Science Is Magic Spelled Backwards and Other Stories Read online

::Which you aren’t cleared to know about.::

  ::Oh? Well. I guess one of us had to know. Anyway, they wouldn’t have sent two amateurs on a really hot trail. They’re not looking for the Tapestry. It’s just that it disappeared coincidentally. So I think we ought to stop seeing spies everywhere and just enjoy ourselves. I don’t know about you, but I could use a vacation from chasing will-o’-the-wisp theories about the evolution of intelligent life. A ride through picturesque desert country sounds inviting.::

  ::Friend-of-two-parts::—Yost recognized the grave tone he’d come to associate with Kolitt’s approaching demise—::I’m incapable of enjoying this waste of time. The only reason I’m here at all is that Proken is an unusually persuasive administrator and my ancestors owed him a favor.::

  ::I know what you mean.:: Yost couldn’t count the times he’d been talked into tackling distasteful or dangerous jobs by the “highly persuasive” director. ::And I do hate having to sit here doing nothing for a whole day.::

  ::So, we’ll look up our guide and watch the preparations.::

  ::Fine idea.::

  ::But first, another meal and a night’s rest.::

  ::You’re determined to put some weight on me, aren’t you?::

  ::Not particularly. I’m more interested in putting some weight on me. But you could certainly use some reserve.::

  The next morning found them waiting for Groumain at the caravansary as the smoky light of the half-sun grew slowly into full dawn. Yost stood beside the stone watering trough that occupied the center of the yard and watched the caravansary come to life under the crisp dew of a chill dawn. Discreet questioning of the handlers obtained excellent character references for Groumain, and when the native guide arrived, Yost was reassured by his appearance as well.

  Groumain was taller than most of the locals, well fed, and of a healthy green hue. The length of cloth wound about his torso was a clean black and he had a spring in his step that spelled self-sufficiency. As they watched him organizing transport and supplies, Yost and Kolitt both agreed he was more intelligent, efficient, and dominant than one expected in a slave. He was scrupulously honest in his dealings and the fairness and firmness of his prices were unquestioned.

  When he’d rented a corner stall and hired a boy to clean it and care for the rented animals, Groumain came over to Yost, obviously appreciative that the human had not interfered with his work since introducing himself. “Sir, perhaps you could give me some idea of how many maisu will be needed for your baggage?”

  Yost eyed the huge, pad-footed, green-haired beasts with broad, flat rumps, bulging sides, and four spindly legs. They were something of a cross between a water buffalo and a camel, but with the vile disposition of a llama. “I believe one will be sufficient for my kit.”

  “My master has informed me you require three times the food of an ordinary man. This is accurate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll need two maisu for supplies. It’s a long way into the desert. With luck, two talu.”

  Yost translated. About three weeks. Three weeks out, three weeks back, and four weeks home. Ten weeks and they had only twenty...nineteen and a half. He said, “Yes, I realize that. I have my own camping equipment, but I’ll leave the food and water supplies to your judgment.”

  Groumain looked around the rapidly emptying caravansary. The watering trough was deserted as the sun now shown weakly on it and the walls surrounding the square stood on their own shadows. The maisu huddled in their ground-floor stables with their attendants, and the caravan travelers, the few who were laying over for the day, had taken to their second-floor rooms, above the thickest of the animal stench. Groumain said, “I’ll complete our arrangements this evening and we’ll leave in the morning.”

  Yost nodded. “That will do.” Of course, he’d check the “arrangements.” He was no stranger to deserts.

  The next morning, Yost appeared with his bag on his shoulder, dressed in a crisp, blue traveling coverall, almost before the nut vendors had fired up their coal basins for the day. He insisted on helping the stable boy load the maisu and unobtrusively took inventory. The only problem would be water and everyone he’d spoken to had said there was plenty in the northern desert if you knew where to look.

  Yost checked his folding dousing rod, slung it on a chain around his neck, and pocketed his purification kit. They were both legal on Harnuit since they employed nothing more sophisticated than solid-state, integrated circuits and basic chemistry. But some things were best not left for baggage.

  When Groumain arrived, they shared a quick meal, mounted their maisu, and departed with the largest caravan Yost had yet seen assembled at the caravansary.

