The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  "Thank you."

  "I am sure there are other things you wish to know. Perhaps to help us both understand why you are here."

  "Oh, yes," said Antares.

  Kailan gestured to cushions along the edge of the floor. "Then let us sit and see if these are things I can tell you. Perhaps something of the struggle with the folk of the land—?"

  "Yes?" whispered Antares.

  "Or perhaps of the great maw at the bottom of the sea that threatens to destroy us all?" Kailan loosened her shawl and settled gracefully onto a cushion. "You know nothing of these matters? Then indeed there is much that I must tell you."

  Chapter 8

  The Summoning of a Quarx

  BANDICUT HAD INTENDED to rest, simply rest. But a few weary questions asked of L'Kell had left him buzzing with exhaustion, and filled with both curiosity and dread. L'Kell had spoken briefly—but with great intensity—of strange poisonings of Neri explorers under the sea. Of raids by land-people on caches of machinery, apparently lost or abandoned for many years, but prized by the Neri. Of mysterious rumblings in the ocean abyss, deeper and farther offshore from the undersea city.

  Even as L'Kell spoke, Bandicut thought he felt a soft shudder beneath him. He blinked and rubbed his eyes; now he thought he'd seen faint rays of light dancing in the darkness.

  "L'Kell, wazzat—" he started to say, but stopped, realizing that he was slurring his words with tiredness.

  "I think," Ik murmured, "that you truly need rest, and perhaps L'Kell might leave us for a short time. All this talk—"

  Bandicut grunted. "Yah. Could you give us a little time?"

  "Very well," said the Neri. But by the time he was gone, Bandicut knew he was still too charged with adrenaline to go right to sleep. Had they really landed in the midst of a world about to erupt in war? Were he and the company supposed to stop it? If so, how? He sent tired thoughts in the direction of the translator-stones. /Why didn't you warn us? Why didn't you tell us what to expect?/

  Though the quarx hadn't been addressed directly, he nevertheless answered with bitter laughter,

  /// Would you have come, if you had known? ///

  /Well, I—/

  /// Don't be ridiculous.

  It's the last thing you'd have chosen. ///

  Bandicut could hardly argue. After the struggle with the boojum back on Shipworld, the last place he wanted to be was a war zone. /How about you, Charlie? Would you have chosen—?/

  /// Mokin' A, no.

  I didn't want this, don't want it,

  don't intend to put up with it. ///

  /What do you mean?/ Bandicut was stunned by the sharpness of the quarx's words. This wasn't like Charlie—at least, not any of the Charlies he had known before. He glanced at Ik, sitting motionless in sleep-meditation. /What do you mean, you don't intend to put up with it?/

  There was silent laughter in his mind.

  /// Didn't L'Kell just say,

  if we don't help with the healing,

  we'll be considered enemies? ///

  Bandicut froze. /Meaning—?/

  /// I think you know. ///

  Bandicut sat silent, thinking. Rising up through the center of his fear was a rod of anger. /Don't play games. Are you saying, you hope the Neri kill us—so you won't have to worry anymore?/

  /// They wouldn't necessarily kill us.

  They might just kick us out of their territory.

  And we could go home. ///

  Bandicut didn't even bother to point out that they had no way to go home. He felt something snap inside. /Listen, you self-centered sonofabitch. If you want to check out, go ahead and check out, but don't try to take me with you. Or my friends. You hear me?/

  Charlie didn't answer.

  He immediately felt guilty. Charlie had just helped heal Ik, after all. But that didn't give him the right to set them up as enemies of the Neri—a suicide pact signed by one. /Look—/ he said, trying to find something to take the sting out of his previous words /—I know you helped Ik, and I'm grateful. But that doesn't—/

  He paused. The quarx wasn't listening. In fact, his presence wasn't there at all anymore. He'd slammed the door and gone to another room.

  Mokin' A, Bandicut thought. What was with this Charlie? He seemed full of sullenness, with a core of dark desperation. Was this just the luck of the draw with quarx incarnations? Or was it something that had been present, but maybe just subdued, in the prior Charlies?

