Todd blinked a moment, and then stared at it more closely. “I hope you realize that if this is a threat of some kind ...”
“No. I have been suitably warned by the powers-that-be in regard to that.”
Bewildered, Todd stared up at his own face. “Well?”
Amber leaned on the table, palms flat, for added emphasis. “I had surgery a few days ago.” He nodded to the odd bit of plastic and wire. “They pulled that out of this body. It was neatly planted right at the base of the spine, wedged tight against the spinal cord.”
Todd’s eyes grew wide as the words registered. “This—” His finger wavered as he pointed. “This was inside my body?”
“That’s right, Spigot. And listen, it nearly drove me insane.”
“What is it?”
“First I think I’ll have that beer. What are you drinking?”
“Union Dortmunder.”
“That’ll do.”
Absently, Todd beckoned the robo-waiter and held two fingers up. Swiftly, the mechanical servant complied with a round. Amber did not bother using his glass. He emptied half the bottle, wiped his mouth, and belched before he turned his attention back to Spigot. Then he picked the thing up between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and peered at it thoughtfully, “Pretty shoddy and primitive workmanship, but damned effective nonetheless,”
“What is it, for God’s sakes?”
“Spigot, it’s a memory call. A sort of mental record player as it were, containing, the computer analysis scan says, certain messages recorded by a woman. A constant subliminal message, Spigot. It’s attached to the spinal cord—a direct line to the brain—and it holds among less savory things, a whole vindictive moral and ethical view of life.” He thrust it under Spigot’s nose. “In short, Spigot, this is your conscience.”
Amber placed the device on the table before Todd, and then calmly finished his beer.
Blankly, Spigot stared at the thing.
Then he took the full beer at his elbow and drained it.
He stood and hurled the empty bottle against the metal wall as hard as he could. The bottle shattered with a loud crash, raining shards down onto empty seats.
“Damn her!” he said, shaking with fury. “Damn her!”
“Give her one for me too, Spigot. It screwed me over fairly well too. And you had it in you for years.”
“My mother,” said Spigot, settling down as he saw the little robo-waiter hurriedly prance out with a vacuum cleaner. “But why? Why would someone do that to a kid, for God’s sake?” He flopped dejectedly back onto the seat. “Why?”
“Because she loved you, no doubt,” Amber said dryly.
“I was her only child,” Todd muttered. “I—I must have been fighting it for years.” He snapped his fingers. “She must have had it planted when I was eleven. I had an appendix operation. She had a doctor friend of hers do it. I was out, in a private hospital, for a long time.”
“That’s what it was then,” Amber concurred. “Just when you were starting to show signs of independence. No doubt she thought that unless she did something quick, you’d start rebelling. I daresay she put up a fight when you announced you were going on this trip.”
“I’ll say. With this thing playing over and over in my head, no wonder I felt so guilty.”
“But you beat it, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I did, didn’t I? Although I bet I wouldn’t have made it if I’d tried to go to the starport in my true body. She was there, you know. I saw her.”
“Yes. And she saw me.”
“Oh no!” said Todd, amused yet genuinely sympathetic. “What did she do?”
“Tried to tackle me. But I was in a real hurry. I pushed her out of the way.” He took a sip of beer. “She fell down the escalator.”
“You’re kidding! She didn’t get hurt, did she’?”
Amber shrugged. “They’d fix her up if she did. I’ve done worse. At any rate, you’re free of her now. Free of your shoddy little world. You can do whatever you want to do.” He quickly ordered a bottle of Schnapps and another round of Dortmunder.
“I can, can’t I?” Todd’s eyes were distant, filled with a kind of hazy glee. “Free. To do what I want. It’s a pretty difficult thing to come to grips with!” He turned to Amber. “Hey, listen—l’m sorry about this mix-up. I had nothing to do with it. And I didn’t—I mean. I’m sorry about giving you the finger.”
“Forget it, kid. It’s all past now. I’m not hurting now, so I feel fairly benevolent.”
“That’s nice to hear from an assassin.”
“Shh. You don’t have to broadcast that so loud, you know. I’m sure there’s one or two Galactic Cops on board that would like to nail my hide to the wall, neutral space or no.” He winked. “Only in this case, it’d be your hide, if you take it in a literal sense.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to fear from me. No one’s hired me out to kill you.” The bottle of Schnapps and new glasses arrived. Amber poured liberally. “There you go, fellow. That should grease your limbs.” He drank and sighed deeply. “Besides, I don’t want any harm to come to that body of mine you’re inside.”
“You’re assuming that you’re going to be able to get it back.”
Amber shrugged. “No reason why you should give it back, I suppose. But I wouldn’t ask for it until this boat makes Earth anyway, giving you lots of time to make use of it. I realize you paid money for it. I’m not unfair. Besides, I’d just as soon lie low in your body for the duration. Why don’t we just wait and see how you feel when we reach Earth. MacGuffins do have a tendency to stray into trouble.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Spigot did not elaborate. He lapsed into thought for a moment, ignoring his own drink while Amber consumed liberally. The days since the operation had been most rewarding. He’d found himself falling strangely and easily in love with Blicia—as though somehow this fat body were canceling out his psychic curse. Could that torturing experience with a harping conscience have done the trick? Whatever, it was time to celebrate.
