Land of the Dead ittotss-3

by Thomas Harlan

  “So, Hummingbird-I confess confusion about the purpose of the Judges. Once you said to me your duty was to protect humanity from those powers or even ideas which could destroy us, particularly alien influences we might encounter in the depths of space.”

  He nodded minutely, watching her with an impassive face. Gretchen drifted her fingertips over the parchment envelope and the block hidden within. “What is this, then? An experiment with my mind, my physiology? Do you even know what this is?”

  “A tool.” The old Nahuatl stood up, leaning heavily on the bed. “One you can operate, where others cannot-where I cannot.”

  “Really?” The Swedish woman looked up at him sidelong, tasting deception in the air. “A tool that you needed working when you came-here, to this hidden place.”

  He nodded, face somber. “My powers are not infinite, Dr. Anderssen. Even beyond your professional skills-which are well regarded, you should know-your other talents have not escaped notice.”

  “By who?!” Gretchen felt chilled at the thought. How long have I been under surveillance? Another part of her mind answered, mockingly, Always, idiot!

  “Not all of the nauallis are… are Judges,” he said, framing his words carefully. “There are those who collate data, who watch for trends-not the trivial ones of concern to the Emperor or the Mirror-but who sift for changes in who we are.”

  “Humanity, you mean?” Anderssen frowned, gaining an unmistakable impression he was skirting around a deep and slippery pit. “What kind of changes?”

  Hummingbird did not answer immediately, pursing his lips and watching her with a steady, unwavering gaze. At last he said: “It is not well known, Doctor, but there are-in broad strokes-three perceptual capacities expressed within the human species. There are those who accept the conceptual framework of cultural memes, who perceive only the nahualli, the disguise or mask of the world; they live and work and bear their children happily within this house of paintings. What they perceive is ahnelli, unrooted, inauthentic, a montage of lies and expectations, merely the replication and self-deception of contagious beliefs. There are those-to take a specific example-who express a belief in the Heavenly Creator, in the Risen Lord, in God-if they are asked. These are the people who attend religious services because everyone else does-who find a sense of community there, a sense of sharing which comforts them, or an avenue to power over their fellow men.” He raised one finger.

  “Then there are those who do not partake of these collective memetic frameworks, who must question, seek out for themselves the nelli -the rooted, true, authentic cosmos. They must look beyond the world of dreams and illusion towards the teotl -the heart of things. They seek, but few succeed. A tlamatini instructs and teaches his pupil, but he cannot lead them beyond the disguise unless their heart opens of itself to become neltiliztli -well-rooted, authentic. When the second group express their belief it is not because they are infected by communal memes. When they worship, they do not do so because all around them do, but because of their own undiluted vision, whether it be false or true. If they do not believe in a thing, you cannot make them. For them the Mother of Tepeyac is seen to come down Her hill, roses rising with each footstep, to lift their chin and pour mercy into their eyes, or She does not. You cannot make them become believers, though they may tell you that they are believers-but if they are not, they cannot become so, even under the lash or when put in irons.” A second finger raised.

  Gretchen snorted. “I know both of those sets of people!”

  “Then there is the third group who are born with the potential for full wisdom and revelation,” and now the old Nahuatl’s voice shaded into an unconscious gravity. “Who need neither a church, nor a sermon, nor a book. They know the truth, the flower-and-song of reality, the constant becoming and motion of the world, and only the confusion of men and machines and the roar and tumult of society drives this sight from their minds.” The third finger joined the first two. “And these men and women are whence the saints and prophets come, the greatest artists and poets, the worst madmen and monsters without conscience or humanity-for they see that which most cannot, finding either everlasting splendor or unending horror behind the placid mask of the universe.”

  Anderssen made a face, drawing back from Hummingbird, whose face had contorted into a tight forbidding expression. “You,” he continued, “are among a minute fraction of the third population-a genetic pool which is quite small to begin with-but then hidden among them, are those with the propensity to see.”

  “You have got to be-”

  “I am not joking, Doctor Anderssen.” The Crow’s voice was hard and flat, cutting her off. “I may be able to focus my mind, attain clarity of vision which eludes other men, perform feats which seem miraculous-but I am only a Second, not a Third. I was taught the arts of intuition to perceive the authentic world. And thus…” He gestured at the parchment envelope. “Such mechanisms are beyond my capacity to understand.”

