The Madness Season, page 12
She waited until the Marra was alone—a long wait, but she was patient—and then she stepped to the path before him, waiting to see how he would react.
He looked at her, embodied senses first and then with a Marra touch, ever so wary, to confirm what his adopted eyes told him. The form he wore was tall and lean, dark-skinned, and purposefully mutilated with geometric scarring; she noted when he moved that his motion was awkward, in that manner which was typical of her kind. We are uncomfortable in bodies, she observed. But what's the alternative?
He found his voice, and with it his dignity. "I am called Kost."
Saudar! He spoke Saudar to her. It was an encouraging sign. And yet, the oddity of his greeting disturbed her. What manner of Marra was he, that he offered her a name?
She took an impression of his brain and searched through it quickly, seeking some appropriate gesture of pleasure—and found it, and adjusted her body to encompass the expression. A twisting of the lips at the corners, slight crinkling of the eyes ... a very curious set of muscular contractions; she would have to seek out its origins, someday.
"Indeed?" she asked pleasantly. "By whom?"
He seemed taken aback. Or perhaps she was simply reading that into him; not all Marra could control a host body with her skill. It was possible that his face looked blank simply because he had withdrawn from his flesh to consider the implications of her presence. The cruder Marra worked that way.
Maintaining her smile, she waited.
At last he spoke, his voice couched low in the night. "Where do you come from?"
"Shian," she answered. "Do you know it?"
He shook his head from side to side, and she caught the negative association. "I have no memory of the name."
"It was an obscure world. A gas giant. I was sent to explore. I wound up trapped there ..." How to word it? "for too long a time."
"And just how long is that?" His voice revealed nothing of his reaction to her presence, was a vehicle for necessary communication and nothing more. She longed for the use of Saudar scent-codes, which would have given her some insight into his thought processes. For some reason, he made her uneasy.
In answer, she countered, "How long since the Tyr came?"
"To Saudar? Nearly five centuries, as the Unity reckoned time."
"Then I was there five centuries. At least." Nearly a full Span, as she had suspected; most of the Marra would have lost their Saudar memories by now, or rewoven their few remaining scraps of recall into a Tyrran context. As the Tsing-Marra had done.
"Ah," he said. A hint of smiling, somewhat ungraceful on his mutilated face. "Then you missed the Masters' fall."
Was there mockery in his tone? "Apparently so."
"Untainted, then." He reached out to her and took her hand, touching her essence-to-essence through the contact. It was a bleak, uncomforting touch. "I've been searching for your kind."
Suddenly there were voices, coming toward them. "Tekk," he whispered. "This way." He beckoned her toward an abandoned storage shed, which was heavily locked against the night. With a touch he altered it; the heavy door slid aside, admitting them. "Inside."
Inside was darkness, but neither of them needed additional light. She adjusted her eyes to interpret the infrared spectrum, and by the glare of his body's heat observed his excitement.
"I'm so glad to see you," he told her. His joy was palpable to her Marra senses, a welcome relief after her reception by the Tsing-Marra. She wondered what it was about him that made her feel so uneasy. "A Marra with memory ... I gather you do remember, yes?" She nodded. "Most of our people have been crippled by memory loss—"
"I was afraid of that."
"No matter. You can help me now . . . there's so much to do! When the yoke of the embodied has been broken, you can help restore the Marra. You must have a good bit of Span left, if you remember—"
"Hold on. Slow down. Explain. What in Unity are you talking about?"
He leaned toward her, his borrowed eyes gleaming. "Marra domination."
It took her a minute to realize what he meant; when she did she was astounded. "Of what?"
"The embodied."
"All of them?" She tried not to laugh. The thought of the Marra ruling anybody was downright ludicrous; the thought of the Marra ruling everyone was . . . well, it was damned funny. The Saudar would have laughed until their kangi drooped. But she managed to keep from laughing outright, in order to hear him out. Incredible as it seemed to her, he was apparently serious.
How can we hope to stabilize the universe, when we can't even stabilize ourselves ?
"Traditionally we've indulged them in their power-play," he explained. "But they've done too much damage, this time. "We simply can't afford to let them go on like this. Just look around you! Look at our people!—I can see by your face that you've already made contact, then you know what's been happening. Another century of this and we won't remember anything but the Tyr, we won't know anything but hiding and fearing and playing at being embodied. ..." His voice was a fierce whisper, rich with embodied emotion; an excellent display, she thought. "They've forfeited their right to rule us, Marra."
"They never did rule us," she pointed out calmly.
"An arguable point."
There was no point in debating the obvious. "So what will you do?"
"Unite the Marra. Find those few who still remember—like yourself—who will understand what has to be done. We'll find a way to break the hold of the Tyr, then rule these worlds in their stead."
"And you think the embodied will accept you?"
His face darkened. "Is there anyone more qualified to rule them?"
