by George Mann
On the way up, Jacob planted both heels on the floor and pushed. It was enough, just enough. The guard started back-pedaling, each step faster and less controlled. As they approached the wall, Jacob hooked a foot around the man’s shin. Together they went down, the guard laid full out like a tower tipping down, Jacob with both hands around the man’s throat.
The guard’s head ended its arc on a bedpost, iron. It cracked.
Jacob collapsed on the floor, sucking air and spitting blood. Fire was running through his arm, the nerves burning back to life. He crawled for the door they had brought him through and locked it. Then, stumbling, his feet shaky, he crossed for the other door. It was locked, but he put his shoulder to it a few times. The lock gave with a splintering heave, and Jacob rushed through into the darkness.
HE WAS LOST. What the Manor Stitch lacked in prestigious addressing, it made up for in internal complexity. What had started as a labyrinth of servant corridors and broom closets had finally given way to unfinished walls and stone floors that must have belonged to the original building. The air smelled like dry rot, and the surfaces were dusty. Jacob continued down.
He was still nervous about his lack of a pistol. Going in to face some hidden horror armed with nothing more than good intentions was not a popular activity in Jacob’s mind. Any chance he’d had of jumping a guard or looting a family hunting cabinet had passed shortly after he stumbled out of the blood splattered bedroom. By the time he thought of going back, it was too late. Alarms would be sounded, guards would be up. He had to press on, and hope for the best of luck.
Down and down, darker and darker, Jacob went alone, unarmed.
THERE ARE THINGS in Veridon that are older than history, older than the first people who settled on the tiny slip of an island in the Dunje river at the head of the delta, maybe even older than the river itself. Some of these things are easily found. The Seven Celestes, scattered throughout the delta, were once worshipped as gods or angels. In time their temples were abandoned, their visages bricked over or forgotten, their priesthoods abandoned. They offered no power, only mystery. The people of Veridon are a people of power and ambition.
Mysteries are dredged from the river, discovered in basements, examined and studied and exploited. Those mysteries that offered power are cherished. Those that offer only puzzlement are discarded, washed down the river to disappear over the vast waterfall near the city.
Stitch had found itself a mystery, Jacob guessed, and a powerful one. It was the only way he could explain their sudden rise in the Council, their transformation from swineherds to captains of industry.
Jacob knew he was onto something when he came upon a passageway that was free of dust. The floors were swept, the doors oiled, and the walls hung in nearly cheerful streamers. Not far along this path he found a door, and through the door was a spiraling stairwell down.
He had fished an iron poker out of a fireplace, several rooms ago. Jacob gripped the poker and, feeling a little bit ridiculous, crept down the stairs.
They were well lit and well maintained. After a time they changed, stone becoming iron, the walls smoothing out. The air was damp.
The stairs emptied into a wide, low chamber. Water lapped against the far wall in a pool that stirred murkily against the stone. The ceiling was arched and lined with brick. It wasn’t high enough to stand by the walls, and the center of the room was in reach of Jacob’s outstretched fingers. Light came from a series of sconces at waist height, all along the walls. They didn’t hum like frictionlamps, but burned with a steady, warm glow.
Jacob crept across the room toward the pool. There seemed to be more light, there, a turquoise dusk buried beneath the water. He was halfway across the room when he heard a metallic sigh behind him, a sound like pistons giving out.
“I knew you would come, after what Magdalene said. I knew you wouldn’t leave him behind.”
The voice was like gears grinding into the bones of Jacob’s chest. It echoed beneath sound, like the thunder of artillery heard through your heels and heart from a battle over the horizon. Jacob turned slowly, the poker in his hand.
In the corner near the staircase, hidden by nothing other than a lack of sconces in the vicinity, was most of a giant. He was made of metal, gears and pistons exposed beneath flaking porcelain skin, his face bent forward nearly to the floor. Only his right arm, his chest and the broad shoulders that led to his head were free, the rest was sealed smoothly into the brick walls and floor. As Jacob watched the giant raised his head, revealing his chest. And Micol.
