Join (40 page)

“Crowded,” says Chance Nine.

“Ha!” says Element. “You've gone from two fives to one ten. No wonder! I think your recovery period will take quite a while. And I think that within the year, you should consider adding at least one more. You'll be able to use an additional drive, I believe, quite effectively. It will take many cycles before you feel fully yourself again.”

“No,” says Chance Nine. It's difficult to talk because her throat is dry. Her voice is crackly and halting. “I mean the room. This room is crowded.”

“Ah!” Element says, with a broad smile. “Of course, of course. We can do something about that. And then I have good news about the treatment of your Five's cancer.”

Element and the woman who had spoken sort out the rest of the medical staff. Six people leave. Only four, including Element and the woman, remain.

Element's team has been coordinating with Chance's oncologist. Though Chance Five is still undergoing therapy, the join of Chance and Leap had to proceed quickly, so Chance had to deal with the effects of the drug regimens for both the chemotherapy and the join. Despite this, Five's cancer markers have actually improved. The cancer is greatly diminished, and Chance is almost hopeful. Whereas Five had been heavily drugged and a drain on all of Chance's resources, he's now becoming energetic and may be a source of some of the additional cycles that Chance needs to fully integrate a new identity.

“You have a background in the field,” Element says to Chance Nine. Chance pushes herself up in her hospital bed and says, “Yes.”

“You were a colleague, before the tragic events that ultimately led you here.”

“Yes,” says Chance.

“Then I think you may be interested in a more complete description of the contribution you are helping to shape. Do you have a few moments to discuss it?”

“I do,” says Chance.

“Wonderful,” says Element, “because this is potentially the most significant advance in join science since the breakthroughs of the original project. And while each of us has done our modest share here, if we do realize the promise of these new techniques, your name may be joined with the name of Hamish Lyons as one of the founders of an entirely new phase of human development.”

Chance Nine's fatigue and Chance's suppressed resentment of Element's bonhomie are both gone. As Element begins a brief summary of Hamish's radical interpretation of the mind-network connection, Chance experiences a pure, adrenalized response to genuine discovery—a reaction that narrows awareness to the ephemeral diameter of insight and focuses the mind until the world is re-created.

“
I was weak.” “I chose
ignorance.” “I want to give up.” “I can't trust myself.” “I am destroying things.” “I'm useless.” “Nothing has changed.” “Nothing is meaningful.”

The phrases surface relentlessly, at any time of day, a constant background of self-recrimination and defensiveness, interrupting other thoughts, demanding a moment to be heard. At their most insistent they color the world, turning it colder and more distant. Or they can burn with such force that they become a physical pain that spans drives.

Chance recognizes their irrationality, their injustice, but cannot suppress them. Even after long and substantive discussions with Element, Chance finds no real refuge from them. As Element has neatly summarized, you cannot be the sum total of all of the actions of both the transgressor and victim and not find yourself transfixed by the paradox. Though Chance's drives are no longer physically deteriorating, the truth of past events is unchanged.

In idle moments, Chance wishes that the people he had been would gather in a dream to discuss things. At times, Chance aches for it, but that mysterious internal messaging system seems to be offline. Perhaps, with the addition of Leap's psyche, it did get too crowded. Chance still has the memories of each of them but thinks less about the identities that made those memories.

A short time after Chance
Nine is released from daily observation, Reason, an undersecretary of Join Affairs who is known to be a close lieutenant of Excellence, checks in via hologram. During their conversation, Reason casually reveals that the Directorate has known the location of Hamish's community for years. Jackson and Terry weren't meant to find Arcadia, but to report on activities within it.

Chance is stunned by the news. Don killed Leap Two to protect the secret of Arcadia's location, but the Directorate knew it all along. As Reason talks, Chance re-experiences the shock of losing Leap Two—sees Don's pistol gently touch her forehead, sees her head snap back from the shot, shudders at the prolonged and saturating ache of loss.

Chance realizes that the Directorate does not believe she will ever speak with Hamish again. Reason is saying they'll keep trying to place people inside Arcadia. Hamish is too important in the development of human potential to be left on his own, without institutional protection. And it will be critical for him to join soon, as the health of his current drive is becoming compromised by age.

“Your Nine,” Reason says, “is young but has quite a promising future if you want to explore it. If you decide to train it for medicine, to follow in the footsteps of your Three, we hope you'll consider working with us at the Directorate. Hamish has told us how impressed he was by Leap, and we can always use good minds in our research arm.”

“I may have picked up a little more of the independent solo perspec
tive,” says Chance, “than would be comfortable in that setting.”

