Transcendence (25 page)

“
I don’t ask for anything but your friendship,” he added a second later. “I’ve seen too much of this mugre happening here. You two are obvious targets. I can’t stand to see it happen to you.”

Indeed, at the evening meal, the well-dressed man sat just across from the girls, casting furtive glances their way. Janus noticed his eyes were a strange chrome color, and the pupils weren’t black but dull brown. Whenever he seemed about to speak—having set down his spoon and drawn a breath—Miguel would loudly clear his throat and mutter, “Crujir,” while rubbing his temples and casting his eyes about wildly.

Miguel grew more animated each time. After a few minutes, Rachel began to giggle. This irritated the well-dressed man, and soon he was clenching and unclenching his jaw as if chewing dried meat. Miguel seemed invigorated by Rachel’s humor, each adding to the pleasure of the other, until the spectacle drew attention from others nearby. An old man with scars crisscrossing his bald scalp grinned and bobbed his head as if on a spring, looking from the girls to Miguel to the man and back.

At last, the well-dressed man slammed down his fork and shouted, “Garce!” at the remains of his nearly untouched dinner. He was in such a hurry to leave that he tripped over the bench and dropped his tray. This drew even more attention, and soon a number of spectators had stopped eating or dwelling in 3VRD worlds to watch the scene play out.

Well aware of his audience, the man straightened his long blouses and stood tall on a pair of heavy-soled Makk boots. “You are nothing,” he said, staring those artificial eyes straight into Miguel’s. Then he left in a flurry of cloth.

A smattering of applause rang out from the little group of spectators. Not long later, even the old man drifted back into his private world.

Miguel smiled at Janus and Rachel, and suddenly he looked like a boy. Janus had been too terrified to smile, but Rachel giggled again and thanked their new friend.

“
It was nothing,” he said, imitating his foe’s voice well. Rachel giggled again.

This one connection with their new life kept Janus and Rachel from losing the psychological battle against their father and going back to their old home. Miguel became a sort of dock amid the swirling waters of a world for which they had been unprepared.

Over the next days, he brought them spiced breads and fresh vegetables in trade for dinner conversation. Janus learned that he was a stonemason—a rare profession but not a terribly valuable one. He recently had to give up his apartment because work had been too intermittent to pay the rent when his roommate got married.

“
Widowed,” he said to Rachel’s question. “Julia was trapped in a Zone one day, down in New Orleans. She had been shopping. The pathologist said it wasn’t the beatcoats who killed her.” In a rare mood, he suddenly fell silent.

Occasionally, the girls left the block-long complex to shop for necessities not provided in their new home. Janus had dared to use her father’s credit to purchase a sack of feminine inserts at a small shop nearby. She was amazed when the shop’s server cleared the purchase, and then she felt her first rush of power: She could use Father’s credit for anything she wished, within reason. She could bleed him white from a distance. And he wouldn’t dare put a stop on his credit—Stop your own children from using your credit? What kind of retro are you, man? The police would certainly become involved. Parents are expected to put limits on children’s spending, yes, but no one blocks another’s credit. Not in EarthCo’s sphere of trade.

In the rich soil provided by this bit of control, Janus began to grow. She became less afraid of the world. She started to think in terms of “tomorrow,” and “the day after that.”

Sixteen days after the incident with the well-dressed man, Miguel came hustling into the cafeteria. “I found a decent apartment I can afford,” he announced, out of breath.

“
That’s wonderful, Miguel,” Rachel responded. Her voice always grew so animated when he joined them.

Janus turned and saw the hungry look in her sister’s eyes. She knew what the girl was thinking.

She looked into Miguel’s eyes as he arranged himself on the bench. She knew what he was about to ask, and she began to prepare how she would answer.

She surveyed her surroundings again, with a new eye—not merely checking to see if it was a livable environment. The place stank of urine and sweat. It was filled with the incessant noise of thousands of people talking at the same time. The food tasted like wet paper. Their room—whichever one they were assigned to each night, and that constantly changed—was cramped and filthy and sometimes vandalized beyond usefulness. Once they had slept on shredded foam where the Kevlar-weave mattress cover had been torn away. Too many grungy men’s hands had rubbed her or Rachel’s bare arms or necks before being slapped away.

She knew how she would answer, but now she had to think ahead, beyond a simple yes or no. She decided serving him in the same way as her father would be acceptable since it would be her own choice this time.

“
If you two can provide the small things for yourselves,” he said, echoing one of the conditions Janus had already placed on the arrangement, “I can pay the rent. You deserve better than this shelter, this
basurero
. I’ll buy the food if you prepare it. I’ll provide the furnishings if you keep them clean and repaired. Do we have a deal?”

Janus checked the look on Rachel’s face before she responded; the girl stared back with a mix of desire and hatred that said, “If you tell him no and make me stay here any longer, I’ll leave you. I’ll go back home if I have to, but I can’t stay here any longer. Not after seeing a way out.”

“
We’ll have our own room?” Janus asked, feeling suddenly tough and able. “If you’re thinking something retro, I need to know now.”

“
As I said,” Miguel began, somewhat quietly, “it is a very small apartment. There is only one room, but there is also a private bathroom. We can set up dividers.” His eyes defocused for a moment, and he continued:

“
I could build a wall. . .” He grew more animated. “Yes, that’s it! I can make you a private room out of real stone, a home of your own within my home. Where I work now, we have much scrap stone. No one will miss it. Not good for building bearing walls, but perfect for decorative walls—if mortared properly.” He grinned broadly, again focusing on his future roommates. He winked at Rachel.

