The Living

by Anna Starobinets

  When the act is over, he licks me again, but I snarl at him to make him stop. I clamp my teeth shut and whimper silently to myself, so that he doesn’t hear. I think about the pups, which will smell like me and like him, when he and I are already smelling of earth and rotting meat. I think about the breeding seasons I have been through before – about the hundreds of squeamish pairings in contact underwear. I think about the festival which the Dead God needs to fertilize himself. I think about the dog which is scampering about in the emptiness and cannot find my trail. I think about the fact that something is wrong with my luxury programme: such melancholy is unnatural in the ‘garden of delights’.

  We lie in silence by the entrance to the den and look out. At the world he created for our act. The land is good, but the sky is tainted with pus-yellow and there is no moon. I wonder whether I should create it but I don’t have the strength to change anything.

  He quietly leaves the den and sits with his back to me. He is doing something to our world – and the pus-filled abscesses in the sky burst, not with rain, but with thick, dull snow.

  I wonder whether I need to make our den warmer before the pups come.

  He throws back his head and gives a long, throaty howl. And then disappears. His world turns into the Wastes of Solitude.

  And I am all alone there.

  Cerberus

  No bargaining with his conscience, no worries, no doubts. He was lucky: he had been a constant guardian of order for the last 306 years, at the very least. But probably since the Nativity itself, it’s just there is no record of it: Renaissance only appeared in 145 A.V. And in the first branch of the bank in the EA region, in the first letter he left for himself in his personal cell (in the old fashioned way, on paper), the first words on the first line are ‘I am a planetman, I am proud of that and always will be.’ It’s a little cheesy, but forgivable: it’s an Initial Entry after all. And a sincere one at that. Cerberus really had always taken pride in his work. He was a good professional: in all those 326 years there had been no serious fines or warnings – sure, some minor violations (‘observed not wearing mask’, ‘assault of persons in custody’, ‘non-consensual copulation outside of festival zone’), but not a single penalty card for cowardice, not a single socio-bribe, and a whole gallery of awards. The first three, trinkets that still existed in first layer, were great rarities – ‘For Vigilance and Valour’, ‘For Services to Socio’ and ‘Hero, First Class’ – Cerberus kept them all in his cell in Renaissance. He liked to get them out and feel them in his hands every now and again: it was childish, of course, but Cerberus thought that it was better for someone with eternal life to be a child at heart rather than a complete cynic. At the end of the day, for guys like him Renaissance still existed in first layer. Like a cupboard full of toys, an old-fashioned chest of drawers with tangible treasures from his childhood, from his past…

  From the Sixties of the second century onwards the awards had become virtual; Cerberus had hung a whole wall in his socio cell with ‘Heroes’ and ‘For Valours’, and, as a sign of its respect for his achievements, the Service for Technical Support had given him a complimentary Eternal Memory setting. The setting was not wiped after the pause – so when Cerberus was reproduced and entered an empty cell, his medals and awards were already there waiting for him, hanging on the bare walls.

  And there had been a lot of pauses. Twice he was killed during arrests: in 149 and in 176; they had not yet perfected the Houses of Correction, it was a difficult time. In the Eighties these outrages came to an end and working in the SPO became much safer, but Cerberus still renewed himself regularly, preferring to visit the Pause Zone after the first gentle recommendation so that he could stay in good shape, so he had only reached sixty once.

  Everything was right and proper. His life was precise, uncomplicated and orderly, like a pyramid of ice cubes. Yes, a pyramid of ice – that’s how he had always thought of his life when he became a child. As if he was building it: cube – pause – cube – pause, building it up to the sky. Then, when he got a bit older, he would prefer the analogy of a chain. His life was like a strong, endless chain, with no weak links.

  Other people’s chains would break every now and again. Cerberus’s friends would fall away after picking up five penalty cards, and new, inexperienced ones would come to replace them. Over the course of three and a bit centuries everyone he had started out with had been replaced, including the Servant of Order. Everyone except Ef, his constant partner and best friend: his partner’s ‘chain’, like Cerberus’s, had no weak links.

