Hunter's Run Part 8

The alien lifted a sc.r.a.p of cloth-a shirt sleeve soaked in blood.

The cloth was wrinkled and bunched where it had been tied as a bandage or tourniquet and then hardened as the blood dried.

"Looks like you hit the poor pendejo pendejo pretty good," Ramon said, trying to sound pleased. pretty good," Ramon said, trying to sound pleased.

Maneck didn't reply, only dropped the bandage back into the disturbed litter. It paced off toward the fire pit, the sahael sahael extending and narrowing, but still pulling Ramon to follow. Something glittered in the dirt beside the rough, gathered stones of the pit. Silver and blue. extending and narrowing, but still pulling Ramon to follow. Something glittered in the dirt beside the rough, gathered stones of the pit. Silver and blue.

The alien paused, considering it. Ramon walked up to the thing's side, and then, divided between wonder and fear, he knelt and put the tips of his fingers on the cigarette case that Elena had given him.

"This is mine," he said softly.

"It is the artifact of the man," Maneck said, as if agreeing.

"No," Ramon said. "No, this is mine mine. This belongs to me. The police, they couldn't have got this unless they found . . ."

He half scrambled back to the lean-to, scooping up the blood-soaked sleeve. The cloth was rough canvas, designed to last for months in the field. The b.u.t.ton at the sleeve's end was half shattered.

"This is my shirt. The pendejo pendejo's wearing my shirt!"

Ramon turned to Maneck, a sudden towering rage roaring in his ears. He waved the b.l.o.o.d.y cloth in his clenched fist.

"Why does that f.u.c.king sonofab.i.t.c.h have my shirt my shirt?"

The quills rose and fell on the huge alien's crest; its oil-sheened skin swirled. Only the knowledge that the sahael sahael would visit him with unimaginable pain kept Ramon from attacking it. would visit him with unimaginable pain kept Ramon from attacking it.

"Answer me!"

"I do not understand. The garment with which you were provided-"

"Is your your shirt," Ramon shouted, plucking at the alien robe. " shirt," Ramon shouted, plucking at the alien robe. "You f.u.c.king devils made this. You make me wear it. This is f.u.c.king devils made this. You make me wear it. This is my my shirt. Mine. shirt. Mine.

I wore it from Diegotown. I bought it. I wore it. It's mine, mine, and some and some . . . some . . ."

Martin Casaus appeared suddenly before his mind's eye, a memory as powerful and transporting as a drug flashback. Her name had been Lianna, the one he'd told Griego about. She'd been a cook at the Los Rancheros Grill down by the river. Martin had thought he was in love with her, and for a week he'd made up poems that started by comparing her eyes to the stars and ended near dawn and after a bottle of cheap whiskey, talking about what it would be like to f.u.c.k her. Ramon had seen her in the sleazy all-night bar they all called Rick's Cafe Americain even though there was some other name on the alcohol license.

Ramon had been drunk. He saw her again, black hair pulled back from an oval face. The lines at the corners of her mouth. The deep, 105 105 saturated red of the wallpaper behind her. He'd seen her, and he'd remembered all the images he'd endured, all the fantasies Martin had spun of her body. When she'd looked up, caught his eye, it was like water flowing downhill. He hadn't had a choice. He'd just gone to her.

Martin, before him now, had the sheet metal hook in his hand.

Ramon dropped the b.l.o.o.d.y rag at Maneck's feet, his hand going to his belly. Martin's hand had looked flayed and skinless, but the blood had been Ramon's. The pain had been hideous, the bleeding so bad Ramon had felt it in his crotch and thought he'd p.i.s.sed himself. He opened the alien robe, half expecting the Martin of his memory to swing again, to cut him further, though when it had actually happened, the man had broken down weeping.

Ramon's fingers touched a smooth, almost unblemished belly.

The thick, k.n.o.bby scar was gone, only a hairline of white in its place.

He realized now that he'd known it, his fingers had kept straying to the missing wound, his body knowing better than his mind that something was missing. The roughness of the alien cloth against his skin, the calluses gone from his fingertips and feet. Slowly, he pulled back his sleeve. The scar he'd gotten in the machete fight with Chulo Lopez at the bar outside Little Dog, the trails of puckered white flesh that Elena's fingertips opened and reopened when they tore at each other during half-crazed s.e.x were gone. There were no cigarette stains on his fingers. None of the small nicks and discolorations and calluses that were the legacy of a lifetime working with one's hands.

Over the years, his arms had been burned almost black by the sun, but now his skin was smooth and unblemished and pale brown as an eggsh.e.l.l. An awareness half-buried rose in him, and he went cold.

He had not been breathing in that tank. His heart had not been beating.

"What did you do to me?" Ramon whispered, horror-struck.

"What the f.u.c.k did you do do to me? To my to me? To my body body?"

