House of the Sun

20

"Ah, Christ, Theresa…" I felt as though all the blood had been drained from my body and replaced with ice water. I felt as though the underpinnings of my world had been kicked out from underneath me. I felt like a child who's been forced to look at the disemboweled body of his pet puppy. I felt like… How could I describe it, even to myself?

My sister. In all my life, the one thing I'd done that I could point to with pride-the one stupid knight-in-shining-armor knee-jerk reaction that had worked out for the best- was hauling Theresa out of that little suburb of Hell beneath Fort Lewis. Helping her through the nightmares and post-traumatic stress syndrome and all the drek that followed. Seeing that she was clean, sober and sane, and then letting her go about her own life.

For what? What had been the use, tell me that? All the pain, all the heartache… for what? Frag it, I might as well have just left her attached to that pus-yellow umbilicus in the Fort Lewis hive. Might as well have left the astral parasites-the Wasp spirits-in her aura. It had all been for nothing, I could see that in my sister's glassy eyes. The one thing I thought I'd done right in my life… now that had turned into drek, too. Ah, what the hell anyway? Might as well stay consistent, neh? At least I can be proud of that.

My sister's body was standing before me, a smile on its face. Something looked out from those familiar eyes, those eyes that had always seemed able to see wonder and beauty where I'd only seen pain and threat. Something… Was Theresa in there anymore? Was there any of my sister left in that shell of a body? Or was she gone forever?

It was almost as if Theresa-or the thing that now wore her body-could read my thoughts. "I'm here, Derek," she said softly. "I'm here. I am Theresa, but I'm more as well."

"Why?" My voice was a husky whisper, the sound of a torture victim.

She smiled. It was my sister's smile, Theresa's smile. It hurt so much I wished I could the right then and there. "Why?" she echoed. She glanced away, her brow wrinkling in the way it always did when she was thinking hard. "It would take me a million words to explain," she said slowly, "or just one."

"One?"

"Love," my sister said firmly. "That's the only answer, the core answer. The heart of everything."

I shook my head. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run. I wanted to grab her and shake her. But all I did was say softly, "I don't understand, Theresa."

"It's simple, Derek, really," she said, her voice kindly and gentle. The tone of voice made me think she really wanted me to understand, but could I trust something like tone and body language?

"Do you know what it's like to be loved?" she went on.

"Of course."

She raised a brow ironically. "Do you? Really? Loved unreservedly and unconditionally? For yourself-for what you are, not for what you do? Knowing that nothing-nothing!- can ever change that, can ever lose you that love?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"I didn't think so," she went on sadly. "Mom loved us… but only if we behaved. Dad loved us… but only if we excelled. Isn't that the way it was, Derek?" She took my hand. I wanted to shake free of her touch, but I couldn't bring myself to move. "If we were 'good' children-if we lived our lives the way they thought we should live them-we were loved. If we weren't, they withheld their love."

"They always loved us, Theresa." I had to say it even though I wasn't totally convinced it was true.

"Maybe," she said with a slight inclination of her head. "Maybe they did. But they withheld the expression of that love, didn't they? And for a child, that's all that matters. Maybe for an adult, too."

"I always loved you, Theresa…"

My sister squeezed my hand. "I know you did, Derek. In your own way-to the extent of your abilities-you loved me. And I'll always thank you for that, and love you in turn.

"But… it's not enough, not when you've experienced something more."

She fixed me with her unblinking gaze. "I know you love me, Derek," she went on urgently, "but I could never feel your love. Not directly. You can't feel love. No matter what all the romance stories and trideos and songs say-you can't feel it. When people say they 'feel' love, what they're talking about is something inside themselves, isn't it? They infer the love of another, or of others. They take in what people say to them, how they act and what they do, and from that they infer that those other people love them. And from that inference comes the feeling that people call 'bejng loved.'

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Derek? It's important that you understand. The feeling we label 'being loved' is totally independent of whether you are loved or not. Don't you see? If someone actually does love you but you don't know it-you don't make the correct inference-then you don't feel that love. If someone doesn't love you, but you infer incorrectly that they do, then you do feel it. See? You're not feeling love at all, you're only responding to some state internal to yourself, to some conclusion you're making about the outside world.

"That's all I ever felt," she went on softly, "that's all anyone ever feels. I never knew anything else could exist."

"Until…" I whispered.

My sister nodded. "Until I felt the love of the Hive Queen," she said simply.

