Starplex (32 page)

Glass paused, and when he resumed speaking, his tone was a little sad.

"Still, you won't be able to keep score of how many races you have yet to discover. When I send you back, I will wipe your memories of the time you've spent here."

Keith 's heart fluttered. "Don't do that."

"I'm afraid I must. We have an isolation policy."

"Do you--do you do this often? Grab people from the past?"

"Not as a rule, no, but, well, you're a special case. I'm a special case."

"In what way?"

"I was one of the first people to become immortal."

"Immortal . . ." Keith's voice trailed off.

"Didn't I mention that? Oh, yes. You're not just going to live for a very long time--you're going to live forever."

"Immortal," said Keith again. He tried to think of a better word, but couldn't, and so simply said, "Wow."

"But, as I said, you--l--we are a special case of immortality."

"How so ?"

"There are, in fact, only three older human beings than me in the entire universe. Apparently, I had a--what do you call it?--an 'in' that got me the immortality treatments early on."

"Rissa was working on senescence research; I assume she ended up being codeveloper of the immortality technique."

"Ah, that must have been it," said Glass.

"You don't remember?"

"No--and that's the whole problem. You see, when they first invented immortality, it worked by allowing cells to divide an infinite number of times, instead of succumbing to preprogrammed cell death."

"The Hayflick limit," said Keith, having learned all about it in conversations with Rissa.

"Pardon ?"

"The Hayflick limit. The phenomenon that limits the number of times a cell can divide."

"Ah, yes," said Glass. "Well, they overcame that. And they overcame the old, natural limitation that said you were born with a finite quantity of brain cells, and that those cells were not normally replaced. One of the keys to immortality was to let the brain constantly create new cells as the old ones wore out, so--"

"So if the cells are replaced," said Keith, eyes growing wide, "then the memories stored by the original cells get lost."

Glass nodded his smooth head. "Precisely. Of course, now we offload old memories into lepton matrices. We can remember an infinite amount of material I don't just have access to millions of books, I actually remember the contents of millions of books that I've read over the years.

But I became an immortal before such offloading existed.

My early memories--everything from my first couple of centuries of life--is gone."

"One of my best friends," said Keith, "is an Ib named Rhombus. Ibs die when their early memories get wiped out--new memories overwrite their basic autonomous routines, killing them."

Glass nodded. "There's a certain elegance to that," he said. "It's very difficult to live without knowing who one is, without remembering one's own past."

"That's why you were disappointed that I'm only forty-six."

"Exactly. It means there's still a century and a half of my life that you can't tell me about. Perhaps someday, I'll locate another version of me, from--what would that be?--from about the year 2250 in your calendar." He paused. "Still, you remember the most crucial parts.

You remember my physical childhood, you remember my parents.

Until I spoke to you, I wasn't even sure that I'd had biological parents. You remember my first love. All of that has been gone from me for so incredibly long. And yet, those experiences shaped how I behave, set down the patterns of my personality, the core neural nets of my mind, the fundamentals of Who I am." Glass paused. "I have wondered for millennia why I act the way I do, why I sometimes torture myself with unpleasant thoughts, why I interact with others as a bridge-builder or a peace maker, why I internalize my feelings. And you have told me: I was once, long ago, an unhappy child, a middle child, a stoic child.

There had been a horizon in my past, a curve beyond which I could not see. You have taken that away. What you have given me is beyond price." Glass paused, then his tone grew lighter. "I thank you from the bottom of my infinitely regenerating heart."

Keith laughed, like a yelping seal, and the other Keith laughed too, like wind chimes, and then they both laughed at the sound the other had made.

"I'm afraid it's time for you to go home," said Glass.

Keith nodded.

Glass was silent for a moment, then: "I have refrained from giving you advice, Keith. It is not my place to do so, and, frankly, there are ten billion years between us. We are, in many ways, different people.

What is right for me, now, at this stage of life, may not be right for you. But I owe you--for what you have given me, I owe you enormously, and I would like to repay you with a small suggestion."

