Matt had spent his whole life undergoing such processes. Automatically he held out his right hand.
Mister Mersey passed his own hand over Matt’s, scanning for fingerprints and running a remote DNA test. Then he stepped back. “Identity not confirmed.”
“What?”
“Identity not confirmed. Please step forward for alternative identity verification.”
“But I –”
“Please step forward – please step step step –”
“I’m going.”
“No! Please!” Mister Mersey suddenly looked directly at him. “Please. I am officially semi-sentient, Grade IV. But I’m only activated in the presence of a tourist. Otherwise –”
Matt, disturbed by his sudden desperation, backed away. “I can’t help you.”
“Otherwise otherwise I-I-I-I-” Blink. “The City of Liverpool values your opinion! Matt Clancy, welcome to Liverpool! Wel-wel-wel –” There was a pop. Mister Mersey burst into a shower of random pixels, which faded and died.
Matt, left alone again, stood staring.
But here was Prince, wagging his tail and looking up at him. Matt found a stick to throw, at the foot of a young ash tree pushing through the pavement. Prince bounded after the stick, and went off to bury it in the rubble of a burned-out house.
Lots of strange ideas were whirling around in Matt’s head. Scary ideas. But he knew where he had to go next.
They walked briskly down the hill. Every so often Matt whistled for Prince, but he knew the dog would follow.
He cut through a complex of university buildings, as deserted as the rest, and then headed down Brownlow Hill to the Catholic cathedral, a great cone of concrete and glass set on the massive slab of its crypt. The cathedral seemed to have been spared the ruin of some of the city’s monuments, even the huge cylindrical lantern tower of stained glass seemed intact, but green streaks from the copper roof stained the pale concrete walls. Matt walked down Mount Pleasant and climbed the concrete steps up to the cathedral’s main entrance. The steps were littered with leaves and bird droppings. The doors were modern, they looked like wood but were surely promat, but they did not shift at his approach. When Matt tried a handle, one door creaked open.
“Wait.”
“Go away, Mister Mersey.”
“It’s me, Matt. Bob Bowden.”
Matt turned. Mister Bowden stood there a few steps below him. “What are you doing here?”
Mister Bowden still had that odd air of bafflement. “I’m not entirely sure.”
“Did you follow me? All the way from home?”
“I thought it was best.”
“That’s kind of creepy.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to come to any harm.”
“Well, I haven’t.”
“What are you doing here, Matt?”
“People come to churches, don’t they? For sanctuary. When the world ends. You see it in games.”
“So you think you’re going to find people here? Or are you looking for sanctuary yourself?”
Matt just pulled back the door and strode into the cathedral.
Pigeons, disturbed, fluttered up into the stained-glass lantern tower over the vast circular space of the cathedral’s main chamber. The grand altar on its platform at the centre of the floor still stood, but many of the rows of benches around it had been tipped over and smashed. Matt saw that there had been a fire in here, in one side chapel, but evidently it hadn’t spread too far. And there were what looked like bloodstains on one of the great concrete supports. Maybe there had been trouble here. A riot. There was nobody here now. No bodies, even.
Prince, wandering, found a puddle on the floor from some leak in the roof. He lapped noisily.
Mister Bowden laid a hand on Matt’s shoulder. Matt’s instinct was to shake it off, but there was something comforting in its presence, its warm weight.
“Nothing alive in here but those pigeons,” Mister Bowden said. “And not many of them. Maybe a few bats. But then the wild hasn’t really taken Liverpool back, yet. Too close to the plume from Sellafield.”
“Sellafield?”
“The nuclear plant. It went pop a few weeks after being untended. A few weeks after –”
“What?”
“After Rock Day.”
“Isn’t it Rock Day today?”
“No. That was some time ago. Some years. I know it’s hard to understand. Matt, let me ask you a question. Prince is thirsty, right? Are you?”
He thought about that. “No.”
“Have you felt thirsty all day? Do you feel like you’ll ever be thirsty again?”
“No.”
“Are you hungry? Have you been to the bathroom?”
“No. No!” Now Matt pulled away from him. He felt tears dangerously close to the surface.
Mister Bowden said gently, “What do you think is going on, Matt?”
The corners of Matt’s head were full of lurid possibilities. “Maybe I’m a ghost. A zombie. Dead after everybody else has been killed.”
Mister Bowden laughed. “I can assure you you’re not a ghost or a zombie. Prince still comes to you, doesn’t he? Would he come to a zombie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come to that, neither do I. I don’t know much about zombies.”
“I think everybody’s dead. I think the Rock fell. But if that’s so –”
“Yes?”
“Why is the city still here? It should all be flattened.”
“Good question. And why are you here?”
Matt had no answer.
Mister Bowden took a deep breath. “The thing is, Matt, you’re not Matt. Not really.”
That was so weird it wasn’t even frightening. “I don’t get it.”
“You know, I’m not sure I do either. Come on. Let’s sit down on one of these benches and try to work it out together.”
He sat down. Slowly, reluctantly, Matt followed suit.
Prince, his thirst quenched, went sniffing around the floor of the cathedral, on the trail of rats or rabbits.
