Too, Too Solid Flesh

by Nick O'Donohoe

  Horatio stopped short. Hamlet said, “After all, they could bring back individuals.”

  Horatio said, “You catch on quickly, don’t you? Yes. The Lefties did it first—the Russians, in fact—to Lenin’s body. You know who Lenin was, right?”

  Hamlet nodded.

  “That’s something,” Horatio said curtly. “They showed off the baby Lenin, and the world rushed to cremate everybody who’d ever been dangerous: Napoleon, Lincoln, everybody. Then Lenin grew up with no interest in politics and people relaxed.”

  “I see,” Hamlet said unhappily. “I’d hoped we could bring Capek back.”

  By now they were at Fort Tryon, perched on a hill overlooking the Hudson River. The walls were running with five-leafed ivy, English ivy, kudzu, and wisteria. Hardly any stone was visible. Hamlet sat on one, swinging his feet over the edge without looking at the drop. “Stop a moment.” His voice had command, but pleading as well.

  Horatio sat more gingerly on the wall.

  Hamlet said simply, “I thought a retrohuman would be an adult with all his memories because that’s how I came out. I never had a childhood, just a moment when I opened my eyes and was an adult.”

  “You’re a synthetic, not a clone. Nobody’d be allowed to make you from somebody’s gene pattern or, even worse, from real flesh. It’s illegal.” He scowled. “It’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. Is that why you’re angry with me?”

  Horatio said nothing. Hamlet said, “It’s not. You’ve been angry since I did tricks for that nice woman.”

  Horatio rubbed his eyes. “You can’t know whether she’s nice or not. You can’t go around talking to strangers like that.”

  Hamlet smiled at him. “Then you know everyone on Access?”

  Horatio said confusedly, “People on Access are civilized. They live by rules. If they don’t, they’re forced off… A street woman like that, she could do anything. You saw how she was dressed.”

  Hamlet said gravely, “I saw a wrinkled coat and men’s baggy pants. I think she spends more on the birds than she does on her clothes.”

  Horatio went on, “You can’t take risks with our investigation. For all you know, she could have been working for the Globe, waiting here for us—”

  Hamlet said meekly, “Like the woman who waited for you last night?”

  After a moment Horatio said, “I thought you’d gone to the lab.”

  “I saw her earlier, looking for someone she couldn’t find, while you were hiding. I wasn’t sure where you’d been last night until now,” Hamlet said quietly.

  Horatio’s face was bright red. “She’s a suspect.”

  Hamlet was up and off the wall so fast that Horatio grabbed his arm, fearing he’d overbalanced. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  “While we walk.” Horatio pointed ahead, where tile roofs and a medieval tower rose above the neighboring hilltop. “Do you want to see the Cloisters or don’t you?”

  Hamlet smiled. “We’ll pray for luck there.”

  * * * * *

  The Cloisters, a jumble of medieval buildings from all over Europe, were stuck on a hill in the north end of the most up-to-date city in North America. Still, it fit together well, and the bell tower copied from a monastary in the Pyrenees now rose over the Hudson Hydropower Project without seeming odd or out of place.

  At the entry arch, Hamlet said, “Do we ring for a monk?”

  Horatio laughed. “It’s not church property anymore. The city owns this, and they rent the lab space underneath it to the government. I’ll bet they make a bundle.”

  Hamlet stared at the heavy overhanging arches. “Are those stones real?”

  Horatio shrugged. “Does it matter?” They stepped in. Hamlet crossed himself, and Horatio said, “Relax, will you? These aren’t religious anymore.” He looked at the hall ahead, where St. Michael stood over a dragon. “He’s not an angel, just some guy in stone.”

  Hamlet loved the unicorn tapestries. He ran from one to the other, staring at the animals, the huntsman, the birds, and the profusion of flowers. He frowned at the maiden’s betrayal of the unicorn, and stared a long time at the wounded unicorn. He seemed most thoughtful at the image of the resurrected unicorn, standing serenely under a pomegranate tree.

  Finally he turned to Horatio. “Is he imaginary?”

