Diffusion Box Set

by Stan C. Smith

  Again the symbols responded: “Yes.”

  “I knew it!” Bobby said to himself. He asked another question: “Are you a computer?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby had been right about this, too. Then another of Carlos’s questions came to mind: “Are you alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby frowned. Maybe the stuff didn’t really think after all. Maybe it just agreed with everything. Bobby thought hard. He asked: “Am I a computer like you?”

  “No.”

  Bobby’s excitement returned. “My friend has changed. He kills people. Did you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “My friend is Addison.” Bobby made a name for him. “Did you do something to Addison to make him change?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you give him part of yourself to help him kill people?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby stared for a moment. “Why?”

  The answer came instantly. “Addison asked.”

  Bobby frowned again. This didn’t seem right. He arranged symbols. “It is bad to kill people.”

  There was no response, so Bobby tried again. “Did you know it is bad to kill people?”

  “I cannot know what is bad.”

  “Why?”

  “A thing that is bad now is not bad after time. A thing that is bad for you is not bad for another.”

  Bobby considered this. The Lamotelokhai was right. He was, after all, going to ask for its help to kill Addison. But that was to stop Addison from killing more people. Bobby suddenly felt uncertain. He shuffled the symbols. “Can I ask you to help me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Addison is going to kill me. Addison is going to kill the people who take care of you. Addison is bad.” Bobby waited but nothing happened. It had been hard to make these thoughts and he wanted to be sure he was understood. “Did you know that Addison wants to kill people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know that is a bad thing?”

  “I cannot know what is bad.”

  “Can you change Addison to the way he was before he was hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I cannot make something I do not know of.”

  Bobby felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to face Mr. Darnell.

  “How’s it coming?”

  Bobby had been concentrating so hard he had almost forgotten where he was. He looked around the hut. The four women had returned. They sat on the floor behind the men, silently watching. “It talks to me,” Bobby said. “I can ask questions and it talks to me.”

  Mr. Darnell lifted his brows. “Did you ask it about Addison?”

  “It says it can’t fix him. It doesn’t know him from before the crash.”

  Mr. Darnell looked down at the floor. “Bobby, I think Addison is going to keep coming back. We can’t let him do what he’s trying to do.” He squeezed Bobby’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “All your other questions can wait. We need something that will stop Addison. Can you ask it for that?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then please try. If it gives you what we need, give it to me. I’ll use it.” Mr. Darnell squeezed his shoulder and then walked away.

  Samuel and Vututu returned with a skin bag filled with water and another ball of khosül. They unwrapped the leaves from the khosül and passed it around, but no one seemed to be hungry. After Mr. Darnell had explained the confrontation with Addison, Samuel came over to watch Bobby work with the Lamotelokhai.

  “Couldn’t you do this faster than me?” Bobby asked. “Or couldn’t they?” He nodded toward the Papuans.

  Samuel said, “As a general rule, they do not communicate directly with with the Lamotelokhai. As for me, I have spent many years learning to use it primarily for tasks involving production of food.” He paused. “On occasions where I have attempted more remarkable efforts, the results have been rather grievous. But you, Bobby, possess a faculty for comprehending the Lamotelokhai that bewilders me. The indigenes believe you are a departed ancestor, returned to the living earth for this very purpose.”

  “I’m just a regular kid,” Bobby said.

  “Still, it seems that something in your schooling or your inherent nature has prepared you for the task. And I fear that the indigenes’ weapons are not sufficient to stop Addison’s murderous amok. There is urgent need for a poultice tailored for encumbering him.” He stopped and eyed Bobby like he was waiting for an answer.

  “I’ll try,” Bobby said.

  Samuel nodded slightly. “Very well. And now I must call upon one service of the Lamotelokhai that I hoped I would never again employ.” He moved to the wall of the hut and pulled a lump of the stuff from his pouch. After sitting on the floor he began shaping it with his hands, stretching it out like a long rope.

