Freenet (22 page)

“This is worth the risk. Don’t you want to take a chance on something new?”

“I took a chance on you, didn’t I? Don’t make me regret it.” Gladyz levelled an authoritative finger at him. “Just keep your bangs out of your eyes and stick to the script, Roni. We’ve got plenty to work with, and our numbers are going viral. We’ve made this girl famous on all three worlds. Everyone loves her. Don’t throw dog poop in the champagne.” She held her palm up with promise, hearkening back to the comfort of their working routine. “Okay?”

Roni forced a social smile and slapped her hand. “Let’s wreck this world.”

“That’s my boy. Now go see Derryn, and try to be nice.”

Derryn clucked and cooed for thirty minutes before letting his little masterpiece loose on the tram. The camera crew was getting antsy, and Gladyz seemed ready to explode with anticipation as the omnidroid children continued to gather at New Jerusalem West. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, but everyone expected Simara Ying to wake up within the hour.

They found the hospital cordoned off when they arrived, still closed to visitors because of the public riot on Heritage eve. Only family members were allowed entrance, and all twenty-two omnidroid children had already made their way upstairs. Zen was cleared to pass the blockade as an insider, but Gladyz and the camera crew met stiff resistance.

Gladyz fumed and blustered as she waved press credentials under the upright nose of the head of security, a grey-haired woman in a masculine uniform with blue collared shirt and tie. “Do you know who we are? This is Roni Hendrik of the
Daily Buzz
. He spent yesterday afternoon in a meeting with Colin Macpherson, who I’m sure is a generous patron of this fine establishment. We certainly wouldn’t want anything to hamper that relationship, but we can give him a call if you need a character reference. What’s your name and job title?”

The woman from security turned a granite face to scan their ragtag cohort. She seemed unfazed and had probably heard it all before. “Deb Evans, Security Admin.”

Roni offered a toothy smile in support as Gladyz took a sly step closer to the woman. “Well, Deb,” she said, “we have reason to believe that twenty-two biogen children have gathered in the presence of the omnidroid Simara Ying—a singular event on this or any other planet.” Gladyz was in fine form, friendly and gregarious, having switched from bad cop to good cop without missing a beat. “We’re accredited news gatherers reporting on the important social issues of our time. Our cameramen are regulated by trade and union protocols. We work for Colin Macpherson and need only twenty-two minutes to get our job done.”

Deb Evans stole a quick glance at Ngazi standing eerily serene, his face bland with biogen genius. She tilted her head with interest. “Twenty-two minutes?”

Gladyz nodded with sincerity as the cat slipped into her bag. “Precisely.”

The head of security peered at the blockade ropes covered with burgundy velvet and out at a small crowd gathering on the street. The camera crew and roadies were already starting to attract attention, another public scene in the making.

Gladyz shifted to block her view. “I’d be happy to give Colin a quick ring on his private channel?”

Deb Evans sneered with professional poise. “That won’t be necessary. We both know he wouldn’t give you the time of day.” She unclasped a connector from a metal pole to open an entryway in the cordon. “I expect your return within the hour.”

Gladyz bowed and swivelled back to the crew. “You heard the lady, boys. Quick and dirty now. Hustle your buns, and don’t scratch any paint in the elevator.” She marched forward to lead the way like a commander into battle as the crew followed behind in a phalanx and the roadies jostled equipment past stony guards.

They entered Simara’s room to find the omnidroid children sitting on the floor in a ring around the bed of their comatose elder. They seemed comfortable without pillows or backrests, quiet and worshipful in respect. A calm pervaded the room, a tangible holiness. The teenage spokesman, Fermi, looked to Zen and pointed to the empty chair beside Simara’s bed. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Zen stepped forward cautiously and weaved his way through the crowd. He reached his partner and bent down to whisper something in her ear. He kissed her forehead and took a seat.

“Lamps,” Gladyz said in a hushed voice as she surveyed the layout. “Give me two mikes on booms near the ceiling. Two cameras on tripods, one on shoulder mount. Roni, stay with me here until we’re set.”

The children were quietly accommodative as the crew lugged equipment into the small ward. Cameramen apologized in gentle tones as they positioned tripods and stabilized their gear. Everyone froze as Simara Ying twitched.

Gladyz pulled on Roni’s arm. “Did you see that?”

“Not sure,” he whispered. “I think so.”

