Shelter (77 page)

    Preston never manifested himself to her during that time. She didn't know if she had truly lost him, or if he was just hiding to make her think that she had. She didn't seek him out. She knew that he could find out where Nicholas was, if anyone could, and she knew just as surely that he wouldn't give her the information. Following the loss of the AI business sector in the States, MacroCorp was concentrating even more on translation, on selling rigs and mainframe space. Preston was the patron saint of the translated; the slightest appearance of wrongdoing on his part would compromise his own security and livelihood.

    Preston needed to stay on the right side of the privacy laws. Meredith didn't. And so she searched each country in turn, hacking into school records, hospital records, census records, looking for a boy of about Nicholas's age who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Nicholas might have been furnished with a phony past too, of course, but there were ways to detect such things, and Meredith had a lot of money and a lot of time. She traveled, both because changing her physical location would make her harder to track down and because whenever she stayed in one place for too long, she became claustrophobic. At all the sites she inspected she left imbedded spyworms, instructed to report back to her if the kind of information she sought suddenly appeared.

    She searched Northern Europe, and then the rest of the European Community; she searched Canada, and then the Balkan states, and then Australia and New Zealand. It was a staggering amount of ground to cover, but she found nothing. There were a few promising leads that led only to disappointment; four times, six, seven, eight, she found herself lurking outside school yards or houses, only to discover, when the child she was waiting for emerged, someone who couldn't possibly be Nicholas, even after a face-change. But two of these non-Nicholas children were visibly impaired, and so twice, at least, she was glad that she'd been wrong.

    After four years and six months, her money ran out. She'd known it must, eventually, but hadn't thought it would happen so soon. She'd lived as cheaply as she dared, in hostels and flophouses whenever possible; she'd eaten little, patched her clothing rather than buy anything new, and sold the few things of value she'd brought with her: a ring of her mother's; a gold chain, from which dangled a tiny diamond, that Nicholas had given her one birthday. She could bring herself to part with it only because she knew it had been purchased with Kevin's money, and because finding Nicholas was more important than hoarding keepsakes. The keepsake that meant the most, the fetish she'd made from his hair and from a scrap of the hospital gown he'd worn as a baby, had no value to anyone else, although it was invaluable to her. She wore it around her neck, always, except when she bathed; she showered with it in a plastic bag, sitting next to her soap or clutched in her hand, so that she'd never lose sight of it, or what it represented.

    When she knew that she wouldn't be able to stretch her money any further, when she knew that the search had failed, she spent her remaining funds on a flight to Mexico. She could live cheaply there; that was what she told herself when she booked the flight, although she wasn't sure she wanted to live cheaply, or live at all. How could she live in the world that had killed Raji and wiped Nicholas? She went to Mexico because it was one of the places she hadn't been yet, and because she didn't know what else to do. But when she disembarked from the plane at Mexico City and found herself in a terminal swarming with bots, bots of all shapes and sizes, bots selling cold drinks and bots hauling luggage, bots guiding vacationers to their rental cars and bots boarding planes alongside human passengers—for all the world as if they too were traveling—Meredith realized why she had come here, and whom she wanted to find, now that she had been unable to find Nicholas.

    It wasn't hard at all to find Zephyr; all Meredith had to do was use the airport directory, a battered, grimy terminal with a lethargic, archaic trackball and several recalcitrant keys. Zephyr hadn't even moved. She was still living on Baja, where MacroCorp had tracked her after the KinderkAIr crisis. But of course Zephyr had never fled publicity, only arrest.

    Meredith didn't bother to call ahead. She bought some food, some bottled water, and a ticket to Los Cabos.

    * * *

    Zephyr's house, a small cottage in Cabo San Lucas, set just back from a rocky beach, was surrounded by bots: bots gardening, bots hanging wet laundry on a line to dry, one pair of bots shucking a bucket of clams while two more cleaned and filleted some large fish. Meredith wondered if the bots would challenge her, but they seemed oblivious to her arrival. She walked cautiously to the front door, stepping carefully over a bot dusting sand from the walk, and knocked.

