Return-Path: Date: Tue, 29 Dec 92 03:15:24 -0500 (EST) Reply-To: quanta+@andrew.cmu.edu (Quanta Magazine) From: quanta+@andrew.cmu.edu (Quanta Magazine) To: +dist+/afs/andrew/usr/da1n/Quanta/Dlists/asciimail.dl@andrew.cmu.edu Subject: Quanta - December 1992 - ASCII - Part 2(4) description of such events. It was the human nature that got people, the law of opportunism as Cecil might have called it. To Mike, it was just sloth. People liked to take the easy out in nearly all endeavors whether they were flagellating their brains in the electronic void or expressing rage at things they only barely understood. Even the grand Imperial bureaucracy which sought to destroy an entire world had shied away from the big bang approach. Too messy, they must have figured: bad for interstellar relations. Germ warfare had been far easier for them, far less newsworthy. These locals were no different. Mike knew they would try to hit the obvious targets. But unlike Eden, the two most obvious targets, the Arien mansion and Xekhasmeno, were both out of the way and very defensible. The Calannans could fume and fuss, destroy small businesses, even kill a few unfortunates. But if they wanted to make the sort of statement worth making, they'd have to take casualties. Mike suspected that few rioters would be so inclined, because at heart, those most indolent were often the most cowardly. Thus, the Arien mansion resembled not so much a war zone as a refugee camp. Bathed in the moon's faint luminescence, a quarrelsome throng resided outside the front gates, tossing occasional molotovs onto the lawn and shouting threats into the studded darkness. Mike parked at the side of the road among the other vehicles and started circling the mansion grounds on foot to glean some idea of his chances. He guessed that the direct approach would likely constitute a recipe for suicide, as just outside the moat, he could discern the movement of clumsy shapes in the darkness: a row of Alister's mutated minions most probably. He could imagine the worgs wearing hungry grins, the sort normally reserved for career bureaucrats and used grav-car dealers named "Slim-price Sam". Half way around, he spotted the yellow motorbike. It sat beside a row of shrubs on the near side of the moat, plainly visible from the fence but hidden >from the mansion itself. Mike figured that either Johanes was taking half-hearted precautions or he was planning a swift get-away. Another step yielded sudden pain from below. Several thick cords of barbed wire lay strewn about, one snagged on his bare foot. Mike knelt down, tearing it loose with a determined yank. Someone had cut it off the top of the gate, motion sensors and all, and a new wire was strung loosely between the severed ends carrying electricity from one side to the other but skipping the portion in between. Mike climbed up and over, smearing blood on the cermelicon rails and finally settling himself on estate grounds just inside the gate. As though on cue, the noise of gun spray cracked through the air. Mike froze, huddling into a ball before he realized that he wasn't a target. The gun towers were firing on the front gates as gas canisters exploded in the crowd's midst. Though nearly half a kilometer distant, Mike could still see the gates open, cermelicon railings reflecting the moonlight as they slid to the side allowing the worgs to charge through. It was a slaughter, pure and simple, and those who couldn't make it back to their vehicles were chewed up and left to rot on the blood stained pavement. Mike picked himself off the grass, the moments ticking in his mind with each heartbeat in his ears as he began bolting toward the mansion. Every stride ate precious time, but with all attention focused on the front gate, Mike skidded to a halt beside Johanes' bike having apparently attracted no notice whatsoever. The bike's motor idled quietly, its noise muffled by a black, plastic jacket. A long, insulated tube extended from the jacket, running to the moat beneath the shrubbery. It was a cooling sheath, Mike guessed, keeping the bike both quiet and invisible to infra-red sensors as well as protecting it from overheating. Reaching up, Mike gently switched off the motor and pocketed the key, glancing toward the moat as though it were an after- thought, a fifteen meter wide after-thought with gun towers looming overhead and tales of a moat monster fully appreciated. Still, the mansion walls beckoned, and Mike knew he'd never have a better chance. The water was warm and mucky, its thin layer of brown surface jelly sending memories of Aiwelk tumbling about in his head. Holding the automatic pistol overhead, Mike tried wading across but sunk into the deep, slimy mud along the moat's banks. He finally resorted to lodging the barrel between his teeth and dog paddling like a mad man. Leafy, moist vegetation hugged the mansion's stone walls amidst a tapestry of drab moss which dipped gently into the water. The thin vines were surprisingly strong, and Mike found himself climbing upward toward the second floor windows when he felt an annoying tug at his legs. The moat had extruded a long, grey tentacle which had wrapped a determined hold around his ankles. "Good evening, Mister Harrison. So good of you to drop by." Mike nearly fell off the wall, his mud caked hand frozen just inches from his mouth. The voice came from the nearest gun tower. He could see Mr. Arien's head sticking from a window one floor above him, his sparse, silver hair glittering in the dim moonlight. Johanes stood beside the old man, a dour grimace painted across the Draconian's lips. The barrel of a rifle poked out an adjacent window, its laser sights cutting a fine beam of light through the damp air