  The lead maisu was carrying a boy and two huge ceramic jars of water with skins stretched across their mouths on which he beat out a rhythm. The sound had a musical boiiioing reverberation that soon had the maisu marching in step, one TWO THREE four...one TWO THREE four...over and over to a chanted tune that seemed the quintessence of movement.

  Yost breathed deeply, head high, thoroughly enjoying himself in spite of the dust, ripe dung, chafing crotch, assorted vermin, and depressing lighting. He thrived on strange and colorful experiences, primitive or sophisticated, and he’d certainly been in more miserable circumstances on many occasions, so he was prepared to enjoy an interlude of relative comfort.

  They followed the caravan for all of the first week while segments of it split off almost daily to seek their own destinations. Each day the sun became dimmer and they marched longer into the noon hour. Then one day, as the caravan settled down for siesta around an oasis that consisted of an adobe-walled well with hand-drawn bucket, Groumain peeled off to the north.

  Now that it was gone, Yost noticed they’d actually been on a trail of sorts. But here the ground was almost virgin. And it wasn’t long before Yost felt the lack of a drummer. The four maisu ahead of him now marched in random rhythm and their loads swayed sickeningly.

  They marched through the whole day as the gloom increased toward full eclipse. The sparse desert vegetation became even more scraggly and finally disappeared, leaving the sharp stones with only the wind to grind them to sand. The footing became so bad, the maisu often refused to put weight on one foot or another in a random pattern of jarring limps.

  The days passed, and Yost found himself relying more and more on Kolitt to keep his spirits up. Toward the end of the second week, as the watery gloom deepened toward dusk and the lighting seemed particularly oppressive, he said, ::This artist’s colony is supposed to be under the exact center of the fully eclipsed part of the continent. How do they stand it?::

  ::You find the lighting has an emotional impact?::

  ::Well, doesn’t it?::

  ::Not on me.::

  ::Why?::

  ::Because human nerve impulse codes aren’t my natural aesthetic referents. Now, if I were using a friend-of-one-part I might be able to judge the effect. But I doubt if their eyes could take this light intensity. So, I’ll never see it other than as a partner to a friend-of-two-parts.::

  ::Do you regret that?::

  ::No. Working for CC, I go places and see things that I’d never be able to experience otherwise. The price is high. Sharing the body of an intelligent creature, a friend-of-two-parts, rather than being master of a domesticated nonentity that never talks back or vetoes...or fails to eat enough...::

  ::Was that a gentle hint?:: said Yost, unwrapping a nut as his maisu plodded jerkily behind the others.

  ::Not so gentle, Ray.:: Yost read burbling laughter of embarrassment. ::I’m starving!::

  ::So I’m eating. Just be sure this beast doesn’t make me motion sick.::

  ::Have I ever let it do that?::

  ::No. But there’s always a first time.:: Yost would never forget one particular first time...at least, he wouldn’t until he’d delivered his partner safely home. ::How are you feeling?::

  ::As well as can be expected for my age. You have nothing to worry about.::

 
::Nevertheless, I do worry. What do you mean ‘as well as can be expected’?::

  ::I require more sleep and I’m always hungry. That’s all. It shouldn’t bother you. Your kidneys are sufficient for the task.::

  ::You’re growing?::

  ::Spontaneously. An unavoidable necessity.::

  Yost remembered the course in Ballatine physiology he’d taken nine years ago. He should have reread the text before this mission, but he’d been so rushed...and it would hardly have been polite after Investiture. ::As I recall, the growth curve is unaffected by conjugation?::

  Silence. Total withdrawal. Yost felt a panic of abandonment and was instantly contrite. ::Kolitt?::

  ::Here, Friend-of-two-parts. Another point...a friend-of-one-part doesn’t ask questions.::

  ::I’m sorry.::

  ::Partly my fault. Yes. It is unaffected.::

  ::Then you’ll be about double your size by the time we get home.::

  ::Three quarters.::

  ::And if we don’t make it?::

  Silence. The Kolitt seemed to choke on his negation. ::Please...::

  Yost prompted, ::It happens anyway, doesn’t it?::

  Anguish. ::God help me, no, not like that!:: It was the first time Yost had ever known of a Ballatine invoking a deity. The overwash of emotion almost knocked him off the maisu.

