The Chaos Chronicles

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  *

  Locking through to the sub's lower cabin pressure seemed to take forever. Antares and Li-Jared crouched together, decompressing, with no room to move or stretch. At last the hatch opened, and they climbed down into the cabin.

  Antares sensed at once that something was wrong—or at least different. Ik raised a hand in salute, and caution. An alien— the lander—sat on the other side of the cramped compartment. Between them, Bandicut sat reeling. Not visibly, but internally. It took her a moment to realize what was different; she felt it before she saw it. The stones. They were no longer glimmering in his wrists. She could feel his distress, the absence of the connection—and his physical discomfort, as well.

  She suddenly realized just how much the knowing-stones had been doing to maintain his, her, all of their well-being and comfort down here under the sea.

  "John Bandicut," she said, crouching close to him. "Are you all right?" She hesitatantly reached out to touch his arm with her fingertips. "John?"

  Her words must have been reaching his ears as foreign sounds. She felt a sudden sharp pang of regret for not having joined her stones to his when he'd made the offer. The stones were able to translate well, in concert with other stones, but alone, they lacked sufficient knowledge of the human's native tongue to reproduce the sounds.

  Bandicut blinked at her, and cocked his head. His eyes didn't look right. Something was definitely wrong.

  Antares felt a twinge of her own fear and blocked it away from Bandicut. She looked up, turning. "What's happened, Ik?"

  "He gave his stones to the lander," Ik replied. "The adjustment is proving very hard for him."

  "This is more than just a hard adjustment." Waves of confusion and fear were welling up from the human. "He is having a very bad reaction of some kind." She placed her hand flat against his upper arm, her three long fingers pointed up toward his shoulder. "Bandie, can you hear me?" she said softly. "John?"

  His eyes flickered. He groaned.

  "He has," Ik said, "spoken on occasion of something called—" rasp "—'silence-fugue,' a difficulty of the mind that afflicts him from time to time. I wonder if this could be it."

  Antares hummed in answer. The translation of the word was uncertain. But it was clear that whatever was happening now was threatening to overwhelm her human friend. Perhaps there was something she could do. "Bandie," she murmured, "perhaps you cannot understand my words right now. But I hope I can help you to calm yourself, to regain mastery over your inner self. I will do what I can."

  She half-closed her eyes, and began reaching out with that unseen extension of her being, touching and soothing the human's raw emotions that were turning more and more to fear.

  Chapter 23

  Stones of Fire

  BANDICUT'S MIND WAS afire with silence-fugue. The hallucinations were all inner visions now—not aliens attacking from the outside, but creatures and vapors crawling through the pathways of his mind. There was no place to go, no place to hide. He was shivering, burning with fear. Charlie was supposed to be here to help him, but someone had unplugged her. No, not Charlie. Char. Where was she? He heard a distant echo, and wondered if that was Char. He wanted her back, needed her.

  /// I'm here, John, but I . . . ///

  A distant voice. /Please come back,/ he whispered. /Wherever you are./ He wished he could see her in the flesh. Protect her from these voices, these beings. What sort of a woman would she be if she were human?

  /// John, I can't seem to find— ///

  No no no, this was all wrong. All wrong.

  /// It's as though— ///

  The creatures were drawing closer; he was keeping lower, hoping to stay invisible to them. /Trying,/ he whispered. /I'm trying to keep us safe. But can't you—?/

  /// Spinning, John. I'm spinning.

  I'm lost. I'm afraid. ///

  /Don't be afraid,/ he whispered, with a flicker of lucidity. /It's the fugue, there has to be some way . . . some way . . ./

  In the midst of the turmoil, he felt a sudden tingle, like a trickle of electricity moving up his arm. Then it became more diffuse, a warm flow, like a comforting bath coming over him. He couldn't quite figure it out; but in the face of it, the creatures of mist and vapor turned abruptly and fled. His eyes blinked open, closed; open, closed. He suddenly noticed Antares—when had she arrived?—and she seemed to be trying to say something to him. But he couldn't understand.