  Bandicut peered scowling out of the shelter into the nighttime sea, and thought again about the Neri and their conflict with the people from the shore. People from land. Not Neri, though he wasn't quite clear on who or what they were. A different species, apparently; but the Neri had never actually made face-to-face contact with them, and knew little about them, not even their name.

  This was not a war with armies clashing by night, or even battles raging beneath the sea—though it sounded as if it could come to that. It sounded more like a war of attrition and desperation; a war of failing support systems, and of Neri sickening and dying. And what in God's name could he and Ik hope to do about it?

  But as he thought about it, there was something in L'Kell's description of how the Neri got sick, especially in certain locations, that nagged at his memory. What was it? Activities undersea. Military activities? Pollution? There were indeed places where poisons or chemical wastes were being discharged into the sea, and L'Kell had said that some Neri swimmers had encountered such pollution and become gravely ill. But that was not what Bandicut had seen today. These swimmers had fallen ill after visiting a location disturbed by the landers—but with no detectable pollution. Something else had to be killing them.

  And why couldn't the Neri simply avoid those areas? L'Kell had seemed reluctant to answer, saying only that they had no choice; they needed what was there. Which was—? Bandicut asked. And L'Kell studied him with those huge, haunting eyes before hissing, "Machines, that is what. Machines."

  Machines? Bandicut thought. Why would machines be indispensable to the Neri? "Are these machines you need, that you do not have?" He shook his head in puzzlement. "Or that you cannot make yourselves?"

  "We take them from the seafloor," L'Kell hissed vehemently. "They are ours to take, not the landers'!"

  Bandicut rubbed his eyes in weariness. "So you are fighting with these landers over . . . sunken machinery?"

  L'Kell had looked perplexed. "We might have been willing to share, if the landers had not started just . . . taking them. And if they had not sent their sickness to kill us. But we need the machines, yes. Our—our—" rhusssss "—makers are breaking down. We are becoming unable to make new machines, as our old ones break down. Without them, we will—" He stared at Bandicut.

  "What?"

  "Die," said L'Kell.

  *

  L'Kell would be coming back soon.

  The conversation reverberated in Bandicut's mind as he tried to rest, tried to think it through to an understanding, tried to put it out of his mind altogether. It was too confusing. And overlying it was the more immediate question: could Charlie be persuaded to help try to heal the sick Neri? Because if the answer was no, then these other things were the least of his worries.

  He wanted to call Charlie out to talk about it; but he felt a powerful inner resistance, and a sudden wave of overwhelming sleepiness. Jeez. He'd known he was tired, but—

  And then he knew why he was feeling such a pull toward sleep—and it wasn't just his own urgent need—but by now it was irresistible. He slumped over on the floor of the bubble, not far from the resting Ik, and before he could even cushion his head on his arms, he was asleep.

  *

  He slept restlessly and unhappily, his dream-thoughts streaming along shifting pathways, through treacherous subterranean passages, and over sliding cloudlands; he walked a dark woods and glided through cemeteries of the night, and he streaked up and down skyscrapers of some strange city, rising and falling inside the buildings and outside them. And through it al
l he was stalked by ghostly figures luminous with a hideous glow . . .

  *

  He woke, drenched in sweat. He had felt, or dreamed of, rumbling sounds and lights in the distance. It took a few moments to remember where he was. As he groped for the dream images he had just lost, he felt a shiver up and down his spine. There was something important in those . . .

  The visions came back in a rush, the glowing figures, and he knew at once what they meant. Radioactive glow.

  Were the Neri being killed by radiation poisoning? They had the sophistication to know if the waters were being poisoned by chemicals—they breathed the water after all, but they—Dear God, they breathed the water, and if it was contaminated with radioactivity . . .

  Bandicut sat up. "Ik," he croaked. "Ik."

  The Hraachee'an opened his eyes. "Urrm?"

  "Damn. Ik, I think I know what's killing them."

  His friend blew a deep breath out through his ears, as Bandicut explained. "It would be consistent with what L'Kell said," Ik agreed. "I should have thought of it sooner."

  "We both should have. What's important is, can we do anything about it?"