“Why would you think that wouldn't be welcome?” Reason asks. “We're searching for truth in our research. We'll need multiple perspectives to find it.”

“But you're tracking solo communities, trying to infiltrate them, forcing them outside civilized areas.”

“Oh,” Reason says, “yes, I see your point. Although for ferals, the isolation is their own doing. We do have to track them, though. To keep an eye on them. You have very direct experience of how ferals react to anything that they perceive might be a threat. They're quick to resort to violence, with or without an understanding of its full effects. They think in relatively crude terms. We watch them to help them avoid hurting themselves or anyone else.”

Chance says, “You knew Rope.”

“Yes,” Reason admits.

“What happened to Rope?”

“We are interested in understanding the twenty-drive limit. Hamish's technique appears to be supported by a promising line of theoretical inquiry. Rope's approach was not promising, and Rope had become destructive.”

“Do you feel responsible for what Rope has done?”

“Chance, I know this experience has been difficult for you, but I honestly can't say anything more about Rope. I'll leave you now to rest and continue your recovery.”

For months after the cooldown
period, while adjusting to being a new join, a powerful paranoia inhibits Chance's activity on Civ Net. Knowing that the Directorate—and even the solo community Hamish lives in—might be interested in what the drives are doing makes Chance hesitant to research the “vanishing point” or the “final gate.” Eventually, Chance works through it, reasoning that tracking is just one of the rules of the road while acting on the network. But Chance believes it's the paranoia, more than anything else, that inspires the decision to train Chance Five as an attorney.

There are still some licensing issues to be sorted out from the join with Leap. The Directorate waived the costs, but the unusual nature of the license has drawn attention from several low-level functionaries. Each inquiry has been taken care of quickly by referring whoever is asking questions directly to Reason's office.

At a point when Chance's paranoia is strongest, a request comes in for one of Chance's drives to visit a licensing office in the short spires of New Denver. The request is for a personal visit, and Chance, relishing the thought of having the requesting officer call the office of the undersecretary of Join Affairs directly, decides to honor it.

The licensing office is in a particularly rundown area. Chance brings a pod to rest on a narrow, old-world street, beside a curb that might once have been lined with wheeled vehicles, and approaches a boxlike eight-story building. The front, brick facade is blackened with soot, and many of the windows are cracked, plaster casements notched and crumbled. Inside, the purple-and-gray halls smell stale and moist.

After reporting to a distracted-looking woman at a small desk behind bulletproof glass, Chance Nine sits on the wilted and stained floral cushions of an old waiting room couch. A couple is sitting on an identical couch on the other side of the small room. The woman has thick eyeliner and a long, blond, greasy ponytail. Beside her is a large man with arms crossed, eyes closed, and his chin against his chest, apparently trying to nap.

They wait ten or fifteen minutes. Chance Nine is just about to stand up and talk with the woman at the desk when the blond woman says to her shyly, “You're not solo?”

“No, I'm not,” Chance says.

“We can't afford to join,” the woman says.

The man opens his eyes, yawns, and stretches broadly. The woman leans forward to give him more room. The man says, “I wish they'd bring the price down. They already own everything.” Then he folds his arms and closes his eyes again.

The woman's gaze is friendly but also tentative. Her shoulders are raised slightly, and she looks as if she's prepared to flinch. She asks, “What do you think?”

“I don't really know about it,” Chance says.

“Oh”—the woman draws her fingers lightly along the underside of her chin as she watches Chance with a sad half smile—“Jason says if we still can't afford it, he'll leave me.”

“I'm so sorry,” Chance Nine says.

“I know there's nothing anyone can do. That's what he says, and I know it's true. It's just that the price is too high.” The woman reaches into a large purse and finds a tissue to wipe her eyes and dab at her nose. “Other people, who could afford it, might join with us. But we love each other.”

“You've still got a lot of time,” Chance Nine offers.

“Thank you,” the woman says.

Chance Nine looks away to respect the woman's attempt to maintain her composure.

“Do
you
think we should?” the woman says.

“What?” asks Chance Nine.

“Because it's too expensive, do you think we should join with other people?”

“I . . . I don't know,” Chance says.

“I'm sorry. We're not that interesting.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Chance says. “I'm tired. I had a couple of medical procedures.”

Chance Nine stands and walks to a water cooler.

A door next to the bulletproof glass opens, and a bored-looking man steps into the waiting room. “Carla and Jason Runfert?”

The large man seems to come to life again. “Come on,” he says, and stands. He pulls up his baggy pants.