Firebird (19 page)

Kashchei crumples.

And Ivan is alone onstage. The magical creatures that had lived under the sway of their lord are gone. The princess for whom Ivan had fought appears, and the two embrace. In the final moments, as the music changes tempo, the Firebird appears again, to signal her acquiescence to the union. She is visible only to the audience. Then she, too, is gone, and the curtain comes down.

The applause shook the building.

“So what did you think?” Alex asked.

“Okay,” I said. “It was a good show.”

Audree, who spends much of her spare time with an amateur theatrical group, thought the staging was excellent. Alex commented that the woman playing the Firebird had been outstanding—and, of course, we all knew why that was—and Hal observed that yes, it was quite good, but that Stravinsky can't hold a candle to Rimsky-Korsakov.

In the morning, back at the country house, I asked Alex if he'd seen anything that might connect with Robin. We were seated outside, on the deck. It was another pleasant day, with a cool breeze coming off the river.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“And that is—?”

“The firebird is a phoenix, Chase. You already know that, right?”

“Not really.”

“It is.”

“So why does that matter?”

“You know what the phoenix is famous for?”

“Umm. Not really.”

“You can't kill it.”

SEVENTEEN

That saddest, most dismal, most unfortunate of places, Villanueva.

—Inga Yassuf,
The Great Migration
, 3916
C.E.

The flight to Villanueva took five days. Alex spent most of his time with Belle, going over biographical sketches, records, histories, myths, everything he could find that was associated with that misbegotten world. He scanned some of the better-known contemporary novels that used it as a setting,
Night Music, The Long Winter
—some irony there—
Delia Parva, Alone with Uncle Harry,
and a dozen more. Alex commented that they inevitably covered the same ground: Always, a scientist, assisted by the hero, was trying to warn the world. It was played as if nobody knew what was coming. In reality, of course, everyone knew. They knew what the results would be, and they knew generally when it would start. Nevertheless, they stayed.

It was, on the whole, depressing stuff. I got away from it by watching some of Haylie Patterson's
Spotlight
shows. Haylie was a tough journalist who masqueraded as a comedian. He was extraordinarily popular then, as he is now. He brought political types in for interviews, poked fun at them, and cheered them on. The benefit for those who appeared was major public exposure. It seemed as if everybody in the Confederacy loved watching Haylie pretending to take his guests seriously.

The downside for the guests was that they got laughed at. Alex had declined appearing when he'd been invited. When I'd asked why, he told me because he had no sense of humor. I think he meant Haylie.

However that might be, Belle understood about laughter. She assembled a fictitious
Spotlight
in which Alex made an appearance. She had the voices and mannerisms of both Haylie and Alex down cold.

Haylie
: So the Mutes really can get inside your head?

Alex
: Oh, yes. They know everything you're thinking.

Haylie
: (looking embarrassed)
Everything?

Alex
: Can't hide a thing.

Haylie
: My God, Alex. Do they have marriage over there?

Alex
: Sure. It's okay, Haylie. Their females are open-minded.

(Both laugh.)

Haylie
: Them, too, huh?

Seen from a distance, Villanueva might have been Earth. Or Rimway. Sprawling continents, a vast global ocean, ice caps at the poles. Big forests, mountain chains, a few deserts. A beautiful world as long as you didn't get too close, as somebody once said. Not a place to spend the weekend.

Belle was running images from
God and the New World,
a religious history of the first four centuries on Villanueva. She'd put a city on-screen, located at the confluence of two rivers. Endless rows of houses spread out in all directions. Here and there were more ambitious structures. Skyscrapers, places with domes, skywalks. She focused finally on a church made of gray stone, surrounded by private homes with landscaped gardens. The church had a tower topped by a cross. Near the front, an angel with a sword stood guard.

“St. Michael, I believe,”
Belle said.

