Immortal, probably. But would he still be human?
“I’d kill for a cup of tea.” Mee was pulling herself into a sitting position. Seb walked toward her, the cup appearing in his right hand, steam curling from the hot liquid.
“Assam?” he said.
“Actually, I could really go for Earl Grey,” she said. The color of the tea lightened as she raised it to her lips and sipped. “Perfect.”
There was silence for a few minutes. Seb stood by the window again. Seb2 faded into being outside, seemingly floating above the city below.
“How long?” thought Seb.
“Not long,” said Seb2. “Days, perhaps.”
“It’s weird. I’ll miss you,” thought Seb.
“I am you,” said Seb2. “I’m not going anywhere. We will be you again. Seb3 is already so bonded with the nanotech, there’s no separation as such.”
“I know. And I know this separation is artificial, but—,”
“But it gives you someone to talk to. The only person who can fully understand how you feel. The only one who knows you’re starting to wonder what happens to you and Mee if you keep changing.”
“Yeah,” thought Seb. “That.”
“One step at a time,” said Seb2 and faded away.
Mee put the cup down and ran her fingers through her hair, which instantly sprang back into the same condition.
“So,” she said, “you’ve got a plan, right? ‘Cos this whole ‘people shooting me while wearing your face’ is more your department. I’m delegating the responsibility to you.”
Seb nodded. “Yes Ma’am.”
Mee started looking for her bag, forgetting it was still in police custody. Seb watched for a moment, then gestured toward the bedside table, where a rolled joint was suddenly waiting. Mee picked it up with a smile, then pointed out the no smoking sign and the smoke alarms.
“No need to light it,” said Seb.
Mee drew heavily on the unlit joint and felt the unmistakable sensation of hot, sweet smoke coursing down her windpipe into her lungs. She exhaled, but no cloud of smoke emerged.
“Clever bugger,” she said. “Pray continue.”
“You first,” said Seb. “Tell me what happened.”
Mee told Seb everything that had happened since she’d left the apartment. The feelings of imminent danger in the market, the moment on the roof when she’d realized it wasn’t Seb coming to save her but Westlake coming to kidnap her. She described her shock and dismay at seeing Walt again. Then she described Walt’s bravery and his sacrifice to save her, crying as she did so.
In turn, Seb told her about his experience on the alien craft and his escape. He’d only been missing sixteen hours this time, but since he had Walked back, the sixteen hours must all have been the outward journey. They were close. Seb2 said the Rozzers would be in orbit within a day.
“And what happens then?” said Mee.
“Well,” said Seb, “it’s not good.”
“The Unmaking Engine?”
Seb nodded, glumly.
“What does it do?” she said.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“First of all you have to understand who they are—the Rozzers—what they do. And what they did, the first time they visited.”
“The first time?” said Mee.
“About two and a half billion years ago,” said Seb. “I told you they were scientists. Earth is just one of their experiments.”
“What?” said Mee. She realized her joint wasn’t shrinking. She also knew she wasn’t getting stoned. Under the circumstances, this was probably both a good, and a bad thing. She’d be able to understand what Seb was about to tell her, but she wouldn’t be able to distance herself from its impact with the aid of chemicals.
“They were here with two devices last time. The first was a container filled with a soup made up of multicellular lifeforms, carefully created to adapt to a wide variety of conditions and kickstart the process of evolution. The second device seeded the entire planet with deposits of Manna. It created tens of thousands of Thin Places, waiting for a sentient species to emerge, discover them and become Users, triggering the next period of evolution. Conscious evolution.”
“Whoa, back up a bit. They kickstarted evolution here? On Earth?”
“Yup.”
“So, they created us? Humans?”
“In effect,” said Seb, “yes, they did. They didn’t have any control over the environment, so they couldn’t know how their organisms would react, how they would adapt to the conditions on a planet. But yes, all life on earth evolved after their first visit.”
“All life,” said Mee, quietly. Not a question, just a simple statement. Humanity’s sense of itself had just been turned on its head. There was a creator, but he was a glowing seven-foot alien with a pen leaking into his shirt pocket. Or rather, one of his ancestors.
“I think I need to sit down,” said Mee.
“You are sitting down.”
“Oh. I’m going to lie down, then.” She lay back and looked at the ceiling. There were dozens of tiny LEDs pushed into the flat white ceiling, changing color gradually as she watched. Warm blue, ivory, green, red. An ever changing pattern. It was an expensive hotel. “What’s conscious evolution?”
“It’s why Manna was left here,” said Seb. “Manna should trigger the process. Eventually, on every planet the Rozzers visit, a dominant sentient species will emerge. A small percentage of that species will discover Manna. In most cases, the species as a whole will benefit from the discovery. Within a few generations, every baby should be born aware of Manna, in the same way they are aware of milk, food, its parents’ voices. Evolution follows, but the whole species chooses it, lifting itself to a new level of consciousness. Awareness of, then communication with, other sentient species in the galaxy—then the wider universe—is next, followed by intergalactic travel. The species joins others who have undergone the same process.”