between it and the back of Mike's neck. "At a loss for words?" Mike spat, propelling the pistol from his mouth into the murky water below. The grey tentacle immediately retreated back beneath the surface either in response to some unseen command or in order to examine its new, metallic visitor. "That's better." Someone handed Arien a flimsi. "Let's see what we have on you. Mmmm... juicy. You've been up to mischief, young man?" "A little. Can I come inside?" "Just hang out." Mike gripped two vines and stayed put, the thought of diving back into the moat playing back and forth between his brain lobes. Leaning over slightly, Johanes seemed to whisper something into Arien's ear. "Kill him?! Our first truly determined trespasser in how many years?" Johanes winced and gritted his teeth as the old man continued. "Mr. Harrison, being that I am expecting company rather soon, I don't have a great deal of time to chit-chat, so you'll have to be brief. Why shouldn't I blast you off my walls like the bug you are, and more importantly, why does your Draconian friend want me to?" "To your first question: Ambassador Kato. To your second: he's not my friend." Mike bit his lip, half expecting to become a late night morsel for the moat creature. Arien, however, seemed to frown in consideration. "Bring him up." The rope was easier to climb than wall carpet, and Mike accepted the invitation with a healthy tug. Inside, Johanes and Arien were surrounded by a number of guards, each wearing black body armor and carrying automatic rifles with electronic sights. Perfect for sniping the locals, Mike figured, though a bit long ranged for disposing of nosy gatherers. "Do not be afraid, Mr. Harrison. I have no intention of killing you so long as you speak the truth. Where is she?" Mike gulped down, trying to conjure the knowledge as Johanes answered for him. "You're wasting your time. He knows nothing. If you refuse to punish him directly, Alister, at least turn him over to the police." "Silence, Draconian. I wish to hear what he has to say." Mike looked back toward the open window. Muddy footprints left his trace easily visible. He shook his arms off, finally turning toward Arien with a discouraged shrug. "I don't know where she is. The last time I saw the Ambassador was on Tizar. She wanted me to come here to Calanna." "To do what?" "To die, apparently, or so Robin said." "Robin?" Johanes stepped between them, "We don't have time for this nonsense, Alister. Sule will be arriving with the Ambassador and Erestyl at any moment." Mike squinted, "Sule? ISIS?" "Stay out of this, Michael." "ISIS is coming here?! What, their mind scanners didn't work, so you're cooperating?" Mike gazed, incredulously. "I'm warning you..." "No. No, you're not. You want Sule. One bullet, and it'll be over. You're aware of the nuclear detonation today, Mr. Arien?" "Michael!" "There's a fair chance that the Ambassador was at ground zero. You already know that I'm wanted by the police for homicide. Well Johanes here isn't wanted for anything, and it's very likely that he's guilty of murdering your wife." "Michael, we're not playing games here! Your fantasies will have to find another audience." "Why the fast getaway, Johanes? You planning to just kill and run?" "I have no intention of running." Johanes drew a pistol from his coat, an integral laser pistol to be more exact. It's polished iridium handle made it look more like a hood ornament than a weapon, however, with it aimed between his eyes, Mike didn't doubt its lethal competence. Given the proper setting, he'd seen such devices carve holes in flesh so neatly, they could cauterize the wounds they inflicted before spilling a single drop of blood. He guessed that Johanes had been saving this weapon for a special occasion and tried to feel honored. "No!" The voice was Arien's, and Johanes obeyed it, if only for a moment. "Alister..." "Put it down." "I am politely asking your permission to kill this liar." "Put it down or be punctured." Nearly every automatic rifle in the room pointed toward the Draconian, the glint of steel wary with expectation as three of the guards crouched down at the corners to avoid the cross fire. It was the sort of threat that would be carried out with neither postponement nor afterthought, and Mike watched, silent and breathless, as Johanes, wavering with indecision, reluctantly complied. "Restrain him." "Of for... there's no need to..." "Remain still, Johanes. I do not wish to see you damaged. Please continue, Mr. Harrison. Your hypothesis intrigues me." Mike sat down on the window sill, oblivious for once to the squashing sound of his muddy pants. He imagined falling backwards into the moat, nose cartilage sunken deep within his skull and Johanes' boot print embedded firmly upon his face. Johanes was thinking it too. His eyes betrayed him, if not his fists or the veins in his neck. Throat dry with expired fear, Mike swallowed a warm drop of saliva and blinked in consideration of where to begin. "It's no longer hypothetical." Mike withdrew the key from his pocket. "Your fence has a hole in it. Just across the moat you'll find Johanes' bike. There's a cooling sheath wrapped around the motor. That he was planning a quick escape was obvious. I just couldn't figure out why. Now I can. If Sule is coming here with Erestyl, it means that the mind scanner wasn't a success. They need a telepath to get inside his head. Somebody good. Like you. Am I right?" "Continue." "However, you've never worked for Imperials, at least not to my knowledge, and according to Kitara, you have as much reason to hate them as I do." Arien's eyes sparkled at his recollection of the Siri. "You knew Kitara?" "Very well. You probably don't remember me, but