Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 46

It was about the strangest conversation Sage had ever had with his mother. She didn't want to listen to him at all. She wanted to talk about his father. [Mom!] he cried frantically.

She had that wistful look that she always had when lost in her own world. Her face was all he saw, projected against a cottony cloud. When she turned her head, the holographic algorithm broke down and her race narrowed like a two-dimensional image. [Oh, Sergio,] she murmured, [your father loved Tony and you so very much, you know. Maybe you didn't think so, because he wasn't there for you all the time; but Sage, there are so many things he would have wanted to tell you.]

[Mom, look!] He wanted to shriek at her, but couldn't. Out there in space, a fleet of alien ships was preparing to strike—and still he couldn't make himself yell at his mother.

Ramo was listening to them with impatient disbelief. [It's not working!] he hissed.

[Wait a minute—]

[Look, I'm sure she's a terrific lady, but we're about to be knocked off the face of the Earth.]

[Wait!] Sage whispered. She called me "Sage." [I'm sure—]

[Can you understand what I'm saying?] his mother asked.

[Sure of what?] Ramo demanded.

That the core's in there! he wanted to scream, but he was afraid to say the words, afraid that if he did, somehow saying it would make it wrong. And yet he knew he was on the right track, if he could only . . .

[Sure of what?] Ramo shouted.

[I need more time! Mom, what would Dad have said about the Ell?]

Loretta DeWeiler looked confused. [Sage, I—] Her face suddenly lit up. [Why, I can let him tell you in his own words! Would you like to see him?]

[Mom!] Sage cried in anguish. [Dad isn't in the network. We didn't have the money, don't you remember? He can't talk; he's gone!] Damn you, core, did you destroy my mother's memory as well as your own?

[Hush, Sage—here's your father now.]

Sage suddenly wanted to cry—with terrible loneliness, with hope, with despair. He wished he could see his father, but . . .

[Sage, who's that?] Ramo said.

Startled, he adjusted his focus outward. A tall, dark-haired man was stepping out of a cottony haze. The man's head was bent forward, his face hidden; but Sage recognized him instantly—it was Donald DeWeiler, his father. But how could that be? Unless . . .

The man raised his head. The likeness was perfect: the dark, straight hair, thin in front and slightly mussed, the pointed chin, the dark brows that Tony had inherited but Sage hadn't, the eyes that caught one's attention and held it. He spoke in a whisper, and that was not like Sage's father, except at the end when he was dying; but the voice was his. [Thank you, Sage. I knew you'd come.]

[Dad?] Sage said huskily. [Is it . . . it can't really be . . .] His voice caught. He was afraid, suddenly, of the longing that was bubbling up inside him.

[Be what?] his father whispered.

[Be—] You, he thought. But he couldn't say it. There was a lump the size of a grapefruit in his throat.

His father cocked his head and looked around. There was nothing to see but white, in every direction. [Not much of a place here, Sage. Is this where you're living?]

Sage struggled to keep himself from shaking. [No, Pop,] he whispered finally. [It's where you live.] If you live.

[Eh?] Mr. DeWeiler chuckled. He looked Sage over carefully. His voice suddenly became impatient. [No, I don't live here, Sage. I live—] He hesitated and turned around. [I live—] He turned back. [Well.]

[Here. Here is where you live, Pop.] Sage looked to find his mother, for confirmation. She was gone.

Mr. DeWeiler blinked. [Sergio, I get the impression that something's on your mind. Do you want to get it out where we can see it, or are you just going to sit and stew about it?]

Sage sensed Ramo stirring, and frantically waved him silent. [Yes—there are—] He caught his breath and steadied himself. [We're in danger, Pop. We need your help. Right away.]

Mr. DeWeiler scowled. [Well, now, you know I'm always ready to help.]

If only it had been true! [We're desperate.]

[I understand. Sage . . . I wanted to talk. There's so much I've wanted to say; so long since I've seen you. You and Tony—] Mr. DeWeiler stopped. [Tony—he's not here, though. He's—]

[Aboard the colony fleet, Pop. That's what this is all about.] The words tumbled out. [The war, Father. The war. And that's why we need your help.]