“They’ve done this a lot, then.”
“Don’t know the exact total, but in the millions. Millions of planets.”
Mee couldn’t think of an intelligent response to that information. In fact, she was struggling to think at all. She finally managed a non-committal, “Ah.”
“Earth was a petri dish, Mee. They’re coming to see what’s grown in it.”
“But we haven’t evolved like you said.”
“No. It doesn’t always work. Some species discover Manna, but its use never becomes universal. Instead, it becomes another way for the few to exert power over the many. Those species, if left, eventually become a threat to themselves and others.”
“So what’s next? What do the Rozzers do when that happens?”
“They’re scientists, Mee. If an experiment fails, they take notes and start over.”
“Start over?”
“The Unmaking Engine.”
Mee lay there for a few minutes, still and quiet. She had the same feeling she’d had when the police had come to her door after her dad had been killed in a car crash. Her mother had opened the door. Two uniformed officers. One male, one female. Both carrying their hats. Mee knew her dad was dead right then. So did her mom. But her mom still had to ask, “What’s happened?”.
It was the same now.
“What does it do?” she said, finally. “The Unmaking Engine. What does it do?”
“It resets the species,” said Seb. “They drop it into the atmosphere, it falls into the ocean where it releases nanotech adapted to the DNA of the dominant species. The Engine spreads out across the water, reproducing itself at an atomic level. It is sucked up into the sky, becoming clouds, and soon afterward, rain. The rain falls across the face of the planet over the next few weeks. It’s quick and painless. Every human being will die.”
The silence that followed was a long one.
“They don’t see it as aggression,” said Seb. “Our species failed. They clean up the mess and leave the planet with the potential for another species to step
up. They might make a better job of Using than we did.”
“Well, I feel much better knowing that,” said Mee.
Seb lay down next to her. They were silent for a long time. Finally, she squeezed his hand.
“I’m guessing you have a plan, right?”
Seb didn’t reply at first. She squeezed his hand again. “Right?”
His voice was tight and strange when he finally spoke.
“Yes. We’re going to visit a graveyard. After which, I’m going to make sure you get to Innisfarne. Then, I need to visit someone in prison. After that, I’m going to go kill that asshole Mason.”
“Oh,” said Mee. “Um, and how about the entire human race? Any thoughts on stopping every last one of us being killed?”
“Yeah. Well, I’m still working on that.”
35
Upstate New York
Thirty-four years previously
The paramedics had come and gone, the mess from the broken vase had been cleaned up and Isaac’s penthouse was quiet again.
The boy was sitting with his eyes shut. He had been like that for about twenty minutes. His mother seemed to be finally waking up a little, taking notice of her surroundings, no longer just staring blankly into space. Rosa and Isaac had exchanged agonizing glances, but they had no idea what to do. Isaac had headed up a global business, negotiated with the heads of small countries, watched the wealth of entire nations be affected by his decisions. Now, he was just sitting quietly. His son’s dead body was on the way to the morgue, his pregnant daughter, in fear for her life, was sitting beside him. He did nothing. He was very afraid, for the first time since he’d realized that Greta was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. He simply waited for the child in the wheelchair to speak. Eventually, he did.
“Thank you for your patience,” said the boy, for all the world as if he were apologizing for being late for a meeting. “I needed to think about how we should proceed from here. Let me tell you what I need, and how you are going to help me.”
He rolled the wheelchair over to the window and gazed out at the New York skyline for a few moments. It was lunchtime for most of the city’s workers and the streets were buzzing with office staff, business people, artists, architects, musicians, teachers, children, blue collar workers. The sounds, sights and smells of the streets below carried on as if it were just another, normal day. Isaac had always felt close to his adopted city when he stood there. The boy seemed no more interested than if he had been looking at a photograph.
He turned the wheelchair.
“Mom,” he said. His mother sat up a little straighter and turned toward him. “As far as the authorities are concerned, you took a dying boy out of the hospital. Loretta’s car is at the church. Her body will have been found by now, but there’s nothing to connect us to the scene and I doubt the police will waste resources for long, chasing someone who’s been given days to live. You need to disappear, Mother.”
She looked at him as if he were a stranger. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t go home. Not now, not ever. The logical thing would be for me to kill you.” She stiffened and Rosa let out a sob. Boy ignored them both.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do it. Not out of any misplaced sentimentality, but because—apparently—I feel sorry for that poor bastard in your belly.”
His mother stood suddenly, staring at him.
“How?” she said, her voice croaky and dry. “How could you know I’m-,”
He smiled.
“You’d be surprised how much I know, now,” he said. “And—again—the logical decision would be to get rid of you and that thing inside you, knowing its father as we both do, but—,” he hesitated, and it looked like he was struggling with the decision. His fists clenched a few times, then—abruptly—he laughed.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “It appears I still have some character flaws. Well, I have plenty of time to rid myself of them.” He tapped his head while looking at his mother. “The boy who stood by and watched you get beaten and raped is still in here, somewhere, cowering and whimpering. He wants you alive. So go. Lose yourself in the city. Change your name. Do whatever you have to do. And never let yourself be found. Because I will look for you, once I’ve strangled the last vestige of the coward I used to be. And if I find you, I’ll kill you. Now go. Go.”
