Supermen: Tales of the Posthuman Future (46 page)

Oh, Ord, I'm sorry. I was mistaken. That doesn't sound simple at all, does it?

—Perfect, in conversation

Hoisting his knapsack to his shoulder, Perfect said, "Stay here."

"Where are you going?" the boy blurted, surprised by his anxieties. Trying for composure, he added, "I want to go with you."

A wink and grin, effortlessly charming.

Then Perfect picked up his spear with his partial hand, remarking, "I've got work, and there isn't time. Stay. Wait. I should be back before too long, I hope."

"But I'm here to help, right? To do some good—?"

"You don't understand. Not yet." Then his brother began to step toward him, and he wasn't there anymore. The step carried him out of sight, in an instant, and Ord spun and dropped to his butt, suddenly feeling chilled. A hundred new questions to ask, the old ones needing to be asked again, and he felt abandoned, cheated, and small.

In a whisper, he said, "I'm tired of this Family."

A lazy little wind blew from the sea, cold as liquid helium but warm against his current skin. Other than the wind, nothing moved. No answers presented themselves. And when Ord grew sick of feeling sorry for himself, he stood again, then began to walk, following the shoreline at his own modest, archaic pace.

*

There was no sun to set, but there were nights.

He learned.

Darkness emerged slowly, exposing the illuminated far side of the dyson, and Ord sat on a different beach, bare feet in the warm facsimile of sand, eyes gazing at that remote, ill-defined terrain. Every world that the Chamberlains had terraformed, if cleaned like animal skins and sewn together, wouldn't carpet this vast place.

He wondered how Alice and Perfect had managed it, and then he knew. It was because the dark matter was so abundant and amiable. Because they took their time, self-replicating robots doing the brunt of the work. And
because the dyson's true mass wasn't much greater than Neptune's— a wondrous home of tissue paper, in essence, lit from within by cold candles.

Somewhere within Ord, out of easy reach, were reservoirs of fact, languid explanations, and bottled lectures beyond number.

He practiced, accessing the knowledge as best he could.

There was a text on the Brongg— their immeasurable history, the bulk of it immeasurably dull— but its sheer size and dullness was an event, majestic in its own right, like plate tectonics.

Sitting on that alien beach, in the dark, Ord found himself lost in the intricacies of a Brongg government born in the Triassic and still thriving today.

He barely noticed the dawn.

A feeble glow began nowhere, and everywhere. This was a universe without shadows. The boy blinked and looked skyward, wondering how these qualities would affect the future psyches… and there was a sound, a gentle wrong-pitched splashing, his eyes dropping, focusing on a distinctive beach-comber.

It was Perfect, already back again.

Ord was halfway standing when he noticed the clothes, the posture. The five whole fingers on each open hand.

Hesitating, Ord found that he had no voice.

With a quiet, terrified tone, the other Chamberlain said:

"Lyman. I'm just Lyman."

"Brother…?"

"You remember me, don't you?" His horror was palpable. "They asked me to come, to talk with you, to tell you… offer you… oh, Ord…! Do you know how much trouble you're in…?"

"Why wouldn't I remember you?"

Lyman straightened, blinked. The answer seemed obvious, thus he moved to greater questions, explaining events from his point of view.

"You vanished. We thought you were in your room… I even spoke to you once, except it wasn't you… you were gone, and a security sweep realized it." Lyman attempted a smile, acting as if he remembered instructions to do just that. "We searched for you." The smile brightened. "I went to the stables.… I thought you might be hiding.…"

"I'm sorry to worry anyone."

The brother took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"When you couldn't find me, what happened?"

"Next?" A pained, prolonged swallow. "The Nuyens came to visit. A high-ranking delegation. They claimed that some old Chamberlain had been living on the estate, in secret—"

"How could they know?"

"The Nuyens have watched us. Better than we watch ourselves, it seems." Lyman glanced at the enormous sea, nothing registering in his eyes. "There were high-level meetings, and accusations— you could feel the tension— then someone broke into a facility in the Oort cloud, and portions of Alice were stolen. Afterward, you could
taste
the panic—"

"What portions?"

