Boneflower

Boneflower

By Ray Aldridge

Art by Cortney Skinner

/“Aboriginal Science Fiction”, January-February 1988/

Jolo Barram’s battered prospecting vessel sat cooling at the edge of the deserted colony. Aboard were Jolo, his young wife, Sinda, and the body of their only child, Talm, poisoned by a synthesizer malfunction.

Sinda was silent, exhausted by her grief. Her long black hair hung in tangles about her white face.

He remembered her last words. “The ship,” she had said. “This stinking shambling ancient idiot of a ship. How could it have been so stupid?” Her meaning had been plain —your ship, old man.

Yes, he thought, the ship is old and the ship is stupid. Like me.

*** *** ***

The empty huts huddled close to the silver seed-ship that had brought the colonists here, so long ago. The dead colony was another entry in Jolo Barram’s long list of failures — only living colonies brought the finder’s bounty from SeedCorp. But Barram descended from his ship, as much to escape Sinda’s anger as to satisfy his curiosity.

He wandered through the village. The huts seemed orderly, the scraps of existence neatly arranged. The only remains he found were of animals — a mummified dog in one locked hut, goat bones in the high-walled pens.

At the foot of the hill, where a few dusty-purple trees spread grotesque branches, he found the little cemetery. The dry soil grew no flowers, but colored pebbles decorated the graves, spelled out pathetic epitaphs. “Marlis Twohsa, beloved husband of Lefasha and Dialle, B. 2, D. 25,” he read. And, “Here lies Yolea Dawn Serpinna, taken to the angels too soon.”

He counted a meager two dozen burials. Where were the others? The mystery distracted him from his grief.

*** *** ***

The seedship opened to Barram without difficulties. Inside, the red glow of emergency lamps lit stasis racks still crowded with viable embryo flasks.

Barram checked the ship’s wombs. Green telltales twinkled on all but one; there Barram found the last motherdroid.

When he swung back the endplate, a gagging stench billowed forth. A mechanical voice spoke from the damp darkness.

“Danger,” it said. “Danger. Danger.”

“What danger?” Barram asked.

The droid craned its rust-spotted head up at him. Its photoreceptors were filmed with a brown slime. “Hiding. Yes, that is correct.” It tried to withdraw down the throat of the womb.

“What are you hiding from?”

The droid surged up, and a reeking wave of disintegrated womb lining slopped out. “Happiness. Serenity. Contentment,” it said. It ducked down again and its body shook in a brief spasm.

Energy arced, a stink of burning rose from the womb, and the droid’s abused mechanism failed for the last time.

*** *** ***

In the morning, he swung the crawler out of the hold. As he loaded the last of his gear, he looked up to see Sinda, watching from the lock, blank-faced.

Finally he raised his hand in tentative farewell.

*** *** ***

Beyond the last dead field, the track rose into the badlands. This was an arid world, where scars lasted long. He had no trouble following the old ruts.

Presently he moved between the crumbling banks of a narrow canyon. In the growing heat the shade was welcome.

He became drowsy. The fragile powdery scents of the desert filled his nostrils, and the miles drifted behind him. He almost missed the place where the track climbed an ancient breakdown.

Barram wrenched the controls and the crawler churned up the soft slope and over the top in a choking spray of dust. When he rubbed the dust from his eyes, he saw the Goner artifact below, like the rib cage of some vast, precise beast, half-sunk in a faceted tarpit.

The terrace was a heptangle a hundred meters across, supported three meters above the sand by a pedestal. In the center of the terrace a dozen richly carved arches rose to a height of ten meters, connected by a backbone of lintel stones.

Under the arches, something bright glistened.

He parked. After the ear-filling grind of the treads, the silence pressed against him.

He began to walk the perimeter. Within fifty meters he came upon the disintegrating remnants of two carts. The bones of oxen lay where they’d been left tied to a stake.