we've met before. A year ago. She told me a few things about you. If you're working for the Imps, you must have a very good reason. That's where Ambassador Kato comes in. ISIS has her. Just stop me if I'm wrong." "You're right." "Are you're certain she's still alive?" Arien looked down, drawing a deep breath. "No. However, as long as the possibility remains..." "You'll do anything for anyone. And Johanes here, he's to deal with Sule as soon as the Ambassador is safe. To let Imperial blood fall on Draconian hands. Pardon my candor, Mr. Arien, but you're a fool." "Perhaps." "Did Johanes explain to you what's at stake?" "He didn't have to. I've known of the Prometheus device for some time." "Prometheus device?" Arien glanced toward Johanes, his eyes betraying a mixture of uncertainty and solicitation. "He doesn't know?" Johanes shook his head, "I was trying to protect him from the details." Mike broke in, "What about this Prometheus device?" "It's like one of those weapons we were talking about, Mike, the kind that kill en masse. Only this one gives en masse a whole new definition." "Doomsday?" "You don't want to know the details. Trust me." "What makes you so sure?" "Because... if you publish so much as a peep, you're dead meat." "The Imps already want to kill me, Jo, and at least one member of the DSS seems to feel the same way." Johanes smiled, "I don't want to kill you, Mike. I want to throttle you, and then I want to kill you." "Oh, thanks. That makes me feel so much better." "Don't take it personally. I want to do likewise with Alister here." "Now is not a good time to be threatening me, Johanes." "You think I give a damn? You think I'm in this for my jollies like Mike here? Tell me something, Alister. Even assuming that Sule's telling the truth and Kato is somehow still alive, heaven forbid that should be the case, but just supposing it is... tell me something. Is she worth it? Doomsday for a single human life?" Arien looked insulted, then confused, then finally a mixture of the two. "How am I supposed to answer that?" "Don't answer it. Just think about it. It's not too late. We can still turn this thing around. All I'm asking for is one clear shot. I'll take Sule out like a can of garbage. We'll have Erestyl. We'll find your wife, if she's still alive. Just trust me. For one lousy night, trust me." "If I let you kill Sule..." "I know what you're going to say, Alister, and she's already dead... or worse than dead. Why the hell can't you see that?! You know what ISIS does to captives like her." "Mental mutilation." "That's right. She'll be a zombie, Alister. You'll be trading the secret of Promethius for a zombie. Think it over." "I have already," He looked toward Mike as he announced the decision, not so much at him as through him, and strange it may seem, Mike found himself frozen, unable to turn aside from the tone of finality in the old man's voice, unable to blink from the sight of his eyes nor even shut his mind to the message they contained. It was as though Alister had seen something in him, a fragment of thought, a whisp of spirit, or even a moment of future destiny. Whatever it was, he counted on it, settling more weight upon its value that Mike cared to ascertain. And then Alister turned away, the moment lost in the shuffle of a heartbeat. "As you perhaps know, Johanes, there are ways of repairing such injuries given the proper precautions, and Draconians are, generally speaking, very cautious people. I'd thought I'd convinced you to bide your time, to wait for the right moment, however, it seems that you have reverted to your original idea. Kill her at the first opportunity, and leave old Alister to pick up the pieces. Who can tell why? Perhaps you expected that the right moment would never come, that it was stolen by things that go boom in the daytime." "Nuke?" Mike queried. Arien nodded, "I'd always known it was a fitting nick-name. Her temper was rather explosive. But if I'd known what would be her end..." "Both Sule and Erestyl apparently survived." "Regardless, this Draconian filth tried to sacrifice her like some..." "I know what I did! I'm not pleased about it anymore than you, but I'd do it again, and you know damn well the reason!" "Yes, of course. You were just being cautious." A small, metallic sphere floated in through the door, a red light flashing at its zenith. "Speak." "Sule has arrived, my lord. She is outside the front gate awaiting permission to enter." "Grant it. Guards, make our guests comfortable." Arien left, bequeathing his private soldiers with a simple if indefinite task. Mike stood back, smiling ever so slightly as Johanes was physically searched in the most comprehensive manner allowable by law. Being that Calannan law was rather lax on such matters, he had some time to wait and wonder if he was to be their next victim. Several minutes later, they found themselves in a basement cell, Johanes wearing a towel one of Arien's more generous employees had loaned him. He stood in the cell's corner, feet together and legs slightly bent, the white towel knotted around his waist. Mike tried to churn forth a wholesome expression. "Did it hurt?" Johanes merely gritted his teeth in response, angry eyes glaring stubbornly at the opposite wall. Mike nodded, trying to look sympathetic. "I'm just asking, because if you think you need a proctologist or anything..." "Shut-up, Harrison." "Right... um," Mike paused, searching for the right words, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Johanes ignored him, wincing as he shifted his weight slightly. "Were you really going to shoot me back there?" "Yes." "You were." "Absolutely." "May I ask why?" Johanes snorted and then winced again as the vibration crawled