  Over the course of three and a bit centuries Cerberus and Ef had been through a lot – sting operations and early pauses, first-layer injuries and cells deformed by viruses, dragnets for spammers and attacks by hackers. They had tracked members of familial sects who didn’t give their Darlings to the boarding houses, they had searched the cells of heretic old believers who believed in the ancient three-headed god, they had ensnared dissident scum in all layers…

  Justice has no face. ‘The human factor’ has no influence on planetary order. The mirrored distance should keep the SPO officer at arm’s length from everyone, even other officers. So it is written in the Codex… But over the course of three and a bit centuries they had become friends, not only in socio, but in first, and occasionally they had broken the rules of the Codex, not seriously, but little things here and there. The previous Servant of Order had always forgiven them for their antics.

  They had seen each other without their masks – different faces at different times. They had heard each other’s voices without them being distorted by chatterboxes. They could recognise each other from a long way off by the way they walked, and from up close by their smell. By the way their standard inviz-coloured uniforms smelled at the armpit. At festivals they would share one girl. And when one of them was reproduced as a woman (which had happened a couple of times for each of them), they had become lovers.

  …Over the course of three and a bit centuries they had grown together nicely and their ‘chains’ had become intertwined. So when Ef started behaving strangely, Cerberus noticed immediately. It began after Zero’s suicide, he and Ef were sitting in a pub in first layer. Ef kept touching his mirrored cheek and Cerberus said show me. Ef reacted as if they were strangers. He was cold.

  From then on it was easy, like in the training program for young guardians of the Living, ‘Catch the Thief’. All future planetmen had this program installed when they were four. Cerberus remembered how Duckles, mirrored and opalescent, had once taken him by the hand and led him off into a patch of reeds. There, by the stream, he taught him how to hide and sit in wait. ‘You suspect that Fishie has stolen something, right, little fellow?’ Little Cerberus nodded animatedly: ‘Fishie is a thief. I’m sure.’ Duckles’ magnificent mirrored bill smiled: ‘Well done.’

  ‘So I’m going to go and tell Livvles!’ ‘It’s too soon,’ Duckles didn’t let go of his hand. ‘First gather evidence. Make sure Fishie doesn’t realise that you know that he’s up to no good. Let him think you are his friend. But instigate surveillance on him and start putting together a report. When the report is ready, give it to me. I am your senior officer. I will give the report to Livvles myself. And I will ask Him to reward you.’ Two words, two magic spells, full of sibilant sorcery: ‘surveillance’ and ‘senior officer’; Cerberus didn’t know what they meant. Backed by the songs of the cicadas, in the crackling clump of reeds, Duckles explained to him what they meant. At four years old Cerberus filed a report against Fishie and received his first gold star…

  …It was so simple. He had shared his suspicions with his senior officer. The Servant of Order, like Duckles before him, had ordered him to gather evidence. Cerberus put together a report on the fake Ef over the course of a few days. He didn’t include, of course, the refusal to take off the mask. But he did include:

  – errors during arrest and transport of compulsory Matthew (completely amateurish, Ef would never have made mistakes like that
with his experience and savvy);

  – behaviour unbefitting of an SPO officer in the Pause Zone at the local Festival for Assisting Nature (a total rookie would have behaved better);

  – partner’s inability to complete password-response exercise (‘Did that virgin at the festival put out for everyone?’ – the correct answer should have been ‘No, she’s waiting for you and me’);

  – ‘diagnosis’ offered by conversation device (Cerberus had chosen ‘interrogation’ mode on his chatterbox when he and Ef were chatting during the arrest of the compulsory and later at the festival). The chatterbox’s conclusions were beyond belief. ‘Based on the interlocutor’s physical indicators, such as body temperature, arterial pressure, pupil dilation, and functioning of sebaceous, sudoriferous and salivary glands, the interlocutor’s condition can be characterized as close to panic, with frequent episodes of fear, shame and remorse’;

