The sheltered canyon walls surrounding the palace shimmered at certain times
of day, but Kallo hadn’t had time to go down for a closer look. Now she
sat on the hospital roof with Nabindi
and three other health workers she had befriended. The twilight processional was led by Lady Jewell, who was dressed in traditional Massaii Earth beadwork. Most of the people in the procession behind her wore
yellow, pink and orange silks that fluttered behind them. A tall, broad-shouldered Kinlani
man with a long, swinging black braid walking just behind the Lady was checking his wrist unit as he walked; he
paused, took out a laser tool, and gave one gentle shot into the
stone, then the Lady put something into the same spot with her
fingertip. She and the rest of the procession stood back in a line,
looking at the wall.
Lights from the roof of the palace swept across the wall. In the
shadows of the procession, the wall glittered. Now Kallo could see that several jewels had
been set in the stone, in a kind of celestial design.
Nabindi leaned down to whisper in Kallo's ear, "When people die we make
their remains into jewels and we mount them in an astrological design of the year that they
passed."
"Beautiful," beathed Kallo.
The musicians in the procession plunged into a joyous, violin-rich
song. Kallo's attention was drawn to a guitar player with metallic silver
hair who's fingers blazed over the strings. Fire dancers emerged from the
shadows surrounding them and began spinning and swinging as their costumes
rippled with light designs.
The song slowed and became more melancholy and tender. A Tuuvan chorus
rose from a line of singers who walked from the rear of the procession to join
the front line in deep, heavily vibrating tones with soaring, eerie top
notes.
Kallo felt the mood change, within her body and in the air. A looming
holopanel opened above the procession, scrolling pictures of, Kallo assumed,
the Lady Naserian, from infant photos to elderly lady and all ages in
between. There were graduation pictures, pictures of traditional dances
wearing dazzling beadwork, more of a student, a young woman, and then a Lady of
the Bowl in grey Mars ironwool dresses with her hair draped in a net of milky Mars opals with rainbow sparkling depths. The Lady spoke before crowds, officiated every kind of event, and
made landmark decisions in Mars and Interworld court cases.
Soon personal pictures of citizens with the Lady Naserian began popping up and overlapping on
the panel. The Tuuvan chorus, joining powow
drums, began a long, droning note that seemed to wrap around everyone and pull
all into a pocket of deep blue melancholy and, somehow, soaring joy.
The music ended suddenly on an overarching, shimmering note.
All trembled in the silence.
Then the whoops of celebration started up, music began again, streamers flew
through the air and the crowd began dancing.
Kallo wiped her eyes.
A team of workers carried massive sheets of silk onto the platform. As
they tossed them up ploymer forms sprang under the silk and they settled into
the shape of a tall, narrow tent of yellow, pink and orange. A bright
spotlight fell on the platform next to the tent.
The Lady Jewell, in brilliantly colorful traditional Earth beadwork collar,
cape, necklaces, bracelets and long earrings, strode into
the spotlight. The crowd erupted.
Cameras and a spotlight followed her as she sat on the edge of the platform,
dangling her bare feet. Holopanels along the balconies of buildings
duplicated the action, but the there was no feedback in the sound. Everyone heard
every word.
"Hello."
The crowd called out greetings.
"I am Jewell Isikerari, named after this, the jewel of the red
world, the Bowl!" She threw up her arms. The crowd roared.
Then she became quiet. No one in the crowd moved as she spoke.
"In order to arrive here my team and I were forced to
stow away on a mining vessel. The women of Earth are embroiled in a
terrible struggle for their freedom. Many young women are imprisoned and
used as breeding stock. Thousands have been genetically
engineered for the amusement of men, including reduction in frontal lobe function, without autonomy. Women who fall into neither category
are being hunted down, detained, and eliminated. This crisis will not
infect our world. We must be ready to protect our way of life, to stand
by each other. All genders, all people, all Marsers."
She stood, held out her arms, and said, "In service to each other-"
"Do we thrive!" shouted the crowd.
Flowers began to shower the platform. A huge pink hibiscus bloom
hit the Lady directly on the nose. She flinched, then smiled.
Quiet fell over the crowd.
The Lady picked up the bloom, dipped her nose into it, then looked over the
edge of the flower at the crowd, her enormous Earth-dark eyes fluttering
heavy lashes.
"My favorite," she said, smiling. "How did you
know?"
The crowd cheered.
The tall Kinlanian man strode onto
the stage, his long braid swinging across his broad back, followed by a medical worker carrying a
small case and tiny blonde Anma, carrying a case and a larger bag.
Lady Jewell put her hand on the tall Kinlanian’s shoulder. “People of the Bowl, I introduce my first councilor,
whom you will know well. This is Hank,
from our own Mars community of Kinlani, who heroically aided me in my journey here from
Earth.”
Greetings were called out in the crowd.
"And my Head of Security, Anma, whom no one who means well need fear."
There were only whispers in the crowd.
Hank stood facing the lady and said, "My Lady, do you take the
block?"
"I take the block lovingly, for here in the Bowl to every child
born, every privilege is given. May all children be wanted, welcomed and be given equal privilege and opportunity."
Jewel stepped inside the tent with the medical worker and after
several minutes emerged again, to more cheers; she had changed into a
simple long gown of grey wool; her hair was styled high and covered in a
net of opals that caught the light with a milky rainbow glimmer.
"She has taken the block, as we all do in the bowl. She leaves
Earth behind to become our Lady, the First Servant of the People,"
whispered Nabindi, "She now wears the ironwool and opals of
Mars."
"I am honored to devote myself to your service." Jewel said.
Music exploded. The crowd began gathering around the platform,
their hands outstretched. Lady Jewel stepped down into the crowd, her arms
also outstretched, fingertips reaching to meet those of everyone.
Kallo had been in many training installations, from the simple felt mats in
Kinlani gyms as a small child to gymnastics competitions at the academies in Arturos. She had performed in
the Bowl, but never trained here. She
was unprepared for the size of the Sto’ Lat Hospital therapy floor. Dozens of exercise machines and platforms
stacked with white towels glowed in the clear light from the hospital
windows. Padded ropes of various lengths
hung from the walls, dangling over fabric bolts and stacks of blankets. A faint scent of aromatic herbs drifted
through from the aqua therapy rooms.
She had trained with instructors before, but only one at a time. Here, every day she was accompanied by three
therapists in white, all kind and soft-spoken, who eased her into exercises.
most of which hurt terribly. They all
spoke to her about breathing and focus.