down along his spine. Mike looked away, granting him some private latitude for expression of discomfort. "I mean, it's a little extreme, isn't it? To shoot somebody?" "Why don't you ask Bill Walker." "Where did you hear about that?" "Various places. Before the operation you were telling Cecil all about it." Mike shook his head, "Then you heard it was self-defense, and Bill was a friend." "A friend, perhaps. As for self-defense, I understand that he was unarmed." "I had no choice." "Precisely. You were protecting your own precious hide from an unarmed friend as you put it. I, on the other hand, am trying to protect millions of people." Mike smiled, "Let me get this straight. You pull out a laser with every intention of carving holes in me, and two cents later you're calling my morality into question?" "You got it. Oh, and by the way, I didn't have the heart to tell you this before, but you'll probably figure it out sooner or later. Your friend was working for the Imps, true enough, but he didn't know it until it was too late. He thought he was working for the DSS, for John Clay to be more precise. He didn't really know what he'd gotten himself into until Sule came prancing along." Mike stared back incredulously, the smile wiped from his face as thoroughly as if he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. Johanes simply nodded and continued. "ISIS found out about Erestyl being on Tizar when Clay, one of our boys, decided he was getting a lousy deal from the agency. He cleverly diverted our internal investigations after the raid on the med-center by shifting the blame for Erestyl's capture to you. Then he disappeared, and that disk you stole >from the Solomon mansion... that disk you left in Walker's hands... it became extremely valuable to ISIS. I don't know whether Clay told your friend what to expect from Robin upon reaching Calanna or whether he just figured it out by himself, but either way, Walker saved your life, and you repaid him by blowing a hole through his chest. Why, if it wasn't for your juvenile curiosity combined with those amazing trigger-happy reflexes, your friend would still be alive." Mike held his breath for a moment to keep from bolting to his feet. Getting into a fight with Johanes was not something he would let himself be talked into. "You're twisting it, Jo. He was with Sule. He was trying to get me captured by ISIS." "For questioning. My guess is that he figured that you knew just about nothing regarding Erestyl. Sule probably promised him that you'd be set free, and who knows, you might very well have been at that point. You were still blissfully ignorant, and you'd already done them a great service. You played right into their trap, after all." "You don't honestly believe that." "What you or I believe isn't particularly important. It's what Bill believed that is interesting. You wrote him off as a traitor without even bothering to attend the funeral. When the locals got around to doing an autopsy on the body, they found the primary arteries in his neck already shattered. The culprit was a tiny capsule with its own radio receiver, timing mechanism, and explosive charge courtesy of ISIS. Their leverage over him, Michael. Your friend knew that he'd made a huge mistake. He knew that you were in the process of making another similar mistake, and he wanted to get you out of the picture as quickly and as painlessly as possible, even if it meant handing you over to the Imps. As far as he was concerned, they'd catch you sooner or later." "The psyche bloodhound?" Johanes nodded, "A gift from Alister. Before the Imps admitted to having Ambassador Kato, they had Clay pay Alister a social call. Clay, I am told, was very convincing in blaming Kato's capture on rogue elements in the DSS. He requested psychic assistance in tracking her down." "Arien couldn't see through it?" "Clay has a psionic shield implant." "You're reaching, Jo." "If you don't believe me, the why don't you look at his file. I'm sure Cecil could supply it now that he's virtually jumped Robin's bones." "She doesn't have any bones, and I'm not buying any of this." "Her circuits then, and yes you are. Because it's true, and you know it." Mike took a deep breath. "Why are you telling me this?" Johanes shrugged, "Because, it's as close to throttling you as I'm likely to get... at least in this lifetime. You may not realize it yet, Michael, but you're not long for this world." "Sule doesn't even know I'm here." "If Vlep lives, she knows." "Vlep?" "The psyche bloodhound." Mike winced, "He lives." Johanes cocked his head sideways, "What makes you so certain?" "I hand-cuffed him to a steering wheel this morning." Johanes coughed, "You what?" "It's a bit of a story." "We seem to have a bit of spare time." ____________________ Despair curled about the corridor like knotted strands of raw meat, a nourishing meal, though people rarely gobbled it with enthusiasm. Pausing, she carefully rested her hand upon the stone tile. Johanes and several of the guards had passed recently. Remnants of their emotions lay scattered carelessly, and yet there was more, the gatherer she had yet to meet. He was neither angry nor dutiful. Instead, he seemed relieved, as though being jailed in the mansion's dungeon had been more reprieve than punishment. Why Sule had requested him, she could scarcely imagine. The bio-synthe was difficult to read. So many of them turned out deranged, trying to establish a telepathic rapport was rarely worth the effort. Mixtures of fear and respect pressed quickly away as the guards stepped aside to let her pass, and with a slight motion of her thumb, the one at the end opened the tall, brown door. Its metal plating was rusty with age, and its grey, galvorn