Mister Bowden sighed and rubbed his face. “I tell you, I’m the wrong man for this job. Speaking to you, I mean. I always was a pompous old duffer, even before I was old. Never much use with kids, even my own. Or rather his own.”
“His?”
“Me. The original Bob Bowden. I’m not him either! On top of that, I’m feeling a little groggy myself if you want the truth. I only woke up a few hours ago.”
“Woke up?”
“That’s not the right expression. A few hours ago I became fully aware of who I was and where I was and what I was supposed to do, for the very first time. It was more like being born than waking up. But not like either, really. That’s the limitations of human language for you.”
“What are you supposed to do?”
He smiled. “Why, isn’t it obvious? I’m here to keep an eye on you, Matt. I’m a backup system. Like a, a –”
“A handle on a promat door.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly right.”
“Why not my Dad? Why haven’t I got my Dad?” He was having trouble controlling his voice.
Mister Bowden sighed. “Well, I’m not sure about that, son. I’m sorry. Maybe they thought that would be too difficult for you. Maybe it was too difficult for them. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”
Prince trotted past them, a bit of wood in his mouth, intent on his own projects, utterly oblivious to the two of them.
“I always liked them, you know,” Mr Bowden said. “Spaniels. Grew up with them. Working dogs. You have to keep them busy, don’t you?”
Matt looked at his hand. He flexed his fingers. It looked like a hand, a human hand. Evidently it wasn’t. And here was Mister Bowden talking about dogs. He shrugged, unable even to frame a sensible question.
Mister Bowden said, “You see, they were right.”
“Who were?”
“Those astronauts, you know? Ben Singles, who wanted to make the aliens come out o
f hiding by throwing an asteroid at the Earth. And Jennifer Park, who wanted to call down God. They were both right – and both wrong. They did come. But they are neither ET nor Jesus.” He shook his head. “Those are human categories. They don’t fit any human category. Why should they? Any more than humans fit any category dreamed up by a chimp. And they don’t have morals like humans, or chimps come to that.”
“So they did save the world from the Rock.”
“That they did. They turned the Rock away. Oh, you might see it in the sky. It’s orbiting Earth now, like a space station. It was easy for them.” He lifted his own hand. “As you might guide a moth away from a flame. Trivial, you see. But still a compassionate act.”
“But the people –”
He said firmly, “They saved the world. They didn’t save the people. They let them die, as they would have if the Rock had struck. Even though the Rock didn’t fall. It’s complicated. Well, actually it’s not, not for them.”
“Why didn’t they save the people?”
“Because people brought this down on themselves. They threw an asteroid at their own planet! They would have destroyed themselves, and their world, and all the creatures they shared it with, and all for – what? Philosophical games? That’s not to mention other close calls in the past, with nuclear weapons and the designer virus that got out in 2043 –”
“Three people did that. The Rock. Just three.”
“Actually two. Rossi tried to stop them –”
“My Dad wasn’t on that ship. I wasn’t. We had no say in it. Nobody did! Why did they all have to die? Even little babies –” He felt those tears again, but he was determined not to give in to them. “Why did my Dad have to die?”
Mister Bowden seemed to be thinking of reaching out to him, but thought better of it, and folded his hands in his lap. “This is from their point of view, you understand. Look at it this way. I bet you have impulses to do stupid things, at times. I don’t know – smash things up. Jump off cliffs.”
“Break stained glass windows.”
Mister Bowden looked at him sideways. “You’re thinking of Saint James’s, aren’t you? I’ve always had my eye on that one. Like a great big target, begging for a rock. But you never did it, did you? Everybody has these impulses, and most of us control them.
“Well, intelligent races have their crazy elements too. Most races control them. Not us. We give them the power to do what they like, or anyhow we don’t stop them from taking it.”
“But all of them died. The ill, the old. The children too young to understand.”
“You have to draw a boundary somewhere,” Mister Bowden said. “And they drew it around humanity, around the whole species. I’m not saying I agree with it, myself. We had promise, I would have said. I think they’d say this was the most merciful way, in the long run.
“But they did save the rest of the ecology. All the other minds on this world who, even if they can’t build rocket ships, are capable of feelings just as deep and meaningful as ours. You know that. You have Prince. You understand what’s going on in his head, as well as anybody does. All those others didn’t deserve extinction.”
Matt nodded slowly. “So why am I here?”
“Because there were loose ends. Ragged boundaries. Look – the wild things will take back the Earth, and it won’t take that long. But in the meantime –”
“Loose ends.” He guessed, “Like Prince?”
“Like Prince. The world was full of creatures that had become utterly dependent on humans. In some cases on individual humans. All the domesticates – the cows needed to be milked –”
Matt started to see it. “And somebody would be there to milk them. Not somebody. Some thing like me.”
“Well, you’re not a thing. Yes. As long as it was needed. It won’t be for long, the domesticates weren’t encouraged to breed. Most of them have gone already. You’re not likely to see anyone else. As for Prince –” Hearing his name, the dog came trotting over. “The rest of the world can go away. But Prince needs you.”
“We grew up together.”