"Ah! Interesting," Maneck said. "You are capable of kahtenae kahtenae. This may not serve us well. I doubt the man is capable of multiple integra-tion, and even if he were, it would not produce this disorientation.

You must take care not to diverge. It will not focus your tatecreude tatecreude if you become too much unlike the man." if you become too much unlike the man."

"What are you talking about, monster?"

"Your distress," Maneck said. "You are becoming aware of who you are."

"I am Ramon Espejo!"

"No," the alien said, "you are not."

Chapter 9.

Ramon-if he was was Ramon-squatted, his elbows resting on his knees, hands wrapped around his bowed head. Maneck, looming beside him, explained in its deep, sorrowful voice. The man who had discovered the alien hive had been Ramon Espejo. There had been no one following him; no constable, no other van from the south. The discovery of the nest in itself had const.i.tuted contradiction, and in order to correct the illusion that the man existed, he had been attacked. He had escaped, but not uninjured. An appendage-a finger-had been torn from him in the attack. That flesh had acted as the seed for the creation of a made thing- Ramon-squatted, his elbows resting on his knees, hands wrapped around his bowed head. Maneck, looming beside him, explained in its deep, sorrowful voice. The man who had discovered the alien hive had been Ramon Espejo. There had been no one following him; no constable, no other van from the south. The discovery of the nest in itself had const.i.tuted contradiction, and in order to correct the illusion that the man existed, he had been attacked. He had escaped, but not uninjured. An appendage-a finger-had been torn from him in the attack. That flesh had acted as the seed for the creation of a made thing- ae euth'eloi ae euth'eloi-that had partic.i.p.ated in the original being's flow, and woken with Ramon's memory and knowledge. Maneck had to explain twice before Ramon truly understood that it meant him him.

"You partic.i.p.ate in his flow," Maneck said. "All of the whole ispresent in the fragment, and the fragment may express the whole.

There was some loss of fidelity, and the decision was made to favor functional knowledge and immediate recall over precise physical approximation. As you progress, you collapse into the form that shaped the fragment."

"I am am Ramon Espejo," Ramon said. "And you are a lying wh.o.r.e with breath like a Russian's a.s.shole." Ramon Espejo," Ramon said. "And you are a lying wh.o.r.e with breath like a Russian's a.s.shole."

"Both of these things are incorrect," Maneck said patiently.

"You're lying!"

"The language you use is not a proper thing. The function of communication is to transmit knowledge. To lie would fail to transmit knowledge. That is not possible."

Ramon's face went hot, then cold. "You're lying," he whispered.

"No," the alien said sadly. "You are a made thing."

Ramon surged to his feet, but Maneck didn't step back. The great orange eyes flickered.

"I am Ramon Espejo!" Ramon shouted. "I flew that van out here.

I set the charges. Me! I am the one that did that! I'm not some f.u.c.king finger grown in a f.u.c.king vat!"

"You are becoming agitated," Maneck said. "Contain your anger, or I will use the pain."

"Use it!" Ramon shouted. "Go on, you coward! Are you afraid of me?" He gathered saliva in his mouth and spit full into Maneck's face.

The glob of spittle struck the alien beneath one eye and ran slowly down the side of its face. Maneck seemed more puzzled than of-fended, displaying none of the normal human revulsion. It wiped the spit away carefully and stared at the wetness of its fingers. "What is the meaning of this action?" it asked. "I sense that this substance is not venomous. Does it have a function?"

All the fight went out of Ramon, like air rushing from a p.r.i.c.ked balloon. "Wipe your face, pendejo, pendejo, " he whispered, and then sank to a " he whispered, and then sank to a 109 109 crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees. It was true. He was an abomination. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his armpits, the back of his knees. He was coming to believe what Maneck had said: he was not the real Ramon Espejo, he wasn't even really human, he was some monster born in a vat, an unnatural thing only three days old. Everything he remembered was false, had happened to some other other man, not to him. man, not to him. He'd He'd never been out of the mountain before, never broken heads in a bar fight, never f.u.c.ked a woman. He'd never even met a real human being, in spite of his memories of all the people he thought he knew. never been out of the mountain before, never broken heads in a bar fight, never f.u.c.ked a woman. He'd never even met a real human being, in spite of his memories of all the people he thought he knew.

How he wished he had never come here, never set that fateful charge! And then he realized that he had not not done any of those things. done any of those things.

It had been the other the other who had done them. All of the past belonged to the other. He had nothing but the present, nothing but Maneck and surrounding forest. He was nothing. He was n.o.body. He was a stranger to the world. who had done them. All of the past belonged to the other. He had nothing but the present, nothing but Maneck and surrounding forest. He was nothing. He was n.o.body. He was a stranger to the world.