  – comparative analysis of user ef’s socio speech before and after 15th July 471: ‘socio speech belongs to two different users…’

  …QED. Quod erat demonstrandum. Which was to be demonstrated. This evidence was enough to arrest the fake Ef and bring a case against him for the kidnap of an SPO officer. And to start searching immediately: there had been no signal about Ef’s pause, so he must be being kept captive. In these stable times of ours this is an unprecedented crime against the Living…

  The last time the real Ef went on socio chat was when he was in the House of Correction. A few minutes before the suicide of correctee Zero. Cerberus kept the statements of the witnesses who had been present at the suicide in a separate file. The statements all matched. Matched a little too well. And there was no shortage of witnesses. Too many witnesses. There was not a single correctee, or warder, or member of the domestic staff or House administration who did not give a statement. It turned out that the ENTIRETY of the household was on the Available Terrace at the outbreak of the fire. Which is impossible, purely physically: they just wouldn’t fit… That said, the chatterbox tracking the physical condition of those interrogated came to the conclusion that all the witnesses had answered Cerberus’s questions sincerely enough.

  He did not try to put together any versions of events. He just sent the report and the transcripts of the interrogations to his senior officer and awaited further instruction.

  He was sure that his senior officer would instruct him to seize the fake Ef immediately. But his senior officer instructed him to ‘hold on a bit for now’.

  Cerberus was taken aback.

  cerberus: do you have doubts about the information i have given you?

  servant: don’t be silly?! but, you know, you can never be too careful

  cerberus: there is an official socio speech analysis. on the basis of that i’d like your permission for compulsory unmasking of the suspect

  servant: refused. just observe for now

  cerberus: observe?! servant, ask for the video recording from the festival! look at the way he was acting. like an idiot. he treated that compulsory like a woman feeding her darling! even the pre-pausers were looking at him… you don’t even need to turn your chatterbox on to see how strange he is being!! i insist that you give me permission…

  …It turned out that the Servant of Order was handling this case personally. In first layer, undercover as Clown. With no mask.

  Cerberus almost forgot to breathe in excitement. He noisily pushed the warm, celebratory air out of himself. Glap, he’s involved in a Case of First Level Planetary Secrecy! His senior officer had taken his mask off in front of him. He had seen him – the Servant of Order, the head of the SPO; sure, he might have been wearing clown’s makeup, but he had still seen him. He and the Servant were going to be working together on this case. What does that mean? It means they trust him. They really trust him. What else might it mean? Maybe an Order of the Living is not too much to hope for? He wondered whether he should hang it separately. Not on the same wall with all the other awards, but right there on his desktop.

  The Servant of Order permitted the arrest of the pretender only after ten days. At first they recovered Ef – the scumbag was keeping him in a cage, like a sick ram at the Farm. His partner was in a very bad way. His temperature was over forty, he was groaning and ranting, begging for snow.

  Interlocutor’s condition can be characterised as pre-pausal – the chatterbox announced, although it hadn’t been asked.

  Cerberus felt that beneath his mask his face was wet with tears. A pause is fine. A pause is nothing. But his friend had spent so long in this state! He must have suffered so much…

  cerberus: permission to finish him off?

  he asked, already placing the cold barrel against his friend’s temple.

  ‘Ice, ice…’ Ef smiled and closed his eyes.

  servant: i forbid it. let’s take him to the car

  Cerberus took the gun away. Do it by the Codex, right. But there’s something inhuman about it. The former Servant would definitely have let him finish him off. This new one wants everything to be strictly by the Codex… Fine, it would be stupid to pick a fight with him. The former Servant would never have worked alongside Cerberus.

  They sat in wait for the fake Ef in the roboslums. It was a strange arrest. For some reason the Servant dragged along – literally dragged along, across the ground – a slum witch. He shook her like a dead bird that had fallen from the sky (Cerberus had seen that happen once) and jabbed his finger against her filthy chest:

  ‘Are you really a witch or just a bullshitter?’

