The Madness Season, page 36
In front of his equipment. Shape-changing.
I looked into his eyes, and read his excitement there. Carefully controlled, for the moment—as it would be until my story was confirmed by his machines—but ready to burn like a newborn star, with the thrill of fresh discovery. So must the scholars of Alexandria have looked, when they found a man who read dead tongues, and could bring their ancient texts to life.
Slowly, I nodded. Wondering how my father had felt, when he committed himself to that partnership.
"Excellent." He stood, and smoothed his lab coat. "I'm grateful for your openness, at any rate. We could have theorized about you for days, without . . . well, we never would have guessed this. But I guess that goes without saying."
He laughed then, softly, and shook his head, even as Kiri and I turned off our screens.
"Twenty years on this planet with nothing to do, and now this and the Raayat at once. God's answering my prayers with a vengeance."
* * *
The PET scan/compiler, we learned, was not designed to accommodate wolves.
* * *
"Can you help me?"
He regards the vial in his hands and nods, slowly. The red of my blood is like crimson glass, filtering the gaslight. "I think so. But it will take time. Yours is no simple pathology, my friend. To find the cause will require much work. But can it be done? All things give way to science, in the end. That is the wonder of this modern age."
He holds up the vial like a loving father, and for a moment I see it through his eyes: not a simple portion of translucent liquid, but a dance of named and unnamed particles which can be forced, in time, to render up its secrets.
I did right in coming here, I tell myself.
"I've had other patients with your need," he tells me. "They come here because of this new specialization." With his free hand he adjusts his spectacles, then smooths his black wool frock coat against his stomach. My blood is placed on a rack full of empty vials, and vials filled with clearer liquids: a ruby among diamonds. "None have had your particular array of symptoms, of course ... but that is no guarantee of failure." He smiles at me, but the smile is wary; I sense some hidden meaning behind it. "You will, of course, stay on the grounds, while we proceed. I will instruct Louis to prepare a room."
"With all due respect, sir, I'd prefer to keep my own quarters, in the city. I can come here as often as you would like."
His eyes narrow, for a moment. "That would not be advisable."
"Nevertheless, I have my reasons."
"I must insist."
I can't even imagine the vulnerability that would result, were I to live out the daylight hours surrounded by this man's staff; the mere thought of it makes me shudder. "With all due apologies, Doctor, it simply isn't possible."
"May I know the reason?"
Because I will not make myself so vulnerable as to be in any man's power—and if you see me in the sunlight, I will be doing just that.” Those are personal, and mayn't be divulged. Suffice it to say that you won't be inconvenienced, in any way."
"That's not my major concern." He strokes his dark goatee thoughtfully, brown eyes taking my measure.
"You understand, you come to me saying you must have blood to live. You're not the first to speak those words. This is a simple medical condition, given one of several causes, and is no reflection in and of itself on your behavior. But among those who suffer from such a need . . . must I point out how many are prey to—shall we say, the darker compulsions? How many are driven to seek out human blood, even when a butcher's produce would suffice?" He is tense now, all artifice gone from his manner. I feel myself trapped, without knowing exactly how or when it happened. "I'm not accusing you of criminal behavior, you understand; but it is in the nature of those who share your illness that criminality is at most a single step away. Therefore I must insist. You will remain on these grounds for the duration of treatment."
I start to get up, see his glance flicker toward the door. God in heaven, why did I come here? What did I hope to accomplish? Just because human science was beginning to unravel the secrets of the bloodstream, did I think the day bound would be willing to share their knowledge? I acknowledge my mistake, and wonder just how much trouble I've gotten myself into. Is it too late to talk my way out of here?
But before I can speak, he claps his hands sharply in warning. Through the room's single door comes a pair of men, uniformed attendants who seem more than capable of taking on a single unruly patient.
"Now, Mr. James, won't you spare us both the unpleasantness of further argument?" His voice is filled with the patronization so typical of this period, toward those who dare to be less than perfectly healthy.
