The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "Yes!" Bandicut whispered, startled by the Karellian's vehemence.

  "And—" Li-Jared's voice softened a little "—may also, if we are successful, give me a way to return home." He closed his eyes and turned away for a moment.

  Bandicut's voice trembled with sympathy, and echoes of his own acute loneliness. "You miss your . . . home . . . a lot, don't you?"

  "Aaaannnngggg," Li-Jared cried. "I miss the forests and plains, and most of all the sky, the emerald sky, the beautiful, perilous sky. The stars that flare and swirl dangerously, and make life itself a fragile treasure." Li-Jared's voice shook as he spoke, as if into the emptiness of the surrounding gloom.

  Bandicut was almost afraid to answer. But when the Karellian's eyes shifted back in his general direction, he found his voice and said, "Are there other . . . Karellians . . . whom you miss, particularly?"

  Li-Jared's eyes flared, then dimmed. "Some. Some."

  "Do you believe they're still—"

  "Alive? Who can say?" said Li-Jared, reading his thoughts. "Who can say?"

  Bandicut nodded. He took a long draw from his pilsner glass. The beer was rich and hoppy, with a good head. Whoever or whatever had made it had read his memories well. "Perhaps," he said at last, "we can all search together. I, too, would like to find a way home. Though I can't help thinking that everyone I cared about is probably long gone." He felt a rush of dizziness as he thought of Julie. Why? he thought. Why did it have to happen? The Earth and the comet—and even Charlie—getting between me and the first woman I ever really thought I had the slightest chance of . . . loving.

  "Perhaps we can," said Li-Jared, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. "But Ik's home, you know—Hraachee'a—is no more. It is destroyed." Li-Jared's voice was cold, flat, metallic. "Ik has nowhere else to go." He bobbed his chimplike head and seemed to peer appraisingly at Bandicut. "Ik feels that you are a trustworthy companion. That you might be able to . . . help us."

  Bandicut flushed. "And you're not sure."

  The Karellian's head bobbed again, side to side. "I mean no offense. But I do not—how can I explain?—make friendships lightly."

  Bandicut nodded. "No reason why you should, I guess." He gazed off into the darkness, studying this strange place where the tables orbited in a three-dimensional waltz. Ik and the Maksu were out there somewhere; the tables had moved apart and he'd lost track. And he was definitely not hallucinating the fish; there was an area, slightly above him now, where glowing undersea creatures drifted and flitted, flashing a neon glow. They, and others like them, had been drifting slowly in and out of view. He wondered if they were patrons in the bar, or ornamentation.

  His eyes shifted to his right, and his heart pounded suddenly faster. Across the room, he saw someone floating into the halo of light surrounding a table. He rose involuntarily, thinking that the person looked almost human, female; he caught a glimpse of a crimson gown, just a momentary swirl, and dark hair, and then a hazy curtain took whoever it was into darkness.

  /// John, I don't think— ///

  He was still blinking, trying to get his eyes to focus better. It was too late for a better look, but the glimpse had left him breathless, frustrated, and startlingly aroused.

  He suddenly remembered: something like this had happened once before, in a dreamy half-vision. He had nearly forgotten; it had happened in the lounge of the shadow-people. /Charlie, are you sure? Do you have any idea who, or what—?/

  /// No, but I would tell you

  if I thought it were human. ///

  "There is, of course—" buh-hnnng "—the matter of the boojum," said Li-Jared.

  "Uhh?" Bandicut shivered, disconcerted by the sudden change in the stream of thought. He struggled to focus on Li-Jared. "Yes. Of course. The boojum. I don't even know who, or what, the boojum is. Much less why it was trying to kill you."

  "But you want to know, are you a target sitting here with me. Yes?"

  "Yes," he whispered.

  "Let me tell you a tale," said Li-Jared.

  Chapter 15

  Strange Turbulence

  "THINK," LI-JARED SAID, "of a vast, dark sea—a place of great interlacing currents, warm and cold layers, unexplored chasms, and swarming life—more kinds than you could count in a million years."

