BVC Announces Appalachian Winter by Steven Popkes
Appalachian Winter
Brother to Jackals, Book 3
by Steven Popkes
The world has finally seen Lethias as the gorilla he is and it wants him gone.
With zealot Melissa Adenour ascending to the Vice Presidency and the Oregon Initiative becoming law, Lethias wants only one thing: to return to the island. To return to his people. To return home. But standing in the way lies hundreds of miles of back country and a land that has decided who he is and what he deserves.
As LeRoy Parkin’s company, LifeWorks, where the apes were created, crumbles under legal assault and the island’s location grows harder to protect, a scientist’s impossible physics points toward solutions no one anticipated. The gorilla, Jefferson, has taken these field equations further than any human can follow. And a mysterious being called Arthur has been waiting—patient, enormous, purposeful—for exactly this moment.
The final volume of the Brother to Jackals trilogy brings its characters to a reckoning that is by turns heartbreaking and triumphant, asking what home truly means when the world you were born into no longer wants you.
Some journeys begin as exile. Some end as legend.
Brother to Jackals, Book 3
____
Steven Popkes’ work has been nominated for a Nebula Award and collected in several Best of Year anthologies. He lives in Massachusetts on two acres where he and his wife raise bananas, persimmons, and turtles.
He works in aerospace making sure rockets continue to go where they are pointed. He insists he is not a rocket scientist.
He is a rocket engineer.
Buy Appalachian Winter at the Book View Café bookstore
Read a Sample
Chapter 3.1
‹ 1: Lethias, 10/1 ›
Lethias said: “I accuse her of blasphemy.” And brought his hand down in a fist.
There was a stunned silence.
Why? Lethias thought. Why this? Why not something else? Why do these words capture their attention and not what she is doing?
A moment later, the crowd rumbled. A clot of men leaped up on the stage.
Lethias grinned at them and bared his teeth. Shouted at them and slammed his fists on the stage.
The men fell back.
This is what I am! Lethias laughed at them. Laughed at how small they were.
“Come on!” he cried out to them. “Come and get me!”
They fell back and Lethias looked across the crowd. As if they were etched figures in glass, he saw Wash. He saw Tamar. He saw Carmine.
Men swarmed over all three of them. Wash beat them down. Tamar’s wasp stung them and they stumbled back. But Carmine went down. Two men kicked him—Lethias could see him crumple, his bones made of dust. A third man shouted something. Then, turned Carmine over and began tearing at his wings.
Lethias remembered him in flight. Carmine had looked like an angel.
Words fled. Manmind fled.
Lethias roared and beat his chest. He threw himself off the stage and landed on someone, jumped off. Tossed or struck or shouldered people out of the way as he ran to Carmine on all fours. He reached the man tearing at Carmine. Grabbed him, picked him up, and tossed him aside.
Carmine lay crumpled to the ground, broken in so many ways.
Lethias whimpered. He wanted to pick Carmine up. Carry him.
He looked around, snarling. Beat his chest again. Lunged this way and that, clearing the area around Carmine, protecting him.
Tamar came up to him. Lethias raised his hand to strike her aside.
Tamar put her hands on Lethias’ shoulders. Talking to him now. Quieter.
Lethias looked around again. The fighting was still going on. There was now a clearing around him where people had tried to break back through the crowd to get away, but couldn’t get through the press. He looked at Carmine.
Broken little Carmine. There was blood from his nose and ears. His face was already swelling and there was blood leaking from the shreds of his wings.
“Lethias!” cried Tamar.
Lethias looked at Tamar. “What?” he said.
“We’ve got to get Carmine to the hospital.”
Lethias shook his head. Of course they did.
Sirens went off. An EMT truck backed up to them. The rear doors flung open and a gurney was ejected, rolling to a stop near Carmine. It paused a moment, then rolled next to him, collapsing its frame to drop to the ground.
Wash ran up to join them.
The gurney extruded a half-dozen tentacle-like arms underneath Carmine. Once they emerged on his other side, they linked together, bracing him. With a pop, they detached from the gurney.
“Patient is ready to be moved,” said the gurney.
“Come on,” said Wash.
The three of them carefully lifted Carmine onto the gurney. The tentacles reconnected to the gurney as it raised its frame. The wheels bounced on the grass, but the gurney bed, and Carmine, remained eerily still. The gurney raised its wheels as it reached the back of the truck, slipping Carmine into the back without slowing down.
“Patient secured,” said the gurney.
Above him, a spider-like robot began to descend towards Carmine as the doors closed.
Wash pulled on Lethias’ arm. “Come on!”
Lethias walked up to the cab. With Tamar inside, there was no room.
Lethias ran back and grabbed onto the top railing above the doors. He slapped on the side of the truck. “Go.”
Wash went.
‹ 2: Tamar, 10/1 ›
Lethias was magnificent.
As he barreled through the crowd, flinging protesters, rioters, cameramen aside in his path towards Carmine.
Lethias was every gorilla that ever protected its family. Charged a rival. Confronted a predator. Enormously strong. Single-minded. Heedless of anything between where he was and where he needed to be.
How could she ever have thought of him as disgusting? Was a lion disgusting? A wolf? A bear?
Everything in her life and everything in his had brought them together that night. There was nothing about that night of which she should ever be ashamed. Nothing that shouldn’t be savored without regret. That night had been a gift and she seen no farther than revulsion and ambition.
The riot seemed to be happening around her, but she was untouched. People writhing on the ground from Marilyn or Jackie were beneath her notice.
Lethias snorted. Pounded the ground and beat his chest, circling one way, then another, keeping the crowd from Carmine.
“Lethias?” she called.
Lethias looked at her and away. He snorted again.
She called his name again and approached slowly. She touched his shoulder.
He shrugged her away with a low growl, looked back at the crowd encircling them.
“Lethias?” she said his name and he turned towards her. She put her hand on his chest. He pulled away. She grabbed his shoulders and turned him back to her. He raised his fist and then lowered it.
“What?” Lethias shook his head.
“We’ve got to get Carmine to the hospital.”
“Right,” he said. Shook his head again. “Right.”
