“In the morning. Want to meet us there? Stall 72.”
“Of course. Tomorrow’s perfect. Gives me a chance to clean up. I’m a mess now. This is sweaty work.”
He laughed. “Can’t be nearly as difficult as building latrines for a tent city.”
“Maybe not, but this takes a lot more concentration.” She wanted it to be right so future generations would be able to look at it and remember the world their ancestors had come from.
“Is Delia with you?”
“No, she stayed back at Micavery.” It was weird sleeping alone, but she’d be home soon enough. “The fabrication center keeps her busy.”
“It’s amazing what they’re doing over there. Have they cracked a new loop yet?”
Andy shook her head. “No, that’s fiendishly difficult with the materials and tech level we have right now. Most of their time is spent on new plant and animal hybrids and on medicines to combat the viral and bacterial bugs the refugees brought up with them.”
She could hear his mental sigh. “Yeah, I’d hoped we were free of the common cold forever.”
She laughed. “’Fraid not. See you tomorrow?”
“Sounds good, kiddo. I’ll bring you some berries from the estate.” There was a double click in her head as he signed off.
She grinned. McAvery-Trip red berries were the sweetest in Forever.
Andy checked the time. She had just enough to get back to the house where she was staying before the ceremony began.
She missed her grandmother. Glory had been a beautiful woman, inside and out, even in her final year. Andy had been with her that last night, holding one hand while her father held on tightly to his mother’s other one.
Today they would honor her memory.
DAVIAN WATCHED as Gunner sealed up the rock wall behind his little raiding party, “growing” the rock via tiny capillaries that the human eye could barely see. The man was a marvel, able to manipulate the world in ways that would have made him a god, if he weren’t so badly damaged. As to his real name, Davian hadn’t a clue, but Gunner had been his dog when he was a kid, and the name seemed oddly appropriate.
“Good boy.” Davian tousled the man’s hair.
Gunner smiled weakly.
Davian fished in his pocket for one of the fungus “candies” they’d started growing back at camp, with Gunner’s help. The man took it eagerly and put it in his mouth, chewing on it contentedly.
Gunner rarely spoke. Who knew what kinds of thoughts, simple or otherwise, went on beneath that bland exterior?
It had taken a stroke of luck for Davian to figure out that the refugee had such a connection to Forever. He’d caught Gunner playing around with his power, using it to make little twisted men out of extensions of the roots that grew far under the world’s surface. Like that Andy girl and her father. He’d known then that the man was something special.
The others of the hunting party stood in silence, awaiting the orders of the Preacher.
Davian grinned. Being called the Preacher suited him. He wasn’t quite ready to claim godhead status. Not yet. “Come on. I want to make camp within the hour.” He’d taken his men on a raid to sharpen their skills and to get some red meat. It was good to feed killers on red meat. It made them stronger.
The wool was a secondary benefit, as was the fear and uncertainty his little raid would sow in the above-grounders. They had no idea how to run a long-term, functioning society. They didn’t have the skills to keep control of the human impulse for centuries at a time until the ship reached its destination.
“Come on, Gunner.” Over time and hundreds of brief conversations with the man, he’d worked out that Gunner had been sent up there as a weapon by the Sino-African Syndicate to bring down the project by destroying Transfer Station.
It still made Davian whistle whenever he thought about it. He’d been one of the few human witnesses to the catastrophic destruction.
Gunner had inserted the virus into the station-mind, the one that had killed it and then blown the station’s core. That Gunner had done it, mentally handicapped as he was… he was a powerful weapon.
Gunner had been picked up on the streets of Spokane by the Sino-African intelligence and pressed into service as the war was heating up.
Davian knew firsthand some of the methods that the Chafs would have used. He still woke up some nights screaming, thinking he was in the hotbox.
No matter now. The Chafs were gone to blood and dust, and they’d unwittingly left him the key to taking over this new world.
Now he just had to figure out the best way to use it.
AARON STARED out the window of his office at the gently waving, glowing branches of the Mallowood trees.
Today was the day. His mother was gone, and they would celebrate that fact with some kind of ceremony that Keera had whipped up. It rubbed him wrong, somehow, to think about celebrating Glory’s death.
His office was a far cry from the white, pristine office he’d had on Transfer Station. Here almost everything was made of native wood and other local materials, lending the office a warm, almost golden radiance.
Of course, it was aided by the glow from the plants and the sky outside. At this distance, the spindle—a stream of windswept pollen that provided a diffuse glow over the whole world, augmenting the plant light—was almost uniform. It obscured the view of about a third of the world above his head.
It had taken him the better part of six months on the ground to get used to that strange and wonderful vista—the sight of the world curving up around him like a great multicolored patchwork wall, cresting like a wave far above his head. Now he rarely noticed it, though some deep animal part of his brain still grumbled about it from time to time.
Once he’d relied on his AI for data. Now, his reports were mostly on paper. Sure, the colony still had technology—the world mind itself was a supreme achievement of Earth’s high-tech society—but they no longer had the infrastructure to build so many things they had come to rely upon on Earth and at Transfer Station.
