion the Praxis had implanted in him, and one he was still trying to unravel. His guess about the implantation of egg and sperm by both genders of the Yuhl seemed to be correct, but the identity of the third sex implied by the new term eluded him. Clusters of identical organs in both aliens he had studied so far might have been dormant wombs, waiting for implantation. In that case, either sex could gestate a child implanted by one or two others, which meant that maybe the third gender might not exist at all. It wasn’t so different to the surrogate parent technique employed by infertile couples back on Earth.

  If that was the case, Alander could understand Ueh’s confusion. Supposing that humanity sent its frontier pilots out in reproductive pairs to ensure the continuity of the species, should the pair become separated from the Mantissa, then Ueh had been faced with the difficult decision of who had been what. Was Alander the male, Axford the female and Hatzis the bearer/favored? The question could only have been complicated by the fact that there had actually been four of them, counting the copy of Hatzis from Thor. Alander noted that Ueh made no distinction between the two Hatzises, either assuming that they shared the same mind or that Thor did not exist in her own right. Both Yuhl had, after all, refused to talk to Axford at first because he didn’t have a body. Maybe that bias extended to copies when the original was present.

  “Are you any clearer now?” Alander asked the alien, unsure that he himself was.

  “The data you have given/is helping.” The Yuhl had access to the abbreviated information Axford had left in Silent Liquidity. “I/we are still learning/growing.”

  “Well, don’t kill yourself over it.” He was about to say that Ueh had plenty of time to catch up, but that wasn’t the case. If humanity didn’t find a way to survive the Starfish, the last of them could be gone within weeks.

  “Will Francis/Axford join us at Sothis/soon?”

  “I don’t know.” Axford had returned to Vega to impart what they had learned to the rest of his collective. Alander had no idea what he would do with the information. Or his captive, for that matter. So far neither the Praxis nor any of the Yuhl had shown much interest in the half of the helot pairing that Axford held captive, and that made Alander curious.

  When he asked about it, all Ueh said was: “Asi/Holina is no longer favored.”

  “In the sense of bearer-slash-favored?”

  The alien’s facial markings became sharply triangular, an expression that meant irritation—although Alander sensed it wasn’t at him or his question. “In the sense of multifurcate/isometry.”

  And there they hit a brick wall of incomprehension that Alander didn’t have the energy to climb over. He had too many problems with members of his own species to worry about conflicts within another. If it came up later, he might pursue it. Otherwise, it was something that would simply have to wait.

  * * *

  They came into Sirius cautiously, not certain what would await them there. The rocky ball of Sothis had changed in recent weeks. McKenzie Base had expanded, and there were numerous hot spots on the surface suggesting that some of the previously dormant installations were up and running again. The number of satellites in orbit had quadrupled. Some of them comprised little more than hardware excised from the UNESSPRO core survey vessels, fitted with attitude jets and shielding, and placed out of the way.

  There was a cluster point in geosynchronous orbit above McKenzie Base. Over a dozen hole ships were docked there, looking like a bunch of sun-bleached grapes.

  Running home to Mama, Alander thought. He hoped that was all it was.

  “Take us there,” he instructed Silent Liquidity. “We’ll hail them when we arrive.”

  “Yes, Peter.” He heard the hole ship echo its response in Ueh’s language as the screen faded to black.

  “You cling to planets/are not safe here.” The alien’s face seemed to fold in on itself in an ascending series of black and white Ms, indicating thoughtfulness.

  “The Spinners ignored Sothis,” said Alander. “Why wouldn’t the Starfish?”

  “The Ambivalence obeys its own logic,” he said in accented but comprehensible English. Just as Alander had learned to understand the Yuhl language, so, too, was Ueh becoming more proficient at the human tongues.

  “Aren’t you curious about the rules of that logic?” Alander asked. “Wouldn’t understanding it make survival easier?”

  “We are/I am already surviving, Peter/Alander. What I/we see as the Ambivalence, you call the Spinner/Starfish. The Praxis sees it a third way. But there is no wrong/right. There are only degrees of aptness.”

  “What the Yuhl call aptness, we humans might call truth.”

  “I/we do not believe in truth.”

  Alander laughed at this. “Does that mean you never lie?” he asked. “Or that you always lie?”

  “The universe is the only true thing/cannot be completely known. We perceive the universe through our senses are then interpreted through our minds.”

  Even though the statements were somewhat jumbled, Alander thought he understood what the alien was trying to say. “Therefore all experiences of reality are at least partially false, right?”

  “Since we cannot see the truth cannot be spoken.”

  Alander mulled this over. If such an opinion was hardwired into the Yuhl, that set them at odds with humanity’s automatic black/white perception of the universe. He couldn’t help but think that the people he knew could benefit from perceiving a little more of the uncertainty of the world. But at the same time he wondered if the Yuhl would envy humanity’s ability to take moral stands and make quick decisions, even if they were wrong.

