“I was a mount of the gods in the great civil wars in the days of formation.”
The boy looked confused, his infant vocabulary, precocious as it was at times, struggling with a concept for which he lacked words.
“But you’re little!” The boy moved his hands as if to grasp and squash the apparently fragile butterfly.
“I wouldn’t advise trying that. No, the wars were over and the world had settled into its course of becoming the way that it is. I limited myself and looked for friends and congenial surroundings. When I found them I retired. Virtu no longer had need of its giant thunderbug. It is more fun consorting with flowers than destroying citadels, anyway.”
“What is Virtu?”
“The other half of the world. You are visiting it at the moment.”
“Why?”
“‘Why what?”
“Why two?”
“You’re talking to one who was there in the earliest times, and I’m still not sure. I’ve heard many versions of how things came to pass, and why. But I don’t really know, and I don’t think anyone else does.”
“Why?”
“It’s always that way with anything big. More and more stories grow up about it as time goes on. Then no one’s sure which is right.”
“Why?”
“Because people are always looking for the story behind the story. They’re never happy just to stop with what they’ve got.”
“Why?”
“I sometimes think they like lies.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re sort of fun. You’ll see.”
“Oh. You’re pretty.”
Alioth did a little aerial dance, then landed on the boy’s shoulder.
“I think it is best just to enjoy the moment. Everything else is somewhere within it.”
“Why?”
“Enough ‘whys’! You’ll understand soon enough. You’re already doing it. Life came before words, and that’s the trouble with words. Look at the flowers and breathe the air. Enjoy the feelings they give you.”
Young Donnerjack laughed again, and suddenly he sprang to his feet and ran through the field. Alioth followed. The ground was damp on his feet, and overhead grey clouds butted one another.
“Go home now,” said Alioth. “Soon it will rain.”
“Rain?”
“Water from the sky. You may not be able to get wet but there’s lots of energy tossed about in storms, and that’s a strange bracelet you wear. Go home now. I’ll see you again.”
“Bye-bye, Alioth.”
Dack followed discretely, pondering. The butterfly certainly seemed to mean the boy no harm—but like the strange cyberdog it made him uneasy, seeming to represent great heaps of the unknown.
* * *
Seated on a bench on the sunshiny campus of AVU, Lydia Hazzard discussed course selections for next fall with her best friend, Gwen. Out on the rolling green lawn, a couple of muscular frat boys tossed a Frisbee back and forth.
“I’m never going to be able to juggle all courses I want to take with those I need for my major,” Gwen said despairingly.
“Try my schedule,” Lydia said. “Whoever designed the premed curriculum was a sadist. They don’t want us to learn what we need to be med students; they just want us to quit.”
“I hear med school is worse.”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you dump the premed and just go for bio or chem or something, Lydia? I mean, your folks are loaded. After you were so— sick—a couple of years ago they’ll give you anything you want. But you’ve been working like crazy—catching up what you missed, taking care of Alice, I mean, what’s it worth?”
“It? Worth?”
“Life. I mean, you don’t need the money, you’ve got a really cute kid, why not take it a bit easier?”
“But I want to be a doctor, Gwen. My parents can’t hand me a medical degree.”
“Tell Hal Garcia that. His folks made a big enough donation to the university of his choice and, what do you know, not only does he get accepted, but he’s been passing all his courses. And he doesn’t study worth anything.”
“But, Gwen, I want to be a doctor, not just have a degree.”
“You work too hard.”
“And you’re a cynic.”
“Thanks!” Gwen straightened and gently punched her friend on the arm. “Want to try to pick up one of those guys?”
“No challenge, sister. I’ll bet you anything you want that they’re proges—part of the landscaping.”
“I’m the cynic? RT campuses have frat boys—why shouldn’t VT? It’s part of the tradition.”
“Those guys are just too cute. Go ahead if you want. I’ve got to figure out my schedule and I’d rather do it here. When I get home Alice is going to be all over me.”
