The Machine's Child (Company) Page 4

  Disassembly?

  Now, then, son, yer not a baby. I’m telling you all this because you can take it; how many cold-blooded murders did you commit for queen and country? Stiffen that upper lip, now. Options Research is where they send the immortals they want to get rid of. The defectives, the malcontents. Or the ones like yer lady, who know too much.

  Edward sagged forward at the table. Alec glanced over at him and started.

  “Are you all right, man? You want some lunch or something?”

  “I should like a glass of brandy, if you don’t mind,” Edward said.

  “Okay.” Alec obligingly created a virtual one. It materialized at Edward’s elbow.

  “Thank you,” Edward said, lifting it and gulping. Alec continued to watch in concern until Edward glared at him, when he looked away and tried to focus again on Ecclesiastes. Wind screamed in the rigging, and rain rattled sidelong on the glass, spattering like shot. Edward breathed deeply, calming himself.

  That’s a good gentleman. No sense upsetting the others, is there, now?

  Stop fawning and tell me the rest. Have they killed her? Is all this for nothing?

  No, sir, nobody’s ever been executed there. That’s their problem. See, the men who founded Dr. Zeus—at least, the ones who think they founded Dr. Zeus—would dearly like to know how to undo what they done when they made their immortals.

  Wrought too well, did they?

  Exactly, sir. All the Company can do is send the ones they want to disable to Options Research. And even so, this Marco ain’t figured out the trick. All he’s been able to do is damage ’em.

  Slowly and casually Edward lifted his virtual glass and swirled the brandy, looking into it. Are you saying that he’s torturing the prisoners?

  Well, sir, the idea is to overcome the programming that makes ’em keep on living. And if he can make ’em want to die badly enough, you see—

  Edward closed his eyes for a moment.

  Has she been tortured? he said at last.

  There was a long silence before the Captain answered.

  I wouldn’t know that, sir. This is a real classified matter, you see. There ain’t hardly no data available on the prisoners, once they’re sent there.

  Edward drank the rest of his brandy.

  You said we could get there instantaneously. For God’s sake, why aren’t we there now?

  Because you need to prepare, if yer going to rescue her. I wanted you to understand what yer going up against, d’ye see? This is an Enforcer you’ll be facing.

  An immortal. Can he be duped? Bribed?

  Not likely, sir. He’s got all yer cunning, and all Nick’s righteous zeal. This is holy work to him, it’s why they been able to keep him there. And he’s bigger and stronger than you.

  What chance do I have, then?

  Ah, well, sir, it ain’t as bad as all that. Here be the trick with the Enforcers: they weren’t made self-protective like the other immortals. They were made to go in swinging, never mind what kind of odds they faced. I reckon Dr. Zeus realized it’d be stupid to make a fighter what was too careful of his own skin.

  I see. Can they be disabled?

  Aye. Injure ’em enough and their bodies shut down, go into fugue for self-repair. But could you stay alive long enough to do for him afore he done for you? Anything you did, you’d have to do at point-blank range or he could dodge it; and I don’t like the idea of you getting that close.

  There are ways. Edward examined his empty glass. A straight stab into the kidneys. Attack from behind, lay the throat open and get away quickly.

  And if you didn’t get away fast enough? He’ll do his job, sir, even as he’s going down. A little like you when you died, if you don’t mind me making the comparison.

  Have the courtesy to imply quotation marks around the word “died,” if you please. I’m quite sure the Company has my own body preserved somewhere. In any case, I ought to have some advantages over this Enforcer. Edward set his glass down. He may have been a terror in battle, but I daresay he’s never had much experience killing by stealth. Oh, Machine, the things I’ve done! What luck for me there’s no Hell after all. We’ll see if the old monster can match the young one.

  Just you remember that if he gets his hands on you, it won’t be you dying; it’ll be my Alec. And the girl will be lost there forever.

  Very well; let’s see for means. There are no guns in Alec’s weapons locker that aren’t too large and obvious. I want knives, small sharp ones that can be concealed. Paring knives will do well enough. An ice pick, a cobbler’s awl, even a sixpenny nail if a sharp enough point can be set on it.

  That’s clever now, that is. Leave it to me, sir, I’ll just send Billy Bones down to the machine shop. We’ll take no chances, eh?

