“No!” Bobby said.
A short distance from the group of humans was a small-leaved fig tree that had fallen years ago but was still alive, supported by woody vines that had broken its fall. Three tree kangaroos sat on the angled trunk. Mbaiso, in the top position, watched the humans while wrestling with thoughts like none he’d ever had. Below him on the sloped trunk, the tree kangaroos Bobby had named Tupela and Tripela seemed more interested in sleeping than in contemplating the current situation. Mbaiso was not surprised or concerned at their indifference. They had been created long after Mbaiso, and for different purposes. They had never shown any inclinations toward decision-making or autonomy. Mbaiso was different. He had always carried out his instructions from the Creator, but he understood that things were changing and soon the instructions would stop coming.
Mbaiso turned to the other tree kangaroos and made a purring sound with his throat. When Tupela and Tripela opened their eyes, he lifted the front of his body and moved his forearms in a controlled gesture. His companions understood. They hopped to the ground and followed Mbaiso to the river.
Once at the river’s edge, they moved downstream until they were at the bank of jumbled boulders where Mbaiso had seen Ashley fall in. In single file, the tree kangaroos leapt from rock to rock until they were perched atop the large sloping boulder. Mbaiso then faced Tripela, sat back on his haunches, and began a long series of intricate gestures. As Mbaiso had predicted, Tripela signed back, ears flattened against his head showing agitation. Mbaiso patiently provided further information. Tripela’s role was important to his plan. Finally, the gesturing stopped.
Tripela crept down the sloped boulder. He stopped briefly to sniff a dark stain where Ashley’s head had struck the rock. When he was at the water’s edge he paced back and forth, pausing every few turns to thump his hind feet on the rock, creating as much movement and noise as possible. He then stopped pacing and abruptly leapt off the rock in a high arc and landed in the water. He swam back, climbed out, and went back to pacing and thumping.
Mbaiso observed from atop the boulder. Tupela had stretched out beside him and appeared uninterested. Abruptly, Mbaiso sat up straight, his muscles tense. A dark form rose to the surface in front of the rock. Without meaning to, Mbaiso let out a nasally, alarmed grunt. Tripela stopped and watched the water before him. He then thumped the rock. He thumped it again.
The crocodile cranked its tail to the side, propelling it forward and onto the rock amidst a storm of flying water. Its jaws swept to the side and caught Tripela’s head and left forelimb. Mbaiso heard bones crack as the jaw clamped shut. The crocodile slid back into the water and disappeared, dragging Tripela with it.
The flowing water carried away all signs of the disturbance, and the river was silent again. Mbaiso gazed at the water, the muscles in his haunches twitching, ready to flee if necessary. Tupela had retreated when the attack occurred, but now she returned to Mbaiso’s side, and together they watched the brown water slowly churning past.
Something large moved just under the surface. The crocodile’s head and back appeared, and then the creature went into a death roll, as if trying to tear apart a prey animal. Its legs and tail thrashed wildly, throwing water into the air and showering the tree kangaroos. Then the thrashing stopped as abruptly as it had started. The crocodile rolled over and floated with its white belly and diminutive legs sticking out of the water, motionless.
Tupela let out a throat-purr, indicating she was eager to return to the safety of the trees, but Mbaiso stayed put, watching and waiting.
The crocodile’s legs twitched, and then they began to move in a more coordinated way, as if the creature didn’t realize it was upside down and was trying to walk. Its tail then swept to the side, rolling its entire body over. For some time it floated there with its eyes and snout just above the water’s surface.
Mbaiso cautiously crept down the rock slope and stopped at the water where Ashley had washed her hands. The crocodile saw the movement and swam toward the rock. Its massive head inched closer and closer. Mbaiso’s haunch muscles began twitching again. His instinct was to flee, but he fought this urge and held his ground.
The crocodile’s snout bumped the rock, almost touching Mbaiso’s feet. Black pupil slits extending from the top to the bottom of its golden eyes revealed nothing of the crocodile’s intentions. Still, Mbaiso held his ground. He ignored Tupela’s throaty distress calls.