Keith tilted his head, waited.

Glass spread his transparent arms. "I have seen the ebb and tide of human sexual morality over the eons, Keith. I've seen sex given as freely as a smile, and I've seen it guarded as though it were more precious than peace. I've known people who have been celibate for a billion years, 'and I've know others have had more than a million partners. I've seen sex between members of different species from the same world, and between those who evolved on different worlds. Some people I know have removed their genitals altogether to avoid the issue of sex. Others have become true hermaphrodites, capable of procreative sex with themselves.

Others still have switched genders--I have a friend who changes from male to female every thousand years, like clockwork. There have been times when humans have embraced homosexuality, and heterosexuality, and incest, and multiple concurrent spouses, and prostitution, and bestiality, and sadomasochism, and there have been times when all of those have been abjured. I have seen marriage contracts with expiration dates, and I have seen marriages last five billion years.

And you, my friend, will live long enough to see all these things, too.

But through all of it, there is one constant for people of conscience, for people like you and me: if you hurt someone you care about, there is guilt."

Glass dipped his head. "I do not remember Clarissa. I do not remember her at all. I have no idea what happened to her. If she, too, became an immortal, then perhaps she still exists, and perhaps I can find her.

I have loved a thousand other humans over the years; a paltry number by many people's standards, but sufficient for me. But there is no doubt that Rissa must have been very, very special to us; that's apparent in the way you speak of her."

Glass paused, and Keith had the eerie feeling that eyes--invisible in that smooth transparent egg of a head--were seeking out his own, seeking the truth behind them. "I can read you, Keith. When you told me earlier to move along, to pick another topic, it was obvious what you were hiding, what you have been contemplating." A beat of silence; even the forest simulacrum around them held its peace. "Don't hurt her, Keith. You will only hurt yourself."

"That's the advice?" asked Keith.

Glass lifted his shoulders slightly. "That's it."

Keith was quiet for a time. Then: "How will I remember that? You said you were going to wipe my memories of this meeting."

"I will leave that thought intact. You will indeed have no memory of me, and you'll just think it came from yourself--which, of course, it did, in a way."

Keith thought for a time about what the appropriate reply was.

Finally, he said, "Thank you."

Glass nodded. And then, sadly, he said, "It's time for you to go."

There was an awkward moment during which they stood and looked at each other. 'Keith started to extend his hand, but then let it drop to his side. Then, after a second of hesitation, he surged forward, and hugged Glass. To his astonishment, the transparent man felt soft and warm. The embrace lasted only a few seconds.

"Perhaps someday we'll meet again," said Keith, taking a step back now.

"If you ever feel like popping through to the twenty-first century for a visit . . ."

"Perhaps I will. We are about to start something very, very big here.

I told you at the outset that the fate of the universe is in question, and I--meaning you, too, of course--have a key role to play in that. I gave up being a sociologist ages ago. As you might guess, I've had thousands of careers over the millennia, and now I'm a--a physicist, you might call it. My new work will eventually necessitate a trip to the past."

"Just remember our full name, for God's sake," said Keith. "I'm listed in the Commonwealth directory, but you'll never find me again if you forget."

"No," said Glass. "This time I promise I will not forget you, or the parts of our past you have shared with me." He paused. "Good-bye, my friend."

The forest simulation, along with its motionless sun, daytime moon, and four-leaf lucky clovers, melted away, revealing the cubic interior of the docking bay. Keith started walking toward his travel pod.

Glass stood motionless in the bay as it opened to space.

More magic; he needed no space suit. Keith touched a key, and his pod moved out into the night, the six-fingered pink nebula that had once been Sol staining the sky on his left, the robin 's-egg-blue dragon receding behind him. He flew the pod toward the invisible point of the shortcut, and as he made contact, he felt a faint itching inside his skull. He had just been thinking about--about something . . .

It was gone now, whatever it had been.

