Earthweb

by Marc Stiegler

  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Viktor eyeing him. "You might want this," he said, tossing a Chapstick at the Dealer. "I have a spare."

  Kam Yin caught the small cylinder awkwardly. "Thank you," he offered. He applied the soothing cream to his lips, just in time, it seemed.

  Lanie and Lou looked over at him. Viktor waved a hand. "Lou, Lanie, I'd like you to meet my new friend, uh," he waved his hands in the air theatrically, "uh . . ."

  The Dealer smiled; he was finally one up on the Russian. "Chan Kam Yin," he said with a bow. He continued, very hesitant because he knew his English was so poor, "Pleased to meet you."

  The Russian continued, "Chan Kam Yin is an engineer, come to see the Angel exoskeletons."

  Lou nodded approvingly. "Good for you."

  Viktor asked Kam Yin, "Does it look like the pictures on the Web, my friend?"

  Once more the Dealer scanned the horizon. "It is different," he admitted. "Being here, it is . . . more big."

  Lou smiled, and spread his arms. "Yeah, parts of America are like that. You should see Montana. They call it 'Big Sky Country,' and they mean it."

  The Dealer watched Viktor put a finger to his nose and mouthed the word, "Romantic." Yes, the Americans did romanticize their wastelands. How quaint.

  "Very beautiful," the Dealer murmured.

  Viktor shook his head. "Very barren," he sniffed, "unlike my home. You should see it. The frozen tundra of Murmansk gleams with a purity and grace not to be found anywhere in America south of Alaska."

  Lou snorted. "Beautiful Murmansk, where the popsicles and the ice cubes play."

  Viktor dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Kam Yin, we need to get you speaking your English more. It is quite good enough, you know, and there's an old rule to languages: If you're not sure how to say it, say it loud. Mumbling doesn't help."

  Kam Yin bowed his head, and thought to leave before the old fool completely embarrassed him.

  But Viktor continued. "I know just how to improve your language skills. I'll teach you the same trick I learned when I was your age."

  Lou rolled his eyes. "Viktor, you can't be serious. Your friend here doesn't have the training to survive your idea of a learning strategy."

  Lanie grasped Lou's arm. "What's Uncle Viktor's plan?" she asked disingenuously, knowing it would be something juicy from Pops' disapproving tone.

  "I know a special drink that improves the language skills," Viktor announced proudly.

  Kam Yin was intrigued. "A learning chemical?" There had been a lot of claims of such things lately, but nothing that had passed the scrutiny of the Lloyd's-Glaxo certification test.

  Viktor blinked his eyes. "It only works for improving your spoken language skills," he warned. "I can get it for you right here, in the terminal."

  "That would be wonderful," Kam Yin said. Imagine, advanced learning chemicals right in the terminal! America was certainly living up to his expectations as a most amazing place.

  "Viktor, you have got to mix it with orange juice this time," Lou muttered darkly. "He's just a boy, for heaven's sake."

  Kam Yin didn't understand the reference, but he was sure that he would figure it out with the help of the learning chemical.

  * * *

  Paolo sat in the breakfast nook sipping his orange juice, staring out the window. His face held no expression, his mind held no thoughts. Soon he would send his mind into overdrive, to do his best to help Earth Defense again. The closest he could come to a well-formed thought right now, though, was to hope that someday this wouldn't be necessary anymore.

  Sofia came up behind him, too quietly to be heard, but he could feel her warmth even before her hands reached out to travel the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Tension he hadn't realized he had melted away as her massaging hands lured him into relaxation. "Paolo, did you–"

  "Yes. What about—"

  "Taken care of." She worked his neck for a moment; his head lolled. She continued. "Will Mercedes—"

  "Of course."

  "You called."

  "Would I—"

  "In a heartbeat, darling." She bent over and kissed him. "Glad that's settled." She glided out as quietly as she had come in. Paolo guess she had worked through her snappish mood. Thank heavens.

  "Exactly right," she called back at him from beyond the nook.

  * * *

  "Viktor, I can't believe you." Lou panted with exertion at the heavy load he had slung across his shoulders. "Did you pour a whole fifth down this poor kid's gullet?"

  Viktor grunted. "Not hardly. I drank most of it. It was very hard to get the boy to loosen up enough to take his medicine."

  Lanie's palmtop beeped. "The door's open." She looked with urgent concern at her uncle. "Really, Uncle Viktor, please let me help Pops carry him the rest of the way."

  Viktor faced had turned bright red with the exertion as he helped Lou carry Chan Kam Yin to the room. Viktor grunted. "I'm all right. And you're too little."

  Lanie pouted. She put her hands on her hips. "I am not. I'm stronger than you are."

  Viktor laughed at that, but not with his usual overpowering strength.

  Lou led the way into the motel room. "Listen to the girl, Viktor. She's tougher than she looks. You should see her play soccer." He paused to take a breath. "Besides, though it would serve you right to drop dead carrying a burden of your own making, I need you alive for the assault on Shiva." He started moving again.

  Chan Kam Yin snored softly, his head lolling to the left at a precarious angle. Lou had to wonder if the human neck could really twist that far. The evidence said yes. Amazing.

