War Surf

by M M Buckner

  “How fast can he give blood?” she asked Vlad. “We’ll need a lot.”

  The medic shook his head. ‘Two liters every fifty-six days. That the rule.”

  “Well, I’m a rule-breaker from way back,” I joked.

  “Nass, we’ll need more.” Sheeba nodded toward the anteroom where my crew still lay unconscious. Her intention was clear. She wanted to draw blood from the Agonists.

  I still could have objected. Maybe I should have. But then an amusing thought struck me—I was in a weird mood. In bygone times, didn’t doctors leech blood from geriatric patients to improve their health? “Two liters apiece,” I answered. “No more.”

  So we lay there in sick-ward, the five of us, top-ranked war-surfing crew in the northern hemisphere, stretched out like a row of carcasses in a morgue. It took over an hour to complete the procedure, and every fifteen minutes, I had to give my pals another whiff of Sleep-Eze.

  Vlad siphoned our crimson elixir into clear plastic water sacks, and Sheeba piled them in the anteroom like glistening red fruit. Shee moved briskly, all business, but sometimes as she passed me, her wide, stirring eyes lingered on my face.

  After she balanced the last ruddy sack on top of the pile, Liam and Vlad moved my unconscious friends out of sick-ward and carried them down to my old cell on Deck One. Liam said they would feel more at home in full Earth gravity. I tottered along behind. My glass man replaced my vital juices much faster than the normal rate, so I felt only slightly nauseous as I watched them arrange my friends comfortably on the cold steel floor. Geraldine locked them in and took the key away. But I didn’t need a key. I sat outside in the hall waiting for them to wake up.

  “What will you tell them?” Shee leaned against the wall opposite, studying her broken fingernails and occasionally biting off the loose bits. Vlad had returned to his lab, and Liam was patrolling the hull. We were alone.

  I tucked my legs together in a lotus cross. “Guess I’ll extemporize. I didn’t exactly write a speech.”

  “Nass…” Her skin gleamed with sweat, and exhaustion showed in every line of her slim young body. Dried tears streaked her smudged olive cheeks like veins of gold. In the grimy uniform, she looked more beautiful than ever. “Those things I said before…”

  “You were right.”

  “No I wasn’t. What you did for these people—”

  “For you, Shee.”

  “You have a sublime multiplex soul.”

  “Like a cinema.” I smiled. Marry me, Sheeba. The words were on my lips, but I couldn’t say them.

  She drew my head against her collarbone, and my nose found its inevitable sanctuary under her chin, my favorite spot in the known universe. She whispered, “We found it, didn’t we? The dark.”

  “Will you come home now?”

  “This is my home,” she murmured, almost too quietly to hear. Although that was the answer I expected, it fell like a death blow. Then she said, “Stay with us.”

  Love triangles are not healthy, Shee. Not when I’m the third heel. I didn’t say that, of course. “I can give one liter an hour—that’s the quickest my glass man can brew replacements. How much more blood do you need?”

  “I’m not sure.” She drew away, calculating. “It’s all guesswork. I think we have enough for ten or twelve people so far. But you’re the only one with Type-O, so we can’t do straight transfusions. Vlad says we’ll have to isolate the NEMs. We’re going to try recycling the blood through a hydroponic vat to strip out the A and B proteins.”

  “You’re putting their blood into the garden?”

  “Just one vat. We’ll recycle it as liquid nutrient and let people drink it.” Abruptly, she gripped her short black-blond hair in both hands, and fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “We’re working with primitive equipment, and we don’t know what the hell we’re doing. We’ll probably screw up—”

  “Shhh. You’ll do fine. Vlad’s smarter than he looks, and you, you’re brilliant.” I put my arms around her broad, square shoulders, and we rocked gently on the corridor floor. “Darling girl, you can do anything you want. I have complete faith in you.”

  “Really?” She bit her lower lip. “Do you think we’ll ever find what caused this disease? Vlad suspects the fungus, but I think it’s the shaking.”

  I look at her quizzically.