  Reluctantly Bobby turned back to the tree. Everyone expected him to do this, whether he wanted to or not. He concentrated, trying to think of another way.

  Mrs. Darnell interrupted his thoughts. “Did you hear that?”

  Everyone became quiet. There was a voice, very faint. “Help me! Father, help me!”

  “Quentin…” Mrs. Darnell whispered.

  The cry came again. “Help me! Father, help me!”

  Mr. Darnell’s face went pale. “It’s Addison.” He headed for one of the tunnels.

  “I’m going, too,” Mrs. Darnell said.

  “This is ill-advised.” Samuel rose from the floor.

  “We can’t just ignore him,” Mr. Darnell said.

  Samuel stepped in front of him. “Hear me now. If indeed the creature is injured, you must appreciate this as an opportunity. We may prevent further murder by killing it.” Samuel held up a finger for Mr. Darnell to wait, and he went over and talked quietly to the Papuan men.

  The cry came again. “Help me! Father, help me!”

  Something about the situation felt wrong to Bobby. If Addison were really hurt, wouldn’t he use the medicine to heal his body?

  Samuel returned. “Vututu and Aguisa will accompany you and will help with the difficult task you face. If the creature is injured, it will be helpless for only a short time.”

  The two Papuan men dropped their spears and grabbed short, thick clubs. Then Vututu and Aguisa left the hut, followed by the Darnells.

  Samuel spoke softly to Bobby. “I am doubtful of their success. I beg you to persist in your efforts. Better to prepare for the worst, I should think.”

  Vututu and Aguisa descended the rope ladder first, forcing Quentin and Lindsey to cope with their conflicting thoughts while waiting. Addison’s voice continued calling from below, the same words over and over: “Help! Father, Help me!”

  Quentin’s nerves were torn. The cries were desperate. Could there be something left of Addison’s consciousness, some remnant of their son? But their task would be easier if there weren’t. Against his every instinct, Quentin silently hoped that Addison would simply die from the wounds he had suffered. For the first time since the crash, Quentin felt like his sanity was truly slipping away, like he might snap from the pressure.

  When all four of them were on the ground, the Papuans headed in the direction of Addison’s cries without speaking.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  The cries were closer, but Quentin saw only understory foliage and tree trunks. His anxiety grew with every step, and he pushed harder, leaving Lindsey and the Papuans behind.

  “Help! Father, help me!” Addison was just ahead.

  “I’m here, Addison!” Quentin pushed his way to a small clearing. “It’s okay, I’m—” He stopped. “Oh Jesus,” he heard himself say. He couldn’t move. He could only stare.

  Lindsey and the tribesmen broke through the tangle and stood by his side. No one spoke.

  “Help! Father, help me!” It was Addison’s voice, but it wasn’t Addison. The voice came from a horrifying mass of tissue lying on the ground against a buttress root. No, Quentin realized. Not next to the root, jo
ined to it—fused to the root with sinewy tendons. The figure had a head and chest, but the arms quickly diminished into tendons that extended to the ground and the tree, holding the entire mass in place. Below the chest it was the same: strands of flesh fused with the surroundings. There was nothing else—no pelvis, and no legs.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  Quentin stared at the thing’s face. Addison’s details were missing, as if God had decided to start over with it, erasing the features down to generic blank stock. There were no eyes, only slight depressions where eyes should be. And the nose was flattened, no more than a slight bulge with two holes in it. Only the mouth appeared fully developed, as if the entire nightmarish visage existed for one purpose: to call out to Quentin.

  “Help! Father, help me!”

  “That’s not Addison,” Lindsey said, her voice hollow.

  They had made a mistake coming here. Quentin took her hand. She resisted, as if afraid to take her eyes off of it. But then she allowed him to lead her away.

  The Papuans did not follow. Quentin glanced back at them. Vututu caught his gaze and lifted his club to where Quentin could see it. Quentin nodded. As they made their way back to the rope ladder he heard the two clubs striking flesh, and then there was silence.

