by Greg Bear
“I’m not sure. Some of them are. It’s confusing, and I’ve only been taking lessons steadily for the last couple of days. It’s all very political, that’s what Olmy tells me.”
“They’re advanced, aren’t they?” Lanier asked.
“Oh, yes, but not so much we can’t understand a lot of things. Our rooms, for example—they’re not very different from that apartment in the third chamber. The one Takahashi showed me.”
Lanier hadn’t mentioned Tagahashi’s treason. He didn’t think it necessary now.
“All the.decorations are illusions,” Patricia said. ”There’s a pictor—a kind of projector—in each room. It makes our minds feel and see the elaborations. The furniture is here in basic shape and function, but everything else is projected. They’ve had this technology for a long time, centuries. They’re as used to it as we are to electricity.”
Lanier reached out and riffled the copy of STERN, then pulled a copy of TIME from beneath it. ”These magazines, that vase”—he pointed to the art glass—”are just records stored somewhere, projected?”
“I suppose they must be.”
“Are they watching us now?”
“No. They told me they aren’t, anyway. Privacy is very important here.”
“You said you had an idea why they wanted you.”
“Well ... just a guess. Olmy might have been worried I would find a way to change the sixth chamber machinery.”
“But he wanted to keep you safe.”
“Out of trouble.” She stood and nodded at the decorations.
“Do you like what they’ve done?”
“It’s thorough.” He shrugged. ”It’s comfortable.”
“They’re good at matching decor to people. My rooms are comfortable, too. Not very much like home, though. I’m ...”
The edge in her cheerfulness became fully visible for an instant, making her eyes hard and determined. ”I’m not taking everything well. Some parts of me are pretty messed over.”
“That’s ... not unexpected,” Lanier said.
“They’re going to help,” she said. ”They’re going to help me find home. They can, you know. They don’t know it yet. But they will. I’ve learned that much since I’ve been here. The corridor is very twisty.” She tangled her fingers and tugged her arms against them. ”Let’s go join the others.”
Olmy stood in the center of the circular lounge, Suli Ram Kikura beside him. He introduced her to each of the five, formally and at length, telling her the functions they had served on the Thistledown.
Lanier was impressed by how much Olmy knew; he seemed to have kept a dossier on all of them.
“And this is Ser Suli Ram Kikura, your advocate. Your arrival on the tuberider was highly illegal, so she’s been of service to you already. She had your court case negated because of the circumstances.”
“And under authority from the Presiding Minister,” she added. “It’s not something an advocate of my standing could have accomplished on her own.”
“She may underestimate herself,” Olmy said.
“Now that we know each other’s names, I think we’d better get everything out in the open,” Ram Kikura said. Olmy took a seat and folded his arms. ”First of all, most of the citizens and clients of the Axis City and the communities along the Way—what you call the corridor—talk to each other by picting.” She touched the torque around her neck and looked at Heineman. Flashes of light darted before his eyes. ”I’m wearing a personal pictor. You will all be given pictors in a couple of days. It won’t be absolutely necessary for you to learn the graphicspeech, but it will be very helpful. Lessons should take no more than two or three days. Miss Vasquez, I understand, already has a rudimentary knowledge of picts.”
“Amenities,” Patricia said.
“I speak American English, and have for years, because I am proud of my ancestry, which is North American, specifically United States of America, even more specifically, California.
“When you first saw me, you might have noticed I was picting a flag from the U.S.A. over my left shoulder. This is frequently done by Ameriphiles; it symbolizes our pride. After the Death, it was considered shameful to claim either Russian or American heritage. Those who did so were persecuted. Americans were persecuted more than Russians. When South Americans and Mexicans repopulated large sections of North America, people claiming to be citizens of the United States were arrested. The Naderites of that time were trying to create a unified world government, and there was resentment against the former Superpowers.”
“That’s changed?” Heineman asked.
Ram Kikura nodded. ”The United States gave us most of our culture, the foundations of our laws and government. We feel about America as you might feel about Rome or Greece. Citizens take considerable pride in having American ancestors. If your presence becomes generally known—”
Lanier clenched one hand tightly, worried by the implications of indefinite secrecy.
“—then I will have to act as your theatrical agent, I’m afraid.”
Her smile seemed to indicate both humor and confidence. Lanier released some of the tension in his fist.
Farley shook her head. ”I’m Chinese. Do I miss out?”
Ram Kikura smiled. ”Not in the least. Those with Chinese heritage make up at least a third of the Hexamon—far more than Americans.
“As for your status for the time being, your presence here is being treated as a Hexamon secret. You will not have any further contact with citizens of the Hexamon until that situation changes. Nevertheless, you have all the rights accorded to Hexamon guests. Not even the President himself could take those rights from you. One of them is the right to have an advocate represent your interests and advise you. Should anyone here object to my being your advocate, let me know immediately, and another will be assigned.” She looked from face to face. There were no objections; she hadn’t expected any.