lock jutted out conspicuously like some misbehaved organ. Inside, Johanes leaned against a wall as the gatherer sat on the bench, looking up cautiously, his eyes keen and brown, a web of fear swept over whatever curiosity still lingered. "Korina?" Johanes pressed against the bars. "Kori... tell me you've come to let me out of here." "In your dreams, Draconian. Father sent me for the gatherer." She watched the figure on the bench. He stood slowly, naked save for a pair of mud-caked britches. Turning, Johanes slumped his shoulders. "Sule wants him, eh? We'd already assumed as much." "Get out of the way." Johanes complied, escalating Mike forward with a swift boot to the back. "Go ahead, Michael. And good fortune. You'll need it." Mike let himself be escorted down the corridor. Two guards stayed behind them, their rifles ready for a moment's distraction. The young woman at his side seemed to ignore them, her green eyes lost in a dreamy haze. As they passed a row of windows, he considered making a break for it. To die with bullets in his back or bullets in his front, it made little difference. Even the gullet of the strange moat creature seemed preferable to a meeting with Sule. Green eyes watched him from the corners of their vision. "Don't be afraid. As long as you are here, my father will see to your safety." Mike nodded doubtfully, the poke of a muzzle nudging his spine. "And what about Erestyl?" "He is Imperial property." "Oh," Mike gulped, "so that's how it works." She stopped in the antechamber before the sanctuary. Mike remembered the mauve carpet and indigo tapestries all too well. Tara had been ignoring him the night of their visit, so he'd wandered around until he was sure he was lost, eventually winding up in the meditation chamber with his head poked out a window, sky-diving snot wads and half-nibbled hors d'oeuvres on the patrolling worgs. She found him after a few direct hits, apparently aware of some bizarre sense of satisfaction he was feeling and curious as to its source. They ended up spending half the night there before the servants finally kicked them out. Green eyes stared through him, her expression lingering in the grey stretch between curiosity and bewilderment. Mike looked back at the floor and consciously cleared his mind. "My thoughts are my property." She opened her mouth as if to respond and then shut it again. Mike regarded her indecision with contempt. "If you have something to say, say it." "I was curious as to why she wants you." "Sule? Why don't you read her like you did me?" "She..." green eyes narrowed, "it is difficult." "Must really stink to have a puzzle, eh?" "I'll survive." Mike let his annoyance fade into a mediocre smirk. "Are we going in or not?" She thumped the base of her palm against the door, the resulting sound dull but determined, and as though by its own volition, the wooden barrier slid quietly into the wall. Sule stood at arm's reach, her silver-hued eyes glinting with the barest trace of anger. Mike gulped down, "You called?" ______________________________________________________________________________ Jim Vassilakos (jimv@ucrmath.ucr.edu) just graduated from UCR with an MBA. In between responding to employment advertisements and attending Job Fairs, he DM's a hearty group of dormies and wonders how he's going to finish Harrison off once and for all. Judging his protagionist's current situation, he may not have to wonder for very long. `The Harrison Chapters' will be continued next issue. ______________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________________ LAST TRAIN "But Old General Ven, he be tryin to call `em back. that high-rankin' ole by Lou Crago sumbitch, he all the time tryin to yank `em back down. He a Motor Man, Copyright(c)1992 thas why. All Motor Mans, first to lass, is bad!" ______________________________________________________________________________ On the trak, there was nothin' for the babies to do but jes rest they minds. They be trandscendin' the worlds - all the worlds that anybody evah thought of. They don't have to be thinkin' bout nothing' at all anymore. But Old General Ven, he be tryin to call `em back. that high-rankin' ole sumbitch, he all the time tryin to yank `em back down. He a Motor Man, thas why. All Motor Mans, first to lass, is bad! Them babies rollin around on the trak, and they payin no mind to Old Ven. And ever time he come, he try to get `em down, but they not lissnen. And after while he give up, and he come over to where I'm layin on the floor, and he say all that metal talk at me. And when I don't answer back, he give me a kick in mah ribs. Then he go out the place and the door shut behind him and you hear them magnetic bolts lockin into place. Most times, I jes lay there and watch them babies. I watch `em rollin, cause I can see `em. Old Ven, he know I can see `em, and it make him mad as hell - cause he can't. He a Motor Man, he ain't got livin eyes, not like me. I guess thas why he keep on lettin' me live. He kick me sometimes, but he won't kill me. If he kill me, he know he won't never get them babies! I lie and watch long through the night, and them babies they shining in mah mind, they like the sunrise what used to come on this here planet, they like what used to be stars in the night. They singing too - not like any song, not `zactly a sound, but I hears `em. And when them babies sing, it sho do grab me. Then I got to fight like hell not to think of the way it wuz. I got to fight to stay steady just like I is now, and keep on bein just what I done decided to be. I can't even think one single thought that ain't in line with that, else them Motor Mens be tracin it on machines they got. So I lie still and lissen to them babies