Spigot looked up from his reverie, and stared Amber straight in the eye. “Do you know what it’s like to be frustrated and repressed and then ...” He held up a hand, clutched it. “Finally have your dreams and desires? I’m going to seize these days, Amber. I’m going to make up for lost time. And may my mother’s rules rot!”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have ever thought it was so easy.”
“Perhaps it’s not as easy as you think.” Amber rolled the previously implanted device between the surface of the table and his thumb, considering. “We all get these things put in us, don’t you know. It’s always been that way. Oh, they may not always be quite so unsubtle—nor with electronic components that eventually wear out. No, our “conscience” is structured emotion by emotion over a long period of years by society from the lowest to highest, by mother and father who adhere to the moral and religious codes they in turn have grown up with. What sort of place you live in—environment, you know—all the way to the words you speak. Even language molds the mind, I’ve heard it said. It’s conditioning. The question is where does conditioning end and an individual begin? How can we know when we’ve made a choice of our free will and when we haven’t? How do we know how much of our lives are puppeteered by unseen strings and how much we accomplish by ourselves?”
“Amber,” said Todd, tapping his finger on the wet table with exaggerated emphasis. “Don’t think that that crap hasn’t been zinging around in my head since I was an adolescent? I’ve played with a lot of things, from Atomism to Zen, and none of them amount to a whole hell of a shit. Just systems, indoctrinations you make them the blueprint of a life—let them condition you, if you will.” Spigot shook his head contemptuously. “I’m going to live for a while, take what pleasure I find there,
and if there’s meaning behind it all, well fine. But I’m tired of futzing around with words and concepts. Philosophy and another cred will buy us another beer.”
“Yeah,” Amber said, “But my whole point is, how can you jump in head first? Shit, kid.” He waved his hands lightly to the surrounding room. “As far as you’re concerned, this is Sodom and Gomorrah. What are you doing? Living my life as well as filling my body?”
“Not really. Don’t you see?” Spigot said, leaning confidentially toward the man. “Look, I admit that you’re right. There’s still residue from my Deadrock life that I haven’t decided about—you know, like you say; conditioning or faith. Okay, I’ll deal with that as it comes along. Let it sit and stew. Because I’m not disobeying any rules here, or committing any heinous sins, actually. Even by the antiquated rules of my church, if you want to take it that far. And you want to know why? Because it’s not real. It’s not true life—it’s fantasy, all of it ... right down to the body I’m wearing. I’m not responsible for what happens here. This is the best kind of vicarious pleasure there is ... and I’ve just realized that this is another reason ... perhaps the deciding reason ... that I rented myself a different body. I was going to leave the real me back in reality and go on some kind of astral journey, know what I mean? I know what it says in the Bible—if you desire someone, or said in your heart that you sure would like to kill somebody, then that’s just like doing. But that’s crap, isn’t it? I mean, you didn’t go around thinking people dead on your hits, did you?”
“As a matter of fact—”
Spigot forged on. “It’s what you do that counts. The things that happen in reality, not fantasy.” He clapped his hands together decisively. “And I’m living a fantasy now. When I get back ... well, then I’ll compare this fantasy with the various realities ... and I’ll decide what to do. At least I’ll know what my choices are. But meanwhile I’m going to have one heck of a good time.”
“You’re rationalizing, aren’t you?”
“Sure,” Spigot said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. You have to find your own truth. I’m doing that ... only I’m getting some experience beneath my belt before I make any lasting decisions.”
“It’s your decision, as you say. I really can’t blame you.” His pronouncement, however, felt limp and unconvinced.
“Then we’ll get together at the end of the cruise and decide what’s to be done, all right? I daresay I’ll be agreeable enough by that time.”
“Whatever you say. I’m not in much of a bargaining position.”
“I’m glad we’ve talked this over. You know, Amber,” Spigot said, his voice a bit slurred. “For a killer you’re not such a bad sort.”
Amber laughed heartily at that. “Thanks.”
“How’d you get into that kind of business?”
“Bad luck.”
“Well, the switch is complete for a while,” said Spigot almost sleepily. “Maybe these months will do us both some good.” He held up a pair of fingers, intertwined. “Cross your fingers for good luck.”
Amber snorted sardonically. “Kid, maybe you better cross yourself.”
THE ALERT light pulsed.
The alarm signal buzzed stridently.
Ort Eath controlled his panic. He’d pushed much too far just to test the reaction and now he had to bring it back under control before the antimatter fused with the surrounding positive matter, causing a chain reaction of released energy and a brief new sun in the starways.
Quickly, he situated the orgabox beside the computer and interfaced with the controls. The magnetic field had to be strengthened ... but slowly, very slowly, with constant reference to the flux-state within the lead-alloy box, rinded with machinery.
Compose your mind, he thought, shutting out the annoying bleat of the alarm. Shut out all other thoughts, save for control.
