The Lowest Heaven (23 page)

you again!

we lost you!

we like you!

can’t let you back in there though

sorry!

Their feather-light push speeded me on. And I heard-without-ears the voices of my warmonger foes:

my view’s gone fuzzy

it’s him again

call in the supermod

have him shut down

Christopher appeared, for a brief moment, in the air before me, waving his arms in warning. Overtaking him was something like a flock of carnivorous birds, or a rock fall that twisted in space to chase me. They called to one another in a grating crackle.

how is he moving across the damn channels

can’t cut him off through his provider

provider’s unclear

I sped on but the missiles dogged me. I raced them; they were hard put to keep up with me. I only need to outpace them for a little longer! We swung together around the enormous bulk of Jupiter, dodged between the rings of Saturn. I was out of breath, I had no breath, they were shouting behind me.

wandering all over

not a user, it can’t be

only an error

clean it up

The blue planet came into sight. I knew at once that I’d been right – that it was a warm planet, a perpetual spring morning.

I went lower and dropped through the blue.

The planet wasn’t featureless at all. There was a wood, a great greenwood, moss paths dusted with pollen.

where is it now

there, in that empty channel

looks busy in there

it’s coming from him

he’s populating the place

There was dew on the grass, and I delighted in it, and the dark in among the trees was homelike and wholesome.

we should lock him in

cut the account off from the machine

just disconnect it

lock him in there

yeah try it

And in a clearing of the woods was a college quad and the quad was the agora of Greece, and a crowd of young men smiled to see me come to join their conversation. My college friends, unencumbered by wives and children, stood with other men I had not yet met.

I felt pain all through me. The hideous mod-birds were above me, tearing at my silver rope with metal teeth. I knew they wanted to stop me from travelling. If I hurried, I could still use the rope, still let it pull me, and I might manage to get home.

I didn’t want to go home. I’d come home. Christopher would understand. I took up the tight-stretched silver cord in my hands, near to my not-body, and wrapped it neatly around each not-fist. It would only take one quick –

locked him in

done it

Snap!

The wind picks up and he is pieces now, carried on the current, through the mist, into an icy nothing.

    A glass slide, depicting the shapes of four different galaxies (erroneously labelled as nebulae). (c1900)

DAVID BRYHER

Ted had always preferred his own company, but this was ridiculous.

“What should I call you?”

“Ted.”

“That’s a bit weird.”

“Was this not explained to you in orientation? FentiCorp don’t let clones mix with friends and relatives of the donor. There’s no need to…”

Ted raised his hand. “No, it’s okay. I remember. It’s still weird. I mean, I can’t call you Ted.”

“You don’t need to call me anything. You’ll depart in a day or two. We don’t need to see each other again.”

“After this,” Ted said, glancing at the steaming pot of coffee on the white plastic table, at the empty sofa opposite his own.

“After this,” his clone replied with a nod. “May I…?”

“Oh, feel free.” Ted waved at the other sofa, then slumped back into the cushions. He puffed out his cheeks and ignored the cold knot that was developing in his stomach. He didn’t know what to say next.

“Coffee?” his clone asked, leaning forward to pour two cups anyway. He handed one to Ted. “So, as you understand, we’re here to discuss any physical or mental peculiarities of this body. The kind of thing that only an experienced user would know. What can you tell me?”

Ted sipped from his cup and the coffee tasted dark and rich and chocolatey. The Trident had the best coffee he’d tasted in the solar system. He was going to miss that, for a start. He wondered if he could take some with him.

He licked his lips, then replied, “Your knees are going to ache in wet weather. Don’t ask me why – they always have. And if you’re going to be sat down a lot, get a chair with lumbar support.”

“FentiCorp do not currently deploy their clones in office positions.”

Ted stared hard at the black liquid in his cup. “No,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, of course they don’t.”

“You’re sorry? Are you feeling guilty?” The clone’s voice was light, almost surprised.

“You don’t even talk like me.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

“So what am I now, some sort of counsellor?”

“In FentiCorp’s experience, donors sometimes find it easier to open up to their clones.”

“A counsellor who talks like I’m in marketing or something.”

There was a brief pause. The clone was trying not to smile. Ted looked away.

“Don’t worry about me,” the clone said. “I’ll be fine.”

Ted nodded. Sniffed. Why was his nose runny all of a sudden? “Is this going to take long? What else do you need?”

“Are there any psychological triggers I need to be aware of?”

“I went through all this with the agent, like a hundred times.”

“Of course. But in FentiCorp’s experience, donors–”

“Or maybe I’m someone who just reads out what I’m told to?” Ted was getting a headache. Do I sound this annoying all the time?

The clone paused. “You’re not too keen on proper procedures, I take it.”

Ted shrugged.

