The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  They passed through the chamber where they had met Askelanda; it was deserted now. They went beyond it to another connector, and then on to an entirely separate habitat. This one was divided up with curtains and partitions, and had an almost human feel to it. The closeness, and the flimsiness of the partitions, reminded Bandicut of Triton Station. He felt a pang of homesickness, and at the same time wondered why he didn't miss his homeworld more; maybe he was just too busy. Still, he half expected his friend Krackey to emerge from the shadows and ask him what was wrong. You been acting kinda strange there, Bandie. Sure you aren't having one of those silence-fugues again?

  He shivered at the thought, and hurried after L'Kell.

  They entered a curtained chamber. The air was warmer, staler, almost stifling. Several other Neri were present, including Askelanda, but it was the one lying on the pallet that drew his attention. It was one of the sick Neri he had watched arriving, and the Neri appeared to have grown weaker since. "This is Lako," said one of those attending the patient. Bandicut turned, and realized that he had seen this Neri before, too. "My name is Corono. I am a healer." Corono indicated Lako. "He will die soon if nothing can be done to help him."

  "I understand," Bandicut said.

  "And we will see if your offer of friendship is genuine," Askelanda remarked, before withdrawing into the background.

  Bandicut let out a long breath. Ik touched his arm in reassurance. "John—I had not expected that you could do what you did for me."

  "Me neither." Bandicut stepped closer to Lako. "I will do what I can," he said, to no one in particular. L'Kell stood close by, and Bandicut asked, "Is he a friend of yours?"

  "Yes," murmured L'Kell.

  Bandicut swallowed hard. "I must tell you, it will be very difficult. I do not know—" He caught himself and shook away the thought.

  /// I have hope, ///

  said Charlene, in a voice that was surprisingly calming.

  /Do you have any notion of what to do?/

  /// Some images . . . memories.

  Can you touch Lako? ///

  Bandicut reached out slowly. He touched the Neri's arm—and almost jerked his hand back. Lako's skin was hot.

  /// Is that . . . fever? ///

  Charlene's voice was quiet, concentrated.

  /In humans, we'd call it fever. I don't know if it's the same thing here or not./

  /// But if it's radiation poisoning—? ///

  /Charlie, I don't know much about radiation poisoning in humans, much less Neri. We'll have to learn as we go./ His hand was resting firmly now on the warm skin of the Neri. Lako was trembling. His eyelids were fluttering, a disturbing sight on such large eyes. The eyes themselves seemed cloudy.

  /// Shall I reach out now . . .

  cross over? ///

  He was aware of L'Kell standing close. /Yes, let's try. But don't lose your anchor in me./

  /// Stepping across . . . ///

  It was startlingly different from linking with Ik. The first sensation was of piercing cold. If Lako was burning with fever on the outside, he felt paralyzed and frozen in the strange realm of his nervous system. And yet . . . it was not that there was no activity. But it felt like humming wires, a metallic singing of frantic nerve impulses. This being was struggling not to die. But he was dying.

  /// Deeper.

  Look for pathways we can

  interpret and use. ///

  /You're going to understand more here than I will, I think. Interfacing with nervous systems is your department./ He found the quiet whisper of the female Charlie's voice reassuring. Maybe they could really do this. But they had not yet come to grips with the Neri's real physical damage, or even his pain. The test would be trying to guide Lako's own body into healing.

  /// Here— ///

  His sight darkened and his ears filled with sound; it was like stepping into a darkened room where an orchestra was tuning up, each instrument subdued, but the combination of reeds and horns and strings and synths sounding like a quake threatening to happen. He felt hot and cold at once: streams of ice water running through glowing lava. Clouds of steam. He listened for voices. Could he make contact with Lako's mind? Should he try?

  Charlene was either a very fast study, or she had enough memories from her predecessors to perceive the general patterns of a functioning nervous system. She extended her presence until they were touching, ever so gently, the streams of nervous energy. Ice water. They were throbbing with pain, and with conflicting signals. The network was burning with fever, trying to cool itself; trying helplessly to heal, withdrawing from pain, hopelessly in turmoil. It was edging slowly toward a silent, dark abyss in the distance. Surrender? Death?