  ::Kolitt, I’m sorry, but it helps to face facts.::

  ::Friend-of-two-parts, believe me, I’d die first. If necessary, I’ll simply leave you. But it won’t be necessary. There’s plenty of time.::

  Yost couldn’t help wondering if the Ballatine would be able to commit suicide at such a point in the life cycle. As he recalled, the texts had been vague on the subject. At any rate, he wasn’t eager to try Divestiture outside of Chambers and without the protection of hypnotic conditioning.

  Yost said thoughtfully, ::Can God help us?::

  Silence.

  Yost let the subject drop. A slip? Or a figure of speech picked up from a lifetime association with humans? He knew he’d draw no further comment from the Ballatine, so he applied himself to eating the smoky nut and kept a careful eye on his compass. With Kolitt’s memory, they should have no trouble finding their way back alone, but he was uncomfortably aware that he might be making the trip in true solitude.

  Through the long, dry, but not uncomfortably hot days Groumain was the perfect servant. He was quiet, efficient thoughtful, and industrious. He even made it his business to learn how to set up Yost’s tent, and from then on refined his technique until he could make or break camp faster than Yost thought possible. Between a Ballatine and such a servant, Yost often reflected, traveling in primitive fashion was a real pleasure.

  Nevertheless, when Groumain announced that the next day would see them at Rogahm’s, Yost knew a lightening of spirit that only served to underscore the sense of doom from the watery, charcoal-smoke lighting. He found himself eager to get the job over with and get out of this forsaken land.

  They made camp for the night beside one of the typical adobe wells that dotted the trail at two-day intervals and, about midnight, Yost woke to sharp hunger pangs. ::Kolitt? Hungry again?::

  ::Apologies, Friend-of-two-parts. I’m consuming energy at an increasing rate. I’ll calm your stomach. You need your rest.::

  ::I’m awake now. You must really be starving. I’ll just take a walk, eat a nut, and look at the stars. At least the night sky isn’t smoky!::

  ::All right.:: Yost felt Kolitt’s embarrassment at allowing his host to feel even slight discomfort. ::But, Friend-of-two-parts, make it two nuts.::

  Yost rolled out, thrust two nuts into the glowing remains of Groumain’s fire, and scooted back to the tent for a warm coat against the desert night’s chill. Dressed, he skewered his nuts on the slender metal rods Groumain had set out for their breakfast and moved quietly out of camp, lighting his way with a lantern.

  ::Keep watch, Kolitt, so we don’t get lost.::

  Presently, he found a nice boulder with a seat-like depression and settled down to munch the warm nut-flesh while admiring the night sky. That was another good thing about traveling with a Ballatine.

  No matter what you ate, or how much of it, it always tasted magnificent.

  ::Ray! Let me!:: Kolitt commanded sharply as he took control of Yost’s head and eyes.

  Yost relaxed and let the Ballatine focus his gaze, knowing that the symbiont had no peripheral blindness. The streak of light across the northern sky was just fading when he found it. Kolitt said, ::I couldn’t tell if it was a meteor or...::

  ::Or a ship landing?:: supplied Yost. ::There’s no spaceport over there...only the Hermit Colony...::

  ::And Rogahm.::

  ::Ohhh...bah! This is ridiculous. Send a couple of overly imaginative amateurs to chase...what? What in the universe are we after, anyway?::

  Silent chuckle. Then, ::Let’s go back to sleep.::

  ::I’m not sleepy anymore. I’ll dream sinister space-ships!::

  ::You’re exhausted. I guarantee you’ll be asleep the minute you zip in.::

  ::All I do all day is sit on that damn maisu. Groumain is the one who fights with the contrary beasts. How come I get so tired?::

  ::Because I’m working hard! Now move before I do it for you.:: Kolitt’s tone reminded Yost of a soft-hearted parent trying to scold a lovable three-year-old.

  The Ballatine wasn’t that much his senior!

  Smiling, Yost replied, climbing to his feet, ::Don’t get tough with me, little partner. I’ll starve you.::

  Kolitt laughed, ::You already are!::

  Chuckling, Yost made his way back to his sleeping bag.

