Ord found himself laughing. A genuine, quiet laugh. "Oh, they asked you, did they?"
Lyman hesitated, attempting a wry smile. "I went to sleep." He said the word with longing, as if he wished he was asleep now. "It was a long chase, but here I am."
"You are," Ord agreed. He had sudden warm feelings for Lyman, sorry to have him pulled into this mess. Was that the logic? Disarm him with a pitiful sibling? "But I didn't steal anything of Alice's."
"I knew you didn't. It was the rogue all along."
Where was Perfect?
"What we could do," Lyman continued, "is go to the others. You aren't responsible for what's happened. You were kidnapped, or whatever we want to call it, and I'll explain—"
"Who's with you?"
"A sister. The elder on the estate." He attempted another smile. "Do you see how important you are?"
"Who else?"
"Just one. A Nuyen." Lyman paused, a study in concentration. "He is in charge. As old as Alice, almost."
Perfect had seen two pursuers. Lyman would have been cargo. Inert, innocent.
"What do you think of this place?" asked Ord.
Lyman wanted to keep his eyes on his brother. A glance toward the sea, then toward the mountains. Then he said, "Lovely," with a surprising conviction.
"But you came to destroy it, didn't you?"
"Not me," his brother sputtered. "But if it's illegal… immoral… doesn't it have to be destroyed?"
A vast realm that hurts no one— a universe unto itself— and Ord felt a scalding, enormous rage.
He gave a low moan, stepping toward Lyman.
A terrified voice said, "No," as his brother retreated. He was begging, pleading. Hands raised, he said, "Just come with me. We'll talk to them, and maybe something can be done—"
Ord picked up a rounded stone, for emphasis. "They won't hurt this place—"
—and a Nuyen appeared, a Chamberlain standing strategically on his left, slightly behind him. An adult version of Xo showed a humorless smile— simple dark hair; unreadable black eyes— then he said with a hard, clean-cutting voice, "Surrender. You're a good boy, but you don't have any idea what you're doing."
Ord felt utterly confident in his mistrust of Nuyens. "Do not touch anything here," he warned, words like thunderbolts.
A tilt of the head, a thin amusement. The Nuyen said, "Really?"
The sister— a total stranger— called to Ord, by name, conjuring a face vast and maternal, concern dripping from it.
Ord looked only at the Nuyen, lifting the stone overhead as he said, "Leave. All of you, leave."
The enemy showed no fear or hesitations. But behind the face, in some small way, there was the instantaneous flinch.
An involuntary failure of will.
With a mixture of horror and exhilaration, Ord wondered what he had of Alice's. Energies, liquid and sweet, surged through him and radiating in all directions. The beach shivered. The great sea threw clouds of jeweled foam into a brilliant sky. And Ord pictured the Nuyen dying, slowly, his soul in agony to the end.
Here the boy would remain. Anyone who came to destroy this place would be destroyed, Ord's destiny set…!
A voice spoke to him. Familiar, close.
A lying voice, Ord told himself.
The old Nuyen and Chamberlain had retreated in panic, leaving their empty bodies standing on the beach. But their souls hadn't fled far enough, and Ord could see them with some newly engaged eye, measuring distances, the rock in his clenched hand no longer simple and cold.
That voice, again.
Beseeching him to stop.
But Ord didn't listen. He followed his instincts and anger, flinging the nonstone and aiming to murder—
A flash, a dull white pain.
—and he collapsed, giving a miserable low groan.
Piercing his chest, cutting places and functions he had only just begun to feel, was that long flint Folsom point. Ord could see the point jutting from his sternum. He was down on his hands and knees, breathing out of habit, little red bubbles detaching from his mouth and drifting on the warm wind. He watched one bubble, something about it enchanting. Weightless, it swirled and rose, then fell again. In its slick red face he thought he could see his own face, for an instant. Then it settled on top of a bare pink foot, and it burst without sound, without fuss. Whose foot? Why couldn't he remember? But Ord was having trouble thinking at all, and he felt quite chilled, and the bubbles weren't coming anymore, and he very much missed them.…
10
…and with my life, my health, and my perishable name, I now and always shall defend the Great Peace.
