Viscous Circle (8 page)

Second, he had no idea how Bands made love—and knew better than to ask Cirl for instruction.

They arrived at the education center. Here were many polished walls, some curving so that the flashes of the instructors reached many students simultaneously, while the student responses were reflected from all around the site to a single spot for the instructor's assimilation. The massive trunk lines split into many lesser lines, so that all students could sustain themselves comfortably in class. Rondl found that he liked this place, both for its academic association and for its physical layout. Was that a natural Band reaction, or a clue to the nature of his prior life?

Cirl found the instructor she knew. This was an old Band she called Proft, a weathered green-brown in hue, who no longer flew the lines between planets but still had excellent mental facility. Proft, she claimed, knew almost everything.

This seemed to be true. The old Band conversed with Rondl casually, then flashed: "You were educated at this planet; you have not been far from it."

"You remember me?" Rondl asked, excited.

"I recognize your accent. A Band's mode of flashing varies with the region he frequents during his formative stage. Your accent is pure local."

"But how do I know about strange things?"

"You must have done strange research. That would account for stray bits of information, without depth, and lacunae where you omitted your homework or skimped. Students are not what they used to be! I am sure your life has not been remarkable heretofore; there is no evident trauma. You have to have been one of hundreds of thousands who resided in this vicinity."

"Then why should I suffer amnesia?"

"Several possibilities. You could have had an accident, such as passing through a random magnetic flux of burnout intensity, or attack by a wild creature that frightened you away from your memories, such as a Kratch."

"Or a Trugd," Rondl agreed.

"Indeed. Such things occur routinely to careless individuals. It is of no special significance, since you retain your ability to function."

"But suppose—" Rondl hesitated, but realized he had to express his concerns now or lose the opportunity. Proft had granted him an interview at Cirl's behest, and otherwise would surely be busy elsewhere. "Suppose I have commitments in that prior life?"

"Disbanding ends all commitments in this incarnation," Proft explained. "You have evidently suffered partial disbanding. I doubt you have any commitments remaining now."

"But if I were married—"

"Marriage is a voluntary association of male and female for the purpose of rebanding. It can be terminated at any time by either party. If you were married then, and no longer wish to be now, then it is finished."

"But what about dissolution procedure, property settlement, legal reversion of status, adjustment of records, disposition of and provision for offspring?"

"You do have unusual notions!" Proft flashed, amused. "Bands have no procedures, no reversions, no records, no dispositions, and do not even know the meaning of property."

"Who does?" Cirl put in quickly.

"Property is an alien concept. It is the allocation of a particular segment of the surface of a planetary body for the use of a particular individual."

"Why would anyone want that?" Cirl asked, perplexed.

"Land is valuable," Rondl said. "It can be used for many things. Some property, too, is portable. It can be a form of wealth."

"Wealth?"

Proft flashed amusement. "The true Band response. Wealth is a function of personal possession. Without a concept of possession, wealth does not exist."

"But I know about it!" Rondl protested. "If no Band knows—"

"Research, again," Proft said. "Any good course in alien mores and management will acquaint students with such notions, and the more apt ones will actually comprehend them to some extent, as you seem to. The various Spherical aliens have many remarkable conventions, property among them. You must have been a specialist; you retained portions of this knowledge while losing your own identity."

"That is my mystery."

"I wonder—do you by any chance grasp the alien concept of War?"

"Certainly. It is a matter of—"

"No, no, do not define it! Someone would disband! I asked merely conjecturally. It is possible that you studied that concept, and mastered it, and suffered a near disbanding that damaged your memory without, ironically, eliminating the concept. Perhaps it was an intellectual crisis: that devastating concept could not cohabit with your personality, so one or the other had to go, and the concept prevailed. If so, you are unique among individuals. Others have not survived that concept."

