by Kage Baker
Tush! We’d vexed him enough, spying into his garden without his leave, Nicholas told him. Should I have insulted the fellow further by reminding him he’d been a common player?
THAT EVENING, OFF SKEGNESS, 1600 AD
At least we’ve the damned lavender bush for a souvenir, even if the rest of the job was an utter failure, Edward said dully, watching from across the saloon as Mendoza fastened the repotted slip into a newly installed solarium window. Nicholas, who had control and was using it to read Venus and Adonis, ignored him.
Now, that ain’t rightly true, begging yer pardon. It looks like there’s a power of data in them new plaquettes.
Well, bravo, said Edward. Perhaps they’ll send us racing off on yet another chase across Time, for a few more pathetic fragments. What a prize.
Belay the sarcasm, swabbie.
We could go on another supermarket expedition, said Alec. More beef chops and brandy? That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?
Endless jollity, drawled Edward. He cocked an eye at the nearest of the Captain’s cameras. And yet, I must admit I was intrigued by something. Those scraps of Alec you made, Captain; explain to me, if you please, why it was within your power to make an ear but not a whole body.
Why, lad, a tooth or an ear ain’t got to think, do they? And those bits didn’t even have to live. All they had to do was look real. It didn’t matter that they was cloned from Alec’s thirty-year-old DNA with its chain errors. But if I tried to clone a whole body from Alec now, hell! Even if it could be managed, and I ain’t saying it could, all you’d get would be a baby. A sick one, at that, as wouldn’t live more’n ten years or so.
But we’re never sick, said Edward. He watched Mendoza, who was humming to herself as she added a shot of plant food to the lavender.
No, see, because you were made from pure new-minted stuff. Not the DNA of another adult whose replication code had begun to deteriorate. Recollect what that Shakespeare gent told yer lady, about not cutting slips from old wood? He had it exactly so: the new wood’s the stuff with the life in it.
Alec grimaced. I remember this now, he said, I saw a program on holo about clones. Little bald kids getting old when they were only five. Progeria, it’s called.
Aye. Premature aging, because of being cloned from adults. You see now, Edward? You hated the thought of getting old bad enough. Would you want to be trapped in a body that was decrepit afore it’d hit puberty?
Edward shuddered. Nicholas looked up from the text plaquette.
Why wilt thou still deny death? he said, sighing.
Because my life went for nothing! Edward said fiercely. I was created to save mankind from its misery, and my makers wasted me on petty politics and murder. I had a purpose, almost a divine one, and I never fulfilled it!
What vanity. Nicholas chuckled. Thou wert no Lamb of God, to take away the sins of the world.
On England’s pleasant pastures, etcetera, said Alec scornfully.
Edward ignored them, staring up at the camera.
Look here, Captain. Granting that another body couldn’t be made from the one Alec’s got—we’re after our original phial of life-stuff, aren’t we? With which you intend to inform the little nanobots that will make Alec immortal. Very well; why couldn’t you make whole new bodies from the pure substance, also? Three of us were made, but there might just as easily have been six, or nine! Why not a new body for me, and for Nicholas too, for that matter?
Nicholas lifted his head, startled. Alec opened his mouth to speak but stopped, struck by the possibility. Mendoza, oblivious, was tying back tendrils of the grapevine that had begun to scale the aft companionway.
I’ll tell you why not, said the Captain firmly. Say I did it, which I could, say I got a nice blastocyst started and on its way to being a baby. It’d be genetically identical to you, but it’d only be a baby at the end of nine months. And even if I made it a baby cyborg, which I might, and downloaded yer program into its little brain—there you’d be, trapped in a child’s body until you grew up.
Edward looked nonplussed, but he said defiantly: Only a score of years, after all. And mightn’t there be a way to bring the body to manhood, before I entered into it?
Only by shutting it in a regeneration tank once it was born, and keeping its consciousness turned off until it was man-sized. You’d be cheating it of any life or personality of its own, the Captain told him. A ghost possessing an idiot.
Edward sneered. And pray, tell me how that would differ from my present predicament?