  “You know, the orbital adjustment,” she said. “Repeated hard jolts like that can cause neurological damage and mood disorders. I browsed an article once. The brain actually bounces inside the skull and gets bruised.”

  I wondered. Our scientists hadn’t thought of that possibility.

  Behind us, someone was banging on the cell door and yelling loud complaints. Sheeba grimaced. “Kat’s awake.”

  “Time to face my demons,” I said with a gloomy smile. Then I gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Are you sure—”

  She laid her finger across my lips. Then she bounded to her feet and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. “See you upstairs.” As she galloped around the curving hall, she turned sideways and yelled, “I love you!”

  Unspoken words echoed in my heart. I will make amends, Shee. I promise.

  “Fuck you, Deepra. Let us OUT.”

  With a deep sigh, I faced the cell door, clutching Verinne’s nearly empty sedative spray and Grunzie’s stun gun, just in case our discussion got out of hand. “Step back, and don’t try anything. I’m armed.”

  Once inside, I saw that weapons would not be necessary. My friends couldn’t stand up without twisting and falling. The Coriolis effect, combined with the wooziness of blood loss and Sleep-Eze, had turned the Agonists into slapstick comedians.

  “Sodder,” Grunze muttered, banging into the W wall.

  “Beast.” Kat’s feet slid out from under her body.

  “What is this spooky place?” Winston asked from the floor.

  At length, they settled into their blankets and glared at me. While they sucked down Heaven’s water and devoured cold Provendia stew, I leaned against the door gripping my gun. I didn’t need the glass man’s help to invent lies. Nasir Deepra was fully capable of fictionalizing. This time, though, I stuck to the facts. I told them we’d taken their blood to help employees.

  Kat’s face turned purple. Verinne stared in disbelief, and Winston dribbled stew down his chest. “So I played a little trick on you,” I said. “No harm done.”

  “Knifed us in the back.” Grunze’s bald scalp clenched in angry knots. He tried to get up, but spun and tripped. “After what we’ve been through together. I never saw this coming. Nasir, we’re quits.”

  “You don’t mean mat, Grunzie boy.”

  “I’m confused,” said Win. “Are you an employee now? Were you demoted?”

  “Shoulda been.” Grunze tried to ram me, but he spun sideways and stumbled.

  I stuck the gun in my waistband and showed them my empty hands. “Have I done you any material damage? You’ll have eternal youth, remember? I’ll give you my mutant bioNEMs, and you’ll be beautiful forever.”

  “Just another lie.” Kat threw her spoon at me, and when it swerved west and trailed a loop of red dribble, Kat’s eyes opened wider than they had in years.

  Verinne crawled toward me, leaning into the spin. She must have memorized her research on the Coriolis. With no tears to moisten her eyes, she squinted painfully, “You’ve just perpetrated the foulest crime I can think of. You’ve betrayed our friendship in the worst way.”

  “Cara,” I whispered.

  Verinne arched one eyebrow. “You’re staying here with Sheeba, aren’t you?”

  When I nodded, four hardened senior execs gazed at me like lost children. Their faces suffused with fright, confusion and obscure envy.

  “I always knew you loved her best,” said Kat.

  “You’re breaking up the Agonists?” Grunze tottered to his feet and grabbed my neck in his beefy hand, “You don’t need her. Come with us. We’ll do gnarly surfs.”

  For an instant, I wanted to. When had I made
the decision to stay? I didn’t remember exactly. Was the glass man fiddling with my thoughts again? No, that was mystical fizz. The glass man wasn’t real.

  Verinne’s rough fingers scraped my skin. “Nasir, if this is a love offering, it’s too much. Sheeba doesn’t think about you that way.”

  “You’re the only one who can’t see it,” Grunze said.

  My spine stiffened. “I’m old enough, to make up my own mind.”

  “You’re a romantic fool, Nasir Deepra.” Verinne closed her eyes.

  Win bumped against me. “Can I come visit you guys? Like on weekends?”

  “No, Win. We won’t be back.” {Catherine was right. They wouldn’t want to return, and the Heavenians would not welcome them.

