by Tony LaRocca
“You were,” he said, “right up to the last moment.”
The general sat on her bed, and took her hand in his leathery claw. “It does happen,” he said.
She fell back onto the sheets. She jerked her hand away, and cradled her belly. She could feel the emptiness inside of her, a hole where her baby had been. “No,” she said. “I remember…” But she could not. It was right at the tip of her brain—an image of darkness, of harps, of red fire, singing, and snakes.
“You had a nightmare when it happened,” said 0800. “Your brainwaves were off the scale.”
“I want to see her.”
The Cylebs looked at each other. “You were barely pregnant two months,” said Jaeger. “There wasn’t anything to see.”
She curled into a fetal position, and sobbed.
The general straightened. “There are two more things we must discuss,” he said. “The first is the dog. Its zhivoi–paint seems to have deteriorated. We don’t know why, but its nanomachines burned themselves out.”
An image flashed in front of Alyanna’s eyes: Bananas growling, screeching, and flying over the burning edge into… what? She tried to chase the memory, but it danced away from her.
“Mrs. Galbraith?”
“It’s a nightmare I had,” she said. “I can’t remember it.” She imagined the painting, the playful retriever burned to ashes. “Oh my God, is Matthew okay?”
Jaeger took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, “but he has aged again.” He turned towards the door. “Matthew?”
She looked up. A third generation Cyleb walked into the room, but he wore slacks and a button–down shirt instead of a uniform, and his skin was free of silver. Tiny lines of white streaked his hair, particularly on the right side of his head. His face was gaunt and drawn.
“Matthew?” she asked. She took in the weathered man who stood before her. “The Sage is killing him,” she said. “It killed, Bananas, now it’s killing him.”
“Mom, it’s okay,” said the man who claimed to be her son, “really.”
“No, it’s not. Look at you, you’re…”
“We place his age to be about twenty–nine,” said 0800.
“But your life,” she said. “You didn’t get to be young at all.”
“I was,” Matthew said. “It just went by fast, because I’m in here. It’s all relative.”
“No,” she said. “No, no, no. In the painting, you’re still four.”
Matthew looked at Jaeger. The general nodded. Matthew waved his hand, and the virt screen on her dresser clicked on. It displayed the zhivoi–painting, illuminated by the rippling lines of the scanner.
Bananas was gone. Matthew sat cross–legged in the grass just as he appeared before her, as a salt–and–peppered, young man. “See?” he and the painting spoke at the same time. “This is really me.”
“Oh, God,” she said, “now I’ve lost both my children.”
“You didn’t lose me, I’m here,” her son and the painting said simultaneously. She shook her head, and rolled away.
“Just go,” she said, facing the wall. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
She whirled back around, clamping her hand on his wrist. She glared at him as she dug her nails into his skin. “You’re not my son,” she said. “I can see all your guilt, all your lies, just like his, just like everything in here. You’re all part of the same lie. Matthew wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn’t lie to me. You’re not him, you’re one of them.”
He pulled his hand away. “Mom—”
“Go!” she screamed.
He vanished.
Jaeger stood. “Try to get some sleep,” he said.
She said nothing. She held her breath until she heard the shimmering noises of their departures. She squeezed her eyes tight, and shook, trying to ignore the stabbing emptiness inside her.
Sigma followed Matthew back to his infernal creation, his mind drawing hers like a magnet. She found him standing at the crater’s edge. The volcano raged below, making the air around him shimmer. He looked up into the ash–filled night as she appeared.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
He took in the sight of her. Her face and neck were marred by sooty, fingerprinted bruises. He looked back into the fire. “Can’t you make those go away?”
“I like them,” she said. “It reminds me of who you are inside.”
“Thanks.”
She placed her hand on his chin, and turned it towards her. Her face was more symmetrical than before, her tics almost unnoticeable. “Listen to me,” she said. “You did what had to be done.”
“She’s destroyed now,” he said. He touched her bruises. “Please?”
Sigma shook her head. “She is strong, she’ll heal. Maybe someday she’ll know, and understand.”
“She can’t ever know.”
The golden flecks in Sigma’s eyes flared. She smiled. “So,” she said, “What will you make today?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I came here to destroy this.”
“Don’t,” she said. She caressed his face. “Never destroy. You can create anything you want. You can create monsters, or you can create dreams, but never, ever destroy.”
“Why?”
“Because we need you,” she said. “We need you to create.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
She let out a tiny laugh, and offered her hand. “I want to show you something.”
He took it, and they vanished.
They appeared on the hillside where they had made love. She pointed to the earth. “Look at the meadow,” she said. “Look deeply with all of your senses. What do you notice?”
He examined the grass, how it rippled in the wind, its color and shape. “Every blade is the same height and width,” he said. “They even have the same roughness on their edges. They’re each dark green, with a tinge of lighter color at the top.”
She nodded. “To design one blade of grass took me a whole month. I just replicated the rest after that one.” She held out her hand. “Give me some flowers?”
He shrugged. A myriad of blossoms appeared around them, varying from roses to orchids and bluebells.
