A. Warren Merkey

by Far Freedom

  I felt no pressure at all now but I still wanted to remember more. I wanted to remember Sunny. Even though it had to include the moment Jessie and I said goodbye to him.

  Then came Oz. I dwelt for a long moment on White Bridge. I tried to rush past the slaughter in the park. Playing the piano while Zakiya sang in the nightclub held me for at least one song. Then came the horror of the barbarian games, the jump into the arena, the rescue of Pete.

  I was spent. I stopped.

  Memories and emotions are all we have and all we are. Perhaps this illegal and immoral copying of my essence would bring some happiness to those not as fortunate as I. And I would, in some way, achieve a kind of immortality in the face of the doom I saw approaching. My memories would go on without me.

  When I awoke, Pete and I were alone.

  Section 017 Parade of Dreamers

  “Will one of you say something?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “He called me ‘Mother!’”

  “If you don’t want that…”

  “Of course I want it!”

  More silence.

  “Well?”

  “We walked,” Pete said.

  “And talked,” I added.

  “Walked and talked.”

  “What did you do?” Pete asked.

  “We did what we said we would do. We made contacts.”

  “Do we have a place to stay?”

  “No. We didn’t make that much progress. We’ll spend the night in a public place. Did you see any place we might try? Evening is near.”

  “We didn’t look for such a place.”

  “But you saw many places?”

  “We were talking.”

  “Son, is something wrong?” Alex asked.

  “I was negligent.” Pete’s words, though spoken with little inflection, made me imagine how upset he was. I hadn’t been able to convince him I was not damaged and humiliated by the mind rape.

  “We were abducted,” I said. “I asked him not to hurt anyone.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” Pete said. “I was lost in myself.” He tried to turn away. I stopped him. Zakiya looked from one of us to the other with a questioning frown. She could see we were not physically hurt. Perhaps she was not aware of this kind of crime. I resorted to radio telepathy.

  {The walls have ears and eyes.}: me.

  {What does that mean? }: Zakiya.

  {We talked about certain things and hungry people heard us.}

  {Hungry people? }: Alex.

  {Do you know the phrase “lives of quiet desperation?”}

  {Thoreau. “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”}: Zakiya.

  {They wanted our memories.}

  “Oh, God,” she said.

  “Mother?” Pete asked.

  “Sam just told us.” {What did they steal from you, Sam?}

  {I gave it to them.}

  {What? How much? Are you injured? }

  {They saw a great deal of my life. It wasn’t painful.}

  { Why? Petros could have protected you.}: Alex.

  {I didn’t want Pete to hurt anyone.}

  {It’s a serious crime, Sam. They deserve punishment. “Pete?”}: Alex.

  {Petros. Peter. Pete. They’re just people. We’re all just people.}

  {They were worse than the barbarians!}: Alex.

  {How could it not hurt you to have your private memories exposed?}: Zakiya.

  {Why allow them such gratification? }: Alex.

  {Why hurt them when I might make them happy? }

  {They saw us in your memories? }: Alex.

  {I’m sorry. They did.}

  { Sam, it doesn’t matter.}: Zakiya.

  {I doubt they would believe much of what they experienced.}

  “Mother, what are you saying?” Pete asked.

  ” Sam said they overheard your conversation as you walked.”

  “I should have known better. I’m not functioning well. I endanger you. You should leave me.”

  “Please, Son,” Zakiya said. “I’ll never leave you again.”

  Alex put his arm around Pete and I took hold from his other side. I still had no trouble feeling empathy for Pete. Yes, he was an imposing figure with a cool demeanor that invited no sympathy. But he was changing, and I knew I was going to like the person he would become.

  Jessie and Zakiya walked ahead of us. The sunlight began to dim. An evening breeze reached us on the walk, bringing with it a mixture of plant smells from the farmlands. People now occupied the balconies and porches and verandas by the walks. They waved at each other and called across the divides. Many sat drinking beverages. They read or watched an entertainment projection. They relaxed in the artificial - yet normal - waning of the day, much as people did for ages on Earth. Most of them seemed to notice us as we passed, strangers in their midst. Some even waved a friendly greeting.

