by Eric Brown
“In some ways it was, but in others it was not. We were together for twenty years. We self-aware entities are… developed with an aging capability, for want of a better expression. I grew old and watched my lover grow old too, and I felt sadness that her time was so brief while mine, comparatively, was so extended. To watch her die was painful, but an experience, I told myself, that was essential in order to fully understand what it is to be human.”
Sally looked at her friend, wondering at her past lives. “When was this?”
“In the middle of the last century. My guise was that of a British diplomat working at various postings around the world. I met and fell in love with a wonderful woman, a novelist whose work I still keep, and read. It’s a comfort to have her voice to hand.”
They drank their tea in silence for a time. A slight wind stirred the boughs of the cherry tree, and its scent descended like a balm.
Sally said at last, “I would have thought, when you ‘died’ this time, that… I don’t know; that the life you had would have ceased and you would have started a new incarnation.”
Kath nodded. “It sometimes does happen like that, Sally. It’s a ‘natural’ transition, so to speak. But not this time. I have important work which it is essential I continue in my guise as Kathryn Kemp.”
“And I suppose you can’t tell me of this work?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. The work is sensitive and confidential.”
She looked at her friend, who was holding the small china teacup in both hands before her wide lips and smiling across the garden, considering who knew what memories? Sally said, “But you need not have told me all this, Kath. You could have been resurrected, and gone back to your life and our paths might never have crossed again.”
What did she hope would be Kath’s reply? That their friendship meant so much that she, Kath, could not continue living without telling Sally that she had not in fact met her end in a leafy English lane?
Kath was nodding. “I could have done that, but I would have been uncomfortable, both on a personal level and on a more fundamental, logistical level. I, Kath, your friend, would have been distressed at your pain, your grief — quite apart from the fact that, one day, our paths might have crossed… and I am human enough to envisage the hurt this would have caused you.” She reached out and squeezed Sally’s hand. “Also, I wanted to tell you what really happened last night.”
“What really happened? But I saw what happened? The speeding truck…”
Kath was regarding her earnestly. “Didn’t it occur to you that the truck came out of nowhere rather fast?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“And the rapid response of the ambulance and the police? They arrived in minutes after your call — a world record, wouldn’t you say?”
“I… I don’t know. I was in shock. Numbed. I lost all track of time.” She stared at her friend. “But I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“The ambulance and the paramedics, the young police officer who questioned you, they were all, like me, self-aware entities.”
Sally said tentatively, “Yes, that makes sense. When one of their own dies, I can see that it’s best that they respond to the incident themselves.”
“That’s true, and we do institute such procedures, but in this instance there were… special circumstances, is perhaps the best way to put it.”
Sally repeated the phrase.
Kath paused for a second or two, regarding her tea. She looked up. “This is what I, we, wanted you to know. You, and people around the world like your husband Geoff, the special representatives of the Serene, are essential to our regime on Earth and beyond. It is only fair that we share with you the facts of the situation.”
“Now you’re sounding like a character from a bad spy novel.”
They both laughed. Back in their twenties, in their student days, as a relief from course work Kath had taken refuge in spy novels of the fifties and sixties, often reading out lurid passages to Sally over breakfast.
It was one of the many hundreds, thousands, of memories Sally had of her friend which she would be forced to reassess, in light of recent revelations. Why was an alien self-aware entity reading cold war spy novels? As part of her deep cover guise, as an attempt to understand the machinations of human politics?
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and asked, “And what are the facts of the situation?”
Kath regarded her half-empty cup. It was a while before she spoke. “The Serene, in what they are doing here on Earth and elsewhere, have opposition; enemies, if you like.”
“Enemies?”
“The universe is vast. This small galaxy alone has at least a hundred sentient, space-faring races, though only two as evolved as the Serene.”
“And one of these…?”
Kath nodded. “I’ll spare you the lurid details, but the Serene and our opponents have been pitched against each other for millennia.”
“And they oppose what you are doing here on Earth?”
“One day, Sally, when I have more time, I will tell you the history of our mutual opposition, our mutually exclusive philosophies of species evolution. Suffice it to say that they will do everything to halt our progress here on Earth and across the solar system.”
“And last night — how did they manage to…?” She thought of the truck, and what Kath had said about it appearing from nowhere.
“Sally, our opponents are not here, physically. That eventuality would be a disaster — but they infiltrate our ranks on a virtual level, let’s say.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Kath nodded, and paused to consider her explanation. “The way the Serene have turned the human race against violence is to… manipulate reality on a quantum level. To use a crude analogy, they re-program the ‘strings’ that are the fundamental building blocks of reality. Now, on occasions, our opponents are able to get past our defences and infiltrate this virtuality, re-program events to their own desires. Last night was one small, and very insignificant example — but they are becoming more frequent of late and what we fear is that they are a precursor to a greater, more sustained attack. Last night’s incident and others like it was our enemy testing the waters, so to speak, stretching the parameters of our defences. My death was trivial, but we fear what they are building up to.”
