"We have all contributed valuable knowledge,” he said. “Especially you, Doctor Dei. If you care to join the research division at XiangGen, I would be happy to recommend your name."
With a start, he realized that Hari had stopped talking. “Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking about next week's experiments. Another month and I might have something to make Doctor Mar happy."
Hari shot him a strange look. “Didn't you hear? Kun is talking about moving our site to another island. Next week we might all be packing our equipment."
Yan suppressed a start. “Next week? What about—"
"Your experiments? If Au agrees, take samples with you. Or start fresh with the new island. I heard Kun mention XTI-19S142W-8C. If that's the one, he's gambling on its isolation."
Hari rambled on about the characteristics of their possible destination, which was unique among the Tau'ini Po'a islands. Isolated from the others, with higher, older forests according to the survey teams. Most likely, Kun would order the other ships to new islands as well.
It was for the best, Yan thought, as Hari continued to talk. Mar would release the girl back into the wild. She would return to the life she knew. He thought again of her eyes, her wide dark eyes that took in everything Yan did, and his pulse gave an uncomfortable jump. How much would she remember? Would she even recognize him again?
Within another day, Doctor Mar announced the long-expected departure to another island. Two weeks, he told the senior scientists, who reported the news to their teams. Two weeks to wrap up their experiments and pack their equipment.
Yan remembered little of those two weeks. He spent long hours cataloging their existing microbe cultures, making duplicates of his reports and Lian's, discussing possible changes in procedure with Doctor Au. By evening, his bones had turned to water, and he dropped into his cot, exhausted. If he dreamed, he did not remember.
"Good news,” Hari said to Yan during one of their rare visits together. “Kun has undergone a heart transplant and shows signs of actual humanity. Let us hope it doesn't ruin his abilities to manage the expedition."
"What are you talking about?” Yan said. In spite of the long hours, and hard work, his mood was hopeful. Lian's earlier remoteness had faded, and she had agreed to have dinner with him.
"I'm talking about Ah-ne,” Hari said. “Kun is sending her back to the mainland on the next supply ship. He thinks they might do something to restore her voice. Probably there's a grant involved, but it's not like him."
Cold washed over Yan's skin, in spite of the heat. “No, it's not. I thought—” He broke off and managed a weak smile. “I rather thought he'd leave her behind."
"Hmmm. He's a practical man, not a brute. But yes, I'm surprised, too, at how much he's willing to do for the poor thing. Perhaps Doctor Mar thinks to impress the anthropologists after all. Think what the girl could tell use about her early life."
"Yes. Just think,” Yan said softly. Dimly he listened to Hari's talk about major breakthroughs with voice box technology, pioneered by that same Anwar Enterprises whose success had inspired this expedition.
Ah-ne. Ah-ne talking. Not just with her eyes, but with her mouth, that soft empty mouth that now could grunt and sigh, but never shape the words for her thoughts.
Yan stood up abruptly. “Sorry, Hari. Got to lie down. Headache."
He stumbled away, not waiting for Hari's reply.
In his tent, he fumbled through his supply of medicines. He was not lying, he thought as he opened the bottle of aspirin with shaking hands. His head ached. His eyes throbbed in time with his pulse. Another moment and his stomach would heave up his lunch.
He swallowed the aspirin and then a double-dose of sleeping tablets, ones he had not used since Meh first left him. Two pills, not any more. He was upset, not ready to die. The sleeping pills almost stuck in his throat. He gagged and forced them down, then drank water until his stomach hurt. He lay down and closed his eyes, waiting for oblivion.
...moonlight flickering between the branches of swaying palm trees. A pack of dogs chased after him, their tongues licking the air, as though tasting his scent. All of them were huge—Ame-no's hunting dogs, the pemburu. He recognized them from old paintings, from carvings on temple walls, from his nightmares of two weeks past...
He woke to full night. A hum from the insects drifted through the air. Yan stood, shaky from hunger. More water helped to revive him, but his stomach still felt pinched, and his skin itched. Images from his nightmare flickered through his brain, and merged with yesterday's memories.