"You do no more than condemn yourself, when you so emphatically refuse our assistance."
I judge the distance between the two attendants, between the pair and myself, between myself and the window—and decide, in an instant, to risk their strength rather than give myself away by flying. Words will accomplish little, now; action is all. I lunge between them, hoping to take them by surprise. Strong hands grab my shoulders and arms, and they would surely pin me down if I let them. Instead I let my anger flow outward into my limbs, giving me strength. You bastard! I hear bone snap on my left, and a hand falls away. Stupid, misguided bastard! An arm is about my neck, and the pressure due to choke me—but I twist in its grip and slam myself backward, into the nearest wall. A rain of plaster and blood accompanies my assailant's groan of pain, and I have no trouble throwing him off.
I slam the door open, and run for my freedom.
I was a fool to come here!—to trust the day bound in any way. Now it pains me to leave the sample of my blood behind—but how can they possibly use it against me? I catch sight of him staring at it, as I pass beyond the threshold, as if it will reveal some priceless secret. As he will stare at it for some time to come, I suspect, while more humane doctors bind up his wounded, and question him—in vain—as to exactly what happened. The strength of a madman, he will say. The capacity of the damned. As he stares into the depths of that precious fluid, and wonders which of the many particles suspended in it is responsible for criminal behavior, and whether a vaccine will be possible.
* * *
Endless work, without sleep. Tests overlapping tests; diagrams of my brain and body intermingled with reports on the Raayat, until only Yaan could make sense of it all. He was in his element now, maneuvering research teams through a morass of facts and equipment without pausing to take a breath.
Studying me— and keeping my secret—while all about us the Raayat data continued to pour in, a million and one unassociated facts that must somehow be woven into a coherent—and useful—whole. Then that whole must be weighed, and sifted, and perhaps even rewoven from scratch, until it was suitable for presentation. For ultimately it was the Tekk women who must apply—or misapply—our findings.
As for myself, the mystery which had plagued me for centuries was starting to unravel at last, and I knew that another few months in this place might well answer most of my questions. As well as teaching me how to trust my fellow man . . . which is no small thing.
The second meeting had nearly twice as many people. The lab one team was there, with a general autopsy report. That meant Ria and Kost, among others. She looked pale, and thinner than I remembered; he, for a change, seemed surprisingly civil. All of us were redeyed, wrung out from lack of sleep; even Kost had taken the time to redden his own orbs, since that was clearly the most appropriate look.
"All right," Yaan said brusquely. "Let's assume we're short on time—because we can't bring Ntaya back again, not without looking damned suspicious.
"We had no time to sum up, yesterday. I'll do it now. The most important thing that the Raayat brain told us was that it was a brain—a whole brain, as well as we can judge, and presumably capable of running a body. Which isn't good news. If this Raayat is typical, then we have to conclude that even in the absence of the gestalt Tyr-mind, the Raayat can function. Imperfectly, erratically, but function." He shook his head grimly. "What that means, in plain English, is that there is no magic kill. Even if there is a seat of consciousness, a Great Mother or Cloud of Knowing or something like that—which I doubt—destroying it won't provide an answer. All you'll do is confuse it, a little. The parts will go on.
That's a guess," he reminded us. "But an educated one.
"So: any attempt to defeat the Tyr must destroy all the parts at once—and all the parts, because even one Honn remaining means that the whole beast lives on— or attack the gestalt mind itself."
"How?" Kost demanded.
"I have no idea. That's why we're here."
"But I do," the Tekk woman said. She was grinning. A warrior's grin, fierce and exultant. "There is a weakness, in this creature. It does not know fear."
"How is that weakness?" Sung asked.
She described for us the slaughter of a Raayat which she had witnessed, in terms so vivid that we could almost smell the blood, and our ears rang from its shrieking. And told us what she had guessed.
"The hraas lives to hunt. We know this. We know already that it will attack anything not Tyr, or Tekk.
