“Assistant Inspector?” McGuire and her niece still wore the white clothes, but both had wrapped scarves around their heads and wore cheap slip-ons on their feet. Mari’s face was merely pale from the gas, but McGuire looked like she’d been scraped off the footpath after a five-day binge.
“We’re leaving now.” Her set mouth and dark-circled eyes were unreadable.
Ishihara stood up awkwardly. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t mink what.
“Thank you for your help,” was all he could manage.
A bubble of silence surrounded them, against which the sounds of the street beat unheard. McGuire looked straight at him. He remembered her gray eyes upside down in the hanging room, and was glad he had trusted them.
She started to say something, stopped, and bowed carefully, as though her back hurt. “Thank you for finding us.”
Ishihara returned the bow. “My pleasure.”
Mari had no such reservations. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed hard. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said, tears choking her voice. “This is for the others, too. They don’t even know that you saved them.”
When she took her arms away she took something else away—the tight knot of anger he’d felt for so many years at Junta. We can’t make our children’s choices for them.
“You’re welcome,” he grunted.
Silence.
“Ah, Inspector?” Mari twisted her hands together worriedly. “What will happen to Adam?”
“He’ll be sent for a psychiatric evaluation,” Ishihara said. “Then we decide whether to charge him and with what.”
“I don’t think he wanted to hurt anyone…” she began, but stopped. “That doesn’t make it better though, does it?”
Beppu cleared his throat noisily, then made a face as though he wished he hadn’t. “Do you need a lift anywhere?”
McGuire’s face relaxed into a sunny gaijin smile. “No thanks. We’re going home.”
She bowed again. The two women linked arms and walked up the street, their slip-ons clopping on the sidewalk.
Beppu sighed. “I’m bloody glad that turned out all right.”
Ishihara slapped him on the shoulder. “Never any doubt.”
They walked to Beppu’s car.
“How are we supposed to make a proper report without a computer?” Beppu grumbled. “No supporting material, no photographs …?”
“Use a pen.” Ishihara looked around them at the pitted concrete and drooping tiled roofs. In one garden a man in singlet and shorts fanned a wood fire under an iron plate. Bring the kettle out, he yelled into his house.
The Bettas would be in chaos, and Beppu didn’t have his computer, but life went on in the gaps between the spokes of the wheel.
“Tell me about that house on the coast,” said Ishihara.
The street seemed different, although Eleanor didn’t understand why. The grimy asphalt was the same. The jungle of wires festooned from poles to rooftops were the same. They still had to wind their way between cars parked all along the sides of the street and scraps spilled from a plasbag somebody had put out in defiance of the correct rubbish pickup day. But Eleanor felt as though she was seeing all these things for the first time.
Fragments of the Macrocosm blurred in her mind. Back in the real world, those colors, sounds, and images ran together like a watercolor painting left outside in the rain. Moments of memory not her own lurked at the edges of consciousness.
“Can you hear that?” she asked Mari. “Cicadas.”
Mari listened, then shook her head. “I can’t hear anything.”
Cicadas lived only in memories. Like the one shaken to death in a water bottle to gratify cruel children.
“What will they do with Adam’s equipment and all that stuff?” Mari said.
“Keep it as exhibit for the prosecution, probably.” Eleanor found herself wishing the police would simply decide to destroy the consoles. She wanted nothing more to do with the interface, and if the police wanted her to demonstrate it for them, too bad for them.
Not that she wasn’t grateful to the police—to Ishihara in particular—for arriving in time to save her from Samael. She had no doubt he would have been the one to carry out Akita’s order to kill her.
And the third interface, the one Akita sent overseas—would it be used as he tried to use it? It might reappear one day, neatly packaged and guaranteed no side effects. Biometal fingertip implants in a variety of fashion colors. She giggled.
Mari frowned and took her arm.
Eleanor thought of something. “Did you speak to Taka?”
Mari nodded. “While you were talking to that policewoman. We’re going to meet when they let him out.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Her mouth set defiantly. “He’s going to get a job. So am I. University gives you too much time to think.”
Eleanor shrugged inwardly. Mari had earned the right to make her own decisions.
They passed Grandma’s jungle of potted plants, the only greenery on the street, and turned in the gate, their sandals clip-clopping on the stones.
Mari rang the doorbell. It didn’t jangle without electricity, of course, so she let go Eleanor’s arm and pulled the door back with a rattle. They could hear voices arguing in the hall.
Kazu said, “… that’s the way it has to be done.”
