by S. J. Ryan
“Come with me,” Big Guy said, gesturing to the open door. “By the way, the Lady Athena has instructed that if you attempt to escape, I am to subdue you with necessary force.”
“Oh?” Matt Four said coolly. “Did she state a preferred method?”
Big Guy shrugged. “Unconsciousness induced by partial strangulation might be effective, I suppose.”
Matt looked down at the man's huge gloved hands, and supposed also.
A horse-drawn coach was waiting. Big Guy took the reins and they rolled out the gates of Project Zeus toward the city, wheels rattling upon the cobblestones. Under the late afternoon overcast, the cooling towers receded behind trees and ahead the buildings of downtown Victoriana peeked through the elms and oaks.
Matt Four reflected on the size of the city and it occurred to him that if his own long-lost implant was still around, the biggest metropolitan center on the planet might be where to look.
“Ivan,” he said to Ivan Beta. “I know you'd tell me if you detected the kid's implant signal.” Because I've asked enough. “But what about other implant signals? You sense anything out there at all?”
“I do not.”
That was expected. Matt Four recalled from shared memories that when the kid had been preparing for the trip to Tian, he had his Ivan outfitted with sonar, radar, and other sensor arrays that would be useful in a natural environment. However, in partitioning his implant to share with his archival clone, the kid had retained most of the nifty stuff for himself.
“However,” Ivan Beta continued, “I am detecting a hole in background noise which indicates the proximity of a shielded neural implant matrix.”
A 'hole' in background noise? “Uh, okay. So where is this hole?”
“Elevation angle is fifty-three degrees in the current forward direction of motion.”
Matt Four was sitting on the rear seat of the coach. Facing forward, he raised his eyes fifty-three degrees from the horizontal. He saw a tiny door in the roof. He unlatched it and slid it aside. He was staring at the back of the driver's head.
“Did you have a question?” Big Guy asked, without turning around.
Matt Four ad-libbed: “Are we there yet?”
“We are not.”
Matt Four slammed the door and slouched. “Ivan, can he hear us? Is he detecting you?”
“I am currently operating in a stealth mode developed by my parent partition at the request of his host. It is unlikely that the referenced neural implant matrix is able to detect my signature emissions.”
Matt Four remembered the first encounter with Big Guy aboard Athena's train. At the time, Ivan had informed them that Big Guy had a neural implant. It hadn't seemed important at the time. But maybe it was. Matt Four opened the tiny roof door again.
Big Guy said, “We are still not there yet.”
Everybody's a comedian. “Excuse me, I didn't catch your name.”
“It is Nims. N-I-M-S.”
“Unusual name. Uh, for this side of the planet.”
“Quite.”
Matt Four slammed the door shut, slumped and folded his arms. “Ivan, something is not right here. Athena was famously allergic to allowing a neural implant to nest inside her head, and now we know she's got at least two of her subordinates equipped with them. Where did they come from?”
“The average mass of a neural implant matrix is twenty grams. It would have been trivial to carry several hundred implants aboard her star pod.”
“Yes, but Athena isn't the kind of person who hands out neural implants to strangers. An implant would give a person power, and Athena is not one to share power. She wouldn't have brought any implants at all, and if she did, she would never trust another human being with an implant.”
“I do not understand.”
“Neither do I.” As he pondered, Matt thought about Big Guy's name. Nims. Why did that seem familiar?
Nims. Nimsy. Nimsy were the borogoves . . . .
Then he remembered. He – that is, the original Matt – was twelve years old, and was about to be introduced to his future best friend, Ivan. For all implant recipients, there was a mandatory training class with an introductory video. Considering the momentousness of the step he was about to take, Matt was brimming with excitement. The sight of the title screen in the video had engraved itself into his memory. You and Your Neural Implant Matrix System.
Yet . . . why would a servant take as his own name the generic acronym of a neural implant matrix? It made no sense. Humans had egos, implants did not. Unless . . . .
The streets became wider and smoother, tenements gave way to houses, and one by one houses transitioned to the size of tenements. The carriage ascended a hill and at the crest Nims led the horse onto a driveway that arrested at a high, vine-covered brick wall. The driver inserted a huge key into a post, and the gate unlocked and parted on its own. The coach rode through. Parking, Nims dropped to the ground and opened the cab door. Matt Four popped onto a flowered path.
The house loomed three stories high, an architectural mishmash of gabled roofs and walls with inset recesses. Massive yet unobtrusive, it was set back from the wall amid a profusion of shrubbery. Vines attempted to smother the lower story. Clomping up the steps to the front door, Matt looked over the wall upon the street below. He saw how well the residence style matched those of the other homes. He wondered if that was due to Athena trying to blend with the neighbors, or the neighbors trying to blend with Athena.
The front door was unlocked. They entered into a room cluttered with sculptures and paintings to a degree that made the railway car seem spartan. Matt Four marveled at the high ceiling, the chandelier, the double-staircase, the polished paneling, the gilding, the marble floor. Most of all, having lived on crowded Earth and increasingly crowded Tian, he marveled at what for him was the supreme luxury for any private home: spaciousness.
“What is this place?” he asked, looking up head and shoulders.
