[科幻]宿主-第20部分

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　The　emptiness　swallows　me。　My　legs　flail；　useless。　My　hands　grip　the　air；　claw　through　it；　searching　for　
anything　solid。　Cold　blows　past　me　like　tornado　winds。

　I　hear　the　thud　before　I　feel　it。…　The　wind　is　gone。…

　And　then　pain　is　everywhere。…　Pain　is　everything。

　Make　it　stop。

　Not　high　enough；I　whisper　to　myself　through　the　pain。

　When　will　the　pain　end？　When…　？

　The　blackness　swallowed　up　the　agony；　and　I　was　weak　with　gratitude　that　the　memory　had　e　to　
this　most　final　of　conclusions。　The　blackness　took　all；　and　I　was　free。　I　took　a　breath　to　steady　myself；　as　
was　this　body’s　habit。My　body。

　But　then　the　color　rushed　back；　the　memory　reared　up　and　engulfed　me　again。

　No！I　panicked；　fearing　the　cold　and　the　pain　and　the　very　fear　itself。

　But　this　was　not　the　same　memory。　This　was　a　memory　within　a　memory—a　final　memory；　like　a　last　

gasp　of　air—yet；　somehow；　even　stronger　than　the　first。

　The　blackness　took　all　but　this：　a　face。

　The　face　was　as　alien　to　me　as　the　faceless　serpentine　tentacles　of　my　last　host　body　would　be　to　this　
new　body。　I’d　seen　this　kind　of　face　in　the　images　I　had　been　given　to　prepare　for　this　world。　It　was　hard　
to　tell　them　apart；　to　see　the　tiny　variations　in　color　and　shape　that　were　the　only　markers　of　the　
individual。　So　much　the　same；　all　of　them。　Noses　centered　in　the　middle　of　the　sphere；　eyes　above　and　
mouths　below；　ears　around　the　sides。　A　collection　of　senses；　all　but　touch；　concentrated　in　one　place。　
Skin　over　bones；　hair　growing　on　the　crown　and　in　strange　furry　lines　above　the　eyes。　Some　had　more　fur　

　

　This　face　I　would　have　known　among　millions。

　This　face　was　a　hard　rectangle；　the　shape　of　the　bones　strong　under　the　skin。　In　color　it　was　a　light　
golden　brown。　The　hair　was　just　a　few　shades　darker　than　the　skin；　except　where　flaxen　streaks　lightened　
it；　and　it　covered　only　the　head　and　the　odd　fur　stripes　above　the　eyes。　The　circular　irises　in　the　white　
eyeballs　were　darker　than　the　hair　but；　like　the　hair；　flecked　with　light。　There　were　small　lines　around　the　
eyes；　and　her　memories　told　me　the　lines　were　from　smiling　and　squinting　into　sunlight。

　I　knew　nothing　of　what　passed　for　beauty　among　these　strangers；　and　yet　I　knew　that　this　face　was　
beautiful。　I　wanted　to　keep　looking　at　it。　As　soon　as　I　realized　this；　it　disappeared。

　Mine；spoke　the　alien　thought　that　should　not　have　existed。

　Again；　I　was　frozen；　stunned。　There　should　have　been　no　one　here　but　me。　And　yet　this　thought　was　so　
strong　and　so　aware！

　Impossible。　How　was　she　still　here？　This　was　me　now。

　Mine；I　rebuked　her；　the　power　and　authority　that　belonged　to　me　alone　flowing　through　the　word。　
Everything　is　mine。

　So　why　am　I　talking　back　to　her？I　wondered　as　the　voices　interrupted　my　thoughts。

　CHAPTER　2

　Overheard

　The　voices　were　soft　and　close　and；　though　I　was　only　now　aware　of　them；　apparently　in　the　middle　of　a　

murmured　conversation。

　“I’m　afraid　it’s　too　much　for　her；”　one　said。　The　voice　was　soft　but　deep；　male。　“Too　much　for　anyone。　
Such　violence！”　The　tone　spoke　of　revulsion。

　“She　screamed　only　once；”　said　a　higher；　reedy；　female　voice；　pointing　this　out　with　a　hint　of　glee；　as　if　

she　were　winning　an　argument。

　“I　know；”　the　man　admitted。　“She　is　very　strong。　Others　have　had　much　more　trauma；　with　much　less　
cause。”

　“I’m　sure　she’ll　be　fine；　just　as　I　told　you。”

　“Maybe　you　missed　your　Calling。”　There　was　an　edge　to　the　man’s　voice。　Sarcasm；　my　memory　named　
it。　“Perhaps　you　were　meant　to　be　a　Healer；　like　me。”

　The　woman　made　a　sound　of　amusement。　Laughter。　“I　doubt　that。　We　Seekers　prefer　a　different　sort　of　
diagnosis。”