At first Kallo sassed them. She
knew how to breathe, thank you. But as
the exercises became more difficult she found their advice important, and she
felt ashamed of how she’d acted. They
clearly were just trying to help her.
She apologized and was rewarded with warm smiles and hugs, which at
first felt strange. Her daddy hadn’t
even been able to hug her for a long time, and aside from her mother he was the
only one who had ever touched her. She
soon found that she liked the hugs, very much.
As her bones grew, so did her
hunger. She was used to simple hearty
mutton stew and good bread. But in the Bowl they grew an enormous variety of
foods. She was brought drinks made from
fruits and vegetables with herbs and honey, sheep’s milk yogurt, and little
plates of nuts and seasoned dishes with delicacies like fresh shrimp, fish and
eggs, and even water tubers and leaves, all rich in nutrition. Kallo grew.
Tassy paced. Her mouth was dry. What would she say to him? What
could she say, now?
"Hey," there he stood. Tall, broad-shouldered, his fine
hematite eyes shadowed with trouble. He shuffled with uncertainty, and her
heart made a little jump.
"Have a sit," she said. She moved aside on the couch. He
hesitated, then sat.
"Oh, um, tea." Tassy said. "Sorry, I forgot
tea." She jumped up, but Del took her wrist and gently pulled her
back down onto the couch.
"It's all right," he said. "I just needed to…be
somewhere. Or something. I don't know."
"It's not my business, what happened."
"So, you don't want to know?"
For the first time her eyes met his. She nearly whispered it. "I don't
want to know. Del, I do not want to know."
"You are divided, I understand."
She looked at the floor. "Yes."
"But you know what they are."
Tassy moaned. "Oh Del, don't start."
"You know they just use us, all of us. And I don't blame Mano and I don't
blame Kallo. After her mother died, those two just cold-welded together,
like metal in space. No one can ever get between them anyway or anyhow. But
then they don't see the rest of us. We mean nothing to them."
Tassy sighed. "Del, what is it you want?"
"I want what I worked for. I want my grid. I should be running that
grid."
"I can't help you do that."
"All right then. What can you help me with?"
Tassie stood up again. "Tea," she said.
Del said, "so that's really all?"
"The grid is Mano's. He’s going
to give it to Kallo. What you need is
real business, real trade. That's what he should give you. He could have given
you that. Some kind of science, something real."
"Something real? You mean like what you do?"
"Well, yeah. Not like just being a flyer and an announcer. There's nothing
to that anyway."
"Nothing to that?" Del felt numb suddenly. "It seemed
to mean something to you when I was doing it."
"Well I mean of course. It's exciting to see airshows. And when you
were on the inter-world grid, that was exciting to see. But I mean,
anybody can do that. What Mano should have given you was a real profession." Tassy padded out of the lab. Del sat on the couch, very
still, his heart pounding.
Nothing. So everything he had done was nothing.
What Del missed, in his heart, in his guts, was the audience. With no
audience he felt hollow and groundless. A part of him knew, and
had always known, how to connect with many minds at once. It wasn't
scientific, it was viscerally intuitive. Without that reach into the
collective mind he felt almost claustrophobic and yet empty, chased
by a creeping blank spot, a slippery vacancy, a loneliness that
snuggled up to him in odd moments like a patch of cold.
And Tassy, even Tassy. The one person he thought held the torch
for him all this time, even she thought that he was nothing.
When Tassy returned with the tea tray, Dell scooped a bowl of tea off the
tray, drank it in one gulp, and left.
Mano danced between twisted
ladders in dark purple light. A song was pounding down from
above as he descended to the kiva.
He dropped, caught himself
on a rung, dropped again to stand on another rung,
spun around, heaved himself up and climbed easily, his
hands gripping the wood which turned into solid flesh in his hands. He
swung himself up and around and between the ladders with arachnid
grace.
He looked down now and saw the codes
of the strands, clear and sharp, saw the double helix spinning and joining
and coming together, saw what it all meant.
The song faded.
He was in Kallo's pink
thrumming brain, in her metabolic center, splicing and switching
the rungs. He remembered twisting her metabolism, like
tying the ends of wires together and binding her to her age,
to childhood. Tying her destiny in a knot.
Now, he was teasing the codes apart
to restore normal metabolic function, rung by rung. Releasing her from
the bind, and by doing, heaving her into the storm of time. He saw
her pelted alone, tiny, helpless, into the howling winds.
Mano woke in his tattered body,
suddenly and shockingly aware of how little time he had now.
His remaining limbs were going numb. His heart was fluttering. He
felt the sinking pull of the next world.
Then he saw Kallo as a
baby, saw his wife Ang, holding her, feeding her, singing to
her. The vision was shockingly clear.
What would Ang have
thought? She designed her daughter to be a great athlete, to be
special, to be extraordinary. All these years Mano had been so sure
that she would have approved of freezing Kallo's age. Why did
he have his doubts now? Why was he afraid that he had sentenced Kallo to a
limited life? Now for the first time he wondered if he had done the
right thing.
But now it was time to undo all of it.
Now, Kallo was going to grow
up. A sudden influx of estrogen and other hormones would wallop
her body and mind. Puberty would bear down upon her like a storm, and she
would have no shelter. She would have to do it all alone.
This was his fault.
The readouts on his vitals were
declining steadily, and he knew that before long he would go into a
sharp decline. He could not prevent it. Soon he would die,
and she would have no one.
He had one last idea.
First, Mano sent a message to the
surgical center of To’ Shash hospital in the Bowl with full instructions and
details of the codes to reactivate Kallo's normal metabolic function. He
hesitated, then added a message to her:
I'm sorry, Puffin. I have to
go underworld. You must be very strong. Protect the voice of Mars,
and don't let the grid be taken from you. I love you. Your mother
and I both love you. Be strong.
Mano sent the message. The
alarms on his vital readouts began to chime.
Suddenly he saw Ang again. She
stood by the door, her floor-length hair draped over one shoulder of her
sheepskin coat like a gleaming shadow, waiting for him, smiling, lightly
jerking her chin as her silver eyes sparkled.
It's time to go, Mano, those eyes
were saying, time to go.
Mano's mind reached into the command
center of the communication grid, searched, searched, and finally
found them. An eclipse of robot moths were hidden in a cave in
Kinlani, forgotten after the Firestar conflicts. He searched archives,
found the construction blueprints and specs.