  “That,” Gretchen said, drawing a breath to steady herself, “is the kind of insanity which gives rise to racial genocide, and forced breeding, and tyranny! Human beings are all the same at the genetic level, Crow! That’s been shown thousands of times, on multiple worlds! Our differences are minute, one or two pairs of chromosomes fallen out in some random coupling of mitochondrial mitosis!”

  The old Nahuatl shook his head in disagreement. Anderssen found herself reduced to glaring at him in outrage.

  “This,” he said at last, “is not so. There are distinct and identifiable differences between the Firsts, Seconds, and Thirds. There is-” Hummingbird paused, jaw clenched against what he had almost said. “I cannot provide you proof out here, Doctor. But it does exist. You are a Third and the only one with your specific gift we have yet found amongst the current human population.”

  “Current?” Anderssen gave him a mocking look. “What about the past, then? Who falls into your special society that I might, say, know from a history book? Or have seen on the 3-d, or perused in some wet-dream manga peddled by evil old meddlers like yourself!”

  Her shout echoed from the walls of the medbay and Gretchen was suddenly aware that all of the noise outside, in the main sickbay, had stopped. She felt furious-used and deceived-and it was an effort to keep from picking up her breakfast tray and smashing it across Hummingbird’s masklike face.

  In the moment before the door opened, the old Nahuatl said: “One of your distant relatives had a similar power-she could see what other men intended, sometimes even before they decided a course of action themselves. You would know her-the brightest star in the firmament of your people’s history-for she saved mankind from a truly dark path. But over seven hundred years have passed since-”

  One of the medical orderlies opened the door and poked his head in, a professionally cheerful smile on his olive-skinned face. “Up and around, are we? Feeling better? Excellent- Chu-sa Kosho has been comming me for your status, Doctor Anderssen, at regular intervals.”

  “Great.” Gretchen looked around for her jacket, fingering the medical tunic they’d put on her. “Where did my clothes go?”

  The orderly was about to answer when a sudden noise erupted in the corridor outside. Someone shouted: “Ho there! Corpsman, secure quarters for the ambassador immediately!”

  Gretchen peered out to see a pair of marines escorting a wretched-looking creature-obviously nonhuman, nose deep in a white plastic bucket-into the adjoining medbay. Medical staff converged on the alien from all directions, though most of them were taken aback by its peculiar appearance. To Anderssen it seemed most closely to resemble a grayish black anteater or perhaps a kind of erect sloth or tapir. A cloud of alcohol fumes drifted in their door and she grimaced at the smell of regurgitated rum. Then Hummingbird quietly closed the door, his head tilted in an attitude of listening.

  “A heavy guard for such a pitiful-looking specimen,” the Crow said after a moment.

  “It doesn’t look particularly dangerous. What species is it?”


  Hummingbird gave her a considering look. “You heard the soldiers-an ambassador.”

  “From where? Out here?” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Wait a moment… is this whole business an embassy to-whatever is hiding in this place?”

  The old Nahuatl tilted his hand this way and that. “The Flowery Prince brought this one along at another’s command. But despite his poor appearance, the ambassador is quite dangerous-to us, to humanity. He is Hjogadim and they are quite rare in Imperial space.”

  To Anderssen’s eye the Crow seemed to hop from one foot to the other, wings rustling nervously, before he took hold of the door latch again. “I need to speak to the ambassador-find your clothes, get dressed, and packed up. The Chu-sa needs you, remember?”

  Then he slipped out quietly, the door barely making a noise as he passed over the threshold.

  “Huh!” Gretchen began digging through the storage bins. Now I do truly need Magdalena and Parker and even Dai Bandao, if he were available. I need backup. I should not have lost my temper with the Crow. She sighed, suddenly weary. I am an idiot. I could have done this just as easily back home on New Aberdeen. But no-I have to come haring out here to the back of beyond, just on the off-chance I’ll touch the face of the unknown one more time.

