Beyond Heaven's River

by Greg Bear

  “He was accepted into the original group of nine men and two women who had founded and splintered the consolidation. And he promptly took a second wife, Diana. He had Joyaness’s full approval. If anything, Diana was more sanguine than Joyaness. He had a financial seraglio in the making. The three of them got along famously. Joyaness and Diana were sisters by persuasion if not flesh; and besides, Diana owned a great deal of Dallat’s exploratory branch.

  “Traicom became head of exploration. Joyaness became adviser to contract maintenance, and Diana oversaw the design and construction of the ships. Both women had daughters, one of whom died on a difficult colony world at age ten. Both had sons. Traicom, his two wives and three children—my father included—were nearly killed during the Dallat purge years. They became leery of that and put their assets into cultural data on a folio of developing worlds. They stored the data in two exploration ships and vanished for twenty years. Their two ships were among the first to reach the Greater Magellan. My father, Donatien, married a cultural biologist four years into the journey. She was Juanita Sigrid, my mother. I was born a year and a half later.

  “When we came back from the Greater Magellan, our cultural data had grown in value, just as Traicom had predicted. We were very, very rich—and we had information on things found in the Magellan, too—”

  “What things?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” she said, smiling, “but for the moment, let it stay a delicious mystery. United Stars was less socialist and more willing to deal, so my family established ties with them. Some day I may exercise a joining option and get support from USC—but I’m still having too much fun on my own. The family stayed independent, selling information when our funds ran low, reinvesting in data from free-lance expeditions to the Horsehead and Lesser Magellan. We doubled our assets in less than a year. Then, when we were just about ready to deal with Dallat and USC as equals, everybody went off on their own. After a tour of Earth, Traicom boarded me at the Centrum Astry’s best schools. I was fifteen. I quit them when I was nineteen, on my own. We weren’t nearly as rich then. Everything had gone downhill. So I took my share of the remains and formed an independent consolidation.

  “By the time I was twenty-one, I had found and explored four worlds. Good ones, too. I sold their contracts to USC, since I didn’t have sufficient assets to develop them on my own. Two others I sold to my grandmother, Joyaness. Her economische died with her—just two years ago. Father still runs an independent consolidation. We compete with each other now and then. But I haven’t seen him in a long time. And so, here I am.”

  “How did you become rich? I mean, as rich as everybody says you are…it doesn’t seem a few handsful of worlds would be enough.”

  “Two years ago I inherited Joyaness’s share of the family lode. When Grandfather died the same year, I got that, too. I put a lot of it into improving the Peloros. Since then I’ve been very busy. Most of it has come in the last year. Then some auspiseers and journalists decided I was news—to be so rich so young. They set out to make me a legend. I guess they succeeded. News travels fast—even trivial stuff, as if there weren’t enough important information to spread around. That’s it, on a chip.”

  “It makes me more curious than I was,” he said. “I will lay traps for you—lead you into more details.”

  “You can only try.”

  They lay quiet and listened to the noises of the ship and the high seas outside. Rain skittered on the deck above their bunk.

  “I read that some Japanese study the past very closely,” Kawashita said. “But I had to laugh when I saw some of their reconstructions. I can’t return to that time, so I might as well leave Earth. But this man—he seems to be more thorough than the others. I will ask him a few questions, see if he fulfills the purpose his kind used to be good at.”

  “What is he?” Anna asked.

  “A priest. After that, we will visit a museum.”

  Twenty-One

  The Kyushu Preserve was like an emerald set in marble. Not all of it was strictly preserve, however. Kagoshima was an amusement park and cultural center, which doubled as a sea protein farm. Those who water-skied on Kagoshima Bay were warned to be on the lookout for the occasional escaped Kraken or whale-bass.