After Carmine was safe in the truck, Tamar jumped in the cab next to Wash. Why am I here? It was a question for which she had no answer. But the moment she saw the mob crush Carmine and saw Lethias rush to his protection, she chose her side.
There was a pounding from the back.
“I think that means go,” said Wash. “Mount Auburn Hospital.”
“ETA four minutes,” came a voice from the dashboard.
The truck left Cambridge Commons, bouncing over the curb without Tamar feeling a jar.
“How did you get the truck to listen to you?” she asked as they turned up Brattle Street.
“Friends in high places.” He looked at her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Miss Lethias’ last show? You must be joking.”
“How did you know? We only found out this morning.”
Tamar shrugged. She hadn’t known; she had guessed from the speech. She filed it away. “A reporter learns these things.”
Wash looked at her. “What are you doing here? You hate people like Lethias and Carmine.”
“I don’t.”
“You’ve been helping people who do. Guilt by association.”
“I quit.” She worked through the dashboard menus until she found the phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Quinote. He’s not only Carmine’s creator, he’s also Carmine’s doctor. That’s why Papa Carlos permitted Carmine to come to Harvard.” No pick up from Quinote. She left a message. Then, she called the ER at Mount Auburn. “En route to Emergency with Carmine Ranquiz. Alert Montague Quinote.”
“Acknowledged, EMT-023.”
“How do you know these things?”
Tamar leaned back. They were still a minute or two out. “When I did the backup research for my bonded broadcast.”
“You hurt him with that.”
“I said nothing untrue. I said nothing disparaging. I just stated what I went through, what I felt, and what I found out.”
“Truth hurts.”
“It shouldn’t.”
The truck rolled into the ER lot. The back door popped open as Tamar and Wash left the cab. The gurney rolled out under its own power into the waiting hands of the alerted staff.
One man in blue held back. “Wait a minute. Who are you?”
‹ 3: Wash, 10/1 ›
Wash saw Lethias moving through the crowd like some torpedo through the water: people rolled out of his way in waves. This was not the Lethias Wash had known up to this point. This was the raw gorilla ascendant. Lethias cleared the area around Carmine in seconds. He roared and stood, staring around in defiance. Wash started towards them, then saw Tamar approach him. Lethias turned away from her, then back. Wash saw some unbending of his spine, movement of his head, and lowering of his arms, and the Lethias Wash knew returned. Tamar and Carmine would be safe for the moment.
Wash looked around. There had to be—yes! Two EMT trucks parked at the edge of the crowd. The technicians were watching the riot, bewildered.
Wash fought his way out of the riot, through the milling crowd, then to the nearest truck.
“Over there!” Wash shouted at the EMTs.
But they couldn’t hear him over the riot.
Wash moved towards the cab. That got their attention. The first EMT tried to grab him. Wash popped him in the nose—not enough to injure, but enough to hurt. He boxed the other’s ears the same way. Both men fell back.
Wash jumped in the cab. “I have injured to be taken care of.”
“Please identify yourself.”
“Washington Sunshine. Tamar Longren. Lethias Constantine. Carmine Ranquiz. For God’s sake, just look.” He pointed out the window towards Lethias. “There! Man down!”
“Identity required. Please—” The voice stopped. Then, resumed. “Can you drive?”
“Yes.”
“Move the truck where I can see the patient.”
“Bring up the sirens. And the lights,” said Wash.
Both came on. Wash engaged the truck and turned it towards Carmine. As soon as the truck saw Carmine, it took over. All four wheels turned ninety degrees and the truck rotated, then backed to Carmine. Wash could feel the back doors open.
How did that happen? “Is this the CRRF?”
“Yes.”
The CRRF was monitoring emergency operations? Looking for one of those names? Ask later. Get Carmine now.
Wash sagged against the steering wheel as they took Carmine from the truck into the hospital. He might have had a conversation with Tamar, but the memory didn’t stick.
Then: “Who are you?” said the security guard in front of the Emergency Room.
Wash eyed him. No real threat. “Riot in Cambridge Commons. It caught the EMTs. I asked the truck for help.”
“You don’t have authorization.”
Wash shrugged. “I asked nicely.”
“You wait here,” said the security guard and went inside.
Lethias stepped from behind the truck. “What do we do now?”
Wash shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“You run,” said Tamar.
“Run?” asked Lethias.
Tamar nodded. “I don’t know how many people Lethias injured getting to Carmine, but they saw you leave. The police will be here any minute. It was all recorded. The tagline is going to be ‘bull ape rips through crowd.’ They won’t arrest Lethias. They’ll kill him.”
“I handled them in the riot,” said Lethias.
“It was too crowded for anybody to use their guns, police included,” said Tamar. “But we’re lucky they didn’t try. They’re going to remember now. You’re not bulletproof.” She turned to Wash. “I know who you are.”
“How?”
Tamar gave him a look. “How many times are you going to ask me that? If I know, others know. I didn’t think it worthwhile to report. No doubt, other people felt the same. No doubt, now, they’ve changed their mind. Video of Lethias’ rampage annotated with your data is probably on the net right now. You have to run.”
“I don’t want to go,” said Lethias.
“You’ve got to,” said Wash. “She’s right.” Where to go? thought Wash. Outside the safe zones, for starters.
Lethias took Tamar’s hands. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Tamar wiped her eyes. “That’s as close to absolution as I’ll ever get.” She leaned close. “Go. Go do great things. Go live for fucking ever.” She let Lethias’ hands go. “Now, run!”
“Come on,” said Wash, grabbing Lethias’ shoulder and turning him away from Tamar.
First, to the CRRF, he thought.
But that meant first getting out of sight.
Wash led Lethias along the hospital dikes to Mount Auburn Street and then down into the cemetery.
“What is this place?” Lethias looked around the naked trees and statues.
“Mount Auburn Cemetery,” said Wash. “We cut through here. We need to get to the other side of the river. Best bet is Watertown Center.” Where he had seen Carmine flying that night. Wash felt a sudden throb in his heart but put it aside.
“Why here?”
Wash stopped for a moment. He looked around. The Cemetery was visited often. This was a risky shortcut. “Outside of the populated areas, the cities are abandoned. To the east, the population increases. To the west, it declines into the empty zones. We need to get out of town and getting into an empty zone is the next best thing.”