“
You will have your private room, with a good lock on the door.”

They left the complex and crossed town to the north side of the stagnant Alabama River. The apartment was on the 30
^th
floor of an aged skyhulk, as the still-standing twenty-first century skyscrapers were called. Two windows faced out over the Badtown district, but Janus could see as far as opulent North City with its prismatic spires. A heavy lane of air traffic passed near the building, but she soon learned to tune out the steady drone.

Miguel labored for hours every day. He came home from work at noon, dumped out a pile of rubble from his Cord bag, showered, emerged from the bathroom in a clean singlesuit, and worked on the wall until dinnertime. He owned an economy server, and with this Janus and Rachel learned how to cook. Miguel had ordered a full range of international-cuisine instructors.

Janus and Rachel shopped in the mornings while Miguel was away—he left before dawn—then worked on lunch until he returned. He liked a big lunch and a dinner of leftovers. He wouldn’t eat the same mush he had put up with at the homeless complex, even though the server could download a flavor program and make it taste however he wanted:

“
A man can’t eat
basura
in his own home! You spend my credit, whatever it takes, just don’t bring anything but real food into my house!”

So he spent as much on food as he did on rent.

Over a period of a week, two walls rose to the ceiling from the plank floor, enclosing a corner of the seven by seven-meter apartment and replacing the sheets temporarily hung from tacks. Miguel was careful to keep one of the two windows in the girls’ room:

“
I won’t have you living in another windowless prison like at the shelter,” he said, explaining why the private room would be so much longer on one side than the other.

Janus grew comfortable in her new life. Rachel obviously loved the new arrangement. Never before had she been in the vicinity of so many children her own age, never before had she been able to choose which friends she could play with and when, never before had she talked so much and so joyously at home as she did with Miguel.

After a month of living in the apartment, Janus had a quiet day alone, and she reflected on what she had done. She thought back to how she had been in her father’s house, and how Rachel had been. She hated those meek little girls now. She thought about how much she had endured just to live there, while Miguel demanded so little here. He never touched her in a way that made her nervous; he never even looked at her as Father had. Most important, she trusted him with Rachel, who was clearly in love with him.

Lying on a pile of pillows, Janus smiled, feeling the sun warm her cheek, all quiet in her headcard. Aircars hummed past. The wind hushed across the window frame. She sipped at her glass of tea—synthesized tea, smuggled in since Miguel wouldn’t even allow the girls anything but real food in his home, and Janus couldn’t stand the thought of spending Miguel back into the homeless shelter. She had even charged her father for it. Lunch was prepared, simmering on the stove and filling the air with the rich scent of basil.

She was in control of her life. Rachel was safe and doing well in her studies.

Janus drew a deep breath and looked up at the sea-green sky speckled with traffic. She thought of the future, and of what line of work she would pursue. Everything seemed possible. But she was in no rush. For the first time in memory, Janus was at peace.

She wept.

An hour later, Miguel came through the door and found her with damp cheeks.

“
What’s wrong,
vida mia
?” he asked, setting down his empty sack.

“
Nothing,” Janus responded, and turned to him. “Everything is wonderful.” She felt a strong urge to kiss him; her blood beat thicker and faster through her chest, her breathing grew difficult, her lips twitched. Yet she was also afraid, most especially of this feeling, and not at all of Miguel.

“
Come here,” she said before timidity struck her dumb.

He obeyed, crossing the creaky planks. He fell to his knees on a colorful woven rug beside the pile of pillows, and seemed about to kiss her.

“
I haven’t washed yet,” he said, starting to back away.

“
Shut up,” Janus said, and reached out, pulling him by the back of his solid neck toward her. His lips were thick and oddly soft, totally unlike Father’s. His hands were strong and wide, and his chest pressed against her breast while his stomach did not protrude to suffocate her, as Father’s had.

Soon, the comparisons faded. Soon, she felt swept away. She felt a tide rush through her, a cleansing saline tide, washing her completely of her past.

A few minutes later, Janus heard the apartment door’s lock click and a hand fumble at the outside lever. She pulled back from Miguel’s embrace, and he immediately understood, standing up. Rachel walked into the apartment carrying a white rat.

“
See what Maril gave me?” she said, closing the door behind her. “Can we keep it?”

Miguel laughed and crossed to her. “Of course,” he said, “but you must build a house for it and take care of it. . .”

Their conversation continued. Janus watched, although the sound of their voices faded in the force of her thoughts.

This was her life. She now walked a path toward a future completely disjointed from the past. An aircar whirred past the window not more than ten meters away, a flash of aluminum and ultraglas in the noontime sun. Janus smiled.

She was free.

“
Janus!” Pehr called again. The woman’s limp body danced languidly as the spinning ship’s coriolis effects pulled her this way and that. He snapped her seatstrap in place and concentrated on trying to find the missile’s BW. This was a difficult procedure without a computer to direct him. He had not been a hacker or tracer as a kid, and never quite learned the tricks of his headcard society.

Finally he found a weak signal and spliced in.

A smooth and mottled world rushed toward him. It was in gibbous phase with a large swath bathed in night. The rest was colored a sickly greenish-blue with great expanses that looked like the preserved grapefruit one might find at a grocery store on Earth. A few long, relatively straight markings appeared at first to be roads, but then he realized how immense they would be and recalled the terrain maps Janus had called up for him on their way out here. He could see no craters.