The Margarets

by Sheri S. Tepper

  I started haltingly, finally letting it all spew out: the little creatures, the little boy, the creation of the ghyrm, the pools of light and dark I had seen in the mausoleum, the strange machine. Gasping, my face wet, I concluded, “The K’Famir worship the Eater of the Dead. Torturing living things turns them into what you killed back there.”

  Ella May cursed under her breath. “Lady Badness! Look there, ahead. They’ve found our ship!”

  “How could they?” demanded Lady Badness. “It was shielded. No one comes out here!”

  Below us the K’Famir swarmed over the ship like ants.

  “They can’t get into it,” said Weathereye.

  “Unfortunately, neither can we,” said the old woman.

  “They have shield detectors,” I said, coming out of the spell of my narrative to realize what was going on. “One of the customers at House Mouselline was talking about its patron being honored for inventing it. The K’Famira laughed a great deal. He hadn’t invented it, only bought it from the Omnionts.”

  “Now the woman remembers!” grated Weathereye. “We don’t dare go down there. If we do the correct thing, we blow the ship right now and let them think we’re in it.”

  “Too late,” cried the pilot. “They’ve detected us!”

  “Do the correct thing, then,” cried Weathereye. “At least take some of them with it.”

  The ship below us went up in an enormous billow of smoke and fire that threw some hundreds of the uniformed K’Famir through the air like windblown leaves. “That should distract them for a time,” growled Ella May.

  “How does it work?” Weathereye demanded. “Their sensor. Does it detect the veiling system, or does it penetrate the system to detect the ship?”

  I gaped, trying to remember what else they had said. “It detects the system,” I said at last.

  “Turn the system off in this ship, Ella May,” Weathereye ordered.

  “Get down as close to the ground as you can. Night is coming. Set us down in the shadows somewhere, among these hillocks. We’re trapped here now. Have to figure out something…”

  “The gates,” said Lady Badness. “She told us about the gates on the Hill of Beelshi.”

  “She didn’t tell us where the hell they go,” snapped Weathereye.

  “They don’t both go,” the old woman snarled in return. “One goes, one comes. Remember!”

  “What I remember is the genetic work the Siblinghood has done on the ghyrm,” Ella May said as she searched for a place to set down. “And what you told me of the armaments research they’re doing on Thairy. Whatever they came up with to kill ghyrm also killed humans. It finally makes sense!”

  “It’s true the closest tissue match to ghyrm is human,” said Lady Badness, turning toward me. “Weathereye and I belong to a small group of interested bystanders, well, not always just bystanders, obviously, since here we are, not just standing.”

  “What do you mean, the ghyrm are human?” I cried.

  “No, no, dear. Not human. Humans are the closest genetic match. What you saw there on the Hill of Beelshi makes it clear the ghyrm are manufactured from humans.”

  “But the little creatures I saw weren’t human. I could hold one of them in my hands!

  “They must have once been human, genetically speaking. The human genetic dictionary contains many words, perhaps whole paragraphs, that are not usually expressed. Under certain conditions, however, the genetic vocabulary changes. If the environment is impoverished, much of what is thought of as human is simply repressed, letting simple, earlier processes take over. Language is reduced, then lost. Argument is replaced with violence. Symbols and repetitive chants replace art and music. Minds are reduced in complexity, reactions are simplified. Reproduction may be limited to certain castes. So with the little ones you saw. Genetically, they must still be human, however. Torture simply removes the remnants of humanity—pain does that, you know. It destroys the higher centers of the mind, leaving only the screaming hunger that lies at the center of all ancient life.”

  “Leaving, also, genetics sufficiently like yours that your immune system does not react to them,” said Weathereye. “Your bodies do not reject them, as they would anything foreign. Which means they can take their time to feed on you quite nicely.”

  “You say, genetics like ours,’” said I. “Your genetics aren’t human?”

  “Like, but unlike.” Lady Badness laughed. “We’re mere meddlers, my dear. Doing what we can for those we depend upon.”

