The Madness Season Read online

  "I can only answer for my family," I replied. A hedge.

  "All alive?"

  "All dead," I answered, and I repressed a shudder as the memories came. "All killed, except for me."

  And not pleasantly.

  "You do not die naturally?"

  "We age, but more slowly." A half-lie. "If one were to live long enough, one would die of natural causes."

  Or so I was told. Who really knows ? How many of us lasted that long?

  "So. There are others alive today? Like yourself?"

  Were there? I had known some once, many years ago, and my father had spoken of a time when we had gathered freely in the great cities, honored by our short-lived brethren for the knowledge that we accumulated. That was before my time, and long before the Tyr came. I had kept a low profile since the Conquest, haunted by the specter of the census computers; if others of my kind were still in existence, they had probably done the same. I could not say with certainty that any others had survived the Subjugation. But if they had ... the wrong words now, I realized, would betray them. Would make them even more vulnerable.

  "None that I know of," I told it. Hoping that would be enough.

  It considered, its upper eyes fixed on me. "So," it said at last. "You witnessed the Conquest."

  There it was. The one vital question, to which all others were mere introduction. It hung in the air between us like a knife, poised to strike. But I had already committed myself.

  "Yes," I whispered.

  "You fought us."

  Did they know that I had volunteered, in those last desperate hours? Did the Tyr-memory recall a man of my features passing for dead on the plain of our defeat? It was dangerous ground, and I trod it carefully. "We all fought you, in our ways. I'm no hero," I added miserably. That, at least, was the truth.

  "But you remember."

  "Some of it." I shut my eyes, and fought back images from the past. "I would rather forget."

  For a long time there was silence.

  "You understand," it said at last. "Human or not-human, Subjugated or enemy: you must be removed from Earth."

  I had known it was coming—but it was still a shock, to hear the words. Removed from Earth. Forever.

  The fear was a hard knot inside me. Panic was seeping in.

  "I accepted the Subjugation—" I began.

  "You remember. That is enough. The purpose of the Subjugation was to cleanse Earth of its past. You are that past. To leave you here is to fail in our purpose."

  "I would never interfere—"

  "Of your seventeen lives since the Conquest, ten have been spent as a teacher. The pattern is obvious.

  When left to your own devices, you choose to direct the thoughts of the young—you, who are a contamination in the heart of our dominance. And you promise not to interfere? It is too late, Daetrin Ungashak To-Alym Haal. The decision was made, centuries ago. By you."

  I felt the last of my fragile hopes leaving me, and in their absence the first burning touch of hunger. My fevered body would demand sustenance, frequently and in quantity. Without my pills I was helpless to sustain it.

  "I want only to survive," I whispered. A question.

  Again the silence. For the first time it occurred to me that the Kuol-Tyr was not merely thinking; it was submerged in the greater Tyr-consciousness, drawing on that species' wealth of experience in order to evaluate the present circumstances. "Cooperate," it said at last.

  "How?"

  "Explain. Your longevity. You claim to be human, but humans are mortal; death is a constant of human biology. Life expectancy can be increased, but only within limits. You defy those limits, yet claim to be human. Explain."

  I had spent a lifetime struggling to understand just that, and had only partial answers, hopelessly insufficient. Nevertheless, I offered them. "Our bodies are the same, but they function at a different pace." Mnemonic overlap: I could hear my father's voice speaking to me, as though he were in the room. Understand the differences in how we function, and you will comprehend the differences in our souls. . . . "Colder overall, with a slower metabolism—"

  "The human brain would not function well under the circumstances you describe."

  I laughed bitterly, remembering the timefugue. "It doesn't."

  The Kuol paused, shifting its attention to some other focus. To the source of analytic machinery, it seemed, for it then told me "Untrue. Or at least, unsupported. Your internal temperature is 96.8 Fahrenheit, practically human-normal. Your other bodily processes are similarly near-standard. Such minute differences could not possibly affect the process of cell regeneration. I reject your explanation."

  It's the fever! I thought, but I dared not say anything. It was the greatest weakness of my kind, and it could be used to drive us out of hiding. To explain the fever to the Tyr would be to betray those few others who might have survived the Subjugation. Though it meant my life, I couldn't do it.

  "Arrangements are now made," it told me. "You will be sent to Ky-gattra, where you will be studied."

  The words escaped me before I could stop them. "Not killed?"

  "The Honn-Tyr kill. Always. The Kuol-Tyr can choose. I choose. The Tyr will understand you, not-human that you are, and determine if you are a threat to our stability." It paused, studying me. "You will never come back here, Daetrin Ungashak To-Alym Haal. That is the Will."

  I shut my eyes in pain. The Earth cried out to me and I reached for it within my heart, only to have its essence slip through my fingers. The emptiness, the fear . . . could I survive, once removed from my native world? Tradition said no.

  "I understand," I whispered.

  "There is a longship passing this system soon; you will be taken to it immediately. You will not be maltreated," it assured me, "as long as you cooperate."

  Suddenly I remembered the pills, and my hunger. "I have needs—" I began.

