The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

Julie's face cracked in a grin. "You know something? You're not like the rest of those pilot types! You're . . . different."

  "Is that good?" he asked uncertainly.

  She nodded, and an odd look came over her face. She took a long pull on her drink and seemed to be trying to decide something. The grin started to return, as she shifted her eyes one way and then another, as though looking to see if anyone was watching. Then she leaned forward, biting her lip. "Georgia tells me she bets you're a good kisser," she blurted.

  He blinked, startled.

  Her face immediately darkened with embarrassment. "Oh, God, I can't believe I said that!" She averted her gaze with a groan, then hesitantly sidled a glance back at him. She giggled and peered down into her half-empty glass. "I must not be holding my alcohol very well," she said ruefully. "Please excuse me."

  His mind was awash with libidinous possibilities. When he answered, his voice wasn't working too well, and it came out more or less as a croak. "And how would Georgia know? Who's she been talking to, anyway?" And are you anywhere near as horny I am? Do you know how long it's been? He grinned, helplessly aware of what a perfect goak he probably looked like.

  "Who should she be talking to?" Julie asked shyly, blinking at him over her cocktail glass.

  Nobody on Triton, that's for sure. He swallowed with difficulty, and couldn't find any words. Kiss her, you idiot. What do you think she's asking for? He cleared his throat and carefully moved his mug of beer out of the way.

  /// You aren't thinking of . . .

  you aren't planning to— ///

  /Shut up. This would be an excellent time for you to shut up./

  /// But I—you— ///

  /SHUT UP!/ His smile was turning weird-looking. He could feel it, but he couldn't stop it.

  Julie cocked her head, those intense eyes gazing at him with thoughts that he could only wonder at. "John, what is it? Is your leg hurting—?"

  Yes yes yes, that's it . . . "Um, a little, I guess." He forced what he hoped was a warmer expression onto his face. What he was actually conveying, he couldn't imagine. She smiled, and his heart thumped. "I guess . . . um, if that's her . . . theory . . . maybe we ought to test—I mean, there's nothing like firsthand—"

  She leaned across the little table and stopped his words with a kiss, hesitant at first, then more confident.

  Time shuddered to a halt. His heart nearly stopped from the pressure of her lips. She pulled back, smiled—and he leaned farther to kiss her again. She returned willingly, lips firm for a moment, then softening. He rose up in his seat, as if weightless. His breath struggled to find release in the back of his throat, and he felt her sighing with nervous pleasure . . .

  /// John—

  John, please— ///

  A year of pent-up loneliness welled up in him, making him want to cry out. He raised a trembling hand to touch her hair, ever so gently.

  /// Please don't do this, John! ///

  She seemed to like that; she kissed harder, and he felt her tongue dart out and touch his lips . . .

  /// STOP IT! ///

  A sheet of white static flashed across his brain . . .

  Chapter 17

  Xenophobe

  HE PULLED AWAY from Julie with a jerk. /What the mokin' hell—?/

  /// Please—I can't stand this! ///

  He blinked helplessly at Julie, trying not to turn red with humiliation. /Can't stand WHAT?/

  /// This— ///

  "What's wr—? John? Is something wrong?" Julie was staring at him, flustered and wide-eyed. She sat back abruptly, wrapping her fingers around her cocktail glass. "Was I—I mean—hey, I hope I wasn't too forward!"

  "No, no!" He struggled to think of an explanation, an apology.

  "Oh, well—did I kick your leg or something? I'm sorry, I didn't even think—"

  Desperate for something to say, he gulped, "No, no, but I—I just—wrenched it a little." Feeling his face burn, he struggled to recover his dignity with the lie. "I'm—uh—sorry," he croaked. "It wasn't you." Inwardly, he raged. /What do you think you're doing, you meddling little—?/

  /// I'm sorry! ///

  Charlie screeched.

  /// I apologize!

  But I couldn't let you— ///

  /WHAT? ENJOY MYSELF?/ Bandicut roared. He shook, grimacing—and immediately realized that he had just made an audible, rattling sound of anguish. He struggled to put a normal expression back on his face.

