Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  “I think you're reading too much into an unconnected series of conversations, Teresa.”

  “That would be a reasonable proposal. Except for the thing in your hands. It appears to be metal. If it is, it’s enough metal to buy the entire segment. But you're working as a deckhand. One of these things is not like the other. Know what I mean?” She smiled at the last sentence.

  “Uh…”

  Teresa rolled her eyes. “You’re usually a bit more articulate than that, Enochi. Do you need a slap?”

  I chortled. “No, thanks teach. So what are you going to do?”

  “If I tried to call you out, would I survive?”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “That would be the most effective way of dealing with the problem, and from a strictly utilitarian point of view, it might even pass muster. But no, I work that way. I’d just run. And I'd have to take a chance on getting this wet.” I held up the matrix to illustrate.

  “So, you are the person they're looking for.”

  “I'm pretty sure. There’s always the possibility of coincidence, but I'm going to guess that's unlikely, and even if that turned out to be the case, I'd still end up in the pokey until they straightened it all out.”

  “What are you guilty of?”

  “Trying to rescue a friend. Seriously Teresa, that's all I'm doing.”

  She nodded. “I believe you. I may be biased, but I don't see someone being able to understand moral philosophy without being guided by it. Besides: you’re very interesting to talk to.”

  I laughed softly and muttered, “Dance, monkey, dance.”

  “What?”

  “Oh. Uh, it's an ironic statement where I'm from. It means I have to continue to be entertaining in order to preserve my safety.”

  “I hope you won’t view me that way, Enochi.” She smiled sadly. “I see no reason to expose you. Tell me this though: is wherever you’re from outside of Heaven's River? Or at least outside of what the rest of us live in?”

  I hesitated… then decided to go for it.

  “Yes, Teresa. And you're right, I'm not Quinlan. There is an Administrator, but they aren’t a deity, just an engineering construct. And they’re after me because they want this back.” I gestured with the matrix again.

  “Is it there’s?”

  I shook my head. “No. In fact, I literally personally built this item myself. The Administrator took it from me, then the Resistance took it from them, and now I am trying to take it back. That is enormously simplified, and leaves a lot of detail, but it is the truth.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I will miss our discussions.”

  “Because, no doubt, you will be leaving without notice at the first opportunity. Good night, Enochi.” And with that, she turned and headed back to where granddaughter was curled up.

  I was shaken. As I finished securing the matrix and placed my spider back into the trunk, I had plenty of time to consider my options. Granted, of all the people to discover me, she was probably the best option. But however I parsed it, I was exposed. And she was right: the safest move might be for me to leave straightaway.

  90 miles, more or less. That was the surface distance between rivers. I briefly considered doing an overland hike to the next river, but that was just too far. Five days hiking, and that was if nothing went wrong, and again, I couldn't use streams or tributaries.

  Teresa and Freda were at it again, theistic versus atheistic morality. I'd heard it all so many times before, mostly when I was still alive, that it was hard to stay interested. Teresa glanced at me from time to time, but made no effort to draw me into the conversation. Orrick, however, had no reservations.

  “Enochi, what in Father's name is wrong with you? Run out of things to talk about?”

  “I… uh, I have things on my mind, Orrick. Sorry, I’ll get over myself soon.”

  Teresa smiled at me. “It's okay, it's not like we're on a schedule.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, just as the captain started her daily tirade about sloppy, lazy, do-nothing deckhands. Turned out we were on a schedule.

  “We’ll be turning around at the end of this segment, Ted said during a rest break. “You still planning on continuing east?”

  “Yep. As far as I know haven't moved my home city.”

  “Teresa and Belinda are getting off at Misty Falls - that's our last stop before turnaround. I guess you’ll all be getting off together.

  I thought about that for a moment, but I couldn’t see how it affected my level of risk. Teresa wasn't any more likely to suddenly loudly denounce me just because she was on land. Still, once I was on another boat among a whole new set of strangers, I’d feel a lot better.

