‘But we do not.’
Her face squirmed with disgust.
‘We are a different species.’
‘Come now. You and I know very well that ertian and human biologies do not prohibit intercourse. Anyway, it was as I was saying, just a little—’
‘Light relief, yes, I heard you the first time, and the answer is still no. Mieko would be most distraught. Honestly, Ima.’
A wind blew in off the sea, and some breakers crashed on the cove below.
‘Are they still at it down there?’ I said.
Payha craned her neck and scanned the water beneath. ‘Yes. Jorne is on the board now while Reed watches him on a rock. I can see his arms are strengthening.’
I peered down. Your arms did look stronger. There was no doubt that your body was changing dramatically—nothing like the steady maturation of the ertlings—and your emotions could not keep up with it. I thought of you curled up on your bed, mind reeling with whatever wretched, heart-broken fantasies still tormented you, despite your rejection, and wondered how many times such scenes had played out through history.
‘I spent a lot of time with humans,’ said Payha. ‘I worked in the cities when the clearances began, the places where some were still trying to fall through the cracks. Slums, prisons, asylums, and then the strongholds they set up in the suburbs, still trying to hide, but they had no hope. We swept through everything and gathered up the stragglers to take them to their new life. I used to see it in them all the time. Lust, greed, want—that hunger for things they did not have. Even when the virus took hold and sterility had been achieved, even when human procreation had been made impossible, still the desire was there. I used to see it in their faces; the twitches, micro-expressions, the pointless little looks of envy and lust between them in the camps. It drove me mad. Nature had no right to go to war with them in such a way.’
I was still watching your fruitless paddling.
‘Perhaps that is why they went to war with it,’ I said.
Just then there was a huge thump, and the sky above the far-off platform lit up in gold and green. A distant cheer rose up from the crowd as streams of coloured light floated upwards.
‘So that’s why they call it the Drift,’ said Payha.
As the sun set, we watched the coloured streams join the clouds like ribbons in the wind, and I had a sense of what Haralia had meant. Perhaps this was the natural way of things. This was where everything had been leading to; our destiny: to escape the gravity of things.
And there you were, still splashing about in the sea from which you had once crawled.
‘How are you explaining the lights to him?’ asked Payha.
‘I have told him the truth. It is an experiment.’
‘What kind of experiment?’
‘One of connection, an attempt to join ourselves to something bigger.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he understood. He says that’s what he feels when he’s in the water.’
Payha grunted and swigged the hurwein.
‘An experiment,’ she said. ‘That is only part of the truth. It won’t be long before you have to tell him the rest.’
‘And then he will hate me.’
‘You knew from the start that would be the case.’
‘I did. I just I didn’t think it would matter.’
It grew darker and a breeze blew in. I rested my chin upon one knee.
‘There is still a chance he could convince them,’ I said. ‘But not when he is distracted. How can they see his merits when he is so frustrated? He needs help. It would make things easier for him.’
She turned to me.
‘That’s just it: he doesn’t need help, he needs to learn control. And to convince them of humanity’s merits, he does not need things made easier for him. He needs them to be…’
I stopped, struck by a memory I had not yet decoded.
‘What is it, Ima?’
But before I could speak there was another thump, this time followed by a huge explosion. We jumped up. The Drift was burning, flames and black smoke now taking the place of the streams of light. The crowd ran, screaming from the rock.
‘Haralia.’
‘I’ll stay with Reed,’ Payha called out, but I was already running.
— FORTY-THREE —
BY THE TIME I had reached the Drift the flames were extinguished and the crowd was gone.
‘Ertanea,’ said a male in a protective yellow suit. His face was blackened with soot, and there were others like him, stony-faced and picking through the rubble. ‘They’ve all gone to Ertanea.’
I found Haralia sitting alone in an observation room, beneath the glare of a single spotlight. Her usually pristine skin was smudged and glistening with sweat, and her hair was a tangled mess of knots and frayed wires from the cracked device still attached to her cranium. She did not look up when I entered.
‘Haralia,’ I said, running to her chair and throwing my arms around her. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe.’
She said nothing, and I released her.
‘Are you all right? Is Jakob—’
Only at the sound of his name did she look up. Her eyes were trembling, black things, and she shook her head slowly.
‘There were three phases.’ Her voice was almost unrecognisable—dry and oddly slurred, as if drunk. ‘Ten in each. I was to be in the second. He was in the first.’
‘What happened?’
Her eyes rolled and she looked away. The stillness of her chilled me.
‘I don’t know, they haven’t said. But they are gone, all gone, all of them, including Jakob. My Jakob.’
‘Are you sure? Have you seen him?’
She glared at me, neck straightening.
‘I know he is gone. I can feel it.’ She looked away. ‘I don’t know why I expect you to understand. What do you know about love?’
She got to her feet, thrown into shadow by the lurid observation light.
‘Did you see the lights?’
‘Yes,’ I stammered. ‘They were beautiful. Haralia, what is wrong with you?’
‘Not as beautiful as the flames though, I would imagine. Are you enjoying this, sister?’
‘Enjoying? Why would I be enjoying this? Why would I get pleasure from your grief?’
