Aliena Too (10 page)

These turned out to be assorted analogues of Earthly creatures Quincy knew. There were large shark-like swimmers that hunted by searching out careless stars and swooping down on them, crunching them in powerful jaws before they could react. There were squid-like ones that would pick up a star in their tentacles and tear it to pieces suitable for consumption. There were vicious little fish like piranhas that would swarm in and overwhelm their prey by sheer numbers.

“But we are not ordinary prey,” Aliena said. “We are able to handle them. We simply need to be prepared.”

She went on to explain about preparation. Starfish had thousands of little spines that would not, in themselves, stop biting, tearing, or mangling, but could emit acidic juices that were formidable repellants. They could coat the spines with colored slime that would not only taste awful to a predator, it would also burn holes in its mouth.

“Why color?” a classmate asked. “Wouldn't it be more effective to keep it translucent so the predator would not see it until too late?”

“It would not,” Aliena said. “Can any other class member tell us why?”

The others were blank, but Quincy wasn't, seeing a useful analogy to Earthly defenses. “If the predator does not see the acid before it bites, the acid will burn its mouth, but the star will already have been chewed,” he said in rather fewer words than that. “It is better to warn the predator so that it will not bite, thus saving your life. You don't need to kill the predator, just warn it away from you.”

“That is true,” Aliena said. “It is even possible to bluff a predator by issuing a poisonous color without the acid.”

“But why do that?” another classmate asked. “Why risk that the predator will bite anyway, and not get burned?”

“Anyone?” Aliena asked.

Again Quincy had it. “Because it takes energy and substance to make sufficient strong acid, and this depletes the body. It can be better to save the acid for when it is really needed, even though this may, at times, be risky. It is a judgment call.”

“Judgment,” Aliena agreed. “Survival is a constant balance between resources and threats. When the threat is slight, bluffing is good. When the threat is serious, so must be the defense.”

The classmates considered that, and recognized its validity. Quincy, the dunce of the prior class, was the star (so to speak) of this one, because his human knowledge translated.

A few days later Aliena switched him to a third class. She instructed this one too, and he understood that she also instructed the classes of females. This was because she was the sole adult starfish on the ship; they activated adults only on immediate need. Meanwhile they were activating young ones and training them for the mission, with the hope that they would be more capable because of their complete immersion in it. They had less to unlearn.

These stars were grown but still young and inexperienced. This class was on brain transfer. “We will review and practice transferring our brains into other hosts,” Aliena said. “This is the capacity that brought our species to dominance on our world.”

Uh-oh. Quincy knew he couldn't do that. He had learned that starfish were capable of putting their brains into the heads of other creatures on their planet and then operating the bodies of those creatures. He was a brain transferee himself, but that wasn't the problem. It was that the human brain had not evolved to perform such a feat the way starfish brains had. It had required physical surgery to install him in this host, and it was taking him time to learn the ways of it. He could move to another host only by further physical surgery, and he hardly wanted to do that. Once was more than enough.

His classmates were silent. This was clearly significant for them.

“However, we lack the resources to do this properly,” Aliena continued. “We would really need a planet for that. So we will do it in emulation. But the emulation will be realistic. Once you master this technique, you will qualify as grown starfish, eligible for the qualifying race.”

“Qualifying race?” Quincy asked, puzzled.

“Only those who complete the race become full citizens, and only the winner gains the right to breed. Brain transfer is one of the skills you will need to complete the race.”

Quincy shrugged. “That lets me out. I am an alien, not eligible for full starfish citizenship or breeding.”

“For this purpose you are eligible for both,” Aliena told him. “That does not mean you will qualify, only that
if
you qualify you will gain those privileges.”

He could qualify, even with his alien (to them) brain? That was remarkable. But of course he would not be able to do what real starfish did, even apart from brain transfer. He simply was not their kind.

The details of brain transfer were, to Quincy's human mind, gruesome. As far as he knew, there was nothing like it on Earth. It entailed catching and sedating a creature of another species, then opening its head and disconnecting its brain by stages, installing the starfish brain in its place. When it was complete, the starfish brain was in the body of the prey, and the prey's brain was mush. The starfish brain then operated the new body, enabling it to do more than before because of the starfish's vastly greater intelligence. But the prey brain did not have that luxury; what little was left of it was able only to maintain the starfish body, not to operate it. If the starfish did not return within a reasonable time frame, the body would die, and with it the captive brain remnant. The starfish brain, however, would continue to live in the new host, and would associate with other starfish, either in their natural bodies or in other captive hosts.

They practiced in simulation, and Aliena was right: it was realistic. They were mentally connected to robotic hosts that soon came to feel real and alive. They stalked and captured assorted prey species, some sea creatures, others land creatures, bound them, sedated them by injecting them with a serum that not only paralyzed them, but also facilitated the function of temporarily severed nerves, and did the stages of brain exchange.

Quincy did it too, to his muted amazement. He caught a deer-like creature that came to the river water to drink, and went through the process there on the shore, one body remaining under the water, the other remaining on the land. At last the operation was complete, and the two bodies separated, with their brains exchanged.

“At this point,” Aliena told the class, “you have learned the minimum. You may now relax a few days until the race. The simulation is open to you until then, but its layout will change for the race.”

There were eleven in the class, including Quincy. Six of them were glad to retire from the simulation, relaxing. Four of them continued to explore the simulation, going after other creatures for potential brain exchanges. Quincy went through the entire simulation methodically, mapping every feature of the landscape and every plant and creature in it to the best of his ability. The others ignored him; if he wanted to waste his time memorizing a layout that would not be valid for the race, that was his folly.