  Calm the systems, he thought, and realized that it was Charlene's thought, too. They were moving in lockstep now; he could sense the quarx riffling through his memories even as they moved cautiously through the terrible landscape of the wounded Neri. They were walking among flame and wreckage. Blistering, inside and out.

  A question was flickering through his awareness; was there radioactive material still in Lako's body? Not too much, he guessed. Not too much.

  He was feeling dizzy and hot himself. Got to keep cool. Where is the center of the distress? Where is the center of healing? You found the centers in me, he thought, the centers that directed the healing; and you, the Charlies before you, sped everything up, like a master chemist orchestrating the movement of chemicals, firing the motors of reconstruction. But we don't know yet how this Neri is made.

  There was something new moving behind him, a presence approaching, from the outside. It was an alien presence; a Neri presence. L'Kell, bringing his translators close, trying to see what was going on. What can we do, L'Kell? Can you tell what needs to be done?

  The contact was too tenuous to allow words to pass, but he felt L'Kell's recognition of their mutual presence. L'Kell was just as confused about what was happening in Lako's body as he and Charlie; he would not be of much help with physiological knowledge. But there might be one way L'Kell could help.

  If you can calm him, calm Lako, help him relax and let us do our work. Can you calm him?

  It was doubtful L'Kell could understand what he was asking. And would he have the power to do it even if he understood?

  A moment later, Bandicut felt a buzzing of energy, like feedback in an audio circuit. The Neri was trying to help. At first it was just disconcerting; then it began to rise, and to distort his ability to connect, and to hurt. He was losing his bearings. Stop it! he cried. Too much, too much! The wail lasted for a heartbeat longer, and then began to ebb, taking L'Kell's presence with it. But it didn't fade altogether. Bandicut heard a sound almost too low to hear, like the invisible muttering of a brook.

  Okay, he's doing it. Calming Lako. Work quickly now.

  The quarx was already moving; she had found a way to slip through the interstices of the dying Neri's nervous system and get a fix on the control centers. Bandicut felt himself being pulled like elastic thread along the intertwined pathways; then he felt the sudden pulse of neurons firing around him. The quarx was touching and testing, trying to make contact—not to orchestrate the healing herself, but to coax the healing centers to work more effectively, to take over all of the body's available resources, to subordinate all else to the healing of the devastated tissues.

  /Charlie, is it working? Charlene?/

  The quarx was too busy to answer, but there was a quickening of movement, a rallying of spirits. She was touching something that seemed to be responding. But was it enough?

  L'Kell's presence grew a little stronger again, a little brighter, as if he felt it, too.

  Don't expect miracles, he thought.

  They were making headway. But it was going to be a tough battle.

  *

  Waves of sound and sensation came, went.

  At one point he thought he heard words. Not from the quarx, not from L'Kell. It was dizzyingly hard to tell.

  Help . . . must . . . keep . . .<
br />
  Burning.

  Shivering.

  Must keep . . .

  Waves of nausea rushed through him like an incoming tide. They had touched a vital pathway. He steeled himself against the nausea and kept going.

  *

  The inner voice was gone. He thought it had been Lako's, but he wasn't sure. Now he heard other words, filtered through whispering shadows of thought . . .

  Feel his strength being turned . . . his eyes brightening, showing life. (L'Kell? Corono?)

  Bandicut struggled to keep his own strength flowing, to lend what he could to the quarx.

  On the outside, he knew L'Kell's hope was growing.

  *

  When the breakpoint came, it was like being picked up on a powerful wave and turned inside out, spinning. Something in Lako's body or mind had suddenly retaken control. He felt himself being squeezed . . . forced . . .

  Where?

  Over a waterfall. Dropping, falling. After about three of his own heartbeats, he began to feel faint around the edges, began to panic. Was Lako dying? Were these the death convulsions? If he was caught in the middle would he be able to pull himself free? Or would he be dragged down the funnel of consciousness into oblivion?

  Yes . . . no . . . what's happening . . . ?