  Much of Kyushu was hauntingly familiar to Kawashita. The city of Moji stirred him deeply. He knew it better as Mojigaseki, which had been fortified by the Taira before their defeat in the sea battle of Dannoura. That battle had been fought in the Shimonoseki Straits, not far from Mojigaseki. Kawashita’s—or Tokimasa’s—future relation, Yoshitsune, had assured the power of the Minamoto by defeating the Taira decisively. But Yoshitsune’s karma had gone against him, signaled perhaps by the loss of the infant emperor in the battle, and virtually as important, the loss of the Sacred Sword. Yoritomo, Japan’s first universal shogun, had later removed his valiant younger brother from this Earth in a burst of suspicion and jealousy. Had Tokimasa’s daughter figured in the plot? Perhaps, perhaps…

  Anna plucked at his sleeve, and he broke from his reverie. She smiled and pointed to the corner where they were supposed to turn. Moji had been restored to its twelfth-century state, and the streets were filled with people dressed to fit the time. Not all of them looked Japanese. Though most were citizens, many were blond and robust, and some spoke English, Russian, and Chinese. The confusion pained Kawashita. His memories of the decades he spent as Tokimasa were muddled enough. He was relieved to be taken off the street into an immaculate wood-frame house with rice-paper walls. They removed their street shoes in an alcove and were greeted by a plain young woman, pure Japanese, who led them through a shoji screen into the waiting room. There she served green tea and a choice of sakis with a minimum of ceremony. This wasn’t traditional but an accession to possibly ignorant visitors. Politeness was more important than ritual, and Kawashita approved of this.

  They sat on cushions on the tatami mat floor. Anna squatted easily, sipping the cha and admiring the simplicity of the decor. The woman opened another screen and gave them a view of a rock garden planted with purple-blooming irises. She then bowed and left.

  “This is beautiful,” Anna said. “Did you live like this under the dome?”

  Kawashita nodded thoughtfully. “When not otherwise engaged,” he said. “I tried to keep my life as simple as possible.”

  From the opposite side of the room a short, heavily muscled man entered. He wore a plain black kimono and his hair was cut to a fuzz on his mahogany-brown head. He smiled and bowed deeply. “I am honored, Nestor-san, Kawashita-san. I am Ichiro Yamamura. You will please pardon the lack of proper ritual, very sorry, Kawashita-san; but this is to benefit Anna Nestor, who may not realize the point, no?” His eyes were pitch-black with very large pupils, and his hands were rough with hard work—a distinguishing characteristic on Earth.

  Kawashita bowed and spoke only English. “By all means. No need to apologize.”

  “And to tell the truth, I like to relax from the masque now and then. The ritual is very enjoyable, but I’m not from your time, Kawashita-san, nor from the twelfth century—which, I understand, is your time also?”

  Kawashita assented with a slight nod.

  “Your message and reservation were met with great joy here. All of Kyushu would like a chance to meet you—both of you,” he added, smiling. “I am very privileged. Of course, there will be no charge.”

  “I won’t hear of it,” Kawashita responded quickly. “This is your work, your business. We’ll pay the regular fee.”

  “Ah, in this day it is polite to say such things, but let me reach back to a time when refusing such an offer was the height of boorishness, no? Very sorry, but this will be—as some Americans have said—on the house.”

  Kawashita smiled and graciously agreed.

  “Now what may I do to help you?” Yamamura asked.

  “You may help me to find my place in this world,” Kawas
hita said. “Of all the people here, you are perhaps the best for answering such a request.”

  “So desu,” Yamamura said. “That is so, or maybe so. But I am many things now—still however, not a psychologist. I design religions for many kinds of people or lead them to find their own harmonies. I’m not just a Buddhist, please understand.”

  “Understood,” Kawashita said. “I don’t seek a religion for myself, simply answers about where I will best fit in.”

  “How do you see your universe now?” Yamamura asked. Anna shifted on her pillow and concentrated on the tea.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “How did you see it before this marvelous life of yours reached the point of…crossing over?”

  “As a vast, complete whole. ruled by the laws of karma, occasionally influenced by the”—he hesitated and lifted a hand to speed expression—“Spirit which occupies all.”

  “You believed in reincarnation?”