  “I’d keep that thought under your hat for a while,” he told Ueh. “I’m not sure Caryl would understand.”

  Ueh acquiesced with the Yuhl equivalent of a nod, its faceplates moving back and forth. “But the fact remains, Peter/Alander,” he said, indicating the screen where the image of Sothis had been, “that you/they are not safe here/near planets. You/they should forego them as I/we have done.”

  “So where do you suggest we go, Ueh?”

  “Stars are not safe/are valuable sources of energy,” said the alien. “We are not so distant from ourselves that we hide in the deeps as others have/some say we should. We brave the light, for now, as we pass through.”

  “And later?”

  Before Ueh had a chance to respond to this, the screen came alive with a close-up view of the grape formation. They had barely been there a second when Caryl Hatzis’s voice came over the cockpit speakers:

  “Please identify yourself and state your business.” She didn’t reveal her face. Even via conSense,
Hatzis had always been shy of doing that.

  “It’s Peter Alander, Caryl,” he answered. “I’d like to dock in McKenzie Base and—”

  “Which Peter Alander am I talking to, exactly?” Hatzis cut in quickly.

  He found himself frowning at the screen and biting back an impatient retort. Sol, via whichever drone addressing him, was no doubt playing games because he was late reporting in. “The one from Adrasteia, of course. And yourself?”

  “Yu-quiang.”

  “Well, Yu-quiang, are you going to let me through or not?”

  “Just awaiting confirmation from McKenzie Base.” There was a slight pause. “Okay, Peter. Please proceed to A dock—your usual berth. But Sol requests that you leave any biological specimens in isolation for the time being.”

  “Tell her she’ll have to come to me, then,” he replied. “If the specimens I have are dangerous, I’m already infected, aren’t I?” In more ways than one, he added to himself.

  Another pause, longer this time. “Understood,” she said finally. “They’ll be ready for you.”

  One final quick jump took them down to the surface of Sothis where they proceeded to dock. No sooner had Silent Liquidity’s airlock opened than Sol strolled in with a look of superiority, entering the hole ship as if she owned the thing. She stopped dead in her tracks, however, when she saw Alander.

  “What—?” Her mouth opened as she examined his new appearance. Finally, she managed: “What the hell happened to you?”

  He shrugged. “New times call for new beginnings,” he said. “Apparently.”

  She was about to ask something else when Ueh moved forward in his half of the hole ship. He acknowledged Hatzis with the simple pointing gesture that Alander now knew indicated respect.

  “Hello again Caryl/Hatzis,” he said. “I am Ueh/Ellil, envoy/catechist of the Yuhl/Goel.”

  “We’ve met before?” she said, frowning as she faced the alien. “In Mercury? You were the quiet one?”

  “Quiet no longer.” Ueh’s teeth made a rare appearance from between his thin, shell-like lips. “The Praxis now demands that I talk.”

  “The what?” she said. Before he could reply, however, she raised a hand and, shaking her head, said, “No, that can wait. We’ll interview you in due course. Thank you, Peter,” she added, turning to face Alander, “for finally bringing us some valuable intelligence. I’ll take it from here.”

  “I don’t think so, Caryl,” Alander said. He wanted to place himself between Hatzis and his Yuhl companion. There was something about her—an edge, perhaps—that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t know what she would do next or even what her Vincula-modified body was capable of. “I’m not your delivery boy,” he said steadily. “And Ueh here is not your prisoner.”

  “Wordplay.” Her gaze was cold as it met his. “We both know how the land lies, Peter.”

  “I don’t care,” he insisted. “You so much as lay a finger on him, and I’m leaving—and I take him with me, too.”

  “So you’d rather we just sat around and had a little chat?” she said with a slight and humorless laugh. “Is that it? The three of us chewing the fat like we’re old friends?” Her expression tightened noticeably as she said: “For fuck’s sake, Peter, we’re at war.”

  “No, Caryl. You’re at war. I’m not.”

  She folded her arms across her stomach. “Really? You’re turning traitor, then?”

  “No,” he said, “I’m doing the sensible thing. Look, we have an opportunity here, and we’d be insane to waste it. If it’s intelligence you’re after, the Yuhl are a gold mine. They could be our allies against the real enemy.”

  Sol rolled her eyes. “Not you, too, please,” she said with annoyance. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Well, I’m happy to disappoint you,” he said. “Forgive me for not jumping on your bandwagon, this time, Caryl. If you intend to fight the Yuhl, then you’ll be doing it without me.”

  She sighed through her nose and looked away briefly. When she looked up again, some of the coldness had gone from her expression. Nevertheless, she still looked a little frustrated, as though out on a limb. “Well, before you go and ride off into the sunset like some dark avenger,” she said, “I have a situation I need you to help me with.”

