by Рэй Олдридж
The Touch of the Hook
Рэй Олдридж
This story, which is about bondage and freedom and a dying race on a dying world, is the first of several we have from one of the most interesting new writers we have seen in some time. Mr. Aldridge lives in Florida and writes that he has been a potter and stained glass designer for 15 years. «My wife Nancy is a psychologist, the ideal companion for an sf writer. I'm part Cherokee, and I grow wonderful tomatoes.»
«The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction», April 1988
The Touch of the Hook
WARREN Ash sat in the airgate lounge, staring at nothing, waiting for Obsidian's ocean to freeze. On his left wrist the snake tightened.
He looked down. It's almost pretty, he thought. How odd. Black armored segments curved smoothly around his wrist. A ruby optic band and a cluster of silver sensor studs marked the snake's blunt head. Its tail circuitry plugged into a recess where an organic snake's gullet would be, and two heavy alloy fangs locked into deep sockets in the tail, forging an unbreakable manacle. Beside the optic band a tiny plate read: Property of SeedCorp.
Ash remembered the Seed Corp recruiter who had purchased his contract, three Standard years before.
The recruiter, an elegant morph from Dilvermoon, had spoken persuasively, in a guileless voice. «Citizen Ash, I judge you to be a careful man, and this is a job for a man who despises risk. SeedCorp will equip you with an advanced security link. It will be — I guarantee this — impossible for you to make a mistake in the performance of your duties.»
Ash had pressed his thumb to the validation square, and the herman had smiled an ugly smile.
Ash reflected on the lovely irony of his bondage. He had always been cautious, afraid to act without the blessing of authority, afraid to make a fool of himself, afraid to commit an inappropriate act.
He would bear the bitter weight of the snake for seven more years. «Fool,» he said, without passion.
He rose; stood looking from the outer airgate over the black sea. On the faraway horizon he could see another SeedCorp rig, its riding lights reduced by distance to a pallid glimmer.
A few dim stars emphasized the darkness of the moonless sky, and the sea was like an iron mirror. A long shudder ran through the rig, as it adjusted to the sea's tightening grip. The pressure of the water against the rig's insulating fields created a low gnawing sound, just at the threshold of audibility. Ash tried to ignore it, but the sound trembled along his bones.
It was three Standard weeks past sunset.
The snake stung him lightly. «Attention,» it said. «A visitor approaches from the outer Seagate.»
«Now?» Ordinarily, the outside Dags went deep into the reefs before the freeze.
The snake made no reply. Ash went quickly down the spiral of steps to the Seagate lounge. At the outer Seagate membrane, he looked down. A swimmer moved through the dark water along the top of the black reefs.
The Dag approached the Seagate, a slender, legless creature with a muscular fluked tail and two almost-human arms, its skin a dense matte black encrusted with patches of white snowflake limpets. Its head was a smooth ovid, featureless except for the palps wrapped across the face, and the gleam of deep-set eyes.
Ash activated the lexitran.
The Dag floated upright on the other side of the gate. It uttered a low-frequency chime. The lexitran took a moment to process the Dag's statement; then, in a neutral tone, translated, «I speak of important matters, Keeper. Do you know me?»
The Dag swam close to the membrane. Its palps opened briefly in the brightness of the Seagate lights, exposing rich color, violet and wine on soft gray. He recognized the markings of the Dag overseer's mate. She had no nose, and her mouth as a circular maw ringed with three rows of sharp, inward-hooking teeth. For a moment her pale yellow eyes seemed remarkably human, comprehensible, filled with some deep sorrow.
«I know you,» he said.
The face closed. «Do you know my mate?»
«Yes.»
«I come to plead for his life.»
The snake spoke. «What threatens your mate?»
The Dag overseer's mate shifted her palps to look down at the snake. «Do I address the Keeper, or the Will he carries?»
The snake flexed against his wrist, the segments moving with a small rasping sound. «What matter?»
Ash attempted to regain control. «To return to the important matter…»
«The freeze approaches.» The Dag overseer's mate paused. «How many of your crew have died this night?»