  “There,” said Ella Mae, indicating a fold of land now dark in shadow. The ship descended soundlessly into its depths.

  I offered tentatively. “We are not far from the outskirts of the city, and we’re on the Beelshi side. I can lead you to the mausoleum and the gates.”

  “I would feel better about that if I knew where the gates go,” said Weathereye. “I should have asked. Still, since we have no way to get you and Ella May off this planet otherwise…”

  “I have my own disguise,” I said. “I don’t have enough for all of us…”

  “Quite all right, my dear,” said Lady Badness. “Take your shape, and we two will copy you. We’re quite good at that. We make our living at it, one might say.”

  I opened the case and took out my Hrassian garb, the nose, the paint, the wig, the dirty robes, the little mirror that let me see myself as I changed. “Now,” I murmured as I worked, “the Hrass keep a solid wall to their backs whenever possible. Crossing open ground, they hurry, frequently glancing behind them. They mutter constantly. I think the real Hrass utter prayers, but I have had good experience with the phrase ‘Old rhinoceros my brother will you have some bread and butter.’ This phrase has in it many of the Hrass phonemes, and it avoids sounds they do not make. Please remember to start the phrase at different intervals and do not say it in unison.” I stopped, for all three of them were grinning at me.

  “You were on your way to becoming a translator, I believe,” said Weathereye. “A woman who spoke many tongues.”

  I blushed. I had been going on and on, sounding like my own didactibot! “That was long ago,” I said. “Some days it is hard to remember. I apologize for seeming imperious. You probably know all this far better than I…”

  “Not at all,” said Lady Badness. “We know little or nothing about the Hrass. We are human followers, our fates inextricably interwoven with your own.”

  “Do I set the destruct?” Ella May asked.

  “I should think so,” said Lady Badness rather sadly. “If they find it, we can’t get it back.”

  I said, “We can work our way up the hill among the tombs, those big pottery jars that contain the bones of the dead. That is, I suppose they are bones by now. There’s been no room on Beelshi for new ones for a very long time, or so I’ve heard. They chain the door to the room, so we’ll need something…”

  “I have the proper tool,” said Ella May. She turned with a grin, displaying a small tool clasped in one hand. “Are we ready?”

  “Just have to fix my nose,” I commented, doing so and with quick strokes of my fingers blending the paint around the edges. “I can see you’re amused by this, but I can’t tell why. Beelshi is terrible and full of pain. I don’t like going back there.”

  “We are not amused, dear lady,” said Mr. Weathereye. “We are simply delighted with you, which is quite another thing. Your resourcefulness, your determination, both do you credit.”

  The four of us left the ship with me leading. When I looked back, it seemed to me two Hrass followed me, muttering, scurrying, glancing around quite as authentically as I could have desired. Ella May stayed between them, making do with a long cape and a scuttling walk. The Hill of Beelshi was to our left, across a well-traveled road and an open area of fields that might be fenced. If so, I would rely upon whatever tool the young woman carried to get us through.

  We waited for the road to clear, then scurried across it without incident.

  “Who is Ella May?” I panted to Lady Badne
ss.

  “She’s a member of the Siblinghood of Silence. Have you heard of that?”

  “I don’t think so, no. What do I call her, Sibling?”

  “That’s considered quite proper, yes. But she would probably prefer to be called simply Ella May, since you’re probably related to one another.”

  I had time for only one astonished look at the elderly person before resuming my scuttle. Beyond the road were fences, quite a number of them, but Ella May had only to touch them with the tool, whatever it was, and a sizable hole appeared.

  We approached Beelshi on the side opposite the one I had climbed before. There were no guards. Presumably, all the guards were out hunting for Miss Ongamar, which thought offered fleeting amusement. Once among the funerary jars, I paused, allowing us all a brief rest. The distance had not been far, the terrain not challenging, but the skittering mannerisms took both concentration and energy. We worked our way upward, pausing outside the upper ring of temples and mausolea while I located the building I had spied from before.

