“So, after all your work helping to feed and care for Serendipity, how does it feel to be on the receiving end?” Morley laughed a twinkling laugh and watcher her drink the beer for a moment more before continuing.
“I don’t think even Danni realized it at the time, but that was the moment Serendipity came of age. Up until then, she was a mostly machine doing what her masters told her. Sucking up the history of the world as it was created around her and running errands for Danni and the rest of our little tribe. But when she saw one of her own pack killed by the Philistines, something changed, some final connection was made across the arc of her plex. I think we could all feel it in our own ways over the coming days and weeks, but we didn’t talk about it then.”
Lori felt fine, like she did after a particularly good run, but she could see that the histogram had taken a lot out of Morley. The permanent impishness she was just getting to know had faded. “Were you in that room? I couldn’t see beyond the close-in crowd.”
“Yeah, about five meters out at ten o’clock. I was standing in the same reception line as the shooter. The guy who lunged for him was named Werner. We were all there, and then we had to disappear to avoid the shit storm that followed.”
“I guess that was quite a moment in time. I was taught that it marked the beginning of the big decline for Unity In Christ and for the Servants of Allah. What happened to them anyway? I never really got religion. No one in my family except my great grandmother ever did.”
Morley was coming back from the cooler in the corner with another beer and now the color was returning to his face. “I don’t know fuck all about religion, but you are right about the decline starting then. Those smarmy Christian wankers, led, by the way, by Murcheson, caused me and my friends to go into hiding. Essentially forever. Danni and I are the only ones left and we are still in hiding. But we made sure it was the worst fight they ever picked. Besides, hiding seemed to suit us.”
He sat back down stiffly but younger for the memory of how close they all came to death over the couple of days following the assassination. “They were a hollow bunch—all except Murcheson. The religions were just gigantic buying clubs. The Comms used them to simplify their sales packaging, only Allah is perfect, but this video screen is damn close and it’s on sale.”
“So that’s the perfect segue. How about one more little history lesson before dinner?” He picked up his dash from the table and turned again to study Lori for any sign of discomfort. “Let’s go back up and check on Danni first. We can watch the next one in the cabin.”
No Bubbles
Lori was looking at a hand that must be attached to her current POV. It was large and scarred, and it was gripping tightly to a black cord that extended down in a taut line to what looked like a grate of some sort with a small block pulley attached. The other end of the line floated up and undulated in front of her face. She was floating. She must be underwater but there were no bubbles around her and the water was darkish. She looked up, a direction she could sense from the pull of flotation against her arm, hand, and the cord, and saw light that was blurry and gently rippled. She could tell she was waiting for something.
As she waited she wondered about breathing. Minutes went by and she wasn’t getting cold, so she must be in a heated pool. Still no bubbles around her, so she must have a recirculation breather. She knew somehow to stay very still, and she thought about the troll statue that had lived at the bottom of the aquarium in the lobby of her elementary school. She inspected her free arm and knew she was observing this histogram from the POV of a man.
Then there was movement up in the light beyond the surface of the pool. It got brighter up there, and she could see a shape that moved along the edge, where the light met the dark water. She knew she was lurking unseen in a dark well.
Rudolph Murcheson had endured a long and trying day. His meeting with Gerald Hand had been disturbing in that the president seemed to be determined to extend concessions to the people behind the damn Serendipity movement. Rudolph had tried to get him to understand the need for absolute resolve and a firm hand, but Gerald wanted to approach the situation as an inevitable new facet of the Comm world. He couldn’t seem to appreciate the cost in lost revenue, not to mention the laboriously crafted control-abdication mindset that would be quickly undermined. There were days when he wished that nut-job Robbe had killed Hand instead of Dresden.
And then the jump back to New York and the serenity of his tower was delayed for almost an hour because of some sort of power problem. Still there was time for a swim before going to bed. He gazed out at the lights of the city and they seemed brighter than usual. The floor to ceiling windows were invisible in the dimly lit pool room, and the silent twinkle of life below was more beautiful than ever. He shed his robe on a poolside chair and walked to the edge of the pool, which seemed different somehow. The pool lights were off. He walked to the control panel and tried the switch. Nothing. He walked back to the pool’s edge thinking about how it was amazing that the power grid, which informed every nook and cranny of his life, didn’t fail more often. He knew parts were so old that few knew how to fix or replace them. But standing there, he decided he liked the effect of the dark water and the enhanced brightness of the city lights it provided.
He took a couple of steps down the ladder, letting the warm water creep up his legs before performing his backwards launch into the middle of the pool. He let his tired bulk bob and equalize, sinking to his neck but keeping his head above the water and his eyes fixed on the tops of the buildings to the south. He moved his arms just enough to sustain the womblike moment.