  Viktor rasped out, "We're almost there."

  Lanie threw up her hands. "I've got the lights on." Lou blinked as the room suddenly became as bright as high noon.

  "Could you turn that down a little?" he asked.

  Chan Kam Yin groaned.

  Melanie apologized, "Sorry." The lighting settled into a mellow background glow.

  With a final effort, Lou wheeled and half-threw, half-dumped, the boy onto the bed. Viktor removed the kid's shoes while Lanie carefully tucked blankets around him.

  Lou sagged into a chair. "I'm way too old for this. Viktor, why did you accost a perfect stranger like this? I'm sure he's a nice kid, but—"

  Viktor plunked down on the floor. His words came out garbled, but recognizable. "No, he's not a nice kid, Lou. That's the point."

  Lou stared at him.

  Viktor explained. "He's an angry, street-smart kid with a con on his mind. I know the type. I used to train kids just like him to be terrorists."

  Lou threw up his hands. "So you're back in the terrorist training business? For who?"

  Viktor shook his head. "Of course not. I just wanted to try to help one do something better." He lay back, spread-eagled on the carpet. A gasp arose from his heaving chest. The flush finally started to fade from his face. "And I think I succeeded."

  "By getting him drunk?" Lou demanded. "And by making my Lanie watch?"

  Viktor chortled. "Lanie played an important part in the victory, Lou. She's young enough, and charming enough, so that Kam Yin didn't feel intimidated. She's the one who got him talking about his childhood."

  Lanie looked sad. "He's had a terrible life," she said. She paused to reflect. "But it's certainly been interesting." She looked up at Lou. "Pops, I really had fun getting him to talk. He really does know a lot of English." She smiled smugly. "And I do think he uses it better now than when we first met him. Uncle Viktor was right—vodka really does improve your speaking if your main problem is just that you're worried about how bad it is."

  Lou grunted. "Well, it's the strangest good deed I've ever seen. Can we go now?"

  Viktor dragged himself slowly to his feet. "Of course. Lanie, thank you once again for a job well done."

  "Nothing to it, Uncle Viktor. I wanted to thank you for agreeing to teach me explosives. We start tomorrow, right?"

  Lou leaped from the chair. "You promised L
anie what?"

  Viktor stretched and moved sluggishly for the door. Lou came up to him with his hands curled in a position well-suited for wrapping around the Russian's neck. Viktor shrugged. "I told you I wanted a younger, more exciting partner for the business, Lou. And this keeps it in the family, as it were."

  "No! You will not turn my grandkids into pyromaniacs!"

  Now Lanie gave Lou her world-famous pout. "I won't be a maniac, Pops. You know better." She smiled mischievously. "And it'll be fun. You know I've always been interested in your work." She squeezed past Viktor into the hall. Viktor followed, with Lou right behind.

  Lou shuddered as he thought back over the preceding eleven years. He realized with horror that Melanie really had always been interested. He remembered how pleased he'd been at the family get-togethers for the Fourth of July, when Melanie showed great caution, but never fear, when he would set up the fireworks. "The answer is still an absolute, utter, resounding no," Lou said again, this time without shouting.

  Melanie recognized her opportunity. She wrapped herself around Lou's right arm, stood on tiptoe to put her head on his shoulder, and said dreamily, "Thank you, Pops."

  Viktor closed the door to the boy's room and whooped with laughter. "She's got your number, Lou."

  Lou marched down the hall muttering to himself. It was going to be a very long couple of days.

  * * *

  The Dealer rolled over in the unfamiliar bed and flung out his arm. His hand knocked against the lamp, pushing it onto the ground with a painful clatter. He groaned to life, his head splitting, his mouth as dry as the Nevada desert. Viktor had given him vitamins to counteract the effect, and it wasn't the worst headache he'd ever had, but it was still impressive.

  The Dealer never would have picked vodka as a drug to enhance learning. But as nearly as he could tell, Viktor had been right—all he needed was a little less anxiety, and he was fine.

  Chan Kam Yin remembered the stories Viktor had told while drinking, of terrorists and terrorism in the days of Communism. He shuddered at the thought of what a terrible life Viktor must have had. Still, Viktor had come out of the ordeals with a good friend. Lou was the nicest person the Dealer had ever met . . . except for Lanie, who was just a kid. The Dealer wondered if he would ever have a friend like that.

  In one sense he did have such a friend. He remembered, with a foolish glow in his heart, that they'd exchanged brands with him. He could reach them anytime on the Web.

  He rolled over again and went back to sleep. This time he dreamed in English.

  * * *

  Morgan looked up at the black stealth roton resting quietly on the McCarran landing pad. It was a heavy lift roton, and the size difference impressed him. Normally, such a vehicle did not carry passengers. Not unless the passengers were very special, like today. Solomon stretched her wings. "Big Bird," she commented. Then she whistled. "Where's CJ?"

  Lars squinted into the sun and growled. "Yeah, where is the Boss Lady, anyway?"

