Asimov's Science Fiction (17 page)

I waited for a while after they'd settled down (and my own heart rate had returned somewhere near normal!) then approached Moose to ask what the outburst had been about.

"One subfraction of the hunter-brother-fraction of this bnebene has broken his leg."

"Did your hunter-brothers call the news to you?" I asked. I hadn't heard anything, but bnebene hearing is known to be more sensitive than human and has a wider auditory range.

Moose rapped on his shin. "If one subfraction feels a hurt, all subfractions of all fractions must feel it. Is it not the same for humans? If one part of this gunnug is hurt, are not all parts aware?"

"All parts of me are in the same body," I said.

"It is the same," he said.

His answer, I note, did not preclude the possibility of a distress call.

I was therefore surprised when the rabbiting party returned to the camp whole and unhurt. I returned to Moose.

"Which hunter-brother-subfraction injured his leg?"

Moose raised both arms to point. "The subfraction that hunts to the north, by the sea."

"At the shore we have recently left?" I asked, thinking that an infrasound cry from a bnebene on the south shore of Aralsea could conceivably reach us here.

"No. By the
sea,
" he said. With a woody finger he sketched a quick map in the dirt, showing our river, Aralsea, and a blank swathe between it and the squiggly line he drew for the oceanic coast. He made a dot beside the river (us) and another up next to the north coast. "By the sea," he repeated, "That which surrounds this continent."

I do not, from this, concede to Golovlyov's postulated "psychic dividualism"—his unsubstantiated and oft-ridiculed contention that a bnebene clan is more than merely eusocial, but at the most fundamental level a single being. Given the sophistication of the geneered tech the Tinkers use, it is entirely probable that they have integral communication devices to maintain contact with separated members.

After the warning from Pixie, Moose, and Black Pete, and Bubba's subsequent alarming approach, I have taken some pains to avoid him and his neuter-brothers. Curiosity trumps caution, however. I took my plate and ventured over to join them.

"Yoom," I said, aware that I am only capable of a small part of the vocalization. They appeared to understand my attempt or, at least, welcomed me into their group.

"Four, now," said Bubba.

"This fraction has four subfractions," I said.

"Four subfractions of this fraction of this bnebene," he agreed, amiably. "This fraction that is brother-uncle-son."

Moose and Black Pete were watching, as were several other hunter-brothers. The line of conversation seemed safe enough for the moment, though.

"This bnebene has many subfractions," I ventured, ready to backpedal quickly if they showed signs of agitation.

"Many," said Bubba.

"Most are here and some are elsewhere," I said.

"Most here," Bubba agreed. "Those parts that are brother-father-son are elsewhere."

The statement confused me. I glanced at Moose and the other related hunter-males. "Some of those subfractions that are brother-father-son are elsewhere, and some are here?"

Bubba's leaf collar rose a little—as did those of his brothers, including the sapling—then settled. "No. Only brother-father-son of other bnebene," he said. "Only hadhagnug."

"But what about...?" I began, raising my arm to indicate Moose and Black Pete and the rest.

I stared at Moose and had one of those vertiginous moments where sudden insight yawns like a chasm beneath one's toes, where one had previously perceived only an unbroken field ahead. It took me a moment to find my voice.

"How many sisters have you?" I blurted, then corrected the question: "How many sister-fractions has this bnebene?"

"Three," said Bubba. He and his brothers shifted their feet. The sapling shivered. Reacting to
my
reaction—not understanding it, necessarily, but sensitive to the change in my body's rhythm and scent.

I asked one more question to check. "And how many brother-fractions?"

"Two."

I beat a hasty retreat before they could begin to ask awkward questions of
me.

I took my plate over to Pixie who, along with her sisters, had fitfully emerged from her catatonia over the past couple of days. My legs were shaky as I squatted beside her.

"There are eight adult hunter-subfractions traveling with the clan," I said. "Four belong to this bnebene, four of them do not."

She looked at me for a few seconds, no doubt sensing the same disturbance in my body as the neuter-males had begun reacting to. "Yes," she said.

"The four that are subfractions of this bnebene are female," I said.

"Yes."

Not evidence of homosexuality or intersexuality. Black Pete and Moose and the rest are female. A
third
female gender. The trio of Black Pete, Silent Bob, and Chuckles
was
a breeding trio. I said, "This bnebene has three fractions that are female and two that are male."

"Yes."

I had to sit, tipping the short distance from my squat onto my backside. Pixie and her sisters watched me with evident curiosity. I took a couple of deep breaths and said, "The bnebene of the Merchant ships are different to this bnebene. Merchanter bnebene each have two female and two male fractions."

"They are gunnug," Pixie said. Feeling a little lightheaded, I asked her how many fractions the bnebene of the homeworlds have. She informed me that they are all gunnug, but added that some have as few as two fractions and others as many as seven.

My head is whirling with ways this might be achieved. The sex chromosomes postulated by Golovlyov for Merchanter bnebene could conceivably produce a third female gender if, for example, the hunter-females have an extra chromosome that masculinizes them. A supplementary gender-determination method, such as temperature variance, or some form of haplodiploidy are other possibilities. But none of these would explain the homeworld bnebene with two or seven genders.

Different
sex chromosomes would:

I asked Pixie, "Why five genders? Why does this bnebene have five fractions?"

"Because five is bnebene."

"And why do the Merchanters have four?"

At this, Pixie and her sisters indicated amusement. "Because they believe four is bnebene," Pixie said. "But five is bnebene. All else is gunnug."

The bnebene species that we know (
plural
species), and at least some of those on the homeworlds too, are artificially self-created to express competing ideologies of racial ideals.

This is my springboard. I am made.

I was bathing this afternoon in the river, downstream of our campsite, the backs of the ondrordore between me and the camp.

