The Eternal Enemy (23 page)

“Keep quiet!” Markos shouted. “I don't want to hear your petty arguments! Sit down on the deck. The ride will be over soon. Those of you who are having second thoughts can be returned to the compound as soon as the rest of us have left the ship.”

They looked to Straka. Straka nodded. They sat. The ride was over in a few moments.

The bay door opened, revealing the city streets thirty meters away.

“I want you men to understand something,” Markos said. “These creatures think you're the answer to the problem they've been having for hundreds and hundreds of years. That's the way I've been presented to them, and that's the way I want to present you. They don't understand what human beings are capable of. They don't know what you are. All they know is they're incapable of helping themselves, and you're here to save them.”

He rose to his feet and left the ship.

“What's with him?” Jackson asked.

“I don't think you understand,” Straka said. “This entire race has given Markos the problem of fighting and winning a war.”

“Yeah, well, let's get out of here. The faster this is over with, the better.”

They murmured their agreement and followed Straka from the ship. Markos was waiting a few meters away, standing on the road that led into the city. The Terrans took a few moments to stare at the city, the city they had seen only on the horizon.

It was almost sundown, and the streets were filling with Habers.

The setting sun bounced crazy hues off the white city buildings, setting the walls into glittering fires of light, and turned the sky around it into a huge blob of kaleidoscopic light. It was sundown. The Habers linked hands and stood motionless, facing the setting sun. They started to hum.

Markos sprinted a few meters to link up with a group of nearby Habers.

“What the hell?” Jackson said.

“That sound—we heard it in the compound,” Straka said. She looked over at McGowen.

McGowen was smiling like a Buddha, humming very softly.

They all felt a slight tingling around their navels and then a warm feeling washed through them. They were left feeling strangely secure and unthreatened.

The feeling stayed with them a few seconds, until the sun had set and the Habers broke their linkup. A large number of Habers remained in the streets, turned now to face Markos and the Terrans, waiting for them to walk by.

“This isn't what I expected,” Straka said. “They seem friendly.”

“They are,” McGowen said. “I can feel it.”

They walked forward until they stood beside Markos. Markos looked at each man with his pulsating eyes, then said, “These are good creatures. They're just curious. They find a strange symmetry in your forms. Don't be offended by their stares.”

“No problem. As long as I can stare back,” Jackson said.

They moved through the streets, commenting and laughing at the differences they saw between Habers. Markos tried to put a stop to the laughter by explaining that they were creatures who liked change, and changing themselves was one of their genetic abilities.

By the time they reached Markos's building, the Terrans were unsure of just what a Haber was. There were some similarities between them all, and some differences too. The phenotypical Haber they had come to know from Gandji seemed to be far outnumbered by stranger, more exotic mutations.

As they entered the house, Markos explained that the largest Habers were usually the youngest ones. He briefly explained their metabolism and life cycle, preparing them for the change they were about to undergo.

He showed them through the corridors and rooms, explaining the use of each piece of furniture and the spaces within the rooms. He led them through a long hallway that emptied into a circular room with a lot of hard rock chairs. Straka recognized the room immediately. There was a corridor leading off that dead-ended. Off this corridor were twelve small rooms. He assigned a room to each of them, told them to relax, to put their thoughts in order, and make their final decision. Markos told them he would reenter the room later to touch and change them. After that it would be too late to turn back.

Straka settled onto the hard, uncomfortable floor. The room had no windows. She was impatient to undergo the change. She wished Markos would come back in already; the longer she waited, the more nervous she became. She didn't want to have to deal with the nagging self-doubts and fears. She wanted to be immortal, and that was all there was to it.

The room offered no distractions. The walls were plain white, the floor an off-white. The chair in the room was rock crystal. There was nothing of interest to look at. She closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to have a new body. Would there be pain? Would she be like a newborn, unable to care for herself until she got used to the way her new body worked?

A small Haber stood in the doorway, the same one Straka had talked to a few hours before.

“I'm sorry I offended you by asking for water,” Straka said.

“I, I was glad to help,” the Old One said. “Markos does not present me, me accurately. No offense was taken.”

“Are you their leader?” Straka asked.

“No. Markos leads us, us in the thing that matters, the change we, we will not survive, the change he calls war.”

“Oh. Were you on Gandji with him?”

The Old One took several moments to answer. “Yes. I, I was. Are you ready? Markos is about to begin, and he wishes to start with you.”

Straka nodded. “I'm ready.”

“Let me, me counsel you. When Markos touches you, do not fight the strange feelings and changes you feel happening to your body. Let your body float and pay it no attention. Think of who and what you are inside your mind and you will remain the same creature you are now, only physically different. Grasp that and ignore all else.”

“Thank you,” Straka said.

The Old One flashed red.

Markos walked through the doorway. “Ready?” he asked Straka.

Straka nodded.

“Second thoughts?”

“None. Let's get it over with.”

“Lie back.”

Straka lay back and stared at the white ceiling, trying to do exactly what the Haber had instructed her to do. If they were deceiving her, taking their advice would make no difference—she would end up no worse than if she'd stayed in the compound. But if they were truly trying to help, she would be that much ahead of the game by doing as she was told.

She remembered her youth, her parents, her past loves as Markos bent over and obscured her view of the ceiling.

Markos's eyes came alive, glittering and dancing in swirling patterns of intricate beauty, pulling her into their whirlpool. Straka was entranced, locked onto one thought—the totality of being Cathy Straka. The colors flashed to their opposites, then began to mix like paint being slowly stirred.

“Close your eyes,” Markos said softly and gently in his sandpaper voice.

Straka smiled and closed her eyes.

She felt her body float away.

