COMBINATIONS
Kerry Lindemann-Schaefer
The young-flock fed greedily on the rich organic particles drifting down around them, their transparent bodies shimmering and sparkling with delight. "Ka! Ka!" they chanted, singing their group-name in the sheer joy of life-affirmation.
They had been hungry for a long time. Although they had found a large one not long ago and seen it dive down into the blue-gray cloud layers, they couldn't remember clearly if it had returned to feed them. The darter had attacked and things had become confused, especially with the loss of some of their numbers to the predator.
But now lovely bits of food fell from the ice-white clouds far above and the youngsters flitted happily, absorbing particles as fast as they could, their group consciousness suffused with pure contentment. They were almost fifty in number, having lost over half since they had been spawned.
Another young-flock swooped towards them, seeing their good grazing. "Rhy!" the others sang, announcing themselves, "Rhy! Rhy!"
Tenuous bodies flickered back and forth, just touching the tops of the blue-gray cloudfields beneath them. They tumbled together in friendly greeting as they continued to feed, the Rhy-flock and the Ka. Not far away, the greenish top of a turbulent upwelling subsided into a swirl on the cloud surface as it sank back to the depths from which it had come.
The life-giving rain of particles began to thin. Both flocks were gorged and full of energy, brighter than they had ever been before. It was marvelous to be alive, with the cloudfields spread from horizon to horizon, full of fresh textures and tastes, all of life ahead of them.
In an exuberance of joy, a youngster from one flock fluttered too near to one of the other flock. The edges of each flat, sparkling body touched, stuck, began slowly to overlap and merge.
At first, there was nothing disturbing about the process, but as their respective cores drew together, each fought in sudden panic to break free. The comforting group-presence of their individual flocks slid away from them and the diffuse consciousness they had known all their lives faded. A single thing congealed, a thing not one, nor yet quite the other.
"Rhy!" one screamed loudly. "Ka!" answered the other, shrilling agony.
Around them, the young-flocks continued to play, happily oblivious. But these two had not been the only casualties. Not far away, another combined entity flapped awkwardly in its new body, sinking below the cloudtops. Clumsy and unable to function together, they did not rise again.
Meanwhile, the first combination melted inexorably closer, bodies swelling into one, a grotesque dim thing, lacking the bright flash of the other youngsters.
"Rhy," sobbed a part of it. "Ka," mourned the other, as the merge proceeded. At last, "Rhy-Ka?" it said tentatively.
The newly-heavy body began to sink, too dense to float without effort at that altitude. As the hazy blue-gray mist closed over it, Rhyka shrieked with terror. All that was left to it were dim and hazy memories left over from the two group-minds, but it knew well that anything which sank too far into the depths was never seen again, with the exception of the vast and powerful large ones, who could safely dive and bring up delicious food particles.
A steady rise in pressure, as the blue shaded menacingly toward green. Slowly, inexorably, Rhyka drifted down. The beginning of a sharp ache penetrated its misery and confusion, as newly-forming air sacs inside its body reacted to the increase in pressure. The ache became piercing pain, as the green deepened. Soon the foundering youngster would be crushed, its body ruptured.
Rhyka's warring components declared truce, struggling in unison to flatten the new body and angle the clumsy edges to bear it once more aloft, as it felt a slight hint of an updraft nearby. In weary triumph, Rhyka fought its way upward, at last gaining the clear atmosphere above the cloudfields. It uttered a disharmonious squawk of dismay, seeing the two young-flocks separating, each flying off in a different direction now that the particle-rich rain had ceased to fall.
Rhyka each wanted to follow their own flock, but found to their consternation that they could not tell which was which. Instead, the poor confused creature flapped sadly in the wake of the nearest flock, struggling to keep pace as the youngsters flitted and zipped in the clear air.
Yearning for the familiar group-consciousness, Rhyka tried to merge with the flock, hoping for an end to the aching sense of loneliness deep inside. Yet, although the flock flickered and danced around, the old glow refused to return. He had changed, and the common identity would no longer admit the new individual that he had become.