He began remote power upload on
their frequency.
If their systems hadn't been damaged
by any number of factors, by earthquakes or anomalous radiation overexposure or
other unforeseen events, then he might just have time.
The eclipse of robot moths had clung
to the ceiling of the lava tube for 132 years. As the power upload commenced, 200 eyes flickered milky blue, tiny metal legs twitched, and
furred wings and trembling antenna shook loose layers of
dust and frost.
The sudden activity was more than
the shelf of fragile shale could handle and a sliver of the rock came
loose, tumbling to the cave floor, carrying a single robot moth. As the rock
bounced on the floor of the cave one of the moth’s antennas was torn off
and two of its legs crushed on the left side.
The remaining 99 moths on the cave
ceiling continued to awaken, their power systems now charged, and their command
systems blinked online. In unison they released themselves from the rock
ceiling in a formation, tight as a swathe of silk, and flew deeper into the raw
lava tube, leaving the injured moth behind.
The injured moth struggled from
beneath the sliver of rock. It righted itself, wagging its wings. Its wings
were online and its calibration system could balance it in flight, although the
one missing antenna made communication inadequate to keep it operating in unison
with the rest of the eclipse.
It fluttered and limped in circles,
testing and modifying its systems one by one. Its single
antenna bobbed and shivered, its milky blue eyes winked on and off in
a series of codes as it attempted to reconnect with the rest of the eclipse.
In a single perfect swoop the
eclipse returned. The moths broke formation, scattering.
descending upon the injured moth. They surrounded it, formed
teams, and attacked.
The injured moth was able to bring its comm systems back online in time to
collate the information that the eclipse had decided, rather than attempt
repairs or to simply leave it behind, to instead dissemble it for
parts.
The injured moth burrowed quickly under the shelf of shale, into
the sand on the cave floor. Because it was missing two legs on one
side it borrowed crookedly and deeply, which created an obtuse angle,
giving added protection from the linear operating mode of the eclipse. It
rolled its wings inward as it dug, telescoped its legs into its body
cavity, and curled itself into a worm shape. With the
readouts and energy outputs from its extremities now contained the injured
moth ran a scan of its weapons system, determined that it was
uncompromised, relayed power from dormant systems to its single weapon, and
released its maximum defensive electrical discharge.
The unalerted burrowing moths of the
eclipse froze, paralyzed by the unexpected electrical charge. But they
would only be offline for moments.
The injured moth dug its way back
out from under the rock, danced in circles unfurling its wings, stretching its
remaining legs and bobbing its single antennae. It flew off through the
lava tube. It was low on power now and using even more energy to
compensate for its uneven weight, and flew with
an awkward, fluttering tilt.
The injured moth was not designed to
operate independently from the eclipse, but the demand on its compensation and
repair systems had created new programming and now it would never be the
same. Still, it knew the original command and was bound to fulfill its
mission, even if that meant having to fight the rest of the eclipse
again. It flew at maximum speed toward the required destination.
As it neared the anterior opening of
the lava tube onto Bradbury Landing it slowed, banked, and alighted on the upper
outside edge of the lava tube. It furled its wings and crept slowly into
a tight crevasse in the rock. It extended its single antenna, opened
its radiation harvesting system and began to recharge.
Soon after, ninety-nine robot months in a
perfect fluid eclipse flew out of the lava tube, banked a forty-five degree turn and
headed for the central communications tower.
The injured moth crept from its crevasse and unfurled its wings to absorb even
more energy from ambient radiation. Operating with only one antenna, it
failed to detect the raven. The moth was suddenly pinched in a vice
grip and carried off into the sky. Once again it furled its wings
and drew in its limbs, but this was an error. The raven juggled the
worm-shaped moth in its beak and then swallowed it.
The raven, now experiencing a strangely heavy, creeping
indigestion, landed on the canyon edge. It staggered a few
steps to the right then to the left, then in circles, finally freezing and
falling over on its side. The eclipse flew by, unseen and unseeing. The moth crawled out of its beak,
unfurled its wings, and took flight. After a brief nightmare about metal
worms, the raven shook itself awake and flew off.
The injured moth followed the
eclipse flight pattern and resumed direction to its destination.
Unaccompanied by an eclipse, it fought buffeting winds from all sides in its
crooked, struggling flight. It scanned for more predators. It
switched from energy expenditure to harvesting and back to expenditure to keep
up flight speed, but it was still compromised, and would reach destination
later than the rest of the eclipse. It might then be forced to fight
again. But the command was irresistible.
The Central Grid Flight tower
windows glowed, set off like glowing eyes in the deep orange of the silouetted by
the setting sun. The injured moth slowed in flight as it grew closer to
the entrance, alighting on the roof above the bay door to rest and
recharge. It tuned its single antennae to several frequencies, finding a
listening channel for the tower interior.
Mano, the Director, was speaking to
the eclipse directly with verbal brain waves.
"Where is the missing
unit?" He was asking.
Damaged. We were unable to
dissemble it. The
eclipse answered.
“Ah,” said Mano. He
opened several channels, searching. The injured moth initiated a full
shutdown in order to avoid being found, but too late.
“It's here,” said Mano.
We shall dissemble it.
“No. I want it left alone.”
“You are safe,” Mano said on a
direct channel to the injured moth. “Come and join us please.”
The injured robot moth flew into the
tower, alighting on a console away from the rest of the eclipse on the tower
ceiling.
“Come to me and rest on my wrist.”
The injured moth
obeyed. Mano ran deep scans of the moth’s systems.
“You have developed independent programming. You have become a
unique unit, with supplementary information. You will be useful in novel
ways.”
The moth walked in circles on Mano's wrist, wagging its wings and shaking its
legs, twitching its single antenna, displaying its damaged areas.
“Those will be repaired,” said Mano, “But your programming will not be
system-restored. The rest of the moths will contain temperamental and
intellectual basics of my mind, and you will represent anomalies, the
unexpected, and the function of self-witness. And now, you may join the rest of
the eclipse on the ceiling.” The injured moth fluttered up and joined the
eclipse in formation.
Mano took one of his last breaths. He once again ran checks of all his
programs. Then, finally, he gave a deep sigh and looked up at the eclipse on
the ceiling, at the one hundred robot moths which would contain his mind.
“Commencing upload,” said Mano.