Lyman shuddered, then wrestled himself back into a half-composure. He didn't know what was stolen. "They wanted help from someone you would trust," he admitted. "Which isn't me, I
told
them that, but you know how the elders can be. They'd already picked me before they asked—"

"Who asked?"

"Everyone. There were Chamberlains, and Nuyens. Even the Sanchexes by then. And even the Sanchexes were scared."

"How would you help?"

"Like this." Isn't it obvious? his face asked. "You and a rogue Chamberlain had taken parts of Alice. It was kept secret from the public, of course. So was the mission to find you, and they asked if I would go with them, and speak with you when it was time."

Ord found himself laughing. A genuine, quiet laugh. "Oh, they asked you, did they?"

Lyman hesitated, attempting a wry smile. "I went to sleep." He said the word with longing, as if he wished he was asleep now. "It was a long chase, but here I am."

"You are," Ord agreed. He had sudden warm feelings for Lyman, sorry to have him pulled into this mess. Was that the logic? Disarm him with a pitiful sibling? "But I didn't steal anything of Alice's."

"I knew you didn't. It was the rogue all along."

Where was Perfect?

"What we could do," Lyman continued, "is go to the others. You aren't responsible for what's happened. You were kidnapped, or whatever we want to call it, and I'll explain—"

"Who's with you?"

"A sister. The elder on the estate." He attempted another smile. "Do you see how important you are?"

"Who else?"

"Just one. A Nuyen." Lyman paused, a study in concentration. "He is in charge. As old as Alice, almost."

Perfect had seen two pursuers. Lyman would have been cargo. Inert, innocent.

"What do you think of this place?" asked Ord.

Lyman wanted to keep his eyes on his brother. A glance toward the sea, then toward the mountains. Then he said, "Lovely," with a surprising conviction.

"But you came to destroy it, didn't you?"

"Not me," his brother sputtered. "But if it's illegal…
immoral
… doesn't it
have
to be destroyed?"

A vast realm that hurts no one— a universe unto itself— and Ord felt a scalding, enormous rage.

He gave a low moan, stepping toward Lyman.

A terrified voice said, "No," as his brother retreated. He was begging, pleading. Hands raised, he said, "Just come with me. We'll talk to them, and maybe something can be done—"

Ord picked up a rounded stone, for emphasis. "They won't hurt this place—"

—and a Nuyen appeared, a Chamberlain standing strategically on his left, slightly behind him. An adult version of Xo showed a humorless smile— simple dark hair; unreadable black eyes— then he said with a hard, clean-cutting voice, "Surrender. You're a good boy, but you don't have any idea what you're doing."

Ord felt utterly confident in his mistrust of Nuyens. "Do not touch anything here," he warned, words like thunderbolts.

A tilt of the head, a thin amusement. The Nuyen said, "Really?"

The sister— a total stranger— called to Ord, by name, conjuring a face vast and maternal, concern dripping from it.

Ord looked only at the Nuyen, lifting the stone overhead as he said, "Leave. All of you, leave."

The enemy showed no fear or hesitations. But behind the face, in some small way, there was the instantaneous flinch.

An involuntary failure of will.

With a mixture of horror and exhilaration, Ord wondered what he had of Alice's. Energies, liquid and sweet, surged through him and radiating in all directions. The beach shivered. The great sea threw clouds of jeweled foam into a brilliant sky. And Ord pictured the Nuyen dying, slowly, his soul in agony to the end.

Here the boy would remain. Anyone who came to destroy this place would be destroyed, Ord's destiny set…!

A voice spoke to him. Familiar, close.

A lying voice, Ord told himself.

The old Nuyen and Chamberlain had retreated in panic, leaving their empty bodies standing on the beach. But their souls hadn't fled far enough, and Ord could see them with some newly engaged eye, measuring distances, the rock in his clenched hand no longer simple and cold.

That voice, again.

Beseeching him to stop.

But Ord didn't listen. He followed his instincts and anger, flinging the nonstone and aiming to murder—

A flash, a dull white pain.

—and he collapsed, giving a miserable low groan.