A hundred paces farther was a cleft in the terrace, glowing with a pale upward-flowing rainbow. Barram squatted, tossed pebbles into the streaming color. They fell to the ground and were kicked away gently by a repellor field. He looked closer at some of the bits that lay there.

Here was a shattered crystal eye, here the remains of a steel finger, and there a shard of circuit flake. He sorted through the remains until he was satisfied that the missing motherdroids were here, pounded to fine scrap.

When he eventually stepped into the field, invisible fingers plucked him up and served him out onto the surface of the terrace.

He waited, his shoulders hunched together. The strum of the repellor field shivered through the soles of his boots, as it went about its business of pushing dust off the edge of the artifact. A hot breeze puffed into the cirque, playing over the arches, drawing a soft, complex moan from the carvings. His shoulder-cam scanned back and forth, brushing his ear, and he jumped.

As he approached, the carvings caught his eye. The almost-human faces were contorted with grief, the almost-human bodies were twisted in lamentation.

Under the arches was a deep rectangular pool, filled with glittering fluid. A sharp, sweet smell rose from the fluid, bitter almonds and decay, and Barram was careful to stay away from the edge.

Halfway down the length of the pool, Barram looked up. The carvings were changing. Teeth bared in horror were now obscured by softening lips; eyes once wide in grief were half-closed in descending pain. With each arch, the carvings shifted, approaching serenity.

He reached the last arch, looked down, and saw the bones, blue in the depths of the pool. Human bones, from the fragile bones of infants to the long bones of mature humans, all together at the bottom.

The colonists.

Barram backed away. He lost his balance and fell hard. The breath left him and everything else receded as he struggled for air. In that instant of helplessness, he was horribly conscious of his own brittle old bones.

*** *** ***

Barram came down out of the badlands at dusk.

In the morning, after a night’s rest, they would lift away from this dead world, two rich seedseekers. Like every other known Goner artifact, this one would prove to be inexplicable, indestructible, priceless. The Goners, a humanoid spacefaring race, had been so long extinct that only a few dozen obdurate monuments survived in all the Human Cluster, and these would (so the scholars speculated) last until the end of the universe. Certainly no human technology had ever affected or injured a Goner artifact, or interfered with its mysterious function. Each artifact was unique, united only in its adamant resistance to rational analysis. Barram would sell this one’s coordinates to the highest bidder, and the bids would be very high indeed.

Barram could imagine other children, and a home where they might grow up in safety. Barram was aging — he rebelled at the word old — but there was a century or two left to him. And Sinda was young.

He found her by the medmech, keeping vigil over the boy’s body.

“Sinda,” he said, full of bittersweet triumph. “Sinda, I found a Goner site.”

Her eyes widened. “What’s it like?”

He described the artifact.

“And the colonists?” she finally asked.

“Dead, all dead. Though I don’t know the mechanism. We’ll leave that to the experts.”

“I want to see it before we leave. I should take something away from here, don’t you think?”

He watched her for a long moment, saddened by her tone. Would it be safe? Goner artifacts sometimes were dangerous, but only in an indifferent, entirely accidental way. And she did deserve to take something away. “Yes, of course you can see it.”

*** *** ***

The crawler thumped over the rim of the cirque and he killed the engine.

“Are you impressed?” he asked, before he turned to her.

When they stood on the glistening terrace, he set down the robocam he had brought. Barram led her toward the first arches, and the robocam followed, tracks clattering.

“Don’t look at the arches,” he warned, so of course she did. When she looked away her face was pale.

To distract her, he pointed at the pool. “What is it, the fluid?”

She pulled a sample tube from her equipment belt. “Careful,” he called, just as the coping tilted behind her and slid her onto the glittering surface.

As Barram rushed forward, the coping dropped back into place and a rainbow field splashed up from the pool’s edges, curving under the arches. Barram smashed into the field. He rebounded, staggered.

The field flashed across the top of the pool, and passed under Sinda. Sinda floated slowly toward the far end of the pool, eyes closed, face tranquil.