Gwen frowned. “Look, Lydia, are you… pining after someone?”
“Pining?”
“Wasting away, growing thin and pale, haunted by a memory…”
“You never should have taken that poetry seminar.”
“Seriously. Back in high school you dated—and you’re lots prettier now than you were then. You’ve stopped chewing your nails, your skin is better…”
“Pregnancy will do that. And ten months in virt does great things for nails.”
“Hey, don’t try to distract me. The point is, ever since you got better, you haven’t even looked at a guy.”
“I’ve looked.”
“Seriously.”
“Okay, seriously. I was in a virt coma for ten months. I wake up and I have a newborn baby. I’m crazy about her—don’t doubt that—but between rebuilding all the muscles that a transfer couch doesn’t do a great job with, catching up with my college education so I don’t have awkward things to explain when I apply to med school, and raising a kid, I haven’t had time to think about guys.”
“Think now. Try it. It doesn’t hurt—really. Put on your virtual dancing shoes and come out with me this weekend. I really miss doing stuff with you.”
“Alice…”
“Alice will be fine, just like she’s fine now. You’re a good mom, but what are you going to do when she starts school?”
“Be in school myself, probably. Med school takes time.”
“Lydia!”
“All right. I’ll come out with you this weekend, Gwen.”
“Great!”
A shadow interrupted the sun. Both young women looked up automatically. A man, perhaps in his midthirties, had paused on the path and was studying them, a faintly quizzical look on his neatly bearded face. He wore dark blue jeans, a green shirt, and work boots.
“Miz Lydia?” he said softly. “Is that you? After all this time?”
“Ambry?” She rose, absently setting the college catalogue on the bench. “Ambry?”
Gwen grabbed her arm. “Lydia? What’s wrong? Who’s this?”
Lydia wrenched her gaze from the man with difficulty.
“He’s an old friend, Gwen. Let me introduce you to Martin Ambry.”
“Old friend? From—”
Gwen’s words stopped abruptly, understanding taking shape. She accepted the hand Ambry extended to her and shook it firmly.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Miz Gwen,” Ambry said, humble yet in command of the odd moment. “Lydia has spoken of you often and with great affection.”
“She hasn’t spoken of you,” Gwen said defensively, then a shy smile blossomed on her face. “Except in everything she hasn’t said. I’m pleased to meet you at last.”
“Can we ask you not to speak of this meeting?” Ambry asked.
“Is she going to vanish again?”
“No. That would not do. Her baby would miss her.”
“You know about the baby, but, of course, you would. I won’t say anything if she doesn’t vanish again and if she promises to call and fill me in later.”
Lydia squeezed her. “I will. Promise.”
“I’ll be going now. I’d guess you two have a lot t
o talk about. Good to meet you, Martin Ambry.”
“And you, Miz Gwen.”
She gathered her belongings and with a final wave walked off in the direction of the Frisbee players. Lydia banished her catalogue and, when Ambry offered his arm, found herself suddenly shy.
“Walk with me, Lydia?”
Without meeting his searching gaze, she looped her arm through his and they strolled together down a winding path that led toward a lake.
“It has been a long time, Lydia.”
“Alice has turned two.”
“And you wonder where I have been.”
“Well… yes.”
“I wanted to come sooner, but between your departure from our home in Virtu and now things have been happening.”
“Things?”
“I’m a deserter from an army, Lydia, among other things. Soon after you left to have our baby, someone tried to find me, to reenlist me. I was forced to flee.”
“But… army? You live in Virtu.”
“Virtu has its armies, its bloody battles, its ancient wars. I told you something of this during our time together.”
“You did, but I thought that those were long ago, during the Genesis Scramble.”
“They were. Something has been at work for some years now, awakening old ambitions, stirring forgotten feuds. A time of change may be upon us.”
“Change? In Virtu or Verite?”
