Demon

by John Varley

  "Spies," Gaea said. "This was yours. Sitting in your head for seventy-five years. How'd'ya like that? This is Stoolie. Rocky's got one called Snitch. She doesn't know about it, any more than you did. Everything the two of you did, it came right back to me."

  Gaby felt a bottomless despair. This must be hell.

  "No, it isn't. That's all bunk, too." Gaea paused long enough to squeeze the life from the squalling obscenity in her hand, then wiped the bloody mess on the arm of her chair.

  "Life and death aren't as important as you think. Consciousness is the real conundrum. Your awareness of yourself as a living being. You remember dying, you think you remember floating up through space till you got here, not so very long ago. But time is tricky on this level. So is memory. You aren't a spook, if that's any consolation to you.

  "I have you," Gaea whispered, making a gesture much like the one she had used to crush the Stoolie. "I cloned you, I recorded you, I took everything there was of Gaby-ness about you when you first showed up here. Cirocco, too. Since then, I've been constantly updated by that little bastard in your head. I am not supernatural, I am not God, not in the way you think of God ... but I am one hell of a magician. The question of whether you, Gaby Plauget, the little girl from New Orleans who loved the stars, really died down there in Tethys, is, in the end, philosophical hair-splitting. Not worth the effort. You know that the awareness I am now addressing is you. Deny it if you can."

  Gaby could not.

  "It's all done with mirrors," Gaea said, shrugging it off. "If you had a 'soul', then I missed it, and it's floated off to your anthropomorphic-Catholic-Judeo-Christian 'heaven', which I personally doubt, as I've never heard any radio stations broadcasting from there. Everything else of you, I own."

  What are you going to do with me? Gaby asked.

  "Shit. I wish there was a hell." She brooded in silence for a time. Gaby could do nothing but look on. Slowly, Gaea produced an expression that wan an awful hybrid of a grin and a sneer.

  "Actually, though hell isn't available, I have a reasonable facsimile. I don't expect you'll survive it.

  "But I didn't finish telling you why. Do you want to know?"

  Gaby thought anything would probably be better than Gaea's substitute for hell.

  "You can say that again," Gaea said. "Because you've ruined Rocky for me. Rocky was a genuine flawed heroine. I've been looking for one for millennia. Now, she's still flawed, but she's going to get some spine. Snitch can feel it building. She's just finding out you're dead. She isn't sure I killed you, but near enough. Robin and Valiha and Chris are in deep trouble. They may not survive it. Right now, Rocky's going to devote all her energy to saving their lives. Then ... she's going to come up here and declare war. This"-Gaea thumped her chest-"this incarnation of Gaea won't survive it." She shrugged. "That's okay. I was getting tired of Mrs. Potatohead, anyway. I have some ideas for the next Gaea that might amuse you. But you won't care. I'm through with you. You're wasting my time."

  With that, Gaea had reached out and ... grabbed the dream locus that was Gaby. Things went black, then she found herself rising within the curved emptiness of the hub, rising toward a red line of light at the very top of the hub, a line she and Cirocco had seen when they first stepped out...

  It's all a dream, she reminded herself. That conversation never happened, not on a physical level. Gaea had all Gaby's memories, and was capable of making new ones on the computer-program/memory-matrix that was all that was left of Gaby, who used to be flesh and blood. So this is all illusion. She is doing something to me, but I am nor flying up into the air, I am not plunging into that swirling maelstrom which I have always known, in my heart, is the mind of this thing called Gaea...

  One thought protected her. One notion clutched tightly in the midst of chaos prevented her from slipping from mania into insanity. This is the twenty years, Gaby thought. I lived through it already.

  In the red line, the speed of light was a local ordinance, a quaint regional phenomenon which could be a nuisance-like a cop hiding behind a billboard in a rural Georgia town-but which, with the proper bribes or enough horses under the hood, need not cause concern.

  Take it a piece at a time. "Speed" depends on space and time. Neither were very important concepts in the Line. "Light" was complex and unnecessary parcels of massless wavicles, a by-product of living in the line, like sweat and feces. "Speed of light" was a contradiction in terms. How heavy is that day in the mountains when you built a campfire and saw a shooting star? What is the mass of yesterday? How fast is love?

