“Do you have many visitors then?” Merripen asked carefully.
“Oh, no. No one travels often now. It’s so much simpler just to wire up, don’t you think? Perhaps you don’t, since you’re here. I’ve journeyed all over the world wired up to my lovely holo. It’s exactly like being there, but without all the problems. I suppose many places have changed since they were recorded, but I can visit them as they were, when everything was so much more pleasant. There are terrible things in the world now, terrible things.”
Merripen nodded, trying to think of how to bring the conversation back to visitors.
“You must have met Karim,” Seda said. “Such a lovely man, so cultivated. He hasn’t spent his life in banal pursuits, unlike others. He’s well suited to long life—he nourishes his mind and intellect while exploring our older instincts. If our systems broke down, he would survive, which is more than you can say for some people, who think our cozy cocoons will protect us forever. Karim was a biologist, you know.”
Merripen looked up. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh, yes. He was a microbiologist in one of the off-world research centers. He did important work in cell biology, and also in genetic transplantation using viruses. You can thank people like him for the fact that your body can produce its own ascorbic acid. Don’t look so disapproving, Allen.” Merripen had started, then settled back in his chair. His memory had been jostled. “Karim still does some work, but it’s only pure research now, not the kind of thing others have done. He came back here when he saw what was happening out there.”
Merripen tried not to fidget. Andrew seemed calm, his arm draped casually over the chair arm, but his fingers twitched and his face looked tense.
“Oh, Karim still likes to dabble,” she continued. “He even has gravitic generators in his laboratory so that he can produce the weightlessness he needs for his cells to remain suspended in their culture medium. But he’s not really interested in applications, only the work. We draw the line.” Seda raised one thin eyebrow. “I see you still seem disturbed.”
Merripen tried to adjust his expression.
“A long time ago, a man wrote: ‘Beware of the pursuit of the Superhuman: it leads to an indiscriminate contempt for the Human.’” Seda lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. “That is our guiding principle here. We do not try to be something we’re not. Some of the things human beings are or have become are not pleasant, but we acknowledge them and control them—we don’t pretend they’re not present and we don’t seek to eliminate them, as some biologists have thought they could.”
Merripen thought of the dead deer and looked away from Seda’s dark, glassy eyes. He was uneasy; he didn’t want her to dwell on this topic, afraid she might make a connection and figure out what he was. Perhaps she already had. He gripped the slender arms of his chair tightly, then forced himself to relax.
“It’s too bad more people don’t travel,” Andrew said. “I don’t think one could really get the flavor of this place without actually coming here. The pace of the town, the atmosphere—you couldn’t get that wired up.”
“Oh, I think you could.” Seda leaned back and ran a hand through her feathery black hair. “Oh, yes. Anyway, one always has one’s imagination.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “And it would certainly be better if some people didn’t travel at all. We had a Rescuer show up here recently. We realized what he was immediately, because he gave himself away in his conversation with Karim. Of course, we didn’t let him in, and he finally went away, but we were all very careful for some time afterward. Karim is no fool.”
“I’m sure he isn’t,” Merripen murmured.
“He’s also not all-knowing. We had a most disagreeable fellow here lately. I wish I could remember whether he came before the Rescuer did, or later. Perhaps it was at about the same time. Let me think—it was snowing then. This man was from the Citadel near here, so you can be sure that he was up to no good.”
Merripen widened his eyes and smiled blandly. “I hope all your visitors aren’t so unpleasant.”
“Well, you two are here, aren’t you?” Seda sat up, tilted her head, and transfixed him with her eyes. He was trapped by her gaze. “You should have Karim take you out on a trail,” she went on, and her husky voice caressed him. “Perhaps I’ll go along, too. You needn’t take rifles if you’re squeamish. I could bring something back for Boadicea.”
“I don’t know how long we’ll stay,” Andrew said, breaking the spell. “We may go west, to the lakes. Perhaps we could do some sailing there.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“And why not?”
She frowned. “We never go in that direction. Something very strange is going on there. I’ve heard rumors. Some of us think that unchanged people live there, living and dying as human beings did long ago. Others say that some sort of experiment is going on. We are not about to provoke them, needless to say.”
“Well, then, we won’t go there,” Merripen said, worrying that he might have to go there, if only to find a clue. One of his children might have gone there.
Seda rose. “I’ve been neglecting your comfort.” As she spoke, she arched her back slightly; the velvet fabric of her dress tightened across her small breasts. “Let me get you some brandy.”
They left Seda’s house at midnight. She had spoken of her snake, which she praised for its placid, reptilian temperament, and of her skill at archery, and of people she had known, and it was not until they were leaving that Merripen realized she had not told him what he wanted to know. He was oblivious of her words, recalling only the low voice, the large dark eyes, the slender hand that had rested lightly on his arm as they walked to the door. She had told them in parting that she wanted to hear all about them next time, but he suspected that she only wanted listeners who had not already heard everything she had to say. Yet she drew him; her old eyes promised a long flirtation and a skillful seduction.
