The World Wreckers

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  And, although David had seen fear in Keral before, now what he saw was terror.

  David said quietly, trying to be detached, "Is it that you think it's Missy to whom you'd react? Biologically, you mean; the very fact that you're in the presence, for the first time, of a nubile member of your own race?" It would be, it occurred to him with a strange, stricken sense, a perfect and simple solution. That these two, last of their alien kind, should be a renewal of their line. . . .

  "No," said Keral, and there was a sick sort of revulsion in his voice. "I could not. I know this is one of the reasons why our people died away, and yet . . . our land was shaped wrong in the beginning of the world; I know this. I've heard the story often enough; the sexual drives too low, the-the sensitivity too high. I have no right to judge Missy, knowing what her life has been. I pity her. I pity her until it makes me almost sick with it, knowing how terrible it must have been for her, driven to this to survive, to use her gifts only to fascinate and enslave alien men with her body. But she is, she is what she has been in contact with, and I cannot-I cannot come so close to it."

  David, remembering something Regis had said, and with a faint bitter memory of his own early adolescence, said wryly, "I gather this is common enough among telepaths.

  It's rare for them to have much to do-sexually-with anyone who can't return that-awareness, in intimacy. I had a hell of a time, and as a result-" he laughed a little, "my own experiences with women have been, let's say, minimal. A few experiments, and-I more or less swore off. I gather it was even worse with Conner-until he found Missy. He couldn't stand to be around people at all, and she was the first one who could stand the touch."

  "It must have been hard for you," Keral said, with that immediate awareness of emotion which was so new, and so welcome a thing to David.

  "I must admit it's crossed my mind lately; that if there are telepaths on Darkover, there may be women who will be able to-" David flushed slightly. "Not that I've had all that much time to think about it, but seeing Regis with that girl who had his child a little while ago-and now with Linnea, it's so obvious how very much they're in love-" he laughed a little. "Living among telepaths must demand some peculiar changes in attitude, I mean sex becomes such an open, aboveboard thing. Keral, does it bother you to talk about this? God help me, I'm not even sure whether you're a man or a woman!"

  Keral met his eyes with a quiet, level gaze. "Like all my people. Either, or both. We-change, as occasion warrants. And, as I say, when we-come together-the emotions must be very deeply involved, or else-I'm still not sure about your language, but I've learned something of your technology-otherwise, fertilization cannot take place. Oh, we tried all the obvious things, David, our people. Artificial insemination. Our women, or rather, those of us in female phase, under sedative drugs which dulled their minds, mating with members of other races, in a desperate hope-" "And you could not interbreed with other races?" "Not-deliberately," Keral said, "although there are legends, here on Darkover; yes, the Comyn telepaths are said to be of chieri blood. There is a legend-a woman of our people ... you saw Missy...."

  "Yes. She changed, but you say it was contact with you. She was in-female phase, you say? And yet you-"

  "I think contact with Conner sparked the change," Keral said. "After all this time with those alien to her, so that they were beasts, animals, the first touch of someone who could reach her mind and her emotions, roused her out of the phase we call emmasca, neuter. In the neuter phase, she could have sexual contact with anyone-passively-but Conner reached her emotions and-endocrines? So that the mating with Conner was a real thing, something which stirred her deeply, more deeply, perhaps, than any experience of her life.

  David said, "I think I understand. But according to computer analysis, her male and female hormones are almost identical with the human ones. I should think, if it's a question of chemistry, Conner's maleness would have pushed her further into female phase."

  "I don't know," Keral said. "I have only meaningless theories. One is this; that when the change first takes place, it is a-a fluctuating thing, until the hormones stabilize. I had been warned by my elders that if the change came upon me, there is sometimes madness."

  "I'm a doctor, Keral. I can be detached if anyone can." "Can you, David?" Keral smiled faintly. "I told you, we have interbred with other races, now and again ... by chance. It happens at times, that one of our people, when the season of change comes, if there is no other of our kind ready to mate with her, drunken with moonlight and the madness of the changes in her body and mind, will run mad in the forest and lie down, mindless, with any man who comes to her arms. It is-it is a thing we do not speak of. Some have killed themselves, after. But a few bore alien children. It is said that a few such children, cast out from us and fostered among humans, here on Darkover, brought the laran gifts, the telepath powers, into the Comyn line. This is such a terror and a thing of shame among our people that it is spoken only in whispers. And in no other way-in

  no other way-" Keral, shaking and white, broke down and began to sob.

  David knew that knowledge, scientific detachment, were worse than useless here. Blindly, in the grip of intense emotion, he reached out for the chieri and drew him close; Keral, in a convulsion of terror, wrenched free of his arms.

  David quickly let him go; and they stood staring at one another, Keral still sobbing, David in a wild and frightened surmise. Keral said at last, through a painful smile, "You see? It's you that I'm afraid to touch."