  Horatio looked astonished. “My lord, it’s all imaginary: angels, and dragons, and unicorns, and those weird stone figures on the tops of the columns—”

  “And saints?” Hamlet ran quickly into the next hall, another high-ceilinged room hung with tapestries. “And these men, are they imaginary?”

  Gigantic figures, flanked by lesser men and women, stared down at them from the walls. Most of the giants wore crowns. All wore robes.

  Horatio gestured at a label, reading it when it didn’t speak. “These are the Nine Worthies—heroes of the medieval world. Three Hebrews, three Pagans, and three Christians.” Horatio’s lip curled. “See how big they are? That’s how you can tell they’re supposed to be heroes, larger than life.”

  Hamlet stared at them all. “Even if they’d been smaller, they’d still try to be heroes. That’s what heroes do.” He added, “And heroes, at least, are real.”

  Horatio gave up. “Let’s just go to the lab.” He headed down the stairs marked “CLOISTERS BIOTEK.”

  When Horatio came to the bottom landing, the lab door projected a solidsign of clear liquids. They were barely troubled on the surface by ripples. Floating in the liquid was a featureless, androgynous human image, and above it hung lettering:

  “BIOTEK AND MATRIX PREPARATION.”

  Hamlet looked thoughtfully at the featureless image. “Did I look unformed like that?”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  Hamlet smiled. “From what I’ve seen so far, it’s normal. Most adults are unformed.”

  The lab had an air lock, with magna-hangers holding white jackets forty years out of style. Horatio fingered the lapels as he slipped one on. “I feel like my great grandfather.”

  “And I feel like my father—pardon me—like Capek.” Horatio stared at him but said nothing.

  Above a wall of tortoise trays hung a stark sign:

  “LEAVE ALL LIVING JEWELRY AND CLOTHING ITEMS ON THE TRAYS”

  On one tray, a pair of lobotomized shrew earrings huddled together, occasionally scampering away from a crab-leg bracelet that lumbered after them mindlessly.

  Hamlet removed his Heir Apparent’s chain and stretched it carefully on the tray, watching until the bracelet bumped it and moved back. “Better.” He stroked each of the earrings once before going in. They seemed to like his touch. Horatio tried it, too, but they shied away.

  The halls were sleek imitations of the cloisters above, complete with Romanesque arches that supported no beams and Gothic windows that opened only on exhibits. Hamlet peered at an exhibit. “It’s a rabbit.”

  “A European hare.” Horatio pointed to the crawling, animated letters above the window. “It’s from the tapestries.”

  “So are the flowers.” Hamlet pointed to the columbine the hare was munching, and to the other blooms.

  Horatio sniffed. “It can’t be much of a lab. Even AgriTeks clone rabbits and flowers.”

  Hamlet read the crawl text as it marched steadily above the hare. “They synthesized it.”

  Horatio stared at the hare as though it had two heads. “From scratch?”

  Hamlet said thoughtfully, “And if they did that with the rabbit and the flowers, then they did it with the fox, and the pheasant, and the deer, and the horses, and—”

  Suddenly Hamlet was running down the corridor, far ahead of Horatio, who stared after him and suddenly understood.

  He caught up with Hamlet before a small courtyard, omnilit with mock sunlight. Across from them, a young man peered earnestly into the yard as though looking for flaws, and a young woman gazed in with something like love.

  The grazing unicorn ignored them all. Its h
orn turned small divots in the soil. The dirt slid off the horn, leaving its tip as white and unmarred as its base.

  Horatio touched Hamlet’s arm. “‘Now I will believe that there are unicorns,’” he breathed. “Remember that?”

  Hamlet was barely listening, enraptured in the unicorn. “I’ve never heard it.”

  “Are you sure? It’s from Shakespeare. The Tempest.” He stared ahead, trying to remember. “Now I will believe that there are unicorns; that in Arabia—’ something about one phoenix living there. I read that, years ago, and wondered how believing in unicorns would feel.”

  Hamlet, who had never heard of The Tempest, merely nodded. The unicorn, munching on flowers, regarded them with peaceful, soft, dark eyes that weren’t quite a goat’s and weren’t quite a horse’s.

  “Isn’t he impressive?” a woman said.

