How Long 'Til Black Future Month?
Page 20
THREAD REPLY FROM THANDIWE SOLOMON
Was Dr. Wei lonely?
Recall transcript, WEI Aihua
Meeting with local Influential 5
Datime 2204.1.26.10:30
[OPTIMIZED BY COGNET!]
[ALL SENSORY RECALL EXCEPT AUDITORY SUPPRESSED TO AID LIGHTSTREAMING.]
“And then the old man said, ‘Why is it always the scholars?’” [LAUGHTER]
[LAUGHTER. WEI CAPTION: THE EVALUATOR’S LAUGHTER SOUNDS ENTIRELY HUMAN NOW. NOTICEABLE ACCENT REDUCTION, TOO.] “The tales of your people are so amusing.”
“My grandmother will be pleased to hear that.”
“Grandmother?”
“Female parent of my parent. [SIGH] She may be dead by the time I get back. I don’t know whether to hope for that or not.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been gone five years. She has cancer—a disease, untreatable in her case. That means a slow, painful death. My parents are taking care of her, but …”
“Your people have only males and females. These take on the nurturer role?”
“Well, it’s not quite as binary as that, but … When necessary, yes.”
“And no one fulfills the evaluator role? Your poor grandmother.”
“Well, I’m not sure—[PAUSE] Oh my God.”
“Are you praying?”
“No, just—that was surprise. You’re another sex. Like male, like female, like the nurturers. The FC team got it completely wrong. Four sexes, not three!”
“Yes, those humans were very slow to adapt to Dar-Mankana. You are much more fit and clever.”
“Evaluator, I must confer with my people. But … ah … may I return to speak with you again tomorrow?”
“That would give me great pleasure, Aihua.”
CogNet init: Hector PRINCIPE
Recip: Angela WHETON
Priority: URGENT
Datime: 2204.1.31.04:00
[OPTIMIZED BY COGNET!]
[SENSORY RECALL RETAINED PER URGENT PROTOCOL. ADDITIONAL LIGHTSTREAM LAG +185 DAYS.]
Angela. [PING] Angela. Damn it, wake the fuck up! And pass this on to Aihua. Oh God, please pass this on to Aihua.
OK. Clear thoughts. OK. I went back to the burial site. Something’s been bothering me. This time I realized what it was.
Most of the bones are small. Children’s bones.
Theory time. Let’s say your species is threatened by an enemy so insidious that all the usual survival techniques are useless against it. It’s an enemy that can camouflage itself enough to get really close during hunting. Maybe it can fool you even up close. What if only specializing a full-time protector for the weakest members of your species, a nurturer, gives your people any hope of survival against an enemy like that? And what if even that doesn’t stop it? What if, in the end, you can’t beat them, so you join them?
Aihua said the evaluator’s appearance was changing. I’m guessing evaluators replace the male or female in reproduction—not all the time, just enough to perpetuate themselves. They’re not really male or female, though, because they’re fucking shapeshifters! Real Manka males and females are like us. The nurturers raise—and guard—the offspring until they’re old enough to show their real potential. Guess what happens then?
They go to the evaluators. Some of the children, the healthiest and the most adaptable, get to live. Only them, though. The rest—along with maybe the old, the sick—are the price the Manka pay for their prosperity.
Gilberto’s superpredators, Angela. Aihua’s been having dinner with one every night for the past week.
PANet init: Paul SRINIVASAN
Recip: Thandiwe SOLOMON
Datime: 2206.12.18.06:10
Ow. Public access streaming hurts my brain, literally. Anyway, that buddy of mine who works for CogNet-Pallenergy? Found out Wei Aihua’s personal logs did get lightstreamed. Somebody ordered them deleted.
Same person also slapped a bunch of restrictions on the TE SurveySat maps that Angela Wheton sent back. I can’t get through the restrictions, but I would guess they reveal the extent and location of those palladium deposits she mentioned. That’s why approval is being fast-tracked—UC’s getting a lot of pressure from Big Fusion.
