Mind Over Ship (47 page)

Meewee shrugged his shoulders and said, “Fish die.”

The sight of the annoying little man pretending to be disinterested was so comical that Mary laughed. “Is that how I appear to you, Bishop Meewee? So . . . fatalistic? You nearly bawled when Ellen drained the ponds.”

“Even fatalists have the good manners to say good-bye.”

That struck a chord somewhere deep within Mary. “Is that what this is all about? Ellen’s way of saying good-bye?”

Meewee thought about it. In a way it
was
a means of letting the evangelines go, while at the same time keeping them forever. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but you could call it Ellen’s way of saying good-bye. It certainly would make it easier on her if you do the scan.”

“Well, I guess I owe her that much.” Mary turned to the others. “I don’t suppose they’ll mind one way or another. Hello, Georgine! Cyndee! Wake up! We’re going on another picnic.”

AFTER DAYS OF unanswered phone calls and no FUS update, Fred grew so desperate to contact Mary that he nearly asked Marcus for help. But he had lost all faith in the Brotherhood mentar, so he ordered a costly Whereis search. But not even it could locate her. She had dropped off the global grid. Her last verified location had been the Starke Manse. That might have simply meant that she entered a Starke null room, but knowing her recent history with visola, Fred doubted it. So he did the only thing left
that he could think of doing; he called the Starke house hold, and seventeen minutes later a mini-mirror of the family’s mentar uploaded itself into his TECA sidekick. It appeared in his stateroom in its middle-aged persona, not the elderly woman he had encountered on Lake Michigan.

“Where is she?”

Not even bothering to dissemble, Cabinet replied, “She’s safe for the moment. We will suggest to her that she contact you when she reemerges.”

“Reemerges from what? What are you doing to her?”

“That is not something we’re able to discuss.”

“Not good enough!” Fred said. “Patch me in, wherever she is. Let me speak to her this instant.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I’m her spouse, and I demand it.”

“She’s a competent adult acting according to her own free will.”

“Prove it!” Fred said. “Let me speak to her!”

“As I said, that’s not possible, but if you wait forty-eight hours, something might be arranged.”

Fred slashed the air with his hand to cut the connection.

She felt like a tired old woman, though by any human standard she was still young. The regenerative syrup in which she floated did little to ease her discomfort or dispell the increasing fuzziness of her thoughts. Internal systems were breaking down, her digestive system for one, which was why she preferred to absorb her nutrition through her skin. She rested in her always room overlooking the Bay. She knew without asking that her replacement had been started at the same time as the batch of clones for service aboard the Oships. Its cells would be cured by now, and soon the neuronal imprinting would commence. And not long after that, E-P would lift her from the tank and trode her. The prospect of dying again did not frighten her. On the contrary, she looked forward to it. While it was true that the actual electrocution was unpleasant, it was brief, and in its wake there followed a period of blissful blankness, like a good night’s sleep. And when she awoke, she would be fresh and new again.

But it was not yet to be. E-P spoke softly in her mind,
Sorry to disturb you.

She knew at once what it was; she had been aware for days of the mentar’s consternation. Its models of the human mind had never been so out of sync with apparent reality. At first E-P speculated that the Alblaitor package contained a means for an attack against Jaspersen; it was what Zoranna’s sidebob had suggested. But when Jaspersen began quietly to secure a line of credit, E-P was at a loss to explain it. Meanwhile, their own offer for Applied People went ignored.

The always room faded, and Andrea’s POV returned to her tank in the basement of the house. Slings slipped under her arms and gently lifted her. “Another skin mission?” she said.

TECA relented to russ complaints about the excessive number of double shifts. As a workaround until the force level returned to normal, foot patrols were changed to teams of one man and his own proxy. Daoud finally got his wish, and in parting he told Fred he hoped he got what he deserved. Fred entertained the same hope.

The media reported that two more evangelines had succumbed to the “ ’Leen Disease” in the last forty-eight hours, and more than half of the germline had fallen into a comatose state. Mando’s ride home, the ISV
Fentan
, arrived at Trailing Earth, and though it would lie in port for a week before returning to Earth, passengers were permitted to move on board. On the evening before Mando did so, he invited Fred for a good-bye drink, and they met again in the Boomer Rumor.

For a man about to make the homerun run, Mando didn’t seem particularly celebratory. On the contrary, he was lower than Fred had ever seen him.

“She says not to waste my time. She says she will not wait for me. I tried to reason with her. I said that she should do the biostasis until I get there, but she says that would only, you know, ‘postpone the problem of existence.’ I say this is good; it takes time to solve the problem of existence. Let me help, but she says no.”

Mando suddenly remembered himself and said, “I am sorry, Fred. How are you? How is Mary?”

Fred shook his head, and Mando blanched with fright. “She is in a coma?”

“No, not yet,” Fred said reassuringly, but she might be dead for all he knew. He told Mando about the inactive FUS and about his conversation with the Starke mentar.

Mando said, “What does Lyra say?”

“Who’s Lyra?”

“You don’t know? She’s the Sisterhood’s mentar.” Hesitantly, he added, “Starke gave it to them, to all ’leens.” Again the Starkes. “You must go down there and take care of Mary,” Mando went on. “It’s the only way. Did you buy the ticket yet?”

“No,” Fred said. “No one will sell me one. Not even when I hinted”—he lowered his voice—“that I was willing to pay a premium for one.”

Mando took a generous squeeze of whatever was in his bulb. “I am so sorry to hear that, Fred.”

They were interrupted by three men from another cage, three fellow russes in town togs who had been shooting Fred murderous glances since he arrived. Now they hid their identities with shades and gloves, and they were brave with drink.