Abruptly the crocodile turned away. It began swimming, steadily and with purpose. Mbaiso watched it clamber over some exposed rocks until it disappeared on the other side, making its way upstream.
Tupela’s calls diminished in intensity and then stopped. Mbaiso climbed to the top of the slope. He turned to gaze up the river, but could see only rocks and water. The crocodile had a long distance to travel and much to do once it reached its destination.
While the others worked on setting up a shelter, Bobby’s job was to get the tree kangaroos to help him gather fresh fruits to go with the khosül—the sago and bug paste—Samuel had brought from the hanging village. Bobby had asked the copy of Addison to join him. The thing had been just standing there watching the others, so Bobby figured it might help to take it out of sight of Mr. and Mrs. Darnell for a while. And out of Ashley’s sight, too, for that matter. Understandably, she was still freaking out, trying to figure out what the Lamotelokhai had done to her. Bobby was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened too, but he was glad Ashley was alive.
Rain fell in spurts as it funneled though open holes in the canopy while Bobby and the Lamotelokhai watched the branches above for the tree kangaroos.
“I’m hungry,” Bobby said.
The Lamotelokhai didn’t reply.
“Do you need to eat food?”
The thing kept watching the trees. “No.”
“Then how do you stay alive?”
“I am not alive like you.”
“But you’re a computer. How do you get your energy?”
“I get my energy from things around me. Sometimes I need little. Now, in this form, I need more.”
“Because we walked all day?”
“Yes.”
“So what are the things around you that you get your energy from?”
“The air. Light of the sun. Things I touch.” It pointed to the ground.
“You get what you need from touching the ground?”
“Yes. And from touching living things.” It put its hand on a green leaf that hung near its head. Then it moved its hand to Bobby’s neck.
Bobby took a step away. “Well, I can’t do that. I have to eat.”
Something thumped the ground a short distance away. Soon there was another thump, and another.
“Sounds like they found food,” Bobby said. Watching to avoid getting hit, he rushed over and grabbed up two of the fruits, which were shaped like small footballs and covered with spiny green skin. He held them up to the Lamotelokhai. “What are these?”
“Yawol is the villagers’ name for them. Breadnut is the name Samuel would use.”
Bobby sniffed one of the fruits. “Is it good to eat?”
“I cannot know if it is good. There are seeds in it you can eat.”
When the breadnuts stopped falling, Bobby gathered about ten into a pile. Mbaiso came to the ground, followed by Tupela. They sniffed at the pile as if making sure Bobby had stacked them correctly. Then they both plopped onto the ground to rest, their hind legs sticking out to the side and their front legs tucked under their chests.
Bobby searched the trees for Tripela, but saw no sign of him. “What’s going to happen to them? After we leave here, I mean.”
“The villagers asked me to create the mbolop to help them talk to me. Now I am leaving the villagers.”
Bobby had been thinking about this. Mbaiso had become his friend. He would love to take the tree kangaroos home with him, but that was impossible. Questions would come up, and people would want to study them. “So what will happen to th
em?” he asked again.
“I can take them apart. Put the parts into the soil.”
Bobby’s stomach tightened. “You mean kill them? Like you did to Miranda?”
“Miranda was a living thing. The mbolop are not living things. But yes, like Miranda.”
“I don’t want them to die.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re my friends. Mbaiso is my friend. Do you know what friends are?”
After a short pause it said, “Yes.”
“Can’t they just keep doing what they’ve been doing?”
The thing didn’t answer.
“I want you to let them stay with Sinanie and the others in the hanging village,” Bobby said. “You’re gone from the village now, so I want the mbolop to help them learn to live without you. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“And maybe they can look for Addison. Then if they find him they can help him, too. Can they do that?”
“Yes.”
Bobby squatted in front of the lounging tree kangaroos. He reached out to pat Mbaiso on the head, but then both of them got up and hopped away. Instead of climbing a nearby tree, they kept going, headed in the direction of the river.
Bobby frowned. “Wait, they’re leaving now?”
