Gorgon Child

by Steven Barnes

  He turned off the compway, switching back to manual for a few hundred yards before cruising into the driveway of a service station. The station was old, a prefabricated shell overhanging a series of nested boxes: office, garage, storage. Though the office windows were darkened, green light crawled up their beacon antenna.

  "They have to be open," Aubry muttered, searching for signs of life. "Can't broadcast if you're not open Still, he sounded doubtful. The only visible light was in the service bay.

  As he cruised to a halt, the turbines automatically slowed. The car settled to the ground with barely a shush. The coiled bumpers absorbed most of the shock, but Promise woke anyway. Her thin, heat-reflective cocoon of blankets crackled as she stirred.

  "Baby . . . where are we?"

  Aubry drew his coat tighter as the rain died to a thin mist. The silence was almost alarming. Without the purr of the engine, or the slow beat of the windshield wipers, there was no sound at all. How many times had he experienced silence? In every remembered moment of his life there had always been a background hum of some kind.

  The clouds parted, and the moon showed as a dim, shallow crescent low on the horizon, hidden by clusters of pine. The pale glow of the service station was the only available light.

  "We're near Lake Shasta. About a hundred miles south of Oregon. I figured we'd camp here tonight, and go on in the morning."

  Promise yawned sleepily. She rubbed at her eyes and pulled herself out of the car. "Is this place deserted . . . ?"

  The office door creaked open, and a man appeared. He was in his fifties, and time rested a heavy hand on his shoulders. His body was shaped like a sweet potato, and there wasn't enough straggly gray hair on his head to cover the bald spot. The potato analogy extended to his facial features. His nose was bulbous and peeling, disproportionately larger than the rest of his face. But he seemed clean, and friendly, with a ready smile. His arms were outstretched.

  "Evenin', folks." He peered at their vehicle. "Whee, now—you got a bit of an antique there, don't you?"

  " '04. One of the first floaters," Promise said proudly. "Costs to maintain it, but I say you don't throw something away if it's been good to you. My family's gotten a lot of service from this one."

  The man bent to peer at the car. Aubry saw the name Courtney emblazoned on a label above his right shirt pocket. A thin gold chain dangled a tiny mushroom. Aubry quickly repressed his nervous grin. When Courtney saw that it had caught Aubry's eye, he folded his collar over it. "Well— you'd use an alpha cell in that, right? Got just the thing."

  "That's what the beacon said."

  "Good things. Be out of business without them."

  Promise and Aubry walked with him as he moved back into the dark cavity of his service port. It was filled with tanks, boxes, and twisted hoses that sprouted from the walls and the ground in endless profusion. Courtney pointed them out, naming each energy source almost absently.

  "Gas, Gasohol, Elpegee, meth, alpha-omega energy cells. Solar chargers, So many damn models on the market, hard to find your poison. You came to the right place."

  He trundled a cart over to the stack of energy cells, each cached in its own dust-free niche. Aubry was mildly surprised. He expected to see dirt. Instead, the garage was a tidily kept workspace bristling with tools and the instruments of a mechanic's craft.

  "Shasta Lake far from here?"

  "Nope—about sixteen miles up Westly here," the old man said, pointing. He counted down a stack of batteries and sighed with pleasure. "Here's what you need." He rolled out a box about the size of a human torso from its stack, and clicked it into the cart. "What brings you folks up this way?" He cocked his head sideways. "Not visiting relatives are you? Had some folks through a little earlier, on their way to Hoopa."

  Aubry's ears perked up. "Hoopa? The Spider camp?"

  "Used to be an Indian reservation till the Feds sold it off. It's west, off the 299. Yeah, most of the Spiders in the Western U.S. are out there. Hear it's hell. They say if the wind blows the wrong way, you can smell it in Eureka." He grinned through stumpy brown teeth. "Probably bullshit."

  The cart hummed as he guided it over to their car.

  Spiders, not more'n a hundred miles from here. Thousands of 'em."

  "And what do you think about that?" Aubry voiced his query cautiously.

