Alien Nation #1 - The Day of Descent

by Judith Reeves-Stevens

  “Well, Hambli, I understand that you want to help your parents. Is that true?”

  By now Hambli had her hands pressed tight against her mouth and could only nod in the Overseer’s embrace. That’s it, Buck thought. She’s used protein for sure.

  “Well, that’s an admirable thing to want to do,” D’wayn said earnestly. “It’s a good thing to care for your family.” She glanced at the rest of her charges. “Isn’t it, boys and girls and binnaum-ta?”

  The children nodded, and Buck relaxed. Hambli wasn’t going to end up in the vats after all. He could see the lesson that D’wayn was about to teach. It was taught to all in the Watcher Youth Brigade.

  “But you know,” the Overseer continued to the little girl lost in her arms, “I don’t think you know just who your real family is. Take your parents, for example. They aren’t your real parents.”

  Hambli’s eyes looked as if they might explode.

  “No, no, no,” the Overseer said kindly. “We just found out about it a few shifts ago. Your real parents were brave Overseers who fought valiantly in the Tromus IV mine rebellion. The bad male and female who you think are your parents killed your real mother and father and then stole you when you were no more than a podling.”

  Buck could see drool running down Hambli’s chin from her open mouth. She had stopped shaking, completely enraptured by the Overseer’s melodious voice.

  “And you know why that bad male and female did that, spotty head? Do you?”

  Hambli bowed her head quickly.

  “Because . . . they wanted to trade your protein for extra food rations!”

  The younger children gasped. To encourage full reuse of all supplies, everyone on the ship was entitled to get as many extra ration credits as they could by bringing unclaimed waste to the recycling stations. For some reason Buck had yet to understand, that led many parents to make jokes about trading in misbehaving children at the stations the same way they might trade in uneaten meatgrowth for fresh slabs. And Buck had heard from many other kids who claimed that they knew someone who had a brother or a sister who had been recycled by desperate parents. He had never really believed those stories, but if an Overseer said it was true . . . who really knew?

  “And that’s why we asked you to come out on this tour,” D’wayn said to the girl. “Because we know that you’re much better than your pretend parents. And you deserve to know who your real family is.” She let the child slide gently from her arms and deposited her safely on the catwalk. “So you’re absolutely right to want to look after your family. That’s a very good thing. But—you have to know who your real family is.” D’wayn gazed down at the small child. “Do you know who your real family is now?” she asked.

  Hambli nodded.

  “Then tell me,” D’wayn said.

  “The Overseers,” Hambli whispered, barely making the click at the end of the word.

  D’wayn clapped her hands, and some of the children around her jumped up and down excitedly, making the catwalk rattle and tremble. Just as there were few things worse than an angry Overseer, there were few things better than a happy Watch Leader.

  “Very good, little Hambli! Very, very good!” D’wayn slipped a hand into the opening of her tunic, looking for something. “I just knew you were so much smarter than those bad, bad people who stole you from your real parents. I just knew it.” With a flourish she drew out a small green wriggling form that Buck recognized as a tadlin. He had loved those when he had been a child, and, like all real, unprocessed food on the ship, they were only available to the Overseers.

  “Go ahead,” D’wayn said to the child. “Take this treat for being such a good good girl, and we’ll have a long talk about your parents later. Okay?”

  Hambli tentatively brought the twitching creature to her lips. Buck saw her whisper a few quick words to thank Celine for this gift and bless the tadlin, and then she hungrily placed it in her mouth and sucked hard. Her delighted grin was contagious, and the other children began asking for treats as well.

  As D’wayn doled them out Buck wondered how it could come to pass that people so evil as to steal a podling would then turn out to be the type of parents who would teach their child to say the blessings of Celine. It was a big ship, and there was still a great deal he didn’t understand.

  Vornho nudged Buck as the tadlin-ta were passed out. “I thought she was going to be tomorrow’s extrusion,” Vornho said.

  “Me, too,” Buck agreed.

  Vornho kept his eyes on the young girl. “I wonder if we’re related.”

