On the Steel Breeze (43 page)

‘It wasn’t that simple. You wanted something from me. Would you have offered to do this good deed if you hadn’t?’

‘Must we pick over that again? The deed was done. In return, you established a line of dialogue between us and Arethusa and the obligation was discharged. We were very grateful for your efforts.’

‘So what do you want from me this time?’

‘Absolutely nothing. This is our gift to you – if you’re willing to accept it.’

‘Why wouldn’t I accept a gift?’

‘Whether you’ll admit it or not, you want purpose in your life. Someone else to worry about, beyond yourself. She could be that purpose. But you’ll need to be strong. Very strong indeed.’

The merfolk submarine arrived at the platelike underside of one of their seastead hexagons. It docked with an inverted cupola projecting from the underneath, clamping onto the floating structure like a suckerfish. They disembarked and rose up through green-lit layers, her ears popping with subtle changes in atmospheric pressure, until they came to a domed clinic, a bright but spartan space where the other Chiku, Chiku Red, the one who was supposed to have died, was being eased back into life.

She was in a sort of rock garden, under a simulated sky, sitting at a table with a merfolk nurse. The nurse was only partially aquatic, a young man with coppery hair and the normal dispensation of arms and legs. He had gill slits in his neck and some visible alteration to his nose and eyelids. Chiku wondered if this had been a conscious choice, to buffer Chiku Red from encountering too much strangeness in one go. Both the nurse and the patient were dressed in white; the nurse in a medical tunic and trousers, Chiku Red in a simple silver-white shift the precise shimmery hue of a penguin’s chest plumage, which left her arms and legs bare. They were toying with things on the table – blocks and shapes, mostly primary coloured, with letters and symbols stamped on them. The nurse was holding up one of the blocks, pincering it between his entirely humanoid fingers, shaping a sound with his mostly human lips. He repeated it over and over again, with exactly the same intonation.

Chiku Red was trying to say it back to him, but could not get the sound right. The man showed extraordinary patience. He nodded, smiled and picked up a different block. Concentration creased the other Chiku’s brow. She was so focused on this game that she had not noticed her counterpart’s arrival.

‘Why doesn’t she look like me?’ Chiku whispered, when the shock of seeing herself had begun to abate.

‘I’d say you’re very similar.’

‘She looks younger. I don’t feel old when I look at myself in the mirror, but seeing her, I feel it.’

‘You’ve lived a life since you were triplicated. She was asleep all those years aboard
Memphis,
then a sleep, frozen or dead all the years since. She’s only experienced a few months of uninterrupted consciousness. It feels as if it happened yesterday – or would, if she had any clear recollection of it.’

‘What
does
she remember?’

‘Fragments, mostly of her life before the triplication. But she has great difficulty articulating these memories, or placing them in any comprehensible context. We can tell when she recognises something or has a strong emotional reaction because different areas of her brain light up. But she can’t tell us much. She has almost no language, you see.’

‘I don’t.’

‘The damage to her brain was extensive. Partly a side-effect of the prolonged cryogenic passage, partly the harm we caused extracting the Quorum implant. The regions of her mind most affected were in the left hemisphere – the areas of Broca and Wernicke, the angular gyrus. In a
normal brain, these structures are associated with the generation and comprehension of language. Regrettably, she has vast cognitive deficits. But there has also been slow progress.’

‘We can fix minds. Machines tore my brain apart, made three identical copies. We could do that centuries ago. So fix her.’

‘Ah, but we steer clear of machine influence wherever possible. We’ll use them in certain nano-surgical applications, of course, but a wholesale invasion of the brain, the radical infiltration and restructuring of natural neural pathways, the supplanting of entire functional modules by prosthetic information-processing assemblies . . . we’ve always had a profound mistrust of these methods. Long ago, when Lin Wei first put us on this course, she anticipated a great schism between the biological and the inorganic. She saw it as the question that would decide our fate, our cosmic destiny—’

‘Thanks for the history lesson, but right now I want you to fix whatever’s wrong with her.’

Chiku must have raised her voice, because Chiku Red looked up sharply from the game, breaking her concentration, and met her sister’s gaze. The nurse put down the latest embossed block and nodded for Chiku to approach the table.

