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Page 8
Anyway, it felt good. The perfect balance to her brain, which was doing its own fast twitch. Darting around. Spinning like the cycle. Pondering the mysteries, but at speed.
The thing about alarms, they were happening all the time. All were good, in the sense that being alert and aware were good. Being hyperalert was good, too, it had its place, unless it went on too long, in which case it caused problems. Nervousness, for instance. Anxiety. Paranoia.
You wouldn’t want the very alarm you were using to save a life to trigger a mental breakdown. There were enough of those already. The alarm she needed had to walk a thin line.
Again, she found herself thinking that it should be a sexual scent. Sharp and arousing, to the point of dead in the tracks. No prolonged hemming and hawing allowed. No mooning around. The whole purpose, a call to immediate action. Decisiveness.
Pleasure first, then displeasure, right on its heels. The scent would do a hundred and eighty. Sweet would turn to stink: a puzzling, troubling development, and a surefire motivator.
She could start with her own scent. Plenty to work with. Currently, droplets of sweat surrounded her, like effervescent bubbles of champagne. The smell of sweat was not precisely the smell of sex, but it was close. She could distill it, purify it, then modify it. Make it into something irresistible, something you couldn’t ignore, you couldn’t get enough of, which would mean customizing it person by person, challenging but not impossible. Her scent would be the platform for a limitless number of other scents. Offer these to anyone over the age of sixty. Fifty.
Her gift to the elderly of the planet. A potential project, and a lifesaver to boot. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t help Cav: one, because it didn’t exist; and two, because he wouldn’t take it if it did, for a number of reasons. The most annoying of these at the moment: he was even more intractable than usual. He had crossed, or was about to cross, a line.
His conviction that the Ooi was alive: pure insanity, in her humble opinion. With the slim possibility that it wasn’t, that the world (the Ooi, in this case) was as he described, that it existed solely from his perspective, his and his alone, the way insanity worked.
She felt a growing distance from him. A chill in the air when they were together. Her respect for him, a pillar of their relationship, was beginning to erode. Every so often she felt physically repelled by him, which was new, and which she hated.
She carried a double burden of wanting to help and being unable to, or not allowed, and of being stuck with him and unable to get away. Love and loyalty vied with mounting frustration. The balance was not a happy one, nor was it sustainable. She needed a new balance, but something had to give first.
She could leave. Pack her things (there weren’t that many), hop the shuttle, and pop down to Earth (where else?). Take some time off. Size things up from a distance. Let him and Dashaud do whatever they were going to. Create some space for herself.
She had a whole new life ahead. Didn’t happen every day. What to do with it? Research had been good to her, so probably that. But there was so much she hadn’t tried. So much else.
She pedaled faster just thinking about all the possibilities. Didn’t notice Cav at first. He kind of snuck up on her.
“I’ll come back,” he said.
“Ten minutes.”
He gave her twenty.
“What’s up?” she asked, wiping herself down.
“No response to loud noise. To vibration. To bright light, strobe light. Any light. To touch.”
“You touched it?”
“With a glove.”
“How did it feel?”
“Firm. Smooth. Maybe a little slippery.”
“Cold or hot?” she asked.
“Warm.”
“Like what? Room temperature?”
“Warmer.”
She needed better than that. “How much?”
“Not much. A little. I didn’t have a thermometer.”
“And it didn’t move, either during or after?”
“No.”
“Or before. It’s never moved, Cav.”
“Not that we’ve detected.”
“Let me guess. You think it’s biding its time. Waiting for the right moment. Dormant. Transitional. In stasis.”
“Living things move, Gunjita. Maybe it’s moving too fast, or too slow, for our eyes and our instruments. Maybe to it, we’re immobile. Maybe even undetectable. The burden’s on us to find a way to communicate.”
“This is crazy, Cav.”
“In what way?”
“You’re making things up.”
“If I had the answers, I wouldn’t have to. But I’m ignorant. It could be biding its time. It could be a seed, waiting for the right soil, or substrate, or conditions, to germinate. It could be anything.”
“Have you talked to it?” she asked.
“That’s funny.”
“Have you?”
He averted his face.
“Great,” she said.
“Not aloud.”
“Wonderful.”
He was skating on thin ice. Now would be the time to make light of himself. “Maybe I should try.”
She cut him a look.
“I’m joking,” he said.
She wasn’t in the mood. “Has it talked to you?”
He tried out various answers—truths, half-truths, outright lies. A change of subject seemed advisable.
“How old do you think it is?” he asked.
“A trillion years.”
“Seriously.”
“Two trillion.”
“From another universe then.” It boggled the mind.
“Obviously.”
“Ancient.” He felt overwhelmed. “Or not. Maybe it’s a child where it came from. An innocent.”
She was at a loss for words. Didn’t know whether to humor him, pity him, or harden her heart.
“You should have asked,” she said. “We should have discussed it first.”