Villanueva became the first major off-world home for the three biblical religions. Its inhabitants knew from their first day that their time was limited, that there could be no permanent settlement. Though undoubtedly, because the coming destruction was so far away, beyond not only their own lives, but those of their distant descendants, the effect was muted. Possibly it did not exist at all. In any case, the general assumption that those who brought a religious worldview with them would hold on to the old dogmatism turned out to be off the mark. Instead, they acquired, along with a more compelling grasp of the sheer size and subtlety of the universe, a belief that a creating deity
had
to be much more complex, and ultimately less judgmental of minor offenses, than the one in whom their parents had believed. What came to matter most was their conviction that God existed, that, as some said, He was an engineer with remarkable talent, and that they were expected to take notice of that creation. Faith acquired a new immediacy and became for many the link with everything that mattered. The old animosities between faiths that had so despoiled life on the home world withered and, for the most part, died.

The believers experienced a coming-together unique in their history. They retained the traditional rituals, but they were more inclined to notice the stars in the night sky, and to do what they could to ease the lives of those around them. Take care of those in need, the mantra ran, and the Lord will take care of you. Gradually, they acquired a sense that salvation was for all persons of goodwill. For many, religion had finally become what the founders and prophets had intended. They were all heaven-bound, and they were enjoying the ride.

Heaven-bound. The churches were perceived as launching stations. The pictures in the record displayed their favorite symbols: statues of angels collecting children in their arms prior to soaring into the heavens, other angels in full flight. Heaven-bound.

There was a grim irony, of course, that in the end they were destroyed by the cosmic machinery they so much admired.

As we drew closer, Belle locked the scopes on the world, and we looked down on cities and highways and bridges. It was an incredible sight. Had I not known better, I'd have thought we were back approaching Rimway.

We'd known before setting out that Villanueva was remarkably well maintained. Its facilities, directed by AIs, were still operating. They had continued to function after the last human was no more than a distant memory. The AIs replaced crumbling houses, restored port facilities, and maintained parks. Automated vehicles moved through the streets and through the skies.

We went into orbit and slipped over to the nightside, where, even though we knew what was coming, we received a shock. The lights were on. Everywhere. In cities, scattered around the countryside, lining riverbanks. Other lights moved through the streets and the sky. And there was a biological pulse to them. Where it was late, middle of the night, the moving lights dwindled to a few. And the houses were mostly dark, as though the inhabitants were asleep.

“It doesn't seem to need us, does it?” said Alex.

Villanueva's misty moon floated overhead. White clouds drifted serenely in the lunar skies. The moon was big enough that the system could have been described without too much exaggeration as a double planet.

Belle broke the mood.
“Incoming transmission, Chase.”

“Put it on.”

“Belle-Marie,” a male voice said,
“welcome to Villanueva.”
The speaker sounded businesslike, official, pay attention, I don't want to have to repeat myself.
“This is Highgate.”

Highgate was the automated monitoring system in orbit around the planet. I'd been expecting to hear from it. Still, it startled me. “Yes, Highgate. What is it?”

“Be advised that you are in a hazardous area. It is highly recommended that you do not attempt to set down.”

Highgate's purpose was simply to keep an eye on things. To warn off idle travelers. To report back any unusual activity. Or any unanticipated technological advances on the world below. I wondered what they were worried about. Maybe that the machines might launch an invasion fleet to take out the Confederacy?

Okay. I'm kidding. But there are people out there who worry, who insist, you can't trust independent AIs, especially ones who've been left to disintegrate, or evolve, or whatever the case may be, on a world no one wanted to think about. Disconnecting the power sats has been an on-again, off-again issue in Rimway elections for centuries. “I was under the impression that an AI loses function after two or three centuries,” I told Alex. “How can they still be working out here after all this time?”

He shrugged. No idea. And he didn't really care about the details.

“I suspect,”
said Belle,
“that some of the AIs have banded together in a worldwide network. Even though no one remains, they continue to operate by whatever protocols they were assigned. Although those may have evolved somewhat.”

Highgate has been out there for as long as anyone can remember. In some eras, it's carried
a
team of scientists; at other times, like the present, it's been only an AI. And yes, if we can't trust the AIs on Villanueva, what makes us think we can trust one orbiting their neighborhood? I put that question to Belle.
“Matter of faith,”
she said.

I switched back to the satellite. “We read you, Highgate. Thanks for the warning.”

