Otto/Joshua dropped the laser into the trench he had prepared at the edge of the strip and kicked dirt and gravel over it. Then he ran toward the disaster he had manufactured.
The main part of Joshua’s body lay at the end of a ten-meter smear of blood and fragments. Otto toed it partway over and was relieved to see the pristine translucence of plastiflesh shredded among the more mortal remains.
He tongued a pill that was a selective vasoconstrictor. It made his face pale, hands clammy. Approximating a normal human reaction.
He turned around and, in the flowers, saw the blue-black sheen of a S’kang carapace. In an instance, it was gone. A trick of Ember’s strange light on the shifting flowers? Not likely.
He walked to the edge of the flowers and saw no evidence. But that didn’t mean anything; the creatures moved through the beds like snakes through grass.
No matter. It wasn’t likely that the S’kang had seen the whole affair, and even if it had, it wouldn’t understand. He found the pathway to the monastery and, discomposing himself, began to run.
“It was terrible. Simply terrible.” Joshua accepted a cup of chicory from Avedon, spilling a little as his hand trembled.
Avedon put a hand on his knee. “These things happen. I’m sorry that you had to witness it.”
He nodded, staring into the cup. “At least there must have been no pain… the Lord moves in mysterious ways. All we really know about her is that she was miserable—hounded, betrayed, discredited on her own world. Perhaps it was for the best.”
“I could never accept that. Any kind of life is better than death.”
“I’m afraid I agree with you. Though it’s a confession of a weakness in my faith.” He took a sip of the chicory and set the cup down. Opened the pressboard box he’d carried in with him.
“Well. These are the cubes we talked about.”
She accepted the box and thanked him, tacitly agreeing to change the subject. “Give us something to do after Ember goes out.”
“You’re all staying on?”
“No, just four of us.” A few heavy drops of rain thumped on the tent’s roof; she got up and crossed to peer through the flap. “After the last S’kang goes dormant, most of the crew’s leaving. Plenty of work these next couple of weeks, observing the S’kang as they go through their metabolic change. After that, just maintenance and analyzing old data.”
“For fifty years?”
She shrugged. “For as long as the Sagan group and the Confederación keep funding us. I’ll be here for a year, with Theo and two others. Then another team comes in to replace us. What about you?”
“I’ll stay for a while. No really pressing reason to leave, and I want to see the winter. It’s a relief to be away from the pressures on Earth, and I trust the man I left in charge.”
“That’s a healthy attitude… I’m going to hate like hell giving up the reins, no matter who it is.” The tempo of the rain suddenly increased, an irregular rattling. “You’re on foot?”
“Yes.” Joshua stood. “Suppose I’d better start back.”
“Before you have to swim. Let me get you a hat.” She found a bright orange plastic safety cap. He eyed it warily. “Go on, take it. It’s better than nothing.”
“I suppose.” It was a few sizes too large; sat on his head like a garish salad bowl.
She laughed. “It’ll keep your ears dry.” She led him to the flap, her hand lightly on his bicep. “Thank? for the cubes, Joshua. Come over any time you want to copy ours.”
“Well, that’s really out of my sphere.” He looked through the flap; still just sprinkling. “I’d meant to bring Brother Desmond, but he was too upset by the…funeral.”
“Understand.” She patted his arm. “We’ll be in winter quarters by the next time you come over. Ugly brown building by the digger site, you can’t miss it.”
“All right.” Joshua pulled his collar up and stepped out into the light rain. Once out of sight, he put the ridiculous hat under his arm.
The ground was still fairly dry, raindrops making small craters in the dust. But the sky was dark gray, with low black clouds sliding in from the east. He walked faster.
As he neared the edge of the flowers, a S’kang spider-walked over to join him. “Bad afternoon, Father Joshua.”
“It is that. Balaam’s?”
“Ay-firmative. You have been with Dr. Avedon?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in love with her? Are you going to mate?”
Joshua kept a straight face. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”
They walked along in silence. The rain increased suddenly, spattering flowers. Joshua put the hat back on and listened to the drumming.
“Did you tell her about killing that new one?”
Otto: “What do you mean?”
“I saw you point that thing at the spaceship and make it crash.”
“No, uh, that was a… kind of crucifix, for travelers. I was blessing it, the landing.”
“Didn’t work, though.”
Joshua sighed. “No. Sometimes blessings don’t work, prayers aren’t answered.”
“Many human things don’t work. I don’t know why you allow it.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Why did you want a crucifix that works like a laser?”
Otto flinched. “It’s difficult to explain.” Have to get rid of him. “Balaam’s, would you do me a favor?”
“If I can understand what you want; if there’s time before I slow down.”
“Well, that’s just it. It’s important to me that you be somewhere else when you slow down. Not near the monastery. In fact, I would like it if you left now.”
“Are you afraid that I’ll tell someone you sinned?”
“Not really—well, yes. My sinning is a matter of interest only to me and to my confessor.”
