The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  She restarted the holocam recording. "There's so much we don't know about the translator, Dakota—so much I look forward to learning—we all look forward to learning. This will be an exciting time. We may never get all of the answers. But we do know the one answer that counts—that John did his work well, his work of protecting the rest of us—you, me, everyone."

  She hesitated, not daring to add the final thought: And I'm afraid that work is not yet over.

  Chapter 22

  Deadly Change

  IT WASN'T LONG before Bandicut noticed that the lander was starting to look ill. His eyes were moving erratically and his breathing sounded labored.

  /I wonder what—oh, mokin' A. Why didn't I think of it earlier?/ He reached out and touched the lander on the shoulder.

  /// What do you—oh, I think I see.

  The air mixture is becoming toxic for him

  with the increasing pressure. ///

  /He doesn't have the benefit of our "normalization." We're going to kill him by taking him that deep./ Since they'd begun their descent from the shipwreck, the internal pressure in the sub had been increasing to match the outside pressure. Bandicut had been so preoccupied keeping his ears and sinuses equalized that he'd forgotten the less obvious but far more critical issue: the need to adjust the balance of oxygen and other gases in the air as they went to greater depth.

  "L'Kell!" he called. When the Neri came back from the cockpit, he explained the problem. "Can you delay pressurizing this compartment any more and still get us to the city okay?"

  L'Kell's great black eyes studied the lander for a moment. "I suppose so. But we can't keep him indefinitely at a different pressure. I'll see what I can do for now, though."

  Bandicut nodded, and kept his hand on the lander's arm. He felt the quarx trying to make contact. If she could even just calm him a little, that would be helpful.

  A few minutes later, L'Kell returned from speaking to the pilot. "We can maintain this pressure without risk to the sub. But we'll have to use airlocks to enter the habitats. The pressure difference will be significant."

  "Is there some way to give him a different gas mixture—if we could figure out what it should be? Or better yet—set up a chamber in the habitat where he could be kept at a lower pressure?" It was not just the immediate problem they had to consider; the deeper they took the lander, the harder it would be to return him to the surface later. Bandicut didn't know what the Neri's intentions were for the lander. He doubted they'd thought much about it. But returning the lander to his own people was very much Bandicut and Ik's hope.

  The journey back down seemed much longer than the trip up. Maybe he'd just forgotten. With the pressure stabilized in the cabin, he managed to doze off for short stretches, sitting huddled on the floor of the cabin with Ik, the lander, and two Neri.

  By the time they docked at the undersea city, the lander was breathing a little more easily—mostly from the calming influence of the quarx, Bandicut suspected. But he did not look well. His hands, brown and pebbly, with fingers shaped almost like pincers, were shaking. Bandicut glanced worriedly at Ik—who didn't look any too great himself, with dim eyes and a dull stare. In Ik's case, he hoped it was just exhaustion. The Hraachee'an had gone a long time without much rest, and that in addition to repeated rounds of healing—and oxygen starvation.

  They were all in need of recuperation. But the lander . . . he wished he could do something more for the lander.

  /// If only we were able to transfer

  a daughter-stone.

  A stone could physically intervene. ///

  /If only,/ Bandicut murmured. /If only . . ./

  *

  Li-Jared was restless at the instruments—more than restless. He couldn't sit still. They had been trying to pin down these readings to predict the next eruption of the Maw, and the longer they worked at it, the murkier it became. He paced around Kailan's lab in agitation. His pacing didn't seem to bother the obliq or her assistant Elbeth. Probably he was getting on Antares' nerves, but he couldn't help it. He was sure she understood what he was feeling; she'd been emanating her own waves of frustration for a while now.

  "So what do we know?" he muttered with a twang. And at the same time he voiced a plaintive inward query, /Can't you help with this at all?/ But from the stones there was no answer; they seemed highly preoccupied. They hadn't been much help lately.

  "We know, star friend," said Kailan, answering his question, "that our Maw's reach extends up from the abyss, and down through the depths of the world—and now, you suggest, it reaches perhaps even beyond! That is more than I knew before—so do not be discouraged. And you have helped me understand three different instruments that were confounding me."