Frustrated, Rhyka mourned his loss of belonging, and of the energy and swiftness that had once been his. Now it was difficult merely to fly.
Still, he had not sunk to his death, as had that second unfortunate monster that had formed. And this new body, awkward as it was, had survived a fall into the green depths.
A softly-gleaming youngster flew close, carefully scooping up a small blue-green particle that stuck to Rhyka's surface and ingesting it. Rhyka watched, doubting the flimsy youngster who fluttered so mockingly alongside him could have recovered from a fall such as he had made. Its body was too delicate, too tender. It would have collapsed.
Listening to the twittering cries, Rhyka discovered belatedly that he was following the Rhy-flock. Somehow, that didn't seem important anymore, considering the disaster of separation that had befallen him.
Time passed. Rhyka and the young-flock discovered the huge swirl of blue cloud which indicated a fierce hurricane in the lower depths. They rode the winds at the edges, finding good grazing where heavy particles from below were tossed aloft to their level. When the storm subsided, they moved on. Tessellated cloudtops bulged upward in the far distances around them.
The flock danced over a wide rift in the cloud cover, empty space stretching below until it disappeared in tempting sheets of red. Full of longing, they gazed down at the scarlet clouds roiling at the bottom, recalling the delicious taste of red particles from a feeding by a large one long ago. Nothing in all the atmosphere was as moist and full of energy as the red.
But the frail bodies of the young could not reach that far-away food source, so they flew onward, hunger beginning to dim their sparkle. They longed for a large one to appear, that they might persuade it to dive for them. But such a one was nowhere in sight.
A greenish-yellow upwelling of clouds began to swell to one side of their path. They turned, experience having taught them to expect better grazing near such places. The group-memory was uneasy, carrying dim hints of danger also associated with such cloud formations.
Rhyka flapped dismally after the flock. Even food had lost much of its savor to the clumsy creature, although he seemed to become much hungrier than he ever had before. Or perhaps the emptiness inside was only a response to the isolation and loneliness. Skimming the cloudfields, he ingested particles desultorily, trying in vain to fill that emptiness with substance.
A huge, squat shape burst from the upwelling, the sharp-edged and compact body changing its configuration rapidly, darting with impossibly fast movements toward the feeding young-flock. They saw the darter coming, but could not evade it. Maw open wide, the monster cut a swath through the flimsy sparkling bodies, sucking in six at one gulp.
The others shrieked with terror, pulling into a tight group and attempting to fly away, but they were too slow, unable to match the speed of the predator that fed upon them.
The darter made a tight turn. It swung in for another pass at the fleeing youngsters.
Rhyka lagged behind, terror-stricken. Although instinct impelled him to stay with his flock come what may, a new kind of fear ripped through him, a terror he had never felt as part of a flock. His own survival seemed of paramount importance now. Staying with the others would mean death.
Recklessly, he dove down into the cloud, evading the oncoming juggernaut at the last instant as it swooped by in pursuit of the flock.
Panicked as never before by the idea of losing his thin thread of consciousness, Rhyka dove deeper. Instinct urged him upwards, but he ignored it. A young-flock never separated. All were bound into one. To leave that happy togetherness was unthinkable, and thus undoable. If some died, that was unfortunate. But the group went on.
Rhyka checked his headlong plunge. Danger lay there also. As the clouds tinted into green around him, he hovered, forcing out side projections, manipulating them clumsily to stabilize himself. He drifted with the wind, marveling as a coating of green-tinged particles touched his body and stuck there. He didn't bother to shake them off. That would have expended precious energy.
When he judged it might be safe, he struggled once again to the surface of the cloudfield, peeking tentatively through the blue-gray mists in hopes of seeing his flock.
They were gone, all eaten by the darter or simply driven away.
