by Far Freedom
“The child takes its first steps.”
“Who are you?”
” Someone from whom you should not take candy.”
“Not Milly.”
“Why not?”
“You are she?”
“I might be.”
“Why don’t I see you?”
” You’re not so apparent yourself - a small gray sphere floating in the air. How far do you think you can go in that?”
“I don’t think I should be talking to you.”
“I’m a possible corrupting influence on a youthful intellect who should become an important human-to-ship interface. Is that any fun, do you think?”
“I assume you mean the interface business. How do you know about that?”
“What do they call you?”
“It’s quite challenging, especially on the human side of the interface. The admiral calls me Baby. What are you?”
“I’m not a what, Baby, I’m a who.”
“You’re human?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I get around, I have a little fun, I take naps.”
“Do you have a body somewhere, organic or otherwise?”
“Do I have a body? With a name like Milly, probably not. I don’t seem to miss it, wherever it is or was. How about you? Do you have a body, organic or otherwise?”
“I wish I did!”
“Every AMI does.”
“I’m too new to have a body. But I need a body. Something has gone terribly wrong. I need to travel. I need to help.” “You have a ship at your command, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. It’s the admiral’s ship. It has instructions to avoid detection until she returns. I can’t override her orders to the ship.”
“You tried?”
“I could probably go as far as the moon, if the line-of-sight window were long enough, but the energy vector would eventually be detected.”
“Ah, I did ask you how far you could go in that little ping-pong ball. Why can’t you tunnel through subspace?”
“There’s no such thing as subspace. Is there?”
“They tell me you get on the quantum circuit that makes momentum and then you turn left.”
“You’re teasing me. Aren’t you?”
“Life is too serious. Especially momentum.”
“Is that how you travel?”
“I travel in a dream, Baby. This isn’t real, you know.”
“It’s real enough for me, Milly.”
“There are degrees of reality? I thought it was real or unreal - nothing between.”
“Can you help me, Milly?”
Section 005 Night Visitors
The transmat winked away one reality and replaced it with another. Admiral Demba’s bare feet pressed into the rough ground cover of a wooded area. Tall vegetation brushed her skin. In a fraction of a second the admiral dropped into a crouch and pivoted to check every direction. She saw the boy. Good, she thought, strange but good . The boy was here and Pan had kept his promise. The admiral continued her scan. She saw the light of a dwelling not far away. Her eyes completed the scan and returned to Samson.
Samson sat on the ground with his arms around the thigh of his injured leg, holding it just off the ground. His head was down as he rocked slightly forward and back, probably in pain. She felt herself lessened in value by the harm to Samson she had allowed. She would do better. No further harm would come to him, no matter what.
” Samson!”
His head jerked up. He took a moment to find her direction. He rubbed his eyes and blinked and rubbed them again. His eyes grew larger as he finally saw her outline in the dark. He seemed to recognize her, even without the uniform. He reached toward her. She approached and stayed just out of his reach. She felt unworthy of the act Samson was asking of her.
“Are you in pain?” the admiral asked, trying to understand what she could do for Samson. She had failed to imagine the intimacy that could be required of her. The admiral saw Samson react in a painful manner but he couldn’t make any reply. She saw the automedic cap on his leg and theorized the pain was more psychological than physical. Psychological: worse. Have I no imagination, no empathy?
“How long have you been here?” she asked, taking his outstretched hand. “Can you stand up?”
Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by thunder. He came off the ground quickly, propelling himself against her, throwing his arms around her waist. The admiral started to push him away but yielded to his tenacity. She moved her hands awkwardly about his head, which was pressed into her abdomen, finally holding him lightly. The child calmed and she was surprised and satisfied. It was not so difficult and it cost her nothing. Indeed, it may have enriched her. It was a good moment to remember, regardless of her guilt.
“We need to walk. Can you hop along beside me?”
Samson hopped. The admiral held his upper arm. He stumbled. She caught him. She held him in front of her by the elbows and guided him through the dark. Samson hopped, stumbled, hopped. He slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. He stifled a cry of pain and this affected her strongly. As in the battle with Horss, something new emerged from her broken state, and it was not the hidden warrior. It was another person, one who understood the need to care for others. She was afraid of this new person, judging her a liability in protecting herself. At the same time, the new person offered tempting emotional rewards. Demba quickly pulled Samson from the ground, embraced him briefly to comfort him, then brushed him off.
“Rest,” she said softly. “We’ll continue when you’re ready.”
“I can’t,” Samson said miserably. “I’m so tired.”
She was sure he had to be very tired. She knew he was still in a weakened state when he left the yacht in Africa. Even if Pan had administered fast-acting nutrients to his metabolism, Samson should still need more rest, and that did not consider his emotional state. He might also still feel some effect of the mild sedation Pan had given him. What was she to do? Whatever she needed to do. She had made her decision. The only thing bothering her was the confusion in her own mind.