Ah-ne. Ah-ne talking. Ah-ne speaking her memories.
He was halfway to the supply tent without even knowing what he intended to do. Talk to her. Try to persuade her. She had to understand how he had not meant to hurt her. Not that way. He found himself muttering, hush, hush, hush, as he crawled inside and fastened the flap shut so that no one could see. Ah-ne lay curled into a tight ball, hands laid together beneath her cheek.
Yan touched the girl's shoulder. “Ah-ne."
She woke with a start and scrabbled away from him, making panicked grunting sounds. Yan caught her by the arm. “No, Ah-ne. That's not why I came here. I came..."
How to explain?
"I came,” he started over, “to ask you something."
Ah-ne struggled against his grip. She was breathing hard, making that soft grunting sound. Ah. Eh. Ah. Eh. No sign that she understood. How could she? Had she ever learned to speak before her people cut out her tongue? Maybe—
No, he could not depend on that.
"I can't talk here,” he muttered. “Come with me."
He bundled her from the tent and hauled her to her feet. Her ankle had healed enough that she could stand, though she limped slightly as Yan dragged her away from the campsite. She tried to bite his hands. He gave her a hard shake and a slap. “Be quiet."
She went limp a moment. Thereafter, she stumbled after him, silent except for her labored breathing.
A short distance from the camp's edge, Yan plunged into the forest and aimed for the marshes. No one kept any watch, but couples sometimes prowled about, looking for privacy. He wanted no unexpected encounters with other members of the expedition.
For a while, the going was difficult. Once he passed the crisscrossing paths made by the expedition, he had to fight his way through the thorn bushes. The air was unusually close, here among the trees, filled with a musky scent from the leaves. Moonlight flickered through the branches, reminding him uncomfortably of his dreams, but he pressed on.
Gradually the trees thinned to an open patch of rough grass by the edge of the marshes. Yan stopped and knelt before Ah-ne. The girl's face was wet with tears, he realized with a start.
"Ah-ne,” he said softly.
She stared at him, lips pushed out. Watching. He could feel her watching. Feel the tension in her skinny arms.
He tried again. “Ah-ne. They will take you away. Make you talk. They might ... they might ask you questions."
He closed his eyes. Who was he fooling? He could not make her understand. Could not until she learned their language and for that she needed her tongue. And if she had her tongue—
Without warning, Ah-ne wrenched away. Taken by surprise, Yan almost lost his grip on her. He yanked her back around. She spat in his face.
A wave of red swept over his vision. He pushed Ah-ne to the ground and fell atop her. Ah-ne tried to twist away, but Yan captured her fists and crushed his mouth against hers to silence her grunts. Still thrashing, the girl whipped her head around and caught Yan hard on his temple. Stunned, he collapsed to one side. The next moment, Ah-ne had wriggled free and was on her feet, running.
"Ah-ne.” Yan lurched upright and immediately stumbled over a root. Damn, damn, damn. She would run to camp. Kun Mar would find out. He'd dismiss Yan from the expedition. Au would withdraw his offer and notify the University.
Then, above the pounding of his heart, Yan heard a splashing sound, then a soft thudding as Ah-ne gained firm ground. S
he was heading for the ridge, where Bej Saihan had discovered her.
He ran a few steps. Stopped.
A girl. A savage beast-girl like that. She could disappear into the wild. She had lived there her entire life after all. And this time, she might know to avoid the trackers. Even trackers like Bej Saihan, whatever his background.
With a last glance toward the ridge, Yan started back to his tent.
* * * *
"No sign of her?” Yan said.
A weary Bej Saihan stumped back into the campsite. “None.” He took off his hat and wiped his face, looking entirely human, and not at all like a creature of the gods. “We checked the valley. We checked all the ravines in the area. We even dredged the marshes, just in case. Nothing."
