The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 25 (Mammoth Books) (105 page)

“And now he’s calling to you,” the man said.

“Calling me what?”

“ ‘Kid’, it sounds like.”

And that was the moment when Bloch saw his brother standing in front of him.

Matt always looked like their father, but never so much as now. He was suddenly grown. This wasn’t the shaved-head, beer-belching boy who came home on leave last summer. This wasn’t even the tough-talking soldier on Skype last week. Nothing about him was worn down or wrinkled, yet the apparition carried himself like their father did in the videos – a short thick fellow with stubby legs churning, shoulders squared up and ready to suffer any load. He was decked out in the uniform that he wore in Yemen, except it was too pressed and too clean. There was a sleepless, pained quality to the face, and that’s where he most resembled Dad. But those big eyes had seen worse than what they were seeing now, and despite cares and burdens that a little brother could never measure, the man before him still knew how to smile.

“How you doing, kid?” Matt asked.

With the doll-voice, Bloch said, “You’re not my brother.”

“Think not?”

“I feel it. You’re not human at all.”

“So says the glowing monster decked out in his fancy fiberglass underwear.” Matt laughed and the old man joined in. Then Matt winked, asking Bloch, “You scared of me?”

Bloch shook his head.

“You should be scared. I’m a very tough character now.” He walked past both of the men, looking back to say, “March with me, monster. We got a pile of crap to discuss.”

Long legs easily caught the short.

Turning the corner, Bloch asked where they were going. Matt said nothing. Bloch looked back. The old man had given up watching them, preferring to lean against the wrecked Buick, studying the purples in a long sky that was bewitched and exceptionally lovely.

“We’re going to the zoo,” Bloch guessed.

Matt started to nod and then didn’t. He started to talk and then stopped himself. Then he gazed up at the giant beside him.

“What?” Bloch asked.

“Do you know what an adventure is?”

“Sure.”

“No, you don’t,” Matt said. “When I was standing outside the barracks that night, texting you, I figured I was going to die. And that didn’t seem too awful. A demon monster was dropping from the heavens and the world was finished, but what could I do? Nothing. This wasn’t like a bomb hiding beside the road. This wasn’t a bullet heading for me. There wasn’t any gut-eating suspense to the show, and nothing was left to do but watch.

“Except that spaceship was just a beginning. Like the softest most wonderful blanket, it fell over me and over everything. An aspect found me and fell in love with my potential. Like you’ve been worked on, only more so. I learned tons of crazy shit. What I knew from my old life was still part of me, still holding my core, but with new meanings attached. It was the same for my unit and the Yemeni locals and even the worst bad guys. We were remade and put to work, which isn’t the same as being drafted, since everybody understood the universe, and our work was the biggest best thing any of us could ever do.”

They passed the house where Bloch spent the night, hiding in the basement. “What about the universe?” he asked.

“We’re not alone, which you know. But we never have been alone. The Earth wasn’t even born, and the galaxy was already full of bodies and brains and all sorts of plans for what could be done, and some of those projects were done but a lot of them were too scary, too big and fancy. There’s too little energy to accomplish everything that can be dreamed up. Too many creatures want their little piece of the prize, and that’s why a truce was put in place. A planet like the Earth is a tempting resource, but nobody is allowed to touch it. Not normally, they aren’t. Earth has its own life, just like a hundred and six other planets and moons and big comets. And that’s just inside our little solar system. Even the simplest life is protected by law and by machines – although ‘machine’ isn’t the best word.”

“We live in a zoo,” Bloch said.

“And ‘zoo’ is a pretty lousy word too. But it works for now.” Matt turned at the next intersection, taking a different route than Bloch usually walked to school. “Rules and regulations, that’s how everything is put together. There’s organizations older than the scum under our rocks. There’s these systems that have kept the Earth safe from invaders, mostly. But not always. I’m telling you, this isn’t the first time the Earth has been grabbed hard. You think the dinosaurs died from a meteor attack? Not possible. If a comet is going to be trouble, it’s gently nudged and made safe again. Which is another blessing of living inside a zoo, and I guess we should have been thankful. If we knew about it before, that is.”