I couldn't hold her gaze. Frag, I couldn't stand any of this-to face someone who looked and sounded and felt… and Christ, even smelted like my sister, and listen to her spouting this… I wanted to pull my hand away, but I didn't have the fragging guts.

She squeezed my hand again, almost hard enough to hurt. "Listen to me, Derek," she said, "please."

"Why?" I demanded. "Why the frag should I? So you can convince me, too? So your… your Hive Queen can suck out my soul, too?"

She didn't flinch at the venom in my voice, didn't look angry. Instead she looked sad. "That's not what we do," she said.

I cringed at that terrible word. We.

She saw it, but pressed on. "We don't convert by force-by fire or by the sword. That's the way human religions are traditionally spread, but this isn't a religion, Derek. People come to this way of life because it's what they choose, it's what they want, deep down in their core."

"Bulldrek," I snarled, suddenly angry. "I found you in a fragging coma, with a fragging umbilical cord stuck into you, Theresa. That doesn't sound like a fragging choice to me."

My anger left her untouched, and when I saw that, the rage just seemed to bleed away, leaving me cold and empty. She shrugged slightly. "I really don't remember much about what led up to it, Derek," she admitted. "But I do remember what I felt when I belonged."

"Remember how? You were in a coma."

She shrugged again. "I don't know how I remember, I only know I do."

"You never talked about it. With me, with the doctors, with the therapists…"

"I know. Maybe part of me didn't want to talk about it-to remember it, or maybe to admit it. But the memories were there, Derek, they still are. I couldn't access them all the time. Mainly they came out in dreams-dreams where I'd wake up crying my eyes out because I was so lonely and empty.

"I'd travel," she went on gently. "I'd go to a new place, a new city. I'd look at the people, and they'd all be lonely and empty, too. Some of them knew it; most of them couldn't let themselves think about it. They were all alone, all of them alone. And the memories came back more often, and they kept getting stronger. And the sadness wouldn't go away."

"So you went back to them." In my own ears, my voice sounded like a cold wind blowing through a graveyard.

"Not at first," she corrected.

"Why not, if living your own life was so terrible?"

"Because of you, Derek," she told me. "Because I was afraid you wouldn't understand, you wouldn't approve."

I don't understand or approve, is what I didn't say to her. I just nodded wordlessly.

"And then I remembered something you told me," she went on, "and I made my decision."

That shocked me. "Something I told you?"

"Of course. You told me once that I should live my life with the end always in mind. Remember, Derek? You suggested it as a kind of decision-making tool. That I should imagine I was at the end of my life and looking back. Would there be regrets? Would I lie on my deathbed, praying for one chance to go back and do something-experience something, have something-I'd decided against at the time? Do you remember that. Dirk?"

Well, of course I remembered that, now she parroted it back to me. Another one of those facile oversimplifications that I seem able to dredge up on the spur of the moment. Okay, maybe it wasn't totally facile oversimplification. Maybe I believed it sometimes. When I was sitting at my 'puter, trying to bash out a few more lines of code and I knew there was a gorgeous sunset outside over the skyline of Cheyenne, for example. Which would I remember when I was on my deathbed, I'd ask myself: a soul-touching sunset or an¬other dozen lines of code? If nothing else, it was a convenient excuse to slack off, couched in me trappings of "wisdom."

"I thought about what you said," Theresa was continuing. "I thought about dying. And I thought about dying without feeling that love, that belonging, ever again. I couldn't face that."

"So you went back to them," I repeated.

They came to me, actually," she corrected. "In Denver. It was as if they knew I was there, and they knew that I needed them. They came to me, and they offered to love me, and need me."

"And possess you," I almost spat, "and steal your goddamn fragging soul!"

My sister looked at me sadly. It was a… a complex sadness, that's the only way I could describe it: regret, alloyed with understanding, and something that could almost be compassion. I hated the expression in her eyes. I feared it.

"That's not how it is, Derek." Her voice was as gentle as a breeze stirring the leaves of an elm tree. "I am me. I'll always be me. But I'm more as well. I am the Hive Queen. I am the other members of the Hive. And they are me.

"In a sense I'll never die. As long as one member of the hive remains, I remain. Some of my memory-some of who I am-will continue to live. Forever, maybe. There's no loss, Derek, none. It's a gain. I'm Theresa, just as I always was… but more so."