  The line extended all around the inner rim of Gaea, which, considered from an Einsteinian perspective, was a circle. The line was not circular. Seen against the backdrop of the inner rim, the line was thin. The line was not thin.

  The line seemed to exist within the Universe. None of it extended outside the physical boundaries of Gaea, and Gaea was contained by the Universe; therefore, the line existed within the Universe.

  The line was much bigger than the Universe.

  In the end, the word "Universe" was unsuitable for use in a definition of the line. The concept of a naked singularity most closely approached the true nature of the line ... and had little to do with it.

  Things lived in it. Most of them were insane, as Gaea had intended Gaby to go insane. But Gaby kept holding to that thought: This is the twenty years. And: Cirocco will need me.

  Slowly, cautiously, Gaby learned the nature of reality. She became as a God. It was pitifully inadequate-she had a lot of the Answers now, and knew that the Questions had never been phrased properly-but it was something. She would have been a lot happier living out the sort of script she had thought of as Life, but it was too late for that now, and she would accept what she must.

  Cautiously, staying away from that dominant presence she knew as Gaea, Gaby began to look out of the line.

  She saw Cirocco arrive in the hub, saw the bullets tear into the thing that called itself "Gaea," felt the much more interesting series of changes pass through the entity she knew as Gaea, and grew thoughtful. There was a possibility there...

  She thought about it for a moment that turned out to be five years long.

  She realized she could not endure much longer in this place. Gaea had not made it here, though a part of her remained in the line. Gaby must do the same thing if she were to survive. Carefully, trying not to alert Gaea, she disengaged herself and moved her center of consciousness down to the rim. She saw Cirocco many times, and remained unseen.

  She began to learn the ways of Magic.

  TWENTY-THREE

  "Maybe she's never coming," Gaea said.

  "You could be right," Chris replied.

  He dipped his scrubber into the soapy water, swished it around, and raised it again to the big, pink wall of flesh.

  They were in the Bathhouse, which was simply one of the sound-stages on the RKO lot which had been used for an Esther Williams spoof and then left idle for the task of Gaea's Bath. The light was dim. The walls and ceiling were wood, the huge sliding doors closed. Somewhere hot rocks had been heaved into hot water, producing clouds of steam. Sweat poured off Chris and Gaea alike.

  The scrubber was simply a big pushbroom with stiff bristles. Gaea's hide, though soft to the touch, seemed unharmed by this implement, no matter how hard Chris used it. It was one of the minor mysteries.

  A panaflex wandered by, scanned the scene, shot a few feet of film, and then drifted away.

  "You don't really think that," Gaea said.

  "You could be right," Chris said, again.

  Gaea shifted. Chris stood back, as any movement of Gaea's bulk entailed hazards to normal folk who happened to be in the way.

  She was reclining, face down, her head resting on her folded arms. She was in about two feet of water. When she settled down again her head was turned, and one massive eye tracked him. He was cleaning her right side, from the waist to the shoulder, working his way toward the upper arm. It would take him a while.


  "It has been a long time," Gaea went on. "What ... eight months now?"

  "Something like that."

  "Do you have any idea what she's doing?"

  "You know she was here twice. You know I wouldn't tell you if I saw her again."

  "You are impertinent, but I love you. Anyway, I know she hasn't been here."

  Which was true. She had warned him that that was the way it would be, but it was still hard. Chris was badly in need of moral support.

  On the other hand, this job as bath attendant was not as bad as he had feared it would be. It was obviously intended to demoralize him. He did his best to let Gaea think it was working, dragging his way to and from work on those days when she called for a bath. But it was just a job. Once you got over the bizarre nature of it, it wasn't much different than painting a house.

  He worked his way along her side and down the outside of the arm, cleaned his scrubber again, and began rasping away at her elbow and upper arm.

  "When she gets here ... " he began, then trailed off.

  "What?"

  "What will you do to her?"