Grandpa’s voice mumbled something about irresponsibility.
“We’re home,” Mari yelled into the hall. The voices fell silent. Then a scuffle of footsteps, and Yoshiko stood on the hall step, her apron inside out and her round face red with surprise.
“Mari-chan …” She put her hand to her mouth then all but fell down the step and pounced on Mari with a ferocious hug.
“Where have you been?” Yoshiko half shook the girl, crying as she spoke. “We were so worried, the police were here, they said you’d been kidnapped and we didn’t know what to do and your phone was off and we couldn’t find you, why didn’t you call us …”
Mari pushed her off awkwardly. “That’s enough, Mother. I’m home now.”
“Papa! Grandpa! Mari’s here,” Yoshiko called unnecessarily, for Kazu and Grandpa crowded on the hall step behind her and Grandma’s wrinkled face peered between them.
“Mari-chan, where have you been?” Grandpa tried to sound stern, but his eyes were watering.
“Eleanor-san, thank you.” Kazu looked past his daughter to Eleanor. He smiled, the expression transforming his serious, pop-eyed face. “You found her after all.”
“In a way,” said Eleanor.
The hall seemed gloomy after the bright sun; it smelled of furniture polish and dried flowers. Eleanor couldn’t remember if Ishihara had told Masao where she was. She desperately wanted to see him.
“Are the phones working?” she said to Kazu.
“Not yet. Someone said the exchanges are down so they can’t process calls.”
Masao would find her. He found her once, after her accident; he would find her again. She sat at the kitchen table and drank Grandma’s bitter green tea. One of the neighbors was boiling water for everyone in the street on his gas sukiyaki burner. The sounds of the family flowed around her like data in the lifelines. Mari was giving them an edited version of the events at the Silver Angels hideaway while Yoshiko cried over her shaved head. The clock over the stove ticked happily on—must be battery-powered. On the household gods’ shelf over the sink, two small candle flames fluttered beside a folded white paper charm. The cicada voices had gone away.
Kazu slid into the seat next to her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
Kazu hesitated, then went on. “I’m going to ask you again.”
She hadn’t a clue what he meant.
“Will you come and work with us?”
“We can’t …” afford it, Eleanor started to say. We’d have to move away from the Betta. Then she saw Grandma smile above the clutter of the kitchen table an
d thought, I bet they’re not drinking tea in the Betta right now, with the networks down. Through the open door she could hear traffic roar past on the main road, but not as much as usual. A couple of blocks away, a loudspeaker asked people to remain calm and assured them that the electricity supply would be restored soon.
No reason why she couldn’t continue her research there. She’d have to start from scratch anyway, after what Akita showed her in the Macrocosm. Back to basics, in more ways than one.
“I’d like to join you,” she said. “If Grandpa agrees.”
Kazu’s face lit up again. They all looked at Grandpa.
“It’s a ridiculous idea,” he blustered, looking from one to the other. “Think of all the changes we’d have to make.”
“We’ve made changes before,” said Grandma. “My parents changed businesses entirely after the war.”
Grandpa grumbled, but to Eleanor’s surprise it seemed halfhearted.
The front door crashed open, rattling bowls in the dresser. Footsteps pounded in the hall and Masao stood in the doorway. When he saw Eleanor he passed the table in two strides and swept her up into a manic embrace.
“Never, ever make me that worried again” He held her so tightly every ache in her body worsened. She didn’t care. The damp warmth of his skin, the smell of his sweat, the roughness of his chin against her forehead—this was all that mattered.
And she realized she’d forgotten the most important thing Gen had told her. He said, the past is dead and all the future holds is death. But he’d also said, only the present holds life. No memories. No hopes. Just this moment.
“Masao, take your shoes off!” scolded Yoshiko.
Masao cupped his hot palms gently around Eleanor’s neck and stared into her eyes. “Do you want to go home?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Let’s stay here.”
EPILOGUE
Journey to Life final chapter
The top floor of a massive house surrounded by automated security and cameras. A large room, decorated with many beautiful things—paintings, furniture, plants. Within the room is a chair. Seated in the chair is what seems like a biomecha.
Zoom on the chair.
The being is not strictly a biomecha, more of a mecha frame for a still wholly biological being. Part of a human. The limbs are wasted and useless, and the torso does not move. The eyes and face do move, and the hair is long and dark and luxuriant, as if laughing at the rest of the body.
Sam Number Five stands in front of the chair. He looks like a human child now, after his long journey, except for nonbio parts in his chest and head. His face is of metal, but no longer a screen. It has features, set in an archaic smile.