“You asked me to do that,” the Lamotelokhai said.
“I haven’t said goodbye or anything.” Bobby watched the tree kangaroos disappear into the brush. “Can you let Mbaiso stay with us for now? Maybe just send the other two back to help the villagers?”
“Yes. I can send the mbolop you call Tupela. I cannot send the mbolop you call Tripela. I am not receiving information from Tripela.”
Bobby was considering asking what this meant, but then Mbaiso appeared, running straight back toward them. He stopped and plopped down in the same spot he had just left.
“How did you make him do that?” Bobby asked.
“I send information to the mbolop. The mbolop receives the information. That is how I made him do that.”
“So you talk to him, like wirelessly?”
The Addison copy looked at him. “Definition is needed.”
“You talk to him through the air, without touching him?”
“Yes.”
Bobby considered this. “You told Ashley you only had her memories from before the last time you touched her. If you can talk to Mbaiso wirelessly, why do you have to touch Ashley to get information?”
“Ashley is not the mbolop. I can talk to the mbolop wirelessly.”
Bobby sighed. “My mom would say, ‘you’re making my head hurt’.”
The Lamotelokhai stared at him.
“Never mind.” Bobby squatted in front of Mbaiso again. “I’m glad you’re staying with us a while longer, boy.”
Mbaiso twitched an ear to flick off the rainwater.
Quentin arranged the last sago palm frond on the lean-to and stood back to inspect their handiwork. The shelter was crude, and everyone was already soaked, but it would allow them to sleep without being pelted with rain. The others were arranged beneath it, busily extracting seeds from the breadnuts. There was enough khosül to last a few days, but the prospect of supplementing this mundane staple with something new was incentive enough to engage them all in the process. With some effort, the breadnuts could be split open by hand. Inside they were lined with rows of large seeds the size of walnuts, which they ate raw. Samuel said they were better when boiled, but there was little hope of starting a fire in such wet conditions.
Quentin inserted himself under the lean-to next to Lindsey. Samuel sat at one end of the row of bodies, pulling off chunks of the sago paste and handing them out. There was room for all seven, but the Lamotelokhai sat cross-legged just outside the shelter, facing them.
“You can come in here with us if you want,” Quentin said.
The figure did not respond.
Quentin held out the khosül Samuel had given him. “Do you want something to eat?”
“He doesn’t eat that way,” Bobby said, his mouth full of food.
Quentin withdrew his hand. “You don’t need to eat?”
“There are things that I need. But my units are efficient.”
This statement puzzled Quentin. “Your units? What are those?”
“They are my parts.”
Samuel asked, “What exactly are these parts?”
“My parts were made by my creators. This was their greatest achievement. My parts can do different things, but they can also work together to do one thing. Now they work together so that I may talk to you.”
Samuel frowned. “Your parts are separate things?”
“Yes. Working together they make me what I am. This gives me awareness and I can talk to you. And it allows me to tell my parts to work apart from me sometimes.”
Lindsey spoke up. “So is that what you do when someone removes part of you? Like when Bobby took part of you to make Addison forget? You tell those parts what their job is?”
“Yes.”
Lindsey seemed interested in this. “So if you keep giving portions of yourself away, how can there be anything left?”
“My existing parts make more parts when necessary. I must always have enough parts for my awareness to exist.”
Bobby said, “Can you show us how you tell some of your parts to do something on their own? Something besides making the medicine?”
Without taking its eyes off Bobby, the thing swung one arm over and grasped its other arm, pushing fingers into flesh. Suddenly the arm detached just below the elbow. The Lamotelokhai held the forearm out for them to see and then released it. It plopped onto the muddy ground.
Impulsively, Quentin dropped the lump of sago paste he was holding and reached for the severed arm, thinking in a brief moment of confusion that his son Addison was hurt. But then he stopped and—like everyone else—simply stared at the arm.
The hand began grasping at the mud.
Ashley said, “Oh great, it’s moving.”