  By midday. We were approaching the Misty Falls docks. I can account for the fact that I felt more sadness than a sense of dread or danger, until he realized that I would never see Teresa again. She’d become very much a friend over a surprisingly short time. However, I have no choice. There wasn't even a case of getting away. The Hurricane was turning around to head along the Paradise River.

  Docking was the usual chaotic jumble of yelled orders and flying ropes, and then we were moored. At that point Captain Lisa came over to say goodbye to Teresa, Belinda, and me. They'd have enough deckhands with Harvey, who was staying on, but no passengers for the return trip. I hoped they'd still be able to turn a profit. I picked up my trunk and followed Belinda and Teresa down the gangplank, not particularly paying attention.

  Which I guess explained my surprise when we walked out into a circle of cops.

  19. Recall is a Thing

  Howard

  August 2334

  Trantor

  I sat back and put my hands behind my head, grinning like a fool.

  “You have that smug look, Bridget said. “What happened?”

  “Well, it turns out we're not the only replicants with money and influence.” I waved a hand at the email displayed on the canvas. “Senator Macintosh, remember him? Loudly anti-replicant? He’s being recalled.”

  “Really?”

  “They got the required signatures, and guess who was behind the recall campaign?”

  “Us?”

  I laughed. “No, although I would've loved to have a hand in it. The man is a toxic dump of xenophobia and undirected hate. It's possible he didn't realize that the Afterlife Replicant Reserve is part of his district. Or maybe he thought he could remove our rights before they could fight back or something.”

  Bridget frowned. “That would be a couple hundred signatures at most. They'd need…” Bridget's eyes lost focus for a moment. “… something like 15,000 to succeed.”

  “Yep. Turns out though, that people are concerned about their afterlife. Afterlives? Anyway, the anti-Macintosh group started comparing him to FAITH, in terms of removing replicant rights, then implied that no matter what kind of post-life set up someone chose, he'd be after them sooner or later. I guess it's different when you're personally threatened.”

  Bridget snorted and sat down beside me. She spent a few seconds paging through the news items before turning to face me.

  “Still, he hasn't actually been voted out yet. Let’s not count our politicians before their properly cooked. And the overall problem is still there: mistrust of replicants.”

  “Which is why I've started a rumor that someone is working on Mannies for the living. It's not exactly spilling the beans. For instance, I didn't share any information about exactly who is doing this, or how far along we - er, they - are. But the point is that if humans think they can have a Manny while they're still alive, a full ban will be a hard sell.”

  Bridget smiled noncommittally them pulled up a new window. “I have an expiration candidate.”

  I peered at the information on the surface. “Is this new?”

  “Just discovered. Mario and his crew are still searching for Others nests. They haven’t found any, but naturally there exploring new systems in the process. They've found a few more planets that were hit by the Othe
rs, and some other planets that hadn't been yet, but probably would have been soon enough. This particular one is… well, just read it.”

  I reached across her and paged down through the summary. I could feel a frown forming on my face been, then deepening as I continued to read. “Is this for real.”

  “Unless Mario has suddenly developed a warped sense of humor, yes. This might turn out to be the weirdest ecosystem I've ever seen. And remember, I've seen Quilt.”

  I flip the pages up and down a few times, then grinned at her. “Shades of Flash Gordon, this could be fun.”

  Bridget laughed in reply. “I've asked Mario to create us a full space station and autofactory in the system. While he’s on that, I'll use his spy drones to get some prelims. We'll have to do a lot of research on this one. Maybe even more than with the Quinlans.”

  “Wow.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Flying monkeys.”

  “Not monkeys.”

  “Close enough.” I closed the window. “This is going to be your biggest blog subject ever.”

  20. Moving On

  Bob

  August 2334

  Misty Falls

  “We need to look in your trunk, sir,” the cop said to me.

