Radiant (14 page)

On Muta, rampaging octopi wouldn't be an immediate problem; the Unity had located their settlements well away from ocean shores until they could explore the marine world in depth. But the seas weren't the only unexamined source of hazard. There were also vast numbers of unknown microbes living in the atmosphere, water, and soil. The teams had done their best with their limited time and resources—almost a third of the people on Muta were studying microscopic life-forms—but there was so much to learn, they could easily miss some microbial species that was lethal to human life.

On the other hand, microbial action was unlikely to silence everyone on every survey team simultaneously. The teams were spread all over the planet, in widely dissimilar ecosystems. Different microbes would be present in different proportions, growing at different speeds under different conditions in different individuals. How could natural germ activity strike down everyone in the same instant?

And if not natural germ activity, what about unnatural? Deliberate bioweapons. That was also possible. At the Academy, we studied a recent bioengineered plague on the planet Demoth. The plague organisms had been created by nanotech "death factories" left over from a long-dead culture that had destroyed itself through germ warfare... and even though the aliens who made the factories had died millennia ago, the factories were still perfectly capable of analyzing
Homo sapiens
and producing a lethal disease precisely tailored to human metabolisms.

Thinking about that plague, I remembered something important about Demoth's epidemic. The source of the disease had been discovered by a karmic avalanche named Festina Ramos.

I glanced at her grim face. Was she tortured by the possibility that history was repeating itself?

On Demoth, the plague had claimed sixty million lives.

A lot of death. A lot of death.

At six o'clock ship's time, Captain Cohen was called away to talk with the Executive Officer—routine business about the next day's arrival at Muta. Festina took the interruption as an excuse to adjourn our "conference"... not that we'd been conferring much. We'd read the files in silence, Festina and I concentrating on planetological data while the others went through daily logs and personnel reports. Ubatu and Li got the occasional snicker from what the Unity chose to record ("Lieutenants Yardley and Juarez fined ten credits for disturbing the peace through contentious disputes on the taxonomy of slime molds"), but none of us found any glaring clues to Muta's hidden danger.

In retrospect, we shouldn't have expected obvious warning signs. Unity surveyors were smart and cautious. If they'd run into overt prospects of danger, they'd quickly evacuate their settlements. Even if they didn't have a luna-ship waiting to take them away, each team had an emergency escape shuttle that could blast off from the surface and go into stable orbit until help arrived. According to the files we'd received, all those shuttles were still on the ground. The teams had been completely blindsided—they hadn't seen what kind of trouble they were in, and, reading their records, neither could we.

So the meeting broke up. Li and Ubatu invited Festina to dinner in the VIP suite, but she said she wanted to inspect
Pistachio's
landing equipment. When the diplomats had gone, however, she sat back down in her chair. "Youn Suu?"

"Yes?"

"How do you feel now?"

"No different than usual," I said. Which was true. Whatever the Balrog might be doing to me, I couldn't sense the changes... any more than I could tell if my "memories" of the aliens at the pagoda were real or artificially constructed.

"Have you checked yourself with a Bumbler?" Festina asked.

I nodded. "The Balrog has spread everywhere."

"If I were in your position," Festina said, "I'd be terrified. Probably screaming my lungs out."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, I wouldn't scream out loud. But inside my head..." Festina shrugged, then gave a bitter smile. "Inside my head, I'd beat myself up—saying a normal person would scream and what was wrong with me that I never had normal reactions? But I'd still feel like shit."

"I feel like shit too," I assured her.

"Good." She smiled. "That's a normal reaction." Then she said, "You know I can't trust you, right?"

I suppressed a shiver. "I don't trust myself."

"And that partner of yours..." Festina made a dismissive gesture. "When we get to Muta, I'm tempted to go down solo. I'm the only one I
do
trust."

My turn to make a dismissive gesture. "But you can't go solo because it violates regulations. No one can go into danger alone when other Explorers are available as backup."

"The precise words of the regulation are 'when other
competent
Explorers are available as backup.' Between myself, Captain Cohen, and
Pistachio's
doctor, I'm sure we could find grounds to declare you and Tut unfit for duty."

"I don't doubt it." I looked at her. "But you aren't going to do that?"