  "They will be seen to."

  I hesitated. "There are problems ..."

  The Kuol-Tyr waited.

  How much should I say, and how should I word it? An enzymatic deficiency, requiring certain formulae ... If they knew my background then they were aware of the years I had spent in biochemical research, and it was reasonable. But what if that led to other questions? You were born in the nineteenth century. What did you do for sustenance then, before the molecular structure of proteins was understood?

  With a sinking feeling, I knew I dared not speak. Even if it meant my death—and it would—that was preferable to the death of all my kind. The others might never have analyzed their weakness; they might still be surviving the old way. If so, they were vulnerable; I dared not betray them.

  "Nothing," I said miserably. We die slowly, my kind. "Nothing you can help me with."

  My world, I will come back to you. Somehow.

  The Kuol nodded, and the door behind me split open. Two Honn guards grabbed me by the arms; I did not resist them, in words or in action. The time for that was long past.

  Wordlessly, in perfect unity, they led me into exile.

  SHIAN

  She loved to fly. She loved the challenge of it. Flying, and also gliding. She loved the play of her wings against the wind, the effort that it took to locate thermals—or in this case, magnetic currents—and master them. Which meant that she should have been enjoying herself on Shian, where flying was both difficult and dangerous. Only she wasn't. Not any more. The first thrill of creating a new body had passed long ago, and the challenge of the windworld had been muted by time into dull familiarity. And now she was worried, too, which was all the more disturbing because it was a new concept to her, and she didn't know how to deal with it.

  Where were the Saudar?

  Why hadn't they come for her?

  What if they never came?

  She unfurled a sail and caught hold of an updraft, angling herself into the upperwinds. Her sith-fibers were curled tightly against her torso, their magnetic sensitivity tuned to a minimum. All about her storm-winds raged, gusts of methane that could (and often did) rend a traveler's sails to shreds; navigating them was a challenge, and she should have enjoyed it. But her growing certainty that something had gone wrong made travel into no more than a bleak necessity.

  If I'm left here . . . She didn't complete the thought. Surely she wouldn't be abandoned! As a Marra, she was too valuable to be left behind; the Saudar were experienced in dealing with her kind, and would understand the risk which that entailed. Already her most distant memories were beginning to slip away from her, in a process as predictable as it was inexorable. Eventually, the past she had shared with the Saudar would be lost to her forever. She would have no knowledge of the services she had rendered, as First Contact Ambassador for the Saudar Unity, or of that special symbiosis which enabled the Marra to interact with embodied life-forms. If she stayed on Shian long enough, she might even lose sight of what she was, and consider herself a native. Identity was no more than a function of memory, after all—and Marra memory was notoriously fallible.

  It was vitally important to get home before that happened.

  She extended a sith-fiber and touched the nearest magnetic Current. It was stronger than usual, and its force nearly yanked the fiber out of its socket. Good. The planet's magnetism should remain constant; that it had suddenly intensified, hinted at outside interference. Which meant . . .

  She stifled that hope, as she had previously stifled her concern. Yes, it might mean that a science probe had entered the gas giant's magnetosphere, with enough ferrous matter in its structure to intensify the Currents. Then again, it might not. More likely, the magnetic disturbance was simply the result of some natural phenomenon she didn't yet comprehend. For if it was a ship—if the Saudar had returned to Shian— wouldn't they have contacted her by now?

&n
bsp; There was only one way to find out. Carefully, she extended her sith and affixed them to the Current.

  With sudden force she was thrust northward, her velocity so great that a gust of wind, crossing her path, tore her mainsail at the base. She didn't bother to repair it. The flesh was inconsequential, save that it anchored her in time and allowed her to interact with her physical environment. Mere winds couldn't hurt a Marra. But there was a real danger in that the natives, unable to navigate the newly violent Currents, had abandoned this area; there would be no living creatures between her and her goal, and therefore no way for her to renew her strength.

  She settled for sealing her wound so that she lost no more ichor, and fastened her wounded sail tight against her torso. If her calculations were correct, she wouldn't need to use her sails again; the Current she was riding should take her directly to the disturbance's source. And then, if there was indeed a ship —

  One thing at a time! She wrapped her sails around her small, compact body until the winds could strike at nothing but her torso; that way, she would not be swept from her mount. Soon—if her calculations were correct—she would reach the heart of the disturbance. Soon she would know if she was truly rescued.

  And if not?

  * * *

  Remembering: A Saudar scientist rich in dignity, pacing as he spoke; with even, measured steps he crossed in front of the projected image of Shian. His eyes were wide, a sure sign of excitement, and his kangi were erect, alert. Briefly he outlined his plan to search for life in previously unexplored environments.

  "The Marra are vital to this project," he concluded. "Their ability to locate and identify new bio-types is what makes such an undertaking possible."

  She let the scent of her amusement fill the room. "You need a volunteer?"

  "Your masters told me you might be interested."

  "I might be." She indicated the projection. "Tell me more. Why this particular planet?"