Sally finished her tea and set the cup on the seat beside her. “Geoff and I… over the years we’d lie awake and stare out at the stars, and do you know what? We’d speculate about the Serene… what was out there, what the Serene were doing. I think Geoff even surmised that the Serene must have enemies, political, if not military.”
She looked at her friend. “I believe that the Serene are working for the best interests of humanity, Kath.” She shrugged and smiled. “I suppose I have to believe that, don’t I? I have only the evidence of my experience, limited though that is, and the parameters of my prejudice. But, really, what as human beings do we know?” She thought of the fishpond analogy and said, “We are like fish being fed crumbs by vastly superior benefactors. We know nothing, really, of what lies beyond our pond.”
“I can only tell you what you would expect to hear from the representative of the Serene,” she said, “and that is that we have the best interests of the human race at heart. You are destined for great things; please believe me when I say this, and that your destiny lies beyond the bounds of your home planet, and will be determined by the success of the Serene in defeating the objectives of our enemy.”
“Which is why you told me about the push to Mars?”
“And beyond. We will move from Earth, terraforming and inhabiting the planets, first Mars, then Venus; we will set up colonies among the asteroids — vaster and more complex than the mining outposts that exist out there now — and then you will colonise the moons of Jupiter and Saturn, and beyond.”
“And one day, the stars?”
“Not for a long, long time, Sally,” Kath said. “There is much to be done
before then, much to prepare the human race for. There is work to be done in the solar system itself.”
“Work?”
“One day, when we are on Mars or beyond, it might be safe to confide in you. For the present, and especially after last night’s events, I must be wary.”
“So… your enemies don’t know of your ultimate objectives?”
Kath smiled, then laughed. “It is always unwise, and dangerous, to underestimate the knowledge of one’s opponents. I sincerely hope that they are unaware of what we plan, but who can tell?” She stood. “I mentioned an e-brochure last night, about the colonisation of Mars. I have it in the car. I’ll fetch it and then, maybe, it would be nice to prepare lunch together, yes?”
“That would be wonderful.”
Kath set off across the lawn, and Sally called after her. “Kath, be careful…”
Her friend turned and beamed her a wonderful smile. “I’ll do my best.”
Sally sat in silence in the shifting sunlight and realised that she felt an odd, lazy contentment; Kath, her best friend, was back from the dead, and the Serene were leading the human race towards its destiny…
And, tomorrow, Geoff would return.
Kath was back minutes later with the brochure. “In a couple of days I’ll drop by and we’ll discuss everything,” she said.
“And when Geoff gets back I can tell him about last night?”
Kath nodded. “Everything.”
They passed into the house and, together, prepared lunch.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FUJIYAMA ARBOREAL city occupied the entirety of the coastal valley basin and the hills on the far side. It appeared on the horizon as the monotrain rounded a long bend, and a murmur of appreciation passed through the carriage. Allen stared, attempting to make sense of what he saw. He had expected a large forest of trees similar to sequoia, but each one tall and broad enough to house thousands of citizens, set in an idyllic garden vale.
What he saw was a series of silver-grey skyscrapers, each one several kilometres high, tapering to points. Located at intervals on the flanks of each tower were what looked like platforms, similar to bracket fungus, and above each platform an array of silver antennae that sprouted from the side of the tree and terminated in large crimson globes.
It was a sight eerily alien, he thought.
“It’s not what I was expecting,” he admitted to Nina Ricci.
She looked at him. “You haven’t seen pictures of them before?”
He shook his head. “I wanted to come to this project fresh, with no preconceived views of what I was about to see. It sometimes helps me to see things from a new, fresh angle.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I’m not sure. It’s visually arresting. Very alien. I wonder what it’d be like to live in one of those things?”
“That’s what I hope to find out when I interview the first people selected for the honour.”
He glanced at her. “And who are they?”
“Coastal farmers, mainly, and fisher-folk. The people who lost everything in the last tsunami.”
“Makes sense. But with the proscription on fishing…?”
“The Serene found occupations for everyone in a profession hit by the charea. The fisher-folk became farmers, along with many of the world’s formerly unemployed.”
He looked at the bristling city of alien trees. “And they farm what…?”
“See the vast green area at the base of each tree?” She pointed. “From a distance, the arboreal city appears closely packed, but in actual fact there is something like a kilometre between each one. This makes for a lot of land to farm. Also, see those platforms climbing the towers in a helical formation?”
“I was wondering what they were.”
“Well, I suppose you might call them fields, though it would be something of a misnomer. They grow micro-protein spores that are processed into a high protein food — each platform provides sufficient food to supply its section of the tower’s inhabitants all the year round. Not that this is what they solely live on. Much of the processed spores are exported — I’m sure you’ve eaten it at some point.”
“And these spores are alien?”
She nodded. “But tailored to our metabolisms.”