“You see?” she said. “We don’t have the ability to do what you can. We can create small things; we can replicate things found in our database. But…” She picked a rose. Its petals had blue tinges, and streaks of orange. “We can’t imagine. We can’t dream things into existence.”
“What about General Jaeger?”
“He can, much better than the rest of us, but with nowhere near the form or detail as you. That’s the one serendipitous thing about Benjamin’s treachery. The woman you call mother is one of the most creative artists in the world. So not only was creativity bred into your nature, you were nurtured in it as well.” She took his hands in hers. “You’re truly a part of our family. I need you, your brothers need you, and the Sage needs you.”
“How could it need me?”
“Every time you create, it grows. It’s like a child. It needs to learn to think, to create on its own, to become alive.”
“And that’s all you want me to do?” he asked. “Just create things out of my imagination?”
She caressed his left arm. “For now,” she said. “I want you to let yourself go.”
He closed his eyes. “Please stop,” he said. “I can’t do that. I lose control.”
“Exactly.” Before he could stop her, the world shimmered about them again. They materialized on the crater’s edge. “Look around you,” she said, “really look.”
He did as he was told. Far off in the distance, a range of mountains, twisted formations of volcanic rock and ash, reached to the heavens. He squinted. They almost looked like a city.
A swollen ember wafted on the breeze. Matthew looked closer, and realized it was an eagle, its feathers dancing tongues of fire. Two more flaming creatures spun in its wake.
He bent, and touched the soil mixed with ash. He could feel life beneath his fingertips: micro
bes squirming, trying to form some sort of foothold in a desperate attempt to evolve. “I don’t remember doing this,” he said.
“No,” she said, “you did this when your arm was off.” He looked at his errant limb. It throbbed, his muscles knotting and releasing underneath the surface. “There is great work to be done, and not much time.”
He ran his fingers through the soot. “Bananas,” he said. “Bananas is here. She… I killed her.” His chest heaved in a sigh. “All she wanted to do was protect Alyanna.”
“I know,” Sigma said. “She understood, in her own way, but couldn’t understand.”
Matthew looked at her. “What am I to do here?” he asked.
“Build a world,” she said. “Build the Sage with me. Help it grow, help us grow. Help us create a haven for the human race, a place where the monsters can be fought. We can do it together, if you’ll teach me. We don’t have to be alone anymore.”
He straightened. Without him touching it, his left arm separated. The division shone from underneath his shirt. His limb stayed in place, a millimeter from its joint. His body shimmered with blue light as he reached out to touch her face. She leaned in to kiss him, and it was like kissing electricity, like kissing fire. She let her weight fall back while pulling at his shoulders. He caught her in his arms, and they lowered together to the soft, black earth.
They kissed as he tore down her uniform. His lips caressed her skin, following her curves as they were exposed with a slowness that was agonizing. When he finally reached between her thighs, he stayed there, teasing her with his tongue while he stroked her beneath with fingers of lightning. A torrent of warmth flooded her from within, and she dug her hands into his hair as she arched her back. Her breath was a low purr that came from the back of her throat.
Then he was on top of her, staring into her eyes, and he burned. He was rock and fire, pushing inside of her, forcing her body apart, filling her as she wrapped her legs around him, but it was not enough. She needed him deeper, and she felt him jabbing harder and harder, filling her up to her womb with feverish, swollen pleasure—but it still was not enough. He latched onto her, twisting her heart inside out, pulling her soul inside of his with every thrust.
She could feel a terrible loneliness at his center, a wound he had suffered since the day he was taken from them. But more importantly, she saw that it did not define him. She saw a love for himself, and because of that, a love for her; that she was the only one he desired to share this with. She filled his emptiness, and he clutched at her, merging until there was no separation. They flowed into and around each other, and she heard music that was soft and joyful. She came hard, shaking as they danced inside of each other’s souls, and she loved him, she loved him with all of her—
ENOUGH!
She gasped for air, writhing.
She was outside of the Sage, within her immersion tank. She could barely breathe. An oxygen mask covered her face, and she sucked at it with desperation. She reached for the neural connection at the base of her skull, but it had retracted. She floundered to the edge of the tank. Her arms and legs fought against her, as if they were made of wood. Her eyes rolled in their sockets. She put her hands on the edge and tried to pull herself up, but she did not have the strength.
Glowing, skeletal hands grabbed her wrists, and jerked her up. She fell naked onto the tiles of the chamber, panting. She pulled off the mask, and saw Jaeger standing over her.
“Cover yourself,” he said, throwing down a towel. She took it with trembling fingers, shaking with an iciness that pierced her bones.
“Wh—what happened?”
“Stand up.”
“I’m weak,” she said, panting.
“Stand. Up.”
She reached for the edge of the tank, and pulled herself to her knees. The world swam around her, as if someone had taken her skull in their hand, and spun it. She slipped back onto her heels. She looked up, and saw the look of fury and contempt on the general’s withered face.
“Why?” she asked.
“Stand up.”
She closed her eyes, and concentrated her will. She would either stand, or fall into the vat, and drown. She felt her center of balance shift forward, slid one foot underneath, and pushed with all her strength. She lurched to her feet, teetering on legs that refused to work. She lashed her arm out, found a pipe, and clung to it. She was aware that all the towel on her shoulders covered was one breast, but she did not care.