The clone looked at the bulging blue bruise on the inside of his wrist, poked it with a finger and frowned. Ted could see the small incision, where the medibot had inserted the failsafe capsule. “If you’re not happy with the arrangement–”

“Who is?” Ted tried to ignore the buzzing waves of nausea coursing through his body. “There can’t be a single person passing through this place who’s happy about being here.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the clone said, turning his mirror gaze straight on Ted. “I haven’t been here long.”

The blue blur of Neptune slid by underneath them, a faintly curved horizon slanting across the gallery window in the bar. The twisting ribbons of the planet’s atmosphere glowed in the spotlights on the underside of the Trident. It was an unsettling sight. It seemed too close. Ted thought he should hear the planet roar.

His footsteps clicked on the marble floor as he entered the room. Unidentifiable music drifted through the still, cool air. Above the bar hung an illuminated canopy, twinkling with a thousand champagne-coloured shards of glass. Glowing in the golden light beneath, there was a selection of just about every alcohol imaginable.

The décor aimed for rich and sumptuous but it fell short. With laughter and the chink of glasses and a little bit of warmth, maybe it would get there. But the Trident wasn’t a busy hotel right now – Ted wondered if it ever was – and of the couple of dozen tables here, only one was occupied.

As he reached the bar, he glanced out of the window again. A shadow was biting at the stars. (And he tried to ignore the one, slightly brighter dot in the distance. The Sun, so far behind him.) The silhouette of a new ship, coming in to dock. At least the Trident would have more guests soon.

He wondered who they might be. He wondered if they’d meet. He wondered if there was any point.

There was no server at the bar; you were supposed to just help yourself. Despite the price he had paid to stay here, and for FentiCorp’s services, he still felt awkward about that, so he poured himself a modest gin from a gem-blue bottle, then smothered it with tonic. He took a couple of deep swallows before he went to join Marco at the table.

“How did it go?” Marco’s eyes reflected the shimmering gold light from the bar. “Everything okay?”

“I guess. Well. It was a bit…” He put his drink down and turned the glass this way and that, staring at the clear liquid. “I mean, didn’t you find it weird?”

Marco shrugged and sipped at his own drink. “We’re outta here,” he said, flicking his fingers towards the window. “What does it matter?”

Ted gulped at his gin again. Marco drained his own glass, then slipped into the next chair round the table, closer to Ted. He put his hand on his knee. “Make it better?” Marco’s eyes sparkled in the dim light of the bar. Oh, those champagne eyes.

Ted laughed. He leant over and kissed him. “Not tonight, babe.”

Marco’s hand climbed higher. “You can’t refuse a man on his last night in the solar system.”

“Second to last.”

“Details.” Higher still. “We’re condemned men now. Nothing left to live for. Nobody looking over our shoulder. May as well enjoy the freedom.”

Ted shuffled his leg away. “Seriously,” he said, trying to inject amusement into his voice but – really? Condemned? “Just leave it, Marco.”

Marco stiffened and sat upright. “Fine.”

“Don’t be like that. It’s been a weird day.”

“Sure it has, yeah.”

“Marco, baby.”

Marco pushed his empty glass into the centre of the table. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

Condemned. Like what? Like the way a building is condemned? Uninhabitable. Unsafe. Ready for demolition.

Or like a soul is condemned?

Ted hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d come back to find Marco in bed, sleeping – or, more likely, pretending to sleep. He’d lain down next to him, but his thoughts would not lie down too.

Ted was annoyed. He didn’t like being unable to sleep, and on the rare occasions insomnia had troubled him, it was because there were too many thoughts whirling round his head. The last time, it had been when they were first talking about selling their liferights. All those things to think about: what would their friends say? Their family? Could they afford to buy passage out of the system? Did they even really want to leave, knowing they wouldn’t be welcome back? They would have to give up everything, but was it worth it? It was no wonder Ted lost a few nights’ sleep to that decision.

But tonight, there was just the one thought. And that single thought wouldn’t let in any others, and it roared like Neptune should be roaring.

They were leaving behind their bodies. What remained after that was condemned.

Ted quietly got out of bed, grabbed a robe and slipped out of the room. The corridor outside was chilly and silent. The tiled floor was cold beneath his bare feet, so he headed down to the lounge, where he could grab a coffee and enjoy the deep pile of the only carpets aboard the Trident.

He turned the corner into the lobby, and he heard the drone of a vacuum cleaner coming from the next room. There was someone in the lounge, cleaning those precious carpets, by the sounds of it. But the hotel was automated. There was no one else here. Just Ted, Marco, and their…

Ted’s clone passed the open door of the lounge, pushing the vacuum ahead of him. Ted froze. He stood by the corner of the corridor, hovering half out of sight. Just about the last thing he needed was a conversation with his clone. He needed to clear his head, not muddy it further.