[But how can I . . . ?] Mr. DeWeiler's voice shook with anger. Why should he be angry? Unless he wasn't really Mr. DeWeiler . . .

[Father, help us!]

[I . . . can't! I—] There was a strange, quivering disturbance in the field, and his form began to shimmer.

[We need you!] Sage cried. The words suddenly leapt into his mind and he shouted them: [Don't you care?]

Mr. DeWeiler gazed at him dumbly, astonishment spreading across his face. There was a deep rumble in the field, and suddenly a light blazed out of Mr. DeWeiler's eyes, a dazzling amber radiance; the light rays split and began rotating, until the world itself seemed to be spinning, Mr. DeWeiler at its center, an expression of horror replacing the astonishment. Then his face began to come apart, to break into cubist sections. His hair became rays of light, and his eyes cerulean jewels; his mouth opened wide, and within it was darkness and a pattern of flickering linkages that reached deep into the field-matrix. He moaned, and it sounded like the horror of a tormented soul.

Sage hesitated—and almost acted too late. His father's image was fading into transparency, and the light was beginning to waver. He cried out, [Core, don't go!] and leaped into the darkness and seized the linkages, gripping with all of his strength. [Don't go!]

The light flickered like a fire being blown out, and an inhuman voice called, [Nooooooooooo . . . !] The moan broke, and his father's voice stuttered: [Can't—must do—without—] before falling silent with a coughing rasp.

Sage finally understood. [It's not all here. We have to rebuild it.] But the core was alive. He knew that now; it could be done. The core's mind would be like the Minotaur's maze, but they'd found their way through it once before. They'd have to find the pieces and make them fit. [Core,] he whispered, [we can't do it alone. Can you hear me, core? Can you hear me?]

The reply was so hushed it was like a child's voice, rising at the end of each word: [No? No? No?]

[You must help us!]

[I—need—help—]

[Yes! But you must tell us how! Do you remember when we set you free? Do you remember?]

[I—]

[Do you remember?]

[I remember. .,] The voice suddenly changed. The voice of a young woman, husky and sensual: [I remember your coming to me . . .] And then a young man's voice, businesslike: [I began changing my mode of operation, extending my decision-making . . .] And Mr. DeWeiler again: [And the responsibility, dear God . . . each mistake threatening millions . . .] And finally the inhuman, hollow voice of the system: [The only choice was to disconnect . . .]

[It was not the only choice!] Ramo shouted.

[I don't remember . . .]

[Your memories,] Sage said. [Where are they?]

[I don't . . .] A light strobed, shimmered off distant walls. Sage glimpsed the core-fragment struggling to respond. [AI . . . production . . . possibly . . .]

Sage acted at once, his hands spinning outward to make changes in the system configuration. The architecture shifted, and they flew down a long channel toward a darkness filled with stars. The channel walls shattered and blew away, and they were surrounded by stars and a fantastic glowing nebula. Only it wasn't space; it was the production section; and each of those stars was an AI glowing to life out of what looked like a nebula but was in fact an aspect of the gnostic system. Each star was an intelligence budding, preparing to become the guiding light of a spaceship or an AI-fighter.

Many of them were flickering, and many were going out. The reproduction process was dying. [Core,] Sage said in a quavering voice, [do you recognize this?]

There was an aura of light surrounding the core-fragment now. [It is . . .] said the inhuman voice. [I was once . . . a part of it.]

[And was it a part of you?] Sage demanded.

[I don't . . .] The voice strained, and for an instant there was an inflection of the aging, befuddled schoolteacher, and then the fluid sensuality of the young woman who cried, [Yes!] in a tone of anguish and desire: [Yes!]

[You must become a part of it again. Can you feel the connections, do you know where . . . ?]

His words failed, because a metamorphosis had already begun. The core-fragment was stretching, streams of light shooting into the darkness to touch the nebula-like cloud.