Kallo woke, deeply cold. Was her daddy cold, under the ground?
What if he hadn't gone underworld yet? What if he missed her,
longed for her? What if she still could save him?
She couldn’t let herself be a captive. She didn’t have to believe
what the doctors said. It was all wrong; she could prove it.
She would find a way to fly out of here, find Dell, talk to him. He couldn’t
have meant what he said. He had been saying terrible things for years. It was
just talk.
She took a deep, heaving breath and her bruised ribs twanged.
He meant that punch.
But now what? Would he really turn against her, turn against them? What
good would that do? What would he get out of it?
The answer was loud in her head: he would get his own grid out of it.
He had never talked about it with her, but she had always felt that in
him. The need to be in charge. The need to take over. The need to get more than
he had. The need to be important.
Kallo’s heart was thundering.
She limped to the closet, got her flight suit from a
drawer, looked up the nearest tube station on a holopanel and took a
gliding chair up to the roof of the palace.
From up here on the palace roof, she would have enough elevation to
fly straight across the canyon to one of the tube stations, where she could
take a pod anywhere. Anywhere else.
She slipped her feet into her flight suit, crying out as her ankles
crackled. She had to stop and let the pain fade. A little sob of
rage exploded from her.
She would never fly the same way again. I just weeks’ time the
suit wouldn’t even fit her anymore; her legs and arms would lengthen, her hips
would swell. And then her perfect flight would be ruined.
What would it feel like? To fly without being perfectly portioned,
perfectly aerodynamic? Would she ever be able to do the same things? Would she
be slower? Would she be all awkward and look stupid and everyone would laugh at
her?
Kallo kicked off the flight suit, wincing as her ankles complained again,
She stood off the gliding chair and stumbled over to the railing to
look down at the lights in the Bowl. Little dim blue lights outlined the
walkways around the laser carved buildings and punctuated the designs of
the carved buildings, some of it whimsically following the lines of elegant and
elaborate architecture. The path to Water Bear Kiva glowed faintly in the stone
walkway, outlined with renderings of tardigrades done by various artists.
Kallo looked up at the dark grey sky imagining Phobos, a tiny
light zooming across other tiny lights beyond the wall of sandstorm.
The sand storm, which had grounded all flight. Here in the Bowl there was more protection
from storm systems because of the extremely deep canyon location and advanced
filtration, so she had forgotten about the storm altogether.
Anyway, where would she go? There was nowhere to fly to.
She would never fly the same way again that last flight that last tim If
only she had known it was her very last flight as the best flyer on both
worlds, as a perfect aerodynamic creature. She sat back down in the gliding
chair, mouth slack.
She stared at nothing.
She had already made her decision. She was already saying goodbye to her
last flight. Now, now it was over.
Now, she was going to grow up.
Her heart told her that this was the right thing, the only thing.
She leaned back in the gliding chair until dawn began, with the gray light
creeping overhead around the edges of the Mesa. Aiko padded onto the palace roof, toward her.
Kallo smiled at the bot. “You gave me all night to think,”
“It seemed the right thing.”
Kallo held out her arms; Aiko leapt into them. Kallo look down into
the furry little face with the quizzical white markings, into the shiny black
eyes with tiny cameras just visible in their depths.
The dust storm churned over Mars. Stacks of roiling
sand stirred up static electricity; lightning crackled as clouds
of particles plowed through each other. Sand particles fell away from
lighter clouds of dust that rose, lofting from the electrical field that
activated even more dust. The storm bloomed, fed itself and bloomed even
higher. The sky darkened, and would stay dim for weeks.
Adapted insects, anticipating the conditions, crawled under several
layers of sand and went into a form of hibernation. Other fauna, from
snakes to moles, did the same, or found shelter under rocks. Crows and other
birds, having DNA merged with that of desert grouse, had soaked their belly
feathers in nearby lagoons when they first sensed the oncoming storm, then
wedged themselves deep into the crevasses of cacti, snapping up the occasional
wandering ant, nibbling on cactus flesh, and sipping on small stores
of water in their own feathers to keep themselves alive.
The people of Mars, 90% of whom were gene edited by the merging of
huma,n tardigrade and other extremophile DNA, felt their metabolisms
slowing. They sluffed less often and slept more. Industry on
Mars lowed in turn. Salt tower sensors kicked off energy-saving settings,
driving down interior temperatures. Filtering systems prevented sand and
dust from billowing into the air shafts, but also slowed the air flow.
Water was in higher use, cleaning filtering systems much more frequently than
usual and being consumed in greater amounts. The greenhouses and cisterns
were sanctuaries, providing the luxury of humidity.
For several weeks no one went above ground. New Khan and Kinlani
yurts and hogans nestled under basalt polymer dust covers. The
residents had moved into emergency quarters in the cliff cities, their sheep
carried by carts into the biome levels to munch on grain stores in cave
stalls.
Fourteen kilometers deep in the Bowl, closer to geothermal warmth, plentiful
water from the aquifers and beneath layers of dust protection, life
continued at a more normal pace.
Kallo trained three times a day with therapists and coaches. Her
growth, strength and healing were carefully monitored. She continually
refused counselling but kept Aiko close. She had even begun to like
Dr. Ibeni, and looked forward to the evaluations and therapies that were
helping her heal.
Kallo had seen some dark-skinned people from the Bowl before, but never so
close for so long. She marveled at Dr Abeni's skin; the depths of purple,
red, terra cotta and sepia shades seemed to shimmer from within, as if
from a base layer of gold. Like the richly variant and
multidimensional colors in flowers, her skin glowed. Today, like so many days, Kallo gazed at Dr,
Abeni.
Dr Abeni smiled at her knowingly, and Kallo flushed.
"I was staring. Staring is rude."
The doctor laughed, showing even white teeth. "You see mostly
brown skin every day, I imagine?"
"Yes." sid Kallo, "Your skin is so beautiful."
"I take both your gaze and your words to be a compliment. Thank
you."
Kallo sighed, wishing she had prettier words. She called Aiko.
The red panda bot leaped up onto the bed and greeted her with a few
rhythmic taps of its paws on Kallo's palms, which made her laugh.
"Aiko, can you teach me to talk like they do here? And the
manners and everything?"
"Yes," said Aiko. "After the procedure your brain's
language center will grow exponentially. It will be an optimum time for
such learning. But while I can train you in language and etiquette, you
will also need to practice listening to people, every day. You must
learn to be patient and present with others, develop empathy and become a
co-creator in relationships. There is no academic substitute for such
practice."