—from the Families' pledge
"If I had let you kill them," said Perfect, "what possible sweet good would have come from it?"
Opening his eyes, Ord found himself sitting on a cave floor, a small fire burning before him, his brother illuminated by the golden flames and half-hidden by their swirling, jasmine-scented smoke.
"A rash thought, a crude act, and then what?"
The boy gasped, feeling pain. In the center of his chest was a slick raised scar, white as milk, and aching, and apparently permanent.
Quietly, with genuine remorse, he said, "I am sorry.…"
Perfect said nothing for a long time, wiggling his fingers and stumps as they warmed, his face contemplative and remote.
The cave was filled with rocks, Ord noted. They were neatly stacked, each one adorned with something alive. Handfuls of mud filled the gaps. Everything glistened, water dripping somewhere in the darkness.
Ord shuddered, saying, "I wanted to protect—"
"—the dyson, yes." His brother shook his head, warning him, "First of all, the dyson is my responsibility. And second of all, there were exactly five sentient organisms onboard it. Only five. You and me, and poor Lyman, and your intended victims. You were willing to commit two murders to save a vast inchoate slime, and that's not the moral act of a decent soul. Chamberlain or not."
"How is Lyman?"
"Sleeping on that beach, and safe."
Ord glanced at his surroundings, saying, "This is your pouch. This is where you've been putting the rocks and mud."
"A representative population, yes. Held in suspended animation." Perfect tossed a stone chip into the fire, sparks scattering. "That Nuyen and our sister are holding at a safe distance, awaiting reinforcements. Of course they suspected that I was the one helping you, but they never, never guessed the kinds of powers that you hold. A lot of Alice's systems had yet to be catalogued. And besides, they hoped to win your surrender, without incident, before dealing with me and my dyson."
"What kinds of powers…?"
A dark, slow laugh. "I do not know, Ord. In most cases."
The boy dipped his head, breathing deeply.
"Before Alice fled the Core, she visited me, warning me about the coming explosion. Then she made me promise to do exactly what I have done, giving the Baby exactly what I gave you and taking him to a suitable starting point."
His unborn sister could have been chosen just as easily.
Or Lyman, he realized.
Then Perfect jumped to his feet, announcing, "Before the reinforcements arrive, we should make our quiet escape."
"To where?" the boy inquired.
"I am leaving on a million-year walk." The voice was calm, the face resigned. "Out between the galaxies, I should think. Then in some good cold place I'll rebuild this dyson. Stone for stone. And afterward… well, there might be a galaxy or two worth exploring. Who knows?"
"May I walk with you?"
"Not for one step, no."
Ord had expected that answer, but the words stung nonetheless.
His brother continued, saying, "Alice asked for my help, and I gave it. Out of love, trust, and habit, and in that order. She has her reason, we can hope. And now you're free to help Alice, or not. I won't presume to tell you which choice to make."
"I have to save something," Ord whispered.
Perfect ki
cked stones and cold embers over the fire's heart. "I know what it is, and the truth told, I don't envy you."
"It's fragile, and Alice is pledged to protect it.…"
The maimed hand was offered.
Ord took it, standing. "It must be an illegal world. Is it? One with sentience, maybe?"
"I will show you," his brother promised. "Come on."
The boy's feet refused to move.
Without firelight, a softer, stranger glow illuminated the cavern. Perfect was a silhouette. His voice was close and warm, coaxing Ord by saying, "Not a world, no. Follow me."
Ord was strong enough to butcher a godly Nuyen, yet his legs were too heavy to lift. He fought with them, shuffling forward, noticing for the first time that his feet were bare and his only clothes were trousers made from simple skins. He looked at himself in the gloom, thinking of a lucky caveman. Then he managed a step, and another, and looked up at the sky that he both anticipated and could not believe.