She gave a half-shrug.
‘It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He is dead.’
Wobbling, she walked towards me.
‘Say it, Ima. Say you told me so.’
I staggered back.
‘What?
‘Tell me you knew this is how things would end.’
She was upon me now, face in mine, tears shaking in her bloodshot eyes.
‘You’re upset,’ I said, ‘I should go.’
‘No.’ She grabbed an arm and pulled me back. ‘Stay. Stay and gloat. I want to hear you tell me you were right, like you’re always right.’
I squirmed in her fierce grip.
‘What do you mean? Why do you hate me, Haralia?’
‘Because you’re perfect. Everyone always knew your purpose was above mine. You fixed the sky, while I scrabbled about in the dirt with the animals. The stinking dogs and filthy pigs and the gulls on their shit-covered rocks. Animals. Do you know what? I hate animals, even horses with their dumb stares, and especially that stinking, shitting, dumb ape of yours.’
When I finally found my voice, it shook.
‘Take that back.’
She gave a nasty smile, rewarded by my hurt.
‘They don’t even talk to him in school now. Not even pretty Zadie. She ignores him. They hate him. They all hate him.’
She sniffed the air around me.
‘You’ve been drinking again. You’re no better than him, Ima. You’re an animal, too. Do you hear me?’ She sneered. ‘An animal.’
She pushed me away and began plucking at her gown, hair and arms.
‘I hate this. Hate it. This dirt, this skin, these bones, these innards. I want them
gone, I want to be free of them!’
Just then we heard a screech from outside in the hall. News. Haralia thundered for the door.
THE HALL WAS full and eerily quiet. The injured were healing but the smell of smoke still hung in the air, sweetened with the tang of blood. I followed Haralia as she pushed through the crowd to the front, where she joined what remained of the Devoted. Each was like her, their faces and gowns blackened with soot.
In the centre of the hall was a slender white slab lit from above. It had the appearance of stone, but images and lights danced on its surface. Benedikt huddled over it while Caige paced behind.
‘Is it working?’ he said, hands on hips. ‘Come on, boy, fix it.’
‘I’m trying,’ muttered Benedikt. ‘I keep losing the signal.’
‘What is happening?’ said Haralia above the crowd’s whispers. Benedikt looked up, as if only just realising they had company. His eyes darted around.
‘Tell us,’ said Haralia, some gentleness returning to her voice.
The crowd hushed.
‘We may have made contact,’ said Benedikt.
A ripple of excitement ran through the room.
‘What does that mean?’ said Haralia. ‘Was it a success? They made it?’
Benedikt nodded.
‘Quite possibly.’
She covered her face, tears streaming from her eyes, as two of the Devoted pulled her into an embrace.
‘Wait,’ said Benedikt. ‘I have something.’
He stroked a palm down one side of the slab, and the light above flickered out. In its place a mesh of blue beams appeared, quivering. There were pops and crackles of static, and the room fell to silence once again.
Hush. Nothing. Then a deep croak. A voice.
‘ALL IS LIGHT. COME.’
Benedikt smiled, the crowd cheered and Haralia threw up her arms.
‘It’s Jakob! My love!’
‘No,’ said Benedikt. ‘It’s not Jakob, it’s all of them. They are united.’
Breathless, Haralia ran to the slab.
‘But Jakob is still there. Can we speak back?’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘ALL IS LIGHT,’ repeated the voice. ‘COME.’
As the room filled with more celebration, Haralia closed her eyes and lifted her face to the ceiling, hands clutched to her breast. I saw her lips move.
‘All is light. All is light.’
Her voice grew louder, until the other Devoted heard them and turned. And one by one, they joined in, until soon all thirty of them were walking from the hall in a sombre procession, repeating the words with hands clasped to their breasts.
‘All is light.’
‘All is light.’
‘All is light.’
And the crowd, with their heads bowed, murmured along.
I backed away, stumbling from the hall. This was not the first time I had heard those words.
— FORTY-FOUR —
HANNA’S FUNERAL WAS in winter. I remember the frost, the stillness, the quiet, as if the earth had stopped turning. We lit tall candles and did not move for a day, and nobody spoke. Then, as the sun rose on the second day, somebody stood up.
They said out loud those same words: ‘All is light… all is light.’
We all joined in. At the time it seemed fitting and hopeful, for at last we could begin our task. But now it seemed ugly, this sickening chant of purpose that had meant one thing: the humans are gone, now we can move on.
To think of humans dying was to think of you dying.
I reached the crest of the hill and stopped. It was dark now, the horizon a thread of blue light, and down in Ertanea a candlelit circle had filled the gardens. Another circle surrounded them, hands clasped with staffs. Caige’s guards. The mumbled chant seeped up the tree-lined hill, trying to seek me out.
The whole scene was ludicrous, like something from one of those books. Guards? Candles? Chanting? The insanity of it all made me heady, and I released a loud and unexpected laugh.
Well, if this was how things were going to be, then I wanted no part of it. I wanted to be rid of them, like Haralia of her skin, to be so far from their ill-made chant that I could no longer hear them, deep in the forest or even beneath that heaving, dark sea beyond.