Rondl was not entirely satisfied, but could not refute this explanation. He did not see what was so mind-destroying about the concept of war. War occurred all over the Galaxy, and was a recognized manner of establishing empires. But he realized that it was not the motley collection of odd facts that set him apart so much as his unusual attitudes. He had not been repeating rote when he spoke of the problem of eliminating marriage; he had been expressing what he believed were genuine matters of concern. Yet of course Bands were not faced with any of these.

What kind of shock could have replaced his Band values with alien ones? If mental revulsion had wiped out his memory, surely the first thing to go would be the offending concepts, not the innocent detail of normal existence. He was now almost afraid to seek the answer.

Yet he inquired slightly further. "Do you have any idea what alien culture might have concepts such as the ones I have expressed?"

"Which specific culture you researched?" Proft considered. "There are many thousands of Spheres in the Galaxy, and most of their creatures have notions of property. I would not know where to begin."

"Perhaps my name is in the past course rolls."

"Course rolls," Proft repeated. "That would be a form of record, an alien concept you have already referred to. We have no records of anything; Bands don't need them. Why should we keep track?"

"To prevent students from falsifying their—" But this didn't work. There was nothing to falsify, and falsification itself was an alien concept. Bands learned what they needed and what they wished, departing when satisfied. So there were no records.

"We thank you, Proft," Cirl said. "I agree that Rondl must have suffered some magnetic derangement that wiped out some of his real experience while leaving some of his education intact. So his responses are mixed."

She led Rondl away. She was wrong, he was sure—but he decided not to pursue the matter further. He had a foreboding that disaster could come of too ardent a quest for knowledge of his past life, and he liked this life with her too well to place it in jeopardy.

 

 

 

Chapter 5:

Invasion

 

 

The news flashed rapidly through the Band society: alien monsters were intruding into the Band region of space. They were utterly horrible, possessing gross, fat limbs, liquid-filled eyeballs, and teeth like those of a Trugd. They had no magnetism; they tramped on planetary surfaces vaguely like Bellatrixians, except that they could not even jump far. Their ponderous nether appendages hauled forward one at a time, leaving indentations in the ground. The creatures could not fly; they employed tremendous devices to convey them from planet to planet and even from place to place aboard a particular planet.

Why were they coming? No one knew. One Band had been in the vicinity when a huge alien vessel materialized near a neighbor star. He and a friend had recognized the alien nature of it and concluded that the creatures were lost, and the friend had gone to that ship to proffer assistance, flashing back spot reports. The aliens had grasped that Band physically and hauled him into their vessel. In a moment had come the magnetic ripple of his disbanding. The aliens had destroyed him without even bothering to communicate, or had so horrified him that he had felt compelled to vacate this existence immediately. Now the surviving Band had traveled in all haste back to the home planet to give warning.

Other reports came in; other Bands had disbanded. The survivors did not take this too seriously, for they considered disbanding to be but an act of transformation, of return with news to the Viscous Circle. They were alarmed, however, because of the unsocial nature of the intrusion. Was something important causing the aliens to rampage? Or had they merely lost their way?

Rondl experienced a cold, grim fear. Somehow he knew it was more serious than that. The reports were garbled, of course; the first encounter could not have been at another star, for the Band would have required many years to return with the news. But certainly an alien ship or ships had entered System Band, perhaps out beyond Moon Dinge. Large-scale movement of equipment by Mattermission was expensive; it consumed a significant value of property and was unlikely to occur by accident. Spaceships did not readily become lost. These aliens had come here on purpose, and they wanted something—and it was best to fathom what that thing was as soon as possible.

More aliens came. They overran the outer reaches. Bands disbanded in droves, unable to adapt to this rough intrusion. Only those who peeked and fled survived with news. They reported that the aliens were setting their gross ships down on moons and small planets, disgorging metal vehicles, and racing across the surfaces of those worlds. It was a mystery what they were doing.

"I know what they're doing," Rondl said grimly. "They are searching for something."

"Why don't they ask us where it is?" Cirl asked. "That is the sensible thing to do."

