Authors: Joan Slonczewski
A Door Into Ocean (35 page)
IN THE WAKE of the latest outbreak of death-hastening at the soldier-place, the Raia-el Gathering met yet again. They met with a sense that many sisters had swum to the end of their patience with Valan horrorâand with startling reports from distant rafts where whole Gatherings had done the same.
Scattered plantlights echoed the evening stars as sisters settled within the hollow. Between Merwen and Usha sat Flossa the Reckless One, nursing a plantlight before her crossed legs. Flossa and most of the older girls had chosen selfnames exceptionally early, after seeing their younger sisters wrenched helplessly away.
This evening, selfnamers waited a long while to reach oneness with Shora. The distant waves rumbled, and clickflies stuttered fragments of news long delivered. Yet these sounds only thickened the stillness of the Gathering, and no one seemed eager to stir the surface.
“All right,” said Trurl at last, “if anyone can suggest a way out of the mess we're in, it's high time she shared it. Otherwise we might as well go back to our silkhouses.” Trurl was brusk, even harried, and her nose cut a grim outline against the yellowish glow of lights.
Someone called out faintly, “What can we do now, except just go on?”
“I just want to understand, first,” said another. “We know why the seaswallower comes, and what the fleshborer is about. But why do Valan
People
share this horror? How does that feed the web?”
People
share this horror? How does that feed the web?”
“That's the question,” said Trurl dryly. “Even our âSkycrossers' have yet to share an answer.”
Merwen contained herself, for she was tired of wearing that name.
Instead Lalor rose, a little shyly, keeping a hand on Shaalrim's shoulder. “I can't answer why, except for one thing: Valans don't learn whitetrance, and they can't control their own pain. So how can they control anything else? Their souls are trapped by their shells.”
Instead Lalor rose, a little shyly, keeping a hand on Shaalrim's shoulder. “I can't answer why, except for one thing: Valans don't learn whitetrance, and they can't control their own pain. So how can they control anything else? Their souls are trapped by their shells.”
“Perhaps they've lost their souls altogether,” Trurl reflected.
Startled, Lalor quickly sat again.
Yinevra got up and strode to the middle of the Gathering. “Valans have lost their souls, and more. They have regressed, devolved, into a lower state of life, lower than human.” Yinevra paused to let this sink in. “We have ample proof of their regression. Not only Sharer children and survival are threatened, but all the other creatures of Shora, the lesser sisters, seaswallowers, fanwings, raftsâfrom snail to swallower, not one is untouched by the Valan pestilence!” Her voice had risen to a cry. “We are protection-sharers; as Shora protects us, so we must protect Her heritage. When the balance tips, when the web stretchesâwho remains to balance life and death, if not us?”
A hushed tension flowed and stretched among the selfnamers. Yinevra's wish was well known, but there had never been such a compelling argument for it. Merwen felt again the fatalism of her first Gathering upon return from Valedon. She knew the current of her heart, and that she would follow it still; but she was drifting, not swimming, she realized with dismay.
A defensive note entered Yinevra's voice. “I know better than to expect the decision from this raft. But there are other Gatherings at other rafts, and other lifeshapers. Clickflies have come from Oon-elion, where a virus was shaped to reduce the Valan pestilence. They will soon choose to release it.”
So this was what Sharers had come to, isolated as they were now, without the daily farsharing of the starworm's song to bind them together in strength. Merwen had crossed the sky thinking she alone could set an example for Sharers everywhere to forestall this day. Perhaps that was her hubris. Certainly she had not counted on the stifling of the starworm's song, and the fragmentation that bred despair.
“Already it may be too late,” whispered Usha to Merwen. “That lifeshaper should never have made such a virus. If it escaped by accident, what then?”
“Speak up,” Merwen urged.
“I can't anymore. My strength left with Weia and Wellen. I feel drained as an empty whorlshell.”
Merwen's pulse raced; she longed to deny it, to sayâbut there was nothing to say, only the end of this sad hour to share. Afterward, if there were a dawn beyond the dark, she could no longer see it.
Trurl said, “It is highly unlikely that the Gathering of Oon-elion would release such a terrible thing without the consent of all Gatherings of Shora. That is why we must respond at once.”
“Death hastens those who hasten death,” someone murmured. “What other response can there be?”
“Exactly,” said Yinevra. “That is why the death-hasteners must die. As humans, in spirit, they have already died. Their race has regressed and decayed.”
Many voices stirred and murmured, “I share that.” Yinevra's wish was so easy, as seductive as waterfire.
From behind, Ama's fingers brushed Merwen's arm. Immediately Merwen gestured to Trurl, and she and Usha raised Ama's shoulder between them, so that her voice might carry farther. Ama said, “Before we hasten to hasten death, let us at least share the word of that one of the Valan race who has taken a selfname with us.”
There was a shamed hush, with furtive glances at Nisi, who still came to Raia-el Gatherings though she rarely spoke. Nisi stood now, a stark, haunted figure, her cheeks sunken. “You ask too much of me. I would rather throw myself into a seaswallower than keep Sharers from doing what they must, that Shora may live.”
