by Liz Williams
He figured it shouldn’t take too long for the communications network to become established. Sirru had decided, upon reflection, that he had been wise not to be too ambitious; he did not want his continued development of the colony to come too quickly to the hostile attention of Ir Yth. It was for this reason that he had placed the first steps of the network on an experimental basis with the hiroi—he couldn’t afford to let his impatience jeopardize the seed. And he did not want to involve Jaya just yet; best to be sure.
Sirru, bringing his attention back to the present, saw that they were heading down through a series of narrow passages toward the glittering band of the river. He was assailed by odors and sounds: hot oil, dung, some kind of pungent smoke that his system recognized as a mild narcotic. Crowds pressed them on every side, giving the Rasasatrans no more than casual glances as their perceptions slipped off the modulation.
Their behavior was puzzling: the men all seemed to be chewing, and sometimes spat out a stream of what was surely blood. Were they ill? Sirru scraped some up with a finger and discovered it to be a pungent, spicy substance. Small stalls seemed to be selling it, wrapped in a large green leaf. It tasted strong and interesting. He was tempted to filch some from one of the stalls, but reluctantly abandoned the idea. He was not a thief, after all.
Despite its occasionally baffling aspect, Sirru was beginning to feel comfortable in the city; it was not so unlike home after all. He had begun to find the isolation of the ship more than a little oppressive: no siblings to sleep among, each knowing the thoughts of the other… Only the ship, immense and ancient and sorrowing, and the spiny disdainful presence of Ir Yth. But now he was among desqusai once more, even though they were not precisely his own kind. He could come to find that liberating. He saw a woman looking over her shoulder, her face puzzled. To her, at the moment, he was no more than a passing shadow. They stepped through the dead streets and out onto the great curve of the river. Sirru smelled weed and mud and decay. He slowed and stopped, sending a plea to Ir Yth.
The river was made of light. It swallowed the sun, so that the great walls of the city and the sky and the stone beneath his feet all appeared bleached of color. The river sang to Sirru, moving him almost as much as had the desqusai themselves. It sang of impermanence and the wheel of life, and he did not know how it was that it could speak to him, except perhaps through the pain that it had accumulated during its long history.
Sadness settled through him. It was the first thing here that made him feel insignificant, and he welcomed that. But despite the fertile appearance of the river mud, it would not be a good place for the seed. The seed needed somewhere colder. Urgency pressed him. He’d have to do something about that, and soon. The seed was already starting to grow.
Glancing up the steps, he saw that someone was being carried down to the river: a woman on a litter. Small filmy curtains hung from four gilt pillars. At first, he thought she was dead, but then he saw that she was merely very still. The bearers set the litter carefully down at the bottom of the steps and stood respectfully back as their burden rose. The woman was wearing a simple cream-colored sari edged with golden embroidery. Jeweled chains formed a complex bondage about her body—from nose to ear, from wrist to elbow. Ruby studs in her ears caught the sunlight like fire and struck sparks from the lapping water. Slowly, and with some ceremony, the woman descended into the waters of the Ganges. Sirru sent questions at Ir Yth.
“Who is that?”
I believe that the person is an apsara. I have seen them before, when in my avatar’s form.
Memories of Anarres snatched at his heart. So, they had such a function here. He said, “Why is she immersing herself like that?”
I have no idea. Perhaps it is for purposes of cleansing.
“Really? That water doesn’t look very clean…”
He was sure that Ir Yth was thinking, What can one expect from desqusai? He added, “I didn’t know they had apsarai here.”
Apparently it is common. For pleasure, I understand.
“And what about the other sexual functions? Status definition, or the conveyance of information? Or interpretation, like Anarr—like someone I know? Perhaps that woman is a courtesan-interpreter.” He tried not to sound too hopeful.
There are no other functions, apart from reproduction or pleasure. Sexual intimacy here is limited to one of those two roles. Ir Yth radiated disdain.
