Embassytown Part 10

"A simile," he said, "is true because you say so. It's a persuasion: this is like that. That's not enough for it anymore. Similes aren't enough." He stared. "It wants to make you a kind of lie. To change everything.

"Simile spells an argument out: it's ongoing, explicit, truth-making. You don't need . . . logos logos, they used to call it. Judgement. You don't need to . . . to link incommensurables. Unlike if you claim: 'This is is that.' When it patently is not. That's what that.' When it patently is not. That's what we we do. That's what we call 'reason', that exchange, metaphor. That do. That's what we call 'reason', that exchange, metaphor. That lying lying. The world becomes a lie. That's what Surl Teshecher wants. To bring in a lie." He spoke very calmly. "It wants to usher in evil."

"I'm worried about Scile," I said to Ehrsul.

"Avice," she said to me at last, after I'd tried to explain to her. "I'm sorry but I'm not sure what you're saying to me." She did listen: I don't want to give the impression that all she did was tell me not to tell her. Ehrsul listened but I'm not sure to what. I was hardly exact, I couldn't be.

"I'M WORRIED about Scile," I said to CalVin. I tried them instead. "He's gone a bit religious." about Scile," I said to CalVin. I tried them instead. "He's gone a bit religious."

"Pharotekton?" one of them said.

"No. Not church. But . . ." I'd gleaned more sc.r.a.ps of Scile's emergent theology. I call it that though he was adamant it had nothing to do with G.o.d. "He wants to protect the Ariekei. From changing Language." I told CalVin about the temptation, what Scile thought[image] planned. "He thinks a lot's at stake," I said. planned. "He thinks a lot's at stake," I said.

I still love this man and I'm afraid of what's happening, I was saying. Can you help me? I don't understand why he's doing what he's doing, what's making him afraid, how he's able to make it even get to me. Can you help me? I don't understand why he's doing what he's doing, what's making him afraid, how he's able to make it even get to me. Something like that. Something like that.

"Let me talk to him," CalVin said. The one who hadn't spoken looked with raised eyebrows at his doppel, then smiled and looked back at me.

Formerly, 8

CALVIN, as they'd promised me, spent time with Scile. My husband's research was intense, antisocial, his memos to himself were everywhere and mostly not comprehensible, his files scattered across our dats.p.a.ce. The truth is I was a little scared. I didn't know how to react to what I saw in Scile now. The fervour had always been there, but though he tried to disguise it-after that one conversation he didn't talk about his anxieties to me-I could see it was growing stronger.

That he tried to hide it confused me. I wondered if he thought his concerns were the only appropriate ones to the s.h.i.+fts in some Hosts' practice, and if the lack of such anxiety from the rest of us was devastating. If he thought the whole world mad, forcing him into dissimulation. I went through those of his thesis notes, appointment diaries, textbook annotations I could access, as if looking for a master code. It gave me a better sense, if still partial and confused, of his theories.

"What do you think?" I asked CalVin. They looked put out by my uncharacteristic pleading. They told me there was no question that Scile was looking at things in an unusual way, and that his focus was, yes, rather intense. But overall, not to worry. What a useless injunction.

To MY SURPRISE MY SURPRISE Scile started coming to The Cravat with me. I'd thought we would do less, not more, in each other's company. I didn't tell him I knew he'd been previously, on his own. I saw no evidence of more efforts to persuade the Hosts to speak him. Instead, he began to exercise a subtle pull on some of the similes. He took part in the discussions, would imply certain of his theories, especially those according to which similes represented the pinnacle and limit of Language. Communication Scile started coming to The Cravat with me. I'd thought we would do less, not more, in each other's company. I didn't tell him I knew he'd been previously, on his own. I saw no evidence of more efforts to persuade the Hosts to speak him. Instead, he began to exercise a subtle pull on some of the similes. He took part in the discussions, would imply certain of his theories, especially those according to which similes represented the pinnacle and limit of Language. Communication making making truth. Slightly to my surprise, no one made him, unsimile outsider, other than welcome. The opposite, really. Valdik wasn't alone in listening. Valdik wasn't an intelligent man and I was worried for him. truth. Slightly to my surprise, no one made him, unsimile outsider, other than welcome. The opposite, really. Valdik wasn't alone in listening. Valdik wasn't an intelligent man and I was worried for him.