Barram stumbled after, pressing against the field, watching Sinda spin, her arms and legs outstretched, a graceful eddy.

The bones, he thought. “Swim! Get back! Please, please.”

He ran around the last arch, but the field rejected him there as well. He slowly collapsed, sliding down against the field as Sinda neared the edge.

A moment before she touched the coping, he shut his eyes tight. The field cut off, and Barram pitched forward.

His eyes jarred open.

He expected some unbearable sight. Instead, Sinda floated at the edge, unharmed, a small delighted smile curving her mouth.

Barram reached out, caught her arm, pulled her through a notch in the coping.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” He shook her, almost roughly.

She sat up, and put her hand gently to his face. “I’m fine.”

He pulled her to him, squeezing her until she made a small sound of distress.

“You’re really not hurt?”

“Better.” She touched her chest, over her heart.

Barram felt a chill. “Wait,” he said. “Look at this.”

Cautiously, he approached the edge of the pool then beckoned Sinda closer. The bones glimmered in the blue of the pool.

Sinda looked where he pointed. Her face remained serene. “There’s a certain symmetry. Don’t you think?” Her voice was calm, measured.

Looking down, he could see what she meant. The bones lay in a radial heap, like a skeletal anemone. The reflection in the polished black side completed the flower in dim reprise.

Barram shook his head. He could see what had formed the pattern; the people must have been trying to get out through the notch at the moment of death.

“Come,” he said. “It’s time to get back.”

*** *** ***

In his anxiety to be away he forgot to bring the robocam.

That evening, Sinda was herself, sweet and clever. They sat together in the upper observation blister and watched the huge orange sun set over the badlands.

She exclaimed in pleasure over a cluster of tiny moons, like crescent jewels in the bloody light of the sunset.

“What happened in the pool, Sinda? Can you tell me now?”

A tiny quirk of pain passed over her face. “It made me happy. There’s something wrong, isn’t there, Jolo? I’ve stopped grieving, and I thought I never would.”

*** *** ***

In the morning, Barram woke alone.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped from the ladder was the missing crawler.

Barram cursed. The ship carried only one vehicle. On foot, it would take days to reach the shrine. He had two choices; he could wait and hope she would return, or he could raise the ship and try to jockey it over to the shrine. The latter choice was dangerous, the former hopeless.

Presently he began to secure the ship for lift. Then he buried Talm in the dusty graveyard, but there was no time for an epitaph.

*** *** ***

Barram set down near the crumbling rim of the cirque — not the safest groundpoint, but the nearest. He was not sure how long the soft concretion would bear the great weight of the ship, but he did not plan to be long. He scrambled from the ship and bounded down the slope of the cirque, slipping in the loose scree.

She lay there on the shining black, face down. He turned her over.

He saw nothing fearful; she had suffered no monstrous sea-change. Her skin had a slightly coarser texture. Tiny lines webbed her eyes, and the flesh had fallen away from its former taut beauty.

He gathered her up, and took her away from the pool. The loose stone of the slope made her hard to carry, but he persevered. Back in the ship, he laid her on their bunk. Her eyes fluttered, but she slept on, breathing evenly.

He sat beside her, wondering. Then he remembered the little robocam he’d left on the site.

He found it still crawling doggedly over the shrine. He pulled the matrix.

When he returned to the ship, the lock was shut, though Barram was positive he’d left it open. When he put his palm against the lockplate, nothing happened. He became frightened, and pounded his fist on the unyielding monomol of the hull. “Sinda!” His voice cracked. “Sinda! Let me in.”

For a long moment he wondered just what sort of creature he had brought up from the shrine. But then her image formed on the intervid. It was Sinda, though her eyes were too bright, her mouth marred by a fawning smile. “Jolo, I can’t let you in.”

