"Aaarrr....iiiiiiiii," it said. "Aaarrrr.....iiiiiiiieeeee."
Walt coughed. "Er, he's trying to say Arnie," he said.
"Arnie?" said Seb. The creature nodded slowly.
"Aaarrrrr....iiiieeeee," it said.
"Bad joke," said Walt. "Actually, this is one of my better efforts. Until a few years ago, I couldn't get any kind of voice. Beyond my capabilities."
Seb realized there was something different going on. When Walt had made the napkin animal and the shark, Seb was aware of the control Walt had, the sense of a puppeteer and his puppets. This time, Seb could feel nothing like that. "You're not controlling it?" said Seb.
Walt looked surprised. "Correct," he said. "How did you know?"
"Just...feels different, I suppose."
"It is different. That's what makes it so hard. Homunculi are, to some extent, autonomous. They have a separate existence, of sorts. They can make simple decisions, but only along the lines implanted when they are created. This one is a kind of bodyguard template. If I was attacked, he would protect me. As my skills are limited, I keep things fairly simple. Arnie here can walk, but not very well and not quickly. But he's broad and his body could easily block a doorway or a hallway. His arms can move fast enough, that's where I spent the most time. Let me demonstrate. Arnie?" The lumpen head swiveled toward Walt's voice. "Hit the punchbag."
The homunculus turned and stumped across toward the door. Its steps were slow, heavy and cautious. When it reached the punchbag, it stopped, its massive feet planted a shoulder width apart.
"The big feet aren't pretty," said Walt, "but they give it stability in a fight."
The creature's right arm suddenly jabbed at the punchbag. It was, by far, the fastest movement it had made yet and Seb was taken by surprise. When the punch landed, the bag jumped backward a few feet and the 'thwack' was shockingly loud in the quiet heat of the yard. Arnie followed up with another couple jabs with its right, followed by a massive left hook which, if it had landed on human skin and bone rather than leather and sand, would had caused unconsciousness or - more likely - death. Untiring, the creature launched into a series of combinations, a flurry of punches throwing the bag from one direction to the other, dust flying.
"I've watched a lot of boxing," said Walt. "Guess if you watch it enough, you start to pick up some of the moves." Seb marveled at the way the creature was still throwing punches. He looked like he could carry on all day.
"He'll run down eventually," said Walt. "Homunculi have a short shelf life." He called over to the thing still punishing the punchbag. "Hey, Arnie! Quit it, will ya?" the creature stopped immediately, its huge arms hanging by its sides. Walt turned back to Seb. "A few hours, no more."
"And what then?" said Seb.
"From dust you came and to dust you shall return," said Walt. Noticing the expression on Seb's face, he shrugged and held out his hands, palm upward in a 'hey, don't blame me' gesture. "It has no consciousness as such. Think of it as a wind-up toy. Set it in motion and it'll do its thing until the clockwork mechanism runs down. Only in this case you can't just wind it up again, because when it winds down it falls apart. You have to start from scratch."
"Which uses a lot of Manna," said Seb.
"Yep," said Walt.
"So why bother?" said Seb.
"The autonomy," said Walt. "Homunculi have one big advantage. You can walk away and let them do their thing. Give Arnie a gun and by the time he shoots someone, I can be hundreds of mile away. And a pile of dirt with a gun next to it hardly counts as evidence." He caught Seb's look. "Hey, I'm not saying I've done it. Not saying I would do it. Just saying it's theoretically possible, is all." Walt gave Seb a speculative look. "Ok," he said, "your turn."
Chapter 31
Seb wasn't sure how to start, or even if he wanted to. There was something about the semi-human look of the homunculus which gave him chills, even though he accepted Walt's definition of it as no more conscious than a clockwork toy. He had felt this way before, years back. It was the time Jack Carnavon had snapped the arm off a GI Joe at St. Benet's. He knew it couldn't feel anything, but somehow that didn't make him feel much better. He remembered wincing. He made an effort to shrug off the memory.