"I have to try," sighed Kallo.
Del slumped out of the transpod door and mounted the underground steps
three at a time to the exit, emerging into the blowing dust
above ground. He trudged the three kilometers to the lava tube city
of New Kandovan, past familiar half-buried wrecks of old vehicles and equipment, without
seeing any of it go by. His stomach was churning the whole way.
The cave entrance was ringed with carved stone and adobe
pueblo-style dwellings; the surrounding, sprawling livestock
pens were roofed with hydroshielding tarps held down crookedly
with polymer chains. The crooked angles hadn't changed. Even the
dwarf Bactrian camels, goats and chickens looked like the same ones.
Nothing ever changed here.
His mother's Tibetan mastiffs took long leaps from the doorway,
their billowing black manes and snarling jaws bearing down on
him. The dogs ran around him, kicking up clouds of vermillion
dust. After circling they began whining and leaping to lick his
hands. He ruffled their manes, looking up as his mother stepped out,
hands on her hips. She jerked her chin at him, pointing her lips
back to the doorway framed by flapping curtains of translucent
polymer, smeared with rusty clay. He followed.
"Hey yeah!" Sani, his mother's third husband, looked up from
chopping the head off a chicken. "Time to celebrate,
huh?" He slammed the ax into the block, stood and wrapped his arms
around Del as the headless bird stopped running and died, shuddering and
spurting on the ground. Del nodded and hugged back, thinking about Bowl's
plant cuisine and their blue corn frybread, which contained every nutrient
and had such depth of flavor it seemed to shimmer in the mouth. He
would never taste it again.
"You moving back?" his mother said, wiping her hands on her
clay-smeared leather apron. She slammed the door to her potting pod three
times before it sealed.
"That door track needs to be cleaned out again," said
Del, "Maybe one of your lazy husbands could get a move on."
"One more jab and you're sleeping with the goats." she said.
"I'm not having. Get me?" Her hematite eyes were
only half joking. Del was flooded with that familiar sinking feeling, and
lowered his gaze.
"I get you." he grumbled. He wanted a drink.
Bahlul, lanky and somehow always dancing, smiled at Del as he set the
tray of bread and mutton kabobs on the long stone table. Sani, compact
and calm, reached past him to put the earthen pitcher of milk vodka and cups on
the table, just in time to pin the other man in place. They both laughed
and exchanged a kiss, walking behind Del's mother; Bahlul stroked her
neck and Sani kissed the top of her head. The two men sat on either
side of Del and patted his shoulders, smiling warmly at him, passing him a full
cup and heaping plate. It was a happy house and his mother's
husbands always tried to make Del feel included and cared for.
But they couldn't change his mother. He sometimes wondered what they saw
in her.
"So you're back," said his mother, "And
whupped."
Del bit down on the answer he wanted to give, his face growing
hot. Bahlul and Sani exchanged a look of concern, but they both stayed
quiet.
"You selling a lot of weavings?" Del asked Sani, studying the
hangings that ringed smooth adobe walls of the round room. He pointed to
a vivid piece that had to be a mix of silk and wool, by the texture.
"That's a new style for you, yeah?"
Sani smiled and took a breath to reply, but Del's mother
interrupted.
"Can't imagine it," she said, "Everything was gonna be
perfect, wasn't it? You were gonna be on top of this world. Above all of it."
"It was never that."
"No? I thought you were gonna-"
"Yes, mother. It all fell apart."
She poured him another shot of milk vodka, sliding the earthen
cup across the table. His mother's pottery was some of the
plainest in Arturos, designed for the hand, not the eye. It was
pleasing to hold and use but stubbornly plain. Fancy-dancy decoration wasn't
for the table.
"He used you. He uses everyone. Him and that freak.
All of them anyway, they just use us up." She said. Bahlul
reached out and put a hand over hers, as if to calm her.
"Yeah?" Del snapped, for one moment the memory of his
loyalty to Mano kicked in, then the sting of Kallo's slap, and the
flame died quickly . He laughed. "Well, the freak may be
done with. I won't say more." Even as he said the words,
there was a cold drop in his gut.
Suddenly his mother's sparkling dark eyes were fixed on his. They
looked at each other for a long moment. For an instant his love
for his mother flared. He saw the fierce beauty of her, was washed
in the memory of love from her. Then the sentiment slipped away. To make her
proud, he had to be hard. Especially now. He had failed. He had
failed completely.
"Well, then," she said, sitting back and taking a pull on her cup.
Both her husbands laughed, hopefully. Their eager smiles told Del they
were going to try to create a warm family supper tonight.
Del laughed too, rolling his cup in his fingers. His brain buzzed
warmly with milk vodka even as his heart sat apart, chilled.
"Somebody's gotta take the goats on to market," his mother
announced, the next morning. "You want to earn your meat or what?"
"Can't." Said Del. He was fastening his flight suit, "I'm
off."
"Ain’t nobody flying now, wetbrain.
Somebody want you somewhere?"
"Yeah. Yeah, somebody does want me."
"Imagine that."
Del turned away. His mother grabbed him by the elbow; he had
forgotten how strong she was. "Just come back to real life, won't
ya?"
Del spun on his heel to face her. "I made a life. I earned a life. Not
gonna let it be stolen out from under me. I worked my guts out.
Get me?"
She threw her hands up. "Not my problem then."
Del looked at her for a long moment. "Never was, was it?"
His mother laughed. "No, I guess not."
Del started walking toward the tube station. His mother
called out after him.
"Don't be fooled by them again. And don't be fooled by your own self
either. You belong back here. Don't act so sore all the time." Her voice
got louder, rougher, gaining a querulous edge, "What got into you
anyway? How come we weren't good enough?"
He called back over his shoulder, without turning to look at her, without
slowing his pace.
"Because you wouldn't let me be good enough."
Tassy paced. Her mouth was dry. What would she say to him? What
could she say, now?
"Hey," there he stood. Tall, broad-shouldered, his fine
hematite eyes shadowed with trouble. He shuffled with uncertainty, and her
heart made a little jump.
"Have a sit," she said. She moved aside on the couch. He
hesitated, then sat.
"Oh, um, tea." Tassy said. "Sorry, I forgot
tea." She jumped up, but Del took her wrist and gently pulled her
back down onto the couch.