  We entered the commercial part of the city, the place they still called Havana. I think Zakiya, who led the way, was drawn to the sound of the music. It was as good as any reason to go that way. We found a park surrounded by buildings on three sides and water on the fourth. A band of musicians was playing a familiar old flavor of music in the center of the park: island music, Latin American music, jazz. It was upbeat and cheerful yet soothing. We found a place to sit together at a distance from the band.

  As night seeped softly into the city and the lights in the buildings and along the streets came on, a modest crowd of people collected in the area, walking the streets, visiting the businesses, talking in pairs and in groups under the palm trees. The scent of flowers perfumed the night air, warm with moisture from the nearby water. I noticed stars in the sky and for a brief moment was disoriented by the belief there should not be stars in the night sky, only lights from dwellings on the far side of the great cylinder. Then I remembered my history of space cities and the engineering that removed much of the “canned humans” effect of a cylindrical habitat. The stars were an image field that helped block the view of a vast up-side-down world that would always be hanging over your head in a centrifugal space city. I let the night have its earth-like unreality and tried not to be nostalgic for the 20th century.

  “Your son told me about Constant,” I said, hating the silence between us, hating the opportunity to think too much about myself.

  “He did?” Alex responded.

  “He didn’t admit it but I think he’s quite serious about her.”

  “Romantically?” Zakiya queried.

  “I think he was trying to get my opinion of how she might feel about him. Well, here’s my opinion: she loves him. He tried to turn her away from him. I told him that wouldn’t work. They’re stubborn and a lot of trouble, but they’re well worth it.” Jessie gave me an elbow in the ribs.

  “You sound too much at ease, Sam,” Alex remarked.

  “It wasn’t as bad as you think.” I meant the copying of my memories. “I discovered I still have all the memories I thought I lost. They’re just filed away more efficiently. I remembered things so clearly, it was a fantastic experience for me.”

  “And for the thieves,” Pete offered. “They seemed in a state of shock. Some of them were even apologetic.”

  “On the other hand,” I said, “I’m not so happy about our prospects for even finding Milly. We’ve been over all of this before. I keep imagining what a few thousand Black Fleet jumpships could do to a place like this. I’m worried sick that we’ll trigger a disaster. That we’ve already triggered it.”

  “We can’t leave Milly a prisoner!” Jessie stated emphatically.

  “Maybe everyone would be happier - even Milly - if we left her alone.”

  “She isn’t happy,” Pete said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Constant wasn’t happy. If I interpret her concern for Samson correctly, she must be very close to Milly in some way. I think she came to me seeking comfort I couldn’t give her. Now that I’ve met Jessie, I realize what kind of person Constant could be, if she had a chance.�
�

  “What do you think will happen, if we trigger something, as Sam says?” Alex asked his son.

  “If the Lady in the Mirror is threatened she may do anything,” Pete answered. “What sparse anecdotal history has trickled down to me from previous generations of barbarian Navy admirals, shows a pattern of near insanity. It could be a conscious effort to instill as much terror in the Black Fleet as possible. It could be paranoia. Or it could be real insanity. If the Lady in the Mirror is neutralized, and if I were still in command of the Navy, I would try to maintain the status quo as long as possible. Those barbarians who have the privilege and duty of playing roles in the Navy protect the Union as the major source of supplies for the Black Fleet. The Black Fleet is by no means a cohesive force with officers who would see the benefit of keeping the Union intact. There may be a few years before the Fleet realized its main restraint was removed. Then anarchy will occur.”