  “You and Hambli?” Buck asked.

  “Yeah. My real parents were Overseers. They got killed on Tromus IV, too.” Vornho nodded at the thought, even though Buck quickly realized that the math didn’t work out. Hambli was eight. Vornho was eleven. Surely he’d remember if his parents had been killed when he was three. After all, if they had been Overseers, he would have been raised in better quarters, with better food and—

  “So, have you two calmed down a bit?” D’wayn asked as she came over to them again. The rest of the children happily sucked and chewed their tadlin-ta. A few leaned over the railing and spit bones into the vats, laughing as the workers desperately tried to fish them out with stirring paddles. If the contamination levels were too high on any batch, the workers had to go without food rations until a replacement batch had been cultured—a process that could take up to twenty shifts.

  Vornho squared his shoulders. “I apologize for disturbing the tour, Watch Leader.”

  Buck said the same.

  But D’wayn waved her hand, dismissing their words. “There’s nothing wrong with a little boisterousness from time to time. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties, correct?”

  Buck and Vornho nodded, two bodies with a single mind.

  “And how are those duties progressing, boys?” Her smile left her. “Anything to report?”

  Before Buck could speak, Vornho jumped in. “I overheard two water workers talking about diverting some flow to . . . uh, level fifty-seven,” he said.

  D’wayn looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fifty-seven? You’re sure about that?” Vornho nodded. “Do you know their names?”

  “No, but I’d recognize them again. Their quarters are near the sawtel hall by my crèche.”

  “You two like to play sawtel, do you?” the Overseer asked.

  “A lot!” Vornho said.

  “A little,” Buck confessed. Using a stick to hit a ball through an overhead net struck him as a waste of time, but he didn’t want to appear too different from the others. Moodri had told him that that was important, too—not standing out.

  “Maybe this will help your games go a bit better, then,” D’wayn said. She pulled two small packets from her tunic and handed one to each boy.

  Vornho and Buck took the packets with trembling hands. Though they had never seen it before, from the distinctive iridescent purple luster of the small lozenges that lay within the crinkly transparent wrap they knew exactly what it was.

  “What do you think?” D’wayn asked them. “Are you old enough?” Then she laughed as they earnestly nodded. “Well, don’t take it here. You run off now. Give it a try, see what you think. Maybe find yourself a good game of sawtel. Or a girl who’s . . . sleema. You understand sleeeema, don’t you?”

  Buck had never heard an adult use the word with that intonation before. He assumed it was play hall talk. Just for kids. But he knew what it meant—a girl who would couple for reasons other than those that had to do with bonding. It was hard to imagine that such females existed, but Vornho said he had a friend who knew someone who—

  “So what are you waiting for?” D’wayn said, pointing back along the catwalk with her prod. “I can handle these podlings on my own. You two go enjoy yourselves, and I’ll see you at the luff crèche in two shifts.”

  The boys turned to leave, both clutching their crackling packets in tight fists.

  “Oh, and Vornho,” D’wayn said abruptly. �
�Level fifty-seven? You’re certain that’s where the flow was to be diverted?”

  “Yes, Watch Leader.”

  “Good work,” D’wayn said. Then she looked directly at Buck. “We could use more of it.”

  The boys bowed, uncertain what other response might be expected. But apparently nothing else was required. D’wayn waved her prod again and then went back to her charges, who were busily tormenting the vat workers below.

  As one, Buck and Vornho ran back along the catwalk. They didn’t stop running till they came to a ’ponics hall and ducked into a passageway that ran between two towering walls of transparent crystal. Beyond the walls multicolored sleefa plants grew from an intricate network of crystal pipes that carried water and nutrients. The soft rush of the water and the transparent walls made this a good place to have private conversations—no one could get close enough to overhear a whispered exchange without being seen. Only here did Buck and Vornho dare unclench their fists and gaze at the prizes their Watch Leader had given them.

  Vornho tightened his lips and gave off a short ultrasonic whistle. Buck tapped the packet in his palm, feeling the shape of the purple lozenge, wondering if he had the courage to unseal it.

