Behold a Dark Mirror

by Theophilus Axxe

  Primus said: "Jenus is right, Miz Kebe: Catjuice is alive. We should not replicate it by synthesis; that would be too difficult." He looked around at lab and equipment, shaking his head, "way too difficult."

  Kebe said, "You mean we've lost? We can't do it?"

  "Oh, no, no, Miz Kebe: We should grow it! Farming it could be incredibly easy, once we found out how to make it happen. I think it might be done in a kitchen!"

  "In a kitchen!" Kebe eyes lit up. "How?"

  "That's what Jenus and I are trying to find out."

  "Sounds like it’ll take years," she said, her chin drooping.

  "Maybe not," said Primus.

  She looked through Primus's eyes into his soul. He wasn't lying, he wasn't giving her the comfort speech. He meant it.

  "Tell me," she said.

  "I have only one kidney, Miz Kebe. My left kidney cavity is filled with a 700-gram molecular computer."

  She looked at him with a look of puzzlement.

  "I spent many, many years at Electric Life leading the development of a breakthrough tool that was about ready to go when the Purge started. When Electric Life realized what was happening, we decided to hide our research. My team had produced an infinite state automaton synthesizer. We coded it in a molecular DNA array. I and five others had it implanted."

  "I still don't understand," Kebe said, shaking her head.

  "Infinite state automaton is jargon for digital life form. Some automata are primitive, like the agents you use to search databases. Some are more complex—very complex: My synthesizer can create many forms of digital life. Such a breakthrough was unparalleled, and now all research is banned."

  "How is this going to help us?"

  "Well, it can work in reverse. If fed a smart automaton, the synthesizer can tell you what it does—within limits. If we find a way to feed it catjuice, it may tell us how to grow it."

  Kebe whispered, "This is wonderful!"

  "Yes, Miz Kebe. The algorithm for the synthesizer is large. An organic array was the only way to smuggle it—my kidney is a small price to pay." He smiled. "In any war," he said, "it matters not who wins; it matters who survives."

  Kebe stood up, took Primus by the hand and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. The tear that slipped from her eye wet his shirt. Primus held her in a fatherly embrace, his head crowned with white, his eyes watering.

  "Thank you," he said. "I thought I wanted only peace: I was wrong. It's easy to miss life when you live in fear. All men die, few men really live, and I'm not yet one of either."

  "I'm happy," she answered.

  "Miz Kebe: Lucretia, too, has something to tell you," Primus said. "She's been trying to determine if catjuice is toxic."

  Lucretia stood up, straightening her clothes.

  "Do I have something to tell you, Kebe, indeed I do. Primus said we're figuring out if catjuice is toxic, rather than how it works. Good enough, yet you can't do the former unless you understand a bit of the latter; so I started looking for clues in Nero. I didn't need to go far to find strange things."

  "His blood—" Kebe said.

  “Is totally weird." Lucretia finished. "I did more tests—and repeated them, because I couldn’t believe what I found. I thought I'd made a mistake. Well, over and over, same result. Oh, it's unthinkable."

  "Please tell me—is he in danger?"

  "I don't know; he doesn't seem to be. In danger? In danger of what? We should redefine danger, here, I guess."

  "What's the problem?" Kebe said.

  "See, my genome, yours, Jenus's... Even Primus's, in part, except for his kidney," she smiled, "is made up of 23 pairs of chromosomes. Your baby takes 23 chromosomes from you, and 23 from Jenus, for a total of 23 pairs. That's how your baby'll get your cute smile, green eyes and leadership overdrive, and Jenus's good taste and red hair." Lucretia cocked her head, puckered her mouth: "Don't worry, I'm just guessing."

  "So?"

  "Well, Nero's genome has 24 pairs. Yes ma'am: 23 autosomes and the XY pair, two-four pairs. He's not human—not any more, at least, even if he once was. He couldn't have a child with me if he wanted, so to speak." She winked at Kebe. "Or with any human female. Regardless of his current appearance," she collapsed on a stool, "he's no more human than, oh, say—your average dolphin maybe?"

  CHAPTER 38

  The desert hadn't changed: Nero had returned to the black-bladed bushes. Scattered plants lay in front of him, dotting a vast expanse of baked red sand. The air was dry and parching; the water bottle he had brought wouldn't last long; his hat was hot to the touch already.

  Lucretia had asked for more of the black blades; she really believed there was another miracle hiding in the leathery leaves. Nero approached a bush and collected some to bring back. He was careful not to burn himself. Once the black blade was rolled up in a ribbon, Nero looked around to observe once more his surroundings.

  What drove me here the first time?

  His gift, Nero admitted, was worrisome. To a degree he could control it; but if the changes were as radical as Lucretia had explained to him, who could tell about side effects? Maybe one of these days he'd wake up in a cocoon, transforming into a Cheshire; the thought was too real to be funny.