Arnie stood stock still in front of the punch bag. Seb was intrigued by what Walt had created, and wondered what he might be able to produce himself. He had barely begun to explore the power he now had inside him. He was briefly surprised at how unconcerned he seemed to be. Everything had changed, the world was a very different place to the one he'd decided to leave permanently less than a week ago. Perhaps that explained the laid-back way he was dealing with his continued existence. He had said his goodbyes, made what peace he could with his past and his lack of future. He had taken his own life, rather than wait for it to be taken from him by a disease with no cure. Every day since then was an unexpected bonus. Even the fact that his personality seemed to have fractured in some way didn't disturb his equilibrium. Seb2 could do the heavy lifting for now, he would just deal with life as it came.
Seb sat up, back straight, feet flat on the ground. He breathed as Father O had taught when he first learned contemplation. No effort to breathe differently, just stillness of posture and awareness of breathing. Soon, his breathing became quieter and began to deepen naturally. His heart slowed and his thoughts, drifting like clouds through his consciousness, began to lose their ability to hijack his attention, instead becoming background noise. The Bach prelude began to sound in his head as he looked at the dry dirt of the yard. Immediately, the earth began to move and he brought up the image of Arnie in his mind's eye, trying to recreate the being Walt had brought to life. The dust swirled and clods of dirt rose from the earth in a miniature whirlwind, sticking to each other as they spun. Soon, a human-like form began to appear and, as the whirlwind subsided, Arnie's twin stood before them. It grunted and flexed its muscles, in a macabre parody of competitive bodybuilders.
Walt laughed, as Seb made his creation perform an Irish jig. It was far more mobile than Arnie.
"Yeah, great," said Walt, "but you haven't let go. Cut it loose, let's see what you've got."
As Seb listened to Walt, he realized he could control the creature without giving much attention to it. He had never been good at multi-tasking before, looked like this might be one of Seb2's upgrades. He turned back toward his capering monster and broke the connection, which felt like the mental equivalent of letting go of a kite on a gusty day. He felt it go. The creature immediately dropped to the floor, leaving just a small mound of earth to show for its brief existence.
"Hmm," said Walt. "Thought so. You were controlling it the same way you controlled my shark back in the car. This is different. You can't be a puppeteer - you've got to give a bit of yourself. Don't make a puppet, make Pinocchio."
"Great, thanks for the detailed instructions," said Seb.
"Hey, don't blame me," said Walt. It's the same for all of us. We all do things differently, and a lot of what we do happens underneath the conscious level. I couldn't explain it to you any better than I could explain how my brain sends a message to my arm and my hand, enabling me to pick up this bottle, raise it to my mouth and have a drink." He took a swig from his beer in demonstration. "I mean, I could talk about nerves and muscles and synapses, but that wouldn't help you any with the practicalities, would it? Remember, Manna works with you. Make sure you have a clear idea of what you want. Sid used to talk about focus, about ignoring the clutter. Best description I ever heard was from some Zen teacher who'd never heard of Manna. He talked about the 'one-pointed' mind. That made sense to me, making my mind one-pointed."
"One-pointed," said Seb. "Right. No clutter, pointy brain, here we go." He turned back to the yard and let his mind return to the contemplative state. He was aware how fast this process had become. Despite having sat his ass on a cushion almost every day for the best part of two decades, he'd never found it easy. Now it seemed he could skip the 25 minutes it used to take just to get to whe
re his thoughts weren't in total control of his scattered consciousness. From mental cocktail party to stillness took seconds.
As his mind stilled, Seb had an idea. The Bach seemed to work perfectly so far, introducing structure to an otherwise chaotic and uncontrollable power. But Walt had said he needed to put something of himself into his homunculus if it was to have any independence. He let the first few bars of the C prelude sound in his mind as he brought the image of Arnie to the surface of his consciousness. This time, as the dust began to swirl and the earth moved into its whirlwind, he started to morph the music, improvising on Bach's theme, adding a very simple countermelody of his own. It was an eight-bar sequence which resolved neatly, like tying a parcel with a bow and snipping the frayed ends from the end of the string. He broke the connection and sat back.
