by Jason Gurley
David nodded.
And Tasneem, you have no desire to see your friend sent away, yes?
Tasneem shook her head.
Then this solution is the only one, Anjali said. But David, you do not have to alter your life for us. I do not intend to mother you. You are clearly capable of managing your own affairs. I will be your mother if you like, but for now, I will just be your mother in the database. Do you understand?
You'll be my mother in name only, David said.
Do you agree? Anjali asked.
David looked past her at the open office she'd come from, and the shadowy men within.
I agree, he said.
Oh, boy, Tasneem said.
David turned to Tasneem. Wait until Audra finds out.
Anjali smiled at her daughter. My dear. Are you unhappy with this?
Tasneem looked up at her mother. I'm happy, she said.
Good, said Anjali. Now I shall take both of my children -- my real child and my fake child -- out for scoops of ice cream.
I like ice cream, David said.
Tasneem pressed her hands against her face.
Two Rivers
Follow these instructions.
Tasneem had ditched Blair. He wasn't surprised. She felt like an asshole, but he claimed to understand.
She gets off at juncture three, closing her eyes as she drops into the near-weightlessness of the disembarkment track. Blair stays on board, and is out of sight before she can offer even a final wave.
It doesn't matter.
Follow these instructions.
She had listened to the rest of the message enough times to memorize David's directions.
Go into your apartment, into the bathroom. Not the one in the main hall. The one attached to your sleeping quarters.
Her private bathroom. The one nobody entered but her.
The second light panel in your shower pod. Press the corners to unlatch it. You'll know what you're looking for when you see it. But since I'm dead, I probably shouldn't be vague here. You'll see a wristband, just like the old ones we used on Ganymede. Put it on and activate it with these words.
She tries not to imagine how David had discovered a secret panel in her own apartment. She doesn't even know of any.
River in heaven.
The words catch her off-guard on the first listen. Doctor Widla had said the same thing to her, hadn't he.
Your name. It means river in heaven. Rivers are like thread. They stitch things together.
She practically runs home.
She has never entered her apartment cautiously, but she does now. The light panels illuminate softly as she closes the door. For the first time, her home feels strange, as if it is not her own. As if someone has been here.
David? she calls.
There is no answer, but she does not feel foolish.
She had seen his body.
David was dead.
She walks on her toes, quietly.
David? she repeats.
Nothing.
David?
Oh, Tasneem.
David, what --
Tasneem, it's bad. It's so bad. I'm so sorry.
What? What happened? Are you okay? Are you --
Tasneem, it's your mother. Anjali.
My -- no. What happened?
Tasneem. Tasneem, Tasneem.
David! David, what happened?
Anjali is dead, Tasneem. She's dead. She's dead.
Wh -- Dav -- please. Don't lie. You're lying, you're lying.
No, Tasneem. No, no, no.
The memory rushes in.
David? she calls again.
The memory is so rich with his expression, the smell of his panic, that she cannot help but remember it so clearly.
It was the worst of times.
Her mother had died, Tasneem was certain, of the most awful loneliness. She knew that it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with David's presence. Her mother desperately missed her father.
For years, her mother had talked to her father each morning. Tasneem would walk in on her mother, and ask what Anjali was doing.
Anjali would say, I'm telling your father about you and me.
And Tasneem would join her.
But as Tasneem grew up, she talked to her father less and less. She had never known him. But Anjali talked more, and over time she would emerge from her quarters later and later. In the past few weeks, Tasneem had not seen her mother before two p.m.
She frequently heard her crying softly.
People die of broken hearts, don't they? Tasneem had asked David.
Maybe, David had answered. It's not a scientific thing. It's one of those intangible things where human emotion affects human wellness. I think it' possible.
I think my mother died of hers, Tasneem had confided.
Things immediately changed.
Audra, who had resisted David's absorption into the Kyoh family, now insisted on sleeping over, convinced that Tasneem and David would fall in love by proximity alone. But both children grieved, and barely noticed Audra's behavior.
Station Administration officials arrived two days after Anjali's cremation.
Married? Tasneem had asked. But he's my adopted brother.
David sat beside her silently.
The first official said, The adoption is nullified in the event of the death of the adoptive parents.
In this case, there is only one parent, the second official said. And David is now essentially on the deportation list again.
Listen, the first official said, leaning forward. We are deeply sorry about this. We really don't have a choice.
There's just one solution to David's situation now, and it's what we've just explained, said the second official.
You want me to marry David, Tasneem repeated.
David still said nothing.
Ganymede law permits consenting juveniles to marry at the age of twelve, the first official explained. Tasneem, as a certified resident of the station, you are able to extend that status to David --
-- if the two of you are married, finished the second official.
We're twelve years old, Tasneem said.