I mustn't exaggerate. I think Scile seemed himself, only perhaps more focused than previously, more distracted. I no longer thought we could stay together, but I wanted to know that he was alright.

These were in other ways not bad times for me. We were between reliefs. It was always deep in those days that Emba.s.sytown became most vividly itself, neither waiting for something, nor celebrating something that had happened. We called these times the doldrums. Of course we knew the more conventional use of the term, but like a few other uncanny words, for us it meant itself and its own opposite. During those still, drab days, cut off on our immer outskirt, without contact, a long time after and before any miabs, we turned inwards.

Fiestas and spectaculars, on the spareday at the end of each of our long months, our crooked alleys interwoven with ribbons and full of music. Children would dance wearing trid costumes, their integuments of light overlapping and crystalline. There were parties. Some formal; many not; some costume; a few naked.

This doldrums culture was part of our economy. After a visit, we had luxuries and new technology to invigorate our markets and production: when one was due there was a rash of spending and innovation, out of excitement and the knowledge that our commodities would soon change, that new-season goods would be in expensive vogue. Between, in the doldrums, things were static, not desperate but pinched, and these fetes were punctuations, and meant small runs on certain indulgences.

One night I was in bed with CalVin. One of them was asleep. The other was stroking my flank, whispering conversation. It was a rare thing, to be with one doppel only. I felt a strong urge to ask his name. I think now I know which it was. I was running my finger over the back of his neck, the link in him, beautifully rendered in the hollow below his skull's overhang. I looked at its twin, on the sleeping half of the Amba.s.sador.

"Should I be worried about Scile?" I said. The sleeper s.h.i.+fted and we were still a second.

"I don't think so," my companion whispered. "He's onto something, you know."

I didn't understand. "I'm not worried that he's wrong wrong," I said. "I'm worried that he's . . . that . . ."

"But he's not not wrong. Or at least-he's pointing out something." wrong. Or at least-he's pointing out something."

I sat up. "Are you saying-?" I stood and paced, and the sleeping doppel woke and looked at me mildly. Cal and Vin conferred in whispers, and it didn't sound like simple agreement. "What are are you saying?" I said. you saying?" I said.

"There are some persuasive elements to what he says." It was the newly woken doppel who spoke.

"I can't believe you're telling me-"

"I'm not. I'm not telling you anything." He spoke impa.s.sively. His doppel looked at him and then at me, uneasily. "You asked us to keep a watch on him, and we are, and we have. And we're looking into some of the things he's saying. An eccentric he may be, but Scile's not stupid, and there's no question that this Host . . ." He looked at his doppel and together they said, "[image]." The half of CalVin who had been talking continued: ". . . is definitely pursuing some odd strategies."

I stood naked at the edge of the bed and watched them: one lying back and looking up at me, the other with his knees drawn.

I ADMIT DEFEAT ADMIT DEFEAT. I've been trying to present these events with a structure. I simply don't know how everything happened. Perhaps because I didn't pay proper attention, perhaps because it wasn't a narrative, but for whatever reasons, it doesn't want to be what I want to make it.

IN THE STREETS OF Emba.s.sytown, a congregation was forming. Valdik appeared to be at its centre. It was Valdik who expounded the theories, now. My husband was a canny man, even in his obsessions. Emba.s.sytown, a congregation was forming. Valdik appeared to be at its centre. It was Valdik who expounded the theories, now. My husband was a canny man, even in his obsessions.

"Valdik Druman's at the centre of it now?" CalVin said. "Valdik? Really?"

"I know it sounds unlikely . . ." I said.

"Well, he's an adult, he's making his own choices."

"It's not that simple." I knew CalVin were right and wrong at the same time.

Most Emba.s.sytowners did not know or care about any of these debates. Of those who did, most would consider them pretty unimportant, secure-and there was security in it-in the certainty that Hosts could not lie, whatever a few agitated similes insisted. For those who knew about the festivals, a few Hosts determined to push at the boundaries of Language was too obscure a phenomenon to be any kind of problem, let alone a moral one. That left only a tiny number of Emba.s.sytowners, disproportionately the credulous. But their number was growing.