The town was very quiet as they walked. The moon silvered the road. Merripen stepped on a twig and its crack filled the silence, making him start. Andrew walked with him, head down; he had been unmoved by Seda’s glances, perhaps even irritated. An owl hooted in the forest. The cool air bore the astringent scent of pine.
As they came to their borrowed house, he noticed a light through the half-open curtains. He felt relieved that he had left it on; the thought of entering a dark house disturbed him. Andrew opened the door, and they walked into the welcoming light.
Karim was sitting by the fireplace. “What a pleasant surprise,” Andrew said, an edge to his voice.
Karim regarded them coldly. In the shadows around the chair, his skin was almost black. His full lips were drawn back, as if he were about to snarl. He said, “You lied to me.”
Merripen moved closer to Andrew. The smaller man scowled at Karim. He was suddenly afraid that Andrew would do something rash. “Whatever do you mean?” Merripen asked.
“You lied to me.”
There seemed no point in denying it. Merripen tried to decide what to do; he disliked such direct confrontations. He put a restraining hand on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew tried to twist away, but Merripen held on until the other man was still.
He released him, then walked slowly toward Karim. He sat down on the sofa across from him and motioned to Andrew. Andrew sat next to Merripen, perching on the sofa’s edge. “You’re right,” Merripen said. “We lied. You wouldn’t have let us in otherwise. We’ll get our things and go.”
“Please. Not so quickly. I want to know why you came here. You’re from the Citadel, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you aren’t. You haven’t the manner of Rescuers, and you’re not from the south.” Karim’s hands gripped the arms of the chair. “You must think I’m unobservant. There was something about you which jarred my memory, and then there was that man who visited here last winter. I thought: He was from the Citadel, so maybe they’ve sent someone else. I knew I’d seen you somewhere. It took me quite a while to locate the memory. I had to put on the Ban
d and relive half my life, even digging through things I’d forgotten altogether. But I finally found it. Merripen Allen.” Karim smiled in satisfaction. “People so rarely alter their appearance. We cling to the outward signs of an identity which seems stable, but isn’t. You should have thought of that before you came here. I’m quite an archivist, you know. I have several lectures of yours from centuries back. That was how I verified that it was you.”
Merripen’s head hurt. I can’t show him I’m afraid, he thought. “We’re ready to leave,” he said. “We don’t want to disturb anyone here. I’m not here on the Citadel’s business anyway, only my own. They disapprove of what I’m doing. Andrew was the only one who would come with me, and he’s not a biologist, only a visitor who was staying there with a friend. The man who was here before came only as a favor to me.”
“I want to know what you hoped to find here.”
“I came because I had heard that someone here had seen a person I’m trying to find. Seda had said something to my friend that led me to think she’d seen that person a long time ago.” Merripen took a breath, leaned forward, and began to tell Karim of his old project and his doubts.
As he spoke, the faces of his rational and strange children rose before him, all with the same steady, calm gaze. He had been gratified when they had turned to him, seeming to place more importance on his guidance than on that of their parents. He had been with them only long enough to see that even he could not know everything about them, that the minds he had thought would be clear as a stream had their eddies and currents. Even their sexuality had surprised him. He had assumed that they would lack interest in that irrational expression of desire; instead, they seemed to think of it as a rational pleasure. It was more than he had been able to accomplish, even after all this time. He had envied and hated them for it; he had wanted angels. In the end, they had left their parents and him, and had done little except lead the same sort of lives they might have led if they had been ordinary human beings. They had taught him nothing; they had not shown humankind the way to a new sort of life.
As Merripen talked, giving as many details as he could, Karim nodded and said nothing beyond an occasional murmur. By the time he was finished, the other man’s face had lost its ferocity.
“I see,” Karim said, staring past Merripen. “Your friend should have come to me. By the time I had found out who he was, several of the others here were searching for him. They only wanted to send him back with a warning, but he eluded them.”
“I think you can understand why he didn’t go to you.”
“Oh, yes. Our feelings sometimes run high. Can you blame us? So you thought you’d learn something from Seda. That woman has been through so many transformations I wonder that she can remember the day before yesterday. She’s had erasures a dozen times at least. Occasionally something floats up from the sea of her unconscious, but it isn’t always reliable—sometimes it’s an incident someone else related to her. Eventually, she’ll have another erasing and be young and lively for a while until she begins to do the same things over again. In the end, she doesn’t change at all. It’s the same life, endlessly repeated, except that each time her mind ages more quickly and becomes more encrusted. What did she tell your friend?”
Merripen told him.
“You see,” Karim responded, “your friend should have come to me. I remember that visitor. I suspected something, but the creature was gone before I could verify my suspicions.” Merripen bowed his head. “But not before the visitor spoke of going west to meet friends.”
Merripen sat up. “When? When did this happen?”
“Over two hundred years ago; almost three. They might still be there, they might not.”
“I’ve got to find them.”
Karim grinned. “You are an odd fellow, Merripen Allen. You are expending a great deal of effort looking for people who might not even be on the planet, and with only the vaguest of reasons. Aren’t you making the same mistake over again?”