Alec clenched his fists and half rose, but the Captain barked out:
Stand to! No brawling on this ship, d’y’hear? Now you listen, Commander Edward Alton Bell-Fairfax. Even if I was to clone a new body for you—which I ain’t—there’d still be the problem of where the little bugger’d live for the first nine months. When Dr. Zeus was growing you lot from a spitwad o’ cells into babies, he had to get you human host mothers. The trick can only be done in a woman’s womb. Which we ain’t got.
Edward turned slowly to look at Mendoza, who was singing to herself as she picked clusters of grapes.
Haven’t we? said Edward. I rather think we have.
The Captain said something unprintable. There followed a moment of stupefied silence before Alec gasped:
You shracking bastard!
Edward looked scornful. Ah, but I know your difficulty. Your future’s ruled by those Ephesian termagants, isn’t it? You’ve been persuaded childbed is some sort of horrific ordeal. Would I entertain the idea for a moment, if that were really the case?
Thou lov’st her not, growled Nicholas, shaking his head. My poor mother died of me, so young she was, so monstrous was I in her little body. She went cold to her grave as I mewled in the nurse’s arms.
But our lady’s immortal, man, Edward protested. She wouldn’t die.
It would hurt her! Alec said.
No more than any woman out of the uncounted millions who have borne children safely, Edward countered, and perhaps less. Good God, the maternal instinct is the foundation of the female soul! What could be more natural than to give her a child, in the only way possible for us?
And what more unnatural than his desire? Nicholas said in disgust. Filthy incest, when the cold-eyed boy was tall enough to demand her favor.
That’s wrong, Alec said.
Is it? Stop frightening him, you pious fool! Alec, don’t you see there’d be no actual blood relation at all? We’re so far beyond the pale of humanity that his damned Bible and its prohibitions don’t apply to us. We have no fathers. We have no mothers. We are ourselves alone, and the only family we have is that one woman! Edward thrust out his arm at Mendoza. She glanced up from the basket of grapes and smiled.
“We’ve got nearly enough to make a little wine,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Chateau de Morgan.”
“Ay, sweetheart,” Nicholas said, smiling back. As she turned to hand off the basket to Coxinga, he glowered at the others. And she that hath suffered the fires of Hell for our sakes, thou lusteth to use like a breeding beast, he retorted. But thou hast forgot—
No, damn you, Edward said. Mightn’t it be a delight for her, as well? Why shouldn’t we merge with her in every possible intimacy? Wouldn’t we be restoring a natural right the Company took from her? Edward leaned forward and stared into Alec’s eyes. His voice became enticing, eerily gentle.
Motherhood, Alec, is a sacred word, not an obscenity. Human mothers love their children. We’re not human, more’s the pity, so we can’t blame the women who bore us if they never regarded us with affection; but it hurt you to the soul, I know. What if you were to relinquish this older body to Nicholas or I, for a fresh young one? Think of finding that sacred love at last in her arms, Alec! And do you imagine for a moment that she wouldn’t yield herself up to that purpose, if we asked? She who has suffered, as brother Nicholas so eloquently put it, the fires of Hell for your sake?
Alec gulped for breath like a man trying to keep from drowning. No! he
howled, launching himself across the table at Edward. I swear I’ll kill you first—
I see the idea appeals to you. Edward sidestepped him and pushed him back, slapping his face, but he surged up again and landed a sound right hook on Edward’s jaw, sending Edward reeling, and both Alec and Nicholas were jerked after him as he fell. Mendoza was still singing quietly as she tidied up the vines, the same little tune with which she’d lulled Edward to sleep.
Stand to! Stand to now! Nobody’s killing anybody, I say! And nobody’s having no babies neither, d’y’hear me? You can wheedle all you like, Edward bucko, but you ain’t getting yer way this time, not whilst I’m Captain. You leave off scaring our Alec or you’ll be sorry, and you may lay to that.
Edward snarled, rising with a dangerous look in his eyes; but Alec, panting, stared him down. As they faced off, Mendoza slipped into the booth beside them.
Peace, said Nicholas wearily. It’s all one, Alec. She’ll bear no children. Remember her book, how that she hath a device in her womb?
