Judith Merril - The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy 7

“You can’t kill yourself,” said the man with the spike through his head.

“Yes, you can,” said the woman covered with hands.

Mercer found that his first pain had disappeared. “What’s happening to me?”

“You got a part,” said the man with the spike. “They’re always putting parts on us. After a while B’dikkat comes and cuts most of them off, except for the ones that ought to grow a little more. Like her,” he added, nodding at the woman who lay with the boy-body growing from her neck.

“And that’s all?” said Mercer. “The stabs for the new parts and the stinging for the feeding?”

“No,” said the man. “Sometimes they think we’re too cold and they fill our insides with fire. Or they think we’re too hot and they freeze us, nerve by nerve.”

The woman with the boy-body called over, “And sometimes they think we’re unhappy, so they try to force us to be happy. I think that’s the worst of all.”

Mercer stammered, “Are you people — I mean — are you the only herd?”

The man with the spike coughed instead of laughing. “Herd! That’s funny. The land is full of people. Most of them dig in. We’re the ones who can still talk. We stay together for company. We get more turns with B’dikkat that way.”

Mercer started to ask another question, but he felt the strength run out of him. The day had been too much.

The ground rocked like a ship on water. The sky turned black. He felt someone catch him as he fell. He felt himself being stretched out on the ground. And then, mercifully and magically, he slept.

Within a week, he came to know the group well. They were an absent-minded bunch of people. Not one of them ever knew when a dromozoan might flash by and add another part. Mercer was not stung again, but the incision he had obtained just outside the cabin was hardening. Spike-head looked at it when Mercer modestly undid his belt and lowered the edge of his trouser-top so they could see the wound.

“You’ve got a head,” he said. “A whole baby head. They’ll be glad to get that one upstairs when B’dikkat cuts it off you.”

The group even tried to arrange his social life. They introduced him to the girl of the herd. She had grown one body after another, pelvis turning into shoulders and the pelvis below that turning into shoulders again until she was five people long. Her face was unmarred. She tried to be friendly to Mercer.

He was so shocked by her that he dug himself into the soft dry crumbly earth and stayed there for what seemed like a hundred years. He found later that it was less than a full day. When he came out, the long many-bodied girl was waiting for him.

“You didn’t have to come out just for me,” said she.

Mercer shook the dirt off himself.

He looked around. The violet sun was going down, and the sky was streaked with blues, deeper blues and trails of orange sunset.

He looked back at her. “I didn’t get up for you. It’s no use lying there, waiting for the next time.”

“I want to show you something,” she said. She pointed to a low hummock. “Dig that up.”

Mercer looked at her. She seemed friendly. He shrugged and attacked the soil with his powerful claws. With tough skin and heavy digging-nails on the ends of his fingers, he found it was easy to dig like a dog. The earth cascaded beneath his busy hands. Something pink appeared down in the hole he had dug. He proceeded more carefully.

He knew what it would be.

It was. It was a man, sleeping. Extra arms grew down one side of his body in an orderly series. The other side looked normal.

Mercer turned back to the many-bodied girl, who had writhed closer.

“That’s what I think it is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “Doctor Vomact burned his brain out for him. And took his eyes out, too.”

Mercer sat back on the ground and looked at the girl. “You told me to do it. Now tell me what for.”

“To let you see. To let you know. To let you think.”

“That’s all?” said Mercer.

The girl twisted with startling suddenness. All the way down her series of bodies, her chests heaved. Mercer wondered how the air got into all of them. He did not feel sorry for her; he did not feel sorry for anyone except himself. When the spasm passed the girl smiled at him apologetically.

“They just gave me a new plant.”

Mercer nodded grimly.

“What now, a hand? It seems you have enough.”

“Oh, those,” she said, looking back at her many torsos. “I promised B’dikkat that I’d let them grow. He’s good. But that man, stranger. Look at that man you dug up. Who’s better off, he or we?”

Mercer stared at her. “Is that what you had me dig him up for?”

“Yes,” said the girl.

“Do you expect me to answer?”

“No,” said the girl, “not now.”

“Who are you?” said Mercer.

“We never ask that here. It doesn’t matter. But since you’re new, I’ll tell you. I used to be the Lady Da — the Emperor’s stepmother.”

“You!” he exclaimed.

She smiled, ruefully. “You’re still so fresh you think it matters! But I have something more important to tell you.” She stopped and bit her lip.

“What?” he urged. “Better tell me before I get another bite. I won’t be able to think or talk then, not for a long time. Tell me now.”

She brought her face close to his. It was still a lovely face, even in the dying orange of this violet-sunned sunset. “People never live forever.”

“Yes,” said Mercer. “I knew that.”

“Believe it,” ordered the Lady Da.

Lights flashed across the dark plain, still in the distance. Said she, “Dig in, dig in for the night. They may miss you.”

Mercer started digging. He glanced over at the man he had dug up.

The brainless body, with motions as soft as those of a starfish under water, was pushing its way back into the earth.

Five or seven days later, there was a shouting through the herd.

Mercer had come to know a half-man, the lower part of whose body was gone and whose viscera were kept in place with what resembled a translucent plastic bandage. The half-man had shown him how to lie still when the dromozoa came with their inescapable errands of doing good.

Said the half-man, “You can’t fight them. They made Alvarez as big as a mountain, so that he never stirs. Now they’re trying to make us happy. They feed us and clean us and sweeten us up. Lie still. Don’t worry about screaming. We all do.”

“When do we get the drug?” said Mercer.

“When B’dikkat comes.”

B’dikkat came that day, pushing a sort of wheeled sled ahead of him. The runners carried it over the hillocks; the wheels worked on the surface.

Even before he arrived, the herd sprang into furious action. Everywhere, people were digging up the sleepers. By the time B’dikkat reached their waiting place, the herd must have uncovered twice their own number of sleeping pink bodies — men and women, young and old. The sleepers looked no better and no worse than the waking ones.

“Hurry!” said the Lady Da. “He never gives any of us a shot until we’re all ready.”

B’dikkat wore his heavy lead suit.

He lifted an arm in friendly greeting, like a father returning home with treats for his children. The herd clustered around him but did not crowd him.

He reached into the sled. There was a harnessed bottle which he threw over his shoulders. He snapped the locks on the straps. From the bottle there hung a tube. Midway down the tube there was a small pressure-pump. At the end of the tube there was a glistening hypodermic needle.

When ready, B’dikkat gestured for them to come closer. They approached him with radiant happiness. He stepped through their ranks and past them, to the girl who had the boy growing from her neck. His mechanical voice boomed through the loudspeaker set in the top of his suit.