“Not to God.” He thumped, laughing. “I was leaving soon, anyhow. There is very little food when it gets cold; each one has his own area to search in. I could leave now.” He stopped walking. “Besides, if I understand what you are not saying, you will kill me too, if I stay.”
Otto didn’t say anything.
“I appreciate having the choice. I know how important this would be to a human.” He held up a tentacle. “Goodbye, Joshua.”
Otto watched him disappear into the flowers. Getting soft in your old age, McGavin.
7.
In the course of a week the rain changed to sleet, then snow; the wind rose to a screaming gale, slowed, then stilled; noontime dimmed from rosy paleness to utter dark. The temperature dropped a little less every day, but still dropped.
Otto had sent five coded messages through Theo. There was evidence in abundance: he wanted to close this case and move on to someplace warm. And push papers until he retired, preferably.
It was warm and bright inside the archeologists’ kitchen. Avedon cleared the dishes and sat down.
“It looks like we may have a change in plans,” she said.
“Really?” Joshua was distracted and rather impatient to get away. Before dinner he’d palmed a new message to Theo and gotten a slip of paper in return. He’d glanced at the coded numbers and could tell it was one word, ending in E. Maybe “terminate”?
“The Sagan Consortium has petitioned to allow us to experiment on a dormant S’kang, try to bring it back to activity. So we can continue our investigations.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“Well, I’m not. The consensus is that trying to bring one back will kill it. Even if it lives through the process, losing that half century of rebuilding… it would probably become mortal, and die.” She brushed a crumb off the table. “There’s a new sin for you.”
“Murdering an immortal?” Theo said. “It happened once before.”
“Weren’t you telling me that was against the law?” Joshua said. “Ag
ainst the Charter?”
“Which is why they’re petitioning. The Confederación is pretty anxious to uncover the S’kang ‘secret.’ I think they’ll bend the Charter to save a fifty-year delay.”
“What can you do about it?”
“Quit.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. If it happens, I guess I’ll find out then.”
“You don’t have a very scientific attitude about them.”
“Maybe not. I like them; I miss Prescott. Charter or no Charter, they aren’t laboratory animals, they…”
She looked at Theo and then Joshua, smiling slightly. “Put this in your catechism. What is neither born nor dies, whose motives and actions are incomprehensible to humans?”
“That’s blasphemy,” Joshua said mildly.
“Not on my part. I just asked a question.” She stood up. “Will you boys excuse me? I’m tired and it’s a long day tomorrow.”
The dry snow squealed under his boots. The stars were bright enough that he could follow the path without a flashlight. He breathed hot air through an electrie mask but his eyes watered with the cold; frozen tears on his lashes and cheeks.
He was tempted to take the message out and try to decode it as he walked along. But it would be easier with a pencil; besides, he’d lose a lot of body heat, unzipping at forty below.
What would happen if the Confederación approved thawing out one of the little bastards? It would weaken their case against the Magdalenists.
At least he’d killed Joshua Immanuel. One less.
He followed the path up to the light over the monastery door. They’d arranged a crude airlock, plastic draped over a metal frame. He picked his way through the slitted baffles and slammed the heavy door behind him.
He had just gotten out of his boots—the antechamber floor was cold—when Brother Desmond came around the corner.
“Sire, Monsignor Applegate wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”
“Tell him I’ll be ten minutes or so.”
Dressed, he went to his cell and latched the door. The message said: 521 592023 6929298865.
It only took a couple of minutes; he didn’t need all of the letters. Continue.
He rolled the message into a tiny ball and threw it across the room. Then the caution that had kept him alive long enough to retire exerted itself. He searched on hands and knees until he found the slip, and flushed it away.
Continue? He was just wasting time here, and his PO would start to fade in a few weeks. Bureaucrats. The hell with it. He let himself slip back into the Joshua persona, with some relief, and went to meet his second-in-command.
Applegate was sitting at the computer output screen. He turned it off and greeted Joshua.
“Find the leak yet?” Joshua asked. The winter room had been leaking heat. The ersatz Ember was supposed to keep it at summertime temperatures, but it wasn’t doing the job. They’d had to pump in air from the central heating system, and still the flowers were doing poorly.
“No. Brother Judson’s still working on it. He thinks we made a mistake in calculating either the conductivity of the support girders or the permeability of the walls.”
Joshua shook his head. “Well, that’s not my territory. What did you want me for?”
“Brother Colin had a bright idea.” Applegate leaned back in the chair, which complained. “He was disappointed because the S’kang that adopted you, Prescott, Balaam’s, whatever… disappeared before we could shanghai it. It was easier to communicate with than the others. Colin asked the others where it would be; turns out its territory was just down by the landing strip. He and Sister Caarla went down and fetched it back.”
“After he… it was already dormant?”
“Yes. It seems to be recovering. It’s a little confused, but talking.”
“Interesting.”
“Brother Judson had a fit. He’s too soft on them; came within a hair of quitting.” Applegate sat back up and rattled the keys on the console. “Josh, what would we do if that happened? We couldn’t allow him to…”
“I know,” Joshua said after a pause. “If it happens, just leave it to me. I’ll think of something.”
