Up Against It
Page 18
He looked surprised. “I thought the PM authorized you to get a suite for the duration?”
“Plans changed.”
He started to protest again, but she gave him a pleading look: don’t push me on this. There were no rooms to be had. They would have had to commandeer them from stranded travelers, or spend precious methane supplies having their assemblers grow new ones. Neither was acceptable.
“OK.” He sighed. “I’ll bring the camping gear.”
She got an update from Sean: formal approvals had come through from the North American Conference and no further obstacles stood in the way of getting a shipment of Europan ice. Repairs were progressing. Disassemblers had reached a barely adequate level. He also fed her a private report on the warehouse disaster, which boiled down to: we know the Ogilvies put Kovak up to it, but we can’t prove it yet.
Aaron gave her a report on the status of the ice shipment in Ilion, making it clear they had them tied down … for the moment. “It is unlikely, though,” he said, “that they will be there for more than another twelve hours.” His regretful expression said that was the best they could do. Jane thanked him and signed off.
If Tania could come through with the sapient, that should be time enough. And if not, they only had one other real alternative, in which case there would not be much point in dragging things out.
Marty’s first report came in at three p.m. sharp, and the next two came in on the hour after that. The next six came on the half-hour: Tania and crew continued to map and isolate the sapient. The sapient had not yet deduced their intent to trap it. Their “wetware backup” system of citizens’ reports had revealed a whole new module of ego-structure and a suite of masking tricks the sapient had evolved that they had not known about—the sapient was closer to replication than they had anticipated. But they still had several hours and were staying on schedule.
Reading this made Jane’s heart pound again, and she sent up another prayer to a god she did not believe in.
* * *
Xuan reached the Aeropark at about dinnertime. The Ngo clan—Xuan’s younger brother and sister and their spouses and children—were among the first arrivals. He spotted his sister Kieu and her husband Emil, as well as his brother Pham and Pham’s wife Huynh, unpacking their tents near the aquarium. Near them, the three older Ngo children were rigging slings among the cherry and walnut trees. He headed over.
This innermost, lowest-gee park was a few hectares in area and five stories high. The park featured flying squirrels who truly flew, alongside the birds and butterflies and bees and dragonflies. They all stayed aloft on the warm currents that rose up from the system of vents, looping crazily in the coriolis force. Perhaps twenty families had set up camp; scattered tents hung from trees like brightly colored balloons, and small groups of people bobbed around near suspended picnic tables to chat or eat their dinners.
Xuan slipped off his sandals and stepped out onto a deep bed of self-adhering gel-sand (real sand and dirt were impractical for use in microgee; the particles stayed in the air for days, kicking up dust devils and getting into everything). The sand felt good between his toes. He suspected that Jane herself had selected this place. It was one of his favorites: a low-gee, hanging garden, filled with trees and flowering plants suspended in water-tube meshes. The garden’s centerpiece was its aquarium, a clear, four-story, cylindrical tank suspended above an opening in the floor that led to another section of Kukuyoshi.
It was cool here, but not as cold as much of the rest of Zekeston. To Xuan, who spent much of his working life fluctuating between hypothermia and overheating, out in the Big Empty, it felt just right. He drew in a deep breath. The air was rich with smells of plant nutrients and growing things. The fact that it had been selected as living space meant it would be spared, when the rest of Kukuyoshi was shut down.
Esther, Kieu’s eldest, had taken the twins and their toddler toy sapients over to look at the fish. Within the tank swam dog-sized carp: orange, white, and black ones, and every conceivable combination of these three colors. The carp swam upside down, sideways, and every which way—as loopily as the birds and insects flew—occasionally bumping into the clear walls. The water sloshed up in great, lazy waves and broke into blobs that rose high into the air with their captive fish, before sinking back down into the main pillow of liquid. Once in a while a fish broke out into air and flopped around, gasping as they drifted slowly toward the mass of water. He wondered how many fish they lost that way. But who knew? Maybe they were evolving lungs.
