Corrag walked Arthur around in her arms under the starry night. He was miserable and wouldn't stop crying. Montaquila's friend showed up finally. The two men worked on the zipbike with flashlights and a rolled out bag of tools. Then Montaquila stood, and it started up.
"Battery chamber sprung a leak. It'll get us home," he told Corrag. "Listen, he added. "All that stuff I told you about my very shakeable belief system? Keep it to yourself. There would be a whole lot of sorry pilgrims if that got out."
"No worries there, Edmund. Your secret's safe with me," said Corrag.
His friend James Romney, a Jonah with a laundry business on the island, rode away up the hill from the park. Corrag tied the baby in the sling again and slung him so he straddled her back. His head lolled. She assured Montaquila they would be all right. They mounted the idling zipbike with the repaired battery and rode away across the island, the bridge and down the congested highway towards the thin sliver of moon.
Montaquila lived below the old city, in a neighborhood of new apartment buildings and squares of cobblestone. They parked the zipbike in the basement of the building and walked across one of the squares to get some food items and diapers for the baby in a MarcheAmi. The people in the square looked like young, hip couples wearing black leather.
"Don't let them fool you." said Montaquila, reading her thoughts. Most of these are plants, hybrids, or worse. What we call robotes informateurs."
"What are they?
"Non-humans. Subjects of the great experiment to subvert the delicacy of creation. The immortal monsters of the age."
"Sandelsky implants?"
"No. The next step, Corrag. If you are a loyal augmented servant you can be uploaded into the shape of your choosing and live out the rest of time as a machine, your thoughts and reaction constantly refreshed in the cloud."
"Hybrid bots."
"Something like that. For the few and humble. The chosen who will populate the stars with their manufactured offspring. The idiot bastards of Satan."
Once up in the apartment, Montaquila ran a bath and went back out, leaving her and Arthur. Corrag dipped Arthur in the lukewarm water and bathed him. With a fresh pair of diapers she put him to bed in the spare room across the hall. Then she went back and took a steaming hot shower and dried herself, patting her arms and legs with a cotton towel and putting on a t-shirt and sweatpants Edmund had set by the door. Revived, she finally felt like relaxing, like she was on solid ground again.
The view out the window was of the river and the lights of a riverside esplanade. Again the young untrustworthy people were strolling along it. They seemed sinister and yet eerily appealing. Edmund gestured towards an empty goblet on the coffee table with the bottle of wine. She nodded. Montaquila poured and handed her the glass of dark red wine, and she took a sip.
"Delicious."
"It's a Democravian vintage. To your return home."
"Thank you. Are there no real people out there anymore?
"Very few. The government will have an easy time rounding up the remnants of the unaugmented. They're all cowering in their homes like rabbits in their burrows. Not like the Repho cities with their huge underclass. There are disadvantages to a settled, good French Canadian working class people, I'm afraid."
"But hasn't Gheko been rounding up unaugments?"
"The Korazan resistance in the outer boroughs has set them back. They tried, but it's proven unfeasible. Don't forget that augments have family connections, relatives, especially older relatives who haven't gone over and when they end up in the cargo hold of container ships for weeks on end it becomes a very uncomfortable thing for all concerned. The answer obviously is Sandelsky gaming and entertainment systems that anesthetize the population. But eventually they will get around to it again. And when that happens, we will be ready."
Corrag looked at his eyes as he talked They were a dark color with hints of deeper lights, and his words were comforting to her with the flavor of their vintage. She was very tired, however, and when he announced that there were people coming over she balked. But there was nothing he could do. Word had slipped out, probably Romney the laundry owner had told someone that she was here, the Nenkaja prisoner who had appeared in Red Bay bearing the whale, with her miraculous child.
"You give us hope in the darkness, Corrag. I can't tell you how important that is in these days of peril. Just bear up for our sake. All they want is to say they saw you and wish you well."