Lethias nodded and followed him.
Across the Cemetery, down the back trail, to Arsenal Street, and straight to Watertown Center.
The sun was lower in the west, dimming in the direction of a fall twilight. It was not dark, but at the shadow edges, dark was beginning to gather. The water had puddled across the bridge over the river. Below them, they could feel the road tremble against the water. One good storm, thought Wash. And this bridge is toast. But not this day.
Up Galen Street and below the CRRF building.
Now what?
“What is this place?” asked Lethias.
“Central Robot Repair Facility,” said Wash. “We have friends here.”
“We do?” Lethias looked dubious. “How do we get inside?”
“I don’t know.”
The CRRF was huge in the afternoon light. It hung over the main highway, stretched between two bridges, a solid concrete mass with no visible windows or doors suitable for human beings. It was surrounded by roads. Trucks came off the highway into suddenly opened doors. Other doors appeared to allow them to exit. When the doors were closed, there was no seam. Only the road leading up to a wall indicated where the door had been.
“Hello!” called out Wash. “Washington Sunshine! Lethias Constantine!”
“It’s actually Lethias Constantine Lethias,” said Lethias softly.
“Don’t confuse things.”
Nothing happened. Wash called out again.
“You try it,” said Wash.
Lethias called out his full name. Then, Wash’s. Then, Tamar Longren. Then, Monica Shuman. Then, Andrew Schloss. “Couldn’t hurt,” he said.
Nothing.
“We were in a little park area when we saw them before,” said Wash.
Wash led Lethias down the slope to a small grove of trees. There, he found the ashes of the campfire he and Carmine had sat next to. Unexpectedly, Wash felt himself tear up. He wiped his eyes angrily. He had no time for this.
If the CRRF didn’t talk to him, he had nothing but time. Until they were found.
The bushes parted and Carlyle came out.
Wash stared at him. “You get around.”
“I have been found useful.” Carlyle turned to Lethias. “I am Carlyle.”
“Lethias,” said Lethias.
“I know.” Carlyle turned back to Wash. “What do you want?”
“Can you get us to Hal and Jake Pedersen?” Wash asked. “Near Pittsfield.”
Carlyle was silent for a moment. “We can get you close.”
“Pittsfield?” Lethias shook his head. “I’m not going to Pittsfield. It’s two hundred kilometers from here.”
“Not quite that far,” said Carlyle. “It’s—”
“Spare me. I’m still not going.”
“Lethias,” Wash said. “You’re done here. Tamar was right. If you stay here, the best you can hope for is being put in a cage.”
Lethias looked stubborn.
“Okay,” said Wash, wearily. “If you don’t want to go to Pittsfield, where do you want to go?”
Lethias looked at Wash. Then, at Carlyle. Then, he looked up at the sky and the small grove of trees as if he wanted to embrace them. His shoulders slumped. If he had been human, Wash would have expected him to weep.
Instead, he turned back to Wash. “I want to go home.”
A wave of tenderness rose up in Wash. “We can do that,” Wash said. “Pittsfield is on the way.”
‹ 4: Monty, 10/1 ›
The notice from the ER caught Monty at home—a place he did not frequent normally these days. With Sims semi-permanently gone and Monty still on the outs with the community, it felt like an empty tomb.
Lazarus had been in an empty tomb, thought Monty. So had Jesus. How could it be a bad thing?
Yeah, yeah, he told himself. Comparing himself to Lazarus and Jesus was so much better.
The notice on his handheld said Carmine Ranquiz was coming into the ER. The telemetry from the ambulance was included.
“Shit,” said Monty as he read the preliminaries.
Schmidt was on duty, but she would be inadequate to the task. He sent a call notice to Boyer to meet him in the ER. ETA for Carmine was only a couple of minutes.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to the hospital with his damned limp. Monty checked getting a car. Twenty minutes. Walk, he must.
He stalked out of his house in a shambling, furious gait—the fastest he could manage for the kilometer to the hospital. He spat instructions to Schmidt on how to stabilize Carmine—things for which neither Schmidt nor the ER medbots were prepared. Remotely, he triggered special ER protocols he’d developed specifically for Carmine. Heaven help Schmidt if she disobeyed them and fucked this up.
Carmine was already in the isolation room when Monty entered the ER. It was the best place to put him since the medbots there were nearly autonomous.
He was distantly pleased that Schmidt and the medbot had followed protocol and bound Carmine’s wings, staunching the blood and fluid loss. They had stabilized the fractures and head injuries before taking him to radiology and back to isolation. Pictures and analysis were waiting for Monty when he entered the room.
The bits of bandaged, covered bone and broken limbs broke Monty’s heart. Or would have, if he weren’t so pressed for time.
Boyer entered less than a minute later.
“What trouble has he gotten himself in this time?” asked Boyer as Monty brought up the images on the wall. “Cambridge police again?”
“No,” said Monty. “A riot in the Commons. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Boyer glanced at the images and then spoke to the medbot. “Prep OR for immediate surgery.”
“There’s a scheduled hip—” answered the medbot.
“Have they begun?”
“No.”
“Boot them. We’re taking their slot and we’re holding it for twelve hours.” Boyer looked at Monty. “Is that going to be enough?”
“It better be.” Cracked skull. Depressed bone. Significant bleed. Broken femur. Broken tibia. Ribs five, six, seven, and eight torn from the sternum. Rib eight looked broken in three places. Seven ribs broken on one side—someone had kicked him, may they rot in hell. Monty moved the image towards the hip. Dislocated left hip. Cracked right iliac crest. He shifted the focus to the spine—more or less intact. No obvious nerve damage. Broken clavicle. Fractured skull—”Get the neurologist on call—no. Get Bailey from MGH. This is serious.” Then, he put the skull fractures out of his mind. Monty wasn’t a neurosurgeon, but even he could tell Bailey had his work cut out for him.
Back to the images. With a deep breath, Monty started looking over Carmine’s wings.
“Looks like the fluid members are ruptured,” said Boyer from behind him.
Monty didn’t answer. Many of the bones were intact—when folded up, the wing bones essentially floated without support. This allowed them to move when struck. But they were all connected by hydrostatic linkages and supports. Many of those had been torn.