  Kawashita nodded. “As a match passes a flame to another match, or candle to candle. The passing of an impulse.”

  “Then you were much more sophisticated then many of your contemporaries, even in the twentieth century. Did you believe in the accretion of karma from past lives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there must have been some belief in you of continuation of personal characteristics from life to life.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Kawashita said. “Karma was passed on regardless of the connection.”

  “Do you believe in karma now?”

  Kawashita shook his head. “I don’t know. Not very much.”

  Yamamura turned to Anna. “I’m sure you’ll find a tour of the gardens very enjoyable. My wife, Aiko, will show you around. Yoshio and I have many things to discuss, and we must use Japanese for best results, I think, very sorry! Please.” The woman who had shown them in reappeared, bowed, and motioned for Anna to follow her.

  “What does Yamamura-san do to help his clients?” Anna asked as they followed a curving flagstone walkway through the exquisite gardens.

  Aiko smiled as if at some secret joke and shook her head. “I don’t know for sure,” she answered in very good English. “I’m more dedicated to playing my role than he is. When we meet, he plays his role deeply—a priest of long ago. When we are apart, he does most of his work, and I don’t know what it is very much. He builds, I think, worlds of faith for many people, many besides the Japanese. Is this what your companion needs?”

  “I don’t know,” Anna said. “Maybe another Japanese can help him.”

  “Perhaps.”

  They ate a light lunch of pickled vegetables and raw fish on a small frame porch overlooking an artificial waterfall. Geese wandered through the shrubbery, and Anna was delighted to feed them bits of fish and special biscuits. She avoided more than just tasting the fish herself, but admitted it wasn’t bad. “I’m used to much more processed foods,” she said.

  “Of course. It is very ungracious of me, but I have a question about Yoshio-san. May I beg your pardon and ask it?”

  “Certainly,” Anna said.

  “I find myself caught between times, now and then, like a ghost stepping out of a silkscreen painting. This is part of my role, and I accept it. But for him it must be a thousand times more difficult. Is he doing well?”

  “Overall, he’s doing very well,” Anna said.

  “That is fine to hear. Japanese are very hardy people, and in some ways the people of Yoshio’s time were used to being between two worlds.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Allow me to tell you a fairy story, still very popular. It is the story of Taro Urashima. May I?”

  Anna nodded. The woman’s whole manner was foreign and absolutely delightful. She had never felt so at peace as she did in Aiko’s company.

  “Yoshio is very much like Rip van Winkle, but even more like the fisher-boy Urashima Taro—our way of placing names. Fifteen hundred years ago, Taro was fishing when he captured a turtle, sacred to the sea. So he let the turtle go. To reward him, the Dragon King of the Sea sent his daughter, who was very beautiful, and she took Taro back with her to the palace of her father. The Dragon King’s daughter became Taro’s flower-wife. For a time he was quite happy, but one day he desired to return to his home and visit those he had left behind. His bride begged him not to go, but he was resolute. So she gave him a box and tearfully instructed him to go if he must, but to always carry the box with him, and never open it.

  “When he returned to his fishing village of Suminoye, he recognized no one. Buildings and forests had changed. He came across an old man and asked him where the Urashima family was. In answer, the old man led him to a crumbling, almost forgotten graveyard. There, Taro saw the gravemarkers of his father and mother—and his own marker, for he had been supposed to have died at sea, four centuries ago.

  “Taro became suspicious that a trick was being played on him. He opened the box given to him by the Sea God’s daughter, and a white mist escaped, like the clouds swept from the skies of a million clear summer days. Before he had time for regrets or second thoughts, his hair grayed, his skin wrinkled, his teeth fell out, and he collapsed in a pile of dust.

  “To this day, that dust may be found in the concrete and stone of Japan’s new realm. The ghost of Urashima Taro—and the gentle sin of his doubt—haunt us even now, for we live between two worlds, just as he does. Just as Yoshio. In Yoshio’s time, adjustments were very hard. And if he searches for answers, perhaps he should know that, remember. His people were like Taro in a new world, and they could not know how to behave properly.”