  David tried helplessly to get hold of himself. He reminded himself that Keral, coming from a hermaphroditic race and totally isolated from ordinary human culture, would know nothing of human taboos or perversions, or even the very concept. The fact that they were both males would mean nothing to Keral. Both males, hell! He himself hadn't been sure Keral wasn't a girl, at first. But it still took some getting used to. Finally, mastering his first shock and outrage, he said in a low voice, "Keral, I don't understand. Are you saying that you and I could be-mates?"

  "I don't know." Keral sounded, and looked, wretched. "Have I hurt or-or offended against you, David?"

  David found himself struggling against a blind impulse to take Keral in his arms again. It wasn't desire, certainly not sexual desire-although, he realized tardily, that was there too, muted and deeply buried but still there in his consciousness-but it was an overwhelming impulse of closeness, a sudden blind ache for contact, a sort of desperate merging. He fought to control it and keep his detachment, but the surge of overpowering emotion went so deep that it was all he could do to be calm. He reached out his hands to Keral. He had to touch him somehow. He said, in a low voice, _ "I don't understand what's happened, Keral. I'm frightened, too. But-Keral-" he raised his eyes, and as he met the level gray gaze of the chieri, a great and blind happiness surged over him, "I don't care what it is. I love you, you know I do. I'd do anything for you, you know that, but don't be afraid of me. I won't touch you, unless you want me to. And if you do-" he said at last, very simply, "we're friends. And friends can be lovers, too."

  Keral did not move. His slender bandaged fingers closed slightly on David's, but he remained very still. His face moved, convulsively, and at last he said, "I am afraid. It's like being a stranger to myself. And I can't help wondering if my people sent me here for this. I don't have to tell you what it could mean to our race, life rather than death .. . and yet. I wonder, simply, if I have gone mad."

  David dared not laugh. He said, still holding Keral's hand, "We must wait and be sure. We must find out-" "Don't tell anyone," Keral begged suddenly. "I won't, but I wouldn't give much for our chances of keeping it a secret. Remember Conner and Missy? But before anything else, Keral, before we take any chances, let us find out-" his voice collapsed. Suddenly he could not help incongruous laughter. "I'm not laughing at you, Keral, but-it is funny-oh, God, suppose you had a child by me-"

  Keral's beautiful eyes met David's with unflinching honesty. "Like any of my people, I would risk anything
for that," he said. "Even madness. Even my own death, several times over. But I trust you, David, and I love you. And I think it is possible."

  And then, through the gravity, a flicker of mad merriment broke forth:

  "Oh, what fools we both are, David, to be together and so grave and sad and somber; I can read your thoughts so clearly sometimes, a cold-blooded experiment! How much of this have you understood? I thought I made it clear-that unless my own emotions were so very much involved-what are you afraid of?"

  They stood clinging together, laughing into each other's eyes like children, and then Keral gently pushed him away. "You're right," he said almost in a whisper, still laughing. "We have all the time we need. And we must find out everything we can about each other; and first of all, we must

  find out about Missy. I-" he laughed, and it sounded rueful, self-directed:

  "I want to find out what might be in store for me! But David, it's a promise."

  Their clasped hands clung together; and suddenly David realized that, more deeply than any spoken pledge of love, it was a promise and a commitment.

  It was for this that he had come to Darkover.

  It could well have been for this that he was born.

  the hard, bitter Darkovan winter had settled down over the hills of Thendara. The spaceport lay buried under snow six feet deep, just barely kept in control on the landing areas by constant working crews with all the resources of Terran Empire machinery. The days were short and bitter, the red sun grayed with storm clouds or snow.

  The woman who called herself Andrea, knowing her work completed, had intended to take ship and leave Darkover as soon as possible. With the mountains lying deep in snow, nothing further was possible; the torrential spring thaws and rains on barren soil would complete the process beyond repair, unless certain highly technical and drastic steps were taken, demanding enormous financial and engineering resources.

  It wasn't that these resources were unavailable on Dark-over, even now, Andrea thought. It was that no one now living here could spot the ongoing entropy and apply them in the right places with the right kind of concentrated effort.

  She knew she should book her passage on one of the big ships, and go. Go where? she thought, with a sort of fierce, worn weariness. Anywhere. Anywhere in the galaxy. You have everything you could desire, or the means to purchase it.

  Yet she lingered, delaying, slowly realizing that there was nothing in a thousand worlds which could tempt her to move on. I am old, too old to care. So that she lingered on from day to day, letting each departing ship leave without her, not even clearly aware that she was reluctant to leave the dim red sun, the high, jagged and achingly familiar skyline which she could see, when the snow cleared, from the window of her room. If I do not go soon 1 will die here, she told herself; for she had seen others of her land die, simply because there was no longer anything to hold them to life.

  Cast out, abandoned, forgotten by everyone. As I cast out and abandoned my poor changeling. . ..

  The memory, hundreds of years sealed, burst through, a nightmare peeping through a dark curtain, and was instantly covered over again under layers of other memories. Shame, terror, anguish, the compelling memory of madness, buried under deliberate mind-sealing; hardness; rage against those spawning races who lived and would die. Even guilt and shame a hundred years forgotten.