  Li-Jared stopped pacing and shivered. He was cold, and hungry, and the feeling of being eternally damp was driving him crazy. But he admired this Kailan and liked working with her. She was smart and determined, and for all the gaps in her scientific knowledge, he was stunned by how much she did grasp. And it was remarkable how closely some of the Neri instruments resembled equipment familiar to him from Home, and from Shipworld. Form followed function, he supposed. He had tried to explain the basic concepts of spatial distortion to Kailan—that the abyss thing didn't just shake the planet's crust open to draw water through, but rather, opened the very fabric of space-time to create the channel. But knowledge and language barriers had made it difficult. He hadn't found an adequate way to explain how the Maw might be distorting space-time in a far more dramatic fashion than just channeling water.

  He strongly suspected that the Maw had drawn the star-spanner bubble in from the stars like an iron flake to a magnet. No doubt the star-spanner had intended to put them here, but the Maw had provided the perfect homing beacon. And that was why they had landed so amazingly close to the Neri city.

  "Li-Jared, do you have any idea how far the thing's reach might extend?" Kailan asked, drawing him back to the present.

  Bwang. "No, Kailan—the instruments do not give that much information." He shook his fingertips in frustration, thinking, /I'll bet someone back on Shipworld knows, or has a pretty good idea, though—because they sent us here. Don't you have anything you can tell me?/

  The obliq studied his expression carefully, with those enormous eyes in a black rubber face. "I think I perceive some of what you are feeling," she murmured.

  Li-Jared cocked his head slightly, and felt his eye-slits tingle with electric fire, as myriad frustrations and hopes spun through his thoughts. Before he could answer, though, the silence was broken by Elbeth, who turned from a nearby comm unit. "A cargo sub has just returned from the salvage site with many sick and injured on board. Also Ik, John Bandicut, and a lander captive, in physical distress."

  "Lander captive!" Li-Jared said excitedly. "Are they—"

  "Who is in physical distress?" Antares cried. "Are Bandie and Ik all right?"

  "I do not know. I do not know," said Elbeth. "I will try to find out. But they've reported a strange encounter with a— machine—on the salvage wreck, possibly involving a connection with the Maw! They request that we come quickly."

  "Yes? Yes?" Li-Jared said excitedly, his weariness and frustration evaporating. "What sort of encounter? They must be all right if they want to tell us about it quickly! What did they say? When did it occur?"

  Elbeth made a helpless gesture. "I do not know. But the time? Well, it had to have been hours ago."

  "Ho?" Li-Jared raced to the console where he had been working, and urged Kailan to join him. "Can you bring back those readings from when we saw the fluctuation and the spike? Good, good. Now, can you superimpose a map with the location of the salvage site?"

  Kailan worked quickly at the console.

  "There it is!" Li-Jared jabbed excitedly at the display. "The field bends, and that's where the fluctuation starts! Whatever they found, it is connected to the Maw!"

  "Is that good or bad?" asked Antares. "Shouldn't we be getting over there right away?"

&n
bsp; "Yes, absolutely! I don't know if it's good or bad. But I do know we need to see Ik and Bandie. A sub! Kailan, can you get us a sub?"

  "Of course," said Kailan, pointing. Elbeth was already making the call. "We must all go, at once."

  *

  The lander was having difficulty again. Bandicut reached out and touched his arm one more time. Whatever benefit he and the quarx were providing, it seemed to last only as long as they maintained physical contact. There were too many physiological forces trying to squeeze the life out of the lander for them to be able to just nudge his healing systems in the right directions. And Bandicut couldn't keep this up indefinitely. /You know,/ he murmured to the quarx, /if it isn't possible to split off new daughter-stones, it occurs to me, what if . . ./ He hesitated. /Now, let me think about this for a second./

  The quarx waited a few moments, then said,

  /// I didn't want to suggest it. ///

  /What do you mean? Why not? Never mind, I know why. Still . . ./ He drew a deep breath, and said, /What if I were to let him use my stones for a while?/ Even as he said it, the thought made him shiver, thinking of all the ways that he depended upon his stones. He would feel helpless without them. But would he be, really? /Can I survive without them? What do the stones say?/

  /// They . . . don't rule the idea out.