"It's all right," he said. "I just needed to…be
somewhere. Or something. I don't know."
"It's not my business, what happened."
"So, you don't want to know?"
For the first time her eyes met his. She nearly whispered it. "I don't
want to know. Del, I do not want to know."
She thought of the Grav-risistant suit template waiting to be fitted, the next level of flight
suit hanging in her studio, but padded quickly to the kitchenette and brought back the tray with two bowls of butter tea.
"You are divided, I
understand." Del said.
Tassy set the tray on the agate table. "Yes."
Del took a bowl in his hands, rotating it to cool the tea and watching the biutter fat gathering around the edge. "But
you know what they are."
Tassy moaned. "Oh Del, don't start."
"You know they just use us, all of us. And I don't blame Mano and I don't
blame Kahlo. After her mother died, those two just cold-welded together,
like metal in space. And no one can ever get between them anyway or anyhow. But
then they don't see the rest of us. We mean nothing to them."
Tassie sighed, sitting. "Del, what is it you want?"
"I want what I worked for. I want my grid. I should be running that
grid."
"I can't help you do that."
"All right then. What can you help me with?"
Tassie stood up again. "Bread," she said.
Del said, "So that's really all?"
"The grid is Kallo's now. What you need is real business, real trade.
That's what he should give you. He could have given you that. Some kind of
science, some kind of trade, something real."
"Something real? You mean like what you do?"
"Well, yeah. Not like just being a flyer and an announcer. There's nothing
to that anyway."
"Nothing to that?" Del felt numb suddenly. "It seemed
to mean something to you when I was doing it."
"Well I mean of course. It's exciting to see airshows. And when you
were on the interworld grid, that was exciting to see. But I mean, anybody
can do that. What Mano should have given you was a real
trade." Tassy padded out of the lab. Del sat on the couch, very
still, his heart pounding.
Nothing. So everything he had done was nothing.
And all the years and work he had given to the grid was nothing.
What Del missed, in his heart and in his guts, was the audience. With
no audience he felt hollow and groundless. A part of him knew,
and had always known, how to connect with many minds at once. It wasn't
scientific, it was viscerally intuitive. Without that reach into the
collective mind he felt almost claustrophobic and yet empty, chased
by a creeping blank spot, a slippery vacancy, a loneliness that
snuggled up to him in odd moments like a patch of cold.
And Tassy, even Tassy. The one person he thought held the torch
for him all this time, even she thought that he was nothing.
When Tassy returned with the fresh round of frybread, Del was gone.
Kallo lay with her cheek on Aiko's fur, reciting after Aiko,. "Ways to
express gratitude: 'Yes, please. How kind you are. I appreciate
your time. You've gone to great trouble for me. Wait...gone
to great trouble? That sounds bad."
"It recognizes that someone has done a lot for you." said Aiko, "Which shows respect. All beings need respect."
Kallo thought about it. "Oh. OK. Let's go through
them again," But she winced and stopped.
"More bone growth?"
"It aches. But maybe I should just learn to take it."
"To tolerate it, one should say," corrected Aiko, "But
that is more stress on your system than necessary. You must grow and heal
efficiently. Unnecessary stress will slow your process. I've
called the masseuse."
Kallo woke from her nap when Aiko slid quickly from under her arm,
trembling.
"The Keeper!!" Aiko said, "The Programmer is here!"
"Both of them?" Kallo asked, confused.
"They are one."
Dohna, in her big, worn sheepskin coat, goggles perched on her hood, walked
into Kallo's room. Aiko stood on its hind feet, wavering, its front paws
stretched out. Dohna picked up the bot and cradled it.
"Creature of art," she said, "How well you've done."
From Dohna's arms Aiko looked at Kallo.
Kallo sighed. "You're always stealing my friends."
Dohna laughed, and sat in a chair beside Kallo's bed, releasing Aiko back
onto the bed. "The crows will always follow you. But are you
ready?"
"My healing isn’t finished."
"Are you ready to do the job you must do?" Dohna took Kallo's
hands in hers. "Can you kill?"
Kallo recoiled.
"No!
"You must be ready to."
"To kill..." Kallo gulped, knowing. "…Del."
"That's what it may take to stop him."
"I can't."
"You must be ready to."
"How am I supposed to do that?" Kallo cried. "I'm not
even done growing yet!"
Dohna turned at the motion of another person entering the room. The tiny ugly woman with silver and blue
eyes paused in front of Dohna and bowed her head with respect.
“Keeper,” Anma said in her husky voice.
“Killer,” said Dohna, as a greeting.
Aiko leaped from Dohna’s arms onto the bed, positioning itself in front
of Kallo. Its fur was bristling as it
growled softly.
Dohna nodded at Anma, pointed her lips at Kallo, and left the room.
“I don’t like her,” said Aiko, “She’s dangerous.”
“Get rid of the toy before I rip its head off,” said Anma.
“Aiko, go wait in another room. I’ll
be OK. Go,” said Kallo. Aiko skulked from the room, looking back at
Anma with its tail slung low.
“Don’t touch the bot,” said Kallo.
“What do you want?”
Anma was staring at Kallo;. It was a stare Kallo recognized from years of
athletic competition. She stared back
without blinking.
“You will undergo the procedure soon.”
“Yes.”
“And then you will grow.”
“Right again.”
“And where will your loyalties lie?”
“With my father’s vision and the free and independent Mars grid.”
“I protect The Lady and the freedom of Mars.”
Kallo wanted to say something surly, but instead she tried imitating Bowl
manners, “I’m sure you are valuable to her.”
“If you are not loyal to the Lady, I will eliminate you. I don’t care that you are a child.”
Kallo had not forgotten how to treat a ruthless competitor. Her old pride sprang up like a shield.
“That,” she said, “Would be a really bad idea.”
Anma’s eerie eyes shifted uncertainly.
“I also stand for a free and independent Mars, and for the true voice of
Mars.” She told Anma.“It would be a lot smarter for both of us to form an alliance. The Lady needs the voice of Mars to be free
and open and I protect that. For all of
us.”
“Then you are not in league with Adelpho Demir?”
“No. He’s a threat to the grid. I’ve got to…eliminate that threat.”
Anma seemed to relax. “Then we will
assist you in any way you require.”
“That’s smart,” said Kallo, “ I will
let you know if I need your help.”