Suddenly he knew what it was for a God to hold the first fire in the palm of his hands—ready to cinder and consume. Truly he felt, I am a new Prometheus with gifts of destruction and renewal for the mortals ...
Concentrate.
Quite suddenly, he remembered his Morapn master:
“Ort Eath, you are different,” said the Master within his hut at the edge of the salt melts.
“I accept that, Master,” he responded, for once not looking away in shame.
“But first let us see how you are alike. Your aspirations may not be foolhardy.”
From his folded, dusky-mottled robes, the Master brought forth a jewel of such brilliance it lit the shadows like crystallized fire. “If you can hold this, there is hope that you may truly become one of us again, and your shame eventually expiated.”
“What is it?” asked Ort Eath, wondering in frank awe at the wonderful thing. It seemed to quiver with light.
“The tribal Memory Gem,” explained the Master patiently. “Stored within are the impressions of the ages lived through by many generations of our people ...the insights, spirits, emotions, embedded here in all their pain and dignity. If you can assimilate this within your own self, then our culture may, sometime, be yours.”
Reverently he took the gem in his hand. It seemed to blaze with piercing warmth: rivers of coruscating light streamed through his limbs. Visions burst in unstructured dazzling array ...
The tribe was a very old one. It had spun off many bold wander-sons to venture out and join other tribes; and eventually build the machines that lead to wanderings through the sea of stars, to plant life-seed upon other worlds, as was the natural unquestioned calling of existence.
But Ort Eath knew this ... the wanderlust was in his own sinews, was it not? He was one of the prized wander-sons in his own right. Did he not spring forth from the back of a Still One, in his own way?
He held the stone and he felt the Morapn heritage ...
The burning passion of Spawn-egg worship, rolling in hot coals, the chorale of cries, which was song to the great and mighty.
To live and die in the motions of a Morapn was a pride beyond all telling. The sense of fulfillment as the seed-ships sailed out on gossamer sails filled with the sun. The celebration of the discovery of between-space, Sham ‘bleth—and then the eventual mourning of the deadness it brought, into final apathy.
He held the stone but he could not grasp it. His teacher gently suggested, “It is not time, perhaps. More study.”
“No!” Ort Eath cried. “I will have my heritage ...” And he concentrated harder to meld himself into the frozen flow of truth.
But the gem burned fiery hot.
Rejecting him.
He dropped it upon the soft sand and said, “Master I am ashamed. What can I do to be worthy?”
“There is much to do, Ort Eath,” whispered the Master. “Others come with ships of untainted light. The humans you know so well. We are drawing into ourselves. It would be a great thing indeed to learn to live the good life again, remove this apathy from our Spawned. You have vast knowledge of many things ... more than any other of the Blood, more than any of the humans. Think on this and perhaps, when you have thought and done, although deeds alone will never make a flier a bird, then flying may be unto itself enough.”
“I understand, Master. I offer my services to the humans. We shall see.”
“Go with my blessings,” said the Master.
Would he have the Master’s blessing now, wondered Ort Eath.
No. He would not. But soon the Master would ask for his!
Carefully, he focused upon the complex magnetic field that contained the suspended antimatter. Eventually, it grew stable.
He pressed the appropriate buttons for maintenance once more.
Sat back, a sudden clarity of vision restored.
He’d felt the antimatter. Somehow reached out and touched it with his mind. Not energy ... much more, alien to him. Alien as the visions he’d experienced with
the Memory Gem.
Ironic that this should be the tool of his entrance into something more glorious ...
Suddenly, he was aware that he was being watched.
Swiveling about, he immediately saw the woman standing at the door. “How did you get in?” he demanded imperiously. “This area is restricted.”
It was the Shepherd woman. She gripped something in her hand. “I didn’t know—the door didn’t seem to be locked, and I was looking for you to give you this.”
“Give it over and then leave.”
“May I have a moment? I don’t want you to think I’ve been falling behind in any of my duties.”
“Is he of any danger to our vessel?”
“I think not, but I still think it’s necessary for me to keep tabs upon him. I have dinner with him occasionally—nothing more right now. Your orders have not been specific. But he has mentioned something of interest.”
“Yes?”
“We’ve been to three worlds now since Deadrock in the month since Spigot boarded. He has indicated no interest in taking a shuttle to the surfaces of those planets. He prefers the varied worlds and fictions available on board the Star Fall.”
“Nothing odd about that. Perhaps he plans to make these planet stops on his return trip on some less interesting vessel.”
“No, wait. This morning I saw him with a planet guide. The planet is Feloria, Ort Eath.”
“The most ancient planet of the known universe ... I suppose he wants to view the Melphic Ruins.”
“Yes. Should I accompany him?”
“He’s almost too normal, isn’t he? Yes, why don’t you go with him?”
“As you wish,” she bowed her head curtly, turned, and left.
Ort Eath considered. Yes. There was something odd about that MacGuffin, come to think of it. And he had a strange feeling about the Terran Government agent, Angharad Shepherd, as well.
Perhaps he should arrange for others to accompany them on their little jaunt ...
He turned, almost reverently, back to his work.
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