THREAD REPLY: THANDIWE SOLOMON
Are you kidding me? Did the UC pay attention to anything else in the damned dossier? Do they realize Wei Aihua probably isn’t dead?
THREAD REPLY: PAUL SRINIVASAN
It’s been three years since the TE ship blew up. Where’s she been all this time, if she’s still alive?
THREAD REPLY: THANDIWE SOLOMON
I don’t know, but three years is plenty of time for Stockholm syndrome to set in. Especially if her captors become more and more human, and sympathetic, and attractive—
THREAD REPLY: PAUL SRINIVASAN
No. They’re a different species, Thandi.
THREAD REPLY: THANDIWE SOLOMON
The Manka are a different species. The evaluators are whatever the hell they want to be. Human, if they want to be! You have to ask UC Command to quarantine Dar-Mankana.
THREAD REPLY: PAUL SRINIVASAN
If there were any survivors of the TE team, that would strand them.
THREAD REPLY: THANDIWE SOLOMON
Yes. Especially if there are survivors.
UC Trade Establishment Commission
Excerpt, Letter to the leaders of Dar-Mankana
Datime: 2206.12.20.15:45
[LIGHTSTREAM-OPTIMIZED BY UCNET]
The United Communities of Earth also extend their heartfelt gratitude to the people of Dar-Mankana for their care of Dr. Wei in her days as the sole survivor of the TE ship explosion. Despite her eventual death in childbirth, your people’s valiant efforts to save her and her baby are to be commended. An endowed trust fund has been established in the name of Dr. Wei, Specialist Principe, and the entire TE team. The child born from their mission shall be welcomed home, loved, and honored as the heir to a heroic legacy.
In peace and hope, we look forward to our mutual future of prosperity.
Walking Awake
The Master who came for Enri was wearing a relatively young body. Sadie guessed it was maybe fifty years old. It was healthy and in good condition, still handsome. It could last twenty years more, easily.
Its owner noticed Sadie’s stare and chuckled. “I never let them get past fifty,” the Master said. “You’ll understand when you get there.”
Sadie quickly lowered her gaze. “Of course, sir.”
It turned the body’s eyes to examine Enri, who sat very still in his cell. Enri knew, Sadie could see at once. She had never told him—she never told any of the children, because she was their caregiver and there was nothing of care in the truth—but Enri had always been more intuitive than most.
She cleared her throat. “Forgive me, sir, but it’s best if we return to the transfer center. He’ll have to be prepped—”
“Ah, yes, of course,” the Master said. “Sorry, I just wanted to look him over before my claim was processed. You never know when they’re going to screw up the paperwork.” It smiled.
Sadie nodded and stepped back, gesturing for the Master to precede her away from the cell. As they walked to the elevator, they passed two of Sadie’s assistant caregivers, who were distributing the day’s feed to Fourteen Male. Sadie caught Caridad’s eye and signed for them to go and fetch Enri. No ceremony. A ceremony at this point would be cruel.
Caridad noticed, twitched elaborately, got control of herself, and nodded. Olivia, who was deaf, did not look up to catch Sadie’s signing, but Caridad brushed her arm and repeated it. Olivia’s face tightened in annoyance, but then smoothed into a compliant mask. Both women headed for Cell 47.
“The children here all seem nicely fit,” the Master commented as they stepped into the elevator. “I got my last body from Southern. Skinny as rails there.”
“Exercise, sir. We provide a training regimen for those children who want it; most do. We also use a nutrient bl
end designed to encourage muscle growth.”
“Ah, yes. Do you think that new one will get above two meters?”
“He might, sir. I can check the breeder history—”
“No, no, never mind. I like surprises.” It threw her a wink over one shoulder. When it faced forward again, Sadie found her eyes drawn to the crablike form half-buried at the nape of the body’s neck. Even as Sadie watched, one of its legs shifted just under the skin, loosening its grip on the tendons there.
She averted her eyes.
Caridad and Olivia came down shortly. Enri was between the two women, dressed in the ceremonial clothing: a plain low-necked shirt and pants, both dyed deep red. His eyes locked on to Sadie, despairing, betrayed, before he disappeared through the transfer room’s door.