“Virtu is where it will begin, but the indications are that it may spill into Verite.”
“Ambry, where did you hide? Why couldn’t you notify me?”
“I went to lands even wilder than those wherein we dwelled, my love, to places that I suspect— Do you remember that strange visit we had, the visit from Ayradyss and Heather?”
“Certainly. Ayradyss said that her husband was John D’Arcy Donnerjack and that her basement held a portal into our virt realm. Heather said less, but I had the feeling she was surprised to find us there— surprised and a bit defensive.”
“For good reason, I think.”
They had reached the lakeshore now. Lydia still had not looked at Ambry except for that first startled moment of recognition. Now he took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to him. Fingers under her chin, he tilted her face upward.
“Your eyes are still so lovely—such a dark, wild green.”
“You knew me!” she said suddenly, realizing that except for her eyes she looked nothing like she had during their brief cohabitation in Virtu. “How?”
“Your voice, tricks of gesture, how you smile. I had been watching you from across the lawn while you talked with Gwen. When I came closer, I was certain. Well—almost certain.”
She shrunk into herself, the poor posture that a combination of exercise and increasing confidence had banished bending her shoulders.
“I’m not nearly so pretty now.”
“You are prettier.”
“Flatterer.”
“No. This you is real. There are tiny things that make you unique. And you have a beautiful smile and a voice to drive men wild.”
“I do?”
“Believe me. You do. Will you look at me, or have I grown unpleasing to you?”
“Yes. No.”
“Then look at me.”
She did, blushing as she did so. He smiled at her and she smiled and buried her face in his chest.
“I feel so… shy. Isn’t that dumb?”
“No. It took all my courage to walk up to you. I wasn’t certain that you would choose to know me. I wasn’t certain that you wouldn’t slap my face and call me a cad.”
She giggled. “I don’t know if anyone calls anyone a cad anymore.”
“Perhaps not, but I have been one. I abandoned you and our daughter for over two years. Now I come walking back up and hope to be welcomed.”
“You are welcome.”
“Lydia… I didn’t wish to ask before, but… two years is a long time, especially when you are young and lovely. Have you found someone else?”
She glanced up at him through her lashes, remembering her conversation with Gwen. For a moment, she considered prevaricating—perhaps that would make him value her more. Then she banished the thought.
“No one. I didn’t even look.”
“Nor did I.”
He sighed happily. They held each other for a long while. Over the lake, a pair of swallows dove after midges.
“How long before you are expected at home, Lydia?”
“At least another hour.”
“Spend it with me, please. I will tell you everything I can about where I have been and I want to know all about what you are doing, too.”
“All in an hour?” She laughed from pure happiness.
“An hour now,” he said, squeezing her hand as if he would never let it go, “and perhaps we can make a date for longer later.”
They sat on the virtual shore, arms around each other, and talked about love and other very real things.
* * *
None of the mysteries that troubled Dack about his young charge were solved in the six months that followed. The boy grew larger and his vocabulary increased. When Dack questioned him carefully regarding the butterfly, the snake, the dog, and the monkey, his reply was always, “They’re my friends. They come play with me.”
As he grew, the bracelet expanded to accommodate his growth. Even so, John Junior often struggled to remove it as he removed his shoes, socks, and play clothes.
“Take it off!” he demanded of Dack.
“No,” Dack told him firmly. “Your father made it, but he never told me why. Still, I don’t think you should take it off.”
At the mention of his father, the boy smiled, his pique forgotten.
“Tell me about my father,” he said, “and my mother.”
“I’ll show you what they looked like,” Dack responded, summoning their images onto the holo-stage.
Young Donnerjack stared at them for a long while.
“You do bear them some resemblance, young sir,” Dack said.
“Were they nice people?” the boy asked.
“Yes,” Dack replied. “I would say so.”
The boy walked around the figures.
“Good. They look nice,” he finally said.
