Neptune Crossing (The Chaos Chronicles) (18 page)

Even his own heartbeat seemed to thunder in his ears.

He felt as though all of his senses, both inner and outer, were afire—as though Charlie, in his departure, had somehow flayed his nerve endings so that he would forever be adrift in a sea of noise, fretfulness, and chaos. /Damn you, Charlie, for leaving like that.../

His thoughts seemed to drift away like whispers on the wind,
Damn you, Charlie...damn you, Charlie...
and then it was gone, like the sound of a dream passing in the night. He thought he heard an answering whisper,
Who is Charlie?
and he blinked his eyes in the dark and searched his mind, and wondered: indeed, who was Charlie? And why did he come to me, and then leave before his work—our work—was done? And will I be hearing voices in my imagination for the rest of my life?

And he felt a creeping sense of inevitability wash over him, saying, yes you will...as he drifted off to sleep at last.

*

It seemed only an instant later when he was startled awake by a gurgling sound:

/// Where the...(glurrrk)...am I? ///

He heaved himself up on one elbow, staring into the near-total darkness of his bunk alcove. The tiny red clock readout provided the only light, glowing blood red as it floated in space beside him, telling him that it was 0447, the middle of the night. What the hell had awakened him? "Charlie?" he called out softly.

For a moment, through his grogginess, he felt the weight of his own stupidity. What was he doing, calling out aloud to a dead alien? But he was certain he had heard something.

There was another gurgling sound, like a clogged drain. He strained to hear. Was it coming from outside? From the lavatory? No...

He wondered if he were going out of his mind. Silence-fugue? It didn't feel like it, but...voices in the night? Probably just a dream, for God's sake. Was he losing the ability to distinguish between dream and reality? Was it that hard, losing Charlie?

/// Char-leee? ///

Bandicut froze. That was a definite voice.

/// Was that...

what you called—? ///

/
Charlie!
/ he screamed. He was suddenly gasping again, overwhelmed by a need to drag air into his lungs. /Charlie, is that you?/

/// I'm—not sure— ///

/
Charliiiiie!
What are you doing to me, damn you?/ He fell back on his pillow, holding his head in both hands. /Furgin' hell, is this some kind of—/

He was interrupted by a stronger voice:

/// Please—

please stop shouting, sir!

I must know—who you are— ///

Bandicut gasped breathlessly. Suddenly he realized that he felt a multiple bewilderment—his own, and someone else's—someone in his head.

He sat up again, dizzily. /Charlie? Is it really you? Or—/

Time seemed suspended, through a long moment of uncertainty. Then a very soft, tentative voice said:

/// Charlie...?

Perhaps...you could call me that. ///

Bandicut felt a cold chill run down his back.

/// Your name is...Bandicut.

Yes? ///

/Yes,/ he whispered. /But who—?/

/// I think I...

have memories of you,

John Bandicut. ///

Bandicut felt as if he were spinning in a centrifuge out of control, his mind staggering from unrelenting Coriolis veering. He lay back down.

/// Can you tell me please

...what happened? ///

/What
happened?
You
died
! Last night!/ He felt his bewilderment rippling back upon itself. His thoughts flashed involuntarily back to Charlie's death—reviewing the events as if in blazing holo. It was a disturbing, disorienting review—the death, and its emotional and physical effects. But there was a quarx in his head again. Was it really Charlie?

/// Something...else...happened. ///

Bandicut lay helpless as the thing in his mind struggled to sort its way through the facts. /What else happened?/ Bandicut whispered.

/// Not just...death. ///

/No—?/

/// —Something—

.

—quarx—

.

—I—

.

... ///

It seemed to run out of words.

Bandicut whispered, /Please—just tell me—are you the Charlie I knew?/

There was another long hesitation.

/// I...am uncertain... ///

/But—/

/// .

.

.

< quarx >

.

.

<< die >>

.

.

???

.

.

< quarx >

.

.

<<< reborn >>>

.

.

.

—I—

.

.

< uncertain >

.

.

< remembering >

.

.

—you—

.

.

—once knew—

.

.

—a Charlie?—

.

. ///

Bandicut struggled to keep from crying out his intense...he didn't even know what the emotion was, just that it was building like a scream that wanted to get out, but couldn't because a weight was sitting on top of it. He felt his breath rush in and out, and behind his closed eyelids, lights were flashing and he felt as if he were falling...

/// What—?

.

What is this?

.

Stop!

.

STO-O-O-P-P-P-P! ///

He felt himself jerked back to stillness, abruptly, as though a band of steel had clamped down upon his brain. He gasped, dizzily. /You...used to do that a lot more...gently,/ he wheezed.

/// ??? ///

He gulped. /Silence-fugue. It...hits me...and it's all I can do to...keep my head on straight until it passes. But you found a way to—/

/// I—? ///

/You. Before you—/ he choked on the word /—
died!
/ Bandicut felt himself suddenly burning with rage. /Before you started moking with my mind!/

/// —I— ///

the creature gasped at his rage

/// —did nothing— ///

/Then—/ Bandicut whispered raggedly, /please tell me—who are you? And where is Charlie?/

The quarx seemed stunned.

/// .

.

Charlie

.

.

transformed

.

.

I am

.

.

I am not

.

.

you may call me

.

.

Charlie

.