  None. And you’d best begin plotting an evasive course through time, an itinerary as it were. Places to hide once we’ve rescued her. Look into this event shadow business.

  Aye aye, sir! And may I say it’s a pleasure to serve under you, sir?

  Edward laughed bitterly, silently. He lifted his eyes again to the golden circle of lamplight, the floating bubble of warmth and quiet . . . beyond which was the rage of the vast ocean, freezing annihilation, torrential chaos.

  Halfway through the Song of Songs, Alec leaned forward to peer at the text more closely. “Hey!” he said. “This is about sex, isn’t it?”

  “Art thou not ashamed?” Nicholas snapped, in exasperation.

  “Oh, let the boy alone,” said Edward. They both turned to stare at him.

  VERY EARLY ONE MORNING

  IN 2317

  At 2:46 AM on March 14, 2317, the security cameras at Marin Medical Supply registered a break-in. The shipping door was clearly seen to open, admitting a blur that no amount of analysis could resolve into a recognizable shape; and after a period of thirty seconds it closed again. There were no thefts apparent at the time. Only months later, during an inventory, was it discovered that a Belltone Auditory Enhancement unit was missing from the warehouse stock, as was a Belltone Standard Vocoder. These were small and pocketable items, however, and their loss was put down to shoplifting.

  “There we go,” said Joseph, gasping as he hauled himself over the edge of the tank. He made his slippery way down the ladder and toweled dry before kneeling to install the tiny speaker at the tank’s base.

  Budu still floated in blue light, welted and horrible, but about his throat was a tiny white band with what appeared to be a jewel set in its center. It was in fact the Belltone Standard Vocoder, and the Belltone Auditory Enhancement unit nestled out of sight in the ruin of Budu’s left ear.

  “Okay. Testing, testing, can you hear this? Can you talk to me?” said Joseph.

  Budu moved slightly in his vault.

  “I Hear You,” said a flat mechanical voice.

  “Yaaaay! It works, Father.” Joseph shook his fists above his head. “We’re up and running. This ought to do until your transmitter decides to come back online. Boy, I’ve really missed conversation, you know? If it wasn’t for Abdiel and the folks down at the Pelican, I’d have gone nuts by now.”

  “What Is The Pelican,” the voice asked.

  “Oh . . . just a local bar,” Joseph said, looking guilty. “I sneak down there sometimes, when I feel like mortal company.”

  “Security Risk,” the voice said.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Joseph said. After a moment Budu extended his left arm and placed his hand against the wall of the tank. The electronic voice continued:

  “You Met Abdiel,” it stated, or inquired. “The Defective Who Keeps These Places. You Did Not Disable Him.”

  “No. I didn’t need to,” Joseph said. “He’s easy to fool and anyway, if I’d taken him out, who’d do the maintenance on the other bunkers?”

  “Good,” said the voice, “I Lied To Him, Too. The Company Would Notice If He Were Offline. You Found All The Other Bunkers.”

  “Yeah.” Joseph nodded. “I finally accessed your damn code. That was
n’t what got me in trouble, though.”

  “What Got You In Trouble,” Budu said.

  Joseph was silent a moment before he swallowed hard and said: “A friend. His name was Lewis. He meant well, he was only trying to help me find Mendoza, but he made a couple of mistakes. The Company set him up and took him out, and almost took me out, too. It was dirty, Father. It was the dirtiest thing I ever saw. He was a good operative. He didn’t deserve what they did to him.”

  “Who Is Mendoza,” Budu said.

  “My daughter.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’ve been searching for her since 1996,” Joseph added morosely. “The worst part is, even if I found her I don’t know that she’d be glad to see me. None of the kids I rescued ever cared for me much. Not like your children, Father.”

  There was another long silence. Budu’s head moved slightly, twitched from side to side, but he was still unable to raise it.

  “One Of My Children Did This To Me,” he said. Joseph’s eyes widened.

  “Victor. Yeah, he told me. Jeez, Father, how? He’s a little guy like me, he could never have taken you on. What happened? You didn’t really—” He halted. Then he summoned his courage and pushed on: “You didn’t really start that cabal within the Company, did you? Those bastards spreading plagues among the mortals? Tell me you didn’t.”

  “I Did,” said the expressionless voice. “And I Paid For It.”