Ash was taken aback and had no ready response. The snake spoke for him again. «The work is dangerous; SeedCorp makes no secret of that. Your mate is well paid.»
«How many?» she persisted.
«Four, since sunset, accidents,» Ash said. «What has this to do with your mate? He is capable.»
The palps opened slightly, under the stress of emotion. «Yes, he is stronger than most, but he carries heavier burdens. When the ice comes, I will go to the dreams fearing his death.» The palps opened further, trembling, and Ash saw her naked face again. «He has not dreamed in four nights! Please, let him out of the Warmth. Give him to the ice for a night; surely you can spare him that long.»
The snake twitched again. «Impossible,» it said. «Now is Our heaviest harvest cycle. His skills are indispensible.»
«He must dream!» Even the neutral voice of the lexitran contained a trace of passionate emphasis. «Don't think we are not grateful. Without the food SeedCorp pays, we are a dying race on a dying world. We all know this. But he must dream. Please! Or sometime soon he will choose to die, like the others.»
«No suicides have occurred, to Our knowledge.» The snake spoke in didactic tones. Ash no longer attempted to interrupt.
«It is not like that. You cannot understand.» Her face was fully exposed, the eyes bulging with urgency, the mouth spasming.
At that moment the freeze caught her. Ash looked into her frantic eyes for a long moment, until the ice clouded with stress fractures and the membrane of the Seagate turned an opaque pearly gray.
Later, Ash looked down into the rig's protected lagoon. Here and there, dim red lights burned through the dark water. The mature cryptopods moved through the artificial reefs in flashing shoals, mirrored bodies throwing crimson glints against the black insulator fields that held out Obsidian's ice.
The snake stung him sharply. «Be alert: something comes across the ice,» it said.
He went to the outer airgate and saw the ice crawler, approaching rapidly over the fresh ice. Green and violet running lights glowed above the crawler's cab. It came under the rig's lights, a very old crawler, poorly maintained, its naked-alloy chassis marked with weeping lines of corrosion. At every pressure ridge it jounced violently and emitted a small cloud of steam.
«Another one, there to the north,» the snake said. A second set of lights closed swiftly.
The first crawler plunged to a halt in a spray of ice, to sit rocking on spiked rollers. A moment later the dorsal hatch popped, and the Green peddler emerged, its stocky, six-limbed body encased in a battered exosuit. The peddler climbed nimbly to the ice and turned to face the approaching vehicle.
The Green waved its upper arms violently, made shooing gestures, finally drew a graser and fired a beam across the other crawler's nose. The other crawler slewed around, made off to the west, and the peddler holstered the weapon with an air of satisfaction. It reboarded, and a moment later the crawler churned off along the rig's perimeter. Ash watched it until it disappeared around the curve of the sponson wall.
The snake shifted on his wrist. «You have duties,» it said. «And then We will check on the peddler. Strange, that little drama — possibly irregular. We und
erstood that the peddlers divide their territories most exactingly. But now, to work.»
«Yes.» Ash shook himself. He looked out over the ice one more time. Colloidal colony plants ordinarily kept Obsidian's ocean fluid, despite the terrible cold. Now they used the heat released by the freeze to raise their sporing bodies above the ice. Spiky threads covered the ice with a quivering furry black carpet. The reproductive cycle of these plants accounted for the unnatural swiftness of the freeze.
The deaths that had occurred since Obsidian's long night had begun; were they truly suicides, as the Dag overseer's mate believed? Two of the workers had died perforated by cryptopod swarms. One was found drifting dead under the reefs, with no mark on his body. And one had apparently been carried out of the water by a surge of the insulating fields and died slowly and painfully of gill-burn. Accidents, he had supposed.
«Now, Ash,» the snake said, and stung him. Fire poured into his arm. He gasped and bit his lip. The smaller pain helped him to endure the larger, until he could get his breath back.
