The Naked World

by Eli K. P. William

  Then he saw it. T. T for tricycle? There was a tricycle polished to a bright silver gleam leaning on the bookshelf along the wall furthest from the door. “Tricycle” immediately made Amon think of toraishikuru, which had been shortened to Tora, which meant Tiger and was shortened again to Ty. T for Ty?

  A jolt of alarm went from the base of Amon’s spine to the top of his head and out to the tips of his fingers. But he quelled the urge to leap to his feet as he’d done when he’d become suspicious of Sekido in Shuffle Boom—that had just brought Freg and Tororo to dispense with him and there were guards over by the door who might do the same. Instead, he directed his gaze to the golden liquid in his teacup as calmly as he could. Then he remembered the many sentries with dusters he’d seen on his way here from the border. Amon realized now that his feeling of security upon returning to Xenocyst had lowered his defenses. With paralyzed wits, disoriented and distracted further by the destruction that had rendered the closest place he had to home almost unrecognizable, he’d hardly noticed the dusters, but they could only have been acquired from the Charity Brigade. In a flash Amon saw the crowds gathered to hear Barrow speak around the embyrbrycks, his passionate speech in support of war at the council, his sudden flip-flop to agree with Amon’s more peaceful plan. What had Barrow done? Had he seen Amon’s surprise when he noticed Ty’s tricycle, practically a part of his body, all its chipped yellow paint scraped off and unattended by Ty?

  “Where did Xenocyst get this wonderful tea from by the way?” Amon asked. In Hinkongo, the English loan word “tea” referred to all different kinds of tea, including the sencha they were drinking, and Amon used the word in this way even though they were speaking standard Japanese, as he tried to dissemble his fear and remain seamlessly on the “T” topic. He took his first sip of the fresh pot but tasted only bitterness. “I haven’t had anything like this for ages.”

  “A philanthropaneur stopped by recently, one of Hippo’s old supporters, and donated a large supply of leaves from Uji. Not half bad, is it?”

  More like you made a deal with the philanthropaneurs in Delivery and this was part of the payment, along with the dusters, thought Amon. But what kind of deal, and why?

  “And what about all these antiques and things?”

  “Oh, this junk? Now that we have all sorts of artifacts from the trove I provided, the council has taken my advice to make a kind of live-in educational space where people can learn about other eras by actually inhabiting them. This is meant to supplement the text-based educational materials on the shelves.”

  Amon nodded as though this made sense to him, but he was thinking what a consummate liar Barrow was, a born politician if ever there was one. So sly-tongued, it seemed, that he had deceived Book when telling his fabricated story in the mirror at his first visit to the council. If anyone could pull it off, it was Barrow.

  “And how about the hot water? How did you heat it up?” The moment he said this, Amon knew it was a foolish question, for it would only alert Barrow to his suspicions. But his thoughts were in such turmoil he couldn’t think how else to fill the space.

  “I’d be happy, of course, to explain all the changes that have been taking place here, Amon, but shall we get back to your story first? I’m curious to know what happened, because it may help us decide what to do next.”

  “Right,” said Amon, but in Barrow’s devious husky-blue eyes, he thought he could see some glimmer that he knew Amon was clueing in. The doorway was to Amon’s back and he didn’t want to turn his head to check how many guards there were, but he had seen a couple of servers come in so there had to be at least two. He couldn’t tell if they’d been armed but, judging by the equipment of the guards on the way in, someone with an assault duster couldn’t be far off. Even if Amon managed to nerve dust Barrow and however many guards were present, their screams would surely draw reinforcements and Amon would have no hope of escaping alive. He needed to find another way out. “But can I use the toilet first?”

  It was true that he had to pee, and Amon stood up.

  “The toilet?” said Barrow, looking at Amon with narrowed eyes. There was a pause after that, and Amon knew with certainty that Barrow could read his doubts. Amon was just reaching for his duster when Barrow winked his left eye and Amon felt hands on him from behind. He jerked away but was already fast in the grip of two men who must have been lurking behind him, one gripping his shoulders to pin him in place, the other grabbing his right arm and twisting it up behind his back. Barrow nodded and a third man reached down to Amon’s holster. Amon tried to knee his hand, but the second man wrenched his arm up hard and the pain drained all his remaining strength. When Amon had been disarmed, Barrow nodded again and the men released him.

  “My apologies, Amon. I was trying not to upset you so that we could get through this conversation without having to resort to that. But I seem to have failed.”

  “Where’s Hippo?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  “You were lying about Ty and Vertical, weren’t you? They’re not resting at all.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I was trying to familiarize you with the situation gradually. If I revealed all our tragedies too quickly in your present state, I was afraid I might shock you and we would be unable to finish our conversation.”

  “The OpScis and the Charity Brigade never attacked us. It was you and your followers!”

  “Now that is not true. I was being honest with you before when I said we don’t know who attacked us.”