Rhyka called out in his harsh squawk, but no sweet twittering answered. The darter was no longer in sight, perhaps hidden again in the green upwelling, awaiting the approach of more prey.
Rhyka wandered the cloudfields disconsolately, crying loudly until he had no voice left. The emptiness swelled inside him until he thought he would burst. He became hungry. Frustratingly, he could not reach most of the tempting green bits that still clung to his body. He scavenged what he could, but he grew steadily weaker. He limped toward the bulge of a fresh upwelling, thinking to find better grazing. Then he recalled the darter. A shiver ran through his dim body and he was about to turn away when his eyes caught a flicker of brightness.
A young-flock! It meandered in the direction of the upwelling, ignorant of possible peril. Rhyka roused himself to a faster pace. If he hurried, he could intercept them.
Twitching with exhaustion, he finally got in their path. He croaked his warning, but this was a strange flock. It didn't understand him.
"Bey! Bey!" it sang, dancing and zipping with the exuberance of youth. It came toward him, despite his efforts to turn it back.
Suddenly, Rhyka was surrounded by the gleaming young. They crowded against him, crooning love as they picked the green particles from his outer surface. Their brightness warmed him, dulling the sad ache he had almost learned to live with.
But what was this? He was not a large one, to feed the young. He was far too small. Large ones were huge. With their diaphanous veils outstretched and their elaborately-segmented bodies, one of them could spread over an entire young-flock, if it wished. Rhyka was small, ugly, with no wide-spread, graceful veils. The youngsters had to crowd and jostle him, pushing each other aside to get at the particles he carried.
Nevertheless, it was pleasant to have them around. He could almost feel the echo of that long-lost diffusion of belonging, the lack of this troublesome aloneness that so disturbed him.
Too soon, the food particles were gone and the flock fluttered away. Bereft once more, Rhyka limped along in their wake, subtly prodding them away from the dangerous upwelling. At times, he would try to speak with them, but they seemed not to comprehend. It was frustrating, but at least he wasn't entirely alone.
Slowly, subtly, Rhyka felt himself becoming stagnant. He was losing even his very limited flexibility, as his body stiffened. Thoughts came sluggishly to his mind, and they were hard to hold. An intense yearning overcame him, but he couldn't define what it was he was yearning for. At first, he thought it was just the usual longing to be part of the young-flock again, but gradually he realized there was more to it than that.
Rejoining a flock became less important. It seemed different to him now. The youngsters were so shallow, their memories faded so swiftly. It was impossible to tell one from another. There was something else he wanted. It tormented him, like an itch he could not reach to scratch. He grew restless, jittering at the least change in atmospheric pressure or density.
Once he thought he knew what it was he wanted. A youngster ventured near, rested for a moment upon his back. The feel of its soft warmth against his surface ignited a desire to draw it inside, merge with it, as he had once merged with another when he had first become himself. Carefully, he tried. His surface thinned, sending a nearly-transparent streamer against an edge of the youngster.
For a moment, it seemed to respond, the softly-gleaming body melting against his. It welcomed the tentative touch. Then it twitched, jumping away from him to regain the company of the others. He tried to lure it back, but without success.
He concluded it was not a fresh combination that he sought, although he still felt vaguely that it should have been.
Food became scarce and the flock grew hungry, and still no large ones appeared to feed them. The atmosphere was unusually still. No storms or upwellings tossed the moisture-laden particles above the blue-gray cloudfields. The flock twittered with inchoate complaints, losing some of their brightness. Rhyka had no trouble keeping up with them now. They slowed, drifting wearily just above the surface. Sometimes one would slip from sight into the mists, never to return.
It hurt Rhyka to see them in such bad condition. He drove himself high above the surface, until the air became cool and thin and he flew just beneath the bottom of the wispy veils of mist hanging from the icy white death-clouds that bordered the top of his world. He turned his many eyes every which way, hoping to see areas that promised better grazing.