  When I pointed it out, Ella May whispered, “Since there’s no one here, I suggest we go straight across. It’s quickest.”

  I hesitated, my agitation no doubt plain on my face.

  “What?” demanded Mr. Weathereye.

  “You see that tall stone, the one that looks like a person hunched over the stone of sacrifice. I’ve seen its eyes. I got the strong impression that it could see.”

  “And you think it might utter an alarm?”

  “I don’t know. If I were here alone, however, I would work around behind it to the place I want to be, then go in very quickly, closing the door tightly behind me.”

  “I see no reason to doubt your counsel,” Mr. Weathereye murmured. “Let us do so.”

  We were stopped in our tracks by a cacophony of shouts from the foot of the hill behind us. Ella May slipped away to a vantage point and returned almost immediately. “They have mechanical scent detectors down there, they’ve picked up our trail. I suggest, watching stone or no watching stone, we run for it!”

  We did so, rushing across the rough pavement like so many cockroaches, I thought, harkening back to what vermin were left on Earth. Humans and cockroaches. As we crossed before the tall stone, I glanced up to see the red glare of its eyes fastened on me. The creased rock ridges of the mouth opened to emit a huge, stony voice. No one needed a translation, though I made one automatically. “Here, here, here it is!”

  Within moments we were up the steps of the mausoleum, Ella May applied her tool to the chain, we pulled the door open, closed it firmly behind us and bolted it with the three huge bolts that were obviously well and frequently used, for they bore no rust and slid into their sockets with a satisfying thwack.

  Ella May was facing the shimmering pool of light. She went toward it, thrust her hand in, drew it out again, then tried the same with the black pool, only to leap back with a choked oath.

  “Way-gates,” said Ella May. “One comes in, one goes out, and the black one is obviously the one that comes in.”

  The other gate, the shimmering one, had great stacks of empty cages beside it, along with heaped kegs of treasure.

  “Read the meaning of this,” demanded Weathereye of his female companion, gesturing at their surroundings.

  “It says trade,” said Lady Badness. “Treasure sent through this gate, creatures returned through this gate. What Miss Ongamar has seen is the key: The K’Famir were paying for human beings to be sent through this gate.”

  “Were paying?”

  “Look at the dust, heavy years of dust. Nothing has come through here for a considerable time.”

  “But they used this one gate, both ways?”

  Ella May said, “Nothing is stacked conveniently next to the other one, and that machine with wheels is an odd thing to find here…” She went to look it over more closely. “Phase transformer! Look at the size of it. It has to be salvage, because no one has used anything like this for years.”

  “Used it to do what?” Lady Badness demanded.

  Ella May nodded. “The fields of these gates are obviously one-way. This thing, if started up inside it, or in contact with it, is probably designed to reverse it.”

  We turned toward the door as it clattered with a hammering of spearpoints.

  “The K’Famir police don’t carry energy weapons,” said I. “But it won’t take long to get them from the armory.”

  Ella May said, “I suggest we push this machine into that light pool and turn it on. It seems to have its own energy source.”

  “Don’t push it all the way in,” I cried. “Push in the front end, but leave the end with the controls out, so we can see what happens.”

  “An excellent suggestion, my dear,” said Mr. Weathereye, applying his shoulder to the machine, which seemed reluctant to move in any particular direction. The clatter outside grew louder, and there were coordinated calls.

  “They’re bringing up something to batter the door down,” I translated. “We have to make it move.”

  We managed to get it turned around, though it seemed to me that only Ella May and I exerted any real force upon it. With a last, desperate shove, we thrust the end of it through the glowing gate. When Ella May pushed the button, the shimmering pool turned abruptly black as air smelling of dust and damp rushed around us. When she pushed the button again, it reversed.

  “So they were trading with one source,” mused Mr. Weathereye. “I wonder where the black one goes.”

  I had gone to peer through the crack along the hinge side of the great door. “They’re in the plaza. They’re bringing up some huge…looks like a log?”

