Agent to the Stars (16 page)

Read Agent to the Stars Online

Authors: John Scalzi

BOOK: Agent to the Stars
7.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
I blinked. “Is that it? You want
advice
?
”
“For starters,” Gwedif said.
“Well, of course I'll help you with that any way I can,” I said. “But I don't know how much help that will be. You understand that even humans don't understand humanity most of the time. I could tell you everything I know, but it would only be my opinion. And it would take years to get it all down at that.”
“The ientcio understands that you are just one man among billions. Nevertheless, of those billions, you are one whose skills and mind lend themselves most favorably to our needs. As for taking years to know what you know—” Gwedif stopped for a moment, seemed to collect himself.
“As for taking years,” he continued, “we have another way.”
 
Tom
did Joshua ever tell you how the Yherajk reproduce? No? Well, I'm not too surprised about that; it's an immensely personal event. On the cell level, all Yherajk are the same—massive colonies of asexually reproducing, single-celled organisms. But their experiences are different and unique to each Yherajk. Think of them as a race of identical twins, sharing the same genetic information but obviously separate people, divided by their individual experiences.
When humans learned about genetics, they began arguing whether people are the way they are due to genetics or environment; what our genes are versus our experiences. With the Yherajk, this isn't even a debate—since they're all the same genetically, who they are is all about experiences. Personality is all.
Yherajk personalities are remarkable things. For example, once they are formed, they can be transferred. Their personalities
don't have to stay in a particular body. That personality and set of experiences can go from one body to another—if, for example, that body were dying of disease or something else of that nature. Yherajk do a much simplified version of this when they transmit information; a single Yherajk can go off and have a set of experiences, and when it comes back, it connects with an entire group and “downloads” its memories to the whole group. Then all the Yherajk there know what that one knew.
But it requires physical contact and takes a great deal of time. The Yherajk High Speech, which is an even more simplified version of this, performs the same function by encoding a concept as an aromatic molecule, which is then set aloft and automatically decoded by the Yherajk who come in contact with it. It'd be like having an entire memory created in your head simply by someone saying a word. Fascinating stuff, Tom.
In Yherajk reproduction, the personalities do something else entirely—they
meld
with another personality. The Yherajk join together into one mass, and, rather than simply transferring information or even a “soul” from one body to another, the individual souls interact over the entire mass of their combined body. Some portions of one personality end up being dominant, and other portions from the other personality end up being dominant.
After those personality traits are figured out, the mass splits into two parts. One of those parts splits again and becomes the original Yherajk that had melded, with its own personality traits and memory intact, but physically smaller than it was before. The other part is an entirely new personality: it has the memories and intellect of its parents, but it comes with a brand new “soul,” if you will, made of the new, melded personality,
and it's ready to go—there's no childhood, per se, with the Yherajk.
This melding isn't easy—it requires the Yherajk in question to surrender its will and allow another entity, another soul, to mingle freely with its own. This other soul surrenders to you and you to it—complete communion. But with the ultimate risk: a Yherajk's defenses are down—the other Yherajk, if it has been insincere in the joining, can attack the other's personality and destroy it, replacing it totally with its own. This is a “soul death,” and causing it to happen is the worst crime a Yherajk can commit against another Yherajk. A large part of the reluctance of the Yherajk to speak about their reproduction comes from its potential to change in an instant from an act of perfect union to one of the ultimate rape.
But it's rare—far more rare than murder is with us. Most of the time, it is a joyous experience—and apparently better for them than sex is for us.
The interesting thing is that while nearly all reproductions occur between two Yherajk, there is no theoretical barrier to having the melding occur between three, four, or even more. It's vastly more complicated, and it takes longer for the personality traits to suss out, but it can be done. Gwedif told me that one of the great memory epics of the Yherajk involved an exploring colony, under siege from attackers, who all melded together in the desperate hope of birthing a hero who could save them from destruction. The colony numbered four hundred. It worked—of course. Otherwise it wouldn't be an epic. For millennia, partially out of respect for the epic, that had been the record.
The ientcio of the
Ionar
was planning to break that record.
He proposed two thousand—the entire crew of the
Ionar
. And one human as well.
 