“Lovely eyes,” the Master remarked, handing her the completed claim forms. “Can’t wait to wear blue again.”
Sadie led it into the transfer center. As they passed through the second gate, the airy echoes of the tower gave way to softer, closer acoustics. The center’s receiving room had jewel-toned walls, hardwood floors, and luxuriant furniture upholstered in rich, tasteful brocades. Soft strains of music played over the speakers; incense burned in a censer on the mantle. Many Masters liked to test their new senses after a transfer.
This Master gave everything a perfunctory glance as it passed through. Off the receiving room was the transfer chamber itself: two long metal tables, a tile floor set with drains, elegant mirror-glass walls which were easy to wash and sterilize. Through the open doorway Sadie could see that Enri had already been strapped to the left table, facedown with arms outstretched. His head was buckled in place on the chinrest, but in the mirrored wall his eyes shifted to Sadie. There was nothing of anticipation in that gaze, as there should have been. He knew to be afraid. Sadie looked away and bowed at the door as the Master passed.
The Master walked toward the right-hand table, removing its shirt, and then paused as it noticed the room’s door still open. It turned to her and lifted one of the body’s eyebrows, plainly wanting privacy. Sadie swallowed, painfully aware of the passing seconds, of the danger of displeasing a Master, of Enri’s terrible unwavering stare. She should stay. It was the least she could do after lying to Enri his whole life. She should stay and let his last sight through his own eyes be of someone who loved him and lamented his suffering.
“Thank you for choosing the Northeast Anthroproduction Facility,” she said to the Master. “At Northeast, your satisfaction is always guaranteed.”
She closed the door and walked away.
That night Sadie dreamed of Enri.
This was not unusual. Her dreams had always been dangerously vivid. As a child, she had sleepwalked, attacked others in the confusion of waking, heard voices when no one had spoken, bitten through her lip and nearly drowned in blood. Her caregivers sent away for a specialist, who diagnosed her as something called bipolar—a defect of the brain chemistry. At the time she had been distraught over this, but the policies were very clear. No Master would have anything less than a perfect host. They could have sent her to Disposal, or the plantations. Instead, Sadie had been given medicines to stabilize her erratic neurotransmitters and then sent to another facility, Northeast, to begin training as a caregiver. She had done well. But though the other symptoms of her defect had eased with adulthood and medication, her dreams were still strong.
This time she stood in a vast meadow, surrounded by waist-high grass and summer flowers. She had seen a meadow only once, on the journey from her home anthro to caregiver training, and she had never actually walked through it. The ground felt uneven and soft under her feet, and a light breeze rustled the grass around her. Underneath the rustling she thought she could hear snatches of something else—many voices, whispering, though she could not make out the words.
“Sadie?” Enri, behind her. She turned and stared at him. He was himself, his eyes wide with wonder. Yet she had heard the screams from the transfer room, smelled the blood and bile, seen his body emerge from the room and flash a satisfied smile that no fourteen-year-old boy should ever wear.
“It is you,” Enri said, staring. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”
It was just a dream. Still, Sadie said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“I know.” Enri sobered, and sighed. “I was angry at first. But then I kept thinking: It must be hard for you. You love us, but you give us to them, over and over. It’s cruel of them to make you do it.”
Cruel. Yes. But. “Better than …” She caught herself.
“Better than being chosen yourself.” Enri looked away. “Yes. It is.”
But he came to her, and they walked awhile, listening to the swish of grass around their calves and smelling the strangely clean aroma of the dirt between their toes.
“I’m glad for this,” Sadie said after a while. Her voice seemed strangely soft; the land here did not echo the way the smooth corridors of the facility did. “To see you. Even if it’s just a dream.”
Enri spread his hands from his sides as they walked, letting the bobbing heads of flowers tickle his palms. “You told me once that you used to go places when you dreamed. Maybe this is real. Maybe you’re really here with me.”