“You, Stain, you foul my air,” said one of them leaning into the cage. “You shit on the good name of our Brotherhood. You don’t belong among decent people.”

“Easy, brother,” Mando said. “We don’t want no trouble.”

The intruder turned to Mando with a look of revulsion. “Whose side are you on, Mendez? You can stand with him, or you can stand with us, but you can’t have it both ways.”

“I am on the side of tolerance and understanding,” Mando said. “You know my name. Tell me yours.”

“Never mind who we are. We are true brothers, and unless you want what he’s getting, you better heave yourself out of here.”

Fred said, “I know who he is.” He hadn’t brought his spex or visor, but he did have his Spectre. He opened a frame on the cage wall and the man’s mug appeared, bigger than life, along with his personal data. “Listen, Mike,” Fred said, reading the name off the frame, “there’s no need to report this to TECA or Marcus. If you just back off, I can forget all about it. But I won’t forget threats against my friends. Got that, Mike?” The other two russes were likewise unmasked. None of them seemed to have any infractions in their files; they were good men acting out in the heat of the
moment. “It’s the booze talking, brothers. I’m not worth ruining your careers over.”

“You’re not my brother,” the first man said, but it was clear the fight had gone out of him, and he and his friends left the establishment.

“I’m sorry,” Mando said when they were alone.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“And neither did you.”

Mando’s simple faith in him was a stab in the heart. Fred wondered what Mando would say if he knew what kind of monster he really was. What kind of monsters they all had lurking in their genes.

Mando brightened up a little. “I have an idea. No one will sell Mr. Clone Fatigue a ticket, but they’ll sell to me. I will buy another ticket and sell it to you.”

“You don’t think people will figure out it’s for me?”

“Doesn’t matter. Our brothers want you off the station; they just don’t want to be the one to sell you a ticket. I will find you a homerun run, my friend. I promise.”

BACK AT HIS own rez, Fred placed a call to Lyra, and seventeen minutes later, her mini-mirror appeared in his stateroom. “You are Mary’s spouse,” she said. “Mary was the first human I befriended, and I’m glad to finally meet you.”

Friend or not, the mentar was no more forthcoming as to Mary’s whereabouts than Cabinet had been. Fred wasn’t surprised. She was a Starke creature after all.

THE FOLLOWING DAY there was a message telling Fred that Charlie D. wanted to see him, and as soon as he got off-duty, he returned to the Elbow Room. The retrokids weren’t there, and the waitress took him directly to the stockroom where Veronica’s proxy was waiting. “Planning a vacation, are we?” she said by way of greeting. If her information was that good, he didn’t feel any need to answer. “I know all about the ’Leen Disease,” she went on, “and I feel terrible about your wife and her germline, but your mission here is not complete, and you cannot leave until it is.”

“Mary needs me, and there’s nothing you can say or do to keep me here.”

The proxy shook her head. “Don’t bet the farm on that, Commander. Seems to me that’s how you got yourself up here in the first place—rushing off in a panic to rescue your wife. Why don’t you let the authorities help her out this time? The way I hear it, every lab in the UD is working on the
problem. It’s as much their worry as yours: if the ’leens implode, there goes the whole clone-based economy. It’s just as bad as your clone fatigue. There’s nothing you could do to help anyway and by the time you reach Earth, the whole thing will be settled one way or the other.”

“I can’t just sit on my hands and do nothing!”

“That’s exactly what you will do, soldier. You can’t leave the battlefield in the middle of a firefight because they need you at home. You have to suck it up and complete your mission.”

“I don’t even know what my mission is. Bribe the donalds with drugs? Anybody can do that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Commander. Since the last time we met in this room, the entire operation is running as smooth as we could hope for, and no other person alive could replace you. So I’m afraid, though it’s hard on you with all this going on, you’ll just have to stick it out. Abandoning your post now will only
guarantee
you never see Mary again, if you know what I mean.”

Tia Jaspersen carried a tray of refreshments into the Volcano Room. Saul was half reclining on the overstuffed couch with—of all things—a squid cap on his head. Their guest, Andrea Tiekel, was setting up some equipment on the little tea table. Saul saw his wife’s expression and said, “It’s all right, dear. It’s for the Smithsonian.”

Tia looked around for somewhere else to set the tray. “But you’ve always said—”

“It’s all right, dear. It’s my centennial.”

Centennial or not, Saul had always been adamantly opposed to letting anyone fool around with his brain. This Tiekel woman had made no mention of wanting to do so when she contacted them; otherwise, Saul would have never let her come. She had said she wanted to discuss urgent GEP business and that was the only reason he had agreed.

“That’s right,” Andrea said. “Saul is the only former vice president that the Smithsonian doesn’t have in its collection. They asked me, in light of the hundredth anniversary of his term of office, to see if I couldn’t persuade him to cast a sim.”

Tia offered their guest a cup of coffee. “You must be very persuasive, Myr Tiekel.”

“I suppose I am,” Andrea said, accepting the cup. “But please, call me Andrea.” She squeezed Tia’s hand and added, “Why don’t you sit for a sim as well.”

“Me? No, I . . .”

“Why not? The Smithsonian collects spouses too.”

“I wasn’t exactly his spouse back then,” Tia said. But Andrea touched her hand again, and she said, “But, if you think so, I mean, why not?”

“Splendid!” Andrea put her cup down and led Tia to the opposite end of Saul’s couch. Like Saul, Tia had no implants, so Andrea opened a new squid for her and helped her put it on. Then she sat between them, casually touching their bare arms as the preffing generator on the table began to whir. She didn’t watch the baseline shapes herself but instead watched her mechanical scouts with her inner sight. She had released a handful of the cockroach-sized explorers on the carpet while Tia was out of the room, and they had spread throughout the house.