Post
by Qoheleth » Tue May 25, 2010 9:12 am
Chapter 18 - Three Types of Unbelief
"Tell me, Toloth Two-Nine-Four," said Lissim as the two guards made their way back to the Sub-Visser's private reveling area, "just what is this human idea that Malcar Seven-Four-Five believes to be so dangerously vital?"
Toloth turned and looked sharply at his colleague, all his wits suddenly awake. Was Lissim attempting to locate a weakness in him, with an eye toward eliminating an inconveniently ambitious fellow-guardsman? But Lissim's expression betrayed only mild inquisitiveness, and Toloth decided it would be best to answer the question with a minimum of fuss – and, of course, without revealing the slightest interest of his own.
"Oh, you know," he said, waving a vague claw. "One of those curious mythical systems that host species are so prone to develop. As near as I can make out, it asserts that the Maker of the Universe became a human some two thousand Earthly years ago, got himself killed by his fellow humans, and then came back to life again. Apparently this is supposed to give the humans who believe in him some special form of life themselves."
Lissim blinked, absorbing this. "What a strange idea," he said. "Is this god-human supposed to be still walking around Earth somewhere, then?"
Toloth shrugged. "Malcar's host did not discuss what happened to him after his revival," he said. "Perhaps he returned to the place beyond space and time where she says he lives – that 'Heaven' that is not the sky."
Lissim shook his head. "Humans," he said. "Mad, the lot of them. Just like their Controllers."
Toloth nodded. "Doubtless it is due to the intensity of human sense perceptions," he said. "They cannot properly sort through the cascades of phenomena that assail them; consequently their outlook becomes warped, and they begin to develop the most extraordinary notions."
"I dare say," said Lissim.
They then turned the conversation to other subjects, and, by the time they reunited with the Sub-Visser and their fellow guards, they had put Jesus and Malcar Seven-Four-Five entirely out of their minds.
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Elskir Five-Oh-Seven had just gotten out of the illutilagh bath, and was drying herself off in the pool antechamber when Malcar came in, wearing a truly extraordinary expression on Teresa's face. It wasn't at all the way Elskir would have imagined someone looking who had just been interrogated by Sub-Visser One Hundred and Fifty-Three; it was more like the expression of someone who had just been informed that the Yeerk race would be exterminated in twenty-seven hours unless she could retrieve the Mystic Pearls of Thrishalaak from the bottom of the Uret Sea.
Elskir coughed uncertainly. "Er... welcome back, Malcar Seven-Four-Five," she said. "So the Sub-Visser let you off, did he?"
"Not precisely," said Malcar.
Elskir waited for some amplification of this remark, but for a while Malcar seemed ill-disposed to say anything more. It wasn't until she had dried herself off, put on Teresa's clothes, and spent a minute or so staring intensely at the antechamber wall, that she turned abruptly to her companion and said, "Tell me, Elskir Five-Oh-Seven, what do you know about Christianity?"
Elskir blinked. "Um not much, really," she said. "Kati hasn't been in a church since –" (she did a quick check of her host's memories) "– her aunt's wedding in 1994."
<Poor thing,> said Teresa inside Malcar's mind.
Malcar ignored her. "Well, permit me to inform you," she said, "that it is a pernicious and repellent system, totally opposed to any reasonable notion of a powerful and dynamic society – and that Teresa is trying to persuade a member of the Sub-Visser's guard to subscribe to it."
Elskir stared for a moment, then laughed aloud. "You mean that's what all that rubbish about treason by sympathy with a host species was about?" she said. "The old Ishlok-of-the-Hills routine? (3) Oh, that's priceless."
"No, it isn't," said Malcar, nettled. "It's appalling. If he's going to these lengths just to get me out of Teresa's body, things have already progressed well beyond the danger point. She's already snared his host; it's only a matter of time before she gets the Yeerk himself."
"Well, and what if he does?" said Elskir. "If the Sub-Visser's man-at-arms thinks it would be fun to say a rosary once in a while, why not let him? It's not as though he'd be the first crackpot our race has ever..." She saw the expression in Malcar's eyes, and trailed off. "Well, maybe not."
"Thank you," said Malcar.
"So what are you going to do?" said Elskir. "Malthalamize(4) her until she agrees not to talk to this guy anymore?"
Malcar shook her head with a sigh. "No, that wouldn't work," she said. "You don't know these Christians. Pain – their own pain, I mean – just encourages them. They thank their God for allowing them to suffer persecution for the sake of the Name, and then they keep on doing what they were doing, only that much more enthusiastically."
"Oh," said Elskir. "So the only way to stop them is to convince them that God doesn't want them doing whatever it is."
Malcar looked up sharply at her. "Do you know, Elskir, that's not a bad idea," she said. "I wonder..."
She pondered for a moment, then said, abruptly, "Thanks, Elskir. I won't forget this," and strode out of the antechamber, leaving Elskir to wonder what sort of scheme she had just inspired.
