Beyond Heaven's River

by Greg Bear

  “None to spare,” Anna said.

  “How long before your ship returns?”

  She caught herself before answering. “Any time now.”

  “Would it be possible to purchase one from your lander? I’m sure you have several redundant systems—but our craft is much older…”

  “As I said, none to spare.”

  “No lander,” Oomalo said. “Of course not. Where would you go? I’m being silly. But that puts us in a fix. Without that rotor, we’d take a substantial risk trying to get back to the ship. I hope you won’t mind if we stay hare until your ship returns? If it’s no imposition.”

  Anna tapped her fingers on the table, pausing before saying, “No. No imposition. We have a small building not far from here which should hold you comfortably.”

  “Are there any animals?” Alae asked.

  “Only insects. They won’t bother you.”

  “I think we’re a bit premature, approaching you before everything is worked out. But we expected to receive the transmission on the way. If Alae could get some of our things from the lander, we’ll take advantage of your hospitality and rest for a while. Then, may we cook you dinner? I’m sure your foodstuffs are preferable to our own—but I’m a fair cook, and Alae does wonderful things with hydroponic materials.”

  “Of course,” Anna said. She followed them to the air lock and stood talking with Oomalo while his wife walked back to the lander. The man was too smooth, too relaxed. He made her nervous. His calmness didn’t seem to have the same source as her own—a mask used while conducting business. The business seemed to mean very little to him.

  “She’s coming back now,” Waunter said, watching the outer hatch light come on. “This is really very kind of you. We’re used to much bigger spaces than a lander affords.”

  “Not at all. I’m sure you have lots to tell us—stories about your experiences, how you found the planet deserted…keep us very entertained.”

  What would she carry in the luggage? Was there any way to detect it? The lock sensors—but not with Oomalo watching. Why was she worried? Calm. If they were planning, it was best to appear unsuspecting.

  “We’re not very used to company ourselves,” Oomalo was saying. “Living alone for so many years. I can adjust, but my wife may not react in the most acceptable manner.” He smiled. His smile, Anna thought, was really quite genuine and warm. When it wasn’t used, however, Oomalo’s face became a waxy blank, eyes bright and observing but somehow insulated.

  Alae stood in the lock. She was carrying a cloth travel bag. “Just a few things. We won’t be here long.”

  Yoshio met them on the path to the compound. He was dressed in blue coveralls and carried a piece of paper on which he drew curved and straight lines. He held up his scriber in greeting and shook Alae’s hand, nodding to Oomalo. “Welcome back,” he said. “I trust things have gone well for you.”

  Alae shrugged. “We still have to sell out.”

  “We were used to having one employer and steady work,” Oomalo explained. “We were free-lancers only technically…and the reality, so soon, was hard for a while. But we’re getting by. Aren’t we, Alae?”

  The woman nodded, looking between Kawashita and Nestor. Anna instinctively turned to see what she was staring at—nothing but a hedgerow. A small shiver wriggled up her back. “They’re staying for dinner,” she said.

  The meal was highly spiced, not to Anna’s taste. Kawashita ate it without comment. He said very little. The dome evening settled onto the open patio.

  Oomalo dominated the evening’s talk. Anna thought his quest for hidden artifacts on the Aighor ship was compulsive, but she listened intently to his description of the old guidance systems and computers.

  Alae sat as quiet as Kawashita, face expressionless. Everything was cordial, but Anna could not relax.

  She escorted the Waunters to their shed, followed a few yards behind by Kawashita, who still clutched his piece of paper and scriber.

  On the way back to the house, she cursed softly. “We haven’t got anything,” she said. “No weapons, no escape…damn!”

  “You’re worried about them. Why?”

  “Their story falls apart every time I come close to it. Who would buy this place? Certainly not the Hafkan Bestmerit negotiators. If they were interested, they’d contact us first—money is no object to them, since most don’t use it the way we do, anyway. So I ask myself why the Waunters are here, and—I don’t know! I’ve told them the ship will be back anytime now, but they know we’re alone here. We need something—the garden tools, something from the shed. A cutter.”

  Kawashita held his hand to his head and frowned. “Yes. One for each of us.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The bruise.”

  “Do you want a med unit?”

  “No. Just a throb. It’s gone now.”

  “Tools from the shed. Two cutters—anything more powerful? Can we remove the torches from the welders? No. Power supply is too big. Anything else?”

  He shook his head.

  “And let’s not get separated while they’re here. We should stay within sight of each other at all times. Let’s go into the garden.” He followed and stood in the cricket-filled dusk while she rummaged in the shed. “Carry it in your pocket,” she said as she came out. She showed him how to collapse the handle of the pistol-shaped tool.

  “When it’s folded, it won’t work. To unfold it, push this button, and to release the safety, push again. I’m going to do something illegal here. Donatien taught me this a long time ago, along with general lessons in dirty fighting. When the handle is partially collapsed, a gap appears between the upper grip and the body—here, see? There’s a small brain in the cutter which decides whether or not activating the tool will harm an animal. If it thinks it will, the cutter shuts down temporarily. The sensor wires are on one side of the gap—but if we cut them, it just deactivates the whole tool. We can, however, smash the brain with a short blade.” She took out a pocket knife and performed the operation on both cutters.

