Flesh and Blood (4 page)

I
sat by the empty screen. The sound of Elaine’s laughter came faintly from the living room. Theo was laughing too. ‘… learn knitting,’ I heard him say. ‘Booties can’t be hard.’

How long had it been since Michael called me ‘sweetheart’? The old term of affection slipping out again. And, yes, I did love him still, though in a different way from my love for Neil. Loved Michael enough to be cold inside at the thought of him facing plague in the City.

Loved Theo and Elaine enough to feel even colder at the thought of plague reaching here or Black Stump.

There was no one Net that reached all Outlands utopias. Many utopias weren’t even Linked, either because of religious conviction or poverty, or a side effect of genetic engineering that had taken away the ability to Link. Some Nets used satellite transmissions and were potentially worldwide. Others operated in small local areas.

No, there was no way to spread a warning through the entire Outlands. But I could try. And if the news spread to the City and caused the panic Michael was trying to avoid, tough shit. Yes, I still loved Michael. But I loved others more.

The first call was to Black Stump. Black Stump had been my first non-Forest friends when I’d been exiled to the Outlands: rich in casual generosity, kids and not much else, they were possibly the most laid back utopia in the
Outlands. I loved them dearly; had even considered living there, but more than twenty-four hours of chaos would have driven me insane. The chime belled on and on, so I thought that no-one was at the utopia’s main house, or near enough to receive the call signal. Then suddenly the screen brightened, and there was Ophelia’s face, fuzzy around the edges as every signal was from Black Stump, her grey hair even fuzzier, the laugh lines deepening as she recognised me.

‘Dan! It’s been ages! What have you done to your hair?’ She shoved a couple of dirty mugs away from the terminal.

I’d forgotten about my cropped hair. ‘Had it cut.’

‘Looks awful,’ said Ophelia bluntly. ‘Let it grow again.’

‘I will. Ophelia, I’m sorry, I haven’t much time …’

Something in my expression must have showed my anxiety. ‘What’s up?’ she said, suddenly sobering.

‘Plague in the city. Bad. Ten per cent survival rate. Flu-like symptoms, around twenty-one days’ incubation, death is swift after the first symptoms.’

She blinked at so much bad news. ‘I understand. I think. Has it spread beyond the City yet?’

‘They think not. But they might not know.’

‘They might not indeed.’

‘Spread the news will you?’

‘You don’t have to ask,’ said Ophelia dryly. ‘We will.’

‘It might be an idea to sort of close yourself off while this thing lasts; keep away from anyone who might spread infection.’

Ophelia nodded. But I knew they wouldn’t. Black Stump had welcomed a vampire-crazed psychotic into their community, had called a ruthless werewolf friend. They would never accept that someone they liked could
bring them harm. If a couple of Wanderers arrived with smiles and an appetite, they’d welcome them to dinner, plague or not.

‘One more thing,’ I said slowly. ‘Have you a list of OutlandNets anywhere?’

‘A few. Local ones, the school one, some of the Wanderers left contactsigs. I suppose you want to warn as many people as you can.’

That too, I thought. But I just said, ‘Yes.’

‘I’ll send them through on print-out. Okay?’

‘Okay. One more thing.’ I didn’t want to say it. But I had to. ‘I know you trade with the City for the stuff you can’t grow. But any City contact is dangerous. I’d like to … to give Black Stump enough credit to get through the next year or two without having to trade, so you can just order through the City.’

Ophelia’s face showed shock, and something unreadable. ‘You’ve got enough credit to do that?’

‘More than enough. Royalties on Virtual designs.’ The kilolitres just kept mounting up.

She thought for a while. For a moment it seemed she was going to say no. Then she said, ‘All right. Thanks, that’d be good. Look, if you’ve got so much credit, could you put in enough for a new generator too?’

‘Yes. Sure. Of course.’ I blinked. ‘I thought you’d refuse. Get all indignant.’

‘Are you crazy? If we had credit we’d share with you,’ she added matter-of-factly.

It was so true — and so obvious — it shook me that I hadn’t realised it before. Black Stump just assumed that what you had, you shared. Which went for my credit too.

‘Hey, wow, I can’t wait to tell the others. A generator that works …’

‘Don’t forget about the plague.’ It was obvious the plague paled against the thought of a new generator.

‘What?’ said Ophelia vaguely. ‘Yeah, of course.’