  /// No stones . . . ///

  /No stones? That's right . . ./

  And then he realized that this feeling of warmth had something to do with Antares. But how could that be? /Can you hear me?/ he whispered. /Antares?/ He shuddered, desperate for contact. He felt so lonely. So isolated. Except for that strange warmth. Was it Antares, reaching out to him? /Char? Char, is that Antares, trying to make contact?/

  /// Antares?

  Yes . . . she is touching us now . . . ///

  The quarx helped him to refocus his eyes. To see Antares, crouched in front of him. She was gazing intently at him, her hand on his left arm. That was where the tingle came from, the empathic contact. His faculties returned a little more, until he was able to open his mouth and use his vocal cords. "I, uhh . . . you came . . ." And those hoarse words seemed to pull him most of the rest of the way out of the fugue.

  But Antares' reply was garbled. Was he still in fugue, after all? Perhaps so. No. It wasn't fugue garbling her words, it was the loss of the stones. But he felt her presence distinctly now, touching him inwardly with the empathic balm of her connection. That was why she was here, why she was kneeling in front of him, calming him, trying to help him through the isolation and the silence-fugue.

  He raised a trembling hand, and she took it in hers, and she touched the darkened spot on his wrist where the daughter-stone had been.

  /// Yes, ///

  whispered the quarx at last, in response to Antares' presence, and he sensed great relief in the single word.

  *

  Watching his friends clustered around the lander, around Bandicut, Li-Jared felt at a loss as to what to do, how to help. Antares was helping; he could not even get close. Bandicut had apparently given up his stones, and was suffering through some terrible trauma. Li-Jared shivered, his thoughts distracted by memory. Memories of his homeworld: its night sky ablaze, the nearby plasma clouds lit by neighboring, energetically sputtering stars, beautiful and deadly. And the meteorite blast near his home: the ionic halo passing quickly, but leaving the stones of knowledge burned into his breast. The disorientation, trying to understand the stones—the bewildering linguistics, the stones' intentions, purpose, origins. The language barrier had passed quickly. The rest he was still trying to understand—the meaning of the stones' appearance, and their transformation of his life.

  And now . . . here was John Bandicut struggling to talk, to exist, without his stones. Why had he given them up?

  The whole business made Li-Jared very nervous.

  Ik leaned close and whispered, "John Bandicut is in a very difficult condition. We must help him all we can. I do not know if he can survive without his stones."

  "And the lander?" Li-Jared asked, looking at the alien. "Is it working?"

  Ik squinted. "I think so. He was near death, until John lent his stones."

  "But—if they both need stones—"

  "Hrrm. Exactly." Ik gazed at Li-Jared. "John's stones cannot split off new daughters, at least not yet." Ik muttered softly to himself. "I asked my own if they would."

  "And?" Li-Jared asked uneasily. He thought he sensed what was coming.

  Ik answered in a grave tone. "They were unwilling. Apparently they think they're needed somewhere else—or for someone else." Ik was no longer looking at Li-Jared now.

  But Li-Jared knew exactly what his friend was thinking. Who else among them had not yet contributed daughter-stones to the cause? He could feel the stones twinging in his breastbone.

  The very thought made his twin hearts race, and in none too great a synch with each
other. Was that what was expected of him? It made sense, certainly; it was logical. So why did the thought scare him? It was true he had never quite made his own peace with the stones and their role in his life; certainly he had never come to see himself as their master. And yet they were crucial to his life now. If he doubted it, all he had to do was look at John Bandicut. Suppose he asked his stones to split, and they left his body instead? That was it, he knew; that was the fear. He shuddered at the thought of all this alien ocean around him, without the stones to protect him. His two hearts banged seriously out of rhythm for a few moments before settling down again.

  He glanced again at Ik, and knew that Ik knew what he was thinking. He felt ashamed. He wanted to cast aside his fears and offer his stones up to this lander, so that Bandicut could have his back. But he could not make himself do it.

  The lander moved suddenly, and said something that he strained to understand. Groff "What do you—" homm "—want with—me—here?"