Suddenly something grabbed his ankle and began pulling him down. It yanked him the first few feet in a blink, so he didn’t dare open his mouth to scream as he was well below the surface, and then he felt a slow reeling begin to pull him down. There was a motion next to him in the water as he reached for his ankle to free himself. His hands found a cable strapped tightly with a clasp that wouldn’t budge as he fumbled at it. And then there was a bright light right in front of his face—a light that moved to shine on another man’s face three feet away.
Lori heard Morley speaking from outside the histogram. “That is another one of Serendipity’s pack, our old friend Norris, now long gone.”
Rudolph Murcheson felt the infinite walls of water all around him and knew there was no way out. He tried to grab Norris, but he was floating just beyond his reach, smiling in the flashlight’s beam like a rat. Rudolph’s lungs were beginning to burn as he watched Norris release a barbell that was clasped to a belt around his waist, taken from the gym set-up at the end of the pool no doubt. Norris rose above and away from him, and Rudolph watched legs kick into the dark swirls, towards the dull glow of the ladder.
The POV returned to Norris as he climbed up the steps and out of the pool. Looking around, he saw the white robe, but left it lying on the chair as he padded the short distance to the maintenance closet behind the gym area. The last glimpse from his eyes was of a blue maintenance jumpsuit hanging neatly on the back of the door, with the name Norris stitched across the left breast and a simple logo below it. Lori could hear Morley’s voice begin to invade the histogram again.
“Like I said earlier, Lori, we don’t forget. We weren’t killers except when pushed to the limit. But you needed to know about this time, so you can understand that there is a limit, a line beyond which logic ceases to matter and drive for retribution takes over.”
“I think that’s enough ancient history for one day.” Danni spoke from her chair of pillows as she closed down the plex from her dash. “Good night Serendipity.” Turning to Lori she said, “You must be exhausted dear, and more than a little leery about what you have stumbled into. But don’t worry, starting tomorrow we will be looking forward not back.”
The Fort
Andrzej Brodonski had been to the Fort only once before. It had been a small meeting of fellow Master Mechanics Ste
wards from around the globe, all there in person, which was a rare exercise in non-productive logistical effort. He realized that some still felt it was the only way to assure complete privacy, but Andrzej didn’t see that their proceedings warranted such costly secrecy.
Today’s meeting adhered to the same protocol, with the twelve current Stewards of the International Brotherhood of Mechanics all beating different paths to this same closely guarded island in the Potomac just south of the old Pentagon.
His had been an easier trip than most. First a podrone from his cavernous office thirty meters below hard salt outcroppings in Wieliczka, Poland. Then an Obfuservice autonomous jet from the airstrip maintained by the International Diplomatic Corp outside of Krakow. One hundred and forty-nine minutes of cloistered air time, ending with the silent glide onto the Fort’s main airstrip and an extended roll past the surrounding seawalls of granite rip-rap. Andrzej could see the long wavelength of pale yellow arches stretching away from the slowly extending umbilical ramp. He watched out his window as a woman driver sitting in the cab gently docked the ramp firmly against the jet. She rose as he rose from his seat, and they met at the doorway where she scanned him and then welcomed him to the Fort.
“Good morning Mr. Brodonski, I hope you had a nice flight. The meeting will start in about an hour down in the main conference area. Do you know your way around or would you like a guide?” As she spoke she extended a bio-control bracelet towards him and he allowed his left wrist to be girdled. Normally he would have countered such a violation with the false biometric signals that lay in waiting just below his wrist’s skin, but today there was no need. He could be Andrzej Brodonski, Chief Facilities Manager for the crypto-state of Skramble and Hyde as well as East Block Steward for the IBM, the union of mechanics and engineers who patiently kept the many inventions of humankind running. From the most mundane servomotor to the semi-sentient robotics that now kept an increasingly hostile environment at bay, the IBM had become the indispensable class of repair people and their union was more powerful than most states. Andrzej tolerated service on their Board of Stewards.
“No, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll just take a stroll through the atrium and then go down to the meeting space. Do I still use that old vertical lift near the big stand of bamboo?”
“That’s right, sir. Just hit the bottom button. No need to authenticate now that you have the band on. If you need anything in the meantime, just use your dash. Someone will help you.”
He smiled another thanks and walked out into the modest humidity of the old atrium, where he was surrounded by bird screeches and the darting shapes of small creatures taking cover from the entering human. Air moved across his face with just enough pressure to wick away the humidity’s moisture. He knew it must be well over one hundred degrees outside and about thirty less in here, yet as he looked up at the eight-facet ceiling vault above him and the line of identical vaults extending out over the length of the atrium, he saw no drips. No condensation on the railing. Just enough density to the air to make the bird noises especially rich and viberous. It brought out an audible sponginess to the treading of his neoprene soles as he walked along the polished stone-like surface of the balcony floor.
Andrzej had spent the flight mostly thinking about Danni, Morley, and of course the physical structures of Gumbo, his children. The Cabin, driven like a spike into the Baja coastline, and the Office, terra-formed to be hidden in plain sight deep within the salt caverns of Wieliczka—both had been continuously rebuilt and extended by Andrzej over the years. Keeping up with technical changes and new demands, but always moving towards a more perfect union of physical structures into art. Form and function perfectly balanced, which brought him back to thinking about Danni.