He heard a disturbing slyness in her voice. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. You’d keep me from the pool.” Her eyes softened. “Jolo, I can’t tell you how it is, really. The pool washes away grief, washes away every trace. I don’t just mean Talm; I mean everything. Everything that ever hurt you, gone. Every regret, every sadness. Gone.”

She bit her lip. “That’s why you can’t keep me from the pool. Once you’ve been there, you can’t bear the return of even the smallest hurt.”

He feared her conviction. “Sinda,” he said, as calmly as he could, “I’d never stop you from doing what you must. You can trust me.”

For a long moment she stared at him, flat-eyed; then he saw that her need to get outside would force her to believe him. “I trust you, Jolo.”

The lock released with a shuddering pneumatic sigh.

She was waiting for him in their cabin. She was calm, until she saw the expression on his face. “Oh, no. You promised.”

“I won’t break it,” he lied. “But at least wait and see if there’s anything we can do about ... about the side effects.”

“Of course, that’s sensible.” Her eyes darkened. “It... the peace... it doesn’t seem to last very long.” “Come,” he said, and led her down, to the medmech, which confirmed the evidence of his eyes.

He wondered how many times Sinda had floated the pool, how many years each trip had cost her.

He pondered the medmech’s results at such length that she became restive in the narrow coffin. She began to thump her fists against the plug, and he hurried to release her before she injured herself.

She was pale, shaking. “I must go,” she said, trying to push past him.

When she realized he didn’t plan to let her pass, she fought him. But old as he was, he was still the stronger. She begged, she cursed, she wept, but he took her to their sleepcabin, and instructed the ship to keep her there.

For a while, he watched her on the sensor pit’s intervid. He waited until she fell into a sort of watchful trance, then he shut off the screens.

He rubbed at his weary eyes, he lay back on the con couch, and slipped into dreamless sleep.

*** *** ***

He woke with a sense of wrongness. It took him a moment to see it, but then he sat up, hands going to the dark surface of the main touchboard, where a thousand telltales should have burned.

The ship was dead. What had she done?

What was she doing now?

He leaped to the bulkhead, slapped his hand against the lockplate.

Nothing happened. He beat against the monomol until his hands bled.

Finally he noticed the glimmer of a message marker and activated it.

“Jolo,” Sinda spoke from the screen. “You were stupid. Did you think this moron of a ship could keep me locked up, when it couldn’t even keep Talm from the synthesizer?” Her face twisted. “It was easy, Jolo, easy to fool it into letting me go, easy to make it lock you up, and easiest of all to make it kill itself.” She was spitting the words.

“But you can fix it, when I come back and let you out. So you see, everything will still be fine.”

She drew a deep breath, then seemed to get control of herself. “I left the life support systems up; you won’t starve or thirst.

“I’ll see you soon.” Her image shattered into random specks of color.

*** *** ***

Her sabotage had blinded the exterior cams, so he couldn’t see what was happening outside.

He remembered the matrix he’d taken from the robocam. He found it in his pocket, a thin white flake of memory.

He slowed the scan when the robocam swiveled to catch a shot of the crawler thumping over the lip of the cirque. Sinda drove to the foot of the ascensor, crunching through the powdery bones of the oxen. She went directly to the pool.

The pool accepted her as readily as before.

Barram watched her spinning in glory, then her slow painful emergence at the far end. Her face had aged, for all its tranquillity, and she sat gasping in the shade of an arch.

Barram turned up the speed of cycle again. In all, he watched Sinda go to the pool three more times before the matrix saturated. Each time she was weaker. Each time she returned to the pool sooner.

*** *** ***

Days passed in silence. The crippled ship could support him for a few weeks, no more. Then the systems would fail, one by one. He sat on the con couch, his face in his hands, trying to face death calmly.

A shudder ran through the ship. Barram remembered the ship’s precarious footing. Under the landing struts, the friable stone was subsiding. He strapped himself to the acceleration couch.

With an ominous grinding rattle the ship lurched, then stabilized for a moment. But then it went over in a rush, tumbling faster and faster, down the slope.

