The Chaos Sutra

by Gregg Vann

  “What the hell are those?” he asked Maxal.

  The pilot looked up from his controls and directed his attention to the forward window, just as another herd of the large animals passed below them. “They’re called Honts. Big, ugly things, eh? But don’t worry, as a rule they’re fairly docile. I still wouldn’t want to get in front of one of them, though. When they do fight they hit like an Udek battleship. And even if you did manage to somehow survive the attack, you’d probably wish that you hadn’t.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Tien said.

  Maxal turned his attention back to the ship as they crossed over an irregular land border, marking the transition from open savanna to a heavily forested area. He slowed the vessel to a complete stop and then hovered in place for a moment, before gently putting the ship down in a small clearing, one that neither Tien nor Brother Ryll had spotted beforehand. As the landing gear settled into the soil, Tien noticed that they were surrounded by a dense collection of trees—with broad trunks stretching high into the sky, and branches so closely intertwined that it was impossible to trace an individual limb back to its owner. Overhead, the branches pushed aside as the ship descended had already snapped back to their original positions—blocking out most of the sky, and hiding Ayel’s Revenge from any prying eyes above.

  If Tien stared hard enough back in the direction they’d traveled, he could still glimpse traces of the savanna through gaps between the trees and forest undergrowth. But it was difficult. The side door opened and Tien abandoned the effort. As the ramp extended down to the forest floor, the trio unbuckled themselves from their flight restraints.

  “What is this place?” Tien asked.

  “Somewhere safe.” Maxal smiled. “And it’s not far from the Udek base. I know some people who live around here. People who can help us.”

  Tien tried offering Maxal a skeptical look, but it failed to register on his android face. So as they started down the ramp, he worked to pry more information from the suddenly stoic pilot.

  “What people?”

  Just then, a small force of Iriq—guns drawn—began flowing out from where they’d been hidden beyond the tree line, watching and waiting for them to leave the ship. Despite the effective camouflage their uniforms and natural biology afforded them, the soldiers were impossible to miss.

  Tien had his answer.

  “The rebels.” He realized, shaking his head. Tien noticed that none of the guns were pointed at Maxal, as might be expected when dealing with a smuggler who’d just ferried in unannounced visitors. And years of operational instinct and intuition quickly led him to the truth. Tien saw the situation clearly now; Maxal’s secret was revealed. “You don’t just smuggle for the rebels, Maxal. You’re one of them. But wh—”

  “Maxal!” a girl’s voice cried out.

  An Iriq woman near the back of the group broke away from the others and ran up to the ship—hopping straight into the Blenej pilot’s waiting three arms, and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her skin was a deep shade of green, with irregular blue patterns spread across it in a patternless flow, slightly reminiscent of the Hont’s markings. But the most striking thing about her was the smile she wore.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, grabbing Maxal’s head with both hands and locking eyes with the big Blenej. “We expected you days ago.”

  Tien immediately began to entertain suspicions of betrayal and readied the android’s weapons systems, pulling up the full menu of offensive options in his HUD. He would wait to actually deploy them until he had a better understanding of the situation. Had Maxal led them into a trap? It was certainly possible. Maybe this was his revenge for threatening to detain him on Obas against his will. Or perhaps Maxal planned to hand Tien over to the Udek stationed on the planet, in trade for some concessions for his Iriq friends. Unfortunately, there were several unsavory possibilities at play. So Tien used the tactical array to assign individual targets, and then he prepared an attack. It was a prudent precaution, but as it turned out, an unnecessary one.

  “These two are my friends,” Maxal explained to the rebels in a level voice. “Please, lower your weapons.”

  The girl hopped off Maxal and looked Tien over with interest. “What is this Max? It looks like some kind of fucking robot.”

  “You might want to avoid that, my dear. There’s an Udek assassin wrapped up inside it.”

  “Udek?” she exclaimed.

  Each of the Iriq weapons instantly shifted, pointing straight at Tien. Brother Ryll flinched and retreated back up the ramp. The monk seemed determined to return to the questionable safety of the ship, though no one had even acknowledged his presence yet.

  “Relax, friends,” Maxal said cheerfully, trying to break the deadly tension. “This particular Udek happens to be on our side. And he’s here to help us solve a difficult problem. One that was, before today, insurmountable.”

  “What do you mean, Max?” the girl asked.

  “I mean, my dearest Ayel, that with his assistance we can finally infiltrate the Udek base.”

  The Iriq remained alert and ready to shoot, but they began glancing around at each other, unsure how to react to Maxal’s unexpected statement. Tien imagined the rebels were trying to figure out whether or not he was actually serious.

  Maxal came to the same realization and attempted to reassure his allies. “Oh yes, friends. This is real; believe it. This Udek will provide us with a way past the base’s defenses. And once inside, we can take care of the rest ourselves.”