“Shit, we’re not ready.”

Roni glanced around the room as the crew struggled to set up in close quarters. “We have one green light on the shoulder-mount.”

Gladyz tapped her ear and shielded her brow as she sampled the angle on her eyescreen. A few seconds passed in a hush of expectation. “Activate livefeed on the shoulder cam. Start with a head shot on the celebrity girl and pan out on my signal.”

Simara moaned like a distant wind in the mountains. Her lips trembled to find purchase, and finally her eyes blinked open. “Zen?”

The Bali boy jumped up to hover at her bedside. “I’m here.”

Simara smiled with infinite grace. “We made it.”

“Yes. Take your time. You’ve been out for a few days.”

She nodded as she scanned the room, delighted to see her omnidroid brothers and sisters. “Thank you all for coming.”

Roni peered at her from behind Gladyz as she conducted the crew with a waving arm. The omnidroid children had primped their elder for the camera, her black hair combed and curled, her skin lustrous, her lips pink with fresh life. Mothership had prepared every detail in advance and summoned a crowd of faithful witnesses to the stage. He felt a chill at the promised enfoldment—he was a victim of cold calculation, a pawn in the omnidroid conspiracy.

“Your poems were marvellous, Zen. Mothership treasured them all.”

“I didn’t know if I could reach you.”

Simara smiled with a blush on pale cheeks. “You found me and touched me. You’re a special man, and I want to stay with you always.”

A tear glinted in Zen’s eye. “I knew you’d come through. You’re tough. You’re a survivor.”

“Thanks to you for saving me again and dragging my sorry ass in from the wilderness.” She took his hand and fondled it with care. “Good habits are hard to break.”

Zen chuckled. “Someone else took your clothes this time, I promise.”

“Get a close-up on their faces,” Gladyz whispered to the cameraman. “Viewers love this sappy stuff.”

Simara gazed at Zen with love in her eyes like a promised virgin at the bridal bower. “Do I have any broken bones or anything?”

“No, the doctors say you’re fine. No internal injuries. You’ve just been sleeping as you heal some bumps and bruises.”

“Lucky me.”

Fermi, the oldest of the children, stepped forward and placed a hand on Simara’s forehead in reverence. He did not speak, nor did she acknowledge his gesture, but he smiled with satisfaction and bowed before her. Roni’s breath stilled in his chest as he recognized the innate and undeniable truth. The omnidroids did not worship Simara because of her public drama as the saviour of their species. They did not care for the observational world of the humans. Simara’s mind was the object of fascination, her special powers as the pioneer among them, the beachhead of a new paradigm. They were connected to her brain, and she had been resurrected like a messiah to lead them out of a pagan wasteland.

Roni brushed past Gladyz to step boldly forward into camera range. “Roni Hendrik here from the
Daily Buzz.
Welcome back to the land of the living!”

Simara was startled at his outburst and turned to Zen, but the Bali boy smiled and squeezed her hand with reassurance. She spied the cameras and brushed nervously at her hair with her fingers.

“You have captivated the nation,” Roni pronounced with a grand sweep at the studio audience. “Tell us how you feel.”

“I feel fine.”

“Do you recall anything about your daring escape from the crashing troopship?”

“A little. I remember floating, and falling, and the ground rushing toward me.”

“But you knew that Zen carried you from the crash site, even though you have been in a coma all this time. You thanked him just now.”

A query wrinkled on her brow. “I suppose.”

Roni waved an arm at the omnidroids gathered in worship around her. “You were in touch with your family all the time while you slept. Your brainwave pattern showed surprising activity, signs of alertness and cognition generally found in a waking person.” Roni turned to the camera with a grin of showmanship. “You were watching the
Daily Buzz
for groundbreaking updates every afternoon . . .” He winked. “. . . like the many thousands of viewers watching right now.”

Gladyz smiled at the plug and whispered to her left-hand cameraman. Green light to go.

“Mothership keeps an eye on everything,” Simara said. “She tells me what’s necessary.”

“Yes, the omniscience of divinity is a wonderful thing. Isn’t that what the poets tell us?”

“If you say so.”

“Mothership is the name given to the collective intellect of the omnidroids,” Roni said with a nod to his captive audience. “A superior intelligence that manipulates events to advance an agenda of conquest.”

Gladyz turned to him with a glare of alarm. “What?”

