Emperor of Gondwanaland (5 page)

“We sailed from Saint Ursula as I told you: ten men, the Sanctus, and myself, with the Fanzoii as our cargo, our goal the Nameless Land, where we indeed hoped to plant a colony. Was there ever a more misguided venture, with a less capable fool in charge?

“I was truly ill-fit for the rigors of months at sea. At home I had whatever I fancied. At sea I was cast back on my own resources. They proved limited indeed. Books held no interest for me, nor did the petty details of managing the ship and crew. I began to chafe under the dull monotony of the trip. The sameness of the food, the company, the sights.

“One daily sight was that of the Fanzoii taking their exercise on deck. Sadler had advised me to let them rot in the hold, but I contended that they were our charges, and could hardly function as colonists if mistreated. So we let them come up five at a time under guard, to take light and air.

“After a while, I began to notice one Fanzoy in particular. You will hardly need to be told that it was Tess. She seemed more vibrant than rest, almost human. And then there was her sinuous way of carrying herself, which gradually grew more and more attractive to me.”

Here Merino coughed, sipped his brandy, and resumed speaking.

“I have always been a womanizer, I fear. It was so easy to indulge, in my privileged position. There were always women—of my own class or lower—who were willing to satisfy my lusts.

“On the voyage, there were none. And it was maddening.

“I resisted the evil urge to sleep with the Fanzoy Tess as long as I could. Perhaps you, or another strong soul, would never have succumbed. I can only recount what I did—did deliberately, but with no foreknowledge of the consequences, I swear.

“One night I had my men act as bawds and fetch the Fanzoy to my cabin. They obeyed, but eyed me with disgust. They left us alone.

“Not to mince words, I took the alien carnally, upon the very bunk she sat on so mockingly while you were there.

“She did not resist at all.

“It was like yet unlike sex with a human woman. I will say no more than that. What is crucial is what happened after.

“I found myself bonded psychically to the Fanzoy.”

Merino assumed a contemplative air for a second, as if he had long considered this part of his gruesome experiences in a detached way, insofar as it applied to his whole culture.

“We know so little about them, having ignored them all these centuries of our uneasy coexistence. Apparently, from what I later learned, the Fanzoii—highly telepathic among themselves—mate but once, and for life, forging a special mental link between couples.

“Among Fanzoii, the bond is a two-way union between equals.

“Between a human and a Fanzoy, it is a chain binding slave and master.

“I was now subject to Tess’s compulsions. Although I could fight them for a time, I always caved in. She proved that during the first night. Also, a vague conceptual link sprang up between us. Tess could easily project her thoughts to me, but had trouble reading mine.

“I was forced to keep Tess in my cabin all the next day. The men spoke of it behind my back, uneasy and afraid. When the next night came, Tess had me free all her comrades from belowdecks, promising that my men would not be hurt.

“But there was instant carnage. The Fanzoii broke open the armory and lasered all my men, save for Sadler and the Sanctus, who hid in the galley.

“One man—I know not who—had the presence of mind before being hunted down to wreck the solarcells and command many of the robots to hurl themselves overboard.

“When dawn broke the
Cockerel
was a bloody abattoir, under complete control of the Fanzoii.

“With their savagery dissipated, the Fanzoii let Sadler and Purslen live. But they wanted them under their control. So another Fanzoy female raped Sadler. When they stripped Purslen they found him to be a capon. They almost killed him outright, but he begged so piteously they relented, deeming him harmless, which he proved indeed to be.

“Three days later the storm truly came upon us. Without men or bots, we sustained the damage you saw.

“In the storm, Sadler received a concussion from a falling spar. He never awoke from it, and would normally have died, I believe, save for the bond with the Fanzoy female. She kept his autonomic nervous system functioning. They used him like a toy, as you saw. He was held rigid, barely breathing, under the sheet in my cabin, as you sat unknowing, not two meters away.”

Merino’s tale of horror made my stomach and mind revolt. Yet I longed to hear it through to its end. As I watched the shriveled man speak, clearly a husk of his former elegant self, the same mix of pity and repugnance I had felt for him earlier swept over me.

“The next months were a torpid living hell. The Fanzoii, as I understood through the thoughts of Tess, longed to return to Carambriole, or, failing that, to make landfall elsewhere. Many times they were so frustrated by their situation that Monteagle and I were nearly put to death.

“But always they saved us to be their go-betweens, should we ever sight another ship.

“And then you hailed us.

“When you and your mate came aboard, you nearly died. Outside my cabin, the Fanzoii were ready to set upon you, despite their prior plans. Through Tess, I saved your lives. I convinced her that we could get all we wanted through subterfuge, and that if we killed you it would alert your ship, which would sail away.

“The rest you know. I emerged and made my show of commanding those who commanded me. Then fell to me the task of convincing you of our innocent need. Every second you were on the
Cockerel
, death hovered at your back, should you so much as breathe suspicion of the true state of affairs.

“Only my play-acting kept you and your mate—and possibly the rest of your crew—from death. Or from becoming living puppets.

“When you proposed to warp our two ships together, the Fanzoii rejoiced. They planned to swarm aboard in seconds and take over the
Melville
. The best you could have expected was to be cast adrift in my wreck.

“I knew I had to do something. I begged to come with you. Tess silently assented, believing me sapped of my will. Luckily she could not see the whole shape of my thoughts.

“It worked out as you witnessed. God be thanked it did. If only Monteagle might also have been saved. If only none of this had happened!”