Valdik speechified at The Cravat on the nature of the similes and the role of Language. His arguments were confused but pa.s.sionate and affecting.

"There's nothing like this anywhere," Valdik said. "No other language anywhere in the universe. Where what's said is truth. Can you imagine what it would be to lose that?"

"It isn't fair what you're doing to Valdik," I told Scile, on one of his rare visits to what had been our home.

"He's not a f.u.c.king child, Avice," Scile said. He was collecting clothes and notes. He did not look at me as he rummaged. "He decides what he wants."

WALKING NEAR the ruins I was handed a flyer on cheap nantech paper that flashed a trid as I unfolded it. It made me start: it was Valdik's face, apple-sized, in my hand. the ruins I was handed a flyer on cheap nantech paper that flashed a trid as I unfolded it. It made me start: it was Valdik's face, apple-sized, in my hand.

DRUMAN, it said, ON THE ON THE B BATTLE AGAINST THE LIE. A time and place, not The Cravat but a little hall. With it brought to my attention, I noticed details of that and similar meetings guerrilla-coded into wallscreens, hacked nuisance trids. I went. I'd thought I'd find Scile, but no. I stayed at the back of the room.

Valdik wore a projector, and trids of him appeared throughout the temple, random and staticky. At the front of the room I saw Shanita, Darius, Ha.s.ser and other similes and tropes. Valdik preached. He was still a middling speaker. I don't know how this mediocrity ama.s.sed a following-something about the doldrums. He expounded religiose foolishness-"two voices but one truth, because what is the truth but dual, bifurcated, not in conflict but two forms of one truth" and so forth.

The place wasn't a quarter full. It contained indulgent friends, the curious, refugees from other cults. A convocation of the hopeless and bored. When I got home, Scile was speaking down the line. He smiled an unconvincing greeting at me as I came in, turned so that I couldn't hear him nor see his mouth move. I wondered whether, if Valdik were removed from this self-appointed office, with what I was convinced was Scile's instrument confiscated, his mania would dissipate.

"What should we do?" CalVin said. "These meetings aren't illegal."

"You can do anything you want."

"Well . . ." "We could have Druman taken for Administrative Detention . . ." ". . . but do you really want that?"

"Yes!" I said, but of course I didn't, and of course they wouldn't do it.

"Listen," they said. "Don't worry." "We'll watch Scile." "We'll keep him safe." That they did, though neither in the way, nor from what, I'd a.s.sumed.

Formerly, 9

SOMEONE RELEASED a viral 'ware into the vagrant automa of Emba.s.sytown that gave them Valdik's mania. It made them preachers in his new church. Their eloquence depended on the sophistication of their processors: most were little more than ecstatics, but a few were sudden theologians. They ambled as they always had but now accosted us and exhorted us to defend prelapsarian language, Language, we poor sinners (the rhetoric was kitsch), doomed forever ourselves to speak with a deep structure of lie but at least granted service to the double-tongue of truth, and more like that. a viral 'ware into the vagrant automa of Emba.s.sytown that gave them Valdik's mania. It made them preachers in his new church. Their eloquence depended on the sophistication of their processors: most were little more than ecstatics, but a few were sudden theologians. They ambled as they always had but now accosted us and exhorted us to defend prelapsarian language, Language, we poor sinners (the rhetoric was kitsch), doomed forever ourselves to speak with a deep structure of lie but at least granted service to the double-tongue of truth, and more like that.

Patches were programmed and released and did their job but the infection was tenacious, and for weeks these tramp priests proselytised us, their catechisms changing as their 'ware degraded and threw up protestant, variant sects. "We are the stewards of the angels," I was told by one machine that staggered like a supplicant. "We are the stewards of the speaking angels, of G.o.d's language." The virus shut down when its resultant theories strayed too far from emergent Drumanian orthodoxy.

I asked Ehrsul if she was concerned, if she'd felt the tickling of virtual germs. She dismissed the other automa as mental weaklings and told me that yes, though she'd felt it, she'd hardly been in danger herself. Of course Valdik and his radical similes were suspected, but no one could prove who had programmed it, and though it was a nuisance that was all it ultimately was.