Now I did pull my hand back, and I did cover my face. "No," I said. That's all, just, "No." I couldn't bring myself to say what I was thinking-that she had lost something. Her humanity, if nothing else. And with it, she'd lost the ability to know that something was lost.

Someone touched my arm, gently. Not Theresa; I knew her touch. I took my hands from my eyes.

It was the gray-faced man, the insect shaman. I flinched back from him as though his hand had been a white-hot iron bar, searing my flesh. I stared at him, at his glassy eyes, at the face that had once belonged to a human. I thought I'd hated before in my life. I was wrong. I think I smiled as I reached for the Manhunter stuffed down the waistband of my trousers.

The pistol was clear. My thumb flicked off the safety as I brought the big gun up. On came the laser, and I tracked it onto the shaman's right eye. The ruby light gleamed from the watery-looking cornea. I took up the slack on the trigger, then squeezed it.

And stopped, just short of the break-point. The shaman hadn't reacted in any way. He just watched me. Frag, his pupil didn't even seem to have contracted under the laser's light.

Suddenly, I became aware of the tableau around me. The three bodyguards all had their nasty little SMGs out. Kono and the one they called Lupo held dead aim on the shaman. Pohaku's weapon panned back and forth between me and the shaman, as if he didn't know what the frag to do. The woman, Akaku'akanene, was staring at me with those bright, birdlike eyes of hers. I think she understood what I was feeling-I think it was understanding in those eyes. But there was determination there as well. Deep down, in the base of my brain, I had the unshakable conviction that if I'd actually tried to fire my pistol into the Insect shaman's head, I wouldn't have been able to do it. The final member of the tableau was Theresa. In her eyes was something that, in another, I'd have had to call genuine sadness.

"Chill, people," I said quietly. I put up my gun and safed it. Just to spare myself from temptation, I turned and scaled the big hunk of metal onto the bed. Then I turned back to the gray-faced insect shaman. "Well?" I said quietly. "Speak your piece."

The small man nodded. "You find yourself in an interesting situation, Mr. Montgomery," he began. His voice was as gray, as nondescript-as empty-as his face. "Through no choice of your own, you've been drawn into important events.

"These events have been developing for some time," he continued quietly. "The beginning of the pattern was woven"-his lips twisted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and that contained no human amusement-"well, the weaving began long before you were born, as a matter of fact. Now, circumstance has conveyed you into the middle of affairs, and the weaving of the pattern has changed because of it."

I looked at him, and I shook my head. "I haven't got a fragging clue what you're talking about, chummer," I said flatly.

"It's self-evident, isn't it?" the shaman asked rhetorically. "You have been woven into the pattern, Mr. Montgomery. You are now part of the tapestry of events, not just an observer. There are those who can sense this about you." And now he shot a sidelong glance at Akaku'akanene. "The weaving of the pattern is almost complete."

I snorted. "Look, I'm not in the mood for sophomoric philosophy, okay?" I snapped. "Cut to the fragging chase."

The Insect shaman paused, then nodded. "The Hawai'ian Islands have several sites of power," he said quietly. "Puowaina, Haleakala, Honaunau Bay… among others. There are ways to draw mana from those sites, for those with the knowledge, and the willingness to pay the price.

"There are those who wish to use those sites for their own purposes," he went on. "They consider those sites to be like motherlodes of mana, from which they can draw magical energy."

"I didn't think that was possible," I put in.

"For most mages or shamans, it isn't," he confirmed. "But there are ancient techniques that allow it. They're complex, though, and they're time-consuming. And they all carry with them a significant risk."

"What risk?"

"Power of any kind has to come from somewhere" the shaman said. "Within the Gaiasphere, it's generated by living material-by the 'biomass' itself. Certain sites of power, though, are like conduits to other"-he paused in thought- "other places," he continued carefully. "Mana can be drawn through those conduits."

I nodded. This suddenly seemed to be making at least some sense. To some degree it was tying in with the thoughts I'd had when I'd visited the sacrifice site in Punchbowl. "I scan it," I said. "You don't want these slags to get their mitts on all this power, is that it?"

The shaman shook his head firmly. "That wouldn't be a concern. On a local level the amount of power available is considerable. On a more global scale, however, it's insignificant."

"Tacnukes as compared to city-buster ICBMs?" I suggested sarcastically, thinking of Chicago.

He surprised me by nodding. "A reasonable analogy. But that's not the concern." Oh, really? I thought. "The issue is that the… the places from which the mana comes…" He trailed off, as if seeking just the right word.

