The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 13

by Gardner Dozois

  “We do not involve ourselves in the petty territorial squabbles of mortals,” I recited. “We do not embrace their causes. We move amongst them, saving what we can, but we are never such fools as to be drawn into their disputes.”

  “Yes, you’re quoting Company Policy to me. But don’t you see that your fine impartiality has no purpose? It accomplishes nothing! It’s wasteful! You know the house will burn, so you creep in like thieves and steal the furniture beforehand, and then watch the flames. Wouldn’t it be more efficient use of your time to prevent the fire in the first place?” He paused a moment and looked at the back of his hand with a slight frown. I saw the red lines there fade to pink as he set them to healing over.

  “It would be more efficient, yes,” I said, “but for one slight difficulty. You couldn’t prevent the fire happening. It isn’t possible to change history.”

  “Recorded history.” He bared his big teeth in amusement once more. “it isn’t possible to change recorded history. And do you think even that sacred rule’s as unbreakable as you’ve been told? I have made the history that was written and read. It disappoints me. I will make something new now.”

  “Shall you really?” I folded my arms. Doubtless he was going to start bragging about being a god. It went with the profile of this sort of lunatic.

  “Yes, and you’ll help me if you’re wise. Listen to me. In the time before history was written down, in those days, our masters were bold. All mortals have inherited the legend that there was once a golden age when men lived simply in meadows, and the Earth was uncrowded and clean, and there was no war, but only arts of peace.

  “But when recorded history began – when we were forbidden to exterminate the undesirables – that paradise was lost. And our masters let it be lost, and that is the condemnation I fling in their teeth.” He drew a deep breath.

  “Your point, sir?”

  “I’ll make an end of recorded history. I can so decimate the races of men that their golden age will come again, and never again will there be enough of them to ravage one another or the garden they inhabit. And we immortals will be their keepers. Victor, little Victor, how long have you lived? Aren’t you tired of watching them fight and starve? You creep among them like a scavenger, but you could walk among them like –”

  “Like a god?” I sneered.

  “I had been about to say, an angel.” Budu sneered back. “I remember the service I was created for. Do you, little man? Or have you ever even known? Such luxuries you’ve had, among the poor mortals! Have you never felt the urge to really help them? But the time’s soon approaching when you can.”

  “Ridiculous,” I stated. “You know as well as I do that history won’t stop. There’ll be just as much warfare and mortal misery in this new century as in the centuries before, and nothing anyone can do will alter one event.” I gauged the pressure of his fingers on Donal’s neck. How quickly could I move to get them loose?

  “Not one event? You think so? Maybe.” He looked sly. “But our masters will turn what can’t be changed to their own advantage, and why can’t I? Think of the great slaughters to come, Victor. How do you know I won’t be working there? How do you know I haven’t been at work already? How do you know I haven’t got disciples among our people, weary as I am of our masters’ blundering, ready as I am to mutiny?”

  “Because history states otherwise,” I told him flatly. “There will be no mutiny, no War in Heaven if you like. Civilization will prevail. It is recorded that it will.”

  “Is it?” He grinned. “And can you tell me who recorded it? Maybe I did. Maybe I will, after I win. Victor, such a simple trick, but it’s never occurred to you. History is only writing, and one can write lies!”

  I stared at him. No, in fact, it never had occurred to me. He rocked to and fro in his merriment, dragging Donal with him. Silent tears streamed down the child’s face.

  Budu lurched forward, fixing me with his gaze. “Listen now. I have my followers, but we need more. You’ll join me because you’re clever, and you’re weary of this horror too, and you owe me the duty of a son, for I saved you from death. You’re a Facilitator and know the codes to order Company equipment. You’ll work in secret, you’ll obtain certain things for me, and we’ll take mortal children and work the Augmentation Process on them, and raise them as our own operatives, for our purposes, loyal to us. Then we’ll pull the weeds from the Garden. Then we’ll geld the bull and make him pull the plough. Then we’ll slaughter the wolf that preys on the herd. Just as we used to do! There will be Order.