  /Charlie . . . Charlie . . ./ His cry and the other sounded faint, like dying moans on the wind. He could no longer feel the quarx's presence, though he was sure she was there. She had to be.

  He hit the bottom of the waterfall, and a great hand caught him and squeezed him, squeezed around his lungs. He was losing his breath. He was out of the waterfall, but there was a powerful wind here, howling and spiraling, and it was trying to blow him down a tunnel, a long dark tunnel. He didn't like this, didn't want to go . . .

  /// Hang on! ///

  The quarx's voice was the most heart-lifting sound he could have heard. Though spinning out of control, he was no longer alone.

  /// Trying to find the way— ///

  /Where?/

  /// Out.

  Trying to throw us out. ///

  /But—/

  /// We've set it in motion.

  Hold on—see if it works—! ///

  The wind swept away the quarx's words. He felt a WHOOOOOOSHHH like a balloon letting go . . . he was picked up like Dorothy in the cyclone, being lofted to Oz. But Charlie still had some control; everything was being damped down, not in the whirlwind, but in his own senses. Everything was starting to go dark, his consciousness being drained away . . .

  /Charlie, what are you—?/

  And then he was flung into the blackness of the void.

  *

  Awareness shifted in and out. A light flickering. He worked at clawing his way back . . . conscious thought, physical sensation. Sharp pain in his lower back as he straightened from a slump. His eyes flashed open. He was staring straight into the gaze of Ik.

  "—" he said, then realized that nothing had come out. He'd meant to say, Did it work? Is he still alive?

  Ik clearly understood his intent. He canted his head, directing Bandicut's gaze. L'Kell was bent over Lako, conferring with someone who was touching and examining Lako . . . with Corono, the healer. L'Kell raised his head to peer in amazement at Bandicut.

  "He is fighting. Gaining strength," L'Kell whispered.

  Bandicut nodded, swallowing. He wanted to speak to L'Kell; he struggled to form words. He was aware of Askelanda hovering nearby.

  /// Don't try. Not yet, ///

  the quarx advised.

  /// We've just been thrown out by Lako.

  It was a tough exit. ///

  /I wondered who was doing that . . . couldn't tell if he was dying . . ./

  /// Not dying, no. Not when we left— ///

  L'Kell was trying to explain what he had seen. "—eyes began to sharpen—trying to speak—"

  Bandicut tried to listen.

  "—movement of gills—lungs—"

  Bandicut focused on the trembling form of Lako. The Neri's muscles were tensing and releasing in small, spasmodic movements. Bandicut gazed at the tortured face. The eyes were flicking, blinking; soft moaning sounds were coming from Lako's throat.

  Corono was saying, brekk-k "—fever very hot now, but the presence in the eyes—"

  Bandicut shook his head and tried to draw a full breath. "L'Kell," he said huskily. "Is he going to make it?"

  Askelanda was closer now, listening intently.

  L'Kell looked at the healer.

  Corono said, "We'll have to wait . . . see." He spoke with a sigh that sounded like the wheeze of a bellows. "But I think, perhaps . . . we must watch the fever, but he seems to be stronger now. Whatever you did, human Bandicut—" he paused "—I am hopeful."

  Bandicut nodded, and stared at Lako, at the obviously once-strong face struggling to survive. "Good," he whispered. "That's good." He turned away, rubbing his eyes, then his temples. He took several deep breaths. After a moment, he realized that everyone was watching him. "Is there something else?"

  The Neri spoke quickly to one another.

  /// Oh no— ///

  He sighed soundlessly. /How can we say no, if there's someone else—?/

  /// But— ///

  "Can you?" asked L'Kell. "There is another. He is in worse condition."

  Worse condition? Bandicut closed his eyes, dismayed. "We will try," he said hoarsely.

  /// This might be very hard on you;

  you've been through a lot. ///

  The quarx fell silent as L'Kell beckoned Bandicut into the next curtained room. Another cot. Another dying Neri. Bandicut stood silent a moment, gazing down at the blistered face. "What is his name?" he whispered.