The yurt was a mess of hookas, bottles and cups, with clothing and
blankets tossed around; it was deep in a chill. The central heat must
be out. Tassy squinted in the gloom as she stepped over
two couples lying on the rug under heaps of blankets and clothes. It smelled of
burnt stew, milk vodka, vomit and marijuana ashes.
She recognized Del’s profile on a pillow of clothes. One arm was
thrown over a prone, blanketed figure. It wouldn’t be Kallo, of
course, but she hoped it wasn't a girl. For some reason that would
hurt more. She found a sheepskin hassock on its side, turned it upright,
and sat.
“Del?”
He stirred, groaned, and looked up at her over the edge of the blanket.
“Oh. Hey.” He blinked at her. His eyes had hollows under
them. He wheezed and then coughed, clearing his throat several times.
“What are you doing?”
He frowned at her. “Trying to sleep. What’s it look
like?”
Tassy rose and took a step toward the door.
“Hey, hey, wait. Sorry. I’m sorry, alright? Have a sit.
What’s wrong?”
Tassy’s eyes wandered over the mess. "Do you know about Mano?”
“He shut me out. Of everything.”
The young woman under the blanket next to Del sat up suddenly, her
blue-black hair tangled over her face.
“What time is it?” she said.
Tassy said, “You mean what sol?”
The girl laughed. “Yeah, maybe. Hey, I love your hair.” she said to
Tassy, staring at her pigtails. “How do you get it metallic silver like that?”
“It’s a mineral process I formulated. I do it myself.”
“Wanna do mine sometime? I'd love to show up at a gig with that.
I've never seen it before.”
“Um. Maybe. But right now I gotta talk to Del.”
“Oh. Sure. I gotta get home anyway. I'm Lorma,” she said,
stroking her hair behind her ears. She gave Tassy a friendly smile,
looking directly at her with bright silver eyes. It was impossible not
to smile back.
"I'm Tassy,"
Lorma looked at Del. “You need to clean this place up,” she
said, continuing to run her fingers through her hair. “And get a
partner. You need practice.”
Tassy blushed. Del bristled.
“What do you know anyway?" he shot back as she rose and pulled on
clothes. "You liked the vodka fine, I remember." He coughed for a
time, then gave one last parting shot, "You can go jump
off.”
Lorma buttoned her sheepskin coat and picked up a Tovshuur
guitar case. "Find another player for your next
party. The booze should equal the music," She grinned at Tassy one
last time before leaving.
Del began wrestling into a shirt. “So what did you want to talk to
me about?”
“Mano is dead, Del!”
Del was watching her. “Yeah.”
“I mean-”
“What are you worried about?” Now Tassy noticed his eyes had a sly,
hooded look. “It’s your lab. It's in your name. You're set.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
“It should have been me, weaving his shroud, carrying him out to the
mesa." for a few moments he stared at nothing. "I was his son.”
He began worming into his pants under the blanket.
“I know he wanted it traditional. The bots buried him sitting
facing east. No fuss. But can’t we talk about-”
“He shut me out, Tassy!" Del stumbled to his feet.
His breathing was ragged as he paced the yurt. "I went up to the
tower and there was a message for me, a last message. That I was
out. Out of everything I built, everything I worked for. It’s all gone. I
can’t even log in. I’m even shut out of access to the grid. I can only
get in through someone else’s account. Can you believe that?” The
rage was building, making him begin to tremble; the muscles in his jaw were
jumping. Tassy had never seen him like this. It chilled her.
“What are you going to do?”
“There are a lot of things I could do.” he was glaring at her. “A
lot of things. Relying on old friends isn't one of them. But I could do a lot
of things.” The threat seeped through the room like a dark smell. Tassy’s
heart was pounding. She stood up to leave.
“Hey, hey,” he said, before launching into a coughing fit. He
cleared his throat. “Hey, Tassy, look, don’t be like that. You still care
about me. Doncha?” He grinned at her, but it wasn’t the warm, charming smile he
used to give her. It was a predator showing teeth.
Tassy walked carefully out of the yurt and looked back before she began
to run for the tube station.
Kallo flopped onto the bed. The training, followed by massage, left
her yearning for a nap. A health worker in white stepped into the room
and set a tall nutrition drink and a pitcher of water on the table.
"You're doing well, I hear," she said with a bright smile; smiles
were nearly always bright here in the Bowl. Kallo was getting used to it,
and growing comfortable with the Bowl attitude. She'd been training
in more than physical recovery and strength. Her father had wanted her to
learn to talk to people. As it turned out, it wasn't that hard to be
kinder. It even felt better. She was beginning to like
the fancy words; for some reason knowing them and using them made the world
feel bigger. It was also much easier to get to know people.
"Thank you," Kallo said, "What is your name?"
"Nabindi. But I know who you are. Would you like to join us
to view the Welcoming? It's going to be very special."
"I've heard people talking about it, but only a little. What is
it?"
"The Welcoming of our new Lady Jewel. The Sendoff for Lady
Naserian will be first, of course. That's more somber, but beautiful.
If you didn't know her you have no obligation to attend."
"I'm the..." Kallo had to stop and think. She'd been
learning Bowl vernacular, but there seemed to be so much of it. "I have ...been
the...recipient... of so much kindness here, and much of it by order of the Lady Naserian,
as I ...as I understand," she said, " I would be honored to
attend."
Nabindi laughed. "Well done, I must say! You are starting
to sound like one of us!"
"How kind you are." The terms came more and more
easily. "I would be happy to attend the Welcoming of the Lady
Jewell."
Tassy was sill breathless when Anso opened the door.
Tocho frowned. "What's wrong?"
"He's drinking. And he's so angry. Mano shut him out
with one last message.'
"About time.' said Anso.
"Past time," said Tocho. "To coin the old term,
he's a malignant narcissist. And now he's had an important source of ego
fuel taken away. He's a danger."
Tassy sat. "I could never have imagined that before. But
now I think I've seen it."
"You're blinded by bias."
"I've never seen him be destructive, or-“
"We all see different sides of each other. There are many forces
at work in that. Kin selection, reciprocal altruism, and others."
Tassy rolled her eyes to her brother. They both respected Tocho's
security training and military achievements, but feared for his jaded outlook
on human nature. Tocho continued,
"We see what we want to see, select our biases and defend them,
rejecting any conflicting evidence. It's why you don't see him for who he
is. I'm going to put him under surveillance."