“It is called the foyer.”
“I meant the house. But you knew that.”
“Yes I did. It is the residence of the Lady Athena Asterdon.”
“'Asterdon?' She changed her last name?”
“It is customary in Pavonia for a woman to take the family name of her husband upon marriage.”
“What, she's married?”
“Yes. I thought that was made implicit by my statement. For the future, I shall strive to be more explicit whilst conversing with you.”
Deciding that silence is often the best comeback, Matt Four returned his gaze to the external scenery below. The city was aglow with windows and street lamps shining beneath the dusk glow that silhouetted the skyline. On the street directly below, a lanterned coach clopped by, while another waited at the curb. A man rode a wagon from post to post, lighting the gas lamps with the touch of a pole. No lumen trees here, Matt Four noted.
“Charming, wouldn't you agree?” Athena said softly at his side.
She had doffed the hat and parasol, and changed into a single layer of dress. No longer encumbered, she moved with the catlike grace that had been with her even in her first century.
She glanced at him, then again at the city, and continued, “You think I'm obsessed with power, but there have been hours when I've sat at the couch by the window and sipped tea alone and simply admired the majestic beauty of this city.”
Matt Four studied her face in the glow of twilight. Athena was older than him, but looked like a young woman. Her personality had certainly changed from the twenty-second century. Back then, she spoke in clipped sentences and was all about efficiency and focus. Had she truly learned to 'stop and smell the roses?'
He responded tersely, “Where's the kid?”
“He won't be joining us. However, I have a friend of yours. She's in the garden.”
Nims took his hat and coat, and Matt Four followed Athena past the grand staircase, down a hall and steps into an atrium. Warmed by the heat trapped beneath the glass panes, the flora thrived in profusion. M
att Four recognized many of the plants, because he had brought their genetic material to New Earth. Lumen trees, antibiotic herbal plants, bushes with iron-rich berries and nuts, giant mushrooms that tasted like steak, and more.
The greatest marvel in the garden was not vegetation. It was the tool by which his genetic engineering had been accomplished. Half a meter by half a meter by a meter in length, New Earth Seeder Probe Alpha rested upon a stone pedestal half-obscured by foliage.
Her lights winked greeting and her voice said liltingly, “Hello, Matt. How nice to see you again.”
“Wonderful to see you, Granny,” Matt Four replied. “Has Athena been keeping you busy?”
“She has made many requests of me.”
“And unfortunately,” Athena intervened, “she has not fulfilled any of them.”
“Really?” Matt Four said. “Don't you have the passcode?”
“She says that my passcode is not correct. That's odd, because it used to be.”
“We all change.”
“Mattimeo, would you happen to know the new authorization passcode for Pandora Alpha?”
“Hmm, usually Granny doesn't require authorization. At least not for simple, harmless requests. I take it you're not asking for a new strain of rose?”
“You know what I'm asking for. A way out of this prison.”
He glanced about. “I see no prison walls. Which is strange, because for a long time I did.”
“That was your own fault. You chose to become comatose.”
“And it was solely because of your concern for my well-being that you placed me in a dungeon?”
Her lips curled. “I wasn't the one who placed you there. That was the doing of your Church, which was founded by your followers. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Well, you know what they say, Athena. If you repeat a big lie long enough and loud enough, people will begin to believe you're a liar.”
Laughing lightly, she sat on a bench, plucked a flower and presented it to him. As automatically as if he had re-entered trance, he accepted it and gaped at the pure white petals.
“What's this for?” he asked.
“It's a lily. A symbol of innocence. In your case, of naivety.”
As he twirled the stem between his fingers, he reflected that it wasn't a real lily. It was a genetic fabrication, descended from a seedling of a generic plant modified by a spore created by a seeder probe. The faux-lilly had been grown in the atrium, an artificial environment protecting it from a planetary environment that itself had been artificially modified. It had been presented to him by a synthetic person. And arguably, most of his memories were those of people whom he had never been, so that he too was synthetic. Not for the first time, he wondered if anything in life was real.
Athena continued: “Please consider your stance, Mattimeo. I can be most liberal in my gratitude. And I do want us to be friends. I have so few.”
Like zero, he thought. But that seemed too mean an insult, even if she was the target.
“My husband is out of town on business,” she said. “And I do hate to dine alone. I thought this could be an opportunity for us to know each other socially.” She arose and offered her hand. “The table is set. Shall we go?”
“I'm really not hungry.”
“Nims is an excellent cook, and at my request he has prepared some rather nice vegetarian dishes. You're still a vegetarian, aren't you? I think you'll be intrigued.”
“Not. Hungry.”
She lowered her hand. “Later then. I have a room upstairs prepared, if you'd like to rest a while.”
“I'd prefer to go back to the room you had me in before. For that matter, I'd prefer to go back to the cell at Klun. Anything is preferable to another moment with you.”
Her visage became dark. “You just have to ruin the mood, don't you?”
“Athena, what would you think of a woman who willfully abandoned her children?”
“I don't see what that has to do – “
“What if she had millions of children and dumped them on a primitive, hostile planet to fend for themselves? What if she rationalized her abandonment with pseudo-scientific gibberish about 'evolutionary progress?' What I'm saying is, you ruined the mood long ago.”