More search teams returned throughout the morning, but already the expedition members had turned their attention from Ah-ne's disappearance to the final preparations for departure. Stacks of crates awaited transport to the ship. A crew dismantled the remaining tents. The settlement had vanished, leaving a bare clearing and scattered trash heaps. Yan had packed up the last of his own belongings, and now oversaw the transfer of the lab equipment onto the ship.
Only when he was about to board the ship did Hari return with Che at his side.
You could tell he was more disappointed than Bej himself, Yan thought, taking in the man's stained shirt, his mud-caked boots, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes. “I'm sorry,” Yan said softly.
Hari shook his head. “We tried. She wanted to go."
Che took Hari's hand. “Come,” she said softly. “We all have work to do."
Hari smiled at her wearily. “That we do."
Yan watched as the two walked through the empty site toward the ship. Briefly he wondered when things had changed between them. Then he turned to his own chores. Che was right. They all had work to do. And Lian would need help with storing and labeling the last of their samples.
Within the hour, the last crates were aboard, the last transport skiffs hauled up. The ship's motors chugged to life, the solar sails expanded to catch the sun, and the ship slowly backed away from the shallow bay. Yan leaned against the rail, watching the island shrink slowly to a small point on the horizon.
In five or six days, they would arrive at the new island. More work lay ahead—it would almost be like starting over—but Yan didn't mind. A new island meant a new chance. Who knows, perhaps it was best that Meh had left him. He should forget about her entirely and concentrate on someone new. Someone like Lian, who seemed to appreciate him better.
The winds shifted and blew hard against his face. He drew a deep lungful of the cool salt-laden air. Already he could breathe more easily.
Copyright © 2007 Beth Bernobich
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[Back to Table of Contents]
DADA JIHAD—Will McIntosh
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Illustrated by Chris Nurse
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This is Will's fourth story in Interzone. It is set in the same world as ‘Soft Apocalypse', which was shortlisted for both the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society awards for best short story of 2005. Will has also sold stories to Black Static, Asimov's, Postscripts, Strange Horizons, CHIZINE and others. He is currently working on a Soft Apocalypse novel.
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A cop was doubled over, clutching a parking meter, puking on the sidewalk as a half dozen onlookers wearing white virus masks gawked from a safe distance. Ange stopped on the bottom step of her porch, thirty feet away.
The puking went from a trickle to a sudden bursting hydrant gush, then back to a trickle. It was spattered in a six foot swath, steam rising as the hot sidewalk boiled it. The cop made awful guttural sounds when the puking slowed enough, as though his intestines were about to spill onto the sidewalk as well.
"What is it?” a fat, grey-haired woman asked.
The bald guy standing next to her shook his head. “I don't know. It's a bad one.” They took a half-step back; the other onlookers followed suit.
Ange watched as the puke turned pink, then red. Gasps and oh my gods from the crowd. The cop's eyes bulged as the puke lost its thickish chunky quality and became smooth, bright red blood. He dropped to his knees, weaved as blood stained the front of his blue uniform a deep purple, then collapsed to the pavement.
"Jesus,” someone behind Ange muttered as a few final spasms squeezed the cop dry. He lay still, his eyes vacant. In the distance, a siren warbled, growing closer.
Ange turned away. Chair was watching from the porch. A skinny, bald, bow-legged guy in his fifties stood next to him. The guy had a backpack slung over his shoulder, and he was crying. Ange joined them.
The guy gawked at Ange, starting at her toes and slowly climbing to her dark green eyes. “Wow, would I like to make love to you,” he said, wiping tears from his cheek.
Ange fixed him with her best bitch stare. “Yeah, thanks, let me get back to you on that.” The way he said it was so fucking odd she didn't know how to take it. Not a hint of flirtation, more like he was just stating a fact.
"A new one,” Chair said, motioning toward the cop with his chin. “Got to be engineered. Too quick to be a natural virus.” Ange nodded. Chair sighed, rotated his wheelchair in a tight circle, waited for Ange to open the screen door for him. Chair was wearing shorts, the elaborate black steelwork of his long-nonfunctioning bionic legs exposed. Even Chair was putting vanity aside in the scorching heat. The skinny guy followed Chair in. He walked loose, his arms swinging, like he owned the freaking world, and he now sported a shitass grin apropos of who the fuck knew what.
