Digging a grave took a long time with crude tools, even though Pat and Patrice pitched in, scooping the clods of earth away when Dannerman and Jimmy had loosened them. Dannerman didn't notice the passage of time. He was glad for something to do, because that interior ache was rising willy-nilly to the surface of his thoughts. When the grave got too deep for both of them to be able to dig, he hopped out and let Jimmy stab and scoop while he confronted it.
The problem was this: How did you mourn the death of one-third of a lover?
This stiffening corpse by the side of the deepening grave was Pat. True, it was not the Pat, with whom he had made love just hours before, but certainly a Pat, indistinguishable from the very alive woman with whom he had talked and played and shared so much of a life, from childhood on. No, there was no doubt of it. When someone you "loved"-it was the first time he had used that word, even to himself-when someone you loved died you had to feel pain. Dannerman did feel pain, a lot of pain. But how baffling it was to see two copies of that beloved woman alive and well and helping to dig the grave.
To be sure, those other two were definitely mourning. There was no confusion in the tears and self-reproach. "If I hadn't panicked and stabbed the thing," Patrice kept muttering to Pat, even while she was scooping away the loose dirt into a pile. "Maybe they wouldn't have done anything. Maybe-"
The maybes were not helpful. Dannerman stood up. "My turn, Jimmy," he called, and replaced the astronaut in the pit. He had barely begun to dig when Jimmy Lin yelled and grabbed for a spear, and when Dannerman turned to look he saw a regular circus parade approaching: four or five of the great Docs, marching toward them, with Dopey perched in the arms of one of them.
"What is going on?" Dopey called fretfully. "Why are you digging holes? I have brought you your guns-it took a very long time to secure them, with much danger. Now there is no time for the digging of holes, since we must hurry and reclaim our base from the Horch!"
Dopey didn't take kindly to being told that the conquest of the Horch machines would have to wait. But then, when someone had explained to him what had happened, he was disgusted but surprisingly helpful. "General Delasquez," he remarked, "is forming a habit of electrocution. Fortunately one of these bearers is medically trained; I will have him treat the general."
"The hell you will," Patrice snapped, surprised and angered. "What does that thing know about human medicine?"
"Why, a great deal," Dopey assured her. "It was he who implanted the devices on your Starlab. He will know what to do for General Delasquez-also for Dr. Artzybachova, who, I observe, is also quite unwell."
Patrice started to reject the offer with indignation, but Rosaleen overrode her. She raised herself on one elbow and said, "Let's see what he can do, Patrice. I'm not much use to you this way."
That was all the consent Dopey needed. He didn't speak, but one of his golems bent over Rosaleen, picked her up with surprising gentleness and bore her away to the yurt where Delasquez was raucously snoring. Dopey didn't bother to look after them. He waddled toward the grave, where Dannerman had replaced Lin at the bottom, gazing disapprovingly at Dannerman's digging. "What are you doing? Is this some form of human death ritual? If you wish a hole dug to dispose of the cadaver one of my bearers can do this far more quickly."
Dannerman didn't look up. "We'll do it ourselves," he said shortly.
Dopey clucked in annoyance. "How you waste time," he complained. "I am very near to the limit of my endurance. We must act at once, or I must rest for a bit."
"Rest, then," Jimmy Lin says. "If the amphibians attack we'll let you know."
"Attack? Why would they attack? Although," he added meditatively, "it is unfortunately the case that they are not truly civilized anymore. They subdue their prey with electric shocks. You have seen such animals on your own planet? I believe they are called electric eels? But it was foolish of you to get so near them. They have no recent experience of land dwellers, you see; they have been isolated in their own pen for many generations. Now that the walls are down they are no longer confined, and who knows where they may wander to?"
No one responded but Jimmy Lin, turning his head to glare somberly at the alien, and all he said was "Shut up."
Dopey looked surprised, but obeyed the command; perhaps he was getting used to it. "Very well," he said after a moment. "It is foolish to delay, but I will rest for a few minutes. Wake me when you are ready for the reconquest of the base."