Straka regained consciousness with a rush of vision, her senses turned on full. She felt absolutely terrific—no pain, no discomfort, stronger than ever, more in tune with her body than she'd ever considered possible.

The ceiling above her head looked different, and it took her an instant to realize it sparkled with color, as if it were shot through with tiny chips of mica and shards of jewels. Had they moved her? What the hell was going on?

She sat up in a rush, saw the walls with their intricate and subtle colors, saw the air move in beautiful patterns before her, saw the floor with its rich textures, and knew for certain she'd been moved. But why? What could Markos hope to accomplish?

Her mind was the same—whatever had happened, Markos and the old Haber had kept their promise about that. She was still Cathy Straka.

The air before her billowed for a meter as her body's movements acted on the still air. She was struck by a numbing thought: She could see through the air, transparent as it always was, and yet she could
see
it at the same time.

She looked down at her hands and realized then that she hadn't been moved to a different room. She'd been changed. She was no longer human.

Her hands were off-white, covered with a thin layer of soft fur or hair. It was pleasant to touch as she rubbed her palm over the back of her hand. Her palms were soft skin, opaque, a few shades deeper than the fur. Her arms, chest, and legs were covered with the same thing.

She felt her face. That, too, had been changed.

She took a breath of air into her lungs, watched the air currents close in to fill the vacuum her breath had created, and realized she hadn't breathed until then.

She felt her body tingle, then flush hot and cold as her mind went into shock. She needed to cry, to run, to figure out what they'd done to her. She leaped to her feet with a surge of power, clenched her hands into fists. Her body grew more and more powerful as her anger and frustration mounted. Her body became more massive, her skin tougher, her vision more acute. She needed to unleash herself on something, someone, break a chair or a wall, smash her fist through something hard to release the emotions running out of control. They were trapped inside, working strange tricks of change on her new body.

“Markos!” she shouted, then turned on her heels and strode determinedly down the hallway to the large, circular room.

Markos was sitting there calmly, waiting, facing the hall and Straka's approach.

Straka rushed into the room, stood before Markos, her mind fluctuating wildly. In an instant she was overcome by a tidal wave of glee, of manic elation, of gratitude and power so strong she could find no words to express herself. In the next instant she was filled with rage, anger, hatred so strong she could feel it seeping out, radiating from her mind in waves of pure power.

She stood there, vacillating at stroboscopic speed, with laser intensity, unable to say anything but “Markos, help me.”

Markos's eyes reached out and enveloped her in colors, wrapping her in a muted blanket of calm, tinting the very air between them. Like a warm bed on a chilly morning, the colors from Markos's eyes surrounded and comforted her. The fluctuations of Straka's emotions continued, but their intensity was lessening slowly but surely. Finally, after long and tense minutes, her mind calmed to the point where the emotions blended into a homogenous mixture of rational and emotional thought.

“Sit down, Cathy,” Markos said calmly, softly, issuing it not as an order but as an invitation.

Straka sat in the seat beside Markos. The seat was, for the first time, comfortable.

“The change is a lot to deal with at first. Take your time. Try to remain as calm as possible. Don't upset yourself with needless worry. Everything is fine—you went through the change like a true Haber would. I'm very proud of you. Of all of you. The Old One was immensely impressed.”

“The Old One?” Straka asked. “The old Haber who came in to talk with me?”

“Yes.”

Straka realized that even in her changed form, Markos's voice was still difficult to listen to. At least her own voice was the same, or it sounded the same in her ears. Ears? Straka reached up, touched the side of her head—she had no ears.

“You don't need them,” Markos said, watching Straka's reactions. “They'd only get in the way.”

Another creature appeared in the doorway from the dead-end hall. He was covered with the same color fur as Straka was, and as Straka looked up at his face, she recognized him.

McGowen.

Enough of the human features had been preserved to act as a reminder of what McGowen had once looked like. The nose was an irregular bump on his face, and the eyes—the eyes! “Are my eyes like … that?” Straka asked.

“Yes,” Markos said.

Straka turned back to stare at McGowen. He seemed to be smiling, and his eyes were radiating a faint reddish light. Straka glanced at Markos.

Markos was tense, rock hard, waiting for McGowen to undergo the emotional turmoil that Straka had experienced. But McGowen seemed to have a better grip on himself and he approached them slowly, calmly.

“Hello,” McGowen said, his eyes leaking a minute amount of green light.

Markos flashed green.

McGowen smiled.

Markos smiled.

Straka watched.

“I … I don't know the proper custom now that you've made me into this,” McGowen said, “so I'll have to settle for something simple and Terran.” He approached the few steps until he stood by Markos's chair, then held out his hand.

Markos rose to his feet and grasped McGowen's hand.

“Thank you,” McGowen said. “It doesn't express the depth of my gratitude, but it will have to do for now.”

They shook hands.

“How are you feeling?” Markos asked.

“Like never before. When Alpha touched me, I knew there was something more waiting for me, and now I know what it is.”

“And there's more to come,” Markos said. “But there'll be time for that later. Right now another crewmate is about to come out of the sleep I placed him in. I timed the changes pretty closely. Sit and wait with us.”

“Without doubt,” McGowen said. He sat gracefully as if he'd been born to this body.

The next crew member came into the room a few minutes later. It was Kominski. There was no mistaking the facial structure. Kominski looked totally bewildered.

“Where am I? What's going on?” he asked, panic in his voice. “What is this?”

Markos's eyes leaped to life, soothing and calming Kominski, drawing him closer until he stood directly before Markos. He touched Kominski and explained things to him with his eyes and with words. Kominski absorbed the information the way a hungry child eats food.

“I was crazy,” he said at last.

“Yes,” Markos said.

“It's true, Straka?”

“Very true, 'Minski. It happened when a geltank malfunctioned. It was no fault of your own.”