The Sons of Heaven (35 page)

“I ran after him such a long time, Rose!” says Nicholas. “Always north, and everywhere he went was blighted. I saw the ice floes. I saw the white waste and the dead men. The bones of seals—”

“My darling, my baby, it’s all right—”

“Why would he burn the garden?” Nicholas’s voice rises in a wail.

“It doesn’t matter what the man did,” says Edward. “It doesn’t matter what he called you. We’ll plant a new garden, my boy.”

“What kind of monsters are we?” says Nicholas, weeping.

“The ones best suited to plant gardens,” says Edward. “And, out of all creation, the only beasts to whom it has occurred to do so.”

“Humanity has signally failed at recreating Eden, señor,” says Mendoza bitterly.

“So far,” says Edward. “But no other creatures will try, you may be certain.”

“And what if there are serpents?” Mendoza looks at him sidelong.

“Damned nonsense, leaving serpents in a garden,” says Edward. “Not when
my
children play there. I was made to kill serpents; perhaps I’ll kill one worth the name.”

Nicholas sleeps at last, close in Mendoza’s arms, and Edward holds them both against the night and the cold stars.
Mendoza dreams, chaotically, of seraphim with blazing wings. When she wakes, it is in the pale hour when the sun hasn’t risen yet, and she hears a
thump
as Alec climbs out of bed and staggers into the bathroom. Edward hears it, as well, with hair-trigger child sensors, and gets up to follow him in there to be sure he can manage. (Even the Cyborg Child can fail to hit the urinal, if he’s not entirely awake.) She is listening to Alec’s cross little voice telling Edward he’d like some privacy, thank you, when:

Island off the port bow!

“Hey,” Alec cries, and dashes from the bathroom with pajamas at half-mast. “We have to go see!”

“Not without your life jacket,” Edward tells him, but Alec runs laughing up on deck and proceeds to dance there, gleefully impudent. Edward mutters and goes to grab a pair of jackets from a locker.

“Look,”Alec shouts. “Look, Mendoza, come see! This is so cool!” Mendoza scrambles out of bed, as Nicholas rubs his eyes, and she runs up on the main deck after Alec to see the island.

A green mountain forested and bright with birds, descending in plateaus and terraces to a green lawn above a white sand beach. Waving palms, bluest of lagoons, a fragrance coming off it of ginger and rum, and still one bright clear star over the mountain’s shoulder in the growing light.

They are dancing hand in hand, Alec and Mendoza, as Edward and Nicholas hurry on deck. Nicholas is shrugging into his life jacket and Edward seizes Alec to fasten him into one, too, muttering: “You are never under any circumstances to go abovedecks without the proper safety apparatus—”

“Piss off,” says Alec cheerily, resuming his dance the moment Edward lets go of him. “Look, Deaddy! It’s our very own green island, yeah?”

“I
told
Captain Meade there was land here,” says Edward, looking out in satisfaction. “Two demerits, Alec.”

“And there’s the third star to the left,” Mendoza sings, picking up Nicholas and dancing with him, too. He stares out at it, amazed.

“Is this a real place?” he asks.

“Well, it’s
not
Neverland,”Alec says, and hoots madly as he races around on deck. “Because I’m going to grow up, oh yes I am, oh yes I am—”

“The Blessed Isle, remember, darling?” Mendoza kisses Nicholas on his brow. “At long last, a real tropical Paradise.”

“—oh yes I am, and when I do, I’ll kick your butt—” Alec continues his little song, running close enough in his orbit to punch Edward’s leg and leap away again, laughing wildly. “And then
I
get to be Commander of the Seven
Seas!” Edward chases him, grinning, and, catching him up, settles him on his shoulders.

“If you earn it, perhaps,” he says. Nicholas is still staring at the mountain.

“Paradise,” he repeats.

“Some people would take that as a sign, you know,” Edward tells him. “Well, Captain, do you detect habitation?”

Not a blessed soul, Commander sir. This far back in time and this far out to sea, it ain’t likely there’d be any hominids could get here anyhow. Hoping you’ll accept an old machine’s humble apologies for thinking you was a blockhead to send him a-chasing after cloudbanks all on account of you being too stubborn to say you was wrong one time clear back in 1842
.