“Well!” Sirru said, nonplussed. This colony never ceased to surprise him. But then he wondered if Ir Yth was telling the truth, or if she was still trying to prevent him from communicating with anyone else. Undoubtedly, that was the case. And indeed, an apsara would be the ideal person to initialize the network, if it reached a stage where it could be extended from the hiroi … He filed away the apsara’s pheromonal signature for future reference.
The apsara had finished bathing and resumed her place on her litter. She was carried back through the streets, riding in state ahead of a little procession as it returned home. Sirru carefully noted which temenos the apsara entered and marked the path between the apsara’s house and the temple, just in case.
It was late afternoon now, and the heat blanketed the city. Sirru relinquished his disguise with a sigh as he stepped through the echoing gate of the temenos. One of the hiroi that haunted the tiers of the building had fallen. It lay to one side of the courtyard, twitching a little. Its round, sorrowful eyes were closed and a thin thread of blood trickled from one convoluted animal ear. Sirru gave it a passing glance, and smiled.
9.
Khaikurriyë, Rasasatra
Anarres passed old, dead temeni, long abandoned by their clades. The domes of the temeni were blackened and desiccated, as if by fire, and they sagged. Some of them had seeded, and their shattered domes petaled out toward the hot sky. The marks of spores lacerated the nearby buildings and the warm air smelled of a smoky dust. Anarres wondered vaguely whether any of the seeds had been kept, planted elsewhere by clade remnants, and lovingly tended into new homes. The temeni must be quite big by now, if so. The ground was barren; Anarres examined her feet fastidiously from time to time. She was not sure quite what precautions the Core might have made to hinder progress into the temeni of the Naturals. Perhaps it reasoned that their reputation was enough to keep outsiders away, but Anarres’ clade used to tell her stories at night of the things that lived deep in the Core, the creatures that glided through its labyrinthine walls, and she gave a sudden shiver.
She had been walking for some time when there was a ripple in the waters of the canal. Anarres frowned, trying to see down into the oily, sluggish water. At first she thought it was nothing more than a trick of the light, but then she saw that it was a definite shape, moving purposefully toward the wharf and leaving a wake of dark water behind it. Anarres stepped quickly back. She had no idea what forms of hiroi might thrive in this deserted part of the city. The Core occasionally set its more experimental projects loose, presumably in order to see how they interacted with the environment. Generally, if hiroi couldn’t sense you, they left you alone…
Anarres touched the scale implant beneath her collarbone in an automatic gesture of protection. The scale flushed cold across her skin. A long, jointed arm slid over the lip of the canal and probed the air. Anarres stood very still. Segmented legs brought the body of the thing onto the bank, and with a rush of horror she realized what it was: írHazh, a hunter-mater from the deep Marginals. EsRavesh kept them for sport, and he had once taken her to a pit fight. Remembrance of the two jointed bodies locked together in mutual destruction returned to haunt Anarres now.
The írHazh was huge, at least twice the size of Anarres herself. A cylindrical, plated body terminated in a raised tail. A thick curtain of mandibles, running the length of the creature’s body, drifted upward like waterweed, tasting the air. The scent that emanated from it was rank, like rotten meat, but underneath it Anarres could discern the base notes of a horribly familiar odor: her own.
Her first thought was: EsRave
sh. He’d sent the thing after her, to dispose of someone who knew too much. Anarres took a deep, slow breath and held it, but a shiver of fear ran down her spine. The scale trapped the fear, suppressing it. The creature was still tasting the air, searching for her. Then the thing turned swiftly in her direction. It moved forward in a rush, but Anarres was already running, sprinting across the ruined ground and scattering the dust beneath her flying feet. She could hear the írHazh scuttling after her, the rattling plates and the hissing bellows of its breath. A wave of sensations flooded over her, muted by the scale but still discernible: desire, rage, a lust for death and blood.