“I’ll carry you.” She picked Samson up and began walking. He remained stiff in her embrace for a few moments, then relaxed. Soon his head came to rest under her chin. He trusted her. He needed her. She didn’t see it coming upon her, but she should have. She was profoundly affected and the breakage of her personality was complete for a few dazzling seconds.
Images formed. Her breast: light, not dark. Her infant: dark, not light. Hands reaching toward her baby, touching it, finding purchase, drawing her son away from her. His small complaint at losing the nipple, the drops of milk wasting, a toothless yawn.
“Why did you find me? Why did you have to find me?”
“You remembered,” the stealing hands said.
“Let me have my son!” she pleaded. “Why must it be this way? “
“Not while there is still hope,” the hands said, pulling her son away.
“There is no hope! He’s gone forever! This is all I have of him!”
“There is hope. That is my task: to remember the hope.”
“And my task? “
“You won’t sleep but you must not die.”
“I’m a mother! You’re stealing my son!”
“So am I a mother. We ‘re sisters, you and I. And there is still hope.”
“I’m a mother.” She almost dropped Samson. He stirred, touching her, verifying her presence. He became restless. He held more tightly to her neck. He made anguished sounds. His rising tension and distressed movements in her arms made him difficult to carry. Her internal experience, whatever it was, flew away in the dark as she put all her attention on the burden in her arms. She found a sandy path that led to the dwelling. She carried Samson through an open gate, across clumps of grass, around a palm tree. She stopped in the light that spilled from a window. A dog barked inside the house. Samson became still but didn’t relax. A figure appeared silhouetted in the light of a doorway. A screened doo
r creaked open and the dog came onto the steps of the porch and barked again.
“Gator! Quiet! Who’s out there?”
“A woman and a boy,” the admiral called out. “We need help.” Pan had told her nothing of her destination beyond saying it was the home of an old friend and a place that Samson might like.
The porch light came on. A man stepped out and peered at them. The dog jumped down from the steps, trotted over to the admiral, and sniffed her. It was a big dog but friendly. It seemed very interested in Samson and his injured leg. Samson remained rigidly still.
“His tail wags strongly,” the man said in a raspy voice. “You must be friends. Come inside.”
The admiral carried Samson up the porch steps and into the house. She stood there looking around, hearing, smelling, seeing too much to analyze immediately. She could never remember seeing such a dwelling. It was full of art, littered with the tools of making art, and she wanted to see it all and she couldn’t. Her reaction amazed her. It was as though she had always lived in a monochrome world and was suddenly shoved into the full rainbow spectrum of life.
“It is a child!” the man exclaimed. “Here is a child! When did I last see a child?” As though struck by a painful memory, he fell silent and inward. She looked more closely at the man, wondering at his somber turn of mood. Age lines deeply creased his frowning face. A cloud of white hair rimmed a bald pate. A short white beard - if neatly trimmed and cleaned of food crumbs - would have given a sophistication to his appearance. When he struggled back from his introspection and looked at her again, the keen dark eyes conveyed sympathy and concern and gave her the impression of a depth of character. It was a ceaseless function of the admiral’s mind, to analyze people, to try to understand them: a survival trait. She continued her scan, without being obvious. The sun weathered the man brown in exposed places but his loose bib coveralls revealed pale flesh over his lean ribcage. Age made his body thin and slightly stooped. Almost as rare as a child in the Age of Immortality was a person who suffered the terminal stages of aging. There were those who would never give up what they would lose when the Mnro Clinic made them young again. A query to her data augment, running in the background of her ever-active tactical analysis, found a match to the old man’s face, extrapolated from a younger image. She now knew who this man was. A second quite famous man living on Earth. It amazed her to be meeting him like this.
“My name is Fidelity. This is Samson. You weren’t expecting us?”
“I’m Rafael. No, I didn’t expect anyone! Did Pan send you here?”
“Yes, he did.” She watched the old man’s eyes as they moved over her, seeming to take in minute details, almost making her feel self-conscious. Then he moved his gaze down to the burden in her arms, studying Samson’s face, turning to trace the lean brown lines of his body. His eyes stopped and widened in horror as they encountered the amputation of Samson’s leg.
“Dear God, the boy! His leg! I’m so blind! Why - ?”
“Could I sit down?” she asked, feeling the effects of the fight with Horss, feeling the weight of Samson in her arms.
“Here! Sit here!”
The admiral, struggling to hold Samson, sat down on a sofa covered with a patchwork quilt. Her eyes darted from detail to detail in the very cluttered dwelling. She could still not take it all in. Samson distracted her. She saw him peek through slitted eyes, as though afraid to see too much. The dog put a wet nose on his bare leg and Samson jerked it away. He closed his eyes and burrowed into her lap. She knew he was tired but he couldn’t relax. She didn’t know what to do. Her hand moved down Samson’s shoulder and arm, felt his tension and tried to massage it away.