“I’m sure.” Without looking at him, Applegate said, “Balaam’s said the strangest thing. Delirious, I guess. It said you—”
“Killed that woman?” Otto supplied.
Applegate looked up, startled. “Yes.”
“Said the same thing to me, last week. Wonder what it’s been reading over at the archeologists’.”
He chuckled nervously. “Thrillers, maybe. Mysteries.”
“Or the Bible. Full of bloody murder.”
“Joshua…”
“Did it say how I managed to make the shuttle crash?”
“Uh, a laser.”
Otto laughed and shook his head. “That’s a max. Have you searched my cell?”
He hesitated just a moment too long. “Come on, Josh.”
“Kidding.” So he didn’t find anything. “Suppose I ought to go talk to the creature.”
“Go ahead. It’s night in there, but I think the moon’s up.”
Joshua went through the steel door and waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. The room’s “moon” was the pseudo-Ember, turned down.
It did feel about ten degrees colder than a summer night should. He could hear air rushing out of the central heating duct.
“Balaam’s?”
He heard a shuffling off to his right—there. The S’kang was trying to hide behind a tall stand of flowers.
“I won’t hurt you.” He walked toward the creature. The others were huddled in a far corner, resting or talking. They never really slept.
“They brought me here.” No emotion in its sandpapery voice. “I did as you said.”
“I know, Balaam’s; you did well.” To kill a S’kang, visualize an equilateral triangle, pointing down, with its eyes at two vertices: strike one hard blow at the imaginary point where its nose should be. This will knock it out. Apply thumb pressure to that point for a few minutes, and it will die. “It wasn’t your fault.” Close enough now for a savate kick. The charge tentacle undulating in front of its face: supplication? defense? No matter, ten thousand volts with negligible amperage; enough to kill a bug or write on a rock, not enough to hurt a man.
“‘Balaam said unto the ass,’” Balaam’s quoted, backing away, “‘“Because thou hast mocked me, I would there were a sword in mine hand, for now I would kill thee.”’”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Joshua followed the S’kang. “This isn’t the Bible. If I wanted to kill you, I’ve had dozens of opportunities.”
“Human logic, bullshit.”
Joshua/Otto suppressed a laugh and sat down. “Balaam’s,” he whispered, “come here. I have a secret.”
The creature stopped. “What?”
“I am not who you think I am.”
“How do you know who I think you are?”
“Come on, now, this is no time for riddles. Do you know what the Magdalenists are trying to do?”
The S’kang shuffled nervously in place: didn’t come any closer. “It’s a mystery. You say you are making my friends Catholics, but you never tell them anything any more. You just ask questions. And now you ask me the same questions, even though you know I don’t find them useful.”
“They aren’t here to convert you at all.”
“They, Joshua?”
“I am not Father Joshua. Father Joshua is an evil man. I was sent in place of him, to keep the Magdalenists from harming you, trying to find out the secret of how you moved this planet.”
“There is no secret.”
“I know. That’s—”
“You could do it too.”
He sighed. “I’m not interested. I just want to keep them from harming you.”
“You’re too late. What should I call you, if you aren’t Joshua?”
“You can keep calling me Joshua. What do you mean, too late?”
“Perhaps not
for my friends. Too late for me. My body tries to go both ways, and my mind, too. If I went outside I would freeze to death. If I stay awake, I will… it’s hard to find words. Overload. Go insane. Die of old age. Nothing human corresponds exactly. It will kill me, though: I was one, then I was the other, and now I am neither.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you. Who do you represent?”
“What?”
“Who do you represent? Who is so interested in our welfare?”
“The Confederacion. You know what that is.”
“Of course.” He moved closer. “This is strange. I find you easier to understand. It must be the dying that does it.” He made a chittering sound. “I’m getting more like a human. In a sad way. Have you always known you were going to die?”
“I suppose so. Since I was a boy.”
“Before that, did you worry about sin and repentance? God, and heaven, and hell?”
“No, I guess not. Because I couldn’t—”
“And so you treat us like children. Because we don’t reflect your anxieties.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Please leave. I have something to do.”
“Balaam’s! How long do you have?”
No answer. “Listen to me,” he whispered fiercely. “When Brother Colin asks you questions, don’t answer him too directly. If he learns anything, he may use it to hurt your friends.” The creature remained silent.
He went back through the steel door. Applegate looked up from the computer.
“Does it still think you did it?”
“Hard to say. Not making much sense. At first it ran away from me, but then it talked for a while.”
He nodded. “You ought to take the recorder in with you. Every bit of data helps.”
“I’ll do that. See you in the morning.”
Joshua went back to his cell and confirmed that it had been searched, not too professionally. He’d left his suitcase in the closet, unlocked, full of mufti. They’d looked through it but missed the false bottom. Not that he’d need the penlaser or knockout gas or the dozen other lightweight, miniaturized tools. Not with this crowd. All he needed was the word from his superiors.