by Simon Hawke
"Take it easy, O'Toole," said Breck. "You're safe enough for now. Mondago and Coles managed to override Chameleon's signal. Besides, you'll be all right so long as Tali's with you. She's the one who saved you. If it wasn't for her, Mondago and Coles would never have been in time."
"What would have happened?" I said, not sure that I really wanted to know.
"You would have died," said Breck. "Along with everyone who was tuned into you."
What had saved Breck was his hybreed brain-his phenomenal powers of concentration and his iron will. And even at that, he had been through an ordeal. Because Tyla had told her people that he was a "warrior," Dyla had chosen to let Breck cope with the assault all on his own, partly because she had not wanted to offend his "warrior pride" and partly because she wanted to see how the attack progressed and how he dealt with it. The concept of telepathic warfare was something new to them. They were both appalled and fascinated.
Chameleon had used his biochip to tap into one of Psychodrome's playermaster satellites and launch a telepathic attack directed by tachyon beam. He (at least we thought of Chameleon as a "he," though ambimorphs did not seem to have gender) had prepared for us with a series of experimental satellite contacts and transmissions. By the time Coles and his people had realized what was going on, there had been thousands of casualties.
Reluctantly, Tali agreed to "release" me so that Mondago could contact me through my biochip. That, in itself, was an unsettling development-the fact that Tali could cut me off from Game Control. Ironically, despite all the paranoid feelings I had about having lost my mental privacy, I had grown accustomed to the idea of having Coles and his people there all the time. Suddenly, with them gone, I felt somehow naked and exposed. It was at the same time both interesting and frightening to realize how dependent on them I had unconsciously become. And it was also highly disturbing to think that this young, incredibly beautiful alien female, who seemed so outwardly primitive and youthfully naive, could so easily slip into my mind and, as Breck had put it, "insulate" me from all of Psychodrome's hi-tech wizardry. Coles found it highly disturbing, too.
During the tribal meeting, Tali had realized that something was drastically wrong with us, as had Dyla, Tyla, and every other Nomad female with enough telepathic abilities to sense the assault Chameleon had launched against us. I had slipped into something resembling a coma-the time compression phenomenon I had experienced before-and everything had simply stopped for me as Chameleon's mental assault was transmitted through my biochip. In a way, it was like the calm before a storm. I had sort of "phased out" for a short while. And then my mind had started screaming.
The very idea of telepathic communication being used offensively to harm another being so shocked the Nomads that at first they hesitated, confused by what was happening. Then Tali did an unprecedented thing. Sensing my psychic agony more strongly than any of the others, and thereby empathizing more, she reached out to me telepathically-using their most intimate form of contact to commune with a total stranger. And an alien, at that. Of course, Tyla had communed telepathically with Higgins, but he was no longer a stranger to her by then and even so, she had waited until after their bonding. In terms of tribal customs and beliefs, what Tali had done was unprecedented and scandalous, but then they had never before been confronted with a mind being flayed "before their eyes."
That was when they had cut us off. Tali had reached out to my mind and "insulated" me from the incoming tachyon signal. Dyla, the matriarch, had followed her lead and done the same for Breck-only that hadn't ended it. In effect, they had neutralized a weapon after it had already been fired. The ammunition had already hit its target.
Chameleon had broadcast to us a telepathic imperative to kill ourselves. Tali had cut me off from the broadcast, but my mind had already received the message and been programmed. Breck still had enough presence of mind to fight the terrible directive. Dyla had sensed his awesome willpower and allowed him to wage the struggle on his own while the entire tribe watched his silent conflict with himself. I was not a "warrior" and was considerably weaker, so to counteract my programmed impulse to destroy myself, Tali had chosen to fight with the strongest impulse she could engender in me-the procreative urge.
She had blasted me with the overwhelming sexual stimulus of a Nomad female triggering her mate and while I was dizzy with lust, she had thrown me over her shoulder and carried me away, because once a Nomad female had started, there wasn't any way to stop. I was thankful for small blessings. At least we hadn't done it in front of the entire tribe.
Afterward, she had gently healed my psychic wounds with' a balm of very selective, telepathically induced amnesia. From the moment the assault had started to the moment I awoke with Breck looking down at me, it was almost a total blank. I did not remember the agonies Chameleon had inflicted on me, but a lot of other people weren't so lucky.
The game had become truly deadly, not only for the players, but for the home audience, as well. Mondago's scanners had gone right off the scale. Game Control had clipped the broadcast signal the moment they realized what was going on, but they were too late for a large segment of the audience.
"The fail-safe biomonitors built into the psy-fi systems were never designed for this eventuality." Mondago's voice seemed to echo in my mind while Tali eavesdropped on our conversation, listening to Mondago telepathically and hearing me respond to him out loud. "They were designed to measure physical stress, not psychic disturbance. A glaring and fatal flaw in the design."
"So you're saying they were useless," I said.
"Not entirely useless," Mondago replied. "Our ratings indicate that the majority of those people tuned into you and Breck were saved when their psychic distress resulted in physical symptoms that registered on their fail-safe biomonitors, which immediately caused their psy-fi systems to shutdown. Unfortunately, a segment of the home audience retained a deep residual psychic imprintation after their systems had shut down and there was no way for us to reach them. Many of them committed suicide."