Dannerman glanced up long enough to see Dopey climb into the huge arms of a Doc. He didn't bother to watch as the huge golem carried him away, another Doc waddling irritably after. He was concentrating on carving out a straight, flat base for the grave.
He lost track of time. He was surprised when Patrice called down to him, "That's good enough, Dan."
He looked up in confusion. All five of his fellow prisoners were standing there, looking down on him, even Rosaleen and Martin. He had not even noticed that they had left the yurt. He peered up at Rosaleen. She was standing straighter, and there even seemed to be color in her face. "What did he do to you?" he asked wonderingly.
Rosaleen gave him the ghost of a smile. "God knows. As soon as the Doc touched me I was asleep. When I woke up, Dopey was there, lying on the ground-he's exhausted, you know- and the Doc was doing something to Martin. And then Martin woke up and we came out here."
"Dopey's still in the yurt?"
"Oh, yes. Sound asleep. Funny," she added. "I didn't even know he could sleep. He snores."
"Yes, yes," Pat interrupted, single-minded and impatient. "Dan? Do you need help getting Patsy down there?"
"Of course not." He took Patsy's body from Pat and Patrice and, gently, clumsily, stretched it out at the bottom of the pit. As he climbed out, Pat jumped in to straighten Patsy's corpse.
At the graveside, Patrice fretted, "I wish we had a coffin. I wish-do you think we should say some words over her?"
"My mother taught me some of the funeral prayers my grandfather used to say," Rosaleen offered. "I learned them in Ukrainian, but I could try to translate."
But Pat was shaking her head as Dannerman helped her out of the grave. "I'll say what needs to be said," she said firmly. "Patsy, we loved you. Good-bye."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Patrice
Once you've dug a grave you need to fill it back up again. Patrice knew that. But, as the first scoops of dirt plopped onto Patsy's body, she could hardly bear to look, much less to take part in the work. For the first time she understood why people bothered to box their dead in coffins before they laid them away. The coffins weren't to protect the deceased. They were there for the sake of the witnesses, to spare them the sight and sound of clods falling on a face that was once as alive as their own.
But as each successive shovelful of dirt fell on Patsy's body the shape at the bottom of the hole looked less like a human person and more like some random lump of anonymous earth; and, grimly, Patrice picked up a scoop and took her place with the others.
That earned her a grateful look from Jimmy Lin. "Thanks," he said, and then paused to look back at where Martin and Rosaleen were sorting over the guns. Dopey was returning in the arms of one of die Docs. Jimmy looked at Patrice again, this time pleading. "Listen, you can finish without me, can't you? Because I'd really like to check those weapons out-"
"Go ahead," she said. And beside her, Pat saw the expression on Dannerman's face and added:
"You too, Dan. We'll be all right."
The funny thing was, Patrice thought as the men hurried to join the others, that Pat actually did seem to be all right. She wasn't weeping. She didn't even look particularly unhappy. She was frowning slightly in concentration as she dealt with the task at hand, efficiently sliding her ancient scoop into the dwindling pile of dirt, methodically dropping the clods in place to fill the lowest parts of the rising layers of dirt.
It was a good example to follow. Patrice followed it. It was easier refilling the grave than digging it had been, and then, when
it was all in, and they had scraped all the loose dirt possible off the ground, there was a small mound to mark the burial place. Patrice knelt to pat it smooth. She was so absorbed in her task it was a surprise to hear Pat's voice. "Patrice? That's good enough. I'm going to clean up a little."
Another good example to follow, and Patrice followed it. But then, as they knelt beside the stream, she looked over at the others. "Then we'd better see what's going on," she offered. " "Sure," Pat said absently, scrubbing at her hands. The water was cold, and the clayey soil sticky; the dirt didn't want to come off. Then she paused, looking over at Patrice. "Listen. You're not sore at me, are you?"
