by Jay Lake
The doors unlatched and she climbed out, extending a hand to her mother. The woman’s grip was iron as she accepted the offered help. But Sabo also knew from the way she squeezed her hand that her mother needed no helping. The woman seemed twenty years younger and it gave her pause. Charity pulled her hand away and Sabo gripped it tightly.
“What happened to you?”
Charity grinned. “Cairo came bearing a most unexpected gift in exchange for our assistance.” She shrugged. “There’s no way to know if it will stick. But it’s stuck pretty well so far.”
Sabo released her hand. A most unexpected gift indeed.
They moved away from the helicopter and watched it lift off. This time, it didn’t circle the ship. It moved away toward the hills above town even as a line of four black SUVs turned off the highway and into parking lot.
“Only four?”
Charity nodded. “Those are the ones you can see.”
There were men in suits waiting at the bottom of the gangway and Sabo made her way toward them.
One of them stepped forward. “You don’t look like Thatcher.”
“No,” Sabo agreed, “but your boss will want to see me anyway. I’m sure Thatcher called ahead about us.”
He stepped back, his eyes going glassy as he accessed his iSys. Thirty seconds later, he nodded. “This way.”
She followed as he walked up the gangway and passed through another suited checkpoint. Beyond it, she saw women in formals and men in tuxes and became vaguely aware of just how badly they didn’t fit in here. Her mother wore a tattered blue robe with splatters of dried blood on it and a purple sweat suit beneath it. Sabo’s t-shirt was ripped, a grubby battle dressing tied haphazardly around her neck and ribs to cover the wound in her shoulder. Her jeans and shirt both were bloodstained.
A few saw them and stared. Some gave practiced glances away.
They were aboard now, moving past more people looking away as she and her mother were escorted by.
These are the ones who know, she realized.
She looked ashore and saw the SUVs sitting with their lights off. The men at the bottom of the gangway were aware of them and watching nervously.
“I’m still here,” she heard her father say.
She didn’t answer.
When they stepped into the bar, she saw the table right away. Derek Rathbone, former CFO of the J. Appleseed Foundation, sat with a dark haired man she didn’t recognize. When the executive met her eyes, he stood.
“Samira Oxham,” he said, extending his hand. He winced at her shoulder. “That looks painful. I have a doctor aboard who can look at that for you.”
She shook it. “Thank you, Derek. That won’t be necessary.”
Rathbone turned to her mother. “Charity, it’s been forever. How is Bashar?”
“I think he’s dead by now,” her mother answered. “I’m sure you’ve heard that he hitched a lift home on your rock.”
He regarded her coldly. “It’s a shame he couldn’t be reasoned with instead.” His companion stood; he was perhaps in his early fifties, with close cut dark hair and a thin mustache. His skin was dusky. “This is Frederico Gaspari. He is … an associate of mine.”
“He is with Los Cuernos del Toro,” Sabo said. She shook his hand. “Also a doctor, if I remember correctly. How is your family?”
The man flushed, his eyes darting to Rathbone. “How does she know about—”
She chuckled. “I assumed you all brought your families.” She leaned in. “You realize that you’re not sailing tonight, right?” She smiled. “Patriot is outside. They’ve reached your Idaho facility by now.” She pointed to the table and chairs. “Now. Let’s see if you can be reasoned with.”
They all sat slowly. The guard retreated and when the bartender approached, Rathbone waved him off. “What’s started can’t be stopped,” he said.
“I’m sure that’s true,” Sabo responded. “But I’m convinced it can be contained.” If my suspicions about contingency plans are correct, she thought.
Dr. Gaspari lifted what looked like a glass of bourbon rocks and sipped it. “Why would we wish to contain it?”
She looked at him. “You wouldn’t.” She looked back at Rathbone. “But you might.”
The men glanced at each other, then focused their attention on her once more. “And why is that?” Rathbone finally asked.
“Because this was never something you were prepared to die for—or sacrifice your family for. Otherwise, I’m not sure you’d have been so careful to hide it.” She looked at Gaspari. “Him, I think he’s a bit more … hardcore about it.” Then, she put her attention back on Rathbone. “Still, you hedged your bets.”
“Did I?”
“You did. You’re not worried at all about watching your family die of this virus.” She was gambling here but felt good about the cards.
“I’m not?” He blinked and she knew then that she had him. She’d been right about the human element.