  I stood frozen for a second, trying to decide if I should make a break for it.

  Teresa's voice cut through the silence. “Why in particular, would you need to see the contents of my trunk officer?”

  He turned to her, surprise on his face. “Your trunk?”

  She gave him an arched look. “Do I look like I can carry that thing around on my own? I've paid him two coppers to porter for me. If you keep us too long, the captain will have to delay departure.”

  “Oh, um… and you are?”

  “I am Teresa Cycorski, lady of the University of Peach Land.”

  The cop stepped back, abashed. And I couldn't blame him. This was the first I'd heard that Teresa had a family name, and a well-known one, apparently. That she hadn't thrown it in Snidely's face showed an amazing level of restraint. But meanwhile, the cops were almost falling over themselves trying to placate her. She gave them a sniff, and gestured imperiously for me to follow.

  As we marched away, I muttered to her, “You could left him some fur.”

  She laughed and stopped. “Let that be my parting gift to you, Enochi. I hope I might someday learn more of your world. And of my world, for that matter. Goodbye.”

  I said goodbye and headed quickly down the nearest street, trying not to choke up. I have a whole six irons in pay for my time on the Hurricane. With the two still in my stomach, I was a wealthy man.

  Okay, not man - Quinlan. Okay not wealthy either. I can survive for a few days, if I had to pay for a hotel. Like it or not, I was going to have to get back on a boat. Quickly. But I couldn’t go back to the dock now - the cops would certainly remember me and the trunk. I could change my appearance, but not the trunk.

  Or could I?

  I tried to remember where the shipping office was. I'd seen it out of the corner of my eyes as we left the port area. Quickly, I played back the video archive until I found it. I headed back toward the dock, taking the long way around so that the shipping office would be between me and the cops, assuming they were still maintaining watch. On the way, I gradually changed my appearance, using features from random pedestrians to produce a mashup that shouldn't resemble any one individual. I just hoped I was getting it right. I couldn't take out my spider to get a selfie. If people screamed and turned away, I’d have to start over.

  As hoped, the shipping office sold shipping containers. At one iron a piece, they weren't expensive or high quality, but the idea wasn't high security - it was to hide the contents. A roll of eyelets around the lid allow the user to essentially tie it shut, as with a shoelace. It was good enough. The clerk wanted to sell me postage as well, but I initially demurred, since I would be traveling with the package. Still, it was probably better to do things the normal way. Finally, I paid the three irons, then filled in the tag with just my name and Garrick's Spine. But I insisted that I would deliver the box to an appropriate boat.

  “Knock yourself out,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

  I headed back to the dock, shipping container held awkwardly in both hands, and stopped at the dock master's office.

  “Good day, sir,” I said to the person at the counter. “Could you tell me if any ships heading down river are looking for deckhands?”

  Counter guy I glanced at the container in my hands with a frown. “Uh, deckhands? Or postal run?”

  “Both. I have a package that I have to send downriver as well. Killing two fish with one spear. Doesn't have to be the same boat.”

  He nodded, satisfied, and gave me a couple of names.

  Explanation notwithstanding, I wasn't going to put Bender on a different vessel. I had to hope the boat looking for help would also take an extra shipping container. I thanked him and headed for the indicated berth.

  The Clipper was somewhat less barge-like than the Hurricane had been. It even had a below-deck area fit for habitation. If you didn't mind crouching a little. It also appeared to be in a state of chaos. People were running around while the captain screamed orders with the same volume and enthusiasm is Lisa's best work.

  I watched for about five seconds, simply absorbing the frenetic energy. I waved at one of the deckhands, any slowed down to acknowledge me, but didn't come to a complete stop. Definitely stressed. I walked along with him.

  “I was told you need a deckhand.”

  “You think? What's the box?”

  “A parcel. I've paid postage-”

  “Whatever, put it with the postage items on deck. Standard pay, see that pile of crates? Goes over there, get to work.”