  Finding a shirt, spare field pants, and the leather jacket, Anderssen had managed to get herself together by the time Hummingbird reappeared, radiating pleased satisfaction. “Quickly now, Doctor Anderssen-we are accompanying the Esteemed Sahane to the bridge.”

  Gretchen was holding the parchment envelope by her fingertips, careful not to actually press against the bronze-colored block inside. She shook her head angrily. “Why do you think I’ll come anywhere with you? You’ve used me as an experimental test subject to see if this… tool… would do me harm. Do you really think I would continue helping you, once I found out?”

  Hummingbird paused in the doorway, watching her with an inscrutable expression. “If you do not come, Anderssen- tzin, then you will not see what they have found.” Then he nodded to the envelope. “Bring the device-one text I have seen names it the Adh’atr , which is the easiest for us to say-I think you will need its capabilities soon.”

  Goddamnit. Gretchen tossed the block from hand to hand, then stowed it in her backpack. Dragging everything with her, she hustled out into the corridor, where she found the Esteemed One clinging to Hummingbird’s shoulder, its face a ghastly hue. The plastic bucket had disappeared, but the z-suit-or armor or carapace-was liberally streaked with regurgitated fluids. Together, they were shuffling towards the nearest lift.

  “I will compel action,” the Hjo declared loudly, long gray nose raised in defiance. “Someone will be Instructed for this. There is a Certainty!”

  “If I may suggest-” Hummingbird said, his voice low, “there is a small but well-equipped ship aboard that could easily receive your person and take you to a safer location…”

  “No!” The creature’s reaction was abrupt and violent, though for the moment it lacked the strength to do more than flail one arm. “Order and harmony must be restored without resort to flight! Flight in a tiny, ill-equipped cylinder, crowded with apes and their acrid stench…” Sahane muttered. “ They will try again to destroy me, the last of a noble and laudatory descent. No… Take me to the place of authority!”

  “But Esteemed One, the Prince is at the focus of action, in Secondary Command…” Gretchen started to speak-seeing Hummingbird gesture towards the glyph for deck thirty-nine on the lift controls-but kept her peace, wondering what the old Nahuatl intended.

  “Yes. There shall be a confrontation.” The creature was mumbling again. “And explanation!”

  Hummingbird bowed obediently and pressed the call button for the lift. When the doors cycled open, the Hjo lurched inside-making a snuffling whine upon seeing the confined space-and then Hummingbird and Gretchen slipped inside as well, keeping to the corners and out of the way of the long, furred arms. The creature swung its head from side to side as the lift raced between decks.

  ***

  By the time the blast-doors to Secondary Command irised open, the ambassador had managed to straighten up to his full height and-somehow-his z-suit and exposed fur had shed the vomit. Anderssen found the creature tremendously interesting; when first she’d set eyes upon it, the Hjo seemed shrunken and withered. He-yes, this is a male, I’m sure of it-felt incomplete. But now it is filling out, becoming more sure of itself. She eyed the armored suit curiously. Was a med-band at play here, injecting some kind of confidence-building med into the creature?

  “Account for this wretched treat-” Sahane stopped, long mouth yawning open, his dark eyes reflecting a hot white glow. All of his newly won assurance staggered, quailed, and then fled. A pained whimper emerged from his throat. Gretchen looked away from the creature in surprise and then her own eyes went wide with delight.

  Secondary Command had been reconfigured to create one massive v-display which stretched from floor to ceiling and wrapped around three-quarters of the chamber. The Command consoles had been relocated to the sides and back of the room, their smaller v-displays filled with ever-changing data. On the vast canvas, a live camera feed of the Sunflower filled the room with the hot white glare of the ejection jet boiling up out of the singularity. The three bloated orbs of the brown dwarves studded the sky and the dark mass of the accretion disc formed a backdrop for the tri-lobed structure. Those surfaces at an angle to the jet glared with reflected light, throwing the Chimalacatl into high relief.

  “How big…” whispered Anderssen, fumbling in her jacket pockets for a hand-comp. “My god, it’s five thousand kilometers on a side!”