  But Vornho had no doubts. He split the packet and held the lozenge between two fingers. It glittered in the bright life-giving lights that flooded the ’ponics hall. The pure ultraviolet blended in with the other frequencies was beginning to make Buck feel light-headed.

  “This is amazing, Finiksa. This is . . .” Vornho’s teenage vocabulary apparently was exhausted as he contemplated the wonders that the lozenge could bring.

  “Eemikken.” Buck said quietly.

  The Overseers’ drug. That which gave them their power. The antidote to the holy gas of obedience.

  “Open yours,” Vornho said. “Let’s take it together.”

  Reluctantly Buck split the packet.

  Vornho stared at his friend in amazement. “What’s wrong with you, siiks? Don’t you know what this means? It means the holy gas will have no effect on us. It means we can say no if we want to. It means we can do whatever we choose whenever we choose to do it. Andarko! We can even do what D’wayn said—find some sleema females and couple, Finiksa.” He waited for some indication that Buck might share the excitement he felt, then frowned, stuffed the lozenge in his mouth, and swallowed.

  Vornho took some deep breaths, looking around the ’ponics hall. His dry scalp almost glowed pink and brown under the intensity of the sleefa feeding lights. He gestured at the lozenge in Buck’s hand. “If you don’t take that, I will.”

  “It’ll only last for half a shift or so,” Buck said.

  “We’re only Watcher Youth,” Vornho sighed greedily. “When we get to be Overseers, we can take it all the time. They all do.”

  “Not ‘when,’ ” Buck said as he brought the lozenge to his lips. “By taking this, we are Overseers.”

  “Then act like one.”

  Buck placed the lozenge on his tongue. It had no taste.

  “Tastes great, doesn’t it?” Vornho asked.

  Buck shrugged, then swallowed.

  “Yeah, I can feel it working already.” Vornho pounded on his chest. “Andarko! It makes the air smell different. I can’t even smell the holy gas, not that it’s been too strong this shift.”

  Buck inhaled deeply. The holy gas had never had much of a smell to him. He had never been able to tell when the concentration of it was being adjusted the way some of his friends could. And he noticed no difference now.

  “I feel great!” Vornho exclaimed. He clapped Buck on his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get over to a plaski hall and find some girls. I heard that you can get a mat room all to yourself if you know whose spots to cross.”

  Vornho bounded forward without waiting for Buck’s reply. Which was just as well, because Buck had no reply to give. He had no idea how coupling could take place without bonding. He didn’t even know why anyone would want to. If you couldn’t do it like Celine and Andarko, what was the point?

  He decided Vornho’s enthusiasm must have something to do with the eemikken. Maybe in addition to blocking the effects of the holy gas the drug made it possible to couple in a purely physical way, like malsina could. It was a big ship. Who knew? Perhaps the eemikken could even clear his mind enough so he would understand everything Moodri told him in their secret meetings. Buck decided he would like that and waited with more eagerness for the drug to take effect.

  Twenty minutes later at a plaski hall, as Vornho engaged in heated negotiations with a maintenance worker for the private use of a mat room, Buck was very aware of the explosive change that had come over his friend. Vornho browbeat the old binnaum in charge of the hall forcefully, without patience or politeness. Buck decided he would not enjoy wrestling with his crèche mate when he acted in this manner. A single finger in the armpit was one thing in play, but Vornho looked as if he would no longer know when to stop.

  Vornho got the mat room in exchange for the clear wrap the eemikken lozenges had come in—an exchange in which Buck saw no advantage, other than freeing the binnaum from having to continue talking with the obnoxious boy. Then Vornho came over to Buck, keeping his eyes on a group of young females about his own age who were cooperating in bouncing a set of sawtel balls off a wall in intricate patterns.

  Now Vornho behaved as if he had been under the feeding lights for a hundred shifts, speaking expansively and bouncing from foot to foot as if ready to start a race. “This stuff is great, Finiksa. Do you feel it the way I do? I mean, it’s almost as if the light is brighter in here, or as if I can see farther down the corridors, hear things more clearly. No wonder the Overseers know everything that’s going on.”