　My　body　knew　this　word；　this　title：Seeker。　It　sent　a　shudder　of　fear　down　my　spine。　A　leftover　reaction。　

　

　“I　sometimes　wonder　if　the　infection　of　humanity　touches　those　in　your　profession；”　the　man　mused；　his　
voice　still　sour　with　annoyance。　“Violence　is　part　of　your　life　choice。　Does　enough　of　your　body’s　native　
temperament　linger　to　give　you　enjoyment　of　the　horror？”

　I　was　surprised　at　his　accusation；　at　his　tone。　This　discussion　was　almost　like…　an　argument。　Something　
my　host　was　familiar　with　but　that　I’d　never　experienced。

　The　woman　was　defensive。　“We　do　not　choose　violence。　We　face　it　when　we　must。　And　it’s　a　good　
thing　for　the　rest　of　you　that　some　of　us　are　strong　enough　for　the　unpleasantness。　Your　peace　would　be　
shattered　without　our　work。”

　“Once　upon　a　time。　Your　vocation　will　soon　be　obsolete；　I　think。”

　“The　error　of　that　statement　lies　on　the　bed　there。”

　“One　human　girl；　alone　and　unarmed！　Yes；　quite　a　threat　to　our　peace。”

　The　woman　breathed　out　heavily。　A　sigh。　“But　where　did　she　e　from？　How　did　she　appear　in　the　
middle　of　Chicago；　a　city　long　since　civilized；　hundreds　of　miles　from　any　trace　of　rebel　activity？　Did　she　
manage　it　alone？”

　She　listed　the　questions　without　seeming　to　seek　an　answer；　as　if　she　had　already　voiced　them　many　
times。

　“That’s　your　problem；　not　mine；”　the　man　said。　“My　job　is　to　help　this　soul　adapt　herself　to　her　new　host　
without　unnecessary　pain　or　trauma。　And　you　are　here　to　interfere　with　my　job。”

　Still　slowly　surfacing；　acclimating　myself　to　this　new　world　of　senses；　I　understood　only　now　that　I　was　
the　subject　of　the　conversation。　I　was　the　soul　they　spoke　of。　It　was　a　new　connotation　to　the　word；　a　
word　that　had　meant　many　other　things　to　my　host。　On　every　planet　we　took　a　different　name。Soul。　I　
suppose　it　was　an　apt　description。　The　unseen　force　that　guides　the　body。

　“The　answers　to　my　questions　matter　as　much　as　your　responsibilities　to　the　soul。”

　“That’s　debatable。”

　There　was　the　sound　of　movement；　and　her　voice　was　suddenly　a　whisper。　“When　will　she　bee　
responsive？　The　sedation　must　be　about　to　wear　off。”

　“When　she’s　ready。　Leave　her　be。　She　deserves　to　handle　the　situation　however　she　finds　most　
fortable。　Imagine　the　shock　of　her　awakening—inside　a　rebel　host　injured　to　the　point　of　death　in　the　
escape　attempt！　No　one　should　have　to　endure　such　trauma　in　times　of　peace！”　His　voice　rose　with　the　
increase　of　emotion。

　“She　is　strong。”　The　woman’s　tone　was　reassuring　now。　“See　how　well　she　did　with　the　first　memory；　
the　worst　memory。　Whatever　she　expected；　she　handled　this。”

　“Why　should　she　have　to？”　the　man　muttered；　but　he　didn’t　seem　to　expect　an　answer。　

　

　“Needbeing　your　word。　I　would　choose　the　termwant。　”

　“Then　someone　must　take　on　the　unpleasantness；”　she　continued　as　if　he　had　not　interrupted。　“And　I　

think；　from　all　I　know　of　this　one；　she　would　accept　the　challenge　if　there　had　been　any　way　to　ask　her。　
What　do　you　call　her？”

　The　man　didn’t　speak　for　a　long　moment。　The　woman　waited。

　“Wanderer；”　he　finally　and　unwillingly　answered。

　“Fitting；”　she　said。　“I　don’t　have　any　official　statistics；　but　she　has　to　be　one　of　the　very　few；　if　not　the　
only　one；　who　has　wandered　so　far。　Yes；Wanderer　will　suit　her　well　until　she　chooses　a　new　name　for　
herself。”

　He　said　nothing。

　“Of　course；　she　may　assume　the　host’s　name。…　We　found　no　matches　on　record　for　the　fingerprints　or　
retinal　scan。　I　can’t　tell　you　what　that　name　was。”

　“She　won’t　take　the　human　name；”　the　man　muttered。

　Her　response　was　conciliatory。　“Everyone　finds　fort　their　own　way。”

　“This　Wanderer　will　need　more　fort　than　most；　thanks　to　your　style　of　Seeking。”