"They're occupied, aren't they?" The words were out of my mouth before I was even fully aware of the thought process behind them. Chilling-and even more so when the Insect shaman nodded agreement.

"There are certain entities in these other places," he agreed judiciously. 'The same barrier that prevents the free flow of mana also denies them access to the Gaiasphere."

"And if you weaken that barrier enough to suck through the mana…?" It was my turn to trail off.

His silence was enough of an answer.

"What are these 'entities'?" I wanted to know.

The shaman shrugged. "Their exact nature varies unpredictably. It's enough to say that nobody would be well-served should they be able to penetrate the barrier."

Something just didn't hang together here. 'This is bull-drek," I said slowly. "What about the slags who are trying to siphon the power? Don't they know about these entities?"

"They know."

"And they're still doing it?"

"Perhaps they think they can control the entities," the gray-faced man said, "or possibly block them once the barrier is weakened. They're wrong, in both cases. The entities will overwhelm them or suborn them… if that hasn't occurred already."

I held up my palms to stop him. "Okay, time out, let's see if I get this. Somewhere, in some volcano somewhere, there's going to be a shaman slotting around with this barrier thing-"

"More than one shaman is necessary," the gray-faced guy put in. "There are forces of stability that naturally counter any premature weakening of the barrier. Those forces must be overcome."

Premature? Interesting word. I'd think about that later.

"Okay, amendment noted. So a whole drekload of shamans are slotting around with the barrier, trying to siphon in some mana. And instead of power, what they'll get is this cosmic nasty that'll… what? What'll happen?"

"Suffering," the shaman said, his voice sounding cold and distant. "Death. Devastation. Initially limited to the islands, but believe me, it will spread."

I nodded as if I understood. "And this cosmic nasty's going to make life drekky for you guys too, I assume?"

His eyebrows rose. "Members of the Hive? No," he said firmly. "The entities that come through won't waste any efforts on us. Not until more convenient prey is no longer available."

I didn't like the sound of that at all… if I believed this miserable slag, of course. And did I? The jury was still out. "Uh-huh," I said neutrally. Then I leaned in close and poked him in the chest with my finger. "Then why the frag are you telling me this, huh? The way you're talking, it sounds like this is going to be no skin-or chitin or whatever-off your hoop. So why bother? Why not just sit back and watch the fragging fun?" My rage was back, a cold fire burning in my chest. I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. "Hey, it'll probably be a pretty good fragging show, won't it? Maybe you'll pick up some pointers on how to spread suffering, death, and devastation, right?" I paused theatrically. "Or maybe that's the fragging point, huh? You don't want someone else pissing in your pool, is that it? Anyone the cosmic nasty scrags is one less for you to possess or kill or turn into a fragging monstrosity, right? Frag, you just don't want the competition?'

The shaman was totally unmoved. Flecks of my spittle glistened on his cheeks and forehead-I'd leaned in real close-but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Our intention isn't to spread death and suffering," he said quietly.

'Tell that to the people in Chicago!"

"It wasn't we who detonated the nuclear device," he responded calmly-and all the more infuriatingly because he was right, of course. "All our actions were in self-defense."

"Yeah, right, they were!"

"You don't know us, Mr. Montgomery…"

"And I don't want to!" I spat back.

"… But believe this if you can. We are not your enemy.

We bear no ill-will toward metahumanity. Quite the opposite, in fact, as your sister can vouch."

"Don't you mention my sister, drekwipe!"

"Our goals and our agenda are our own," he went on, undismayed. "Sometimes they may conflict with yours; most of the time they're totally unconnected with yours. And sometimes-as in this case-our best interest and yours coincide."

"And I'm supposed to take that on faith, is that it?" I wanted to know.

'That's up to you," the shaman said simply.

I paused. My mind was in chaos, churning thoughts conflicting wildly with each other. I wished there was some god I could believe in, some Great Referee to whom I could yell "Time out!" No luck. The Insect shaman was still watching me with his glassy eyes and expressionless face. I couldn't remain angry at him, I found, not without some kind of response from him. It was like trying to hold a grudge against a footstool or a fragging doorstop. I sighed again. "Okay, hoa," I said quietly. "Just for the sake of argument, let's say I swallow the line you're feeding me. What then? What do you want from me?"

He answered at once. "Use your influence to stop this before it goes too far."