    Meredith heard splashing water and a string of irritated-sounding Spanish. Well, of course. "Zephyr?" Meredith called. For all her fine talk of global consciousness, she'd never learned Spanish. "Is that you?"

    "What? Who's there? I'm in the tub!"

    ''I'm sorry. I'll come back later."

    "All right, all right, I'm coming." Meredith heard more muted splashing from inside, and then faint footfalls. The door opened on Zephyr, glaring and wrapped in a large towel. "Yes? Who are you? What are you selling?"

    "I'm not—I'm not selling anything. I've come a long way. I—" Zephyr squinted. "Do I know you?"

    "I—you used to know me. I was—a friend of Raji's." Zephyr's face tightened. "Mother of trees. Meredith?"

    "Oh. I thought you wouldn't recognize me." So much for her facechange.

    "Not easily. If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't have known who you were without the Raji clue. That and the fact that you're a famous missing person. You'd better come in."

    Meredith went in, wondering if Zephyr was in touch with Preston. The inside of the cottage was simple: whitewashed walls, a chair and table, a cot, the huge enameled tub, still full of rose-scented water, a terminal in one corner, various bots performing various errands. "Listen," Meredith said, as soon as she was in the door, "listen, I have to ask you not to—not to call the networks or, or my father or anything. I—"

    "You're a fugitive, like me."

    Meredith swallowed. "Well, I suppose so."

    "Is he with you?" Exile hadn't softened Zephyr's manners.

    "No. No, he isn't." Meredith's eyes swam with tears. "I don't know where he is."

    Zephyr grunted. "Okay, look, sit down. Let me get some clothing on." She gestured to the table. "Help yourself to the fruit in that bowl there. It's clean. I'll be right back."

    "Thank you," Meredith said quietly, and sank into the rocking chair. After hours of air travel, the smoothness of the motion was wonderful. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Rest. It was so restful here. This had been the right place for her to come.

    "Okay, I'm back," Zephyr said. "Meredith? You awake?"

    ''I'm awake." Meredith reluctantly opened her eyes.

    "Okay. So where have you looked?"

    How kind Zephyr was, to be concerned about a child she'd never known. Unexpectedly touched, Meredith said, "All over Europe, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Everywhere I could before my money ran out. I checked schools, hospitals—"

    "Hospitals?" Zephyr said, frowning. "He wasn't a hospital program. And nobody would have put him in a school again, not after what happened last time."

    Meredith felt the blood draining from her face. Oh. Stupid. Stupid. Of course that was what Zephyr had thought she meant. ''I'm sorry. I was talking about my son. You're talking about the AI, aren't you?"

    "What? Of course! Why would you come to me about your son? I never even knew him."

    You never knew the AI, either, Meredith thought. "I came here because of the bots. I wasn't looking for—for Fred, Zephyr. He's gone, isn't he?"

    Zephyr shrugged. "So's your son, evidently." She sighed, grimaced, said, "Okay, look, I'm sorry. Everybody back home pestered me about that AI for months, even though I'd never met him, even though I had no idea what had happened to him. And then—this Gina Veilasty thing, the flap over AIs. So when you showed up and mentioned Raji, I jumped to conclusions."

    Meredith looked down at her hands. "I suppose that's natural."

    "Right," Zephyr said. "So why are you here? You always hated me, didn't you? And I'm a publicity hound, a security risk. If you want to stay hidden, why come here?"

    Meredith swallowed. "I—there's a ritual I want to do. I thought you'd be able to help."

    Zephyr looked wary. "Me? I'm not a Green, Meredith. I don't, ah, exactly share your religious principles, right? I never did. So why me?"

    "Because I need bots," Meredith said quietly. "And because—because you knew Raji."

    Zephyr had gone completely still; the ticking of the bots was the only sound in the room, other than the distant sea. "Raji." Her voice was flat, neutral. "You know, I thought I'd finally gotten over that, and then those fucking military terrorist pricks—never mind. I'm sorry. It's hard on you too. Except that at least now we know what happened, and they executed the bastards. Good riddance."