  To drive the point home that everything was fine, Maxal laughed heartily and scooped Ayel up in his arms again. The Iriq, though still wary and confused, reluctantly lowered their weapons. Tien noticed, however, that they made no move to put them away.

  He leaned in close to Maxal and whispered, “You may have misrepresented my mission, slightly.”

  The pilot matched his volume. “No, no. Not at all. You do intend to infiltrate the Udek base, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then the rest is all just unnecessary details, no? Besides, these people can help you get what you want. And once the Iriq are inside, they’ll be able to get what they want as well. Everyone will end up happy, I’m sure of it”

  “And just what do they want, Maxal?”

  “To blow up the base, of course, and to kill every Udek inside it—minus yours, naturally. Now come, let’s go see if they have anything good to eat. These Iriq are wonderful cooks.”

  Tien gestured at his android body. “I don’t need to eat.”

  “Then I pity you, my friend.”

  Maxal put Ayel down and she grabbed his hand.

  Then she excitedly led him away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They marched the short distance to the rebel camp in silence, but Tien wasn’t surprised, not in the least. It wasn’t an attempt at stealth, though that would certainly be understandable given the present circumstances, it was because most Iriq didn’t possess the ability to speak—only those who’d opted for a simple surgery to insert an electronic voice box into their larynx. Their species enjoyed exceptional vision, hearing, and a famously acute sense of smell, but the Iriq had no history of verbal communication whatsoever, nor even the physical capability to accomplish it. Not without medical intervention. They spoke with their hands—well, their fingers, actually—using a remarkably complex form of sign language.

  And that wasn’t their only interesting attribute.

  The Iriq were bipeds, roughly the same shape and size as humans, but they were all differently colored, their skin adapting during childhood to match the environment where they grew up. Desert dwellers were largely light brown and tan in appearance. While Iriq from the forested areas of the planet, like the majority of this group, had blotchy, leaf-like skin, featuring a limited assortment of browns, greens, and blues. Populations from similar areas all shared the same mix of colors, but each person had their own unique blend of shapes and distinctive patt
erns, spread all across their skin. No two designs were ever alike, not even among family members.

  The Iriq were born pure white—from head to toe, including their eyes. But from their very first day of life they began to change, conforming to their environment. This hereditary adaptation for camouflage, an obvious genetic holdover from an earlier time in Iriq evolution, locked in their final appearance around the age of ten. At which point no matter where the Iriq traveled, or how long they remained there, they would still retain their original skin coloration. Things changed dramatically when the Iriq entered the modern age and began bending the environment to their will, building cities all across the planet. And now on Polit you’ll find millions of people with silver, black, and even mirror-like reflective skin, as nature struggles to emulate the new environments the Iriq created for themselves.

  Some parents purposely relocate for the first decade of their children’s lives, so they can shape the appearance of their offspring to whatever look happens to be fashionable at the moment. There’s also a robust market for surgical skin customization, for those already locked in, and a wide range of cosmetics available to mimic certain regional attributes. But most Iriq aren’t overly concerned with their appearance, and it certainly doesn’t affect how they view each other as people. Their society is more practical, and has a strong egalitarian bent, so they tend to congregate in mixed populations as a matter of custom.

  Consequently, Iriq cities are massive, and contain people of every shade and color combination imaginable. Yet other than the day-to-day activities and machinery that mark urban life—the various municipal vehicles darting about, and the never-ending sounds of construction and repair; the crowds of people steadily marching forward in an endless and chaotic parade as they go to work, shop, or undertake a plethora of other recreations and responsibilities—each of the Iriq metropolises is eerily silent. There are no conversations to overhear while walking down the sidewalks, no matter how congested the area. And if you step inside a store or office building to escape the few incidental noises outside, you won’t hear so much as a whisper. Yet still, there are lively discussions going on everywhere, all around you, millions of people speaking to one another about billions of different subjects.

  Tien had never visited Polit before—nor had he ever expected to until this unlikely mission brought him to the planet. But he’d seen enough briefing reports and holos to understand a great deal about their culture and physiology. It was all intriguing, every bit of it, but it was how the Iriq communicated that drew most people’s interest. It had certainly piqued Tien’s when he first learned about it.

  The Iriq possessed eight long fingers per hand, each of them broken into equal sections by five hyper-articulated joints. These joints could not only bend forward to clasp objects, as in most species, they could also bend backward, and rotate ninety degrees to either side at the knuckles. The front and back surfaces of the fingers were pigmented deep black, while the sides were a glossy white—the last vestiges of the original Iriq coloration, retained from birth. These features enabled the Iriq to form incredibly complicated symbols with their fingers, as they bent and twisted the joints in rapid succession—presenting not only a wide variety of shapes with their contorted digits, but also different color combinations utilizing the black and white surfaces. A single finger could produce thousands of unique variations of shape and color, depending on which surface was shown, and the position of each articulated joint. And every individual composition represented a word, or formed part of a larger concept. In conjunction with the adjacent fingers—to say nothing of when the Iriq used both hands in concert—they could produce millions of communicative permutations. This intricate form of sign language was so precise that the Iriq could convey highly advanced concepts, much faster than was possible with mere speech. And their extraordinary eyesight meant that two Iriq could engage in a complete conversation while standing kilometers apart from each other, over open ground, using only their hands.