Bubba and his neuter-brothers waded out into the water and surrounded me. Jolly carried the sapling in its pot. Its flared leaf collar mimicked theirs.

"How many fractions has this human?" Bubba demanded.

I stood, covering my breasts and genitals in case they took offence at seeing them exposed. "Humans perceive ourselves differently to bnebene," I said.

"How many fractions has this gunnug?" he said. "How many subfractions?"

I wished for Moose's psychic powers to kick in right about now. I thought quickly. "Come ashore with me," I said. "I will draw you a picture that might help you understand."

They allowed me to pass and followed as I waded up to the bank. I considered making a break for it, but that would certainly inflame the situation. Besides which, on the riverbank we were in sight of the rest of the clan at the camp.

I quickly put on my shirt and pants, not bothering to dry myself. I beckoned for the neuter-brothers to squat with me. To my relief, they did, Jolly placing the sapling on the ground at his side.

With my finger, I sketched a web of lines in the dirt, creating four intersections. I indicated the drawing, and then the four of them, "This is this fraction of this bnebene." I indicated a line. "These are the relationships that bind the subfractions together."

They sat silently for a long moment, then Bubba extended a finger and touched the intersection nearest to him. "This is this subfraction."

"Yes."

Jolly and Big Red copied him. The sapling reached less certainly toward the intersection nearest to it. They retracted their fingers. Silence, again.

Encouraged, I drew more criss-crossed lines, another four sets, then lines to connect all five. "These are the other fractions of this bnebene," I said. I drew a ring around the whole lot. "Everything outside this is not this bnebene."

They stared at the picture. "This is this bnebene," said Bubba.

Heart thumping, I rubbed the patch of dirt clear. I made another series of dots, then drew lines between them, but not quite touching the dots. I touched the dot closest to me. "This is this human."

A muscle in my calf twitched, my legs tensed to spring away and run. Bubba extended a finger. "The lines do not touch."

"No," I agreed. I touched the other dots. "These are other humans. Each is one and whole."

The moment seemed to last forever. Their leaf collars stiffened, relaxed. Then Bubba said, "This gunnug is different to this bnebene."

I almost gagged with relief. They
could
understand. Even these simplest of bnebene could grasp a concept of the individual. Could Raffarin be right, I thought, after all? Could Golovlyov's accusations of anthropocentrism be unfounded?

"This is how most humans see ourselves," I said. "Humans and bnebene perceive ourselves differently." I took the plunge: "Underneath, perhaps we are more similar."

I let that hang for a few seconds. When they didn't react, I rubbed out my sketch and began a third time. Once again, I made a series of dots. This time, I made a circle around each one and connected all the circles together with lines. Raffarin's diagram of the Universal Metaperson: each individual distinct from but bound within a web of dividual social relations.

"Underneath the different ways we see ourselves," I said, "perhaps we are both— humans and bnebene—both like this."

They stared. Bubba uncurled a finger, hesitated, then touched a dot on the Metaperson diagram. "This is this subfraction."

"Or this human," I said.

"The lines do not touch," he said.

I felt a sinking dread in the pit of my belly. I had taken them too far. "No," I said. "But they hold us, nonetheless."

"This..." His leaf collar shivered, as did those of his brothers. "This subfraction is... is... this bnebene."

"This subfraction is this bnebene," Jolly and Big Red repeated. The sapling mewled. Their distress was palpable.

"This subfraction is one," said Bubba.

"One and four," I stammered. "And many."

"One!" he bellowed, rising.

"Hree!" they all cried, at different moments.

I leapt backward, stumbling away from them as Bubba and Big Red reached for weapons.

"Hree!" they cried again, even more unsynchronized, and all did something different. Jolly fled at a staccato sprint toward the river. Big Red turned an energy blade on himself, stabbing himself in the trunk, while beside him the sapling waved its arms, frantically seeking contact with one of its brothers, and tipped over its pot. Bubba came after me, swinging a sonic mace.

"Hadhagnug!" he boomed. "Hree!"

The mace's vibrations made me want to vomit. The edge of its effect radius scraped my shoulders, not quite close enough to draw blood.

Ahead, hunters charged from the camp. I saw Moose, standing still, her hunting rifle leveled, aiming past me. I jagged to the side. Hot pain seared my back as Bubba caught me with the full effect of his mace. My guts reacted violently, my bowel and bladder evacuating as vomit spurted up my throat. I fell.

Moose's rifle whined.

"Hree!" Bubba cried, staggering.

Black Pete struck him feet-first, knocking him down with a crash like a felled tree. She aimed her handgun and fired a lightning-burst of blue light, point-blank into his trunk, then sprang after the rest of the hunters, off to subdue Jolly and Big Red. Bubba sprawled, fingers and toes twitching, making faint, broken noises.

"Hree!" the cries echoed from the camp.

I tried to stand, fell again as the world tipped up to meet me, crawled over to Bubba. "Oh, no. Oh, no. I'm so sorry."

Hard fingers caught my arm, lifted me away.

Moose dropped me in the dirt a distance from Bubba, regarded me from her great height, rifle cradled across her elbow. "This gunnug has hurt this bnebene."

"Will they be all right?"

"Perhaps," she said. "But this gunnug must leave."

Once all the neuter-males were stunned and quiet, Moose walked me downstream to wash in the river. Black Pete brought my pack of clothes and belongings and they helped me to apply a synthskin dressing from my medical kit to my back. Then they left me.

I stood on the riverbank, the breeze raising goosebumps on my bare skin, and watched the caravan move away. It was a couple of hours past noon, but they plainly had no desire to stay in this distressing place, or near me. The long legs of the neuter-males hung from the open doors of the ondrordore. None of the clan members looked back.