  Ik rubbed his bony head. "Can we heal the sick, or can we do something about the radiation? I'm not sure about either."

  Bandicut thought, it all depends on Charlie, doesn't it? /Charlie? You there?/ He felt a strange silence, and then Charlie's voice as though through a deep, dense fog.

  /// Radiation sickness?

  I don't do radiation sickness! ///

  And then all feeling of his presence was gone again.

  Bandicut closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to curb his anger. He knew he should be grateful to Charlie. And he knew Charlie was xenophobic; at least, an earlier Charlie had been. But so what? People needed healing. Would Charlie really rather stand back and let all those Neri die? If so, that was just . . . cowardice.

  His thoughts flickered in and out of focus. The urge to slip back into sleep was almost . . . was . . . overwhelming . . . Charlie messing with his sleep center . . .

  Ik might have been saying something, but he drifted away without hearing.

  *

  He dreamed of a struggle, of figures rising and toppling in the night, of hand-to-hand combat in muddy trenches. He was holding onto someone by the shirtfront, falling and then getting up again, shaking his adversary violently; but the fabric was tearing, and the person, whoever it was, was pulling away, escaping.

  He walked in a cemetery again, rows of markers stretching out into a night sky of infinity, stretching to the stars. There were spirits awake in the cemetery, but every time he turned to speak to them, they vanished with a whisper of wind. He was alone, completely alone, with only the voices of the stars for company.

  And then the stars began to vanish . . .

  *

  When he woke, it was to a terrible grogginess, and emptiness. Everything felt different inside. He experienced a stab of fear. /Charlie?/ There was no answer, no sense of the quarx's presence. /Charlie?/ No, he thought. Don't tell me. Charlie couldn't—wouldn't have—

  And then he heard a voice. A feminine voice, puzzled.

  /// Is Charlie my name?

  Or the name you use for all of me?

  All of us?

  This all seems odd— ///

  /Uh?/

  /// —your response to a name.

  Would it seem

  more natural if you called me . . .

  Charlene? ///

  Bandicut felt faint. He took a sharp breath, worried that he might fall over. He knew Ik was looking at him with concern, but he couldn't speak. Oh Jesus. /Did you say . . . Charlene?/

  /// You can use Charlie if you like. ///

  He exhaled hard. /Well, no, I . . . whatever you say. Charlene, if you like. I'm . . . John Bandicut. And we . . . I guess, have a lot to talk about . . ./

  *

  /// Still so much I don't understand. ///

  So much you don't understand? He took a deep breath and opened his thoughts for Charlene, for Charlie-Five, to explore. A new Charlie . . . his head spun thinking about it. What had happened to the old Charlie? Had he just vanished? Died in his sleep? Why hadn't there been . . . some warning, or something. It wasn't as if . . . as if he had died in a sudden attack or something, the sonofabitch had just gone off and . . . slit his wrists or whatever a quarx did . . .

  /// I have the sense, ///

  said Charlene, as if raising her head from a stack of books and tapes,

  /// that your old Charlie wasn't

  very happy. ///

  /No. No, he wasn't./ Not happy. Definitely not happy. /I don't know why./

  /// And that he might have

  taken his own life? ///

  Bandicut blinked, struggling, actually fighting back tears, because that was his thought and he hated the idea. Was it possible? Could the quarx have committed suicide? /I don't know,/ he whispered. /You would probably know better than I. Could he have . . . done that?/

  The new quarx, Charlene, seemed uncertain.

  /// I'm . . . surrounded by reverberations . . . ///

  Like bits and pieces of memory in a great whirlwind, a cyclone spinning . . .

  And yet she seemed far clearer and more knowledgeable than any new quarx he had ever met.

  /// Hard to tell which are his, really,

  and which are yours, but— ///

  /This is strange. Very strange. You're not like . . . any new quarx I've ever had. How do you know so much?/

  /// Well, I'm not sure— ///

  /It's as if you've been listening in, and learning. Or as if—I don't know—as if you have a little bit of everyone else already in your head. Did Charlie-Four know you were coming right behind him? I'll bet the sonofabitch did commit suicide!/

  /// Does that make you angry? ///

  /Yeah, it makes me angry. Because he couldn't lower himself to help the Neri—/

  /// Perhaps it was not that simple— ///

  /What do you mean? What do you know that I don't? It's not as if you were here—/

  /// You're right, of course, but just now . . .