  They turned. She had on the traditional Tek’s white lab coat. Against the arches and with her dark hair, it looked oddly like a nun’s habit.

  Her alert eyes flickered up and down the two men. Horatio thought briefly of Paulette.

  She went on, “He was the hardest to make. The imaginary animals, when we synthesize them, are unstable. He’s lasted, though.

  “Sometimes I look at him and think how hard we worked over his beard and hooves. Sometimes I think how many times we tried before we got the tail right.

  “Sometimes, though, I come down here and set the omnilights for moonlight. And he turns silver, and those eyes open, and I don’t think at all. I just shiver.”

  Hamlet said, “How could you make something so perfect?”

  She smiled broadly. “He’s far from perfect, and we only did the matrices here.” She turned to Horatio. “You’re the gentleman who Accessed us early this morning, aren’t you? The answerware reran you for me later.”

  Hamlet blinked. Horatio said, “I’m Mister Wilson. Doctor—?”

  “Mulvaney. Doctor Claire Mulvaney.” They nodded to each other. Hamlet turned his bow into a nod.

  Horatio added, “And this is—”

  “I know.” She looked tremendously pleased with herself. “I’m happy to meet you, Hamlet.”

  Horatio froze. Hamlet simply bowed. “Pleased to meet you. Tell me, did the Theater Access system tell you, do you know us from your work there, or have you seen us recently at the theater?”

  Mulvaney blinked. “I went to the play the other night. How did you know—”

  Hamlet bowed again. “I couldn’t be sure. We should have come to the labs long ago, to thank people—”

  “That’s not really necessary.” But she smiled. “Both of you, please come with me.”

  Hamlet said as they walked, “You won’t tell the other Teks, will you? This was all going to be a surprise.”

  Doctor Mulvaney looked confused. “We tell each other nearly everything here; all actions are corporate. What was the surprise?”

  “We’re doing a Hamlet in modern dress.”

  The doctor winced. “That’s nice. I gather from simulas that it’s been done before.”

  “Yes, but never in a lab.”

  Horatio gaped. Hamlet went on quickly, “Think about it. You have a hierarchy at the lab, just like royalty in a kingdom. The HeadTek and the FirstTeks have power, like kings and queens—”

  Her jaw jumped. “Too like.”

  Hamlet went on, “I’ve even noticed that the badges you wear have a power structure built in. Touch yours.”

  She did. A full, rich baritone said solemnly, “FirstTek Mulvaney, Laura, Doctor. Base ChemTek Director”

  Hamlet asked, “Why isn’t that a woman’s voice?”

  She nodded. “It was, until I was promoted. I was amused by it at the time.” But she didn’t look amused.

  “And the HeadTek’s badge has an echo behind the voice, and the rank below FirstTek has an echoing woman’s voice, and below that is an ordinary woman’s voice—” He stopped. “I’m sorry. I mean nothing degrading about women.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Doctor Mulvaney said stiffly.

  Hamlet said in a small voice, “I suppose some changes take time.”

  “They certainly do.” She added more kindly, “Tell me more about your staging of Hamlet.”

  Hamlet brightened. “It’s barely an idea, so far. But you’ve seen the play; you tell me: are there politics and intrigue enough in the labs to fill a play production?”

  She said dryly, “To use it all, you’d need more than one play.” She strode through an autodoor, saying, “Mulvaney. Guests cleared.”

  Hamlet said, “But is there ever any romance in a lab, or any broken hearts?”

  She looked out one of the false windows, as though there were something to see. “There have been a few.”

  The sudden silence was awkward. Horatio broke it by asking, “What is all this?” He stared at the self-sealing beakers, mechanical crawl trays, and any number of sterile and closed containers.

  Hamlet added, “What are these matrices? Do they bite? If you kiss them, do you turn into a frog? Has anyone ever been stung in the heel by a matrix and fallen dead?”

  Mulvaney laughed. “Do you always talk like that?”

  Hamlet blushed. “Only when I get excited.”

  She smiled at him. “Matrices are simply the chemicals that hold bio-information.”

  Hamlet leaned forward, sniffing at a sealed vessel. “Our brains are made of these? I’m soft-witted.”

