Eva seems oddly reluctant to walk under the High Track. I know what she means; not the most pleasant part of town. But right here and now it’s just gardens and pathways. There’s one building that I think I might recognise, but nothing else. In any case, Mac consoles her and we trundle through to the ramp. Which, as advertised, swirls around at a gentle slope until it reaches the High Track just about at the point where the Tenties’ dome was located. My leg does not appreciate the climb and I find a place to sit down as soon as we reach the top. Eva will fuss over T-Lily; I’m happy to leave all that to her.
There’s one of those split-circle decorations on the bench. This one with a nose in the middle, which, I have to say, looks a little odd. It’s all plastic and new, and I’m thinking probably a copy of something older. Barleycorn King era, if such a thing ever existed. Or, given that this was never the High Track, perhaps it’s some kind of cross-reality bleed. That really don’t bear thinking about. I watch the others try and figure out whether or not the Tenties are actually here. Well, not so much here as accessible from here. I lift my face to the sun and wonder what the Barleycorn King would have to say.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Green Jay
TAL HAS INSISTED that the Crow not come with us. He does not seem to mind, though he did get up and say goodbye to T-Lily. He touched her arm lightly. He has a tendril embedded in his wrist too; he is not as separate from them as he once imagined he was.
Surprisingly, Tal helps us step into the dome. He does something so that the shimmer of the dome is clear, so that it is almost possible to see the Trocarn inside, and then we step in, Blue Jay, T-Lily and me. Blue Jay is holding her as he did before. Tal wanted to stay with the Crow.
I expected that we would be surrounded by tendrils as soon as we were in the dome, but instead the vines draw back and there is a space around us. Blue Jay is coping better than the Crow, but he cannot stay here long, even with the help of the Trocarn, even with the technology he has developed to make travelling through Time Lock easier. He holds T-Lily out to them but nothing happens. There is a great, green silence. I think perhaps it is shock.
“We did not know what to do,” I say. I am trying not to cry. I am so ashamed. Perhaps it would have been better not to return. At last, Kolb and Lona come to us. Lona takes T-Lily from Blue Jay’s arms and disappears back into the vines. It is hard to tell what is happening to her. It is almost as if they are blocking the process from view. Kolb places his hand around Blue Jay’s wrist and I see the relief it brings.
“Thank you for bringing her home,” says Kolb. He looks down and away as if he cannot bear to meet our eyes.
“We... I… I am so sorry.” It bursts out of me and it is not enough.
“T-Lily chose,” says Kolb. “She was exceptional.”
“Can you heal her?” I ask.
“We will send her home, back to the stars.” Kolb looks up at me. “But she is forever gone.”
I start to sob. I am thinking of the Trocarn’s journey to such a strange and cruel place; but I am also thinking of the other Eva, the one lying on the bench in the shed. And I wonder how many of those have also been sent to the stars.
Crow
I’M SITTING ON my bench, minding my own business, when things start to happen. Bicycle traffic has been slow but steady. There’s a continuous whoosh in the air without it being overwhelming. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it. But now people are turning up, people without bicycles but with equipment. I’m not sure what kind of equipment, but there’s a lot of it. Speakers, I think, which probably means music. No-one asks me to leave and I’m not inclined to. I’m not particularly in the way, though someone’s used the rest of my bench as a place to store a few bits and bobs of a decidedly electronic nature.
It’s getting dark, and there’s one or two people already with things that look to me like miner’s lamps on their heads.
“Any ideas?” I ask Tal. Frankly, I’d hoped he’d be more forthcoming, but he’s been silent for a while—in fact, since the others disappeared into the dome with T-Lily.
“Music,” he says. “You should turn around.”
As it turns out the back of the bench lifts up and over so that the prospective sitter can face any which way. I manage to do so without dislodging anyone’s stashed equipment, then take the opportunity to stretch. Only for a moment, because I want to reclaim my seat before someone else takes it.