“Follow me,” he said. He walked across the room to the mirrored wall. Sigma forced herself to obey. Every step made her legs shake.
“Look at yourself.”
She did.
Her body was emaciated, her muscles atrophied. She looked as if she had starved herself for months. “What happened?” she asked.
“Twenty hours,” Jaeger said. “For almost a day, you have been lost with your lover.” He turned away.
“No,” she said. “That’s impossible. It was only a few minutes.”
“For twenty hours, your metabolism skyrocketed to the point where your body was eating itself. The tank’s nutritional system could not keep up. I tried to separate you before, but you both fought me. I had to wait until you were weak enough.”
She looked at her wasted frame. “Why would he do this to me?”
“Because at heart, he is a child. He doesn’t know any better. He’s lost in love, pleasure, and creation. He didn’t give a thought as to what it might do to you.”
She staggered to a bench, and slumped down. Jaeger made no move to stop her. She adjusted her towel over herself. “I need to talk to him,” she said.
“No. This has gone on long enough.”
She ground her teeth. “We’ve been… for twenty hours?”
He stepped behind her. She felt a stab of fear at what he might do. Then she felt his bony finger stab into the socket at the base of her skull.
“This, my daughter, is what you’ve been doing.”
She blinked, and gasped. She stood at the volcano’s edge, but it was no longer a volcano. It had become a mountainous font, erupting water that glowed with an electric–blue luminescence over its massive cliffs. Soft, lush grass of violet and green tickled her calves. At the base of the waterfall, the twisted roots of a tree wove around the mountain, a knotted vine a meter in diameter. Branches reached out from it, with leaves long and drooping. A chattering primate ran along the length of it. Its face sported a snout and whiskers, reminiscent of the dog’s, but with almost human eyes. It reached out one of its six arms, and swung to the next branch.
She slumped to the grass. A beetle landed on her hand. It blinked at her, cocking its head with an expression of curiosity. It spread its ruby wings, and flew into the sky.
“This is what you have been doing,” the general said from behind her. “You and Matthew have been creating a new world, an entire ecosystem within the Sage, at the cost of your life.”
“He would never hurt me,” she said. “I’m sure he didn’t know.”
“So am I,” said Jaeger. “That’s why this can never happen again. You are to break off all contact with him. We have what we need for the next generation. The next step is to make the Sage ready for the gathering storm, and to prepare us for war. Not this.”
His words slashed the inside of her chest like a knife. “No,” she said, not realizing the word had left her lips.
“Excuse me?”
She clenched and unclenched her hands, panting. “No,” she said, “I can’t promise to never see him again.”
She felt his finger exit her mind, and the world flashed around her. She was back on the cold bench of the immersion chamber. She gathered the towel around her, her chest heaving. She closed her eyes tight, waiting for punishment.
She felt something soft touch her leg. She looked down. He had placed her uniform on the bench. “Dress,” he said, and exited. She did so with shaking hands. She needed to rest, she needed sustenance.
As if he had read her thoughts, Jae
ger returned, carrying an aluminum flask. “Drink slowly,” he said. She obeyed. It was sweet and syrupy, like carbonated honey. She felt a little strength return to her. “Now,” he said, holding out his hand, “come with me.”
She obeyed, leaning on him for support. They walked through the array of immersion tanks until they reached the final one. When she saw who was inside, she ran on rickety legs, and pressed her face against it.
“With the new genetic material we’ve retrieved from Galbraith, the third generation project is over,” said the general. “And to be honest, he is of no use to us now. But if I could make a gift of the artist to Matthew, I can make a gift of your son to you.”
Her heart pounded as she watched Zero’s tiny frame writhe and spin alone inside of the iatric fluid. “Who’s with him now?”
“He has a nursery inside the Sage. His brothers enjoy spending time with him there.”
“You did this today?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “It will take time for him to acclimate. Despite his mental difficulties, he’s bonded well. Within the Sage, his mental age is six months. His mind will grow in there at an accelerated rate, though not the same as the others.” She watched her son jerk, his face contorted. “He was genetically programmed to feel pleasure from being farmed, and now, he’s suffering withdrawal.” Jaeger placed a hand on her shoulder. “He needs his mother. But more than that, he needs my daughter, who guided our brothers while I was imprisoned. He needs the strength and wisdom of the leader who kept the biopures at bay.” His voice was soft, deep, and resonant. “Or are you nothing more than some boy’s bed–toy?”
She felt her face grow warm as she watched her malformed child writhe in pain. “I’ll say goodbye,” she said. She turned to face her father. “Put me back in, and I’ll say goodbye.”
Matthew sat by the volcano turned waterfall, and ran his hand in the warm, glowing waters. It was not the liquid itself that shone, it was an illusion caused by thousands of bioluminescent guppies. They rode the waves down, mated, and then swam their way back up through networks of tunnels carved by worms throughout the igneous rock. The worms themselves fed on the guppies’ feces, while the guppies nibbled at the roots of the tree for sustenance. The cause and effect made him giddy.