    Meredith squinted. "You agreed with that? The, uh, execution?"

    "Of course! They deserve what they got. I wish they hadn't planned the whole thing to hurt AI rights in the States, but that's all right. They probably never would have been caught if they hadn't handed themselves over, and the laws will be changed eventually. People will realize that AIs are no more inherently evil than anyone else."

    "Oh," Meredith said. She didn't know what to say. It was all too ludicrous.

    Zephyr raised an eyebrow. "You didn't come down here to have a political discussion, right? Meredith, what does Raji have to do with your kid?"

    Meredith closed her eyes. It seemed to her now that Raji's death was when her curse had started, when she had first become aware that she killed whatever she loved, even if she didn't mean to. Was she inherently evil? She'd always tried to be good. Perhaps she was just inherently poisonous. But she couldn't tell Zephyr that, and she needed some way to explain why she'd sought Zephyr out; bots were everywhere, in Mexico. "I know it doesn't make much sense," she said. "I can't—there aren't many people connected with—with my earlier life I can talk to."

    "Because you're hiding."

    "Because I'm hiding. And you're hiding too. And we both—you didn't know my son or Fred, but you knew Raji; we've both lost—we both share that loss, and I thought, I thought you might help me out of compassion."

    "I don't believe you," Zephyr said, each word clipped. Her eyes had narrowed. "You're hiding: you just admitted it. You ran away from the people you shared the most with. You ran away from your parents and your husband; you ran away from Roberta."

    "Roberta?" Meredith had to think for a minute to remember who Roberta even was. "What does she—"

    "She was in the hospital with you when you were kids. She knew Nicholas. She tried to help Nicholas, and instead you accused her. You didn't ask her for help because of what you shared."

    Meredith shook her head. "I don't see what this has to do—"

    "It means you're lying, Merry Walford. If you wanted compassion based on shared experience, you'd have stayed home. You said before that you came here because of the bots. But you always hated bots, and this Veilasty mess can't have changed that. So what exactly do you want my bots to do?"

    "You don't have to help me if you don't want to." Meredith realized that she was speaking too quickly. "I can go somewhere else, if you want. I just want a ritual cutting, and—"

    "No," Zephyr said, shoving her chair back so hard it nearly fell over. "My kids don't do blood sports."

    "But—"

    "We don't do blood sports, Meredith Walford! Especially not after Raji! Jesus!" Zephyr, a tense bundle, rose from her chair and began pacing. "You are one selfish fuck, lady. You want me to make my bots cut you? After Raji? After that? You don't need a cutting, you need a—"

    "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, you're right—look, you know people here, right? Do you know anybody who can do it?"

    "If I did, I wouldn't tell you!"

    "Please," Meredith said. "Please. Just give me the name of some of your friends. Just—"

    "The mighty Meredith, begging," Zephyr said mockingly. "I should call ScoopNet, shouldn't I? You never thought you'd be begging me for anything, did you?"

    "If you know anyone who—"

    "No. Get out." Zephyr, bots scattering before her furious approach, strode to the door and opened it.

    "I'm sorry. I—"

    "Out. Now. And don't come back."

    * * *

    She spent the last of her currency at a surgical supply store in San Jose del Cabo, buying what she needed. Once she'd gotten it, she set out to find someone willing to provide the service she sought. She spent two weeks living on streets and beaches, eating out of trash cans and gulping water from puddles, before her oblique inquiries finally bore fruit. She was lucky she wasn't dead by then; when the bot found her, she was so weak from dysentery that she could hardly raise her head to look at it, and when she did look, she thought perhaps she was hallucinating.

    "You're very unhealthy," said the bot. It was bright purple, its carapace etched in tiny turquoise lights.

    "I know," Meredith whispered, raising her head from a pile of sand. She'd found a ragged old blanket and curled up in it; it was dawn, or dusk, one of them, she couldn't tell which. The sky was a reddish glow, the wind cold from the pounding Pacific. "Are you real?"

    ''I'm real," said the bot. "You're very unhealthy. I don't think you're a very good candidate for this procedure."