People have brought food, which makes me hungry. And I can see people with drinks, alcoholic drinks, which there’s no way Tal would allow, but which are still very tempting. Back in the day, Guerra would have loved this, prime market for his wares. Not that he’d have let them hold a concert up on the High Track.
Tal reads my mind, which in this case is not particularly difficult, and manages to acquire some chips with enough salt and grease to keep me happy. And some sort of non-alcoholic juice with a straw, which makes me feel like a kid.
It’s properly dark by now. There have been sound checks and tests of various sorts. There’s a hum, like a distant buzz of a very large hive, which builds until it’s almost unbearable and then scatters. And then I see why Tal told me to turn around. There are light projections on the leftover buildings in the middle of the High Track. And, somehow, in mid-air between the trees. Sometimes showing people I assume are the performers, sometimes pictures chosen for cultural reasons outside my ken. Sometimes just patterns. The patterns are the best.
There are flags waving, both here up high and down in the gardens below us. It’s fucking wonderful. People come and take their equipment and then finally somebody comes and sits down on the bench with me. Which is only fair. I turn for a quick peek. It’s dark and there’s weird light patterns everywhere, but it looks a lot like the minor prophet to me.
“Catelin?” I ask.
“Oh, hi, Brom,” she says. “Thought I’d find you here.”
And so what started off as a nice surprise quickly turns to creepy. I look at her closely, or as closely as I can given the circumstances. She don’t seem that much older. Not that I have any idea of time frames here. But, shit, I thought I was in a different reality altogether.
“I can’t say the same about you,” I say. Which is not very gracious, but I’m a bit put out.
“Fantastic concerts,” she says. “Can’t be missed.”
“Yeah, but—”
And then she stops me with a touch of her hand. “Oh, but you’re the young Brom. Sorry, thought you were… You’re not looking so good.”
“Buggered up my leg,” I say. “Still recovering.” I look around for Tal to introduce him, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Ah,” says Catelin. Though there’s something about her that’s wrong. Then a stray beam of light wends its way over our bench and she flickers badly. So much for Time Locked love, then.
“You’re not Catelin,” I say.
“Never said I was. But we’ve met, Brom. Remember? It’s Eila.”
“Guerra sent you.” It’s all making sense now. Any minute, these beams of light will turn out to be time nets and that will be that.
Eila laughs. “What makes you say that?”
“Isn’t that your thing? You’re Guerra’s companion. Or the Barleycorn King’s. Or whatever name you want to give him.” I’m talking a wee bit too much, but it’s mostly to combat the amused look on Eila’s face.
“And you think Guerra sent me to find you.”
“Yes,” I say. “Probably. He’s been kind of actively looking.” I look down at my leg in what I hope is a meaningful way.
“True,” says Eila. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why?”
“Just came for the music,” says Eila.
We’re silent for a while, both having come to the end of half truths. She startles me by touching my wrist. “Lost your phone?”
“And you want me to believe you’re really not trying to track me down?”
“No, Brom. No. I think you’
ve probably jumped to a few wrong conclusions. I haven’t had anything to do with Guerra for a long time.”
And then Tal shows up with Mac and Eva in tow. There’s introductions; some, I think, unnecessary given the expression on Eila’s face, but I’m beyond caring what conclusions she thinks I’ve jumped to and presume she doesn’t know anybody.
“We should go, Brom,” says Mac. And he’s right and I can see that he’s exhausted and Eva’s not looking much better. And that Tal is hovering. But I don’t want to go, even with Eila sitting here. The music’s just that good.
More than that: it’s strange enough, it’s weird enough, it’s big enough to be a wake for T-Lily. That’s not something the others are going to believe, so I don’t even try to explain.
“One more song?” I ask.
“Sure,” says Mac. And I can see that he’s deliberately got in quick before Eva can protest or Tal make one of his medical pronouncements. Quite where we’re going to after this, I don’t know. I suppose Mac does.