A crowd of people spread through the apartment, probably around fifty of the Jonah people, a good percentage of which were under forty, men and women in casual yet chic clothes belying their heightened state of alertness. They had grown up in the shadow of the Repho and now wanted nothing more than a chance at a normal life as the Whale spread the power of the augmented elite through the world. Corrag met the bearded former college professor of linguistics who had lost his job to a bot that could present the material and test more efficiently than he. There was someone else who testified that legislators in Indonesia were being urged to vote themselves out of office as the population clamored to be ruled by bot overlords with no corrupt party affiliations. The major networks were withholding the news because it would be too upsetting for the population in Canada, with only 45 percent augment penetration, as opposed to the 65 percent in the Repho/UCB union. The writing was on the wall, said the professor. Montaquila nodded his head.
"We are in a good position. We have been dispelled of our illusions for some time. Unlike many others who thought to buy time by currying favor, we have spent our energy wisely, organizing for this day. Corrag, your journey home will be as a missionary for us, the Jonah, as we seek to keep the light of a humane culture alive in these coarsened lands," said Montaquila.
"I understand the Jonah. I'm not sure I can be successful," said Corrag.
"Success is sacrifice in the name of God, the One and Almighty," said the professor.
It was Corrag's turn to nod.
People filed through on their way out. They wished her well. They really seemed as if they were happy just to have seen her and touched her arm and said something, anything to acknowledge this special occasion. Corrag wondered if it was real or if maybe they were all under the spell of some hugely ill-conceived illusion. It was not of her making, if they were. There was no way of knowing. There was no certainty. They seemed to concur on that point, and it seemed to be the basis of their resistance and their hope.
Eight -- Circuitry
Montaquila sat her down on a stool in front of the nanoscreen in his study and took high-resolution photographs of her eye. It was eight o'clock and the bells of the basilica were chiming. Out on the river a barge floated past and a circus set up shop in the park across the esplanade. Her irises radiated out blue and yellow in swirls from the center like undulating cords. There they were blown up on the nanoscreen.
"Classic rattlesnakes. This should be straightforward."
Montaquila went into the database. It was a highly sensitive operation as it had involved hacking the biometric records of the Library and Archives Office. There he found the eyes of Sonia Pivak, who had died in 2019. They were similar in pattern, although a brownish hazel in color. He blew up the irises side-by-side and played with matching the two patterns by shifting the value sticks. Corrag watched him work on the photoshop template on the screen. He had to take into account the dilation and contraction due to lighting to get the ends of the ranges right, he said. Working with silver salts in a hydrogel solution and incorporating light sensitive ground quartz with chromium oxide and iron oxide for color, he was able to make up a reasonable facsimile, he said, wearing a jeweler's magnifying glass and talking while he worked. Then he printed out several copies of lenses and had Corrag try them on and inspected her eyes in a scanner he had there.
"So much easier when you have the actual subject in front of you to work with," he said, satisfied with himself.
"Do you think it will work? she asked.
"Man versus mach
ine. Still not a contest, sweety, in the game of life. I could be wrong, but I'm probably right. We'll give it a try. That's our basic strength, isn't it?"
She didn't answer what she hoped was a rhetorical question.
"Give me the afternoon to work up a Canadian birth certificate and get it e-stamped."
"Okay."
Corrag took Arthur out on the esplanade. They walked through a marina, looking at the sailboats, and then an empty market with the stalls set up and ornate fruit rinds still littering the concrete floor. A police van zipped around the corner and the ceaseless rounds of bot vehicles and delivery trucks glided by like syrup enveloping the afternoon. A young couple sat on a nearby bench as Corrag played with Arthur around an empty fountain. The little girl ran up and admonished Arthur for playing with a scrap of leaf blowing in the dusty fountain.
"That's dirty," she said.
Her mother chased her.
"Come now, Lillian. Don't be a bother."