  “And who exactly are ‘we’?”

  “You must understand. This was the only way that the community could survive. We could no longer go on being a xenocyst. Our cell had to metastasize. We had to take on an antagonistic role and fight for our place in this world. Hippo couldn’t see that. He didn’t realize that the political situation has shifted and that old strategies no longer apply.

  “Xenocyst is nominally a democracy, but Hippo still wielded immense power as an advisor. Nothing was going to improve under his influence. For the good of the community a change had to take place, and we were planning to pursue peaceful, democratic means. Then Xenocyst was assaulted in the middle of the night. We were overrun by a strange mix of intruders. Some were dressed as OpScis, some as freekeepers, and some as standard residents. In the confusion it was impossible to tell who was fighting on what side, and before anyone knew it, Hippo and the council were gone. Someone had to take charge in this crisis. That is the only reason we moved in here, to serve as the last line of defense against sheer chaos, and I see to warming Hippo’s seat not with joy but out of necessity.”

  Spoken in the commanding, crystal lilt of Barrow’s voice, Amon almost felt persuaded—but not quite. For if the coup hadn’t been planned, how come they were already so well armed? The story was just too convenient to be believed.

  “So what did happen to Ty and Vertical? Are you going to tell me they disappeared with the council?”

  “Very likely, yes.”

  “Then what’s Ty’s tricycle doing here?”

  “He must have rushed off without it.” Barrow stared at Amon with husky-blue eyes that seemed to project the utmost sincerity, knowing that what he was saying was bullshit and that Amon knew he knew it was bullshit. Ty would rather die than leave his tricycle behind. Anyone who knew him personally knew that. So why would Barrow say something so obviously false? Amon thought of the guards behind him and realized that he was not the audience for the lie. Clearly something terrible had happened to Ty, but Barrow didn’t want his followers to hear. Though discontent with Hippo’s quietist leadership style had surged since the supply reductions, Ty was a widely respected member of the community, thought to be highly capable, dedicated, and formidable in combat. If Barrow admitted to harming him in any way—could he have held a grudge for the way Ty treated him the first time they met?—his reputation would suffer. The fact that he was so concerned about how the guards perceived him suggested to Amon that his hold on power was te
nuous. He had played a central role in organizing the coup, but perhaps there were those who questioned his authority, or others with equal claim to it. This fear of rivals also explained why he would fabricate the nonsense about how control of Xenocyst merely fell into his hands by chance after the battle, for some might support his views about reform while opposing the idea of a violent overthrow. But what was Barrow after? The moment this question occurred to him, Amon realized the answer.

  “You charmed these men,” he said, looking over his left shoulder behind him and waving his arm over the backrest at the guards, of whom he could see that there were four, “and betrayed our sabotage to the Philanthropy Syndicate to acquire their help in seizing power for yourself. Then you purged the council and had Ty killed to take his tricycle, all so you could turn the Cyst into a museum.”

  For a split second, a look of fearsome anger appeared on Barrow’s face, muscles clenching the skin into deep wrinkles that radiated out from his nose, warning Amon to keep his mouth shut or else. Barrow had held perfect mastery over his emotions as he lied, only revealing them when it suited his purposes, as it just had. But in that moment, for the first time, he seemed to lose control, for Amon noticed a slight quiver to his pupils as his eyes took on a lost, disconsolate look that suggested fear. Maybe Barrow doesn’t just have rivals, thought Amon. Could someone else have him in their grasp? Then Barrow relaxed his face again, the wrinkles smoothed out, the fear vanished, and he was wearing a kind, somewhat condescending smile.

  “You know that’s nonsense,” he said. “My whole career as the CEM was dedicated to helping bankdead, and I have used all my energy since coming to Xenocyst to continue that work. Even those on the council who oppose me would admit that.”

  Amon thought of Barrow’s story about turning down bribes to protect the bankdead with radical policies, which had earned him good repute at Xenocyst, as he glanced around at all the antiques in the room again. More likely Barrow had been diverting GATA funds to his personal venture charity that would indeed hand out supplies without requiring human resources, just as Barrow had claimed, but instead anadeto, for his personal collection of course. Perhaps he had even hoped to tap into the legendary trove that nosties often spoke of.

  Then the moment he found himself in the District of Dreams, he had sought out this trove and lost it when the OpScis enslaved him. After he had willingly offered it to Xenocyst in exchange for a chance to meet the council, Amon had thought him over his obsession. But apparently this had merely been a temporary gamble for the sake of a much longer, slower strategy. Barrow’s intentions could not be found in his words, only his actions. Collecting and preserving things of the past, it seemed, was all he had cared about from the beginning. Every gesture and mannerism and turn of phrase was just an expression of that desire. Yet if that were so, what was he bothering with Amon for?

  “Why are we even talking right now?”

  “Hippo saw your potential to serve as a messenger and interpreter for negotiations with the Philanthropy Syndicate, and we’d like to continue making use of your skills.”

