The Settlers (10 page)

They had kept the secret their entire lives.
Audra believed that David was simply allergic to the concept of marriage, and had stopped pressing her case in her twenties.
They had cohabitated as partners ever since.
She never knew that he had already been married for a decade to her best friend.
 

Audra, Tasneem thinks.
 

Audra had not changed much since childhood.
She was a source of deep consternation to both Tasneem and David, but they both loved her, and accepted her.
 

And now she was committed to an institution, five-and-a-half months pregnant.
 

Oh, my, Tasneem thinks.
What of the child?
 

Tasneem stands in the doorway of her sleeping quarters.
She can almost feel David here, as if he had just been here moments ago.
 

David, she says once more.

Follow my instructions.

River in heaven.

The light panel detaches just as he had described.
Tasneem lifts the panel and sets it aside.
Exposed now is a slim depression in the wall.
It's just enough space for the guts of the light panel to dwell.

But at the bottom of the depression there's a tiny shelf that the light panel rests upon.
 

And sitting on the shelf is a vintage wristband.
It looks exactly like the one she owned when she was a child.
She hasn't worn one in years.

River in heaven.

Tasneem puts the band on her left wrist.
It fits well.

She presses and holds the center of the band, and it immediately syncs to her aural chip.
 

The band speaks into her ear.

Activate or erase?

Activate, Tasneem says.

The band issues two soft tones.

River in heaven, Tasneem says.

The band issues a positive tone, and then there is silence.
 

Tasneem looks down at the band, then sighs.
 

And then the voice speaks into her ear.

You found me
.

Tasneem faints.

Tasneem pours a cup of tea and takes it to the window.
The apartment is dark, and outside, the concourse is mostly empty.
She has found that the station adheres to Earth-time in most instances, setting appointments for morning or afternoon, unofficially observing the nighttime hours for sleep and the daytime hours for activity.
But like any great city, there are night owls.
She watches a few of them stroll along, lost in their own small worlds, giving each other the tiniest acknowledgment and continuing along their way.

She blows on her tea and waits for it to cool.
 

Finally she says, Okay.
I think I'm ready.

Silence, and then:

I'm very sorry for the shock.
 

Though she was expecting it, the sound of David's voice in her ear -- practically in her head -- still finds her unprepared, and she almost drops her cup of tea.
The cup rattles in her hands, which -- yes, she confirms it -- are actually shaking.
 

She exhales slowly, then inhales slowly.
She repeats this a few times.
 

When she is calm, she says, This isn't real.

And David says,
But it is real, Tasneem.
 

Jesus, she says, hopping out of her seat and backing away from the window.
How are you doing that?
Who is doing that?

Tasneem.
Tasneem, calm.
Breathe.
 

It is what David would say.
 

She breathes, and she says, I need proof.
 

Of course you do,
David says.
I would be disappointed otherwise.

How do I know you aren't some asshole reporter camped out somewhere with a remote wave system and a voice modulator?
 

You don't, not yet,
David says.
Although I think you just made those two things up.

Despite herself, she almost laughs.
 

David chuckles, too.

Alright.
Tell me something that --

-- that only I could know?
Sure.
Where should I begin?
Oh, I know.
You once kissed me.
You thought that I didn't know, but I knew.
You thought that I was asleep.
You couldn't have known that it takes me a very long time to fall asleep.
I used to practice my breathing to try to lull myself into sleep.
That's what I was doing when you crept over and kissed me.
You know, it probably should have been unsettling, but it wasn't.
Do you want to know something else, Tasneem?

Tears are streaming down Tasneem's face.
 

That was my first kiss, Tasneem.
You would have thought Audra would have been the first, but it was you.
 

Oh, David, Tasneem says.
I wish I could hug you.
 

Imagine it,
David says.
Imagine it right now, quickly.

Tasneem closes her eyes and imagines David standing in front of her.
She enfolds him and squeezes tightly.
God, I wish this was real, she says.

That was nice,
David says.
Maybe the closest thing to physical contact I can enjoy now.

You felt that?
 

I can read your biorhythms, actually.
I can extrapolate emotion from a rise in adrenaline, or a rush of endorphins, and the context in which that change occurs.

David, I --
 

You're confused.
I know.
Why don't you sit, have some tea.
I'll try to explain.
It's simple, really.

Tasneem returns to the window.
Her tea is still warm enough to drink.
She folds one leg beneath her, then looks across the table at an empty chair.
 