singing, and if I think `bout anything, I be dam sure it's somethin like feels good to be scratching fleas, or how tasty corn pone is with molasses poured on it. Stuff like that. And it's been near about fifteen days now, but I doin it so good that Old Ven and them other Motor Mens ain't picked up a thing yet. And mah babies, they safe on the trak where Old Ven, even he do be a General and got all his science mens with him, he can't get `em down. No sir, long as theys on the trak, they gone! They got no bodies, they got no minds, they got nuthin he can grab hold of, nuthin he can download. And it `bout to drive Old Ven and them crazy. I lie there, and I'm anxious as hell, but all the time I be laffin too. We ain't safe yet, no way. There be one of them babies ain't restin her mind too good, she sometime lose hold of what's happenin. And she come down a little bit then, and she sorta like hang her head down over the trak. And she be callin out, wantin' to know if it maybe it be good to come down to the world again, like Old Ven been sayin' over and over. She startin' to innerface again, with this damned world she don't even know is trashed. I calls her Glo, and I says, "Glo, you git back! Long as I'm here, you ain't no way comin down! So don't be thinkin `bout it. You go back to restin yo mind!" She say, "I remember things. I remember." And the more she remember, the more she start to take on shape. And I got to nip that in the bud right there, damn quick!. So I say, "Glo, git on back now! What's the use of me bein here, and layin on this hard floor night after night like a old dog, if you gonna fool around that way? If you let Old Ven talk you down, then he gonna kill me. That what you want?" She say, "I'll go back, but talk to me a little first, Gabriel. When I start remembering things, I get so terribly lonely." I say, "Okay, Honey, we chat a little bit. But then you go back to restin' yo mind on nuthin, like them others." She say, "How many of us are there, Gabriel?" She axed me this question before, but I got to tell her again and again `cause when she outta mind she can't remember. "They's twenty-four of you," I reminds her. "You a dozen positive and a dozen negative. And you is the last ones on this here planet, so you gotta remember that, okay?" "I'll remember," she say. But she sounding sleepy and dreamy, and I know she `bout ready to go back. Which is fine, `cause no matter how much pleasure I might git outta chattin, it ain't good for her to be thinkin and talkin. If Old Ven come in while she in her mind, then it'a be hell to pay. Then if she take a form, he be able to grab her. Then we all be up shit creek. She say, "I wanted to ask you, Gabriel..." " `Bout what, Honey?" "How is it that you're in a body? Why didn't you die... like all the others?" But she startin to lose her mind shape right then, and in a minnit she back on the trak restin along with them others, and she be transcendin all the worlds. I hates to lose her company, but all the same I give a sigh of relief. Now we all safe for another night. Nothin won't be happenin on this here world. It weren't even mornin yet. Old Ven he come in, and a bunch of Motor Mens followin him, and they makin their metal talk. They walks up and down, up and down, and they starin at the track, and they hookin up wires and makin beeps. But after a while they sees it ain't doin no good. No way can they access them babies. So Old Ven he come over to where I'm layin and this time he don't kick, he squats down and he stares. Then he start in to talkin at me. He know I don't unnerstand no metal talk, I be too low a form, but he keep on. He lookin' at mah eyes, and he even tryin' to smile - which is a pitiful sight on the face of a Motor Man, lemmie tell you! - and then he waitin for me to feedback. But I ain't sayin nothin, `cause by now there ain't nothin for me to say to the likes of him. Things is the way they is: the babies is the last ones, and the Motor Mans is stranded, and we all here in it together. He gonna keep tryin to git them babies, and I'm gonna keep tryin to make damn sure he don't - so there ain't nothin to be said. Old Ven, he know this good as I do. Then, I guess he make up his mind to do somethin he ain't tried before. He grab me up and start walkin out the door of that room with me. But `bout that time the trak commence to shiver and shake, and it makin' a terrible whine, and the babies rollin faster and faster. `Cause me and them babies, we linked up. We been linked up all through time, whatever shape we be in. Back before the end, half the time them babies didn't even know it - they just goin along, bein first one thing and then another, and they ain't studyin `bout no linkup. And me, I be lookin like whatever I done decide to look like, and most the time them babies ain't catchin on to who or whut I wuz. But that don't make no nevermind, `cause we got the link. We got the synchronous wave goin, we ain't never outta touch with each other. So when Old Ven he try to take me outta there and do somethin bad to me, them babies they feelin it and they commencin to waller around. So Old Ven he see he can't do it that way or them babies gonna go clean out they minds. And maybe they quit lyin there all nice in a row, hummin that soft song, and maybe they start to go crazy and throw theyselfs around. If all twenty-four of `em gits crazy and raisin hell all at once, that old trak ain't gonna stand the pressure, it'a break sure as hell! Them babies, they got power - they don't even know theyselfs how much power, `cause they keep on forgettin. But ah know. And Old Ven, he know. Him and his science mens, they smart enough to figure out about the trak, `cause they seen ones just like