The Braided World (32 page)

In the first light of dawn, Nick paddled on the Sodesh
, his skiff one of thousands. As they did every morning, Dassa men and women traveled to and from the uldia pavilion to fulfill their duty of the variums: to swim, to procreate. He was conspicuous, he realized, but he might draw less attention when the rivers were crowded with morning traffic. He would insist that Oleel see him. And in case she turned ugly, he'd left word in his notepad where he'd gone—and why.

Nearby, a group of women, probably sisters, happily paddled, chatting and sharing breakfast on the river. They paid no attention to him. Perhaps he was growing invisible as he began to die.

Although Oleel claimed that nothing could save him, Nick believed that langva heightened the human immune response. Other than inducing a pronounced nausea, the langva extract had helped him at first, giving fuel to his breakthrough idea: that the chemical properties of the langva were the reason the Quadi had called them to Ne-shar.

Still nagging at him was the question of why the Quadi wouldn't have sent the chemical formula as information in the message to Earth. The crew had asked that same question from the beginning, about the genetic code itself. For some reason, the Quadi wanted humans to come here.
Come find what you have lost.

This trial of the langva extract, although clumsy, even reckless, had to continue. Before the
Restoration
stole away, abandoning them here. What Oleel seemed not to realize was that they could take the langva anytime they wished, wresting its chemical secrets eventually. So withholding the distillation gave her no advantage, and it could well kill her only human friend. Whatever game she was playing with him, she had miscalculated the cards he held.

Paddling close to the bank, he struggled to identify the back way to Oleel's keep. When ferrying him to meetings, the uldia had always kept him under a covering. But he thought he knew the way.

And here it was. Marked by a fallen banyan tree, draped into the river, the one with roots jutting upward like octopus arms. Steering the boat through a wall of vines, he found the inlet leading to the dark realm of the uldia.

Seeing the little dock deserted, he paddled quietly by the stone entryway to the wooden one. The passage under the great mangrove tree formed a gate to the compound, where, during one of his visits, he'd seen a canoe of uldia pass through. As he approached the tree, he saw that the passageway was solid with roots. A camouflage, he knew.

Sitting in his skiff before the mass of roots, he tugged on them. The roots had the feel of wood, slippery with moss. He groped at them and yanked, then pulled his skiff to the far end and pulled again. This time the roots came open, on a simple hinge.

So the uldia didn't lock their doors. Perhaps they thought they had no worries, no competitors. They didn't reckon with Nick Venning.

Under the huge tree, he floated in watery darkness.

Little frazzles of light danced in the cracks of the tree, making the passage oddly more blind. He felt like he was moving from one world to the next, through a birth canal, into the realm of the uldia, masters of birthing.

Pushing on the opposite door of roots, he peeked out. Morning sun slashed at his eyes, driving a needle of pain into his head. He closed his eyes, struggling for control. When he opened them again, he saw that before him lay a winding water path overhung with moss. He pushed out.

It was a green tunnel, incandescent in the sun, filled with the smells of growing things, dying things. No breeze stirred to freshen the air. Penetrating deeper, he came upon a view of the stone pavilion, bulking up among the trees. He would have to leave the skiff, and creep toward—

An infant's cry broke the stillness.

He found himself floating in the direction of the cry. As he peered out of his cloaked passageway, he saw, some meters away, Dassa heading in several directions, no doubt toward the pools. How many variums were there to accommodate the vast population of Lolo? The land here must be all variums, thousands of them, with their communal secretions … He tried not to feel disgust. But it was all so impersonal, and at the same time, so public.

More baby cries. The jungle was a nest of babies.

How did the infants get born, anyway? They came, he knew, from fulva, the great, loaded casings. Gestating in water, like the human uterus, and then… what? Crew had speculated. Dassa had described it: The uldia tend the variums. The egg and sperm find each other—not that easy or efficient, except for the sheer numbers of swimmers. When the uldia deem it needful, they close the varium, and the pool brings its contents to maturity.

Just beyond the cloaking branches, one such varium was active. There, an uldia waded in a small lagoon.

He could see the sunlight firing the water surface, and the uldia moving around, but for a better view he climbed out of his skiff, securing it next to him with vines. Creeping
up the embankment, he parted the undergrowth for a clear view.

It was a varium, one of the closed ones. At a distance, Dassa voices filtered through the jungle. No one swam here except for the young uldia, her robes floating around her as she stood waist-high in water, holding something. Around the pool, the moss and vines of the islet screened it from its surroundings.

He hardly breathed. It was a birth.

The uldia bent over a floating gourd and sniffed deeply, over and over again. He could detect an odor, a warm, yeasty smell, not entirely pleasant, but one that probably masked his own smell from the uldia.

The gourd bounced in the water probably because the uldia was pushing it down. But no, the fulva was bouncing on its own, shaking with some internal commotion. Part of him didn't want to see this—if the babies came out of the vessel like an animal from an egg, it would be an ugly sight. But still he watched.

The egg was enormous, the size of a woman's uterus. How did it float? This question was answered as the fulva squirmed and dipped once more, turning to the side and revealing that, underneath, it was held aloft by a tremendous stalk.

A coarse, cracking sound disturbed the tranquil scene, followed by a more robust ripping noise.

The sack began parting along what appeared to be seams as the gourd oozed a cloudy, thick jelly The uldia bent low again.

And lapped at the jelly.

Nick's stomach recoiled. He turned onto the muddy bank, struggling not to make a sound as his insides roiled and then vomit surged up his throat. Fortunately, the cracking sound came louder from behind him, masking his wretched noise.