  But they seem reluctant to commit to it. ///

  /Well, if they're reluctant—/ He could feel himself drawing away from the idea in relief. Then his eyes focused again on the lander, who would die if something wasn't done.

  /// There are risks.

  Your normalization offers some protection,

  against pressure and so on.

  But there is another danger, not so much to you

  as to the lander. ///

  /Huh? What's that?/

  /// Well, if their new host

  doesn't wish to give them up later,

  they might not be able to return

  without severe trauma. ///

  /Trauma to the lander—?/

  /// Yes. ///

  /—or to the stones?/

  /// Both.

  A bond must be formed, and while they will not

  forget their bond to you,

  you will have to give up a certain authority. ///

  Authority? he thought. Then he remembered the time on Shipworld when he had commanded the stones to leave him, just to see if they would obey. But if they would do that, would they not return to him here?

  /// I believe they will return,

  even if there is a conflict of will.

  But if the lander resists

  and the bond is severed unwillingly,

  it could— ///

  /Kill him?/ Bandicut felt the quarx's affirmation, and his own fear and doubt as he looked back at the lander. The creature was trembling; its eyes looked unfocused. Had he saved this creature's life, only to watch him die—either right here and now, or later, if the stones had to leave by force? No, he thought—that's not good enough. There has to be a way. /Could we transfer just one? Which stone does this sort of work?/

  /// Mainly the black one.

  But they can't really work separately. ///

  Bandicut swore silently. /If I give them both up, I won't be able to communicate with the Neri. What the hell good will I be to anyone then?/

  /// I don't know.

  I'll help as much as I can.

  For what that's worth. ///

  Bandicut swallowed and thought, Charlie's help is worth quite a lot. /Just tell them . . . I really, really want them to come back, okay?/ He turned to the Hraachee'an. "Ik," he murmured, "there's something I want to do. You're probably going to think I'm crazy . . ."

  *

  Crazy indeed, Ik thought, watching his friend. His own stones had refused to split for the lander, saying that it was not yet their time—and thus leaving it to Bandicut to take the chance. Ik felt a throbbing guilt, even though it was beyond his control. But here, in Bandicut, was a being who knew how to take the long view. Willing to risk his life, his future—his voice-stones—to save a being whom the Neri regarded as an enemy. Someone ought to compose a song about it someday, Ik thought. It was an act of compassion. But it was more than that, he knew. It was a calculated gamble. Maybe not calculated consciously; but it was calculated somewhere in that human's soul—to do whatever it took to bring these two races together. Or at least get them to stop killing each other.

  Ik approved of the goal. But he was terrified of the risk to his friend.

  He dared not speak a word of warning. Bandicut knew the risks. Now he needed only courage.

  The human raised his wrists to the lander's head. L'Kell and two other Neri were watching silently. Bandicut's attention had turned inward. Ik had watched him do this once before, on a train in Shipworld; but then, it had been a rash experiment, a demonstration, in a place of relative safety. Ik could only guess how much the human might be depending on the stones for his survival here in the crushing depths.

  There were two small twinkles, one on each of Bandicut's wrists. Then answering flashes on the sides of the lander's neck. Bandicut slumped suddenly, wrists dark. "John?" Ik called. The human was still conscious, eyes open, but obviously drained of energy. The lander started, its breath rasping in its windpipe like a saw. It jerked its gaze around wildly, its eyes seeming to spin. It clawed at the sides of its neck, where the stones had imbedded themselves.

  "John!" Ik said more loudly, and was startled to hear his voice sound distinctly unHraachee'an. His own voice-stones were transforming his speech into the human's language.

  Bandicut blinked with difficulty, looking up at Ik, then at the lander as if for the first time. He raised a trembling hand. He seemed to realize that the lander might hurt himself trying to claw the stones out. Ik started to move to restrain the lander, then thought, better if Bandicut intervened. "Stop him," Ik urged.