The center of the giant’s chest was a glass cylinder, man high and full of liquid. It burned with a stormy light, lightning blue and wavering, and inside was Micol. He floated gently, pinned in place by a dozen iron spikes that sank cleanly into his chest and head, as well as a ridge of them from his spine that twitched like the legs of a smashed bug. Micol’s mouth was open, his jaw slack in the liquid, his arms bumping against the glass. His eyes were the color of snow, fresh fallen and clean.
Jacob stumbled back, a dozen steps toward the pool before he remembered the stairs were in the other direction. He hesitated, holding the poker before him like a holy symbol. The giant bobbed his head, tiredly.
“Fear is natural,” the giant said. “Fear is what drove this one away. I understand.”
“What the fuck are you?” Jacob asked, his voice a whisper.
“I am...” it seemed that the giant’s splintered porcelain face smiled, “I am the horror under the house. That’s what the Father Stitch called me, among the family. I don’t think he ever knew I could hear that. Some minds are clearer than others.”
Jacob’s head reeled, trying to find traction with that. “You can read minds?” he asked.
“Mm. Spirits, more like. Souls. I can taste your turbulent city, its needs, its wants, the wounds it tries to cover, the fears that chase it to bed at night. Individual minds are closed to me, generally.”
Jacob was edging slowly to the stairs. He stopped. “This is how the Stitch has advanced, then? Through you?”
“Mostly.” The giant covered his face with his one free hand, as though he were tired. “I have served kings and gods, Jacob Burn. Advised them on the state of their empires, the dreams of their people. I have dined on the passions of battlefields. A priesthood attended me, prepared their whole lives to serve as my conduit. And now I am financial advisor to a swineherd.” He lowered his hand and stared across to the pool. “This chamber is terribly small.”
“Your priesthood,” Jacob said, seeing a connection, “What was their role?”
The giant motioned to Micol, his skin bloating in the liquid. Jacob shivered.
“This is what Micol ran from, then? This was his duty, now fallen to Magdalene.”
“Father Stitch was almost eager to give up his blood for me. Their childhoods were clouded by this room, Jacob, always lurking below the floor, waiting for them.”
“So the Stitch was able to figure out the secrets of your priesthood?”
“They had help. Some other family.”
“Vellis,” Jacob whispered.
“Sounds familiar. I did what I could to help. I thought this is what I wanted, after so many years of darkness. But your city is stale, Jacob, and turned to trivial things. They live in the corpse of mystery, pick their teeth with the bones of angels. This is not my time.”
“I can help you,” Jacob said, moving closer. “We could bring you before the Council. A new priesthood could be established. You could taste greatness again.”
“And Veridon could ride me to an Empire? No,” the giant shook his head. “I will not suffer that. Stitch has already done what he could to use me. That thing they made, the corpse-walker. They don’t know what to do with power.” The giant bent his head again, his nose nearly touching the floor. He didn’t move for most of a minute as Jacob waited, wondered what to do. Finally the massive head rose again. “There is something, though.”
“What?”
“Free y
our friend. They were not made for this. The first brother only lasted this long before it broke him. It has pursued them for too long, ruined their childhood. It’s too late for Micol, but Magdalene can still live.”
Jacob shifted his grip on the poker and crept closer. “What will happen to you?”
“Sleep. I will wait for a more beautiful tomorrow.”
The giant leaned back his head as far as possible, revealing the glass cylinder of Micol’s tomb. Jacob took the poker in both hands. His first blow glanced off, but he struck again and again, until the glass splintered. First a spider web of cracks, then it burst, the liquid slopping out onto Jacob’s feet. It was warm and thick, like jelly. Micol flopped forward, the glass cutting his chest as his head lolled out onto the brick. Jacob could not tell if his friend was still alive, or if some other energy gripped the swollen body as it twitched. He raised his iron and, eyes closed, brought it down on the temple of his friend.