“That wasn’t ‘going to places,’ that was sleepwalking. And it was in the real world. Not like this.”
He nodded, silent for a moment. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted it so much. Maybe that’s why I’m here.” He glanced at her, biting his bottom lip. “Maybe you wanted to see me, too.”
She had. But she could not bring herself to say so, because just thinking it made her hurt all over inside, like shaking apart, and the dream was fragile. Too much of anything would break it; she could feel that instinctively.
She took his hand, though, the way she had so often when they were alive, and alone. His fingers tightened on hers briefly, then relaxed.
They had reached a hill, which overlooked a landscape that Sadie had never seen before: meadows and hills in a vast expanse broken only occasionally by lone trees, and in the distance a knot of thick variegated green. Was that a … jungle? A forest? What was the difference? She had no idea.
“The others think I came here because we used to be close,” Enri said, a little shyly. “Also because you’re so good at dreaming. It wouldn’t matter, me reaching out for you, if you weren’t meeting me halfway.”
Others? “What are you talking about?”
Enri shrugged. It made his shirt—the low-necked smock she’d last seen him wearing—slip back a little, revealing the smooth unblemished flesh of his neck and upper back. “After the pain, there’s nothing but the dark inside your head. If you shout, it sounds like a whisper. If you hit yourself, it feels like a pinch. Nothing works right except your thoughts. And all you can think about is how much you want to be free.”
She had never let herself imagine this. Never, not once. These were the dangerous thoughts, the ones that threatened her ability to keep doing what the Masters wanted or to keep from screaming while she did those things. If she even thought the word free, she usually made herself immediately think about something else. She should not be dreaming about this.
And yet, like picking at a scab, she could not help asking, “Could you … go to sleep? Or something? Stop thinking, somehow?” Pick, pick. It would be terrible to be trapped so forever, with no escape. Pick, pick. She had always thought that taking on a Master meant nothingness. Oblivion. This was worse.
Enri turned to look at her, and she stopped.
“You’re not alone in it,” he said. Whispering, all around them both; she was sure of it now. His eyes were huge and blue, and unblinking as they watched her. “You’re not the only person trapped in the dark. There’s lots of others in here. With me.”
“I—I don’t—” She didn’t want to know.
Pick, pick.
“Everyone else the Masters have taken
.”
A Master could live for centuries. How many bodies was that? How many other Enris trapped in the silence, existing only as themselves in dreams? Dozens?
“All of us, from every Master, down all the years that they’ve ruled us.”
Thousands. Millions.
“And a few like you, ones without Masters, but who are good at dreaming and want to be free the way we do. No one else can hear us. No one else needs to.”
Sadie shook her head. “No.” She put out a hand to touch Enri’s shoulder, wondering if this might help her wake up. It felt just as she remembered—bony and soft and almost hot to the touch, as if the life inside him was much brighter and stronger than her own. “I—I don’t want to be—” She can’t say the word.
Pick, pick.
“We’re all still here. We’re dead, but we’re still here. And—” He hesitated, then ducked his eyes. “The others say you can help us.”
“No!” She let go of him and stumbled back, shaking inside and out. She could not hear these dangerous thoughts. “I don’t want this!”
She woke in the dark of her cubicle, her face wet with tears.
The next day a Master arrived in a woman’s body. The body was not old at all—younger than Sadie, who was forty. Sadie checked the database carefully to make sure the Master had a proper claim.
“I’m a dancer,” the Master said. “I’ve been given special dispensation for the sake of my art. Do you have any females with a talent for dance?”
“I don’t think so,” Sadie said.
“What about Ten-36?” Olivia, who must have read the Master’s lips, came over to join them and smiled. “She opted for the physical/artistic track of training. Ten-36 loves to dance.”
“I’ll take that one,” the Master said.
“She’s only ten years old,” Sadie said. She did not look at Olivia, for fear the Master would notice her anger. “She might be too young to survive transfer.”
“Oh, I’m very good at assuming control of a body quickly,” the Master said. “Too much trauma would destroy its talent, after all.”