But why? What do those two groups have in common?"
"The Tekk don't fear?" a man asked sharply.
"The Tekk don't fear the hraas. Because those who do are killed in childhood. Dai? The early Tekk created . . . call it a religion. It works. It weeds out the fearful. I watched Tekk die that day," she said emphatically. "The beast killed them when it was finished with the Raayat. Everyone who feared it was slaughtered. The beast is filled with anger. With hate. I think it will kill anything that exhibits fear—even the Tyr."
"But can we be sure?" Ria protested. "What if that was one isolated hraas? Can we be sure that all of them have the same instincts, and will act on them?"
"Yes." I was remembering the hraas I had been, and all the things I had felt. And suddenly it all came together. "It has to do with their world-view. Creatures that don't fear it ... don't fit into the whole, somehow. The hraas don't know how to deal with them."
Several voices spoke out at once, demanding in a variety of heated phrases, how do you know? But Yaan only nodded slowly, understanding both what I said, and—even more—what was implied by the fact that I knew it.
And I met his eyes and nodded, to confirm it.
The Tekk woman looked around the table, at all of us. "Harosh! The hraas are an army. They go everywhere the Tyr go. Everywhere! An army, waiting to strike. And only one mind connected to the whole has to be affected, for them to attack!" She turned to Yaan, with a look that was half accusation and half hope. "This is your work, your specialty. Tell us how to make it afraid."
"It isn't that easy," Yaan muttered. "You say yourself that the Raayat was afraid; that didn't affect the Tyr-whole, did it? Who's to say if even a Honn or a Kuol can infect the gestalt with an emotion totally alien to it?"
"We, too, are an army,” she retorted. "With one purpose only: the liberation of Earth. An army that's waited three hundred years for an opportunity to attack. You tell us what has to be done, and we'll do it. You tell us how to give the Tyr-whole fear, and I give you an army of hraas also, who have access to every place the Try might hide. We will wipe them out!— but you must give us the key."
"We have no time to argue," Yaan pointed out. "This path is dead-ending. Errol? Lab one?"
A red-headed man stood in response, and cleared his throat. "I have bad news . . . and bad news. Our subject did indeed have vulnerable points—arteries close to the surface of the body, vital organs that would rupture if struck properly—but, as you can see," and he touched the control that would bring up a new image before us, "little is accessible." He handed Yaan a pile of printouts, one for each of us: a detailed analysis of Tyrran anatomy. We studied them as he spoke, and I worked to commit the major points to memory. "Those armored plates don't grow at random. If Tyrran evolution did a poor job of designing the brain, it more than compensated in the armaments department. This creature is a fighting machine. There's no easy way to defeat it. You need a weapon that can pierce that armor, and then do major damage inside the body. A massive weapon, like the Raayat's own spikes. Or something that burns the whole of it, like the Tyr weapons do. Sorry for that news. On another front ... we did find something interesting, although I don't know how useful it'll be. We found reproductive organs—rudimentary, underdeveloped, but potentially functional. Male and female," he stressed.
"So it's self-fertilizing?" someone asked.
"Or simply in a growth phase where sexual identity hasn't yet been decided. But there were a lot of eggs," he said, and shivered. "A lot of eggs."
"All right," said Yaan. "What do we know about their reproductive cycle?"
The Tekk woman shook her head. "There are no young among their kind. Not for as long as we've served them."
"Or you haven't seen them," someone challenged.
She glared. "Do you doubt the Tekk?"
"Enough!" Yaan snapped. "There's no time to argue. We're all on the same side—aren't we? Aren't we?"
Everyone nodded. Even the Tekk woman looked slightly chastened.
"Rudimentary sexual organs might indicate that it's some other subgroup that does the actual reproducing. Even with eggs present," he said to the red-headed man. "We're used to a neat evolution, in which organs that aren't needed are usually discarded, or adapted to some other purpose. But the Tyr doesn't work like that." He turned to the Tekk woman. "You say there aren't young. But they do increase in number, we know that. How?"
