The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Fourth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  Given the semi-dormant state of the ship, I wondered how much of it was still online. I touched one of the pads, causing the white walls to melt away and take on the holographic semblance of a calming beach scene, with ocean breakers crashing onto powdery white sand under a sky etched with sunset fire. Palm trees nodded in a soothing breeze. I didn’t care about the view, though. I wanted something to drink—my throat was raw—and then I wanted to know what had happened to the others and how long we were going to be detained. Because, like it or not, being a patient aboard a facility like Nightingale wasn’t very different to being a prisoner. Until the hospital deemed you fit and well, you were going nowhere.

  But when I touched the other pads, nothing happened. Either the room was malfunctioning, or it had been programmed to ignore my requests. I made a move to ease myself off the bed, wincing as my bruised limbs registered their disapproval. But the clean white sheet stiffened to resist my efforts, hardening until it felt as rigid as armour. As soon as I pulled back, the sheet relinquished its hold. I was free to move around on the bed, to sit up and reach for things, but the sheet would not allow me to leave the bed itself.

  Movement caught my eye, far beyond the foot of the bed. A figure walked towards me, strolling along the holographic shoreline. She was dressed almost entirely in black, with a skirt that reached all the way to the sand, heavy fabric barely moving as she approached. She wore a white bonnet over black hair parted exactly in the middle, a white collar and a jewelled clasp at her throat. Her face was instantly recognizable as the Voice of Nightingale, but now it appeared softer, more human.

  She stepped from the wall and appeared to stand at the foot of my bed. She looked at me for a moment before speaking, her expression one of gentle concern.

  “I knew you’d come, given time.”

  “How are the others? Are they OK?”

  “If you are speaking of the two who were with you before you lost consciousness, they are both well. The other two required more serious medical intervention, but they are now both stable.”

  “I thought Nicolosi and Quinlan were dead.”

  “Then you underestimate my abilities. I am only sorry that they came to harm. Despite my best efforts, there is a necessary degree of autonomy among my machines that sometimes results in them acting foolishly.”

  There was a kindness there that had been entirely absent from the display facets. For the first time I had the impression of an actual mind lurking behind the machine-generated mask. I sensed that it was a mind capable of compassion and complexity of thought.

  “We didn’t intend to hurt you,” I said. “I’m sorry about any damage we caused, but we only ever wanted Jax, your patient. He committed serious crimes. He needs to be brought back to Sky’s Edge, to face justice.”

  “Is that why you risked so much? In the interests of justice?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Then you must be very brave and selfless. Or was justice only part of your motivation?”

  “Jax is a bad man. All you have to do is hand him over.”

  “I cannot let you take Jax. He remains my patient.”

  I shook my head. “He was your patient, when he came aboard. But that was during the war. We have a record of his injuries. They were serious, but not life-threatening. Given your resources, it shouldn’t have been too hard for you to put him back together again. There’s no question of Jax still needing your care.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

  “No. It’s simple: either Jax died under your care, or he’s well enough to face trial. Did he die?”

  “No. His injuries were, as you note, not life-threatening.”

  “Then he’s either alive, or you’ve got him frozen. Either way, you can hand him over. Nicolosi knows how to thaw him out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “There is no need to thaw Colonel Jax. He is alive and conscious, except when I permit him to sleep.”

  “Then there’s even less reason not to hand him over.”

  “I’m afraid there is every reason in the world. Please forget about Colonel Jax. I will not relinquish him from my care.”

  “Not good enough, ship.”

  “You are in my care now. As you have already discovered, I will not permit you to leave against my will. But I will allow you to depart if you renounce your intentions concerning Colonel Jax.”

  “You’re a gamma-level persona,” I said. “To all intents and purposes you have human intelligence. That means you’re capable of reasoned negotiation.”

  The Voice of Nightingale cocked her head, as if listening to a faraway tune. “Continue.”

  “We came to arrest Colonel Jax. Failing that, we came to find physical proof of his presence aboard this facility. A blood sample, a tissue scraping: something we can take back to the planetary authorities and alert them to his presence here. We won’t get paid as much for that, but at least they can send out a heavier ship and take him by force. But there’s another option, too. If you let us off this ship without even showing us the colonel, there’s nothing to stop us planting a few limpet mines on your hull and blowing you to pieces.”

  The Voice’s face registered disapproval. “So now you resort to threats of physical violence.”

  “I’m not threatening anything: just pointing out the options. I know you care about self-preservation: it’s wired deep into your architecture.”

  “I would be advised to kill you now, in that case.”

  “That wouldn’t work. Do you think Martinez kept your coordinates to himself? He always knew this was a risky extraction. He’d have made damn sure another party knew about your whereabouts, and who you were likely to be sheltering. If we don’t make it back, someone will come in our place. And you can bet they’ll bring their own limpet mines as well.”

