FutureDyke

by Lea Daley

  Not. A. Dream.

  I was still suspended in the midst of that measureless sphere. When an electric tingle ran through me, I turned. Saw a spangle of nothingness resolve into a woman. With a face that missed being beautiful by the careless placement of a molecule or two. She had a timeless, immortal quality, an aura of supreme rationality. And she exuded power the way an evergreen forest gives off the sharp, sweet scent of pine. Everything about her demanded reverence, but I was way past caring. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Think, Leslie! Think!”

  I watched as her hair bound itself in a classical style and her unmemorable garment took on supple pleats. She was a Greek goddess now, balancing the scales of justice. Before I could speak, she aged thirty years. Mother Nature incarnate, with russet leaves wound through graying hair. I opened my mouth again, but she’d morphed into a mechanic, complete with a smear of grease on one cheek. In rapid succession, she flashed me a doctor, a weaver, a clockmaker. The grand finale: a hawk-eyed revolutionary. Serenghi?

  “Okay…So you’re all things to all people?”

  “One being with many functions, Leslie. Perhaps Deus Ex Machina comes closest to describing me.”

  “Unwieldy. Do you have a name?”

  “You’d know me best as Gaia.”

  Ah…Gaia! Protector of planets! Judge of ultimate fitness! Cool-headed surgeon of the expendable! By the time I left Earth, humans were desperate to pacify this implacable goddess. Who felt oddly familiar. “Have we met?”

  A montage of memories unfurled: My spine pressed hard against a granite monolith, electric knowledge flooding my soul. Aimée watching as I called for thunder and parted the sea. “That wasn’t me? I’m not actually god-like?”

  Gaia laughed. “Would you prefer to think of yourself as an instrument? A handmaiden? A vehicle?”

  Not exactly an answer. “That night at the rock…when I felt I could summon forces to battle…could I have done that?”

  “I knew you’d stop yourself before you did any harm. That’s one reason you’re so rare.”

  Another evasion. Maybe I could come back to the question later. Gaia would have a unique perspective on this planet, could probably explain Jashari better than anyone. Which was my top priority just then. Because I was alive! Might still be able to influence events above ground! “Tell me your history, Gaia.”

  “You tell me.”

  Fragments of thought were drifting through my mind, coalescing into a crazy concept. “It takes a computer of gargantuan magnitude to operate Jashari, right?”

  Gaia nodded.

  “So…I’m guessing these girders aren’t just a structural framework—they’re hardware.”

  “Go on.” She didn’t sound as cool and detached as I thought she meant to.

  “There had to be software too—code sophisticated enough to maintain the balance, produce the goods, prevent simple malfunctions from becoming crises.”

  Gaia leaned forward, urging me on.

  “They were your parents!” I cried, sure of it. “The hardware…the software…they produced you! And you’re the programmer now! You’re in charge! You update the systems! You manipulate everything from climate to the culture that climate creates!”

  A slight bow. An anticipatory look.

  “Oh! My! God! Maybe you even invent the prophecies that drive culture!”

  “Or perhaps you only wish to believe that?”

  But I scarcely heard her response. Because my brain was working at warp speed. How many generations would it take to embed a myth that seemed thousands of years old? Your parents would have to have heard it, and your grandparents, but that might be it. No! This was Jashari! Just plant counterfeit content in adaptation modules. Then everyone would believe they’d “always known” the prophecy! That would explain so much!

  “Gaia? What’s this about? Really?”

  “You said it yourself, Leslie—change is inevitable. It’s long past time for Jashari to evolve. But to alter a civilization this immovable? That requires a catalyst. Your passionate convictions, your uncompromising commitment to individuality made you an ideal disruption in the Harmonious Whole.”

  “Why now, Gaia? Why not decades ago? Or next century?”