“Your status here is that of potential client innocents. That is, you may be of service to the Hexamon, and such services will gain you advantages—what you might term payment—but for the moment you are not to be disturbed. As innocents, you will be studied unless you object and the knowledge gained from these studies will be invested for you in certain Hexamon information banks. It will also be available to the Nexus and other governing bodies of the Hexamon, whether you object or not.”
“I have some questions,” Lanier said.
“Please ask them.”
“What’s the Hexamon ... and the Nexus?”
“The Hexamon is the totality of human citizens. You might call it the state. The Nexus is the main lawmaking body of this city, and of the Way from the Thistledown and the forbidden territory to mark two ex nine. That is, the two-billion-kilometer point of the Way.”
“You’re all descended from the Stoners—the people who lived in the Thistledown?” Carrolson asked.
“Yes,” Ram Kikura said.
“Excuse me,” Heineman said. ”How many people live here? How large is this Axis City?”
Ram Kikura smiled and picted instructions to the empty walls.
There were no data pillars anywhere—apparently their functions had been integrated into the inconspicuous room pictors. A very solid looking image of the Axis City appeared next to her, rotating slowly. Heineman leaned forward in his seat, frowning in concentration.
“One hundred million humans occupy the city and the Way. Ten million live off-city, along the Way, chiefly traders and coordinators of the five hundred and seventy-one active wells. Ninety million live in the Axis City. Of these, seventy million are in City Memory. Most of those have lived out their legal two incarnations and have retired their bodies to exist as personality patterns in the City Memory environment. Under special circumstances, they may be assigned new bodies, but most often they are content in Memory. Some five million deviant personalities—those who are incomplete or deranged in such a way they cannot be redeemed, even with extreme methods of therapy—are kept inactive.”
“
People don’t die?” Carrolson asked.
“Death and dying here usually refer to loss of corporeal states, not mental states. In a word, no, or very rarely,” Ram Kikura said.
“All of us are equipped with implants.” She touched a spot behind her ear, then moved her finger to a spot above the bridge of her nose.
“They supplement our reasoning, and should an accident occur, they retain a record of our most recent experiences and personality. The implant is almost indestructible—it is the first thing we recover from the victim of an accident. Every few days, we update our backups in City Memory with reds from these implants. That way, a personality can be quickly reconstructed. All we need to do is make a final update and inhabit a new body, and the resurrection is indistinguishable from the original.”
She looked around the room, ready to field more questions.
There were none; implications were beginning to sink in.
”I’ll use Olmy as an example,” Ram Kikura said. ”With his permission ... ?”
Olmy nodded.
“He is something of a rarity because of his age and history. His original body was born five centuries ago. His first death was by accident; the destruction was not total, so he was reconstructed. Since he was considered important to the Hexamon and was involved in dangerous work, he was allowed three incarnations, rather than the usual two. His present body is adapted for specialty work; it’s a popular type and is completely self-contained. His waste systems are also closed. Within his abdomen there is a small power supply; all his wastes are reprocessed internally. He needs to replace his power source and bring in supplementary materials only once a year. He requires water every three months.”
“Are you human?” Carrolson asked Olmy pointedly.
“I am,” Olmy said. ”I presume you’re curious about my sexuality?”
“What ... Yes, frankly,” Carrolson admitted. Heineman squinted one eye and raised the opposite brow.
“I am fully masculine by birth and choice, and my sexual organs are functional.”
“They are, indeed,” Ram Kikura said. ”But natal sexual orientation, even in those born naturally, is not necessarily permanent.”
“You mean, once a man, not always a man?” Farley asked.
“Or a woman. Or man or woman. Many neomorphs today have no specific sexual orientation.”
“You talk about those born naturally,” Heineman said. “You have test-tube babies, that sort of thing?”
“At the risk of shocking you—which may be unavoidable—most people today are not born of man and woman. Their personalities are created by one or more parents through the merging of partial personalities in City Memory, with the infusion of what we call Mystery from at least one individual, usually a parent. The young personality is educated and tested in City Memory, and if it passes certain tests, it ‘matures,’ that is, it earns its first incarnation, most often as a mature young adult. The corpus the personality inhabits may be designed by the parents, or by the individual. If in time the corporeal citizen uses its two incarnations, it then retires to City Memory.”
Carrolson started to say something, thought better of it, then decided to speak anyway. ”Are the people without bodies—in the computers are they human, are they alive?” she asked.
“They believe so,” Ram Kikura said. ”They have specific rights, and certain duties, as well, though by necessity their say in government is less than that of corporeal citizens. But if I may suggest we are not discussing the subjects of most immediate importance ...” She pointed toward the rotating image of the city.
“This is where you will stay. For the time being, you cannot return to the Thistledown. Your home will be in this precinct, Axis Nader, where conditions are reasonably familiar—design, culture, people. Though you may not meet them for some time, this precinct is inhabited by orthodox Naderites.
“Miss Vasquez has told Ser Olmy that some of you are aware of the basics of our history. Then you will understand that orthodox Naderites typically prefer conditions as close to those of Earth as possible. This section contains many areas of natural beauty and as few illusions in the public thoroughfares as possible. There are two other rotating precincts—Axis Thoreau and Axis Euclid—spaced beyond the Central City. Axis Thoreau is also occupied by Naderites, though of a more liberal persuasion.”
