FRACTAL IMAGES ERUPTED and coalesced in his dreams: infinitely unfolding flower petals, spreading through a landscape of tortured helixes. Those faded, but in their place appeared chaotic attractors: spun-silk traceries of overlapping dragonfly wings, and tenuous clouds of colored vapors contracting into spinning balls of fire representing unknown mysteries of memory and being . . .
And voices whispering,
/// John Bandicut.
Is it you, John Bandicut? ///
Bandicut rolled toward the fire, huddling for warmth. But there didn't seem to be any warmth any longer—just disturbing, disjointed dreams . . . dreams of chaos captured in a spoon and stirred into the world like cream into coffee . . . dreams of a quarx.
/// Quarx.
Is that what I was called? ///
whispered a voice within the dream.
Bandicut shuddered, could not get warm. The fractals splintered like shards of glass, the attractors bifurcated into great elongated loops of glowing gas . . .
/// Please—what is our situation? ///
Bandicut sat up in the dark. "Charlie!" he cried. He looked around in confusion. "Charlie? Was that you, for God's sake?" He was shivering. More than shivering: crying. He had been dreaming vividly, intensely, remembering the quarx, who had died. "Charlie, you bastard," he hissed into the night. "Don't haunt me like this! Come back if you're going to come back!" He hugged himself, in a vain attempt to get warm. /Please come back,/ he pleaded silently.
For a moment, he listened to a soft clicking somewhere off in the distance, which startled him by its resemblance to the sound of crickets. Then he felt a rustling in his thoughts, and heard:
/// I'm just . . . trying to understand . . . ///
He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment saw exploding rosette patterns. "Is it really you?" he whispered. "Because I can't take much more of this. I really can't."
/// I am . . . quarx. ///
Bandicut pressed his face into his hands, shuddering with pain, with joy.
"John Bandicut, are you in distress?" queried a metal voice out of the darkness.
"What?" he croaked. "Who is that? Oh—Nappy!" And with a terrible start, he remembered where he was, and who he was with. "No—I'm fine," he choked, and rubbed his eyes, peering around the campsite. The fire had smoldered down; only a thin wisp of smoke curled up from it, and it was giving off no heat to speak of. There was just enough starlight to make out the shapes of rocks, and the two robots nearby. And, silhouetted against the starry sky, the statuesque form of Ik, seated crosslegged.
Ik's eyes gleamed like starlight, staring at him.
Bandicut let out a long breath. He had undoubtedly awakened Ik, who could only have seen him talking to invisible beings in the night. He cleared his throat. "Ik, I—sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"Urrrr," said Ik, motionless.
"I was talking to . . . someone, uh . . ."
"Hreeeeuhh?" Rasp.
Bandicut swallowed. "There's a, uh, quarx—an alien, uh, being—" he hesitated and pointed to his right temple "—in here. It just came back to life. I think."
Ik's eyes flared.
"It's not—I mean, it's a friend." Bandicut knew he wasn't making much sense.
"You s-speak to—"
"Quarx," said Bandicut. "A being that is . . . invisible . . . in my—" he tapped his head again "—mind. A friend."
Ik shifted position, and rubbed his chest.
/// You called me "friend." ///
Bandicut closed his eyes with a sigh. /Yes, you idiot, you stupid moking goak. What did you think? Of course you're my friend!/ Tears were welling up in his eyes again, tears of joy.
/// And . . . "Charlie."
Is that what you called me? ///
Bandicut squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. /Yes./ He tried not to tremble. /That's right. Charlie./ At least, the first two incarnations of the quarx had been named Charlie. But each time it came back to life, it seemed to have a different set of memories.
The answering voice seemed thoughtful.
/// Who is this other person you're talking to? ///
/Him? Ik./
/// And what is . . . Ik? ///
Bandicut blinked his eyes open, to find the alien gazing at him under the stars. /I don't know, actually./
/// ??? ///
/We just met. Charlie, how much do you remember?/
Ik's alien eyes were glowing steadily, as he tilted his head, perhaps in an attempt to decipher Bandicut's strained expression. "This quarx—" he began.