  A Jaguar Knight in combat armor suddenly blocked her view, a gauntleted hand crushing her fingers and plucking the comp from her grasp. Another Ocelotl had moved in on the other side, immobilizing Hummingbird, who was standing quite still, all of his attention focused on the Hjo and a slim, handsome man of middle age rising from a shockchair placed at the center of the room. Seeing him in the flesh, Gretchen felt a pang of disappointment- he’s not nearly so pretty in real life -but then caught sight of the Prince’s face and felt a bolt of adrenaline flush through her limbs. He is furious, though!

  The Jaguars picked up the wave of displeasure radiating from Xochitl as well, and the one holding Anderssen seized her neck with an armored hand. Servos whined in her ear and the metallic grip dug into her flesh. Oh god, he’ll just twist and “Esteemed One.” With a visible effort, the Prince halted his angry pace and bowed, face contorted with the effort of mouthing peaceful words. “I am relieved to see you are feeling better, but I urge you to return to Medical. You will be safe there and your diverse stomachs set in order.”

  The Hjo trembled from head to toe, but managed to squeak out: “Turn us about, mad creature! The radiation levels in this sector must be immense. Have you no care for your offspring to come? We must depart immediately!”

  Anderssen experienced a strange sensation, watching the ambassador swaying before the Prince. The jolt of fear which had struck the alien dumb now seemed to supplement the earlier sense of assurance. She could taste a stark, unadulterated desire to live, and wondered if the creature had ever felt that particular spike of self-awareness before. Then Gretchen blinked rapidly, half-blinded by the glare from the v-display, and wondered if she was hallucinating. The air around the creature seemed to be flickering or twisting with tiny fleeting gleams of light. A reflection? But of what?

  As she turned her head-feeling the armored fingers still digging into her neck-the spectacle on the v-display drew her eye like a magnet. The panorama seemed terribly familiar-something she’d seen, or read in a book, or- What is it? Those triliths are… damn, but it’s just beyond reach!

  Behind her, Hummingbird had somehow moved closer to the Hjo, a supportive hand under one arm, and she could hear him whispering: “Departure, yes. An excellent idea, Esteemed One.”

  Anderssen and the Prince spoke simultaneously: “It is n
ot!”

  Xochitl turned towards her with a scowl, jaw tight. “Get her out-”

  “This object can only be a First Sun artifact,” she blurted, catching his eye. “The Ik-Hu-Huillane tablets speak of an ‘abode of the waking mind’ which is formed in threes and multiples of three-this structure is the very image the Yithians speak of!”

  “Yes… At last.” The Prince’s face cleared, the words striking a chord in him. “I’ve a remote going aboard that structure within moments, and we’ll-”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen caught sight of an entire console filled with v-panes wink out. The comm officer sitting at the station cried out in alarm.

  “ Chu-sa! My Lord Prince!” A man’s voice echoed in the air. “We’ve lost contact with the shuttle.”

  A section of the Prince’s console unfolded into a large v-pane, showing Chu-sa Kosho’s face, which was now cold and alert, her eyes flickering from side to side. Xochitl stepped back to his shockchair, intent on the Nisei officer.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “The cargo shuttle has exploded, Gensui.” Susan’s lips were a tight line, her brow furrowed. “No warning, no energy emissions… we’re rewinding the telemetry, but I don’t believe there is anything left to recover.”

  The Prince cursed, unable to keep rein on his temper a moment longer, and slammed a fist into the side of the shockchair. The Hjo recoiled, though Hummingbird’s grip was tight enough to keep the creature from falling down. “We must flee,” Sahane wailed, “reverse your course, human. Reverse now!”

  Without considering the ramifications, Gretchen slipped free of the Jaguar’s grip-the Knight was staring at the console display, his attention distracted for a moment-and slid into a shockchair beside the horrified comm-tech.

  “Roll that feed back, my dear,” she said, voice calm and commanding. “Frame by frame.”

  The parchment envelope was opened and one of the octopus arms snaked from her pocket into a socket on the console without anyone noticing. Gretchen snugged her earbug tight against the background noise. The Prince and Kosho were disputing the merits of sending another shuttle towards the Sunflower. “Give me broad-spectrum passive scan at 20X for surface of the structure directly adjacent to the explosion…” Should be some impact scarring now, from the debris. Crude-but I’ll take the infopoints.