“Look at the large muscle that reaches over the shoulder and the one that goes under it.”
“Musculus aves superior and musculus aves inferior,” said Monty softly.
“Right. Looks like the superior is nearly completely separated and the inferior partially.” Boyer tapped the image. “Both attach to what’s left of the clavicle and the side ribs with the ligaments. The superior ligaments are completely separated.” He followed the muscles down into the wings, folded on themselves. “Except for the clavicle, the bones they attach to are intact, but the ligaments there look pretty frayed. Muscle tension has pulled bits of the clavicle all over the place. I don’t see how we can restore the assembly.” Boyer was silent for a moment. “You know what I’m going to suggest.”
“We’re not ready to make that decision.”
“Your call.”
Both of them looked over the images on the wall.
“OR ready,” said the medbot.
“Get the patient up there and prep him,” said Boyer. Then, to Monty: “What’s the plan?”
“Bailey here yet?”
“ETA ten minutes,” said the medbot.
“Send him directly to surgery. We’ll meet him there.” Bailey looked at Monty for confirmation.
Monty nodded. “Contact Harold Izmodo and Steven Blackbear at MGH. I need them in the surgery consulting room in an hour.”
Boyer chuckled. “Getting the band back together again.”
Monty shrugged. “First, we stabilize everything—including the wings. Then, we make our decisions.”
They worked on Carmine in three teams: Bailey on Carmine’s brain and skull, Schmidt on Carmine’s main body, Boyer and Monty on the wings. Nine people, three surgery bots, with a coordinating medbot named Melba keeping them out of each other’s way.
Six hours into the surgery, Bailey had gone as far as he could for the moment. The skull fragments had been removed, skull pressure relieved, and the bleed stopped. After injecting a whole suite of anti-concussives, Bailey left to set up a post-operative neuro-monitoring unit.
Schmidt had the internal bleeding under control. The injured organs were secured. He had pinned Carmine’s long bones and joined the tiny, straw bones of Carmine’s hands and feet carefully back together.
As far as the wings were concerned, Carmine was no longer leaking any fluids. Those bones had been secured. Anti-inflammatories had been injected into the tissue to prevent them from swelling into anoxia, but beyond that, a plan was needed before any reconstructive work was possible. Essentially, Carmine’s wings were just fastened in place so further injuries would not occur.
Melba reviewed the work and confirmed nothing was missing.
Monty saw Izmodo and Blackbear through the window. He waved to them. “How long have they been here?” he asked Boyer. “Have them wash up and get in here.”
“No. I need a biobreak anyway,” said Boyer. “Let’s talk to them in the conference room.”
A few minutes later, the four of them were sitting around the table.
“Were you able to get anything from watching through the glass?” asked Monty.
“Some,” said Blackbear guardedly. “We need to get inside.”
Izmodo nodded.
“Okay,” sighed Monty. “Let’s get washed up and go back in there.”
Monty left them in the OR with Carmine. Outside, watching them, he called LeRoy.
LeRoy answered instantly. “Have you heard from Lethias?”
“No. What happened?”
“He went wild in a rally to save some kid. The net is asking for his head.”
“Ah,” said Monty, putting the pieces together. “That kid was Carmine Ranquiz. I have him here in the OR right now. I think Lethias might have saved his life.”
“Oh.” LeRoy rubbed his face. “There’s no way this is going any other way but bad. The net is all over Lethias as a dangerous animal. Adenour loves it.”
“I bet it was Adenour’s people that started the riot.”
“It probably doesn’t matter as far as we’re concerned,” said LeRoy drily. “No matter what, Lethias gets dipped in crap.”
“Yeah.”
“How bad is it with Carmine?”
“He’s stable, as far as that goes. Harry and Steven are in with him to see if there’s anything they can do. Boyer thinks we need to amputate the wings.” Monty’s mouth felt dry. “I concur.”
“Jesus. I don’t know him as well as you do, but isn’t that what he lived for?”
“Yeah. I am not relishing that conversation.”
Silence fell between them.
“How about you?” asked Monty.
“Oh, LifeWorks is going bankrupt. We have no future contracts. The Amazon project is going down the toilet. But—hey!—no one knows where the island is. Yet.”
“That’s good to hear. I was afraid of bad news. You’ve given me hope.”
The two of them smiled at one another.
“I’ve got to go back to war,” said Monty. “Be safe.”
They hung up. Monty washed up and went inside the OR.
Blackbear and Izmodo just stared at him. Blackbear’s arms were crossed. Izmodo looked pale.
“Not good news,” said Monty.
Blackbear looked at Izmodo.
“You’re the ojo,” said Izmodo. “I’m just the dedo.”
Monty watched Blackbear expectantly.
“We can’t fix it,” said Blackbear. “To even try, we’d have to wait until everything else healed. While we were waiting, we’d have to prevent the wings from healing so we wouldn’t have to re-break everything. And if we did that, we’d have to keep him in a coma for over a year. That’s what we’d have to do to even attempt it.” Blackbear glanced at Izmodo.
“Carmine’s not a frog,” said Izmodo shortly. “It’s too complex to rely on natural systems. The attempt to repair all this tissue is going to be toxic. We recommend against it.”
“I agree,” said Boyer. “Carmine’s wings are nearly a third of his body mass. That level of repair is too much. And that’s presuming we can prevent an unhealing wound from getting infected.”
Monty felt like he’d been beaten. “I agree,” he said hoarsely.
My sweet boy, thought Monty to himself. You never deserved any of this.
‹ 5: LeRoy, 10/1 ›
After he rang off from Monty, for a moment it felt like the building was swaying. He put his hands on his desk. No. Just me.
The room was dim. Since he had moved to the interior of the building, he had no windows. The wall surfaces could be changed to show any scene, but LeRoy found he didn’t like it. Unless it was necessary, he preferred the fact of the grim walls over the illusion of the outside world.
Things were caving in all over. South Carolina Attorney Miskov got her expedited Supreme Court ruling. The Appeals Court never had a chance to rule before the Supreme Court agreed with South Carolina: LeRoy was a public figure.