/// There was . . .
a close encounter with death,
was there not? ///
/Oh yes. Indeed. Which one are you remembering?/
"Does it speak through your—?" Rasp.
/// I remember being cold,
and wet. ///
Bandicut blinked at Ik, aware that Ik was trying to ask something. /That just happened. Ik saved my life./
Ik pointed to his own temples, then toward Bandicut's wrists. The translator-stones.
Bandicut shook his head. "No. Not exactly." He rubbed the tiny bump of the gemlike mechanism embedded in his right wrist. "But I do hear him, in the same way I hear the stones. He lives in my—" Bandicut waved his hands alongside his head "—thoughts."
Ik clacked his mouth shut with a rumble.
/// Daughter-stones?
Is that what you're talking about? ///
the quarx whispered.
/// From the translator?
I seem to remember a translator.
It was very important, wasn't it? ///
/You could say that,/ Bandicut murmured, and nearly fell over with a sudden rush of memories, released by the quarx. A cascade of memories . . . friends, days at work, home . . . and deep mourning, for all he had lost. But as he struggled to surface from the passing wave, he thought—at least he had regained his friend, the quarx. /Welcome back, Charlie! Do you remember helping me save the Earth? Do you remember saving my skin, so we could finish the mission?/
/// Saving your skin? ///
/A long time ago. When the robots dropped some heavy tanks and nearly killed me./ The pain of the broken ribs was still present. It had not actually been such a long time.
He felt the quarx's thoughts stirring in the musty attic of his mind.
/// I'm . . . uncertain about these things.
I must reflect. ///
And with that, the quarx seemed to fade away, as if retreating into another room to study what he had been told.
Bandicut sighed, breathing warm air into his cupped hands. He didn't mind the quarx going off by himself, just as long as he was here, alive. Bandicut leaned forward to see if he could breathe some life back into the fire. There were still some unburned pieces of wood among the ashes. He poked at them, trying to coax them into burning. A minute later, he had succeeded only in extinguishing what fire remained. He peered ruefully up at the alien in the darkness. "I'm not much of a woodsman," he apologized. "But I think I have a lighter in my bag."
Ik raised a hand and Bandicut paused. The alien rubbed at his abdomen with one hand. He leaned over the ashes and carefully readjusted the remnants of wood. Something sparkled under his hand, and when he sat back, tiny flames licked up out of the pile. He groped in the dark grass, found another piece of wood, and broke it and placed it gingerly on the bit of fire. Within seconds, the flames flickered higher and Bandicut could feel their warmth. He leaned close, shivering with the sensation of heat.
"I have had . . . practice," Ik remarked. He clacked his mouth shut and watched the fire with glimmering eyes. He said nothing further about Bandicut's invisible friend, but after a time, murmured, "R-r-rest again?"
Bandicut nodded, but sat motionless. Though exhausted, he was also wide awake, and he wanted to huddle close to this fire as long as he could.
"Yes?" asked the alien.
Bandicut sighed and finally lay down again. "Yes. Let's rest."
*
Sleep did not come again for a long time. The alien sat like a silent statue, while Bandicut tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable. He spent half an eternity shifting positions, waiting for his thoughts to wind down. But the ground was cold and damp with dew, and finally he gave up trying, and sat up again, huddling and staring at the shrinking embers of their fire.
If this was a taste of what he had to look forward to . . . He shook his head. The question kept ringing back to him: Who had brought him here, and why? "Because you are needed . . ." Which was almost worse than no answer at all. What need could possibly explain this? As for the "who," he assumed it was the builders, or owners, of the translator that he had encountered on Triton; but he didn't even know that for certain. Surely he hadn't been brought all this way just to bring the daughter-stones home. Or worse yet, to begin some new mission. Jesus, he hoped not. He shook his head and closed his eyes again, remembering . . .