Piercing his chest, cutting places and functions he had only just begun to feel, was that long flint Folsom point. Ord could see the point jutting from his sternum. He was down on his hands and knees, breathing out of habit, little red bubbles detaching from his mouth and drifting on the warm wind. He watched one bubble, something about it enchanting. Weightless, it swirled and rose, then fell again. In its slick red face he thought he could see his own face, for an instant. Then it settled on top of a bare pink foot, and it burst without sound, without fuss. Whose foot? Why couldn't he remember? But Ord was having trouble thinking at all, and he felt quite chilled, and the bubbles weren't coming anymore, and he very much missed them.…

10

…and with my life, my health, and my perishable name, I now and always shall defend the Great Peace.

—from the Families' pledge

"If I had let you kill them," said Perfect, "what possible sweet good would have come from it?"

Opening his eyes, Ord found himself sitting on a cave floor, a small fire burning before him, his brother illuminated by the golden flames and half-hidden by their swirling, jasmine-scented smoke.

"A rash thought, a crude act, and then
what
?"

The boy gasped, feeling pain. In the center of his chest was a slick raised scar, white as milk, and aching, and apparently permanent.

Quietly, with genuine remorse, he said, "I am sorry.…"

Perfect said nothing for a long time, wiggling his fingers and stumps as they warmed, his face contemplative and remote.

The cave was filled with rocks, Ord noted. They were neatly stacked, each one adorned with something alive. Handfuls of mud filled the gaps. Everything glistened, water dripping somewhere in the darkness.

Ord shuddered, saying, "I wanted to protect—"

"—the dyson, yes." His brother shook his head, warning him, "First of all, the dyson is
my
responsibility. And second of all, there were exactly five sentient organisms onboard it. Only five. You and me, and poor Lyman, and your intended victims. You were willing to commit two murders to save a vast inchoate slime, and that's not the moral act of a decent soul. Chamberlain or not."

"How is Lyman?"

"Sleeping on that beach, and safe."

Ord glanced at his surroundings, saying, "This is your pouch. This is where you've been putting the rocks and mud."

"A representative population, yes. Held in suspended animation." Perfect tossed a stone chip into the fire, sparks scattering. "That Nuyen and our sister are holding at a safe distance, awaiting reinforcements. Of course they suspected that I was the one helping you, but they never, never guessed the kinds of powers that you hold. A lot of Alice's systems had yet to be catalogued. And besides, they hoped to win your surrender, without incident, before dealing with me and my dyson."

"What kinds of powers…?"

A dark, slow laugh. "I do not know, Ord. In most cases."

The boy dipped his head, breathing deeply.

"Before Alice fled the Core, she visited me, warning me about the coming explosion. Then she made me promise to do exactly what I have done, giving the Baby exactly what I gave you and taking him to a suitable starting point."

His unborn sister could have been chosen just as easily.

Or Lyman, he realized.

Then Perfect jumped to his feet, announcing, "Before the reinforcements arrive, we should make our quiet escape."

"To where?" the boy inquired.

"I am leaving on a million-year walk." The voice was calm, the face resigned. "Out between the galaxies, I should think. Then in some good cold place I'll rebuild this dyson. Stone for stone. And afterward… well, there might be a galaxy or two worth exploring. Who knows?"

"May I walk with you?"

"Not for one step, no."

Ord had expected that answer, but the words stung nonetheless.

His brother continued, saying, "Alice asked for my help, and I gave it. Out of love, trust, and habit, and in that order. She has her reason, we can hope. And now you're free to help Alice, or not. I won't presume to tell you which choice to make."

"I have to save something," Ord whispered.

Perfect kicked stones and cold embers over the fire's heart. "I know what it is, and the truth told, I don't envy you."

"It's fragile, and Alice is pledged to protect it.…"

The maimed hand was offered.

Ord took it, standing. "It must be an illegal world. Is it? One with sentience, maybe?"

"I will show you," his brother promised. "Come on."

The boy's feet refused to move.

Without firelight, a softer, stranger glow illuminated the cavern. Perfect was a silhouette. His voice was close and warm, coaxing Ord by saying, "Not a world, no. Follow me."

Ord was strong enough to butcher a godly Nuyen, yet his legs were too heavy to lift. He fought with them, shuffling forward, noticing for the first time that his feet were bare and his only clothes were trousers made from simple skins. He looked at himself in the gloom, thinking of a lucky caveman. Then he managed a step, and another, and looked up at the sky that he both anticipated and could not believe.