it on them other planets. And they smart enough to build this here magnetic room to hold it, knowin its the attractor for them babies, and they gonna come straight to it when everthing else break down. But Old Ven he also know he got to play it easy, else he end up with nothin - the trak broke, and them babies withered up and dead, not fit to make no shapes a'tall. So he put me back down on the floor and he wave his hand to them other Motor Mens. They come over and they holdin me down, pretendin they gonna be easy like, but they starts in puttin' them wires on me, stickin `em in with little bitty pins. They got me wired through everplace they can, and it ain't hurtin too much. But it's makin somethin rise in me, they's a rushin feelin in me, and they's sparks startin to jump out from all over mah hide. So I have to hold real still, and keep on thinkin to myself over and over how I ain't gonna change my shape, how I ain't gonna let `em shake me loose >from this here form I took on, which is what I made up mah mind to be, back when the end done come. They pumpin the juice through them wires and the sparks is jumpin out, and Old Ven he come and hunker down on the floor beside me and he start to talk at me again. He say, "Our readings show that you are not at all a primitive vertebrate, as you have the appearance. You are a Monad, merely taking this shape." I keepin' myself real still. I tellin' mahself over and over the way I wants it to be. Old Ven he nod to them Motor Mens and they pour on more juice, and them wires in me they start to heat up. They stingin like wasps used to be, and then they burnin like red-hot needles, but I go on tellin mahself I got to stand it, `cause they's no way I'm lettin him get them babies. Well...they keep on doin it for a long time, a damn long time. Finally, he tell `em shut off the juice, and he let me drink a little water from a tube he got. He say, "The drink will make you feel at ease." That drink taste funny, but it do in fact make me feel a whole lot better. Then he give me some more. And then they start pumpin the juice through them wires again, but now they ain't hurtin a'tall. Everwhere on me that one of them wires is pinned through, there's a fine feelin, like starting to tremble with some kinda crazy joy, starting to roll with it, startin to take it on home, so fine that I can`t stop. Old Ven's talkin through the waves risin in me, and he sound so fine and mellow and like he mah friend, and he say, "Now, tell me who you are. Tell me what your name is." I ain't wantin to say nothin to Ven, but it sorta leak outta me without my knowin. "I be Gabriel, boss." He say, "Tell me now, what form did you have before the destruction?" I tryin to sort of growl but it come out a whine, and I can't keep mahself >from answerin. "Wuz humanoid, boss." Old Ven say, "What is the purpose of this form you have assumed? It is not in the index of creatures which were indigenous to this planet. There is nothing like it in our archives. There were hirsute quadrapeds, but none with the cranial formation you have assumed. You appear to have amalgamated disparate species. What is the purpose?" I tryin hard as hell to keep mah mouth shut, I tryin to think `bout scratchin fleas, but that water he give me makin mah head swim. The words comin out of me and there ain't nothin I can do. "That old blast come too soon," I tell him. "I wudden no way ready! I was jest then thinkin `bout how I gotta get me a form that nobody gonna pay no attention to." "But you could have disincorporated, returned to baseline presence." "No, boss, no. You don't unnerstan. I do that and they's no way I can hang around and watch after them babies. I had to get me a form real quick, I had to choose somethin. And I was standin there thinkin `bout all the stuff I done ever knowed on this planet." "Cultural images?" Ven axes me. "Mythical images?" "Everthing, first to lass," I tell him. "Run it through mah head, from the time it first started up on this here dirt-ball all the way down to when you muthfukkin Motor Mens come flyin down." "What technological devices did you employ?" he axe me. "I don't have no truck with that stuff," I tell him. "Ain't needin it. I just be scannin through all I got in mind, and then I be whatever I decides to be. But when the blast come, it taken me by surprise. And I flashed on pictures I seen in a little old book, one time when I was bein a child. I recollected them pictures I seen once, `cause they be folks nobody gonna notice much." "What pictures?" Ven axe me. "They was Old Uncle Tom. And nother `bout Old Dog Tray." Ven say, "Explicate Uncle Tom form. Explicate Dog Tray form." But I start to lose hold long about then. I start to lose mah grasp of vernacular and mah Tom-Tray persona but, damn that drink, I couldn't stop talkin. "It got mixed...between least animal and least human..." Ven saw I was losing verbal control. He jerked my head up. "Your origin?" he demanded. "Inside the System or outside?" "Outside." "Will they send a mission to retrieve you?" "No," I said, with difficulty. "...guardian... take surviving archiplasms... out." Ven dropped my head and talked to the other Motor Men. I was in a black and buzzing place and couldn't distinguish what they said. Then he came back to me. And the wires began to heat up once more. Now it was pain and pleasure mixed intolerably, so that I could neither accept nor reject. I had to fight very hard to keep myself from leaving form. You do not know the excruciation form can be until it is tormented. He eased it very slightly, and said, "We can keep you embodied and held precisely at this point for a long, long time. You are a Monad, you cannot expire. We can prevent your