The solar system . . . Triton . . . Julie Stone . . .
Especially Julie Stone.
Julie probably never did understand why he had stolen the spaceship from Triton, and fled across the solar system, mere hours after their intimacy together. Could she have understood it? Had she heard—or believed—the messages he had broadcast from Neptune Explorer? He desperately wanted to think she had—to believe that he had somehow redeemed himself in her eyes. But he knew that it was a lot to hope for. He sighed, and tried not to think about those wants and hurts, tried just to remember her eyes, her laugh, the way she'd looked and felt when they'd made love . . . and then he started to tremble, as those memories rushed back to him.
No, no. If he started dwelling on that, he would go mad.
Remember the flight instead. The crazy dive past the sun that he had made because somebody had to do it, and it was just his bad luck to be the somebody.
He had tried to explain, but he didn't know if anyone had believed his explanation—that he was saving Earth from an impending catastrophe. Maybe they saw the flash when he hit the planet-killer comet; maybe they didn't. And during his space-threading transit from the solar system to the edge of the galaxy, who knew how much time had passed—generations, probably. Or centuries. Or even millennia. Not that it mattered much in a practical sense. He was never going home again. How could he? And if he was going to be marooned thousands of light-years from Earth, what difference did it make what year it was back home? Except, it did matter, to think that Julie was alive, still—or dead.
He felt a voice whispering in his thoughts.
/// Somehow,
I feel that these questions
are my questions, also. ///
Bandicut half closed his eyes, rocking forward and back. /What do you mean, Charlie?/
/// I'm not precisely sure. ///
The quarx seemed to be trying to frame something in his own mind. When he spoke again, it was with a mixture of puzzlement and grief.
/// I don't remember my own world,
John Bandicut.
It's . . . not the same as yours,
is it? ///
Bandicut shook his head, remembering Charlie-One, or maybe it was Charlie-Two, telling him that he was completely isolated from his own people; he didn't even know if there were any other living quarx in the universe. It saddened Bandicut to remember that. And yet, it was strangely comforting not to be the only one living in cosmic exile.
Perhaps noting his thoughts, Charlie whispered,
/// Do you have
memories of mine that you could
share with me?
I seem to have so few of my own. ///
/Feel free to look around. But that feeling may pass. It took you a while to remember things, the last time you came back to life./
/// ??? ///
/You do remember that you've had past lives? That you've died, and come back to life before? And your memories were . . . incomplete?/ He shook his head and stopped trying to put it into words. A quarx, reborn, seemed to share some of its predecessors' memories, but not all of them. It was an inconvenient trait.
He chuckled suddenly. /Charlie?/
/// Yes? ///
/What are you going to be like this time? A practical joker? A brilliant artist? A con man?/
/// ??? ///
He sighed. /Don't mind me, I'm just giving you a hard time. You don't remember that you come with a new personality each time?/
/// No.
I think I must
study this a while longer. ///
/Good idea,/ Bandicut whispered, yawning. He lay down, huddling close to the fire. /Help yourself to any memories you find in the cupboard. I need to get some sleep now./
He closed his eyes, and slept at last.
*
Ik woke before the first light of dawn. He sat motionless, letting his eyes focus on the curled up form of his new companion, on the other side of the fire's ashes. A most interesting being, this John Bandicut, with its robots and its inside alien! Ik wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But one thing he did know was that in his half-dozen seasons here on Shipworld (as nearly as he could judge the passage of time), he had met very few other beings who had voice-stones. He thought the appearance of a new one was likely to be important. Ik touched his own stones, on both sides of his head, and decided that he wished to learn more about John Bandicut.
Unfortunately, he did not have the luxury of time. He needed to keep moving. Li-Jared had missed their scheduled rendezvous, and Ik was worried. His friend never missed a rendezvous unless something was wrong. But there was a possible trail: he had seen a few footprints that looked like Li-Jared's, back in the last region, and the disturbance of the ice-river bore all the signs of an environment troubled by the passage of someone like his friend. John Bandicut's robots probably had set off the immediate attack; but unless the contamination had grown worse than Ik imagined, the ice-river must already have been irritated.