Another face appeared on the screen: younger; Ophelia’s jutting chin but more determined. Portia. She stared at me. ‘Your hair looks awful.’

‘Thanks, kid.’

‘I’m not a kid,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m ten and three quarters. Do you know that in Shakespeare’s time I could be married now? Betrothed anyway.’

‘Really?’ Eleven and a half years, I thought, and my daughter might be saying that too. If we survived.

‘I’ll put the credit in as soon as I log off,’ I told Ophelia. ‘Order supplies from the City now and have them sent out on remote.’

‘Yes, sure. Coffee too? Oh, for some Realcoffee.’

Ophelia gave me their creditsig, it was a City one but the Outlands credit Nets mostly work on City Cred. ‘And chocolate,’ said Portia decisively. I logged off, logged in the credit transfer and then went to tell the others.

E
laine had brought a casserole — chicken with cream and apples — and we ate the apple pie she’d left in the fridge. Afterwards I said I was tired, so they left, and Neil finally agreed to come up to bed.

We made love slowly. It had been a long time. Neither of us had wanted to perform linked to the monitors at the Clinic. Afterwards we lay and watched the moonlight through the window and the leaf shadows on the wall. It was all Realtime; I’d put the terminals onto manual. Without a computer Link nearby any echo of a mental Link between us had vanished too.

Two years before I always lived within computer range; had broken the Link only for brief Realtime tasks — taking hot coffee mugs from the ultrawave, bowel motions, talking to outsiders who weren’t enhanced.

I’d got used to Realtime in the past two years, learnt to focus on each moment in a way you never did online. I wondered what would happen when Neil was more used to the enhancement — whether we’d bother with Realtime between us at all.

Somehow I thought we would.

‘She was happy,’ said Neil drowsily.

‘Elaine? Yes.’

‘She’ll like a baby.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Theo looks frail. Don’t know if it’s just because I haven’t seen him for a while or if he’s got frailer lately.’

‘Maybe both,’ I said.

More silence, if you didn’t count the rustle of the leaves, the grunt of the Wombat as he tried yet again to push through the stone wall around the garden, then settled for the carrots I’d left out for him in a dish by the back door. Sometimes he scratched on the door wanting company. But mostly the wombat genes overpowered his human ones and his mind was focused on food alone.

‘Do you remember the last bioplague?’ asked Neil finally.

‘A bit. I was four, no five. I remember being creche-bound for a while. They wouldn’t even let my parents visit. But it didn’t matter much. We Virtualed instead.’

‘I don’t remember much change here either. I suppose it was different for the adults. I know Theo turned on the go-away signal for any floater or dikdik homing in on our coordinates, and powered up the neuro fence around the perimeter. He’s probably done that again already now.’

‘That’s a bit ruthless.’ It was difficult to imagine Theo, mild-mannered accountant and closet vampire, putting up a defence shield that caused mental irritation at first and death if you persisted. But then strangers might bring death too.

Neil’s hand began to absently rub up and down my thigh. The City might be more ruthless, I thought, but they did it all at arm’s length. The Outlands looked after themselves. The utopias’ ability to isolate themselves was what had kept them alive through the Declines. Many utopias in fact had been formed by Citysiders fleeing from the plagues. Yes, Theo would do what he had to do to keep the community safe.

‘I can’t quite accept it,’ I said slowly. ‘The idea that we might really be in danger. But Theo and Elaine seemed to take it in their stride.’

‘They lived through the last one,’ said Neil.

‘No cases here?’

‘None. I seem to remember people in iso suits taking it in turns to care for sick strangers. There was a clinic set up — you know the storeroom by the top boundary? There.’

‘Will the community set it up as a clinic again do you think?’

‘Probably. Theo will want to. Elaine too. But they’ll chat to a few people first.’ Our utopia, Faith Hope and Charity, rarely held formal debates or voted on issues. It mostly operated on a casual consensus, on the basis that most of the time no-one cared much either way. But this would be different.

‘I suppose there’ll be a meeting,’ I said slowly. ‘Should we go down to it?’

‘No. We know the news anyway. And I don’t want everyone asking questions about our lack of hair,’ said Neil lightly, his hand on my breast. ‘Will they get bigger, do you think?’

I wrenched my mind from neuro fences and plague clinics. ‘Probably,’ I said. ‘Then sag down to my waist if I don’t get them regenerated.’