  "Kill her. I've already told you that. Or try to, anyway."

  "You really think she has a chance?"

  "Not much of a chance. She's overmatched, wouldn't you think?"

  "Anybody can see that. Why don't you just ... go out and hunt her down? She couldn't escape you for long, could she?"

  "She's very crafty. And my ... sight doesn't include her anymore. She worked that part of it very well."

  Gaea had made oblique references to blindness before. Chris didn't know for sure, but suspected that was Snitch.

  "Why do you hate her so much?"

  Gaea sighed. The clouds of steam swirled violently.

  "I don't hate her, Chris. I love her dearly. That's why I'm going to give her the gift of death. It's all I have to give her, and it's what she needs. I love you, too."

  "Are you going to kill me?"

  "Yes. Unless Cirocco can save you. With you, death won't be a gift."

  "I don't understand the difference."

  "With you, it will be agony, because you'll miss Adam's love. You're young, and nothing so good as Adam has ever happened to you."

  "I understand that part. I don't understand why it'd be a favor to Cirocco."

  "I didn't say favor. Gift. She needs it. Death is her friend. Death is the only way left for her to grow. She will never find love. But she can learn to live without it. I did."

  Chris thought about that, and decided to take a chance.

  "You sure did. You substituted cruelty."

  She raised one eyebrow. Chris did not like to look into her eyes, even from a distance. There was too much ancient pain inside them. Evil, too, much, much evil... but he had started to wonder where evil comes from. Did one just decide to become evil? He doubted it. It must be a slow thing.

  "Of course I'm cruel," Gaea muttered, closing her eye again. "There is no possible way for you to get the perspective on my cruelty, though. I'm fifty thousand years old, Chris. Cirocco is just over a hundred, and already feels things eating away at her soul. Can you imagine what I must feel?"

  "You mean three million, not-"

  "Of course. What was I thinking of. You can do my back now, Chris."

  So he got the stepladder and climbed up with his scrubber and a hose. Her back was soft and yielding under his bare feet. She purred like a cat when he scrubbed between her shoulderblades.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Cirocco came out of the Fountain and stretched out on the sand. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  When she opened them she was still on sand, but it was the fine black sand of the small lake where Gaby had made love to her on the day Adam was taken.

  She turned her head, and saw Gaby standing beside her. She reached up and Gaby took her hand. Once more there was a feeling like being pulled away from a sticky surface, then she was on her feet She hugged Gaby.

  "You've been away so long," Cirocco said, on the edge of tears.

  "I know, I know. Too long. And we don't have much time now, and there is much to see. Will you come?"

  Cirocco nodded and, holding Gaby's hand, followed her into the lake. She knew the water was shallow, yet felt the bottom drop away quickly until they were floating with just their heads out of the water. Gaby made a movement with her head, and they dived.

  It wasn't like swimming. They went straight down. Cirocco did not need to propel herself in any way; they simply moved. She could feel the water rushing past her.

  And it wasn't water. It was more like mud, like warm earth. This must be what a worm feels moving along underground, she thought. She remembered, long ago, struggling through the damp soil of Gaea toward the light: hairless, disoriented, frightened as a new-born babe. This wasn't like that. There was no fear.

  Then she was standing in a huge cave, with no memory of how she had come to be there. The cave stretched farther than she could see. She walked with Gaby beside the dry-docked, dormant, spidery forms of spaceships.

  "I started saving these when the war started," Gaby said. "Captains would show up and refuse to go back to the war. They scuttled their ships. I brought them here and saved them."

  There were hundreds of them. They looked very strange sitting there.

  "It looks so ... forlorn," Cirocco said.

  "Most of the damage is easily fixable," Gaby assured her.

  "I suppose. But ... they weren't meant to be here. You know what it looks like? Jellyfish tossed up on the beach."

  Gaby looked out over the silent armada and nodded. Spaceships did have a lot in common with the soft-bodied anatomical fantasies achieved by the more exotic marine invertebrates.

  "You brought them here, you said. Not Gaea."