  “At least get a decorator in here.” Grunze rolled his brawny shoulders and scowled at the walls. I saw him wipe tears. “This place is a fucking black hole.”

  A little later, Sheeba cold-packed a liter of my blood to give the Agonists. They would sneak my mutated NEMs quietly back to Nordvik and, well hidden from the copyright police, they would try to tease out the secrets of immortality. Kat thought the whole thing was a waste of time, but Verinne believed me. And Grunze wanted to. He wisecracked about trying it out on Winston first.

  I used to joke with them that life was an in-flight movie to distract us from the truth—that we’re sailing through thin air with no support but our own forward motion. Now I know that’s wrong. Life is a war surf.

  We set our clocks at zero and skip bare-assed into the zone. People die, the conflict never ends, time is always running out and we risk everything we value on foolish bets.

  But sometimes we find molto amazing crewmates.

  “Remember, you’re my trustees,” I said.

  “Rest assured, Nass.” “We’ll take care of things.” “No problem.” “Can I have your movie collection?”

  Shee and I escorted the Agonists up to the secret airlock on Deck Five. Juani had picked them each a bundle of fresh veggies, and Kaioko gave them fragrant dried herbs. My friends accepted the gifts with dubious side glances. Then we exchanged insults and clumsy hugs. And all too quickly, we said good-bye. The last to leave, Verinne silently mouthed three words no one else could hear. “Bless you, caro.”

  “Will they do it?” Sheeba asked as the airlock cycled for the last time.

  I thought about her question. The Agonists. Would they find eternal youth? Beyond Heaven’s strange influence, would my NEMs stay free enough to heal them forever? I hoped so, but it was too soon to tell.

  That wasn’t what Sheeba meant, though. She meant, could I trust the Agonists to serve as trustees and watch over Heaven’s interests. Grunze, Verinne, Kat, Win, their faces passed across my mental screen. We’d romped together for a hundred years—and with a fresh jolt, I realized I would never see them again. Friends, lovers, rivals, we’d been everything together. For a while, we’d been the finest war-surfing crew in history.

  A phrase came back to me, something I’d reeled off once to impress Sheeba. “It isn’t death we fear. It’s losing life.” So there went my life. The airlock finished its cycle, and the Agonists were gone.

  Sheeba sat on a nearby tree limb, waiting for me to answer her question.

  I grinned. “Yeah, they love the idea of managing my money.”

  “So they’ll take good care of Heaven?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding, “they will.”

  Sheeba started rocking on the tree limb, throwing back her head and giggling. ‘Totally stellar! Nass, this is the best present I ever got!”

  I loved seeing her so happy. This was my reward, and I memorized each fleeting detail. A minute later, she calmed down and said, “I’d better check on our experiment”

  She had dissolved two liters of my friends’ NEM-rich executive blood in the hydropod Juani used for seedlings. According to Win, their NEMs wouldn’t mutate like mine had, but Sheeba told me the little mites were already replicating and evolving new features. Whatever catalyst they needed to make the leap, they seemed to be finding it here. Sheeba planned to skim off some of the recycled solution and drink it herself first, to test it. As risky as that sounded, I didn’t object. The glass man and I knew it would work.

  “I’ll stay here for a while and play with the toads,” I said.

  Shee nodded. “You’ll be down soon to give more blood? Every liter helps.”

  “Sure. I’m timing it.” I tapped my new wrist-watch, a gift from Winston.

  Sheeba smiled. Then we gazed at the luxuriant foliage surrounding us. Solar beams roved like sentinels, and waxy blossoms perfumed the damp air. Any minute, the misters would come on and shower us. We seemed to be alone in the garden primeval. The toads hadn’t shown their faces yet. They were waiting for the all clear from Juani.

  “Wish we could save more of them,” Sheeba said.

  I didn’t answer.

  She wiped her nose. “Well, a few-are better than none. Thank you, Nass. You did this. You helped me find the dark.” She gestured at the leafy vines, dappled in sunlight “If it wasn’t for you, I would still be a twit in skin dye, giving hand-jobs to rich old stiffs. I’ll see you below.” With that, she swung down through the jungle and disappeared in greenery.