Until it smashed into the shrine, and split open.

*** *** ***

Daylight shone on his face. His mouth tasted bloody, and he hung upside down from the harness.

A long time later, he crawled from the shattered hull, bruised and scraped, but with, it seemed, no broken bones or serious internal injuries. When he had gathered his strength, he went to the pool.

Her body formed the newest petal in the flower, lying at a slight angle to the wall, as if she’d drawn close to it at the final moment, seeking escape or comfort.

She wasn’t decomposing, in the usual sense. Her body was simply dissolving into transparency, the bones beginning to show through. Her hair was a white cloud in the motionless depths. He was grateful that she lay face down. He reached out his hand to touch the surface of the pool, and felt a cool dry resilience.

When the sun had dropped close to the hills, he rose painfully and went to the place where Sinda had first fallen in. He approached gingerly, stretching out to test each step. When he touched the sensitive area of the coping, it started to tilt, and he jerked his foot away. The coping settled back, almost reluctantly. He cackled.

“Not yet, not yet,” he whispered.

As the sun fell behind the edge of the world, Barram considered his options.

He was old. And tired. Trapped on this empty world, without even the minimal rejuve tech aboard the ship, he had only a few years left, five, maybe less. He would die alone, unless he reactivated the seed-ship’s wombs. There were plenty of viable human embryos, but that was an ugly choice, too. He would be dead long before the children were old enough to learn to fear the pool.

Barram almost took the one step forward.

“No,” he said, old body trembling. “No, I won’t.” He moved back.

He wasn’t Sinda, young and soft, consumed by grief, vulnerable to the pool’s terminal mercy. No, he was old and hard, and the long years had burned away some of his capacity for sorrow.

Barram shook his fist at the pool, tears of anger streaming down his lined cheeks. But then a wild notion came stealing into his mind. He smiled. If the pool took away pain and gave years, when swum from this end, then perhaps...

*** *** ***

He circled the pool, looked down at her one last time, then he sprang from the coping in a clean, shallow dive.

His momentum carried him skipping along the surface, bouncing on an impossibly tight, impossibly slippery membrane. A crimson light flared across the pool, and the sorrows rose up, tearing at him.

If all the griefs had taken firm hold of him, he would certainly have been pulled to the bottom. But so much pain ... the sorrowing dead jostled each other, fighting to enter him, so that only a few succeeded.

He flailed his arms wildly, kicked his legs, and moved a few inches. The pain that entered him pulled him deeper into the membrane, so that his traction increased. And as he progressed, his strength increased, his heart grew younger, his muscles more supple.

He moved faster and faster, his tears leaving a trail of darkness on the glowing surface of the pool.

Such sadness, such hideous sadness.

He had a terrible vision of Sinda rising toward him, her hair streaming, crone’s face distorted in a scream of grief, claws reaching. He would not look down.

At the far end, he pulled himself from the pool, quick as a seal, and as the coping began rising to dump him back in, he grasped the lifting edge and flipped nimbly onto safe ground.

His body shook with the griefs of the colonists. Hard work, the strange sicknesses, the rootless sadness felt by men and women raised by mother-droids, a thousand other hurts. He told himself, over and over, it won't last, it won't last.

A dozen times during the night he made up his mind to roll back into the pool, but the dawn finally came, and with it a trickle of joy, that he had survived.

Barram got to his feet. He looked at his hands, corded with new muscle. He felt the strong blood pumping, vigorous life filling the arch of his chest. He was young again.

*** *** ***

The crawler carried him back to the village.

Barram went up to the seedship and decanted the first embryo. Spinning the womb’s lockwheel down, he said, “Hurry, now,” as if the embryo could hear him. He smiled, thinking of the terrible stories he would imagine for the children, to frighten them away from the badlands. Someday, when their sorrows were smaller and Barram was old again, he would tell them about the pool. By then they would be wise enough to be frightened by the truth.

He set about filling the rest of the wombs.