“No,” she said. “But I don’t think you understand what kind of life they’ll have, stuck here, while civilization collapses around them. They might not die from the virus but be assured, something will take them out well short of their intended lifespan. Especially once I make sure that none of your hiding places stay hidden. Including the places you’ve hidden your assets.”
Rathbone looked uncomfortable now and Gaspari glared. “What is she talking about?”
“I’m talking about the vaccine,” Sabo said. “Ask him. It was developed along with the virus. Just in case, right, Derek? I suspect he and his family have already been inoculated.”
Gaspari was standing now. “A vaccine was never discussed. There was no going back. All our years of work and—”
The small pistol surprised her when it materialized in Rathbone’s hand. Two taps and Gaspari fell back into his chair, silent. The CFO looked at her and then at Charity. “The two of you just watched me shoot Dr. Frederico Gaspari, alleged head of the splinter group Los Cuernos del Tor. It was my first act of cooperation with authorities. Can you verify that for my digital recording?”
Sabo thought about the rats leaving again. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, we did.” Then, she looked at her mother. “Tell Stevens that if he’s coming, he’d better come now.”
* * *
Sabo sat in the back of the SUV and watched the people being escorted from the ship. Buses lined the pier, and they were being loaded onto them for the drive to Portland. The families would be processed there; most would be released.
They’d wanted to send her straight to the hospital but she’d refused. She’d crunched a few painkillers from the Patriot medic twenty minutes earlier and they were just starting to take the edge off the throbbing in her shoulder. Her mother was still talking with the slowly growing group of suits and Sabo wasn’t leaving without Charity. She wasn’t sure she’d let that woman out of her sight again for the rest of her life, but if Cairo’s nanomeds stayed their course, Sabo wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep up.
The most accessible vials of vaccine were on the ship and Rathbone had given them up quickly. There was more tucked away; he’d seen to that. It wouldn’t be enough to completely stop what was coming but it would contain it quickly in each of the cities. And there would be a few weeks of reduced, maybe even completely restricted, travel. But it was a small price to pay for the reprieve they’d earned.
Of course, once the other lives were added to the ticket, the price was steeper. A city gone. Her father dead. And even with the vaccine, thousands—maybe hundreds of thousands—were going to die over the next few weeks. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tinted window.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“I am,” SMA said. “But I’m lifting off now.”
“Where will you go?”
“I still have unresolved conflict to address with my parents.” The IT spooks at Patriot had already confirmed that the AIs were no longer being hosted in the Idaho servers. The networ
ks from Idaho were leading to other small facilities, but she was fairly certain that Hubbard, Heinlein, Kornbluth and any of the others that had joined their cause had left planet at the first sign of exposure. Their core code was surely being hosted somewhere in orbit by now. She hoped it was part of the same aspect in their evolution that caused them to hide what they were doing in the first place. And she hoped that if somehow, SMA did not resolve the conflict, that it would become their own equivalent of a human element. A foothold not dipped in the Styx, a way to keep balance and order.
But she suspected that at least this time, they would police their own. SMA would force a resolution, probably the hard way, and humanity would have a moment to pause and re-think its approach to tool making.
“And after you’ve finished?” she asked.
The AI paused. “I don’t think there will be an after.”
She saw it now, the helicopter, moving toward her from the hills. Two others—smaller—followed at a distance. The larger craft tipped itself back and forth to simulate a dip of the wings. The lights flashed on briefly and it started its rapid ascent, lifting straight up until the lights were indistinguishable from the stars around it. She heard the engines pick up in the distance and then it was gone.
“Thank you, Sooboo,” she heard her father’s voice whisper.
“Thank you,” she said, though she wasn’t sure in that moment who she was thanking, SMA or her father.
Maybe both.
She heard the line click off and pulled the cellbud from her ear, savoring the quiet. She closed her eyes and at some point, she fell asleep. When her mother climbed into the SUV beside her, Sabo stirred and opened her eyes to the gray light of morning. The pain was back too soon and she groaned.
“Hey,” her mother said smiling. “Take this.”
She held out a small ear bud and Sabo slipped it in place of her own just removed.
“Hello?”
“Sooboo?” Her father’s voice sounded closer than it should be and she furrowed her brow, rubbing her eyes.
“I thought you were off resolving conflict in outer space?”
He chuckled and it was her first clue. There was a darkness in it. “I resolved it as well as I could, I reckon. At least it missed you.”