I ignore them all and listen to the music. Let myself be swept away. I don’t even care about the light projections or the flags waving or the whole carnival atmosphere. I just want to disappear into the sound.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Green Jay
WE ARE BACK in my greenhouse. The Crow is here, of course, and Tal but also Eila. I remember Eila from my time with Guerra and I don’t trust her. Especially not in this form, pretending to be human, but really an illusion. A trick. But she came with us when we left, just followed along with us as if she was invited. Even the Crow seemed surprised by that.
I would have liked to stay up on the High Track, but Blue Jay was right to leave. He needs to sleep. Tal is with him now, and that makes me worry. He is more badly affected by the dome than I realised. He has his eyes closed and has stretched out on the floor. The Crow has found a spot too. I suppose that I should also sleep—I can feel the pull of sleep on my body—but my mind is awake. I keep thinking of T-Lily and the sad greeting of the Trocarn. And I do not want to sleep with Eila here.
The greenhouse makes me sad. Having seen it made so beautiful with Kolb and Lona, I was not expecting this shell. Some of the windows are broken and there are leaves and dust and drifts of rubbish on the floor. No furniture. We are lucky it is empty, I suppose. Lucky that it is still here at all. But it makes me feel that I have been forgotten.
The sounds of the concert drift through. And there are sparks of light. I sit with my back to the wall. Tal is doing the same now, having satisfied himself that Blue Jay and the Crow are fine. He has not checked on me.
I close my eyes for a moment to see if sleep will come. But my thoughts are tangled and won’t let me go.
“Eva?”
Eila has come to sit beside me. Too close. I keep my eyes closed, and will her away.
“I know you’re not asleep,” she says. “And I need to talk to you.”
“Why? What can you tell me?”
“You can’t let them keep doing this,” she says. “They need to return to their own reality.”
“And me?”
“You know what will happen to you, I think.”
“I will join T-Lily in the stars,” I say. “I don’t mind.” It is a lie, of course it is, but it is one that must be said.
“Not always,” says Eila. “Not for all of you.”
“I am only me,” I tell her. Because there is no point in thinking otherwise.
“And perhaps you will be the one.”
I shake my head and look away. There is no point thinking like this. There is no point having this conversation. Already I can feel my body weakening, now that I am away from T-Lily. Blue Jay has forgotten about me, and what I need to keep living. But I cannot blame him, he has hardly survived himself.
“I have seen your children,” she says softly.
“So have I,” I tell her. I am thinking of Kolb and Lona, because who else could they be?
“Part-human, part-plant, part-Trocarn?”
“Yes,” I say and I am glad to know more than she does.
“They are honoured, you know. They are cursed and divine.”
Kolb and Lona would not agree with that description, but I say nothing. “So people still fear them?”
“Of course,” says Eila. We’re both silent for a moment. She touches the raised ring of tendril around my wrist. It is covered by my own skin now. Eila’s touch is feather-light, a whisper.
“We need to copy you,” she says.
“I know,” I say. Because I’ve known it all along.
And because I want to pretend that this can be my own choice, my own doing, I follow her down the stairs and through the almost familiar streets. I had thought we might return to the place of my birth, the public 3D printer box, but of course this is a different reality. Eila takes me to another building, somewhere close by. This one is open, like a warehouse, but full of machinery and life. There are people everywhere, and robots like Tal. And, at one end of the building, an area that seems almost like a hospital, filled with beds. People are lying down, and robots are fussing. But there’s no blood, no screams, no distress. We are met by a larger version of Tal, who takes us to one of the beds. Nobody talks. Perhaps this has all been prearranged. I lie down; the robot fixes something like a curved plastic roof over me. There is a mist. It makes me think of T-Lily and of Rose-Q and I feel myself falling into a green darkness.