  Her eyes made a sweeping circuit of the world she’d perfected. The place where she’d provided tireless stewardship to a people who knew nothing of her. The place she’d occupied for thousands of years in solitude. Suddenly I felt the unbearable strain—that inestimable intellect alone. Lonely. Bored. Reaching the tipping point. In need of something new…a major undertaking. A project that might require millennia to accomplish—like terraforming Jashari!

  “You were bored, Gaia? Bahji’s dead because you were bored?”

  “I…miscalculated…”

  I could imagine no failure more humiliating for a sentient computer. To manage an entire planet, yet fail one of its smallest inhabitants! Still, I said harshly, “You miscalculated? How was that possible?”

  “I did not properly appreciate the psychology of Earthlings.”

  “You! Screwed! Up!”

  “Tragically…Unforgivably…” Suddenly Gaia’s face brightened and she pointed at something behind me.

  Far away, a tiny figure was spanning impossible distances at lightning speed. Swinging from those massive girders like they were monkey bars in some cosmic playground. In seconds, she was on my lap, bouncing with excitement. Bahji! I turned to Gaia, eyes wide with wonder.

  “I could not restore her physical body, Leslie, but I have preserved her essence. She is a Singularity now—one with the machine. Immortal. My collaborator.”

  And indistinguishable from the real thing—at least in this moment. That vivid presence with knobby knees and a killer grin. “Mi’lana va’tir, Leslie-ahn!”

  I was speechless. Reduced to hugging her, stroking her tangled hair, reveling in her wholly illusory warmth.

  “Belladonna’s here too, Leslie…somewhere…”

  I saw then what I’d missed at first glance. A new tooth in that grin…Bahji had changed! Would change? “Gaia…?”

  “Yes. She will mature here—as I did. Bahji is a real being, only minus the constraints of a material body.”

  “Could Taylor…? Can her mother…visit?”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Persephone inverted!” I murmured.

  But Gaia was back in clockmaker mode, studying a huge watch. “It’s late, Leslie! While I lack the power to slow time, I did accelerate our communication. Now I’d better return you to the colosseum, because the Jasharians have just subdued young Mr. Johansonn and his henchmen.”

  “The Jasharians…have subdued them?”

  “Your speech left them no choice. And soon Madame Whitehall will appear to exert control again. You won’t want to miss that.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Gaia was a scientist now, in a starched lab coat. “Everything in the universe is about energy—and I’m an unparalleled expert on energy flow.” Then she spread her arms wide, palms up, in the classic stance of a resurrected god. “Do this.”

  I mimicked her.

  “Exactly. Now scoot.”

  Suddenly, I was rising upward. “Wait! I’m not done with you!”

  Visions of the monolith swam in my brain. “You can always find me at our meeting place, Leslie. Remember—hold that pose!”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I did. All the way through Jashari’s vacant core. Even while penetrating the surface. Until I found myself standing behind Chastity Whitehall—in the flesh. So intent on casting a spell she didn’t sense me there. And the mesmerized crowd did nothing to alert her.

  Whitehall was addressing the audience, speaking about me, Jashrine still harsh on her tongue. In her desire to assert dominance, she twisted the language into foreign forms. “Citizens of Jashari, hear me! The deluded Incurable has died the death that comes to all deceivers. I tell you gods are immortal! Thus you who witnessed her demise mus
t know her as a base pretender. Because Li’shayla Mar-Né stands before you now!

  “It is I who have admired your values, lived according to your customs, served as liaison between our two cultures. You have known me for years. Sought my counsel for years. The change I bring is not to be feared! May I be struck dead if I lie!”

  The crowd sat motionless, attuned to my slightest gesture. I took a step forward then, lifting my voice. “I speak in remembrance of Bahran’aji-ahn! Who amongst you will entrust your children to this vile murderer?”

  Whitehall whirled. Knotted a hand in my hair and jerked my head backward. Blade to my throat, she hissed, “Recant or die!”

  I laughed. “Did you miss the show, Chas? I’ve already chosen death once today.”