  Out of the sun came the answer. "I just had to get a last chocolate malt," CJ said as she strode up to the little group. She stepped out of the sun, and Morgan watched along with everyone else as she licked her lips in sheer, sensuous delight. "Double chocolate, extra malt. Yummy!" She bent over and looked into Morgan's face, eye-to-eye. "I can't believe how easy that last sim was, Morgan. Tell me the truth. Did you let us win? Or are we really that good?"

  Morgan wrinkled his nose. The Angels gathered around. No one smiled; no matter how light and joking the question might be, the answer was important. He told the truth, grudgingly. "You're that good," he whispered. He continued more strongly. "It's just realistic. Remember, no Angel Two team has ever failed. This is our best guess of what's likely to happen." He grunted. "Except the pain. Real broken bones and sword wounds are going to hurt a hell of a lot more than anything you've experienced so far."

  CJ rubbed her left shoulder where the electroshocks had fried her in the last sim. "I just don't believe it. I think you made it hurt worse, so we'd be pleasantly surprised."

  A man in a captain's uniform stepped up. "If you would please come with me, you can board now."

  CJ nodded. "Okay, guys, let's go." She bent over and kissed Solomon on the beak. Solomon, flapping her wings enthusiastically, whistled the song "Jump." CJ bent further to kiss Morgan, shifted her eyes around to see the rest of the members of the team, and thought better of it. She stood up. "Back in a couple of weeks," she said with the airy style of a teenager telling her parents she was off to Spring Break.

  Morgan saluted the team; they saluted back.

  Solomon abruptly changed keys. She sang "The Battle Hymn of Humanity." Her voice swelled into a symphony, and she sang beautifully.

  The hymn had been written by Isaiah Southworth, a young American composer studying in Moscow. Southworth had been caught on the edge of the blast when Shiva I destroyed the city. He had written the hymn lying on a cot in a tent outside a half-ruined hospital.

  The symphony opened as an epic of despair fully understood only by the Russian soul. It closed as an epic of triumph best appreciated by the American heart.

  The third-degree burns that covered half of Isaiah's body killed him shortly after he completed his masterwork. Russian doctors certified he had died before Shiva's own destruction. However, the two nurses who carried him away asserted vehemently that, as the light of Shiva's disintegration split the night, he had smiled. Romantics around the world agreed that he had, one way or the other, witnessed the finale that affirmed his music.

  All the Angels were romantics.

  The music faded. One by one, the Angels disappeared into the darkness of the shuttle door.

  Morgan turned his wheelchair and headed into the building. For the next ten days, CJ and the Angels would be switching ships and changing orbits, till they were in position to coast into Shiva's dock. And then . . . and then, Morgan thought grimly, he would figure out a way to get her back again.

  Chapter Nine

  Angels Eve, T minus One

  One window on his wallscreen showed Shiva in closeup, from the telescopes on the moon. Another showed Shiva as everyone else saw it, a view from the vidcam on his deck. A great tentacle of cloud swept across the moon; Shiva was alone in the sky. For a moment Morgan wondered how many billions of others were looking at the ship as he was, this night.

  The third window on his wallscreen showed four young men and a child of a woman, all their attention focused on him.

  Morgan barked at the Angels, "What's the difference between real Shiva robots and sims?"

  The Angels answered in unison. "They're stronger than sims. They're faster than sims. And they really want to kill us."

  "What's the difference between the Angels and the robots?"

  "We're smarter than they are. We know we have to win."

  Morgan nodded in mute satisfaction. "The robots have the stupidity of the casually brave. They waste themselves to no purpose." He looked each member of the team in the eyes. "You will not be wasted. That, above all, I promise."

  His Angels stood very straight. Even from two hundred thousand miles away, he could see that they were radiant in their quiet pride and power. They would need it.

  "Dismissed. I'll see you after you've docked." The images of four of the Angels winked out. One did not. Morgan was not surprised. "CJ," he said lovingly, "go join your team."

  "I will," she said quietly, then smiled widely. "I just had to make sure you knew that I'm going to come see you again after we get out."

  Morgan knew he shouldn't say anything—how he knew! "When you get out, I'll take you on a date," he promised. "A raging water date."

  Her eyes widened. "Back to Topock Gorge," she asked excitedly.

  "Of course not. Been there, done that. I was thinking of Fiji. We'll buy a boat and sail the islands."

  "Cool!" She lowered her eyes. "I have to go suit up now."

  "Yes, you do."

  CJ raised one eyebrow, blew him a
kiss, and blinked out of existence.

  After a moment of frozen silence, Morgan slowly raised his lips to his fingers and blew a kiss back.

  * * *

  Sofia led him by the hand, out into the lush darkness of the garden. Paolo remembered how dangerous the garden had seemed in the daylight when he had entered it alone. Now, lit only by the shadowlight of a dwindling moon and a growing Shiva, the garden felt comfortable and safe. The difference was Sofia's guidance, the warmth of her nearness, the firm strength of her hand.

  They came to a loveseat surrounded by thickets. Paolo put his arms around Sofia, and they sat down together, laid their heads back, and looked up to the cloudless sky.