I laughed in his face. "Influence! Chummer, you've got the wrong slag here, let me tell you. I've got about as much influence as a fragging pawn in a chess game, as much as…" My imagination failed me, so I just waved my hands about eloquently. "Zilch, in other words. Zero. Zip. Null. Get me?"

"You have influence," he stressed. "You don't wish to acknowledge it for your own reasons, but you have it."

"Yeah, right," I snorted. "I'm as significant in this as tits on a bull."

"Oh?" The shaman's eyebrow rose again. "That's not how it seems to others, Mr. Montgomery." He glanced pointedly around the suite, his gaze settling in turn on each of the security personnel. 'This isn't the residence of someone lacking in influence."

"Them? They're not following my orders. They're the Ali'i's people."

The shaman nodded. "And the Ali'i listens to what you have to say. You're significant in his interpretation of events. Otherwise, he wouldn't have arranged this meeting.

"The same with Yamatetsu Corporation," he pressed on firmly. "If someone listens to your words or follows your actions, then you have influence. And there are others, aren't there, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked. 'There are others who consider you significant"

"To the extent of threatening to kill me, yeah," I said sarcastically.

"And that's to a significant extent indeed," the shaman shot back, "as you'll recognize if you'll only think about it. You don't warn off or threaten to kill someone without importance or without influence. You kill them, or you simply ignore them.

"You have influence," he concruded. "Use it."

"I don't know how."

"You will."

I narrowed my eyes. "You really expect me to help you on this?"

The shaman shrugged again. "You want this stopped," he stated, "we want it stopped. Is it really that difficult to understand?"

"So why don't you just"-I gestured vaguely, searching for the right word-"just possess me like you did Theresa? Then you wouldn't have to convince me, would you? I'd just follow orders like a good little drone."

Again, my scorn and anger just rolled off him. "That's not our way," he said quietly. "It must be voluntary… on both sides. You must accept us, but we must also accept you."

"And I don't 'make the grade'?" The shaman didn't react in any way. So the bugs considered me 4F, did they? Thank God for small favors-if I could believe this slot, at least.

I stared out the window for a few moments. My eyes saw the scenery, but my brain didn't register it. More thoughts- fears, doubts, hopes, dreams-bubbled up from the swamp of my subconscious. I tried to sort through them, separate reason from irrationality. Finally, I turned back to the shaman. "What's in it for me if I do it?" I asked.

He blinked. "The entities will be unable to penetrate the barrier," he said slowly. "They will be unable to prey on-"

I cut him off with a sharp gesture. "No. What's in it for me? Me personally?"

Again the shaman paused. "Payment, you mean?" His tone was confused, as if I'd asked him something he'd never had to consider before.

"More like quid pro quo," I amended. "I do something that benefits you, you do something that benefits me. Me. Not metahumanity in general. Me. Get it?"

I watched his eyes as he tried to bend his brain around the thought. (Frag if I'd ever needed hard evidence that the Insect spirits were inhuman and alien in their outlook, this was it. The idea of bribery, a surprise? Cut me loose…) Finally, he nodded slowly. "Perhaps something can be arranged."

Roughly, I grabbed him by the shoulder, and I dragged him into a corner of the room. Away from the sec-guards, away from Akaku'akanene. Away from Theresa. "I want her back," I whispered harshly. "My sister."

He blinked again. "What?"

"Look, it's simple. I do this for you, you give me my sister back. Normal, understand? The way she was, with her own thoughts and her own mind and her own soul. You reverse whatever the frag it is you did to her." I crossed my arms. "That's my price."

The shaman's unblinking eyes were fixed on mine, as if he were trying to see into my mind. "Can we discuss this?" he asked at length.

"No negotiation," I whispered firmly. "That's it. You want me to do this? Then that's my price. You don't play ball, then I'll use whatever influence I've got to fuck you up, chummer. Anything you do to block these cosmic nasties, I'll throw a fucking wrench into it."

"But the entities-"

"Let 'em come! Doesn't matter squat to me if I don't get my sister back." I leaned in close again. "Scan me, bug-boy?"

He thought about it for a long time-two minutes maybe. It felt more like two hours. I could feel beads of sweat trick¬ling down my spine, soaking the waistband of my trousers. It was all I could do to keep my knees from trembling.

Finally, he nodded once. "Your sister for your cooperation? Yes."

"We have a deal?" I pressed.

"We have a deal."

I thanked whatever gods were listening that he didn't insist we shake hands.