“I'm
not following you,” I said to Gwedif, after he translated the ientcio's proposal.
“The ientcio implores you to meld with us,” Gwedif said. “Pool your knowledge with ours and help us birth a new Yherajk—one that has an intimate understanding of humanity, who can help us learn, quickly, easily, whether our two people can be joined in friendship. It would be a great gift—and you would be remembered not only as our first human friend, but also a parent, the most important parent, of the greatest Yherajk in our race's long history. As he will be—one that two thousand of us have surrendered our wills to create. It is a powerful event.”
I looked out into the mass of Yherajk, and got the distinct impression that two thousand of them were waiting for me to say something. Anything. Tom, I got stage fright. But there was nowhere to go.
I stalled for time. “I don't know if you noticed this,” I said, “but I'm not a Yherajk. I don't meld very well.”
“With your permission, the ientcio says,” Gwedif said, “I will act as your conduit.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Gwedif paused for a moment. “Aw, hell,” he said at last. “Uake has just sent some High Speech crap that I'm not even going to try to translate. Carl, what it means is that I'd stick tendrils into your brain, read your memories, and transmit them to the rest of the crew. Bluntly speaking, I'll be rooting around your skull, looking for the good stuff.”
“It sounds painful,” I said.
“It won't be, I promise,” Gwedif said. “But you're going to feel stuffed-up like you wouldn't believe. Carl, don't misunderstand, I'll be effectively downloading your brain to the group. In the melding union, there are no secrets—and the offspring of this melding will know what you know. We know we're asking a lot of you, more than has been asked of any of us. If you don't want to do this, then don't.”
“What will happen if I say no?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Gwedif said. “We would never try to compel you to a melding.”
I looked out at the crew. “And every one of you is willing to do this?”
“We are.”
“What if one of you tries to take over the rest? Isn't that possible? What would happen to me?”
“You'll be connecting to the group through me,” Gwedif said. “If one of us tried to overtake the entire crew, I'd disconnect before he could overtake you. I'd
probably
have time.” That qualifier disturbed me, but Gwedif went on. “But I'd say it's highly unlikely that someone will do that. For one thing, it'd wipe out the entire crew; whoever did it would never get back home. For another thing—Carl, this is
epic
stuff. If this works, this is going down in our history as one of the defining moments of our people. We'll be famous forever. Believe me, none of us wants to be the one that screws
that
up.”
“Will I be able to read all your crew's thoughts?” I asked.
“No,” Gwedif said. “I'm going to be translating your thoughts—I won't have time to translate the other way. You'll experience all our thoughts, they just won't make a lick of sense. It will be the weirdest trip you'll ever take, my friend.”
“Well,” I said. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?”
“Then you'll do it?” Gwedif asked.
“If you will be my conduit, Gwedif, I'll be honored. Translate that exactly to your ientcio,” I said.
Gwedif apparently did—the room became filled with the odor of distilled dumpster juice. I asked Gwedif what was going on.
“The crew is applauding, Carl,” Gwedif said. “They're relieved and happy. They didn't just spend half of their lives traveling here for nothing. I lied a little to you, Carl—if you hadn't accepted, it would have been a crushing disappointment for us all. But I didn't want to burden you with that sort of guilt. Sorry to be sneaky.”
“That's all right,” I said. “I don't mind. It'll help me to recognize your thoughts during the melding—I'll look for the sneaky ones.”
“I won't be able to meld myself,” Gwedif said. “I have to manage your thoughts. That requires me to remain fully alert during the whole thing. In fact, of all the crew, I'll be the only one that won't be melding.”
I was dismayed. “I'm very sorry, Gwedif,” I said. “If I had known, I'd have asked for someone else to act as the conduit. I don't want you not be part of it.”
“My friend,” Gwedif said. “Please. I am honored that you have chosen me as your conduit, more than you know. In doing so, you have allowed me to be the only one truly conscious during the melding—the only one who will see the event as it happens. When this story becomes our memory epic, the eyes that it will be seen through are mine.”
Gwedif sprouted a tendril and waved it at the crew. “This crew will be
in
the memory epic. But I will
write
it—and thus I
will live forever through it, the Homer of this, my people's greatest Odyssey. You have given me a great gift, Carl, and for it, I cannot thank you enough, you, my friend, my great and true friend.”
“Well,” I said. “You're welcome, then.”
“Great,” Gwedif said. He sprouted another tendril, and wiggled both of them at me. “Now, you have to take out those plugs—I've got to stick these up your nose.”
“You're kidding,” I said.
“Not at all,” he said. “This might sting a little.”
 
I
won't try to describe the melding, Tom, except to say—try to remember the most vivid, wild, erotic dream you have ever had. Now try to imagine it entirely as a clutch of smells, colliding, sliding, fading into each other. Now imagine it going on for a lifetime. That's what it felt like.
I woke up, still on the dais, with three Yherajk around me. I asked for Gwedif. The one to my right waved a tentacle.
“Did it work?” I asked.
“It did,” Gwedif said, and motioned to the Yherajk near my feet. “Carl, please meet the progeny of two thousand Yherajk—and one human.”
“Hello,” I said to the Yherajk.
“Hi, Pop,” he said.
“The ientcio”—Gwedif indicated the final Yherajk—“wishes to thank you once again for your great help and understanding, and assures you that you will undoubtedly become one of the great heroes of our race, something which
I
can tell you is already taken care of.”
“Thank him, and thank
you
,” I said to Gwedif.
“No problem,” Gwedif said. “The ientcio also wishes you to know that the honor of naming this newborn Yherajk belongs to you, as the Initiating Parent.”
“Thanks, but it was Uake's idea,” I said. “I can't claim credit.”
“Sure,” Gwedif said, “but your acceptance of the proposal in this case has been agreed by all the parents to be the initiating act. So it's back to you. However, the ientcio, anticipating your reluctance, does indeed have a name picked out, which will be given to the newborn if you agree.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“We wanted a name that reflected the importance of this Yherajk to us, and hopefully his eventual importance to your own people, one that was immediately recognizable. What do you think of ‘Jesus'?”
I laughed unintentionally.
“See,” The Yherajk Who Would Be Jesus said. “I told them it wasn't going to fly. But what do
I
know? I'm a
newborn
.” The sarcasm in his statement was unmistakable.
“It would be a very bad idea,” I said. “About half the folks on the planet would get very touchy about it.”

Other books

The Royal Pain by MaryJanice Davidson
Stitch-Up by Sophie Hamilton
The Coat Route by Meg Lukens Noonan
Black Evening by David Morrell
Back Blast by Mark Greaney
The Visitor by Katherine Stansfield
Going After Cacciato by Tim O'Brien
Witch Cradle by Kathleen Hills