"She's not a bother," said Corrag. The young woman and her male companion wore matching light blue windbreakers. Her male friend pulled out a can of some refreshment and popped the seal. The young woman smiled with reticence at Corrag. Her smile masked a shared knowledge, but what was it? Corrag wondered if she knew her from somewhere. The little girl tried to get into the fountain, and her mother stopped her.
"You never know what kind of germs. What kind of people ... "
She didn't finish her sentence. Then she walked off with her girl and returned to her bench. Corrag picked up Arthur from the fountain. The little birds in there came back once he was out of their way. Corrag felt suddenly lonely and lost. The young couple and the little girl had spooked her with some reminder of an essential exclusion. She wanted to go up and start a conversation. Learn more about them. But what was the chance they were not even human? The thought sent a chill up her back, a pallor of distrust that settled over the day like a filter, robbing the light of its essence so it seemed dark and cold. She thought of Alana and Ricky and felt sorry for herself but not for long. Arthur snuggled in her lap and fell asleep.
She got back to Montaquila's apartment in the rush hour, after walking with the crowds of people getting off the trams. They had seemed hurried, afraid, unable or unwilling to focus on their surroundings instead of their emosponders. She got the sense of their basic unreality, like a tide of some kind receding before her very eyes. She wanted to describe this feeling to Montaquila, but he interrupted her as he opened the door.
"We've had a visit from the QPB. Someone's tipped them. We need to hurry. Annette will take you out to the Norm Lavecque tonight for the 8:05."
Annette was a young woman with hair pulled back in a bun sitting on the living room sofa. Corrag recognized her from the get-together the night before.
"What? Tonight?"
"Yes. We have no time to play around. You are Sonia Pivak, age 19, from Thunder Bay, visiting your parent's old college friends Ernestine and George Smith in Fresno. Here are the important facts. Memorize them and then get rid of the paper. Here is an emosponder with your necessary documents. Here are the lenses. Here is your birth certificate in case you need to produce paper evidence."
"Is he still Arthur?
"Yes. Arthur Pivak. Your son. There is no record of him anywhere so he is a clean slate. Just tell them you are planning on getting him officialized in Edmundstown. No problem. The odds are you won't be questioned once you go through the initial scan. Travel requirements have been eliminated for the former Democravian cities. You'll tube into Ryanport and connect there for Lax. Ernestine and George will be there. They are a very sweet and very loyal older Canadian couple who moved out to the coast years ago and they are absolutely thrilled about hosting you."
"Okay."
"We have your bag already packed with clothes and essential toiletries, some books and things on the emosponder for you."
Underneath the calm optimism, there was a tremor in his voice. He had been bothered by how fast the police had appeared. He hadn't expected things to move so fast. For Corrag, it was not as surprising. Once again the war was here.
"You know what's expected of you."
"Right now?"
"Right now, just stay alive. In the future, we'd like to see you help bring in new members. A growing base on the West Coast is a priority. We have the resources to support you. Stay in touch through the snail mail. If you need immediate help, Ernestine and George have contacts. Commit my address to memory. It's on the paper."
She helped Annette and Edmund make dinner, just a salad and some shiitakes in a bacon and onion sauce and some more red wine, this time an Australian Pinot Grigio that Edmund poured into a decanter while they set the table in the kitchen. They laughed and told stories about the foibles of young adulthood. Edmund was, besides a superb cook and counterfeiter, a great host who could put anybody at ease. Corrag couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy of Annette.
Then Corrag took a shower. Afterwards she checked the bag that had been packed. The clothes looked like they could belong to Sonia Pivak, a Canadian girl on her first trip to the former Democravia, halter-tops and tee shirts in the primary colors and form fitting neoprene pants.