There was no mistaking what this was about. “There was a window of opportunity. I jumped on it.”
“I’m not talking about the HUBIES.”
“Dashaud had a window, too.”
“Bullshit.”
“He’s been enhanced. His sense of touch. He can feel anything. Everything.”
“Good for him.”
“It’s been fifty years, Gunjita.”
“Sixty.”
“He’s not the same. Give him a chance.”
“Maybe I will. Not up to you.”
“You still bear a grudge.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why the fuss?”
She gritted her teeth. “Are you dense?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have talked to you first.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“What would you have said?”
“I have no idea.”
“You would have said no.”
She tossed this aside. “Moot point. But probably.”
No was not an option.
She got off the bike, but he didn’t move, effectively blocking her way.
“Was there something else?” she asked. “Because I have work to do.”
“Would you do it again?”
“Do what?”
“If you could. Would you juve?”
“Would I juve?”
“Hypothetically.”
“A third time? Like Laura Gleem?”
“Hypothetically.”
The CEO was etched in her mind. Her image was obviously manufactured. Was there even such a thing as Laura anymore, beyond the corporate label?
“She hasn’t been seen in public since. I’m guessing she’s dead.”
He didn’t care about Laura Gleem. “If there weren’t a risk. If it were safe.”
“It’s not.”
“If it were. Proven. Would you do it?”
“A third time?”
“Yes.”
The holy grail. That’s what they’d
called one, then two.
“In a minute,” she said.
“You would.”
“Yes. In a minute.”
“And after that? Would you do it again?”
“A fourth time? I’d be what? Two hundred and fifty years old? Maybe. Or maybe I’d stop. Two hundred and fifty is a lot of years. Maybe enough.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why ever stop? You could be immortal.”
“Methuselan maybe. Immortal I doubt.” She gave him a look. “Is that what this is about? You’re morally opposed? It offends your sense of, what? Dignity? Decency?”
“Normalcy.”
“It is normal. Normal, everyday people do it.”
“Not everyone.”
“Everyone who can. Or nearly everyone.”
“Everyone can’t.”
“The world isn’t fair. Progress is uneven. This isn’t news.”
“It’s numbing,” he said. “Living so long. When time is cheap, where’s the incentive to make the most of it?”
“The incentive’s built in. You need motivation? A deadline? A prod? Since when?”
She pushed past him. Dripping with sweat. Hair plastered to her head. Sleek, redolent, and resolute. An advertisement.
1 From The Blind Seer of Ambon, by W. S. Merwin.
–SIX–
A boy is ripe at every age. A man is ripe until he becomes over-ripe. He should be eaten before that date. Afterwards, the best that can be done is to have him dried and preserved.1
They watched the screen in silence.
“If he crashes, it’s on him,” she said.
“The shuttle’s on autopilot.”
“He might decide to disable it. He’s just the type.”
“Give it a rest,” said Cav.
More silence. The shuttle glinted sunlight and steadily grew in size.
“So he juved.”
Cav nodded.
“A bit on the early side, wasn’t it?”
“Didn’t want to wait.”
“That I get.” Ruby, his mother, had juved at the age of seventy both times. Early for some, not for her. Her health demanded it.
“Go easy on him,” Cav pleaded.
“I intend to be very nice. After all, he’s my husband’s guest. In this, our very own house. Our hideaway. Our nest.”
“Very good,” said Cav. “Very droll.”
“I haven’t forgiven you.”
He hadn’t expected her to. He hadn’t quite forgiven himself.
“Maybe with time,” he said. “Meanwhile, twist the knife all you like.”
“Oh, boo-hoo. Mr. Melodramatic.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Get a grip on yourself. Your best friend’s about to show up.”
Sage advice. He didn’t have to be told twice.
“My best friend’s been enhanced.”
“You said. How’s he look?”
“He looks good.”
“Different?”
“Younger.”
Obviously. “Happy?”
“Sure.”
“Eager?”
“Raring to go.” This was Dash in a nutshell.
“No change there.”
“That’s right. Not there.”
“Handsome, I assume.”
“They’re all handsome at that age.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did. It went without saying. Dashaud Mikelson. A unique and uniquely striking man. “I was handsome once, so I’ve been told.”
“I never noticed.”
“You loved me for my brain.”
“The same way you loved me.”
An old joke.
The ice was melting. He could feel it. Had never wanted anything more.
He hated the thought of pushing her away. Hated the idea of losing her love. This thaw—implicit, unspoken—filled him with hope. He felt himself falling for her just as he had the very first time. And repeatedly since then. Felt the world disappear, his heart expand.
“I love you, Gunjita.”
She smiled, without taking her eyes from the screen. “Love you, too, baby.”
He felt a stirring. A rare occurrence. Not to be lightly dismissed, or squandered.
He pressed against her hip. Slid his arm around her neck. Then under her shirt.