Standing beside him, Perfect said, "I took you on a course perpendicular to the galactic plane. Out and out, then around a black hole that sent us partway home again."
Ord was sobbing, tears flowing, tasting like a long-ago sea.
"We walked along that beach, yes. But we also crossed several tens of thousands of light years. Out, then back again. Which means that you can see some of what's happened since we left."
The Milky Way covered the sky. With new eyes, Ord could see every sun and world and lump of stone bigger than a fist— or so it seemed— and the Core was the brilliant horror that he expected, its detonation at its climax, radiations and expelled wreckage rushing outward in a withering, toxic storm. A baby quasar, only human-made. Worse than almost every reasonable projection made in Ord's long-ago youth—
—and by no means the worst of what he could see.
A tragedy, but one with calculable, endurable ends.
The greatest horrors were smaller, scattered through the galaxy's broad spiral arms. Ord couldn't stop seeing them, even when he shut his human eyes. Healthy suns exploded. Living worlds were reduced to dust. Unknown powers struggled against one another with a frantic, brutal violence. The Great Peace was collapsing. Old and fragile, it might evaporate totally before Ord could return home. And to accomplish what…? With or without Alice's powers, what good could he do…?
With a solemn voice, Perfect said, "Bless the dead!"
At Ord's feet was a knapsack filled with talents. In his left hand, a fine new spear tipped with a Folsom point. And in his right hand was a simple stone mug, the pungent odor of an old-fashioned liquor pervading the night air.
"Bless the dead," Ord repeated, with feeling.
The brothers touched mugs with a cool, almost musical sound.
Then, as Ord drank, Perfect told him, "I want to give you a talent. I don't have Alice's magic, but here's something you might appreciate."
Ord's mug became a nearly spherical ball.
Not heavy, not large.
It was a head, he saw. A Chamberlain head, complete with red hair and the piercing blue eyes. And emitting an enormous laugh, so pure and authentic that Ord couldn't help but smile for a moment, closing his hand over the sweet gift, knowing what it was and almost saying, "Thank you," before he realized that nobody was standing beside him anymore.
He squeezed the head until it vanished, becoming part of his immortal flesh.
Then Ord again looked at the Milky Way, realizing that most of it remained at peace, tranquil and inviting by any measure. And he managed to laugh in a quiet, hopeful way, picking up his knapsack now, thinking that all things considered, it was a lovely night for a little walk.
A Child of the Dead
LIZ WILLIAMS
The future is usually thought of as being full of computers, microprocessors, nanotech, machines of every size and description— but as the posthuman condition continues to evolve, we may someday find ourselves leaving that kind of technology behind, consigned to the same trash heap of history that now contains the spinning wheel and the buggy whip. But, as always, such radical change will come at a price… and some people may be more willing to pay than others.
New British writer Liz Williams has had work appear in Interzone, Asimov's, Visionary Tongue, and Terra Incognita. She lives in Brighton, England.
The substance of the great life completely follows Tao.
Tao brings about all things so chaotically, so darkly.
Chaotic and dark are its images.
Unfathomable and obscure in it is the seed.
—Tao Te Ching, 21.
1
I've walked down Jiangsu Road almost every day of my life, ever since I was a little girl. Going to school with my brother Tso, my grandmother would hold our hands and together we'd look in the restaurant windows at the steamed buns and the egg rolls, at the flat, stretched chickens which Mr. Hsiun told me were wind-dried. I work in that restaurant now, and I know how the food's prepared, but I used to imagine all these poor hens blown about in a roaring gale until all their feathers had gone and they were stiff and thin. It's funny the ideas you get when you're a kid.