  “You’re offering me a job?”

  “You must understand how short we are on qualified administrative staff after last night.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Amon. “You know I was a supporter of Hippo. You think I believe you that you’re just going to forgive me and let me work here?”

  “If we wanted to hurt you, we would have already done it, but my overriding policy is mercy. Take Little Book. Although we know where his loyalties lie, we have decided to keep him here for his cryptographic expertise. Otherwise, we would lack the right cyphers to encode our letters and reassure our allied communities that we are the sender. This could lose us their trust, and corresponding in plaintext would obviously allow enemy groups to intercept our messages. So our resident scholar is currently working on learning his tap language. You will serve similarly important functions.

  “Of course your movements outside the compound will be restricted until we can trust you, but I’ll make sure that life under our command is better, much better, than anything you could hope for elsewhere. Just think for a moment about what your options are. You’re bankdead, so you have to live in the District of Dreams. But as you told me a moment ago, a SampleQuito took your blood, so you are now, in all likelihood, a hungry ghost. Here we’ll provide you with everything you need, perhaps a few comforts in recognition of your achievements.

  “So why not accept my offer of asylum? I’ve seen what you can do. You’re a fine worker and a brilliant strategist. We’re going to build a new community better suited to present reality and we need your help.”

  Amon saw that Barrow was right. Staying at Xenocyst might be the only way he could survive. So maybe he could play along with his offer while he tried to discover some way to escape, though he suspected Barrow would have tricks to maintain his obedience. This was assuming that anything he said was—

  Whoozt whoozt whoozt whoozt. Just then, Amon noticed a repetitive sound, somewhere between the thwap of a propeller and the zap of electricity, and realized it had been going on faintly in the background for several minutes. Though it made him think of a rotorcraft and seemed to emanate from the roof, it was entirely unlike the whirring hum of the supply centicopters. Then he remembered something Hippo had told him. Rashana signaled her approach to the Cyst’s helipad by setting the rotors of her usually silent PhantoCopter to make a loud “electric whoop.” Had Rashana returned for some reason? Could she be here to meet with Amon? He imagined her arriving for their appointment at midnight in the midst of the battle and having to turn back when no one signaled for her to land. She would see that Amon’s failure to show up was due to no lapse on his part and might still be willing to meet him. And now that it was clear who had betrayed them, it seemed certain that she could be trusted after all. But how could he get to the roof?

  Tilting his ear upwards at the same sound, Barrow said to his guards, “One of you go up there and ring the landing bell. Tell her that I’ll meet her for tea if she wishes.”

  As one of the guards left the library, Amon saw his last chance for escape, from Barrow and perhaps from the camps, rapidly receding. There were only three guards left in the room, two standing by the door and one behind his couch. Was there truly nothing he could do?

  “If I accept your offer,” said Amon, trying to keep the conversation going while he scrambled his thoughts for a way out, “maybe you’ll give me asylum like you say. But once you find a replacement for me and I’m no longer useful, there’ll be nothing left to protect me. Not after what I did to you.”

  “Don’t forget. As I already told you around the embyrbrycks that night, I’m grateful for the chance you gave me in bringing me here and am perfectly willing to let bygones be bygones. But since then I have managed to go even further, and am now ready to forgive you completely. Shall I tell you why?”

  Amon nodded.

  “I hadn’t yet realized this at the time, but your story brought me new relief, and within a few days of hearing it I was able to conquer any lingering ill will I bore towards you.” Barrow took a sip of tea. “I remembered the part about the forest, how you said you’d once aspired to go there. Until then, I was struggling with a dark, vengeful part of myself that wanted to get even with you for taking away the life and career I worked so hard to create. But I realized that there was no need for me to obsess over it. Our score was already settled.”

  Barrow paused for an uncomfortably long time, staring at Amon with his husky-blue eyes, beaming his fatherly smile, until Amon couldn’t resist asking, “How so?”

  “There was a special forest that existed just as you described. I saw naked segs of it many years ago. My intention here isn’t to gloat, Amon. In fact, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this. I just want you to understand how our relationship stands now. But you’ll never make it there.

  Amon was getting sick of Barrow’s leading statements and didn’t ask for clarificati
on this time, but Barrow continued anyway.

  “All that wood my residence in Tsukuda was made of. Didn’t you wonder where that came from? Most people who saw it and learned that the wood wasn’t part of the overlay did. It was Hahajima, in Ogasawara, the community that inspired Hippo to create Xenocyst in the first place. I had the whole island felled. Not a shrub remains. It’s just a dusty rock covered in stumps. So by a rare stroke of fortune or a sad twist of fate—call it what you will—I killed your dream already, decades ago. Which means I don’t have to do anything at all. My heart can be at peace with you because we’re already even. A dream for a dream.”

  “A dream for a dream and the whole world is despair.”