"About what?" Patrice was honestly baffled for a moment, then clarity came. "Oh, you mean about you making out with Dan-Dan? No, of course not."
Pat didn't seem satisfied with the answer. She was looking at the gravesite. She sighed. "Easy for you to say, maybe," she said. "It might not be so easy for Patsy. She was the one that got killed." Then, just before she plunged her face into the water, she added, "You know what I'm wondering? I wonder if there's any truth to this idea of everybody meeting everybody again at the eschaton. Because if there is Dan and I might have some explaining to do."
is Patrice rinsed the tearstains off her own face she considered what Pat had said. Could it be true that some sort of high-tech heaven was waiting for all of them? For herself, for Patsy-for all of the Pats, including the one on Earth? And for Husbands One and Two (and what would that reunion be like?), and for feckless, ill-tempered Mick Jarvas and all the other people at the observatory, and even for Uncle Cubby, finally getting to see what his heirs had done with his money? Not to mention Hitler and Stalin and Napoleon and everybody else, all the way back to Tiglath-Pilesar and Nebuchadnezzar… and Dopey, too, in fact all the Dopeys there had ever been, as well as all the other myriad extraterrestrials in this astonishingly populated universe, wherever found.
She couldn't imagine it. Would Patsy in fact be ticked off at being allowed to get killed? Would it be like the wronged dead of the old superstitions, coming back as ghosts to haunt those who had harmed them in life? Only these wouldn't be the sort of ghosts that contented themselves with dripping blood from an unseen wound, or shrieking pitifully in the night. These would be real-at least as real as she would be herself, in this fantastic rising-up time in the remote future.
She lifted her face from the water and stopped herself short. No! It wouldn't be like that at all. If they did see Patsy again, it would be that same Patsy who was themselves. Who knew everything about them and forgave all, just as they forgave themselves-and, for the things that weren't really forgivable, simply accepted them and got on with it.
She laughed out loud and stood up, startling Pat who was drying her face with the hem of her shirt. "No," she said, "if it's all true you won't have to explain. It'll be all right."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Patrice
The others were gathered around the guns that lay on the ground, spilled out of the coppery-mesh sack Dopey had brought them in. There were far more than Patrice had expected, and as they approached Rosaleen smiled at them. "Pick a couple for yourselves," she invited. "All the guns are duplicated, so there's plenty to go around."
"But what's going on?" Patrice asked. Dannerman and Dopey were confronting each other; still in the Doc's arms, Dopey's face was at a level with Dannerman's, and they both looked angry.
"Oh, what do you think?" Rosaleen said, sounding exasperated. "Much argumentation. Simply listen and you will hear it all for yourself."
Her voice carried to Dannerman, who twitched slightly but stood his ground. "You stay out of this," he ordered Dopey. "We have to consider our options."
"But you have no options!" Dopey squawked.
"Of course we do! Fighting your damn Horch machines for you is only one of them. We can stay here-"
"You cannot!"
"Why not? You've supplied us with guns. We can defend ourselves in case the amphibians come back… or who knows what other wild animals might be around?"
Dopey said plaintively, "You speak such nonsense, Agent Dannerman. There aren't any wild animals on this planet."
"Not even the ones that killed Patsy?" Jimmy asked.
"Not even them. They are simply control groups-exactly like yourselves, you see! There are eight different species out here, kept in separate reservations, and they're all intelligent. Some of them have been here for many, many generations. They're all that's left of races that have become extinct in their home planets-it is," he added boastfully, "in a sense, a kind of ecological thing. But no wild animals."
"What about the furry lizards?" Patrice demanded.
"I know nothing of lizards. Perhaps they were food animals for one of the species. No. The reason you have the guns is to deal with the Horch machines. They are quite large. They have high-powered torches and cutting instruments, and their job is to destroy this whole base."
"So let them," Martin growled. "I vote with Dannerman. We stay here."
The little alien squealed in irritation. "But you cannot! You will die if we stay here?"