A large bird flew overhead and dropped a splattering of white and blue veined shit across the stone floor in front of him. Someone must power-wash these floors at night. Danni was fading faster than he had imagined when she first told him she was giving up the chemical magic. She was shrinking like a piece of complex fabric that had been washed too many times. She would be gone completely at some point and what then? The ecosystem that was Skramble and Hyde could go on, of course—even the Dworld of Gumbo and the WHI—but it seemed like its heart or brain or both would be gone, so why bother? Morley seemed determined to carry on, but he wasn’t Danni. His genes were ill-suited for technical visionary work, and no amount of tinkering around the edges could change that.
Well, Andrzej would see for himself in a day or two. Once this meeting was over, he would be heading laboriously back to the Office, and then instantly west and south to the Cabin to see both of them and to meet someone named Lori Norton.
He finished up his daydreaming by wishing for the thousandth time that Simon was still on this earth. He could see the thirty-foot-high clump of bamboo up ahead, and he knew it was time to head for the lift and the descent into the messy real world of power and politics in which he, for some reason, still agreed to participate.
Waiting for the ancient stainless-steel box to raise seven floors to receive him, Andrzej took one final look at the jungle of public space plants gone native. It was still an interesting and efficient building, even after many decades of abandonment from its original purpose. Airports were few and far between in this age, and none were left near the hearts of big cities or close to the ever-rising water’s edge. Reagan National had been an early victim of berserker’s rage, with their planes that exploded like depth charges over strategic targets, not to mention the expensive fight to keep the rising Potomac at bay. Long ago it had become the headquarters of the International Brotherhood of Mechanics (IBM), and known far and wide as the Fort.
The brotherhood’s offices were located on the lower bomb-proof and water-isolated floors, but they continued to maintain the atrium jungle that had begun to grow organically soon after Reagan was closed. It had become a thing, and people brought decorative plants and strange birds to simply leave them there. For a time, volunteers managed to keep them mostly alive and growing, but when the IBM bought the property, they closed it off and took over maintenance of the atrium in earnest. They had tours for the public on certain days, but most of the time it echoed with bird calls and the scurrying feet of small creatures, while the mechanics schemed and negotiated below in elegant isolation.
Gravitational Pull
Andrzej could remember an awful lot about the night he met Simon Rosenthal, which was unusual as mostly Andrzej didn’t remember social details for more than a day or two. But of course, Simon was unusual.
He, Andrzej, was twenty-two and had recently made the rank of Master Mechanic with a special certificate for air movement and purification systems. His parents were thrilled, and his career path seemed clear and unobstructed. Even his certificate mentor, who was never satisfied, said he was years ahead of his peers and sure to go far in air handling. Andrzej felt empty at the thought.
That night in 2077, he had gone to the Piec Art jazz club on Szewska Street in the old town to listen to a Charles Lloyde tribute band. Obscure and definitely not hip, he expected to see no one he knew and to listen to the music and think, about what he wasn’t sure. He sat with his beer in the dark brick arched cavern at a small table that was partially hidden by the stairs leading up to the street level bar and bright lights. The music was fine but a step behind the original songs which he listened to often and knew well. The lead musician was better on sax than flute, and the piano player coasted safely through several pieces that had been made famous over a hundred years prior by another true jazz master. He had come in at the very beginning of a long set and as it ended the lights came up and he found there was another man sitting to his left at a second table tucked even further under the stair stringers. Old and all alone, the man seemed as intent on privacy as Andrzej, but for some reason they shared thin smiles as the applause faded and Andrzej said, “I guess we should be grateful that anyone at all still plays their music.”
At that point Andrzej noticed that the man was leaned back on the rear legs of his chair despite his obvious age, not paralyzed.
During the forty-minute break, Simon Rosenthal managed to learn a lot more about Andrzej Brodonski than the other way around, probing with an unusual sense for the textures within the world of Master Mechanics, and querying Andrzej about his plans for the future. When Andrzej finally got around to asking Simon about what he might be doing in Krakow, as he had mentioned he was from Colorado, the older man said he was there to start a new enterprise for his company. He thought he would be in town for about a month.
The quartet walked back out onto the tiny stage and the lights dimmed. Andrzej sat through the entire second set wondering what business this man Simon might have that needed a new wing way over here in such a smallish pocket of Europe. When the lights came back up, he looked over as Simon brought the front legs of his chair lightly back to the floor and immediately resumed questioning Andrzej.
“It has always struck me that the art of a Master Mechanic, one who manages the facilities of any large organization, must be to elegantly balance the tension between making either time or quality the constant across all the different projects and employees they manage. You can’t let quality slip, but you have to keep things moving.”
Macronome Page 3