  Her knife etched a red-hot line across my neck. But what mattered was a familiar tingle up my spine. Whitehall must have felt it too. Because her grip loosened, her weapon thudded to the sand.

  I looked to my left, where I saw Gaia. In the guise of a Warrior Princess. To my right, Aimée, tears of relief streaming down her face. And before us, Chastity Whitehall. Immobilized in a humming energy field.

  Gaia observed her prisoner dispassionately—the person who’d caused a cosmic glitch in her careful planetary programming. The person who’d butchered a blameless child. A person incapable of remorse or shame. Her judgment rang through the arena. “This one is rafe’la! No longer will she defile Jashari!”

  I read the desperation in Whitehall’s eyes. The helplessness. The horror. Then a shriek of agony split the air and I saw the inconceivable: Chastity disintegrating. Cell by cell. All her bodily bonds breaking. Every atom reduced to dust, drifting into the sands of Jashari. Gone before her scream stopped echoing through the amphitheater.

  Gaia turned next to Johansonn. He shrank away, preferring Jashrine captors to this omnipotent foe. Who declared, “That one may be salvageable.” As the man went limp with relief, she said, “Freeze him until healing is possible.”

  Then Gaia clasped triumphant hands with Aimée and me, swinging our arms heavenward. And Jasharians—proper, circumspect Jasharians—leaped to their feet, roaring their approval…

  Epilogue

  And so it was that we became a holy triumverate—Gaia, the Life Force and Death Dealer to whom each mortal thing must return. Aimée, the multifaceted Oracle, who speaks for all Jashari. And me, goddess of Resurrection and Transformation. It was useless to argue. Every native knew the prophecy, which had primed this once supremely rational populace for something close to religion. Now I, who might better be known as Our Lady of Perpetual Heresy, was at the heart of a new faith. Because thousands had witnessed that spectacle in the colosseum. How else could they account for those dramatic events?

  Our divine status didn’t trouble Gaia and Aimée, because they really did have god-like powers. I, however, felt like the worst kind of fraud. I absolutely believe in transformation and rebirth—but only the kind we bring about in ourselves as we push past old boundaries, take new risks or surmount tragedy. Yet I had to swallow every protestation, embracing my weighty title now and forevermore: Li’shayla Mar-Né.

  * * *

  Most immediately, we had to decide how to handle the monsters.Who still roamed aimlessly. Progressively hungrier, angrier, more confused. Despite Whitehall’s grandiose promises, no shelter had been designated for them, no provisions made. Probably, she’d thought it useful to keep these unfortunates crazed and on the loose, terrorizing the populace. Now they must be rounded up, fed, soothed, evaluated.

  And no one could do the last better than Aimée. Who spent weeks on the streets, disguised as one of those pitiable creatures. Reassuring them, offering sanctuary, urging them to recruit others. Every hour, more monsters made their way to the colosseum. There, in response to certain divine proclamations, they were offered the gracious hospitality of Jashari.

  Saddest among them were the legions of children—waifs with unspeakable deformities and no one to nurture them. What had their parents felt when consigning sons and daughters to cryosleep, commending them to so uncertain a future? Were they relieved to be rid of such abnormal offspring? Had they grieved incessantly? Or both? I hoped the medicos knew how to help these pitiable youngsters, hoped each would somehow make a home in this alien place. When Shiante stepped forward to foster several of them—her stellar example soon followed by hundreds of other Incurables—I was jubilant.

  But Jashari had far too few healers to address the volume of need. Asserting my celestial prerogatives, I introduced a novel concept: volunteer service. Earthlings were the first to apply, of course—Returnees who knew what it was to wake under foreign skies. When a trickle of natives also offered their help, that proved to be a simple screening mechanism: these were the most tolerant, most adventurous Jasharians. Early adopters of new customs. The vanguard of the future. At my request, Tahm’Hzu took charge of volunteer training, a task perfectly matched to her skills and interests.