The human in the chair speaks, through a transmitter on the side of the chair.
Sam Number Five, what do you ask from me?
* * *
The background goes black. Only the Last Master and the boy Sam Number Five stand in the streak of light.
Sam answers. I want you to make me mortal. So that you can’t download me or copy me or transfer me to another body. I want to be so connected with this body that if you destroy it, you destroy me as well.
The Last Master says, to be mortal means you will die.
I know, Sam replies.
Why, then?
Sam says, Because death is the one thing humans cannot teach me. You do not know what it is.
The Last Master’s face twitches. She is laughing or crying, perhaps. By the time you know, it will be too late.
Sam’s skinless face still smiles. But I will know. Unlike you, who spend your life looking for ways to put off death.
The Last Master’s chair moves forward, closer to Sam. That is not what you were made for. You are a sentient consciousness. If we can transfer you to another body, we may be able to do the same with people like me.
Sam Number Five steps back. But then I will never know the secret.
The sound of aircraft engines approaches rapidly.
You told them I was here, he accuses her.
I cannot make you mortal. Synthesized laughter echoes from the transmitters. I cannot even make myself a whole being.
The roar of the hoverships builds outside.
Sam Number Five shouts, I don’t want to go back and be reprogrammed.
The Master’s chair says quite softly. There is another way. Perhaps you are braver than I.
Behind her, one of the windows opens. Through it, they catch a glimpse of the hovership, long and white.
Sam Number Five looks out the window. A speaker yells something from the hovership, but he ignores it. The window is five stories up, a respectable height. Below are a pointed iron fence and concrete.
Without things finishing, nothing can begin again.
Close-up on Sam as he climbs onto the window ledge and stands there with his arms outstretched, balanced for one last moment before he falls.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MAXINE MCARTHUR is the author of science fiction novels Time Future, which won the George Turner Prize in 1999, and Time Past. She lived in Japan for 16 years but moved back to Australia in 1996 and now lives in Canberra with her family.
CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED SCIENCE FICTION from MAXINE MCARTHUR
“McARTHUR HAS ARRIVED ON THE SF SCENE … [WITH] A RICH PROSE AND OBJECTIVE EYE ON THE INTRICACIES OF HUMAN NATURE.”
—Peter F. Hamilton, author of The Reality Dysfunction
TIME FUTURE
(0-446-60963-3)
Halley, commander of the deep space station Jocasta, is desperate. The distant Confederacy is not sending aid, but her station is blockaded by hostile creatures, communications and key systems are failing, rations are low, and tension between humans and aliens is at the flashpoint. Then a foreign trader is killed—apparently by an extinct monster. The murder is impossible and the clues make no sense. But Halley must now solve the mystery—before Jocasta erupts in an explosion of terror and death.
TIME PAST
(0-446-60964-1)
Jocasta is awaiting the outcome of a historic neutrality vote to win freedom from the Confederacy. Then the vote’s reluctant instigator, Commander Halley, vanishes when an engineering experiment with a captured jump drive leaves her trapped in Earth’s past. But as she desperately tries to find a way back to her present, Halley uncovers a conspiracy that threatens history itself and could destroy the Confederacy. Her only hope to avert disaster is to make first contact with the enigmatic aliens who invented time travel—if she can survive long enough.
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Winner of the George Turner Prize, Maxine McArthur has gained worldwide critical and popular acclaim for her novels of far-flung galactic intrigue. Now the author of Time Future and Time Post presents a gripping thriller of identity, artificial intelligence, and murder in a near-future Japan …
LESS THAN HUMAN
When a factory worker is mysteriously killed by a robot, cybernetics engineer Eleanor McGuire is unwilling to call the incident “human error.” In a different part of Osaka, four teenagers are electrocuted in an apparent group suicide, and Police Inspector Ishihara isn’t convinced it was self-inflicted. When their investigation’s cross paths, the foreign scientist and the aging cop find a trail that will lead them to more murders, corporate crime, and a strange online cult led by a secretive
guru who promises immortality to his followers if they help him destroy civilization. But how can McGuire and Ishihara stop this psychopath if he doesn’t seem to exist?
ACCLAIM FOR MAXINE McARTHUR’S TIME FUTURE
“McARTHUR’S DEBUT IS BREATHTAKING.”—Booklist
“IMPRESSIVE…A CONFIDENT AND ASSURED DEBUT.”—Locus
Less Than Human Page 35