I knew Scile didn't have the expertise to program, or I'd have thought it his doing.

WHEN I I WENT WENT back to The Cravat, now, I did so for socially diagnostic reasons. Many previous regulars no longer drank there: alienated by Valdik's vatic p.r.o.nouncements, they set up refusenik simile salons. Others had taken their place. I went to hear Valdik speak, out of what I told myself was a p.o.r.nography of doomed causes, and maybe to listen for grounds to demand some intervention. He hymned the Amba.s.sadors (in his model, interceding hierophants); expressed grat.i.tude at being simile, truths, Language in flesh. back to The Cravat, now, I did so for socially diagnostic reasons. Many previous regulars no longer drank there: alienated by Valdik's vatic p.r.o.nouncements, they set up refusenik simile salons. Others had taken their place. I went to hear Valdik speak, out of what I told myself was a p.o.r.nography of doomed causes, and maybe to listen for grounds to demand some intervention. He hymned the Amba.s.sadors (in his model, interceding hierophants); expressed grat.i.tude at being simile, truths, Language in flesh.

[image]was there, with Spanish Dancer and others, at the last of Valdik's gatherings I went to. The Host had ama.s.sed more followers, too, so I thought it must be improving its technique, a better and better liar. They watched each other. Valdik glowered. I didn't know if the Hosts felt his hostility. Ha.s.ser was there-one of the few who retained friends on both sides of the emergent simile split. He acknowledged me, his face displaying an emotion for which I've no name; it reminded me of my own. An unease, is as close as I can get to it.

"Aren't you worried?" I asked Ehrsul.

"I told you," she said, "I'm immune."

"No I mean . . . what do you reckon? Do you ever think about it? I mean, does it ever make you feel anything one way or the other, that some of the Hosts are learning . . . well, can talk their way around truth, now?" She said nothing, so I said: "Can lie."

We were in a bar in one of Emba.s.sytown's shopping streets. Ehrsul in her minor notoriety was being glanced at by slightly moneyed youth. We spoke quietly under music and the clatter of gla.s.ses. Ehrsul did not answer me. "Something's changing. Which may or may not be a good thing," I said finally.

She looked at me with a projected face that, by design or a coincidence of ambiguous stimuli-responses in her 'ware, was inscrutable. She said nothing. I grew more and more uncomfortable in that enigmatic silence, until I talked about something else, to which she responded as normal, with all the exaggerated intimacies of our friends.h.i.+p.

It never meant that much to me one way or the other that I was simile; I didn't care what Valdik preached. It's Scile It's Scile, I said to myself: but no, though I was worried for him that wasn't all. I never really knew what else it was.

"SO WHAT'S being done?" I asked CalVin. Even the Amba.s.sadors were concerned, now, I gathered. The new philosophy couldn't have had more than a score or two of serious devotees, but fervour unnerved us in Emba.s.sytown. The Hosts must surely have picked up some atmosphere: I'd seen more Ariekei than usual in the aeolian breath of our quarter. being done?" I asked CalVin. Even the Amba.s.sadors were concerned, now, I gathered. The new philosophy couldn't have had more than a score or two of serious devotees, but fervour unnerved us in Emba.s.sytown. The Hosts must surely have picked up some atmosphere: I'd seen more Ariekei than usual in the aeolian breath of our quarter.

"We're talking to the Hosts," CalVin said. "We're going to organise . . ." ". . . a festival." "Here, in Emba.s.sytown." "To stress that it's theirs too, to speak in."

"Okay," I said slowly. I'd never heard of an Ariekene event in Emba.s.sytown. "But is that supposed to . . . What are you doing about Valdik?"

One of CalVin stared at me, the other looked away. I was angry and I tried to work out with whom. Scile was ensconced somewhere, with radical similes or the Staff, and would never respond to me now, and that seemed to concern no one. There I was, between cliques and secrets. I couldn't tell if I was perspicacious or paranoid.

"It's the doldrums, Avvy," Ehrsul said to me later. "This is what happens. You're talking as if it's end-time. I think . . ." She paused. "You're upset because of Scile. You care about him, and he's gone from you." She stumbled exactly like someone who thought would.