  “Now look. My cutter is on, set to three inches. I’m going to slice my finger a bit.” The glowing field nudged her index finger and drew a drop of blood. “It’ll extend to twenty feet and cut flesh down to bone—but it won’t cut through bone. It’s a small garden tool, not set for anything tougher than a wood stem. So aim at someone’s throat, or the abdomen, and remember—the field is rigid. It extends across twenty feet, but it’ll take quite a swing to cut anything at the extreme end. It’s best at edge-cutting, and not very good at puncturing.”

  Kawashita folded the altered cutter and put it in his pocket.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” Anna said.

  “Everything will be fine.” He smiled.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Not super, but I’ll do.” He walked back to the house, moving slowly from side to side on the path. He stopped once and bent to pick a handful of rye grass, sniffing it.

  “Why give lessons to an old warrior?” she asked herself aloud. “He’s the one should be lecturing me.” But something was still wrong with him. She shook her head. Holding the cutter tightly, she swung around on impulse and activated the field. She swept through a row of irises, cleanly severing the purple flowers. Then she folded the tool and put it in her waist pocket, checking to see if it made a bulge. The outside didn’t look much different from a tapas.

  Later, in her sleep-field, with Kawashita in a lotus position on his mattress, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. It was possible she was being too jumpy. Their excuses for getting into the dome were on the edge of believability, and Alae had opened her bag wide enough several times for Anna to see there were no large weapons in it. But a persistent voice said, Knife…wire…don’t let them near….

  Still, it was business. She’d conducted business before under wo
rse circumstances.

  The house and compound were surrounded by sensor nets. For the moment they were secure. She rolled over and looked at Kawashita. He was drawing on his piece of paper again—straight lines, curves, squiggles. There was a circle in the middle of the page, and all the lines radiated from it. “What are you drawing?” she asked.

  “Where we haven’t been,” he said.

  She nodded and lay on her back. A kind of numbness crept over her. Who was crazier, Yoshio or herself?

  In the morning the communications equipment announced a message from the Peloros. Anna listened to it before waking Kawashita, who had stayed up far into the night. As she bent over to shake him, his eyes came open and he stared at her. His whole body had tensed as she approached. Now he grinned and relaxed. “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Alert,” he said. “You tell me to be aware.”

  “We’re okay in the house, alone. The ship says it’ll be here in three days. Are you willing to leave by then?”

  Yoshio scowled and looked at his paper. “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps. But I have to go outside with the cart first.”

  “Okay. We’ll take the Waunters with us—can’t leave them in here alone. A group journey.”

  “No,” he said.

  “I don’t trust them anywhere but in their lander, or right with us.”

  “I have no fear of them, but I should not be disturbed by too many people. One can come—I will watch out for myself.”

  “We shouldn’t separate,” Anna said doggedly. “Don’t you understand?”

  “You underestimate me,” Kawashita said, sitting up and putting on his robe. “I slept with one eye open for many years, remember?”

  “You haven’t been feeling well.”

  “I’ll admit that. But I’m still alert. And I’m much closer to figuring out the puzzle.”

  “The paths?”

  “Yes. Statistics, distributions.”

  “I don’t see what you’re after.”

  “You’ll understand.”

  The compound sensors announced intruders. Anna went into the rock garden to meet them and offer breakfast, and Yoshio came out in coveralls. The meal was quiet, less relaxed than the night before. Alae commented on the garden’s precision. “I admire a solid view of things,” she said softly. “Things in their place, all’s right in the mind.”

  “Japanese tradition,” Anna said. “Tranquility of the surroundings, tranquil thoughts.”

  “Yes. I can see that,” Alae said. “Certainties.”

  “We were wondering what it’s like to live here,” Oomalo said. “This isn’t exactly a choice world—I say that despite our share in it—and surely both of you have lived in better surroundings. Yoshio lived in a better time, and Anna…well.” He smiled.

  “It’s interesting. We’re always coming up with surprises,” Yoshio said.

  “Oh?” Alae looked up.

  “Anna has found she doesn’t like going out after dark.”

  “You were a bit upset, too,” Anna said.

  “We both feel the pressure of something unidentifiable outside. Ghosts, perhaps? At any rate, there’s a lot more than meets the eye, and when the dark takes away the eye’s dominion, it becomes more obvious.”

  “You think there are artifacts?” Oomalo asked. Alae’s face became animated, and she followed her husband’s question with a silent movement of her lips.

  Kawashita shook his head. “Probably not. Everything has been searched, and the Perfidisians were too thorough. But, like you and your ship,” he looked at Oomalo, “I can’t quite give up hoping.”

  “Look at all of us,” Alae said. “Spending our lives chasing after the garbage of the past. Wasted information, wasted debris…very foolish. No certainty at all, no neatness even.”

  Anna was startled by the woman’s concise evaluation. “A syndrome,” she said, nodding in agreement. “Shall we invent a name for it?”

