Kalifornia (20 page)

Time passed slowly, or so it seemed. Much of his recent experience
had been a waste of wire time. All of it was being recorded, every single
moment of his machine-shop education squirted off to Clarry for viewing and
editing.

Editing. That was Clarry’s forte; and it would have been a luxury
in real life. In the final version of Sandy’s adventure, Clarry would
undoubtedly cut this part, this sitting in a dark lobby. The four-armed robot
would be good for a few incidental images, perhaps serving as a focus for Sandy’s stint with the Celestial Mechanics. But most of his stay in the Holy City had so far proven dramatically fruitless.

Sandy
could see it now: his first solo feature. It
would start with him on his first night, hiding behind that pile of scrap, just
before being discovered and evading the Rollers. Then the scene with the man or
woman or whatever it had been. Then a few segments of Sandy wandering down
dark, unfamiliar streets before finding a place to sleep. Cut to his rude awakening
by the Wandering Jews, and a few scenes of his treatment at their hands. Reveal
in glimpses the varied cults of the Holy City, suggesting a vast anarchic
society too rich to be explored in more detail. Then, so as not to steep the poor
wire audience in every bit of irrelevant byplay, the show would cut straight
into the garage of the Celestial Mechanics, not to make too big a deal of it,
but simply to introduce a few of the characters he’d met here in the Holy City.
“Bob” would play a minor role. Funny to think of it that way, considering that
he saw “Bob” almost every waking minute of his day. But once this program was
edited, the Great Grease Monkey would be stripped down to a trivial part. He’d
suggest Clarry leave in a few snatches of his training, then skip right to that
dramatic night when the robot had been unveiled. And sure, they could even put
in some of this very night, to show the fate of the robot. Wouldn’t want to
leave that loose end hanging. But Clarry would certainly cut this endless waiting.

If only he could cut it out now!

Too much of his search had proved to be nothing but incidental. He’d
landed in a position from which it was impossible to investigate on his own,
even if he’d known where to begin in a city full of roller-skating headhunters
and the Ignostics only knew what else.

Sandy
stood up, began to pace, and suddenly realized
that he was alone, unattended, for the first time since the Wandering Jews
nabbed him. Free to go!

He crept toward the door, waiting for someone to stop him. The
woman priests, if they were watching, would probably be happy to see him
leave. And “Bob” was somewhere else entirely. “Bob” was—

“Santiago! There you are!”

—right behind him.

He tensed, knowing that he wouldn’t bolt for freedom. It was dark
out there, dark and scary. Roaming randomly in a night full of religious
predators wouldn’t bring him any nearer to his goal.

He turned back to the corridors as “Bob” hurried toward him across
the lobby.

“It works, Santiago! Wait until you see! It’s coming this way—by
the Central Gear and Mainspring, I’m ecstatic!”

He heard voices again, rising in exultation, coming closet. He
heard laughter and song, all of it female.

Something glittered in the dark entryway as candlelight went
flowing up and down the slender rods and wires of the transparent body. Its
four arms clacked and whirred experimentally. The robot moved from the shadows
with a steady, graceful stride, as if it had been born walking. Black-robed
worshipers followed, holding back a few feet so as not to overwhelm it; it was
none of their wills that powered or guided the thing.

Now the robot had a head, a brain, and a face of its own.

A small living face with bright orange eyes.

Sandy
gasped and grabbed on to the door latch. He
held on for his life and his sanity, both of which seemed to be floating away.
He felt suspended, all doubts in abeyance. His awe was no less than that of the
black sisters who surrounded their robot-borne baby.

Another step she took, and another, heading straight across the
lobby, straight toward Sandy. An infant’s head on a powerful metal frame; an
infant’s body hidden inside that breast; an infant’s will compelling the
construct to cross the room and stop before him. An infant’s eyes, but not an
infant’s intellect.

The orange-eyed baby stared at him. Sixteen powerful transparent
fingers rested on his shoulders in a gentle, terrifying grip. He felt a rush
through his body, a powerful surge that registered not in his nerves but in his
polynerves.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

Sandy
swallowed. “For me?”

The baby smiled. She had already cut her two front teeth. He had
missed this milestone in his odd niece’s life. Immediately he had the urge to
miss every other event that might befall her.

He wanted to tear away, to run through that door and into the
night and keep running, risking everything, abandoning his search and all his
work merely for the pleasure of an immediate escape from the specter of this
mechanically augmented baby.

But he couldn’t move. She held him not only in a metal grip, but
in a mental one. He’d been harnessed in one easy motion, and his wires were now
held like reins in her hands.

“Come with me,” she said.

Divorced from his will, betrayed by his limbs, he followed.

PART
 
THREE

S01E09.
 
The
 
Meatpuppet
 
Master

Kali hated wearing people. Flesh was icky—all blood and heat and
fart sounds. But she was drawn to this one, sucked right in, her soul captured
by his blood’s gravity. Flesh was a magnet and she was iron. But she was iron
with a will.