She shook her head. "The Balrog clearly wants to take part in this mission. If I said no, it would find a way to tag along in spite of me—probably by taking over your body and doing something drastic."

A prickle of fear went through me. "That would be bad."

"I agree. So I'll let you come to Muta. I just won't trust you." She looked at me with sad eyes. "Which means I've already ordered the ship-soul not to let you near the Explorer equipment rooms unless I'm there to watch you. I can't take the chance that the Balrog will use you to sabotage our gear. I have previous experience with the goddamned moss. It likes to play games."

Festina waited for me to say something. I didn't. After a moment, she said, "If it's any consolation, I've told the ship-soul to keep Tut out too."

"Will you let him go with us to Muta?"

"I haven't decided. Do
you
want him along?"

"Yes. He's part of this too."

"Is that Youn Suu speaking or the Balrog?"

"I don't know." I took a breath. "From this point on, I'll never know who's speaking, will I?"

"No. You won't." Festina lowered her eyes in thought, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Okay," she finally said, "I'll give Tut the choice. This is a dangerous mission—possibly lethal. He can decide for himself whether he'll volunteer."

I thought about the Balrog giving me a similar choice down in Zoonau. If I'd known what it would entail... suddenly I was conscious of the tiny pain from the wounds on top of my feet.

Festina must have seen some change in my face because she asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

An idea popped into my mind: a way to check whether the pagoda incident actually happened. "Arrange for me to call my mother," I said. "Tonight. A direct link as soon as possible."

"I can authorize that." The navy seldom allowed direct calls home, but the great Admiral Ramos could undoubtedly pull strings to circumvent the bureaucracy. "Anything else?" she asked.

"Yes. Kill me if I start talking like a brainwashed zombie in love with the damned moss."

"Do you think that might happen?"

"I have no idea what I think. I don't even know who's thinking." My eyes felt hot. Before I embarrassed myself by crying, I walked stiffly from the room.

Dharma [Sanskrit]: A word with many meanings, all related to "truth." In Gotama's time, any teaching was called a dharma—the teacher's view on what was and wasn't true. Subsequently, Dharma (often capitalized) came to mean the Buddha's teachings in particular. Dharma can also mean the whole of reality: the ultimate truth of the universe.

From habit, I returned to my cabin... but as soon as I got there, I knew I couldn't stand being cooped up in a tiny room. All my instincts said, "Go check your equipment. Make sure everything's perfect." But Festina had barred me from doing that. I felt like a mother cut off from her children.

For something to do, I went down to the mess. It had been hours since my last meal, and I knew I should eat, even though I had no appetite. (Why wasn't I hungry? Had the Balrog already replaced my digestive system? I imagined the moss photosynthesizing inside me, pumping unknown alien nutrients through my veins, mutating my internal organs. The idea was ridiculous—how could spores in my lungs or liver get enough light to photosynthesize? More likely, they were feeding off
me.
So why didn't I feel hungry?) Nevertheless, I forced down a few mouthfuls of the vegetarian dish of the day: a casserole whose components had surrendered their individual identities and blended morosely into a homogeneous mush.

At least the mess's dining area was empty. I'd come in after the normal supper hour... which was good because I didn't have to put up with regular crew members asking questions about Festina. ("What's she really like?") On the other hand, eating alone in the silent room got on my nerves. I felt an irrational urge to shout obscenities or throw my bowl of mush against the wall. If somebody caught me, so what? The Balrog infesting my flesh was worse than any punishment the navy could impose. Besides, I had a perfect defense: I could claim mental incompetence because of the spores. "They made me do it, your honor!" Like a free pass that let me flout petty regulations.

Only one thing stopped me from a heartfelt rampage. Suppose I tried to run amok, and the Balrog froze my muscles; suppose the spores didn't let me make a fool of myself. They wouldn't want me getting thrown in the brig—that would interfere with the Balrog's plan. So I might find myself incapable of causing any sort of ruckus.

I didn't want to put that to the test. I didn't want to lose control of my body even for an instant... because that would prove I was lost. Better to retain a false hope that the Balrog couldn't really make me dance to its tune.