  Bobby put one hand on the Lamotelokhai and began shifting symbols with the other. He wrestled with an idea that was forming in his mind. The thing had said it could not make Addison the person he was before the crash. But that didn’t mean they had to kill him. Maybe they could give Addison something to make him love Mr. and Mrs. Darnell again. He tried explaining this to the Lamotelokhai.

  “Addison is going to kill the villagers. Addison is going to kill me. Do you know how to stop Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby waited, but there was no more. “How can I stop Addison?”

  “Kill Addison.”

  “No. I don’t want to kill Addison. I want to change Addison. Do you know how to change Addison so he won’t kill?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do I change Addison so he won’t kill?”

  “Kill Addison.”

  This wasn’t working. Bobby had to explain what he wanted, but it seemed impossible. He had no words for feelings like love. It would take hours, maybe days, to make that kind of progress.

  Again Bobby heard Addison’s cry from far below. “Help! Father, help me!” Mr. Darnell and the others were probably almost there by now. If Addison were really hurt, why wasn’t the Lamotelokhai healing him? Panic started to grip Bobby, making it hard to focus his thoughts. He moved the symbols again.

  “Addison is shouting. Does Addison need help?” Bobby waited, but no answer came. He tried again. “Do you know where Addison is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Addison hurt?”

  “No.”

  Bobby stared. Maybe he didn’t ask the question right. “Where is Addison?”

  “Addison is above you.”

  Bobby heard vines and sticks breaking. Long fingers forced their way through the living roof of the hut and ripped open a hole. A figure dropped through headfirst, flipped over, and landed on its feet next to Bobby. Before Bobby could back away, Addison grabbed him by the hair, and his other hand smashed into Bobby’s face, rubbing damp, gritty death into his eyes and mouth.

  Bobby couldn’t see. He fell to the floor and crawled to a corner. Cries filled the hut as Addison attacked the others. Bobby wiped his eyes, trying to get the stuff out. But it was too late. It was in his body, and it would eat him from the inside. Again he saw Miranda’s empty face, her eyes collapsing into her head.

  Bobby heard himself crying over the din of the struggle. He suppressed it and tried to think. How much time did he have? Would he feel his heart and his bones turning to dirt? He rose to his feet and stumbled forward with his hands out until he bumped into something soft—the Lamotelokhai. Bobby put both hands on the substance. The symbols appeared in his mind, even though he could see nothing else. He shifted them into a message.

  “Addison put something from you in me. Will it kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby choked. He was sure he could feel it now, a tingle in his stomach, the stuff starting to eat him alive. He pushed the symbols as fast as he could.

  “Can you help—”

  Bobby was knocked off his feet. He landed hard under the weight of a writhing body. The body rolled to the side. Bobby forced his eyes open and saw green feathers. Sinanie lay next to him, rubbing desperately at brown smears on his face. Another Papuan—one of the women—lay on the floor nearby, moaning. There were more screams as the last Papuan man and another of the women fought with Addison, trying to hold him back with spears. But Bobby’s eyes were drawn to the corner. Ashley, Carlos, and two Papuan women huddled against the wall behind Samuel, who was crouched with one hand on the roll of substance he had stretched out on the floor. Samuel held his other hand out to the fighting Papuans.

  “I le-ba-lé ye-mén!” he yelled.43

  Addison attacked the man and woman. Their spears pierced him, but he managed to grab the man and throw him to the floor.

  Samuel yelled again, “I le-ba-lé ye-mén!”

  The woman retreated from the fight and Samuel pulled her behind him.

  The man beneath Addison grunted and tried to roll away. There was blood on his face, mixed with some of the Lamotelokhai from Addison’s palm.

  Samuel cried out to Addison, “Gu nu u-ngga-lekhén-ma-té. I am here!”44

  Addison jumped up and lunged at Samuel, screaming and grabbing for Samuel’s face. But then something happened. As Addison passed over the substance there was a crunching sound. He collapsed onto the floor, and his screams became a choking gush.