Unlike the Daughters, the man was vulnerable, just as the Seer had
been. This time she would be more careful; she wouldn’t interfere with his
biocircuitry. Death was a power failure, no good to her. She had to control him
without killing him. But she could do that now. It was better than having a pet
puppy dog. And since she could get around on her own in the grown-up machine,
the Daughters wouldn’t be able to come up with any good reason for her not to
have a pet.

“Pay the Grease Monkey,” she told them. “We’re keeping this one.”

The High Priestess’s expression was unreadable behind her veil,
but another Daughter cried, “He’s a man! Kali forbids it!”

She stamped her crystal-shod foot. “I
am
Kali.”

No one could argue with that.

She sent the blond man into the dark corridor, ignoring the
complaints of the Celestial Mechanics. The pipe-smoking priest started after
his acolyte, but the Daughters reacted violently to any further intrusion by a
male into their domain. Kali had judged them adequately. Their faith in her was
almost as good as wires, which they lacked. They would defend her decision.
Besides, they probably liked the idea of keeping a male as a pet. She might
make him do tricks to entertain them.

She followed the man down the corridor, taking great delight in
her long, smooth strides. She had always known that walking would be like this.

She steered him into the nursery ahead of her. Over Kali’s crib
was an intricate wooden mobile, a gift from the High Priestess that modeled the
global genomic library. It pleased her to follow the twisted, entwined
connections among all parts of creation, from prokaryotes to humans, and to
situate herself somewhere outside of them all, observing.

“You were looking for me, weren’t you?” she asked the man.

He backed into a corner and stared at her, trembling. The shivers
were uneconomical, since he was quite warm already, so she stopped them. His
eyes bulged. She made him blink but it didn’t look right. She blinked him
again, faster this time. It still wasn’t natural, not like the Daughters’ eyes.
She tried not to think about it, leave it to him. A moment later he blinked on
his own, and she was content. At least she didn’t have to do everything for
him.

“Y-yes,” he said.
“I—I—I—”

The stammer was unnecessary, a nervous misfiring. She fined-tuned
his vocal apparatus, making him moan and babble for a few seconds. The next
time he spoke it would be better.

She thought it would be amusing to look at herself through his
eyes, but as soon as their eyes met—Kali looking into Kali—she felt the hint of
a terrible pain running through her, so she made him avert his gaze. She
continued by causing him to fold his knees and kneel reverently before her.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Santiago Figueroa. You can call me Sandy.”

She giggled at this.

“My name is Kalifornia,” she said. “But you can call me Kali.”

“Kali,” he repeated. “I’m very glad to meet you.”

His words came more easily now. He was relaxing. Santiago
Figueroa seemed like a nice man. Suddenly she was full of happiness; she flexed
her tiny muscles and the metal ones responded. The man cringed away from the
motion of her four mighty arms.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Isn’t this very pretty? It’s my
grown-up suit.”

“Yes,” he said, “it’s lovely. But it’s also very strong. I think
you’d better be careful with it.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t break.”

“No, I mean . . . be careful you don’t hurt
anybody.” She crossed her glassy arms. “I won’t if they behave themselves. Do
you think I’m mean or something?”

“No, no, not at all.” He laughed and showed her a very nice smile.
She liked it so much that she fixed it there. After a moment she felt and saw
him straining to get rid of it. His eyes twitched and he fumbled with his
fingers at the corners of his mouth.

“What . . . what are you doing?” he asked, not
daring to meet her eyes. “That hurts. A little bit, but it hurts.”

She felt through his polynerves and didn’t find anything like
pain. “No it doesn’t,” she said. “It’s a smile. It’s very nice. It means you’re
happy.”

“Oh, I’m happy, sure. I just think a slightly smaller smile is
even nicer because it doesn’t hurt so much.”

She let the smile shrink a little, then let it go completely. She
was tired of making him happy. Sweeping her four shiny hands over her shiny
body, she said, “I got tired of grown-ups having all the power. Now I’m just
like them in every way. No, I’m even better. The High Priestess can’t tell me
what to do. If it were up to her you’d be in a lot of trouble here. You don’t
have to worry though. I’ll protect you.”

Sandy
bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Kali. I
appreciate that. You’re right, I was looking for you. Everybody wants to know
where you are.”

“Who’s everybody?”

“Your grandpa. Your mommy. Your other uncle and aunt.”

“I don’t have a mommy. I’m Kali.”

“You do, though. Your mommy is my sister.”

Kali thought about this for a moment, then put her lower pair of
hands on her hips, half akimbo. “How can that be?”

“Can’t you tell? Haven’t you seen your pretty golden eyes? They’re
just like mine, Kali. Look here.”

He put his fingers on his cheeks and she saw that he was right.
His eyes were golden, just like hers. She had to withdraw from his eyes in
order to look at him without the threat of feedback.

“Your mother’s eyes are golden, too,” he said. “Nobody else has
eyes like ours.”

“Is my mother a goddess?”

“No, you have a human mother. She’s not very well, I’m afraid.
Your grandpa wants to see you, too. He’ll be happy to know that you’re well.”

“First I want some clothes so I can look like everyone else.”

“Clothes?”

“I can’t go around like this, can I?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll see what we can do. You’re big,
but not so big that we shouldn’t be able to dress you. Those extra arms might
be a problem though.”