Arnie had a new friend. This one was just as ugly, but it differed slightly in that it had a clump of sandy hair on top of its misshapen skull.
"Wow," said Walt, "did you think it might get invited on more dates with some hair?"
"I think I know what happened. Just as I was finishing, I thought of someone I'd seen on the news and it affected what I was doing."
"Who were you-?" Walt broke off, put his head on one side and examined Seb's homunculus a little more closely. Then he started laughing. He laughed long and loud, slapping his thigh, his eyes watering, until Seb had to start laughing too. The creature looking at them didn't move, its semi-human features unsmiling under its incongruous thatch of hair. "What are you going to call him," said Walt, gasping, as the laughter finally started to subside. "Donald?"
"That's Mr. Trump to you," said Seb, which started them both off again, wheezing and crying with laughter for at least five minutes. Eventually, they gained a semblance of control.
"Come on," said Walt, "let's see what he's got. Give him some instructions."
"Take a walk, Don," said Seb, and immediately the short stocky figure began plodding in a slow circle around the yard. The sensation was very different, as Seb wasn't using Manna now. The creature was genuinely able to exist on its own. It was a disconcerting feeling, watching it walk, its long arms hanging limply by its sides.
"Hey, Arnie, come and join us," called Walt. Arnie turned away from the punchbag and came back to the spot where he had originally been created. There was a slight depression in the ground, and that's where Arnie planted his huge feet. "Arnie, meet Mr. Trump. Shake hands, fellas." The homunculi raised their arms, put out their slab-like hands and solemnly shook. It was a bizarre sight.
"He doesn't talk much, unlike his namesake," said Seb.
"Yeah, I kinda like that about him," said Walt. "Ok, you've impressed me again. I guess I'm going to have to get used to that. It took me months to produce anything that looked even remotely human. Took the best part of a year to get it to move in any useful way." He gave Seb a long, speculative look. "You're a real talent, kid. How are you feeling? Drained, tired?"
Seb shook his head. "I feel fantastic, Walt," he said. "Not sure I've ever felt this good before. Which is weird considering the situation."
"Well, don't knock it. If you feel good it's for a reason. And no need to worry about those guys on the train. Whoever they were, there's very little chance they could trace you to Vegas. And even if they did, change your face when you go out, change your whole body if you like. It's child's play compared to what you've done so far. A bit of practice, no one will ever find you if you don't want to be found."
"What about people who use Manna?" said Seb. "I thought they could tell where other Users were?"
"Yeah," said Walt, "there's no hiding from them, son, but the majority of us don't wish each other any harm, and you dealt with last night's threat pretty efficiently. I doubt she'll be back after that display." Walt took another sip from his beer and looked at Seb evenly. "Look," he said, "you're gonna have to trust someone eventually. You're in my home. Want to tell me your story?"
Seb paused for a beat. No reason not to trust him. But no reason to trust him, either. He took a decision. Told Walt about his illness, his trip into the mountains with a bottle of fine whisky and a sharp blade. He skipped the part about the alien...something he still needed to process and didn't want to share. He left in the part about the shooting and his superhuman speed.
"So you were unconscious - near death - and when you woke up, you were healed?" said Walt. Seb nodded.
"Only one explanation possible, as I see it," said Walt. "You must have sat your ass down on some Manna. A filling station, like Red Rock, though I've never heard of one up there. And you're a natural. A late starter, but a natural. Guess you just soaked up everything that was there." He shook his head slowly, thinking. "How the hell did you end up on that train, though?"
Seb paused again, felt cautious about saying much more. He felt bad lying to Walt, but he just didn't feel right telling anyone about Seb2, about the way he had somehow moved from one place to another. From certain death under the wheels of a van to a Superliner bedroom on the Albuquerque train. "The guy with the soldiers kidnapped me, sprayed some kind of drug into my face. I passed out. When I woke up, I was on the train. Guess someone must have helped me." Walt just looked at him
"Guess so," he said. "Well, that's some story." He looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it. He turned away from Seb and pointed at the waiting homunculi. "Now come on," he said, "let's fight."
"What?" said Seb.