  Bandicut stared at him, unsettled by the seeming change of subject. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a tailfin disappearing into a fold of darkness.

  "Think," Li-Jared said, "of just one species of life within that sea—an intelligent species, perhaps, striving to control an almost uncontrollable environment. Think of the complex social groupings, and all the complexities that might have grown, within that one species."

  "Yes," Bandicut murmured, wondering what this had to do with the boojum.

  "Think now of a single current carrying a family, or a clan, or a thread, of that species."

  "Yes."

  Li-Jared's eyes narrowed. "Think of one individual within that clan. And think of an infection, a . . . virus . . . within that individual."

  Bandicut frowned, saying nothing. But Li-Jared's eyes blazed at him, demanding a reaction. He cleared his throat. "Is this all a—what would you call it—metaphor? Or are we talking about a real ocean, a real species, a real individual?" He took a long pull from the oversized pilsner glass.

  Something in his tone appeared to offend Li-Jared. The Karellian stiffened. "I am telling you a tale," he said, his voice turning to tempered steel, "as we tell tales on my world."

  "Uh, sorry—I didn't mean—"

  "And yes, it is a metaphor."

  "Ah. Then is it a metaphor for . . . Shipworld?"

  Li-Jared's eyes dimmed, then flared blue at the pupils. "I am not yet finished," he said, his voice still metallic. "You could, I suppose, apply it as a metaphor for Shipworld. But that is not what I meant."

  "Oh," Bandicut said contritely.

  "It is a metaphor," Li-Jared said, his voice softening, "for the Tree of Ice."

  "Uh?"

  "The Tree of Ice. The synthesis of all the intricately intertwined systems that maintain Shipworld. What we, personally, can reach from here is merely the iceline. The iceline is one small thread of a great—" bwang "—tapestry."

  "Oh," Bandicut croaked.

  "Now," said Li-Jared, returning to his story, "think of that virus attacking the control system—the mind, if you will—of that individual member of the species we were discussing."

  Bandicut nodded, trying to wrap his thoughts around Li-Jared's story. "Okay. Can we name this individual something? That might help me follow a little better."

  Li-Jared appeared to struggle with the idea. "If it will help. I suppose."

  "How about if we call it an eel," Bandicut said. "An eel named Joe. Is that all right?"

  Li-Jared blinked. "An eel named . . . Joe."

  "And Joe has a virus."

  The simian-alien's voice twanged. "Very well. The individual, Joe, is influenced by that virus in unexpected ways. He gains certain abilities. Such as sharing his neighboring eels' thoughts. And influencing his neighbors—without their quite realizing it—as he himself is influenced, without his quite realizing it, by the virus. And eventually he finds that he can rub, physically, against his neighbors, and so pass the virus to them. And Joe slowly becomes—"

  "A troublemaker?"

  Li-Jared paused. "Well, yes. He, or perhaps his virus—the two can no longer be distinguished, you see—does not approve of the way his clan has been schooling, or perhaps the currents they have been following. He realizes that if he can influence enough of his fellows, they may be able to attack and kill a living barrier that channels the ocean currents."

  "A reef. They want to kill a reef?"

  "Yes. If they kill the reef they will open a new channel, and the old pattern of currents will be altered, and swept away."

  Bandicut thought about that. "And what happens to the clan?"

  Li-Jared's eyes flickered. "The clan will join with Joe, or be swept away."


  Bandicut grunted. "And which is the boojum? Joe, or the virus?"

  "I'm not certain," the Karellian admitted. "I have heard it told both ways. What matters, aside from the immediate peril, is this: the virus came into Joe's sphere through the turbulent movements of the sea. Now, the sea is full of viruses, and most of them will never find a host or create such distress. But the sea is—" bra-hang "—chaotic, and such systems will continuously produce unexpected changes."

  Bandicut shivered. This was beginning to sound altogether too much like Charlie-One's talk of dynamical chaos in solar systems. And look where listening to that had put him.

  "Over and over—maybe only one time in a million, but that is enough—the turbulence carries a virus to infect a host, and it acts, and sometimes it hides for a time, and then acts again, and spreads—" Li-Jared traced random movements through the air with his shiny black fingers.