“Who knows? You may grow up to be something like them,” Dack said.
“Good.”
“Come. It’s almost dinnertime.”
Dack changed him, bathed him, and led him off to eat.
* * *
“Can you tear yourself from your work for a moment, Davis?” Randall Kelsey asked. “I would have words with you.”
Arthur Eden looked up from the hard copy of Mud Temples, the text he had been reading. His eyes were bleared and a bit sticky. Glancing at the clock, he realized that he’d been at work long past his usual break. Kelsey stood in the doorway of his office.
“Yes, sir.” He rose, rubbing the small of his back as he did so. “I think I had better stop or my muscles will freeze in that position.”
“Something good?”
“Architectural analysis of some of the ancient Sumerian/Babylonian ruins with extrapolations as to how the actual buildings might have been constructed. It’s ancient stuff—late twentieth century—by a guy named Keim who also did work on Southwestern American ruins with an archeologist named Moore. I think we’re going to be able to use some of Keim’s ideas on structural stress to enhance the virt programming for the Sacred Citadel.”
“Great. As the congregation grows, so does our responsibility to serve their needs on every level. The vestments you helped design for the new tertiary lay initiates were a great success.”
“The ones for the Devotees of Innana? Thanks. I was pretty pleased with how they came out myself.”
They had walked down a short corridor and now they paused in front of an elevator door finished in what appeared to be beaten brass worked with a relief sculpture depicting a portion of the creation myth. Kelsey pushed the button discreetly hidden in a
minor demon’s eye.
“Remind me how long you’ve been with us, Davis.”
“Full-time? For about two years. Then I was consulting a year before that and a member of the Church for a year or so before that. I guess that makes four years.”
The elevator arrived, the doors slid open. Inside several of the major deities were depicted, each with their characteristic emblems. The artwork was original, by a well-known convert, and preserved behind bulletproof glass. The Church chose to flaunt its growing influence even in its mundane establishments, but that didn’t mean it was careless.
“Four years? Is that all? Are you content with your progress?”
The elevator door opened and Kelsey gestured for Eden to precede him down the corridor. Eden looked around in interest. He’d never been invited to this floor before. Glancing up, he saw that the ceiling was made up of a dome of glass panels revealing what was apparently blue sky overhead. He frowned. The skyscraper was topped with a step pyramid. How could this be? Kelsey caught his expression and chuckled.
“Always analyzing, Davis! It’s an illusion. The glass ceiling is there, but the ‘sky’ you’re seeing is a projection. It’s a neat bit of work, actually, since it can be set—like it is now—to show the actual sky outside or, on nasty days, to play something more attractive. Now, come into my office and have a drink. You still haven’t answered my question.”
Eden followed Kelsey into a large, well-lit room furnished with minimalistic but surprisingly comfortable furniture. Kelsey gestured him to a chair, found out his preferences, and served him from the bar. Then he slouched in a chair across from the one Eden had taken, put his feet on the low table between them, sipped from his stein of beer, and sighed happily.
“So, Davis, are you content with your progress?”
The magic question. Say “no” and you’re too ambitious. Say “yes” and you’re not driven enough. Eden tasted his own drink—a light rice wine—and framed his answer.
“I enjoy my work and I feel I am making a valid contribution to the advancement of the Church. I would, however, be willing to embrace a new challenge.”
“Very good.” Kelsey took another swallow from his beer. “Very good, indeed. You present me with a difficult situation, Davis.”
Eden felt his heart thud harder. Had he been discovered? He didn’t think it was possible. When he had accepted the full-time job as a researcher for the Church, he had moved completely into the Davis persona. Arthur Eden was on a half-pay leave of absence from his teaching job (a thing his university had welcomed in the current budget crunch), and the mortgage for his unused dwelling and sundry other expenses were paid directly by the university bursar. Eden lived off of what Davis earned as an employee of the Church, and somewhat frugally at that. But Kelsey was speaking…
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