Pike did not know where he was; he could barely think about where he was. The pain was terrible. it climbed up from the medulla and forced its way into the upper brain like a barbed ice pick, tearing out the inside of his head. Whatever nerves had once linked his motor center to his limbs were now disconnected. Nothing worked. If he could look through his eyes, he might find himself crumpled in a heap, thrown into some corner. Had it been a week? Five beclads? A teclad? Pike didn’t know and couldn’t think about it.
The pain abated, and Pike struggled again to remember what had happened. He had reached Neberdjer. It was something like Daryephna, bigger—much—and disjointed, not one structure. But he had hardly noticed that while he walked to a predetermined destination. The four facing hyperbolas; yes, he remembered those. They must be above him now. Where was that?
The pain again. Morse code with a sledgehammer: dot dot blam. Another ebb. Prickles here, there, everywhere. Why couldn’t he be killed now and be done with it?
The sounds cohered. First soft moans, plosives, maybe a little afterward or before. The first words were clumsy, random, broken, faulty intonation. Quickly they gained fidelity, spoken as if by a human. The rate increased, words said as fast as a blur until Pike’s vocabulary was exhausted.
Sometime later came the first sentence in perfect Bitter: Tell me, what is it like to die? Please answer. I
see you are concerned with death. I want it explained to me.
Who are you?
Pike managed to ask. What have you been doing to me?
I am Neberdjer. I have been trying to talk to
you.
What do you want with me? Why am I being held
here?
I have been trying to talk to you.
You have been trying to kill me.
I don’t understand what that means. Do you mean I
have been trying to terminate your life functions?
Yes.
No,
came the calm reply. That isn’t true at all. I
need your help. Recently I have become conscious, aware that I
exist. Previously I may have been thinking but was not conscious of it. A
difficult concept. I am not sure. More recently I have discovered the
existence of Aliens. I need your help. Therefore, I have been trying to
communicate with you. It is difficult. The concept of someone else is even
more difficult than the concept of self, but once that is understood, the
possibility of communication follows immediately. To construct the sentence
I am Neberdjer
was one of the most taxing sentences of my
life. Previously I
and Neberdjer
were one, indistinguishable
in meaning. The discovery of an independent being necessitated proposing a
not-Neberdjer,
a not-I
: a you.
Assuming the
yous
are independently aware of their own existence, or at least
quasi-independent, the I-equals-Neberdjer equality is not
universal. Neberdjer is discovered not to be the only I
: a new word
is needed to place in opposition to I
: you.
And a word is
needed to place in opposition to you
: I
in your language. I
will use that. I am Neberdjer. You are not Neberdjer. The entire experience
raises the question of whether the concept of self can truly evolve without
the concept of others.
You call yourself humans, correct? You humans
are difficult to talk to. Of course, I say that relatively speaking, as I
have rarely talked to anyone before. Why do you think I am trying to hurt
you?
You are hurting me!
Hurt? The meaning I have learned from you
connotes nothing to me.
I cannot move, I cannot function, I hurt. Surely you
must see that.
You, Pike, have been a big problem. When I first
met you, you did not speak Barbalan’s language, which I had so
painstakingly learned, so I could not speak to you in the simple manner I
had developed with her. But I needed to get a message to you. At best, it
has been tedious to have to follow individual nerve impulses, trace
synaptic connections, and manipulate the fundamental chemical and physical
reactions that produce words and phrases in your mind. All this I endured
for a time with Barbalan, until I learned to speak with her. Then you came
along. Not only were you ignorant of her language—forcing me to repeat the
entire process—but you insisted on running away, so I was obliged to do it
in a hurry, using an extra large portion of my resources, perhaps a
millionth of one percent. The results are clearly dubious. Now I have been
trying to learn your native language more systematically because it has a
larger vocabulary than the Gostum language. And, in addition, I still seem
to be causing you pain. I will reduce the energy levels. Would you like
some food?
Pike now remembered that he had recently eaten, that this Neberdjer had
been feeding him. The pain lifted. Pike blinked his eyes and shook his
head. You will let me go! I am the Polkraitz
Returned. I am Commander of the Gostum forces and I demand that you let me
go!
I need your help; I have told you that
already. The stability control mechanism—
What?
Is that not why you have come?
No. I have come for the metallic-hydrogen
manufacturing facility.
That is of no importance.
It is!
The stability control, the centering—
The hydrogen,
Pike insisted as much as he
could. Show me the facility, and I will help you.
No,
came the reply all but
instantaneously. I can’t.
Why not?
Pike found that since the pain had
abated, he could move.
After probing your memories, I do not think you
will like the experience. In fact, you won’t survive if you go through with
it. I see you are afraid of death, the termination of life functions—a
strange concept. I have determined from your physical makeup that you would
not survive the trip to the facility. If you would like me to kill you by
taking you there, I would be willing to do so without hesitation, except
for the fact that you would not then—if I understand your death
correctly—be available for the repair of the stability control
mechanism. Therefore, I cannot take you to the facility. The reasoning is
clear.
So you lied to me. You probably don’t even know where
the facility is. I’ve had enough of this.
Pike jumped up and began
walking briskly up the stairs.
Where are you going? I need you.
Pike tried to suppress his thoughts.You have lied to
me and have tried to kill me! You have tried to prevent me from getting the
secret! I will invade Triesk and find it there. I don’t need you!
Triesk? Why are you invading Triesk?
This is the Golun-Patra and I must have the secret of
Triesk. I am in Command, the Polkraitz Returned.
I did not know that the Polkraitz were back. That
is interesting.
Pike did not stop his running until he found the stala, blocks away. He gasped for air as he reached it, lying open under a domed sky with its map central and doors surrounding it at the plaza’s perimeter. He slammed his fist on the bar that he knew would take him to Konndjlan and dove past the door as it opened for him.
I’ll see to you yet, Neberdjer!
he shouted as the
door slid shut behind him. You will pay for this! I
will not leave Patra-Bannk a failure. Then you will pay. Wait and see!
The sand was burning when Pike emerged at Konndjlan. The guard was there,
as always, ready to take him up. The heat was unbearable on this desert and
would kill them very quickly without extreme precautions. He’d have to do
something about that. Give me a report,
he said to
the escort.
The new recruits are arriving by bits and
pieces. You can see some ahead now. We are housing them on the plateau at
Massarat because the Liddlefurans have still not come out of hiding.
Pike looked up. How long have I been gone?
The better part of a teclad, Commander. We
were about to give you up for lost.
So was I. Give me some water.
The escort
unstrapped his leathern flask and Pike drank heavily. What about the ultimatum to Triesk?
Refused, I have been told. The spy confirms
the rocket reports.
Indeed.
Pike took another drink as the grask loped
on, orange sand flying behind its hooves and the Massarat mountains
unforgivingly shedding their shadows in the wrong direction. We will go to Triesk. Neberdjer will see that the
Polkraitz cannot be stopped.