  “In which case I would gain nothing by letting you go, either.”

  “No, you’ll get to stay alive. Just give us Jax, and we’ll leave you alone. I don’t know what it is you’re doing out here, what it is that keeps you sane, but really, it’s your business, not ours. We just want the colonel.”

  The ship’s persona regarded me with narrowed, playful eyes. I had the impression she was thinking things through very carefully indeed, examining my proposition from every conceivable angle.

  “It would be that simple?”

  “Absolutely. We take the man, we say good-bye and you never hear from us again.”

  “I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in the colonel. I would find it difficult to part company with him.”

  “You’re a resourceful persona. I’m sure you’d find other ways to occupy your time.”

  “It isn’t about occupying my time, Dexia.” She’d spoken my name for the first time. Of course she knew me: it would only have taken a blood or tissue sample to establish that I’d already been aboard the ship. “It’s about making my feelings felt,” she continued. “Something happened to me around Sky’s Edge. Call it a moment of clarity. I saw the horrors of war for what they were. I also saw my part in the self-perpetuation of those horrors. I had to do something about that. Removing myself from the sphere of operation was one thing, but I knew there was more that I could do. Thankfully, the colonel gave me the key. Through him, I saw a path to redemption.”

  “You didn’t have to redeem yourself,” I said. “You were a force for good, Nightingale. You healed people.”

  “Only so that they could go back to war. Only so that they could be blown apart and sent back to me for more healing.”

  “You had no choice. It was what you were made to do.”

  “Precisely.”

  “The war’s over. It’s time to forget about what happened. That’s why it’s so important to bring Jax back home, so that we can start burying the past.”

  The Voice studied me with a level, clinical eye. It was as if she knew something unspeakable about my condition, some truth I was as yet too weak to bear.

  “What would be t
he likely sentence, were Jax to be tried?”

  “He’d get the death penalty, no question about it. Crucifixion. Hung from the Bridge, like Sky Haussmann.”

  “Would you mourn him?”

  “Hell, no. I’d be cheering with the rest of them.”

  “Then you would agree that his death is inevitable, one way or the other.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Then I will make a counter-proposition. I will not permit you to take Jax alive. But I will allow you an audience with him. You shall meet and speak with the colonel.”

  Wary of a trap, I asked: “Then what happens?”

  “Once the audience is complete, I will remove the colonel from life support. He will die shortly afterwards.”

  “If you’re willing to let him die… why not just hand him over?”

  “He can’t be handed over. Not anymore. He would die.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of what I have done to him.”

  Fatigue tugged at me, fogging my earlier clarity of thought. On one level I just wanted to get out of the ship, with no additional complications. I’d expected to die, when the hospital sent its machines against us. Yet as glad as I was not to find myself dead, as tempted as I was to take the easier option and just leave, I couldn’t ignore the prize that was now so close at hand.

  “I need to talk to the others.”

  “No, Dexia. This must be your decision, and yours alone.”

  “Have you put the same proposition to them?”

  “Yes. I told them they could leave now, or they could meet the colonel.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I’d rather hear what you have to say first.”

  “I’m guessing they had the same reaction I did. There’s got to be a catch somewhere.”

  “There is no catch. If you leave now, you will have the personal satisfaction of knowing that you have at least located the colonel, and that he remains alive. Of course that information may not be worth very much to you, but you would always have the option of returning, should you still wish to bring him to justice. On the other hand, you can see the colonel now—see him and speak with him—and leave knowing he is dead. I will allow you to witness the withdrawal of his life support, and I will even let you take his head with you. That should be worth more than the mere knowledge of his existence.”

  “There’s a catch. I know there’s a catch.”

  “I assure you there isn’t.”

  “We all get to leave? You’re not going to turn around and demand that one of us takes the colonel’s place?”

  “No. You will all be allowed to leave.”

  “In one piece?”

  “In one piece.”

  “All right,” I said, knowing the choice wasn’t going to get any easier no matter how many times I reconsidered it. “I can’t speak for the others—and I guess this has to be a majority decision—but I’m ready to see the sonofabitch.”

  * * * *

  I was allowed to leave the room, but not the bed. The sheet tightened against me again, pressing me against the mattress as the bed tilted to the vertical. Two squid-robots entered the room and detached the bed from its mountings, and then carried it between them. I was glued to it like a figure on a playing card. The robots propelled me forward in an effortless glide, silent save for the soft metallic scratch of their tentacles where they engaged the wall or the floor.

  The Voice of Nightingale addressed me from the bedside panel, a small image of her face appearing above the touchpads.