A long, soul deep sigh rushed out through the room. The giant seemed to fold, the flakes of his porcelain skin shuffling in the darkness. The cogs of his chest and arm spun and then scissored shut, pistons and gears folding against each other like paper cranes getting smaller and smaller. The bricks in the ceiling began to drop.
The giant gave Jacob one more sad smile, then his face disappeared into the mechanisms of his reduction. The wall collapsed, and the pool rose up and began to flood the room. Jacob ran.
The house was in chaos. The corridors that had been so confusing were now shuddering. Something at the heart of the building was suddenly missing, and the walls couldn’t handle it. There was screaming and shattered glass. Jacob burst out into a somber room, lit only by candles. There were pictures on the walls, their frames dancing as the building buckled around them. A quick look showed the eldest Stitch, and others that Jacob recognized, fathers and brothers that he had known in his youth. There were many other faces, though, bearing the Stitch features but completely unknown to Jacob. Children fed to the horror below, undoubtedly. A door opened, and there was Magdalene.
“Jacob!” she screamed.
“I ended it. I freed him,” Jacob said sternly.
“You’ve ruined it!” she yelled, then dashed down the corridor Jacob had just come from. He started to follow her, but the Manor Stitch shifted and the troubled walls began to tumble. He ran.
Outside there was a crowd, the elite of Veridon, their formal wear dusty with the wreckage of the Family Stitch. They watched as the manor shifted and settled, its center collapsing as the grand windows of the hall burst in brilliant arcs of glass. Flames leapt from the heart of the building, and the Manor Stitch burned.
“What the hell have you done?”
Jacob whirled. His father had a hold of his sleeve and a pistol in his gut. Alexander looked at the poker still in Jacob’s hand, blood at the tip. Jacob dropped it.
“Taking care of an old friend, father. A man who couldn’t help himself.”
He turned and left the grounds of the ruined manor. His father watched him go, shaking with rage, the pistol raised to fire. When Jacob got to the street he tossed his blood-smeared jacket into a gutter. Behind him the ashes climbed into the sky, mingling with the smells of the slaughterhouse district, torn meat and spilt blood, blood that had soaked deep into the stones of Veridon.
iThink, therefore I am
Ken MacLeod
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR purchase of a new iThink!
With its 15 Tb of storage, and automatic wireless Internet access, the iThink can easily meet all your information needs: work, news, personal records and memories, and entertainment media including music, movies, and games.
Please take a few minutes to familiarize your iThink with you.
First, take the iGlasses from the box and put them on. Hold the iThink in your hand and touch the center button of the wheel with your thumb.
A menu will appear in front of your eyes, as well as on the screen.
Look at any item on the menu and choose it. There is no need to blink or make any unusual eye or facial movements. Simply look and choose.
Confirm your choice by scrolling to the item and clicking on the center button.
Choose another item. Look and choose.
Confirm your choice.
Choose another item. Look and choose.
Your iThink is now initialized.
It is also personalized. No one else can use your iThink. There is no need for any other access control feature, such as a password.
(To choose an item when you are not using your iGlasses, simply use the wheel and center button in the usual way.)
Your iThink is now ready for use.
To recover sights and sounds encountered while wearing the iGlasses, use the iRecall option of the Playback feature.
The Playback feature has a date and time menu. However, over time, as you use iRecall, it will become increasingly easy to recover a given sight or sound simply by trying to recall it as vividly as possible.
The default setting of the Security feature enables sights and sounds stored in the iThink to be automatically uploaded to your national or local police artificial intelligence. This makes it easy to recover your iThink and/or its contents if your iThink is lost or stolen, and will assist you if you are ever called upon to assist the police with their inquiries.
Your privacy is important to us. For this reason, you have the option of turning off the Security feature at any time. For security reasons, and for your own protection, turning off the Security feature is automatically reported to your local or national security agencies.