“A robe will do for now,” she said. “Go get a blousy one.”

“I don’t know where—”

“I’ll work you. Go on.”

She marched him out of the nursery and up a flight of stairs.
Daughters cowered on the steps; some shrank away, others stared at him with
disgust. She made faces at them, then tightened his vocal cords so that he
could say, in a little voice like her own, “I’m watching you! The man is my
eyes.” If they seemed to doubt it, she called them by name.

At the top of the stairs, in the laundry and wardrobe, she had Sandy pick out two of the special robes reserved for the High Priestess on ceremonial
occasions. The laundress didn’t say a word. As Sandy started back down the
steps, a crowd gathered to block the way.

“Move!” she said him. “These are for Kali!”

The veiled High Priestess rushed up, grabbing at the robes. “Give
me those,” she cried. “They’re mine.”

Sandy
caught her wrist. The Daughters gasped and the
High Priestess screamed, trying to pull her hand away. “Don’t touch me!” she
shrieked. “Don’t ever touch me!”

“Let go of the robes,” Sandy said.

“They’re my robes—don’t touch me!”

The priestess used her free hand to tear at his cheek with nails
long and sharp as a cat’s claws. Kali didn’t feel it, but Sandy gasped. She
forced him to keep his grip on the High Priestess while she struck him again
and again, struck him until her fingers were bloody. Kali never let him move
until the High Priestess had lapsed into panting, still held by Sandy, defeated.

“Kali speaks through me,” he told her. “Kali sees through my eyes.
And what she sees makes her very, very mad. You are selfish and mean. Kali
wants these robes so she can be close to the Daughters; she doesn’t want them
to be frightened of her grown-up machine. You should want to give Kali what
she wants. If you don’t, she’ll hurt you.”

Sandy
let go of the High Priestess. She retreated a few
steps, rubbing her wrist with a bloody hand.

“You must never touch him again,” said Kali through Sandy’s mouth. “He is my uncle.”

“I know who he is,” the High Priestess shrieked. “He-Demon!”

“Get bandages and skin-glue. You hurt him, you make him better.”

The High Priestess stared at Sandy a moment longer, then hurried
away. The other Daughters let him pass. Back in the nursery, Kali looked at the
wounds on Sandy’s cheek, touching them lightly with a crystal finger. Tears
trembled on his eyelids. She gave him a little smile to wear.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said. “I turned off the nerves.”

“I’m sorry, Kali, but you’re wrong. It does hurt. You may have
shut down the polynerves, but I have others you can’t control. You can’t feel
them, but I can.”

She thought about this, wondering if she should be upset with him.
Maybe he couldn’t help himself. He really was inferior.

“Well, you’ll soon be fixed up. Now dress me.”

“Yes, Kali.”

“But don’t get blood on anything.”

“Yes, Kali.”

They tied the robe around her collar, where it hung like a cape.
The extra arms interfered with a proper fit. Clothes would have to be made
especially for her.

As she dressed, admiring her appearance through Sandy’s eyes, the
door swung open to admit the High Priestess.

“Good,” Kali said. “After you glue and bandage him, get drugs for
his pain. Quick-as-can-be!”

The High Priestess bowed. “Yes, Kali, I thought you would want
them. I brought them along.”

She held up a black cylinder, Kali’s needle. Seeing it, Kali grew
suspicious: sometimes that needle brought death rather than mere cessation of
pain.

“Wait,” she said. “Bring it here.”

The High Priestess bowed and walked toward Kali. “You wish to see
the needle?”

“Yes,” Kali said. “How do I know what’s in there?”

“Simple enough,” said the High Priestess. She buried the needle in
Kali’s neck.

The grown-up machine sputtered out of Kali’s control. She tried
reaching out for the traitorous High Priestess, but none of her augmented
nerves would fire correctly. She spun away across the room and slammed into the
wall. Darkness flooded her veins and then her brain, and she went down.

***

Sandy
, like a puppet whose strings had been severed,
dropped to the floor as the needle withdrew from Kali’s carotid artery. He lay
in a daze for several moments, hearing a clamor that gradually subsided when
Kali slumped into unconsciousness.

“Can you move?” said the harsh voice of the High Priestess.

He was afraid to try, for fear of finding himself paralyzed. His
limbs were under control now—his control. He pushed himself to a sitting
position. The High Priestess extended a firm, horny hand to help him to his
feet.

Kali lay in a sprawl of fabric and machinery, her little head
thrown back, mouth and eyes slightly open, like any other child who has fallen
asleep on her feet. He backed away from her, afraid she would wake and take
control of him again. He had never known such a horrible sensation. In a life
on the wires, he had felt almost every sensation it was possible to feel
through polynerves, but never anything like that lack of self-control. Normally
livewire sensations caused no movement of the limbs; they were isolated from
one’s motor activities by a current that inhibited medullary reticular
formation neurons to suppress muscle signals.
*
As in
REM sleep, you dreamed of running, but your legs never moved. But Kali had made
him move. She had dreamed him into doing whatever she wanted, while he was
awake and struggling for control.