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The Yeerk pool was alive with the clicks and whistles of Yeerk speech when Oliss Three-Eight-Three was slipped back into it. To an alien, this might seem unusual, given that (a) most Yeerks do very little talking while in the pool, and (b) this being Esiln Kalkat, the pool was practically empty anyway. But, in fact, the two factors cancel each other out: the folkway against pool-time conversation is one imposed by hosted Yeerks, and, on the rare occasions when there are hardly any of these in the pool, the hostless ones tend to be veritable fountains of garrulity.
Furthermore, the fact of one of their number having been suddenly picked up and carried away by an unknown Hork-Bajir-Controller (which several of them had witnessed via echolocation) had given them an all-but-inexhaustible topic for excited speculation. Who was the Hork-Bajir-Controller? Why had he (or she) taken Oliss? Was there some sort of ritual performed on Esiln Kalkat that required the sacrifice of a hostless Yeerk to the Kandrona? Due to their natural lack of data, the pool-dwellers could answer none of these questions – which, of course (since Yeerks are, in many respects, only human), only made them speculate the more feverishly. By the time Oliss returned, the pool was fairly humming with theories, each wilder than the last; the poor creature was practically mobbed by its fellow izcots as they each sought confirmation of their favorite notions.
*Are you well, Oliss Three-Eight-Three?* clicked one. *The Sub-Visser didn't torture you too mercilessly, did he?*
*Why should the Sub-Visser torture his own spy?* inquired another tartly. *Do be reasonable, Zisha Nine-Six-Five.*
*What is your connection to Visser One, Oliss Three-Eight-Three?*
*How did you get trapped in morph?*
*Why...*
*Enough!* said a new voice from Oliss's right – a voice so forceful it sent two or three Yeerks reeling backward with the force of its vibrations. Oliss turned its palps and perceived its friend Pafil Twelve-Three-Nought. *Can you not let your pool-mate reacclimate itself to its surroundings? Be still, and leave Oliss Three-Eight-Three to steal a few moments' peace and quiet; you shall have all your answers presently.*
The others murmured, but reluctantly swam away, one by one, until Oliss and Pafil were left alone in their corner of the pool.
*Thank you, Pafil Twelve-Three-Nought,* said Oliss.
*Not at all,* said Pafil.
Then it hesitated. *Though, to be perfectly honest, part of my motivation was to get you alone so you could tell the story to me first. Not,* it added hastily, *that I wasn't concerned for you, as well. In fact, part of my thought was that, if it were the sort of story that is difficult to tell, you could tell it just to me, and then I could tell it to the others... you see?*
Oliss smiled inwardly. *Yes, Pafil Twelve-Three-Nought,* it said. *I see quite well.*
There was a pause.
*Well?* said Pafil. *Is it such a story?*
Oliss let out the high-pitched whistle that serves Yeerks in their native state for a sigh. *It is difficult to tell, yes,* it said. *But not because it is painful. It is not in the least painful –* (here its tone became almost wistful) *– but it is... strange. Very, very strange.*
It paused briefly to arrange its thoughts, and Pafil waited expectantly.
*Tell me, Pafil Twelve-Three-Nought,* said Oliss after some moments had passed, *if you were a human, what would you think of the Yeerk race?*
Pafil was caught off guard. This was not the sort of question a Yeerk, even a hostless Yeerk, asked another; it was too easy to slide into treason in one's answer. Indeed, the very act of asking the question suggested, if not actual treason, a certain weakness in one's loyalty to the Empire. Unless, of course, some of the others were correct in their speculations, and Oliss was indeed a spy for the Sub-Visser – in which case Pafil's life might well depend on its answer.
It chose its words carefully. *I suppose that I would feel as the conquered always feels toward the conqueror.*
*Exactly,* said Oliss, apparently oblivious to its companion's judicious phrasing. *You would not think kindly of us, would you? You would view us as monsters from outer space come to steal your people's bodies. You would not continually remind yourself that we had hearts and souls just as you did, and you certainly would not go out of your way to be kind to us.*
Pafil considered this. *No,* it said, having decided that agreement was safe so far. *No, I do not think I would do that.*
*And if you did,* Oliss continued, *would that not prove that there was something exceptional about you – some force inside you that was stronger than ordinary nature?*
*Yes, I suppose it would,* said Pafil. *But what does all this have to do with your adventure outside the pool just now?*
Oliss raised its palps toward the top of the pool, and absorbed a few extra Kandrona particles to fortify itself. *Let me tell you, Pafil Twelve-Three-Nought,* it said, *about the human called Teresa Sickles.*
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(3)
A reference to Ishlok One-Eight-Two, a legendary outlaw of Generation 59, one of whose most famous exploits involved him switching host bodies with his sworn enemy Council Member Eleven, so that the latter might be captured and killed by his own soldiers. His name has thus become a proverb for deflecting one's own guilt onto one's accuser, or (in general) onto anyone who could not possibly deserve it.
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(4)
This is an Anglicization of the Yeerkish word shrutellipiv, which means "to stimulate the pain centers of a host's brain for disciplinary purposes".