  Could I ask you some things, to try to understand? ///

  Bandicut sighed. /What do you want to know?/ Everything, obviously. She needed to know everything. He was stunned by the degree of sophistication she'd had from the moment of awakening— like no other Charlie before her. But she could hardly know the details of the situation they were trapped in right now. And she needed to know, because L'Kell would be coming soon for his answer.

  /// Some of it I can see right here on top.

  But the rest—if you could just fill me in— ///

  Bandicut's head was spinning. But he had to adjust; he had no choice. He had to get used to Charlie-Four being gone, dead, and a new Charlie here, and a female one . . . and there was just no time. They had to move on, however difficult it might be. /Okay,/ he whispered. /Here goes . . ./

  *

  By the time the bottom of the bubble shimmered and L'Kell appeared, Bandicut felt as if he were on a runaway carousel, images circling him in an endless stream of thought, Charlene raining questions onto him, his dizzy, half-conscious mind answering and his answers prompting new questions. He blinked and stirred, and forced himself to rise, on shaky legs, to greet the Neri. "L'Kell," he said huskily.

  The Neri peered at him, then at Ik. His demeanor seemed less friendly, more reserved, more businesslike. Was he prepared to turn their relationship into the status of enemies, if Bandicut didn't promise to try to help the Neri?

  Ik spoke first. "We have been resting, and have just awakened. We have not yet had a chance to talk."

  L'Kell looked at Bandicut. "I believe," he said, "that you had the most to think about. I have been sent to ask your decision. Will you help?"

  /Charlie—Charlene—I know you haven't had much time to absorb this, but—/

  /// Yes.

  Tell him yes. ///

  He blinked, startled by the certaint
y of tone. How could she be sure she was capable of what was being asked?

  "John Bandicut?" asked the Neri.

  He let his breath out slowly. "We will try. We will do all that we can. My . . . friend, the quarx . . . has had a change of heart." He touched the side of his head.

  "Then," said L'Kell, "let us go." He picked up the gong and struck it four times. He waited expectantly, gazing over Bandicut's shoulder. Bandicut turned and saw two Neri swimming downward toward them, holding something between them. It was the access tube.

  Chapter 9

  Life Signs

  BANDICUT WATCHED AS the end of the tube stuck to the bubble like the suction cup of an octopus. A small amount of water trapped in the suction cup drained away, and the junction circle turned shadowy grey. L'Kell gestured. "Are you ready?"

  Bandicut nodded. "Let's go."

  The Neri leaned headfirst through the connector, and climbed easily up into the tube. From within the bubble, Bandicut watched L'Kell's shadow move up the incline. He glanced at Ik. "Follow me?"

  "Hrrm."

  Bandicut poked his head cautiously through the membrane, then attempted to follow L'Kell up the tube. He didn't get very far before he started to slip. /Damn, I left my good sneakers at home!/

  /// Excuse me? ///

  /Never mind./ He yelled up. "L'Kell, I can't get up the slope!"

  "Wait."

  Half a minute passed. Then a line came snaking down the tube. He grabbed it and began hauling himself hand over hand up the steadily increasing incline. He was gasping by the time he reached the top. /To think I used to climb up the kids' slides all the time./

  /// What's different now? ///

  /I'm not a damn kid anymore./

  As he reached the top, two Neri arms caught him under the shoulders and hauled him out. He wiggled his jaw at the slight pressure drop. L'Kell peered down the tube for Ik. Ik shouted to them to pull in their line. The Neri did so; Ik's rope was attached to its end. Ik's rope began contracting, and Ik appeared, holding on and sliding up almost effortlessly. The Neri looked with interest at the Hraachee'an's rope, but did not interfere as he tucked it back in his belt.

  "This way." As they followed L'Kell through the passageway, Bandicut gazed out at the Neri city, aware of a perceptible improvement in his attitude toward it. Being freed from prison had an amazingly salutary effect on him.