Ik hated rushing off—on this chase or any other. It was the sort of thing that precluded thoughtfulness and caution. Ik believed in thoughtfulness, in taking the long view. But when boldness was called for, there was no point in hesitation. If only he knew what sort of boldness was appropriate! If only he knew what Li-Jared had learned! Even Ik was becoming impatient. The time had come for them either to make their escape from this perplexing world, or to steel themselves to meddling in its affairs. They simply could not stay mere observers much longer.
And what about this new arrival, this John Bandicut?
Ik sighed softly through his ears. Light was at last growing in the sky. He rose silently and stretched his limbs. He would allow John Bandicut to rest a little longer. In the meantime Ik would scout the land.
*
The dawn light, pink and cold, woke Bandicut. He sat up painfully, barely able to coax his aching joints to move. He rubbed the grit from his eyes and stared across the pile of ashes where the fire had been.
His alien friend was gone.
He struggled to his feet, trying not to be alarmed. "Ik?" he called hoarsely. "Are you still here?"
Napoleon whirred. "John Bandicut, are you looking for the other?"
"Did you see him?"
"I believe he is walking in the cluttered area beyond," said Napoleon, swiveling a slender metal arm toward the copse of trees outside their sheltered camp.
"Ah," Bandicut muttered, realizing that he had another need. He glanced around with a slight feeling of embarrassment. He'd never taken a leak on an alien world before. He hiked a little farther into the cleft of rock, then stood facing the wall, sighing, as he emptied his bladder.
He turned to go find Ik.
/// I am still with you, ///
said a quiet voice in his mind, as he walked out among the trees.
He blinked, startled. He had some readjusting to do. /Good! Welcome back! I hope you're making sense of things. Maybe you can help me make sense of things./
/// I will try, ///
promised the quarx.
Bandicut spotted the tall alien out beyond the far edge of the trees. "Ik! There you are!"
Ik turned and gestured expansively. "Hrrrlll. You note the morning!"
"Yes, indeed," Bandicut said, trying not to limp from soreness as he walked over. "Good morning."
"Good morning," repeated Ik, rolling the words off his tongue. He turned, surveying the land in the early light, and spoke haltingly. "John Bandicut. I must travel far today." He turned to look back at the human.
"Oh."
"I have great need."
Need? Bandicut cleared his throat. "Well, is it anything I could help you with?"
Ik cocked his head. In the daylight, he looked less skeletal and more . . . alien. His eyes, though small by human standard, sparkled piercingly bright in their deepset hollows. His skin appeared leathery but smooth, with a tint that seemed to vary according to the light, from white to a distinct blue. Bandicut wondered what kind of sun Ik had grown up under. Or if he had grown up under a sun at all. Bandicut squinted up into the sky, wondering what that bright light really was, if this wasn't a planet.
Ik watched him think, without answering.
Bandicut returned to his question. "I mean, I'd like to help, if I can." He gestured to his left, toward the cliff from which they had emerged as if by magic, yesterday. "To, well, repay you."
"Re-pay?"
"For saving us. Bringing us here." He gestured expansively. "Wherever here is. It's better than where we were."
Ik opened his mouth and snapped it shut, twice. "Yes. I have been in this region before. Once. But I don't know it well."
"Ah. You're a stranger here, too." Bandicut nodded, remembering Ik's gesture to the stars last night. "Where is it you . . . come from?"
Ik's eyes seemed to sharpen. "Where? From . . . a world that . . ." He waved vaguely toward the sky. "From another . . . it is called, rrrr—" His voice seemed to tighten and rise half an octave. "Hraachee'a. Home." His translator-stones flickered in his head, and Bandicut felt the tingle in his own wrists as his stones tried to translate. Or perhaps that was a translation—something that he could at least try to get his mouth around.