His train to Darlith, for instance, that would likely never go any farther.
The Collapse of the Earth had come on too quickly for neat planning and careful stocking of equipment and supplies. It was left to the survivors to figure out a way to make it all work.
Some reports did come in over the network. Most people still had loops in their temples, though those that malfunctioned couldn’t be replaced. He took this information down on paper, by hand, using graphite pencils made at the fabrication center. At least they could manage that much.
There were more reports of Ghost activity all along the Verge. From the sheep slaughter that Eddy was out investigating to petty larceny—clothing stolen off the line, crops raided, etc.—things were getting tense. There’d even been a fire along the foothills of the Anatovs, which the world mind had quickly put out with some well-timed rainfall.
The Anatovs. Aaron shook his head. That had been a hard name to get used to. He could still see Ana’s face when he closed his eyes. She had let herself be subsumed into the world mind as he held her in his arms, deep in the bowels of the world.
She was still alive, in a sense, and his mother, Glory, was dead.
He spoke to Ana from time to time about matters important to the colony, such as the upcoming asteroid rendezvous, and she was still the same cantankerous genius she’d always been.
He turned his attention back to the reports on his desk. There was something going on out there, and it bugged the hell out of him that he didn’t know what it was. A rising tide of strangeness.
There had been personnel disappearances, too, over the last six years, in addition to the surprising undercounts at the refugee camp after the Collapse. Aaron was sure it all added up to nothing good. He needed more data.
Aaron sighed. He was putting it off. He knew it, but he had to get going.
“Hey, Dad.” Andy’s voice came through his loop. “You ready?”
“Yeah. I suppose so.” H
e’d spent the last month fighting with the world mind—with his own father even—begging for them to take Glory in. She didn’t have to die, not forever. His father was proof of that.
But Jackson had been steadfastly against it. “It’s not fair,” his father had said. “We can’t save Glory because we can’t save them all. And she would never have it.”
They’d kept the knowledge of Jackson’s existence in the world mind from his wife. From just about everyone, actually. Few people knew about any of the Immortals. Now Aaron wondered if that hadn’t been a mistake. In the end, he and Andy had been there for her as she departed this mortal plane, although Jackson had stolen the last few moments from him.
Jayson, Aaron’s younger brother, had been the first of his nuclear family they’d lost—God rest his soul—in the War on Earth. Now it was just him and his immortal father.
Andy pinged him. “Can I ride along?”
“Of course.” He felt her slip in alongside him in his mind as he opened his senses to her so she could see what he saw and hear what he heard.
Feel what he felt.
It wasn’t true telepathy, but it was as close as he’d ever experienced, a product of Jackson Hammond’s gift to his children and grandchildren.
He put the papers away in a folder in his desk and left the room, glancing out the window once more at the serene scene outside. Jayson would have liked it here.
Andy agreed.
He closed the door softly behind him, and they went out to find Glory’s friends.
Chapter Two: Lights in the Wind
LEX SOARED over his world, his golden eagle wings extended to ride the trade winds. He had taken his male form, exulting in it. Some days he discarded gender altogether, flowing through the day without worry for which side of himself he was presenting.
Far below, Earthsea stretched out for hundreds and hundreds of miles, smaller and larger islands dotting the azure blue.
He’d taken inspiration for it from an Old Earth sci-fi series, one that spoke to him even if it was just bits of ones and zeroes representing the printed characters of mankind. These humans, some of them at least, were adept at painting pictures using only words, stretching a twenty-six-character alphabet and some assorted punctuation across canvasses as wide as a world. Or larger.
He liked to go there when he was feeling stressed. To soar, to swim, or just to bask in the sunlight for a few moments. It helped him clear his head.
Only part of him was here, of course. The rest was still grounded in the world mind, running its processes, responding to its needs.
Lex shifted his perception. He had no eyes, per se, but he could see through the eyes of the humans he carried, those with loops and those with augmented abilities. Those who allowed it, anyhow.
He also had a small army of biodrones.
Lex could see the universe outside as well, through the sensors embedded on the flanks of the world. The universe mankind could no longer see and might one day forget altogether.
The sun was just a small ball of light from here. Five years of travel had brought them out to the asteroid belt, to their last stop before leaving Sol and her planets behind. The seed ship had been in slowdown mode for weeks as they matched velocity with Isis.
Lex went back to his sanctuary, settling down on a small island whose volcanic cone towered above a black sand beach. His wings disappeared, and his feet crunched on the sand, the waves lapping over them to leave a foamy rime on his toes.
“Who… who are you?”
Lex turned to see a woman standing on his beach, staring at him, her eyes wide open. The woman had black-and-silver hair and copper-colored skin. Lex would have guessed her age to be in her late sixties or early seventies.
He was as startled to see her as she was to see him.
“Are you an angel?” Her mouth was wide open.
Whoever or whatever she was, she couldn’t be here. It was impossible. Lex checked his subroutines. There were no AI personality files running in his Earthsea sim. And yet… “I’m Lex. And… who are you?”