  I do not deserve to die beneath my own sun.. ..

  She had dismissed her assistants, paying them off and paying them well to get lost and stay lost in distant parts of the galaxy. One of the high technical perfections of the trade of worldwrecking, which she had brought to a fine art, was that by the time the damage could be traced and identified, all of the hands which had done it were scattered on a hundred planets across uncountable light-years and could never be traced or identified or made to testify. Well, they were gone and no one but herself could identify the damage; and there was no way to connect her with it. The one link, the Free Amazons who had seen her burying the sterilization virus, she dismissed with contempt. Simple women who knew nothing!

  So she lingered on from day to .day and week to week, telling herself that when the spring thaw came, she would go. The old love for her own sun, her own sky, on a ruined world, could not tempt her to stay and see the planet die.

  Don't be sentimental. It won't die; it will enter a new period of life as a flourishing Empire marketplace. Just another planet with nothing unusual about it.

  It had become deep-rooted habit with her to find, and pay well, spies wherever she went. About three weeks into the winter snow, one of them came to her with vaguely disquieting news.

  "There's little travel at this season," he told her, "but there's a movement, all through the mountains, of caravans. And each of them holds two, three, five of the telepath caste. They seem to be converging on Thendara, on the old Comyn Castle which has been abandoned since the old Comyn Council broke up, five or ten years ago. I don't know what it means, or why, but you asked to know everything concerning the telepath caste."

  Andrea paused to consider this. Elsewhere she had heard another rumor, that the Terran HQ had sent out a call for functioning telepaths, all over the galaxy. She had even toyed with the cynical thought of going and offering herself for their study. They'd get some surprises, she told herself, that they never expected. But the deep-rooted habit, so deep as to be instinct, to keep their race's very existence secret from other beings, had made this idea the briefest, most surface, mental game. In any case, all others of her kind were long dead, long vanished; why tantalize them?

  However, if anyone could find out what was being done to Darkover it would be these telepaths. She thought with a curious, almost personal rage of Regis Hastur. How had this young man managed to evade fourteen assassins in a row? Was it possible she had underestimated the Comyn telepaths?

  Well, one thing was certain. If they were all gathering together in one location, for whatever reason, they would be a convenient target. She might as well make a good job of it; wait until they were all assembled, and with one final stroke, free Darkover of the last barrier from becoming another planet in the chain of Empire.

  Even with all the resources of Worldwreckers, Incorporated, at her fingertips, a mass murder on this scale would take time and planning. Well, she had all the long and bitter Darkovan winter to plan it.

  Hour after hour she sat at her window watching the snowstorms and the distant mountains. And beyond those mountains, more mountains, and more forests, and in those forests. . . .

  Nothing. No one. Death and ruin. Not one left alive. Except only I, and that not for long.

  The isolation sign was still on Missy's room, and the guarding nurses and hospital personnel had grown tired of repeating to Conner: "I'm sorry. No visitors for this patient."

  Conner was at his wit's end. On the seventh day, he bullied his way through to Jason and David, demanding: "Why are you keeping her drugged and isolated? You promised I could see her! You've told me she was recovering, and no matter how badly she was hurt, she must be healing up by now! She'll be wanting me. I've got to see her!"

  "Conner," Jason said gently, "don't you realize, she won't be wanting anyone. She isn't responding to people at all-she just isn't in contact. Missy is insane."

  "So am I, according to Terran Empire official directives," Conner said. "Or didn't you read my record? Maybe it takes one lunatic to help another."

  Jason put out his hand. "Sit down, man-don't stand over me like that! I'm on your side. But don't you realize? This- this creature nearly killed Keral; his hands are just now healing. She tore up a spaceforce jail and our emergency room."

  "Yes," David said, "and she nearly killed you, Jason; if your head had struck the doorjamb instead of the wall, it would have smashed like an eggshell. It was all Desideria and Linnea, together, could do to hold her long enough to get her under drugs. Quite frankly, we don't dare let her regain consciousness."

  Conner said stubbornly, "She won't hurt me. She nee
ds me. And I love her."

  David felt the shock and upheaval of his own deep ambivalence, like a disrupting blow. Conner was wide open to him, with all the misery of a desperately lonely man who has at long last found something and had it snatched away again. Between pity and dismay, David burst out, "Conner-we've been trying to keep this from you just because you do love her, but haven't we told you what happened to-to Missy? She's changed; she's not even a woman now!"

  "I don't understand-"

  David said, "I'll spare you the technical report. I knew how you reacted to Missy; we all knew, remember? But how about some nice, sexy nude photos." Pity and rage made him ruthless of how he hurt the older man. He took the pictures of Missy, lying in drugged sleep, from a folder and handed them over.

  "Here's your-girl friend. Love? Look, Conner, she couldn't even react to you as a woman-"