Lawrence Schoen - Barsk - The Elephants' Graveyard

“What are you saying?”

“The memories of individuals, the people who have touched our lives, require nefshons. When I remember something about my wife or son, I’m tapping into their nefshons, particles I’ve received from them. When I think about someone who has died, I’m unconsciously activating their particles that I already possess. Koph lets people perceive nefshons, but we’ve always had the power to manipulate them. It’s how memory works. Your drug just provides some individuals with conscious control and more power. And my new drug could take that too far.”

“Why too far? Why is that a problem?”

“What do you imagine would happen if a Speaker could summon all of a person’s nefshons? Not just enough for a conversation, but every last particle? That person would cease to exist. No one would be able to recall anything about her. No matter how detailed, how intimate, how vast the memory might be, it would be gone. Wiped out of the consciousness of the galaxy. As if she never existed, never touched another person’s life.”

“Impossible! Even if a Speaker could pull in all of another person’s particles, sooner or later they’d have to release them. They’d become available again. Floating freely.”

“Probably. But the damage would be done. The memories would be gone. Another Speaker probably couldn’t even summon that person again, because there’d be no memory of her to suggest a summoning in the first place. Now think about how you might undermine a society, a world, a culture, by causing everyone everywhere to forget the existence of key figures. Ask yourself what effect you have had on the development of this planet, Matriarch, and what confusion and chaos would erupt if you simply didn’t exist?”

“That is insane! It would disrupt and redefine reality.”

“That’s the power my new drug might unleash. All of that could be done by one person. That’s why I gave up my life, so the secret would die with me.”

Margda stepped back and dropped into her hanging chair, letting her body go limp. The nubs of her trunk curled back to squeeze the bridge of its root between her eyes.

“I did not foresee any of that. I only saw a threat that could be avoided by your discovery. The Alliance knows nothing of this, but I believe they are tired of having to rely on Barsk as the sole source of koph. A secret senate committee is threatening to kill every Eleph and Lox on the planet if they don’t get what they want. That was my vision. Only you can prevent the extinction of our peoples.”

Arlo just shook his head, his ears flapping listlessly. “And if I give them what you want, they wouldn’t have to stop there. One person, one irrational bigot could dedicate his life to wiping the existence of all Fant from the collective memory of the galaxy. I gave up everything for that. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

She raised her trunk in a sad salute and reached out with a trickle of Lirlowil’s telepathy that had returned to her, confirming the conviction she heard in his voice. There would be no changing his mind. With no more ritual than a wave of her hand she removed her will from his nefshons and ended the summoning. Arlo vanished in an instant. A moment later, so did the house on Yargo. Margda found herself back in the body of the Otter, weeping and unable to stop.

PIZLO’Slunar communion ended when Telko’s arc carried it beyond the edge of the station mess’s viewport. He sat on the floor, reeling, as he struggled to process even a tiny bit of all that the moon had conveyed.

Pemma, the previous moon, had told him he would need to climb high above Barsk to meet Jorl in a worldless island where nothing lived. Now Telko had provided the where and when, and much else besides and even the little bit that he already understood sickened him. “It’s going to be horrible,” he said, but if the whispering throng of the planet beyond the window understood, it gave no sign. Pizlo rolled to his feet, dragging his mesh sacks behind him with his trunk as he crossed back to the door. It opened to the long corridor he’d already traversed and shorter hallways both left and right. He had a destination now and set off down the right side, the way ahead illuminating as he approached. The doors to either side looked no different from those in the previous corridor, spaced the same as well. He counted off seven doors on his left and stopped at the eighth. Telko had promised it was empty.

He leaned his head against it to trigger the door and entered. It looked like the other room he’d explored, the one with the holo of the waving Pandas, except this one didn’t have any Pandas. Nothing hung from the hooks on the wall. The lavatory and the closet were also in the same place, although both were empty. No one lived in this room. He sat in the middle of the floor and emptied out his sacks, making a feast of everything he had left. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he began eating. After his appetite had abated, he realized he hadn’t noticed the hunger because he’d been scared. Just a little. Even with what Pemma had told him, so much had been strange and new. Being afraid had been new, too. He didn’t much like it.

Finished with his meal, Pizlo gathered up rinds and other debris and disposed of them in the lavatory. He took each of the bags that had held his supplies and knotted the mesh to create a sling and secure his useless arm across his chest. He fanned himself with his ears for a few moments and then stood up and went to the closet. Using his trunk and good arm he hauled himself to a seat atop the dresser to wait. He slid the closet door closed and settled back against the wall. Telko had told him he’d meet up with Jorl near and soon. He’d resolved the matter of near, and in the process used up most of the soon.

ONCEhis ship had docked with the station, Bish sent his aide, Druz, on ahead. The facilities there were more than adequate to secure one Fant, and the sooner he had the freak off his own vessel, the better. The senator considered himself enlightened, and recognized his reaction as simple bigotry, but that calm knowledge in no way eliminated the emotional reaction of being near this Jorl ben Tral.

The incident at the polar base had rattled him. The Urs-major’s colossal bungling of what should have been a simple mission had necessitated his instant removal, and while dispensing justice in front of the Lox had added to his profile as a benevolent figure, subsequently threatening the Fant had been a mistake. The Yak had realized the error the instant after the words had left his lips, and spent the trip to the station attempting to rectify things. Still, his mistake need not be irrevocable. The Fant was clearly in shock from witnessing the immolation of his elders, and the cocktail of drugs Druz had administered imparted a certain malleability.

Upon boarding his ship, Bish had placed Jorl in an opulent cabin, sublimated his own disgust for the man by indulging his culinary hobby and crafting from his own hands an unparalleled meal. But he drew the line at sharing a table with him. Instead, he left his reluctant guest to enjoy the food alone, the better to rest and recover from his ordeal. The senator had set Druz to work at the same time, learning everything possible about the surviving Fant. For all her slow movement, the Sloth had as keen a mind as any being the Yak had encountered. She’d prepared and presented a report both thorough and surprising; best of all it gave Bish a starting point for establishing a fresh connection.

Soon after docking, the senator took it upon himself to escort Jorl through the station. In this instance, the limited facilities worked in his favor. The Lox had nowhere to run, which meant he needed no guards and thus no reminder that he was obviously a prisoner. It helped, too, that the room he’d selected for Jorl was in no way different from any of the station’s crew quarters, though by now Druz had recoded its door to lock from the outside.