“What killed them?”

“The T. rexes? Well, that depends on how you tell the story. A ship came out of deep space and got lucky enough to evade the defensive networks – networks that are never as fancy or new as is possible, by the way. Isn’t that the way it always works? Dinosaurs got infected with aspects, and the aspects gave them big minds and new skills. But then defenders were sent down here to put up a fight. A worldwide battle went pretty well for the defenders, but not well enough. For a little while it looked as if maybe, just maybe the Earth could be rebuilt into something powerful enough to survive every one of the counterattacks.

“But the machines above us managed one hard cleansing attack. Cleansings are a miserable desperate tactic. Flares are woven on the sun and then focused on the planet, stripping its crust clean. But cleansing was the easy trick. Too much had to be rebuilt afterwards, and a believable scenario had to be impressed into the rock, and dinosaurs were compromised and unsafe. That’s why the impact craters. That’s why the iridium layer. And that’s why a pack of little animals got their chance, which is you and me, and the next peace lasted for about sixty-five million years.”

Small houses and leafless trees lined a road that ended with a tall chain-link fence topped with barbed wire.

“This war has two sides,” said Matt. “Every kind of good is here, and there is no evil. Forget evil. A starship carrying possibilities struck the earth, and it claimed half of the planet in a matter of minutes. Not that that part of the war has been easy. There’s a hundred trillion mines sitting in our dirt, hiding. Each one is a microscopic machine that waits, waits, waits for this kind of assault. I’ve been fighting booby traps ever since. In my new state, this war has gone on a hundred years. I’ve seen and done things and had things done to me, and I’ve met creatures you can’t imagine, and machines that I can’t comprehend, and nothing has been won easily for me, and now I’m back to my big question: Do you know what adventure is?”

“I think I know.”

“You don’t, kid. Not quite yet, you don’t know.”

The fence marked the zoo’s eastern border. Guardsmen had cut through the chain-link, allowing equipment too big for the service entrance to be brought onto the grounds. Inside the nearest cage, a single Bactrian camel stood in the open, in the violet morning light, shaggy and calm and imbecilic.

Bloch stepped through the hole, but his brother remained outside.

The boy grew brighter and his voice sounded deeper. “So okay, tell me. What is an adventure?”

“You go through your life, and stuff happens. Some of that stuff is wild, but most of it is boring. That’s the way it has to be. Like with me, for instance. The last hundred years of my life have been exciting and ordinary and treacherous and downright dull, depending on circumstances. I’ve given a lot to this fight, and I believe it’s what I want to do. And we’ve got a lot of advantages on our side: surprise; an underfunded enemy; and invading a target that is the eighth or ninth best among the candidates.”

“What is best?” Bloch asked.

“Jupiter is the prize. Because of its size, sure, but also because it’s biosphere is a thousand times more interesting than ours.” Matt stood before the gaping hole, hands on hips. “Yeah, my side has its advantages and the momentum, but it probably will fall short of its goal. We’ll defeat the booby traps, sure, and beat the defenders inside their redoubts, but we probably won’t be ready for the big cleansing attack. But what is happening, if you care . . . this is pretty much how the Permian came to an awful end. In four days, the Earth became something mighty, and then most everything went extinct. That’s probably what happens here. And you know the worst of it? Humans will probably accept the villain’s role in whatever the false fossil says. We killed our world from pollution and heat, and that’s why the fence lizards and cockroaches are going to get their chance.”

Bloch was crying.

“Adventure,” said Matt. “No, that’s not the crazy stupid heroic shit you do in your life. Adventure is the story you tell afterwards. It’s those moments you pick out of everything that was boring and ordinary, and then put them on a string and give to another person as a gift. Your story.”

Bloch felt sick inside.