. ///

Bandicut's heart pounded.

/// You still don't...? ///

No. I don't understand. Or maybe I do. He felt a powerful sensation of wheels shifting and spinning in his mind.

/// Charlie died—? ///

whispered the quarx.

/Yes./

/// I am of the...ashes? ///

Bandicut stared into the darkness.

/// Now do you...? ///

/Yes,/ he whispered. /I think I do now./

Chapter 12

Charlie-Two

When the alarm chimed, he rolled out of his bunk with a groan. Although he'd eventually sunk into a muddled slumber, he did not feel rested in the least. He considered calling in sick, but he didn't want to have to concoct reasons. Vague claims of insomnia were unlikely to cut much mustard with Dr. Switzer.

He grabbed something to eat in the cafeteria and headed for the ready room.

/// What is planned for today? ///

asked the quarx. Charlie—the new Charlie—had awakened somewhat clearer-headed, or at least more articulate, than he had been in the middle of the night.

/I have to go to work,/ Bandicut answered curtly, trying to brush the question off. He hauled his suit out of the locker. They had a lot to talk about, but now was hardly the time—and truthfully, he hadn't much stomach for it. He wanted to pretend that Charlie-One was still with him, pretend that last night hadn't happened.

/// He...we...

did not mean for it to be

disruptive.

It's unlikely that he wanted to die,

you know. ///

Bandicut grunted, hauling the bulky mining suit up over his shoulders. The last of the other workers had just disappeared out the airlock. /No, I suppose not./ And how am I going to get through this day? he wondered. By pretending everything is okay? By doing nothing that will take me even remotely closer to understanding—much less accomplishing—Charlie's and my mission? /Do you—/ he whispered, /know what Charlie knew? Do you remember what we talked about? Our...purpose?/

The answering voice sounded apologetic.

/// I'm not...entirely sure.

Some. Not all. ///

/Then he's really gone? Charlie? Part of him, anyway?/

/// I am sorry.

Was he...a good friend? ///

Bandicut sighed and didn't answer for a while, as he wrestled with the last fittings on his suit. /Nah,/ he whispered at last. /Would a good friend have done something like that to me?/ Without waiting for an answer, he clamped his visor closed and hurried off to the airlock.

*

/// It is not

that I remember nothing. ///

the quarx said, rather severely it seemed, as the air whispered out of the airlock.

/// But rather that I need

to consolidate

pieces of my memory. ///

Bandicut had noticed that this version of Charlie seemed to have a starchier disposition than the first Charlie's. /Pieces of your memory? Is that going to take a long time? I wish you'd explain to me
how
you appeared out of the little pieces that Charlie left behind./

The quarx seemed to be groping for words.

/// How?

I don't know.

I didn't...exactly appear out of his pieces.

I am him—

just not entirely.

There is an oblique recurrency

in our...life cycle. ///

Bandicut was watching the pressure readout in irritation. /What are you saying, you don't really die?/

The quarx sounded offended.

/// We certainly do die.

Perhaps, though, the term "death" is misleading,

in your language.

There is a continuation, and an alteration

in our— ///

His voice dropped to a wordless, gravelly moan, which pitched up and down like waves on an ocean. He paused, apparently deciding that he could not find the right word.

/// I'm afraid

your language doesn't quite suffice— ///

/Hey!/ Bandicut snapped. /I'm so mokin' sorry our language can't handle the reproductive cycle of mokin' quarxes!/ He checked the last settings on his life support and savagely punched the airlock exit button.

/// I didn't mean...

actually I think you mean "quarx,"

rather than "quarxes";

I believe that's truer to the spirit of both

singular and plural... ///

Bandicut ignored him and bounded with shallow, jogging leaps toward the crawler bay.

*

Crawler Three was powering up as he reached the docking bay. He yelled to Bronson, hanging off the stern ladder. "Hold up!"

Bronson waved him away. "Go see Massengale!" he called, his voice scratchy through the comm. "You've been reassigned!"

Bandicut peered up at the crawler boss. "
What?
Why?"

Bronson's grinning eyes were just visible behind his visor. "I dunno. Prob'ly didn't like you learnin' your job here so fast. Hell, he's prob'ly disappointed you didn't fall off an' kill your damn self."

"Yeah," Bandicut muttered. "Okay, see you around." Scowling, he turned back toward the airlock.

"Hey, Bandicoot."

He swiveled back. "Yeah?"

Bronson's grin was wide. "You did okay here, for an outa work survey jock. Take it easy, y'hear?" He waved and clambered up the ladder to the top of the crawler. Bandicut stared after him for a moment, then shook his head and walked at a leisurely pace back toward the ready room. 

/// Is this what you would term

...a setback? ///

the quarx asked.

He shrugged. /Damn near everything I've been doing has been a setback, if you're talking about our "mission." Do you remember the last few days of work—what we've been doing? Charlie seemed to think he was learning something from it, though I'll be joogered if I know what./

/// I remember those days...

only vaguely. ///

/Well, do you remember Herb Massengale?/

/// Um...

wasn't he...some kind of...asshole?

Is that the correct word? ///

Bandicut laughed out loud and punched the airlock control. /Okay, Charlie! There
is
some of you in there, after all!/ He stepped into the pressurized room. Before unsuiting, he plugged his helmet comm into a wall jack and paged Herb Massengale.