  “For this reason I came as a beggar to this city and followed you, watching you. Now I’ve made you listen to me.” He looked at the doorway again. “Tell me I’m not a fool, little Victor, tell me I haven’t walked into this trap with you to no purpose.”

  “What will you do if I refuse?” I demanded. “Break the child’s neck?”

  This was too much for the boy, who whimpered like a rabbit and started forward convulsively. Budu looked down, scowling as though he had forgotten about him. “Are you a stupid child?” he asked Donal. “Do you want to die?”

  I cannot excuse my next act, though he drove me to it; he, and the horror of the place, and the time that was slipping away and bringing this doomed city down about our ears if we tarried. I charged him, howling like the animal he was.

  He reared back; but instead of closing about Donal’s throat, his fingers twitched harmlessly. As his weight shifted, his right arm dropped to his side, heavy as lead. My charge threw him backwards so that his head struck the wall with a resounding thud.

  All the laughter died in his eyes, and they focused inward as he ran his self-diagnostic. I caught up Donal in my arms and backed away with him, panting.

  Budu looked out at me.

  “A virus,” he informed me. “It was in your saliva. It’s producing inert matter even now, at remarkable speed, that’s blocking my neuroreceptors. I don’t think it will kill me, but I doubt if even your masters could tell. I’m sure they hope so. You’re surprised. You had no knowledge of this weapon inside yourself?”

  “None,” I said.

  Budu was nodding thoughtfully, or perhaps he was beginning to be unable to hold his head up. “They didn’t tell you about this talent of yours, because if you’d known about it, I would have seen it in your thoughts, and then I’d never have let you spit on me. At the very least I wouldn’t have wiped it away with my wounded hand.”

  “A civilized man would have used a handkerchief,” I could not resist observing.

  He giggled, but his voice was weaker when he spoke.

  “Well. I guess we’ll see now if our masters have at long last found a way to unmake their creations. Or I will see; you can’t stay in this dangerous place to watch the outcome, I know. But you’ll wish you had, in the years to come, you’ll wish you knew whether or not I was still watching you, following you. For I know your defence against me now, think of that! And I know who betrayed me, with his clever virus.” Budu’s pale eyes widened. “I was wrong! The rest of them may be shovels, but you, little Victor – you were made a poisoned knife. Victor Veneficus!” he added, and laughed thickly at his joke. “Oh, tell him – never sleep. If I live –”

  “We’re going now, Donal Og, Uncle Jimmy’ll get you safe out of here,” I said to the child, turning from Budu to thread my way between the stinking corpses on the floor.

  I heard Budu cough once as his vocal centres went, and then the ether was filled with a cascade of images: A naked child squatting on a clay floor, staring through darkness at a looming figure in a bearskin. Flames devouring brush huts, goatskin tents, cottages, halls, palaces, shops, restaurants, hotels. Soldiers in every conceivable kind of uniform, with every known weapon, in every posture of attack or defence the human form could assume.

  If these were his memories, if this was the end of his life, there was no emotion of sorrow accompanying the images; no fear, no weariness, no relief either. Instead, a loud yammering laughter grew ever loude
r, and deafened the inner ear at the last image: a hulking brute in a bearskin, squatting beside a fire, turning and turning in his thick fingers a gleaming golden axe; and on the blade of the axe was written the word VIRUS.

  Halfway up the ladder, the trap opening was occluded by a face that looked down at me and then drew back. I came up with all speed; I faced a small mob of Chinese, grim men with bronze hatchets. They had not expected to see a man in evening dress carrying a child.

  I addressed them in Cantonese, for I could see they were natives of that province.

  “The devil who killed your grandfathers is still down there. He is asleep and will not wake up. You can safely cut him to pieces now.”

  I took up my hat and left the mortals standing there, looking uncertainly from my departing form to the dark hole in the stair.

  The air was beginning to freshen with the scent of dawn. I had little more than an hour to get across the city. In something close to panic I began to run up Sacramento, broadcasting a General Assistance Signal. Had my salvage teams waited for me? Donal clung to me and did not make a sound.