‘Better make the most of this shape then,’ said Neil.

We made love again and slept, and when I woke in terror later in the night Neil’s warm body soothed me, and I slept again.

But the terror lingered in the happiness, all the same.

I
spent the next two weeks combing the Nets. Despite the seriousness of the situation I felt the euphoria every time I Linked. It was like stretching again after two years cramped in a small box. It was a shock, sometimes, to slow down to Realtime, to talk to Neil. Even when I washed up now or made the bed, I let the data trickle through my mind.

Neil still found it too overwhelming to MindLink for more than a few seconds, much less scan the Nets. The longest he had managed was a five-minute dataLink and that left him drained and nauseous.

He was spending most of the day down at the labs or orchards now. His hair had fuzzed across his head again, so you could hardly see the scars. My hair was taking longer to grow. I wondered if it was because the baby was growing too.

I called Dr Meredith at the end of the first week. I’d called her before, of course, to warn her about the plague. Like Theo and Elaine she had seemed almost to have been expecting it. I suppose if you have never known disaster it’s difficult to believe it’s possible, but once you have experienced it you half expect it all the time.

I’d thought that I might have found her in the lab, tinkering with some plague vaccine or cure but instead she answered her comsig in the kitchen, a mess of flour and a billow of dough beside her.

‘Danielle — social call or problem?’ She looked at me sharply.

‘Problem. Not urgent.’ I wished suddenly that she was Forest, not Tree, so that I could MindLink my concerns fast and fully. What would her Forest descendants be like, I wondered. Would they take up medicine too? Or be super-efficient turkey breeders. ‘Neil still can’t Link. Not much anyway.’

‘I see.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. It had a yellow duck appliqued on it. Her choice? I wondered, or a child’s gift to great-great-grandma? ‘What do you mean by “not much”?’

‘Five minutes on the Net leaves him shaking. Third of a second, perhaps, with me.’

‘But otherwise no problems? No memory loss? Concentration problems?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘Well, that’s a blessing anyway.’ She bit her lip. ‘I suspect the problem is a bit like giving a legless man legs when he’s never used them before — never even seen people walk. Neil is bound to find your MindLink — that’s what you call it, isn’t it? — overwhelming.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I’d find it overwhelming myself. Or the more so if I was having to learn it with someone to whom it was second nature.

‘Give him time, my dear. And by time I mean months, or even years, not a few weeks.’ She began to knead the dough, not absentmindedly, but as though she wanted her hands working in the solid comfort of the flour and water. ‘Have you had any more word on the plague?’

‘No. I’d have told you. Maybe it’s been halted in the City.’

‘Possible. Not likely.’

‘Why?’

‘Plagues spread in cities, though they mostly start where humans and animals live close together. Farms. Outlands. But you must know all that.’

I nodded. ‘I wondered perhaps if it could possibly have started in one of the City labs.’

‘Not unless their hygiene standards have dropped dramatically since I was last there,’ she said grimly. ‘Admittedly that was over a century ago but I suspect they are better, not worse, now. No, my dear, this will be an Outland plague. You can bet on it.’

‘So I’ll keep looking.’

‘Yes. Keep looking. And if — when — you find something, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know.’

‘Of course. We’re … I’m … we owe you a lot.’

She grinned. I’d like to say it was the ghost of a young girl’s grin peering through the aged face. But it wasn’t. It was the grin of an elderly woman who had seen immeasurably more than I had dreamt of.

‘You’ve given a lot in return. Your genes to begin with. And the warning which might just save our lives. But don’t think I’m refusing your gratitude. It may be useful. Take care my dear.’ The image faded.

S
o I kept searching, till the novelty of being able to Link totally again wore off, and all I had was weariness.

But I found nothing. Or rather too much, none of it relevant: SchoolNet lessons on ancient geography from the time when it was still possible to travel from one side of the world to another (while still technically possible there had been no mass travel since the last bioplague); lists of eggs or venison or dried pineapple for trade; gossip; plans for photovoltaic paint; conversations between Wanderers working on banana plantations or prawn farms and their mums.

Nothing that hinted at disease or terror.