  "I did. I thought they might come in handy one day. I brought a lot of other stuff, too, when I realized Gaea wanted the war to go on. Take a look over here." Gaby gently turned Cirocco ...

  ... and the darkness closed in again. When it lifted, Cirocco realized they were in a different place entirely.

  "How did you do that?"

  "Honey, I could never possibly explain how. Just accept that I can."

  Cirocco thought about it. She felt a little fuzzy-headed, something like being drunk, something like dreaming. It was an accepting state of mind.

  "Okay," she said, placidly.

  They were in an endless tunnel. It was perfectly round, seemed absolutely straight, and pulsed with multi-colored light.

  "This isn't real time you're seeing," Gaby explained.

  "I'm dreaming, right?"

  "Something like that. This is The Alchemist's Ring. It's a four-thousand-kilometer circular colliding-beam atom smasher ... and it uses some other techniques that soup it up way beyond anything we ever built on Earth. This is where Gaea makes heavy metals-mostly gold, lately. Before that, she stockpiled a lot of plutonium. I just wanted to show it to you."

  Cirocco stared at the lights. They moved along the tunnel, like red-hot, yellow-hot, and white-hot bumblebees. Not very fast at all.

  Not real time, Gaby had said. The lights had to be atomic nuclei, and they had to be pushing the speed of light. It's all a visual aid, she thought. Not a dream, but something like it. More like a film.

  "There's no air in here, is there?"

  "No, of course not. Does that bother you?"

  Cirocco shook her head.

  "Okay, take a look over here ... "

  ... and she turned again...

  This time Cirocco held her head and it was a little easier. She never closed her eyes, but it didn't do her any good. She was in another cave, much smaller than the spaceship hangar.

  "It's very close to absolute zero in here. These are frozen samples from several hundred thousand Earth animal and plant species. Gaea collected some of them. I ordered others, just before the war started. I hope they might come in useful some day, like the ships. Now, take one step up ... "

  Cirocco did, and almost lost her
balance. Gaby's hand steadied her, and her feet came down on the familiar black sand. She took a deep breath, one she could believe in.

  "I don't like to go that way," she complained.

  "Okay. But I have some other things to show you. You still want to go?"

  "Yes."

  "Then hold my hand and don't be afraid."

  Cirocco did, and they rose into the air.

  Cirocco had flown before, many times, in dreams. There were two ways of going about it, possibly having to do with some psychological weather report. Low visibility in the cerebrum; clear air in the medulla. One way was to sit and float, like on a Persian magic carpet. That way one could drift slowly over the world. The other was to swoop and soar-but never with quite the amount of control one had in an airplane.

  This flying was like the second way, but very precise. She flew with her arms extended-holding Gaby's hand at first, but later letting go and flying on her own-and her feet together, legs outstretched.

  It gave her a giddy feeling; it was wonderful. By sweeping her arms backward, she could go faster. The palms of her hands functioned as ailerons for banking and turning. Various movements of her feet put her into a climb or a dive. She experimented with it, doing some tight turns and loops. Something was very different from "normal" dream flying, and she quickly realized it was the kinesthetic sense. Though her vision was still oddly hazy and her mind very slightly drugged, she could smell and taste the air, feel it rushing over her body, and-most important of all-she had mass and inertia. She pulled gees at the bottom of her loops, having to strain to hold her arms out rigid, feeling the flesh of her cheeks and thighs and breasts pulled down.

  She glanced over at Gaby, who was flying in the same way.

  "Very nice," she said.

  "I thought you'd like it. But we're running out of time. Follow me."

  Gaby turned and started climbing over the dark terrain of Dione. Cirocco did as she had been told, falling in behind, finding herself accelerating without having intended to do so. She folded her arms back against her side, and the two of them streaked upward. This wasn't like flying in an airplane. There was no sense of strain, no laboring engines. They just went straight up, like rockets. Soon they were entering the mouth of the Dione Spoke. Cirocco no longer felt any air resistance, though they must have been moving hundreds of miles per hour. Experimentally, she extended her arms, and felt no wind. Turning her hands or feet did nothing. She just followed Gaby.