  Before I had gone three blocks I heard the noise of an automobile echoing loud between the buildings. It was climbing up Sacramento towards me. I turned to meet it. Over the glare of its brass headlamps I saw Pan Wen-Shi. His tuxedo and shirtfront, unlike mine, were still as spotless as when he’d left the Company banquet. On the seat beside him was a tiny almond-eyed girl. He braked and shifted, putting out a hand to prevent her from tumbling off and rolling away downhill.

  “Climb in,” he shouted. I vaulted the running board and toppled into the back seat with Donal. Pan stepped on the gas and we cranked forward again.

  “Much obliged to you for the ride,” I said, settling myself securely and attempting to pry Donal’s arms loose from my neck. “Had a bit of difficulty.”

  “So had I. We must tell one another our stories some day,” Pan acknowledged, rounding the corner at Powell and taking us down towards Geary. The little girl had turned in her seat and was staring at us. Donal was quivering and hiding his eyes.

  “Now then, Donal Og, now then,” I crooned to him. “You’ve been a brave boy and you’re all safe again. And isn’t this grand fun? We’re going for a ride in a real motor-car!” Under my words was a soothing frequency to blur his memory of the last two hours.

  “Bad Toymaker gone?” asked the little muffled voice.

  “Sure he is, Donal, and we’ve escaped entirely.”

  He consented to lower his hands, but shrank back at the sight of the others. “Who’s that?”

  “Why, that’s a little China doll that’s escaped the old Toymaker, same as you, and that’s the kind Chinaman who helped her. They’re taking us to the sea, where we’ll escape on a big ship.”

  He stared at them doubtfully. “I want Mummy,” he said, tears forming in his eyes.

  The little girl, who till this moment had been solemn in fascination, suddenly dimpled into a lovely smile and laughed like a silver bell. She pointed a finger at him and made a long babbling pronouncement, neither in Cantonese nor Mandarin. For emphasis, she reached down beside her and flung something at him over the back of the seat, with a triumphant cry of “Dah!” It was a wrapped bar of Ghirardelli’s, only a little gummy at one corner where she’d been teething on it. I caught it in mid air.

  “See now, Donal, the nice little girl is giving us chocolates!” I tore off the wrapper hastily and gave him a piece. She reached out a demanding hand and I gave her some as well. “Chocolates and an automobile ride and a big ship! Aren’t you the lucky boy, then?”

  He sat quiet, watching the gregarious baby and nibbling at his treat. His memories were fading. As we rattled up Geary he looked at me with wondering eyes.

  “Where Ella?” he asked me.

  When I had caught my breath, I replied:

  “She couldn’t come to Toyland, Donal Og. But you’re a lucky, lucky boy, for you will. You’ll have splendid adventures and never grow old. Won’t that be fun, now?”

  He looked into my face, not knowing what he saw there. “Yes,” he answered in a tiny voice.

  Lucky boy, yes, borne away in a mechanical chariot, away from the perishable mortal world, and all the pretty nurses will smile over you and perhaps sing you to sleep before they take you off to surgery. And when you wake, you’ll have been Improved; you’ll be ever so much cleverer, Donal, than poor mortal monkeys like your father. A biomechanical marvel fit to stride through this new century in company with the internal combustion engine and the flying machine.

  And you’ll be so happy, boy, and at peace, knowing about the wonderful work you’ll have to do for the Company; much happier than poor Ella would ever have been, with her wild heart, her restlessness and anger. Surely no kindness to give her eternal life, when life’s stupidities and injustice could never be escaped?

  . . . But you’ll enjoy your immortality, Donal Og. You will, if you don’t become a thing like me.

  The words came into my mind unbidden, and I shuddered in my seat. Mustn’t think of this just now: too much to do. Perhaps the whole incident had been some sort of hallucination? There was no foul taste in my mouth, no viral poison sizzling under my glib tongue. The experience might have been some fantastic nightmare brought on by stress, but for the blood staining my elegant evening attire.