Oh, well. The ring of Soderstrom radiation passed over the pod from bow to stern, and Keith 's view was filled with the sky of Tau Ceti, Grand Central Station visible off to his right, looking odd in the dim red light from the newly arrived dwarf star.

As he always did when he came here, Keith amused himself for a few seconds finding Boetes, then locating Sol.

He nodded once and smiled. Always good to know that the old girl hadn't gone nova . . .

Keith had always thought Grand Central Station looked like four dinner plates arranged in a square, but today, for some reason, it reminded him of a four-leaf clover floating against the stars. Each of the leaves or plates was a kilometer in diameter and eighty meters thick, making the station the largest manufactured structure in Commonwealth space.

Like Starplex's own much-smaller central disk, the outward facing edges of the plates were studded with docking-bay doors, many of them bearing the logos of Earth-based trading corporations. The computer aboard Keith's travel pod received docking instructions from Grand Central's traffic controller, and flew him in toward a docking ring adjacent to a large corrugated space door bearing the yellow-script symbol of the Hudson's Bay Company, now in its fifth century of operation.

Keith looked around through the travel pod's transparent hull. Dead ships were floating across the sky. Tugs were arriving at the docking bays hauling wreckage. One of the station's four plates was completely dark, as if it had taken a major hit during the battle.

Once his pod was secured, Keith exited into the station.

Unlike Starplex, which was a Commonwealth facility, Grand Central belong entirely to the peoples of Earth, and its common environment was kept precisely at terrestrial standard.

A governmental aide was waiting to greet Keith. He had a broken arm.

It likely occurred during the battle with the Waldahudin, since the bone-knitting web he had on would normally only be worn for seventy-two hours after the injury. The aide took him to the opulent office of Petra Kenyatta, Human Government Premier of Tau Ceti province.

Kenyatta, an African woman of about fifty, rose to great Keith.

"Hello, Dr. Lansing," she said, extending her right hand.

Keith shook it. Her grip was firm, almost painfully so.

"Ma' am."

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you." No sooner had Keith sat down in the chair-- a regular, nonmorphing human chair--than the door slid open again and another woman came in, this one Nordic in appearance and a little younger than Kenyatta.

"Do you know Commissioner Amundsen?" said the premier. "She's in charge of the United Nations police forces here at Tau Ceti."

Keith half rose from his chair. "Commissioner."

"Of course," said Amundsen, taking a seat herself, "'police forces' is a euphemism. We call it that for alien ears."

Keith felt his stomach knotting.

"Reinforcements are already on their way from Sol and Epsilon Indi,"

said Amundsen. "We'll be ready to move on Rehbollo as soon as they arrive."

"Move on Rehbollo?" said Keith, shocked.

"That's right," said the commissioner. "We're going to kick those bloody pigs halfway to Andromeda?"

Keith shook his head. "But surely it's over. A sneak attack only works once. They're not going to be coming back."

"This way we make sure of that," said Kenyatta.

"The United Nations can't have agreed to this," said Keith.

"Not the United Nations, of course," said Amundsen.

"Dolphins don't have the spine for something like this. But we're sure the HuGo will vote for it."

Keith turned to Kenyatta. "It would be a mistake to let this escalate, Premier. The Waldahudin know how to destroy a shortcut."

Amundsen's sapphire eyes Went wide. "Say that again."

"They could cut us off from the rest of the galaxy--and they only need to get one ship through to Tau Ceti to do that."

"What's the technique?

"I--I have no idea. But I'm assured it works."

"All the more reason to destroy them," said Kenyatta.

"How did they sneak up on you?" asked Commissioner Amundsen. "Here at Tau Ceti, they sent one large mother-ship through, and it disgorged fighters as soon as it arrived.

I understand from what Dr. Cervantes said while she was here that they sent individual craft after Starplex. How was it that you didn't notice when the first one arrived?"

"The newly emerged star was between us and the shortcut."

"Who ordered the ship to take that position?" asked Amundsen.