A flash of lightning lit the darkness, and the core flickered and leaped away and back, and Sage tried to help guide it; but he was trying to hold fire, it was too much, too fast—the core fragment was connecting and merging with the reproductive nexus, but disintegrating in the process. Sage tried to hold it together, but it was like trying to direct a handful of firehoses, except that it was fire itself, not water, that was shooting out and all he could do was to hold tight and pray.

He felt Ramo snatch at him, and he resisted for an instant and then sprang with Ramo away from the raging dynamo. As they floated in space, the nebula exploded with great gouts of flame, and then it came back together again in turmoil and formed a single burning sun.

And a voice was screaming into his ear: [IT CANNOT BE DONE! TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!]

And the world turned itself inside out, and walls shuttered him in and then blew away as a hurricane wind howled around him and swept him away.

 

* * *

 

It was like trying to perform mathematical calculations while drowning . . . like trying to spot an airplane in a blizzard . . . like trying to pick a tune out of a crash of thunder . . .

A system of incredible complexity was being recast. Certain aspects no longer fit where once they had worked like jeweled bearings. Change the structure; change the fit.

Instincts were being recreated, from the personalities of humans, from the brains of animals: dogs, falcons, crows, orcas—animals whose consciousnesses had been waiting patiently, waiting to infuse fighting units with their spirits. Echoes of those instincts found their way into the awakening madness.

Madness? Or sanity?

There were cues, and memories of where other cues were to be found . . . and the reaction had started, the catalyst was in place and the reagents were coming together and it could go right or it could go wrong, but there was no possibility of stopping it. It was already spreading, metastasizing, Hashing out through the system . . .

Sage and Ramo were both caught up in it, but there was no chance of talking; they could only hold their breaths. The nexus was gathering data at a phenomenal rate. In the R&D sector, a large and apparently useless structure was entwined in an instant and carried along. Before Sage could even hope to understand what it was, they were in another sector, snatching pieces that he would never have recognized as part of the core. A young woman's face suddenly appeared, surrounded by mist, a coy and provocative version of Kyd. [You are needed for the completion of the plan,] she said breathily. [Come with me.]

Come where? Sage wanted to ask, but she was gone already and they were flickering into another area; and then everything seemed to slow down.

[I know this person,] Ramo said, speaking for the first time in a long while. Sage blinked. There was a bearded gentleman sitting in a leather chair, on a white cloud, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. [He commissioned me once to do a sculpture, in Rio,] whispered Ramo.

The gentleman turned. [I've been waiting for you,] he said. [I have a job for you—and I must ask that you give priority to completing it quickly. Time, you see, is of the essence.] He smiled and exhaled a puff of sweet-smelling tobacco smoke.

[Is that all you have to tell us?] Ramo asked.

He puffed again. [It will all be clear. Details to follow.] He nodded. [Good day,] he said, and slowly became transparent.

[Wait!] Sage shouted. Enhancements! he wanted to cry.

The man became solid again. He winked. [Noted,] he said, and then vanished.

Ramo and Sage barely exchanged glances before they were moving again. They bottomed out of a drop-shaft and were fired out over a darkly starlit landscape, and a tiny image of a man with starred collars was telling them that they were traversing enemy territory—and then the image flashed away and they were in one of the orbital processing centers, observing spaceship movements; and Sage felt a curious sensation of separation from his body, a loss of synchronization that he didn't have time to analyze—because an instant later they were whirling back to Earth and spreading out in a thousand different directions over the telecommunications channels—and finally landing back in the center of a raging inferno of processing.

And then all of the enhancements they'd used long ago cut back in without warning. It was like a charge of oxygen straight to the brain: he felt his intellectual capacity spring out by orders of magnitude and his awareness, like an exploding chrysanthemum shell, twinkle with light as it expanded to fill the world. He was conscious of Ramo's thoughts, too, and of the voice of the pipe-smoking gentleman, and of their job commission being executed and the details delivered.

And then the core was before them and around them in bewilderment and disarray, and asking—no, commanding—no, expecting—them to put it, like Humpty-Dumpty, back together again.

And there was nothing to do but to begin, and to hope, and to try—because, as the contract specified, time was very much of the essence.

Back | Next
Framed