  I was a gentleman, after all. No gentleman did such things.

  Pan bore left at Mason, rode the brakes all the way down to Fulton, turned right and accelerated. We sped on, desperate to leave the past.

  There were still whaleboats drawn up on the sand, still wagons waiting there, and shirtsleeved immortals hurriedly loading boxes from wagon to boat. We’d nearly left it too late: those were my people, that was my Nob Hill salvage arrayed in splendour amid the driftwood and broken shells. There were still a pair of steamers riding at anchor beyond Seal Rock, though most of the fleet had already put out to sea and could be glimpsed as tiny lights on the grey horizon, making for the Farallones. As we came within range of the Hush Field both of the children slumped into abrupt and welcome unconsciousness.

  We jittered to a stop just short of the tavern, where an impatient operative from the Company’s motor agency took charge of the automobile. Pan and I jumped out, caught up our respective children, and ran down the beach.

  Past the wagons loaded with rich jetsam of the Gilded Age, we ran: lined up in the morning gloom and salt wind were the grand pianos, the crystal chandeliers, the paintings in gilt frames, the antique furniture. Statuary classical and modern; gold plate and tapestries. Cases of rare wines, crates of phonograph cylinders, of books and papers, waited like refugees to escape the coming morning.

  I glimpsed Averill, struggling through the sand with his arms full of priceless things. He was sobbing loudly as he worked; tears coursed down his cheeks, his eyes were wide with terror, but his body served him like the clockwork toy, like the fine machine it was, and bore him ceaselessly back and forth between the wagon and the boat until his appointed task should be done.

  “Sir! Where did you get to?” he said, gasping. “We waited and waited – and now it’s gonna cut loose any second and we’re still not done!”

  “Couldn’t be helped, old man!” I told him as we scuttled past. “Carry on! I have every faith in you!”

  I shut my ears to his cry of dismay and ran on. A boat reserved for passengers still waited in the surf. Pan and I made for the boarding officer and gave our identification.

  “You’ve cut it damned close, gentlemen,” he grumbled.

  “Unavoidable,” I told him. His gaze fell on my gore-drenched shirt and he blinked, but waved us to our places. Seconds later we were seated securely, and the oarsmen pulled and sent us bounding out on the receding tide to the Thunderer where she lay at anchor.

  We’d done it, we were away from that fated city where even now bronze hatchets were completing the final betrayal –

  No. A gentleman does not betray others. Nor does he leave hi
s subordinates to deal with the consequences of his misfortune.

  Donal shivered in the stiff breeze, waking slowly. Frank’s coat had been lost, somewhere in Chinatown; I shrugged out of my dinner jacket and put it around Donal’s shoulders. He drew closer to me, but his attention was caught by the operatives working on the shore. As he watched, something disturbed the earth and the sand began to flurry and shift. Another warning was sounding up from below.

  The rumbling carried to us over the roar of the sea, as did the shouts of the operatives trying to finish the loading. One wagon settled forward a few inches, causing the unfortunate precipitation of a massive antique clock into the arms of the immortals who had been gingerly easing it down. They arrested its flight, but the shock or perhaps merely the striking hour set in motion its parade of tiny golden automata. Out came its revolving platforms, its trumpeting angels, its pirouetting lovers, its minute Death with raised scythe and hourglass. Crazily it chimed FIVE.

  Pan and I exchanged glances. He checked his Chronometer. Our boatmen increased the vigour of their strokes.

  Moment by moment the East was growing brighter, disclosing operatives massed on the deck of the Thunderer. Their faces were turned to regard the sleeping city. Pan and I were helped on deck and our mortal charges handed up after us; a pair of white-coifed nurses stepped forward.

  “Agent Pan? Agent Victor?” inquired one, as the other checked a list.

  “Here, now, Donal, we’re on our ship at last, and here’s a lovely fairy to look after you.” I thrust him into her waiting arms. The other received the baby from Pan, and the little girl went without complaint; but as his nurse turned to carry him below decks, Donal twisted in her arms and reached out a desperate hand for me.