  “Battering ram,” said Ella May. “We don’t have much time. I suggest we go through there”—pointing at the shining gate—“and take the machine with us.”

  “When we get to the other end, we use it to seal it off behind us,” said Lady Badness.

  “Exactly,” said Ella May.

  “This road, rather than the other one?” I asked.

  Ella May shook her head. “We don’t have time to move it to the other one. This one smells fairly clean.”

  From outside came a chant, “Hrnah, cush, hrnah, cush.” The battering ram had arrived and was thundering against the door. The metal shrieked as it bulged inward in a huge, swollen carbuncle. Crates toppled in a cloud of dust. Ella May and I thrust the machine ahead of us.

  Voices outside built to a bellowed unison: “Hrnah, cush, hrnah, cush!”

  The door screamed, the hinges popped, long metal screws flew across the room, one striping my cheek with blood. Over my shoulder I could see the bolts bending slowly, a little more with each crashing blow. We pushed, grunting, sweating, the others swearing words I had never heard before, thrusting through the shining disk only moments before the great metal doors came off their hinges.

  The heavy machine was moving more easily, as though downhill, and I glimpsed the room behind us as it filled with K’Famir who were obviously unfamiliar with the gate. Some of them approached it cautiously, some searched behind the crates, some approached the other gate and were shocked by it, as Ella May had been. We were still pushing when the machine reached the end of the way we were in and protruded into somewhere else. Several of the K’Famir tried reaching into the light gate, discovered it did not hurt them, walked boldly through and began to pursue, spears waving.

  “Turn it around,” I cried, shoving at the nearest exposed surface of the device with all my strength. The bulky device was now moving fast enough that the momentum carried it around and let it come to rest with the four of us in the clear while the front of it remained inside the gate. I was nearest to the control and I slammed my fist down on it, holding it down. From inside the gate we heard the high, ululating screeches of K’Famir voices just as we, ourselves, were thrust hard against the machine by a gust of air that came from behind us. It rushed away into the opening, then stopped.

  “It’s closed,” said Lady Badness. “I hope whoever wa
s in there was blown out. Now it’s black at their end, just like the other one. They can’t use either gate, unless they have another machine.”

  “Were the soldiers pushed back?” I whispered.

  “The sounds of pain receded,” said Mr. Weathereye. “I think it likely they were more than merely pushed. Flung, perhaps.”

  “It’s dark in here,” I said. “The only light is from the pool…”

  “I have a light,” said Ella May, turning it on. We looked around ourselves, trapped in a short tunnel, blocked at one end by the shimmering gate and at the other by a locked iron grille. Beyond the grille was a huge, heavy door.

  Ella May asked, “Shall I see if I can cut through the grille?”

  Weathereye shook his head. He sat down and leaned against the wall. “There’s no hurry,” he said. “We’re not trapped. Cantardene can’t follow us. While we have a moment, I’d like to sit here quietly while Miss Ongamar tells us what she has learned over the last decades she spent there.”

  To their manifest amusement, I took off my Hrassian nose, turned my outer garment inside out, and began at the left side hem to read them everything I knew about the K’Famir.

  I Am Gretamara and Ongamar/on Chottem

  When the Gardener joined Sophia and me as we breakfasted under the flowering tree, she seemed distracted. While we ate, she merely sat, eyes half shut, obviously troubled.

  “Gardener,” Gretamara said at last. “Something’s wrong?”

  “Something’s happened, but I can’t locate it. I knew something was going to happen, but I don’t know what!”

  Gretamara looked up, suddenly alert. “It’s the cellars, Gardener. Sophia and I had the same oppressive feelings about the house, and they came from the cellars. This morning I had the feeling that a wind had swept through them…”

  “But it was not something dreadful,” the Gardener remarked. “Perhaps that’s why I’m confused about it. If it had been dreadful, I would have thought of the cellars, but this…”

  “Let’s go look,” I said, rising from my chair. “We’ll stay behind the iron grilles, just in case.”