Oh! Alec turned in surprise. That’s right. She said she had a contraceptive, er—
Symbiont, Edward finished for him, and then turned suspicious eyes toward the Captain’s nearest camera. Does she? But then, why were you so adamant about—
She’s still got that, hasn’t she, Captain? Now Alec looked suspicious, too.
Of course she does, laddie—
He’s lying, said Edward in triumph.
You disabled it? When you rebuilt her? Alec was aghast. What did you go do that for?
Now, Alec, son—
He’s got his own plans for her, the old devil! Edward said.
It ain’t my fault I’m programmed to see you get everything you need to make you happy, is it, Alec? And you, er, did use to think you might like being a daddy someday, with a little lad or lass running about the ship, eh? So I thought, well, never hurts to keep them options open—
That was before I knew I was a shracking monster, said Alec, slumping into his seat.
Granted, I’d have to do some fancy genetic work, but . . .
I can’t believe you did that! Alec shouted.
Someone’s to have a new immortal body, but not ME, is that it, Machine? demanded Edward, and his smile was worse than his expression of rage. I see what you’re after, even if your boy can’t. She’s the chalice for your—
Enough, in God’s name, said Nicholas, aghast. Who shall protect her from us ?
“So how is Venus and Adonis?” Mendoza inquired, peering at the screen of the plaquette. Nicholas turned without a word and put his arms around her.
“That good?” she said.
“The story’s well enough; but cruel to the lady, with no care for her poor heart,” Nicholas said, stroking her hair back from her face. She looked up into his eyes.
“You’re worrying about something again,” she said sadly.
The lavender bush, across the room, had shot up to waist height and opened purple florets.
ONE EVENING IN 2320 AD
In the dark hall under the mountain, a single brilliant illumination brought a steel table and its occupant into sharp relief against the blue gloom. The figure stretched on the table was massive, bulky with muscle, not nearly so human in appearance as Frankenstein’s monster though decidedly healthier-looking, with fair skin a fashion model might envy. She wouldn’t envy him his face, though, with his flat forehead sloping straight back and his newly-shaven jaw that looked like it could wrench a steel plate off a tank. Wide eyes pale as glass stared off into the darkness, without expression.
He lay there naked, but for a folded sheet draped across his midsection, and his head was turned sharply to one side. A surgical incision had been made to peel back the skin of his neck and throat, exposing the muscles beneath. These too had been cut and opened out here and there, bleeding only slightly as the surgeon picked and prodded at them with his tools.
“Boy, no wonder you haven’t regained full mobility,” said Joseph, shaking his head as he reached for a hemostim. “None of these muscle groups have reattached. That virus sure did a number on your biomechanicals, Father. So, where was I? . . .”
He began to giggle as the absurdity of the moment struck him. Leaning over to catch Budu’s eye, he flapped his wrist. “Well, anyway! My stars, honey, who gave you this dreadful perm? You go on soaking your nails while I just take a second to go see how that in-teresting little old lady in Chair Six is doing!” He staggered backward, whooping in merriment.
Budu’s eyes swiveled sideways to regard him. He bared his huge mouthful of quite sharp-looking teeth in what might have been a smile. His instinct was to knock Joseph across the room, but he summoned patience and forbore, remembering that his son’s hold on sanity was a little precarious nowadays.
“Oh, boy,” Joseph wheezed, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. “Golly, it doesn’t take much to break me up, does it? Oh, well. So! Alec Checkerfield. Really in-teresting life story. The big smoking gun, see, is that it turns out Jolly Roger is a junior exec with Jovian Integrated Systems.”
Budu growled in comment.
“Yeah! One of the Company’s DBAs. And on twelve January of this year, all of a sudden there’s a news release from His Lordship announcing the birth of a son and heir. It’d probably be quite a surprise for the surgeon who gave Roger his vasectomy, except that the doctor dies in a skiing accident the same day, and isn’t that a suspicious little coincidence?” Joseph sneered.
“Dr. Zeus probably farms the little monster out to Roger and Cecelia because they resemble him and they can be controlled, since Roger’s owned by the Company, even if he is the earl of Finsbury.”