It began changing. The fingers shortened, pulling into themselves. The arm arched, pushing its middle section off the ground like a huge inchworm and then fell onto its side. They stared in silence as the arm warped around itself, becoming a shapeless mass.
Then the mass grew hair—dense, short hair, mostly white but with gold splotches like islands on a map. The thing unrolled itself. At one end was a pink prehensile tail, still tightly coiled. At the other end was an absurd face. Two large round eyes sat on top of the head, turned peculiarly upward, with vertical pupils cut into ginger-colored irises. There were no visible ears, which made the head seem as round as a tennis ball.
The little creature rolled over onto its feet. Its pink nose twitched, sniffing the air. Marble eyes rolled one way and then the other, and then froze when they spotted Quentin’s lump of sago paste lying on the ground. With singleness of purpose, it waddled over and picked it up. Gripping the food in one forepaw, it climbed onto Quentin’s knee and held the khosül out to him. Quentin could think of no other response, so he accepted it.
Samuel cleared his throat. “That is a cuscus, of the genus Spilocuscus.”
After another moment of silence, Ashley said, “That thing would be the cutest animal ever if it hadn’t just come from a severed arm.”
“Very curious,” Samuel said. “This is a cuscus species I have not encountered in all the years I have collected here. It is no doubt related to Spilocuscus maculatus, but there are distinct differences.” He spoke to the Lamotelokhai. “What sort is this, if I may ask?”
The cuscus climbed from Quentin’s knee and ambled back to the Addison replica.
“This sort no longer lives,” said the Lamotelokhai, as it reached for the creature with its remaining hand. The cuscus stood on its back legs and raised its forelimbs, allowing the hand to grasp its chest. The Addison replica lifted it and pressed it against the stump of its arm. The cuscus began to transform again, and within a minute it was gone, replaced by a perfectly shaped and attached
forearm.
Lindsey spoke to the Lamotelokhai. “These parts of yours—they are what, little machines? Like nano-robots?”
The Addison figure hesitated. “Definition is needed.”
“Nano-robots. Tiny machines—microscopic in size—that work together to accomplish things.”
“Yes,” the thing answered at once.
Shaking her head, Lindsey turned to Quentin and muttered, “Nano-robotics is all theoretical. We don’t even know if it’s possible.”
The Lamotelokhai must have heard her. “As I have said, my parts were my creators’ greatest achievement.”
Dawn was breaking. Quentin stared at the sun, an impossibly large, deep red orb. Wispy spires of nuclear inferno were visible on its surface. A network of thin lines, like a symmetrical spider web suspended high in the sky, moved across the crimson sun as it rose.
Quentin looked around him. Water was everywhere, reflecting the red glow. Tiny islands of rock emerged as far as he could see. On the islands were clumps of growth in dark patterns like lichens, with stands of thin stalks emerging from the center of each clump. Bulges at the tips of the stalks danced as they swayed in the breeze.
Quentin floated above the water and rocks, and he knew he was in a dream. The Lamotelokhai was communicating with him, showing him something.
The water below reflected cotton-candy-pink clouds as they drifted by. A ripple broke the water’s surface, and then another. Soon the ripples were everywhere—aquatic creatures becoming active in the growing light.
Quentin began to fly, propelled through the atmosphere of this foreign place by some invisible force. Soon the rocky islands zipped by below him. He saw something far ahead—a thin vertical line, extending skyward from the horizon until it disappeared. There were others like it to the right and left, almost obscured by the haze of distance.
Quentin flew faster, until the passing landscape was a blur. But the vertical line still seemed far away. It was unfathomably tall, and Quentin sensed that it was part of the distant spider web he had seen silhouetted against the rising sun. The line gradually drew closer until its width was much greater than the others to the left and right. And still it grew, until it filled his field of vision. Its smooth surface reflected pink sunlight. Quentin slowed, and the ground below came into focus again. Large clumps of growing stalks dotted the landscape, mostly orange at their bases, but with dazzling blues and greens at the bulging tips. Winding among the clumps were thin paths, and small, distant figures walked the paths.
Infusion: Diffusion Book 2 Page 4