  As far as Buck could tell, the dim lighting was no different now than it had been in the past eleven years. The cramped and narrow corridors still stretched out into mist-obscured points, and the background rush and rumble of fans and pumps and three hundred thousand Tenctonese going about their lives in a volume of the ship suitable for a third that number sounded just the same as it always had.

  “Well?” Vornho asked.

  “Actually,” Buck said, deciding on his strategy, “I think it’s upset my stomach. I’m feeling a little sick.”

  Vornho’s mouth dropped open in disappointment. “Finiiiiksa. Look at the females over there. See the one with the ear valleys? The really curved pair?” Vornho crossed his hands over his chest and thumped his hearts in a crude rendition of a lover’s greeting. “How low do you think her spots go?”

  Buck knew he would have to leave. He wouldn’t be able to talk Vornho out of what he wanted to do, and Buck wanted no part of it. “I’m going to have to go back to the crèche,” Buck said, trying to sound ill.

  “You’re missing a real opportunity,” his crèche mate said. “Who knows when D’wayn will give us another dose and we’ll be able to feel this way again?”

  Buck didn’t know what his friend was speaking about. The eemikken had had no flavor and no effect. Either Vornho was imagining things, or D’wayn was trying out a trick on them and had only handed out one real dose of the drug. Whatever was going on, Buck didn’t want to be involved.

  “I really have to go,” he said, and with that final protest he could see that Vornho was glad to be rid of him so he wouldn’t be able to spoil the fun he had planned.

  “I’ll tell you everything that happens,” Vornho said. “I’m not going to waste a chance to feel like an Overseer.” Then he began to swagger over to the females without even raising a single knuckle in good-bye.

  Buck turned away and headed through the corridors for his crèche. If this was what it felt like to be an Overseer, he thought, then what was the advantage? He felt no different now than he had on any other day of his life.

  He’d have to ask Moodri what that meant.

  Moodri knew everything.

  I N T E R L U D E

  SOMETIME IN THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES, Matthew Sikes realized, the rain had stopp
ed, as if the whole world were holding its breath as it waited to find out what would happen next. It was the way he felt as well. And feeling that way, he could think of nothing else to do but keep driving. Through the city, through the night, toward the medical center where the ambulance had taken Susan and Emily, where George waited. No thinking. Just driving.

  Driving with an alien beside him . . .

  Sikes glanced to his right and saw Cathy Frankel fixed and rigid, staring straight ahead through the windshield. The passing headlights of cars and the dull orange flash of the streetlamps drew flickering arcs of light along the graceful sweep of her hairless, smooth, and spotted head.

  Graceful? Sikes thought. He glanced again at his across-the-hall neighbor, the Tenctonese female who troubled his dreams and, more and more in recent days, his waking thoughts. The inhuman lines of her gently rounded skull were graceful. Odd how that had never struck him before, or that he had never admitted it to himself. And the sensuous curve of her ear valleys, almost trailing into a gentle S . . . George had once told Sikes how seductive that was to a Tenctonese male, and Sikes could almost see why. The easy curve of it, the delicate fold, the shimmering sparkles of light caught along its soft ridges by a few shining beads of rain like dew on a flower. Dew on a flower? Sikes thought. Since when—

  AARRROOOOOOOGGGG!

  A deafening airhorn blast captured Sikes’s attention as if a thousand volts had shot through him, and he jerked the wheel of his sleek red Carralo to bring the car back across the double yellow lines and out of the path of an onrushing semi. The Carralo’s alignment just hadn’t been the same since his daughter’s crazy boyfriend had driven it over the median on Sunset Plaza.

  Yeah, that’s what went wrong, Sikes told himself with a gulp. I wasn’t distracted by Cathy. It was the damned car. He rubbed at his face, heart hammering, seeing Cathy stare at him from the corner of his eye.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. Her sweet voice, usually both light and husky, was strained by tension.

  “Yeah, sure, fine,” Sikes mumbled. “The guy musta been falling asleep at the wheel.”