  The old man took his time in answering, and for a while Aubry thought he wasn't going to answer at all. "You know, sometimes I listen to DeLacourte on the holo and I think the man is just another Bible-thumper. Other times. . . I dunno." He undid the catch, and unscrewed the latch on the energy cell. "Pop that on the inside, will you?"

  "Sorry." Aubry undid the cell catch on the dashboard.

  "Then, you know, I look at what's happened to our country. Not just California. Not just the quake. Hell, we healed from that. That wasn't the worst. We don't believe in what we used to believe. And I'm not sure we believe in the future. And we don't like where we are. Hell of a thing, ain't it? Ah." He pulled the old cell straight out into the replacement cart, pivoted the cart and aligned it. With a click, he hooked the other cell into the track. At the touch of a button, it began to ease itself in.

  "Courtney?" The voice came from over by the door. Aubry turned, and hissed under his breath at the woman coming across the lot. Rain was falling in a light mist now, and she seemed like something from a holo ad promoting euphorics. She wore a shawl over her head, so Aubry couldn't tell the color of her hair, but her face was a calm melding of gentle ovals. She looked at him, and he sensed that the peace he saw there was a new thing, something which had eluded her for years.

  She embraced Courtney, and whispered something in his ear. Aubry thought she nibbled it as well. Then she laughed in a surprisingly low voice. "We weren't expecting any more business tonight."

  "Ah ... I can understand that."

  "Think you'll be staying long?" She rubbed against Courtney like a kitten begging for a saucer of milk.

  "Just a few more minutes," Promise assured her, then sidled up to Aubry, and whispered "mushroom." For a moment the folds of fabric protecting the young woman from the mist parted, and Aubry saw the chain with the mushroom emblem.

  Courtney kissed her, and she smiled shyly to Aubry and Promise, then returned to the station. Courtney cleared his throat and grinned crookedly. "Sylvie and I live out here by ourselves. Not much happening. Don't see a lot of people. I like it like that. The cities aren't much to crow about."

  Aubry nodded agreement.

  "Where you folks from?"

  "Los Angeles."

  "Yeah. Big mess down there. You hear about it?"

  "Lots of messes. Which one are you interested in?"

  "Some big NewMan group shot it out with the police. Some con helped them escape, and they're after him." The old man averted his face, turning to touch fire to his pipe. "His picture's been all over the Omnivision. Reward, and everything." He shook the match and dropped it to the ground, where it died with a hiss. "Hell, I don't have nothin' against faggots if they keep their hands to themselves. But between them, and the Spiders, and everything else, maybe DeLacourte makes sense. ..."

  He clicked the battery into place, and gazed out over the trees. There was a distant glow on the western horizon. A city over there, somewhere. "And maybe he don't. Not everything new is bad. Maybe the Bible is the answer. Dunno. Mebbe it's just the question." He chuckled to himself and unconsciously stroked his pendant as he shuffled over to his register. "How you paying for this?"

  "Good trade Marks."

  The old man nodded. "Sounds right to this one, I'll tell you." The computer ran a series of numbers, giving a . market quote. "Be twenty-seven on the trade. Make it twenty."

  "Wha—?"

  "Oh, I got a lot to be happy for. Them mushrooms is one of 'em. Ain't got no kids, so I don't know about that part of it. Don't suppose I'll ever get to meet the people made it possible for Sylvie and me . . ." Courtney grinned again, and he looked wistfully at the cozy of
fice; the darkened windows seemed to beckon him. "But I do what I can to pass on the favor. Say. You folks ever meet up with this Aubry Knight, you thank him for me."

  Aubry gave him a thirty note, and the old man ran it through his machine. It checked the serial number and encoded trade history, found it to be valid. It tagged the date and location, and gave him the okay.

  "Good enough." The old man turned to them as they went back to the car. "You know, these roads don't get traveled much. I'd think that a man traveling on 'em, staying to his own business, could have quite a bit of trouble pass right over him without making a squeak.''

  "Sounds like the kind we want."

  "Figured as much. You look like nice folks. You drive real safe, now, hear?"

  Aubry started the engine, felt the whine of power as the ground-effect shield lifted them up. In his rearview, he could see the old man squint after them for a minute, then turn, and with a surprisingly vigorous step return to the station.

