by John Purcell
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later, the ravine was filled with tiny children, jumping and climbing and racing about as the adults watched over them. The sky was bright orange again and yellow clouds drifted overhead.
Rafael organized a group of men to bring the lifeboat down from the bluff. We used a primitive method that worked perfectly well, rolling it on logs through the tall blue grass. I was concerned about trampling this crop, which the clan called shay and harvested like wheat, but they assured me that they had more than enough, and indeed every hillside was covered with it.
When we’d rolled the lifeboat all the way to the upper slope, Rafael let the helpers go.
After they’d gone, I said, “I’m not sure Moto and I can carry this boat all the way back. We’ve got miles of pipe to get through and it weighs approximately 300 pounds.”
“Actually, it doesn’t weigh anything at all.”
I wasn’t sure what Rafael meant. I waited.
He raised his arms. “Right now, the storm drains are flooded. You can just float it back. You won’t even have to row.”
I trotted up the slope to the crater and peered into it. Sure enough, water was coursing through the storm drain, headed south.
We rolled the lifeboat up to the lip of the crater and over it, until it came to rest, nose first, on the downward slope.
I said, “I guess Moto and I can take it from here.”
Rafael said, “Nonsense. I’ll help you cast off.”
“May I ask you one last question?”
“Certainly.”
“Why is the water green? Is it safe to drink?”
“You said one question.”
“They’re related.”
“But they require two answers. Rivers, lakes and streams—even the ocean itself—have been overrun with a form of fluorescent algae. Thus the color. If you strain the water, you can drink it, but the process is time-consuming and the taste is horrible.”
“I see.”
Rafael gave me a look. “You’re taking someone with you to Washington, DC.”
“Three people, actually. Bim, my friend Luma, and my classmate, Dogan.”
“So you need food and water.”
“Yes. I know where to find food now. Water is the problem.”
Rafael said, “Wait right here.”
He jogged down the slope and spoke with one of the helpers, who disappeared into the ravine. The helper soon reappeared with a glass cylinder, which he handed to Rafael.
I studied it as Rafael came back up the slope. It was similar to the device I’d seen in Mr. Wu’s kitchen.
As he drew near, Rafael held it up. “This is a VaporFlask. It’s the safest way to get clean drinking water.”
“Cassius again?”
“He seems to have an unlimited supply. All the clans have them.” He handed it to me. “Here, try it. It extracts moisture from the air. Just press that button.”
I pressed it and water rose up, as though poured from a pitcher, filling the VaporFlask to the top.
Rafael said, “They’re not always so fast. Rainstorms help.”
“Thank you. This will be very useful. And thank you for the boat.”
“It’s the very least we could do.”
As I was putting the VaporFlask in my backpack, Rafael said, “May I make an observation?”
“Of course.”
“You and Moto are well equipped to survive Outside, but there’s a great deal you don’t know and your lessons will be learned the hard way. Bim will be fine. He’s experienced and has his own set of skills. But I would think twice about bringing the other two along, unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“But it’s Dogan’s father we’re looking for.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations, Teo. I wish you only the best of luck. Now, let’s get this boat into the water.”
At its widest, the lifeboat was 5 feet 7 inches, and the storm drain was only 6 feet 6 inches in diameter. I couldn’t have rowed if I’d wanted to. Fortunately, Rafael was right. Once we were up to speed, the racing water carried us southward at approximately 12 mph.
The lifeboat had three seats, which ran crosswise, side to side. I was sitting in the middle seat, facing the bow. Moto was sitting in the front seat, hands unfolded, gripping the rails. The third seat, in the stern, would be wide enough for Luma, Bim and Dogan to sit on together.
Once we were out to sea, I planned to row nonstop. With luck, we might reach Washington, DC before nightfall tomorrow.
Our prospects looked good except for one thing: I had never rowed a boat before. There are no lakes or ponds in Dome Nine. I’d seen people rowing boats in movies, I suppose, but those memories had been deleted. One thing seemed obvious: I had to sit facing the bow, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see where I was going.
Trouble started the moment we emerged into the main storm drain. I had wanted to turn upstream, toward the east, and row back to Bim’s ladder. Before I could even get the oars into place, though, the current swung the bow in the wrong direction and the lifeboat headed west.
By the time I got the oars into the water, we had traveled 100 yards downstream. I managed to turn the boat around, but in the meantime we were pulled another 100 yards to the west. Moto kept glancing over her shoulder at me, losing faith.
When we were finally pointed in the right direction, I started rowing east, but something wasn’t right. In order to move upstream, I had to push the oar handles. I quickly realized I could exert much more force by pulling the oar handles, but this meant I had to turn the boat around again. Moto was looking at me in pity now.
When we were finally turned, I started rowing in earnest, pulling the oar handles toward me and putting my back into it. Unfortunately, I was rowing stern-first. This time, I turned myself around, a big improvement, except that we were headed downstream again. I turned the boat around one more time.
By then, we were so far west that I reconsidered the whole notion of rowing back to Bim’s ladder. Why not tie up at the next available ladder, wait for the water to recede, and walk back? In the morning, Moto and I could escort the others down to the lifeboat. It wouldn’t be going anywhere until the afternoon rains came.