    Meredith swallowed and tried to sit up. Instead she blacked out. When she came to, the sun had almost set, and the bot was still there, brilliant in darkness. "You were unconscious for four minutes," it told her.

    "Thank you."

    "You should go to a hospital."

    "No," she said, and coughed. "You know what I want."

    "I think," the bot said crisply, "that you want to die."

    She managed to pull herself upright, into the cold wind. "Cuttings aren't fatal," she said, trying to sound convincing. "You know that."

    "They can be if they get infected," said the bot.

    "I'll wash my face."

    "You're very unhealthy."

    "Look," she said harshly, "it's none of your business, all right? I want the cutting. I'll pay you. Solar cells, good ones from Europe. You can't get those here, little bot, right? With a good solar cell you're a lot more mobile, right? You don't need to stay near cities, near power grids. You're less dependent on people."

    "If you die," the bot said, "I would be dismantled. Murder is illegal." The bot was afraid, she realized. It didn't want to be destroyed the way Veilasty had been. No, it couldn't be afraid: it was just a machine. She deserved to be hurt by bots. Raji had been hurt by bots. "I won't die," she said wearily. "Look, if you don't want to do it, find someone else who does."

    "You're very unhealthy," the bot said, and turned and walked soundlessly away over the sand.

    Meredith was too tired to chase it, too tired even to call out again. She lay down, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. She could see the moon now, a thin crescent. She had a sudden yearning memory of telling her mother what the moon meant. There's always light somewhere, and you just have to wait for it. How very young she had been. She was older now, and she knew that light only made the shadows deeper.

    She closed her eyes. She didn't want to look at the moon anymore. Her inquiries were out on the streets; someone else would find her, someone else willing to go along with the deal.

    Someone else found her. The next time she opened her eyes, Zephyr was standing over her, the purple bot balanced on her shoulder. "Jesus, Meredith! So much for compassion."

    Meredith blinked, squinting at the bot. "What?" She didn't know what Zephyr was talking about. "Is that one of yours?"

    "No," Zephyr said. "But it came to me after it talked to you."

    "Why?" Meredith said, frowning.

    "They know me around here," Zephyr said drily. She knelt down and began pulling things out of a pack: a blanket, a first-aid kit, a cell phone, a canteen of water. "Holy mother of broccoli ... Is that your own shit you're lying in? Never mind: drink."

    Meredith took the canteen, drank, and vomited the water up again a minute later. Zephyr shook her head. "Bloody fucking hell. You're going to the hospital whether you want to or not."

    "No. I don't want to."

    "Tough. You're not in much condition to argue." Meredith began to cry. "This isn't fair. I'm just trying—"

    "You're just trying to kill yourself," Zephyr said. "Trying to kill yourself because you can't find your kid and you ruined a couple of people's lives and Raji's dead, right? All of that, plus stuff I don't even know about, probably. Meredith, give me the scalpels."

    "What?"

    "The scalpels. For the cutting."

    "No," Meredith said, and passed out again.

    * * *

    She came to in the hospital, with tubes in her arms and a catheter draining from under the sheet. Coming to, she tried to move and couldn't, and panicked, thrashing; when she came fully awake and opened her eyes, she discovered that her arms and legs were manacled to the bed rails with thick leather restraints. She tugged at them; they wouldn't give. She could hear someone screaming in another room.

    "Suicide watch," said someone else, and she looked up to see Zephyr at the foot of the bed. "They weren't scalpels, Meredith."

    "What?"

    "Don't what me! They weren't scalpels; they were high-intensity penlasers, surgical grade, and you had the settings maxed out, you little bitch. Did you think the bots wouldn't know the difference? Did you think if you handed them lasers set to slice through bone and told them they were scalpels, they'd go ahead and try to do a delicate little ritual scarification?"

    Meredith felt a surge of fear. "Does the hospital know who I am?"

    "You were trying to trick them into slicing you into cubes, weren't you, Meredith? You wanted them to do the same thing those other bots did to Raji. You wanted them to do the same thing to you that your crazy kid did to the mice—all because you couldn't save Raji and couldn't save the mice and can't find your kid, Meredith, is that it? Has anyone ever told you you're a rotten loser?"