  "John, are you in pain?" Julie asked worriedly.

  /// No, I—I—I— ///

  the quarx choked, radiating waves of consternation.

  /You you you what? Why don't you just shut up?/ He made a prolonged clearing-of-the-throat sound, focusing his eyes on Julie with an effort. "I—ah—no, no, I'm fine—"

  She peered at him for a moment, then lifted her glass and took a long drink, rattling the ice cubes. Her blue eyes appeared dark and beautiful, and utterly unreadable. She seemed to be assessing his answer. "Well," she sighed, "if your leg is giving you trouble, the last thing you need is to have me coming on to you."

  "No, really, you weren't—" he wheezed. "It was fine!" He swallowed. "It was . . . uh, pretty nice, actually."

  A smile cracked through her unreadable expression. "Yeah, it was pretty nice, wasn't it?" She laughed nervously.

  He nodded, momentarily incapable of speech.

  /// It's just that I

  couldn't risk your telling her . . .

  or getting too distracted, ///

  the quarx whispered desperately.

  "Yes—" he croaked to Julie.

  /// There's just too much at stake. ///

  He flushed with anger. /The only thing at stake right now is whether I'm going to get more than a wink and a handshake for the first time in two years, dickhead./

  /// Huh?

  Well, I know,

  but I just couldn't—

  I mean, I— ///

  /Shut up./ He drew a ragged breath and finally managed to return Julie's smile. "I guess I . . . didn't quite live up to Georgia's . . . prediction, did I? You think I should go back for more training?"

  Julie chuckled self-consciously. "Well, Georgia never actually said she was making a personal report. Anyway, for a warmup, it wasn't too bad. But yeah, I'd say the jury needs to hear more evidence." She blushed. "So look, do you need some help getting back to your dorm room, or what? Or is this where I exit graciously, and, you know, let you make your moves elsewhere?"

  "Elsewhere?" he said, with feigned bewilderment. He peered around as though to scan the entire lounge, then sat back again, trying to keep his grin. Oh, real smart! Why not just say she's the only game in sight, or else you'd hustle right up to someone else?

  /// I do not understand this interplay, John— ///

  Julie laughed, but whether it was because of, or in spite of, his idiocy he couldn't tell. "Ri-i-ight," she said. "Well, look, methinks I'd better get some sleep anyway. Dawn comes mighty early in this town." She started to slide out of the booth.

  He rose up from his seat in quiet desperation. "Wait! Let me at least walk you—er, limp you—home."

  "Well—"

  He held out a hand in invitation.

  /// But there's so much we have to do! ///

  /Speak for yourself./ He gazed at her imploringly. "Please?"

  Julie's eyes sparkled again the way they had earlier. "Compromise. You may walk me to the end of my corridor. And you may have one discreet good-night kiss." She raised a warning finger. "One only. So as not to injure your leg further."

  He lifted a fist in mock triumph. "Score!"

  She swatted his arm. "Score, nothing! I am not a fast mover, I warn you." She slid out of the booth and extended a hand to help him stand.

  *

  True to her word, she permitted him one brief kiss at a bulkhead door near her room, then turned away with a whispered, "Good night." Before the door could close between them, she leaned back, causing the door to spasm in the middle of its cycle. "
Will you be there tomorrow evening?"

  He nodded, without even thinking about whether it would be true; he decided then and there that it would be. A moment later, Julie had fled down the corridor to the women's dorm, and he was standing facing a closed bulkhead door.

  /// I thought we were operating

  with an understanding, ///

  Charlie sputtered—accusingly, he thought.

  He snorted as he turned toward his own dorm section. /What understanding?/

  /// That the mission was paramount,

  that you wouldn't let yourself get sidetracked— ///

  Bandicut chuckled bitterly. /Give me a call when you're ready to start the mission, all right? In the meantime, butt out of my love life./

  Charlie's sputtering faded to silence.

  He returned to the dorm room and found Gordon Kracking getting ready for bed. "Bandie—are you okay?" Krackey cried when Bandicut walked in.