  Joseph didn’t say anything in reply, but he sank back on his heels. After a moment Budu continued:

  “After I Disobeyed Our Masters I Was Arrested And Taken From Antioch For My Hearing. I Disabled The Security Techs And Ran. The First Thing I Did Was Remove My Datalink To The Company.”

  “But—I had to have mine removed surgically,” Joseph said. “You didn’t cut open your own face! Did you?”

  “I Did What I Had To Do. That Was In 1099. When I Had Healed I Ran As Far As I Could. I Searched And Found The Bunkers. I Saw What Our Masters Had Done To My Men. I Broke The Numeric Location Code And Found Their Names. They Were All In The Bunkers Except Me And One Other.”

  “Who?”

  “Marco.”

  Joseph seemed to draw into himself at the name. He shivered and said, “The guy who started all the trouble?”

  “He Had Been Assigned To A Place Designated As Options Research. Have You Heard Of It, Son.”

  “No,” Joseph said. “It doesn’t sound good, though.”

  “Not Good. I Stole A Temporal Cargo Transport And Went To See Him. Our Masters Keep Him To Punish Preserver Class Operatives Who Disobey. He Can’t Kill Them, But He Tries. I Told Him To Join Me. He Would Not Leave That Place. Punishment Has Become His Work. Do You Understand.”

  “I guess so,” Joseph said. He had gone pale, was shaking. The voice continued:

  “I Left Him. I Lay Low In Europe Until The Fourteenth Century. I Saw The Black Death. I Watched What It Did. I Saw That There Might Be A Way To Continue My Own Work In Spite Of Our Masters.”

  “But not by killing innocent people,” Joseph said, almost weeping. “You wouldn’t do that, Father, not you! Please—”

  “No. Guilty Only. Let Me Finish. I Tracked Down Preservers I Knew Were Angry As I Was. Some Were My Sons. They Listened To Me. We Formed A Cabal. We Began Work. We Developed Disease Cultures That Would Kill Selectively And Die Too Fast To Spread Out Of Control.

  “The Plan Was To Release Them Where Killers Were In The Mortal Population. Armies. Prisons. No Innocents To Die. But The Preservers Argued With Me.

  “Labienus Said Overpopulation Was Killing The World. He Said I Was Targeting The Wrong Groups. He Said Killers Should Be Used To Do Our Work For Us. He Said Plagues Should Be Loosed On Overbreeders, Defectives, All Who Consume Without Producing. The Lesser Nations. The Poor.”

  Joseph blinked back tears in silence, as the pitiless voice went on:

  “I Overruled Him.”

  “The bastard must have decided to double-cross you,” Joseph said.

  “He Waited A Long Time. Our Cabal Grew. Then He Said We Should Bring In Victor. I Disagreed. I Knew Victor Disliked Me. But Labienus Said Victor Was An Executive Facilitator And Could Be Useful. In The End I Agreed. We Waited Until The Next Great Event Shadow And We Set The Trap.”

  “The 1906 earthquake in San Francisco,” Joseph said.

  “Yes. So Many Company Operatives In The City Then. Easy To Contact Victor In All The Confusion. I Was To Lure Him To A Place With One Entrance. Once I Had Him There Labienus And Others Would Join Me. We Would Have Persuaded Victor To Work For Us. He Would Have Had No Exit. If He Refused We Would Disable Him. One Against Six. He Would Have Disappeared.”

  Joseph shuddered. “You wouldn’t disable an innocent operative? That’s as bad as what Dr. Zeus is doing.”

  “Victor Is Not Innocent. I Led Him To The Trap. Made Him The Offer. He Refused. But Labienus And The Others Never Came. Unless I Disabled Victor He Would Go Straight To Our Masters And Report Me. Labienus Betrayed Both Of Us.

  “They Had Modified Victor. He Didn’t Know. They Made Him A Reservoir Of Poisons, Son. Biological Weapons From Our Own Group’s Facilities. I Scanned Him. Viruses Designed For Specific Targets To Lie Dormant Until Activated By Specific Signals. I Was One Of His Targets.”

  “Labienus designed the viruses, didn’t he?” said Joseph wearily.

  “Yes. Victor Spat On Me As We Argued. It Entered Through A Scratch In My Skin. I Was Paralyzed. I Might Have Reset And Self-Repaired, But He Sent Mortals To Finish Me.”