“What mistake?”
“You made them thinking that they would offer you insights into human life. But of course they can’t. Their lives are their own, with their own values. Now you’re looking for answers from them again.”
“You misunderstand,” Merripen objected, not so sure that Karim did. “Pigs can’t fly, and birds can’t learn calculus. Perhaps we’re simply not suited to extended life the way we are. That’s what I thought then. And then I wondered if we could learn something about it.”
“If we’re unsuited as we are,” Karim said, “then why not change ourselves? That seems to follow from what you’ve said.” He was silent for a bit, as if considering the possibility. “But we were very adaptable in the pre-Transition past. Not all of us, of course, only the survivors. Maybe we should simply stick to only minor improvements in the design.”
Merripen had no answer to that. “Maybe I won’t find anything. But I have to try. It was enough to bring me outside the Citadel when I could have stayed inside, safe.” He sighed. “I guess there’s nothing more I can learn here. We’ll be off in the morning, if that’s all right with you.”
“Heading west?”
Merripen nodded.
“There is something you can do for me.”
“And what is that?”
“Allow me to accompany you.”
“And why do you want to do that?” Merripen asked.
“I’ve been here a long time. Perhaps I need a change.”
Merripen did not believe him. He had barely begun his search, and he was losing control of it. “You have no reason to go,” he said slowly. “You already know what you think.”
“Do I? Am I not allowed to have my own questions? I’ve done enough here, and I can always come back later. Besides, you should consider one thing. You might have need of me. I know how to hunt, and I can handle weapons. I’m also not afraid to use them. You’d be safer with me. I’ve lived out here, and you haven’t.”
“If you had wanted to leave,” Andrew said, “you could have left before now.”
“I would have, had you not arrived. But I think it’s safer to travel in a group.” He rose. “Think it over. You may give me your answer tomorrow. I’m prepared to go at any time.”
He left them. Merripen got up and began to walk toward the stairs.
“No,” Andrew said. Merripen turned. “We can’t travel with him. There’s something he’s not telling.”
Merripen turned around. “Do we really have a choice? I suspect that if we don’t go with him, he’ll follow us anyway. It might be safer to bring him along. And he’s right about one thing—he’s used to living out here.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe so. But even you might do better with someone to back you up. I’m not sure I can trust myself.” He thought: I’m not sure I can trust you, either.
He went up the stairs, lingered by his bed for a moment, then peered over the balcony. Andrew was still sitting by the fireplace. “You’d better get some sleep,” Merripen called to him.
“I could go back to the Citadel by myself. You’d still have a companion.”
“I thought you wanted to get away.”
“There are other places I can go.”
Merripen turned away and began to undress. He thought of the Citadel and his house, safe behind the wall and shield. He could have been in Peony’s bed now. It was not too late to go back; Karim had given him an excuse.
He heard Andrew’s footsteps on the stairs. The other man had turned out the light below; Merripen waved a hand, turning on the light between their beds. Andrew passed him silently and shed his clothes, leaving them on the floor. He dimmed the light. The other bed squeaked. Then Andrew said in the darkness, “He can come along, I suppose. You’re right, we have to go with him.”
Merripen stretched out on his own bed, tired but overwrought. He turned over on his side, then got up again and moved toward Andrew. He reached out, tracing the muscles on the other man’s arms.
Andrew drew his hands down to his ribs. “Don’t we owe ourselves more of a flirtation, Merripen?” His back arched as Merripen held him by the waist. “It’s too sudden. We’ll miss half the fun.”
“Maybe we will. But it’ll be too distracting to conduct one on the trip. And I’m tense now; I need to relax.”
“Is that the only reason, your needing to relax?” Andrew’s hands were on his hips.
“No.”
He got in next to Andrew. He felt his breath on his ear. “First yours,” Andrew whispered, “then mine.” Fingers brushed the insides of his thighs. He seemed to feel them at a distance; his mind drifted away, thinking first of the children and then of Seda’s eyes.
“Andrew,” he said as the other man’s mouth surrounded him, and he thought only of the tongue tickling his shaft. His body arched and trembled and he heard a moan. For an instant, timelessness held him; then he was sinking, trapped by the earth, caught again in time. An image of the dead deer filled his mind; he wondered why he was thinking of that now. When Andrew turned him on his side and pressed against his buttocks, he did not resist.
III
Karim had closed up his house and exchanged words with a tall, red-haired woman before leaving. No one else saw him off. As Merripen got into his hovercraft with Andrew, he began to wish he had postponed their departure; he would have liked to see Karim’s laboratory and talk about his work. And then there was Seda. He sighed. It never died away in him; his rejuvenated body kept it alive. He thought of letting himself age, letting it wither, so his mind would have clarity and peace.
Karim led them; his hovercraft preceded them down the hill. Merripen glanced at Andrew. The other man was staring at him blankly. Andrew lifted one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth curved up. The sexual tension was gone; whatever happened between them now would be only repetition. The experience would be stored in Merripen’s mind, eventually to fade and become confused with others like it.
The Golden Space Page 22