“Why are you doing this?” Aliena inquired as she joined him for the night.

“I have always been a realist. That has enabled me to handle situations that sometimes confuse others. Maybe it will be similar this time, though I know that my chances are not great.”

“How does realism relate to this effort?”

“The layout will change, but I figure that its elements will remain, albeit in new locations.”

“That is true. Learning their present locations will not help you.”

“It should help me, because I will know what to expect. When I pass a certain kind of formation, I will know it will not appear elsewhere. When I encounter one of two of a certain species of fish, and one is taken by a competitor, I will know to look for the other. When I see a challenging feature of geography, I will know its nature and limitations regardless of its placement. This will make learning the new simulation much easier; I will simply need to place its pieces on the new board. Then I can study how best to navigate it.”

“This is a sensible approach,” she agreed. “I gather you intend to make a respectable showing.”

“I'd like to win the race. It may be a long shot, but I'll do my best.”

Her color shifted thoughtfully as she contemplated him. “Why would you want to win it?”

“So I can breed.”

“But you know it would really be your host body breeding, not your human lineage.”

“I do.”

“Then what is the point?”

“It is twofold. First, I want to do as well by my host body as I can, just as I hope Gloaming is doing for my human body. It's a matter of honor.”

“This is good,” she agreed, shifting hues again.

He took the plunge. “Second, I would like to breed with you.”

Her colors froze. “Why?”

“Because I am coming to care for you, Aliena. I know your love is elsewhere, as is mine, but sex is not necessarily love, and you appeal to me on that level. So I would like to win the right to do it with you, if you are amenable.”

“You assume I am amenable?”

“Not at all. In fact I doubt that you are. I just want to have the right should you ever become interested.”

“Why do you think I might ever become interested?”

“There are only two fully mature starfish on the ship. The others are, as yet, immature. If you got a desire now, your choice for a partner would be between me and one of your students. I am sure that any of your students would like to mate with you; you have impressed them.”

“I also teach the females, who are equal in number and similarly limited about breeding. There will be eleven prospects for the winning male.”

“Not if they have to run the same gauntlet. Then there will be only one. And you. So your chances of being chosen are even, regardless which male wins the race, and which female.”

“And if you won, you could be chosen by the winning female.”

“I am assuming that partners do not breed unless both are interested. I could be chosen, but I could also choose.”

“True. But breeding is compelling; a starfish, given the opportunity, does not decline. There will be a breeding between the male winner and either the female winner or me. If you win, that will be your choice.”

She had not said she would decline. “That is a choice I would like to have.”

Her colors resumed their muted shifting. “You have assessed it rationally.”

But neither had she said she would accept.

They slept. He realized that her kindness in this respect was not completely altruistic; she needed company for her own sleeping, and he was what was available. She must have slept with Gloaming before he transferred to his human host: Quincy's body. She might have done it with one of the students, but that would have been awkward because they were even in number, and her intercession would have left one unattached. No, they could sleep in groups. Still, he liked to think that she preferred his company.

The next day there was another event. “Today the humans are visiting: my child Maple and your wife Lida. We will want to interact with them. The machines will translate; there will be no problem communicating.”

“I met Maple,” Quincy said.

“Yes. I was sorry to leave her, as I was to leave Brom. I learned love, and I love them both.”

“That must have been hard for you,” he said sympathetically.

“No harder than for you to leave Lida. You are the one other starfish who understands.”

And there was another reason she associated with him: he was in a similar emotional situation.

She took him to a vertical transparent wall that showed an air-filled hallway beyond. Aliena moved to that wall, and Quincy took his position somewhat apart from her. Two human forms appeared, walking: an adult female and a juvenile female. The young one skipped ahead. He recognized her as the child who had accompanied the Smythes at the outset of his adventure, but now he saw her from the starfish perspective. She was an awkward mass of flesh supported by internal bones, precariously balanced on her hind arms, with her long head fur flouncing as she moved. She ran to face Aliena. “Mother!” she cried.

“Maple!” Aliena replied.

The woman walked beyond them, coming to stand before Quincy. She looked even worse than the child, her flesh projecting here and there, pushing out the cloth of her clothing and jiggling, and her loose hair obscuring part of her head. It was Lida.

After a moment he managed to reorient and see her as human, rather than alien. But he did wonder how Aliena had managed to stomach her occupation of a human host. It must have been a horrendous trial, at least at first.

“Hello, Lida,” he said. “You look lovely as ever.” That was technically true, just not the full story.

“I—I'm uncertain I can say the same of you.”

He laughed, appreciating the anomaly: they each looked like monsters to the other. “I have Gloaming's original body. I assure you it's a good one.”

“You know his name?” she asked, surprised.

“Aliena told me.” He told her of the reference.

“Oh, Quincy! I'm supposed to love the alien male in your body. But I still love
you
!”

“And I still love you, Li.” And he did, but not in precisely the same manner as before. His starfish host simply was not aroused by the same things his human host had responded to. Lida was no longer the sexy creature he had known as a human male, though she had not changed. “But we both have to move on.”

She hesitated, then said, “I've been giving him sex. But I haven't climaxed myself.”

Which meant that she wasn't giving the alien male actual love, just sex. “You're holding back.”

“He's not you!”

He tried to reason with her, doubting that she would be reasonable. She was capable of throwing a real fit when she got too emotional. He told her that she could love Gloaming in addition to loving Quincy, and that he would try to do the same.