Merino drained his glass. I wordlessly refilled it. He sat unspeaking.

Here then was the man I had labeled in my mind a coward and a spineless fop. Weak in the face of his unnatural lusts he might have been—but which of us has not some hidden master he bows down to will-lessly? Coward? Fop? How would I have endured his fate?

“I will take you home,” I said at last.

“If only you could,” said Merino, and gazed ceilingward with a shiver.

VII. A Partial Transcript

Seventeen years passed between the time I watched the despondent Anselmo Merino, a borrowed suit of my clothes hanging loosely on him, walk down the gangplank of my detoured ship and onto the dock at Saint Ursula, and the time I next heard of him.

Much happened, of course, in those years. I returned to Tirso Town, a continent away, where I sold my last load of satinwood for more than I had expected when I embarked. There I paid off my men and found quite to my surprise that all my taste for being a free trader was gone, leaving a film of ashes in my mouth. It was as if something vital had been sapped from me off Encantada Island, never to be replenished.

I became a shipper of other men’s goods, an easy and undemanding profession. Gradually I recovered my old spirits, but was never wholly as I had been.

One day, after the interval of time mentioned above, I found myself supervising the loading of some crates. Trundlebots were streaming aboard like ants when one malfunctioned and plunged back several meters down to the stone quay with its box. Robot and crate smashed with a sickening sound.

In the process of cleaning up the debris I noticed that the pottery in the crate had been wrapped in old and yellowed newspaper. Idly, I examined a sheet.

Its masthead read
The Saint Ursula Daily Gleaner
. The date was several months after Merino had disembarked.

I gathered up all the sheets I could find and returned to my cabin.

There I read—with, strangely, no feeling of surprise, as if I had always known that I would some day learn of this—a partial transcript of the trial of Anselmo Merino, on charges of dereliction of duty, gross misconduct, and bestiality.

The possible sentence specified that the prisoner be remanded to the Holy Inquisitors for undescribed punitive measures, should he be judged guilty.

I here re-transcribe what I believe is the most relevant—and revelatory—section of the fragment, in an effort to further illuminate that odd and flawed, yet compelling, man, Anselmo Merino, with whose life mine had the fortune—whether good or ill, I still cannot say—to become inextricably entangled, and whom I yet brood on constantly.

His fate the fragment failed to reveal.

I dare to hope they found him innocent, or deemed mercy applicable and pardoned him.

Testimony Given in the Trial of Aristarch Anselmo Merino, in the Matter of the Loss of His Ship, the
Golden Cockerel
, and the Miscarriage of His Mission. 6 January 902 Post Scattering

judge: Quiet in the court! There must be a decorous silence, however repugnant the testimony becomes, or the court will be cleared! Fine. See that it is maintained. Prosecutor, you may proceed.

prosecutor: Thank you, Your Honor. Let me recapitulate, Aristarch Merino. You do not deny having carnal relations with one of the Fanzoii you were transporting?

merino: No.

prosecutor: Nor do you deny that said relations, by chaining your will to that of the alien referred to hereafter as “Tess,” were ultimately responsible for the deaths of your entire crew and the total failure of your mission?

merino: No, I do not deny that.

prosecutor: Can you suggest any reason why the court should see your actions as anything other than arrogant self-indulgence that resulted in the most dishonorable tragedy in the Aristarchy’s history? How can your actions fail to besmirch all Aristarchs by implication, in the eyes of the lower classes? How can we be lenient with you, and not appear to condone your deeds?

merino: [
After a pause
] I cannot by any means justify what I did. And it would be reprehensible to lay the blame on those above me, who chose an imperfect tool for their task. I can only express my sincerest sorrow for the men I doomed, and wish that they had had a better captain. As for the taint I placed on the Aristarchy, I hereby affirm that I alone am culpable. I heartily wish that events had not transpired as they did. Yet who can undo the past? I only caution all those involved in similar ventures in the future, who might be quick to pass judgment on me, to examine their own souls and hearts and ask if they too might not fail when put to the test.

judge: Refrain from instructing us in morality, Aristarch Merino. You are hardly in a position to do so.

merino: I realize that, your Honor. I only sought to point out the possibility that others might act as I found myself acting, should the Aristarchy persist in this misguided scheme.

judge: I, for one, find such an imputation baseless and arrogant. And your attempt to shape policy is itself misguided. In fact, your whole attitude during this trial has struck me as overbearing and lacking in contrition.

merino: I repeat my deepest regrets for the suffering I have caused.

judge: Protestations of sorrow are easy to make, yet truly felt perhaps only under the hands of the Inquisitors.

merino: [
Silent
]

prosecutor: Do you have anything further to say in your defense?

merino: No.

judge: The jury will now adjourn.

II

Adventures of a Restless Mind

We’ve all heard the famous adage about the fox knowing many small things, and the hedgehog knowing one big thing. It seems to me that this truism applies to writers more so than to those in other professions.

There are writers who focus on the same material from book to book, digging deeper and deeper into seemingly inexhaustible motherlodes of theme and topic. Then there are writers who feel the need to prospect across vast literary Alaskas, hungry for new horizons and possible riches in anyplace other than where they’ve already been.

It should be obvious to anyone who’s read my stuff that I’m one of the latter. A fox on the move, a butterfly or industrious bee, zipping from flower to flower. I like to think such constant change keeps me flexible and fresh, makes me widen the tunnel vision we all inevitably develop.