  The next day, about noon, they topped a final ridge and drew up to survey the Hermit Colony. The watery gloom threw the desert into a tricky, shadowless perspective and Yost found it difficult to estimate the size of the crater that cupped the fifty or so huts of the Colony. The glare-free lighting emphasized the brilliant colors of the stones that lay strewn about the floor of the crater, but somehow the harlequin patchwork of color lacked any trace of high-spirited gaiety. It wouldn’t take much to make it sinister as mysterious spaceships.

  The garishly bright purples, greens, blues, blacks, and reds were mixed with whites and oranges that seemed to glow in the weird light. There were a dozen shades of scintillating browns and too vivid yellows and hundreds of hues he couldn’t name. The effect was so grotesque, he searched for a harmless, commonplace simile. Yes. It looked like a paint laboratory’s testing site! He could hardly believe it was natural...and yet, he’d read the reports and knew, intellectually, that it was a work of nature...though it looked more like the work of the devil.

  There were no paths between the rectangular, pastel-colored huts that lay widely spaced among the rocks and around the sides of the crater. A single, clean trail led from the rim near them straight across the floor and disappeared halfway up the other side. Yost moved his maisu closer to Groumain’s and said, “Which house is Rogahm’s?”

  The guide pointed a long, green finger. “On the far rim, the pink one.”

  Kolitt said to Yost, ::If I’m not mistaken, that’s on a direct line between our camp last night and the point where the ship landed.::

  ::Or meteor.:: To Groumain, he said, “Well, let’s go.”

  Silently, the native led off down the sloping side of the crater and struck a brisk pace along the cleared pathway. Soon they were climbing again and before long they’d run out of path and dismounted to lead the maisu the rest of the way up to the rim.

  From the top of the ridge, Rogahm’s hut commanded a view of the northern desert plain and all its boulder-strewn barrenness. Yost counted a dozen steep ravines within the first mile. If a ship had landed in that...well, it’d probably crashed. And if it had crashed, they’d have heard the explosion. So, it must have been a meteor.

  They circled the pink building and found that the northern wall was composed of nearly a hundred small panes of glass, revealing an interior as colorful as th
e plain it faced. The hut was filled with Tapestries hung on movable wands suspended from tangled rigging that concealed the rafters.

  A native emerged from the depths of translucent veils and approached the door warily. He had a lighter green complexion than Yost had yet seen and walked with a pronounced limp, favoring his right leg. His garment was a swirl of grays and whites, and when he got closer, Yost could make out what looked like a solid mass of burn-scar on his torso and upper arms.

  When he opened the door, the native ignored Yost and growled tonelessly, “I’m not ready to show. Go home.” And he slammed the door.

  Groumain said, “Wait here. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He wrestled the door open and disappeared into the sparkling dimness, leaving the flimsy frame to slam lopsidedly shut behind him.

  Yost turned to inspect the rocky northern view. The impression of an impending storm was stronger here even though the sky remained clear blue.

  Presently, Groumain called Yost in. They found Rogahm covering a large table with an enormous sheet to conceal his unfinished work. Beside the table were large basins filled with the unstrung beads jumbled together without apparent regard for size or color. He grunted, “Well!”

  Groumain said, “This is the human I was telling you about.”

  Rogahm measured Yost’s length, mumbling under his foul breath, “The answer’s no. Now go away and leave me alone.”

  Yost took a deep breath. He thought, that’s why they call it a Hermit Colony. “I’m really very interested in your work. Can’t I just look around? I might find something over which we could come to some kind of agreement.”

  Yost watched the fire of avarice kindle in those purple eyes and then cool. Rogahm said, “I don’t sell my work.” He made it sound obscene.

  “But you do lend it for hanging where it might be viewed by more people. Your contract with the Gallery is only for Harnuit. And what is worthless to Harnuit eyes may not be worthless offworld. That might be”—he patted his pocket suggestively—“mutually satisfactory.”

  Rogahm hesitated, then grunted and turned away. “Look! But be quick about it!”

  Yost went to the end hanging and began working his way through the close-packed aisles. It was hard to get the total impression of any one piece and he rarely found any quasi-aroma. But, on the whole, he couldn’t see any difference between these and the ones in the Gallery.