The woman, pale, shaking, but now, remarkably, dry-eyed and in control, looked over at Isaac and Rosa with a look of shame and sadness. Then, she took one last look at her son, picked up her purse, turned, and without looking back, walked over to the private elevator and got in. The doors shut behind her. Her son turned back to the picture window and waited until she appeared at street level. He watched her go, another tiny figure blending with other tiny figures: insignificant, unimportant.
“What do you want from us?” said Rosa, her voice remarkably steady. Isaac was proud for a second, then his mood lapsed back into fear and uncertainty.
“I need privacy, time, and resources,” said the boy in the wheelchair. “This place gives me privacy, and your resources will buy me time. I have a great deal to learn about this power I’ve discovered.”
Isaac finally found his voice again.
“My son used that power to heal,” he said. “You do not need to use it to destroy. Begin by healing yourself.” He waved his hands toward the wheelchair.
Boy felt the shape of the tumor, the way it had pushed his brain into a new configuration, taken away his weakness. The power he had found had frozen the tumor’s progress, but if he shrank it…? Would he be him anymore? Would he even have this power anymore? Hardly a risk worth taking just to be able to walk again.
“Maybe I like being this way,” said the boy. “Maybe it’s none of your business, Isaac. Perhaps you should consider that.”
Isaac felt a sudden headache build up over his right eye. He gasped.
“Dad!” said Rosa.
Blood trickled from his nose.
“You’re right,” said Isaac, his eyes clenched shut with pain, “it’s none of my business.” The headache disappeared and he opened his eyes again.
“Good. Now, a few ground rules. I can sense where you are, and I’ve attached…ok, this is hard to explain, so I’ll use a metaphor. I’ve attached strings to you. The strings lead back to me. I can detach them easily enough, if I want either of you to leave the apartment. But if you leave of your own volition, when you are a certain distance away from me, the string will break. Does that make sense?”
Isaac and Rosa nodded.
“If that happens, your heart will stop instantly. It will never beat again. Not a nice way to die.”
He rolled the wheelchair toward them, stopping about three feet away. He spoke quietly.
“But I don’t want you to think I want either of you dead. Far from it. Your lives are about to change, granted, but change doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. As far as the rest of the world knows, I’m dead. My crazy mother took me out of hospital and disappeared. This gives me a wonderful opportunity. I don’t exist. I can start again. I can learn all about this power, and I can use your money to do it.”
His eyes were shining as he considered the opportunities opening up to him.
“You two will live here with me, as will your baby, Rosa. It may not be the life you would have chosen, but it will be comfortable and safe—as long as you do as I ask. Until the baby is born, you will remain in the apartment. Isaac, you and I will be traveling a little while Rosa stays here. I have so many questions, so much to discover.”
Isaac felt tired and beaten. He might have defied this monster if he’d been alone, but…he looked over at Rosa, glowing with health and carrying his first grandchild. He nodded his assent. Rosa looked back at him, her eyes full of love, before turning to the boy.
“We’ll do as you ask,” she said.
“Of course,” said the Boy. He wheeled himself backward a little.
“I’m a
new person,” he said. “Guess I’m going to need a new name.” He looked around the apartment for inspiration, before finally looking at Isaac again.
“You divorced?” he said.
“Widowed,” said Isaac, quietly.
“What was her maiden name?”
Isaac told him. The boy considered it.
“I like it,” he said finally. “It has intimations of building, making something. Yes, I’ll take it—it will be my name from now on. What a momentous occasion.”
He smiled and, for a moment, looked like any other twelve-year old playing a game.
“Call me Mason,” he said.
36
Mexico City
Present Day
Mexican cemeteries had been running out of space for years. Despite government encouragement, cremation was still unpopular, so families were forced to stack the deceased one on top of the other, creating a vertical genealogy in various states of decay. Only the very rich, the very famous, or those who had bought sites there no later than 1977 were allowed to use the city’s main cemetery, the Panteón de Dolores. The less wealthy used graveyards even more tightly packed with bodies. The overcrowding problem had become so great, there were rumors of bodies being removed late at night to make room for newer occupants.
Those who could afford nothing often found they had no other choice than to use a cemetery miles from their city, meaning they couldn’t visit their loved ones as often as they would like. Even in death, the gap between the poor and the rich was clear.
The cemetery where Walt was buried was as poor as they come. A forty-minute bus ride away, its hundreds of graves were marked by cheaper wooden crosses for the main part, the few carved headstones standing out like healthy teeth in a rotten smile.
It was the day after the Federales had released Walt’s body - four days after the fight on the rooftop. Hollywood couldn’t have come up with a more perfect morning to visit. The rain was hard and relentless, driving in at a thirty-degree angle. Seb held a large black umbrella over Mee as they looked down at the recently turned earth and the plain wooden cross marking Walter Ford’s final resting place.
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 59