‘Even if we were prepared to storm her mind with machines,’ Mecufi continued, ‘it would do very little good. When you were triplicated, the machines had a baseline from which to work – detailed maps of your own brain’s anatomy before the procedure. There’s no such reference in Chiku Red’s case. It would be like trying to rebuild a storm-damaged house without having seen the original structure.’

‘A different house is better than no house,’ Chiku said, taking a seat next to the nurse and opposite her counterpart. She wondered what to say next. There was no protocol for this situation, for either of them.

‘Hello,’ Chiku Red said.

All of a sudden her throat was very dry. ‘Hello,’ she said back.

‘Introduce yourself,’ suggested Mecufi.

Chiku twisted around to look at him. ‘Does she know what we are?’

‘On some level, probably. She doesn’t need layers of grammar for that – just a sense that the two of you fit together, that you have something in common – a connection deeper than memory.’

‘I’m Chiku,’ she said, reaching out to take her counterpart’s hand. She felt her fingers close around the counterpart’s. The other Chiku reciprocated. ‘Chiku Yellow. You are Chiku Red.’

‘Chiku,’ the other said, touching her chest with her free hand.

‘We’re both Chiku,’ Chiku said.

‘Chiku,’ the other repeated. And she thought of Dreadnought, the Tantor in
Zanzibar.
They had much in common, this woman and Dreadnought. One had lost language, while the other had never truly owned it. But both were struggling to make the best of what they had.

‘She can’t get by with just a word or two,’ Chiku said, still holding her sister’s hand.

‘She’s a work in progress,’ Mecufi replied. ‘Since we brought her back to life and repaired the gross anatomical damage, we’ve been flooding her brain with neurochemical growth factors to promote the forging of new synaptic pathways and connections. The adult brain never stops rewiring itself, but in most of us the processes are very slow and poorly coordinated. It’s quite the reverse in Chiku Red’s brain. She’s advancing in powerful increments. I have no doubt she’ll eventually master language – but it will take time.’

‘She’d still be better off with machines to her. How’s she going to function without machines?’

‘The way most people did, for most of civilisation – slowly, awkwardly, inefficiently, but without artificial reliance on a vast, over-complicated support system of augmented realities, translating layers, sensory-transfer mechanisms. She’ll have one language, hardwired into her brain – maybe two, if things go well. The nurse is educating her in Swahili, for obvious reasons – it’ll be the most useful, wherever she might travel. But with some application, she should also gain a good command of Portuguese, perhaps even a smattering of Zulu or Chinese.’

‘There’d be no point learning Portuguese. I’ve lived in Lisbon for years without a word of it.’

‘That, Chiku, is precisely the point. Take the aug away from you, and you’re the child, not her. How many of your friends and neighbours speak Swahili as fluently as you do?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Because you’ve never needed to know. The aug does it all for you, on command, as dependable as air. Your neighbour’s base tongue might be Urdu or Finnish or Lilliputian, for all you know. There could be ten billion people, each speaking their own idiolect, and you’d all still be able to communicate.’

‘It’s the way the world works.’

‘For now,’ Mecufi said mildly.

After a moment, she asked her counterpart: ‘Are you all right? Are you happy?’

Chiku Red glanced at the nurse before answering, as if she needed encouragement or clarification. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘Yes. Yes, yes.’

‘I’m sorry for what happened to you.’ Chiku made to stroke the side of the other Chiku’s head, but her counterpart flinched at the sudden movement.

‘It’s all right,’ the nurse said.

Chiku made contact, skin against skin. She imagined cells breaking free from Chiku Red, slipping across the frontier like spies, becoming part of her own matrix. ‘You did a brave thing, going all that way out just to bring her home. I know you didn’t find her. But I did, in a way. I know what happened to her. That can count for both of us, can’t it?’

‘Count,’ she said, pleased. ‘Count. One, two, three. I can count.’

The nurse said, ‘Don’t be fooled by the poverty of her vocabulary, Chiku. Her high-order abstract reasoning is as developed as yours or mine. And she learns quickly.’

‘How long will it take? Before she’s . . . normal?’ Chiku shuddered at herself.