    "What name was I admitted under?"

    Zephyr gave her a look of pure contempt. "Not your real one, don't worry. And no, the room's not bugged, and I haven't talked to your daddy. Not yet, anyway."

    "Thank you," Meredith said numbly.

    "All you can think about is yourself, isn't it? Your precious pride. The bots would have been killed, Meredith. If they'd hurt you, they'd have been destroyed. Just like Veilasty. You didn't think about that, did you?"

    She had thought about it. It didn't matter; bots were just machines. The old panic rose in her, the hospital panic, the isolation panic. "Let me loose, please. "

    Zephyr snorted. "Forget it."

    "I have to go to the bathroom."

    "That's what the catheter's for."

    Meredith flashed back to Hortense, and shuddered. "I have to—"

    "Y ou can't have to do anything else, Meredith. You've been getting nothing but liquids for three days. Listen to me: Do you think this is what Raji would have wanted you to do?"

    "What?"

    "Raji—remember him? The one who got the slice-and-dice treatment you were just trying to arrange for yourself? Do you think this is what he'd want for you? Do you think it's what your kid would want for you if he could still want anything?"

    "Let me go!"

    "Do you think it's what the mice would want, Meredith, the ones your kid slaughtered? You're the big Green, huh? Huh? How do you think your parents would feel? How do you think I'd feel, you bitch? I've had to live with what happened to Raji, so you tried to get me to be part of doing the same thing to you?"

    "Let me go!" Meredith said. She couldn't even cover her ears, but she did find a call button and managed to press it. It would summon bots. This was Mexico: everything was staffed by bots here. She didn't know if bots would be able to convince Zephyr to leave; she suspected it would take a team of human bodyguards.

    "Do you think you're the only person in the world with ghosts?" Zephyr said fiercely. She was shaking. "Do you?"

    Meredith pressed the call button again, urgently, and a nurse rushed in, human, young and pretty and dark-haired. "This woman's harassing me," she told the nurse.

    "Damn right I'm harassing you! What you're trying to do to yourself won't undo anything you've done to anyone else, do you hear me?"

    "Please make her leave," Meredith told the nurse. "Please."

    The nurse nodded, her face unreadable, and turned to Zephyr. ''I'm sorry, but I have to ask you-"

    "Of course," Zephyr said. "I'm leaving. No problem. You get to keep the bitch: may you have much joy of her." But as she was leaving she shot over her shoulder at Meredith, "Listen to me. If you want to make amends, you can goddamn well stay alive. And if you don't want to make amends, then you goddamn well deserve to stay alive and suffer your rotten conscience."

    Then she was gone, her furious footsteps receding into the hall. Meredith, trembling, closed her eyes and remembered Roberta's footsteps, that same staccato beat, fading away from Nicholas's room. No. No. Not that memory. She opened her eyes again and found the nurse, kind and concerned, bending over her.

    "The loved ones are always angry," she told Meredith softly. "It is very common. She is angry because you tried to take yourself away, Edith, do you understand? Love fuels the anger. You must try to realize that."

    "No," Meredith said. So Zephyr had told them her name was Edith; clever. "Love has nothing to do with it. She hates my guts, always has. Don't let her come back. Can you do that?"

    The nurse nodded evenly. She smelled like some kind of flower: freesia, maybe, or lily of the valley. Her name tag read, "Sarita."

    "And I want to get up and go to the bathroom. Is that possible?"

    Sarita pursed her lips, as if considering, and then undid the restraints on Meredith's wrists and ankles. Her fingers were gentle, warm against Meredith's chilled skin. She removed the catheter with that same gentleness, and said matter-of-factly, "You need my help to stand up. You cannot support yourself yet. You are too weak."

    After several tries, Meredith managed to get out of bed. She leaned on Sarita, who looked too small to bear the weight but in fact managed to steer both Meredith and the IV pole. Meredith leaned on the other woman all the way to the bathroom, and at the door said, "Thank you. I can manage from here."