He felt a shuddering vibration at his wrist — the snake preparing to punish him again. He went hastily down to the inner Seagate and climbed into his exosuit. As he sealed the faceplate, the vibration faded. He clipped a graser to his free wrist and tipped through the gate into the frigid lagoon.
An implanted fiber carried the snake's voice up his arm to a bone mike behind his ear. «First the generators.»
Boot jets drove Ash slowly through the black water. The generators that maintained the fields and kept back the ice ran smoothly. In the hatcheries, millions of larval cryptopods fed on extruded columns of tank cultured flesh.
He moved down into the artificial reefs, where the larval cryptopods metamorphosed into the precious adult form. Twenty meters ahead the dull red flare of a submerged beacon illuminated the Dag overseer and his gang. A dozen Dags worked at a section of used-up reef, removing bolts, lowering the raddled black slabs to a transport pallet. The big overseer floated above the gang, marking off a waterproof checklist.
Ash coasted to a stop. He activated his external speaker, spoke greetings.
The Dag overseer turned to him and opened his palps briefly. A chime vibrated through the water; the lexitran relayed the meaning. «Keeper. You are well?»
«Yes. The freeze has come.»
«I felt it,» the Dag overseer said. «I felt it.»
«The work goes well?»
«Yes, well.» The Dag overseer turned back to his work, as if to avoid further conversation. The overseer had once been friendlier, had questioned Ash about the faraway pangalac worlds and their teeming peoples. But in the past few Standard months, he had retreated into a curt reserve.
«Your mate came to the outer Seagate,» Ash said.
The overseer whirled in the water and opened his face. Ash looked into eyes burning with some harsh, unclassifiable emotion.
«She was concerned for you. She implied that you were under some sort of strain, but before she could elaborate, the freeze caught her. Will she be safe?»
The overseer's facial palps closed tightly. He looked away. «She will be safe. No harm comes to those who dream in the ice.»
«And you? What did she mean? She also mentioned dreams.»
The overseer shuddered. «I cannot say.»
The snake stirred at Ash's wrist. «We waste time,» it said. «The peddler; that is now the most pressing business.»
Ash replied on the private channel. «Wait. This is important.» In the darkness and cold of the lagoon, Ash retained a measure of autonomy. Should the snake sting him into unconsciousness, Ash would sink to the bottom of the sump. There he would be tom apart by the circulation rotors, leaving the snake without a servant. A tiny advantage, a pathetic advantage, but it was all he had, and he pushed it as much as he dared. The snake waited.
«You really don't know why she was concerned?»
The overseer swung back, pushing close to Ash. The alien eyes glittered between clenched palps. «Do you complain of my work? Have I given cause for dissatisfaction?»
Ash drew back, feeling a touch of fear. «No, no…,» he said.
Ash reached the robotic processing plant, where cryptopods were distilled into valuable pharmaceutical essences.
When he stood in the air of the plant, water freezing on his exosuit, the snake spoke. «To the parking bay.»
In the parking bay, Ash approached the peddler's ice crawler, graser held ready. He knocked gingerly at the battered alloy of the lock. It popped open, to reveal the Green, still wearing its exosuit. «Welcome you are,» said the peddler, in musical Standard patois.
«In,» said the snake on the private channel. «Caution, Ash, caution.»
The peddler's name was Avlsum. While the snake examined the peddler's papers, the Green offered Ash a hot drink in a blue glass bubble, one of the pungent narcotic teas favored by the Greens.
«Not just now,» Ash said.
The peddler shrugged, a complicated serpentine motion of four arms and two sets of shoulders. «As you will. I myself chilled am.» It sipped tea through a silver straw.
Finally, the snake spoke. «Tell Us what you intend to trade.»
Avlsum's broad, flat face, wrinkled as a green prune, displayed a careful humility. «Since you ask, this my merchandise is.» The peddler pointed to a cluttered shelf, where a small cube of silvery alloy and blue plastic sat. Telltales glowed green at one comer; lying atop the device was an induction harness, set to the dimensions of a Dag skull. «Naught to hide I have.»