Humor swelled up inside her, and she searched through her current brain for an appropriate means of expression. Saudar laughter had no direct equivalent, so she settled for an even broader smile. "I marvel at your naïveté. Kost. At your blind faith in their power of reasoning. Do you think they'll accept you just because you're qualified? When have the embodied ever acted in such a rational manner? What will you do?— come before them and say, 'Look at me, I'm the wisest among you. The strongest. The most long lived.' Do you think that'll make a bit of difference? When they fight wars constantly amongst themselves, just to decide which of a dozen unqualified Competitors will sit on the throne tomorrow? Their politics are rooted in species-survival instinct, filtered through unreliable body chemistry; do you expect these Competitors will bow down to you, when all their genetic programming drives them to do otherwise?
Really, Marra! You've forgotten more than I think you're aware of."
His voice was cold, emphatically so. "You underestimate me. My Span isn't so short yet that I've forgotten my diplomatic training. I'll cut at their roots from the inside, first; when it comes time to dominate, they'll need our leadership.—So what say you, Marra? Do you mean to accept your exile?
Wander around until your memory erodes and you're no better than the rest of them? Or will you help me—help us— to restore ourselves to a position of authority in this mass-bound, backward universe? The choice is yours." For an instant she was tempted—the hunger to belong nearly blinded her to the distastefulness of his scheming—but then she answered, in formal Saudar, "There is no choice."
He was surprised. So wrapped up in his delusions of grandeur was he that he hadn't considered, even for a moment, that she wouldn't wish to join him.
He touched a hand to her shoulder and his essence questioned *Truth? Certainty?*
She merely nodded.
"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was emotionless once more, but she thought there was anger in him. "I think you'll change your mind. The option remains open."
"All Marra change their minds," she agreed. But not that much. Still, she was loath to abandon her only informative contact, and asked him, "If I do, how should I go about finding you?"
"I'll ride the longships until I've located all of our people, and set up some kind of communications network between them. If you need me, ask among the Tekk. That's a subspecies of the creatures called 'human.' They're marginally organized, and have a system of intership codes that suits our purposes. I've embedded my codes within theirs; if you ask for me, by name, I'll hear of it." He glanced toward the door as if making sure that no one was listening, a gesture that was charming in its paranoia.
"They're useful, these Tekk. They come and go regularly throughout Tyrran territory. Take the place of one, if you want to travel without being noticed. It's the easiest way. The Tyr know every human face that boards their ships, the Honn that guard the shuttles share total awareness . . . you can't slip by them, except in a legitimate body. As for traveling on the worlds themselves, you'll need a real identity there as well. The Tyr watch over everyone. I find it useful to create a disaster, natural or otherwise, that can explain a few deaths; preferably something that results in shock as well, to cover an awkward performance. That way you can duplicate an existing body, and no one will notice."
For a moment she was speechless. Not that she had anything against killing; the embodied were little more than food to her kind, and unless one was interacting with them, they had no intrinsic value. But ...
such waste!
"You do this on every planet?"
"When I have to leave the longships, yes."
She said nothing. Only nodded, a cold acknowledgement of his advice. There was no point in arguing any further. He was distasteful, his ways were distasteful . . . but she was Marra, and would not pass judgment upon him.
He must have sensed her disapproval; his expression tightened and he told her, "You'll learn. Take a good look at our people and you'll see what's necessary. And when you do, you'll join me. I'm sure of it."
Nine Spans in a Saudar hell, first.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Kost." Diplomacy, above all else; it was still second nature to her. "For the option. I'll consider it." Did I know you in a previous Span? Did I dislike you this much, back then? "I wish you luck," she added softly. Lies, all lies. That was how you dealt with the embodied.
Disturbing, to use the same techniques with her own kind.
"And I wish you reason," he whispered. "Soon. Before it's too late."
The door opened, and night flooded in. And moonlight, by which his scars were visible. She stayed where she was when he left her, listened to the sounds of his body moving farther and farther away, and considered how strange the universe had gotten since she had last been in regular contact with it.
A self-named Marra . . . how bizarre!
Too late for what? she wondered.
LONGSHIP TALGUTH
I'm losing my mind.
I sat on my sleeping ledge for a long time, staring at the floor, trying to pull myself together. My hands were still shaking. I was afraid to look at them. Afraid to look in the mirror. Afraid, most of all, to face the implications of what was happening to me.
I was going insane. Or I was sane, but the mechanism of my senses was somehow malfunctioning. Then there was that thought which I dared not even give a name to, a concept so incredible that my rational soul shied away from the merest hint of it. No. It wasn't possible. To even consider such a thing again, after all these years. . . .
I lowered my face to my hands and fought for control: of emotion, of reason, of memory. Of myself.
Skin pressed against skin, unfurred; the contact was reassuring. "I am human," I whispered softly—but whom was I trying to convince?
After a while, I dared to raise my head up and look about me. The walls were simply stone, with dull green paint that would feel smooth to the touch. The corridor beyond my door was gray, with no noticeable markings. No luminescent colors. No giant's heartbeat pounding in my head. For the moment, at least, my senses were under control. They would stay that way. I would make sure they stayed that way.
I looked at my hands, smooth-skinned and pale. Human. I was human.
Then I rose, and dared to look in the mirror.
And froze, horrified.
The change was a minor one. Had I not already been questioning my stability, I might never have noticed it. But I was, and I did, and the change which I saw was doubly terrifying in that context.