The thought was vertiginous, almost unthinkable, and deliberately, with an enormous effort of will, he put it aside. To think deeply about it would lead to madness. Instead, he concentrated on the physical world around him, the cold wind in his face, the clouds scuttling through an ominous indigo sky. Whoever or whatever he was, he was alive, out in the world, reacting to it with animal intensity. The iceroot smelled as good as his false memories said it should, the wind felt as cool and refreshing as it swept across the meadow; the immense vista of the Sierra Hueso on the far horizon, sun flashing off the snowcaps on the highest peaks, was as beautiful as it ever was, and the beauty of it lifted his heart, as it always did. The body The body keeps on living, keeps on living, he thought bitterly, he thought bitterly, even when we do not wish it to. even when we do not wish it to.

He forced the thought from his mind. He couldn't afford despair, if he was going to survive. Nothing had changed, regardless of his origin, whether he'd been grown in a pot like a chili pepper or popped b.l.o.o.d.y and screaming out of his mother's womb. He was was G e o r g e R . R . M a r t i nRamon Espejo, no matter what the alien said, no matter what his hands looked like. He had to be, because there was no one else to be be.

What difference did it make if there was another man out there that also thought that he was him? Or a hundred such? He was alive, right here and now, in this instant, whether he was three days old or thirty years, and that was what mattered. He was alive-and he intended to stay that way.

He looked up at the alien, who was waiting with surprising patience. "How can what you say be true?" Ramon said through tight lips. "I'm not an ignorant peasant-I know what a clone is. It's just a baby that has to grow up, like every baby. It wouldn't have my memories. It doesn't work like that."

"You know nothing of what we can and cannot do," Maneck chided, "and yet you a.s.sert otherwise. You refer to the creation of a novel individual from a similar gross molecular template. That process would be development. You are the expression of recapitulation.

The two are dissimilar." Maneck paused. "The thought fits poorly in your language, but if you were to gain enough atakka atakka to understand it fully, you would diverge further from the model. It interferes with our to understand it fully, you would diverge further from the model. It interferes with our tatecreude tatecreude."

"My belly. My arm. The scars I had . . ."

"Perfect fidelity was sacrificed. As time progresses, they will tend toward the forms that express the whole."

"I'll get my scars back?"

"All of your physical systems will continue to approximate the source form. The information retrieval is similarly progressing."

"My memory? You're saying that all this is f.u.c.king with my memory too?"

"To better approximate is to better approximate," it said. "This is self-evident."

Ramon stared at Maneck. All at once, he realized why the aliens didn't have s.e.x. They were grown in vats too, just like he had been.

111 Maybe they'd been created in the same one! He and this ugly sonofab.i.t.c.h were brothers, more alike than either of them were like the real real Ramon Espejo. Ramon Espejo.

"You've made me a monster, just like you," he said bitterly, feeling himself beginning to shake again. "I'm not even human anymore!"

The sahael sahael pulsed once, as if in warning, and Ramon's belly went cold and tight with fear, but the pain didn't come. Instead, to Ramon's great surprise, Maneck extended one long, oddly jointed arm and placed its hand awkwardly on Ramon's shoulder, like a gesture of comfort copied from a bad description. "You are a living creature possessed of pulsed once, as if in warning, and Ramon's belly went cold and tight with fear, but the pain didn't come. Instead, to Ramon's great surprise, Maneck extended one long, oddly jointed arm and placed its hand awkwardly on Ramon's shoulder, like a gesture of comfort copied from a bad description. "You are a living creature possessed of retehue, retehue, " it said. "Your origin is of no consequence, and you should not concern yourself with it. You may still fulfill your " it said. "Your origin is of no consequence, and you should not concern yourself with it. You may still fulfill your tatecreude tatecreude by exercising your function. No living being can aspire to more than that." by exercising your function. No living being can aspire to more than that."

This was close enough to his earlier thoughts to give him pause.

He pushed the thing's arm away and stood up. The sahael sahael thinned and extended, letting him walk some distance away. Surprising Ramon again, Maneck made no attempt to follow. At the fire pit, Ramon sat, taking the cigarette case from the ground, flipping it open. It was the nearest thing he'd had to a mirror since he'd been lifted from the vat. His face was smoother than the one he was accustomed to, fewer lines at the corners of his eyes. The moles and scars were gone. His hair was finer and lighter. He looked different, unformed. He looked young. He looked like himself, but also thinned and extended, letting him walk some distance away. Surprising Ramon again, Maneck made no attempt to follow. At the fire pit, Ramon sat, taking the cigarette case from the ground, flipping it open. It was the nearest thing he'd had to a mirror since he'd been lifted from the vat. His face was smoother than the one he was accustomed to, fewer lines at the corners of his eyes. The moles and scars were gone. His hair was finer and lighter. He looked different, unformed. He looked young. He looked like himself, but also not not.

The world threatened to whirl around him again, and he steadied himself with his hands, his palms against the solid ground of So Paulo, anchoring himself in reality, anchoring himself in the present.