  “I think Yoshio and I would disagree with you women,” Oomalo said. “It adds richness to life…an expectation. The potential of discovery is what keeps all good people working.”

  “Still, it’s crazy,” Kawashita admitted. His fingers folded and unfolded the piece of paper. Oomalo dropped his glance every time the drawing was fully revealed, examining it closely. “I am going for a walk,” the Japanese said, standing up suddenly. Anna started to say something, but closed her mouth and clenched her teeth.

  “Outside?” Alae asked.

  “Something has occurred to me,” he continued.

  “What’s that?” Oomalo asked.

  “I’m not certain. Anna, will you come with me?”

  “We’d better stay in here.”

  “Nonsense, the weather’s fine outside,” Oomalo said. “Do you need company?”

  “No,” Kawashita said. Anna tried to catch his gaze but couldn’t. A sharp taste began at the back of her throat.

  “I’ll go along,” she said.

  “There are some questions I’d like to ask, things we might decide more easily if we had some quiet,” Oomalo said to her. “Alae has preparations to make on the lander, and we could—”

  “Are you taking a cart?” Alae asked Kawashita. “Perhaps I could hitch a ride.”

  “I think we’d better stay here, all of us,” Anna said.

  “Why?” Alae asked sharply.

  “We can get the negotiations done more quickly,” Anna said lamely.

  “I’ll ride out with your husband and walk back. We can talk just an hour or so from now.”

  Anna felt like shouting but kept her outward calm. This was too pat, too obvious…and yet, unless she deliberately accused them of planning foul play—and perhaps forced their hand, made them even more dangerous—she had no argument worth voicing. And if her fears were groundless, she’d be a fool, accused of inhospitality at the very least. That might be a perfectly reasonable exchange for safety. But her suspicions couldn’t override her caution. This morning Yoshio had demonstrated that he was alert, capable. He could probably handle Alae without trouble, and she was evenly matched against Oomalo.

  Reluctantly, she watched Kawashita and Alae walk to the peristyle. Oomalo sat in his chair, finishing the last of a glass of fresh juice. “This is very good,” he said, licking his lips. “Quite refreshing.”

  Forty

  Kawashita said nothing to the woman beside him on the cart. He was concentrating on steering. When he tried to turn it in one direction…

  He forgot making the effort. But now something was lingering behind the erased memory. Somewhere a persuasive force was weakening. He tried to turn the cart aside again and felt a tug in his head, directing him to another course. The tug was more obvious as they approached the Waunters’ lander. “What’s the matter?” Alae asked.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I can only go a certain number of ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something limits our pathways, stops us from going off given courses.”

  “But there’s nothing here.”

  He held up his hand and motioned for her to take the wheel. She did so, the cart sped up again, and she maneuvered it back and forth. “Goes anyway I want it to,” she said.

  Kawashita shook his head, irritated. “But you aren’t pulling it where it shouldn’t go. Try…here.”

  They both forgot. He shook his head to clear it. Alae stared ahead as if nothing had happened. “What?” she asked.

  “We’re here,” he said, indicating the lander. “I must go farther.”

  “If it’s so important, I can go with you.” She was clearly as excited as he was, but it seemed for different reasons. He was in too much of a hurry to argue. He spun the cart around and set it on automatic pilot, then examined his chart. W
hen he snapped out of the lull of forgetfulness again, the paper was on the floor of the cart, almost falling out. He bent to pick it up. Their direction had changed, but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t try to change the cart’s course again until they were six kilometers from the dome. This time he distinctly remembered giving the order to his arm muscles to turn the wheel. And he remembered the arms refusing. He slammed the cart to a halt. Alae almost fell out, cursing. Something clattered by the edge of the seat cushion, but he didn’t look to see what it was.

  Alae did. She was frightened by his irrational behavior. When he stepped out of the cart, she did, too. Their environment fields separated with a faint plop. Then she saw the folded cutter on the floor of the cart. She picked it up, adjusted it, and nicked her finger accidentally. She swore, too low for Kawashita to hear.

  If the cart wouldn’t turn, he reasoned, something was in its way. If he stepped from the desired path, he would encounter whatever the obstacle was.

  He held out his hands. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Whatever the persuasive force was, it was weakening. Just as the weather machines had weakened and collapsed, just as the environment in the dome had finally given out, a last device was fading.

  Alae watched him with dismay. He was acting like a madman. Or he was trying a ruse on her, to catch her off guard. “Yes,” she said to herself, “kill me, get rid of both of us.” She turned to look at the dome. She wanted to warn Oomalo, but it was too late.

  Forty-One

  It was all out in the open now. “What are we going to do, then?” Nestor asked.

  “Be more direct, I hope,” Oomalo said. “I’d like both of you to accompany us in the lander. It’s silly wasting your time. You’re such a powerful and intelligent woman—silly wasting all that here. Neither of you wants to give it all up—your lives, everything, for this stupid world.”

  “What’ll happen in the lander?”

  “My wife and your husband will be there. We’re all partners in this venture. You’ve tried to hide something, but we know now, and we’ll just take our fair share.”