  The woman drunkenly chanted her dumb first-layer spam in a drawl:

  ‘Ay, I’ll tell your future, you won’t go wrong…’

  ‘So who am I then?’ the Servant barked.

  ‘Thirty unics, dearie, just whack it in my sociopurse…’

  The Servant kicked her withered, naked leg with the heel of his boot. He pressed the heel against her kneecap. Something crunched. The fortune teller howled.

  ‘I said, who am I?’

  She reached a trembling hand towards the Servant and he bent over so it would be easier for her. He touched his forehead with a grubby finger, and the Servant contorted in disgust.

  ‘Fofs,’ the witch whispered, and frowning in pain, tried to kneel. ‘Forgive me poor sinner that I am, great Servant of Order.’

  ‘Our friend will be here any moment,’ the Servant responded with contempt, ‘a planetman, in a mirrored mask. We want you to give him a surprise. Tell his fortune and then switch him to sleep mode…’

  ‘Hypnosis?’ the fortune teller enquired. ‘I have to hypnotize him?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the Servant nodded irritatedly. ‘Do you know how?’

  ‘Of course.’ The witch shook her dirty-grey mane.

  cerberus: why put him to sleep, boss?

  servant: we’ll take him quietly, no shooting. besides, i’m curious

  cerberus: about what?

  servant: what she’s going to say to him

  cerberus: but she… she’s just a filthy robot…

  The Servant’s eyes smiled almost imperceptibly; they were glossy and black like the backs of African cockroaches.

  servant: the ancients used to listen to women like her

  …The witch actually did put the fake Ef in sleep mode.

  After that the Servant of Order instructed Cerberus to drag her to the other side of the boxes and temporarily end her life.

  servant: just quietly

  While Cerberus pulled on his contact gloves, she whimpered quietly but ever so sadly, like an animal at the Farm. He started feeling weird.

  ‘No death,’ he said as he leaned over her.

  The witch stopped whimpering and suddenly spat – the yellow glob hung on his mirrored face. ‘Sometimes you have to break the Codex,’ Cerberus wrote in his socio blog and snapped the witch’s neck. He could hear the groans of robots mating behind the rubbish skips.

  They loaded the rat into the van and took him to the House of Correction. Cerberus beat him ab
out the face, gasping with futile hatred. Where’s the justice? The vengeance? Living, you are too kind! You are full of love, you forgive your errant sons, you do not punish them, you only correct them. And you are sentencing this freak, who tormented my friend for thirteen days and nights, to a simple pause. You are sending him off into the darkness. And if he comes out of it, you will patiently correct him…

  …On the way poor Ef’s agonies came to an end and he temporarily ceased to live and Cerberus felt better. Tiredness came – cosy and warm like a woollen scarf; it wound round his neck and shoulders. First layer shuddered pleasantly along with the car; in second Cerberus whacked on the soundtrack from The Eternal Murderer; in fifth – which was where he kept his illegal video (he could always say that he had just confiscated it) – he started playing an amazing battle between a scorpion and a stag beetle. He relaxed and started thinking about his Order of the Living. He wasn’t just going to hang it on his desktop.

  He would make it his wallpaper, thanks very much… He wondered, would Eternal Memory save that setting…?

  …you are preparing to switch to sleep mode would you like to sleep? yes no

  Cerberus actually doubted whether he should go to sleep, but his eyes were already closed. He didn’t see his senior officer aiming the gun at him.

  In fifth layer the stag broke off the scorpion’s left claw. The scorpion tried to sting the beetle in the stomach…

  Servant of Order URGENTLY SUMMONS Second

  second: ?

  servant: officer cerberus has broken rank – he arbitrarily carried out a witness’s pause – at the present moment he is making an attempt on suspect Zero – he refuses to obey orders – he has received five penalty cards in a day – request permission for pause

  second: permission for pause granted. with subsequent expulsion from the SPO

  …Cerberus dreamed that he was building a tower from cubes of ice.