“Not now,” she said.
“We have time.”
She didn’t argue. Let him have his way, but eventually lifted his hand from her breast, pressed it to her lips, then returned it to him. “Later, okay?”
She had other things on her mind. He understood this. He had other things on his, too. Things that he’d set in motion. When those things took on a life of their own, there were bound to be disappointments. People couldn’t help but get their feelings hurt.
He kissed the top of her head. Their future was approaching. He watched the screen with her, but after a while got tired of it, kissed her again, then left to take a nap.
* * *
Three hours later he was shaking Dash’s hand. Then hugging him, which was like hugging a god. They separated, and Dash faced Gunjita.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, Dashaud.”
“Long time.”
“Ages.”
“It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you.” He had a smile that lit the room. That part of him hadn’t changed.
“How was your flight?” she asked.
“Uneventful.”
Tiptoeing around, and why not?
“First time?”
“In space? No.”
“Dash did an internship,” said Cav.
“I didn’t know.”
“Muscle research,” said Dash. “Low-grav effects. Early stuff. I was up for a month.”
“Before my time.”
“It was in my résumé.”
“Must have slipped my mind. Can’t imagine why.”
Dash let it slide. “Cav says you’re working on it now.”
“Muscles? We’re not.”
“Actomyosin,” said Cav.
“Not by design. But it’s there. Can’t get away from it.”
Dash nodded. “That’s how it was with us.”
“Pain in the ass getting our cells to divide. Getting consistent motion of any kind.”
“Weak signal,” he commiserated.
“Creature of Earth. Or was. Now it doesn’t know what it’s supposed to do. How to behave. A very confused molecule.”
“I’d be confused, too,” said Dash. “Torn from my momma.”
A harmless comment. Sweet even. She wondered what he meant. Realized how little she knew of him. How little she wanted to know. How determined she was, out of spite alone, to keep him at arm’s length.
“I’m its new mother,” she said. “I’m teaching it to toe the line.”
“She’s doing all the hard work,” said Cav.
“All the lifting.”
“Not all.”
“It’s fine, dear. Everyone needs a vacation.” She patted his cheek condescendingly, a public display of marital discord she would later apologize for. She was nervous, and not herself. A forgivable offense, given the circumstances.
“Cav says you’ve been enhanced.”
“It’s true,” said Dash.
“Your sense of touch.”
“True again.”
“Everywhere?”
“My fingertips mostly.”
“Where else?”
A moment’s hesitation, as if unsure what she was asking. “Mostly them.”
Now she had made him nervous, too. She felt both better and worse. Stifled the urge to ask for an on-the-spot demonstration. But didn’t skimp on the feigned enthusiasm.
“Wonderful. Magic fingers. You’ve come to us in the nick of time. Cav says you can feel everything now.”
“Not everything.”
“Life? Can you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“The difference between life and nonlife?”
“Perfect. You can weigh in. Give us your enhanced opinion.”
He gave her a look, as if to ask: Why are you doing this?
They locked eyes.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said quietly. “Cav?”
“Yes. By all means. May not have to cut. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Done any lately?” she asked.
He thought of the fulmar. “A little.”
“Still an ace with the knife? You and it still one?”
“I can find my way around.”
“Thin slice?”
“Sure. As thin as you need.” Puffing out his chest a little.
“What about fixing the specimen? Staining it? Prepping the slide? Can you do that?”
“Not my area of expertise. But I can follow the prompts. How hard can it be?”
“What about reading it?” she asked.
“What is this, a job interview?”
“The job’s yours. I’m finding out if you can do it.”
“I assume you have software.”
“This thing may not be in the database. Probably isn’t.”
“You’re throwing up roadblocks.”
“Not me,” she said.
“I’m not a pathologist.”
Cav had heard enough. “None of us is. But we all know something. Put our heads together, chances are we’ll be close to the mark. But first things first. You brought the HUBIES?”
“Brought everything.”
“They survived the flight? They’re functional?”
“Will be by tomorrow.”
“Are they awake?”
“They’re warming up.”
“I’d like to see.” He glanced at Gunjita. “Gunjita’s not pleased.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. They exist. We might as well use them.”
“I agree,” he said. “Let them do what they were meant to do. Fulfill their purpose. Assuage our guilt.”
“I have no guilt,” said Dash. “We were responding to a need.”
“Supposed,” said Gunjita.
“Idealized,” said Cav. “No matter. We took liberties. It’s what we do. Latitude in all things, especially when we wear our research hats. Occupational hazard. Industry standard. You weren’t the only one feeding the machine.”
“You didn’t feel threatened? You weren’t afraid?” Dash couldn’t believe it. The Hoax was a nightmare that touched every corner or the globe.
Gunjita laughed. “Cav? You’re kidding, right? When they filled the skies, and the world was freaking out, he was rubbing his hands, and had a big fat grin on his face. It was a dream come true.”