The process of cordoning off of this area had begun already, he noted: a series of silken, spiderweblike structures had strung themselves across the open spaces from rows of recently grown assembler jets in the walls. The structures were filling in with translucent membrane panes—as fragile-seeming with their rainbow swirls as soap film—but in reality, he knew, they were strong enough to isolate the air and thermal systems in the areas set aside for human occupation from the rest of Kukuyoshi.
Xuan bounded over and up toward the clan, some distance away and a couple of stories up, among the suspended cherry trees.
“Need a hand?” he asked Kieu and Emil.
“Grab a pole,” Kieu said, and tossed him a bag. He snatched it out of the air, perched on a limb, and began pulling poles out and snapping the segments together.
“Have you seen Jane?” he asked, while they worked.
He had gotten a troubling transmission from their daughter Dominica. She believed that Xuan’s sister Phan Huu-Thanh and her children had been swept up in the latest round of encryptions. It might as well be a death sentence. He had told his siblings, but no one else knew yet. He needed to discuss it with Jane.
“She’s not here yet,” his little sister said. Though Kieu was eighteen years younger than Xuan, she had only begun antiaging treatments recently, and looked about ten years older than he. “It’s not so late. I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”
The tent went up fast. They tethered it among the cherry trees, shaking loose a blizzard of fragrant blossoms, and then slung the hammocks inside. By the time they had finished, Huynh and Pham also had their tent up and the kids were done securing their belongings. Xuan got Emil’s help with his and Jane’s two-sleeper, while Huynh and Kieu started on dinner.
The four older kids—Esther, Duong, Dinh, and Mai—were playing air tag among the cherry trees; their parents warned them to stay out of the other campers’ way. Lights flicked on inside the tents strung about the park, making them look like giant Chinese lanterns. The twins, Abraham and Rebecca, were nowhere in sight; his brother Pham must have taken them for a walk.
Huynh and Kieu bundled up supper and the family headed over to the aquarium. There they found Pham and the twins. Jane was with them. The elder four children rushed her, and she gave each of the kids a candy treat. Xuan shared a grin with his siblings. Jane told the children to follow her into the upper trees of the cherry forest on the other side.
“I know a very special place to have a picnic,” she said.
Xuan knew just what place she had in mind. He also knew why she had chosen that particular place. “Stroiders” surveillance didn’t touch every part of the city. Certain areas were far enough away from the cams and the assembler sprays that they would have a degree of true privacy. He and Jane linked fingers and led the way, and the whole family went on a tour of the park.
As they bounded up and floated down through the park’s open spaces, Xuan pointed out to the children many things. A pair of Iriomote wildcats put on a show. They stalked each other—leaping, coiling—in a Coriolis-defiant aerial ballet.
Jane located the hedge. She and Xuan swung down and picked their way through it. The rest of the family followed suit, emerging with a few cuts and scratches. “Don’t worry,” Jane said. “It’s worth it.”
She pointed out the picnic tables, three of them, nearly obscured by an old hanging ball of a cherry tree nearby. Xuan turned on his flashlight and led the way. By now they had t
ouched down on the pseudo-sand of this secluded area; they kicked off again and soared up to the tables among the trees. Around them, butter-yellow bees burrowed into the white blossoms, while the adults spread out the food. Kieu and Huynh got the children fed, clinging to the gently bobbing table to bind bowls, chopsticks, and cups to its upper surface. Kieu took out a thermos, and ejected globules of steaming green tea for the adults. Meanwhile, Xuan took the bowl from Huynh and dished out the noodles.
It was not traditional for a man to serve food in Vietnamese culture, but Xuan was not traditional. He served his siblings in memory of his grandmother. She had spent herself utterly in the bearing and raising of her four grandchildren during years of famine in southwestern Canada. Xuan’s father had abandoned them when his mother died giving birth to Phan Huu-Thanh. Xuan had been eight.