Of course, if it could already plant false memories in my mind... but I still couldn't decide whether the temple scene was fact or fiction.
Pistachio's
comm officer had begun setting up a call to my mother, but it would take at least another hour before I could be put through. Don't ask me why. Explorers weren't taught the principles of real-time FTL communication, except that it was fiendishly complex and energy-consuming. Even with approval from the illustrious Admiral Ramos, I had to wait my turn for an opening in the schedule. After all that, I wondered if my mother would answer. She'd be home, of course—she was always home—but sometimes when calls came in she'd just sit in mouselike fear, holding her breath till the caller gave up. It'd be just my luck if the one night I really needed to talk with my mother, she'd be having one of her "spells."

With such gloomy thoughts going through my mind, I stared at the casserole mush and tried to gather strength to eat another spoonful. "Damn, Mom," said a voice, "that looks like cat puke. Can I have some?"

I looked up. Tut stood there, wearing his usual cheerful expression. (The edges of his gold eyes were permanently sculpted into a friendly crinkle. The mouth moved a bit when he talked, but the corners were perpetually turned up in an amiable smile. Tut might be crazy, but he'd had the prescience to mold his metal face into unending good cheer.) I was so glad to see him, I almost wept. "Tut!" I cried. "You're awake!"

"Awake and feeling like I licked a dingo's anus. Man, am I starved!" He poked a finger into my food, scooped up a wad, and popped it into his mouth. Speaking while he chewed, he said, "I notice you've still got your legs."

"No thanks to you. I should belt you a good one for that."

"Aww, Mom, don't spank me. I was just trying to help." He looked down at my legs as if trying to see through my trousers and boots. "So, have you gone all red and fuzzy?"

"No." For some reason, I blushed.

"But you got moss all through you?"

"Yes."

"Checked out by the doctor?"

"Checked out by myself with a Bumbler."

His eyes narrowed beneath the gold—probably a dubious look, though it was never easy to tell with his face so hidden behind metal. Finally, he shrugged and sat down beside me. Plucking the spoon from my fingers, he started to eat my meal. "So what's it like, Mom?" he asked between mouthfuls. "Being all alien inside."

"So far, not much different."

"Kaisho Namida got all spooky. Do you think you will too?"

"What do you mean, spooky?"

"First thing I did when I woke up, I searched navy files for Balrog info. Know what stood out? People have tried to kill Kaisho more than a dozen times. She gives some folks acute xenophobia."

It didn't surprise me. Many humans are edgy around aliens, but a few suffer aversions so strong they lose control. One glimpse of a woman who's half red moss, and a severe xenophobe could collapse into moaning fits. The panic might even turn violent: attacking the source of terror to make it go away. A deranged hysteric lashing out is no laughing matter... especially if the crazed person finds a weapon. "So," I said, "these xenophobes came at Kaisho, and she did something spooky?"

Tut nodded. "She just sat there... but she always saw them coming, even if they ran up from behind. And when one of the wackos tried to hit her, she grabbed their hands faster than lightning and held on so hard they couldn't move."

"Impressive." Panicked people were noted for abnormal amounts of strength. I imagined Kaisho, sitting calmly in her wheelchair, snatching the wrists of a howling maniac and instantly clamping her attacker immobile.

"That's not the spooky part," Tut said. "As soon as she caught hold of somebody, she'd pull 'em down so she could look in their eyes. Wouldn't say a thing—she'd just stare. And five seconds later, they'd either faint dead away or go all calm like vanilla ice cream. They'd stay like that a few minutes, then get up and ask what all the fuss was about." He set down the spoon he'd been eating with, then turned and looked at me. "Can you do stuff like that, Mom?"

He waited... as if daring me to do something to his mind while our eyes were locked... or maybe he was
hoping
I'd affect him somehow. I held his stare for only a few heartbeats; then I dropped my gaze. "I can't do spooky stuff, Tut. And if I could, I wouldn't want to. Back in Zoonau, the Balrog gave me a vision—like it was letting me in on the way its spores perceived the world. Suddenly I had this sixth sense that could see the truth of people: their life force or karma or something. I put up with it for maybe three seconds. Then I yelled at the Balrog to take the visions away."