　There　were　sharp　sounds—footsteps；　staccato　against　a　hard　floor。　When　she　spoke　again；　the　

woman’s　voice　was　across　the　room　from　the　man。

　“You　would　have　reacted　poorly　to　the　early　days　of　this　occupation；”　she　said。

　“Perhaps　you　react　poorly　to　peace。”

　The　woman　laughed；　but　the　sound　was　false—there　was　no　real　amusement。　My　mind　seemed　well　

adapted　to　inferring　the　true　meanings　from　tones　and　inflections。

　“You　do　not　have　a　clear　perception　of　what　my　Calling　entails。　Long　hours　hunched　over　files　and　
maps。　Mostly　desk　work。　Not　very　often　the　conflict　or　violence　you　seem　to　think　it　is。”

　“Ten　days　ago　you　were　armed　with　killing　weapons；　running　this　body　down。”

　“The　exception；　I　assure　you；　not　the　rule。　Do　not　forget；　the　weapons　that　disgust　you　are　turned　on　our　

kind　wherever　we　Seekers　have　not　been　vigilant　enough。　The　humans　kill　us　happily　whenever　they　have　
the　ability　to　do　so。　Those　whose　lives　have　been　touched　by　the　hostility　see　us　as　heroes。”

　“You　speak　as　if　a　war　were　raging。”

　“To　the　remains　of　the　human　race；　one　is。”

　These　words　were　strong　in　my　ears。　My　body　reacted　to　them；　I　felt　my　breathing　speed；　heard　the　

　

　“But　one　that　even　they　must　realize　is　long　lost。　They　are　outnumbered　by　what？　A　million　to　one？　I　
imagine　you　would　know。”

　“We　estimate　the　odds　are　quite　a　bit　higher　in　our　favor；”　she　admitted　grudgingly。

　The　Healer　appeared　to　be　content　to　let　his　side　of　the　disagreement　rest　with　that　information。　It　was　
quiet　for　a　moment。

　I　used　the　empty　time　to　evaluate　my　situation。　Much　was　obvious。

　I　was　in　a　Healing　facility；　recovering　from　an　unusually　traumatic　insertion。　I　was　sure　the　body　that　
hosted　me　had　been　fully　healed　before　it　was　given　to　me。　A　damaged　host　would　have　been　disposed　
of。

　I　considered　the　conflicting　opinions　of　the　Healer　and　the　Seeker。　According　to　the　information　I　had　
been　given　before　making　the　choice　to　e　here；　the　Healer　had　the　right　of　it。　Hostilities　with　the　few　
remaining　pockets　of　humans　were　all　but　over。　The　planet　called　Earth　was　as　peaceful　and　serene　as　it　
looked　from　space；　invitingly　green　and　blue；　wreathed　in　its　harmless　white　vapors。　As　was　the　way　of　
the　soul；　harmony　was　universal　now。

　The　verbal　dissension　between　the　Healer　and　the　Seeker　was　out　of　character。　Strangely　aggressive　for　
our　kind。　It　made　me　wonder。　Could　they　be　true；　the　whispered　rumors　that　had　undulated　like　waves　
through　the　thoughts　of　the…　of　the…

　I　was　distracted；　trying　to　find　the　name　for　my　last　host　species。　We’d　had　a　name；　I　knew　that。　But；　no　
longer　connected　to　that　host；　I　could　not　remember　the　word。　We’d　used　much　simpler　language　than　
this；　a　silent　language　of　thought　that　connected　us　all　into　one　great　mind。　A　necessary　convenience　when　
one　was　rooted　forever　into　the　wet　black　soil。

　I　could　describe　that　species　in　my　new　human　language。　We　lived　on　the　floor　of　the　great　ocean　that　
covered　the　entire　surface　of　our　world—a　world　that　had　a　name；　too；　but　that　was　also　gone。　We　each　
had　a　hundred　arms　and　on　each　arm　a　thousand　eyes；　so　that；　with　our　thoughts　connected；　not　one　
sight　in　the　vast　waters　went　unseen。　There　was　no　need　for　sound；　so　there　was　no　way　to　hear　it。　We　
tasted　the　waters；　and；　with　our　sight；　that　told　us　all　we　needed　to　know。　We　tasted　the　suns；　so　many　
leagues　above　the　water；　and　turned　their　taste　into　the　food　we　needed。

　I　could　describe　us；　but　I　could　not　name　us。　I　sighed　for　the　lost　knowledge；　and　then　returned　my　
ponderings　to　what　I’d　overheard。

　Souls　did　not；　as　a　rule；　speak　anything　but　the　truth。　Seekers；　of　course；　had　the　requirements　of　their　
Calling；　but　between　souls　there　was　never　reason　for　a　lie。　With　my　last　species’　language　of　thought；　it　
would　have　been　impossible　to　lie；　even　had　we　wanted　to。　However；　anchored　as　we　were；　we　told　
ourselves　stories　to　alleviate　the　boredom。　Storytelling　was　the　most　honored　of　all　talents；　for　it　benefited　
everyone。