Merwen listened with bitter sadness, as if a storm had washed out in a day a raft she had nurtured for a generation. Trurl still cast about for further words for Valans, and there were few. At last, Trurl's eye fixed on Merwen and gazed for some time. “Impatient One, I hear the sorrow in your heart; but if you will not speak, share a sign at least.”
Merwen lifted herself, and for a moment she felt lightheaded and waited to steady herself. “It was I who first said that Valans are more terrible than any creature we have ever known. I said also that they are one with us. What I've heard tonight only confirms my belief.”
For many long minutes nothing spoke except the sea and the keening breeze that carried clouds past the stars. Then Yinevra rose again, a tall silhouette against the plantlights. Merwen could not see her face, but her voice broke with anger. “You,” said Yinevra. “I never thought even you could twist things so, to set our lives and the lives of our children worth no more than Valan bestiality.”
“Then say what you mean, Yinevra. Are Valans human or not? Go
on, say it. In the name of poor Virien, I dare you to say it.” Her heart was beating too fast, and red streaked before her eyes; she sat down hard on the raft before she would collapse.
on, say it. In the name of poor Virien, I dare you to say it.” Her heart was beating too fast, and red streaked before her eyes; she sat down hard on the raft before she would collapse.
“Go on, then.” Yinevra's voice had fallen an octave. “Yes, send clickflies to every raft in the sea: tell all our lifeshapers to tie their hands lest they shape death instead. But for myself, I say this: I will return to the soldier-place, again and again, and the first day I spend in Valan hands will be my last. I will not share an ounce of will with those degenerates that crossed the sky just to putrify our seas.”
Merwen's anger rushed at the notion that she herself shared the will of those sick ones. Even so, Yinevra's bluff had been called: she knew in the end that Merwen was right. And with such a vow, Merwen thought bleakly, Yinevra will not last long. She is my sister, and I cannot bear to lose her.
AT HEADQUARTERS, THE guardbeam ran haywire one morning and scorched a patrol boat, killing three of the crew. Realgar immediately called off the beam until the glitch could be fixed. It turned out that a native had actually climbed up into the boat from the water and her unauthorized presence had set off the beam.
To improve troop morale, he ordered war games maneuversâsea battles between fleets, and satellite raids. These were explained to the Palace as “preparations for assault,” though Talion pointed out that combat was expensive enough without footing the bill for both sides. Realgar swallowed his disgust at the complaint; it was simply incompetent of the Palace bureaucrats to send him on a campaign they were not willing to pay for.
He still had to stare at his own livid face every morning. And now that doctor was nagging him about the children again. “I have to tell
you, sir,” Nathan said, “that I can't maintain these hostages much longer under present conditions.”
you, sir,” Nathan said, “that I can't maintain these hostages much longer under present conditions.”
“Can't you force-feed them?”
“Their stomachs won't hold it. And intravenous nourishment is inadequate for growing bodies. There's the Law to think of, sir,” he finished hurriedly.
“Kids spring back fast. Just keep them alive, that will do.”
Nathan's mouth drew into a knot. “As a doctor, sir, I can't allowâ”
“What's your alternative? Would you prefer to execute their par ents?”
“I only know that
this
alternative is outside the Law. As is Colonel Jade's alternative, sir.”
this
alternative is outside the Law. As is Colonel Jade's alternative, sir.”
This remark startled the general. It startled Nathan himself, too; his eyelids fluttered, and his hands shook as if the words had slipped out by mistake.
There were rumors, of course, that the chief of staff had gone beyond useful mindbending technique in her treatment of the adult prisoners. Realgar was inclined to let her try whatever might work, even primitive methods. But now that the doctor had voiced an objection, he thought he should at least find out what was going on.
He called Jade to his office. “Any progress lately on the mind-blocked prisoners?”
Jade's complexion was still dark, except for her pale lips, but she seemed to have gotten over the initial shock of the Purple Plague. “That's hard to say. A prisoner may crack rather suddenly after a long, gradual tightening of the screw.”
“Which means they haven't cracked yet, after three months. I'd like to take a look at these hardy creatures.”
She hesitated. “I wouldn't advise that, sir. My program of sensory deprivation would be interrupted.”
“You must be set up for remote observation.”
Jade called to the monitor for transmission to the viewing stage. A glimmer of a lightshape appeared, and she switched off the room lights for a clearer view.
Out of the darkness a corner of a prison cell projected, outlined in sallow monochrome. The figure crouching in the corner emitted a halo of body heat, typical of an infrared image. At first, the figure looked like a monkey asleep in a cage. Then Realgar saw that it was in fact a native prisoner, shriveled and shrunken with the knees folded up to the
chin. The limbs were wasted to the bone and twisted like rubber sticks. Between fingers and toes the webbing was torn and stripped, something equivalent to fingernail extraction, Jade said. She enumerated the various chemical and physical treatments, and the duration of each.
chin. The limbs were wasted to the bone and twisted like rubber sticks. Between fingers and toes the webbing was torn and stripped, something equivalent to fingernail extraction, Jade said. She enumerated the various chemical and physical treatments, and the duration of each.