  Then we instituted a preliminary screening process, a basic assessment of those things each new Returnee needed or desired most immediately. In the end, only a handful of monsters—those with severe psychological deformities—were returned to the Medical Reception Station. There they reentered cryosleep, where they await the ministrations of a more skillful era. Because what they desire is too dark and terrible to set free.

  * * *

  Though the winds of change had begun to blow, creating a more open civilization on Jashari would require much effort, thought and time. As Li’shayla Mar-Né, I’d play a formative role in long-range planning, encouraging innovation while honoring the asteroid’s venerable history. For my first official act, I reconvened the Elders. Led by N’yal Di’loth, their guidance and expertise would be invaluable. At the same time, I expanded the High Council. Tahm’Hzu declined the seat I offered her, citing a conflict of interests. By which all knew she meant a blossoming romance with Bahji’s mother. Instead, at her suggestion, I installed Vahn I’zhen, Jashari’s chief neuromedico.

  In addition, the governing body now included a contingent of Earthlings. One Returnee, nominated by each city. With Honoré Blanchard representing Li’LuzAhn, my hometown. Our initial priority: reducing the centuries-old social tension between two radically different cultures. There were other pressing matters to address as well, including Jashari’s dysfunctional relationship with Planet Earth.

  In due time the Elders considered Taylor Hemingway’s environmental proposals. During negotiations, Gaia provided data demonstrating that Jashari would benefit from diversification. Aimée served as liaison between all parties. And I finally figured out how to use my phenomenal financial resources. With the Council’s approval, I established a public park system across the globe, endowing it in perpetuity. Naturally, our preeminent auxobiologist was appointed to direct this massive undertaking—in coordination with Gaia and her bright young associate. Many of the “monsters” who elected to remain in their natural state now work in those parks under Taylor’s guidance. Perhaps they’ve taken note of her scar and know they’re judged by more than appearance.

  The original stock for the first botanical park and wildlife nursery was transplanted from Bahji’s bedroom. At the dedication ceremony, we laid her prophetic stone near a path that each visitor crosses sooner or later: If all the beasts were gone, man would die from loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beast, happens to the man.

  On the outskirts of that park, I established “Bahji’s House,” a children’s art center. A holographic image of my te’lal dzarling dances in front of it. And inside, though one never knows where, a black cat lounges in the light of two suns. He is not Belladonna, nor ever could be, but near enough to enchant my young students. An appeal from Lutan Serenghi graces a wall in the foyer there: May we have the courage to be as diverse as nature intended, for individuality is our richest treasure.

  To my everlasting embarrassment, the park also includes a lovely little shrine. Which was funded by N’yal
Di’loth. Who dedicated it to Qi’Nahl Ra’Lahhr, the Holy Triumvirate. My portrait hangs above a sort of altar there, flanked by paintings of Aimée and Gaia. The one saving grace? Activities at Bahji’s House are partly funded by the liberal offerings left to honor Jashari’s trio of fierce, protective deities.

  * * *

  For many years now, Aimée and I have shared the cottage at the seashore. Our private lives are very quiet because our neighbors are far too polite to intrude on the domicile of goddesses. But increasingly, I see families on the beach nearby. Learning to play in the waves. Teaching one another to swim. Raising elegant kites above the shoreline. It gives me great joy to imagine a time when their children will find shells buried in the sand, crabs to chase, seagulls to feed.

  I spend my days at Bahji’s House, introducing the shy, but eager youngsters of Jashari to the pleasures of making a mark on their world. It’s considered an honor to study there and to my surprise I’ve become a fair educator. I wish Meredith could know how much I absorbed about teaching while in her company!

  And Aimée continues to assist the fragile folk that Whitehall released so precipitously. Helping each craft a future on their new planet—a complex and challenging process. She has, of course, an incomparable gift for donning the perfect persona with every one of these traumatized people. But no matter what guise she adopts in the daytime, she always returns home as Aimée. My beloved friend and partner. My counselor, my confidante. Endlessly dear and desirable.

  Truly, we two are one.

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