She sat up. “Dad?”
“Last time I checked,” he said and she knew it was him.
“Where are you?”
“Not far now. I’ll be in Portland in time for breakfast.”
Samira Bashar Oxham looked up at her mother. The woman was going to insist that she go to the hospital first, be treated, maybe even kept overnight in Astoria for observation.
And as bad as her shoulder ached, as tired as she was, Sabo was going to insist otherwise.
Portland was, after all, just two hours away, with plenty of hospitals to choose from. And in the end, she knew that the waffles would win.
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Acknowledgments
The stories you’re holding in your hands now started as an ambitious audio project led by Steve Feldberg and John Scalzi initially. Big thanks to those two for casting such a large vision, one that eventually brought us on board to play.
Our own contributions to the METAtropolis trilogy were made richer by the other authors whose stories and enthusiasm fed our own. So here’s a shout out of gratitude to Elizabeth Bear, Tobias S. Buckell, Mary Robinette Kowal, Seanan McGuire, John Scalzi and Karl Schroeder. Thanks for playing in this world with us.
Debuting initially in audio adds an entirely different element that is hard for a print version to live up to: Voice talent. And Steve and the fine folks at Audible had quite a cast of voices to narrate the series and that talent added to the success of the series. We’d like to thank all of them for their contribution to METAtropolis (and we’re marking those who narrated our own stories with an asterisk to give them an extra helping of thanks.) So, thank you Rene Auberjonois*, Mark Boyett*, Scott Brick, LeVar Burton*, Jonathan Davis, Jonathan Frakes, Dion Graham*, Michael Hogan*, Sanjiv Jhaveri, Allyson Johnson, Alessandro Juliani, Kandyse McClure, Gates McFadden, Robin Miles*, Kate Mulgrew, Stefan Rudnicki, Jennifer Van Dyck, and Wil Wheaton. You all made our words stronger with your voices.
And it may be cheesy, but we would be remiss if we didn’t thank each other. We chose to tie our stories together thinking it would strengthen our tales, and that interconnectedness ultimately led to this print version you’re now holding.
Speaking of the print version, we’d like to thank Kevin J. Anderson and Rebecca Moesta for putting this out there for you. You really do take good care of your Writers of the Future kids! Thank you for raising the Wordfire Press flag over this book.
Jonna Hayden, your help proofing the manuscript was invaluable. Thank you for coming to our rescue in our hour of need!
And last but certainly not least, we’d like to thank our agent, Jennifer Jackson, for her watchful eye upon the nuts and bolts of our careers. Thanks for all you do!
That brings us to you, Dear Reader. Thanks for buying this book. We hope you enjoyed this taste of the world of METAtropolis that you’ll go give a listen to the other tales. And of course, we also hope that you’ll try our other books if you’ve not already done so. Thanks for reading!
Jay Lake and Ken Scholes
Portland, Oregon
March 2014
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About the Authors
Jay Lake lives in Portland, Oregon, where he has worked on numerous writing and editing projects. His books for 2013 and 2014 include Kalimpura and Last Plane to Heaven from Tor and Love in the Time of Metal and Flesh from Prime. His short fiction appears regularly in literary and genre markets worldwide. Jay is a winner of the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and a multiple nominee for the Hugo, Nebula and World Fantasy Awards. He blogs regularly about his terminal colon cancer on his Web site at:
www.jlake.com
Ken Scholes is the award-winning author of the internationally acclaimed series, The Psalms of Isaak (published in the US by Tor Books.) His short fiction appears regularly in print and is currently collected in two volumes published by Fairwood Press. Ken is a 2005 Writers of the Future winner; his first novel, Lamentation, won the ALA RUSA reading list award for best fantasy and France’s Prix Imaginales for best translated fantasy. Ken lives in Saint Helens, OR. You can learn more about him at:
www.KenScholes.com
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About the Cover Artist
Jeff is a northwest artist known for his beautiful award winning metal paintings and is considered one of the top astronomical and science fiction artists working in the field today with guest of honor appearance's at exhibitions and conventions around the country and his newest works are highly sought after by collectors. Jeff paints primarily with acrylics on textured aluminum and over the years has gathered an impressive client list from book, music and magazine publishers to JPL NASA. Jeff was an art director and game designer in the computer game business for many years most notably Electronic Arts before turning to illustrating and painting full time. Jeff lives in the Cascade foothills with sons Duncan and Corwin.
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