  Addison’s body shook, splattering wetness on the floor. Bobby moved closer to see. It was no longer Addison’s body. Instead it was a sickening heap of skin and flesh. Bulges of bloody tissue stuck out everywhere, like it had exploded from the inside. The legs had not crossed over the strip of Lamotelokhai, and they still looked almost normal. But above the waist it was impossible to recognize anything, other than one arm protruding at an unnatural angle. As Bobby stared, the arm thrashed like it was still trying to fight.

  Ashley was the first to speak, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened?”

  Samuel kicked at the body with his foot. “There is no time to explain.” He then wiped his eye and held out his hand for Bobby to see. The brown substance was smeared on his fingers. “Death is upon us, Bobby. But if there is one who might prevent it, it is you. Perhaps my death is past due, but I beg you to save your life, and those of the remaining indigenes.”

  The tingling was growing inside Bobby’s body. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Then you must hurry.”

  Tears streaming from his eyes, Bobby put his hands on the Lamotelokhai. He tried to concentrate on the symbols but it was getting hard to think.

  “Oh shit, it’s changing!” It was Ashley.

  Addison’s body had rolled over, and now there was a second arm protruding from the mess. This arm was bigger than the other, and it seemed to grow before their eyes. With a moist grunt, the body pushed itself to a sitting position. At the top of the body, where Addison’s head should have been, an eye looked directly at Bobby. Muscle and skin around the eye began to change into a lump, and then the lump grew upward. It slowly took the shape of a head.

  Suddenly Ashley snatched up one of the clubs, raised it high, and brought it down on Addison with a wet thud. Addison screeched. Ashley swung the club again, but this time the larger arm snapped out and ripped it from her hands. Addison flopped over and then somehow rose to his feet. His upper body was transforming, getting taller.

  Addison turned to face Bobby. There were now two eyes on his face. “It is mine!”

  Addison stepped toward Bobby, but then Samuel and Ashley attacked from behind. Between blows, Samuel shouted, “Bobby, make haste!”

  Bobby moved the symbo
ls. “Addison kills. Can you help stop Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “Take some.” A bulge formed on the Lamotelokhai.

  But Bobby hesitated. “Will this kill Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  There were grunts and sickening blows and cries of pain. Bobby tried to focus. “I want to stop Addison, but not kill Addison.”

  No response.

  “I want Addison…” Bobby struggled to form words. “…to want to not kill. Can you help?”

  “Yes. Take some.” The bulge grew larger.

  Carlos’s voice rose above the clamor. “Ow! Goddammit!”

  Bobby turned to see Carlos fall to the floor, holding his shoulder. Addison was bloodied, but he fought viciously. There was no more time.

  “Will this kill Addison?”

  “Yes.”

  Bobby realized it was no use. He had no other choice.

  Quentin heard the shouts as he reached the rope ladder. Instead of waiting, Lindsey started up the ladder just behind him. Quentin started to protest, but decided against it. If the rope broke, it might be an easier death than what awaited them above.

  The ladder held. Quentin helped Lindsey into the hanging tunnel and they made their way toward the shouts. At last they entered the central hut. Addison was in a savage fight with Samuel, Ashley, and a small Papuan woman. Bodies were strewn on the floor around them—some of them writhing in pain, others still. And at the center of the hut stood Bobby. He held one arm up, ready to throw something cupped in his hand. Without faltering, Quentin rushed in and grabbed Bobby’s arm.

  Bobby blinked at him, tears flowing from his eyes. “Mr. Darnell! I have to get this into him.”

  It was not Bobby’s burden to do this. Quentin scooped the stuff from Bobby’s hand and pushed him out of the way. As Quentin turned to the fight, Ashley caught a vicious blow to the face from Addison, and she crumpled to the floor. Addison snatched her club and flung himself at Samuel and the woman. They tried blocking his blows, but their movements were slower than his.