"How many?" I said.
"We don't know yet. The figures are still coming in."
"Damn it, Mondago, how many so far? And what's the breakdown?"
Us hesitated. "I see no purpose in going into that right now."
"Damn it, Mondago, tell me!"
"Thousands," he reluctantly admitted.
"And the breakdown?"
"Really, O'Toole, there is no need to-"
"Answer me!"
I could feel him sigh. "The majority of the suicides so far have been among those in the home audience who were tuned into your channel," said Mondago. "The percentage figures currently are at 86.3, but the programming analysis department isn't sure how much of that is due to the fact that Breck was better able to stand up to the assault than you were and how much is due to demographics."
"Demographics?" I said.
"They think that the more sensitive individuals among our home audience might have been tuned in to you, because of a greater affinity they'd have for you as opposed to Breck. However, I hasten to add that this is only speculation on their part and not supported by any hard data, so please don't try to take any of this on yourself. It was not your fault. Nor are you the only one that this has happened with. There have been other incidents."
"You mean with Chameleon attacking the home audience through other players?" I said.
"Yes, " replied Mondago. ' 'But to date, you and Breck are the only ones who have survived.''
"That's it, then," I said. "It's gone far enough. Too far. If Chameleon can assimilate a biochip and learn to do this, so can other ambimorphs. You've got to shut down. You have to tell Coles to stop the game."
"That would be impossible."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"O'Toole, you have no idea what you're suggesting," said Mondago. "The game has become an integral part of society in many more ways than one. It isn't merely a function of public entertainment. It's much more."
"Yes, I kn
ow exactly how much more it is," I said bitterly. "It's about control, isn't it?"
"To be completely honest with you, yes, in part," Mondago said. "But only in part. It's also about facilitating communication between Earth and the colony worlds. The playermaster satellite network and tachyon relay stations are used for much more than just the game. Moreover, people need the game. The home audience has grown pathologically dependent on it."
"A dependency that Psychodrome has been exploiting," I said.
"True," Mondago admitted. "But we did not create that dependency. We merely fulfilled a need; we did not engender it."
"That's a little like saying a pusher only provides the drugs, he doesn't make you take-them."
"The point is arguable. And also irrelevant. The game is necessary to keep the public entertained-"
"And under control," I said.
"The game is necessary to maintain the lines of communication in our society," he continued, as if I hadn't spoken, "and the game is necessary for our security. Besides, even if it were possible to shut down Psychodrome, it would not eliminate the threat. The shapechangers would still-be among us, free to strike out anytime and anywhere, at will. Psychodrome is our only means to fight them. The game must continue, no matter what the cost."
"Then at least you've got to warn the people," I said. "Go public with this. Tell them what's going on!"
"We've done that right from the beginning, remember?" said Mondago wryly.
"But you sold it to them as if it were part of the game!" I protested.
"But it is part of the game," Mondago said. "We've been playing it as if it were for real all along. If we were to go public with it now, they d simply think it was part of the fantasy scenario, that we were manipulating death statistics to make it appear as if a spate of unrelated recent suicides came about as a result of an ambimorph attack. They'd think we were incorporating real-life events into a fantasy adventure, as we've always done. We've been presenting them with fantasy scenarios and playing them as if they were for real for so long that no one would accept it if we said, 'Yes, but this time we really mean it.' It would be like the boy who cried wolf. We've even fooled the news media in the past and they 're still smarting over it. They no longer take us seriously, which was precisely our intent, because we wanted to keep them from finding out what was behind the entertainment programming. How could we convince them now? Could we produce an ambimorph? No, they'd never believe it without proof. But even if we could make them believe it, the result would be an absolute disaster. Total chaos. Imagine the panic it would cause. Think of all the innocent people who would die as a result. No one would know who was really human anymore. We'd have mass psychosis. Paranoia on an unimaginable scale."
"So what the hell are we supposed to do?" I said, feeling utterly powerless.
"Continue with the game," Mondago said. "Believe me, the public is better off not knowing the truth. So long as they think it's just a game, we can use the game as a cover. And we can use the audience, as well, tuning in on them while they're tuning in on you."
"And how long do you think you can get away with that?" I said.
"As long as necessary," Mondago replied. "And in the meantime, we're anxious to find out more about the natives of Purgatory. Coles would like you to bring one of these Nomads back with you for observation."
I glanced at Tali. Mondago realized that she was listening, of course. "What Coles would like and what Coles will get might be two very different things," I said. "The Nomads are free to make their own choices. And if they choose to stay here, I'm not going to argue with them. For that matter, you're liable to have a problem with Higgins, too. Seems he doesn't think having a biochip implanted in his brain is the great boon you guys always say it is. Grover Higgins is a very independent man and he's got his own agenda in these matters."
"I see," Mondago said, after a moment. "And what does Mr. Grover Higgins want?"
"I think he'd probably be happy with that quarantine you spoke about, for starters. It would serve to keep out the industrial consortiums. And I imagine he'd like a xenobiology research station to be established here, under his authority. I think you can probably work out a deal with him whereby the company would be able to use his facility to study the ambimorph problem in return for some considerations."