"This could be fun, Arthur," she said. Arthur looked up and smiled at her. She loved the way he responded to her words. It was funny the way that things could be so normal and on the verge of catastrophe at the same time, she thought. She couldn't remember any longer how her childhood had been. Were there never any signs of a coming disaster? Perhaps her disillusionment in school those last few years had been a warning that the path ahead would not be fully marked. But everyone had always been so sure of themselves. That was probably the sign, looking back, that decay had gotten the better of the collective consciousness. She picked out what was a sensible traveling outfit, loose pants, a long-sleeved cotton blouse and put on a suede coat draped on the cot. There was still time, about a half hour before they were set to leave, so she picked out the utility tablet from the bag and searched for news icons. There were reviews of the latest Sandelsky gaming platforms and stories about the Hoselier twins that had starred in the absurd science fiction series, Imperfect Settings, about aliens and human expeditions coexisting on Gliese 581g.
On the ride out in the taxi, she and Annette sat together silently in the back. Corrag took out the plastic case and put on Edmund's lenses. She turned and Annette smiled at her.
"Looks good," she said.
"Thanks. I feel good, I guess," said Corrag.
She wanted to ask Annette what her life was like, how she had met Edmund, but felt the questions would be too compromising in the taxi, even with the nanoscreen shield up between them and the driverbot. When they got to Norm Lavecque, Annette led her to the entry desk and waited while Corrag checked herself in under the name Sonia Pivak. There was an eye scan. It seemed to go all right.
"So. This is it?" asked Annette.
"Yes. I guess it is."
"Good luck."
"You too."
Annette smiled and turned. Corrag proceeded to the embarkation gate. There were two bots and a bored looking woman in a brown security uniform checking ticket stubs on the platform. Corrag went ahead and showed her the tickets for herself and Arthur.
"Is the child going to need any special meal such as the nutritional for under-5 year olds?"
"Yes, please. The child's nutritional."
The bot pushed some keys.
Corrag took her seat on the tubid, placed Arthur in her lap and her bag in the seat next to her and settled into reading on the tablet. She got some stares from some of the other passengers, but otherwise nothing untoward. The rest of the passengers finished boarding. A man in a white business suit with a tan stopped and looked at the seat number.
"I'm afraid I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me. I have the seat there."
"That's fine," said Corrag. He put his carry-on bag in the overhead and made himself comfortable, leaving Arthur's empty seat with Corrag's
bag between them.
"How old is the baby?" asked the businessman. He smiled in a friendly, alert manner. Corrag found to her surprise that she was in the mood for talking. She smiled back.
"Oh, he's not even one year old. He's just a baby, really."
"Very handsome. Reminds me of my daughter. Her name is Janacar. She's half Zimbabwean. She's 25 now."
"Oh, wow. How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"
"I'm 67. But technically I have no age because I've been uploaded, you see."
"Really?"
"Yes. So technically I'm immortal."
"Oh, cool. What's that like?"
"It's better than the alternative. Mostly just like before. I have almost all my functions. I mean I can't have sex. But that's sort of liberating."
He laughed, and so she did also.
Corrag looked at him. He smiled a sad sort of smile. He seemed almost comical in his honesty.
"Well. That must be sad," she said, embarrassed.
"Well, not if you don't think about it, and of course I don't," he smiled.
"I see. What do you think about?"
"Anything I want. I have my memories, and I'm learning all the time, taking courses and attending seminars. I'm headed to a writer's conference in Malibu. Do you know it?"
"My dad used to take me out there before. When I was very little. He liked to surf.
"What was his name?"
Corrag swallowed, realizing she had been about to reveal more about herself than was safe.
"Not important," she said. "But what about your privacy. Doesn't it bother you that your thoughts are not your own?"
"What do you mean, not my own? Why, of course they are, I am a writer. Charles Decour. My books are world famous. I have a contract with Berger and Sons." His eyes, the pupils never dilated, she realized, looking closely. Also, his skin perfectly stretched across the chin and neck, like a mannequin's.
"What about the Cloud?"
"Well, of course there could be a backdoor. That doesn't bother me. Small price to pay."
The Victor's Heritage (The Jonah Trilogy Book 2) Page 27