　Sometimes；　fact　mixed　with　fiction　so　thoroughly　that；　though　no　lies　were　told；　it　was　hard　to　remember　
what　was　strictly　true。　

　

　But　there　were　whispers　of　this：　of　human　hosts　so　strong　that　the　souls　were　forced　to　abandon　them。　
Hosts　whose　minds　could　not　be　pletely　suppressed。　Souls　who　took　on　the　personality　of　the　body；　
rather　than　the　other　way　around。　Stories。　Wild　rumors。　Madness。

　But　that　seemed　almost　to　be　the　Healer’s　accusation。…

　I　dismissed　the　thought。　The　more　likely　meaning　of　his　censure　was　the　distaste　most　of　us　felt　for　the　
Seeker’s　Calling。　Who　would　choose　a　life　of　conflict　and　pursuit？　Who　would　be　attracted　to　the　chore　
of　tracking　down　unwilling　hosts　and　capturing　them？　Who　would　have　the　stomach　to　face　the　violence　
of　this　particular　species；　the　hostile　humans　who　killed　so　easily；　so　thoughtlessly？　Here；　on　this　planet；　
the　Seekers　had　bee　practically　a…　militia—my　new　brain　supplied　the　term　for　the　unfamiliar　
concept。　Most　believed　that　only　the　least　civilized　souls；　the　least　evolved；　the　lesser　among　us；　would　
be　drawn　to　the　path　of　Seeker。

　Still；　on　Earth　the　Seekers　had　gained　new　status。　Never　before　had　an　occupation　gone　so　awry。　Never　
before　had　it　turned　into　a　fierce　and　bloody　battle。　Never　before　had　the　lives　of　so　many　souls　been　
sacrificed。　The　Seekers　stood　as　a　mighty　shield；　and　the　souls　of　this　world　were　thrice…over　indebted　to　
them：　for　the　safety　they　had　carved　out　of　the　mayhem；　for　the　risk　of　the　final　death　that　they　faced　
willingly　every　day；　and　for　the　new　bodies　they　continued　to　provide。

　Now　that　the　danger　was　virtually　past；　it　appeared　the　gratitude　was　fading。　And；　for　this　Seeker　at　
least；　the　change　was　not　a　pleasant　one。

　It　was　easy　to　imagine　what　her　questions　for　me　would　be。　Though　the　Healer　was　trying　to　buy　me　
time　to　adjust　to　my　new　body；　I　knew　I　would　do　my　best　to　help　the　Seeker。　Good　citizenship　was　
quintessential　to　every　soul。

　So　I　took　a　deep　breath　to　prepare　myself。　The　monitor　registered　the　movement。　I　knew　I　was　stalling　
a　bit。　I　hated　to　admit　it；　but　I　was　afraid。　To　get　the　information　the　Seeker　needed；　I　would　have　to　
explore　the　violent　memories　that　had　made　me　scream　in　horror。　More　than　that；　I　was　afraid　of　the　
voice　I’d　heard　so　loudly　in　my　head。　But　she　was　silent　now；　as　was　right。　She　was　just　a　memory；　too。

　I　should　not　have　been　afraid。　After　all；　I　was　called　Wanderer　now。　And　I’d　earned　the　name。

　With　another　deep　breath；　I　delved　into　the　memories　that　frightened　me；　faced　them　head…on　with　my　
teeth　locked　together。

　I　could　skip　past　the　end—it　didn’t　overwhelm　me　now。　In　fast…forward；　I　ran　through　the　dark　again；　
wincing；　trying　not　to　feel。　It　was　over　quickly。

　Once　I　was　through　that　barrier；　it　wasn’t　hard　to　float　through　less…alarming　things　and　places；　skimming　
for　the　information　I　wanted。　I　saw　how　she’d　e　to　this　cold　city；　driving　by　night　in　a　stolen　car　
chosen　for　its　nondescript　appearance。　She’d　walked　through　the　streets　of　Chicago　in　darkness；　
shivering　beneath　her　coat。　

　

　The　words　came　slower　and　slower；　and　at　first　I　did　not　understand　why。　Was　this　forgotten？　Lost　in　
the　trauma　of　an　almost　death？　Was　I　still　sluggish　from　unconsciousness？　I　struggled　to　think　clearly。　
This　sensation　was　unfamiliar。　Was　my　body　still　sedated？　I　felt　alert　enough；　but　my　mind　labored　
unsuccessfully　for　the　answers　I　wanted。

　I　tried　another　avenue　of　searching；　hoping　for　clearer　responses。　What　was　her　goal？　She　would　find…　
Sharon—I　fished　out　the　name—and