"Who's he?” Ange asked Chair as they stepped inside.
"Ange, this is Sebastian. Delivery man from the Science Alliance in Atlanta,” Chair said, raising his eyebrows significantly behind delicate eyeglasses that looked absurd on his mastiff head.
Ange's heart rate doubled. “Shit, you're kidding. I had no idea. You don't look like an eco-terrorist."
"I don't feel like an eco-terrorist,” Sebastian said, shrugging.
Ange followed them into the living room. She dropped onto a couch coated with dog hair and swung her legs onto the coffee table, forgetting that one of the legs was broken. It collapsed into a three-point stance. “Shit,” she whispered. Uzi trotted into the room, hopped on the couch next to her, circled a couple of times and dropped like a stone, pushing his ass right up against her.
"You know, the government's not fucking around,” Ange said. “If you pull something and get caught, we won't go to jail; the cops'll just drag us into the street and shoot us."
"No doubt,” Chair said. “If you don't agree with what we're doing, move out."
"It's not that I don't agree—"
"It's just that the stakes are too high. Yeah, I get it. What's worth risking your life over, Ange? A couple of billion people are going to die if things stay business as usual. If we can do our part to cut that in half, is it worth the risk?"
"We don't know for sure that billions of people are going to die."
"Yeah, we do. For sure."
"We do,” Sebastian chimed, nodding.
"It's all based on stochastic models,” she said. “It's incredibly speculative."
Chair glared at her. “How many times do scientists have to be right before people give them a little credit? And you of all people, about to get your doctorate, should have some faith in them.” He snared the remote from the arm of the couch, stabbed the power button. CNN came on. The president was having a news conference.
Almost on cue, the TV jingled and a text message scrolled across the bottom of the screen: ange. i want to see you. i'm free monday, tuesday, or thursday for dinner. can we meet one of those nights? albert.
Even the way he phrased things made her want to puke. I want to see you. Like she was his fucking servant, not his doctoral student. The thought
of sitting through another dinner with him, of having to put up with his constant jockeying to touch her in seemingly innocent ways—
Chair ignored the message. “They keep warning us, and we just keep carrying on as usual, and things keep getting worse. ‘We have to keep the economy going,’ the president says, while the fucking ocean is lapping at our ankles—"
"Okay, fine. I know the score, I don't need a lecture."
The screen door squealed and slammed. “Damn, what happened out there?” Rami breezed into the room, carrying a stack of newspapers. He emptied a different paper dispenser every day—his way of protesting their editorial policies.
As Chair introduced Sebastian to Rami, Ange got up and hovered near the doorway. She wasn't sure she wanted to be part of this meeting.
"At least they're doing something,” Rami said when Ange voiced her objections. “When I think of the scientists, I think of people sitting on the sidelines, doing a lot of talking."
"We're sick of sitting on the sidelines. We're taking matters into our own hands,” Sebastian said. He didn't look like a scientist, either.
"You know I'm in,” Rami said. “So what's in the bag?"
"I have two deliveries for you.” Sebastian unzipped his backpack. Uzi trotted over, stuck his nose into the pack and snuffled, probably hoping it was filled with bacon.
"Uzi, get your butt over here,” Ange said. Uzi just wagged his tail.
Sebastian pulled something from the pack with a flourish, held it between thumb and forefinger. He was giggling. There was something definitely wrong with this guy. “Bamboo root,” he said. It was a cone-shaped tannish nub, crowned with four or five tiny lemon fingers, reaching skyward. “It's engineered to spread like crazy. It can push through concrete, blacktop, anything. It's fast—you won't believe how fast."
"Nature taking back its territory by force. I like it,” Rami said. “The authorities will suspect the Jumpy-Jumps. It's got their whimsical sensibility."
"But without the sick surprise at the bottom of the box,” Chair said.
Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #212 Page 10