ARIEKEI REPRESENTATIVES came in flyers, to plan this hybrid festival. I was often in the Emba.s.sy, floaking, and I came to know them all. One tall and thickset Ariekes had a mark on its fanwing like a bird in a canopy of leaf, so I called it Pear Tree. came in flyers, to plan this hybrid festival. I was often in the Emba.s.sy, floaking, and I came to know them all. One tall and thickset Ariekes had a mark on its fanwing like a bird in a canopy of leaf, so I called it Pear Tree.

"This is what we need," CalVin said. "We're all too tense." "There'll be a parade, and stalls and games for Terre . . ." ". . . and a Festival of Lies for the Hosts."

"What about Valdik?" I said again. "And what about Scile?"

"Valdik's nothing." "Scile we've not seen for a couple of weeks."

"So where is is he . . . ?" he . . . ?"

"Don't worry." "It'll be okay." "Honestly, this event'll put paid to a lot of these problems."

I thought it was absolutely absurd. No one agreed with me. In all my life I've never felt so alone.

The festival was to take place in a piazza near the southern edge of Emba.s.sytown. It was christened the Licence Party: a pun on Lies and Sense, I was told. I never got what the "sense" referred to. Signs went up displaying that idiot name, and a necessary explanation.

VALDIK LIVED in Emba.s.sytown's east. There was a balcony in front of his door overlooking a leisure ca.n.a.l, and a garden full of flowers and birds, altbirds, local fauna. in Emba.s.sytown's east. There was a balcony in front of his door overlooking a leisure ca.n.a.l, and a garden full of flowers and birds, altbirds, local fauna.

"Avice," he said, slowly, when he opened the door to me. If he was surprised he hid it.

"Valdik," I said. "Can you help me? I need to find Scile."

His relief was visible. "Is everything alright . . . ?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "No. I just . . . I haven't seen him for days . . ." My hesitation was real, though my main reason for being there was not Scile, but to a.s.sess Valdik and his theology. He let me in and I saw the trappings of his new beliefs. Papers everywhere, all the crazy cabbala and misplaced rigour of a sect.

"Me neither," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't know. I think he's still with CalVin and the others."

"They haven't seen him for weeks," I said.

"No, they were with him a few days ago." That silenced me. "He was at The Cravat and they came for him," Valdik said.

"When?" I said. "Who?"

"CalVin and some Staff."

"CalVin?" I said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Valdik didn't sound like a prophet. I had to leave: I could hardly focus on his beliefs at that moment.

WHEN FINALLY CalVin next said they had time to see me, I was careful to be good company. We ate together. They spoke mostly about the Licence Party. One day, one night, half another day. CalVin emerged from their ablutions equalised. Their accrued blemishes were gone or replicated. I said nothing. CalVin next said they had time to see me, I was careful to be good company. We ate together. They spoke mostly about the Licence Party. One day, one night, half another day. CalVin emerged from their ablutions equalised. Their accrued blemishes were gone or replicated. I said nothing.

I watched them sleep, watched their skins take on differential marks from cotton and the unconscious motion of their hands. When one or other would half-wake, I would be waiting. I would try to murmur-talk to them: gauge what Cal or Vin said. It was strange, trying to do something I'd not known could even occur to me.

He on my left, I decided, at last, murmured my name with a care I recognised, smiled with something really warm. It was desperately hard to tell with only these night-fuddled moments. But he on my left, I decided at last, Cal or Vin, was the one who liked me more. I put my fingers to his lips, made him wake without sound. He opened his eyes.

"Cal," I whispered. "Or Vin. Tell me. I know he won't." I indicated the sleeping other. "I know you've seen Scile. I know know. Where is he? What's happening?"

I saw my mistake. I saw it the instant I moved my hands.

"You," he said, and though he was quiet I could hear his outrage. That I'd try to find out secrets, and that I'd do so by this blasphemy. My expression was frozen in misplaced intimacy. "How dare dare you . . ." you . . ."

I cursed. He sat up. His doppel s.h.i.+fted.

"You have some b.a.s.t.a.r.d nerve, Avice," the man I'd woken said. "How dare dare you. If we've seen Scile it's not your business . . ." you. If we've seen Scile it's not your business . . ."

"He's my husband!"