  I was left opening and closing my mouth for a moment, wondering when I get to present my sales pitch. Reluctantly accepting victory, I placed my box in the postal pile, then jumped to work, grabbing boxes and lugging them up the gangplank. They were heavy, and there were a lot of them, but the Manny was more than up to the task. I had to dive into the water twice to cool off, but everyone else was doing the same. As usual. In short order. I have the pallet moved.

  “Next,” I said to the same deckhand, who turned out to be the foreman. With a pleased expression, he pointed to another pile of boxes.

  About two hours later he began to look like we were catching up. I did a quick cooling dunk, then joined the other deckhands. The foreman slapped me on the shoulder. “Good work. I hope you can keep up that level of energy. It looks like we're going to be shorthanded.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Cops came by and arrested two of our crew for no reason I could see, took a personal effects too. It’s supposed to be just for one night, but we can't wait. We have performance clauses on this shipments, so we’re leaving by dusk if the captain has to row the boat himself.”

  “Which each explains why he seemed excited,” I replied.

  Foreman guy laughed. “Yeah, excited, that's what we call it. He used some threats I've never heard before. I think he was saving them for today.”

  I grinned. “I'm Sam Ga-” Oops, I almost gave myself a last name again. Nope, didn't need the notoriety. My faux pas didn't register though, or maybe the translation software hadn't passed it on. The foreman, whose name was Ralph, introduced the team just as the captain started up with another tirade.

  “Time to cast off people,” Ralph said, rolling his eyes in the captain's direction.

  We got back to work, aided by more of the captain's helpful suggestions. I did notice that those suggestions tended to be anatomically related. This guy ran a theme, I guess. The duties on the Clipper were generally the same as on the Hurricane with a few extra tweaks, since it was a bigger boat and a full-on catamaran design. We moved a few items below decks on Ralph's orders and checked the sails once more, and we were done. Until the next time the captain’s head exploded.

  I’d almost tripped on several occas
ions over a quartet of Quinlans who had parked their butts in the middle of the deck. A few choice words from Ralph, and they found a more out-of-the-way location. Now that I had the time to actually look at them, I realized they were probably a sabbat. It was odd that they’d be paying for passage when we were going through a connector or segment boundary, where the turbulence could get uncomfortable and tiring to fight.

  “Hi all,” I said, holding up a hand. “I'm Sam, lately out of a sabbat myself. We just went our own ways, a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Hello, Sam,” replied one of the group. “I'm Tina, and these are Fred, Tony, and Barb. We’re looking to Homestead. We’ll be jumping as soon as we see a good spot.”

  “Starting your own town?”

  “Nothing so ambitious. We want to get away from towns, altogether. Don't need them. The fishing is good, this is in one of the cold segments, and a nest is easier to make and maintain. And we won't have to worry about the juniors getting into trouble.

  “So you’re going back to the wild.”

  “Pretty much. Don't need the rest of it. Counting irons to see if your ahead, you know.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I do. Kind of. You’re not the first group I’ve run into that’s doing this, either.”

  She smiled in reply, and I glanced at the other three. None of them seemed inclined to chime in. It was unsettling. This was an intelligent species, devolving almost right in front of my eyes. Tina and I talked about inconsequential things for a bit until Tony suddenly declared “Food time!” and slipped over the edge of the boat. The others joined him. Tina gave me an apologetic shrug before leaving.

  I settled myself on the deck to get a bit of sun, following the sailor’s tradition of resting whenever possible. A couple of the other deckhands joined me after glancing at the captain, who was ignoring us for the moment. A few minutes later, the members of the sabbat pooted onto the deck and settled down with their catch. It was a comfortable, drowsy, idyllic interlude - something I hadn’t gotten anywhere near enough of, since the Starfleet issue started. If I'd still been bio, I'd of drifted off to sleep. Some of my coworkers seem to be doing exactly that.