“Apologies, eh? Very well.” Edward paces along the deck, balancing Alec on his shoulders as he surveys the island thoughtfully. “Send a survey party ashore immediately. Flint and Billy Bones are to note all water sources, any possible hazards including fungal or viral, and collect specimens of local flora and fauna.”

Aye aye, sir
.

“Yaay!” shouts Alec.

Edward smiles at Mendoza, as Flint and Billy Bones emerge from the saloon and crawl toward the agboat. “And now, my dear, what would you say to breakfast? I believe Coxinga’s preparing oyster savory.”

“And coffee, please, señor?” she replies. Nicholas, watching the island, has folded his hands on the front of his lifejacket.

We made a slow circle of the island that day, scanning all the while, and found the place meets virtually all of Edward’s criteria. No snakes. No lizards bigger than twenty-five centimeters, no members of the rodent family at all, and consequently a great many varieties of birds. There are sea turtles, ponderous as boulders all over one quiet beach, and abundant fish in the lagoon.

So ashore we went today, and what a picture we made. Edward in his full explorer ensemble, and didn’t he look elegant and dangerous! The effect was offset somewhat by the harness on his back where Nicholas rode, peering out from under his little sun helmet. I carried Alec; he can’t seem to resist spitting down Edward’s neck when he’s able, so it’s best not to tempt fate.

And plowing ahead through the long grass and jungle went faithful Bully
Hayes the servounit bearer, turning his steel skull this way and that as he scanned our trail with glowing red sensors, carrying without complaint the mountain of stuff Edward insisted we bring. Both disrupter rifles and their extra power packs, a complete kitchen setup, a picnic hamper, folding chairs, a child-sized pavilion, an umbrella, a sanitary convenience for the children (who are still too little to be able to metabolize waste efficiently), holocamera equipment, a hatchet, a machete, and rain gear! I used to disappear into the Ventana for years at a time packing less. I think if we owned a Victrola, Edward would have brought that along, too. He’s such a Briton, I swear to God.

Or it may be that Edward’s still going through the motions of being human at this point, carrying so much baggage.

And maybe he’s wiser … I left my humanity so far behind in the Ventana I was like a tree or a stone, sometimes; and in retrospect, I’m not sure that green darkness was good for me. Maybe there really has been a struggle for my soul going on all these years. Every time I’ve drifted away from it, the man has come to pull me back to human consciousness.

However immortal we are, we still wear human shapes, live in human patterns. The values of humanity are the only ones we know. Perhaps human love is the closest we can come to the divine, all we can know of paradise.

Though the island is a terrestrial paradise, no question. It looks to have endemic species to keep me diverted for years, and plenty of arable soil. A forested valley running back to the central massif, with mahogany trees bigger than the ones on Catalina. We splashed across bright streams, climbed rocky outcroppings, took holoshots of views. On a high hill we found an open meadow where Edward paced about for a few minutes, taking sightings before he announced: “This will do. Bully, make camp here, please.”

And in a very few minutes we had a camp: baby pavilion shaded by the big umbrella, field kitchen with faithful servounit preparing luncheon. Edward and I were seated at our ease in folding chairs, Edward holding a rifle like a scepter. Alec and Nicholas stood leaning on the little pavilion railing, gazing down at the
Captain Morgan
white and serene in the bay below.

Champagne, ma’am?
Sir Henry spoke out of Bully Hayes’s chest as it crawled close to offer us a tray with silver ice bucket and two glasses. Too surreal. I had to fight a genuine case of hysterical giggles.

“Music, I think, Captain,” Edward ordered.

Aye aye!

Music flowed promptly out of Bully Hayes’s speaker, from Edward’s two-hundred-and-ten-volume Best of Black Dyke Mills Band collection, I believe,
as the servo crawled away to continue luncheon preparations. Edward had managed the Victrola after all. “Quite nice.” Edward tasted the champagne.

“Yes,” I said, taking a sip. “Well, here we are. The cyborg family has a picnic.”

“Oooo, champagne!” Alec said, leaning toward me with his most winning smile. I held out my glass for him to have a taste as Edward looked on with a mildly disapproving eye. Nicholas had some too and smacked his lips.

This here landfall’s everything we could have wanted, Edward lad. Sweet water and no mosquitoes
.