  Aubry scratched his beard nervously. "Think he'll talk?"

  "Sweetheart, you must be blind, deaf, and dumb."

  They drove up Westly Road for a time. Aubry finally pulled off at a sign which declared Shasta Lake only a mile distant. There were no lights, and the road was unpaved. They pulled off and hummed beneath a stand of trees.

  The seats reclined. Aubry pushed himself back into them, and sighed. He just wanted to close his eyes for a while, to rest, and abandon his worry.

  "I could drive," Promise said softly.

  "And you will, tomorrow. But right now I just . . ." He searched his mind. You can tell the truth to her. If not Promise, who?

  Promise leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're going to have to learn to trust. My family is very close."

  "Tell me more about them?"

  "They are good women." She kissed his ear and cuddled in close. "They log, and they farm, and they live simple lives. They love the earth, and the sky, and the miracle of birth." Promise's hand was tight on his arm, and her voice was sad. "That was all most of us cared about, once upon a time. Things got kind of complicated. Worshipping the Goddess, the Earth Mother, became 'witchcraft.' "

  "Wasn't it?"

  "Define your terms. Most of the great pagan festivals are still with us today—disguised as 'Christian' holidays."

  "Bullshit."

  "Truth. Yule is called Christmas, Ostara is Easter, Harvest Home is Thanksgiving. My mothers gathered the remnants of as many women's mysteries as they could find: dance, ritual, poetry, whatever they could find. They wove them together. It was . . . simple, and direct, and beautiful. I could have stayed, but didn't. I'm glad, because I wouldn't have met you."

  He tousled her hair with thick fingers.

  "They'll like you—"

  I thought you said that they don't like men?" "You're not men. You're my Aubry." She giggled, and burrowed closer. "They choose to live without them. There's a difference. And they're just one of the communes. There are six, and some of them have male participants. Fathers, husbands ..."

  "Slaves."

  She laughed ruefully. "No, not really. There are men who want to be dominated by women, and some of them have useful skills. If they want to come and work in the communes and are admitted, then ..." She shrugged. "But they're not sought out, and rarely encouraged. The communes aren't about dominance."

  I'll have to see for myself. I've never seen anything other than dominance. We'll see."

  They held each other for a time, and he heard her whisper, "God. It's been so long."

  "Since you left?"

  "I disgraced them so ... I just hope." She was silent for a time, and Aubry was content just to hold her. "We'll find a place," Promise said finally. "Somewhere. I can't believe that we could love each other like this, unless there a way to be together."

  The night was cold outside. Inside the car, locked in each other's arms, there was warmth. Aubry watched the trees swaying gently in the wind. "I don't think anyone is following us. I hope not." He thought of the automatic shotgun cached beneath the rear seat. "I . . . don't want to fight if I don't have to."

  'You don't. Not anymore."

  She pulled his head down on her shoulder, and together, they waited for dawn.

  Chapter Nine

  Ephesus

  Wednesday, May 24

  Aubry felt utterly vulnerable.

  The road was too open. As far as he could see there wasn't a single microwave tower, house, or so much as a lettered sign. All about him was a rolling, flowing, enveloping emerald tangle. Flowers exploded in all colors but shaded toward blue and yellow. It made his head feel light and hollow.

  The very air smelled different. Without walls or sharp angles his sense of perspective lurched out of synch. Shadows were black caverns leading to nameless mysteries. The wind-whipped branches seemed phantasmal arms. They beckoned to him, whispered mockingly, laughed at his insecurity. Something deep and central to his being raced out of control.

  With the floater's plastic hood down, the wind ruffled Promise's hair into a dark, fluffy mass. She pushed herself back into the seat and sniffed deeply. Her smile deepened with every passing mile.

  "My home," she whispered.

  "What?"

  A row of bright orange flowers flashed by, leaned out over the road as if trying to touch him. Promise stretched out a hand, and the blossoms were just inches out of reach. "This is my home, and I've been away too long."

  They were still traveling back roads, had avoided San Francisco and Eugene, heading northwest into Tillamook County. ”In my entire life, I've never seen so much green."