  Li-Jared glanced around to see who would respond. L'Kell was the one who should, but he was forward in the cockpit, talking to someone on the comm. Ik finally answered the lander's question. "We hope . . . that is, the Neri and those of us helping them . . . hope that we can speak with you. With your people."

  The lander's arms closed in front of its body. "Who—" hroff "—are the Neri?"

  Ik pointed to the nearest, one of the crew crouched in the entrance to the pilot's compartment. "He is one of the Neri. The sea-people." He cupped his hands. "L'Kell, I think you're needed." Ik brought his hands back to himself, pointing inward. "I am Ik, a visitor to this world." He gestured around. "This is John Bandicut, who lent you his stones. Antares. Li-Jared."

  Li-Jared gave a small gesture of greeting with his hands.

  The lander clearly was struggling to follow. "I am—" For a moment, further words seemed to fail him. Then he drew a breath and said, "Harding."

  "Harding," Ik repeated. "That is how we may address you? Good. Harding." He pointed around the room, repeating each name. "But . . . you must meet L'Kell, of the Neri. L'Kell?"

  The Neri leader had turned from the comm, and was now leaning out of the cockpit. "Is the captive talking?" He carefully stepped into the crowded compartment to stand facing the lander, who was still sitting on the floor, very much at a disadvantage. Not good, Li-Jared thought.

  Ik gestured, introducing L'Kell. "The lander's name is Harding."

  "Harding," L'Kell repeated. "Do you know, you are the first of your kind to enter our city? I am glad you can understand us. There is a lot we must talk about."

  Harding leaned forward slightly where he sat on the floor. "You called me . . . captive. What do you intend to do with me?" He seemed to show his teeth just a little more. Li-Jared felt Antares trying to maintain a soothing presence, but her efforts were having limited effect.

  L'Kell drew back slightly, as if trying to recall his words. "Perhaps I should have said, guest," he murmured. But his voice seemed to have a bite to it as he continued, "You must stay here for now. Until we can prepare a place for you."

  "Here," the lander repeated, with a slight hand movement. It was clear he might as well have said, jail.

  Li-Jared squinted at Bandicut, wondering how much of this the human was able to follow. John didn't look so good. "Bandie? Are you all right?"

  Bandicut's eyes flickered, probably responding more to the sound of the Karellian's voice, and the eye contact, than anything else. Li-Jared felt a pang. It was like watching an invisible force strike his friend deaf and dumb. Was this what it would be like for the rest of his life?

  *What you contemplate might be possible. But not without risk.*

  Li-Jared started. /What might be possible?/ he thought, closing his eyes.

  *To make contact. To divide. To share in the place of your friend's stones.*

  His hearts beat quickly. /And the risk?/

  *If the host is reluctant, or too fragile . . . it could do serious harm to the host. And to the other stones. And to us, if the feedback is too severe.*

  His hearts went out of synch again for a moment. /And if I don't, Bandie will stay like this. Or worse. Right? Do you have any other suggestions? Could you split and go to Bandie instead?/

  *He needs his own stones back, the stones that know him. But we are prepared for this risk, if you wish to try.*

  Li-Jared felt paralyzed, listening to the voices in the compartment around him, unable to open his eyes.

  If you wish to try.

  *

  It was a little like the way a bird must feel sitting on a high wire in a thunderstorm waiting for a lightning strike, Bandicut thought. It was not just the emotional trauma of losing the connection—like losing his neuro all over again—though he certainly had been flashing on that, over and over, in the eternity since he had given up the stones. It was also physical. He was shivering. And not just from cold: it was also the effects of high pressure, much higher than anything his body had been meant to withstand. Was he getting too much oxygen or too little? Probably too much, but he couldn't really tell. He felt himself flickering between euphoria and despondence. If something didn't happen soon, he would lose his mind and his body both.

  The fugue was gone, at least. But he was left with a hazy understanding of what was happening. Conversation with the lander. Harding. Antares gripping his hand, three slender fingers squeezing with surprising strength. Rising and falling empathic connection, waves of sensation. A rush of concern, fear, affection. A more controlled wave of reassurance, of calming. She was scared, scared for him. But she was also trained to submerge her own emotions, to listen and respond and reflect, according to the needs of the one in her sphere.