“Can I take that as a commitment that you will not attempt a landing?”

“We haven't decided yet.”

“If you do make the effort to go down, be advised that, should you need assistance, none is available. I urge you to forgo any effort along these lines. It is extremely dangerous. Your reasonable course, when you have completed sightseeing from orbit, is to depart immediately.”

“Highgate, what's the nature of the danger?”

“An active mechanical culture exists on Villanueva. All visitors are unwelcome. If you proceed into the atmosphere—note that it is not necessary for you to actually land—you will be perceived by them as a danger, and you may be assured they will take steps against you. If that occurs, you bear all responsibility for the outcome.”

When we filed our flight plan at Skydeck, we'd been forced to sit through a presentation that suggested we go elsewhere, and when we declined, required to sign statements that we'd been warned, and that we absolved the space station, the flight administration, the government, and anyone else in sight, of any liability.

“Highgate,” I said, “do you maintain records of warnings? Can you tell me whether one was issued to the
Breakwater
in the Rimway year 1383? The pilot would have been Eliot Cermak.”

“Belle-Marie,
that information is privileged.”

“It's important. Cermak would have been carrying two passengers, one of whom we think died here. It is imperative that—”

“Are you claiming official authority? Are you a police unit?”

“Yes, we are,” said Alex. “G.B.I. Rimway.”

“Please file appropriate authorization.”

“Authorization should have been presented directly from Skydeck Operations. Did you not receive it?”

“Negative. Please submit as required.”

Well, we got nowhere with that. Highgate issued a warning that we were in violation of something or other, and it would be reported, and we could expect to answer some questions when we got home.

We looked down on the lights. Some were apparently cruising along roadways, drifting through the skies, and even afloat at sea. Every continent appeared occupied. Islands glowed in the night. Only the polar caps were dark. It was a disquieting experience. “If this place is as dangerous as they claim,” I said, “why don't we just shut it down?”

Alex appeared as overwhelmed by it all as I was. “How would you go about doing that, Chase?”

“It's easy. I'd cut off the power.” Two collectors in geosynchronous orbit used lasers to relay solar energy to an array of power sats, which then sent it on to ground stations. The Villanueva AIs had lost the capability to maintain them thousands of years ago. But Earth had taken over, and later the Alliance. As political realities evolved and changed, the responsibility was passed on. The Confederacy is doing it today. It was a thread that bound the human race to its very beginnings. One of the power sats floated in the middle of the display. There'd been power sats from the beginning, but they'd been replaced many times.

“There are ethical considerations,” Alex said.

“How do you mean?”

“For one thing, nobody's positive the place is really empty.”

“I can't see that there'd be any problem with getting on the radio and asking if there's anyone down there.”

“Maybe there are people who don't have access to a radio. Who wouldn't know one if they did. Even if there aren't any people, how do you feel about killing off AIs?”

“We do it all the time.” And yes, I knew Belle was listening, but I reminded myself she's a data-storage system. She's not really
alive,
though sometimes it seemed that way.

“A lot of people don't go along with that, Chase. Killing off a world full of AIs that are doing no damage would create some political problems.”

“I guess. We certainly don't want political problems.”

We crossed the terminator and moved back into sunlight.

Belle put up more pictures, some taken recently by Highgate, others so old the dates had been lost. Most of the onetime population centers were especially well maintained. The few that weren't had been overtaken by desert, jungle, or forest. The appearance of the cities had changed with the passage of time, but not in the sense that they were decaying. Towers grew wider and acquired a more sculpted look, then became taller and sleeker, discarding ornamentation, then devolved into what appeared to me, anyhow, as bulbous horrors. The cities themselves sometimes expanded in concise geometric patterns, and sometimes spread out with uninhibited energy. Even walkways seemed to shift patterns, moving with geometric uniformity through the downtown areas of one age, gracefully arcing around buildings and natural obstacles in another, and still later using tunnels and bridges to arrow through everything that stood in the way. Even though the parks and roads and city streets and beaches, most of all the beaches, were empty, it was impossible to believe that a living civilization did not exist on that world.