  Before Bandicut could answer, a crack opened in one of the bunk curtains, and Mick Eddison stuck his head out, peering at the two. He didn't say anything; he just guffawed, then ducked back into his bunk and snapped the curtain shut again.

  Bandicut glared silently, before turning to his friend. "Yeah, Krackey, I'm okay. You guys make out all right without me?"

  Krackey ran his fingers through his wildly unkempt hair. "Yeah, yeah, sure. What a day, though, huh? First that happens to you—how's the ankle, by the way—do you still have a fever—?"

  Bandicut shook his head.

  "—and then I no sooner get back in than the whole fr'deekin' datanet crashes and I have to go help them try to put it back together! Man, I don't know what went wrong with that—hey, you haven't been drinking on painkillers, have you—?"

  Bandicut realized he was swaying a little. He shook his head.

  "—but I've been telling them all along that it's a fr'deekin' house of cards, and sooner or later something was gonna happen."

  "Uh-huh."

  Krackey was shaking his head, putting some clothes away in a drawer. "Yeah, all the safeguards failed at once, and a lot of stuff that wasn't too well protected got trashed when the thing came down."

  Bandicut focused on emptiness and tried to draw a breath.

  Krackey looked up at him, furrowing his brow. "Say, you weren't havin' one of your damn—" he caught himself and whispered, "episodes today, were you?"

  Bandicut shook his head absently. He pulled himself up to the upper bunk, swinging his injured ankle in carefully.

  Krackey shrugged. "So the question, I guess, is whether it was failure or sabotage."

  "Sab—otage?" Bandicut croaked, leaning back out.

  "The datanet crash. That's what they're sayin', anyway—maybe some disgruntled employee. Probably just a crazy rumor. It's hard to figure why anyone would want to sabotage the datanet—unless maybe the environmental nuts from exoarch, tryin' to slow things down. But naw, even they need the net. How else they gonna get their info in and out?"

  Who would want to sabotage the datanet? Bandicut thought . . . unless maybe some alien who wanted to control what was happening on this moon. Some alien who had won the trust of a human accomplice.

  /// That's not it,

  not at all! ///

  "If it was sabotage, they'll nail the sucker's hide to the wall," Krackey went on. "You can't get away with something like that for long, not in a place like this. Especially not after knocking out traffic control and causing a near-collision up at the space station." He shook his head. "But hey, you're sick. Never mind all that stuff, just get some sleep, okay?"

  "Okay." Bandicut pulled his curtain shut and fell back with a wordless groan, eyes closed. He breathed deeply and rapidly for a moment. /I hope you're ready to talk./

  /// You don't really think— ///

  /I don't know what I think. I just know that you blew down the whole damn datanet, and you nearly caused a crash, which you hadn't bothered to mention to me—/

  /// I didn't know! ///

  /You didn't, huh? I don't really think someone as smart as you does something like that by accident./

  /// I—no!

  You've got to let me explain! ///

  /I'm listening. I haven't heard much that's convincing, so far./ He scowled angrily in the dark. And to think he had actually begun to trust this . . . this alien.

  /// John!

  I didn't mean to do any of that!

  Honestly! ///

  /No? I figure, if you're smart enough to tie into the net like that, you ought to be smart enough to keep from screwing everything up in the process./

  /// No—I mean,

  it's not that I'm so smart.

  Really.

  There's a lot I don't understand.

  Yes, I had the ability to make the connection,

  but it doesn't mean I can predict

  everything that's going to happen in your datanet.

  Please believe me! ///

  Bandicut lay silent, thinking. Believe the quarx? Why should he? Hadn't the quarx just prevented him from having a very pleasant, and totally harmless, interlude with Julie?

  /// Look, John—about Julie. ///

  /What about her?/

  /// Well, I'm sorry I messed things up for you. ///

  /Oh./

  /// It's just that . . .

  certain things are very difficult for me. ///

  He thought he sensed acute embarrassment in the quarx's thoughts, but he couldn't quite make out the reason for it. /If you want me to believe you,/ he said, /I think you'd better explain what you mean by that. The whole truth./

  The quarx hesitated.

  /// It's hard to talk about. ///

  /Talk anyway. Or I walk./

  Charlie's reluctance was almost palpable.