  “What do you mean? What situation?”

  “Just come with me, and you’ll see,” she said. Then, glancing at Ueh, she added, “And I give you my word your friend here won’t be harmed.”

  “I don’t need your word,” Alander said. “He has joint control over Silent Liquidity. He can escape any time he wants.”

  Hatzis looked Ueh up and down as the alien’s wing sheaths quickly snapped out and back in. Alander recognized it as a gesture of satisfaction; he was clearly okay with the arrangement.

  “How very cozy,” she said. She took one final look at him, then turned and led the way out of the cockpit. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  “You bitch!”

  Peter Alander paced the stateroom in which he’d been placed by the copy of Hatzis from the colony called Gou Mang. His anger was pure and driving; it overrode everything else. It gave him a line he could cling to when everything else was slipping away. Continuity. That was what he needed to keep himself together. The terrible mindless moments when his thoughts seemed to trip up like an athlete with his sneakers tied together were happening more and more—and the more they happened, the closer to madness he felt himself slip. It was starting to feel as though the world was being pulled out from under him—as though he was being pulled out from under him. Nothing was certain anymore.

  But he couldn’t maintain the rage indefinitely. It had to give way eventually, and when it did, despair would rush over him. He didn’t want to lose his mind. It was the one thing he could be certain of. He would rather lose his sense of self than his faculties. Or so he thought, anyway. He’d been told on Earth that his engrams would be able to think as well as his original, for the rational processes of thought were the one thing that could be copied with absolute precision. Memories and emotions, those nebulous, erratic ephemera that did little more than differentiate one dysfunctional personality from another, were the hard stuff. Sometimes he wondered why they’d even bothered trying to copy it at all. The exercise was futile; he was proof of that.

  They’re not really us, Lucia. He’d told her that the night before his engrams had been activated. Or rather his original had told her and had bequeathed the memory to his other selves.

  They’re not really us, Lucia, he’d said. They’re just copies.

  At that moment, his pain was more real than anything else. More real than the bland android body they had siphoned his mind into. When he looked into the mirror, he saw no sign of the self within it. All he saw was a blank, hideous visage with eyes empty of everything but tears.

  “Where’s Lucia? Why isn’t she here? Where have you taken her?” -

  It made sense that Hatzis had taken Lucia away, along with everything else. They’d taken Betty. They’d taken his freedom. But why? Because he’d spoken his mind? Was voicing his thoughts a crime in this terrible new age? Apparently it was, and he—

  —he—

  He was gone for a moment. Then the anger pulled him back.

  “Goddamn you, Caryl! Let me out of here!”

  Pounding on the door did nothing but rattle the seals. No one responded. He prowled the room again, his feet disturbing the wreckage of the chair he’d broken earlier.

  He remembered doing it but couldn’t remember why. He bent down now and picked up the splintered remains of one of its legs and flung it viciously at the wall. Apart from leaving a slight silver scratch, it didn’t make any impact. But the release of energy did enliven him for a moment, flooding his body with endorphins and other chemicals.

  The biological high wouldn’t last—no more than his rage could. Either simulated by the Overseer or genuinely felt by his android body, a fatigue rolled powerfu
lly over him, as though a truck had hit him. He fell into a crouch with his back against the door, fighting the irrational urge to sob. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think straight? It wasn’t fair that he should be suffering like this. He’d been the bright one, the golden boy, and now he was a wreck. Why couldn’t it have happened to one of the others?

  “Why couldn’t this have happened to you, Caryl? You bitch!”

  A thought caught him momentarily, then slipped away. Something about Lucia. What was it she’d said? Shit. It had been in his mind only a moment ago. Yes, that was it: This conversation is being recorded for your copies’ memories, and they’ll think they’re real enough.

  Oh yes. He thought he was real, all right. There was no getting around that. He was programmed to think that way.

  “Is Lucia here?” he called out. “Just let me talk to her, won’t you? She’ll understand. Caryl? Can you hear me?”

  No one answered. He shook his head. No. Hatzis wasn’t stupid. His memories—the memories of his original—from entrainment camp were clear on that. She was capable and strong. She was just wrong, that was all, and someone had to stop her before she dragged humanity down with her. It was either that or—

  —or—

  —or something he could no longer remember. A flash of anger burned the thought completely out of his mind.

  “Open this bloody door before I go out of my goddamn mind!”

  He continued to stalk the interior of his cell, striking out angrily at the walls and door and furniture—or what he hadn’t destroyed of it, anyway. Not that it would do any good. He knew that. No one was ever going to respond to him or help him. That Hatzis bitch would make sure of that.

  When the door did open moments later, he was so surprised that he took a few cautious steps back from it. He stared at the figure walking into the room, confusion wrestling with his anger. Then the door closed again, and the two of them were alone.