‘That depends,’ the nurse went on. ‘You have one idea of “normal”, we have another. She’ll never be able to embrace the aug, or move as fluidly in the Surveilled World as you do.’

‘So what will she be able to do, then?’

‘Speak. Remember. Take care of herself. Maintain human ties. Friendship. Laughter and tears, love and happiness. All those things are possible. But she won’t get there on her own.’

‘You’ve got a long way to go, then.’

‘No,’ Mecufi said. ‘Not us. We’ve brought her this far, but this is our world, not hers, and I’m not sure it’s right for her. If she wants to join us, to become aquatic, we’ll honour her decision – gladly, with open flippers. But she’d have to come back to us willingly, after she’s experienced a little more of the world. Dry and Sky, Chiku – your domain, not ours. We’re surrendering her into your care – you may take her back to Lisbon.’

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘I just . . . can’t. Until yesterday, I’d barely thought of her in years!’

‘And yesterday you were entirely without purpose. You had nothing to dwell on but your own terrors. You thought you’d be free of them, but instead they circled closer. The thing you fear? It hasn’t gone away. We wanted to make contact with Arethusa because we knew of Arachne, but we didn’t have a name, an origin, and we hoped Arethusa might. Which she did, of course. And when we sent the kraken to rescue you, we knew exactly what would happen if we failed.’

‘I think Arachne’s gone. I went to the Moon, and—’

‘No,’ Mecufi said tenderly. ‘She hasn’t gone. She’s still out there, haunting the world. Keeping herself to herself, it’s true – perhaps that’s the reason she’s shown no interest in killing you. But she hasn’t gone, no. Not at all.’

‘You can’t know this.’

‘No, but we can fear it. We sense Arachne. She’s very good at not being sensed, as you can imagine, but she can’t exist and not have some effect. That’s physics. But here’s the thing: it will be many decades before we have direct news from Crucible. What matters now, the immediate, pressing thing, the
only
pressing thing, is what we do about this poor woman with half a mind. We think she needs someone to care for her – someone to help her back to life.’

‘I can’t,’ she repeated, but this time the absolute conviction was absent, replaced by a plaintive denial. It had the pleading, petulant tone of a child, and she hated herself the moment the words were out. ‘I mean, it’s just not possible. Even if I wanted to help her, and of course I do . . . I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

‘All you have to do is live,’ Mecufi said, spreading his hands magnanimously. ‘Just live and keep on living. Show her what being alive is all about. Give her language and laughter. Show her how the world works.’

‘On my own?’

‘We could provide some assistance, if necessary,’ the nurse said.

‘And perhaps a small stipend, to aid with the costs of support,’ Mecufi added, as if money would make up her mind. ‘You could move to a different apartment – somewhere with a nicer view – but since she’s already been exposed to Swahili and Portuguese, I wouldn’t stray too far from Lisbon.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, but softer this time.

‘You can’t – or you won’t?’ Mecufi asked. ‘Looking after her, teaching her how to live – that won’t take every hour of every day. You’ll still have time for your other diversions. And it could be rewarding, to give her back her life. Think of her as a gift from the past. It’s a miracle she’s here at all. Doesn’t she deserve a chance to go so much further?’

‘Of course she does. It’s just . . .’

‘Difficult?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’

‘Very few worthwhile things are not difficult, in some fashion,’ Mecufi pontificated. ‘But isn’t it true that you always felt your life lacked some grand ambition? The others took risks, you stayed at home. That wasn’t your fault, it was not through a lack of courage . . . but still. You never felt that you measured up to the others. But this is your chance! And
this isn’t some vanity, some deed that will make your name for eternity. This is a kindness, a thing done to another human being for no reason other than compassion. A private, dignified act of basic human decency, which history, being the bastard that it is, will probably neglect to commemorate. You can do this, Chiku – it’s within you. More than that, you owe it to yourself.’

She closed her eyes. He was right, damn him – she had felt rudderless, these past twenty years. Rudderless and scared, and ashamed she had permitted herself to reach such a state.

But she did not feel strong, or responsible, or wise enough to help this woman, this other version of herself. It was quite insupportable of Mecufi to put her in this position.