He reached down for water, wiping his chin clean, and moved back into position, forcing himself to continue what
he'd started. Sweat chilled him.
Get a grip.
What did he think Dassa birth was? He knew; the whole crew knew. But seeing changed everything. He resumed his position, staring helplessly.

In the varium, the egg discharged its load. As sections peeled back, the gourd spewed out a curdled pulp. In the midst of this an infant squirmed, its head gleaming brownish red in a stray dollop of sun. The uldia pushed aside the jelly, driving her hands into the egg, and pulled the baby free of its capsule, accompanied by a sucking noise as the gourd released its burden.

Attached to the baby at its stomach was a small cord. The uldia bent forward and bit the thing in two.

The creature she had brought forth was covered in slime, eyes closed but mouth open, crying. Nick had time to wonder how it managed not to choke on the jelly now cascading from its flesh. The newborn was a biological nightmare, half animal, half vegetable … a travesty of birth, a dreadful variation of the human.

Just as the Dassa were a dreadful variation of the human. It was why they held no life sacred, why they mutilated their daughters, why sexuality was so twisted. They were nothing like humans. How could they be, when this was their beginning?

He slunk away, and tears popped out of his eyes as he struggled to quiet his stomach. He skidded down the bank, managing to climb into his skiff and propel himself down the green canal, its greenish gold light a mirror of his bilious stomach. Desperate for fresh air, he had the strength only to pull his boat along, hand over hand, using vines to propel himself and his craft.

God in heaven
, he thought. Did God approve of this nightmare? No, this was nothing divine or natural. The Quadi had taken what was human and made it revolting. People had warned them, people of Earth had known: The universe is loathsome; don't go looking for horrors.

But they had gone looking. And found them.

Gilar watched from an upper level of the stone house as people wound through the birthlands, seeking the proper variums. At each varium an uldia monitored which Dassa swam where and which Dassa, by virtue of too-close relation, was sent on to a different birth pool to avoid inbreeding. So the uldia were busy this time of the morning. It was the best time of day for mischief.

Pain swelled down her arm, collecting in her hand. Even though she had lost three fingers, it had been worth it. The king had noticed her, and had proclaimed singing favored by the court. Her triumph must have been noticed by Anton Prados, by Bailey. And Oleel had not dared to kill her. Gilar had tweaked the big woman's nose, and lived to remember it.

Heady triumphs, but for now, she needed drugs. She knew where to find pain distillates: in the labs. Perhaps the labs would be empty for just a moment.

Hurrying down the stone stairwell, she found old Mim blocking her way

You have business here?< Mim signed.

Gilar's hand language was severely limited now, but she managed, I have errands. <

Mim smiled crookedly. Like stealing this?< She held up a vial of brown liquid. Then she handed it to Gilar. Take some, before you fall over.<

Grabbing the bottle, Gilar pulled out the stopper and slugged back the liquid, emptying half of it. The glorious drink cooled her throat; it was the same medicinal they'd given her for her mouth in Aramee's compound, in a gentler place.

Mim was holding out her hand for the bottle. You need no more for now. <

Gilar squinted at the old woman. What if the uldia catch you?<

Mim grinned so broadly that her cropped tongue
showed in her mouth. She turned, pointing down the stairwell.

There, a group of hoda were just now crowding in from the landing. Among them was Eshi, one of her new friends.

Signing for Gilar to follow, the women moved down the stairs.

If the uldia caught them gathering like this, she knew, punishments would follow, but the medicinal buoyed her.
Let them fuss.
She handed the vial back to Mim and followed the group, cupping her right hand in her left, cushioning the jarring motion of movement.

Descending to the bottom floor, they hurried through the narrow passage and into a sleeping chamber. There Mim kneeled down to remove a block of stone, and then another. The old hoda slipped through the resulting hole, and the group held back, waiting to see if Gilar would follow.

But of course.

Gilar, on her hands and knees and unable to lean on her right hand, made only slow progress through the dirt tunnel. But eventually she clambered out of a hole into the outside air. Here, a woody tunnel bored through an arch of tree roots. She hunkered under the low ceiling and followed Mim into a ravine, which at last opened into a sunken clearing, out of sight of the pavilion. She sucked in the smells of the redolent forest, and stood tall.

A dozen hoda, many of them older, stood in the hollow, feet sunk into the water collected there.

Gilar turned to Mim, and sang, because it was easier than using hand sign, Why are we here?

Mim sang back, Because Fazza has come.

She knew no
Fazza
—an outlandish name.

The other hoda gathered here were unfamiliar to her, except for Nuan, of Aramee's compound, who greeted her with a barely suppressed smile. Then the women began ducking down under an enormous hardole tree, its buttress roots forming an arched doorway. Gilar followed, and soon
found herself in a cozy tree room. Someone brought bio-lumes.

Do the uldia come here? Gilar sang to Mim.

Sometimes. But we have lookouts posted.

Gilar looked at Mim, old, scarred, and seemingly obedient. And Nuan, whom she'd thought Aramee's devoted slave. She wondered who else pretended to serve, and conspired to gather in secret. The thought that people were fighting back filled her with a strange exaltation.

Now a new arrival filled the entranceway A stranger.

His clothes, sewn pelts of animals, were not proper Dassa dress. At his belt hung two metal knives, one long, one short. He turned to watch Gilar and Mim approach.

“So,” his voice boomed in the dusky chamber, “this is the girl that sings?” He looked at her with a glint of intelligence and humor.

Mim urged Gilar forward. This is Fazza.<

“Sing for me, child,” he said. “I understand you sing loud and strangely I would hear such a thing.”

You would wait a long time, then.< Gilar raised her chin and frankly appraised him. He smelled as though he hadn't cleaned himself in a long while.