Simara frowned. “What?”

“You admit, then, the existence of a psychic entity known only by
your kind
.” He let a hint of challenge creep into his voice to test her mettle.

“Mothership is a construct,” Simara said. “A convenient way of organizing reality.”

“Is it not true that this
mothership
orchestrated a complex series of accidents targeted against the omnidroids in which two innocent children were killed?”

Gladyz waved a frantic arm and pantomimed a slash across her throat. “Are you having a stroke?” she mouthed at Roni. The cameraman looked at her in query as Ngazi began to hum a funeral dirge beside him.

Roni ignored the pleading face of his editor as he surveyed the room and summoned an air of smug authority like a courtroom lawyer at trial. How could he remain silent in the face of impending doom for his species? Who would speak for the unborn humans if he let this secret slide, this great truth entrusted to him alone? Now was the time to seize history, and this was his moment of glory at the pinnacle of his popularity. “Mothership arranged for these accidents to test the precognition of the omnidroids, to cull the weak and prepare the strong to harness their genetically engineered psychic powers to connect with celestial consciousness.”

Simara blinked with astonishment as Zen stared stupefied at her side. Gladyz looked ready to faint, but the cameras kept rolling. The declaration was out and could never be recanted. Roni Hendrik had claimed his spot in posterity with the biggest story ever told. He studied a tableau of frozen faces in the room. The elves seemed strangely complacent with his grand revelation, their cherubic faces alight with impish half-smiles. Were they so pleased to serve a calculating monster willing to sacrifice her own kin? Roni steeled himself with determination.

Simara shook her head. “You must be mistaken. Mothership cannot arrange events in any physical sense. Mothership is a cognitive construct, a network of communication. She is not capable of any harm to sentient life.”

Roni pointed a steady finger at the omnidroid elder. There was no reason for Simara not to lie in order to placate his primitive intelligence. He had expected as much. “Why do you pretend with me? Why bother with this elaborate façade? You and your mothership are complicit in all these acts of violence. We have the proof on record. You arranged your own martyrdom and resurrection to complete a master plan of evolutionary conquest. You’re the gateway to the god of the universe!”

Roni’s breath caught in his throat at the pronouncement, and time seemed to wobble as the scene came into sharp focus. Simara tilted her head at him in puzzlement, her blue eyes inscrutable and her pixie face blank with concern. Roni shifted his gaze to Zen, who ducked his eyes away and placed a protective palm on Simara’s forearm. The circle of elf children stared at him in wide-eyed shock, open-mouthed in bewilderment as Ngazi began the red-crested dino-bird dance in the background, flapping his hands and turning in a slow circle. Roni felt a great weight on his sternum, a millstone pressing against his empty chest, and realized with surprise that he had forgotten how to breathe.

“Cut!” Gladyz strode forward like a conquering Viking. “What the fuck, Roni? We’re finished here. Go home and get some sleep.” She held her finger to her ear and murmured quietly as she directed the office crew in a frantic transition to studio footage.

Roni staggered back a few steps and gasped. His vision went fuzzy for a moment and tiny lights swirled in front of his eyes as oxygen rushed to his brain. He felt like a marionette with his strings cut, void of momentum and meaning. A lost soul.

Gladyz swept an arm to commandeer the room. “That’s a wrap. Pack up the gear, and someone help Ngazi back to stasis. Thank you again to New Jerusalem West Hospital for your gracious hospitality. Please clear the room, folks. The party’s over.” She turned to Simara and knelt on one knee at her bedside. “Sorry for all the showbiz stuff. You gave us quite a scare, but we’re so glad you’re back in good health. On behalf of Neurozonics and the
Daily Buzz
, I offer our sincere apology for any unintentional misrepresentation or unsubstantiated conjecture by our anchorman. We are so sorry.”

As Gladyz bowed her head in contrition, a metaphorical tableau came to life in Roni’s imagination: Zen, the caveboy epitome of historical religion, held a firm hand of support on the arm of the martyr, while Gladyz, the priestess symbol of traditional media, knelt at the throne begging alms and casting down her crown before the altar. The elfin children surrounded the scene in testimonial witness, the new disciples spawned by science. Roni blinked in awe at the mythical caricature, and in that timeless moment of psychic magic he glimpsed the divine schemata of the omnidroid mind—pattern recognition across the millennia.