I pulled the bottle of hurwein I still had beneath my cloak, and drank from it as I made my way home.
As I stumbled through the forest, swigging, my thoughts turned to Haralia. My sister. Who did she think she was anyway? What did I know about love? I knew more about the stuff than she ever had. I had you, Reed, my son, my boy. That was real love. I had cleaned you and fed you and stayed up half the night with you, and taught you and walked with you and all that business. How long was it now? Thirteen years, or something like that. That was love. That was real love.
Sex. That’s what Haralia was talking about—not love, sex. Copulation, the rubbing of sensitive parts, the exchange of fluids and dark fumblings in smelly places. Fucking, not to put too finer point on it.
At the clearing that led to the Sundra’s village, I stopped and swayed. Lights glimmered in Jorne’s window.
Yes, Haralia was right. Fucking was something I knew little about. But we can soon sort that, I thought, draining the bottle and tossing it into a bush.
All you need is data.
Bang bang bang.
‘’S me,’ I said. ‘’S Ima. Let me in.’
I heard footsteps and straightened my back as the door opened. Jorne was there and I gave him two slow blinks before attempting to float in, tripping on the frame as I went. Payha was there, and you too, both sitting at the table. Payha gave me a funny look.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Hello. You’re both here, I see. Isn’t it past your bedtime?’
The room seemed to tilt and spin, never quite reaching its apex. I leaned—quite casually, I thought—on a chair.
‘It’s only just dark,’ you said, looking me up and down. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am absolutely fine,’ I said, far too loudly.
‘What happened?’ said Jorne. ‘Is everyone all right?’
‘Yep. They’re all right. My sister’s all right. Jakob, the wood chopper—’ for some reason I mimed an axe, which made me snigger ‘—is all right. Everyone is all right. All is right… all is right… all is right…’
I took a long breath. The chair was not taking its job of supporting me at all seriously.
Payha and Jorne shared a look.
‘Reed,’ said Jorne. ‘I need to talk to your mother alone.’
‘Thassright,’ I said. ‘And I need to talk to your Jorne, I mean—ha—Jorne alone.’
You gave me a puzzled look. Payha took your arm.
‘Come on, Reed,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and make tea at my dwelling.’
‘Good idea,’ I said, stopping her as she passed, with a finger on her shoulder. ‘And juss you remember what I said about helping, lady. Understand? Hmm?’
‘Get some rest,’ she replied. ‘Good night, Jorne.’ And you both left.
With the door closed, I fixed Jorne with what I imagined to be my most provocative look.
‘Ima, what on earth is wrong with you.’
‘Nothing, as I’ve said, I’ve told you, I’m fine. It’s all fine.’ I focussed on trying to control the room’s spin, and when I could do no more I slid my clammy hand from the chair and sauntered, wobbling, towards him.
‘Payha’s right,’ he said, looking fearful. ‘You should get some rest.’
‘Not tired,’ I said, shedding my blanket. ‘You?’
‘Ima—’
Amid the drunken clamour in my head, I became aware of myself. I became aware of my body—the bits that go in, the bits that go out—and I moved them the way I remembered Haralia moving her hips for Jakob. As muscle and bone rubbed and rippled, I felt the hot breath of lust upon me. So there it was, I thought, all this time, locked away, just ready to come out at the slightest sway.
‘I know what you wan
t,’ I said, some normality returning to my voice. The thrill of this new appetite was sobering me up. I was upon him now, could feel the warmth of his chest, smell the scent of the hair on his neck, feel his pulse as I drew near to his neck. ‘It’s what animals want. We’re animals, you and me, animals.’
My mouth was wet with saliva. I opened it, heart thumping beneath my breast, and reaching a hand around his waist I drew him near and—’
‘Ima.’
He pushed me away and held me by the shoulders.
‘What?’ I slurred, pulling free. ‘I thought this is what you wanted.’
He gave me grim look and shook his head.
‘Not like this. Now get some rest.’
With that he stormed out, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
The room’s sudden silence scared me. I found another bottle of hurwein and stormed into the Room of Things to watch the quantum telescope, choosing a year and a place at random. By the time the first image appeared on the wall, I was asleep in the chair.
— FORTY-FIVE —
THERE WERE PEOPLE falling. Hundreds, thousands, millions, crashing from a cliff into a cold sea. Men, women, children, infants; old and young, pale and dark, they would not stop. Some were naked, with dark etchings visible upon their dirty skins. Others wore loin cloths and head-dresses, robes, armour, uniforms, suits, gowns of the most magnificent splendour, coat tails flapping, dusted wigs and jewellery spinning off into the gale.
They screamed as they fell, a terrible sound like woeful gulls, and each was devoured by the churning tide that waited below. I watched their endless plummet, unable to look away.
But my eyes were closed.
I opened them and sat up, finding myself on the pile of ancient cushions in the Room of Things. The projector was playing some empty scene of snow-swept tundra. No cliff, no people, no water. What had I been watching?
A dream, I realised, and not the usual spiralling fractals and coloured lights that accompanied my nocturnal processing, but a proper one like yours. My first.
The Human Son Page 23