  Over the eons, the Iriq developed a written language based on the complicated symbols they created with their fingers. And as they advanced into modernity, they used this written form, along with the usual physical gestures, to relay news and entertainment to the public via video transmissions, just like most of the other civilizations in the galaxy.

  Only there was no sound included in the broadcasts.

  Ever.

  And though the Iriq could hear, and incredibly well according most reports, using sound as a form of language was an unnatural concept to them. In some corners, the practice was even looked down upon with a great deal of disdain. For those Iriq, physically adapting yourself with a voice box to facilitate interstellar trade or diplomacy was one thing. But to verbally converse for social or personal reasons—choosing to do so when it wasn’t absolutely necessary—was almost seen as perverse. But as ever, progress and societal change march inexorably onward, modifying and molding every civilization as future needs dictate, so the practice was becoming more commonplace with each year that passed. Things would prove interesting when wide acceptance finally came about, possibly even marking a fundamental change in their culture. But for the moment, the most fascinating stories about the Iriq still resided in their past.

  Their combination of unique physical abilities initially produced a nomadic society—comprised of fantastically stealthy hunters, who quickly rose to the top of the planet’s food chain. But over time they turned agrarian, and abandoned their transient nature, eventually advancing to the point where they constructed small towns, and then cities—and finally, the Iriq traveled to the stars. But they were ill-prepared to interact with other races when they got there.

  In all of their travels, the Iriq didn’t encounter a single civilization with the physical capability to emulate, or even marginally mimic, their complex form of sign language. The Blenej were the most promising race they discovered. But even with four hands, and despite a great deal of enthusiasm among the Blues and Greens, they were incapable of producing even the most basic words. To solve this problem, the Iriq developed a two-way translation program that made intercommunication possible, a way to speak with every race in the galaxy in real time. And though the system was efficient, the experience was less than ideal for all of those involved—the method more practical than pleasant. So over the years, the Iriq, or a few of them, anyway, began physically modifying themselves to speak. Then they underwent arduous training and therapy afterward to develop this new skill into a usable talent. Tien noticed that Maxal’s girlfriend, Ayel, was clearly one of those brave pioneers. And she’d taken to the new ability with the zeal of a convert.

  “So you’re telling me that he’s really an Udek,” she said, pointing at Tien.

  “Oh yes,” Maxal replied. “And this one’s even deadlier than most. So please, Ayel, try not to antagonize him.”

  “Ayel’s Revenge,” Tien muttered, recounting the name of Maxal’s ship. The pieces were all falling into place now.

  “Recently re-christened,” Maxal explained. “The Udek murdered her sister, Frial. And I’ve promised to do all that I can to help her get revenge.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “I thought it might.”

  Ayel kept glancing at Tien uneasily as they strode deeper into the forest, and she eventually grabbed Maxal’s hand to guide him away. The pair moved up toward the front of the group. Soon after they left, the Iriq Maxal identified as the leader of the rebels, Kuv, came over to walk beside Tien.

  “She’s quite a handful,” he said, indicating Ayel. “Fortunately for us, she is also quite lethal—and highly motivated because of what happened to her sister. My name is—”

  “Maxal told me who you are,” Tien interrupted. “What do you want?”

  All trace of pretense vanished, swept aside as Kuv matched Tien’s brusque tone. “What I want is to be certain you’re willing to help us against the Udek, and that you wont hesitate or betray us when the time comes. I trust Maxal;
he’s been a valuable friend, and proven himself vital in our struggle for freedom. But I’m worried about your loyalties. Very worried. And I need to make sure that this isn’t some kind of trick.”

  “It’s no trick,” Tien replied. “And as long as I bring the base commander back with me—alive—I don’t care what happens to the rest of the Udek.” He remembered Dasi’s sound counsel. “Truthfully, I’m fine with being the only person who walks back out of the base, with my prisoner, of course. You, your followers…your cause. All of it is absolutely meaningless to me.”

  Kuv frowned. “I had my doubts that you were actually an Udek inside that thing, but no longer. You certainly sound like one of them. That’s for sure. But you don’t appear deceitful at all, and you aren’t working very hard to endear yourself to our cause, as I expect a spy might.”

  “Oh, I’m every bit an Udek spy,” Tien confessed. “Or I used to be, anyway. But our interests align for the moment, so you have nothing to fear from me.”

  The faint trail suddenly narrowed, and Tien turned to one side so he could sidle through the tangled and congested undergrowth. Leaves on some of the thicker branches rubbed up against his body, smearing oily green stripes across the bright metal.