Amanda had used every second of those six days to increase LeRoy’s personal security. LeRoy saw nothing of the outside world that didn’t come through a camera.
“You all right, Boss?” she asked.
LeRoy ignored her question. How can I possibly be all right? “Where is Lethias now?”
“He and Wash have disappeared.”
“Disappeared. Even from you?”
“I can’t see everything, Boss. They’ve gone where I can’t follow them.”
Gone. Didn’t I predict this would happen? That Lethias would be consumed by the world? “Gone” made it sound trivial.
“Is the island still unknown?”
“So far.”
“Will we need more security for this building? The labs? The factories?”
“Already on it. I’ve contacted Casey and Son—”
“The ferry company. Who we fired. Is that wise?”
“Money is money, Boss. They’re glad to get the work.”
“They do security?”
“Best in Charleston.”
LeRoy thought for a moment. “Can we afford a private army to patrol around the island?”
“We could. It would be a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, patrolling the island on LifeWorks’ nickel is going to raise some eyebrows. It’ll make somebody look at what’s on those islands. For another, we don’t know the political makeup of anybody that we could hire. Protecting humans—even humans they don’t like—is within the boundaries of good behavior. Protecting intelligent animals, on the other hand—”
“I take your point.” LeRoy waved at her.
“Boss, there’s more.”
LeRoy looked up at the wall. “What?”
“Have you watched any of Shuman’s speeches?”
“No.”
“Let me show you something.”
Shuman appeared on the wall. She was standing behind a podium making a speech. Amanda had cut the sound.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?”
Amanda didn’t reply. Instead, she rotated the image until Shuman could be seen at an angle, showing her standing.
“I don’t get it.”
“Keep watching her. This was recorded in Annapolis.”
Dutifully, LeRoy looked at Shuman. Her face was a little plump. She was wearing a bulky coat—a bit warm for October. She leaned heavily against the podium. She looked tired. LeRoy noticed her ankles were a bit heavy—almost swollen. Odd. LeRoy remembered the delicacy of her ankles.
LeRoy remembered those bloody marks she had painted on his chest. Remembered the fertility talismans. “Shit,” he said suddenly. “She’s pregnant.”
“She could have a tumor—”
“She’s the President. She has the best medical care in the world. They would never let a tumor get that far.” LeRoy shook his head. “How is this not completely public?”
“It will be. Soon. Boss: she can’t be more than four months along. Closer to three.”
LeRoy shook his head, bewildered. “If it were mine, she’d be much farther along. It’s October. We saw each other in March.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine you’re President of the United States facing re-election. You know if you’re obviously pregnant come November, it will affect the election. Maybe good. Maybe bad. But something.”
“Monica never leaves anything to chance if she can avoid it,” said LeRoy slowly. “How?”
“How would you do it?”
LeRoy thought a moment. “Capture a sample—skin. Mucous. Anything with cells in it.”
“Semen?”
“Shit.” LeRoy closed his eyes. “Yes. It might not have viable sperm, but there are still cells in it. Take the cells, dedifferentiate them. Culture them and extract the nucleus. Take a sperm from a donor and replace the donor nuclei with mine. Then, do a standard implantation.” He shook his head, bewildered. “But why go through that much trouble? Any donor would do.”
“She likes you.”
LeRoy leaned back in his chair. “You think she likes me that much?”
“She did that whole fertility dance because she likes you.”
“How do you know about that?”
“You think Molly was off just because she was in her little box? You should know me better than that.” Amanda laughed. “So, she conceives in March but holds off until August to implant. That’s not difficult medicine. There are drugs that can do that. Or, she extracts the zygote and freezes it. Not difficult, either.”
“Why not wait until after the election?”
“She’s old, Boss. So are you. The clock is ticking. She held off to the last possible moment it wouldn’t be obvious for the election. I saw the ankles and tagged the edema. You wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t alerted you. I bet she thinks it can be kept secret for the next five weeks before the election.”
“You really think she’s carrying my child?”
“How many lovers do you think the President of the United States can afford these days? Count on it. That baby is yours.”
‹ 6: Marcus, 10/1 ›
Marcus’ first thought when he heard that Sims was experimenting on Jefferson was what is she thinking? He was appalled. How could she possibly let that lunatic experiment on her? Sims had the nickname Run-Away-Man for a reason.
Then, he thought about what refusing Sims—or Quinote. Or LeRoy—meant. He could understand Jefferson acquiescing. It’s hard to turn down your creators.
Marcus went back to Baboon Beach and sat down among them, looking for answers. What would it mean? Revolution? Resistance? Independence?
Marcus and what he considered his security force had been patrolling and watching for days. They had become pretty damned good shots.
LeRoy knew what they were doing—he’d even gotten Wash in to teach them. That had surprised Marcus. It meant LeRoy was taking them—and the threat—seriously.
What would happen in a fight? Would LeRoy ask them to stand down? If he did, would they? If they didn’t, would he disown them? What if it were LeRoy’s people that came at them? Would they fire on them? Fire on him? Marcus shook his head. He was getting paranoid. LeRoy would never attack the island. Right?
How dependent were the apes? How independent could they be?
Marcus was surrounded by baboons. Some had waded out into the ocean, tossing nets into the water. Marcus had netted fish before with the chimpanzees. He was fairly good at it. Being a gorilla, he never ate the fish. But he liked the process.
The drill was simple: look for a likely spot, toss the net, wait for the right moment, draw the net in, harvest the fish. Always in comparatively shallow water and never from boats. If an ape fell into a hole or off the boat, he was done: apes sank. Swimming was a mere temporary step on the way to drowning.
The baboons did exactly the same thing, completely differently.
For one thing, they never threw the net to a place Marcus could predict. Marcus knew where he—or any other ape—would throw. Baboons threw to locations based on a different calculus. When an ape waited, he looked around: up at the sky. Scratching himself. Watching a bird. The baboons were graven images: they did not move at all.
When an ape began to draw in the net, it was gradual, after a moment of observation to make sure everything was in place. The baboons went from stillness to motion without any intervening change. They never jerked the net or seemed to work too fast, but the transition was instantaneous.