He watched his clone for a moment, crossing this way and that past the open door. The clone was almost smiling. He seemed… Ted thought the best word for it was ‘content’ and, for a moment, he was reassured. Maybe this was the right thing after all, for his copy as well as himself.

In a few days, once Ted had left the solar system for good, that clone would head inwards, back towards the Sun, back to where he was needed. The property of FentiCorp, sure, but he had a guaranteed job for life. And, thanks to the behavioural conditioning that was part of the force-grow process, his clone would be happy. He’d have a fraction of a life, but it would be enough. For him.

Ted slipped back round the corner, out of sight. He leant against the metal wall and sighed. Maybe Marco had been right all along. Maybe they didn’t need their liferights, because maybe their life was just a piece of shit. FentiCorp was welcome to it. About the only good thing they had was each other – and they got to keep that, along with a ticket to a new life out there, beyond the edge of the solar system. So what if they leave behind a couple of familiar-looking shells. Who gives a shit?

That’s the past.

What they get in return is the future. All their screw-ups put behind them. A fresh start. A blank slate.

In the end, Ted stayed up all night, watching old movies in the entertainment suite. His eyes were dry and sore when he finally realised what time it was. He rushed to the restaurant to find Marco, breakfast done, finishing off his coffee.

Ted sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I was just feeling a bit shitty. I shouldn’t have been so weird with you.”

Marco arched a sniffy eyebrow as he drained his cup. “Good morning to you, too.”

Ted grabbed Marco’s free hand and squeezed it. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Marco smiled, despite himself.

“So how do you want to spend the day?”

“One thing,” Marco said, “before all that.”

“Anything.”

“Just answer me honestly. You want to go back, don’t you?”

Ted glanced out of the gallery window and instantly regretted it. He knew how it would look to Marco, how it would seem like he was casting one last, longing gaze at home, and so he knew he wouldn’t believe his answer when it came. But it was the truth: “No. I don’t. I promise you.” He squeezed Marco’s hand again. “I was just feeling a bit funny about… about what we’re leaving behind.”

“What we’re leaving behind? What
are
we leaving? Your dad, who hates me? My fucking family, in and out of fucking court every five minutes? Or maybe your glittering career in civil engineering. You make sewers, Ted. People literally
shit
on your job.”

“Marco, seriously…” Ted kept his voice level and smooth. He’d dealt with a thousand of Marco’s bad moods and snapping back was going to get them precisely nowhere. “I don’t want to go back. I am happy to put all that behind us. But…”

No! Idiot! Not “but”. Anything but “but”.

Marco’s jaw clenched. Ted saw it all in his eyes, what he thought Ted was thinking:
But I have doubts. But I have regrets. But I’m lying.
That’s not what he was about to say. He had to finish his sentence now, he couldn’t leave it hanging, though he knew how weak it would sound to Marco, how hollowly it would ring against the assumptions he had already made. “
But
I was letting it all get on top of me. I was just feeling down about it. Come on, be reasonable – I’m allowed to be a bit sad, aren’t I?”

Big mistake. Don’t flip it back.

Marco tutted and turned away from him.

Ted was about to say something when he heard footsteps. Last night’s arrival, joining them for breakfast. He glanced towards the door to see a woman, middle aged, in a sharp grey skirt suit. Needlessly formal, Ted thought. He tightened the belt on his robe, suddenly self-conscious.

“That could be the last other human face we see,” he whispered, nodding towards the woman.

“See?” Marco hissed. “You don’t want to go.”

“What? How do you get that?”

As the woman picked some bacon out of one of the heated trays, she glanced in their direction. She smiled thinly, and Ted tried to smile back, but everyone in the room knew there was an argument going on and nobody wanted to get any more involved than they already were.

“I don’t care if I never see another living soul,” said Marco. “But you’re obviously going to miss it. You don’t want to go.”

“I do. Jesus, Marco.
I want to go.
”

“I thought this is what you wanted.”
(It is! Didn’t I just say that?)
“A new start, away from all that bullshit behind us.”

“Yes, I do. Bu…
However
, it’s not been that easy to just throw it all away. I mean, I’m ready now, but –”

“But what?”

Bollocks.

“But
what
, Ted? You didn’t want to throw it all away? Fine. I believe you. But you were fucking happy enough to sell it when it came down to it.”

“You make it sound like it was easy. You think this whole fucking thing is easy. This is my
life
you’re talking about.”

“Wrong. It
was
your life.” Marco stood. “Kiss it goodbye, Ted. It’s gone.”

He marched towards the door without looking back. His retreating footsteps were swallowed by the silence.

He heard the woman clear her throat.

Now. Right about now, Neptune, would be a good time to start roaring.

He glanced over at the woman. She had taken a seat nearer the gallery window, and he thought to himself:
I have never seen someone more fascinated by the view from a window.