by Brian Stableford
There was a pool of light above him and he was staring straight into it. His eyes refused to focus and the pool seemed to eddy and swirl gently. The light seemed to emanate from a brighter, but still indistinct patch, which he thought was a light bulb. There was something wrong with his eyes, as though he couldn’t use them properly.
A round object appeared at the side of the pool. He couldn’t make it out, but be knew that it was a human face, looking down on him. A second dark blob eclipsed another section of his pool of light.
Oh God! They‘re here again.
“Can you hear me?”
Don’t answer. Perhaps they‘ll go away.
“Hello? Jason, can you hear me?”
“Yes. Away.” The words were slurred, as if pronounced through a mouth full of saliva.
“Now, Jason, listen carefully. You know me. I’m Doctor Yorke. This is Doctor Angeli. You remember us, don’t you?”
“Yes.” You were here yesterday with your bloody questions. And I’m not answering them today either.
“You must try to remember, Jason.” Yorke was pronouncing the words slowly and deliberately. They echoed hollowly in the pool of light. “Try to remember exactly what happened. We’ll try to help you, as much as we can. You were on a ship—the Stella. Remember?”
“Yes.” Of course I remember. I remember everything. But I’m not telling. You go on thinking I can‘t remember. Pleased, he nodded his head.
“What is he doing?” asked a new voice—Doctor Angeli.
“I think he probably imagines that he’s nodding his head,” replied Yorke, in a low voice, which Jason found hard to make out.
You think. Can’t you see? You know what a head looks like, don’t you? Well, I’m nodding mine.
“At least,” Yorke amended, “I think that’s what he’s trying to do.”
“Remember, Jason.” The voice was slow and clear again. “The Stella. All right? You were traveling to Vesta. Vesta is an asteroid.”
I know what Vesta is. I haven’t lost my mind. Stop talking to me as though I were a bloody child.
“While you were going to Vesta, the alarms rang, didn’t they?”
He nodded his head again. There was no question or commentary this time.
“Those alarms meant that a slug ship was on the screens. Did you know that?”
Another nod. Of course I know that. I’m an officer in the navy. I told you that. Do you think I’m mad?
“Now, when the ship was attacked, you escaped in a liferaft. The liferaft was picked up by the slugs after they blasted the Stella apart. They took you prisoner. Is that all right so far?”
Nothing. No, it isn’t right. Imbecile. And that’s where I stop answering, and your logic goes off the rails.
Yorke started talking in his low voice again, addressing himself to Angeli. “He always stops there. I don’t know what happened then or afterwards. He closes up entirely, and I can’t worm even another nod out of him. The only thing he says is ‘Away’.”
“Try again,” requested Angeli.
“Jason, I’m talking again. Understand?”
“Yes.” Nod.
“You were captured by slugs. What does a slug look like, Jason?”
Nothing. A slug looks like a colossal coenocytic mass, with thousands of nuclear blobs, including one major protuberance with modifications to serve for eyes and ears, and a mouth with no lips. It can repeat most of the things we say, but it can’t make all the sounds we can. Its vocal apparatus is too different. God what an understatement! All of its apparatus is too different. Alien. But I’m not going tell you any of that, in case there’s something you don’t know, something you might use. You can’t be allowed to hurt the slugs.
“Could it be just that he can’t speak?”
“Oh, he can speak all right—after a fashion, anyway. He can’t say everything we can, but with a little improvisation and indistinct mutter, he can manage enough syllables to get along. He did quite a lot of talking in the beginning. About his family and his naval career, mostly. He had to, in order to convince us that he was—or, rather, is—William Jason.”
“Then why won’t he tell us what happened after the ship was attacked, when he was taken prisoner?”
“I don’t know. We can only keep trying.” Louder again. “Jason, what did the slugs do to you after they picked up your liferaft?”
Nothing. There was no liferaft.
“Jason, you must tell us. We’re at war with the slugs, now that they’ve begun attacking our ships. You’re the only man, so far as we know, who might have seen one in the flesh. We need every last little bit of information you can give us. Now, what did they do to you to make you look like this?”
Look like what? I’m Bill Jason. I’ve always been Bill Jason. I look like Bill Jason.
“Jason, this body you have. Is it a slug’s body?”
A slug’s body? What the hell? Of course it’s not a slug’s body. I’m Bill Jason, human being. I always have been. I’m tired. Go away. He tried to shake his head, but he wasn’t sure that he’d achieved it.
Angeli chipped in again. “How can we be sure that it is Jason, anyhow, wearing a body like that. Couldn’t the slugs have picked Jason’s mind clean, and sent a spy with his knowledge, maybe even his memories?”
“What would be the point?” said Yorke tiredly. “What good would a spy be to them, locked up in this place. He isn’t ever going to get out, whether he’s Jason or not.”
“Then why won’t he talk about the slugs?”
“I don’t know. If he can talk, and he can, I can only think of one possible reason, and that’s that he doesn’t want to talk about the slugs. But that doesn’t fit either. Why should he withhold valuable information after they did this to him?”
Did what to me? I’m Bill Jason, and I’m not talking about the slugs. Do what you like, but you‘ll get nothing out of me except the things that I want to say.
“Jason!” began Yorke again. “Can you remember when you were picked up? You were in a slug spacecraft. Now, can you remember getting into the liferaft when the Stella was hit? What happened afterwards? How did you get away from the alien vessel? Were you released, or did you escape?”
Nothing. I’m not telling you any of that. You‘ll get nothing from me, except for my life-story. It’s my life-story that matters.
“Jason! Where did the slugs take you? What did they do to you? How did you get away?”
Nothing.
“Look, please Jason, you have to tell us—for the sake of your family, if not for your own sake. Now, you escaped from the Stella in a liferaft. That’s right isn’t it?”
“No.” This time, he condescended to pronounce the word instead of trying to shake his head.
“But you must have. The Stella was wrecked. You could only have survived in a liferaft.”
There was a pause; then Angeli said: “He’s not going to talk about any of that. I suspect that he honestly believes that we’re the enemy. After all, he is in a slug body—or what we suspect to be a slug body. He may even be a slug, pretending to be Jason.”
One of the round black blobs moved from side to side, as if it were being shaken. It was an oddly bizarre and meaningless gesture
“You must tell us, Jason,” said Yorke desperately. “What did the slugs do to you? Why on Earth won’t you tell us?”
Oh hell! If I tell them that, maybe they’ll stop plaguing me about all the rest.
Slowly, and with difficulty, his lipless mouth formed the requisite syllables. He managed to slobber out the barely intelligible words.
“They killed me.”