Indeed it was. Rondl had no satisfactory answer. Yet he knew that terrible trouble was in the making. "We must do something," he said.

"Maybe they will go away," she replied with innocent hope.

"I don't think so," he said. "There's something—"

"What is it?"

But he could not evoke the substance of his concern. "All I know is that something has to be done."

"But what?" Cirl persisted. She did not approve of unclarity. But Rondl still didn't know.

Gradually the reports achieved a semblance of organization. There were a dozen or more planets in the double System of Eclat-Dazzle, together with considerable lesser matter, and the aliens were taking over the outermost ring of substance, piece by piece. They remained far from Planet Band, but were slowly approaching it and its moons. There seemed to be no way to stop them, and it did not occur to other Bands even to make the attempt. What would be, would be.

"Let's fly about the planet," Cirl suggested. Rondl realized she sought to distract him from his impotent concern about the alien intrusion. Perhaps she had romance in mind. He was amenable—if only he could find out
how
.

They flew on a line through a richly fertile region. The lines curved through gently sloping valleys and around mountain peaks. Partially magnetic animals grazed in the fields, consuming the short vegetation, using the lines for orientation instead of for energy. They were harmless. This was certainly a romantic setting. But how was he to proceed? This was a riddle as bewildering as that of the alien intrusion.

Cirl floated blithely along, awaiting his move. He had to do something. If only he had retained this portion of his memory!

Well, he would simply have to try, and hope nature guided him correctly. He might get lucky, as he had with the "yellow" compliment. If not, she would let him know—probably with devastating clarity.

Rondl slid close on the line. "I love you," he flashed. And he did. Only—what next?

Cirl did not reply, and realized he had already made a mistake. She was still rebounding from her prior love; she was not yet interested in total commitment. She needed a kiss, not—

Not what? And what in the System was a kiss? As he tried to interpret the concept into Band reality he garnered only a vague feeling of obscenity. Whatever a kiss was, it was not fit for Bands.

"That is, I think you're—" But physical compliments were useless, generally. He had used up all the good ones. "Extremely pleasant."

"Of course," she agreed without emotion.

"A beautiful shade of—" But he couldn't repeat a given compliment. "Of delight."

"Are you well?"

Well, yes; adequate, no. He was destroying himself with inanities. But what else was there?

Then Rondl spied another pair of Bands coasting along farther down the valley. Maybe they were on a similar excursion. Maybe they would say what needed to be said and do whatever was supposed to be done and he could find out by observation. All he needed to do was keep them in sight long enough.

"Let's explore this mountain," Cirl flashed, detouring toward it on a new line. But the other couple continued on down the valley. The two were drawing closer together; perhaps any moment—

Cirl zoomed away, and Rondl had to go after her. The other couple disappeared behind an outcropping of rock.

He caught up to her, then led her. "Let's loop the peak!" he flashed, hoping to come back into sight of the others.

They looped it—but the other pair was not in sight. The two must have paused for a private matter. Maybe right now they were engaged in—

Rondl moved on down the slope, trying to find them. "Where are you going?" Cirl flashed.

He had to desist, not daring to admit his object. They slid slowly down the line. At the base of the mountain they almost collided with the other couple, who were just separating, spinning. Both were sending out flashes of satisfaction. He had missed it!

Still, now he knew—assuming the others had done what he assumed they had done—that whatever it was did not take long. Maybe it was merely physical contact. Many species made love by some form of touching, didn't they? His unreliable memory indicated so. Too bad he knew that, without knowing what Bands did. What good was it to know about aliens, and not about his own species?

Cirl continued to drift amicably along, as if innocent of any complicity. She was not even flashing her usual ultrablue streak of comment. She knew he wanted to do—whatever—and also knew he didn't know how, yet she would not enlighten him. Yet this was the way of females the Galaxy over; the fundamental frustrations of the gender were constant regardless of species.