Yet, the baboons pulled in as much fish as any ape he’d ever seen. Maybe more. Certainly, the baboons thought the apes couldn’t fish. Sometimes, when he watched their full nets, he agreed with them. Of course, the baboons could swim. Perhaps they had less fear of the water and that changed their behavior.
Marcus watched them, trying to figure out how much LeRoy supported them. He’d never thought about it before. The apes raised crops. They fished both sides of the island. But they imported things, too. The baboons seemed to only fish and gather fruit when it was available.
Marcus saw Runs-From-Water skirt the dry sand and angle up towards him. Marcus watched him approach. The baboons rarely acknowledged him. They didn’t seem to mind when he came out here. They just didn’t care.
Runs-From-Water sat near him and stared out into the water. ==Might build a fire later,== he signed at last.
Marcus grunted in surprise. He had never seen the baboons make and use fire. Marcus guessed they didn’t use it much.
==Why?== signed Marcus.
Runs-From-Water jerked his head over towards a knot of baboons on the low tide beach.
Now that Marcus had seen them, he recognized they were digging for clams.
==I can help crack them,== Marcus signed.
Runs-From-Water nodded reluctantly. ==Apes can break clams,== he acknowledged.
==Why not eat them raw?== Marcus asked, curious.
==Better mixed with stuff.== Runs-From-Water pointed up the hill.
Marcus had thought it was just a pile of junk, but now he recognized a large cooking pot and wood, old tarps, idle nets. They would grab the pot and make some kind of chowder or soup from the clams. Marcus wondered if Homo erectus had watched his predecessors with the same sort of surprise. It wasn’t that the elephant danced well; it was that the elephant danced at all.
==Here to tell you something,== signed Runs-From-Water.
Marcus nodded for the baboon to go on.
==Your old woman is playing with Crazy-Old-Man,== Runs-From-Water signed.
==I know.==
==Probably bad.==
==Yes.== Marcus signed. ==Probably.==
Runs-From-Water looked out to the water, considering.
Three baboons hauled in a netload of fish. Many of the baboons started down the hill and assembled into a rough line. One after the other, the successful baboons gave a fish or two to each supplicant until they decided that was enough. Then, the remaining, waiting, baboons were shooed away. Then, the fishing baboons began to eat what remained of their haul.
==No fire after all,== Runs-From-Water signed sadly. ==Not enough left.==
==They like it raw?==
==They like being impatient.== Runs from water shrugged. ==Your old woman is getting others to play with Crazy-Old-Man.==
Jefferson was recruiting for Sims? Marcus growled.
==Yes,== signed Runs-From-Water.
==I will take care of this,== signed Marcus.
==Good.== With that, Runs-From-Water walked down towards the eating baboons. One of them pulled a fish from the net and handed it to him.
On the way from the beach to Women’s Country, Marcus went over what he wanted to say. What the hell are you doing? What does Sims want from you? and Are you safe? When Marcus reached the Soft Gate, he sent word that he wanted to speak with Jefferson. He half-expected that she would refuse as she had before. But Jefferson surprised him and came to the gate a few minutes later. She waved to him.
“You okay?” asked Marcus.
Jefferson signed confusion.
“You’re working with Sims. That doesn’t sound safe.”
==It’s okay,== she signed. ==Interesting work. I’m enjoying myself.==
“Nothing he does isn’t crazy.”
==True.== Jefferson laughed.
“What’s he doing?”
Jefferson watched him for a long moment. ==It’s hard to explain.==
“But you’re getting other apes to join in.”
Jefferson stared at him. ==Yes.==
“So it can’t be that hard to explain.”
Jefferson scratched her head. ==Sims explains it better.==
“Then, let’s go see him.”
Jefferson knitted her hands together.
Marcus knew this to be a sign of distress. He put his hand over hers and she grabbed it. He looked at her. She didn’t look that good. She’d lost some weight and her muzzle was growing gray. Jefferson looked old. Marcus knew she was old, but hadn’t seen it. He thought for a moment. She was sixty-one? Sixty-two? He wanted to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
She pulled one hand loose and patted his. Holding his hand with the other, she signed, ==Everything is going to be all right.==
‹ 7: Jefferson, 10/2 ›
Jefferson lined up more apes. All of them different generation females. Three chimps: Sister Hanna, Pokey, and Victoria. Three orangs: Erasmus, Genji, and Jezebel. Two additional gorillas: Catherine and Dnanga. Jefferson had originally left out Catherine, unsure what Sims’ apparatus would do to her baby. But Catherine had made a fuss about it.
“What?” she shouted. “You’re going to sideline me because of a baby? Lethias’ baby?” She shook her head. “I am not just his incubator. I’ve driven trucks for you. Hauled contraband smuggling—God knows what you’ve been putting in those warehouses, but I’m damned sure Marcus doesn’t.”
Jefferson felt befuddled. ==But it’s your baby—==
Catherine shook her head. “Yes. And I’ll look forward to meeting her in a month. But until then, I don’t want to be excluded from something important.” She gave Jefferson a hard eye. “It is important, isn’t it?”
==Yes.==
“And you need people you can trust, right?”
==Yes.== Jefferson felt like she was whimpering.
“Then, you can trust me.”
Jefferson stared at her. ==You sought him out. You decided to have his child.==
Catherine stared back, defiantly. “I did.”
==Why?==
Catherine snorted. Looked away. Looked back. “I had a dream. I dreamed he would be the father of my child. My husband. I dreamed he would do something important and I would be there. I would help. I would be important, too. The dream promised this.” She laughed bitterly. “The dream lied. Fine. I’ll be important on my own.”
But Jefferson would not relent without Sims’ assurance.
“The magnetic fields are strong but very local. The inverse square law protects the baby,” he said.
==Fine.== Jefferson signed to Catherine.
But Jefferson knew she wouldn’t be comfortable until the baby was born, whole and undamaged.
Then, Marcus had waylaid her and insisted on talking with her and Sims. He was furious that the males were denied a role in Sims’ lab. Of course, that was male pride of place. If the females had been given the task of cleaning the lab, Marcus would have insisted just as loudly that the males be given their chance.
==FINE!== signed Jefferson. She wanted to scream.