“I know. I was there.”
“And so I was given back to him.”
“That’s the idea. It’s another trivial bit of kindness. Why not do it, if you can?”
Matt leaned forward and scratched Prince behind the ear, and then the back of his head where he liked it. Prince sat and closed his eyes, submitting to the touch. “I’m like Mister Mersey, then. He thinks he’s real too.” And, Matt thought, he’d backed away when Mister Mersey asked him for help.
“A bit like that.”
“Something went wrong, though. I woke up. I came here.”
“Yes. Matt, you’re not a whole human. But there’s just enough of Matt in you for the dog. You’re supposed to go through the cycle of each day, with the dog, without you, umm, noticing that anything’s missing, that anything’s wrong. And then at the end of each day you are – reset. You retain just enough trace memory to look after the dog.” He rubbed his face again. “Oh, this is coming out all wrong. It’s more subtle than that. But anyhow –”
“My reset button broke.”
“Yes. Yes, it did. You became aware, well, too aware. There are lots of categories of consciousness, degrees of awareness. Something like that. It’s as if you woke from a dream. Look, it was a glitch. They were trying to do something pretty subtle if you think about it, and a long way from their own experience. But all with the best of intentions.”
Matt grunted. “Very nice of them. So what now?”
“You’ve been fixed. But, given what you’ve been through and the distress it must have caused you – and will cause when it all sinks in – they’ve decided to give you a choice. You can have your, umm, reset button pressed.”
“And go back to the dream.”
“Yes.”
“Or?”
“Or you can stay awake. Here, like this.”
“With Prince.”
“That’s the point. But when Prince dies – well, that’s it.” He bent to stroke Prince’s face with his finger. “He’s not a young dog, is he?”
“He may have a couple of years.”
“That’s all they can offer you, Matt. That or the dreaming.”
“Where I didn’t even notice Dad was gone.”
“Yes –”
“I’ll stay awake. Tell them.”
Mister Bowden smiled. “Well, they already know. Good choice, by the way.” He stood and stretched. “I’d better get back. That lawn won’t cut itself. Actually, it will, sort of, but you know what I mean.”
“I’ll see you around, Mister Bowden.”
“That you will, Matt. Take care now.” He walked away, his steps echoing.
Prince, still submitting to the stroking, was falling asleep, his head heavy, his eyes closing. With a last burst of energy he jumped onto Matt’s lap, turned around a couple of times, and then slumped down, curled up, his head resting on Matt’s arm.
Matt had just found out his father was dead. That he was dead. That he wasn’t real, he was some kind of copy. Maybe he was in shock. It didn’t seem to matter. After all, at least Prince was real. And there was always Mister Mersey to call in on.
He sat quietly, working out where the two of them could go for their long walk that afternoon. As the day wore on the rich light from the lantern tower shifted across the cathedral’s deep, empty spaces.
ELUNA
STEPHEN PALMER
Stephen Palmer first came to the attention of the SF world in 1996 with his debut novel Memory Seed, followed by its sequel Glass, both published by Orbit in the UK. Further novels followed, including the critically lauded Muezzinland. His most recent novel is Urbis Morpheos, the reading of which was described by one reviewer as “…the obtuse gift it is, to wallow in this utterly striking universe that Palmer has created... a supremely odd yet deeply rewarding experience.” Stephen lives and works in Shropshire.
“You are looking at ancient laser sail starsh
ips circling a distant cloud of interstellar gas backlit by young, hot stars. Can you see how the cloud seems to be brown and green ink in water? Look more closely. The starships appear as tiny glittering dots.”
“Are they what people call spiderwebs?” I asked.
“They used to. You can see them now?”
“There are about thirty. Do they orbit a common focus?”
“No. Don’t forget, the objects you see now are not what left the solar system. The starships have evolved over many centuries. Every now and again they come together to mate, pass on their artificial genes, then give birth to new starships.”
“But we’re seeing them as they were a few centuries ago. Anything could have happened in that time.”
“Indeed! A good point, child. But this is always the problem with self-replicating machines. Ancient records suggest that many of the starships have left the region of interstellar space you are observing. We cannot say where they are. You observe today those that remain.”
“And you don’t know how many new spiderwebs have been born, do you?”
“No.”
After a pause I said, “Why are they attracted to the clouds of gas?”
“They need raw materials and energy to survive – and to evolve. They circle it like marsh-crows circling a kill.”
I shuddered. “But there aren’t any spiderwebs any more, are there?”
“We use more advanced techniques now, aided by the alien races.”
“In Eluna!”
“Yes, child.”
“I’d like to work at the starport. It sounds interesting.”
“Your family will help, of course. You know they will. But at the moment you are naught but a student. In a hundred years or so, when you grow up…”
“Then?”
“Perhaps.”
The exnoo was the size of a cat, the shape of a wart and the colour of coffee, and its keening voice began to worry Freosanrai. Her alien companion was forbidden in the swamps of Eluna. And her father was about to arrive.
Freosanrai glanced around the cubicle in which she had set up her workshop. With the flick of a hand she made opaque the plexi-wall, dropping the exnoo into an aluminium bin.
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