The monotrain eased itself into a station unlike any other Allen had experienced. It was as if the train had come to an unscheduled halt in the country. He looked through the window at a greensward rolling away from the train, planted with regimented flower-beds and crossed by raised timber walkways. Only a sign, ‘Welcome to Fujiyama Arboreal City,’ told him that this was where the journey terminated.
They left the train and Allen found that many of the passengers were, like Nina and himself, accredited journalists and photographers. They were divided into small groups of four or five individuals and allotted a smiling, punctilious Japanese guide.
The plan was to tour the fields between the towers first, have a light meal in an al fresco cafeteria, and then visit one of the towers itself.
Allen was already shooting, then pausing between shots to marvel at the city. It was as if he’d been transported to the surface of some planet light years away. The trees towered overhead, taller than any structure he’d experienced, diminishing to vanishing points in the blue, cloudless sky.
The base of each dwelling tree was surrounded by a margin of garden, beyond which the farms proper began. The guide conducted them on a tour of the farms, transporting them on the raised timber walkway in small electric buggies. She gave a running commentary, detailing crop yields and growing patterns, which Allen recorded on his softscreen.
They motored above the level of the fields, passing human workers and automated pickers, silver spider-like robots with busy, multiple appendages.
“Each worker is required to put in a shift of four hours a day,” their guide said. “The rest of their time is free to do with as they wish. Each city tower is equipped with recreational facilities, schools, art colleges, etcetera, as you will see later.”
There was only so much he could photograph from the buggy. What he was cataloguing here was no more than what every other photo-journalist was getting; he decided that at some point during lunch he would slip off and snap some unofficial shots.
“There are more than two hundred city trees in the Fujiyama basin,” their guide explained. “Each tree is inhabited by approximately ten thousand citizens, though such are the dimensions of each tree that living accommodation is more than spacious.”
In a whispered aside to Nina, Allen said, “I thought studies done in the last century concluded that high-rise living was far from beneficial?”
She whispered in return, “I think that was due more to socio-economic factors than to the actual type of habitation, Geoff. If you put poor people in a confined space anywhere on Earth, with inadequate amenities and low employment… well, what would you expect the conditions to be like?”
He nodded. A cursory examination of the workers in the fields — along with what the guide had said about the living regimes here — suggested that conditions in the arboreal city were far preferable to the lives these people had led before they were relocated here.
The buggy arrived at a covered circular area between four rearing tress. Allen made out people eating at low tables and realised that he was hungry.
He, Nina, the guide and the three others in their group left the buggy and strolled across to the cafeteria. They sat cross-legged at a low table and scanned the menu.
They ate a surprisingly good seaweed salad with yadha — the local name for the spicy processed spores — accompanied by another local speciality, a sweet beer again derived from the alien spores.
Allen finished his beer and was about to tell Nina that he intended to slip off to get some ‘local colour’ shots, when she restrained him with a hand on his arm and said, “I have seen a friend over there–” she indicated a nearby table “–I would like you to meet. She too is a representative of the Serene
.”
Allen nodded, a little impatient at the delay. Nina rose from the low table, crossed the cafeteria and spoke to an Indian woman in her mid-twenties. The Indian rose with the sinuous grace of an uncoiling cobra and followed Nina back to Allen’s table.
She sat down and smiled at him as Nina made the introductions. “Geoff Allen, this is Ana Devi, from India.”
Ana Devi gave him a dazzlingly white smile and they shook hands. “Delighted to meet you, Mr Allen,” she said.
The woman had a curiously handsome face that might, in other circumstances, be seen as beautiful. He saw strength in her eyes and line of jaw, a certain rawness that spoke to him of lowly origins and a hard childhood.
Nina murmured, “Geoff, too, is a representative.”
Ana laughed and said to him, “Why am I not in the least bit surprised, Mr Allen? Nina makes it her duty to collect us, for some reason — is that not so, Nina?”
“Well, in the interest of possible future stories…”
“You will one day write about us, no?” Ana asked. “My story would fill a book, and maybe even two. Oh, some of the tales I could tell you!”
Allen looked at Nina. “How many others have you traced?”
She pursed her lips. “Perhaps a dozen. It’s not that difficult.”
Ana rocked her head in amazement. “Do you hear her? ‘Not that difficult’! But Nina has probably told you that she has a photographic memory, and can recall the face of everyone she saw ten years ago when we came together in the Serene’s starships.”
“So all I have to do now is keep a close eye out for those faces when we come to our senses after our ‘missions’,” Nina explained.
Ana looked at Allen. “You are a photographer, no?”
Allen told her something about his life and work, and Ana stared at him with massive brown eyes and said, “Ah, Shropshire. I would one day love to visit that county. Wasn’t there a poet…?” Her wide brow corrugated in concentration.
“Housman,” Allen supplied, wondering why the recollection of the old poet should bring him a fleeting sense of melancholy.