To enter data or to write a document, place the iThink on its stand on any flat surface. Select Keyboard. A virtual keyboard will appear on the flat surface. Simply tap this keyboard in the usual way.
Over time, as you use the keyboard, the iThink will come to anticipate your keystrokes. Writing speeds of at least 60 wpm can thus be easily attained by any practiced but untrained user.
A large library of books, music, games, and movies is pre-installed. Other books, tracks, etc. can be downloaded from the Internet.
Google features including Earth, Planets, and Sky are pre-installed.
Use of Google Buildings while in control of any moving vehicle voids the warranty.
Games, from Tetris and Minesweeper to the latest release of popular MMPORPGs are pre-installed. Enjoy!
One game in particular is useful for keeping your iThink synchronized with your personal characteristics.
Put your iGlasses on.
Choose the Games menu. Look and choose.
Choose Predictor.
To initialize Predictor, click the center button on the wheel. The screen will now light up.
Click the center button again. The screen will light up.
Predictor is now initialized.
The object of the game is to click the center button before the screen lights up.
When you are ready to play, the screen will light up.
Click the center button.
When you are ready to play again, the screen will light up.
Click the center button.
And so on. The screen will almost always light up just before you click the center button.
Continue as long as this amuses you.
If you wish to understand what is going on, look up or Google “Libet experiment” and “readiness potential.”
If you find this demonstration of the illusory nature of conscious will disturbing, consult the philosophy section of your pre-installed library. If you do not understand the explanations, do not let this disturb you.
Simply stop playing Predictor.
Return to the Games menu. Choose something else. Look and choose.
Within a few minutes, the illusion of conscious will returns with full effect. This feature is pre-installed.
[Note: the above version of the iThink
ReadMe was withdrawn after the first 2.7
million sales and its author sacked.]
Jack Skillingstead’s first story appeared in the June 2003 issue of Asimov’s and was a finalist for the Sturgeon Award. Since then he’s sold around thirty short stories and four graphic novel scripts. Besides Asimov’s, his fiction has appeared in Realms of Fantasy, F&SF, Fast Forward 2 and various Year’s Best anthologies. In the Fall of 2009 his collection, Are You There and other stories, is scheduled to be published in hardcover by Golden Gryphen Press. He lives in Seattle with a lot of books and no cats.
Alastair Reynolds is the author of eight popular novels and many short stories. He spent twelve years working as a scientist within the European Space Agency in the Netherlands, and has recently relocated to his native Wales. His first novel was Revelation Space, which was short listed for the BSFA and Arthur C Clarke awards and launched his epic future history, which has gone on to become one of the defining examples of world building in the modern space opera genre. His second novel, Chasm City, won the BSFA award in 2002. A number of his other novels and stories have subsequently been short listed for the BSFA and Clarke awards. He has published two short story collections, Zima Blue and Galactic North and his latest novel is House of Suns.
Stephen Baxter is one of the pre-eminent writers of modern hard SF. His epic Xeelee sequence is vast in scope and encompasses the entire history of the universe, in a gritty, awe-inspiring tale of war amongst the stars. The most recent instalment is the short story collection Resplendent. Baxter is also a master of the alternate history, and recently completed his four-part Time’s Tapestry sequence with Weaver. His latest novel, Flood, tackles the topical issue of climate change and its potential impact upon global society. He lives in Northumberland, UK.
John Meaney is the author of seven novels: the post-cyberpunk To Hold Infinity (a Daily Telegraph Book of the Year), the far-future Nulapeiron Trilogy, and two gothic suspense novels (Bone Song and Dark Blood) set in the alternate Earth of “Necroflux Day”. His short fiction has been reprinted in various “year’s best” anthologies. He is a three time shortlist-nominee for the BSFA Award. He maintains links with the world of software engineering, is educated in physics and computer science, has trained in martial arts for over three decades, and is an expert hypnotist. He also likes cats.