Dannerman said soberly, "Maybe we should take that chance. We may be able to find something growing that we can eat so we won't starve-"
"Not starve!" Dopey said impatiently. "Fry. Here, ask your own astronomers, now that they have finished with this foolish ritual. You should understand the problem, Drs. Adcock. Have you not observed the stars?"
Patrice had a sinking feeling, but it was Pat who spoke up. "Are you talking about dangerous radiation, from black holes, supernovas, all that? But there hasn't been any, or we'd all be dead already."
"Of course there has not been any! That is because the Beloved Leaders long ago established a screen around this entire planet so that all lethal radiation was filtered out. But when the power went down, so did the screen."
That stopped them all. Dopey seized his advantage. "So you see," he said, "you have no other option. No. You must help me. I have given you weapons. I have also provided all these bearers, to carry the excess weaponry and whatever else we need for our task. And, of course, to help with Dr. Artzybachova," he added politely. "Now we must restore power and wipe out the remaining Horch surrogates before they finish destroying so much that took so long to build!"
Jimmy Lin emitted a sarcastic yelp. "What, the six of us? Against machines that defeated your own fighters?"
"But your numbers are not a problem," Dopey said in surprise. "Once the standby power is restored we can make many copies of you, all you need-a whole army if you want them, Commander Lin!"
Lin looked flustered, but Dannerman was the one who responded. "The hell you will! We've had enough of making copies!"
Dopey looked astonished. "You object to this? But why? We need not keep the extra copies forever; once the machines are gone we can simply delete the unwanted ones."
"No!" Pat cried.
Dopey stared at her. "Is this some taboo for your people? Well, perhaps we need not make more copies. It is possible that some of your experimental copies may still be alive."
And there was another conversation stopper. Dopey paused, surprised by the sudden silence as everyone was staring at him.
It was Patrice who asked the question, once more angry and startled-and very nearly fed up with Dopey's habit of dropping unexpected surprises on them. "What experimental copies are you talking about?"
Dopey looked uneasy. "Perhaps I neglected to tell you of them," he said apologetically. "There were only a few. Actually, I do not think many will have survived. There was quite heavy fighting in the laboratory area."
It was Rosaleen's turn to be indignant. "Laboratory?" "To investigate your anatomy and biochemistry, of course. How else could the Beloved Leaders know how best to help your people?" And then, when he saw the expressions on their faces, "I was not personally involved in these studies," he added hastily. "Some of the copies may still be quite fit. Please do not argue anymore! Do you want me to take yo
u to look for these other copies or not?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Patrice
One thing you could say about Dan Dannerman-Patrice thought as they approached the stark metal structures of the compound-was that he reacted fast. Conquering the wilderness was out; rescuing their other "copies"-if any-was in.
Dopey would not allow them to enter near their old cell; too far to travel in Horch territory, too dangerous. So they traveled a quarter of the way around the compound perimeter before he paused and pointed to a passage. "There," he said. "This way will be safest-though we must be alert and ready for attack at every moment!"
Everyone stopped, while Dannerman conferred with the little creature. Patrice was glad enough for the chance to sit down. All this activity after all those weeks of confinement was tiring. She glanced up at the sky and shivered. That alien sun was setting; those enemy stars were popping out in all their incredible number, and the breeze had turned cold. She touched the butt of the thirty-shot weapon in its holster under her arm and wondered what it would be like to fire at something that would probably be doing its best to kill her. She was not ready for this kind of adventure-
But, ready or not, it was time to move on. Dannerman finished his conversation with Dopey and turned to give his orders. "Two of the Docs will go first. Then the rest of us, spread out, all but Rosaleen-"
"I can walk!" she protested.
"Sure. When you have to you will, but for now one of the Docs will carry you at the back. And, everybody, quiet. Dopey says the Horch machines are not particularly sensitive to sound, but we'll take no chances. All clear? Then let's go."
Eschaton 01 The Other End of Time Page 27