  “The guys with hatchets?”

  Budu’s shoulders twitched, the closest he could manage to a shrug. “The Mortals Who Owned That Cellar. I Had Killed Some Of Them. Only Justice. When The Earthquake Came It Buried Us All. I Went Into Fugue. Rotted In The Debris Layer Until You Found Me. Only Justice. I Should Have Known What Labienus Would Do. Did He Set Plagues Loose.”

  “Yeah.” Joseph sighed. “I think he started right after that, in 1918. Influenza, that time. Over the years there’ve been outbreaks all over the world, stuff nobody ever finds a cure for. They kill thousands, hundreds of thousands, and then disappear.”

  “The Company Has No Suspicion.”

  “I think the Company knows, Father. There have even been some arrests, but Labienus is still walking around free. It’s my guess the Company’s deliberately looking the other way while he works.” Joseph gave a savage laugh. “After all, he licked the overpopulation problem, didn’t he? No more wars or famines. It’s a real nice uncrowded world now. One of these days Dr. Zeus will arrest him and publicly deplore what he did, and settle down to enjoy everything the rest of us have gathered over the centuries. Labienus will get shipped off to—what did you call it, Options Research?—and the Company will laugh last. Maybe that’s what happens in 2355.”

  “No,” said Budu. “No. Judgment On Our Masters. They Betrayed Our Purpose. Judgment On Them All. May Their Heads Roll. May Their Blood Run In Fountains. May White Flame Blind Them. Rats Have Eaten Me And Worms Riddled My Flesh And That Was No More Than Justice, Because I Served Our Masters Willingly. Our Masters Will Burn In Lakes Of Fire And That Will Be Justice, Too.”

  Joseph listened shivering to the calm electronic voice, no thunder in its inflection, no expression in the wrecked face above the Vocoder. He crouched at the base of the vault, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

  “But who are our masters, Father?” he said. “Are they the mortals who invented the immortality process? I know they’ve lied to us, but I don’t think they’re the ones really running things. The mortals are too stupid to have come up with all of those plots. I think some of us old ones have taken control, somewhere there at the top. How many of the betrayals and the disappearances were our own doing? You see what I’m saying? It’s not a simple call. “

  “Guilt Is Always Simple.”

  “Yes, Father, but how do we know who’s guilty?”

  “We Will Find Out. We Have Thirty-Eight Years To Find Out. Then We Will Sentence Them, Mo
rtal Or Immortal. Justice Perfect And Surgical, Each One According To His Fault.”

  Joseph bent low, thinking of Lewis, whom he had heard screaming as he was taken away.

  “Yes. I’ll help you, Father,” he said. “I’ll be a good son to you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “I’ll Tell You When The Time Comes.”

  “But you can trust me!”

  “I Trust Your Heart. But You Are A Preserver, Son. You Fear Death. You Were Made To Fear It. We May Go Down With The Rest Of Them In 2355. We Are Guilty, Too. You Will Be Afraid.”

  “I’ll be brave,” Joseph said. “I’ve lived a long time, father. It’s all gone to hell, everything I ever worked for, everything I ever believed in, not that I ever believed in much but you know what I mean? Death looks pretty good, lately. I don’t care which way the dice fall.”

  “You Will Care,” Budu said. “You Will Have Questions. You Always Do. Before You Go On This Long March With Me You Must Answer Them.”

  “I don’t have any questions left, Father.”

  “Don’t You. My Son, Where Is Your Daughter.”

  Joseph flinched.

  “Some place the Company calls Site three-seventeen,” he said miserably. “And I don’t know where that is. I’ve searched, too.”

  “I Know Where Site Three-Seventeen Is.”

  Joseph looked up at Budu with terrified eyes.

  “You’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t You Want To Know.”

  “Yes,” said Joseph at last.

  “Come Here, Son.”

  Joseph climbed the ladder on the side of the tank, and Budu lifted his great raw hand, steaming from its blue immersion, up through the surface. He set the tip of his index finger between Joseph’s eyes. There was a moment of electric silence as information was downloaded.

  Then Joseph lifted his head and howled. His cry echoed through the vast cavern and rolled back from the walls, though the other prisoners there slept on undisturbed.