If what Maneck had revealed was true, if there was another Ramon Espejo out there, that changed everything. There was no advantage to stalling anymore. If the other Ramon returned to Fiddler's Jump, there might be a reaction to his story of a secret alien base, sure, but neither that other Ramon nor anyone else would have any idea thathe existed. An armed party might come to follow up, or even attack the aliens, but they wouldn't be looking for existed. An armed party might come to follow up, or even attack the aliens, but they wouldn't be looking for him him. Maybe if he could actually find find that other Ramon, though, together they could somehow turn the tables on the alien. He knew what he himself would have done if he knew he were being hunted. that other Ramon, though, together they could somehow turn the tables on the alien. He knew what he himself would have done if he knew he were being hunted. He He would have found a way to kill his hunters. And that now was Ramon's only chance. would have found a way to kill his hunters. And that now was Ramon's only chance.

If he could alert the other Ramon that he was being pursued and trust him to take the right action, together they might destroy the alien that held his leash. For a moment, he hoped deeply that what Maneck had said was the truth, that there was another mind like his own out free in the wilderness. He felt an odd surge of pride in that other Ramon-in spite of these monsters and all the powers at their command, he had gotten away from them, fooled them, showed them what a man man could do. could do.

But would the other Ramon help him, or would he be as horrified by him as he was by the alien? If he helped the other Ramon escape from his pursuers, surely the other Ramon would be grateful. Ramon tried to imagine himself turning away someone who had come to his aid when he was most in need. He didn't believe it was a thing he would do. He would embrace this new man like a brother, hide him, help him. Set him up in business, maybe go into business with him . . .

Ramon spat.

That was bulls.h.i.t. No, instead he'd put a knife between the other Ramon's- his his-ribs, and laugh while the alien abomination died.

And yet, what other choice did he have? The other Ramon was Maneck's enemy too. It was a common ground for now, and if there was a way to kill Maneck and free himself from the sahael, sahael, then he could handle the rest later. The questions of who and what he was, how he'd fit into a world with another Ramon in it, they'd have to wait. then he could handle the rest later. The questions of who and what he was, how he'd fit into a world with another Ramon in it, they'd have to wait.

Survival came first. Freedom from this slavery came first. And the first thing to do was to earn Maneck's trust, make it think that he was 113 113 wholeheartedly cooperating, lull it into a sense of false security until he could find the chance to put a blade in the alien's throat.

The plan, amorphous as it was, steadied him. If he had a scheme, there was at least a way to move forward. . . .

"You have calmed yourself," Maneck said. Ramon hadn't heard it approach.

"Yes, demon," Ramon said. "I suppose I have."

He flipped open the cigarette case. It was empty, save for the en-graved Mi Corazon Mi Corazon that Elena had had etched in the silver. My heart. that Elena had had etched in the silver. My heart.

Here, my heart, smoke yourself to death. Ramon chuckled.

"I do not understand your reaction," the alien said. "You will explain it."

"I just wanted a cigarette," Ramon said, keeping his tone friendly.

See how safe I am? See how ready I am to cooperate with you? "Looks like that greedy f.u.c.k out there smoked them all. Too bad, eh? Ah! I would enjoy a good smoke." He thought wistfully of the cigarette he'd used to light the fuse all that time ago. Or that the other had used. The cigarette he had smoked with other lungs, in another lifetime. "Looks like that greedy f.u.c.k out there smoked them all. Too bad, eh? Ah! I would enjoy a good smoke." He thought wistfully of the cigarette he'd used to light the fuse all that time ago. Or that the other had used. The cigarette he had smoked with other lungs, in another lifetime.

"What is a 'smoke'?" Maneck said.

Ramon sighed. When it wasn't like speaking to a foreigner, it was like speaking to a child.

He tried to describe a cigarette to the creature. Maneck's snout began to twitch in revulsion before Ramon had half finished.

"I do not comprehend the function of smoking," Maneck said.

"The function of the lungs is to oxygenate the body. Does not filling the lungs with the fumes of burning plants and the waste products of their incomplete combustion interfere with this function? What is the purpose of smoking?"

"Smoking gives us cancer," he said, repressing a grin. The alien seemed so solemn, and puzzled, that he could not resist the impulse to have a little fun with it.

"Ah! And what is 'cancer'?"

Ramon explained.

"That is aubre aubre!" Maneck said, its voice harsh and grating in its alarm. "Your function is to find the man, and you will not be permitted to interfere with this purpose. Do not attempt to thwart me by contracting cancer!"

Ramon chuckled, then laughed. One wave of hilarity seemed to overrush the next, and soon he was holding his side and coughing with the strength of the laughter shaking him. Maneck moved nearer, its crest rising and falling in a way that made Ramon think it was questioning-like a child who has to ask her parents what she has said to amuse them.