  “Get back.” When he stared at her sharply, she took her hand from his shoulder and added awkwardly, “Please. Those chemicals could damage you.”

  “Why, if I’m made of them?” He was angry; princes were not to be pulled or shoved.

  “Your brains are neuroputty, which holds coded biochem, but also soaks up matrix chems—some of them, anyway.”

  She gestured at the tube, careful not to let her finger touch it. “This one is a spinal matrix; it’s more limited. Mostly it only passes on sensations and motion commands, plus maintenance signals.”

  “Reflexes”

  “Sort of. The matrix for your brain can also store information: memories, learned data—”

  “Play lines,” Horatio said.

  She turned to him. “Yes. In each of you, they are one of the first levels of conscious data. That’s why you stay in character so well.”

  Hamlet said, “That’s why we seldom leave character. Is that the only way to put those lines in our memories?”

  She hesitated. “We could have loaded the play lines on a brainchip and inserted the chips into your neuroputty with only a little matrix fluid to make the connection.”

  “A brainchip?” Horatio felt suddenly queasy. “Would they change our brains permanently?”

  She shook her head. “When a commercial cheater’s chip pops back out, you’re as ignorant as you were before. If you only need to know Spanish for an hour or perform neurosurgery once, they’re a wonderful idea.”

  Horatio’s scalp prickled; they didn’t sound wonderful to him. “But brain matrix—”

  “Brain matrix stores and retrieves information. Spine matrix can’t do either.” She smiled, not nicely. “And they’re competitive. Spine matrix dominant, outside spinal tissue. So if Hamlet had inhaled spinal matrix—”

  “I’d be an idiot now, instead of just foolish.” Hamlet looked back down at the tube. “Thanks for saving me.”

  She smiled warmly; Hamlet was improving her mood. “You wouldn’t be an idiot yet. First you’d be distracted, then forgetful, later lost. Finally you’d die.”

  Hamlet, watching Horatio edge away from the table, said, “You’re willing to work with these things?”

  “Well, I wear a mask and gloves, and I’m careful.” Her mouth quirked. “In the end, that only delays things.”

  “That’s true of all deaths.”

  “Yes, but—” She said in a rush, “All Biochem Teks die of cancer or accidents. All of them. Which leads me to think that most of the cancers were accidents, too.”

&n
bsp; Hamlet stared at the vials and tubes on the table. Most of the liquids were clear, barely viscous. A thirsty person with no sense might pick one up and drink it.

  Horatio said, “Why don’t you change fields?”

  “At my age? I’m probably damaged already. When I was young, I felt immortal, sure I’d never slip up, never spill or sniff or make any major mistakes. Now I know better, but now—” She gestured around the lab. “It’s my life.”

  Horatio once again broke the silence. “Could you tell us more about matrices?”

  She shook herself. “Of course. I’m sorry; I don’t know what I was thinking of… wait. You simply want an introduction to biomatrices?”

  “I’d like that very much,” Hamlet said. “But are we keeping you from your work?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a researcher, not a teacher. We teach by simula here.” She called to the walls, “Lab Access.”

  “I’ve been listening. Do you want me to load the introductory simula?”

  “Yes.” She put her hand on the coral table and seemed to grow as rigid as the polished, dead coral.

  The front wall moved away from them.

  A lab, twin to the one they were in, formed beyond it, then moved back into the room to cover the lab they knew. Horatio glanced at the cal-counter on the wall. The date was five years ago.

  The door behind them opened and shut. They spun around, and Horatio gasped.

  The figure walking in was slender and a bit awkward. His face was kind. His hair was gray and unruly, both rare these days. His nose was broad and too long, but his eyes regarded them fondly and made him almost handsome.

  “Well,” he said with a slight Eastern European accent, “it is pleasant to have new pupils. So seldom that happens. And what have you come to learn?”

  Horatio had seen an older version of the man and heard that accent not long before, when Thibodeaux reran an Access file for him. Doctor Capek was unforgettable.

  Hamlet said with a slight tremor, “Do you know me?”

  Capek shook his head. “I am sorry. I see well enough, but sometimes I forget people, even friends. Have I worked with you, perhaps?”

  Hamlet slumped. “Yes. You worked with me, once.”