  He realized there was a presence behind him. He turned to see nothing but wavering overheated air. Remembering his experience at the tomato farm, he drank a few gulps from his bottle and sat, concentrating to induce the early stage of a trip. The ground he sat on was blistering, even through the fabric of his thick clothing; and concentration was difficult. Nero wondered if he'd put himself once more in a deadly situation. But then, his trance set on, and his perception was confirmed: Two Ghosts lingered in midair next to him.

  Now what? he wondered.

  One of the two moved right in front of him, maybe an inch away from his nose. Nero deliberately moved one hand toward the creature, closer and closer. The Ghost didn't flinch, as if it was waiting for Nero's move. Nero's hand traced the foggy image. With the palm Nero probed it—he touched it. What felt like a mild electric shock ripped through his hand, persisting after the initial sensation as a tingle that reached up into his forearm and shoulder. The Ghost was immobile, as if nothing had happened; or as if it made enormous efforts to cooperate.

  Nero pushed his hand deeper into the Ghost. The tingle became so intense his forearm became numb; it crawled slowly up his limbs, reaching past his shoulder and chest, up his neck to his ear and head. His vision blurred. A confusion of meaningless images and colors took over his thoughts. Random patterns of mystifying nonsense wrapped him with absorbing intensity.

  And then, an image he recognized—for an instant, he saw himself sitting near a large boulder, surrounded by Ghosts. Incomprehensible figures and patterns streamed into his head. Nero felt his control slipping. He retracted his hand and saw reality through his natural eyes. He tried to snap the fingers of the numb hand, but his flesh didn't respond. So he tried the other hand—no sound, he was still in a trance.

  The Ghost was still in front of him. Nero felt weaker and weaker. He feared that if he exited his trance, he'd not be able to achieve it again—he'd not be able to return to civilization. He decided, at the risk of appearing rude, to jump back.

  As he thought so, he realized he'd teleported to the thicket of widow's fans next to the tomato farm. Nobody was in sight, and he let himself go.

  He lay on the ground exhausted, thirsty, hot, the left upper half of his body too numb to move. After a long time he found the strength to pick himself up. He approached the farm shack and drained from the dispenser enough water to quench his thirst. His left forearm and hand were still unusable, but the shoulder was aching and recovering.

  *

  "This is," Nero said to Lucretia, "another sample like the one you took from me at the infirmary." He gave he
r a roll of black ribbon.

  She was strolling beside Nero along the main drag of Pilgrim's Landing. Lucifer shone warm and reddish, on the verge of setting. The landscape outside the town was green. A herd of sheep bleated. Another pastoral afternoon was turning into evening, even if the clock marked the wee hours of the morning. Lucretia took the black roll and contemplated it. "Nero," she said, "doesn't it bother you that you're not human any more?"

  "I suppose," he answered, looking far down the road. "I'm past feelings. Too many things have happened; I've lost track of how I should feel."

  "This by itself," Lucretia said displaying the roll, "may justify the existence of Virgil. I've gotten the attention of a few big guns on the effects this black ribbon produces."

  "How's Kebe?" Nero said.

  "She's fine. She's due shortly. Are you...?"

  "Kebe and I've been through a lot together, and we care for each other. We're partners in adventure, if you want. I've trusted her with my life, and she has trusted me with hers."

  "What do you want out of life, Mr. Superhuman? And don't tell me you don't know: I wouldn't believe you."

  Nero smiled, "Freedom and happiness. For the latter, who knows, love, purpose, a smattering of success maybe."

  Lucretia smirked. "Yeah, and a white horse to ride into the sunset. Cut the bullshit and tell me what you really want."

  "That," Nero said, "is not bullshit. That's why people may soon notice that Power Sharing isn't what it claims to be."

  "Ah, I see. You have a problem with authority!"

  Nero laughed, a big belly laugh that echoed loud across the street, drawing the momentary attention of other people nearby. Lucretia was puzzled.

  "Lucretia," Nero said, "I'm a corporate cog by training. Too much respect for undeserving authority is what got me into this predicament to start with. I had to learn that questioning authority is a necessity. It's a new game for me, and I'm not good at it—even if it seems worthwhile now."

  "Respecting authority is a great way to make a career, Nero. Did you have one?"

  "I sure did—enough of it to get me in trouble."

  "I don't understand," Lucretia said.

  "Respecting authority will give you a career—and that's it. Questioning authority will give you a hard time, but it has other benefits. If it weren't for people questioning the way things are done, chances are we'd still be plowing behind a yoke of oxen."

  "So, what are you after, now that your career is gone?"

  They had walked to the edge of town, and the end of the sidewalk. They continued their stroll on the outbound road.

  "Like I said, freedom and a shot at happiness; and perhaps God—if there is one. I've started on the first part—I'm making progress, I've begun paying my dues to freedom." He looked at her intensely. "But things are stalled for me with the second and third parts. Happiness and God—I'm going nowhere, can't get any traction. What about you?"

  Lucretia stared at him. "Is this an accusation?"

  "Accusation? Come on!" Nero clasped his hands behind his back. "I just want to know what you are after. You said you love research, and that you're here to recover from a fall you took on behalf of another. Why did that happen? What do you want to do next?"