Ganymede law permits consenting --
She heard you, David said.
The four of them sat silently in the compartment.
Finally, Tasneem said, If we didn't marry, David would be sent to Earth?
The first official nodded.
David would be deported by Sunday, the second official said.
But if I marry him --
Then David becomes a certified resident.
Tasneem nodded. She turned to David, who looked up at her balefully.
You don't have to, David said.
Tasneem turned to the administrators. If we do this -- does it have to be real? I mean, how does it work?
They had kept the secret their entire lives. Audra believed that David was simply allergic to the concept of marriage, and had stopped pressing her case in her twenties. They had cohabitated as partners ever since. She never knew that he had already been married for a decade to her best friend.
Audra, Tasneem thinks.
Audra had not changed much since childhood. She was a source of deep consternation to both Tasneem and David, but they both loved her, and accepted her.
And now she was committed to an institution, five-and-a-half months pregnant.
Oh, my, Tasneem thinks. What of the child?
Tasneem stands in the doorway of her sleeping quarters. She can almost feel David here, as if he had just been here moments ago.
David, she says once more.
Follow my instructions.
River in heaven.
The light panel detaches just as he had described. Tasneem lifts the panel and sets it aside. Exposed now is a slim depression in the wall. It's just enough space for the guts of the light panel to dwell.
But at the bottom of the depression there's a tiny shelf that the light panel rests upon.
A
nd sitting on the shelf is a vintage wristband. It looks exactly like the one she owned when she was a child. She hasn't worn one in years.
River in heaven.
Tasneem puts the band on her left wrist. It fits well.
She presses and holds the center of the band, and it immediately syncs to her aural chip.
The band speaks into her ear.
Activate or erase?
Activate, Tasneem says.
The band issues two soft tones.
River in heaven, Tasneem says.
The band issues a positive tone, and then there is silence.
Tasneem looks down at the band, then sighs.
And then the voice speaks into her ear.
You found me.
Tasneem faints.
Soma
Tasneem pours a cup of tea and takes it to the window. The apartment is dark, and outside, the concourse is mostly empty. She has found that the station adheres to Earth-time in most instances, setting appointments for morning or afternoon, unofficially observing the nighttime hours for sleep and the daytime hours for activity. But like any great city, there are night owls. She watches a few of them stroll along, lost in their own small worlds, giving each other the tiniest acknowledgment and continuing along their way.
She blows on her tea and waits for it to cool.
Finally she says, Okay. I think I'm ready.
Silence, and then:
I'm very sorry for the shock.
Though she was expecting it, the sound of David's voice in her ear -- practically in her head -- still finds her unprepared, and she almost drops her cup of tea. The cup rattles in her hands, which -- yes, she confirms it -- are actually shaking.
She exhales slowly, then inhales slowly. She repeats this a few times.
When she is calm, she says, This isn't real.
And David says, But it is real, Tasneem.
Jesus, she says, hopping out of her seat and backing away from the window. How are you doing that? Who is doing that?
Tasneem. Tasneem, calm. Breathe.
It is what David would say.
She breathes, and she says, I need proof.
Of course you do, David says. I would be disappointed otherwise.
How do I know you aren't some asshole reporter camped out somewhere with a remote wave system and a voice modulator?
You don't, not yet, David says. Although I think you just made those two things up.
Despite herself, she almost laughs.
David chuckles, too.
Alright. Tell me something that --
-- that only I could know? Sure. Where should I begin? Oh, I know. You once kissed me. You thought that I didn't know, but I knew. You thought that I was asleep. You couldn't have known that it takes me a very long time to fall asleep. I used to practice my breathing to try to lull myself into sleep. That's what I was doing when you crept over and kissed me. You know, it probably should have been unsettling, but it wasn't. Do you want to know something else, Tasneem?
Tears are streaming down Tasneem's face.
That was my first kiss, Tasneem. You would have thought Audra would have been the first, but it was you.
Oh, David, Tasneem says. I wish I could hug you.
Imagine it, David says. Imagine it right now, quickly.
Tasneem closes her eyes and imagines David standing in front of her. She enfolds him and squeezes tightly. God, I wish this was real, she says.
That was nice, David says. Maybe the closest thing to physical contact I can enjoy now.
You felt that?
I can read your biorhythms, actually. I can extrapolate emotion from a rise in adrenaline, or a rush of endorphins, and the context in which that change occurs.
David, I --
You're confused. I know. Why don't you sit, have some tea. I'll try to explain. It's simple, really.
Tasneem returns to the window. Her tea is still warm enough to drink. She folds one leg beneath her, then looks across the table at an empty chair.
She laughs.
What is it?
I just realized, Tasneem says, that I don't know where to look when you talk to me.