She laughs.

What is it?
 

I just realized, Tasneem says, that I don't know where to look when you talk to me.
 

Would you say that I am a well-prepared man?
 

Tasneem says, Sure.
You always have been.

And would you say I have the talent of observing possible outcomes, and responding to them?

Yes.
What are you trying to say?
 

Have I ever done a rash thing in my life?
 

I can't think of anything, Tasneem says.
 

Then answer me this: if you were me, and you were going to have the treatment done, what would you do beforehand?

Tasneem considers this.
I'd research the treatment carefully.

I did that.
But that's not what I mean.

I'd choose the doctor carefully, she says.
I'd learn about the interviews, and prepare for them.

I did not do those things
, David says
, but then, I couldn't.
 

Why, David?
 

Later
, David says.
That's another topic altogether.
But let's assume that, if I could have, I would have done those things.
If you had been me, and you knew everything you could possibly know about the treatment
 
-- what else would you have done?
 

I suppose I would have said my goodbyes, she says.
Just in case.
 

That's not it, either
, David says.

Okay, then I give, David.
I don't know what you're talking about.

As she says the words, she realizes that she is slipping back into easy conversation with him.
Almost as if he hasn't actually gone anywhere.
As if he's right here.
 

A good scientist always --

-- saves his work, Tasneem says.
Okay, but --

Think about it.
 

It dawns on her a moment later.
Holy shit, she says.
It's not possible.
David, that's just not possible.

But you're talking to me now, Tasneem.
So it must be.

You backed -- you backed
yourself
up?
They've been trying to do that for -- for decades!

Why risk nearly thirty-five years of careful study and work?
 

But David, it's not possible, it's just not.
It can't be --

--
done?
Oh, sure it can.
In fact, it's been possible for nearly fifteen years.
But very few people know that, and almost nobody talks about it.
It can be done, Tasneem, and I know that because I helped design the system that does it.
 

She doesn't know what to say.
 

Do you remember all those years on Ganymede?
All those station line journeys to the college?
 

Well, yes.
Of course I do.
 

Did you ever wonder what I was doing?

Tasneem smiles.
Actually, I always had this sort of Biblical image of you.
You were like the child Jesus, schooling the church elders.
Except in this case, they were professors.

You're almost right
, he says.

So you made a copy of yourself.
 

Yes
.

How does that work?

It's complicated.
But I designed a compression algorithm, and then I discovered that there were a few more tweaks that I could make, and so I made them, and then my little algorithm could suddenly take very, very, very big things and make them incredibly small.
The human brain holds a massive amount of data, Tasneem.
But all of those volumes of information -- well, they can fit onto a single chip, one so small you can't even see it.
 

Are you the first person to do this?
 

The first non-trial?
Yes, I am.
As far as I know, nobody else has died and lived on in an antique wristband.

This is amazing, David.
She rearranges herself, then comes to a sudden realization.
We have to tell Audra!

No,
David says
.
Nobody else can know, Tasneem.
Nobody.
 

But David, she's so --

Nobody.
I love Audra to death, you know I do.
But she cannot know about this.
 

Tasneem looks away.

Tasneem
, David warns.
Promise me.

I don't think I can, she says.

Promise me.
 

David --
 

Tasneem, promise me.
I have my reasons.
My reasons are never frivolous.
Trust me.

She hesitates, then agrees.
Alright.
But David, what will she do?
She's alone, she's pregnant, and -- David, they've committed her.
 

I know.

How do you know?
 

You didn't think that the only system hack I ever did was the one that invented my parents, did you?
 

I guess I never thought about it.

I'm connected to everything, Tasneem.
I'm untraceable, I'm embedded in the station architecture, and I have the means to help us find something very special.

What do you mean, find something?
 

I think I can find a new home for us
, David says.

I like my apartment just fine, Tasneem says.

That's not what I mean,
David says.
I think that I can find us a new Earth.

A new -- David.
 

I've been working on it for three years,
he says.
Do
 
you understand why it was important for me to create a backup of myself?
Think of the lost data if I hadn't.

I was too busy thinking about my lost friend, Tasneem says.
It didn't even occur to me to think about this.

That's okay.
That's why nobody will find me now.
Nobody had any inkling that I could do this.

David, Tasneem says.
What happens now?

What happens now is -- well, I don't know.
We should talk about that.