"Hrack—"
"Hraachh—" said Ik, emphasizing the guttural rasp. "Hraachee'a."
"Hraachee'a?"
"Yes. Urrr, home. It has—had, rather—many names."
Had many names? Bandicut was afraid to ask. "Was it another world, in space? You traveled—" he waved his hand across the sky "—from another, a different, sun? Another star?"
Ik clacked his mouth shut, twice. "Another star. Yes." He made a harrumphing sound. "Star of another, a different, a lovely—urrrrr—" Rasp. His temple-stones pulsed, as he peered about the copse, looking for something to use as an illustration. Finally he pointed to his own skin. Bandicut's stones tingled, as he heard, "Blue."
"A blue sun?" Bandicut echoed in wonderment. He'd always heard that it was impossible for life to evolve near a blue sun. Too short a life span for the star. Apparently he'd heard wrong.
"Blue-ishhh . . . sun. Yes." Ik's eyes flickered. "Was. But no longer."
Bandicut's heart sank for his new friend. "What do you mean? It's gone?"
Ik rubbed the front of his abdomen, eyes darkening. "Gone, yes. So I believe."
The alien's pain was palpable. Ik, too, was an exile—but his world hadn't survived him. "I'm very sorry," Bandicut said softly. "So you were brought here, by someone? Some force?"
Ik swept his arm in an arc. "Six seasons ago."
"Do you know why?"
Ik looked uncertain. He rubbed his fingers along his front.
"I don't know why I'm here," Bandicut admitted. "Or even what this place is. Except—" He hesitated.
"Yes?"
"Well, except that someone seems to think I am needed here." At those words, he thought he saw Ik's eyes gleam for a moment. Hadn't Ik said something about "need"? Bandicut frowned and continued, "But I don't know why, or by whom."
"Don't know," Ik agreed. He looked away for a moment, then stared back at Bandicut, eyes glittering. "I have been seeking . . . answers. With a friend. I must set out soon now, to find my friend. We were separated, and he might be in danger. He might have gained information." Ik closed his eyes and opened them again. "Would you—" rasp "—wish to come?"
Bandicut opened his mouth. There it was: an invitation. Should he go? If not, what should he do? He had no way to return to his ship. And even if he could return, what then? He'd seen no indication that the owners of this strange world had any intention of coming to greet him.
"I do not know," said Ik, "what we may find."
"Um," Bandicut asked softly, "this friend. Is he of your own kind?"
Ik's breath sighed out. "Not a Hraachee'an, no. But—" his eyes sparked with intensity "—a friend."
Bandicut absorbed that silently. "Is it far? Will you travel very far?"
Ik touched his cheek with two fingers. "Perhaps, yes. He was intending to meet—hrrrump—" Ik paused, trying to rephrase. "My friend, Li-Jared, did not join me as planned. He may be, may need, help." Ik became agitated, as though he were intending to stride off that very moment.
Bandicut swallowed. "Well, then, we will try to . . . help."
"You need n-not," said the alien.
/// What are you offering here? ///
/I don't know. But he saved my life, Charlie./ Bandicut reached out with open hands. "I would like to come," he said. "If we can help, I would like to."
Ik's eyes flickered. "I accept—" rasp "—welcome your help. But your—" He shifted his gaze back toward Napoleon and Copernicus, perhaps remembering the deadly commotion they had caused yesterday.
"Robots," Bandicut said. "That's Copernicus, on wheels. And Napoleon, on legs." He hesitated. "They must come with me. I would feel—lost, without them. They are very—" he searched for the right word "—loyal."
The alien's stones pulsed for a moment or two. "Hrahh. Loyal."
/// I'm not sure I know
the word. ///
/It means you stick by your friends, and people who've helped you./
"That is a good thing, John Bandicut," Ik was saying.
/// Perhaps I should study this, as well. ///
/Take a look under "friends." I don't know what you'll find, but maybe it'll bring back some memories./ To Ik he said, "Shall we eat something and get going?"
Ik clacked his mouth in agreement.