  Douglas fir," Promise murmured, pointing lazily at one of the passing giants. Her gaze skipped from tree to tree. "Cedar, hemlock, spruce ..."

  "How come you know so damn much?"

  "I was raised here." She laughed. "God, it's like crawling back into the womb."

  "I've felt like that before. Usually just before you get a headache."

  "Liar."

  "True." Aubry swerved the car hard. A brown- and white-dappled shape burst from the roadside, freezing suddenly in the center of the road. "Damn!" He spun the wheel, barely managing to avoid a tree as he skidded onto the shoulder.

  "What in the hell was—"

  Promise laughed delightedly. "A deer, dear. You know, an animal." It twitched its tail for an instant, then disappeared into the thick brush on the far side.

  Aubry's grip on the wheel was fierce. "I know what animals are."

  Promise leaned her head against his arm. "My proud city brat. You know as much about wildlife as I did about tube scheds when I first went to Vegas."

  He was still watching the forest, peering after the whitetail as it disappeared into the brush. The forest healed up after it, leaving no trace of its passage. "Is it going to rain chipmunks next, or what?"

  "Used to. If things haven't changed in ten years, you might have to look out for Bambi's friends, yes."

  "Just wonderful." Aubry grimaced and lifted the car from the ditch, spitting chips of gravel into the air- as he headed back up the road.

  Oregon's northwest region flooded his senses with unfamiliar sights and sounds. His head buzzed painfully, hovering near sensory overload. The low morning sun blazed against banks of fluffy, towering cumulonimbus. The wall of trees hammered its light into thin, twisted shadows.

  Aubry reached out, finding warmth and comfort in Promise's hand.

  Fifty meters around a bend, a wire fence blocked the road. A painted square of sheet metal above it read simply: "Ephesus. Private land. You may pass no farther without permission or appointment. Please use the callbox."

  Promise hopped out of the car, stretching like a big brown cat. She growled and grinned to herself. "We're here."

  He loved to watch her move, especially when she was working the kinks out of her dancer's body. She got kinks in the most interesting places.

  Aubry forced his mind to quiet, opened his senses. To the north, river sounds filtered gently
through the trees. There were other, smaller, animal sounds around them. Somewhere in the distance, a piece of heavy equipment thrummed against the ground.

  "What does 'Ephesus' mean?"

  "It was a city in Anatolia where the two major tribes of Amazons met. One from Lydia, the other from Asia Minor. They worshipped at the temple of the Goddess Artemis." Promise ran her hands along the gate, humming to herself. "The gate wasn't here when I left," she said quietly. "It might as well have been. It feels right. The nails were hammered in. This wire was twisted by hand."

  "That some kind of virtue up here?"

  She made a face at him. "The Sisterhood believes that we have forgotten a lot of the simple virtues. The simple pleasures."

  "Like men?"

  "Can't get any simpler than them, yes. Be polite. They have no obligation to take me back, you know."

  There was a voicebox attached high in the corner of the fence, an ancient telephone system with a punch dial. Promise lifted it.

  She spoke with quiet reverence, exuding a strength that was unlike anything Aubry had seen in her before. She drew herself up until she had the very last hair of her five nine, and spoke.

  "Greetings. Promise, egg mother Freleng brood six. I request entrance for myself and a guest."

  For several seconds there was no reply. Then an answer crackled back over the speaker, more clearly than he would have expected given the primitiveness of the surroundings.

  Our records show that daughter Promise, sixth brood Lord Mother Ariane—"

  Promise's eyebrows raised, and she hissed something under her breath that Aubry couldn't hear.

  "—has been dead for ten years. Entrance denied." The Line clicked off with a dull buzz.

  Promise stood, and her mouth went slack. With a shaking hand, she replaced the receiver on the hook.

  "No," she whispered. The wind stirred the fringes of her hair, and her emotional control slipped. Her hair flared red, some of its glory stolen by the bright, cool sunlight. "They can't."

  "Can't what?"

  She turned to him, panic-stricken. "When I left, when I ran away, my mother pronounced me dead. I have no right of sanctuary."