Budu made a noise that meant agreement.
“But!” Joseph brandished a scalpel in the air. “Even the plans of an all-powerful cabal of scientists and investors can fail. And the reason is, and I’ve said this like a million times now, we overestimate our ability to control mortals. Because, you know what I’ve learned from the Temporal Concordance? Cecelia will divorce Roger and take off to join the Ephesians, and why the Facilitator in charge of the project didn’t see that coming I don’t know. Roger dumps the kid at the family manse in London and goes back to get drunk on his boat, until he’s killed. Poor old Roger.”
Joseph’s mouth tightened, and Budu saw the light of obsession glaring in his eyes again.
“Poor Cecelia, too, even if she was a snooty bitch. See, there’s two more of his victims! They had a happy enough marriage, for what they were, and he comes along and what happens? Misery. Even as a baby, he’s gonna be wrecking lives. This is the kind of trail he leaves wherever he goes—”
Budu growled again, indicating his neck with one impatient hand.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Wow, I don’t know how I missed this thyrohyoid when I put your head back on but I sure missed it, didn’t I?” Joseph bent and paid close attention to his task for a moment before going on. “What was I saying? The kid.
“Alec Checkerfield. He grows up. When he comes of age—shortly after poor Jolly Roger takes the deep six, under distinctly fishy circumstances—he gets himself cyborged!”
Budu growled thoughtfully.
“Yeah, not a complete cyborg like one of us but something like a port junkie? Which procedure no ethical doctor would perform if they knew His Satanic Lordship’s little secret. He’s got some kind of inhuman powers. He’s a mutation the Company’s experimenting with, I’m positive. There’ve always been rumors about genetic engineering . . .”
Budu wondered wearily whether he ought to tell Joseph the truth. It wouldn’t comfort his son, but it would certainly bring matters to a head. And then, alive or dead, Alec Checkerfield would no longer take up valuable time.
“So here’s our boy, mean as Nicholas Harpole and dangerous as that other guy, Edward Whosis-Hyphen,” Joseph continued. “Does his thing on Mars and in his usual fashion makes things worse for mortals everywhere. Gets away with it, too, first stopping at Options Research in his time s
huttle to abduct Mendoza, for whatever reason.”
Budu gave him an impatient look.
“But we’ll get him.” Joseph’s voice hardened. “We’ll get the son of a bitch. If he’s even anything that natural!
“I think I’ve got a chance. You said I should get to know my enemy, Father, and you were so right! Because I’ve discovered his weakness,” Joseph said, beginning to giggle again and waving the hemostim around wildly. Budu put up one hand and clenched it on Joseph’s wrist, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Ow! Sorry. It’s funny, that’s all. Alec Checkerfield, unlike his previous selves, is a kid of the twenty-fourth century, and guess what? Like all his generation, he’s a self-indulgent moron. Get this: the big goofball is obsessed with pirates. He buys himself a yacht the size of the Titanic, all fixed up like a pirate ship. You wouldn’t believe what he’ll spend on it!”
Budu blinked, struck by the similarities between the life of Alec Check-erfield and another Company foundling, of sorts, whose life he’d been investigating shortly before the 1906 earthquake had buried him under several tons of Chinatown.
“He likes his pleasures,” said Joseph. “It’s easy to set a trap for somebody like that. All I have to do is find him. Maybe there’s a way of tracking the shuttle’s energy signature. It works in the movies. Maybe I can lie in wait for him somewhere, and when he least expects it—wham! Strike three and you’re out, Nicholas, for keeps this time.”
Joseph fell silent, sealing up the edges of the wound. Budu swallowed experimentally, finding it suddenly much easier to inhale.
“The only problem,” continued Joseph, “is finding him. Even with him being such a big ugly needle, the haystack of time is so freaking huge. And he’s—hey!” he said, for Budu had braced his good arm on the table and levered himself up into a sitting position. A moment’s concentration, and he had shakily raised his head to stare down at Joseph. He worked his mouth experimentally, drew a deep shuddering breath and spoke.