  Bandicut grunted, and leaned forward, reaching for the lander's hands. There was a flash of movement, and Bandicut's hands were caught in the lander's pincer grip. He howled in pain. The lander jerked reflexively and let go. Bandicut swore, bent over his bleeding right hand, and barked something that Ik's voice-stones struggled to interpret. The lander jerked his head—as if he had heard, and perhaps even understood, Bandicut's words. Or maybe the intent, if not the words. He brought his hands to his chest, away from Bandicut, away from his own neck. And he stared in astonishment. There was no ambiguity now. Ik could read the astonishment in the lander's eyes.

  "Can you hear me?" Ik asked.

  "Whhhhum!" said the lander, furrowing his facial skin. He was still breathing with difficulty, and obviously fighting an urge to scratch at the stones. But as Ik watched, he saw the intensity of the expression slowly subside, and the lander's breathing grow just a bit easier. The stones were probably preoccupied with trying to ease the lander's physical distress. Ik decided to hold off a few minutes on trying to communicate.

  Bandicut was looking worse—disconcerted by the loss of translation, no doubt, but probably more than that. Loss of the protective forcefields, for one thing. Normalized or not, who knew how much work the stones had to do to keep him healthy, if not actually alive. Bandicut was starting to shiver, and he looked a little frightened. "Are you all right, Bandie?" Ik asked softly. Human words again.

  Bandicut looked puzzled, then nodded painfully.

  "Whhhummll," muttered the lander, looking from Ik to Bandicut and back. Ik felt his voice-stones twinging and tickling in his temples. "Uummlll. I . . . better . . . why . . . ?" said the lander.

  "Hrahh, it will become clear," Ik said. "You must be patient." But there's hope. There's hope, there's hope . . .

  *

  For Bandicut, hope was gone. He'd thought he was prepared to lose his stones, but he was wrong. He was cold, he was frightened, he felt as if he'd been struck deaf and dumb, and the half mile of ocean over his head suddenly weighed on his spirit like nothing he had ever known. He felt a massive lo
ss of strength and will. He was still aware of what was going on, though, and understood what was happening to the stones. He was glad to see the lander look more alive.

  But only a little glad. His hand where the lander had pinched it was aflame. Ik's voice, even transformed by the Hraachee'an's stones for his benefit, sounded foreign, garbled, alien. Alien, he thought. How long had it been since he had thought of his friend Ik as alien?

  He tried to reassure Ik that he was okay, but in truth he felt half dead, removed from this realm of being, as though he had just gone through one of the shadow-people's fractal shifts.

  /// This feels very strange . . . ///

  /You're here? Thank God you're here./

  /// Oh yes. But it's not the same.

  It's just not . . . ///

  Bandicut closed his eyes. /Don't you start. There's no room for both of us to be moaning, complaining, whin—/

  /// Don't say it—not whining.

  It's perfectly normal confusion. ///

  /Yah./

  At that moment, the lander leaned toward him, ears cocked and pointed, eyes brighter than he had yet seen them. The lander said something incomprehensible.

  "Yes?" Bandicut grunted. At least this was progress.

  Ik spoke in a rumbling voice. At first he was impossible to understand; then his words changed to that alien-sounding English. "It is working, John. The lander . . . understands me. It says . . . are the stones for it . . . to keep?"

  Bandicut blinked in confusion. Was that what he had just answered yes to? "Tell it no—it's just for the time being. Just for now." And what am I going to say if it doesn't want to give the stones back?

  /// You can't worry about that.

  That's the stones' problem. ///

  /Can't worry?/

  /// Shouldn't worry. ///

  "John," said Ik. "John!"

  He raised his eyes.

  "Li-Jared and Antares! They're on their way!"

  "That's . . . wonderful," he whispered. And he meant it, somewhere down in the depths of his soul. But something else was happening down there, too . . . something stirring in the darker, hidden places . . . and now rising up, and beginning to gibber in strange voices . . .