Marcus chose himself, Whitefingers, Maxwell, and Grendel. Two gorillas, a chimp, and an orang.
When Jefferson brought them to Sims, he took Jefferson aside. “That’s a lot of apes.”
==Twelve.==
“Yes. That’s a lot.”
==Yes.== It sure fucking is. It was the last time she would ever let herself be persuaded by a committee. Either she would be supreme dictator over her own decisions, or they could just fuck off. Jefferson shrugged. ==Isn’t redundancy important?==
Sims looked at her, then at the apes outside. “I have only one chair.”
==We need to build more chairs.==
“Why?”
Jefferson was prepared for that. She and Joanne had planned this conversation last night. ==We can tune the folded space to prevent physical objects from coming in, right?==
“Right.” Sims looked confused. “That’s now the default state: photons are transmitted freely. Fermions are blocked.”
==We need a shield over the apes.==
“Whatever for?”
Jefferson stared at him. ==Don’t you know what is happening? Haven’t you been following anything? They are coming for us. They will kill us if they can.==
“Who?”
Jefferson shook her head. ==Humans. LeRoy knows this. Marcus has assembled a security force. But that will only work with a small invasion. We need a shield that can stop everything.==
Sims stared at her. “I have to talk to somebody about this. Monty. LeRoy.”
Jefferson patted him on the arm. ==You do that. I’ll tell the apes what to expect.==
“Yeah,” said Sims, flustered. “Yeah. You do that.” Sims went back inside the lab.
Marcus, Maxwell, and Grendel were sitting in the back of the group. A young chimp—Jefferson had a moment where she forgot the chimp’s name. Michaela? Michelle? One of the few sixth generation apes. She knew that much. The chimp left and Marcus and Maxwell bent their heads together.
Marcus rose and left the group. He waved Jefferson over.
The group was a little restive. Jefferson waved to them. I’ll be with you in a moment.
==What?==
“There was a riot in Cambridge,” said Marcus. “Lethias was involved.”
Jefferson felt it like a blow to her chest. ==Is he all right?==
“From what Amanda could tell, he wasn’t hurt. Now, it looks like he’s disappeared. There is lots of footage of him ramming through the crowds.” Marcus looked north towards the Atlantic side. “This is not going to help.”
==No.== The shield just went from nice-to-have to necessity.
‹ 8: Sims, 10/2 ›
Twelve volunteers? Twelve? For that, Sims was elated. He would have been happy with two. But twelve? He could have danced with joy. He could build two more chairs with what he had. They could rotate in groups of three. Attacking the island? Here? Where his work was? Where the apes were? Sims would have shot the invaders himself.
Inside, Sims sat at his desk and looked at the wall. “Amanda? Can you get Monty?”
“Just a sec—no. He’s in surgery. He’s been in surgery off and on since yesterday. Carmine Ranquiz has been hurt.”
“How?”
“The Cambridge Riot.”
A dread thought. “But Monty is all right?”
“Yes. He’s just busy trying to keep Carmine alive.”
Sims nodded, relieved. “Is Monty in any danger?”
“I don’t think so,” said Amanda. “Not yet, anyway. All the chatter is aimed at Lethias directly. Monty hasn’t come up much.”
“You’ll keep me informed?”
“Of course.”
“Can I talk to LeRoy?”
“Here he is.”
LeRoy’s face appeared on the wall. “Yes, Carroll?”
LeRoy looked tired. No, thought Sims. He had seen LeRoy wearied to the bone. This was new. LeRoy looked defeated.
“The apes tell me we’re going to be attacked,” Sims said quietly.
LeRoy gave him a wan smile. “That’s a little premature. The location of the island is still a secret—at least, it’s a secret to anyone who wants to attack them. I’m sure somebody knows.” LeRoy waved the idea of an attack away.
“We have to protect them.”
LeRoy nodded. “I know, Carroll. Marcus has weapons now. That will help.”
“Apes with guns? That’s a novel thought.”
“Yes, it is. How are things there?”
“You mean other than the fear of imminent invasion?”
“I mean exactly that.” LeRoy took a deep breath. “Tell me some good news.”
“We’ve made excellent progress,” said Sims. “Jefferson has been able to fold space.”
“Good.”
“She has found twelve volunteers.”
“That’s nice,” said LeRoy absently.
“LeRoy! This is important.”
LeRoy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I know it is, Carroll. But I’m trying to keep them safe. Whatever you do down there doesn’t make any difference if the apes are… Well, they have to be kept safe.”
“I need to build some more equipment. I want to accommodate three apes simultaneously in my lab.”
LeRoy nodded. “Work it out with Amanda. I have to go.” With that, he rang off and Amanda’s face remained.
“What do you need, Carroll?” asked Amanda.
Sims had always followed the work and the work was here. But Monty was up in Cambridge. “Can you try to persuade Monty to come down here where it’s safe?”
“Probably not,” said Amanda. “You’d be better at it.”
“Maybe.” Sims felt the distance between the island and Boston. It was far greater than geography. “You and I will both try.”
“I’ll bring it up next time he calls.”
“Thanks.”
“LeRoy said you needed some equipment.”
Sims nodded. “I’ll send you a list.” Sims hung up and drummed his fingers on the table. A shield was necessary. But any shield could be breached, especially if it was known beforehand. He had to keep it secret. What was it Joanne had said? Two people can keep a secret only if one of them is dead? A bleak thought, but there was truth in it. It was only a matter of time before the island was known. Sims thought LeRoy naïve: if somebody other than LifeWorks and the apes knew where the island was, that information wouldn’t stay with the good guys. The bad guys would find out eventually. It wasn’t whether the invasion would happen. It was how many and when.
“Get me Joanne,” Sims said.
A moment later, Joanne’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Boss.”
“We need to calculate a perimeter for the apes.”
“What kind of perimeter, Boss?”
“Folded space to act as a shield to protect the island.”
Joanne whistled. “That’s a good idea. The current model keeps out fermions. That would protect them from bullets and explosions. Won’t stop a laser.”
Sims shook his head. “There aren’t any lasers big enough to be a worry. Even the fusion team in Oak Ridge has gone begging.”