I touched the gray at my sideburns with a trembling finger. That color had been gone from my hair, since my first day on the longship. The cleaner had removed it. Now it was back. Two dabs of Earth makeup, reappearing out of nowhere.
I licked the tip of a finger and rubbed it vigorously against one gray streak. And felt a chill course down my spine, as the attempted cleaning had no effect.
It wasn't makeup.
I turned sharply away from the mirror, banging my hip against the sanitary outlet as I did so. What was happening to me? I could think of nothing to explain such a change, other than madness. Was I so far gone, already?
No. Be honest. There is another possibility, but you refuse to name it.
The power of primitive superstition says that once you call a demon by name, it has material substance and can harm you. The power of modern psychology says that once you acknowledge a deeply buried fear, and allow it to rise to the surface, you can never fully bury it again.
I was afraid. Of myself?
I shut my eyes and tried to think. Tried to envision myself as I should be, youthful and sandy-haired, without any gray. Without any gray! I held the image in my mind and forced myself to concentrate on it— to believe it— while my clenched fingers drew blood from my palms and my eyes squeezed out tears of pain, to run in parallel channels down my cheeks.
Please. Let the image be right. I can deal with anything else. . . .
I opened my eyes, and dared to turn. Dared to focus, upon the image that I feared to contemplate. But it was right. Un-gray. Exactly as it should be.
Slowly I raised my hands to my face, and wiped the wetness from my cheeks. My hands throbbed dully, and when I looked down at them I saw thin crescent moons of blood lined up across the palms, where my nails had cut through flesh.
The Tyr had suspected me of being extraterrestrial in origin. Could it have been correct? Might that explain some characteristics which seemed bizarre by Earth standards, but were consistent within an alien context? I had clear memories of the father who raised me, the mother who left me, the sister who was lost to me after some tragic accident . . . but I had other memories, too, which were clearly riddled with fantastic inaccuracies. Were those images of family no more than false memories, which only seemed true when viewed through the haze of centuries? Was I, in fact, something other than human?
I looked at my hands, found them suddenly unfamiliar. What kind of creature would appear human in all regards, but be incapable of digesting certain Earth proteins? If he wore a human form, would that dictate the nature of his consciousness, or would his brain be true to his alien self—casting aside unwanted memories, chaotically indulging in others, processing information in a way that wasn't wholly human?
I looked in the mirror, wondering.
I shouldn't have.
A moment was all it took; I swept aside the battered frame, heard it strike the portal with a crash and then fall to the ground. But the damage had already been done. I had seen the reflection, and it was not of me— not the me that I knew, my comfortable human image, but someone entirely different. Something entirely different, whose bodily form was unlike anything I had ever seen.
Unlike anything human.
Trembling, I knew that I stood balanced on the brink of madness. Insanity and longevity are a truly terrifying combination; if I gave in now, I might pay the price for centuries to come. Unthinkable. I must fight this, somehow. I must analyze what was happening, come to terms with it. Control it. That way, only, lay my salvation.
I walked to where the mirror lay, face up by the door. Catching it on my toe, I flipped it over. It clattered briefly and then came to rest, face down. One less thing to deal with. One less reminder that, though I had questions which must be asked, I might not like the answers.
I had always hated mirrors. Now I remembered why.
* * *
The Raayat came at midnight. My personal midnight, when my vital energy was at its lowest and my mind was immured in darkness. It came to me suddenly and woke me roughly, its hands shaking with tension as it grabbed me by the arm and jerked me, still half-sleeping, to my feet. I had been in deep sleep, trancelike; panic quickly awakened me. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, but I lacked the ability to read what it was. Was the Unstable One living up to its epithet at last?
"Come," it rasped, and his voice seemed different—higher-pitched, less certain. I looked at its markings, wondering if it was indeed the same Raayat I had known. The body said yes, but the behavior made me uncertain. What the hell was going on?
It dragged me out through the portal before it was fully open, scraping me against the edge of the stone door. There was a nightmarish quality to our journey which filled me with dread, but I had no chance to hold back; its hand was on my upper arm, talons biting into my skin as it forced me to match its long-legged stride.
We passed through corridors and more corridors, all new to me. I counted my steps, trying to maintain some sense of our direction. The inner wall of my cell already had a crude map scratched into its paint; if I kept track of where we were going, I could add to it. Two thousand steps. Three thousand. The counting was good, it kept me from dwelling on the fact that if the Raayat was indeed beginning to lose touch with reality, there was no one in the Tyr or out of it who would help me. You deal with that kind, the Kuol had told me, at your own risk. The rest of the Tyr will not help you.
Not a comforting thought.
At last we appeared to reach our destination. The Raayat let go of me suddenly, pushing me away toward the wall as it sought the desired portal. I took that moment to touch a finger to my arm, where a spot of blood was welling forth, and then to the wall. Such a small stain should go unnoticed, but combined with my step-counting it would give me a fairly good chance of finding this place again. God alone knew if I would want to, but now that I knew I could get myself out of my cell, I needed to keep my options open.
