And then-
The song of the nest began to change.
It rose in pitch. It expanded like a slow explosion. The throbbing rhythm of it sped up alarmingly and twisted into patterns too complex for the human ear to follow. Strange harmonies arose, forming bizarre patterns that swirled, wove around, and turned back in upon themselves. I'd never heard anything like it before.
Any specific moment of it sounded exactly like every other moment. Except, it wasn't. As we listened, we heard mysterious internal chord progressions. We heard a precession of beats as different parts of the sea of worms shifted their rhythms. We heard a moaning background chorus that seemed somehow detached from the main voice. Each part of the nest was responding to every other part, and even though the song remained unchanged, it was never twice the same. No orchestra on Earth could ever have matched either the beauty or the horror of that cacophony.
We all stood entranced. The music of the nest. Alien. Ethereal. Hypnotic. Compelling. Unearthly.
The ecstasy rose around us. A hundred and fifty thousand alien instruments resonated. The music was sublime.
We hovered in the darkness and the sound submerged us all. It filled us and thrilled us and before it was through, it would probably kill us as well.
I remembered that first time in the very first nest I'd entered-and all the other times I'd heard the song as well
A longing.
The feeling came swelling up inside me. Intoxicating. Hallucinogenic. I wanted to… drop everything and go run naked to meet my…
-shook my head to clear it.
Oh, my dear God. We're not immune to its effects.
The gastropedes apparently live in partnership with the bunnydogs, using them in a wide variety of roles. Probes have shown the bunnydogs performing various housekeeping tasks within the nests. Bunnydogs have been observed cleaning the nest, grooming the gastropedes, planting symbiotic organisms within the nest or rearranging their locations, carrying and moving small objects, and even tending eggs.
Gastropedes have also been observed using bunnydogs as pets and possibly as sexual partners. This latter behavior is still being analyzed, and discussions of what the behavior may actually represent remain inconclusive.
In addition, gastropedes also regard bunnydogs as food. In every nest observed to date, gastropedes have been observed occasionally eating bunnydogs. This behavior usually occurs during times of high excitement and agitation, but not necessarily so.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect to the bunnydogs' status as a domestic food animal is that despite their apparent intelligence in every other facet of their daily lives, the bunnydogs seem to have neither awareness nor fear of the gastropedes' predaceous appetites.
—The Red Book,
(Release 22.19A)
Chapter 53
Godhead
"Even entropy isn't what it used to be."
-SOLOMON SHORT
Lizard and Captain Harbaugh came back down from the upper deck, startling me from my reverie.
They both looked rattled. I didn't blame them. I must have looked like some kind of petrified horror myself.
"If I had a few nukes here," Lizard said very quietly, "I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from using them-" She put her hand in mine and squeezed. I squeezed back. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm here for you.
"The Brazilians might not like that," I said, only half-jokingly. We all knew too well what the Brazilians wanted.
Captain Harbaugh replied-in a very uncaptainlike tone. She said, "To hell with what the goddamn Brazilians want. This is monstrous. This should never have been allowed to get this far." And then she glanced around, as if to make sure she hadn't been overheard by any of the Brazilian team members.
"Don't worry," Lizard said. "Drs. Amador, Rodriguez, Hikaru, and their technical team are being kept busy in the number-three observation bay. You can talk freely here." She didn't add that this was more Uncle Ira planning. Either Captain Harbaugh knew or she didn't need to know.
Captain Harbaugh looked a little edgy. We all did. "What happens next?" she asked.
I glanced at the terminal in front of me. "We kick it up another notch."
"How long do we keep this up?"
I shrugged. "How long can they keep it up?" I nodded toward the open cargo hatch. I looked across the glowing table to Dwan standing in the gloom on the opposite side. "Go ahead," I said. "Bring it up two more clicks."
Then I turned and headed for the railing so I could look straight down into the mouths of hell. I couldn't put it off any longer. I had to see this firsthand. Lizard followed reluctantly. Captain Harbaugh hung back at first, then let herself join us both at the edge of the open hatch.
We looked down.
We knew they couldn't see us. The cargo bay was dark. We believed they couldn't see us. It didn't help.
The worms were staring up, directly into our eyes. They trilled at us. They sang.
They waved their arms. They fluttered their mandibles. Their eyes weaved back and forth, as if they were trying to take in the wale of the whole airship in a single glance. Our spotlights swept across the massed worms; they reached out for the light when it touched them and moaned when it passed.
But always, there were some of them, no matter what, who were glaring directly up at us. As if they could see us. As if they wanted us.
There was a raw insect-like sentience in those eyes. Despite everything we had said, despite everything we believed, despite everything that all our tests and dissections and extrapolations had shown, I couldn't help but think that somehow this was the final Chtorran intelligence after all. There was wonder in those eyes. There was awe. There was beingness.
It made it all the more horrific.
"Hideous," whispered Captain Harbaugh. "They're hideous." Lizard didn't say anything. Even in the darkness of the cargo bay, I could see how pale she was.
"Are you all right?"
She put her hand over mine. "This is the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life." She turned to me abruptly. "Promise me something
"Anything."
"Promise me-that you'll never let me be eaten by worms." She squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. "Promise me that you'll kill me first."
"It'll never happen, sweetheart."
''Promise me, Jim!"
I swallowed hard. "I promise you. I will never let you be captured by worms. I will never let you be eaten by worms. I promise you with all my heart and with all my soul."
She relaxed her grip then. I rubbed the circulation painfully back into my fingers.
The sound and the lights grew brighter. The worms grew more frenzied. Now they were climbing one on top of another. I knew that many of them were going to be killed in the crush, smothered and trampled in the hysteria. But it wasn't like a human crowd. There was no panic, no fighting, no screaming—only the incredible feverish devotion that just went on and on.
At last we turned away from the railing and went back to the video tables. One of the displays was showing a projection of the Bosch's light show. A miniature dirigible hovered above the table, patterns of lines and color flowing gracefully down its sides, throbbing in time with the song of the nest.
Clayton Johns was the technician at this table. He looked up as we approached. Dwan came scuttling over to join us. I looked around the group. Clayton Johns, Dwan Grodin, General Tirelli, Captain Harbaugh, one or two ancillary aides.
"How's your courage?" I asked.
For a moment, none of them reacted. Probably no one wanted to be first. Finally, curiosity outweighed manners, and Dwan asked, "Why?"
"I want to use the song from the Rocky Mountain mandala. The one that got nuked." In the darkness, I slid my hand over to Lizard's and squeezed it. "It's the most different from this nest-song. It's the one that's likely to trigger the most noticeable change in behavior." I glanced around the table. "Opinions, anyone?"