  She looked down. "I'm a research M.D. and I love my job. I am my job, Nero. I took a fall because the real villain was untouchable, and it cost me my license. I'm here so I can practice again. I'm in hog-heaven." She displayed the black ribbon. "This, and you..." She paused, hesitating.

  Nero raised his eyebrows. "No, you've not hurt my feelings, Lucretia. I realize I'm a phenomenon."

  She sighed. "There's more to Virgil than I'd dreamed of." She stopped in her tracks.

  Nero stopped, too. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, Nero. Just the devil within."

  "I know about devils," Nero said.

  "Hm. I don't think you do, in my case." She looked at him in the fading daylight. "Even if now you may be one." She resumed her slow stroll.

  Lucretia walked just behind him at his right side; Nero offered her his arm. Lucretia rested her left hand on the inside of his elbow. "Ma'am," Nero said, "have a walk with the Devil. How's catjuice production coming along?"

  "We'll have some samples from early batches shortly, it's a matter of weeks."

  Nero raised his left arm in triumph. "We're about ready to take on the world," he said, skip-jumping two steps. "We'll need a volunteer tester."

  "Rebecca Doe asked to be first."

  "Who?"

  "She brought Jenus into the group, apparently."

  "She's still bent on taking chances, it seems."

  "Well, if it works, she'll go down in history as the second person and the first woman capable of autogenic teleportation."

  "And," Nero said, "is that good or bad?"

  Lucretia looked at him in the semi-obscurity of dusk: "I don't know, Nero. As a researcher, I'm fascinated; as a person, I'm frightened—what if something goes really wrong? What about the rest of mankind?" She puckered her lips. "There's always the argument that if men should fly, they'd be born with wings. Last and most important..." She stopped.

  "Yes?" Nero said.

  "You're making powerful enemies."

  "Tell me something I don’t know."

  "I'm uncomfortable," Lucretia said.

  "You just said you were in hog-heaven."

  "That, Nero, was the scientist speaking, the one that has her niche of happiness, but neither life nor liberty—no freedom, in the broader sense. The career trap, laser-beam focus nothing-else-matters style, you know? Yes, I guess you know... That style of happiness is treacherous, it can be as addling as a street drug."

  Virgil's moons were now bright enough to break the impending night. Nero looked up: "Should we head back?"

  She nodded. "What's the price of freedom, Nero?"

  "Everything you have." He bent to kiss her. She responded with passion.

  *

  The next day, Lucretia prepared a message:

  "Eugene: this is my periodic report from Virgil. There've been substantial developments in synthesizing catjuice. It's not a sure thing yet, but it looks better day by day—we'll score at least some partial success soon. On the other hand, homesteaders keep on dying as usual. There is stronger circumstantial proof that the so-called foams are related to the existence of the unregistered life form known as Ghosts, about which I've already written to you. I'm growing exceptionally uncomfortable about your goals; why did you send me here? What do you plan to do with this intelligence? I don't know what you think about catjuice, but I believe I understand at least in part the threat it represents for you. I also understand it's the difference between life and death for too many people. What's at stake is much bigger than my future or of who I am—it's bigger than you are, too, but you're too arrogant to realize that. I must live with my conscience, Eugene, and I will suspend reporting until you clarify to me, with a commitment beyond doubt, what you plan to do about all this. I have part of what I'd bargained for: I'm practicing, even if on Virgil rather than on the Earth. You have part of what you bargained for: facts you could not have known otherwise. I think we can call it even."

  She put it in cipher; then she accessed the maintenance logs of the frameposts at Pilgrim's Landing with the code Eugene had given her. She embedded her cipher message with the Marston-Whitney steganographic device that Eugene had also given her. Every week, all deep-space way stations forwarded their maintenance and tuning logs to the closest ConSEnt station. From there on, Eugene knew how to get the data.

  CHAPTER 39

  United News Agency

  Front-page Service

  From the Editor

  You may remember that months ago one of our most respected columns ceased publication. Max
Hopkins, two-time Galaxy Award-winning author, had chosen to focus his talent on what appeared a worthy investigation; he had also directed us to be discreet about his activity. We are pleased now to bring you Mr. Hopkins's scoop.

  Double Jeopardy

  By Max Hopkins

  In Brief:

  Virgil is a frontier planet that represents the Tower's hope to reestablish its credibility and status as the custodian of civilization. In this pursuit, however, the Tower is engaging in a campaign of deceit costing hundreds of lives—families like yours, adults and children alike. Virgil is a death trap—the body count grows daily, and the Tower is the executioner.

  The Whole Story:

  A while ago, Ayin Najjar—the Chief Financial Officer of the Tower—called a press conference to dispel rumors that...

  Ayin's phone jig was ringing off the hook. It had been for days, weeks—forever. She was standing in front of the panoramic window, admiring the landscape of Bologna. The day was particularly clear, and she could see the hills south of the city. Closer, Garisenda and Asinelli were the tallest buildings of the old city.