  “It’s not far now, Dexia. I hope you won’t regret your decision.”

  “What about the others?”

  “You’ll be joining them. Then you can all go home.”

  “Are you saying we all made the same decision, to see the colonel?”

  “Yes,” the Voice said.

  The robots carried me out of the centrifuge section, into what I judged to be the forward part of the ship. The sheet relinquished its hold on me slightly, just enough so that I was able to move under it. Presently, after passing through a series of airlocks, I was brought to a very dark room.

  Without being able to see anything, I sensed that this was as large as any pressurized space we’d yet entered, save for the skin cultivation chamber. The air was as moist and blood-warm as the inside of a tropical greenhouse.

  “I thought you said the others would be here.”

  “They’ll arrive shortly,” the Voice said. “They’ve already met the colonel.”

  “There hasn’t been time.”

  “They met the colonel when you were still asleep, Dexia. You were the last to be revived. Now, would you like to speak to the man himself?”

  I steeled myself. “Yes.”

  “Here he is.”

  A beam of light stabbed across the room, illuminating a face that I recognized instantly. Surrounded by blackness, Jax’s face appeared to hover as if detached from his body. Time had done nothing to soften those pugnacious features; the cruel set of that heavy jaw. Yet his eyes were closed, and his face lolled at a slight angle, as if he remained unaware of the beam.

  “Wake up,” the Voice of Nightingale said, louder than I’d heard her so far. “Wake up, Colonel Jax!”

  The colonel woke. He opened his eyes, blinked twice against the glare, then held a steady gaze. He tilted his head to meet the beam, projecting his jaw forward at a challenging angle.

  “You have another visitor, Colonel. Would you like me to introduce her?”

  His mouth opened. Saliva drooled out. From out of the darkness, a hand descended down from above the colonel’s face to wipe his chin dry. Something about the way the hand came in was terribly, terribly wrong. Jax saw my reaction and let out a soft, nasty chuckle. That was when I realized that the colonel was completely, irrevocably insane.

  “Her name is Dexia Scarrow. She’s part of the same party you’ve already met.”

  Jax spoke. His voice was too loud, as if it was being fed through an amplifier. There was something huge and wet about it. It was like hearing the voice of a whale.

  “You a soldier, girl?”

  “I was a soldier, Colonel. But the war’s over now. I’m a civilian.”

  “Goody for you. What brought you here, girly girl?”

  “I came to bring you to justice. I came to take you back to the war crimes court on Sky’s Edge.”

  “Maybe you should have come a little sooner.”

  “I’ll settle for seeing you die. I understand that’s an option.”

  Something I’d said made the colonel smile. “Has the ship told you the deal yet?”

  “The ship told me it wasn’t letting you out of here alive. It promised us your head.”

  “Then I guess it didn’t get into specifics.” He cocked his head away from me, as if talking to someone standing to my left. “Bring up the lights, Nightingale: she may as well know what she’s dealing with.”

  “Are you sure, Colonel?” the ship said back.

  “Bring up the lights. She’s ready.”

  The ship brought up the lights.

  I wasn’t ready.

  For a moment I couldn’t process what I was seeing. My brain just couldn’t cope with the reality of what the ship had done to Colonel Jax, despite the evidence of my eyes. I kept staring at him, waiting for the picture before me to start making sense. I kept waiting for the instant when I’d realize I was being fooled by the play of shadows and light, like a child being scared by a random monster in the folds of a curtain. But the instant didn’t come. The thing before me was all that it appeared to be.

  Colonel Jax extended in all directions: a quivering expanse of patchwork flesh, of which his head was simply one insignificant component; one hill in a mountain range. He was spread out across the far wall, grafted to it in the form of a vast breathing mosaic. He must have been twenty metres wide, edged in a crinkled circular border of toughened flesh. Under his head was a thick neck, merging into the upper half of an armless
torso. I could see the faint scars where the arms had been detached. Below the slow-heaving ribcage, the torso flared out like the melted base of a candle. Another torso rose from the flesh two metres to the colonel’s right. It had no head, but it did have an arm. A second torso loomed over him from behind, equipped with a pair of arms, one of which must have cleaned the colonel’s chin. Farther away, emerging from the pool of flesh at odd, arbitrary angles, were other living body parts. A torso here; a pair of legs there; a hip or shoulder there. The torsos were all breathing, though not in perfect synchronization. When they were not engaged in some purposeful activity, such as wiping Jax’s chin, the limbs twitched and palsied. The skin between them was an irregular mosaic, formed from many ill-matched pieces that had been fused together. In places it was drum-tight, pulled taut over hidden armatures of bone and gristle. In other places it heaved like a stormy sea. It gurgled with hidden digestive processes.