Jade showed in succession six more native prisoners. All looked about the same, except that they lay in different portions of their cells. None moved or made any sound. Jade concluded with the most notorious one, who had dared even to talk back to Talion: the daughter of Protector Merwen.
Realgar cleared his throat. “Are they ever conscious?”
“They go in and out,” Jade said. “When one wakens, I administer drugs and electrostimulation, in various scientifically devised sequences. Until she reaches the brink of self-termination, in whitetrance; then I pull back. Eventually I'll catch one again in that in-between zone, where the mind is vulnerable yet not completely lost.”
Yet all this time not one had cracked, not since the very first prisoners taken, before they had known what the mindprobe was. Realgar frowned with vague unease. “Natives can suicide by throwing a mental switch. So why do they hang on in the face of this ⦠pressure?” He was reluctant to name what Jade was doing, and his reluctance annoyed himself.
Jade said, “Only mental invasion triggers the deathblock. Physical pain is endured until the brain itself breaks down.”
“Then you haven't touched their minds, all this time. You haven't reached them at all. How can you break a man to obedience without reaching his mind?”
With a slight shrug, Jade whispered to the monitor. The office filled with flat, normal light that jarred unexpectedly. “Indirect methods take time,” Jade added.
Realgar knew it could take months or years to break a professional mindblocked agent. But natives knew nothing of that sort of game. They had nothing to hide except their own free will.
The shapes of the twisted primates persisted in his vision well after Jade had departed. They summed up the appalling uselessness, even irrelevance, of any physical threat to native minds. In the evening, Realgar dined with Jade as usual, though neither was inclined to speak much. Upon finishing, Realgar could barely recall what he had just
eaten. He shook himself, straightened the sleeves of his loathed Iridian uniform, and stood abruptly. “Let's get some air.”
eaten. He shook himself, straightened the sleeves of his loathed Iridian uniform, and stood abruptly. “Let's get some air.”
The two of them strode out to the narrow strip of deck beyond the perimeter fence. A fine spray dampened Realgar's cuffs, and the sea moaned with a hollow sound. From the livid sky came a breeze, sweeter than usual, while below, the rotting seedlings seemed to be dispersed. Perhaps the lifeshapers had finally done something about it.
It shook him to realize how easily he assumed that natives were in control.
The planet is their laboratory ⦠.
If that were true, what could any commander do about it? What could one throw at the sea that the sea could not swallow?
If that were true, what could any commander do about it? What could one throw at the sea that the sea could not swallow?
There had to be something, and Realgar would find it, but he needed time.
He stopped and faced out to sea, folding his arms tightly, though he was not all that cold. Jade halted at his elbow. He counted waves as they rolled in and crashed up the side, until the tenth one had passed. “Jade,” he said without turning, “I want those prisoners out, kids and all.”
“Yes, General. I formally request transfer fromâ”
Realgar caught her arm. “I don't want your damned transfer, do you hear?” When his breath came easier he went on. “All I know is, whatever we've done so far has failed. Maybe Sharers just can't obey, it's not in their vocabulary. Maybe we have to kill them off one by one, or by the hundreds, orâ” He broke off.
“Then why blame me? If I've lost your confidence, send me back to Sardis where at least my career won't hit a dead end.”
“Hold on, Jade. We've been through too much together.”
“Yes, we have. We've stormed burning camps where children lay in the dirt with their guts hanging out, and the dogs cleaned them up. You've seen enough to turn your hair gray. What's shook you up now?”
“You knew those catfish would never give in, no matter what you did to them.”
“What do you know of my methods? You've always detested what I do, as much as you need it. You think I get off on twisting catfish?”
“Nonsense.”
“I do hate them, as a matter of fact. They made their nasty bugs to
screw up my system, so that I don't even know my own face in the mirror.” Jade's lips pulled back harshly in her shadowed face.
screw up my system, so that I don't even know my own face in the mirror.” Jade's lips pulled back harshly in her shadowed face.
“That's unprofessional.”
“Is it?” Jade breathed. “For a strategist, you mean, General. You could use a little more hatred in those lower echelons that let the children go.”
There was no answer for it. It dawned on Realgar that he had known all along what Jade would be doing to the prisoners. He only grasped at the knowledge now as an excuse to himself, a rationale to back out of the impossible corner he was in, between diehard natives and troops gone soft.
Sharers had neither the strengths nor the weaknesses of ordinary soldiers. They slipped through his fingers like the slimy fish they were.
Know your
enemy ⦠.
It was hard enough to fathom the Dolomite mentality. How much harder it would be to bridge the gulf of Shora.
Know your
enemy ⦠.
It was hard enough to fathom the Dolomite mentality. How much harder it would be to bridge the gulf of Shora.
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