  Anna looked down at her hands, close to weeping. She couldn’t tell Yoshio this, not now. But it seemed so clear and compelling. Perhaps too much so. She glanced back at Aiko.

  “And if you doubt that Yoshio is like Urashima Taro, then remember…He vanished from a great steel ship four hundred years ago, and was not seen to this day. And what was the name of that ship?”

  Anna thought. “The Hiryu,” she said.

  “Yes. That means ‘Heaven-bound Dragon.’”

  Anna nodded.

  “Now. May I explain to you about these gardens? My husband does not like me to meddle, so I return to my duty, proper and honored.” She smiled at Anna and took her hand.

  Two hours later, filled with peace and a better appreciation for the patterns in the garden, Anna was led back to the main part of the house and shown into the chamber where Yamamura and Kawashita were still sitting. Aiko left.

  Between the two men were three swords, two long killing swords and a short blade. They looked very old, not by being decrepit or fragile, but by the exquisite workmanship. The handle of the short sword was an artfully arranged lobster carapace, each segment acting as a finger grip. Yamamura bowed as she sat beside them. Kawashita seemed lost in thought.

  “We have reached some decisions, I think,” Yamamura said. “Yoshio has decided against suicide, and I concur with him—though that may be because I am not truly accurate in my replication of the past.”

  “Thank God for that,” Anna said, looking at the short sword with more respect.

  “And,” Kawashita said, taking a deep breath, “we cannot stay here. There’s no place for me here, as I thought. Even Kyushu isn’t Japan as I knew it. This is a place for historians and tourists—for games, not simple living.”

  “I am not the one to answer Kawashita’s questions,” Yamamura said, his eyes far away on the rock garden. “No one on Earth can answer his questions for him. But he has asked about the Perfidisians and what sort of beings they are.”

  “Yes,” Kawashita said.

  “I think…” Yamamura’s mouth tightened. “If they are gods, they are lackey gods, servants.”

  “What do you mean?” Anna asked.

  Yamamura shook his head and broke the spell, grinning. “Pardon my foolishnes
s,” he said. “What can I know about such things? You see, I was right in not charging you, because I have answered nothing and solved nothing, only perhaps verified what was already suspected.”

  “What do you mean about the Perfidisians?” Anna persisted.

  “A guess, based on intuition, if you will. From my work. Again, I am proud to have served in my small way.” He smiled again, and it was obviously time for them to leave.

  Yoshio was quiet as they took ground transportation to their next stop. As they approached the bay, Anna saw a huge series of hangars stretched along the shore.

  “What are those?” she asked.

  “We are going to see them. Be patient.”

  “Christ,” Anna said. “I may not have much patience left in me. Why are Japanese so mysterious?”

  “Inscrutable?” he said, and she grinned.

  “We’ve been through that already.”

  “We like to give surprises,” he said. “We are like children that way.”

  “Oh.”

  The entrance was a tall archway, at least two hundred years old. Blowers hummed faintly in the huge hangars, but otherwise they were quiet, almost empty. Anna thought that whatever they held wasn’t very popular any more.

  “It’s a maritime museum,” she said, reading a display at the opening to the first hangar. She walked ahead of Yoshio and stopped, astonished.

  The hangar contained a ship. It had to be just under three hundred meters long, mounted on a complex series of risers and supports. The hull was scored and scraped and badly mangled in places—huge holes with steel projecting inward, revealing twisted decks, passageways, engines. The propeller shafts were bent and the propellors themselves covered with a crusty growth.

  She looked at more displays projected in the open air around the ship. “This is an aircraft carrier,” she said, reading quickly. “Japanese. It’s not yours, is it?” She looked at him sharply, suddenly worried.

  “No. This is Admiral Nomura’s flagship, Akagi. She was built on a battleship hull, not very stable in heavy seas. But she did well enough. The airplanes which bombed Pearl Harbor flew from this ship.”