  I stretched out on my tree limb, clasped my hands behind my head and smiled. Out of the mouths of babes. In the light gravity, it was easy to stay balanced on the limb. Rich old stiff, she said. Well, there were worse things to be. I smiled and lay very still and waited for the toads to come out. Behind some nearby leaves, a little pink foot dangled. A few were better than none, but not good enough for my Sheeba. For her sake, I intended to save them all.

  29

  RE-ZERO

  “What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset”

  -CROWFOOT, NATIVE AMERICAN WARRIOR AND ORATOR

  “Where were you born, Shee?”

  We were walking together along a downtown street in Nordvik, on one of those rare nights when I let Sheeba draw me out of my cozy tower. She’d persuaded me to attend a film festival. The tickets were expensive and hard to get, molto fashionable. And Shee was bubbling over, telling me about the actors, quoting movie reviews verbatim. She couldn’t simply walk at my side. She had to jiggle and dance and play chase with the adversects buzzing around us like bright laser butterflies. Her peals of laughter rippled through the conditioned evening air.

  As we walked hand in hand along the central mall, audio messages tinkled around us, and shop windows projected enticing scents. The condo towers sparkled high above like dark, smoky crystals. Traffic was light. A few cyclists and blade boarders. Aircars streaked overhead. Hardly any other walkers were out. This was an executive section, no protes allowed. As a rule, we execs preferred to take exercise under professional supervision.

  “So where, Shee? In America?”

  My question changed her mood. She grew quiet and tense. Could my Sheeba be sulking? For several meters, we walked in silence, swinging our linked hands, and I racked my mind trying to understand how I’d upset her. I was just about to walk into a shop and buy her an apology gift when she spoke again.

  “I wasn’t born, beau. I was gestated.”

  Her bitter words stopped me. She turned away and rapped her knuckles against a plastic lamppost, again and again, as if she meant to leave dents. What had sparked this sudden fit of temper? Sheeba wasn’t the moody type. She was sunny, effervescent, carefree. That’s what we all liked about her.

  “Execs don’t bear children,” she continued, punishing the lamppost. “My parents were anonymous donors. They probably never met. Bank of America designed my zygote as an investment, to meet a projected shortage of physical therapists.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m still paying off my nurture loan. Twenty-five years to go.”

  “Ah.”

  I tried to think of something
cheerful to say. Well, it was no secret that most executive infants came from DNA banks these days. With our lengthening years, we execs no longer needed heirs in the same way as before, and the nuclear family had gone out of fashion. Live childbirth was anathema. What executive woman would submit to that indignity? When well-heeled execs wanted progeny, they consigned the gestation to a private crèche, then farmed out the offspring to specialized training facilities. That happened rarely though. Most executive young were brought to term by commercial banks as speculative investments, to meet gaps in the skill pool.

  Sheeba and I left the mall and wandered into an arboretum. Tiny white lights winked among the artificial trees, and animatronic birds pecked at the turf.

  “I’m a replacement part. Machines could do what I do. But senior execs like to get their rubdowns from pretty young girls of their own class.” She kicked the base of a fountain. Then with a grimace of pain, she dropped to the sidewalk and rubbed her toe.

  Before that night, I had never seen her sulky. An impish smile almost always lighted her face. But in the shadows of that park, her eyelids creased with weeping. She snuffled and rubbed her nose and made awful sounds. I stood by, unsure what to do. Her behavior left me dumbfounded. Finally, I sat beside her on the unsanitary public sidewalk and put my arm around her shoulders.

  “Shhh. Everything will be all right. You’re a very good physical therapist.”

  That made her cry even louder. Ye icons, how does a man of my years comfort a weeping young girl? In lieu of a better plan, I talked at random.

  “What does it matter how you were born? You’re alive, right here, right now, in the present moment. Seize it, Shee. Ride the adventure. Look at this cheesy fountain, these plastic trees, this bench with the fake birds. It’s an absolute comedy. Let yourself be amused. Every instant is like gold spilling through your hands. Spend it, Shee. Forget the past. Make yourself up as you go.”