“What do you think, my dear?” Edward said, gesturing with his glass at the panoramic view. “It seems an eminently suitable location for a residence. Pleasant breezes, artesian well just over there, good solid bedrock in which to anchor ourselves in the event of earthquakes, tidal waves, or hurricanes. Secure berth for the
Captain Morgan
down there.” He pointed into the bay. “Lagoon suitable for sea bathing. Garden acreage all around.” He swung the barrel of the rifle in a wide semicircle.

“I could live here,” I said, finishing my champagne. Bully Hayes scuttled up to refill my glass.

“What house shall we have?” Nicholas said, turning to look across the meadow. He was bright-eyed and happy today, has been ever since we’ve been here.

“Something gracious, yet defensible,” Edward said. “In a style appropriate for a warmer climate. Italianate, perhaps, my dear, what do you think?”

“Boring,” said Alec, reaching for my champagne again. “Let’s have a Wendy house. Or a tiki hut. Or a tree house!”

“And that, Alec, is why I am sitting here with my own glass of champagne and you are confined to a playpen,” Edward said sternly. “You fail to plan adequately for the future. Drink your orange juice.”

I glared at him as Alec pouted. “Commander Creepy,” he said in a resentful little voice.

“Now, now,” said Edward. “No reason to live like savages, after all. But perhaps we can compromise. Would you like a picturesquely barbaric wigwam in the trees as well? Or perhaps a piratical fort and blockhouse?”

Alec’s eyes widened, but he wouldn’t let go of his sulk. He stuck out his tongue at Edward, then fetched his sippy bottle and held it out to me. “Can I have a Bucks Fizz?”

“Don’t give him alcohol, please,” said Edward.

“It can’t hurt him,” I protested, unscrewing the sippertop and adding
champagne. “Cyborg children were allowed champagne in the base schools. We drank it at New Year’s, I remember. So did that little neophyte, Latif. No effect at all.”

“Score to Alec,” he gloated, taking the sipper and sticking it in his mouth. “Mm-mm!” And he sat down, plop, and fell back and waved his little feet in the air lazily.

“Three stories should be sufficient,” Edward said, ignoring him again as he turned to consider the meadow. “With a wine cellar and provision vault below stairs. Laboratory, dining room, conservatory, schoolroom, infirmary… perhaps a billiard room as well. I suppose we shan’t need a library, with all literature available on one text plaquette, but we might devote a room to the Arts.”

Victorian brass oompahed behind us. Music to plan Eminently Desirable Residences by.

“This is going to be a bit more than a simple cottage by the sea, señor,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve got enough lumber in the cargo hold for a mansion.”

“Ah.” Edward looked pleased with himself. “I have had an idea, you see. It’s my intention to obtain building material by designing biomechanicals from seashells.”

“Seashells?”

“Yes, my love. Consider the way certain island cultures use coral blocks. Now, if one designed a nanobot to produce a nacreous substance like abalone shell, strong and durable—and then programmed it to build a suitable living space, with attractive architectural features—for example, doorways, staircases, transparencies for windows; consider also the wide range of ornamental applications for gardens, such as pergolas, balustrades, fountains, Greek temples…”

Greek temples on a South Seas island???

“Given the resources at our command, my dearest love, I think we ought to treat ourselves, don’t you?” Edward looked at me seriously. “We, the superior Adam and Eve in our new Eden (as it were), must make shift to house ourselves, even as primeval Man was obliged to weave forest bowers. I intend to build
properly
, however. What about a magnificent temple of hygiene? Baths on the Roman plan? All possible plumbing refinements?”

“I suppose it could work,” I said.

“Of course it will work,” said Edward, holding out his glass for more champagne. Bully Hayes poured obligingly. “After which, we can attend to the plantations.”

“Plantations?” I turned to stare at him.

“We require a garden,” he replied. “In this well-watered and unimproved spot, I intend to make one. Lawns. Orchards. Formal flower beds. Pergola walks. And, of course, vegetable fields to supply the estate.”

I set my champagne glass down and counted to ten. “Darling. This is an undiscovered island. There are probably endemic species growing here unknown anywhere else. Don’t you think we ought to do some sort of environmental survey before we plow everything under to plant onions?”

I wasn’t quite able to keep the edge out of my voice, and he turned startled eyes to me. Our consciousnesses collided like an iceberg and an ocean liner. He was hurt, confused; he was planting the garden
for me
, wasn’t that what I had longed for? And perhaps he got some idea of the inflexibility of my Preserver programming. There was a long, long, contemplative moment of silence. The little boys watched us.