  We talked in the relative security of the park with the background of island music, all of us trying to watch for eavesdroppers. I kept drifting back into my library of memory. I had lived a full life. Milly probably had not lived a good life. I felt terrible for her. But I could see no hope for her future. There only remained for me to find a way to let Milly go. I believed I could not let her go, not without permanent damage to my self.

  The smell of food emanating from several nearby restaurants subverted my gloomy thoughts, reminding me that we hadn’t eaten since leaving the jumpship. Jessie also remarked on the delicious aromas by telepathy. The crowd in the plaza started to disperse somewhat earlier in the evening than I expected. The band had long since stopped playing. I noticed a man in a cook’s apron standing outside the door of the nearest restaurant, surveying the street and the park. I pointed to him and Jessie stood up. I followed her as she walked over to the restaurant.

  “Are you closing?” Jessie inquired.

  “Looks like I should,” the man said. “Why is everybody leaving early tonight?”

  “This is unusual?”

  “I normally stay open well after midnight. Come in. I’ll serve you.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Can’t? Not hungry?”

  “Very hungry,” Jessie replied. “We’re stranded here, without documentation.”

  “Everyone has a transponder. We may be a rough old city but we still honor credit from other countries.”

  “We are from very far away.”

  “I wondered why I couldn’t place your accent. You look….different.”

  “I am a stranger in a strange land. This is my husband Sam. Are you Korean?”

  “Mostly Chinese. You like Chinese food? I’ll have extra tonight. I’ll feed you.”

  “There are three more of us.”

  “Is that them? Big guys. Nice lady. You won’t make trouble?”

  “I promise we won’t.”

  “Come in!”

  We ate real food. I had a favorable opinion of the food we ate on the jumpship, until I ate at Senor Chen’s table. We stuffed ourselves. Zakiya spoke to Chen in fluent Mandarin, making him laugh.

  “That’s too pure for me to understand,” Chen complained amicably. “Not enough English-Spanish in it.”

  Zakiya modified her Chinese and suddenly Chen was very talkative. He kept the food coming. I strained to guess what they were saying, catching about ten per cent of the Chinese and about a fourth of the Spanish. I still had a deficiency in training to take full advantage of the language augmentations. Chen stayed by our table, since he had no other customers to serve.

  “I think I’ve hurt my mouth,” Zakiya said, “trying to speak your native language, Chen. You’re from the L4 side of the moon, probably Vietnam, even though your parents may have come from Shanghai.”

  “Exactly! How can you know this?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “Not!” He leaned close to Zakiya, spoke softly. “You’re government agents, no? You come to clean up the kung fu and the dreamer nets? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want trouble.”

  “What are those?” Jessie asked. “Kung fu. Dreamer nets.”

  ” You don’t know? You really are from someplace else? Kung fu is just that. Fighting. Very bloody fighting. Sometimes there are fatalities. The dreamer nets suck their memories out and everybody can share the pain. Terrible waste of time! Not enough jobs. I’m not saying I haven’t plugged in a few times. I try to stay away from it. People get addicted to it. It leads to other addictions. The only good thing about it, you go to a Mnro Clinic, then you have a good job for awhile.”

  “The dreamer nets aren’t only about kung fu, are they?” Zakiya asked.

  “No. I never plug into kung fu. Not the pornography, either. They have actors who do a fair job of recording plays or movies, but what I like are the first-person documentaries, where part of it is spontaneous. I’m surprised you know so little about dreaming. It’s been around for a long time.”

  “The technology has improved significantly,” Pete offered. “It falls under the category of immersive entertainment. The new development is in networking. Full immersion is banned in ninety per cent of the Union, yet it remains so popular that the networks are growing at a high rate. It may need to be legalized in order to protect users from its dangers.”

  “Which are?” I asked.

  “It’s technically a neural interface, which is obviously dangerous. Injury can result from defective equipment. Addiction and other psychological disruptions are common effects. Terrorist actions or mind control by groups with political agendas are possible. People are too vulnerable when connected to a device that supplants reality.”

  “Now you sound like government agents.”