  /// She is . . . you know,

  she cares about you, John.

  She does.

  It would almost feel like love, I think,

  if she weren't . . . ///

  /It's not the time, Char, let's not think about that. If she weren't what?/

  /// She's conflicted. I can feel it.

  But she's trying very hard

  to pull you out of this, John,

  she's trying hard. ///

  He started to think of an answer, and couldn't, because he was suddenly aware that his breathing wasn't working quite right. Shallow, panting; that's not right. But he couldn't stop. Was something wrong with the air—?

  Beside him, the lander Harding had stopped talking to Ik or L'Kell or whoever it was, and turned his head to look at Bandicut. Did he see Bandicut's distress? Or had perhaps the stones noticed, realized the danger . . .

  There was another movement now, Li-Jared. Moving forward to crouch beside Antares. Peering at Harding. Peering at Bandicut.

  *

  Ik's attention had been divided between concern for John Bandicut and the need to foster communication between the lander and the Neri. Since Antares' and Li-Jared's arrival, he had been focused more on the latter. As they spoke, L'Kell seemed to absorb the fact that Harding might be not just a war captive, but a potential negotiator. But what was L'Kell really thinking—and what would Askelanda think? There were a lot of sick Neri, and angry Neri, who he supposed would be just as happy to see a lander captive fed to the pikarta.

  "L'Kell," Ik said, "if you and Harding could allow the stones to help you understand one another . . ."

  The Neri glanced at him, but it was the lander who spoke. "Are you the leader of these people?" he asked L'Kell.

  L'Kell made an unfamiliar gesture with his hands. "I am a leader. Perhaps later, you will speak to the one who leads all of my people."

  The lander gave a little shiver. "If I survive your bringing me to the bottom of the ocean."

  L'Kell answered with a rasp. "My greater concern is for my people who are sick and dying, killed by your people."

  Harding's head jerked a little. "That is not—"

  His words were interrupted by another Neri's arrival through the airlock. It was Hargel, who had attended them previously. "L'Kell," Hargel sa
id urgently, "we need Ik and Bandicut at once!"

  L'Kell gave him a sharp look.

  "The sick are worsening. Corono is trying, but some will certainly die soon, without the aliens' help."

  Ik sensed the tension in the Neri leader's face as he turned. "Are you able to assist?" he asked Ik.

  "I will do what I can. But John Bandicut, hrrm—" Ik peered at his friend. "John—are you able to—?" He stopped, stunned by the pain he saw, and the difficulty Bandicut was having breathing. "I'm afraid," he said to L'Kell, "that John Bandicut is one of the injured now. I do not know if he will live, without his stones."

  Ik turned back to Bandicut, and was startled to see Li-Jared reaching out to touch first Bandicut, then the lander.

  *

  It had all come in a rush to Li-Jared. The pain and confusion on the human's face, the concern radiating in waves from the Thespi, and now the need of the Neri. Not those in positions of power, but the Neri dying in the hold, or in the habitat.

  Li-Jared found himself crouching in front of Bandicut, listening to his labored breathing. "Bandie," he murmured. "Can you—" He paused, realizing that his words would not be understood. He turned to the lander, who was watching with an indecipherable expression. But Harding had the human's stones, and should be able to understand the words, at least. "Will you," Li-Jared said, twanging with nervousness, "allow me to save the life of the one who saved yours?"

  Chapter 24

  Turbulent Clarity

  BANDICUT'S THOUGHTS SLIPPED and drifted, then cleared just in time for him to notice the points of light flickering through the air. From Li-Jared to the lander. From the lander to him. Like liquid jewels spattering from one to another.

  His wrists burned. He watched stupidly as two marble-sized orbs of light shrank down to pinpoints and embedded themselves in his wrists, diamond-white on the right and black fire on the left. He suddenly felt faint, as though from the pain. Dizzy. He struggled to hold on. It was not the pain; it was the stones reconnecting . . .

  /// It's working— ///

  "John, are you—"