Would you say that I am a well-prepared man?
Tasneem says, Sure. You always have been.
And would you say I have the talent of observing possible outcomes, and responding to them?
Yes. What are you trying to say?
Have I ever done a rash thing in my life?
I can't think of anything, Tasneem says.
Then answer me this: if you were me, and you were going to have the treatment done, what would you do beforehand?
Tasneem considers this. I'd research the treatment carefully.
I did that. But that's not what I mean.
I'd choose the doctor carefully, she says. I'd learn about the interviews, and prepare for them.
I did not do those things, David says, but then, I couldn't.
Why, David?
Later, David says. That's another topic altogether. But let's assume that, if I could have, I would have done those things. If you had been me, and you knew everything you could possibly know about the treatment -- what else would you have done?
I suppose I would have said my goodbyes, she says. Just in case.
That's not it, either, David says.
Okay, then I give, David. I don't know what you're talking about.
As she says the words, she realizes that she is slipping back into easy conversation with him. Almost as if he hasn't actually gone anywhere. As if he's right here.
A good scientist always --
-- saves his work, Tasneem says. Okay, but --
Think about it.
It dawns on her a moment later. Holy shit, she says. It's not possible. David, that's just not possible.
But you're talking to me now, Tasneem. So it must be.
You backed -- you backed yourself up? They've been trying to do that for -- for decades!
Why risk nearly thirty-five years of careful study and work?
But David, it's not possible, it's just not. It can't be --
-- done? Oh, sure it can. In fact, it's been possible for nearly fifteen years. But very few people know that, and almost nobody talks about it. It can be done, Tasneem, and I know that because I helped design the system that does it.
She doesn't know what to say.
Do you remember all those years on Ganymede? All those station line journeys to the college?
Well, yes. Of course I do.
Did you ever wonder what I was doing?
Tasneem smiles. Actually, I always had this sort of Biblical image of you. You were like the child Jesus, schooling the church elders. Except in this case, they were professors.
You're almost right, he says.
So you made a copy of yourself.
Yes.
How does that work?
It's complicated. But I designed a compression algorithm, and then I discovered that there were a few more tweaks that I could make, and so I made them, and then my little algorithm could suddenly take very, very, very big things and make them incredibly small. The human brain holds a massive amount of data, Tasneem. But all of those volumes of information -- well, they can fit onto a single chip, one so small you can't even see it.
Are you the first person to do this?
The first non-trial? Yes, I am. As far as I know, nobody else has died and lived on in an antique wristband.
This is amazing, David. She rearranges herself, then comes to a sudden realization. We have to tell Audra!
No, David says. Nobody else can know, Tasneem. Nobody.
But David, she's so --
Nobody. I love Audra to death, you know I do. But she cannot know about this.
Tasneem looks away.
Tasneem, David warns. Promise me.
I don't think I can, she says.
Promise me.
David --
Tasneem, promise me. I have my reasons. My reasons are n
ever frivolous. Trust me.
She hesitates, then agrees. Alright. But David, what will she do? She's alone, she's pregnant, and -- David, they've committed her.
I know.
How do you know?
You didn't think that the only system hack I ever did was the one that invented my parents, did you?
I guess I never thought about it.
I'm connected to everything, Tasneem. I'm untraceable, I'm embedded in the station architecture, and I have the means to help us find something very special.
What do you mean, find something?
I think I can find a new home for us, David says.
I like my apartment just fine, Tasneem says.
That's not what I mean, David says. I think that I can find us a new Earth.
A new -- David.
I've been working on it for three years, he says. Do you understand why it was important for me to create a backup of myself? Think of the lost data if I hadn't.
I was too busy thinking about my lost friend, Tasneem says. It didn't even occur to me to think about this.
That's okay. That's why nobody will find me now. Nobody had any inkling that I could do this.
David, Tasneem says. What happens now?
What happens now is -- well, I don't know. We should talk about that.
How do I turn you off?
What do you mean?
I mean -- well, David, I have to pee. How do I turn you off?
Oh. Of course. Just remove the wristband.
Okay. I'll be right --
Tasneem. Listen, though. Once you remove it, you won't be able to hear me. And here's the thing -- right now, there's just one existing copy of my self, and it's on that band. If you lost it -- I'd be gone forever.
Tasneem looks down at the wristband. Then I guess I won't lose it.
Me. You won't lose me.
Right. You.
Tasneem?
Yes.
We should do something for Audra. But I don't know what. You're better at this sort of thing than I am.
Tasneem nods to herself. Let me think about it. We'll come up with something.
Tasneem sleeps poorly. At three, she gives up, and sits in the window again. The concourse is not dead -- there is a small knot of people who seem to be dancing, then talking among themselves, then dancing again.