“There won’t be any air circulation. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Good point.” Sims thought a moment. “They have a lot of plants. That should help. Maybe we can shut it on and off to get circulation.”
“Is one poor ape’s computational ability going to be enough?”
Sims grinned at her. “I have twelve volunteers!”
“Good for you, Boss.”
“It wasn’t me. It was Jefferson. Three groups of three, so we can have shifts.” Sims thought for a moment. “Two more chairs with MRI capabilities. And a spare. When can they be made? LeRoy gave permission.”
“End of the month, I hope. If we can get help.”
“Good.” Sims thought about what was necessary. The logistics were daunting. Again, Sims found himself wishing Monty was here. He was always surer of himself when Monty was around. “We’ll calculate where the cables have to be placed. Then, get them trenched in. Amanda can help get you the material and run the trenching effort.”
Joanne smiled at him. “Whatever you say, Boss. Who’s Amanda?”
‹ 9: Ida, 10/2 ›
If Ida had asked for a Christmas present, it could not have been better than the Cambridge Riot.
Ida played the footage over and over, from the angle on the stage to various points of view in the crowd. In the 21st century, the world had been continuously recorded by people holding up their phones. That world had ended. It might come again, but for the moment, handhelds were too expensive and had to compete in a society where every smooth surface could be active as a screen or a camera.
But continuous recording seemed ingrained into human nature. In the absence of handheld recorders, there were always bioengineered insects. Ida did not understand an economy where bioengineered animals were cheap enough to be personal, but handhelds were doled out to a corporate few. An economy where transportation, energy, and network were cheap but real estate was expensive. Where the cost of manufactured goods varied wildly and fish could be eaten by anyone, any day, any time.
Ida just lived in it, happy to have recordings of the riot from all angles, eager to admire the Lethias’ supple movement and easy rhetoric. Could such a thing of beauty be so completely evil?
Shuman’s team didn’t react immediately. Neither did Jarmusch. But twenty minutes after the recordings hit the net, Melissa had recorded a statement condemning the “wild beast we invited into our midst.” An hour after that, a recording of an Adenour sermon on the place of humans versus animals was propagated. Consumption of both tracked dramatically upward and both had been engineered by Ida.
Ida and Melissa had crafted the statement, but it had taken Orfeo to write the sermon that quickly. Recording the sermon was trivial: Melissa could deliver cereal ingredients dramatically from a cold script anytime, anywhere.
After the sermon was recorded, Ida called Tamar.
“You can’t fire me again,” said Tamar when she answered. “I quit Wu. Remember?”
“And hello to you, too,” said Ida. “Wu was an ass. You were right to leave. I want to rehire you.”
Tamar didn’t respond immediately. “Have you seen my recent recordings?”
“Yes. They’re too sympathetic to the apes, but we can safely ignore that.”
“I can’t renounce my recordings,” Tamar said. “That would cost me the bond—it’s the same as saying I lied about my personal experience.”
Ida waved that away. “People grow from personal experience. You can always write a retraction on how you were misled. But we don’t even have to do that. I want you to write speeches, not broadcast.”
Tamar stared at her. “Let me see if I have this right,” she said carefully as if she were describing an equation. “My sympathy for Lethias is only problematic because it’s my… public face? Privately, I can write speeches for Adenour that are completely opposed to what I’m broadcasting?”
“Not when you put it like that. You’d have to stop broadcasting.”
“Ah!” Tamar nodded. “I just stop what I’m doing and work for Adenour until she fires me again.”
“We’d have to keep it secret.”
“That makes it all so worthwhile.”
Ida watched her a moment. She checked Tamar’s stats. “You’re going to be behind in your rent next month. You can’t keep up a Boston apartment with the returns you’re getting from your new recordings. We pay good money.”
“Oh, I know. Thirty pieces of silver an hour, right? Is that the going rate?”
“Don’t be like that.”
Tamar leaned towards the camera. “Ida, I know what it’s like to live a double life. No one can serve two masters. You hate one and love the other. Or worse, you try to love both and hate yourself. That’s what your little pastiche religion is all about. You want to make serving two masters work. Not me. I’m done with that. I’ve got my bonding and I’m going to use it. I might not have a place to live in a month, but I’ll be doing what I wanted to do all along. So, kindly, fuck Adenour. And fuck you.” With that, she rang off.
Matthew 6:24, thought Ida. I didn’t think Tamar had it in her. She watched the blank surface for a moment. That could have gone better.
Of course, the fact that Tamar could quote scripture to Ida said that her soul was on the right track. Familiarity with scripture is a step on the road to salvation. On the other hand, she thought, Iblis is the most articulate theologian in all Creation.
But it was just that verse that Hanif Robertson had declared when he’d had his revelation. No man can serve two masters, followed by, Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. From that, he declared God, Jesus, and Allah as One and founded the Islamic-Baptist Union.
Examining two opposing ideas and synthesizing a solution was the meat and bread of the IBU.
The idea that Tamar would throw it in her face gave Ida pause, though.
She stood, stepped away from her desk, and looked outside, where she could see the river. It did not calm her. Submission, she thought. Ida had never had a problem back in New Hampshire. Or when she worked for the Department. Not until now. Working for Melissa tested her submission every day. For the first time, she felt she was found wanting.
She unrolled her sajjāda and knelt. It was afternoon and so she began the Asr. She didn’t calm until she reached the verse, You alone we ask for help. By the end, she felt refreshed. Ida rose and returned to her desk.
What was the lesson Imam Robertson had taught? There was no such thing as opposites, only the appearance of division. From the proper point of view, such divisions disappear as the illusions they are.
Ida was too young to have ever met Imam Robertson. But even from a young age, she realized that Jacob Adenour, the Imam’s successor, was inadequate to the task. She remembered reading Robertson’s Khutba Ma’, however imperfectly presented by Imam Jacob. Consider the phases of water: vapor, liquid, and gas. All of them are very different, but all are water. Consider the phases of God: Father, Son, Holy Ghost. All are Allah. The Lord Our God is One!
This gave her comfort: she still had doubts and misgivings about their course. And she secretly enjoyed the very fact of Lethias’ existence. But Allah in her prayer always promised help. Submission, and with it, clarity, would come.