  /// Can't you just trust me? ///

  /Trust?/ he snarled. /You want trust? You better start trusting me enough to tell me the truth, damn you./

  Several seconds passed before Charlie spoke again. Bandicut felt a wave of shadow pass across his visual field. He steeled himself for confrontation.

  /// It's not what you think, ///

  Charlie said at last, in a voice tinged with an emotion that Bandicut did not at once recognize. And then he did. It was shame.

  The emotion rolled over him like an ocean swell. He was suddenly aware of fragmented bits of memory of other living beings, races that the quarx had touched at some point in its various lives . . . nothing visual, nothing that would help him recognize the beings in a dark alley . . . but visceral impressions of carnality, of organic ferment, the rich scents of sexuality, of decay, of unclean material life. He struggled to follow.

  /// This must shock you. ///

  /What?/ he whispered.

  /// Just that— ///

  The quarx hesitated, as though trying to let go of something bottled up inside. Suddenly he erupted with a yell:

  /// HOW CAN YOU STAND IT? ///

  Bandicut reeled.

  /// The chemistry!

  The oils, the smells, the dirt, the sweat!

  The eggs and sperm!

  The pheromones and the damp breath!

  The skin! ///

  Bandicut was stunned silent. The quarx was shivering in his mind. /But that's part of life,/ he whispered at last.

  /// It's not part of MY life!

  How can you live in the midst of it, John?

  How can you? ///

  The quarx was weeping in his mind.

  /I couldn't live without it,/ he whispered.

  /// Yes, yes—I know.

  But it's so . . . so . . . ///

  If the quarx couldn't find the words, Bandicut could. /You're fucking xenophobic! Is that it?/ He blinked in disbelief.

  /// I— ///

  /That is it, isn't it?/ Bandicut whispered. /You can't stand the thought of any kind of life that isn't like yours!/

  Charlie moaned,

  /// No, I—I really can't. ///

  /But you live inside other peop
le! You're living inside me! Does that mean you can't stand me, either?/

  /// No, no, you're different. ///

  /Like hell I am./

  /// No, really!

  A host is always . . . different. ///

  /I'm so touched./

  /// But—coupling— ///

  The quarx practically shuddered in his brain.

  /// It's too . . . organic. ///

  Bandicut held his breath. /You mean coupling, as in . . . sex?/

  /// I really can't . . .

  it makes me . . .

  John, I can't STAND the thought! ///

  Bandicut let his breath out in a slow sigh. /Well, isn't that just wonderful,/ he said bitterly. /And that's why you interrupted me?/

  /// I'm afraid so.

  Yes.

  I'm sorry, John. ///

  /I'm sorry!/ Bandicut mimicked savagely. He drew a deep breath, and then another. /What the hell gives you the right to dictate what I do or don't do?/ he exploded, shaking with rage.

  /// Well, I—just couldn't help it. ///

  /I didn't invite you to take up residence here, you know! I can't believe this! Not only have I got a fr'deekin' alien, but he's a fr'deekin' xenophobe who can't stand to see humans . . . have a little . . ./ He ran out of words, with a gasp.

  /// It's not something I'm proud of, ///

  the quarx muttered.

  /I should hope not. I should damn well hope not./

  /// I'm going to . . . try to improve.

  That's all I can do.

  It's the way we're made, that's all.

  I hope . . . you're not angry, are you? ///

  He began laughing bitterly, and laughed until his eyes were full of tears. Then he abruptly fell silent, flat on his back in his bunk. /Get out of my brain,/ he whispered. /Just get out of my brain, you miserable, disgusting little creature . . ./

  *

  The quarx seemed to retreat into a tight ball in his mind. Bandicut tossed and turned, trying to forget the whole thing and go to sleep. It was impossible. Though he'd never been married, he wondered if this was what it was like to try to sleep with a partner with whom you were furious. The gloom of his bunk seemed to surround him with an angry glare.

  He sighed bitterly, wondering whether to say something to the quarx. Not that he wasn't still angry; but they were, after all, stuck with each other. He supposed he was going to have to make the best of it.