  "Thorek," said Corono, stepping to the other side of the cot, touching the patient's forehead. Thorek's eyes were three-quarters closed, and a hazy yellow. His breath was extremely shallow, his nostrils and gill openings barely moving.

  "Thorek," Bandicut murmured. He crouched close to the cot, trying not to draw back from the smell of illness, of decay. He was gratefully aware of Ik's presence close behind him.

  /// Let's go, then. ///

  He touched Thorek's arm. It was cold and rubbery to the touch. He closed his eyes, and let the quarx take him over the boundary . . .

  *

  He felt at once a sense of quiet, of cold. Not the cold of ice; the cold of space. The cold of dark, stony passages.

  Charlene moved silently through the inner landscape of this being, and found that it was not quite as dark or deserted as it had first appeared. There remained tiny veins of warmth streaking the cold, remnants of life trickling through a harsh land. Threads of nervous connection left when the main presence of awareness had fled, seeking escape. He couldn't help thinking of Charlie-Four, fleeing into darkness. Dying.

  Don't think of that. Not now.

  The quarx probed through the threads and began to track backward, searching for whatever life might still be found . . .

  Amidst the ruins of mind and body, Charlie began to pick up scintillations of something. A consciousness? A soul? She called out softly. And felt it withdrawing.

  Withdrawing?

  Charlie, should we—

  The quarx was already in pursuit. Up the threads, following the spark . . . toward something far in the distance, a center of presence. It was like a spidery path to a floating city, high on the horizon, dim and remote. Was this like an image in the net, something he could use to focus his movement? Or was it a hallucination, a false, crazy hope?

  What about the body, Charlie? It's failing fast. We might not have time—

  Can't heal until we find a connection to the center. He can only heal himself.

  I know, but—scary, this is scary. Is that what's up ahead?

  Let's hope so.

  *

  Again, it happened quickly. But differently.

  There was a brightening on the horizon, and for an instant he felt a link, a ray of hope, a touch of Thorek's presence and soul . . . in
terrible pain. But the pain was shimmering out of focus, changing.

  I do not know you . . . you are not the spirit of the sea . . . do not need you . . .

  Not in words, but in wordless thought. Then the connection faded, and the spot of brightness flared and went out. He blinked, stunned by a sense that the light had not gone dark, exactly, but rather had been drawn out of this existence through some portal he could not see. It had seemed eager rather than sorry to go.

  And then darkness and a bone-piercing cold closed around him. He withdrew in silence, not speaking even to the quarx.

  *

  He gazed wearily at L'Kell, knowing he did not have to speak. L'Kell had sensed Thorek's passing. Behind L'Kell, Ik moved out of the way, making room for Askelanda. Bandicut turned, thinking, will he blame us—blame me—for Thorek's death?

  Askelanda stood beside L'Kell, gazing at Thorek's body. He was muttering words, but Bandicut could not make them out. Words of anger? Mourning? Tribute? The elder Neri raised his eyes to look at Bandicut. "His spirit has returned to the sea."

  "I could do nothing," Bandicut said. "He was too far gone." And, he thought silently, the manner of departure was very different from what I expected. Almost as if he welcomed death.

  "He will be missed. But not all passings are unhappy ones," Askelanda said, almost as if he'd read Bandicut's mind. His tone was not exactly rejoicing, but he seemed accepting of the event.

  Bandicut's thoughts flickered to Charlie-Four, and he pulled them back with an effort. "Then you believe that there's life—"

  "He swims now in new currents, new paths through the deep. Many have gone before him, and many will follow." Askelanda spoke briefly to Corono, then turned back to Bandicut. "Will you come into the other room with me?"

  Bandicut blinked, wondering if he was now intruding on the privacy of the dead. He glanced at Ik. The Hraachee'an was drumming his chest with his fingertips in puzzlement.

  "Come," said Askelanda sharply, and strode back into the other room.

  Bandicut sighed. After this draining effort with Thorek, had Lako died, too? He followed Askelanda through the parted curtain, and found the Neri leader standing beside Lako's cot. No one was speaking. Damn, Bandicut thought. He moved to Askelanda's side.