The family had pooled all their resources to send Xuan home under Vietnam’s Right-of-Return program. There he had gone to boarding school, then gotten an education at one of the country’s top universities in Saigon. Eventually he got a teaching position there, and began a decades-long effort to reunite his family and bring them home. It had proven difficult; with Vietnam’s economy booming and the vast numbers of the Vietnamese Diaspora, the immigration lines were long. He had returned to Canada shortly before emigrating Upside, to find his beloved ba-noi in a shantytown outside Vancouver: dumped on a dung pile like garbage.
He had found her too late to do little more than ease her passing. But not too late to remember her sacrifice in his small way.
Dinner included vat-grown sprouts and leafy veggies and stinging-hot chili and Mr. Rotisserie chicken. The aroma made his mouth water. Once his siblings and their spouses were served, he swirled the last of it into two clumps in midair with his chopsticks, then held out a bowl to Jane. Her noodles slowly settled into the bowl, unwinding. She devoured the noodles almost before any could touch the bowl. He caught and picked at his, watching her with affection.
“They’re delicious,” Jane told Huynh, who smiled.
“Any further news on getting new ice in?” Emil asked.
“We have several options. There is a major shipment we hope to have access to, very soon.”
Everyone seemed relieved. More chat ensued. Then the other two families left to get their children ready for bed. Xuan and Jane lingered under the cherry branches. Xuan cradled his cup of tea, teased more globules from the cup, and sipped at them. He caught Jane looking at him.
“Don’t know what I’d do without you, my dear,” she said.
Xuan smiled fondly. “No doubt they’d find you at your desk, gibbering and psychotic from overwork,” he said.
She tensed as though he had struck her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He took her hand, disturbed. “What is it?” he asked again, seriously.
In answer, she sprang over the table toward him, and gripped his hand with one of her feet. He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her as she settled. The blossoms she had disturbed swirled around them, faint and fragrant. “Just hold me for a minute, OK?”
“OK.” He sensed her surreptitiously looking around. She was scanning for Stroider-cams or motes. No cams registered; no motes seemed present.
“We’re extracting the sapient tonight,” she said in a low voice. “In just a few hours. When things happen, they’ll happen fast.”
He exhaled sharply. “All right.”
“When we’re ready to extract, people will be ordered to the life shelters.” They linked wavefaces. She called up a map of the gardens, and gestured at an emergency exit tube sign. “I’d like you to escort the family here,” she said. “It’s the closest.”
“Of course.” He paused. “How big a deal is this?”
She inhaled. “Until we get it out, it’s got access to everything. Air, power, food distribution, transport, assembly and disassembly. Everything.”
The tension in her did not ease. He laid his chin on her head. “All right, then.”
“You said you had something to discuss, also?”
He reached into his pocket, and passed a data lozenge to her over her shoulder. “From Dominica,” he said. She glanced around at him.
“It came in today. Nothing urgent. Just … when you get a chance. We’ll talk about it later.” Offline, he meant. He did not want to add to her worries with the bad news about Huu-Thanh, just now.
They spent a moment longer, snuggling, trying together to hold out the world. But it was late. “I’d better go,” she said.
“All right. Be careful.”
“You be careful, too. Stay near the life shelters until you get an all-clear from me.”
“All right.”
Xuan’s brother and sister and their spouses had gathered outside Pham and Huynh’s tent to talk. Jane went over to make her good-byes to them. The toddlers started fussing in the tent, refusing to settle down.
Kieu started to go in, but Xuan motioned her to settle again. “Let me.” He picked up seven smooth stones that had been displaced from a nearby rock garden, and went inside. The twins were struggling in the mesh hammock. Abraham was already out of his pajamas. Tears and snot streaked Hannah’s miserable little face. They both quieted, though, when they saw him come in.
“Shush!” he said softly. —little buck rabbit, little doe—“what are you doing? Quiet now, and don’t disturb your mother.”
He wiped Hannah’s face, handed her her bottle, which had slipped out of the hammock, and put Abraham back into his pajamas. They snuggled back into their sleeping bags and looked at him with expectant expressions. They knew Uncle Xuan’s bedtime M.O. He held up six stones between his fingers. The seventh he kept hidden.