And then it was as though she had swallowed a baited hook and was being reeled in, from the direction of one of the deserted temeni. A pointed face hung over the wall of the temenos, seemingly disembodied. Anarres dashed blindly for the high wall, and just as she thought that she could not possibly leap up and climb it, the walls split open. A hand tightened around her arm as her rescuer dragged her through.
Sprawling on the soft earth inside the temenos wall, Anarres twisted round and saw that the wall had snapped neatly shut across the body of the írHazh, cutting it in half. Undeterred, the front end of the creature dragged itself toward Anarres until the wall extended a soft pseudopod and closed around it, drawing it inexorably backward. The smell of exuded enzymes filled the air as the pseudopod began to digest the írHazh.
Anarres was shaking so badly that she couldn’t stand up, so her rescuer sat down beside her and they watched in silence as the house ate the hunter-mater.
“Probably not a bad thing,” her rescuer remarked, quite cheerfully. “It hasn’t fed for a bit, so…”
“Your house is carnivorous?” That explained the rank smell, Anarres thought.
“An erychniss. One of the very last ones. People don’t grow them these days. Fashions change.”
“Aren’t you afraid that it might eat you?”
The Natural gave a rueful smile. “I used to be a city botanist. I modified the pheromonal signatures of the group so that the house wouldn’t scent us as food; we’ll have to do the same to you. Anyway, the modifications were supposed to make us taste bitter, and sure enough the house has never tried to consume any of us. We used to catch hiroi for it instead, but it doesn’t eat much anymore—I think it’s too old. Do you think you can stand up now?” He took Anarres by the arm and led her through the courtyard.
“What’s your locative?” Anarres asked shakily.
“Naturals don’t use locatives. I am Nowhere One. And who are you?” He smiled ruefully at her look of confusion. “Whoever you are, it seems that someone wants you dead.”
THE temenos was in rather better condition than the rest of the neighborhood, but not by much. Its dome had shattered and lay open to the sky. The rest had been left to grow untended. Fronds of cells skeined from the walls to create a chlorophyll veil, but the air was fresh and damp. Nowhere One led Anarres across the inner garden. The sun was low now, creating a deep light and long shadows. The Naturals, some thirty people, were clustered around a pool of water: the well of the temenos. They looked up, startled, as Anarres stepped into the courtyard. A disheveled person stood up hastily.
“Who is this?”
“Someone in need of help,” Nowhere One said, firmly.
“She’s an apsara!”
“I’d noticed,” Nowhere One said with a reproving rattle of quills.
“You’re wearing scale, aren’t you?” the second Natural said to Anarres. “I’m afraid you’ll have to deactivate it. We have nothing to hide from one another here.”
“It’s best if you do,” Nowhere One said from behind her.
“All right,” Anarres said, after a moment’s pause. She turned off the scale. Immediately, she was assaulted by a tumult of unfamiliar emotions and impressions. Ideas which she had never had any thought of entertaining flooded through her mind, disturbing her with their force and novelty. With a gasp, she sat down hard on the nearest mat. The Naturals flocked round her with concern, until Nowhere One waved them back.
“Away, away. She isn’t used to us. Not yet.” To Anarres, he said, “You’d better come with me.”
He took her firmly by the arm and led her into a side chamber. Anarres accompanied him gratefully. Although she had been told that the Naturals had no leader, this individual seemed to possess some sort of authority, despite his uncouth appearance.
“Now,” the Natural said, eyeing Anarres uncertainly. She noticed that he was standing some distance away from her, presumably to mitigate the effect of her carefully engineered pheromones. “Frankly, this isn’t the kind of place that I’d expect an apsara to visit. And if someone sent an írHazh after you, you must have done something extreme. Want to tell me about it?”
Anarres gazed at him in her most appealing manner and decided to tell the truth. “I have a problem.” She paused. “You see, a while ago, I did a little favor for the khaithoi, something that maybe wasn’t a very good thing to do, and—”
“You must know that it is the khaithoi who interpret Core commands where we are concerned. And who execute them. They are the caste whom we hold most directly responsible for our status as outcasts.”