I stopped rowing and let the boat drift backwards with the current, ordering Moto to take the line in her teeth. A ladder was approaching on the right. As we neared it, I began rowing hard, until the boat was standing still in the rushing water.
Moto leapt from the bow to the ladder and lashed the line around one of the rungs. As I pulled in the oars, the boat continued downstream and Moto’s line snapped taut. I used my legs to keep the boat from slamming the wall, and after that it settled down, swaying gently in the current. We were docked.
I swung my legs back in and called to Moto. She hopped from the ladder to the front seat, and then into my lap. I patted her head saying, “Good work, Moto. Another job well done.”
She wagged her tail.
“You deserve a rest. I think we both do. Why don’t you curl up and take a nap?”
Moto folded up her hands, crossed her front paws and rested her chin on them. A moment later, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed.
For my part, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Now that I could spare the time, I called up the front page I’d scanned from the New York Times, and proceeded to read the entire article.
Prominent Scientist Resigns Post.
Dr. James Clay, the father of modern android technology, resigned today as director of the Global Cooling Commission (GCC), the agency established under the Timberlake administration to reverse global warming.
In a two-sentence press release, Dr. Clay implied that he was resigning due to philosophical differences. “I had hoped to find common ground with President Savage on the challenges that threaten our existence. Regrettabl
y, I cannot, and am forced to choose other paths.”
The president, vacationing at the vice-presidential compound in Wilson, Wyoming, responded in his daily radio address.
“You want to know the truth, Dr. Uppity jumped before he got pushed, ‘cause I was about to fire his sorry ass. Where does he get off, trash talking me? Let me tell you something, it ain’t easy finding common ground with someone who lives in a tree! He says he’s choosing other paths. Well, I got some advice for you, Joey-boy! Choose a path right out of America, ‘cause you don’t belong here! You got no idea what this country’s all about and you never will!”
After enduring repeated personal attacks throughout last year’s presidential campaign, Dr. Clay surprised virtually everyone by announcing his intention to continue on as GCC director under President Savage.
Dr. Clay served in the Timberlake administration for close to three years. Although his post was not a cabinet-level position, he was President Timberlake’s closest advisor on all matters scientific. In addition to advising on such issues such as Internet defense and drone warfare, he was personally responsible for redesigning the presidential command and control center to be used in the event of a nuclear attack from United North Korea, Af-Pakistan or Iraq.
It’s clear that Dr. Clay was also a personal friend of President Timberlake, as evidenced by his impassioned defense of the president during impeachment hearings 2 and 3. It was his disdain for the president’s accusers—including Trip Savage himself—that made the idea of his serving in the Savage administration unthinkable.
Dr. Clay is expected to resume fulltime research on artificial intelligence, the limitations of which remain the last obstacle to his stated goal of “designing a new android that is lifelike in every way and can think as we do.”
Intensely private about his personal life, Dr. Clay surprised observers last month by granting an interview to Murdoch’s TimeLifeLookPeopleUs magazine, which arrives on newsstands this week. Selected excerpts were leaked on Friday. In them, Dr. Clay breaks his silence about the death of his—continued A16
That was all. The article was incomplete. Apparently, the remainder would have been found on the inner pages of that day’s paper, published 108 years ago, on August 29th, 2065. Searching for it would be fruitless, as would be searching for a surviving copy of Murdoch’s TimeLifeLookPeopleUs magazine.
As with Feats of Clay, I had to make do with what I’d been given. Although this short article offered more information than that entire book, the incomplete sentence at the end made clear how little I really knew.
I sat for a while thinking about my father, as Moto slept on my lap. My thoughts, however, were disrupted by memories of killing the baby pythons, particularly the feeling of crushing their skulls in my hands.
I decided to watch The Big Heat again, to get a better understanding of the code the hero, Bannion, lived by, and where it stood on the matter of taking another life. When I’d finished, I wasn’t sure quite what to think, so I proceeded to watch the end of Shane again, as well.
The two heroes were opposites. Everything Bannion did was done out of rage, whereas Shane wasn’t motivated by anger in any way. Bannion wanted revenge on everyone. Shane only exacted it on the behalf of others. And yet their codes were the same.
The villains had no respect for human life, but the heroes, in the course of bringing them to justice, were also willing to commit murder. The implication seemed to be that murder was right or wrong depending on one’s motives. This just made the issue all the more confusing.
When I finished, at 8:17 PM, the water level stood at approximately 17 inches, still too deep for Moto to walk through. Getting back to Bim’s ladder tonight seemed impossible. It also seemed unnecessary. We could just spend the night right where we were and walk back in the morning.
I decided to shut down manually, but put it off in order to consider Rafael’s words of caution.
I found them hard to argue with. My mistakes could easily get Dogan and Luma killed. I had no real idea of what I was doing Outside, anymore than I knew how to row a boat. We didn’t need Dogan in order to find his father, and there was no good reason to put Luma at risk, just because she wanted to run away from home.
I realized that I was bringing her along because I didn’t want to be without her. This was what humans referred to as selfishness. I wasn’t sure if it was an emotion, exactly, but I was guilty of it either way.