But the Outland utopias were spread out. It would be possible, I thought, for a plague to wipe out one or even two or three communities, and no-one would notice. Perhaps the original plague carriers had been farmers, had brought a load of corn into the City, had sniffed or sneezed and left their contagion there and gone home to die. And if they’d all died there would be no-one left to spread the plague elsewhere in the Outlands.

Perhaps the plague was only in the City now.

Possible. Not likely.

Meanwhile Theo kept the go-away signals pulsing, trekked out to coax the centaurs into the paddocks around the community and maintained his neuro fences. I put my credit line at Elaine’s disposal, to order a reserve of medical supplies in case the City ran short. Faith, Hope
and Charity was wealthy enough, but like most utopias its credit was ploughed back into equipment or housing. It rarely had deep credit lying around unused.

It still seemed a slightly insane overreaction when — apart from Michael’s call — there hadn’t been the slightest evidence of risk. But if Dr Meredith and Theo and Elaine took it seriously, so must I.

At the end of the month something did happen. Melanie was transferred to Dr Meredith at the Green Trees Clinic.

Understandably, none of Dr Meredith’s boys had volunteered to go to the City — for as well as risking the plague they’d also be admitting to proscribed skills. Instead Melanie was tested for the virus (though given her isolation she was unlikely to be carrying it) and sent by automatic floater to my house. From there I’d take her to a rendezvous with one of the Green Trees floaters which would take her — by whatever roundabout means — back to the Clinic.

It wasn’t foolproof. If the City wanted to they could follow her; could even insert a microchip to find her exact location. I could only trust that Michael was powerful enough to prevent that. I had to trust him and, once again, Green Trees trusted me.

It was early morning when she arrived. I’d been watching, weeding in the garden as the mist cleared above the trees. It was strangely eerie seeing the floater wend its way through the tree trunks. Two years ago I’d arrived from the City in just such a floater, perhaps it was even the same one. The City had damaged me too, though in a different way to Mel.

The floater drew to a stop outside the fence, next to the floater I now kept permanently by the house. I washed
the dirt off my hands under the tap, then walked through the gate and opened the floater door.

I don’t know what I expected. A thin wraith in a grey dress, perhaps, drooling and vacant.

She didn’t look like that at all.

She looked like Mel, like the child I’d grown up with, the teenager I’d explored life with, the young adult I’d shared an apartment with, the friend I’d seen destroyed as the power surge ripped through her brain. She looked like all of them, the person I’d known so closely her loss had torn out part of my life and I suddenly knew why I’d never tried to see her — even though I had been banished from the City and she was in FullCare, there might still have been a way. Surely Michael could have arranged a temporary exit for her, as he’d arranged it now. I could even have arranged for her care in the Outlands.

But I hadn’t, because I couldn’t cope with the pain.

Now it seemed I could. Now I was part of a Forest again, not just a lonely Tree. This was different Forest, it was true, not the community of minds I’d known before. This was a Forest of Neil, Theo, Elaine, Ophelia, all the others out here or at Black Stump. And one day, I thought, it might even be the old Forest once again.

I stepped into the floater and took her hand. She let me, though she didn’t look at me. But when I tugged she stood up and followed me from the floater, which relieved me, as I’d wondered if we’d have to carry her.

I avoided looking at the stasis box on the seat opposite. Mel’s Norm clone’s brain was in there, and perhaps her body clone too, though brain and body are usually kept separately for stasis clones, to avoid ever thinking of them as a person.

‘Do you need a hand?’ Neil stood behind me.

I shook my head. I felt an absurd longing to introduce them, to say: ‘Mel, this is Neil; Neil, this is my best friend.’ But I didn’t.

I walked into the house, holding her hand, and she walked with me. It was a good house. It had sheltered me well, had played its own part in my learning to be human again. I should have brought Mel here long ago, I thought, and felt guilt nibble at me.

Neil followed us. I suppose he wondered what I was doing — I’d planned to take her straight from the City floater into mine. But he didn’t say anything. The computer wasn’t on. He couldn’t share my thoughts, but he didn’t need a computer Link to read them.

‘Will I put the kettle on?’

I looked at him gratefully, and nodded. I sat with her on the sofa while Neil brought cups of tea and a plate of Elaine’s chocolate chip and peanut biscuits and I held the teacup to her lips so she drank and the biscuit while she bit and chewed and swallowed and the tears were streaking down my face but it didn’t matter. Mel was in my house and we were having tea together.

Then I blew my nose and led her to the floater.