disincorporating. And there is nothing - nothing anywhere - that can intervene." He had them heat the wires a little hotter. "It is imperative that we have the surviving archiplasms! They must come back into form. They must re-initiate organic life on this planet." "This world is dead," I managed to say. "You won't be able to start it again. It's a corpse." "We risked a great deal in order to take this habitat," Ven said. "But it is useless, as it is now. We cannot return to where we came from because it is destroyed, and we cannot continue here without organic life to provide raw materials. Those last surviving archiplasms must enter into form, they must re-boot generation." "Slavery," I said. "Never-ending slavery." "You can see them, so you must bring them down from the trak. You must force them to take back consciousness of worlds." He leaned down and stared at me with his unliving eyes. "Our entire future depends on what you do - on what I can make you do," he amended. "You will acquiese eventually, Monad, so why not do it now and save yourself great suffering?" The heat of the wires increased. The mad pleasure increased. The body I had taken on convulsed and there was a muzzle of white froth suffocating me. I twisted and kicked and tried to bite, to claw, but it was no use. Maybe I had whined before, but now I howled - I howled and howled! The long wavering howl reverberated against the walls of the room, its coils distorting and amplifying the sound. The archiplasms were outside comprehension of worlds, but maybe they heard. Or maybe it was the age-old linkup between us. They rolled faster, wobbling with erratic motion, all of them. But it was Glo who went completely crazy and came off the trak. She hurtled out into a shape without stopping to consider, without stopping to choose, or to build carefully. She came out a billowing giant, a mushroom monster, a whirlwind of blizzard ice and lashing cold, a glacier thing crunching and booming as it approached. It was a burst of manifestation hurled at the Motor Men. They only turned and looked, registering it as a phenomenon. She saw the lack of affect and changed instantaneously, belching flame and blast, torching them massively in plumes of white-hot burning. Their uniforms melted faintly at the edges. That was all. Recalculating, she hovered a moment as a diaphanous undulating blackness, a filmy eclipse of light. Then the blackness exhaled like the lung of a black hole. It was a dense puff of inky softness. It was a heavy cloud of burning rubber. It was a suffocating slow cyclone of carbon and hair-spray and graphite. The glittering exteriors of the Motor Men became smudged. They could not get visuals. Their circuits spasmed, flickered, then jammed. Their white uniforms were besmirched. The glinting lights on their helmets stopped sparkling. They went static, some just turning their heads, some raising a gauntleted hand to ward off the gritty cloud. General Ven froze where he kneeled beside me. His platinum alloy mouth was open to frame the next question. Cinders sifted slowly down, frosting his golden face. The lights behind his crystal eyes went out. Then Glo became a hundred hands, like the old statues of Avalokitesvara, all of them yanking at the wires pinned into me. When the wires were a tangle on the floor, her rage subsided, and she disassembled. With a delicate tremor of the surrounding air, she incorporated Glo once more, the way I had been seeing her on the trak, the way she best remembered herself. "I had to come down," she said with a quaver in her voice. "They were hurting you, Gabriel!" I wanted to tell her how stupendous she had been, I wanted to praise her cleverness and power. I wanted to tell her that, as it had always been, she was the glittering blade and I was the sturdy handle holding her sharpness. But because she was back in "a world", she would not understand such talk - she wouldn't understand till we were home. It was `Gabriel' who had brought her out of the unknowing, had wrenched her down from the trak, so it was Gabriel I had to remain until we were all safe. "Honey, you done fine!" I said. "But now you git back! Old Ven and them is froze, we can break through that door and get out of this dam hellhole. But you got to get back on the trak, Glo, and rest yo mind!" She didn't move. "Girl, if you be in any shape, if you be in any form at all, you won't be able to git through. You hear what I'm sayin?" "Oh, Gabriel," she said, tears rising in her eyes, "just let me stroke your head once." She came and kneeled down. She took my embodied head in her hands and looked into my eyes. She scratched a little behind my ears. She said, "I always was a fool about animals." I said, "Now git yo self back on the trak, rest yo damned mind, girl! We gettin the hell outta here!" She got back. All them babies started in to roll, and roll, and roll like glory! The wuz amps rising, the decibels wuz rising! I so hyped I come all the way outta my form. I taken on humanoid shape and ran to that door and heaved open the latch and pushed open that ton of metal. I was outside at last, after all those days! I punched the buttons on the console outside and crashed the whole entire system. Then the trak started to flash rays in the visible bandwidth. It started to move, slowly at first, then speeding up. It came straight out of that magnetic room and started to glide upward like a steel shaft. It blasted the roof off the place. There was no more atmosphere, so it left no trail. I shucked body, discarding neural templates for all the various possible disguises from all the centuries, and followed the trak upward, out of the System. The crazed world would not be born again to serve Motor Men. The last