  "And that is what the boojum does?" Bandicut said softly.

  A black fingertip stabbed into the light. Yes.

  "Is it alive? The boojum?" He glanced at Napoleon, who had been sitting motionless all this time. Touched by the boojum? Maybe not. Alive? Maybe. And what about Copernicus?

  Fingertips flicked upward. "I don't know."

  Bandicut expelled a breath of frustration. "I don't get it. Why don't the people who control the control system—"

  "Tree of Ice," Li-Jared corrected.

  "All right, Tree of Ice. Why don't they step in and remove the damn boojum? It's just a contamination, right? Isn't that what everyone calls it?"

  Black fingertips flicked upward.

  "Do they know? Do they care? They must!" Bandicut waved his hands. "Someone cares enough to keep this place running. What about that big atrium? What about the shadow-people, and maintenance? There's civilization here! Someone must be in charge of it!"

  Li-Jared scratched the side of his head. "It is a difficult question. There are organizational structures, yes, which keep both the environments and the societies functioning. But there are so very many—and each so different from the others!" His voice twanged like a plucked banjo string. "Atrium City, where we are now, is a complexly structured society. I have been here before. I do not care for it much, but it is a useful mingling zone, a melting pot—and a good place for seeking information."

  I certainly seek information, Bandicut thought wearily. He rubbed his eyelids with his thumbs. "Isn't there someone who's just in charge of Shipworld? Who controls this Tree of Ice, anyway?"

  The Karellian's eyes blinked completely shut, then blazed open again. "That, my fellow traveler, is just one of the things that Ik and I have been trying to discover."

  Bandicut stared at him for a moment longer, before taking a deep draft of his beer.

  They sat in silence for a while. Bandicut found himself gazing into the darkness, wondering where the "woman" he had seen was now. It was all too easy to fantasize about Julie—or any other human woman—in a place like this, where a mysterious individual could appear in a flash and swirl of color, then vanish before the eye could focus.

  Li-Jared seemed to guess at his thoughts. "Did you see something? Or someone?"

  "Oh, just—" his voice caught, as embarrassment and loneliness bubbled up together "—just someone for a second reminded me of a woman back . . . home. Someone I left behind. It didn't really look like her, but—"

  "You saw someone of your own species?" Li-Jared said sharply.

  "No—at least I don't think so. But she did look almost human." He scowled, drumming his fingers on the table. "Still—suppose I wanted to find someone in this place—someone I knew was here, but I didn't know where? How would I do it?"

  The Karellian stretched casually. "I suppose I'd ask the iceline for a tracing." He gestured toward the light globe on the table. "That's how Ik contacted the Maksu."

  Bandicut stared at the lamp. Iceline. Connection with the datanet, the comm, the . . . Tree of Ice? The thought gave him a little shiver. Sooner or later, he would have to interact with it. He felt a powerful urge—and a deep reluctance. He remembered the fleeting touch of the boojum, when he'd linked with the system back at the factory. But surely people linked with the iceline all the time, and they didn't all come into contact with the boojum. Ik had said that the boojum spent most of its time in hiding.

  "Do you suppose maybe they're dead?" he said suddenly. "The ones who are in charge, I mean. What if nobody is controlling the Tree of Ice?"

  The Karellian muttered to himself for a moment, his eyes dimming with thought. "I have wondered that, on occasion. But no, I do not think so. I have felt myself subject to the influence, the manipulation, of someone sentient, someone alive."

  Someone alive? Bandicut stared into the darkness of the lounge where tables orbited and danced, and thought of the translator, back on Triton, whose daughter-stones lived in his wrists now. The translator, whose actions and instructions had saved Earth from a comet, and also brought him to this place of exile. Why? Was he the price of saving Earth? His sacrifice, in exchange for the life of his homeworld? A more than fair price, he supposed—but for what conceivable purpose?

  "Why," he asked finally, "are they manipulating you? What do they want from you?"