There was nothing, as far as the eyes could see. The lower clouds stretched flat and untroubled from horizon to horizon. Rhyka drifted back down to his despondent flock, trying in vain to croon false encouragement to them. It was no use; they could not have understood him in any case. All they would understand was food.
Rhyka knew where that food could be found, but he hesitated to go there. He would have to dive, himself bring up a load of particles, as the large ones did. He was small. He could not bring enough in one dive. And he was weak, stiff, and filled with vague pains.
Pulling his uncooperative body together, he let himself plunge downward. At the green, he spread. It took effort now, pressure aching in his insides, pressing on air-filled segments that couldn't adapt fast enough. When he was coated with particles, he headed up.
The young-flock chattered in weak excitement. They had seen him leave, had known what might happen. They fought to encompass him, gulping greedily at the green. When his surface had been picked clean, Rhyka crooned a brief melody of assurance and dove again.
Down, to yellow-green this time. Pain, stabbing pain. But as he struggled to regain the surface, feeling the greater weight of the heavier particles, he rejoiced at bearing a better harvest for his adopted flock.
They clustered around him, beginning once more to flicker as they drew energy from this new load of nourishment. Their warmth soothed his aches, lit fresh fire in his trembling body. He dove, and fought his way up yet again.
Once more the joyous welcome, the happy bodies pressed against his as they fed. They seemed almost fully recovered, shining, frisking in play. Rhyka realized he had not fed himself, despite having been three times surrounded by a dense cloud of food. He craved something else from which to draw the energy he needed. Food was secondary. He craved the wild joy of the feeding.
Again he dove. This time he almost didn't make it. Something had torn inside as a result of the pressure changes. It oozed fluid from raw surfaces.
But that ceased to matter as the flock encompassed him, singing love and life, crooning to him for all the world as if he were a life-giving large one.
Rhyka knew he could not dive again. He must soon warn the youngsters off, since he was weakening, slowly sinking toward the cloudtops. The particles had all been eaten, yet some of the youngsters clung about him still. He did not want to take any of them down to certain death with him.
A shudder of pain ran through his body, flicking several of the young away. Deliberately, he twitched again, flinging off all the others.
But one insisted on returning, nuzzling against him, glowing. "Bey, Bey," it crooned softly. He was too tired to dislodge it. Besides, it was only one. Its death wouldn't make much difference to the survival of the rest of the flock. It would hardly be noticed.
Rhyka sank lower. He had not found the answer to what he craved, had not even discovered what he was, other than the grotesque result of the abnormal merge that had brought him into being. His existence made little sense, and he was not overly sorry now to see it end.
The youngster snuggled closer against him as they faded into the blue-gray mists. Unable to chase it away, Rhyka tenderly curled himself around it, forcing his unwilling body to his wishes. The contortion was painful, but it might help shield the little one, who only glowed the brighter as Rhyka held it tightly.
Barriers began to dissolve, protoplasm flowed hungrily together. A new mind insinuated itself into Rhyka's pain-sodden thoughts. It sang with love and hope, the exuberantly ignorant refrain of the young. As they merged, a fresh new thing blossomed forth. Rhyka felt new energy burning throughout his stale body, new churning and stirrings. He stretched cramped segments, spread thin streamers of gossamer, unfolding from the burst stiffness of his old body.
Wondering, he saw the vast drifting veils of a large one billow around him, still pleated and wrinkled from their confinement. He flapped a bit, tentatively. He was no longer dense and heavy. Extended, the veils bore him easily aloft, to drift without effort along the surface of the cloudfield.
The empty place inside was full. So this was what it was to be a large one.
"Bey? Bey?" the newcomer to the merge asked tentatively, still a bit confused but already beginning to meld into the gestalt of the longer-established mind.
"Rhyka," he told it gently, then realized that was no longer correct. "No. B'Rhyka. That is our name. We – I – am complete."
All but overwhelmed with the glory of the transformation, B'Rhyka began the joyful chant of life, in the deep, resonant tones of an adult.