“I don't expect you to agree with my views. Can you at least tolerate a difference of opinion?“
“You don't want toleration. You want cooperation. Hell, you want complicity. Let's drop the pretense, Athena. You want something, and I'm not giving it.”
She glared. “You're no longer indispensable I have young Mattimeo now.”
“He doesn't know Granny's passcode. He doesn't know where Pandora Beta is either.”
“What I need now is to cross the Barrier. He was able to cross the Barrier. If I take him with me, I can cross the other way.”
“I know the kid. He'll never let you do that.”
“As if he will have a choice.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that there are worse things than death, Mattimeo. For him and for you.”
“Are you threatening me with torture? I'll go into a trance again.”
“That may not work for you this time.”
Matt Four blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means I've grown tired of attempting to persuade you.” She raised her eyes to gaze at a point above and behind his shoulder. “Nims!”
“Yes, Madam,” a baritone boomed.
Matt Four whirled to face a wall of chest. Nims had crept almost soundlessly.
“Nims, Mister Jackson has decided to decline our offer of cooperation. Dinner is canceled Take him to the cellar. Commence the surgery as soon as possible.”
Surgery?
“Yes, Madam.” Nims leered from his commanding height. “You will follow.”
Athena watched Matt Four hesitate. “You won't cause trouble, will you?”
Matt Four smiled. “I can't guarantee that.”
“I can,” Nims said.
Athena sighed. “I would stay and watch out of courtesy, but it's messy and would bore me and I've things to do. And since Nims will be preoccupied, I'll have to take a public cab, which is always a discomfort. Nonetheless, you two enjoy yourselves. I'd like to say, Mattimeo, that I look forward to seeing you next time – but next time, you won't be you.”
Her grim smile was the last he saw of her. A strong grip clamped his arm, spun him around, and marched him out of the atrium. There never was any question of successful struggle; Nims had the advantage in size and age.
As he was escorted, Matt Four subvocaled, “Ivan, did the kid give you any weapons we can use here?”
“He did not give me any weapons at all,” Ivan Beta replied. “My partition was intended for cellular repair.”
“So you can't do hypermode, you can't shock him or put him to sleep.”
“Matt Four. I recognize that you are in imminent though as yet undefined peril. I'm sorry that I am unable to defend you and/or assist in your escape.”
Nims navigated through the house, down a dank narrow stairwell into the center of a dark interior that reeked of rubbing alcohol. He yanked a chain dangling from the ceiling. Upon the ceiling, a bare light bulb flickered a stark radiance, revealing windowless walls of cracked plaster and shelves cluttered with odd-sized hand-labeled bottles. Hanging from nails were forceps, pliers, crank-drills, mallets, knives and saws.
Eying the jagged blades, Matt Four considered that the peril was more defined than Ivan Beta perceived.
Nims released the chain of the light fixture, let go of Matt Four's arm, and gestured to an elevated bed It was rectangular and cushioned, and straps hung from the sides. It was the right size to accommodate a human body lain flat.
“Just for you,” Nims said. “Have a seat. This won't take long. By the way, do not attempt to run off. Partial strangulation is still an option.”
Displaying a calmness that was only skin deep, Matt Four hopped onto the bed. He sat, swingin
g his legs over the edge.
“This isn't annoying you, is it?” Matt Four asked, as he rapped a beat on the cushions.
“Not at all.”
Nims slipped on a heavy apron and thick gloves. He plucked instruments of human cutlery from the walls and placed them on a wheeled table. He pushed the table over to the bed.
“This isn't annoying you, is it?” Nims asked, as he sharpened the knives.
“Not at all.”
Time to play, Matt Four thought.
“'Nims,'” Matt Four said. “That is a common acronym for 'Neural Implant Matrix System.'”
“That is true.”
“So am I speaking to a human being now, or a neural implant matrix?”
“Technically, you are speaking to a human personality emulator.”
“Running on a neural implant matrix.”
“That is correct.”
“I'm a bit confused. Doesn't that body of yours there have its own brain, and doesn't the brain have its own personality? Where is he in all this?”
“He currently enjoys a state of deep coma. Worry not for him. Sweet dreams, as the Madam says.”
“Just out of curiosity, given that you are a human personality emulator, is there a particular human personality that you are emulating?”
“It is more of a composite than any one individual. A substantial component of my personality derives from the popular stereotype of a British manservant, a personality emulation that was programmed into personal-assistant androids of the late twenty-first century. They were known for irony and wit.”
“Hence your cutting sense of humor.”
Nims paused, then flashed a smile at the blades in his hands. “Ah. Wordplay. How clever.”
“What exactly is this operation that you'll be performing on me tonight?”
“It is called a 'lobotomy.'”
Matt Four's legs stopped swinging. “I've heard of those. Aren't they obsolete?”
“Admittedly, they have gone out of fashion. Yours will likely be the first on this planet. Fear not, however. Though strictly an amateur, I am reasonably talented in the surgical arts.”
“Just what is this going to do for me?”
“It is said to soothe one's nerves.”