Tassy sighed. "I've let him down. I didn't know how to
help him. After Mano told me to cut off contact I almost messaged
him. I should have talked to him."
"That would have been over-functioning on your part," said Tocho,
"Which would have enabled him. And possibly brought harm to
you. Mano was right. Nothing you could have done. But now you
can help." He left the room.
Anso sat next to Tassy. "You should stay here, for a while."
"I can't. I'm working on something."
"What?"
"It's for Kallo. I at least owe Mano that much."
"He never thought you owed him anything."
Tears stung in Tassy's eyes. Anso slid his arm around her
shoulders.
Tocho put a small polymer container in her hand. "You don't have
to get near him. I already programmed it. His grid ID will trigger
the search if there's any of his DNA nearby."
Tassy had a quick memory of the yurt and tried to suppress a blush.
But she said, "There's a tea bowl. At the lab. He came by
about a week ago."
"I'm so grateful for my messy sister," said Anso.
Tassy opened the container and shook it, watching three dead flies
(no- on closer examination, fly bots) roll around, "I haven't
seen these before."
"Nano trackers," said Tocho, reentering thr room,." One bite injects them. They'll stay in his
bloodstream for weeks. They'll self-activate within range."
Tassy stared at the ceiling, trying not to cry. She decided to just blurt it out. "I don't want to carry a child."
I thought you wouldn't," said Tocho.
"Really?" Tassy sobbed with relief.
'I watched you in the rotas. You relate to children more as a sibling than a parent. It's good for them. But reveling. You don't want to be a mother. So you shouldn't feel the pressure to be." He wrapped his enormous, bulky arms around her. "I'm sorry if I put that pressure on you. I wasn't thinking empathetically. "
Tassy laughed. "It's OK. I'm glad you aren't upset with me."
"My cousin is so excited to donate and carry," said Tocho,"My whole family is all worked up. It's all going to work out just fine."
"You could have told me that earlier."
Tocho laughed. "I just got the messages from them myself! They've been writing up name lists."
Anso pouted.
"Don't worry!" Tocho jostled Anso playfully. "I told my mother what it means to us to
pick the name-"
"I have work to do," Tassy interrupted, "So later, huh?"
"Be careful," said Tocho,"Message me if you get any strange feelings. Trust them."
"I will."
Tassy stood on the balcony of her lab, her boots crunching in orange snow which was rapidly melting into mud. The sky was clearing to a glowing violet, with only a few cirrus clouds smeared high above. She felt relief that the storm was over, and a little stab of anxiety at the same time; Del could fly now, and he probably wouldn't waste any time with whatever plans he had. She should have asked him what his intentions were when he was here at the lab. He might have told her.
She set the bowl Del had drunk from a week ago and the polymer container given to her by Tocho on the ledge of the balcony.
She opened the container, watching the fly bots scramble awake; their tiny eyes glowed faintly red. They flew up and crawled along the lip of the bowl for several minutes, then all flew off in the same direction.
"Sorry, Del," she whispered.
A ping sounded from within the lab; it was an unknown party on the comm. Curious, Tassy tripped as she kicked off her muddy boots and stumbled into the lab.
The holopanel showed a familiar face, but Tassy couldn't remember who it was. A pretty young woman with blue-black hair and bright silver eyes smiled.
"Hi! I hope you don't mind me searching you out, Tassy. I'm Lorma. We met through Del."
"I remember," said Tassy, "But I might not have time to do your hair just now."
"Not why I pinged you," said Lorma, "Although I'd love that. I went back to that yurt to get my guitar strap, and I saw a stack of boxes of explosives. I knew the box because my Mom was a miner. I don't know what he's planning but something is definitely off with that guy. Sorry, I know he's a friend of yours. And good looking. But something is off. It worries me."
Tassy stared into space for several seconds, her heart pounding.
"Hey, are you OK?" asked Lorma.
"Did you talk to him very much?" Tassy asked. "I mean, did he drop any hints about his plans or anything?"
"I don' really remember."
"If I did your hair tonight do you think we could go through any memories you have?" Tassy remembered the cognitive memory exercises Tocho had described; they were pretty simple, "and I'd be happy to do your hair like mine."
"Hey, that's generous of you!" said Lorma. "I've got a big gig coming up. It's a deal."
Jennifer had expected Del's message weeks sooner. Dust storms were a fact of life here, so why did they shut everything down so completely? On Earth nobody was so intimidated by little storms. It was all part of the Marser attitude of going with nature that frustrated her; if people had always gone with nature they never would have come out of the caves (on Earth this made sense, she thought, but here on Mars they'd gone right back into the caves. Something to that, maybe). Jennifer was ready to get off this little backwater of a world. She opened the door of the installation, smiling at him.
"Good to see you."
He strode past her. "I'm ready to deal."
"Fine," she took longer strides until she was walking in front of him. She stopped at a door, swiping her wrist unit. The door slid open.
"Follow me." she told him. "Tea?"
"No. "
He looked haggard around the edges, with a slight hollowing of the cheeks and eyes. He even walked with a faint stoop. This had all been very hard on him. Jennifer shrugged inwardly; he had no idea how lucky he had been, or how lucky he was even now. He would either get past his childish entitlement and grow up, or he wouldn't. At least he had a choice.
"You get the codes, I get what I want." he said.
"It's already arranged."
"I want more."
Jennifer smiled, and bowed her head politely. This was normal in business negotiations. "Well, of course you do. Let's hear it."
I want explosives. Enough to bring down the Central Grid Tower."
Jennifer was silent for a moment.
"If you do this right," she said slowly, "You could get an even bigger compensation from Company One. At the moment they don't care about rebuilding Interworld, but if you make it easy for them to reestablish ownership of Mars media.-"
"I'm not doing it for them," Del said through his teeth. His posture and movements held a coiled tension, like a snake about to strike.
Instinctive alarms rang through Jennifer's nerves. "You need to calm yourself. I won't have any temper, and if you strike out at me you will regret it." she said.
Del looked genuinely mystified. "But...I wasn't..."
"Then calm down and listen to me. I know this is vengeance for you, and I'll help you. But I could help you get more."
"Which would help you get more."
"Anything for the cause."
"The explosives are easy to get, with basic citizen clearance. I can't get them. I can't get anything now. So get them for me and I will give you the codes."
Jennifer held her wrist unit out; he saw the recorder begin to roll. "I'm ready," she said.
"After I get my explosives." He walked out.