Crow
THIS WORLD’S NOT-REALLY-A-HIGH Track is all a bit sad in the morning. Lots of tattered flags and leftover picnic scraps. Not as much as I might have expected, though that’s probably explained by what looks like a robot cleaner crew off in the distance. A few mad keen cyclists are already on the track.
Tal is here with me. He’s not happy. He says my leg’s not healed, it won’t do well on the journey. In fact, he wants to come with, and I’ve been saying ‘no,’ but it looks like he’s coming anyway. I’ll admit there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind showing up at Guerra’s with my handy robot companion, and quite possibly that’s the wiser part.
Of course Mac’s here to help with technical stuff, though it’s a very silent Mac. My feeling is he’d like Tal to stay and look after Eva. Could be something else.
Eila’s buggered off, back from whence she came, I guess. Which is a shame, really, because I’d hoped to have her onside too. In fact, there was a time I’d imagined she’d do all the talking, persuade Guerra of the rights and wrongs of the situation and leave me to stand in the background, smile charmingly and have Guerra pay as much attention to me as he normally does, which is to say none. Not that I’m so optimistic as to think I’ll be rocking back into my old job.
And Eva. Well, there’s the Eva that’s coming with me and the Eva that’s staying here. It’s not that difficult to tell them apart. For a start, one’s got a raised tentacle around her wrist and, to the keenly observant, a faint scar from the implants under her left arm. To the not-so-keenly observant, one looks fresh and new and the other looks like she’s been to hell and back—which, for all intents and purposes, she has. But Guerra’s not likely to know that. Anyway, a bird in the hand and all that.
I can’t help but think it’s a bit hypocritical. Saving one Eva, sacrificing another. Which might help explain Mac’s silence. And the other Eva’s, the real Eva’s, absence.
There was a time it wouldn’t have mattered to me: she’s a double, she never was meant to last. But it’s become clear that Eva is more than a double. Which, of course, opens the door for the possibility that doubles are more than doubles. Don’t look at me, I’m just caught up in all this.
Mac and Eva have assured me that this one, this sacrificial Eva, will be okay. That Guerra won’t hurt her, that Olwin Duilis, of all people, will look after her. Olwin Duilis, the one person Eva’s been running from this whole time, if I understand anything at all. Mac was the one who mentioned Olwin Duilis, not Eva, and the name didn’t come easily out of his mouth. The real Eva didn’t say a
nything at all.
So maybe they’ve built a copy. A shell, not meant to exist for more than a few hours, and under no illusions that there might be other possibilities. Someone that knows its place.
But there’s something else going on here. It was all fait accompli when I woke up this morning. There’s something not being said.
Don’t get me wrong. I like the idea of fooling Guerra. I like the idea of getting him off my back, of stopping the bloody time nets. I even like the idea of handing him a fake package, so to speak, of tricking him. I just don’t buy the argument that the package doesn’t matter anymore. There’s a part of me that thinks, well, go back, fool Guerra, make sure this double/copy is okay, but that part is kidding itself. Especially given all the success I’ve had so far, which is none at all.
Still, I’m going along with it. Because, quite frankly, I’ve had enough. We ran around trying to save the Tenties, and all we managed was to kill one of them.
So here I am, back where it all began, up on the High Track, as close to the spot that we guess Guerra’s admin should be, without being actually inside the building. I’m not expecting a warm reception, but I doubt that attempting to sneak up on him will be profitable in any way. And neither will a debate with security. I mean, the whole point is to show him Eva.
So here she is, the sacrificial Eva. I take her hand, because, why not? “It’s okay, Brom,” she says. Already, I like her better than the real one. I see the dragonfly in her hair. So Mac can keep track of her, I guess. The plan had been to use Mac’s tech, but now Tal’s providing transport. I’m kind of glad about that; no disrespect to Mac, but stuff he uses looks wildly improvised and unsafe. Not to mention damaged by his previous expeditions. Tal and Mac have been in some kind of deep tech consult for the past while. Which makes me think my protestations that I’d be okay by myself were doomed from the start.
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