“Feel scared, kid?”

“No.”

“Good,” his brother said, pulling a string necklace out of his shirt pocket and handing it to him. “Now go. You’ve got a job to do.”

Bloch’s Adventure

The camel was chewing, except it wasn’t. The mouth was frozen and the dark dumb eyes held half-closed, and a breath that began in some past age had ceased before the lungs were happy. The animal was a statue. The animal was some kind of dead, inert and without temperature, immune to rot and the tug of gravity while standing in the middle of a pen decorated with camel hoof prints and camel shit and the shit-colored feed that was destined for a camel’s fine belly – the emperor resplendent in his great little realm.

Bloch turned back to his brother, wanting explanations. But Matt had vanished, or never was. So he completed one slow circle, discerning how the world was locked into a moment that seemed in no particular hurry to move to the next moment. But time must be moving, however slowly. Otherwise how could an eye see anything? The light reflected off every surface would be fixed in space, and frozen light was as good as no light, and wasn’t it funny how quickly this new mind of his played with the possibilities?

The pale, broad hand of a boy came into his face, holding the white string of the necklace just given to him. Little candy beads looked real and felt real as his fingers made them dance. “Neat,” he said, his newest voice flat and simple, like the tone from a cheap bell. But the hands and body were back where they began, just ten million times quicker, and the fiberglass garb was replace with the old jeans and Cornell sweatshirt. This is nuts, he thought. And fun. Then for no particular reason, he touched the greenest candy against his tongue, finding a sweetness that made it impossible not to shove all of the beads into his mouth, along with the thick rough string.

Each candy was an aspect, and the string was ten aspects woven together, and Bloch let them slide deep while waiting for whatever the magic would do to him next.

But nothing seemed to change, inside him or without.

The camel was a little deeper into its breath and its happiness when the boy moved on. He did not walk. He thought of moving and was immediately some distance down the concrete path, and he thought of moving faster and then stood at the zoo’s west side. His school was a big steel building camouflaged behind a fake fire station and a half-sized red caboose. He knew where he needed to be, and he didn’t go there. Instead he rose to the classroom where Mr. Rightly and his mother shared a little bed made of lost clothes. They were sitting up on the folded coats, a single camping lamp shining at their feet. Mom was talking and holding the teacher’s hand. Mr. Rightly had always looked as old as his mother, but he wasn’t. He was a young man who went gray young, sitting beside a careworn woman ten years his senior. Bloch leaned close to his mother and told her about seeing Matt just now. He said that his brother was alive and strong, and he explained a little something about what her youngest son was doing now, and finally enough time passed for that despairing face to change, maybe recognizing the face before it, or at least startled by the shadow that Bloch cast.

Several people shared the dim room. The girl who had recently faced down the wild leopard was sitting across from Bloch’s mother, bright tears frozen on the pretty face. In her lap were an old National Geographic and a half-page letter that began with “Dear Teddy” and ended with “Love” written several times with an increasingly unsteady hand. Bloch studied the girl’s sorrow, wishing he could give her confidence. But none of the aspects inside could do that. Then he turned back to his mother’s slow surprise and poor Mr. Rightly who hadn’t slept in days and would never sleep again. That’s what Bloch was thinking as he used his most delicate touch, one finger easing the sloppy glasses back up near the eyes.

He moved again, no time left to waste.

The penguin’s new pond was empty of water but partly filled with machines, most of them dead and useless. A yellow crane was fixed in place, reaching to the treetops, and one steel cable dangled down to a point ten feet above the concrete deck. Flanking cherry pickers were filled with soldiers working furiously to arm what was tethered to the cable’s end: a small atomic warhead designed to be flung against tank columns in the Fulda Gap. The soldiers were trying to make the bomb accept their commands. It was a useless activity; for endless reasons, the plutonium would never become angry. But Bloch was willing himself into the air, having a long penetrating look at what might be the most destructive cannonball the human species would ever devise.