"All we know is, periodically, all the longships leave their normal routes. They gather somewhere— not to say that I know the location, understand? We aren't told. Then most of the longships leave, to go back to their routes. Some will wait. Sometimes much time. When they leave . . . there's a new Kuol, and other Tyr attending him. A type of Tyr without armor, seen only at this time. We go to a new planet, and discover there are new Honn on the longship. These Honn and their Kuol make conquest, and leave the longship."
"And the ... the Tyr without armor?"
"I don't know," she said solemnly. "We never see them, after the beginning."
"How long between these gatherings?" I asked suddenly.
She looked at me, startled, and said, "I don't know. By your calendar. Time dilation makes it impossible to compare."
"What are you thinking?" Yaan asked quietly.
"Kiri and I were looking over the records of this . . . you call it a 'madness season.' The period when the Raayat are most unstable. The Domes have kept good records, number and dates and specific incidents
... so tell me, if you can: what happens at the end of that season?"
I gave them a moment in which to realize that they didn't know, and then continued. "I'll tell you. The Raayat disappear. They get on longships and leave Yuang—and are never heard from again."
I gave that a moment to sink in, then pulled a wad of drawings from out of my pocket, and unfolded them. "I first saw Frederick months ago. He looked very different, then. In size and armoring, mostly. I programmed the computer to calculate his recent changes, and figure out what he would look like in a month's time if that development continued. This is what I got."
I held up the computer's rendering, turned it so all could see. It had the impact I had expected.
"God . . ." one man muttered. "A Kuol?"
"A Kuol," I agreed. "When does the next gathering take place?"
"Soon," the Tekk said. "Very soon."
"According to Domes records, the Raayat are due to leave within a month. Frederick also, I assume." I looked toward the Tekk woman. "I think your people have never seen the Tyr's young . . . because you never recognized them as such."
"The Raayat?" someone whispered. I nodded.
"They leave the conquered worlds . . . and mate?" He shook his head. "Terra, it's neat. Very neat.
There's only one thing it doesn't explain. How does a creature who's only partly of the Tyr become a Kuol, who is wholly submerged in it?"
"There's the weak link," the Tekk woman hissed. "Tell us how to break it!"
The door opened suddenly; given the level of tension in the room, it was almost like a blow in the face.
"Fred's coming," the lookout warned.
"Damn!" Yaan looked at Ntaya, his eyes narrowed in quick thought. "How much can you tell your people? If we find your answer, how well can you spread the news?"
"We have codes, and a way to send them. Short codes. We can send longer messages, enough details to organize the Tekk . . . but only once. You understand? The second time, the Tyr will suspect us." Her gaze was fierce. "So make sure your answer is the right one."
"I understand," he assured her.
As did I. All too well.
* * *
Sleep was promising to become a very rare commodity. And the last person I wanted to see in those few precious hours available for it was Kost. Which is probably why he showed up in my cubicle, and chose to do it when Kiri was absent.
"Busy?" he asked.
"I was trying to sleep."
"Yes. Humans do that, don't they?" He pulled a chair panel from out of the wall, dropped it into position and sat. "Kiri told me about you. Hard to believe ... but here you are, aren't you?"
"Yes, "I said. "Here I am."
"And you wish I would leave."
"You're very perceptive."
"I wanted to talk to you alone."
"Try. I may fall asleep while you do it."
His eyes flared angrily. "You think playing kreda to a Marra gives you some kind of immunity from the rest of us?"
"I think you could kill me with a touch if you wanted to. And I'm very, very tired. So please, say your piece and go."
"Ah, of course. Still performing like a trained animal in the laboratory till all hours of the night, are you?"
It amazed me that any being could have such a perfect handle on how to irritate me. But I refused to be baited. "You obviously know, so why ask?"
"Aaryeh! How does she stand you?" He glared. "But there's no denying what you are . . . which makes us half-brothers, shape-changer."