«Its function?» the snake demanded.
«A simple and harmless one, a human device it is.»
«Explain without further evasion.»
The Green shuffled to the device, opened a small panel, and removed a tray of microwafers. «A teaching device it is; these the lessons are.» He selected one wafer at random, held it delicately between corrugated fingers. «Feelings it teaches. 'Emotional states of being, ' it says.» Avlsum held the wafer closer, squinted. «Here. This one, 'The Pleasure Felt by the Righteous Torturer' is.»
«What purpose could that serve?» The snake spoke with disinterested contempt.
Once again, Ash had become a spectator. He felt a hot flush of rage, too hot for caution. «A human device, it claims. Perhaps I might understand.» He held the snake at eye level, hand clenched. «Presumably, SeedCorp sent me here for some reason. A robot carcass would have served to carry you about.» He had forgotten the Green peddler; the world had narrowed to the ruby eye of the snake.
The snake spoke calmly. «What do you call the device, peddler?»
«A 'Lorendiazzo Emotigogue' it labeled is.»
Ash felt the weight of the snake's full attention. «Yes, there is a purpose to your presence here, and yes, We lack the human perspective. These two facts are not unrelated. Since you wish to demonstrate your usefulness to SeedCorp, you may test this 'Emotigogue.'»
Ash lowered his hand, shaking.
Ash lay on the hard shelf as the Green adjusted the induction harness snugly around his head. The cermet plates were warm where they touched his temples.
«Here nothing to fear is. All perfectly safe is.»
Ash said nothing. The snake quivered at his wrist; Ash wondered if he heard the snake's laughter.
«Ready you are?»
«We are ready,» the snake said.
Ash slid away from himself.
He sat in a deep wing chair, beside a blazing fireplace. He moved and felt the pain of deep injuries; his torso seemed filled with jagged glass. The pain shocked away thought for a moment, and then he was no longer Werrin Ash.
The man he hated sat across the white rug, helpless, bound to a heavy chair with strong rope. The man looked like the monster he was, with a hairless, misshapen skull; a broad, flat face; tiny eyes deep-set behind knobs of fatty muscle. The thick, scarred mouth curved in a contemptuous smile.
He took a painful breath and spoke to the man he hated. «You've hurt me badly. But I will live, and you mu
st die. Before I kill you, tell me where you have hidden my child.»
«Perhaps she is dead,» the man said in a smooth, resonant voice, the voice of a cultured man, a man in control.
«Is she?» He felt his heart stop.
The man laughed. «No. Though I've crushed many a prettier flower.»
He closed his eyes for a moment. «Where is she?»
«She's welded into an escape module. The module is hidden in a cave on Darkside. There is air and water and heat, but no food. No light. She's been there for six days now, so she`l l live for a few weeks more. You'll never find her.» The man sat straighter in his bonds. «Release me. Ill take you to her.»
He looked at the man. «I cannot trust you,» he said sadly. His gaze strayed to the fireplace, where a poker lay in the coals, glowing cherry red. The man followed the direction of his glance, and fear appeared on the brutal face for the first time.
It seemed to go on forever, the fierce, shameful joy. Finally, Ash returned to himself, nostrils still distended with the stink of burning flesh. The Green peddler stared down into his eyes, wearing an almost-human expression of concern.
«Agree with you it did? Perhaps another better would serve?» The thick fingers fumbled another wafer from the tray. «Here. `The Touch of the Hook this is.`» Avlsum held it out, and Ash snatched off the harness, shuddering.
«Will you give Us the benefit of your human perspective now?» the snake asked.
«It seems harmless,» Ash said thickly. «Though I cannot imagine why a Dag would wish to experience human emotion. At least those human emotions.»
The snake considered. «How,» it asked the Green, «do the Dags pay? If you trade for cryptopods or cryptopod essences, We must expunge you.»
Avlsum's wrinkled face displayed injured dignity. «No, no. With their own experiences they pay. As your slave has paid. For a memory, a memory. Each being at least one worthwhile memory has. A collector I am.»