“Watch this,” he said. On the floor of the tent he carefully stacked the six stones. Then he framed it with his hands.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Rocks!” Hannah said.
“Yes. On Earth, monks make stone mounds to honor the Buddha. Let us say thanks to Buddha for teaching us to love and have compassion for all beings.” Kieu and Emil were bringing their children up in the Jewish faith, but Xuan knew they would not mind; his sister had told him so. He closed his eyes, bowed, and chanted a bodhisattva three times. The little ones watched with solemn faces. Then he leaned forward with a grin. “But it turns out these are not just ordinary rocks. Watch.”
He knocked them neatly—just so—and they tumbled up in all directions at once. This was a trick he had taught himself during his many long research sojourns among faraway stroids. You hit it just right in microgee, and the rocks fly in clean patterns. The twins giggled and tried to wiggle out of the hammock to grab the stones, but Xuan clucked in mild disapproval and put them back in.
“But what’s this?” he asked. “One stone went into Hannah’s ear!” With this, he reached behind Hannah’s head and rolled the stone into his palm, and then held it for both to see. They clapped again, and giggled. “Again! Again!” she said, and Abraham said, “Me too!”
“No, now it’s time for little rabbits to sleep,” he said, and kissed them both good night. He gave them each a stone, and they settled down in their covers and closed their eyes, clutching the rocks in their hands.
Outside, Xuan and Jane found Thomas and Esther dangling from branches, staring at something on the canvas wall of their own family tent. Xuan bounded back up. Jane came right behind him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Somebody drew on our tent,” Esther said. Xuan grasped a branch and squinted. His vision adjusted swiftly in the dimness. Someone had drawn a crude symbol in phosphorescent green, red, and yellow paint: a bleeding bird caught in the talon of a hawk.
“Vandals,” he said, disgusted, but Jane’s fingers dug into his biceps. He drew her aside. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice came out a harsh whisper. “This is a message. A threat.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded. She drew a slow breath. “The hawk i
s the logo for the Ogilvie family business. The Martian mob. They’re telling me they know where I live. They are threatening the family.”
Xuan thought perhaps Jane was reading too much into it, but she seemed certain. He said over her shoulder to the children, “It’s just some stupid prank. Go get some soap and water, and wash it off.”
“Come on,” he said, and they went to Kieu and Emil’s tent, where the adults were. “We need you all to come out and see something,” Jane said.
Everyone climbed out and sank down with her and Xuan to the children’s tent where the graffiti was. “I hate giving you more to worry about,” she told them. “But you need to know this, for your own protection.”
“What is it?” Kieu asked.
“I believe it’s a threat aimed at me. I have enemies whose symbol is the hawk.” They all looked at Jane. She went on, “I don’t believe they will do anything. This is just to keep me off-balance. But we should all be alert.
“Keep the kids in view of ‘Stroiders’-cams at all times, and keep them close during offline periods. These people can’t afford to alienate the viewers back home. We can use that to our advantage.”
“We’ll deal with it,” Pham said. “Thanks for the warning.”
Xuan escorted Jane to the park exit. He kissed her good-bye beneath their tents, and tasted tea, peanuts, and tongue-stinging chili on her lips.
Jane smiled. “I’ll be all right.”
“We will, too. Don’t worry.”
He kissed her again, gave her hands a final squeeze, and watched as she sprang off down the corridor, hand and foot: nimble, commanding, beautiful primate. Jane and Xuan’s grandmother were very different. But Jane’s spirit reminded him a little of his ba-noi. She was so still, so calm: unbending in her stance between power and need. In his nightmares, sometimes, she too ended up dying on a rubbish heap.
The hardest part of loving was how much it gave you to lose.
14
For a while the three teens stayed where they had been tossed, trussed up with packing cord like Mr. Rotisserie beef packets readied for shipment. Geoff and Amaya had been thrown across the small bed and Ian was slumped in the corner beside it. Blue Tattoo had warned them that if they even breathed too loud, he would come back in and pound them.