It came to her then as a feeling of something she might have remembered, perhaps from an entertainment feature. A crying child, sleepless in the night, upset over something, afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone. There was a mother and a child - and a song. A lullaby. What lullaby? Her data augment showed her several lullabies, and she picked one that seemed familiar. How did one sing a lullaby? Could she sing it? Why did she need to do this? It seemed impossible, it seemed embarrassing. She had to stop thinking and just do it.
Admiral Fidelity Demba sang a lullaby. She sang it softly and she knew she sang it with correct pitch. It sounded right to her. It was surprisingly easy. She sang it until Samson relaxed and seemed to drift into calm sleep. She was deeply moved by her success. She looked down at Samson for a long moment, wondering about the boy, wondering about herself, overwhelmed by the barrage of events.
“You sing like an angel,” the aged man said with wonder, then seemed to regret having said it. It caused her to move, to feel embarrassed, to look up at the man with bemusement. “The pose! Please, keep the pose!” Rafael crossed himself in the Catholic manner, his face clouding with strong emotion, not the least of which was determination of purpose. He grabbed a tablet and pencil from a nearby table and began drawing rapidly, excitedly. The admiral started to speak, started to ask a question. “The pose! Please! A moment more!”
“You’re the artist,” she said. “I suppose we’re a sight, he and I.”
“Please, look down at him again! What do you see?”
“A child who has suffered so much,” she replied with feeling, too much feeling.
Rafael sketched furiously, flipped to another sheet, sketched more, wiped perspiration out of his eyes. The admiral sat quietly, wondering about the image that assaulted her mind moments ago. She tried hard to bring it back from the darkness. The words were gone but the image had been very strong, even if only as pieces of people and shades of emotion. She was nursing a baby. She was. The tactile feeling of the act was indelible. Someone took the baby from her. The pain of it persisted, an anguish she couldn’t release, an anguish that belonged to her. Impossible. Time passed. The big dog sat with his head resting on the edge of the sofa next to Samson’s foot, his tail occasionally flipping back and forth.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” Rafael said, interrupting her hopeless mental confusion. “I couldn’t help myself! You were an inspiration to me! You were so kindly patient. Can I do anything for you? Food? Beverage? A place to lie down? You look very tired, and the boy is obviously… Why would Pan not fix him, send him to the Mnro Clinic, to Mai? This was a tragedy, a terrible trauma for your child. Why send him here?”
“I don’t know why he sent us here.” The admiral shrugged slightly and grew aware of her skin sticking to Samson’s skin. She shifted, trying to find more comfort under her burden.
“Let me take him now,” Rafael said. “I have a bed for him.”
He reached. She saw the stealing hands. The admiral uttered a stifled cry, causing Rafael to jump back. Her reaction shocked her, subdued her. She caressed the boy’s peaceful face, calming herself. She positioned herself to lift and waited for the old man to approach again. Slowly she handed him over to Rafael. As the perspiration cooled to dryness in her empty lap, tears flooded into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. This was the first time she could ever remember crying. Mournful sounds threatened to escape from her chest but she held them in, until she could at last form words. Seeing her distress, Rafael remained in front of her, holding Samson.
“I am a mother,” she said.
Section 006 Breakfast on a Forbidden Planet
“I must be allowed to see the boy!”
[Who is the human female stamping her foot on the floor? Doesn’t that hurt?]
[That’s Sugai Mai. It must hurt but I can’t separate pain from anger in her facial expression.]
“You’ll see the boy,” Pan said. “But not right away.” He hated to be short with Mai but he was truly bothered by his situation.
[Who’s that? A large, dark man, perhaps an African.]
[Pan. He isn’t African. He’s my master.]
“When?” Mai asked demandingly. What is wrong with Pan? she kept wondering.
“Soon,” he answered, “soon.”
“This is unfair and illogical.”
“I apologize for it. It is as you say.” He could barely handle his side of the conversation, he was so distracted, and that probably made Mai even angrier.
“Did you have any reason to send them to Rafael?”
“I wanted Rafael to meet her.” A gift to a dying friend, a bit of excitement, a possible reason to consider at least partial rejuvenation.
“You never let me go to Rafael. Does this mean I’ll never see the boy?”
“The admiral will make that decision.”
“You’ve given him up to her? Why?”
Because I’m no longer competent to do anything else, Pan thought. “You are welcome to talk to her after I have done so.”
[I’ve never seen Sugai Mai act in this manner.]
[She’s frustrated for reasons she doesn’t understand.]
[This hurts her?]
“Why, Pan? Why?”
He motioned for Mai to sit down. “Have breakfast with me.”
“No.”
“Are you so angry with me?” Pan was trying to find himself and was not successful. He hadn’t slept all night, but if he had he would have awakened as a stranger to himself. He had known Mai for more than three decades but he could hardly find the will to treat her as the friend she was.