"That's what these things are good for, if they're good for anything," said Walt. "So, come on, let's see what Donald has got. Put 'em up, Arnie."
Walt's homunculus raised its giant hands and curled them into huge, meaty fists. Seb's creature just stared at him.
"Ok, Mr. Trump," said Seb, "time to see what you're made of. Get ready to rumble!"
The second homunculus raised its own hands and mirrored Arnie's stance. There was none of the ducking, bobbing, or mutual sizing up that characterized the beginning of most fights. Both beings stood perfectly still, just a breath of wind lifting the edge of Seb's creature's incongruous hair, which set Walt off into another few seconds of snorting and wheezing with laughter.
"Arnie?" said Walt, "in five seconds you're going to attack Mr. Trump here. Make it good, don't want to look stupid in front of Seb."
"When he attacks," said Seb to his creature, "defend yourself. Win the fight if you can."
There was a brief pause before the fight began. Again, the atmosphere was very different to any other fight. Both of them were absolutely still. The seconds ticked down. Then, with no warning, Arnie's right arm snapped forward toward Donald's head. Donald moved backward, but still caught some of the impact on the left side of his forehead. He swayed slightly, and when he regained his balance, there was a small crater on the side of his head half the size of Arnie's massive fist. Donald clamped both hands together and swung them in a heavy roundhouse toward Arnie's neck, but Arnie was wise to the move and flexed his upper body backward, letting the blow fall short by six inches. While his opponent was still moving with the swing of his missed punch, he countered with a viscous head-butt that would have finished the fight there and then with a human opponent.
"Are you sure it was boxing you've been watching?" said Seb.
Donald took a step backward. His face looked like a lump of dough someone had pushed a fist into. His nose was gone, his mouth thrust forward, giving him a more neanderthal appearance than before, if that was possible. Sickeningly, his eye sockets no longer looked forward, but seemed to stare at each other across the chasm where his nose used to be. It didn't slow him down, though. He simply stepped forward again and kicked Arnie as hard as he could in the groin.
"Ah, that's a far more honorable way to fight, is it?" said Walt, chuckling. "Actually, that would work well against you or I, but Arnie's lack of testicles may prove to be to his advantage."
As if to prove his point, Arnie didn't even flinch, but reached down and dislodged Donald's foot, yanking it upwards. Donald
dropped on the ground like a felled tree. Then Arnie stepped heavily onto Donald's pelvis - if he had one - and pulled on the foot in his hand with all his strength. There was a horrible squelch as the leg stretched, tore and finally popped out of its socket. Arnie hefted the severed limb in his hand like a club. Donald managed to get into a kind of kneeling position on one leg, supported by his arms. Arnie simply swung the leg back over his shoulder and, with the kind of swing golfers spend their lives trying to perfect, brought the limb whistling back toward his opponent. As the meaty thigh met Donald's ruined face, his head was ripped briskly from his shoulders and sent flying into the air. It sailed across the yard, hit the house wall and shattered, exploding in a shower of dirt. Simultaneously, the rest of the homunculus, including the leg in Arnie's hand, changed back into earth and fell in a shower to the ground. Arnie raised his hands in triumph. "Aaarrrrr....nnniiiiieeeee," he yelled, "Aaarrrrr....nnnii-".
Without warning, Walt's homunculus became earth, dropping to the yard floor just as Donald's body had seconds earlier. All that remained were scattered piles of dirt and a splatter of soil on the wall.
There was silence for a few seconds. "Well," said Walt, "I'm glad there's something I can do better than you."
Seb just stared into the yard, stunned by the physical violence, yet aware none of it was real. It was a strange feeling.
"Ok, you got the basics down," said Walt, "but your fighting technique sucks. Let's see if we can do something about that. You never know when you might need someone to get your back. And these guys never ask questions, don't need feeding and are absolutely loyal. Downside is, they drain Manna. Two or three more today, then I'm gonna need a trip back to Red Rock tonight. We'll see if you need to come with me." He gave Seb that quizzical look he'd flashed him a few times since they met. "Ok, let's get to work."
World Walker 1: The World Walker Page 24