"We intended to put the quarantine in place anyway," said Mondago. "And we certainly don't need Mr. Higgins to establish our own research facility on Purgatory."
"True," I said, "but without him, you won't get the cooperation of the Nomads."
"You can inform Mr. Higgins that we'll be happy to give him what he wants," Mondago said, "subject to one condition."
"What is it?"
"That he return with you for debriefing with at least one Nomad to accompany him."
"Come on, he'll never agree to that, Mondago," I said. "It's not fair to ask him that."
"Fairness has nothing to do with it,-O'Toole," Mondago said. "We are at war and we cannot find the enemy. Apparently, the Nomads can. We'd like to find out how."
Tali touched my arm. I glanced at her.
"I will go back with you," she said.
"No, Tali," I said. "I can't allow it."
"O'Toole-"
"Stay out of this, Mondago! Tali, listen to me. I don't think you realize what you're offering to do. You have a position of responsibility in the tribe. You have a family. If you went back to Earth with us, I couldn't say when you'd return. Or even if you would return."
"O'Toole, are you deliberately trying to frighten-"
"I said, stay out of this or I'll ask her to cut you off again!" Mondago fell silent. "Tali, I'm trying to say that I couldn't guarantee your safety if you went back with us. I have no idea what Coles might decide to do with you."
"If I went with you, it would help my people," she said. "The human settlements that foul the air and break the land, Mondago and this man Coles could make them stop?"
"Tali, it's possible that you could make them stop," I said. "If you can enter my mind the way you do, then maybe all of you working together could-"
"O'Toole, what you're doing could be considered treason," said Mondago sharply.
"So charge me," I said. "I'd love to see this one go to court."
Tali was shaking her head. "No, O'Toole," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Humans must make the humans stop. Humans must decide. It would be wrong for us to do to humans what the false one did to you."
"The false one?" said Mondago.
"It's what they call the ambimorphs," I explained.
"I see,” he said. "Do I take it, then, that we have a volunteer?"
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I guess it seems that way. But you can tell Coles that if anything happens to my wife, he'll answer to me."
"Your wife?" Mondago said. "That native, uh, woman with you is your wife?"
"Breck didn't tell you?" I said.
"No, he didn't." I could sense the puzzlement in his voice. "I ... I suppose congratulations are in order."
I grinned. "Thank you, Tolliver. And now if you don't mind, I'd like to resume my honeymoon, so I'll ask Tali to cut us off again. If anything important comes up, I' 11 let you know."
"Wait! O'Toole, I -"
But Tali had already slammed my mental shutters down and he was gone. I chuckled. Let him sweat it out. And let Coles bite his fingernails down to the bone, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
"O'Toole," said Tali, "what is 'hon-i-moon'?"
"Oh," I said, feeling flustered, "well, it's . . . it's . . . "
"I understand," she said, reading my mind. "A human bonding ceremony."
"Well, yes, I guess that's as good a way of putting it as any."
"You wish to do this now?"
"Uh . . . listen, Tali... you're very beautiful and I understand that we've been bonded and I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but I really don't think I could take another-"
"I could try the human way," she
said.
I stared at her, taken aback. "The human way?"
"You have strong memory of a human female called Kami," she said. "I can learn from this memory, if you wish."
I tried to imagine how Kami would react to the idea of another woman taking pointers from her by telepathically scanning my memories of our lovemaking and I declined as politely as I could. Some men might have found a situation like that sexually exciting, but not me. I don't believe in reducing sex to a recreational activity. It's far too intimate for that. Kami and I had shared something very special that perhaps neither of us had ever fully understood. She was the leader of a wild gang of scooter bandits whose first response to almost everything was violence and I was a down-on-his-luck gambler on the run whose first response to every threat I'd ever encountered was cowardly self-preservation. We made about as much sense together as a pair of mismatched Argyle socks, and yet together, we inexplicably managed to create a whole that was somehow more than the sum of its parts. And we both came away from it with pieces of each other in our hearts. After a relationship like that, sex for the sake of sex simply doesn't cut it.
Tali's ability to read my mind made such complicated explanations simpler, but it still took a little work. Her people, unlike mine, had a very high regard for mental privacy and even though the two of us were bonded, she was very circumspect about poking around inside my head. She seemed to feel some anxiety about our situation, not that I could blame her. She had been confronted with a choice that had made things very difficult for her-disregard the customs of her tribe or stand by and watch another being suffer. It hadn't really been much of a choice for her. Her empathy was very strong and her sense of ethics-though I doubt she thought of it that way-had not allowed her any other options. Now she was trying to make things right in the only way she knew. She was trying to find ways to strengthen the bond between us, making it more meaningful.
I was the problem. I kept thinking of our relationship as a marriage in the terms 7 was accustomed to and, of course, it wasn't that. Despite the fact that Higgins spoke of his relationship to Tyla as a marriage, he had made a point of saying that it wasn't the same thing as the relationship we called a marriage. But I kept getting hung up on the word. It was a word that always gave me trouble.