  Li-Jared's gaze narrowed. "If I could discover that—"

  Bandicut felt a sudden fury at the incomprehensibility of it all. "Well, bloody hell, if the boojum is opposed to the people who are controlling us, then maybe it's not all that bad!"

  Li-Jared's eyes welled with light. "No," he said softly. "The boojum wants only to destroy—I don't know why. I don't want that. I want freedom. I want to know why I am here. And I want to leave."

  Bandicut imagined that he could read a lifetime of sadness in the Karellian's eyes. But before he could respond, Li-Jared stirred and said, "Ik."

  "Hraah. Li-Jared, I must ask your assistance." Ik had reappeared silently and was floating beside the table. "The Maksu wish to speak to you of your knowledge concerning the boojum. This might provide a satisfactory exchange, knowledge for knowledge, for them to direct us to the ice cavern. John Bandicut, may I leave you here for a short time? The Maksu are most . . . reserved."

  Bandicut shrugged. "I'll be fine. As long as they don't mind me lingering over my beer." He indicated his half-empty glass.

  "You may stay as long as you like. If you need to reach us, address your need to the globelink. It will contact us." Ik nodded to the light globe on the table, and gestured to Li-Jared.

  Bandicut watched them float across empty air and disappear into the privacy zone of the Maksu's table. The other table gradually drifted away again. /Why do I have this feeling?/

  /// What feeling? ///

  /About the Maksu, and the ice caverns, and all—that I'm in danger of being dragged into something I may regret. I'd sort of like to look around a little, and see if there are any humans in this place—or even anybody almost human. But it's not as if I want to leave Ik and Li-Jared, either./

  /// It does seem that

  what they're looking for

  may also be what you're looking for.

  Yes? ///

  /Yes, but—well, I don't know, really. I get the feeling that danger has a way of following those two around. And now—ice caverns! Intelligent fireflies! It just makes me very nervous./ He drummed moodily on the table.

  /// Well, you've got one robot missing,

  and another going through a difficult period of

  adjustment.

  It might not be the best time to leave

  your partners. ///

  Bandicut grunted. /Maybe not. But damn it, you know—just once in a while, I'd like to be able to think of my own future. Find out if I still have a future. Instead of always chasing after someone else's. You know what I mean?/

  The quarx made a soft, sad, chuckling sound.

  /// Do I?

  Does a bear drink in the woods? ///

  Bandicut fingered his glass, nodding. The quarx had it no easier than he did.


  It occurred to him, suddenly, to wonder if he could order a bowl of popcorn in this place.

  *

  It seemed like a very long time after Ik and Li-Jared had left, though perhaps it wasn't really, when he lowered his glass to reach for a handful of too-salty popcorn, and saw a privacy zone sparkle open, maybe twenty meters away in the darkness, just above eye level. The swirl of crimson fabric caught his eye. /Charlie—/ He blinked, and wished, and with a sparkle his own privacy screen dropped away, giving him a more open view.

  /// She really does look almost human,

  doesn't she? ///

  murmured the quarx.

  Indeed she did. His eyes drank in her features: auburn hair that flowed like a mane, down the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. A body shape that appeared nearly human, though the loose fabric of her robe or gown concealed her features somewhat. Whatever she was, she walked on two legs, with two arms that swept out at the right places. The one hand that was visible looked long and slender. The eyes were at once alien and human—almost Asian-looking, but with a gold shimmer around a jet-black center.

  The woman (he couldn't help thinking the word) turned in his direction as she stepped away from her table, gown swirling to reveal slippered feet. Her face was oval, with striking cheekbones, and a nose that quivered as she breathed. Her gaze flickered and met his, and his heart almost stopped. Her eyes seemed to widen, as though she were wondering: Are you my species? Her robe pressed momentarily against her body with her motion, giving him a fleeting impression of a muscular torso, and two pairs of bumps on her chest that might have been breasts.

  /Should I say something?/ He was suddenly aware that he had drunk quite a lot of beer, and he was holding a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth.

  /// I don't know.

  This is really your department. ///

  /Well, I can't just let her walk away./