  "Coloration." He stepped to the control console and made a few adjustments. The first projection of Shian gave way to another, slightly different, and then to still more: a chronological series. Bands of red and green moved across the gas giant's surface like ripples across an immense ocean. "The seasonal pattern implies a biological origin. If so—"

  She understood, and was intrigued by the prospect.

  Those worlds which had no life of their own, the Saudar colonized; where life already existed, Marra such as herself were sent to establish First Contact. But that happened only on free-water worlds: small, solid planets huddling close about their mother suns. What of the other planets, the gas-worlds, whose environments were so hostile that no one save a Marra could even think of exploring them? If life did indeed exist in such places, it would open up whole new vistas of exploration— and she would be at the forefront of discovery, her Marra skills challenged as never before.

  The Saudar body which she wore reflected her thoughts, mottling with the pink of comprehension. "I understand."

  His eyes, kangi, ear channels, all focused upon her. "Then you'll go?" he asked.

  "I'll go." But she added, "A few conditions."

  She would design her own body. She would choose her own support personnel. The Saudar must trust her Marra instinct, and let her choose the initial landing site. And they must make absolutely certain that no matter what happened, they would be there on time to pick her up. Because only if there was life on Shian would she be able to get home on her own—and then not in the proper timeframe, and not without killing.

  A thousand points remained to be negotiated, but the most important one had been settled; she would go.

  His kangi curled, a Saudar smile. "I believe you will enjoy it."

  * * *

  It was a ship, all right.

  But it wasn't Saudar.

  She flew around it, close enough that her undersail brushed its pitted surface. There were no markings to indicate its planet of origin, and its substructures were unfamiliar to her; she had no inkling of its purpose.

  She was sure that it wasn't Saudar, though—she knew the masters' ship-plans, from probe to scout, and this didn't match any pattern of theirs. Was it alien, then? Truly alien?

  An ambassador's excitement burned to fresh life within her, the hunger to learn, to communicate. What was this new civilization, which the Saudar had brought under their wing? What technology had the newcomers brought with them, what formulae and gadgets and systems of thought to enrich the whole of the Unity? What did they look like, and (most important of all) how did they interact?

  Careful, Marra, she chided herself. You're not out of the methane yet.

  First things first: she had to make contact. Skimming the strange ship's surface, she soon found its sensory access. Visual; that was good. She positioned herself in front of the proper screens and began to fly the Yull configuration. Three circles clockwise, three opposing. Then two. Then one. A simple pattern, designed to communicate species identity despite boundaries of form and language. Regardless of what type of body she was in, she could manage to display that sequence; the ship's inhabitants would respond with another Yull pattern, whose form would dictate the mode for future communication.

  She waited. A long, long time.

  There was no response.

  She repeated the pattern, then waited again. Still no response. Perhaps she had mistaken the nature of the outlet . . . but no, an analysis of its form according to the generalities of ship design indicated that some sort of visual scanner was focused outward at this point.

  So what was the problem? No alien ship could have reached this planet without first passing through Unity space; wouldn't the Saudar have told them about her kind, about her, before giving them free access to this star system? And while it might be true that there was no one watching the ship's exterior right now, through this outlet, it was inconceivable that a computer wouldn't have been assigned to the post, capable of recognizing meaningful data patterns and alerting the occupants when something important occurred.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. Could she have been away from the Saudar long enough that things had . . . changed, somehow? She was poor at judging time—all her people were—but it seemed to her that if she had been gone that long she would have noticed it. Noticed the erosion of her memory, the gradual loss of her memory, the gradual loss of her Saudar identity. Wouldn't she?

  A strange emotion began to stir within her—dark, foreboding, non-Marra. As uncomfortable something that left in its wake uncomfortable questions, which she couldn't begin to answer. It seemed to have no constructive purpose, this emotion, but arose from the depths of her psyche like a drug-induced dream—or so it seemed to her, though she had never personally experienced either drugs or dreams.

  Was it fear? she wondered suddenly. Was this what fear was? The possibility filled her with wonder.

  Fear was a survival-emotion, induced by biochemical changes—a primitive function of the brain, designed to ensure the body's survival. What was fear doing in a Marra psyche?

  Uneasy, she settled to the ship's surface and affixed herself there. She needed to get inside the strange vessel, to see for herself what was going on. To make contact with whoever—or whatever —had come here. This ship might well be her only ticket home; she dared not fail to communicate.

  She studied its surface, circling it nearly three times before she found what she wanted: the seal of an air lock. She settled down beside it, a tiny figure huddled against the great ship's surface. Stormwinds whipped by her, nearly tearing her free from her mount, but she was loath to adjust her body while still in the wind-sea. Then, when a sudden gust ripped the sith-fibers from forebody, she compromised by exchanging her undersail for suction cups, and affixed herself anew. It was a small Change—but it cost her in strength, which she could not easily replenish.

  She waited.

  A minor eternity passed, in which the air lock did not open. But she had faith in her reasoning, and remained where she was. Eventually, her patience was rewarded. A small metallic probe, self-propelled, approached the air lock and hovered there. In an instant she was upon it, clasped tightly to its surface.