“Glory.” The woman stood up taller, as if uttering her own name had given her back some of her confidence. “Glory Hammond.”
Lex didn’t pay much attention to the goings-on in the human world, but he knew who Glory was. “You’re—”
“He’s gone. Jackson. I can’t find him.”
How are you here? “I don’t understand—”
Glory vanished. A wave washed over the sand where she had been standing, wiping away her footprints.
How strange. Jackson would know what was going on. Or maybe Glory was one of his memory figments, bleeding through.
Lex slipped off to look for him, checking all his usual haunts.
There were telltale signs in the system that would usually lead Lex to him, even when he had shut himself off to work on something. Or to mourn, a human emotion he had only truly come to understand when Ronan, the Transfer Station mind, had died.
Lex searched for Jackson with growing concern.
He couldn’t find the other immortal anywhere. Lex felt a rising sense of panic, something he wasn’t used to and frankly didn’t like much.
Ana. He had to tell Ana. Then they could figure out what to do.
CASSIE CLIMBED the foothills at the edge of the Verge, carrying Eddy up toward the Anatov Mountains. The horse seemed to enjoy being out there in the wilds. As wild as they could be on a man-made world.
Eddy stared up at the vast peaks that towered above them. Even after six years, Forever still had the capacity to surprise him. It was hard to accept that the world—built on such a grand scale—was the work of the hands of man. Or woman. The Anatov—Ana Anatov—who had gifted her name to these peaks.
The foothills were sparsely planted, mostly a crabgrass variant that spread on its own, and occasional wildflowers—though to call anything on Forever “wild” was a stretch.
There were only scattered trees up there. The glowing grass had been beaten down along the path of the marauders, creating a dark and ugly stain across the hills.
It was hard for Eddy to imagine anyone doing something like this on Forever. He’d seen enough of the crimes of humanity when he’d fought in the wars that had consumed Earth in her last decade. But his world was supposed to be different.
The world was like an island among the stars. Where was there to hide?
He checked his loop for the time. It was close to nightfall. His circadian rhythms had adapted, aligning themselves with Forever’s days and nights, but he missed things like cold and hot. On Forever, it was always temperate, a side effect of the seed ship’s living architecture. It never snowed, and it was most certainly never hot.
He climbed to the top of one of the rolling foothills and turned to look at the world behind him. From here, he could almost see the South Pole, the wall that marked the end of Forever. Around him, the walls of the world curled up to meet high above, their point of merger hidden by the sky glow.
Micavery was too small to see at this distance.
He’d come all this way on horseback, while traveling inside a ship floating in the void. It was surreal. He supposed future generations would come to see it as normal, everyday even—but he was still an Earth boy at heart.
The grasses around him went dark, as did the glow that emanated from the middle of the sky. Nightfall swept toward Lake Jackson far below, passing the Verge, the ranches and farmlands, and the orchards where so much of the world’s food came from.
At last, the shores of the lake winked out, and he could finally see Micavery Port, the lights of it, anyhow, as they shone in the newly come darkness.
Above, the golden glow of the spindle had diminished to a silver gleam.
He sighed. It was such a beautiful world, but it seemed it still harbored some of Old Earth’s evil. Wherever mankind went….
Eddy dismounted, lit a lantern full of luthiel, and set about making camp.
IT WAS time for Glory’s ceremony. Aaron had b
een avoiding thinking about it all day, but his mother kept creeping into his thoughts.
He followed the path that wound through Micavery Port down toward Lake Jackson. The town had doubled in size after the influx of refugees during the Collapse, as everyone was pressed into work gangs to build housing for the new and unexpected population.
Two little girls ran past him, shrieking.
Aaron laughed. It was good to have so many new children in the colony. Though he supposed they were a colony no more.
People were doing what people did when there was space to be filled. They’d managed to keep up with growth on the food-supply end—barely—but at some point they’d have to look at some kind of population control. Another one of the long-term plans that had to be sped up to stabilize this new world.
Keera met him at the village green, under the tall antenna that supported the colony’s communications. They’d need more of them, eventually—another pressing problem that was put off until another day, when they could find the time to build the infrastructure they needed to manufacture that kind of tech.
“Hey.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“Hey there. Rough day?” She massaged her belly unconsciously. She was five months pregnant with their second child.
Even the director wasn’t immune to the pressures of his base humanity.
Keera had insisted on keeping up her work responsibilities running the fabrication center, and Aaron knew better than to push.
“Yeah, a bit. More Ghosts.” He was sick of Ghosts.
Hand in hand, they walked down to the wharf.
“That again? Half of those are just folks forgetting what they did with their stuff. Or not wanting to admit how they screwed up and lost it.”
Aaron nodded. “But if even half of the rest are real?”
“The marauders?”
“Yes.” Aaron was worried about the growing lawlessness. They were only two steps away from chaos.
“Enough time to worry about them tomorrow. Tonight, we’re honoring your mother.” She squeezed his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.
The Rising Tide Page 2