“I’d heard that.” Anarres faltered. “But—”
“But you think we deserve it, don’t you? Do you know why you think that?”
Anarres considered this for a moment. “I suppose I’m not sure.”
“People become Naturals for various reasons, Anarres. Some are naturally immune to the suppressants that everyone is given, depending on their caste. That usually becomes apparent in adolescence—after all, children are reared in their family pens and it isn’t too hard to control them with words. As soon as folk are certified as immune, they are sent to us. Some of us, however, turn into Naturals by default. Perhaps we let our suppressant prescriptions slip, though that doesn’t happen so often—you know how diligent the Prescriptors are with their seven-month checks.”
“I was late once,” Anarres said, remembering the Prescriptors who had visited her with their clicking, whispering voices and thin, probing fingers. “They came round to my house, and they were so unpleasant. They did all sorts of tests and made me pay a status-fine for being late.”
“This society runs on that control, Anarres. People can’t be allowed to think what they please. But sometimes folk slip through the net. My own prescription lapsed when I got stuck offworld for a spell—I was a botanist, doing research work on a colony world, and got lost in the backlands. Being in the wilderness gave me time to think about things, and gradually I noticed that thinking was becoming easier. When at last they rescued me, I found myself lying about my prescription—I said I’d taken an emergency dose of suppressants with me. Once I got back here, it didn’t take them long to find out the truth.”
“But why does the Core have you cast out? Why doesn’t it just have you modified?”
“Anarres, do you think every Natural is a criminal?” Nowhere One gave a small, grim smile. “The people you see here are gentle, intellectual, elderly, and ill. The real troublemakers don’t end up here. They’re killed—as you so nearly were. But the Core permits us to live, with our miserable lives presented as a deterrent and an example. Now, tell me how you have come to the attention of the khaithoi’s malice?”
Haltingly, Anarres told the Natural the whole sorry story. “And then an enforcer came to my house…”
Nowhere One was staring at her, not unkindly.
“And now you want our help.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have to discuss it with the others. We are a philosophical group based on a mutually difficult biological situation, not a safe-house for fugitives—whatever our reputation might be. However, I am intrigued by your story. Why do you think the khaithoi wanted you to dispose of this person’s First Body?”
“I don’t really know. I was frightened of EsRavesh, and he promised that my family would have their status improved—as would I have, bu
t my family was my main concern. Anyway, to answer your question, I suppose they wanted to delay my friend’s return from this little colony he’s had to go to.”
“As we are desqusai ourselves, except for a few people from other castes, we are naturally concerned with khaithoi machinations. And after the tragedy on Arakrahali… Is it possible to contact this friend of yours?”
“I know where he can be reached. He’s on a depth ship, orbiting the new colony. Do you have the means to contact him?”
“We have one old communication device. Let me try and trace his current locative and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do,” Nowhere One said. Anarres assessed him for a moment, trying to detect a lie, but the Natural was giving away nothing. She experienced a moment of envy toward someone who could guard his thoughts in such a way. But it couldn’t be too harmful, surely, for him to know Sirru’s location; after all, the khaithoi themselves already knew perfectly well where he was.
“Now,” Nowhere One cut into her thoughts. “If you are to stay here, you must do so on our terms. And that means no suppressants. When was your last prescription?”
“It’s almost due,” Anarres said.
The Natural gave her a narrow look. “So your suppressants must be wearing a little thin, if it’s nearly time for your next dose. Do you think that might have something to do with the fact that you thought to evade the enforcer rather than simply open the door of your house? Can you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Her head hurt.
“Come with me,” the Natural said, relenting.
Uncertainly, Anarres followed him. She could not quite grasp the concept of being a Natural. The thought was frightening and, moreover, painful.
“I don’t think I want to do this,” she said. The Natural turned and gripped her by the shoulders. She could tell that she was affecting him, and tried to rein in her pheromonal aura.