Grandma knew everyone then, and they'd come out of the doorways to talk to her. Sometimes we'd go round to see people and I'd sit with a Coke while Grandma fixed something or other: she was always good with machines. Now, no one talks to anyone, and my grandmother stays at home. It seems to me that many things have begun to change, down Jiangsu Road. The sunlight doesn't seem to reach it anymore, and last night when I came home from the restaurant, I looked up and saw the stars. I've never noticed them before above the city, because of the lights, but one night at my great-aunt's house out in the country, Grandma sat on the porch with me and pointed out all the constellations: the shepherd boy, the maiden, all of them. When we went home to Shanghai, I got a book and learned them off by heart. But these stars that blaze above me now are different and I don't recognize a single one.
Sometimes the people change, too. I walked down Jiangsu Road yesterday on my way to work, as usual. There wasn't a soul in sight, but just opposite the entrance to the market, I turned round and saw that all the doors of the shops were open and everyone was watching me. At first I didn't recognize anyone, but then, to my relief, I realized who they were. They were the dead. I could see old Mr. Hsiun, who'd told me about the chickens, and who died about four years ago when we had that cholera outbreak. He was smiling and nodding at me, so I waved. Some of my relatives were there, too: I saw my great-uncle Leo. I went over to have a word.
"So you're still living here?" I said.
"Yes, yes, we're still here; we haven't moved," Leo said. "We heard your prayers. Thanks." He smiled at me, but there was nothing behind his eyes. He looked as two-dimensional as a paper doll, and then the wind shredded him into tatters, so I walked away.
The restaurant was still in its usual place, but the chickens that were hung up in the windows had gone and in their place were things that looked like rib cages; human ones, I suppose, but I'm not really sure. Anyway, after that it all melted away and I was back in the normal world and late for work. I'm trying to ignore these odd episodes; there are too many other things to worry about at the moment. I'm working double shifts at the restaurant now, because we spoke to the doctors yesterday and they said that we're behind with the payments for Tso's treatment. We can't very well abandon the treatment halfway through, so it's a question of either taking out a loan, which I don't want to do, or trying to catch up. I suppose we'll just have to manage. At least if one of us can get proper treatment, it makes things seem a little better, and it has to be Tso, because he's a boy.
2
My grandmother, as she sits in front of the flat eye of the old computer screen, tells me that I should put my faith in machines rather than the chancy flesh. Perhaps she's right; I don't know anymore. I'm just going from day to day at the moment: working at the restaurant, cleaning the flat, taking Tso to the hospital once a week. I took him up there this morning. They had him in
the viral unit for almost two hours, while I waited outside. I tried to get tea out of the machine with a plastic chip they give you at the take-away, but it broke off and stuck in the slot, so I had to sit there, guilty and thirsty, while everyone gave me dirty looks. Then when Tso came out, we had to spend ten dollars on a taxi because he was still a bit groggy.
After that, I went to the restaurant and started my waitressing shift, but I was late again and they docked my wages. It's not been a very good day, today.
3
When I got back last night, Grandma was still up, sitting with her ear to the lifeless terminal. "You know what?" she said. "Sometimes, if I listen hard enough, I think I can still hear them."
"Who?" I asked.
"All those voices. In the old days, you could log on, you could talk to people. Thousands of voices… out there, everywhere." She gave the terminal a shake, as if it needed only a little encouragement to get it going again.
"Yeah, you said." Grandma used to tell me stories about the e-net, but it didn't sound much to me. All you could hear was a lot of people and static on the other end of the line, crackling and bounced off a strand satellite. She never had a very good machine: only the little homemade portable. Well, those days were long gone and there was the future to think about now. I drew a deep breath.
"Grandma? Listen, a couple of days ago I stopped off at the market and spoke to Tony Tang. I don't know how you're going to feel about this, but he thinks he might be able to get me a cheap deal." I muttered the words, but I got her full attention. She gave me a beady look.
"What sort of cheap deal?"
"Well, you know… he thinks he could get me some equipment. Just some basic stuff…"
"And how do you propose to pay for it?" I wished I'd never started the conversation. I should have just got on with it and said nothing, but I couldn't tell her now that I'd already done a deal with Tony. A fait accompli, I think they call it.
Supermen: Tales of the Posthuman Future Page 36