  “Ex-military,” Zakiya said.

  “Navy?”

  “Yes. Does that bother you?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’m sure it does. Thank you for your food and hospitality. May we help you clean up?”

  “Not necessary. It was my pleasure. You’re the most interesting customers I’ve had in a long time. Navy! You never know.”

  “Can I sing for my supper?” Zakiya asked.

  “Sing?” Chen queried, looking around at his empty restaurant. “For me?”

  “If that wouldn’t be too strange for you,” Zakiya said.

  “Strange, no. I often try to hire musicians for the evening meals. Do you want instrumental accompaniment? I have a sound system and access to standard music scores.”

  “We can accompany you,” Alex said, smiling for the first time in a long time.

  “I wish you had a piano,” I said.

  “I have a small selection of virtual instruments,” Chen said. “Maybe a piano. Let me see.”

  I was only slightly aware of virtual musical instruments and had never tried to play one. Chen went off to a back room and soon a piano appeared in a corner of the restaurant. It was a hologram. I had to pull up a real chair to sit at the keyboard. I tried the keys and found the touch more solid than I anticipated. The tactile field effect was nowhere near that of a real piano but at least substantial enough that I could keep my fingers on the right keys. Zakiya, Alex, and Jessie gathered by the piano and we decided upon the songs we rehearsed in Oz but never performed in public. Pete sat with Chen.

  We sang the first song, and although we were a little rough, Chen was moved to applaud loudly. Pete looked at him and added his own clapping. Thus encouraged, we continued. For me it was therapeutic. I enjoyed myself. My fingers found the notes by themselves, my voice blended with Alex’s, and I smiled to watch Jessie harmonize next to Zakiya. It was a moment I wished would never end.

  Finally Chen could no longer coax another song from us. A few people from the street outside had gathered inside and near the entrance to listen to us. They applauded with Chen and then departed when they saw we were finished. Chen sprang from his chair to come and shake everyone’s hand and utter his praises. Pete remained seated with his eyes closed, making me worry about him. I came to his side and put a
hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and declared: “It is a good memory!”

  “Is there a place around here that might take us in for the night?” Zakiya asked Chen.

  “You have no I.D.? No transponders?”

  “Some of us have no identification. Some have the wrong identities.” “I have a room upstairs.”

  “That’s asking too much of you, Chen. We promised not to make trouble for you and that could make us break our promise.”

  “You’re not in trouble with anybody who likes to hurt people?”

  “All I can say is that we don’t expect trouble.”

  “I’ll take a chance.” Chen was perhaps too happy to be cautious. “We go through the kitchen, out the back door, and up the stairs to the next floor.”

  We spent a peaceful night, with Alex, Zakiya, and Pete taking turns at watch. When the sunlight came back, I relieved Alex and let the others sleep a little longer. I sat at a table on the back porch and enjoyed the city smells. It was strangely normal how smells could trigger memories. Something in the air was trying to open a door into my earliest memory partition: Life in the Big City.

  While I was sitting on the porch, Chen brought coffee up the steps. He set the pot on the table, picked a cup from the six hanging from it, and pumped it full for me. I motioned for him to sit down. He seemed pleased at the invitation. He pumped a cup for himself.

  “I found out why the crowd went home early last night,” he said.

  “Why?”

  ” Some new material on the dreamer nets. I’ve seen it happen before but never this much. A lot more people must be using the gear. It isn’t illegal here, you know.”

  “Do you hear of many people being abducted and forced to have their memories recorded?”

  “Yes, that’s another of the bad things about it. The demand for content is so strong, it leads to dangerous and immoral acts.”

  “I must warn you, Chen. Two of us were abducted yesterday. They recorded our memories. I don’t know what to expect as a consequence but it could put you in some danger.”

  “You were memory-raped? I’m very sorry that happened! Did they hurt you?”

  “I’m okay, but it’s possible somebody will come looking for us.”