“More questions,” Lanier said. ”When can we return to our people?”
“I don’t know. That decision isn’t ours to make.”
“Can we send a message to them?”
“No,” Olmy said. ”Technically, your people are in violation.”
“Isn’t the situation a little unusual?” Lanier asked. ”Now that the Thistledown has returned to Earth ...” Olmy looked distinctly uncomfortable. ”Unusual. And very complicated.”
Patricia touched Lanier’s hand and gave a slight shake of her head: enough for now.
“After you’ve eaten, you will have time to become reacquainted and learn how to use your accommodations. Then you may rest. Tomorrow morning, you will be awakened in your rooms. Please return here.”
In the hallway, Patricia walked close to Lanier. ”We’re pawns,” she said in an undertone. ”We’ve set off alarms.”
She held her finger to her lips and darted into her doorway.
Chapter Forty-five
Wu and Chang walked arm-in-arm from the train station to the library plaza, saying little but obviously content with each other’s company. They had decided, hours before, to go to the library together, to make the pilgrimage that so many were planning but few had time to actually do. Singly and in groups, perhaps a total of twenty members of the NATO and allied forces and the science teams had gone and had returned with awed reports of the library’s potential.
This impressed Wu; he had asked permission of Hua Ling, and since their studies had been reduced in scope, the leader of the Chinese team had agreed.
But something was wrong. Russian soldiers milled outside the library in some confusion. As they spotted Wu and Chang crossing the plaza, alone, they dropped prone on the pavement and raised their rifles. Wu held up his hands instinctively; Chang backed away a step and seemed ready to run.
“No, my love,” Wu whispered.
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t know. I recommend we make no fast moves.”
She edged up beside him and raised her hands high as well, glancing at him for approval. He nodded.
They maintained this position for several long and unpleasant minutes while a few of the soldiers crawled toward each other and conferred.
Then a command was barked and all but two of the Russians stood and slung their rifles.
“Can we move now?” Chang asked.
“No; we are still in danger.”
Two Russians walked across the plaza toward them. Some meters distant, they stopped. ”Do you speak Russian?” one asked, in Russian.
“I do,” Chang replied in kind. ”My English is better.”
“My terrible English,” the spokesman said, demonstrating his point. “You are Chinese?”
“Yes. We were on a walk,” Chang said. From this point on, they spoke Russian.
“I am Corporal Rodzhensky, and this is Corporal Fremov. Something has gone wrong in the library; we are not sure what. We cannot allow anyone to pass; besides, the building is closed and will not open for us.”
“Do you have any idea what the trouble is?” Chang asked, struggling to appear especially interested and polite.
“No. We heard gunfire, and then the black ... wall closed, and would not open.”
“Why was there gunfire?”
“We do not know,” Rodzhensky said, glancing nervously at Fremov. “We have communicated with our superiors in the fourth chamber, but they have not arrived yet.”
“We will help any way we can,” Chang said. “Or, if you wish, we will leave.”
“No ... Perhaps you can approach the door, try to make it open. It may be ridiculous, bu
t then again ...” Rodzhensky shrugged, then suddenly realized guns were still being trained on the pair. ”Do you have weapons?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at the prone riflemen.
“No. We are scientists.”
Rodzhensky called out for the riflemen to put away their guns.
“We are not familiar with this place,” he said. ”It makes us nervous. Especially now. Our officers are inside that building—searching for a fugitive.” He frowned and seemed to realize he was revealing too much to outsiders. ”Please, come with us and see if the door will open for you.”
Chang explained what had happened to Wu, who maintained a look of intense interest as they were escorted to the library entrance. The soldiers milled around in some confusion. Wu approached the black wall, hands held up, and touched the smooth surface with his fingers and palms.
It did not dilate, as he had been told to expect. He stepped back and lowered his hands. ”Sorry,” he said. ”It doesn’t—“
A low, vibrating series of tones issued from the wall, and repeated, followed by a voice. ”Police attention required in this precinct,” the voice said in Russian. ”No entrance to unauthorized personnel. Please alert medical and police authorities immediately. No entrance allowed.” It then repeated its message in English and Chinese.
The soldiers backed away, AKVs unslung and pistols drawn.
“Something must have happened inside,” Chang said calmly to Rodzhensky. “Perhaps we should tell our own superiors. Wouldn’t that be wise?”
She looked up at the Russian with her narrow almond eyes, her face a mask of persuasion and equanimity. Wu felt tremendous admiration for her. He had never seen her react to this sort of crisis.
Corporal Rodzhensky thought that over, shook his head firmly, then slumped his tension-hunched shoulders and seemed to reconsider. ”What do we do if it doesn’t open?” he asked.
“It doesn’t open now.”
“Our leaders are inside,” he said.
Chang maintained her intent gaze.
“Yes—all right,” Rodzhensky finally said. ”Please go and bring your own superiors.”
“Thank you,” Chang said. She took Wu by the arm and walked with him back across the plaza.